She finished her coffee, and left the café, trying to keep at bay her conversation with Julian, and the message from Trevor. As she headed through the toy section, a woman barged into her, almost knocking her to the floor. There was a scuffle as a member of security grabbed the woman’s bag.
‘I’m being victimised,’ the woman yelled. ‘I haven’t even left the shop, you idiots.’
Isla moved away, her anxiety levels way too high. She needed to go home. Come back tomorrow.
She was hurrying past an array of half-priced pumpkins, and a group of children taking part in a ‘Frightening Pumpkin’ carving workshop near the door, when something caught her eye.
On the pavement outside the window, standing statue still, someone wearing a green beanie hat, with a matching scarf wrapped around their face, was staring right at her.
Panic shot through her. She thrust her face into her hands. ‘Oh my God,’ she cried. ‘Oh God, no.’
‘What is it?’ a member of staff said, racing towards her and placing her arm around her shoulders. ‘Whatever’s wrong, love?’
‘Carl Jeffery,’ Isla whispered, her chest rising and falling in silent sobs. She moved her hands from her face, made her way slowly towards the window, and pressed her palms against the glass. Her body shook, as she forced herself to look out.
There was nobody there but shoppers.
***
‘Thanks,’ Isla said, as the same member of the supermarket staff, a pleasant woman wearing devil horns and a red jumpsuit, pulled up outside her apartment block and yanked on the handbrake.
‘Are you sure you’re OK, love?’ the woman said.
‘Yes, honestly, I’m fine, thank you,’ Isla said, getting out, and waving the woman off.
It had felt odd being driven home by a woman in Halloween costume. They’d got some strange looks on the way. But nothing was as disturbing as Isla’s conviction that she’d seen Carl Jeffery. Could it really have been him? Had his sister won her appeal for his release? Had he come to England to torment her?
Jack was in the apartment-block car park. He’d attached jump leads to her car battery. She approached with a hesitant smile, unsure what response she’d get. To her relief, he looked up from under the bonnet and smiled.
‘We’ll have takeaway tonight. Is that OK?’
He smiled. ‘Oh, OK. Just for a change then.’
‘And we need milk.’ She couldn’t mention Carl Jeffery, could she? If she did, she’d have to tell him about the appeal, and he would be upset that she’d kept it from him. And worse, he might think she was crazy. She was beginning to think she was. ‘What are you doing home?’ she said, stepping closer and kissing his cheek.
‘Half day, I booked it ages ago,’ he said with a sniff. ‘Matt’s got a PlayStation VR and we were going to have a virtual afternoon, play a bit of Rush of Blood, but he bailed on me.’
‘You lost me at “Matt’s got”,’ she said, forcing a smile.
‘I thought I told you I was off this afternoon,’ he said, screwing up his nose.
She shook her head. He could have, and her mind hadn’t absorbed it. She was becoming less focused lately.
‘Anyway, I thought I’d try to fix your car, because I’m wonderful.’
‘You are.’ She laughed weakly. ‘But you don’t know the first thing about cars, do you?’
‘Now, that’s where you’re wrong.’ He rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead, covering it with oil. ‘My dad taught me how to jumpstart a car when I was ten.’ A fleeting smile crossed his face.
‘OK, but don’t you need two people?’
‘Do you?’ He looked puzzled, eyes back on the engine.
‘Yes, one to turn over the engine and work the clutch and throttle, the other to push the car, especially if you’re not on a hill, which you’re not.’ She smiled. ‘My dad taught me when I was eight.’ She touched his cheek. ‘You have oil all over your face, by the way.’
‘Does it make me look manly?’
‘Almost,’ she said, trying hard again to smile. She moved away, drifting towards the front entrance. ‘I’ll get changed and help.’
He grabbed her arm, and she looked back.
‘Are you OK?’ he said, seeming to pick up on her tone. He knew her so well.
She shrugged. Should she tell him? ‘I don’t think I am, if I’m honest.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I thought I saw Carl Jeffery.’
‘What?’ His expression darkened. ‘Where?’
‘At the supermarket.’
He worried his bottom lip. ‘But there’s no way, Isla …’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘It just unnerved me, that’s all.’
‘Yeah, it would do.’ He let go of her arm, wiped his hands on a rag, and slammed closed the car bonnet.
Once in their apartment he made some coffee, and they sat together on the sofa in silence. It was as if neither of them knew what to say.
‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ Isla said, eventually, placing the empty coffee cup on the table in front of them.
‘That sounds a bit ominous,’ Jack said, eyes narrowing.
‘The thing is …’ She paused. ‘There was an appeal.’
‘An appeal.’
‘Carl Jeffery was granted an appeal. His sister campaigned for it.’
‘What? When?’
‘In September.’
‘Oh God, how long have you known?’
‘I received a letter. I could have gone to the appeal, but …’
‘And you never thought to tell me?’ He rose, and began pacing the room.
‘I thought you would worry.’ It sounded pathetic.
‘Yeah,’ he said, voice rising, ‘too right I would have worried. Oh God, Isla. He didn’t win, did he? Is that why you thought you saw him?’
‘Calm down, please, Jack.’
‘Jeez, could it be him?’
‘I don’t know.’ Tears filled her eyes.
‘You don’t know?’
‘I never found out. I couldn’t face it. I didn’t want him in my head, Jack, but it turns out he’s there anyway.’ Tears rolled down her face. ‘What if he’s out and in England?’ Isla continued, her fears catching in her throat.
Jack dropped on the sofa next to her, and rubbed a hand over his beard. ‘They wouldn’t let him out, Isla. There’s too much evidence.’
‘But they said there were sufficient grounds for an appeal.’ She paused, her head in her hands. ‘I hate that his sister did this. What kind of woman would think he’s innocent? First the book, and now this.’
‘We need to know if he’s out, Isla,’ Jack said. ‘Although I’m sure he can’t be. Everything was stacked against him from the start. You know that. Remember Bronwyn?’
She could suddenly see her friend’s freckled face, the excitement in her eyes as she’d taken off for New Zealand, and more tears rolled down her cheeks. She knew what Jack meant. They had found Carl’s DNA on Bronwyn’s body, and that had gone a long way with the prosecution. But what if they’d argued again that he’d been in a relationship with Bronwyn, and that would account for the DNA?
‘Sometimes I wish I’d killed him that day,’ she whispered. ‘Is that awful of me? To wish he was in hell, where he could never hurt me again.’
‘Well, if I could get hold of that bastard, I’d rip his head off, and fuck the consequences,’ Jack said, eyes flashing with anger, as he took hold of her hand and squeezed. ‘God, I hate what he did to you.’
He let go of her hand, and leant forward to pick up his laptop. ‘We need to look him up, Isla. Find out the results of the appeal.’ He locked her into a stare. ‘We have to.’
She nodded.
He opened the laptop and began searching. Moments later, he’d found an article. ‘Thank God,’ he said, placing the laptop on her knees. ‘Serial killer Carl Jeffery loses appeal,’ he read from the screen.
There were photos of Carl, and a grainy black and white study of Darleen and Carl as children
. Isla knew Darleen was much younger than Carl, but she was almost as tall, and far too skinny. They looked forlorn in tatty dungarees with no T-shirts. Sad creatures that made Isla sick with sorrow – if someone had only seen how dreadful their lives were, maybe Carl wouldn’t have ended up a psychopath.
‘I reached out to Isla Johnson,’ Jack read from the screen. He looked at Isla. ‘What’s this about? It says here you rebuffed her. Blocked Darleen Jeffery’s messages.’
Isla covered her face with her hands.
Jack continued to read from the screen. ‘I only wanted to discuss the truth about what happened that night. I believe Isla Johnson is a liar, and I have no doubt, even now, that my brother is innocent.’ He paused for a moment. ‘She contacted you?’ Jack said, bewildered.
Isla looked up and nodded. ‘Just once.’
‘And you didn’t think to tell me? You kept that from me too?’ His eyes darted her face, as though he was searching for the Isla he knew.
‘I didn’t want to worry you, that’s all,’ she said. ‘I didn’t tell anyone.’
‘And that’s meant to make me feel better?’
‘Jack, please can we keep this to ourselves?’ she said, closing her laptop. ‘There’s no point in worrying my parents or Roxanne.’
He rose and, without replying, headed into the kitchen. She could see him leaning against the worktop in the darkness, taking long gulps of lager. She wanted to go after him, try to explain again that if she’d told him, he would have worried, and it would have changed everything, but her brain was whizzing too fast. Who had been standing outside the supermarket and her apartment? Who had pressed her buzzer? Followed the taxi? Who put the butterfly on her doorstep and the flyer on her car? If Carl Jeffery was still locked away, who was it?
Chapter 18
Tuesday, 1 November
Facebook: Much needed girlie night with the lovely Roxanne Furaha at La Fábrica.
‘Ooh, try the asparagus, Isla,’ Roxanne said, chewing and pointing at the grilled vegetable and feta cheese wrapped in prosciutto. ‘It’s totally yummy.’ Her brown eyes rolled in ecstasy, as she made orgasmic sounds that caused a laugh from two blokes at the next table.
‘I want what she’s having,’ one of them said.
La Fábrica, a recently opened tapas bar, had a modern, trendy feel, with live music and great food. Isla and Roxanne had been sitting by the window for about an hour, their table heaving with half-eaten bowls of tapas.
‘I love these little pork and apple thingies,’ Isla said, tucking in. ‘They’re to die for.’
‘God, I’m stuffed,’ Roxanne said, finally leaning back in her chair and rubbing her slender stomach. She stared at Isla. ‘So you’re really, really OK?’
Isla had told her about what happened at the supermarket, in case someone had seen her and mentioned it, but now she wanted to wipe the subject away, like an annoying smudge on a worktop. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Honestly. I’m totally, totally OK.’ She took a gulp of her lemonade, wondering what her friend would think if she knew Isla had kept the appeal from her, and a surge of guilt ran through her.
Roxanne slipped off her copper-coloured silk jacket, and hung it on the back of the chair. She looked amazing: her black hair spiralling to her shoulders, her narrow-legged jeans and tight white T-shirt hugging her lanky figure. Her heels were like stilts. It was a look Isla wouldn’t even attempt to pull off.
‘It couldn’t have been him. You know that, right?’
‘Yep. I just feel a bit of a numpty wailing like a fool in front of all those customers at the supermarket. They must have thought I was crazy.’
‘Nobody would ever think that.’
But Isla wondered if her friend thought exactly that. After all, she’d been there. Seen her at her worst. The way she’d refused to go out. Her bursts of anger. She needed to put Roxanne’s mind at rest, before she thought she was taking a step backwards. She took a deep breath. ‘I do know it must have been some random person at the supermarket dressed like Carl Jeffery,’ she began, trying not to let it show how much she was struggling. ‘I mean, the bastard isn’t the only person to wear a beanie and scarf.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And he’s in prison,’ Isla went on, wishing there was alcohol in her glass, and she hadn’t opted to drive.
‘Where he belongs,’ Roxanne said, reaching over and touching her friend’s hand.
Isla shuddered, needing to change the subject. Trying to smile through the tension building in her neck and shoulders was impossible.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You know, for caring, and for being the best friend anyone could wish for – for never letting me down.’ Tears gathered close to the surface.
‘I’ll always be here for you, Isla,’ Roxanne said. ‘No matter what – you know that.’
‘Right, subject change, methinks,’ Isla said, taking another deep breath to ward off tears. ‘So how’s work?’
‘Yeah, pretty good.’ Roxanne picked up a green olive and popped it into her mouth. After leaving university, Roxanne had flitted from job to job, and later spent time in Africa doing voluntary work. Recently, she’d taken a job in marketing, although it didn’t stop her devoting every spare moment to working with charities, and a stream of good causes. ‘A new intern started this week who’s rather cute. Only eighteen though, and even I draw the line at cradle-snatching.’ She laughed. ‘Although …’
‘Roxanne, you’re a bad, bad lady.’
‘I know. I can’t help it.’ She giggled.
‘Maybe you’ll meet a nice bloke at my sister’s fortieth.’
‘I don’t want a nice bloke, Isla,’ she said, licking her fingers and winking at the man at the next table. ‘You know that. I like things the way they are.’
‘But you could be missing out …’
‘Enough!’ Roxanne put up her palm. ‘Talk to the hand …’
Isla laughed, picked up a spicy corn kernel, and nibbled on it.
‘Ooh,’ Roxanne blurted. ‘You haven’t told me how the reunion went. Did you meet up with Trevor Cooper?’
Isla shook her head, thoughts of his last message, and the way she’d blocked him on Facebook, filling her head. ‘He didn’t turn up,’ she said, deciding not to tell Roxanne about the message. She would only say she was a fool for going near him. ‘In fact, only Sara Pembroke came.’
‘I saw her picture on your Facebook. She looked amazing.’
‘I know. Stunning.’
‘So, nobody turned up but her?’
Isla shook her head.
‘That’s well weird.’
‘Aha, little bit. Still it’s probably for the best. I shouldn’t have gone in the first place.’
‘Did say.’ Roxanne pulled a smug face.
‘Yeah, I know.’ Isla paused, not wanting to talk about it any more. The subjects she actually wanted to chat about were dwindling. ‘And talking of Millie’s fortieth …’ she said.
‘Were we?’
‘Have you any idea where I can get a Minion cake by Saturday? Apparently I agreed to get one a while back. I can’t remember saying I would, but I guess I must have. Millie says she has the text to prove it, and she’s not afraid to use it.’ A grin stretched across her face. ‘Plus Jack’s already got his Spider-Man costume,’ she said, hoping he would have forgiven her by then. He’d seemed so distant that morning. ‘And I haven’t even thought about what I’m going to wear.’
‘Well, there’s a fancy-dress place in Hitchin. Maybe try there. And I’m pretty sure I’ve seen Minion cakes in almost every supermarket I’ve been in.’
‘Cool,’ she said. ‘Sorted.’
‘Dessert?’ Roxanne picked up the menu.
‘Silly question,’ Isla said with a laugh.
Later, outside in the car park, they hugged goodbye. ‘See you Saturday,’ Roxanne said, as they got into their cars. Isla waved from the driving seat, as her friend pulled away, before turning the key in the ignition. The engine didn’t even att
empt to whirr.
‘Christ,’ she muttered. They’d managed to jumpstart her car the day before, and it was working fine earlier.
She pulled her phone from her bag. There was no signal, so she climbed out of her car. A light breeze tickled her cheek, and there was a mizzling rain in the air. She glanced about her, suddenly aware how lonely the car park was, and took a few steps before getting a signal. She knew Jack well enough to know that even though things were a bit rocky between them, he would be there for her.
‘Hey, Jack,’ she said when he answered, raising her voice to make herself heard, as the line was poor. ‘You’ll never guess: my bloody battery has died again.’ The thought of walking the short route home across the park made her uneasy, and the long way would take over an hour. She hadn’t even brought an umbrella with her.
‘Where are you?’ He sounded a bit off, and she hated the way that made her feel.
‘La Fábrica, standing in the car park.’ She moved from foot to foot, feeling chilly and damp, as she looked around her once more. ‘Listen, forget it, don’t worry. I’m fine. I’ll call a taxi,’ she continued, her anxiety rising. ‘I shouldn’t have called you. I’m a big girl now.’
‘No, it’s fine. I’m on my way. I was in the shower. Just need to get dressed. Go back inside, until I get there.’
‘OK. If you’re sure. Thanks. I really appreciate it – see you soon.’
She ended the call, and went back inside.
It was even more crowded than earlier, as a new wave of customers had arrived, and a bloke with a guitar was doing his best Ed Sheeran impression.
She’d been standing by the door for several minutes, when a waitress approached. ‘Are you Isla?’ she said, blowing her fringe from her forehead, flustered.
Isla nodded.
‘There’s been a message to say …’ she looked down at a Post-it in her hand ‘… you’re not to wait for Jack. He’ll walk to meet you the park way. Does that make sense?’
Her Last Lie Page 10
