Here We Lie (12 page)

I think back to the moment Martin had handed me the powder sachet. He hadn’t taken it direct from the box of six. So who had? I frown, thinking back. It
was
Lish. I can see him in
my mind’s eye, taking the powder from its box and giving it to Martin to give to me. Is it really possible that he could have opened the sachet, added a few potassium cyanide crystals and
resealed it while the rest of us were outside? He certainly had the time to do it; like his sister, Lish spent most of the evening after dinner inside the boat while everyone else was on deck.

‘Okay but still, it’s . . . it’s totally random . . .
I
gave Dee Dee the sachet once we were back at the villa. It was
me
who had the headache.’

‘I know,’ Dan says, his voice heavy with emotion. ‘That’s why I had to find you.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I don’t think Dee Dee was the intended victim. Her dying was a mistake.’

‘A mistake?’

‘Yes.’ Dan holds my gaze. ‘But it was the
only
mistake. Everything else went exactly as planned: Lish could have made sure there wouldn’t be any painkillers on
your brother’s boat to give him an excuse to buy more, thereby taking the focus away from any drugs that any of you already owned. Plus he could have easily made sure you got a headache so
you needed painkillers by giving you something to bring one on. Then, having bought the powders, he was in the perfect position to add the potassium cyanide and reseal the sachet once he was back
on the boat. He could have even researched where there would be a pharmacy that stocked ExAche.’

My mouth is gaping. ‘You’re saying . . . ?’

Dan nods. ‘It all adds up, Em. From what I can see, I’m pretty certain that Jed’s son meant to kill
you
.’

SO I asked Mum about the waxing but she wouldn’t listen. She said that I was being silly, that I hardly had any body hair and that I was too young to be worrying about
it anyway, that ‘there’ll be time enough for that sort of carry-on when you’re older, Jesus, you’ll be bringing home a boyfriend next and I really don’t need you
acting out on top of everything else’.

I know what ‘everything else’ means. The divorce is going through. Mum signed the papers last night. Daddy came around again. He was really angry about what happened on my
birthday which feels like SO much longer than a week ago. I was upstairs but I could hear Mum getting upset then Daddy put on his really stern voice and said she had to accept him being with Emily
now and stop taking it out on me. And then Mum lost it completely and started shouting and she must have been waving papers about because she was saying ‘what’s written here DESTROYS us
as a family, Jed, it’s against EVERYTHING we’ve made together, and if I sign then your children will HATE you for what you are doing, your son already DESPISES you . . . you AND your
WHORE . . . don’t you understand how much I love you . . .’ and on and on like that.

After that there was silence for a bit, then she must have signed the divorce papers or whatever because next thing Daddy went – I heard the front door shut – and he hadn’t
even called up to me or come to see me even though he must have known I would be there and that made me feel like I used to when I would stay over with friends when I was little and miss being at
home, a homesickness-y sort of feeling.

And on top of all that I have to go to school tomorrow and like literally NO ONE wants to talk to me any more and Mum won’t let me get waxed and I keep thinking about eating cake but my
birthday cake is all used up so there are only chocolate chip biscuits which I don’t even really like and they just make me fat but I ate them anyway.

‘No.’ I frown at him. ‘No, it’s ridiculous.’ But even as I’m speaking, I’m remembering . . .

IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU, WHORE.

Suppose that text was from Lish, not Zoe as I originally thought? Suppose ‘should’ was meant literally?

No. It’s impossible.

Dan looks at me – an intense look full of sympathy. For a moment I feel totally connected to him, as if no time at all has passed since we broke up. But it has. Eight long years have gone
by. We are both different people. Dan has no idea who I am now.

‘Listen.’ I lean forward. The lights flicker in the café as rain drums against the window. ‘The idea that Lish might want to kill me is mad. Lish and I get on
fine.’

‘Do you?’ Dan leans back and raises his eyebrows. God, I remember that quizzical expression of his only too well – part curiosity and part aloofness. It used to drive me
mad.

‘Yes,’ I snap. I’m beginning to feel angry now. How dare Dan turn up like this out of the blue, peddling insane accusations, trying to unsettle me. What’s he after
anyway?

‘Since when?’ Dan asks. ‘I mean, since when have you and Jed’s son got on? Right from the start? Since you began your affair with his dad?’

God, so he knows about the affair. Of course he does. I feel my cheeks redden and look down at the bowl of sugar cubes on the table between us.

‘I’m not judging you, Em.’ Dan sounds uncertain.

I look up. ‘Actually Lish was angry at first, but with his
dad
, not me. I mean, he didn’t realize that his parents’ marriage was already basically over before Jed met
me, so of course he didn’t particularly want to meet me for a few months, but that’s understandable. He was upset for his mum; I know she leaned on him at the time and he was just
starting at uni, only in his second term there when Jed moved out, which was bad timing. But things are different now. He’s older, he’s accepted me.’

‘Or maybe he’s just pretending to,’ Dan suggests.

I take a sip of coffee. As Dan said, it tastes horrible. My hand shakes slightly as I hold the cup, though I don’t know whether that’s because I’m angry with Dan for being so
self-assured or shocked to have this bolt from the blue hurled at me, or upset that it could, just possibly, be true.

‘All I want is for you to have the information.’ Dan says.

‘Okay, then look at what you’re saying.’ I sit up straighter. ‘Leaving aside the fact that Lish is a good kid and if he was mixed up in dealing illegal drugs, his parents
would know, which I can promise you they emphatically don’t, why on earth would he be handling potassium cyanide? It doesn’t fit with things like . . . like Viagra and Vicodin that you
mentioned earlier.’

‘I know,’ Dan concedes. ‘I realize it’s a stretch. I’m just concerned that he might have tried to hurt you.’

‘It doesn’t make any sense,’ I persist. ‘I’ve seen the info on Dee Dee and what . . . what happened to her. Potassium cyanide is made for industrial use; it’s
one of the most dangerous chemicals in the world – a single teaspoon is enough to kill twelve fully grown men. Surely you’d only want to take it if you were suicidal? And if
you’re a student and you want to kill yourself, there have got to be easier ways. Anyway, I can’t believe Lish would knowingly help someone commit suicide.’

Dan nods. ‘I’m not saying I’ve got all the answers.’ He hesitates. ‘And I’m not trying to upset you either. I thought long and hard before doing
any
of
this.’

‘So why did you?’ I look up.

Dan is silent for a moment. Then he sighs. ‘At first I was just curious. You know, I’d heard you were getting married and . . . I guess I wanted to know who to, that’s why I
read the article about Jed. Someone I work with remembered Jed’s son being cautioned. I put two and two together, thought I’d do a little investigating and that’s what I found . .
. then I got worried and . . . and maybe I’m worrying over nothing, but I thought you should have all the facts.’ He shrugs. ‘If you’re really sure everything’s okay
with Jed’s son then obviously I’m wrong.’

IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU, WHORE.

The words from the text circle my head like birds of prey. Dan is wrong. He
has
to be.

I push back my chair. The legs scrape noisily against the tiled café floor.

‘I need to go.’

Dan’s mouth tenses. It’s a small gesture but another one I know well: Dan’s ‘tell’ for when things aren’t going to plan, though I can’t imagine what he
thought might happen. I must have spent hours . . . days . . . of my younger life absorbing his face to know it so well. What does he want from me now anyway?

We stand up. Dan slops both our coffees as he knocks against the table.

‘You don’t have to run off,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. I’d like to help you find out the truth.’ As he speaks his eyes flicker away
from mine . . . as if he can’t make eye contact. Why? Because he’s lying? Mistrust surges through me.

‘No thanks,’ I say. ‘Bye.’ I pick up my coat and walk away. Behind me I can hear Dan shoving money at the waitress. I don’t look around. Outside, the rain is
lashing down but I don’t want to stop so I put my coat on as I walk. Dan catches me up on the other side of the road, just before the school entrance. He grabs my arm. ‘Em, I’m so
sorry about this, I’m—’

‘Sorry for what?’ I pull away. ‘Throwing a grenade into my private life? Or treating me like shit eight years ago?’ Tears spring to my eyes. I blink them back, furious
with myself for getting upset.

Dan looks stricken. He’s holding something out to me. A business card. I don’t want to take it, but he’s pushing it into my hand. The rain is plastering his hair to his head,
darkening the shoulders of his overcoat.

‘Call me,’ he says. ‘Any time.’

I don’t look back as I race through the school gates and across the car park to my car. My hands are still shaking as I start the engine and reverse out. I’m only upset because it
was a shock to see him. There’s no truth to what he’s said. There
can’t
be. I’m dreading finding Dan just outside the gates, but he has gone. Thank goodness. I stop
to blow my nose. The business card he gave me sits in my lap. I pick it up. It’s just Dan’s name, along with the title freelance journalist, a mobile phone number and an email address.
I tear it in two, then shove both bits in my jacket pocket. I drive home, take a hot bath and try to focus on some marking. Dan is wrong. He’s put two and two together and made three
hundred.

Later, I meet Laura, who is delighted now that the early stages of pregnancy have passed and she no longer feels sick all the time. She is in such a giddy mood, flirting with the waiters and
full of excited baby talk. I can’t bring myself to tell her about Dan’s ludicrous accusation against Lish – and yet I can’t quite push the thought of it away either.
Dan’s words echo in my head, and I’m actually grateful when Laura pleads exhaustion after just two (soft) drinks. I head home. Somebody sent that nasty text. It could easily have been
Lish.

IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU, WHORE.

Were those vicious words a threat? I turn them over and over in my mind. Part of me wants to call Rose or Martin, tell them what Dan has claimed. But I know they will mistrust his motives. As I
do. And yet why would Dan make up such a terrible story?

When the doorbell rings at eight thirty that evening, I half-expect it to be Dan on the doorstep. Instead I find Jed’s brother Gary, all smiles and apologies for dropping by and with a
bottle of Chateauneuf du Pape in his hand. I invite him in, explaining that Jed should be back within the next half-hour. Gary settles himself onto our living-room couch and asks if there’s
anything to eat. As I fetch a plate of leftover chicken from the fridge he launches into an elaborate story about how he was in the area for an after-works leaving do. Bearing in mind that he works
in the City as a trader and normally drinks in the bars near his office, I’m highly sceptical that this is true. I think it’s more likely he went for an after-work shag with some poor,
easily flattered girl in his office who happens to live locally. He’s certainly in a good mood, doing that classic Gary thing of flirting just enough to make you aware of it, but never so
much that you think he might seriously be about to jump you.

‘So how’s Iveta?’ I ask.

Gary’s gaze gets a little shifty. ‘Over.’ He waves his hand.

‘Oh?’

‘She
was
a little old for me,’ Gary says archly.

I roll my eyes. ‘She was twenty-five, Gary.’

He grins. ‘Like I say, a little old. I’ve just met someone new, actually, but it’s early days, so no point talking about her yet.’

What is he like? Irritated and amused in equal measures, I let him change the subject and ask me about work. I talk about the end of term production I’m in charge of at school for a few
minutes until Gary’s eyes start glazing over, then ask him about the stock market. Gary says that some redundancies are in the offing, but he’s confident he’ll be safe. I find his
breezy, cheery manner as annoying as his fixation on women with huge breasts. He’s a classic younger brother, never happier than when he can poke fun at people who are more responsible and
serious than he is. There is one moment where his jolly persona slips, for a second. I’ve just checked the cable box clock for the second time. It’s well past nine, so Jed surely
won’t be too much longer.

‘So how’s my brother doing?’ Gary asks suddenly, breaking off from an interminable tale about something called pork barrel packages. ‘Is he okay? I’ve been really
worried about him.’

I look up, surprised. Gary’s not generally given to displays of concern. Then I remember how brilliantly he organized everything in the days following Dee Dee’s death. Perhaps
he’s just not used to expressing his concern in words.

‘I think he’s doing all right,’ I say, ‘considering.’

‘I’m just asking because I know he’s not the easiest person, that he can be a bit intense, well, you know . . . and this . . . what happened to poor little Dee Dee must have
put a huge strain on him, especially after everything he went through earlier in the year.’

He means Zoe’s reaction to him leaving her.

‘I think he’s devastated, of course,’ I say, choosing my words carefully. ‘But we talk about it and I think that he’s coping.’

‘Good.’ Gary looks genuinely relieved. ‘And what about the civil suit? How’s that going?’