The Lie (20 page)

“Who sent you this?” Will hands the phone back to me, the message still on the screen:

Only the good die young. That’ll explain why you’re still alive, then.

I navigate out of the text messages. “I don’t know.”

“Surely you must have an idea.” He perches on the edge of the bed.

A fly buzzes at the window, a trolley is wheeled past the door and, somewhere further down the ward, a woman groans as a nurse takes a blood sample.

“Jane.” Will touches me on the arm. “You need to trust me. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t, I …”

“You don’t trust me.” His jaw clenches and his hand falls away from my body.

“I do, I want to. But …”

“But what? Jane, I want to help you but I can’t if you won’t talk to me. For God’s sake.” He presses his hands to his face and takes several deep breaths.

“You don’t have to stay.”

I regret saying the words even as they leave my mouth.

“Okay.” He stands up, wearily, and turns to go. “If that’s what you want. If I hurry, I’ll catch Sheila in the car park. She’ll drop you home.”

“No.” I reach for his hand. I can’t let him go. I can’t deal with this on my own any more. I have to trust him. I have to trust someone. “Please. I’m sorry, Will. Don’t go.”

He sighs resignedly and grips the back of the bedside chair with his hand. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

I nod. “Yes. Yes, I will.”

Will listens in silence as I tell him everything that happened at Ekanta Yatra. He audibly gasps several times and his eyes widen with horror when I tell him what happened with Frank. When I get to the part about Al selling her story, he holds up a hand for me to stop speaking.

“Okay, I know that part.”

He stares at me for the longest time, shock, worry and concern written all over his face. When he does finally speak it’s a single word.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.” I pull the hospital sheet further up my chest. It’s not cold but I feel exposed, and not just physically. “That’s why I wanted to start a new life.”

“And you think the text message is from someone who knew you as Emma?”

“It’s not just the text message. I received a letter at Green Fields last week. They said they knew my name wasn’t really Jane Hughes. A day later, an email came through the website at work saying Daisy’s not dead. Then, when we were at Chloe’s school fair, I got some Facebook messages pretending to be from Daisy, saying she was cold and I’d left her for dead. Then the woman in a blue hat talked to Chloe about me, and then” – I hold out the phone – “this.”

“Do you think Daisy could be alive? You didn’t see her body, did you?”

“No, but …”

“I know.” He purses his lips. “It doesn’t seem likely. And Isaac and Leanne are definitely dead?”

“I think so, yes. If Daisy’s dead, then Isaac must be, too, and as for Leanne … Al got in touch with her mum several times after we returned to the UK but she said she hadn’t heard from her, so …”

“You think she died in the fire at Ekanta Yatra?”

“Yeah. I don’t know whether it was arson or accidental, but the whole place burned down when everyone was sleeping. They think it happened a few nights after we escaped. The Nepalese police found bodies everywhere, some of them so badly burnt they couldn’t be identified. There were people there who’d cut all ties with their friends and family, and they’ll never know if they’re alive or dead.”

“Shit.”

“I know.”

“So that just leaves Al.”

“Yeah, but why would she suddenly start sending me horrible messages? Yes, she stalked Simone after they split up, but that was a reaction to being dumped. We argued after she sold her story, but she never threatened me. We fell out and drifted apart, nothing more macabre than that.”

“Maybe she’s been holding a grudge because you left her behind on the mountain.”

“To get help!”

“Maybe she sees it differently. Things have escalated since you sent her a message on Facebook. Did she ever reply?”

“No, but …” I shake my head. “It can’t be her. She was my friend.”

Will raises his eyebrows. “So were Leanne and Daisy.”

I turn my head away as my eyes fill with tears. I can’t let myself believe Al is behind this. Whoever ran me off the road could have killed me.

“Jane.” Will touches my hand. “You need to go to the police; you know that, don’t you?”

PC Barnham listens intently as we take our seats in the police station interview room and I tell him everything that’s happened recently, pausing every now and then when he chips in, asking me to confirm certain details so he can write them down in his notepad. I tell him who I really am and why I decided to reinvent myself as Jane Hughes, but I don’t mention what became of Daisy and Isaac. Instead, I feed him the line that Al and I agreed on five years ago: that they mysteriously disappeared. I can’t break the promise I made to her, not until we’ve spoken. After everything that’s happened, that probably sounds naïve, but I owe Al. If it wasn’t for her, Leanne might not have been the only one who died in the fire.

When I get to the end of my story and reach for the glass of water another policeman has brought for me, PC Barnham sits back in his chair and looks at me thoughtfully. He can’t be much older than twenty-seven, twenty-eight, but his hairline is receding. It looks incongruous against the pitted acne scars on his cheeks. I don’t think he’s the same policeman I spoke to immediately after my accident, but I was feeling so groggy when I first came round that I barely remember who I saw.

“First off,” he says, “I’d like to reassure you that we’re doing everything we can to find the person responsible for the hit and run. We’re following up on all the details you and your boss gave us at the hospital this morning, and we’ve put a board up at the scene of the accident, asking for eye-witnesses, but no one has come forward yet. We’ve also examined the CCTV footage from Green Fields, but the camera range doesn’t cover the road so we were unable to get a shot of the car as it passed. I’m afraid we’ve got very little to go on at present.”

I take a sip of my water. “I understand.”

“As for the notes and messages you’ve received” – he glances at his notepad – “we do take stalking very seriously these days, and someone is obviously trying to unsettle and unnerve you, and keeping their identity secret is part of the intimidation. There haven’t been any obvious threats of violence, but” – he circles something on his pad with his pen – “the most recently received text message does sound as though it could have been sent by the person who knocked you off your bike, and that’s something we need to take seriously as, if the two are connected, that could mean an intent to harm, or even attempted murder. I’m going to talk to my sergeant about your case and whether we should pass it on to CID, and then …”

I don’t hear the rest of his sentence because two words are repeating over and over in my head.
Attempted murder.
I’ve spent the last twelve hours trying to convince myself that what happened was an accident, that it was a drunken stag party driving too quickly through unfamiliar roads in the dark.

“Jane?” PC Barnham waves his hand across my line of vision. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, sorry. What were you saying?”

“That we won’t offer police protection at this stage, but I would like you to think about all the people who might hold a grudge against you or want to harm you in some way. If you could let me have that list as soon as possible … I’d also like you to continue to log and save every text, online message and written note, and keep a diary of any unusual activity. You might want to consider carrying a personal safety device and installing a security alarm in your home. If it makes you feel safer, you might also want to consider asking your boyfriend to move in with you until that’s done. William Smart, did you say his name is? Or maybe you could stay with him?”

“I could ask.” If I moved in with Will now, I could still be there at the weekend when Chloe comes to visit. I don’t know how he’d feel about me sharing his bed, especially since as far as his daughter is concerned, we’re just friends.

“Or a friend?” the PC says, as though he’s just read the expression on my face.

I can’t bring myself to tell him that I don’t have any close friends in the area. There’s Sheila, but she’s also my boss so I couldn’t possibly impose on her. I don’t reply but nod in vague agreement.

“Here’s a leaflet that may be of help,” he says, pushing one towards me. “There’s a number for the National Stalking Helpline on the front. There’s information about personal and cyber safety. You could get your computer checked to make sure that key-logging software hasn’t been installed and that your anti-virus software is up to date. If any more messages come through via your work website, you could try contacting your web hosting company to see if they can help.”

“Thank you.” I reach for my bag with my good arm and slip the leaflet inside, then pick up my mobile, lying on the centre of the table between us, and put that in my bag, too. My hands are shaking so much it takes three attempts to get it into the inner pocket.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. I just … it’s a lot to take in.”

“You’ve got someone waiting for you? Someone you can talk to?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He stands up and holds out a hand. “We’ll be in touch. Try not to worry; we’ll do everything we can.”

Will is waiting for me in his car outside the police station. He opens the passenger door as I draw near.

“Well, how did it go?”

I try not to wince as I climb in. I was discharged from the hospital five hours ago and every part of my body still aches from where the car hit me. A huge black and green bruise covers most of my right thigh, and the palms of my hands are scratched and pitted from where I hit the road before I rolled into the verge. The scratches on the left side of my face are tender, although thankfully the swelling has gone down, and I can see through my right eye now, even though it’s still swollen and bruised. I’m still nursing my left arm in a sling, but it’s a relief that the shoulder isn’t dislocated and it should feel better soon, according to the doctor.

“The PC asked me to write a list of anyone who might hold a grudge against me. He said there’s a possibility that the accident was deliberate, that someone might intentionally have been trying to hurt me.”

Will stares at me for several seconds, his lips parted, his eyes wide. “Well, that’s decided, then.”

“What is?”

He starts the engine and puts the car into first gear. “You’re moving in with me.”

The shower block is empty but I still choose the cubicle furthest away from the dormitory. The solar panels have been temperamental for days but it isn’t the cold trickle of water that dribbles from the shower head that makes me shiver.

I shouldn’t have slept with Isaac.

I rub the soap over my face, hair, arms and my breasts then I rub it over the soft flesh of my hips and between my legs. If anyone overheard us having sex, if anyone finds out, then word will get back to Daisy and she’ll feel completely justified in having spread the rumour about Frank and me. It won’t matter if Isaac tells people what he saw, the suspicion will be there.

BANG!

Something solid smashes against the wooden floor of the dormitory and makes me start. I snatch my shorts and vest top from the top of the shower cubicle and yank them on, my body still wet. There’s someone in the dorm.

My clothes cling to me as I silently step out of the shower, testing my weight against the creaking floorboards with each step. I should have left the shower running. Whoever’s out there will have heard the water stop. They’ll know I’m about to step into the dormitory.

My heart thuds in my chest as I peer around the door.

A tiny gecko, spread-eagled on the wall above the window, scuttles into the corner at the sound of my footsteps. Other than the scurrying creature, the room is completely deserted. Deserted, that is, apart from the metal figure of Kali, the Hindu goddess of time, death and destruction, lying on her back in the centre of the room. I’ve seen it before, on the table in the hallway. I snatch it up and sprint lightly to the doorway and out onto the walkway. Sally strolls out of the boys’ dorm, a bundle of dirty bedding in her arms.

“Wait!” I run towards her but she bounds through the hallway and into the kitchen like a startled rabbit. “Sally, wait! Have you seen anyone—”

I draw to a halt next to the hallway table as a low rumble of voices seeps from beneath the closed door of the meditation room. It sounds packed in there.

“Emma!” My name is shouted, clear as day, above the hubbub. It’s followed by an explosion of male and female laughter.

I place the statue of Kali on the table then just as I turn to walk back to the girls’ dorm, I collide with something solid. My arms are pinned to my side as I’m wrapped in a tight hug.

“Tsk, tsk,” Isaac whispers into my ear. “I really should chastise you for being late for meditation, Emma. But you’re here now.” He throws an arm over my shoulders and pulls me into him so we’re standing side by side. “Shall we go in?”

A hush falls as we enter the meditation room. I try to pull away but Isaac tightens his grip on my shoulder and steers me through the mass of cross-legged bodies. When we reach the altar, he releases me and steps in between Isis and Cera so he’s the focal point in the room. I turn. There’s a small space to the left of one of the Swedish girls, two rows back.

“Here.” Isaac indicates the floor to his right, where Cera is sitting.

I shake my head. I don’t want to sit somewhere so visible. Not when Daisy, Al and Leanne are all sitting together at the back of the room, pointing at me and talking amongst themselves. When I make eye contact with Al, she acknowledges me with the smallest nod of her head. It’s a tiny movement, almost as though she doesn’t want Daisy or Leanne to notice.

“Sit down, Emma.” Cera inches to her right and taps the space between her and Isaac.

“Isaac—” I say, but he silences me with a look.

I squeeze into the space, pull my knees into my chest and keep my gaze lowered.

“Okay, everyone,” Isaac says. “Close your eyes and breathe in deeply through your nose.”

I close my eyes too but concentrating on my breathing is making me feel claustrophobic. Isaac stops speaking and the room falls silent.

Someone is watching you, Emma. Someone has their eyes open.

I fight the thought but the harder I fight it, the more powerful it becomes.

You need to open your eyes, Emma. You’re in danger.

The darkness behind my closed eyes is suffocating. My skin is prickling, my breathing quick and shallow. I press my sticky palms to the floor to try and anchor myself, but it does nothing to stop the seasick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Open your eyes, Emma. Open them NOW!

I don’t recognise her immediately. Her hair has been washed and falls to her shoulders in soft waves, the dark shadows beneath her eyes have almost disappeared and her slim body is engulfed in an oversized man’s plaid shirt.

Paula is staring at me from across the room.

I smile at her – pleased she’s no longer in the hut, relieved that it wasn’t Daisy that was staring at me – but she doesn’t return my smile. Instead, she shakes her head. It’s a minute movement but it’s there, disapproval and something else. Another emotion I can’t put my finger on. Her gaze flicks towards Isaac and I instantly recognise the expression on her face. Envy.