Why hadn’t she? What was she hiding?
I move away from the sink to find Mum and Dad watching me.
‘Everything okay, love? You were miles away for a moment,’ says Mum.
‘I’m fine. I’m going to head upstairs and read for a while.’
‘Shout down if you need anything.’
I take my time going up to the spare room, my steps heavy.
As I push open the door and sit on the edge of the bed, I pull my laptop towards me and flip open the lid. I ignore David’s advice and scroll through the larger newspaper sites, avoiding anything local in case there are more revelations from Stella Barrett and her colleagues. Instead, I work my way through trashy entertainment news and film reviews, trying to create some white noise to counteract the tumbling thoughts going around in my head.
My hand freezes over the keyboard as I realise with a jolt that the four of us haven’t been together since the day Simon died.
Somehow, we’ve missed each other; one of us has always been inaccessible. I frown. If Hayley and David were close enough that she confided in him, why didn’t they visit me at the hospital together? Hayley knows he doesn’t like driving, and she would’ve had to go past his place on the way to see me.
Bec said the police didn’t come to see her until Wednesday, so where was she on Monday and Tuesday? Why didn’t she get in touch?
And, most of the time, David works from home, so why didn’t he show up until the Wednesday?
What were the three of them up to? Where had they been?
I growl through my teeth and close the laptop with a slap. I’ve got to stop doing this.
I’ve got to stop finding reasons to doubt what my friends are telling me. All the trauma from the transplant operation, the painkillers, new medication, being here at Mum and Dad’s – it’s taking its toll on me.
After all, I’ve seen them since, separately. And I saw Hayley and David at the hospital together, even if we weren’t allowed to speak with Bec.
I sigh, and shove the laptop away.
If Hayley has something on her mind, as David says, well, I’ll let her know I’m here when she needs me if she wants someone to talk to about whatever’s troubling her.
There’s nothing to worry about.
32
Hayley
I rest my hands on the kitchen worktop and close my eyes as my vision wavers and a rushing sound fills my ears.
It’s not the first time it’s happened, but it’s the first time it’s left me feeling so weak.
I blink, then move to the sink and fill a glass with cold water, my hand shaking.
I’ve barely eaten for days, not since David found Bec and we rushed to the hospital.
I can’t. Food is tasteless and I find myself choking when I try to swallow. I’m just about holding it together enough to run the business. I’ve cancelled all the meetings I had planned for the next ten days, and hope to hell this passes.
It’s all I can do to process the timesheets and invoices to keep my cleaning staff paid on time. I can’t let them down – they have families to feed, kids in school, lives of their own. They depend on me.
The reporter – the one who accosted Lisa at the hospital – has been leaving messages on my phone. It’s only a matter of time before he turns up on the doorstep, and then what?
I have nothing to say to him, but that doesn’t make me feel better. After all, they printed lies about Bec, and no one questioned it. Not one of them thought to ask if what was printed was the truth.
They never do.
I drain the glass in four deep gulps.
The giddiness wears off and I stumble back to the dining area, collapse into my chair and wiggle the mouse to wake up the laptop screen.
There are no new stories about us. The damage has been done, and the journalists have new prey. We are yesterday’s news now.
So, why does he persist in trying to speak to me? Has he found out something new?
I reach out for my phone and dial the number for the hospital. After a few moments, I’m put through to Bec’s ward.
They still won’t let me talk to her, and because I’m not family they won’t give me an update either, other than to say she is progressing well.
I hang up.
I scroll through my contacts list, and my thumb hovers over two familiar names.
I’ve known Bec’s parents since I was twenty, but I’m too scared to talk to them.
I don’t know what to say. I’ve never been good at this, this business of offering hope or condolences or whatever it is I should be doing.
Instead, I’m numb.
People think I’m cold because of that, that inability to express sympathy or empathy. The truth is, I’ve learned to shut myself off from it all. It’s the only form of protection I know. Nothing else works.
I wish I hadn’t argued with Simon.
There, I’ve said it.
If somebody finds out about that, it’s all over for me. No one will believe me. It won’t matter what I say.
I knew I should never have agreed to meet him, not there. Not somewhere so public, in view of everyone. But that’s how he wanted it, wasn’t it?
I had to agree. I needed to speak to him.
I had to let him know.
But our last words to each other were spoken in anger. I shouldn’t feel guilty, I know I shouldn’t, because he was a conniving bastard who used people. If it wasn’t for the others, I’d have severed all ties with him years ago, especially after—
Stop it.
I straighten my shoulders and take a deep breath before pushing the chair backwards.
I shower first, taking my time, scrubbing grease from my hair and combing through a thick conditioning treatment that fills the bathroom with the sweet scent of watermelon.
Once dry, I stand in front of my wardrobe, then select a bright-red cashmere sweater that will go some way to offset the pallor of my skin, and pair it with black trousers.
I have to do something before it’s too late. Before they suspect something.
My phone rings, and my heart misses a beat.
I wonder why the police haven’t interviewed me again, and then chastise myself. They probably will, they just haven’t yet. I can’t imagine that detective – Forbes – giving up until she gets to the bottom of what happened in the escape room, and why Simon died.
I’m certainly not going to help her.
The phone has stopped ringing, and as I listen to the voicemail message he’s left, I realise I don’t have a choice anymore.
I delete the message and open the recent calls log, my finger poised over the familiar number.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I press the call button.
33
Lisa
I raise my hand above my head and stretch, careful not to pull the stitches that are healing well.
I’m putting on weight, thanks in part to the drugs I’m on to make sure my body doesn’t reject my new kidney, and my mind is clearer than it has been for weeks. Now that I’ve stopped taking the potent concoction of painkillers, I can think straight.
I’ve decamped from my old bedroom to the kitchen table. Hunching over my laptop on the bed is doing no good for my abdomen and I needed a change of scenery – however small.
Dad’s out with an old work colleague of his, and Mum’s dusting her collection of china in the living room so I savour the peace and quiet.
My gaze returns to the laptop screen, and to the message I’ve received this morning.
It’s from somebody I knew vaguely at university, one of those tentative friendships that didn’t quite fully blossom but meant that we stayed in touch over the years.
Charlotte now works in the diplomatic service, living in Berlin with a German husband and their two children.
She’s known about my illness over the past twelve months, so she wrote a couple of days ago seeking an update on my prognosis. I emailed back, telling her about Simon’s death and
the impact it’s had on all of us these past two weeks, and now her response has my heart racing.
Charlotte was the only person I could think of that would be discreet. As far as I know, she doesn’t keep in touch with the rest of them. Just me.
I shan’t tell David I’ve contacted Charlotte. He’d be livid with me for a start for talking about our lives with someone he’d view as a complete stranger.
Hayley, I’m not sure about. I think she knows more than she would have me believe. And, of course, none of us are allowed to see Bec at the moment, so I can’t ask her.
‘I do hope you manage to rally together to get through this,’ says Charlotte in her email. ‘But then, you always did. No one could ever understand why you all drifted away from the rest of us that winter. You went from being the life of the party to being almost cloistered away. We used to joke that the five of you had formed a cult or something. I was too in awe of some of you to dare to ask what had happened, especially after Greg disappeared without a trace.’
I write back, making some pithy comment that I know what she means, and then turn the conversation back to Charlotte’s career. I figure talking about herself and her achievements would make her think my reply is nothing to worry about.
The doorbell rings as I send the email, and I sit stock-still.
Is it the journalist? Has he decided to come here having failed to get a quote from me at the hospital?
My throat dries, making it hard to swallow, and then—
‘Lisa? It’s Hayley here to see you.’
‘Be right there.’
‘We’re in the front room.’
Hayley?
I close the laptop, shove it next to Mum’s housekeeping magazine and tidy away the paperwork strewn across the table.
Has she somehow found out that I’m delving into our past, and that I know she was seen arguing with Simon?
I hurry down the hallway, pausing to check my face in the mirror at the bottom of the stairs, and I’m relieved to see that I don’t look as worried as I feel. At least I have some colour in my cheeks now, and that vacant dullness in my eyes has all but gone.
I can hear Hayley and my mum talking in the living room, and they pause mid-sentence as I push the door open.
‘Here she is,’ says Mum. She’s got a duster in her hand, and gives me a smile. ‘I’ll let you two catch up while I get on with my chores.’
Hayley and I share a smile as she leaves the room. Mum hasn’t changed at all since we were at university, and the familiarity helps to alleviate some of the panic threatening to bubble to the surface.
As I take a seat in one of the armchairs, I notice the new gold hoop earrings Hayley is wearing. The three studs are gone, and I wonder if she realised that I’d noticed the nervous tic when she visited me at the hospital.
‘I thought you might want some company,’ she says. ‘I spoke with the hospital this morning, and although they couldn’t tell me much, they did say that Bec is well on the mend.’
‘That’s fantastic news. Do they know when she might be released?’
‘No, or if they do, they’re not telling me. I guess we’ll just have to wait until they do and she gets in touch.’ She looks down at her hands. ‘I keep wondering whether I should phone her parents but the thing is, I don’t know what to say. After everything that happened with Simon and you, I just—’
‘I know. The longer we leave it though, the more awkward it’s going to get, isn’t it? Do you know if David has spoken to them since you saw them at the hospital, given he was the one that saved her?’
‘No – I haven’t heard from him since that night.’
‘Oh.’ I lean back in the chair, and decide to try something. ‘Everything seemed so much simpler when we were at university, didn’t it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know. All of this, with Simon dying and everything else. That last year, all I could envisage was getting out and getting a job – not this. What about you?’
She chokes out a bitter laugh, and eyes her wristwatch before pushing herself to her feet. ‘I couldn’t wait to see the back of the place.’
34
Lisa
I’m starting to lose count of the appointments I’ve had at the hospital since being discharged after the transplant.
I’ve spent Thursday morning having blood tests taken and urine samples procured, and now I’m sitting in a waiting room watching an American soap opera on a television that hangs above the pharmacy counter while I wait for my prescription.
In between the fractured love lives of who I suppose must be the main characters, I watch the staff dole out drugs and medical aids, a constant stream of patients keeping them busy.
Beside me, David flicks through a cycling magazine he found in a stack on a table in the corner, muttering under his breath at the articles.
‘There’s no way I’d pay that much for a carbon fork.’
He offered to bring me here, to wait and keep me company and for that, I’m grateful. Mum and Dad have seen enough of hospitals these past twelve months to last them a lifetime, and to be honest I needed to get out of the house – without them.
I scroll through the property app on my phone and flag another one-bedroom terrace I’ve spotted on the outskirts of town. It’s cheap enough that with a small loan from my parents, I’ll be able to buy it outright and it’s far enough away to regain my independence without completely alienating them.
It’s time to move on. Time to live my life again.
The middle-aged balding man who’s been sitting opposite us is called, and we have the room to ourselves now.
David scoots across the room, snatches up the television remote and flicks through the channels until he finds a nature programme. He shrugs as he returns to his chair.
‘Better than the alternative, I suppose.’
‘I was enjoying that.’
‘You’re kidding.’
I smile, and he gently slaps my arm.
‘Did the police tell you how Simon died?’ he says, dropping the remote onto a table next to his chair.
‘No.’ My interest is piqued. I lean forward. ‘Have they told you?’
He nodded.
‘How come they didn’t tell me?’
‘You’ve only just had a kidney transplant, Lisa. Maybe they were waiting until you recovered.’
I wrinkle my nose. ‘No. That doesn’t make sense. They haven’t waited to question me, have they? So why not tell me what happened?’
‘Doesn’t it contravene patient-donor confidentiality or something?’
I snort. ‘Oh, come on. All that’s gone out the window, hasn’t it?’
A silence falls between us, and I fold my arms across my chest.
Eventually, he speaks, his voice low. ‘He hit his head, Lisa. That’s all. He had too much to drink at lunchtime, and tripped.’
‘Is that what they said to you?’
‘It’s what happened. I don’t know why they’ve been questioning you. I don’t know why Bec was taken in to speak with them. They were probably just making sure.’
‘Then why was Hayley seen arguing with him?’
He rolls his eyes. ‘Leave it alone, Lisa, please. How do you think Hayley will feel if she knows you’re sneaking around behind her back?’
‘I was only interested. I thought—’ I lower my eyes and try to ignore the tight sensation in my chest that is building. I’m hurt by his words, but I realise he’s got a point.
What right do I have to poke around in my friend’s private life?
‘Am I losing the plot, David?’
‘I don’t know. Are you?’
I shake my head and turn my gaze to the corridor beyond the door.
Two porters hurry past, one pushing an empty wheelchair while the other has some sort of trolley laden with cleaning materials and medical supplies.
It’s all so normal out there.
David closes the magazine, crosses the room to drop
it onto the collection piled up on a bookcase near the door, and then walks back. He stops in front of me, brushes my hair from my face and plants a light kiss on my forehead.
‘I think all those drugs have got you thinking crazy thoughts,’ he says. He smiles, then squeezes my shoulder as the pharmacist calls my name. ‘Come on. Let’s get you home.’
35
David
Thank Christ, Lisa is going to be all right.
My hands are shaking as I take her home after the appointment, but for once it’s not because I lack confidence driving and it’s rush hour; it’s the fact that her consultant has informed her that everything went as well as it could. She’s over the first hurdle in her road to recovery.
I glance across at her.
She’s smiling as she watches the world go by her window, her hands clasped in her lap and her shoulders relaxed.
I swear she almost skipped back into the waiting room after the appointment. I haven’t seen her that happy in months.
She gave me a fierce hug, and we stood there for a moment as all the stress of the past year, the loss of Simon, everything slipped away.
‘I think we should have a celebratory drink,’ I say now.
She turns to face me, her eyes wide. ‘Do you think I should?’
‘I’m sure you can have a small glass of wine. We should celebrate. This is good news, isn’t it?’
A flash of guilt crosses her features, and then it’s gone. Her mouth twitches.
‘I could murder a Shiraz.’
Her hand flies to her mouth before she’s finished speaking, and I reach across and pat her knee. ‘I know. I know.’
She recovers, and then says, ‘Do you want to give Hayley a call?’
God, no.
‘Probably best not to,’ I say. ‘We’ll just have a quiet one, and then I’ll get you home. I imagine your mum and dad will want to hear how you got on as soon as possible, right?’
The Friend Who Lied Page 12
