Here We Lie Page 6

  ‘Maybe tomorrow,’ I suggest. ‘When do you think they’ll let you bring her home?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Jed sighs. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘Actually school begins on Monday. I’ve got year two this time.’

  ‘Christ, baby, I completely forgot. Are you sure you’re up to it? Going back to work?’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ I reassure him. ‘To be honest, it’ll be good to have something to focus on.’

  ‘Tell me about what you’ll be doing. I could do with hearing about normal stuff.’

  I chat for a while, explaining what my new role for this year as head of Key Stage One involves: mostly extra admin, as far as I can see. Jed listens but his mind isn’t really focused on what I’m saying. It must be surreal for him to hear about medium-term topic planning and schemes of work while he’s consumed with grief and dealing with frustrating officialdom in another country.

  He murmurs something about it all sounding like hard work. I can hear plates and glasses being laid out in the background.

  ‘Is that Iveta?’ I ask lightly.

  ‘No, Zoe,’ Jed says. ‘Gary and Iveta have gone out for dinner, er, they’ve taken Lish too, felt Zoe and I might like some time alone just . . . I don’t know . . . personally I’d rather they were here, but Zo wanted to talk to me, so . . .’

  ‘Right.’ Jealousy worms through me. I try to push it away. I mustn’t be unreasonable.

  There’s an awkward silence, then Jed promises to call again when there is news on Dee Dee’s post mortem. I want to tell him how much I’m hurting, how I think about her all the time, but it seems selfish to talk about my own pain when his – and Zoe’s – is so much greater so instead I just say goodbye and head over to Rose’s house.

  Cameron is away on business for one of his charities and Rose has invited me and Martin over for the evening, as well as my old friend Laura from school who lives nearby. It’s always a little strange being back on Ashley Avenue. I grew up in this house and have moved in and out of it many times since. Although technically Mum and Dad left it to all three of us, it has become Rose’s house by default. Neither Martin nor I begrudge this. Rose deserves it. And, anyway, thanks to our partners, neither Martin nor I need the money.

  Much like the entire house, this room is a slightly bizarre mix of the chrome and glass eighties furnishings from my early childhood and the pale wood and pastel colours that Rose has chosen in more recent years. I’m last to arrive and Martin and Laura are already ensconced on the sofa so I take the armchair by the fireplace.

  ‘God, Emily, I can’t believe it about Dee Dee, it’s just awful.’ Laura widens her dark eyes as she unfurls herself from Martin’s side. My oldest friend is possibly the most tactile person I’ve ever met. She’s not exactly beautiful – Jed described her as having a face like a pug when he met her – but there’s something about the sensual way she behaves, particularly around men, that mostly has them falling at her feet. Gay men love her too. Martin has always found her great fun and Laura, like most of my friends, totally adores him.

  ‘How are you doing, sweetie?’ she asks.

  ‘I’m okay,’ I say. ‘Worried about Jed.’

  ‘Of course,’ Rose says, bustling in with a bowl of crisps. ‘It’s the worst thing for a parent.’

  We sit and talk. It’s good to be here, surrounded by everyone and everything that roots me in my past. It’s particularly nice to see Laura. Since I moved in with Jed and away from the area we’ve hardly spent any time together. She’s full of concern for me tonight, asking about what happened to Dee Dee and how I have been coping with the shock and the loss. After a while, however, the conversation inevitably drifts away from my experiences and onto Laura’s little girl and latest pregnancy. She’s almost two months in and full of details about sore breasts and daylong nausea.

  ‘Never mind morning sickness,’ she says. ‘I can’t eat a thing until six p.m. Plus I want sex all the time.’

  Martin laughs. Rose looks faintly appalled. I grin to myself. Laura has always been unashamed and open about her physical desires. She has a boyfriend, Jamie, whom she refuses to marry despite him asking her every few months, on the grounds that marriage – and indeed monogamy for life – are bourgeois fictions that prevent human beings from living full and natural lives.

  I sometimes wonder how much of this philosophy Laura really believes. She has certainly held very liberal views ever since our secondary school days. And yet she seems happy enough with Jamie and has never, even in our most drunken moments together, expressed any serious desire to shag around. As she chatters on, Martin hanging on her every word, I catch sight of the photo of Jed, me, Dee Dee and Lish that Rose has thoughtfully placed on the sideboard and the pain of losing her fills me again.

  ‘She was a sweet girl,’ Rose says softly.

  I look up. All three of them are gazing at me. Martin crosses the room and puts his arm around my shoulders. ‘She was lovely, Emily, there was such an innocence about her. I’ll never forget her eyes like saucers when we gave her that bracelet.’

  I nod, remembering the engagement party back in July. ‘She’d been picked on by some girls at school,’ I say. ‘She told me about it that night, said how her friends had rallied round.’

  ‘She reminded me a bit of you as a young child, actually,’ Rose says. ‘Always surrounded by friends, loved by everyone.’

  I shake my head. Rose by name, rose-tinted by nature, as our brother once said; my sister’s version of my childhood before our parents’ death has always been a little idealized. Still, she’s right about Dee Dee. ‘She did have good friends.’ My throat tightens. ‘She was so lovely to me, no resentment over Jed at all.’

  ‘Unlike that bitch of an ex-wife of his,’ Rose says.

  I stare at her. It’s unlike Rose to sound so venomous.

  ‘It’s marriage as ownership,’ Laura says. ‘Zoe thinks she has some sort of permanent claim over Jed, just because they signed a bit of paper saying they would stay together.’

  ‘And because they had two children,’ I suggest gently.

  ‘Emily’s right.’ Martin frowns. ‘The poor woman’s just lost her daughter. I think we should cut her some slack.’

  Laura shrugs. ‘I just mean that Zoe’s feelings towards Emily are all about territory. I feel as sorry for her as you do.’

  ‘I feel sorry for her too.’ Rose sighs. ‘I just can’t stand how she’s blaming Emily over Dee Dee. It’s not fair.’

  ‘Blames you over Dee Dee?’ Laura turns to me. ‘Jed’s ex blames you? For what?’

  I gulp. There’s a hollow feeling in my chest: Dee Dee is gone and Jed is far away with Zoe and Zoe hates me. Talking about it is the last thing I want to do, but Laura is sitting forward, her hair hooked behind her ears, peering intently at me.

  ‘She says Dee Dee died because we were in Corsica, and we were in Corsica because of me, because Jed wanted me to have a flashy holiday which I promise you I absolutely didn’t. I just wanted us all to be together: Jed and me and . . . and his kids.’ My voice echoes in my ears: flat and sad.

  ‘God, poor Jed,’ Rose says.

  ‘Poor Emily.’ Laura reaches for my hand.

  ‘How’s Jed doing?’ Martin asks.

  ‘He’s angry that they still don’t have the results of the post mortem. I think knowing why she died would help maybe . . . I don’t know . . .’ Misery rises inside me. ‘I don’t know how he’s doing really, he’s so far away and having to deal with everything with Zoe and worrying about Lish, but he hasn’t talked about his feelings so . . .’ I stop, the hitch in my voice threatening to turn to tears.

  ‘Oh, sweetie.’ Rose scuttles over and sits on my other side. Now she is holding one hand and Laura the other. ‘Jed must be struggling, but you mean everything to him, I’m sure he’ll open up more when he gets back.’

  ‘She’s right,’ Laura adds. ‘I mean I’ve only seen you guys together a couple of times but it’s obvious he
adores you.’

  I nod, still trying not to cry. They’ve misunderstood me. I am not upset because Jed is withdrawn at the moment. What I can’t bear is the knowledge that losing his daughter, just like losing Mum and Dad all those years ago, will never leave him, that the pain of it will shape his future forever. And that is a terrible burden for anyone to carry.

  ‘It’s tragic,’ Martin says, leaning forward in his chair. I meet his eyes and I know that he understands. ‘But Jed will survive it, he’s strong.’

  ‘Yes, and steady,’ Rose adds.

  ‘Yeah, the steadiest person you’ve ever been with,’ Laura says, patting my hand. ‘God and there were a few flakes back in the day.’

  I smile at her.

  ‘All charm and no substance,’ Rose agrees. ‘Like Dan Thackeray. D’you remember him, Mart?’

  My brother nods. I look down at the carpet.

  ‘Gosh, I haven’t thought about Dan Thackeray in years,’ Laura says. ‘He was gorgeous. I’d have totally done him if you hadn’t got there first, sweetie.’

  I roll my eyes.

  ‘Mmm.’ Rose purses her lips. ‘Gorgeous but unreliable. God, d’you remember how upset you were when he dumped you, Emily? Cried for nearly a week without stopping.’ She tuts. ‘I’ve never seen anyone so devastated.’

  I look up to find everyone watching me.

  ‘Yeah, Dan,’ I say. ‘That takes me back.’

  It certainly does. Dan was the love of my life – at least he was before I fell in love with Jed. We met ten years ago at a party I hadn’t really even wanted to go to. I was wearing a dress with thin straps and high, uncomfortable heels. I remember taking my shoes off to dance, feeling content and happy. I was delighted to be on my PGCE course, living away from home at last and enjoying being out with my friends. Love was the last thing on my mind. And then Dan walked over and without warning, my heart was racing and I was caught up in the spell of his sparkling eyes. Dan was twenty-three, like I was, and a journalist. He worked for a regional paper but was hungry for a job on one of the nationals ‘before they go completely digital’. He spoke fast and intently and looked at me like I was the only person in the room. When he asked for my phone number, I punched it into his mobile with trembling fingers and when he called me the next day I, quite literally, jumped up and down for joy.

  I meet Rose’s eyes. She, more than anyone, bore the brunt of my misery when the relationship ended. Because Dan turned out to be a commitment-phobe who strung me along for nearly two years, then left me without a backward glance for a job in the States soon after we started living together.

  I remember the agony that followed all too well, and how my ever-caring sister did her best to help, bringing me food for which I had no appetite and advice about pebbles and beaches from which I took no solace.

  I loved Dan harder, but it’s a better love with Jed: honest and solid and true. My phone rings into the silence. It’s Jed himself. I take the call halfway up the stairs, a place I used to sit often when I was very little, watching and envying my older brother and sister allowed to stay up long after my own bedtime.

  ‘The post mortem’s in,’ Jed says, his voice thick with tension. ‘Dee Dee died from potassium cyanide poisoning.’

  ‘What?’ I’m jolted out of my nostalgic reverie. ‘How on earth—?’

  ‘It was in the ExAche powders you gave her,’ Jed says flatly.

  ‘Oh, God.’ Guilt grips me like a fist. ‘There was poison in the ExAche?’

  ‘Potassium cyanide, yes. It’s used in various plating industries and photographic processing. They found microscopic bits of it in the dregs of the powder left in the sachet.’

  ‘But . . . but . . .’ My mind whirls as I try to get my head around this news.

  ‘If you’re thinking the cyanide must have tasted horrible, you’re right,’ Jed goes on. ‘But then according to your statement you’d already warned Dee Dee that the powders were bitter and told her to drink the whole glass.’

  ‘Oh, God, Jed, I’m so sorry, I—’

  ‘I don’t mean it like that, baby.’ Jed sucks in his breath. ‘The police have gone back to the pharmacy where Lish bought the powders: they’re testing all the stocks. The ones Martin brought back, too.’

  ‘But how did . . . how do they think the potassium cyanide got into the ExAche?’

  ‘Either deliberately by an angry worker on the production line, which the manufacturers should have protected against, or because the manufacturers were careless, cutting corners on health and safety. Either way they’re going to pay.’

  ‘Pay?’ I echo his words. He sounds furious and yet focused. Better than he has done all week.

  ‘They’ll have to close down the plant where they make the powders, get all stocks withdrawn. Then the French government will prosecute them for criminal negligence. At least I hope they will. Benecke Tricorp – that’s the manufacturers – they’re huge. Powerful. But . . .’ He hesitates.

  ‘But what?’

  ‘If we can’t get a criminal case going then Zoe and I will take legal action ourselves, a civil case. Whatever it takes.’

  ‘Jed, I feel awful about the powders. I mean I gave them to her.’

  ‘Listen to me, baby, it’s not your fault. It’s the manufacturer. And I know this is going to mean a court case and me and Zoe spending time on it together, but I need you more than ever. I can’t get through this without you.’ He lowers his voice. ‘You are with me, baby? Aren’t you? Whatever it takes? With this court case or whatever?’

  ‘Of course I’m with you,’ I say. ‘I’m right here. Whatever happens. Always.’

  We ring off and I stumble back downstairs and into the living room.

  ‘What is it?’ Rose is on her feet immediately, hurrying over. ‘Jesus, you’re white as a sheet, Emily.’

  She sits me down in the armchair and perches beside me. I stare at the blank, dark TV screen opposite, unseeing. Dee Dee was poisoned from the powders I gave her, because I told her to drink them.

  It’s unbearable.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Martin crouches at my feet, trying to catch my eye.

  I take his hand, then turn to my sister and take hers. Thank goodness I have them.

  The others are as shocked as I am, though they refuse to accept that I’m guilty in any way. Rationally I know they are right, but I still feel terrible. I take myself off to the bathroom and weep. It’s like the ten days or so since Dee Dee’s death have been swallowed up. Her loss feels as raw right now as when it first happened.

  I’m just blowing my nose and splashing some water on my face when my phone beeps. I glance down at the screen.

  This is your fault. IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU, WHORE.

  I stare at the shouty capitals, fear tightening my throat.

  Zoe. It has to be.

  IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU, WHORE.

  Part of me wants to call Jed straightaway, but what good would that do? Zoe must have just received the post mortem news too and be beside herself with fury. I open the bathroom door, intending to show my brother and sister. But as I cross the landing I realize that all that will achieve is to upset them – in Rose’s case, probably make her worry that Zoe is planning another rant at me, an escalation of her car park performance from last month.

  I look at the message again. It’s the angry hurt of a devastated mother. I delete it and head downstairs, hoping that will be an end to it.

  Little do I know, this moment is just the beginning.

  PART TWO

  November 1992

  Rose felt like she had been thrown out of a plane with no parachute. The world seemed to be reeling around her. A car crash, the doctors were saying. Your father killed outright . . . your mother unconscious at the scene, passing away in the ambulance on the way to the hospital . . . we did everything we could . . . truly sorry for your loss . . . A nurse was still sitting beside her, her hand resting on Rose’s arm. She had asked Rose who they needed to call. Rose gave her the number o
f Mum’s friend Sally, then explained which school Martin and Emily went to.

  They were all on their way here now. Sally would have warned them that there had been an accident but Rose had insisted she be the one to tell her brother and sister their parents were gone.

  How on earth was she going to do that?

  The minutes ticked away. The nurse was talking again, asking if she could fetch Rose anything. Rose shook her head. Panic filled her. She couldn’t bear this. She couldn’t face them: Martin, so private, so tightly wound into his own life, yet so close to Mum, and Emily, still such a child, all smiles and sunshine. How could Rose obliterate their world?

  ‘Would you like to see them later?’ the nurse asked.

  Rose stared at her blankly. Surely the nurse hadn’t forgotten her siblings were already on their way here?

  ‘Your parents,’ the nurse explained.

  ‘Oh,’ Rose said. ‘I don’t know. No.’

  She didn’t know anything. Nothing made sense any more. She looked up. Martin and Emily were hurrying towards her through the long corridor, Sally just behind them. Martin was holding Emily’s hand, almost pulling her along he was walking so fast. As they drew closer her eyes met his and Rose could see the shock of realization fill him. He stopped walking. Emily tugged at his hand.

  ‘Come on.’

  Her face was still so open, so light. She had no idea, Rose realized. For Emily it was simply inconceivable that the world could keep spinning without Mum flicking through a magazine or stroking Emily’s hair to help her sleep or Dad grunting over his coffee and telling them to be quiet while he watched TV.

  Martin began to cry, his arm over his face. Emily looked up at him, all concern. Rose hurried over. She was vaguely aware of the nurse beside her and of Sally hovering anxiously in the background. But she kept her gaze fixed on her brother and sister. She had to look after them. Yes. The thought fell like a drop of rain: single and clear. That was what she had to do: take care of Martin and Emily. Rose let the truth of it fill her, give her strength.