Here We Lie (36 page)

As Martin sauntered back into his rented flat, his mind drifted to tonight’s party. Cameron would be there, and of all the guys Martin had ever met, Cameron was the only one he
couldn’t figure out.

He knew Cameron was attracted to him, but so were most of the gay men Martin met. He wasn’t being big-headed about it, but he had a good body and a square jaw and, at nearly twenty-eight,
knew he was the perfect blend of youth and experience.

Martin and Cameron had fucked on two occasions. Again, nothing special there. Martin had spent much of the past ten years having sex; he’d lost count of the number of partners he’d
had. The first time, he and Cameron had barely spoken beforehand – they’d met through some mutual friends at a nightclub. The second time – months later – had been fast and
furious and, if Martin was honest, a bit of an alcohol-fuelled blur.

Since then they’d bumped into each other three times. But no sex.

Martin wasn’t sure why this was. All he knew was that, for some reason, Cameron was keeping his distance. And yet they’d talked and talked on each occasion. Cameron was like no one
he’d ever met: beautiful, of course, with sea-green eyes and a slightly hooked nose that completely suited his strong, masculine face, but also mysterious. He came from an extremely wealthy
family and exuded the confidence that Martin had learned to associate with the privately educated. He didn’t have – or need – a proper job, but he worked as some sort of
advertising-related freelancer, though he’d been so vague about the exact nature of his job that Martin didn’t know if he was a planner, an account manager or a creative. What Martin
did know was that Cameron had a dry sense of humour that matched his own and the same taste in music, delighting in the electronic garage anthems that Martin knew a lot of people found dull and
soulless. But none of this summed him up. That was the thing, Martin reflected; there
was
no way of summing Cameron up.

Martin got ready for the party that evening with special care. He changed his top three times, settling eventually on a tight Hermès T-shirt that he knew showed off the cut of his upper
arm muscles while also striking exactly the right balance between casual and making an effort. He and his flatmates arrived at the club shortly after midnight. Martin was instantly all eyes,
looking around to work out who was there.

He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but it was Cameron he was hoping to see. After ten minutes, however, it was obvious the man wasn’t in any of the club’s rooms so he went
up to the party’s host, a laidback guy called James, and shouted over the thump of the music:

‘Is everyone here yet?’

‘Yeah, think so.’ James grinned at him. ‘Were you expecting anyone else?’

Martin shrugged. ‘I heard Cameron might be here.’

‘No, he’s away in the Far East. Something to do with a charity he’s involved with, I think. Get on the floor, baby!’ James danced away, across the room.

Martin didn’t feel like following. He looked around again. There were plenty of guys in the room that he could easily end up with. There were obvious queens and muscle men, even a couple
of throwbacks with biker jackets and handlebar moustaches. There were preppy gays and arty gays in mismatched colours that made them look like peacocks let loose in a paint factory. But Martin
didn’t want any of them.

There would be drugs on offer too. But Martin had stopped doing all of that about two years ago. It was more trouble than it was worth to come down the next morning
and
put in a full day
at work.

As Martin stood in the middle of the room with the music throbbing and the dancers gyrating and the atmosphere building, it suddenly struck him that if Cameron wasn’t there, he
didn’t want to be there either. He turned on the spot and left the nightclub. Outside he found Cameron’s number on his phone and sent a text.

am @ James party. He sez you’re away. Let me know when you’re back. We should hook up.

He pressed send, then leaned back against the wall by the fire door, the music a dull vibration at his back. He felt better for having done something. His interest was out there now, it was up
to Cameron what to do about it. A very drunk couple stumbled past, nearly knocking him over. Martin stepped neatly aside then turned and headed for the tube station. If he hurried, he might just
make the last train. His phone beeped, loud in the night air.

His breath misted as he read the text.

Don’t tell J but I’m at home, couldn’t face yet another club. Come over if you like.

Cameron’s address followed – a penthouse apartment in the City near the Barbican. Less than a mile away from where Martin stood right now. Grinning, he jumped into a cab. Ten minutes
later he was standing outside Cameron’s front door, more nervous than he had ever been in his life. And then the door opened and those green eyes met his and they both smiled and in that
moment Martin knew, he just
knew
, that this was it, the real thing, the love of his life, the one he’d been waiting for. And all the fun and the fucks in the world didn’t matter
any more. Because he’d found Cameron and he could see already in Cameron’s eyes that Cameron had found him.

Two long days pass. Rose and I don’t talk again about her calling Jed and she makes no further mention of her belief that I should go back to him. As a result the ice
between us thaws and our quiet evening in on New Year’s Eve turns into a marathon movie watch, taking in all our favourite films from
Dirty Dancing
to
The Inn of the Sixth
Happiness
. There’s no one else in the world I can share these stories with who understands my take on them like Rose does – from the inside.

I haven’t gone outside the house since my showdown with Jed. This suits me fine. For the moment I’m wearing Rose’s old sweatpants and T-shirts, while I wait for Jed to send
over my own clothes. He keeps promising he will – then they don’t arrive. I would go around there and pick them up myself, but I don’t want to risk bumping into him. He calls me
on a daily basis and has rung Rose on at least two occasions to plead with her to make a case for him. She still, clearly, thinks I would be better off going back to him but she has learned to stay
quiet on the subject.

Dan keeps his promise to leave London but is also calling me every day. I’m aware this is not the total cutting of ties that Cameron insisted on, but I can’t see how he can either
find out or prevent us speaking. Dan still doesn’t know about Cam’s involvement though he must surely suspect it. He says he has stopped investigating Lish’s drug dealing and I
believe him, though the fact brings me as much misery as it does relief. How can I keep my terrible secret from my brother? I keep thinking that if I were Martin I would want to know. But fear for
Dan keeps me silent.

A fresh January begins with the threat of snow. I suggest cancelling our planned New Year’s Day lunch at Martin and Cameron’s. It is really the last thing I feel like facing now
– but Rose insists we can’t let them down. I know I will have to see Cameron at some point anyway; the thought fills me with horror. As for Martin, the prospect of being with him and
having to pretend everything is fine is almost as bad. Rose lends me a dress for the occasion as my clothes from my home with Jed still haven’t turned up. She’s slightly taller and
bigger-chested than I am, but the dress fits well enough. I team it with a pair of her boots that she has always complained pinch a little at the toes but, again, fit fine on me. I don’t much
care what I wear to be honest. This time twelve months ago I spent hours picking out lace and satin lingerie to impress Jed as we holed up for a few stolen hours in some fancy hotel overlooking the
Thames. We were six weeks into our affair and had hardly seen each other over Christmas. Of course as soon as we met we were tearing each other’s clothes off. I can still remember his gasp as
he saw me naked. And yet, despite the lust and the long loved-up conversation that followed it, there was a sadness to our time together too. I think I had just begun to realize how lonely being a
mistress was, how I was setting myself up – in the short term at least – for an uncertain future of Jed’s family time taking precedence and me just waiting for his call. At that
point I hadn’t told a soul about the affair, yet I was already convinced that Jed was the love of my life. I can’t believe how wrong I was. All the things I was so sure of back then,
how much I felt for him and how strongly I believed that our feelings for each other justified all the hurt that would result if our affair became known. All these things seem false to me now
–an illusion created by the drama of our being together through those snatched evenings and hurried afternoons.

My phone rings. It’s Jed’s brother. I stare at the screen. Why is he calling me? Jed insisted his brother and I swapped numbers in case of emergencies, but Gary has never called me
before.

The phone rings again, too loud in the silence.

‘Hello?’

‘Emily.’ Gary’s voice is every bit as posh as Jed’s but with a lighter, more arch tone to it. ‘Thanks for speaking to me.’

I peer outside the window where the clouds are dark and heavy. Two of the streetlamps are already on, even though it’s not quite eleven. It seems strange that just a few days ago, as I
crossed Martin’s back lawn, I could have seriously thought that Gary was behind Lish’s drug-dealing operation.

‘Hi, Gary, sorry, but this isn’t a good time.’

‘No, of course not.’ He hesitates. ‘Okay, I’ll get right to the point. I’m calling to put in a good word for Jed. He’s told me you’ve dumped him and God
knows we both know he isn’t the easiest person in the world.’ He chuckles. ‘Made my life a misery for large parts of my childhood, but he absolutely adores you.
Crazy
about
you, like I’ve never seen. He’s going to pieces at the thought that he’s lost you.’

My mouth feels dry. ‘Gary, it’s not that simple and this really isn’t a—’

‘Yeah, I know. You’ve let that sleazy journo . . . er, look, believe me, I’m not judging you and I told Jed he shouldn’t judge you either. He and I . . .’ Another
chuckle. ‘We’ve both been there, as in “where we shouldn’t” but—’

‘That’s not what I mean, I—’

‘Just let me finish.’ Gary sighs. ‘Jesus, this is hard. Look, I promised Jed I would say something. He’s basically a decent guy and he’s given up
everything
to be with you. Bloody Zoe’s fleecing him for every penny, he’s totally caught up in the court case.’

This reference to Benecke Tricorp reminds me of that overheard conversation. ‘Why
are
you so interested in that?’ I blurt out.

‘Sorry?’

‘I overheard you, in your flat the other day. You were on the phone, it sounded like you thought Jed was going down the wrong path in suing Benecke Tricorp, that it was the wrong
focus.’

Gary clears his throat. ‘That was about money,’ he confesses. ‘I’m in debt and I was on the phone to my accountant who wants me to go to Jed for a loan which would be
tricky so long as Jed was focusing on – and using all his money paying for - the law suit.’

‘Right,’ I say, the overheard conversation making sense at last.

‘That’s a good example of how great Jed is, actually,’ Gary goes on. ‘You see, Jed would loan me the money if he had it. He would
do
that for me. That’s what
I’m telling you. Jed’s a decent bloke. And he’s lost Dee Dee. I seriously don’t know how much more he can take.’

I’m suddenly very weary. ‘I appreciate you sticking up for him, Gary,’ I say, ‘and I am
really
sorry how things ended with Jed, but it’s over and I
don’t want to talk about it any more.’

I switch off the call before he can start speaking again, then power down my phone. Pocketing my mobile, I hurry down to Rose. The sky clears as we drive to Martin and Cameron’s house,
though Rose is sure this means the threatened snow is all the more likely. Dreading the day to come, I peer through the window. The sun has burned away most of the earlier clouds and the sky that I
can see is clear and bright and blue – a Simpsons’ sky, Martin used to call it when we were kids, after the opening credits of
The Simpsons
. A dull, dead feeling creeps over
me.

‘Are you okay, Emily?’ Rose glances across from the driver’s seat, her kindly face wreathed in a frown.

‘I’m fine,’ I say. But even as I’m speaking the words, a sob swells inside me, breaking my voice. Tears leak from my eyes and I turn my face away, not wanting Rose to
see.

But of course she does see. And, being Rose, a few moments later she pulls over and puts her warm arms around me. Her soft skin presses against mine, her soothing voice whispering reassurance in
my ear, taking me back to the many, many times I cried on her shoulder as a teenager, full of insecurities, hurt by perceived slights. How Janine-Marie Walsh had told Lily Tomkins that I was fat in
Biology, how I was ugly and nobody would ever go out with me, how my hair was too flat and my nose too large and my breasts had failed the ‘pencil’ test.

‘I’m sure it’s not too late,’ Rose says, pulling away.

‘Too late for what?’ I wipe my eyes.

‘To repair the damage.’ Rose sighs. She is wearing a dark blue pencil skirt with an angora sweater. Unlike me, she has applied eyeliner and lipstick and brushed her hair.

‘Did I tell you how nice you look, Rosie?’

‘Thanks, but don’t change the subject. I’m saying that I don’t think it’s too late for you and Jed.’

‘Me and Jed?’ I frown. My thoughts have been on Martin and Cameron, and how Dan is so far away. Jed was the last thing on my mind. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Jed
really
wants to be with you,’ Rose says softly. ‘He called me again this morning and I think he’s honestly sorry for being so angry when you broke up the
other day. He can see that tracking you on your phone was invasive, but he only did it because he cares about you. He’s obsessed with the idea that Dan Thackeray has somehow tricked you away
from him, that if he can just get you to see—’