‘I wasn’t until you came here and brought it all up again.’
‘Did you get police protection, or anything? I saw it sometimes out in LA – the big celebs have their own security. You don’t see it when they’re being photographed because these huge blokes are behind the cameras. If anyone makes a wrong move, they’re on them.’
‘I don’t want to talk about this.’
Being brother and sister can be a strange thing. If you make friends with a person, that’s a conscious choice. You do it because you have something in common with them, you enjoy the same things, you can make each other’s lives better. With family, there’s no option. Liam and I have never been a part of one another’s life. He is eleven years older than me and, even in my earliest memories, he had already left home. I don’t know the type of things in which he’s interested. He’s nothing to do with me and yet I allowed him into my flat because we’re related.
‘You turn eighteen soon, don’t you?’
He makes the question sound perfectly innocent, as if he’s considering what I might want for a present. There’s no way I’m that easily fooled.
‘Vouchers,’ I reply, playing him at his own game.
‘What?’
‘You can get me vouchers if you want. I’ve got my eye on a pair of boots.’
He tilts his head, cottoning on to the fact that he’s been rumbled. ‘You’ll be able to buy anything you want…’
‘I guess that’s true.’
He waits and I know that everything Martha’s told me about my brother is correct. It really must be a thing about the men in this family. The money gene.
‘So… do you have any plans for it…?’
Liam speaks as if we’re discussing what to have for tea. All innocent and friendly.
‘Not really,’ I reply. ‘I’m happy here for now. Martha says I can stay and that she doesn’t want to sell. She’s not bothered, either. It’s not like I need a lot of things.’
He blinks, apparently surprised. ‘Oh… well I guess I was wondering if you can help your brother out. You’d be helping yourself, too.’
He waits, looking for a reaction, but I give him none.
‘I have an investment opportunity,’ he adds. ‘A friend back in the States. He runs a vitamin supply company. It’s all protein shakes and health food out there. It’s massive. You can make a fortune…’
I play dumb: ‘I don’t understand what you’re asking me.’
‘You’ll get your money back three times over.’
‘What money?’
‘A hundred grand or so. The exchange rate changes all the time, but it’ll be something like that.’
‘I give you one hundred thousand and you give me back three hundred thousand?’
He takes the question as some sort of confirmation that I’m interested, sitting up straighter, angling towards me and becoming more animated with his hands. ‘Exactly. It’s guaranteed money. You can’t lose.’
‘How long do I have to wait to get the three-hundred?’
‘Six months, maybe? My mate says they’re waiting to go public. When that happens, everything will sky-rocket. It’s going to be massive. If you wait longer, you could make ten times what you put in.’
I suck on my lips, making it look as if I’m thinking about it. I’m not, and never will be, any sort of financial expert – but even I can tell that this is nonsense.
‘So…’ Liam coos.
‘So, what?’
‘What do you reckon?’
I shake my head. ‘I’m all right.’
He throws both hands up. ‘But this is easy money.’
I shrug. ‘So what? I’m already inheriting more than I will ever spend. What am I going to do with more?’
Liam stares at me as if I’m a creature he’s never seen. As if he’s in the jungle and he’s stumbled across a brand-new colour that mankind has never experienced. He doesn’t have the words.
‘I… er… what…?’ he stumbles.
‘I don’t want to make more money. I don’t care.’
‘But what do you mean it’s more than you’ll ever spend? It’s only, what, a million and a half with interest…?’
‘What am I going to do with all that? Buy a house? Go on holiday? I’d rather find something I like doing and do that.’
He reels back and gasps: ‘You want to get a… job?’
He makes the final word sound like an insult.
I shrug. ‘Maybe. I don’t need to decide yet. I missed a bit of school, but I’m trying to catch up online. I’ll be a year or two older than most, but I might look into doing a course somewhere, or going to uni. We’ll see. There’s no rush.’
His eyes are on stalks, but then he sees another opportunity. ‘But if you’re not bothered, why not give a bit of money to me? If you treble the investment, all the better; if not, then you weren’t going to spend it anyway…?’
‘I thought I was “guaranteed” to triple my money?’
‘You are… it’s just…’ He tails off and seems unable to comprehend that I’m going to leave the money sitting.
‘C’mon, sis…’ he says.
I’m annoyed now. The passive aggression is simply aggression. I’m not Martha and I’m sure as hell not my mother – but it’s still there.
‘“Sis”? Are you joking? We’ve not seen each other in four years. You sent one postcard – to Martha – and never mentioned me.’
‘I was busy!’
‘Didn’t you get your own money? Everything was split three ways. If you need a hundred thousand, use your own share.’
He glares at me with a mixture of fury and disgust. ‘You’re not going to help, are you?’
‘No.’
Liam leaps up from the chair, arching towards me, sneering. ‘Y’know… Mum always said you were the bitch of the family and now I see why.’
He doesn’t wait for a reply, charging out of the room, through the kitchen and slamming the front door on his way out. By the time I get to the kitchen window, he’s already up the steps and gone.
‘Nice to see you, too,’ I tell the empty room.
Seventeen
Now
Seth
The police have not found a body.
That’s made clear to me as soon as I open the door. ‘It’s not bad news,’ the officer says. She asks to come in and then introduces herself as a family liaison officer, adding, ‘Call me Fiona.’
She’s far more mumsy than the granite-faced detective who was asking all the questions yesterday. Fiona gives off the air of a social worker, all whimsy and soft looks.
I lead her into the living room and introduce my sister, giving Fiona the lounger and sitting next to Emily on the sofa.
‘I’m sorry if I worried you,’ Fiona says. ‘Liaison officers are usually only assigned in cases of bereavement’ – she nods towards the front window and the journalists beyond – ‘but we figured this was a special case, especially with the attention.’
‘What does a family liaison officer do?’ I ask. ‘Liaise with families, I guess.’
‘Precisely that. I’m the link between you and the police. With all the inquiries and attention, there’s a lot of ground to cover. Any developments will be relayed to you through me and if there are any questions you have, anything that springs to mind that you might want to pass on to the investigating team, I’m here for that, too.’
‘Does this mean there’s news…?’
I know I’m being hopeful and expect a shake of the head, but Fiona looks between the two of us, silently confirming that I don’t mind Emily overhearing anything. ‘There are no obvious signs of your wife in or around the hotel grounds,’ she says. ‘A team who’ll examine the site more forensically will be there today, but it’s an incredibly contaminated scene. Staff arrive and leave via the back of the building, plus – as you know – guests can enter and exit via the corridor. We are doing what we can.’
The media leak is definitely bad in many ways – bu
t if it’s achieved something then it’s that the police know they’re in the spotlight now. Every day without a progress report on what happened to Charley will be another day of questions for them.
‘Charley’s brother called me,’ I say.
‘Is that unusual?’
‘As far as I know, Charley’s only seen him once in the past ten years or so.’
Fiona sits up straighter. ‘Did he say what he wanted?’
‘He wants to meet… Do you think that’s a good idea?’
The officer seems surprised at being asked, stumbling over a reply. ‘I… well, I’m not sure. It’s up to you. I can’t imagine it would do any harm.’
I poke a thumb towards the window. ‘I can’t really leave in my car. They’ll follow and I don’t think Liam was asking for a meeting with the media sitting on the next table.’
Emily starts to dig into her bag. ‘Take my car,’ she says. ‘Go out the back and then follow the lane. I’m on the next street over.’
‘What if someone sees me leaving? They’ll follow your car.’
Emily lays her keys on the side next to her mug. ‘I dunno, wear a mask or something.’
‘I might be able to help with that,’ Fiona says. ‘That’s another thing I was going to bring up. Someone probably needs to talk to the media, if only to tell them you have nothing to say. An official “no comment” is better than speculation. I was going to say that you could do it, or I could – but perhaps if I’m out front telling them you want some privacy…’
Eighteen
I’ll be honest: I had the Mission: Impossible music in my head as I ran along the lane at the back of my house. I risked a glance towards the media on the pavement and then sprinted towards the parallel road and Emily’s car. Charley would have found it funny and called me an idiot or something. Who knows what neighbourhood watch think of the whole thing.
When she drives, Emily sits underneath the steering wheel of her car, practically in the footwell. I have no idea how she can see anything with all the dangly crap hanging from the mirror. I shunt the chair back to get inside and pull away without being followed.
It’s not long before I’m on the M3, following it until the junction Liam suggested and getting off at the service station. Rows of lorries are parked diagonally off to the side, but it’s generally quiet. I’m assuming Monday is not prime time for getting off the motorway to grab a Yorkie.
Liam is sitting on one of the high tables at the front of Burger King. There’s a crumpled fast-food wrapper at his side and he’s busy scanning everyone entering the building. He holds up a hand when he spots me and lifts the peak of his San Francisco baseball cap before taking it off. We shake hands, but it’s awkward. Neither of us know one another and, at least from my point of view, he’s someone my wife doesn’t much care for.
He’s unshaven, wearing tracksuit bottoms with a rip in one of the knees and a dark T-shirt. I know I spent an entire day in my wedding suit and have hardly slept, but I’m pretty sure that, of the two of us, Liam is the one most people would peg as the person who slept in a bush most recently.
‘Been here long?’ I ask, unsure what to say.
‘Five minutes. I set off as soon as you called back. Saw the news this morning. I can’t believe it.’
‘That Charley left?’
Liam nods. ‘Right – that’s the problem with this family. Endless drama. Even when you think you’re out, you get dragged back sooner or later. Them lot never forget who you are.’
‘Journalists?’
‘Right.’
‘I suppose this is my first experience of anything like this. They pretty much left Charley alone…’
Liam nods along, though I’m not sure he’s listening. He leans in and lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘I thought I might be able to help.’
‘Do you know where she might’ve gone?’
A shake of the head. ‘I know someone from the old days with Mum and Dad. She’s called a publicist, but, really, she’s there to get people off your back. She knows what they want.’
‘Oh…’ I sit back on the stool and it’s hard to hide the disappointment.
‘What’s up?’ he asks.
‘I thought you might have some idea what happened to Charley.’
Liam seems oblivious to why I might have thought that. ‘Nah, man. I’ve only seen her once in years. You were there. Why would I know where she is?’
‘Precisely – that’s why I thought it might be important when you called.’
His nose crinkles as he chews his lips, not getting it. ‘Look, I know it might not sound like much, but this publicist goes way back with Mum and Dad.’
I wish I’d bought a drink or food, if only to give myself a moment or two to think of something to say. It really does sound like Liam is trying to help but he has no idea how to go about it.
‘Was there anywhere Charley used to go as a kid?’ I ask. ‘A hiding place? A favourite spot? Anything like that?’
He shakes his head. ‘I was at boarding school and then moved out by the time Charlotte was old enough to be anything more than a baby.’
I knew there were eleven years between them – but only because of the Wikipedia page. It’s not something Charley and I have ever discussed. That portion of her life is off limits to everyone. I’ve never brought it up and neither has she. I’m curious, of course, but where to even begin? ‘You remember when your parents died, what was it like in the wardrobe?’ I’ve always figured that if she wanted to tell me about it, then she would. She talks about Martha and her time in London and I suppose that, in many ways, she’s had two lives. There is Charlotte up until she was thirteen and then Charley afterwards.
‘That must’ve been weird for you,’ I say.
Liam nods – but it’s not like before when I wasn’t sure he was listening. He’s paying attention, agreeing. Remembering.
‘By the time she was ten, you were already an adult,’ I add. ‘You could’ve had your own kids but your parents had one of their own.’
He continues nodding. ‘Right… like you say… weird.’
‘Is that why you and Charley don’t really talk?’
Liam has been staring towards the doors at the front, but he blinks and then he’s focused on me again. ‘It’s the Willis women,’ he says.
‘What is?’
‘It’s probably hormones or something. You must know…?’ He holds his hands out as if it’s obvious.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I say.
‘They do mad things. Disappear on wedding days. All sorts. Mum used to have her moments and you must’ve heard about the wild child…?’
I have, of course. Long before I knew Charley, I knew who Martha was. I’d seen the photos of her falling out of nightclubs with a skinny rake of a boyfriend in tow. I can’t remember if it was before or after what happened with the parents. Before or after she became Charley’s guardian. It might have been a bit of both. Charley says they used to go out – but I don’t remember her being in any of the papers in such a state.
Besides, Charley says it was never like that. It was all a mask that Martha wore. She embraced the wild-child thing because she thought it would annoy their mother. Under everything, Martha was sweet: a loving wife and mother.
‘Martha?’ I ask. ‘What about her?’ I have to force away the shiver that’s licking my spine. This feels important.
‘You must know what they think happened with the wild child and Mum and Dad’s house…? Now it’s Charlotte’s turn. Must be an age thing.’
I think of what happened with Martha. There’s no way the same could’ve happened with Charley. No way.
‘She’s never lost it with me,’ I say. ‘She likes the peace and quiet. She chooses to stay in almost every night and when we go out, it’s usually for walks.’
Liam grins. ‘If you say so, man. You know her better than me.’
He leaves it there, but I’m not sure what to think. What with people talkin
g about the ‘Willis Curse’ and now Liam talking about the ‘Willis women’, it’s disturbingly ominous.
‘It was Charlotte’s decision to stop speaking to me,’ Liam says. ‘She went off with Martha – and Martha never liked me. She turned her against me. After a while I stopped trying to contact them both. No point if they don’t want to hear from you, is there?’ He glances up, catches my eye. ‘I always wondered if it was because the killer is still out there.’
‘What do you mean?’
Liam picks up the burger wrapper and launches it towards a nearby bin. He misses. ‘You know they never caught the guy, don’t you?’
‘But why would that stop her talking to you?’
‘That’s what I’m saying – it’s the Willis women. They think differently to you and me. They do weird things.’
It’s oddly unconvincing and yet there’s a part of me that thinks Liam really believes it. He’s saying something that would be implausible to most people and yet he speaks with such conviction that it’s not worth questioning.
‘I got back in contact when the twins were born,’ Liam says. ‘I know Charlotte dotes on the other two…’ he swirls his hand.
‘Dillon and Daisy,’ I say.
‘Right – them two. I figured she might want to meet her new nieces.’
I already know that bit… except that’s not the only thing that happened on the Sunday we drove over to Liam’s house.
‘Did you argue that day?’ I ask.
‘When?’
‘We came to your house and we were in the living room. Charley was playing with the twins, chatting to Helen and everything was fine. I couldn’t work out why you’d spent so long not talking. Then you both left the room to talk about something and, the next thing I know, we’re heading home.’
Liam gazes off towards the arcade, where a pair of lads have plastic sub-machine guns mounted on their shoulders and are busy blazing away at some digitised war zone. That’s the benefit of British service stations over American ones, I guess. The kids over here only carry plastic automatic weapons.
The Wife’s Secret: A gripping psychological thriller with a heart-stopping twist Page 11
