Here We Lie (20 page)

Oh my days, I am HATING the thought of school tomorrow and Tuesday and then school being over for the holidays which is YAY obviously – but then Daddy telling Mum about marrying Emily.
He talked to her earlier about going on holiday with me and Lish in the summer. He gets two weeks with me and he kept asking what we should do and saying it would be fun but all I could think was
Mum would be SO upset all by herself and then I will feel bad if I am enjoying it because I will have to pretend to her that I’m not. Lish is back home from uni for a bit but he doesn’t
say much, just sits in his room, and I know he is going away with his friends soon and that Daddy has said he will only pay for that if Lish comes on our holiday too. When Mum heard that earlier
she said Daddy was mean and ‘you’ve obviously let that whore of yours spend all your money on new furniture’ and then Daddy lost his temper and said ‘it was one fucking sofa
from John fucking Lewis’ and I came upstairs so I didn’t have to hear any more.

Emily says maybe her sister Rose and brother Martin can come on the holiday too. It must have been WEIRD Rose being like a mum to her when she was little and Martin is REALLY rich. He has a
BOYFRIEND too. And a yacht. But Mum will still be all alone. I can hear her crying now and she doesn’t even know about Daddy and Emily getting married yet. Lish knows about it but he
hasn’t said anything either. I wish we could tell Mum and get it over so she would be upset while I’m at school and I wouldn’t have to feel so bad.

On Monday morning Jed leaves me sleeping as he heads off to work. I wake alone at 9 a.m. with the sun shining in through the window. For a second I relish the space in the bed
beside me and the day stretching ahead with no work, maybe just a little Christmas shopping later.

Then I remember Lish and Gary and Dee Dee, and anxiety twists in my chest. I potter downstairs and try to calm myself by making a cup of tea and reading the paper on Jed’s iPad. It’s
no good. I can’t stop thinking about it all. Hoping to clear my head, I decide to go for a run. I used to jog every morning but since moving in with Jed, it hasn’t been easy to find the
time. Plus Jed tends to poke fun at any exercise that doesn’t involve highly competitive ball games. Ironically it was Dan who got me into running many years ago. He used to go out every
morning before work. He said it kept his head clear and his body able to play the football that consumed his Saturday mornings. I went with him at first simply because I adored being around him so
much, but after hating the initial few runs I grew to love it more and more. Right now it feels like just what I need. After the first five minutes when – as usual – I feel like
I’m about to die, my body warms up. I run to Highgate Wood and do a couple of laps. The bright sunshine fades as I head home and it’s just starting to drizzle as I turn onto our road.
I’m a few metres from the house when I see Dan getting out of his car.

It is a total shock to my system.
Shit.
He must have been watching me running since I turned the corner. My first thought is that I’m sweaty, unmade-up and wearing old sweatpants
with bleach stains on the legs. My second thought is that I’m an idiot for caring. What does it matter what Dan thinks of my appearance? He shouldn’t have turned up here like this.

I slow to a walk as I reach the car.

‘Hey, Em, good to see you in your element,’ Dan says with a smile, closing the car door.

I stop, then release my hair from its ponytail and run my fingers through it self-consciously. Everything I had successfully pushed to the back of my mind during my run is flooding back.

Zoe’s letter flashes through my head:

The whore must be stopped. And somehow you must help me stop her. She
cannot
be allowed.

‘What’s up?’ I sound horribly abrupt. My cheeks burn.

The smile fades from Dan’s face. ‘Bad news.’ He holds out a tiny notebook.

‘What’s this?’ I flick through the pages. Each one is covered with lists of dates and initials in three columns. I can’t make any sense of them. ‘Dan?’

He points to the open page. ‘It’s an order book,’ he says. ‘I’m guessing Lish uses it to keep track of what he’s selling and to whom. It’s more secure
than something electronic, plus it doesn’t actually prove anything, but it’s all there.’ He indicates the top line, then reads the contents of each column. ‘Va. - J.K.
-30/11.’

‘Which means?’

‘My best guess is Va for Viagra sold to someone with the initials JK on the thirtieth of November. I’ve had a look through. There’s Vic for Vicodin, plus Pro for propranolol,
which is a beta blocker, and Stan for stanozolol – that’s an anabolic steroid, Phen375, which I think is some kind of diet pill, and on and on, all the way to Z for Zoloft. You get the
picture.’

I look up. ‘Where the hell did you get this?’

Dan rubs the back of his head. ‘I picked it from Lish Kennedy’s jacket pocket.’

‘You
stole
it?’

‘Yes.’ Dan holds up a paper bag. ‘While I was buying these.’ He opens the bag and shows me the contents: two small packets of Valium. ‘From the look of the
packaging, I’m guessing they’re fakes rather than stolen, probably cut with chalk or talcum powder.’

Rain trickles down my face. This is proof, surely.
Real
proof against Lish.

‘He’s really doing it,’ I whisper. ‘He’s really selling drugs.’

‘I’m so sorry, Em,’ Dan says. ‘But there’s something else. Something worse.’ He turns the pages of the notebook. I wipe my damp hair off my face as he finds
the place he’s looking for and points to an entry halfway down. ‘KCN - JL&LN -4/8.’ He reads the entry out loud, then looks up. There is genuine anguish in his eyes.

‘What is KCN?’ I ask, though I have already guessed.

‘Potassium cyanide.’

I stare at the entry. My mouth feels dry though the rest of me is damp from the rain and clammy with sweat from my run.

‘I think it’s for a couple of photography students. I checked the initials against the student year book for Lish’s year and I’m guessing JL and LN are probably
photography students James Leonard and Laurie Nolan.’

‘Why does that fit?’

‘Apparently you can use potassium cyanide as . . . a sort of toner, to give a particular finish. It’s a bit of a fad at the moment. And the cyanide isn’t technically a banned
drug though you’re supposed to have a licence or something to buy it legally.’

The rain grows heavier, pounding on Dan’s car roof. My hair is plastered to my face; I am soaked yet I barely feel it.

‘Right,’ I say. ‘So Lish
did
mean to hurt me. But . . . but . . .’

‘But then why only one murder attempt?’ Dan asks. ‘Why not try and poison you again, later?’

I nod.

‘I don’t know, I’m guessing that when Dee Dee died by mistake Lish must have felt terrible. He obviously got rid of his drugs before the police searched your villa so after
that he would have needed to use something else, a different method, and perhaps he baulked at that. Or perhaps he just felt he needed to let things settle down a bit before he tried again and
he’s building up to another attempt now. Or perhaps he changed his mind when he saw how devastated his father was over losing Dee Dee and he’s let go of the whole thing and . . . and
you’re safe.’

I stare at him. He’s in the navy suit he wore when I first saw him a few weeks ago. The shoulders are dark from the rain. His forehead is creased with concern, those fine lines around his
eyes more obvious than on our previous meeting. I know before he opens his mouth that there is something weighing heavily on his mind, that he wants to confess it.

‘There’s something else.’ Dan hesitates. ‘I wasn’t completely honest with you when I first met you again . . . at the beginning of the month.’

I hold my breath. Is it what Rose thought? That he wants me back?

‘I said . . . I . . . told you that I’d seen the story in the paper about Jed’s daughter dying and I found out about his son’s drug dealing and that I’d put it all
together and was worried you might be in danger.’

The rain drives down. I am soaked through and shivering. All I can see are Dan’s eyes, the colour of storms.

‘The truth is that I didn’t really think you were in danger at all. I thought what everyone else thinks, that Dee Dee died in a random accident and it didn’t have anything to
do with you. All I wanted was the story on Jed’s son being a drug dealer. Jed Kennedy is a big-name lawyer who helped get a cabinet minister acquitted a few months ago. I thought you might
get me to that story.’

For a second I am blank. Numb. Lost.

Dan doesn’t want me. He wants a scoop on Jed’s son, to discredit Jed.

‘You used me?’ As I speak, a riot of emotions tear through me: shame, humiliation, misery, anger.

Mostly anger.

‘I’m so sorry, Em, I thought it would quickly be obvious that the idea Lish might want to hurt you was crazy. But I thought you’d tell Jed and he’d confess that Lish
is
drug dealing and then you’d tell me. It was only once I saw the state you were in after you went to Lish’s flat which . . . which was
not
my idea, you’ll remember
. . . it was only then that I started to feel bad about what I’d done, determined to get the truth to show you you weren’t really in danger. But . . . but then I met Lish and got the
drugs and this notebook and . . .’

‘You used me to get a story.’ I wipe the rain off my face and take a step away from him.

Dan closes the gap. He touches my arm. It’s like an electric current shooting through me. I shake his hand away. ‘Get off me.’

‘I’m so sorry, Em. I don’t know what to say other than that I never meant to upset you and that I promise I’m not going to do a story now. I’ve destroyed all my
notes, all the recordings, so there’s nothing I can write.’

‘Kind of you. Thanks.’ The words spit from my mouth.

‘But I think you should tell Jed everything. And I think you should take the drugs and the notebook to the police.’ Dan turns back to his car and picks up the paper bag from the
driver’s seat. He holds it out to me. ‘This is everything Lish sold me. I haven’t kept anything back. And I’ll support whatever you decide. There’s just one
thing.’ He moves closer so we’re only centimetres away from each other. Rain streams onto us, around us. ‘I didn’t realize how I was going to feel when I saw you again, how
much you still matter to me.’ He gazes down at me. We’re too close to each other. I can see the longing in his eyes. For a split second I think he’s going to close the tiny gap
between us and kiss me. I break away, yanking the paper bag out of his hand.

‘Don’t call me.’ Without looking at him I run across the road and into the house. I rush upstairs and peel off my wet clothes. I’m too angry to cry, too humiliated. I
wrap a towel around me then peek out of the front window to make sure Dan has gone. He has. I shower myself warm and change into jeans and a sweater, Dan’s words echoing around my head. He
lied to me. He used me. He wants me. My mind jumps around, unable to process what has just happened. I’m only sure of one thing: that I was a fool to think that our past wouldn’t cast a
long shadow over anything we did in the present. And my past feelings for Dan were passionate in a way that my feelings for Jed have never been. But Jed is the better man. The stronger, steadier,
man. I should never have listened to Dan.

Rose was right about him. She didn’t guess the whole story, but she was fundamentally right: Dan Thackeray is not to be trusted.

I examine the contents of the paper bag. Two packs each containing three blister strips of little blue Valium pills. I don’t know how Dan knows they are fakes; the only suspicious thing I
can see is the slightly smudged print on the packets, though I’ve never seen Valium close to before so I have no idea what the genuine pills should look like. I breathe slowly out, trying to
still my racing thoughts. Dan has gone. He has promised there will be no story. Which means there is no real harm done to Jed in terms of his job or his reputation. I think it through. I will show
Jed the pills as soon as he’s home, tell him everything that Dan and I have found out. It will be up to Jed what he does with the information, but I can’t believe he won’t act,
that he won’t want to protect me.

The rain continues to fall. I’m upstairs when Jed gets in from work, much earlier than usual. He calls up to say he’s home. I should hear the heaviness in his voice, realize
something’s wrong, but I’m so intent on the conversation we’re about to have that I just head downstairs, wondering how to begin. The bag Dan gave me is in my hand as I trudge
into the living room. Jed is still in his jacket, sitting on the sofa to the right of the TV, staring out of the window. This is unusual in itself. Normally the first thing Jed does when he gets in
is shrug off his jacket and pour himself a drink.

I sit down opposite him, the paper bag in my lap. Jed turns and looks at me. He doesn’t smile.

‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ I say.

Jed nods his head. It’s only now that I see how strained and miserable his expression is.

‘What’s the matter?’ I ask.

‘I don’t know if you’ll understand,’ he says uncertainly. He looks away again.

‘What’s wrong?’ I frown, trying to work out what on earth he can be referring to.

Jed sighs. ‘I just realized that I didn’t think about Dee Dee once, not the whole time I was at work
all day
. Not that there’s any fucking point to thinking about her,
but I feel so guilty that I actually didn’t. It’s the first day since . . .’ His voice cracks and he puts his head in his hands.

I’m already across the room, my arms around him.

‘Sorry,’ he says.

‘Don’t apologize.’ I lean closer. ‘There’s nothing to apologize for. I’m just so sorry too.’

Jed sits upright, shifting slightly away from me. I take the hint and remove my arms. I am getting used to this: when Jed feels unhappy, he often half opens up, then pulls away.

‘So what did you want to tell me?’ Jed asks.

I hesitate. I had been set to tell him about Dan’s discoveries. The bag of drugs Lish sold him still lies in my lap. But it feels wrong to do so right now. How can I disillusion Jed about
one child when he is in so much pain over the loss of the other? Except . . . there’s always going to be some reason not to tell him something so difficult: last night he was too tired,
earlier today he was too busy . . .