Here We Lie Read online

  ‘You dragged my son down into your fucking hellhole,’ Jed roars, ramming Cameron against the wall again. ‘After Martin called me I spoke to Lish again. He’s admitted everything. He was crying his eyes out like a baby, telling me how you tricked him into running drugs, how you’re a fucking criminal, a drug dealer, you bastard.’ Jed gives Cameron another shove. Cameron reels back, hands flailing for purchase on the kitchen counter beside him.

  Jed shoves his arm up against Cameron’s throat. He presses the windpipe, fury in his eyes. ‘You killed my daughter.’ His chest heaves, the words rasp out of him. He forces his arm against Cameron’s neck. I’m frozen to the spot, unable to move. Martin is standing beside me. I can feel the terror coming off him in waves.

  Cameron’s hand is now reaching along the counter, searching for something he can use to push Jed away.

  ‘Lish admitted he had potassium cyanide,’ Jed spits. ‘Which means you must have found a way of giving it to Dee Dee.’

  ‘No,’ Cameron gasps, wild-eyed with fear.

  ‘I’m going to fucking kill you,’ Jed growls.

  ‘Jed.’ I’m barely aware I’m speaking. I have no idea what to say. ‘Jed, stop, please.’

  Jed glances over, his arm still pressing against Cameron’s skin. He sees me properly for the first time and his gaze softens.

  ‘You’re right to be angry, Jed,’ I say. ‘But let’s call the police. Dan and I can give statements. And Cameron’s told Martin everything. We’ve got enough to send him to jail. For a long, long time.’

  Jed nods and, for a second, I think it will be all right, that he will stop. Then Jed’s eyes shift to Dan beside me, to Dan’s arm, protective, around my shoulder. His expression hardens again and he turns back to Cameron.

  ‘You bastard,’ he snarls, his hands now tightening around Cameron’s throat. Cameron lets out a terrible gasp. The colour is draining from his face. He can’t breathe. His hand is still reaching, straining across the counter.

  He lights on the knife block. His fingers claw around the handle of the long, sharp carving knife in the centre.

  As he pulls out the knife, Martin lurches across the room. And then everything happens so fast it’s a blur. As Martin grabs Jed’s arm, pulling him away, Cameron lunges forward. The knife gleams under the light, then disappears as Martin and Cameron cling to each other. An eternity passes in a second as Martin staggers back, the knife in his chest. He falls to his knees, then slumps to the floor. Cameron lets out a roar. He flings himself onto the floor beside Martin. Jed backs away, his mouth wide open in shock. I wrench myself out of Dan’s grasp and race over to my brother. I kneel down on the other side of him from Cameron, who has taken Martin’s hand and is moaning under his breath. ‘Please, no, please . . .’

  Martin looks at him for a second, then turns his head towards me. Blood is pouring from his chest. Rose stands in the doorway, her hands over her mouth. Behind me I can hear Jed suck in his breath. But I keep my eyes on my brother’s face. Martin’s gaze meets mine: soft, fearful, full of love. For a moment I think he’s going to speak then the bright of his eye fades to nothing. Rose gasps and Cameron bows his head and the room fills with silence. I feel for Martin’s pulse, on his neck, on his wrist. I can’t find it. No. I won’t believe it, can’t believe it. Dan comes over. He bends over Martin and presses his neck, a firmer, more expert touch than mine. He looks up and shakes his head and the truth shifts the world on its axis, changing everything forever.

  August 2014

  So I texted Bex straight after I saw what I saw this morning and said she had to text me back URGENTLY and I was going MAD waiting for her to text. I kept thinking about what I had seen them do and what it meant. It is wrong, REALLY wrong and I don’t know what to do. I WASN’T misunderstanding AFTER ALL. It REALLY happened. In fact it was much WORSE this time – I actually filmed a bit by accident on my phone but I couldn’t bear to look at it.

  I was still waiting for Bex to text back and thinking that I HAD to tell someone. In fact I was waiting for Emily to wake up but then OH THANK GOD Bex sent me a text asking what was wrong and I told her and she was REALLY shocked and sad and said there isn’t anyone you can trust and grown-ups will always let you down and to be honest she made me feel a bit like it was scary inside me and I said I was going to tell someone, Emily probably, and Bex texted back in like two seconds saying NO!!!! and I asked her why and she said it would just mess everything up for my whole family and get everyone upset and I texted saying I was ALREADY UPSET and Bex said she knew and of course but I could tell her all about it. And I said I thought I should tell a grown-up and she said what was the point, grown-ups don’t have all the answers you know, and THAT surprised me because she sounded a bit cross and it didn’t feel good so I said Emily was different and I would just tell her and it wasn’t about having answers. And Bex did a sad face emoticon and said she would be upset if I told Emily my secret and I said why and Bex asked why wasn’t she enough of a friend for me to share my secret with just her. So I said she was my bestie and that wasn’t the point but she said she was REALLY upset because I don’t trust her and I am her only friend and her mum is really ill and her stepdad is so mean and she started talking about cutting herself again, she was so upset, and I felt REALLY bad. And she sent text after text saying she was crying and SO upset and so I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone after all.

  January 2015

  A day passes. Two. Dan and I give long interviews to the police, telling them everything. Cameron and Lish are arrested.

  Jed doesn’t call me, for which I’m thankful. Neither does Zoe. I spend my time with Dan, when he is free from police questioning, and with Rose. We cry together for our brother. For the fresh gash splitting our family. For the fact that our lives have been turned upside down. Again.

  Bogdan is caught trying to leave the country. He gives evidence against Cameron and Lish. Then Lish gives evidence against Cameron. None of it seems to matter. Martin is gone. I feel nothing, only a dull, numb sense of loss, punctuated by terrible flashbacks to the moment Martin fell backwards, the knife in his chest.

  Two more weeks pass. Martin’s funeral takes place. Rose has people back to the house afterwards. I think this is morbid – it’s where he died. I can’t bear to sleep here and am staying with Laura. I spend most of the wake out in the garden, even though it is freezing.

  As the light fades from the day I sit on the swing at the far end of the lawn. I remember my dad installing it for me on my seventh birthday, soon after we moved here. Despite my desire to create a different, more grown-up, relationship with Rose I can’t deny that it’s a huge comfort to be here, surrounded by the strong sense of my parents that this house provides, a testament to their love for us. Dan seeks me out and holds me. I love his silence, his understanding that there are no words for my grief.

  ‘Come home with me?’ he asks gruffly. ‘I want you to meet Lulu, move in with me, please?’

  I shake my head. ‘I just can’t rush from Jed to you, not after everything that’s happened, not after Martin. There’s got to be a bit of space.’

  Dan nods, his storm-coloured eyes reflecting the dying light of the clouds overhead. ‘Okay,’ he says softly. ‘We’ll do whatever you want.’

  ‘This is so hard,’ I say. ‘I keep reliving the knife in his chest, I see it over and over again. Rose says I should talk to someone, but . . .’

  ‘You’re not ready?’ Dan asks.

  ‘No.’ I lean against him. ‘Not for any of it, but soon maybe, soon.’

  ‘Soon,’ he says.

  He goes and I return to the wake. Only a few people are left, mostly old acquaintances of our parents that I’m no longer properly in touch with. Rose is talking intently to a couple in the living room. I head to the kitchen and start clearing the dirty plates and glasses. As I work, a thousand thoughts crowd my head. I think of Dan, of course, but mostly of Martin, how impossible it seems that he is gone. I know that the full pain of being without him hasn
’t even begun to hit me yet, that the flashbacks are only the start of my grieving. I think of Cameron and Lish and the court case that lies ahead. I wipe the counter tops. I have a book somewhere on helping people deal with trauma. I read the chapter on children for a course I did during teacher training. There were exercises for helping you get past a terrible shock. I can’t remember the details, but maybe one of them might help me process what is happening. I fold the dishcloth, frowning. Where on earth is that book? It’s so long since I read it, I can’t even remember the title, but I know it was a seminal work.

  The lawyers are confident that the combination of Bogdan’s testimony and the statements that Dan and I have each given, plus the ongoing police investigation, will enable them to build a strong case when it comes to the drug dealing. It’s a different story when it comes to finding out who killed Dee Dee. It’s ironic that the only mystery that remains unsolved is the one that began everything. There is absolutely nothing, it seems, to link either Cameron or Lish to her death and without proof that Lish was actually in possession of any potassium cyanide at the time (and Lish and Cameron have both sworn to the police that he wasn’t), the lawyers have been unable to bring a murder charge against them.

  The last few guests leave and Rose and I work in silence together for a while longer. At last it is done. As Rose lugs a bag out to the rubbish bin, I slip away, avoiding looking at the patch of kitchen floor where Martin died. Rose insists we have to get past the fact that his life ended in this room, that our positive memories must be allowed to outweigh the negative ones – but I’m not sure I will ever be able to feel comfortable in the house again. Thank goodness I can go back to Laura’s later.

  I’m determined to find the trauma book. I know it isn’t in my bedroom, or in any of the unopened bags and boxes I brought back from Jed’s house which are currently stored in Martin’s old room.

  I stand on the landing, trying to think where it might be. Outside, I can hear Rose clanking the bin lid down and walking back along the path. She pushes open the front door and sees me at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ she asks.

  ‘Thanks. I’m just looking for something, then I’ll be down.’

  Rose disappears into the kitchen and I go into her bedroom. It’s large and airy, Mum and Dad’s old room, with the bed at one end, a chest of drawers between the two windows and a long fitted wardrobe along the far wall. As I flick through the clothes on its rail, I’m struck again by how smart and sophisticated Rose’s outfits have become. This closet used to be crammed with shapeless tops and trousers going back twenty years but they’re all gone and a neat row of simple, well-designed suits and dresses – similar to the grey silk shift she is wearing today – hang in their place.

  I rifle past these to the other end of the wardrobe which is stacked with shoes and old cardboard boxes. If my old text book is anywhere in this room, it will be here. I open a box that looks likely and find myself faced with Martin’s collection of football annuals from when he was ten or eleven. Tears fill my eyes as I put the lid back on and reach for the next box. It just contains old clothes. As I pull it away from the wall to get a purchase on the next box along, something wedged behind falls to the floor with a light thud.

  It’s a phone. An iPhone, similar to my own.

  What the hell is this doing here? It’s clearly not Rose’s normal phone, which has a silvery cover and is with her downstairs. Even odder, this iPhone is still attached to its charger. There’s a plug socket right next to the wardrobe. Heart suddenly beating fast, I shove the charger into the socket. The phone whirs into life. I see the Apple icon, then the lock screen appears.

  I gasp. The screen shows a photo of myself and Dee Dee. It’s sunny and we’re smiling, the sea sparkling behind us. All at once I’m back in Corsica, standing with Dee Dee as she took our picture while Jed went to tell Martin and Cameron that he and I needed to go back early to the yacht.

  This is Dee Dee’s missing phone.

  August 2014

  Everyone else is outside on the deck except Lish who is in the kitchen which they call the galley. I thought it would be fun being on Martin and Cameron’s yacht but so far I’ve HATED it. It’s all because of what I saw this morning. I’ve been thinking about it all day. It’s like in my head ALL the time. I can’t stop seeing it. And I know that it’s wrong that no one knows and they’re outside LYING and I really want to tell someone though it would be SO hard to talk about it so I’m glad I made that promise to Bex not to say anything but now I feel all dead inside, like there’s a stone pressing down on my chest squeezing all the breath out and it hurts and I just want it to go away but it goes on and on and I’m screaming inside my head and nobody else can hear.

  I nearly told Emily earlier, when we were on that ruins bit up that hill that Daddy made us climb and I took a picture and made it my lock screen. Emily got a headache and now I’ve got one too. I just sent Bex a text saying I really think I should tell Emily, that maybe they don’t need to know it’s me, that I could just leave a clue somewhere for her when we’re back in the villa.

  It’s not fair Daddy made me eat that fish for dinner just now. It was RANK. He doesn’t like chocolate with nuts in and nobody makes him eat THAT. I hate him, I hate him. They think I’m in here Skype-ing with my friends but I only have one friend and thanks to HER stupid dad she can’t go online AT ALL. I HATE both of our dads. Oh, come ON, Bex. Text me back.

  There, it’s her. Back in a sec.

  Oh, now I feel worse than ever. I can’t BELIEVE what Bex has texted, she says I am evil for wanting to mess up people’s lives and I shouldn’t need to tell anyone other than her anything because she is supposed to be my best friend and she swears that if I talk to Emily she will never be my friend again. I don’t know what to do, I can’t believe it, Bex HATES me and I thought she was like my blood sister and now the weight on my chest is like filling my whole body SO dragging and heavy and I want to DIE because it is ALWAYS like this, that people I think will be my friends turn away and NOBODY cares.

  I just went into the kitchen-galley bit of the boat to see Lish. I thought maybe I could tell him, but he was by the sink scooping stuff like tiny crystals out of a jar and putting them in a little packet and when I said his name he jumped and shouted at me. And I said I wanted to talk and he held up the packet and he said ‘get out of here, you silly little bitch, this stuff is fucking LETHAL, what are you doing in here’ and I said I didn’t know and he called me ‘a useless little’ then the c-word which I don’t like saying. And he told me to go away and I did but when he didn’t know I was looking I saw him put the packet in his bag and I wanted to get it and throw it in his face but instead I came back in here. They’ve all been talking outside all evening. Except Rose once came in to the bathroom and she smiled at me and Emily came to see how I was and I would have told her but she was in a hurry and saying how much fun they were having outside.

  Okay, there is another text.

  It is Bex again, she says she is SO upset and PLEASE not to tell anyone else what I saw or it will prove I’m not her friend and she will CUT herself.

  Inside me it is all dead and cold and it just made me realize Bex isn’t really a friend, she just wants me to do what she says. Who was I kidding that she would really like me for me? I am totally alone.

  I am not going to reply to her text except to say don’t hurt yourself love DD x. I don’t know what to do about what I saw, maybe it is best just to keep it to myself but not because Bex says and I still want us to be friends but because it would be too hard to say anything and I will keep their secret and just hate them forever. My head is hurting. I just don’t know, I just don’t know.

  January 2015

  What the hell is Dee Dee’s missing phone doing in my sister’s wardrobe? I stare at the picture on the screen. I look happy and relaxed, though you can see the tension behind my eyes from the headache I had that afternoon. Beside me Dee Dee is smiling, yet I can’t help but no
tice the look of desperation on her face. How did I miss that at the time? For a moment I’m transported back to the citadel at Calvi, the sun beating down, the band of pressure across the back of my head and Jed, striding over, irritated with his daughter, ordering her away and leading me back to the yacht.

  What is Rose doing with this? Where did she get it? Why hasn’t she said anything? My mind flashes back to the morning Dee Dee died. Other than my sister’s terrified face as she stood outside Dee Dee’s door when Jed and I came downstairs I have no memory of her involvement. She left, of course, to go to Martin and Cameron’s boat. Could Rose have picked up Dee Dee’s phone without realizing what it was? It seems unthinkable. Even more so that she wouldn’t have mentioned it, knowing that – for a while at least – the police were actively looking all over the villa for it.

  Downstairs I hear the kettle coming to the boil. Rose is making tea. Soon she will call up the stairs and tell me it is ready and I will have to go down and face her and ask her what possible reason she has had for keeping and hiding this phone. An image of Dee Dee’s anxious face flashes into my head again: ‘I’ve got a secret . . . It’s something I saw . . .’

  Suppose Dan and I were right? Suppose there is something on Dee Dee’s phone that explains who killed her? A cold hand circles its fingers around my heart. Suspicions press at my brain, demanding to be let in, but I won’t give them access. I still believe there must be a logical explanation for why the phone is here, wedged behind this box in my loving, caring sister’s house.

  Numb, I swipe the screen, opening it up. I turn to the call log . . . there are nine or ten missed calls from Jed’s phone here, all placed when we were searching for the mobile. I remember the dead look in Jed’s eyes as he handed Gary his phone and let him make call after call, each one ringing into silence. I scroll up, but see no names other than ‘Mum’ and ‘Dad’. I turn to the messages. The last set of texts are from someone called Bex, sent on the evening Dee Dee died, the evening she was made to eat fish to please her father. I scan the converstion: