Here We Lie Page 28

  The front door shut. Rose could hear Emily chattering down the path. Then silence. Terrible, oppressive, overwhelming silence. It filled the house. Rose’s whole body tensed with fear. She shook herself. There was nothing to be afraid of. She was free to do whatever she liked. Maybe go to the shops or take in a movie. It was only Saturday morning. She had the whole weekend to fill and no plans.

  She wandered over to the sofa. The cushions were both to one side on an arm, where Emily always put them when she was sitting there, legs tucked under her, elbow resting on the top cushion. Rose put the cushions in their proper places, separated and leaning against the back of the sofa. Then immediately changed them back to their Emily positions.

  She sat at the other end of the sofa and stared at the cushions and the empty space beside them. A wave of desolation swept over her. She could call one of her friends, except most of Rose’s friends were really just work acquaintances; her old friends had either dropped her years ago or were themselves now busy with young families. She could go on the internet and check out those uni courses she’d been thinking about, except she wasn’t properly interested in any of them.

  She glanced at the coffee table where her phone rested on top of one of Emily’s magazines. This one was called Heat and carried the headline: ‘2004’s Most Embarrassing Beach Pictures’. Rose occasionally flicked through its pages but she couldn’t be bothered even to look at it today.

  She picked up her phone instead. Her chest tightened. She hadn’t spoken to Brian in more than a month. She’d told him after their weekend in Paris that it was over. They’d met when he came into the shop. She’d known he was married right from the start because his wife and two daughters had been in the shop with him. As they’d examined the novelty bakeware, Brian had fixed Rose with the most intense, most sexual stare she’d ever seen in her life. Never mind that at forty-three he was many years older than her and that his muscles were soft and his belly more than a little flabby. He was a successful businessman who took her and her work seriously. He admired her, he said. And he fancied her rotten. If she called him, Rose was in no doubt that he would find a time to come over – either tonight or tomorrow. He would bring flowers and adoring words. They would have sex which would go on forever thanks to the Viagra she knew he would have popped beforehand.

  Brian liked it best when she was on top, thrusting her breasts in his face. Ugh. Frankly the thought of the sex left Rose cold, but she liked performing for him, he was just so appreciative, so full of wonder at her body, so delighted at her attention.

  Rose put down the phone. No, she shouldn’t call. She didn’t want to start all that up again.

  On the other hand, the prospect of spending the entire weekend alone was more than she could bear. After all, it was a special case, this weekend, what with Emily leaving home. And her brother and sister need never know about the affair. Would never know.

  It was a secret. Rose’s secret. And afterwards, because no one else knew, she would be able to convince herself that it hadn’t really happened at all.

  Comforted by this thought, Rose picked up her phone again and made the call. Brian didn’t answer so she left a brief, carefully casual message asking if he was around. She imagined him seeing her call, then making an excuse to his wife and creeping outside to call her back. Her phone rang and a smile curled around her lips. There he was.

  ‘Hi there, lover boy,’ she purred.

  ‘God, I’ve been thinking about you all the time,’ Brian said.

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘Can I see you later?’ He let out a soft groan. ‘God, I’ve missed you, sexy girl.’

  Rose hesitated. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘When are you free?’

  ‘I could get away early evening for a bit. Can’t stay over, but I . . . I’ll say I have to drop something off at the office, that’ll give me a good few hours.’ He paused. ‘If I had had some notice I could get away for longer.’

  Rose settled back on the sofa. Part of her hated the idea she was being fitted into Brian’s busy life. On the other hand, Brian did tend to talk a lot about himself. A few hours of his company was, if she was honest, the perfect amount.

  ‘That’s fine, darling,’ she said. ‘That’s just fine.’

  Martin parked his car feeling satisfied with his day. Emily was safely settled in her lodgings. Unlike Rose, he had no doubt that she would sail through teacher-training college. She would certainly soon make friends, she was too bubbly and confident for any other outcome. Rose worried too much. The girl was twenty-three, for goodness’ sake. Okay, she’d never lived away from home before, but that childlike manner of hers belied a genuine toughness. It was his older sister he fretted about. She had always over-protected Emily but the truth was that she probably needed Emily now far more than Emily needed her.

  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 lik
e 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.

  January 2015

  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 sud
denly 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?’