Here We Lie (25 page)

‘What terms
did
she put it in?’ I lean forward, intent on Martin’s reply. I have never heard our parents talked about like this before.

‘I don’t know, but that time I mentioned . . . Rose was with her friends downstairs and you must have already been asleep. I was sitting on Mum and Dad’s bed, watching Mum in
front of that.’ He points across the room to the elegant wooden dressing table. ‘She was getting ready to go out, putting on make-up. She looked at me in the mirror and she said:
“It’s sad that I’m not enough for your dad, thank goodness I have you”.’

‘You’re
kidding
?’ This is so at odds with the perfect picture I’ve always had of our parents’ marriage that I feel completely stunned.

Martin shrugs. ‘Look, that’s all ancient history. The important thing is what we do now after everything that’s happened to you. With Lish. I’ll come with you to the
police if that’s what you want, but I’m not sure they’ll be able to make any more sense of it than I have. I mean it all rests on the fact that you think Lish tried to kill you
back in Corsica because he and his mum were angry about you and Jed. Which doesn’t tie up with Lish supposedly trying to kill you today because you had the fake drugs he supposedly supplied
to Dan Thackeray. On top of which,
neither
attempt to kill you has worked. So you can’t even point to an actual crime.’

‘But poor Dee Dee
died
.’

‘I know.’

‘It all goes back to her and Lish.’ I sit back. ‘And Zoe. Except I believed her today, about not seriously wanting to hurt me.’

‘Well, maybe she’s got nothing to do with it,’ Martin says with a sigh. ‘Maybe it’s just Lish. Except if he wasn’t trying to kill you for his mother, what
was
his motive? It doesn’t make sense. And why draw attention to his drug dealing anyway?’

I sit up. ‘Maybe it’s not just
his
drug dealing.’ I blow out my breath, working it through. ‘If Lish is dealing drugs at uni – and despite what Jed and Zoe
think I don’t believe Dan was lying about that – he can’t be doing it in isolation. He’ll have suppliers and clients, be part of a bigger operation.’

‘I guess so,’ Martin agrees. ‘But that still doesn’t explain why he wanted to kill you.’

‘Suppose he
didn’t
?’ I think back to the day Dee Dee died, to that moment she told me she had a secret on the steps of the citadel at Calvi. ‘Suppose Dee Dee saw
her brother drug dealing while we were in France? She said there was something she wanted to tell me, something she’d seen. Maybe I wasn’t the target after all. Not originally. Maybe
Dee Dee was killed to stop her from talking.’

Martin frowns. ‘You’re saying Lish murdered his own sister on
purpose
?’

‘Not necessarily
Lish.
Whoever he is working for. If they found out Dee Dee had witnessed them dealing, maybe
they
did it.’ I get up and pace across the room.
‘God, Martin, it’s the only explanation that makes sense.’

‘I still don’t see how.’

‘Okay, we know from the notebook that Lish was dealing in KCN - potassium cyanide. Well, suppose someone else in his gang or whatever had access to it too? They could have easily snuck
into the villa, forced the cyanide down Dee Dee then put a few dregs in the ExAche powders, to make it look like it was a freak manufacturing accident. They murdered Dee Dee so she couldn’t
tell anyone what she’d seen.’

Martin’s eyes widen. ‘Leaving Lish too scared to speak out himself?’

‘Exactly,’ I say. ‘The whole thing isn’t some violent step-family melodrama, it’s organized crime. Dee Dee just got in the way so they shut her up.’

‘And now you and Dan Thackeray are getting in the way,’ Martin adds. ‘Which explains the attack on the tube. That probably wasn’t Lish either but whoever he’s
working for.’

‘You’re right.’ I reach for my clothes. ‘Come on, we have to tell the police.’

‘Are you sure, Emily? I mean, you don’t have proof of any of this.’ Martin points to the fingermarks on my arms. ‘In fact the only physical evidence of you being hurt is
from the guy who saved you.’

‘Dan will back me up. At the very least, the police will have to investigate Lish’s drug dealing properly, not just ask a few students like Jed did.’

‘Jed will go ballistic.’ Martin pauses. ‘You could lose him forever.’

‘I know, but the alternative is doing nothing. And I couldn’t live with myself if I don’t at least
try
to get justice.’

‘Justice?’

‘For Dee Dee,’ I say. ‘If her parents won’t do it then it’s up to me.’

Rose peered down at the UCAS application form. It made her feel old. The last time she’d applied to university the system had been different . . . even the acronym had
changed from the old UCCA. More significantly, Rose herself was not the same person. She sighed and picked up her pen. So far, all she’d managed to enter onto her form were the facts: her
name and address, her date of birth and her GCSE and A-level qualifications. Now, somehow, she had to explain why she wanted to apply to do a Business Studies degree.

It shouldn’t, surely, be this difficult. After all, she’d been planning to go to uni for years. Of course, when Mum and Dad died during her gap year she had turned down her original
place to study History at Warwick. There was no way she could have left Martin and Emily then. But five years had passed – the fifth and, to Rose, highly significant, anniversary of their
parents’ death had been last week – and a lot had changed. Martin, who, against all predictions, had sailed through his A-levels, was studying International Relations at Durham while
Emily had just started in the sixth form at school. There was no reason why Rose shouldn’t find somewhere in London to study part-time
and
still be at home for her sister. The longer
she’d worked in the shop the more ridiculous the idea of her original degree in History seemed. Interesting, but irrelevant, was how she felt about it now. So she’d changed her mind and
her sights were now set on studying Business. Though really, when she thought about it, Rose couldn’t believe an academic course – even a good one – could prepare her for setting
up and building her own business better than her job where she actually
managed
the store. Day in, day out. Ordering stock, dealing with staff, responding to customers. It wasn’t easy.
But Rose was good at it, at least she thought she was.

Her phone went. Martin. With a sigh, Rose picked up the mobile. Martin hardly ever called her, usually only to ask about something practical like when the next rent payment on his student house
was due – Rose helped with all the financial arrangements – or how to get a wine stain out of a white shirt. Since he had come out two years ago, there had been less distance between
them but Rose wouldn’t describe their relationship as close. However, Martin definitely put a lot of effort into staying in touch with Emily – and for that, above everything, Rose
forgave him all his self-absorbed ways.

‘Hi, Mart,’ she said. ‘Rose?’

She could hear in his voice that something was terribly wrong.

‘What is it?’

‘I’ve been arrested,’ he said. ‘I’m not being charged but . . .’ His voice cracked. ‘Could you come?’

Martin shucked off his jacket. Much to his relief the house was empty. Robbo was away visiting his parents, while Nathaniel and Dev, both of whom he sometimes slept with, were
out. Rose followed him into the living room. She sat down on the edge of the couch, still in her coat. Martin glanced at her: she was tight-lipped, tense. Nothing unusual about that. Rose had been
uptight for as long as he could remember. She was really the last person he’d wanted to turn to, but as she was also the only person he could turn to, there hadn’t been much choice.

‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t even on the anniversary.’

Martin frowned. Unlike his sister, to whom the anniversaries of their parents’ deaths seemed incredibly important, he deliberately only allowed himself a vague idea of the date as having
occurred in early November.

‘Just promise me . . .’ Rose went on, now staring down at the threadbare carpet . . . ‘that it won’t
ever
happen again. And that Emily will never know.’

Martin turned away from her and wandered over to the window. He wished, now, that he hadn’t called her. She was making too big a deal of it. All that had happened was that he’d been
caught smoking some pot outside a student pub. It was hardly crime of the century. Just because Rose was so straitlaced that she had probably never even
seen
a joint, it wasn’t fair to
judge him. Cannabis was harmless, everyone said so. What would Rose say if she knew about the E’s he took every weekend and sometimes during the week – or the regular lines of coke or
the acid or the ketamine?

‘Mart?’

He turned around. ‘I won’t tell Emily, I promise.’

‘What about not
doing
it again.’ Rose indicated the living room. ‘And this place is filthy.’

‘What’s that got to—?’ Martin stopped. This was typical Rose, he was starting to realize. Throwing two apparently unrelated comments at him to confuse him, but somehow
connecting them in her head. He took a stab at the connection. ‘If you are implying that I’m living in some kind of drugs den, then you’ve got it all wrong.’

‘I just think you should take a bit of responsibility for yourself,’ Rose went on. She folded her arms. ‘It’s not fair making
me
do it all.’

‘Right.’ Martin suddenly saw why Rose was so tight-lipped, so resentful.

She was talking about Emily.

Martin felt a wave of anger well inside him. Talk about ‘not fair’: Rose had
chosen
to take on their sister. She
lived
for Emily. And looking after her
suited
Rose. Not that Emily really needed that much looking after any more.

‘Don’t use Emily as an excuse,’ he snapped. ‘She’s sixteen.’

Rose glared at him. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I know what you’re really saying: that you’re Mrs Mature, staying at home and working and being a big sister and
I’m
just mucking about, having fun at uni, being
lazy, having a laugh. Well, you know what, Rose? You should try laughing sometimes too, not to mention stopping hiding behind Emily as an excuse for not getting on with your own life—’
Martin stopped in horror. Two fat tears were rolling down his sister’s cheeks. Guilt seared him, swamping the fury. He stood, feeling awkward, while Rose wiped her eyes. She suddenly looked
just like Mum, crying when Dad shouted at her.

‘I’m just trying to do my best,’ she muttered.

‘I know.’ Martin looked at the dirty floor. Rose was right, it was a bit of a tip in here – and he
was
a little lazy if truth be told. But he was right too. Rose was
scared of life and taking care of their sister – for all it was a selfless, generous thing to do – was also a way of avoiding challenges. A way of staying stuck.

But it wasn’t right to attack Rose about that. He wasn’t going to be like Dad, making people he loved cry. Not ever. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said sheepishly. Then he took a
deep breath. Better to lie and make things right between them, than tell the truth and hurt one of the only two people in the world who he knew for sure had – and would always have –
his back.

‘I didn’t mean any of that,’ he said. ‘You’re a brilliant sister and the bravest person I know. That’s why I called you when they arrested me.’

Rose looked up, mouth trembling. He held his breath, unsure why it was so desperately important that she stopped being upset.

And then, to his relief, his sister smiled.

Dan and I are outside the police station. Dan is checking his phone, dealing with a message from work. My heart is beating fast and hard. Can I really do this? It’s one
thing to suspect someone of a terrible crime, quite another to make a public accusation. And what about the fall-out on Jed? Will he ever forgive me for telling the police that I believe his son
has tried to kill me twice – and that his daughter was the unintended victim of the first murder attempt?

The sun is shining, fierce and bright. I close my eyes, remembering the moment I felt that shove, then the fall through the air, the sudden pain in my arm when the young man gripped me and saved
me.

I
am
doing the right thing. Because I have been lucky so far – but I may not be a third time. And because this is the only way to find justice for Dee Dee.

I open my eyes. Dan pockets his phone and turns to me.

‘Ready?’

The young police officer listens as I repeat my story yet again. He takes some more notes, then asks me to wait. Dan has already been taken off into another interview room. I
wonder if it looks the same as the one I’m in: beige walls, threadbare carpet, flimsy, plasticky chairs and tables. I feel sick to my stomach. All I can think is that Jed will never forgive
me. I’ve told the police about everything, from Zoe’s text and her letter to Lish to the drugs Lish sold Dan and the notebook containing details of his deals – and, of course, the
tube platform attack. It’s all out there now, in the open. And while it’s a relief to have spoken, I’m also terrified about what will happen next. I feel like I’ve thrown my
entire life up in the air and I’m now forced to stand, watching it spin and fall to the ground, wondering how things will settle.

The clock on the wall ticks slowly and loudly on. What are the police doing? I wait. And I wait. And I wait.

Eventually the young officer returns. ‘I’ve got things moving,’ he says.

‘What does, er, that mean exactly?’

He clears his throat. ‘We’re looking into it,’ he says. ‘You’ll probably be contacted again in the next few days.’

‘Right.’ Is it normal for the police to be so neutral? This guy seems almost wary of me.

‘Where’s Dan, the guy I came in with?’

‘He’s still talking to someone.’ The officer studies me. ‘But your fiancé is waiting for you outside. Jed Kennedy.’

A fist clutches my guts and squeezes hard. ‘Jed?’ I gasp. ‘
Here?
How did he know I was here?’