‘Did you speak to Lish?’ I ask.
‘He says it’s a fit-up,’ Jed says, not looking at me. ‘As I expected he would.’
‘What about Dan?’
‘Left a message telling him to back off Lish and stay away from you,’ Jed says curtly. He stalks off into the bathroom. When he returns he gets straight into bed and turns his back to me.
I lie awake for an hour. Beside me, my phone – on silent – registers that Dan is calling. I don’t answer, then tiptoe downstairs to the kitchen to listen to Dan’s voice mail. He sounds frantic.
‘Em, your fiancé called me, I think the message was left a couple of hours ago. He’s furious. Are you all right? I know you don’t want to talk to me, but you’ve obviously told him what we found . . . he doesn’t sound like he believes any of it and I just need to know you’re okay. I’m worried. Please let me know it’s just me he’s mad at and that you’re all right.’ There’s a short pause, then Dan continues, a tremor in his voice. ‘Everything I found out was true, Em. True. Not a set-up like Jed says. And I meant what I said, I had no idea how much it would mean to me when I saw you again. I’ve dropped the entire story because I don’t want to make things difficult for you, because I care about you.’
I stand still, my phone in my hand, my feet cold on the kitchen floor. Instinct tells me Dan is telling the truth and I’m certain Jed is wrong to dismiss his claims. However, I’m painfully aware that it would be stupid to trust everything Dan says. Whatever I do now, I do alone.
I sleep badly and wake as Jed disappears into the shower. For a single, blissful second I am just warm and comfortable in my bed. Then it all floods back: Dee Dee’s death, Zoe’s desire to ‘stop’ me being with Jed, Lish’s links to pharmaceutical drugs, including the very poison that killed his sister. And Jed’s refusal to believe that there is any connection between these things.
In that moment I realize what I have to do now: I must go to the CASP offices in central London. I will take the drugs and the notebook to them and, with them, turn everything over to the police. Jed will hate it, but I don’t have a choice. His daughter deserves justice, even if the price of that justice is her brother’s freedom.
I hurry out of our bedroom, intent on looking inside Jed’s briefcase. It’s the only thing in the house that it’s possible to lock and I’m sure it’s where Jed will have put the bag of drugs and the notebook. As I pass the bathroom I can hear water running. Good. If Jed’s still in the shower I should have at least ten minutes. I scurry downstairs. The briefcase is in its usual position beside the sofa. As I expect, it is locked, but I know the four-number combination: the date and month of my birthday, 22 July. I fumble as I rotate the lock to the correct numbers in turn: 2207. I open the lid. The inside is embossed with Jed’s initials: JEK for his full name, James Edward Kennedy. Jed’s files are loaded inside, along with his tablet. There’s no sign of the drugs or the notebook. My fingers feel clammy against the leather as I close the lid and turn the numbers out of combination. Where has Jed hidden them? They must be in the house somewhere.
‘What are you doing?’ Jed’s voice makes me jump.
I whip around, his briefcase still in my hand. Jed is in the living room doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist, water trickling from his damp hair.
‘Nothing,’ I lie, setting the briefcase down. ‘Just looking for my phone.’
‘On the counter by the toaster, charging?’ he says suspiciously. ‘Where it normally is overnight?’
I drift into the kitchen. My phone is, of course, exactly where Jed has suggested. I can see immediately that Dan has called again. I pick up the phone and quickly delete the voice mail.
Jed follows me into the kitchen. He makes a show of fetching a juice from the fridge then goes back upstairs to change for work. I tiptoe around the kitchen. Has he thrown the drugs and the notebook in the bin? I rummage about. Nothing. I check all the cupboards, then go back to the living room and check underneath the TV stand, behind the bookcase and down the sides of the chairs and sofa.
Still nothing.
I hear Jed on the stairs and dart into the hall.
‘Bye, darling,’ I say breezily.
‘Bye,’ Jed grunts, deliberately not looking at me as he leaves.
I wait until he drives off then hurry upstairs and explore our bedroom, checking carefully in the wardrobe and all the drawers. A similar investigation of the spare room and the study reveals nothing. Shit. I get changed myself and wander back downstairs. Perhaps Jed has taken the drugs and the notebook with him in his jacket pocket. Or perhaps he put them in the car last night.
I decide to give the living room and kitchen another going over. An hour later I’m on the verge of giving up when I finally find the drugs, still inside their paper bag, wedged between the ironing board and a large box of washing powder at the very back of the utility room’s most crowded cupboard. There’s still no sign of the notebook but I don’t want to waste any more time looking. The drugs in themselves along with everything else I know should be enough to open an investigation. Jed will surely be forced to hand over the notebook once the police are asking questions.
I fetch Zoe’s letter to Lish from the bottom of my sweater drawer. I don’t have to decide right now whether or not to hand it over along with the drugs to the police, but it is potential evidence and, unlike withheld texts and hearsay, it is at least tangible proof of her hatred for me.
Emotions career around my head as I leave the house. I shove the paper bag of drugs into my handbag and hurry off to Finsbury Park station. As I push my way onto the crowded train carriage the back of my neck prickles, as if I’m being watched. But when I look around I can’t see anyone staring. I settle into a seat, desperately upset that Jed is so angry but also furious that he is refusing to believe Lish might have done something criminal.
I change trains at King’s Cross and, as I walk along the Northern Line platform, my handbag clutched tightly under my arm, I can’t help but remember that moment yesterday when Dan stood so close to me. I don’t want to face it but I know that when I thought he might have kissed me, a big part of me wanted him to. Which is crazy. Dan lied to me, used me to get a story. Even if he’s right about Lish I can’t trust him. Not really. And I’m with Jed. No matter what is happening between us right now, it’s Jed I want.
Is that true? Because last week, when he asked to bring the wedding forward, you didn’t want to say ‘yes’.
Rose said Dan Thackeray wants to get back in your pants.
Do you want to get in his?
Unhelpful thoughts battle each other in my head. The platform is packed. I am at the front, people jammed next to me on either side. I glance up. The next train is due in one minute. The air around me swirls, there’s a low rumble in the distance. I stand, waiting. Dan’s face in my mind’s eye. People jostle, moving forward.
Out of nowhere, an agonizing pain rips through my right shoulder. My bag is ripped from my hand. I am spun sideways. I try to scream. I stumble, lose my footing. On the edge of the platform. The wind from the train whips my hair across my face as I fall.
Everything slows as the tracks rear up to meet me.
July 2014
So the good news is school is finally over for the whole summer. Okay, so I’m still getting texts from Poppy and whatever other girls but I don’t have to see them any more. The bad news is Mum has just told me Dad has asked if he can come around this evening. I’ve been waiting and waiting for this. Emily’s birthday was FOUR WHOLE DAYS ago and Daddy sent me a text saying she said yes!!! But that was ALL and ever since I’ve been waiting for him to tell Mum and he hasn’t and I keep going to tell her myself but then I can’t because I KNOW she is going to TOTALLY freak when she hears. She has no idea. I mean LOOK at her. She is playing music in her room, changing her clothes and putting on make-up and perfume. I just went in and she had on a dress where you could actually see through the top bit to her bra. SO embarrassing. And she’s doing it because Da
ddy’s coming round when he wasn’t expected and she thinks he’s coming to see HER. Which he is, I guess, but not cos he wants to see her but to tell her he’s marrying someone else and Mum is bound to shout at him again. She already had a go at him about the holiday, saying there was no way he could take me outside Europe. Daddy said fine, he was thinking about a villa in France somewhere. I could see Mum didn’t know what to say. I know she doesn’t really want me to go especially if Emily is there. I really think maybe she’s hoping Daddy will come around tonight and ask her to come on holiday with us instead of Emily. AS IF.
December 2014
Someone yells a warning just above my head. Pain shoots through me again, this time in my forearm, the fierce grip of a strong hand. The world spins around me as I’m hauled up, onto the platform. The tube train rushes past. The man who has saved me is wearing builder’s overalls. He looks terrified. The people around us avert their eyes.
The train stops. People are already pressed against us. They surge forward, ignoring us, not wanting to be late to get on board.
The man in the overalls releases me.
‘Are you all right?’ he asks.
‘Yes,’ I gasp. ‘Thank you.’
He nods. Moves onto the train just like the other people. And that’s when I realize my bag is gone. I turn to the woman next to me.
‘I was pushed,’ I say. ‘Did you see who pushed me?’ My whole body is tensed, my throat tight.
The woman frowns. ‘No, pet,’ she says. ‘My, you look white as a sheet.’
People bustle around us. The woman is swept away from me.
‘Please.’ I reach out and grab her arm before she disappears. She turns, an expression of alarm on her face. ‘Did you see anyone?’ I persist.
The woman shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry.’
The platform is emptying. Almost everyone is on the train. The woman gives me a rueful shrug, then gets on herself.
I stay where I am as the doors shut and the train zooms off. A new set of people have taken the place of the ones who just got on board. The platform is still packed. I back away, through the crowd, towards the stairs. My bag is gone. Whoever it was must have taken it, then tried to push me in front of the tube train.
I force myself to focus. I must report the bag, see if any of the tube officials noticed someone running out of the station carrying it, get the police to look at the CCTV. I head up the stairs to the ticket office. My whole body is shaking. Suppose whoever it was is still here, waiting for me.
I have nothing with me. No purse, no keys, no phone. The letter from Zoe to Lish is gone. So is the bag of drugs I was taking to the CASP lab to be analysed.
I lean on the handrail going up the short flight of stairs. As I step onto the escalator up to the ticket office my right arm begins to throb. My shoulder feels like it’s been wrenched from its socket. I roll up my sleeve. There’s a deep red mark where the man who saved me grabbed my arm.
I am still trembling all over as I look around. The escalator is empty, just two elderly ladies a few steps above me. A young couple get on below. I grip the side rail, feeling the warm rubber below my fingers.
Someone just tried to kill me. Why? To take the drugs? To shut me up?
Was it Lish?
I reach the ticket barriers as it sinks in. It must have been. It’s too big a coincidence otherwise. Lish knew the drugs were at his dad’s house because Jed phoned him about them last night. He must have waited for me outside the house, followed me when I left and mugged me on the tube platform where it was really crowded. I freeze as the reality hits home. Lish has tried to kill me. Again. A large, middle-aged guard is leaning against the widest gate, designed for suitcases and buggies. I stagger over to him. I can hardly breathe, barely focus. The guard sees me and raises his eyebrows.
‘You all right, love?’
‘I was just mugged,’ I say. ‘He took my bag, pushed me in front of the train. Someone grabbed me and saved me.’ As I speak, tears spring from my eyes. I am crying and I can’t stop.
The guard looks appalled.
‘Here, love. Over here.’ He ushers me through the wide gate. I’m still weeping uncontrollably. He’s got his hand on my back: kind, fatherly. It makes me cry more. We stand by the ticket office to the side. People are swarming past. The man beckons a woman over. She is black and, like the man, middle-aged and plump.
I tell my story again, describing my handbag in detail. The woman is as kind as the man. They talk in quiet voices, then ask for a description of my attacker.
‘I didn’t see him.’ I shake my head, repeating the words. ‘I didn’t see anything.’
The man goes inside the office. The woman offers me a tissue. She strokes my arm.
‘Are you hurt?’ she asks. ‘Do you need an ambulance? Can I call someone for you?’
‘Thank you, but I’m fine.’ Jed and Rose and Martin would each want me to call them if they knew what had happened.
But it’s not them I want to speak to.
After a minute, the man returns. He is holding something in his hand. My handbag. I stare at it, gasping with surprise as he lifts it up.
‘This yours?’ The man smiles. ‘It was dropped just by the barriers. You’re lucky I saw it. Two more minutes and someone would have cleared the station in case there was a bomb inside.’ He hands it over and I take it and peer at the contents.
‘Anything missing?’ the man asks.
I’m still rummaging. My phone and my keys and my purse are still here, though the purse is open. But I can see at once the drugs are gone. More proof that the mugger was Lish.
‘Check everything, love,’ the woman urges.
I open up my purse. I can’t remember exactly how much cash was in here, maybe thirty or forty pounds. All the notes are gone.
‘Money’s been taken.’ I look in the side pockets of the purse. My cards are still in their places.
‘Just cash?’ the woman asks. I nod.
‘Well, it could have been worse.’ She turns to the man. ‘Any luck on the CCTV?’
‘Yes, we just rewound the tape. There’s someone in a cap and a grey sweatshirt with a hood. But you can’t see the face. I checked the camera on the escalator and by the barriers. Clever little bugger, you can’t tell anything: age, not even sex, though it isn’t a hefty fella, that’s for sure. I’d say around five foot eleven, but skinny.’
I gulp. That sounds like Lish. ‘Can I see?’ I ask.
The man makes a face. ‘You have to put in a freedom of information request to do that. Best bet is to call the police and set the wheels in motion although . . .’ He sighs. ‘I shouldn’t say this, but I don’t think there’ll be much point. Whoever attacked you probably just wanted the cash. They’ve obviously kept their head down, so identification will be a nightmare, not to say impossible, and . . . well, you’ve got your bag back, haven’t you?’
I nod again. My arm and my shoulder still hurt, but I seem to have stopped shaking. I need to get some air, then work out what on earth I do next.
The man and the woman are clearly waiting for me to speak. ‘Thank you for your help,’ I say, taking a step away.
The man frowns. ‘You should make a report,’ he says.
‘I will,’ I say. ‘I just need to get outside and call . . . call my boyfriend.’
‘Of course, pet,’ the woman says.
Clutching my bag I head upstairs. The cold air is soothing on my face. My arm aches badly. Around me, Euston Road is full of bustle. My mind is going at ninety miles an hour. I have to call the police, but I should tell Jed first. I should tell him what’s just happened, that Lish has attacked me.
I take out my phone. But before I can open my favourites list to find Jed’s number, it rings.
Dan calling.
I answer without stopping to think. ‘Hello?’
‘Em?’ He sucks in his breath. ‘What’s wrong?’
I start gabbling an incoherent and slightly hysterical version of what has just
happened, my voice breaking as I relive the moment when I almost fell onto the tracks. Dan listens, checks I’m not seriously hurt, then says he is coming straight over in a cab and that I should find somewhere nearby which is public, but safe, and stay put. I slump against the wall of the station, shivering in the cold air. I look around, half-expecting Lish to loom out of the surrounding crowd, but no one pays me any attention. It is an ordinary day. People are travelling, shopping, talking, working. Normality is all around me. But inside my head it is chaos. Jed. Zoe. Lish. Dan. Such a mess.
I should still call Jed, but Dan is coming. I need to deal with Dan first. I stumble along the road to St Pancras station and wait outside one of the shops. After about fifteen minutes Dan comes running into the station. He looks around for me, his hair falling over his eyes. He’s wearing jeans and a black leather jacket. He looks, frankly, gorgeous, like a dishevelled movie star. People stare as he turns, desperate to find me. As I raise my hand to attract his attention, he sees me. His face floods with relief and he races over. He grabs me and hugs me. I fall into his arms.
‘Oh, Em,’ he murmurs, breathless in my ear. ‘Thank God you’re all right.’ He pulls away, his grey eyes fixed on my face. He takes my cheeks in his hands. I close my eyes, letting the warmth of his fingers calm my skin, my nerves. He tilts my chin gently upwards. It’s a fractional movement, but a clear one. Yes. I forget everything else and lean into him. His lips are soft on mine. My legs sag, my skin burns.
I kiss and I kiss and for a moment I forget everything. There is only Dan and me. There is only this kiss.
And then I realize what I’m doing. I wrench myself away.
Dan stands back too, eyes frantic. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers. ‘I wasn’t . . . didn’t . . .’
Shit. Shit. Shit.
A sudden blast of cold air whips through the concourse, biting at my face. I shiver.
Dan takes my hand. ‘Okay, let’s get you inside somewhere warm, a cup of tea or something.’
I nod and let him lead me along the concourse and into a café. I look around me as we walk, wondering again if Lish could be here. Kissing Dan was stupid. Speaking to Dan was stupid. Why on earth didn’t I just ignore his earlier call and ring Jed as I meant to. Dan sits me down and brings me a cup of strong, sweet tea. I put my hands around it, letting it warm me through.
Here We Lie Page 17
