Good Little Liars

by Sarah Clutton

  Around him a slew of ambulances, police cars and emergency rescue trucks were parked at odd angles, lights strobing, blocking traffic going south. Further up, at the intersection a policeman stood in the centre diverting traffic onto the east-west flow of Canarvon Drive. Emma smelled petrol.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  In the gloomy evening light, a green Falcon sat crookedly at the edge of the intersection, its mouth mangled. A boy stood next to it, shivering in his t-shirt, talking to a policewoman who was writing something down. Rescue crews dressed in fluorescent vests surrounded the white car that had been pushed through the hedge. A bright yellow ‘L’ plate on the car’s back bumper flashed reflectively each time the light of the police car whooshed around. There were calls and shouts across the road, and Emma saw a man squatting at the mangled car door and heard him talking constantly to the occupant of the car.

  On the road, a woman was being held up by a policeman as an ambulance officer tried to talk to her. As Emma watched she heard the woman wail then cry out. ‘My girl – get her out! Out!’

  The woman was pulling away from both men, trying to get back towards the white car that had been half swallowed on the passenger side by the hedge. The rescue crews working on the driver’s side door were ignoring her. Emma shivered.

  ‘Are you a part of the school, love? I saw you come down the path.’ The policeman was staring at her.

  ‘I live there.’

  ‘We’ll need to contact someone in charge. The accident investigation crew are coming. We’ll need to cordon off the school grounds here for a bit.’

  Emma looked at him dumbly, panic emptying her mind. Her mouth felt parched.

  ‘Er… yes, okay.’ As she said it her eye was caught by a movement. Behind the white car, running up the footpath, she saw the tall figure of a man. She felt a twisted pang of relief as she recognised the headmaster. Dr Brownley stopped as a policeman approached him from the road. They spoke briefly as Dr Brownley surveyed the scene, looking for where he needed to go. Emma saw the young policeman motioning towards her, to the senior officer she was talking to. At the same moment, the screaming woman turned and saw the headmaster too.

  ‘Jon!’

  Dr Brownley turned to her, then he looked again at the mangled white car, his blond hair sweeping across the scene, reflecting the flashing lights like a blue and red halo.

  ‘Harriet?’ He reached out his arms and the woman slumped into his chest. He caught her tiny frame and bent into it, murmuring something Emma couldn’t hear.

  Emma turned to the policeman as she pointed towards Jonathan. Her heart was drumming a mad tune. Everything was off-kilter. The wailing woman turned her face and Emma recognised the precise, elegant profile of Harriet Andrews.

  Clementine’s mother.

  Then a sick understanding filtered through her brain as she realised what that must mean about the L-plate driver they were trying to cut out of the car. Scarlett. She tried to speak, but nothing came out. She closed her eyes and tilting, tipping, images rolled out like a film. A hallucination. The blond-haired man running below the window. Beckoning to someone behind him, then chasing after Tessa.

  Emma felt the energy draining from her. All these years she’d kept the secret of what she saw, had wondered what it meant. But she hadn’t been there to see what had happened to Tessa. What did she really know about it? She hadn’t spoken up when it counted, and now everything had moved on. Time had split in the moment she’d decided not to speak up about Tessa’s plan, or about what she saw from the window, and history had been made by a million tiny decisions and actions that had occurred in the vacuum of her silence. A history that could never be altered. But here, now in the present, she had the power to make her words count.

  Emma looked across to the crumpled bonnet of the green Falcon, then at the rescue worker holding the huge metal cutters. They both watched the other worker as he pulled, then stumbled backwards holding the side of the twisted wreckage of the BMW, the white door now a jagged wreck in his hands. Let her live.

  Emma watched as Jonathan folded Harriet into the grasp of the ambulance officer, then walked across and spoke to the man who had pulled off the twisted door.

  The police officer was still looking at Emma, strangely now, waiting for an answer. This was the moment with the police she’d thought she wanted. But maybe the truth she thought she knew wasn’t hers for the telling.

  She forced her tongue through the dry sludge of her mouth and pointed again.

  ‘He’s the man you want, Officer.’

  ‘He’s in charge?’

  ‘He’s… he’s the headmaster.’

  Thirty-Eight

  Marlee

  ‘Phillip says she went home. He wasn’t sure if she was coming to the reunion or not. But she’s not answering her phone.’ Marlee dropped the phone in her lap and looked up at Clementine.

  ‘Well there’s not much we can do then, is there?’ Clementine took a long slurp of her cocktail as the melodic notes of Adele piped through the speakers of the restaurant. ‘Bloody hell, that’s strong.’ She winced then looked back at Marlee. ‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’

  ‘I can’t…’ Marlee faltered as two women peeled away from the main crowd and walked towards them. One of the women smiled, the smile not quite reaching her eyes.

  ‘Well if it isn’t Jemima Hooker,’ said Clementine.

  ‘Jemima Langdon-Traves now,’ said the woman.

  Marlee stood up.

  ‘And Peta Elliot. You both look about twenty!’ said Clementine, smiling at the other woman, who towered over her, thin, willowy and elegant in her stiletto boots and tight black pants.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Jemima, glancing at Marlee then back to Clementine.

  Marlee knew she didn’t make the muster. Clementine had told her she looked terrible.

  ‘So Clementine, you’re really famous now. Who would have thought?’ said Jemima, letting her gaze run slowly over Clementine’s green pantsuit. Clementine shrugged and took another sip of her cocktail.

  ‘Love that English accent you’ve got going on,’ said Clementine.

  ‘Well, I’ve lived in London for years now. Couldn’t live anywhere else. What about you, Clementine. Where are you based these days?’ asked Jemima.

  ‘Mum’s spare bedroom at the moment.’

  ‘Really?’ Jemima turned up the corner of her mouth.

  ‘Yeah. She’s a good old stick, putting up with me.’

  ‘I thought you lived abroad.’ Jemima paused and glanced at Peta.

  ‘Usually.’

  ‘Well, I can recommend the Oriental Suite at the Henry Jones next time you’re home. I’m sure you can afford it. My husband bought one of your pieces last year at auction for fifteen thousand pounds.’

  Marlee squirmed and wondered again where Emma was.

  ‘Good for him,’ said Clementine. ‘What piece?’

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure of its name. He showed me a photo of it. Men with bleeding hands behind a razor wire fence. He’s usually got a good eye for beautiful things, but this one was definitely an investment decision.’ She smirked and rolled her eyes at Peta, who was nodding and sipping on her champagne.

  ‘It sounds like Resting in Refuge. I did a series on the shit way that governments treat asylum seekers. Where did he hang it?’ asked Clementine.

  ‘Well, I wasn’t about to let him have it in the house scaring the boys!’ Jemima appeared to try to raise her eyebrows, but nothing on her forehead moved. She let out a laugh. ‘It lives in one the back rooms of his London office – away from prospective clients. Ha ha!’

  ‘Sensible,’ said Clementine. ‘Wouldn’t wanna upset those prospective clients. So, how old are your boys, Jem?’

  ‘Nobody calls me that anymore.’ She gave a tight smile then continued, ‘Rupert is four and Freddie’s nearly eight.’

  ‘Great.’ Clementine looked down into the depths of her cocktail glass.

  ‘Gorgeous names, aren
’t they?’ said Peta looking at Clementine and Marlee for agreement. Her hand landed on her chest, her perfectly manicured fingers looking oddly unbalanced by the weight of her diamonds. ‘I really wanted to call my boy Rupert too, but my husband wanted Theo. He always gets his own way, but I was devastated!’

  Jemima smiled graciously.

  ‘Hmmm, well,’ said Clementine. She sipped the last of the creamy cocktail and pulled the cherry from the bottom of the glass and held it up. ‘I can highly recommend the Angel’s Tit girls. Bloody fantastic.’ She chewed vigorously on the cherry. ‘So, Jem… your folks still living in Hobart? Looking after the boys tonight?’

  ‘No. Definitely not! I left them at home. Too difficult to do the flight on my own with them. I have a great au pair though, back in London… an Australian girl actually. Very attentive.’

  ‘Right,’ said Clementine.

  ‘Do you have children Clementine?’ asked Peta.

  ‘No way,’ said Clementine, her eyes widening.

  Marlee shifted from one foot to the other, wondering why she hadn’t asked Ben to turn the car around and take her home.

  ‘Well, you probably just haven’t found the right man yet,’ said Jemima.

  Clementine narrowed her eyes, as if she was thinking about it, then furrowed her brow. ‘That could be a reason. I guess.’

  A waitress appeared at the edge of their group with a platter of tiny filo pastry cups filled with what looked like mushrooms. ‘These look great,’ said Marlee pouncing on one. She bit into it, the pastry mixing uneasily with her nausea at the thought of Emma with the police.

  Clementine grabbed one too. ‘Are they any good?’ she asked the waitress with a grin.

  The girl smiled and shook her head. ‘Sorry, I haven’t tried them.’

  ‘I’m gluten free,’ said Peta, shaking her head at the girl.

  Jemima waived the plate away without looking at the waitress.

  Marlee looked across the room as the door opened. Emma stood very still, in the doorway in her old grey overcoat.

  Jemima followed Marlee’s gaze. ‘Oh my God – it’s Emma Tasker! Did you girls read that email she accidentally sent round! It was hilarious. So embarrassing.’ Jemima curled her top lip into a gleeful sneer. Then her eyes widened briefly as she looked at Marlee. ‘That’s right. It was written to you, Marleen! What a cock-up! Well, I’m surprised she’s here, the way she was talking so rudely about her husband in it. And carrying on about Tessa’s death, as though she knew something about it.’

  Marlee stared at Jemima’s flawless face and perfect pouty lips and felt a strange discomfort, as if she had just seen Jemima naked by accident. She couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Clementine squeezed Marlee’s arm without looking at her. ‘You know what, Jemima, I was just thinking, you’re so trusting to leave your au pair at home alone with your husband. I hope she isn’t too pretty, given that he’s got such a good eye for beautiful things and all. You wouldn’t want Freddie and Ronald walking in when the hired help was getting all attentive on Daddy, would you?’ Clementine’s girlish features were suddenly split wide open in a grin. ‘That would make her a really bad investment decision.’

  ‘It’s Rupert,’ said Jemima coldly. ‘Not Ronald.’

  ‘Roger, Rasputin, Ronald… whatever.’ Clementine shrugged her shoulders. ‘Come on, Marlee, let’s have a cocktail with Emma. I’m gonna try the Wet Pussy next. Yummo! See ya ladies.’ She threw her arm up in a lunatic wave.

  Marlee felt their stares boring into her back. She felt lighter for a moment. But as they got closer, Marlee noticed something like fear in Emma’s eyes. She looked sick.

  ‘Em, is Rosie okay?’

  ‘She will be. She’s much better than yesterday. I walked here but… there was… ah…’ Emma seemed to be avoiding looking at Clementine. Behind Emma’s shoulder, Marlee noticed that most of the women in the room were watching them. Emma’s face was a ghostly shade of white.

  ‘That’s great she’s going to be okay.’ She paused. ‘I got your voicemail… about the police and Jon Brownley.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Why did you report him, Emma?’ asked Clementine. ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree.’

  ‘There’s been an accident,’ said Emma. She finally looked at Clementine, her eyes bright, wet pools.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Marlee quickly.

  Emma averted her eyes but spoke again to Clementine.

  ‘Your mother, and I think your sister. A car crash.’

  ‘Emma, Marleen, Clementine! How amazing is this restaurant?’ The three of them stared at the vision in front of them – a huge woman had emerged from the front door in a large colourful kaftan, sparkling with gemstones. Her hair was short and a vibrant shade of reddish-pink.

  ‘It’s Lisa! Lisa Appleby! Leicester now, though. It’s so good to see you, ladies! Clementine, you’re so tiny! I’d forgotten that about you. You don’t look this tiny on TV! Does she, Emma?’ Lisa gave Emma’s shoulder an exuberant shove, as she waited for agreement.

  Nobody spoke. Lisa looked at each of them in turn, her smile slowly fading.

  ‘Clementine’s just had some bad news, Lisa. She needs to go.’ Marlee took hold of Clementine’s arm. ‘We all need to go. Sorry, Lisa. Maybe we can catch up for coffee some time?’ She turned without waiting for an answer, pulling Clementine, who’d become surprisingly quiet and docile.

  Outside the restaurant, the cold air seemed to wake Clementine from her stupor.

  ‘Where’s the accident? Is it bad?’ Clementine asked.

  ‘Someone was trapped. I think it’s Scarlett.’ Emma pointed towards the school. ‘This way. You can see the lights from here.’

  Clementine’s phone startled them, blaring the tune to ‘Highway to Hell’ as it rang in her hand. She jabbed at the screen frantically, as she started walking towards the school.

  ‘Mum. Are you okay? Is Scarlett okay?’

  Emma and Marlee watched as she furrowed her brow, staring down the street.

  ‘Okay, I’ll come to the hospital. Mum, you need to stay calm. Stop that. You need to be calm for Scarlett. I’m coming.’ She ended the call.

  ‘Mum’s not a crier. It must be bad.’ Her voice was tight with worry. ‘My car’s over there if you want to come to the hospital.’

  She pointed and walked across the road to the tiny orange Datsun. Emma and Marlee followed. Emma clambered into the back after Clementine pushed the driver’s seat forward. Marlee ran around to the passenger seat. The car smelled like tobacco and rotting fruit.

  Clementine took off without warning, speeding, swerving, spinning around corners. Marlee clenched her hands into tight fists as the road skated beneath them like a treacherous, icy lake. The silence inside the car was interrupted only by the high-pitched squeal of the engine. The atmosphere felt thick and surreal. As they drove through the darkened streets near the city centre, upturned crucifixes glowed an eerie red, signalling the beginning of the Dark Mofo festival. On the side of a building a huge semi-circular installation of garish pink lights screamed at Marlee through the darkness: ‘FEAR EATS THE SOUL’. She knew it already. She wondered if she should tell Clementine to slow down. But her fate was sealed already. She would be going to prison for Tessa’s death when the investigation re-opened. It was lucky that her baby had a good father. Emma would be a wonderful godmother. Ben would find a kind new partner, someone to raise little Ned with him. To love him, almost like a mother. Now that the reckoning had arrived Marlee felt strangely resigned to it.

  Marlee looked back towards Emma. ‘I know this might not be the right time to say this, but Jon Brownley didn’t kill Tessa. He was on the other side of the barrier when she fell in the hole. I need to speak to the police, make sure they don’t arrest him.’ She looked down at the empty coke bottle rolling around on the floor and over her feet.

  ‘What? How could you know—’

  ‘I know, Em. I know, because it was me who pushed her.’ Mar
lee looked back towards Emma. In the blue-black light, her face was a mask of confusion.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to. My hand just… caught her. It was instinct.’

  ‘What was?’ said Emma.

  ‘To grab the photo.’

  ‘You’re… you’re not making sense.’

  The car slowed down as Clementine turned into a bend.

  ‘You mean it was nothing to do with Jon Brownley?’ said Emma

  ‘No. It was to do with him. But I caused it… by accident.’

  ‘But… then why would you not tell the police that, back then? All these years…’ Emma let the sentence trail off.

  ‘I know that! I wanted to tell someone. I was desperate to get the ambulance. But I couldn’t. I’d broken my ankle, the pain was horrible. I begged them to go. You’ve got to believe me.’

  ‘Them?’

  ‘Clementine’s mother. She found us there. She made us promise to keep quiet. She made us swear. She said it would be much worse if we spoke up. I know now she was wrong, but I didn’t… I couldn’t…’ Marlee felt as if something inside her had cracked. She felt the acid tears on her lashes, as a wave of raw angry longing swept through her. An old yearning to live that day over, do things differently, maybe warn someone, or leave Tessa and her plans alone. Her body began to shudder, and sobs erupted, jagged and loud. The car was filled with her grief for Tessa and for herself and that awful, fractured moment as the photo slipped and blew away.

  ‘Marlee? Marlee stop. I didn’t report Jonathan to the police. I changed my mind,’ said Emma.

  ‘What?’ said Clementine.

  Emma spoke louder. ‘I said I didn’t report Jonathan to the police. Marlee stop crying. Please stop it. I didn’t report him okay? They’re not going to find out.’

  Clementine swerved out of the roundabout, and clipped the edge of the gutter. ‘Shit.’

  ‘Slow down, Clementine! We don’t need another accident tonight,’ Emma snapped.

  ‘Alright, sorry.’ Clementine put on her indicator for the first time since they’d gotten into the car, as she turned and pulled up inside the hospital carpark. She switched off the ignition and turned to face Marlee. ‘I need to go see if my sister’s okay. But I just need to know… you’re saying that when you accidentally knocked Tessa, Mum and Jon knew it and made you cover it up?’