Too Close For Comfort (41 page)

Lysette gave a weary nod. ‘She used to meet the dealer there.’

‘The police know about the dealing, Lys. They want to use you to get into the supply chain. Find the gang who are smuggling drugs in.’

Lysette gave a strangled sob. ‘I could go to prison!’

I tried to control my own terror, keep my voice soothing. ‘I don’t think it’ll come to that. They just want to scare you into giving them information. I think you just need to
cooperate.’

What if it wasn’t as simple as that? What if cooperating brought all kinds of dangers that Lawrence Krall had no interest in protecting her from?

Lysette’s fists were balled up in her lap. ‘It was Kimberley – fucking Kimberley – who made it bigger, buying stuff for their posh friends who wanted to get high without
having to get their hands dirty. I knew we should’ve said no, but Sarah liked it. She used to joke they’d be doing it in Number 10 cos of us.’

Kimberley was sailing back towards us now, a single tall glass held aloft in her right hand like a gleaming spear.

‘And I owe them money!’ she continued. ‘Sarah died with debts . . . drugs we hadn’t paid them for. I gave them what I could the night before the funeral,
but . . .’

At least we were finally on the same side. I squeezed her shaking body. ‘It’s going to be all right, Lys. We’ll find a way through it.’

Kimberley was getting closer. Lysette stood up, a little unsteady.

‘I can’t talk to her now. She’ll never tell the truth. I’m going to the bathroom.’

‘Lys . . .’

I knew instinctively we shouldn’t separate, but she was already pushing past Kimberley and heading for the house. I stood up, walked out of the garage.

‘Well, I hope you’re pleased with yourself,’ said Kimberley, who’d rediscovered her self-righteous poise during her absence. ‘Before you tipped up uninvited,
I’d calmed her down. Now she looks . . .’ An expression of disgust blew across her face. ‘Well, she’s in a terrible state.’

‘You’re just as responsible as she is,’ I spat. ‘You’re an enabler – you’re just clever enough to keep it all under wraps. You and your entitled
friends. Your sleazy husband.’

It was midday, the sun burning down on us. I felt sticky and uncomfortable, stranded there in the sweeping driveway scalded by heat.

Kimberley’s nostrils flared, her hand tightly gripping the glass. ‘Just go, will you? You’ve caused nothing but pain and distress since you arrived here.’

I shook my head. ‘No. I want to know how long you knew that Joshua and Lisa were having an affair?’

I saw something cross her face – a tiny tell. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘I think you do,’ I said, emboldened. ‘That’s not a civilised divorce, it’s the absolute opposite. It’s a man who wanted to believe he was something he
wasn’t, and then got cold feet. She’s your friend and you know everyone’s business.’

‘Another lovely fairy tale . . .’

‘You’re up to your neck in it, Kimberley, whether you like it or not. Your friends in high places – I’m not sure how much use they’ll be.’

I could see the rigid set of her jaw. I was gaining the upper hand.

‘Lisa had every right to be angry with Sarah.’ Kimberley spat the words out. ‘And you need to get out of my house. Stop spreading lies about me. You know nothing about
it . . .’

‘I know enough to know that you covered up a child’s drug overdose in your own home . . .’ I looked straight at her, challenge in my eyes. ‘Today’s
papers have got nothing on tomorrow’s.’

I’d pushed her too far now. She looked like she was on the verge of lunging at me, but before she could, Lysette reappeared from the back door. As she walked towards us, I could sense
there was something deeply wrong. She was more floating than walking, almost as if she wasn’t tethered to the ground. I hurried to her. Her pupils were too big, her pallor deathly white.

‘Hi, Mia,’ she said, a strange, almost ethereal smile wreathing her face.

‘What’s wrong? Have you taken something, Lys? We need to get you inside.’

Kimberley regarded us coldly, making no move to help.

‘Come on!’ I said, insistent. ‘She’s really not in a good way.’ I cupped Lysette’s pale face in my hands. ‘What have you taken?’

Lysette gestured towards Kimberley.

‘Just, you know, what she gave me earlier. And then I took a couple more. I’m so tired. We should never have let it happen.’ She started to cry. ‘Max needed his
mummy.’ She turned on Kimberley. ‘You shouldn’t . . . you shouldn’t have told her.’ Her words were slurring and accusatory, all at once. ‘You told
Lisa, didn’t you?’

Panic swept Kimberley’s face, but in the moment I was too distracted by Lysette to demand to know why. She was growing paler and paler, her body swaying with the effort of staying upright.
I started half walking, half dragging her towards the house.

‘Kimberley, what’s she taken?’

Kimberley waved an airy hand.

‘I just gave her an Amblin, they’re completely harmless.’

‘But I found the ones you like at the back of the cupboard too,’ added Lysette. She turned to me. ‘It makes you feel really light inside, Mia. It’s nice.’

A wave of dread washed through me at the memory of Kimberley’s overflowing medicine cabinet. Of course I didn’t know the names on the tiny labels – any pharmacist would be
proud of that professional haul. In her desperate state, Lysette could’ve taken a cocktail of just about anything.

‘Great, so you’ve basically encouraged her to swallow a pick and mix of prescription drugs.’ We were in the doorway by then. Lysette slumped downwards at the foot of the
stairs.

‘She’s fine,’ said Kimberley, reaching down and pulling at the skin around her eyes like she was an animal. Her own hands were shaking now. Even she knew this had all gone too
far – that no amount of blacked-out windows and posed photo opps could hide how corrupted she’d become.

I was shouting now. ‘She’s not! You know she’s not. I’m calling 999.’

I reached for the landline on the elegant occasional table, but as I did, Kimberley made that familiar bony handcuff around my wrist.

‘Stop. I’ll call a private doctor. It’ll be quicker. Much nicer for her too.’

I shook her off. Lysette was even paler now, her head slumping sideways. I fought to stay calm.

‘You’re the worst kind of Tory, aren’t you?’ I hissed, running to the kitchen for my phone. I jabbed the numbers in with a shaking hand. Kimberley was just a minute
behind.

‘Stop! I’ve called a doctor already.’

‘No, you haven’t.’ I went to speak to the operator.

‘Ambulance. I need an ambulance at—’ Shit – I had absolutely no idea what the address was here. We were in the middle of nowhere. ‘At Nigel Farthing’s
home . . .’ Kimberley knocked the phone clean out of my hand, the two of us left scrabbling on the Tuscan tiles in pursuit of it. I was almost crying with fear and frustration.
We shouldn’t be leaving Lysette – barely conscious – on her own, and yet in order to look after her I had to find a way to ring for help.

I ignored the sirens at first, imagined they were a part of my fevered and desperate imagination. But then the intercom started buzzing incessantly, loud and determined, like a mutant insect in
a horror film. They must have been using a loud hailer.

‘Police. Open up.’

Kimberley stood up, somehow finding her Teflon poise between the ground and the sky. She fixed a smile on her face, ready to charm whomever was on the other side of her expensive security
system. She was actually reassured by their arrival, so confident was she in her authority.

‘It’s over,’ I told her, ‘you know that, don’t you?’

She looked at me through narrowed eyes as I scrabbled to my feet, her index finger hovering over the buzzer. ‘Lysette just needs us to be strong for her now, Mia.’

I had to crack her open. I see it too much: how far self-belief can take someone, particularly when it’s fused with a polished exterior. The authorities wouldn’t want to destroy the
illusion unless they absolutely had to, particularly if it required a humiliating climb down on their part.

‘You think no one’s going to believe her because of the state she’s in, but there’s the diary. All those drugs that weren’t prescribed to you that you’ve got
stashed upstairs.’ It wasn’t enough. I was throwing out bait now, hoping something would get a bite. What had Lysette said, before she’d slid into incoherence?
You shouldn’t have told Lisa
. Suddenly the pieces started to coalesce in my mind. The naked panic I’d seen in Kimberley’s eyes was making perfect sense.

‘You told Lisa about Max’s accident, didn’t you? You made sure you had someone who’d say Max overdosing in your house was all down to Sarah if it came out. But what it
did – what it made her do – was decide to take what she thought was rightfully hers.’

Tiny things – even Lisa’s body language when she’d come to collect Max from the school. There was something so proprietary about it – a brooding, dangerous anger at my
interference. If I made her feel that way, how much anger did Sarah elicit? Kimberley’s finger wavered, not quite depressing the button.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about . . .’ There was no conviction in her voice now. There was too much stacking up.

‘And if it was Lisa who killed her, I don’t believe for a second you didn’t know about it. I bet you’ve been colluding with her to keep Peter as the prime suspect. That
would’ve suited you perfectly – the ultimate revenge for him telling you he didn’t want you. He didn’t, did he? He only wanted Sarah. You couldn’t stand it.’

Her denial was almost childlike, her power draining away before my eyes. ‘He did want me! He was obsessed with me.’

‘That’s what happened, isn’t it?’ Kimberley’s stare was unwavering, but she didn’t deny it. I softened my tone. ‘You can still keep yourself relatively
squeaky clean, give Nigel’s career a chance to survive. You just need to give them enough. If they think you’ve only just realised she did it, that you’re still the one
who’s cooperating . . .’

She gave an almost imperceptible nod. I pushed my way past her, slammed my palm against the buzzer. Now her face twisted into an expression of pure hatred.

‘Sarah was a bitch, and so are you.’

‘Yeah, and you might not have killed her but you’ve got blood on your hands.’

‘I wish you’d never come here,’ she spat.

I looked her straight in the eye.

‘Do you know what, so do I.’

*

The two paramedics were low on the ground, huddled around Lysette. I watched them anxiously, my heartbeat refusing to slow. They looked too young to trust with this. Eventually
the boyish-looking male, his dark hair gelled flat against his head (the view I’d had for the last fifteen minutes) looked up at me.

‘She’s gonna be OK. We’ll take her in, but the fact she’s still conscious is a really good sign. Means we don’t need to pump her stomach. We’ll take those
drugs with us to the hospital.’

Lysette was mumbling, words starting to come a little more clearly. Kimberley looked down, wide-eyed, at the little brown bottles she’d been forced to bring down from the bathroom.

‘I’m so sorry, I had no idea. You know – a friend in LA just gave them to me to help me sleep on the flight. I mean . . .’

She turned towards Lawrence Krall, who was standing a few feet away, taking in the whole scene. I could see that something had shifted for him: there was a shrewdness in the way that he looked
at her. She sensed it too, her stream of justifications dying away.

The diary lay there on the hall carpet. I handed it to Krall.

‘This is Sarah’s diary. I think it will change your thinking quite a bit, don’t you agree, Kimberley?’

Her eyes flashed, but she gave a meek nod.

‘Yes. We put quite a few pieces of the puzzle together before . . .’ She clutched at herself. ‘Before all of this happened.’

‘Mia.’ It was Lysette, reaching out a shaking hand from the stretcher. ‘Mia, will you come with me?’

I felt my eyes fill with hot tears.

‘Of course I will!’

‘I need you with me.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m there.’

It was dark by the time the train pulled in, but King’s Cross was still teeming with humans. I struggled to get my suitcase – my faithful, four-wheeled friend
– down from the luggage rack as passengers pushed past me without a backward glance. Once I was on the platform, I was carried along in the slipstream of rushing, harried people, headphones
clamped on, eyes trained straight ahead. Now it was London that felt like a foreign country. The truth was, I was no more Zen than any of them. I was out of practice, and – even though
I’d lived my whole life here – I was as lost as a teenage exchange student with no guidebook and three halting words of English.

I’d spent the rest of the day in the police station going over what had unfolded at Kimberley’s house. I’d kept my tone calm and measured, my exhaustion making it easier to
mask my emotions. Krall was discreet, but I divined from the little he’d shared that even Kimberley had decided it was time to open up and provide her carefully curated version of the truth.
He was too clever, too smooth, to resist implying that all of this was where he’d always been heading, but we both knew it was a lie.

Lysette was staying in hospital overnight: the fact they considered her a suicide risk meant that Lawrence had promised they’d go gently when they questioned her. I didn’t believe
she was – I knew her well enough to know she’d never do that to her family – but if it meant she’d be treated with more kindness, I had no intention of disabusing them of
the notion. Lisa had already been brought in for questioning by the time I’d left.

I pushed my ticket through the barrier, and then came to a juddering stop halfway to the exit. There I was, between Starbucks and WHSmith, people tutting as they swerved past me and my luggage.
I averted my eyes from the headlines, longing for them to be nothing more than tomorrow’s fish and chip wrapping. What had it all been for? In that moment I felt utterly alone. Sarah jolted
her way into my consciousness, her scribbled, desperate words still chasing circles in my mind. How alone had she felt, up there in the car park, awaiting her death without even knowing it? We
never know what’s coming next. I felt my lips move, the thought becoming a whisper. And me – becoming a mad person, who muttered to herself in train stations.