The Lie (25 page)
Authors: C. L. Taylor
Tags: #Fiction, #Thrillers, #Suspense, #Contemporary Women
“No, you don’t, because it’s bullshit.” Raj raises his voice. I can hear the fear and desperation in his words. “I don’t know who told you about Sally and me, but it’s not true. It’s idle gossip, nothing more. Someone’s obviously got an axe to grind.”
“We’ll let Isaac decide that, shall we?”
“No! Cera, don’t. I told you …”
I drag myself away and head for the dining room. I haven’t eaten for days and I can’t bear the stabbing pains in my stomach a second longer.
I nearly walk straight back out again. Daisy, Al, Leanne, Kane, Shona and the two Swedish girls are sitting in the corner. They’re drinking tea and smoking roll-ups, a plate of dried crackers on a chipped plate in front of them. They glance over as I walk in. Daisy looks me up and down then bursts out laughing. Al nudges her to stop, but she ignores her and twists to whisper something into Leanne’s ear. Leanne glances at me then starts to laugh, too.
Does Daisy know who Leanne is? I’m pretty sure Al doesn’t, or she would have told me – and I didn’t get the chance to tell her myself before Isaac dragged me out of the shower cubicle. But Leanne and Daisy have been living in each other’s pockets for days now. Would Leanne have told her?
I ignore them and head to the food table. With Raj trapped in the kitchen with Cera, no one has cleared the breakfast table and I pounce on the scraps that are left. A piece of green mango goes into my mouth first, swiftly followed by a handful of walnuts and the tiny teaspoonful of goat’s yoghurt I scrape from a tin bowl. I flip open the door to the bread bin. There’s half a slice of bread left. I grab it and I’m about to put it in my mouth when someone knocks into me. The bread flies from my hand and falls to the floor. I squat down to reach for it, but a grubby foot gets there first.
“Whoops.” Leanne grinds the bread into the floor with the heel of her flip-flop. “I’m so clumsy. Sorry, Emma.”
“Leave me alone, Leanne.”
“Or what?” She laughs again. Now that I know she and Isaac are related, I can see the similarity in their eyes. Isaac and Leanne’s eyes aren’t the same shade of brown but they’re the same almond shape, framed with thick black lashes. “You have no idea how much has changed since your detox.”
I want to tell her that I know her secret, and that I think she’s a total bitch for what she wrote in her emails to Isaac, but I have to bite my tongue. At least until I’ve told Al. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.” She gives a small smile then kicks the piece of bread under the serving table and drifts out of the room.
The second she’s out of sight, I drop to my knees and reach for the bread. As my fingertips graze the crust, there’s a clattering sound; half a dozen teaspoons spin on the floor beside me, and a woman swears loudly.
“Don’t acknowledge me and don’t look at me.” Al crouches at my side. She picks up a teaspoon and peers under the table as though looking for the rest of the cutlery. “I know Isis asked you where you got the knife and you didn’t grass me up.”
“Of course I didn’t. Al, I need to tell you about Leanne. She’s—”
“Sssh.” She presses a hand over my mouth. “You need to be careful, Emma. Isaac’s started shagging—”
“Everything okay, Al?” Kane puts a hand on her shoulder and peers round her to look at me. His eyes travel up and down the length of my body, pausing as his gaze reaches my breasts. “I thought you were supposed to be helping me kill the goat for the Pokhara party?”
“Yeah, I am.” Al jumps to her feet, the teaspoons in her hand.
“Let’s go, then.” Kane spits on the floor. It lands millimetres away from my hand. “There’s nothing worth hanging around in here for.”
I stare after Al as she walks out of the room with Kane, his arm casually slung around her shoulder.
No one comes into the girls’ dorm to tell me that the Pokhara celebration has started, but they don’t need to. Shouts and laughter drift up from the patio, and the smell of cooked goat and a bonfire fills the room. With Isis, Cera, Raj and Sally all shut in Isaac’s study, it was easy for me to slip unnoticed from the dining room and into the girls’ dormitory. My plan, after Kane ferried Al off to the goat enclosure, was to find all my stuff, pack my backpack and hide it somewhere so I could grab it later. But it had gone. It had all gone – my mattress, my backpack, my sleeping bag, everything. There were three empty mattresses on the left hand side of the room, presumably for the new guests, and all the other mattresses had been pushed together to make space for them. There was no gap between Daisy and Al’s things, no sign I’d ever slept on a mattress between them, no sign I’d existed at all.
I found my mattress, sleeping bag and towel crumpled up in a corner of the shower block, sopping wet. My backpack had disappeared, along with my underwear and swimming things, but I found a pair of my shorts and a T-shirt poking out of the top of Daisy’s backpack, and a skirt, two T-shirts and several pairs of socks under Cera’s sleeping bag. I stuffed all my clothes into a dirty laundry bag I found in a corner of the dorm, and squeezed it into the small gap between the ceiling and the cistern above one of the toilets.
My plan is to get Al on her own then leave when everyone has passed out after the party.
I roll off her mattress and steal a bottle of water and a waterproof jacket and a pair of walking boots from the Swedish girls. They’re a size too small but I’ll tear up the soles of my feet if I go down the mountain barefoot. I hide my stash under Sally’s sleeping bag then head for the pile of backpacks propped up in the corner nearest Sally’s mattress. They’re so bright and new, they can only belong to new girls. I undo the clips of the first one I reach – a red one – and pull back the cover. I need food, some kind of first aid kit or medication, and, with my one hundred and fifty quid long gone, some money. A noise from the walkway makes me jump, and I yank the cover back down. I grab one of Sally’s novels from the pile beside her mattress and prop myself up against the wall, the book in front of my face. A bead of sweat rolls down my temple and drips off my jaw. A second later, someone walks in.
“Hi!” I peer over the top of the book. It’s one of the new girls – the curvy, dark-haired one Isaac was so captivated by. She walks towards me, swaying as she picks her way through the piles of belongings, and holds out a hand. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes shining with excitement and home brew. “You were in the meditation room when we arrived. Emma, isn’t it? I’m Abigail.”
“Yeah, hi.” I shake her hand.
“Ha!” She points at the book I’m holding in my other hand and laughs. “How drunk are you?”
“Sorry?”
“Your book’s upside down!”
I glance at the open page in front of me then flip the book round. “It’s about Australia,” I say. Abigail doesn’t laugh; she’s too pissed to get the joke.
“You should come down to the patio,” she says as she crouches down beside the red backpack. “They’ve got an amazing fire burning, and everyone’s playing ‘I have never’. You wouldn’t believe some of the things Isaac’s been drinking to.”
Oh, I could guess
, I think but don’t say.
“It’s brilliant here, isn’t it?” She frowns at the unclipped cover of the backpack then flips it back and reaches in. She pulls out a pale pink lip gloss and a thin, grey jumper. She yanks the jumper down over her head and shakes out her long dark hair. “We were only going to stay for a couple of nights, but it’s so lovely here I think we might stay for longer. Everyone’s so friendly, aren’t they? They make you feel so welcome.”
“Yeah.”
“I just heard Gabe telling Isaac how much he’s looking forward to doing the Pokhara run with Al.”
“What?”
“I know, right! It was a bitch walking up all those steps. You couldn’t pay me to do it again, especially not for fun!”
“What do you mean, fun?”
“That’s what Isaac said. He told Gabe to have some fun with Al, and then Gabe said, like I did with Ruth?” She frowns and rubs a hand over her face. “Have I met Ruth? There are so many people here I’ve forgotten all their names already.”
The book falls from my hands. Masked attackers didn’t kill Ruth. Gabe did. And now they’re going to do the same to Al.
“What’s the matter?” Abigail looks at me, her lip gloss wand poised over her bottom lip, the tip gloopy and pale. “Why are you looking at me like that? Are you okay?”
“No.” I stand up. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
I leave her crouched beside her backpack and sprint across the bedroom and into the shower block. I throw up before I reach a toilet, spewing mango and water all over the tiles.
“Emma?” Abigail calls from the doorway. “Are you okay? Should I get someone?”
“I’m fine.” I force the tremor out of my voice. “You go back to the party. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“If you’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“I could get Cera—”
“No, no, don’t. I’ll be fine. Honestly. I just had too much home brew.”
“Okay …” There’s doubt in her voice so I force myself up from my knees. I hang over the sink and turn on the taps. “See,” I say as I splash tepid water over my face, “I’m fine. I’ll be right out in a minute. I just need to fix my face first. A girl can’t go to a party with mascara all down her cheeks, can she?”
I haven’t worn make-up for weeks, but Abigail, with her lip gloss freshly applied, buys the lie.
“Okay, then.” She turns to go. “I’ll see you in a bit, Emma. Nice talking to you.”
I don’t risk going through Abigail’s backpack again. Instead, I grab the laundry bag containing my clothes from the top of the toilet cistern then hurriedly stuff it with the waterproof jacket, walking boots and bottle of water that I hid under Sally’s sleeping bag and wedge it back into place above the cistern. When I walk back into the girls’ dorm, I glance towards Al’s mattress. Her backpack is empty, all her belongings strewn over the floor and her mattress. I shove everything back into her backpack as quickly as I can, keeping an eye on the door the whole time. As I slip her iPod into the zipped side pocket, something small and white in the bottom of the compartment catches my eye. I slide the small pack of pills out and turn them over in my hand so I can read the print on the foil side. Pregabalin: my anti-anxiety tablets.
“Oh, thank God that’s over!” Will drops onto the sofa then swings his legs up and over mine so he’s lying fully stretched out. “I never want to go through another OFSTED again. I am planning on sleeping for the entirety of half-term.”
“That’ll be fun for Chloe. A week in Cornwall with her dad asleep on the sofa.”
“Who said anything about the sofa? I’m claiming the double bed.” He reaches for my hands and pulls me towards him. “Come with us tomorrow.”
“I’d love to, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”
It’s Friday evening, and, following my confrontation with Angharad on Tuesday, and my realisation that I’m putting Will and Chloe at risk by staying with them, I decided that I needed to be at home in my own cottage. Will resisted the move at first, but after I told him about the phone call with Al and the conversation with Angharad, he finally relented.
“Why not?”
“We’ve got volunteer training for the first half of next week, and with Sheila away on holiday and two of the girls off sick with flu, I’m the only one that can do it. And one of the inspectors is due to bring in six puppies that have been rescued from a puppy farm.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“What?”
“Being on your own?”
“I won’t be on my own. Anne is Sheila’s deputy so she’ll be in charge. I’m just doing the training. It’ll be fine, Will.” I rest my hand on his chest. “They’ve arrested Gary Fullerton’s cousin for the break-in. Gary was trying to get his dog Jack back – I was right about that. He just sent his cousin to do the dirty work. Anyway, he’s been taken into custody, so I’m not worried.”
Will shakes his head. “That wasn’t what I meant. Are you going to be okay being on your own here, in the cottage?”
“At least without you here I don’t have to watch any more
Battlestar Galactica
.”
“I thought you liked it?”
“I do!” I laugh. “Seriously, Will, I’ll be fine. Nothing’s happened since the accident. I haven’t had a single text, Facebook message, nothing. Well, other than a text from my mum saying that she hasn’t heard from me for a while, but I can’t face talking to her, not now.”
“And the police think Angharad was behind it all?”
“I don’t know. PC Barnham said he’d passed on what I told him about Angharad the other day to CID, but I haven’t heard anything more – from them or her.”
“Don’t you think you should chase them up?”
“Chase up the police? This isn’t a bit of late homework!”
He doesn’t laugh. “Jane, you were knocked off your bike. You told me PC Barnham said it might have been attempted murder.”
“Might have been. Or it could have been a coincidence. Will, I’ve been on my bike, my new bike, half a dozen times since then, and it’s been fine. No one’s tried to knock me off the road.”
“But that doesn’t mean—”
“No, it doesn’t. But I can’t live my life looking over my shoulder all the time. What kind of life will that be? Angharad has admitted at least some of her role in all this, and the more I think about it, the more I think that Al was right – that everything else was all down to some internet troll trying to get their kicks. As soon as I stopped replying, they lost interest.”
“What about the hit and run?”
“Exactly that. A hit and run. No big conspiracy. There isn’t a single street light on the road between here and Green Fields, and I wasn’t wearing my high-vis jacket. The roads are narrow and twisty and, if you’d had a drink or three—”
“I get it.” He runs a hand over my head, stroking my hair. “I just worry about you, that’s all.”
I look up at him, at his big, warm brown eyes and the crease of concern running between them. “I know you do. But I don’t want to be scared any more. As soon as Sheila gets back from holiday, I’m going to tell her everything, and the rest of the staff at Green Fields.”
“Everything?”
“Nearly everything.”
“Call me if anything happens,” Will says as he gives me one last hug goodbye the next morning.
“Nothing’s going to happen.”
“I mean it, Jane.” He holds me at arm’s length and looks intently at me. “Promise me that you’ll call me if anything happens, no matter how trivial. I don’t want you keeping it to yourself and stressing yourself out. You don’t have to do that any more. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
He smiles and turns to go, then wavers and turns back. “I should stay. Just say the word, Jane, and I’ll cancel the holiday.”
“You’ll do no such thing. You deserve this break. And imagine how disappointed Chloe will be if you cancel right at the last minute. It wouldn’t be fair on her.”
“I know, but …”
“Please, Will. Go. I’ll be fine, and I promise I’ll call if anything happens.”
“Really?”
“Really. Now, please, go before I drive you there myself!”
“Okay, okay.” His face sags with relief and he stoops to kiss me.
I wave him goodbye as he ambles towards his car, the taste of his goodbye kiss still on my lips, then go back into the cottage and close the door behind me. I lock it twice – first with the Yale, then with the deadbolt. I wasn’t lying when I told him that I didn’t want to be scared any more, but that doesn’t make me an idiot. I still need to be careful. What I didn’t tell him when I mentioned the half dozen times I’ve cycled down the lane from work was the number of times I glanced over my shoulder, or how, whenever I heard a car behind me, I jumped off my bike and pressed myself into the bushes.
I haven’t heard from Angharad since our conversation in the car park. When she didn’t show up for work the next day, I told Sheila that Angharad wouldn’t be volunteering any more. Sheila wanted to know why but, before I could reply, the phone rang. It was the police. They’d had a tip-off that Gary’s cousin was responsible for the break-in and, when they searched his flat, they found the petty cash tin from reception. Sheila was so relieved that she announced she was going to take a week off. She’d been putting off going away, just in case the police needed to ask her anything more, and now she was going to “bloody well enjoy a week off in the Lakes”. She didn’t ask me any more about Angharad, and the conversation moved on. I’ll tell her what really happened when she gets back. Of course, there’s a risk that Angharad will publish her article before then, but I’ll deal with that when, or if, it happens.
I wander into the kitchen and turn on the kettle. As I’m not working the Saturday rota today, my plan is to do a bit of tidying up, then cycle into the village and put up a few posters for the Green Fields’ fundraiser next month then come back and have a quiet evening watching the National Geographic Channel with a bottle of wine and box of chocolates.
I’m watching a David Attenborough documentary about the African savannah, my hand hovering over the box as I deliberate between an orange crème and a dark chocolate truffle, when the phone rings.
“Hello,” says a male voice. “Is that Jane Hughes?”
“Speaking.”
“Hello, Jane, it’s DS Armstrong, from CID. We haven’t spoken before.”
“No, no we haven’t.”
“Sorry it’s so late but it’s about your case. I’ve been chasing up some of the names PC Barnham gave me, people you thought might have a grudge against you.”
“Right.”
“And you thought that several of the people were un-contactable because they’d disappeared, possibly feared dead. Is that right?”
“Yes,” I say as my heart quickens in my chest, “that’s right.”
“Well, the thing is, Jane” – he pauses – “I’ve managed to track one of them down. A Leanne Cooper. I managed to trace her to the Royal Cornhill up in Aberdeen. It’s a psychiatric hospital, she was a patient there.”
“Leanne? Leanne Cooper?”
“Yes.”
“But she … she died in the fire at Ekanta Yatra.”
“Apparently not. She’s been a patient at the Royal Cornhill Hospital for the last four or five years. She left three months ago. I’ve been trying to track her down, but I haven’t had much luck. You gave me an address for her mother but I couldn’t get any information out of her, either. Is there anyone else Leanne might stay with? Anyone she might contact? Can you think?”
“Um …” I rack my brain to try and think of someone, anyone Leanne might contact, but she was always so private about her life. “She had a boyfriend, years ago, before we went to Nepal. I think his name was Gerrit but he moved back to Holland. She used to work at a beauty salon called MeTime, doing massage. You could try there? Or Al, Alexandra Gideon, but I spoke to her only this week and she didn’t mention anything about Leanne.”
“Alexandra Gideon? You spoke to one of the people that you’ve listed as having a grudge against you?”
“Well, yes, she rang me. But I never really suspected that—”
“Do you think that was wise, Jane, during the course of an investigation?”
“I—”
“Never mind.” There’s a weary tone to his voice. “I just thought I’d update you on what we know so far. I’ll look into the business you mentioned, and the ex-boyfriend. Everything okay? No more messages, no other communications?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Okay, then. I’ll speak to you soon, Jane. Goodnight.”
The phone line goes dead but the television continues to flicker and glow as David Attenborough continues his voiceover, his dulcet tones describing the interplay between rhinos and the birds that pick the ticks from their backs.
“The relationship between rhino and ox picker was originally thought to be an example of mutualism, but recent evidence suggests that ox pickers may be parasites instead.”
The phone is answered on the first ring. “Emma! I was just thinking about you.”
DS Armstrong’s warning about being careful about whom I speak to chimes in my ears but I block it out. I can’t talk to Will about this. I can’t talk to anyone other than Al.
“Emma?” she says again. “Are you there?”
“Leanne’s alive.”
The tinny sound of a TV crackles in the background. “What? What did you just say?”
“Leanne’s alive. She’s been in a psychiatric hospital in Scotland for the last four or five years. Did you know?”
“No.” The background buzz of the television stops suddenly as she turns it off. “Fuck.”
Neither of us says anything for several seconds. I glance at the TV. The documentary has moved on from rhinos and tick birds and is showing a slow motion shot of a lion chasing down an antelope.
“Are you sure, Emma? Are you absolutely sure she’s alive?”
“A detective from CID just rang me. He said she’s been in hospital all this time. She left three months ago. He didn’t say what she was in for, and he doesn’t know where she is now.”
“Has he tried her mum?”
“Yeah, couldn’t get any sense out of her.”
“Probably drunk.”
We both fall silent again. Silent apart from the heavy, rasping sound of Al’s breathing followed by the “psssht” of compressed air being released as she takes her inhaler.
“I shouldn’t be talking to you,” I say. “The DS told me not to, but I didn’t know who else to ring.”
“You did the right thing. Fuck, I can’t believe it. Five fucking years I’ve thought she was dead …” She tails off.
“Do you think she could be behind this, Al? The messages? The text? The …” I pause, not wanting to say it. “… hit and run?”
I hold my breath and pray that she says no, that she thinks I’m being paranoid, that no one in the real world holds a grudge for five years. Instead, she says, “I’m not sure. I want to say no, that she’d never do something like that, but she changed. We all did. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know, Al.” I stand up, cross the room and pull the curtains closed, blocking out the darkness outside. “I really don’t know.”