Her Sister's Lie

by Debbie Howells

  “Phil Bannister.” He regarded me suspiciously. “You’re lucky Mr. Hill isn’t pressing charges.” He sounded disapproving, but at least Bannister had a voice.

  I looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

  “Apparently you assaulted him yesterday.” Bannister stared coldly at me.

  “I didn’t assault him.” I looked at him in disbelief. What was he talking about? “Who told you that?”

  “Legal definition of assault, Ms. Roscoe: an attempt to cause harm . . . You got him by the lapels, I’m told.”

  “It was hardly an assault.” This was insane. I’d been pushed to my limit, and Julian Hill had sat back and let it happen. It was hardly surprising I’d lost it with him. “I had no intention of harming him. He was supposed to be helping me, and he was useless. It was a . . . difficult moment.”

  There was hostility in his eyes as Bannister stared at me. “Let’s hope there are no such difficult moments with this morning’s proceedings. I’m less, shall we say, forgiving, than Mr. Hill.”

  I’d been naïve to hope that a new solicitor would make a difference. As he sat down next to me, organizing the papers in front of him, I realized I was no less alone than yesterday. Horribly aware of my stomach churning, I waited in silence.

  When DI Collins and DCI Weller came in and sat down, I instantly recognized the envelopes DI Collins had in front of her. Then, as I stared more closely at them, I went cold. Underneath the envelopes was Nina’s diary. DI Collins started the tape.

  “The psychologist hasn’t been able to make it. The appointment will be rescheduled for a later date.” My heart sank. Did that mean I’d have to come back?

  “Carrying on from yesterday, about the letters, Ms. Roscoe.” DI Collins went straight to the point. “It’s very clear your niece—Summer—was angry with her mother. Were you aware just how angry?”

  I nodded. “I heard them argue several times. It was usually about Summer wanting to go to school.”

  DI Collins frowned. “I’d say it ran a little deeper than just wanting to go to school. There are references to Ms. Tyrell’s drinking and drug use, her lack of attention to her children. These were mostly written around 2007, in the months leading up to your niece’s death.” She paused. “She’s quite damning about you too, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I always thought we got on well,” I said defensively. It was true. “She was probably writing after a particular party that got out of hand.”

  “Just the one party?” DI Collins sounded skeptical. “Was that the party where one of your sister’s friends drowned Summer’s cat? And your sister was oblivious to it? Were you there when it happened?”

  I gasped. Here, in this room, in front of the police, I was aware of how unforgivably cruel it sounded. “By the time Nina knew, it was too late to do anything about it. It wasn’t her fault.”

  “Not directly. But if she had been sober, don’t you think she might have listened to her daughter and intervened?” DI Collins stared at me. “Or perhaps you might have, if you’d been sober?” When I didn’t reply, she added, “I assume from your silence that both you and your sister were out of control?”

  Beside me Bannister sighed; then he surprised me. “Detective Inspector, I take it you have evidence of this?” He sounded uninterested, bored.

  “I think what we’re establishing here is a history of drug and alcohol abuse, which aside from affecting the behavior of both Ms. Roscoe and Ms. Tyrell, certainly affected Summer and her brothers. According to Jude, his mother’s drinking was the reason he spent as little time as possible with her. He remembers it being worse when you were there.” DI Collins looked at me expectantly.

  Had it been? I frowned. “I’m not sure that’s right. He was only nine—and he was hardly there.”

  I saw her look of frustration with my answer before she went on. “In one of the letters, Summer talks about ‘blood being thicker than blood’—she goes on to say, One day, you’ll have to tell him what you’ve been keeping from him. Can you do that? Be brutally, heartbreakingly, self-sabotagingly honest?” She looked at me. “She was referring to Abe, wasn’t she? Do you have any idea what she’s talking about?”

  Glancing around the room, I felt too hot. “Can you open the window?”

  Getting up, DI Collins looked exasperated as she walked across the room and cracked open the window. The smallest ripple of air reached me. She sat down again, glancing at DCI Weller.

  He cleared his throat. “The letter, Ms. Roscoe. What was your sister hiding from Abe?”

  “I don’t know.” I looked desperately at Bannister, not sure if I imagined his smirk. “I wasn’t always there. I didn’t know everything that went on in Nina’s life.”

  “That line about blood being thicker than blood.” DCI Weller’s eyes didn’t leave my face. “I didn’t get it to start with, but she’s talking about you, isn’t she? It’s Summer’s way of saying that her mother put her loyalty to you above her children.”

  “No, that’s not it.” I was shaking my head. He was wrong. “Her children always came first. It was what she always said. They were the most important thing in the world to her.” I was aware of my voice rising.

  There was a pause before DI Collins spoke. “There’s another letter. It makes me think we’re missing something. Maybe you know what that is.”

  I listened with dread as she started reading.

  You’re weak, Mother. You run away from problems, leaving them piled up behind you, instead of facing them. You don’t realize there are things you can’t run from.

  What about being honest? Telling the truth, Mother? Getting real?

  Too hard for you?

  But not everything’s easy. I remember you saying that everyone was different; it was up to us how we looked at things. Then you’d give me that smile and tell me that a lie isn’t always a lie . . .

  You and Hannah rewrote the rules, didn’t you? It meant you could do what you liked. Lies weren’t lies if there was a good reason for them. The two of you always had such good reasons.

  And now, it has to end here: the lie that isn’t a lie, because I can’t keep your secret. But you and Hannah were never thinking of Abe. You were only thinking of yourselves.

  My mouth was dry. “I’ve no idea what she means.”

  “Ms. Roscoe, we’ve been in touch with your ex-husband. He’s coming in to answer some questions later today.”

  “Nathan?” I was stunned. How could he possibly help with this? Since the divorce, I’d completely lost touch with him.

  We were interrupted by a knock on the door. “Excuse me.” DI Collins got up to answer it, speaking in a low voice to the uniformed PC just outside before coming to sit back down. She looked at me. “Apparently your nephew has found another letter.”

  “He isn’t reliable. You do know that, don’t you?” Agitated, I looked at each one of them in turn. “He has . . . ,” I started to add, but Bannister interrupted.

  “Ms. Roscoe, whatever this is about, can I suggest we discuss it in a moment?”

  “No. I need to say it now . . .”

  He was shaking his head. “Ms. Roscoe, I strongly advise you wait.”

  DCI Weller got up and walked toward the door. “If I were you, I’d take your solicitor’s advice.”

  They walked out, and the door closed behind them, leaving me alone with Bannister.

  “You’re making this unnecessarily difficult.” Bannister regarded me coldly.

  “I don’t think I am. It’s important that they know what people are really like.”

  He shook his head. “I think you’ll find they’re more than capable of judging that for themselves.” Then he sighed wearily. “Ms. Roscoe, if you’ve really nothing to hide, for God’s sake, why don’t you tell them the truth?”

  * * *

  After DCI Weller was called away on another matter, I was led back to my cell. Alone, I was trying to work out where to go from here.

  Keep to the script, Hannah
. . .

  Tell them the truth . . .

  I was torn. The script wasn’t working anymore. Nothing was going as it should. I hadn’t lied exactly—not about anything important. I’d just left out things that weren’t relevant. But my only hope now was to tell the police everything.

  At least an hour must have passed, possibly longer, before the interview was resumed. I knew what I had to say.

  “I want to tell you about that afternoon, the afternoon of Nina’s death.” I was calm as I addressed DI Collins and DCI Weller. I hadn’t eaten the sandwich I’d been brought at lunchtime. Instead, I’d rehearsed what I was going to say, trusting that this time they’d see I was telling the truth.

  “The day I went to meet Matt, I was early. I went into a bar. I had a sandwich and a drink, planning to stay there until the time he usually went for lunch. But I saw him walk past with a woman . . .” I broke off. The memory was too vivid, too painful. I banished it. I couldn’t mess up. Not now. “They went into his office together. I tried to call him, but he didn’t answer, so I waited. Then when he didn’t come out at lunchtime, I called reception.”

  “Go on.” DI Collins was watching me intently.

  “I was still waiting, about an hour later, when I had a call from Nina. It was the first time I’d heard from her in years—that’s the honest truth. She sounded distraught. And drunk.” I tried to remember her voice. She’d been crying, slurring her words. “She begged me to go and see her—something had happened, but she was too upset to talk about it over the phone. Then she gave me her address. I got in a taxi and went over there.

  “I’d had a couple of drinks while I was waiting for Matt, and just before the taxi got to Nina’s house, I asked the driver to pull over.” I paused. Had it been near a tube station? I couldn’t actually remember. “I’m not sure exactly where we were. I asked him which way Nina’s street was, and he pointed me in the right direction.” I swallowed. “When I got out, it was cold. I’d had my hood down in the taxi, but once I was walking, I suppose I pulled it up again. The photo you showed me taken by the CCTV, that was me.”

  Looking at them, I faltered. It was impossible to tell from their faces if they believed me or not.

  “Go on.” DCI Weller broke the silence.

  “I got to Nina’s house. I rang the doorbell, but there was no reply. Then I noticed the door was ajar.”

  “Did you think that was odd?”

  “Not really. When she lived at the cottage, Nina never locked her door.” I shook my head. “But that was in the middle of the countryside. I suppose, for London, it was odd, but I didn’t think so at the time. I pushed the door open and went inside. I called her, but she didn’t answer. Having heard how drunk she sounded on the phone, I was thinking it was possible she’d passed out. I checked each room downstairs, but there was no sign of her, so I went upstairs. She was in her bedroom.” I felt faraway all of a sudden, remembering that shocking moment when I realized my sister wasn’t breathing, as it slowly sank in that she was dead.

  “She was already dead?” DCI Weller’s voice was sharp.

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “Do you know what time this was?”

  Staring at them blankly, I shrugged. They already knew the answer. “Whatever time your CCTV says it was.”

  “Did you touch anything?”

  “I picked up the bottle. I drank what was left in it,” I said distantly, without shame. “I think I was in shock. I put it back where I found it. Then I left.”

  “Didn’t it occur to you to call the police?”

  “It did . . . there’s a reason I didn’t.” I frowned, trying to remember. Had I been frightened of the exact scenario I now found myself in, suspected of killing her?

  “But you can’t remember.” DI Collins’s eyebrows were raised. “How convenient, Ms. Roscoe.”

  * * *

  I was taken back to my cell, where I sat on my bed. Now that they had the truth, I was waiting for the police to let me go. An hour passed, then another. I didn’t understand why I was still here.

  Eventually, I heard someone walking down the corridor. I jumped up. “Excuse me, can you tell me when I can go?”

  It was a uniformed officer I’d seen once or twice before. My heart leapt. At last, I was getting out of here.

  “Can you come with me, please?” He opened my door, but instead of taking me outside, he led me back to the interview room. Bannister was in there waiting for me.

  “What’s going on?” I wasn’t expecting to be brought back in here again. “I thought I was going home?”

  He looked evasive. “They’ll be here in a minute.”

  Filled with unease, I sat down. They’d asked enough questions—unless Nathan had thrown them something new against me, but I couldn’t imagine what. Almost immediately DI Collins and DCI Weller came in. DI Collins turned the tape on.

  “We’ve spoken to your ex-husband, Nathan Roscoe. He confirmed that you were pregnant. It was before the two of you were married, soon after you went to live with your sister. Apparently, you were worried that a baby would ruin your music career. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, but . . .” There was no way I could have gone on tour with a newborn baby. “I miscarried, so it was never an issue,” I reminded her.

  She frowned. “That isn’t how Mr. Roscoe remembers it. He says you had the baby, and that three weeks later you were performing again. So my question is, why have you lied about it? What happened to your baby, Ms. Roscoe?”

  I stared at her incredulously. “Nathan was permanently stoned in those days. You can’t believe anything he remembers from that time.”

  DI Collins raised an eyebrow as she nodded. “He seemed perfectly clear about it when he spoke to us. We’ve managed to track down a couple of other members of your band, to see what they can add about what was going on at that time. We spoke to one yesterday; there’s another being interviewed later today.”

  “Oh my God.” I stared at her, aghast. More buried memories were coming to the surface, and I felt the blood drain from my face.

  “What is it, Ms. Roscoe?”

  “The band,” I gasped. “I know what went wrong. It was my fault. Everyone blamed me. Maybe that’s what this is about.”

  DI Collins frowned. “I hardly think they’d wait all this time if they had a grudge against you. As I said, we’ll be talking to them.” She paused. “There’s also the matter of this other letter. It’s dated June 20, 2007. I’ll read it to you.

  Dear Summer,

  I’m begging you, for Abe’s sake, for all our sakes, not to tell anyone. You were never supposed to find out. Imagine what it will do to him to know I’ve been lying all these years—and if he finds out who his mother really is.

  It was my decision. I tried to do what was right. Not just for me but for all of us, Hannah included. You have every right to be angry. I know I’ve failed you—you in particular, more than Jude. All I ever did was try to give you what I never had.

  You may think the truth will fix things, but there is no right answer, Summer. No solution that will remove the lies that Abe’s life’s been built on. Life isn’t always as simple as right or wrong, black or white.

  I sat there in shock. This letter hadn’t been with the others in Abe’s room. Where had it come from?

  “I find it odd that your sister thought that keeping the lie going was better than honesty? Many children find out they were adopted. They cope with it. But I don’t think this was ever about Abe. Your sister was protecting you, wasn’t she, Ms. Roscoe?” DI Collins’s words hung in the air between us. “Why was that?” She paused.

  Staring at the table, I shook my head.

  “Then shortly after that, Summer died, didn’t she? The problem disappeared. It would have stayed that way, except Abe found the letters.”

  I heard a sharp intake of breath, then realized it was my own. All the time Abe had been living with me, he must have known. I stared at her. “If Abe knew, why didn’t he say anythi
ng?”

  Her expression was unreadable as she looked at me. “If you put yourself in the shoes of a fifteen-year-old boy who suddenly finds himself living with his birth mother, a woman who hasn’t been in contact for ten years, wouldn’t you expect her to have made the first move?”

  I stared at her blankly. “But I didn’t know he’d found out.”

  “You’re missing the point.” DI Collins sounded exasperated. Shaking her head, she gave me another of her looks. “We’ve gone over everything you’ve told us,” she said slowly. “You’ve told us about this so-called conspiracy against you. We’ve spoken to Cara Matlock. She told us that a woman approached her and offered her some money if she wrote that Facebook post about you. She realizes she made a mistake. She has nothing against you.”

  “But who asked her to do that?”

  “It turns out it was a Ms. Olivia Elliott—Mr. Elliott’s ex-wife. She’s the woman who’s been hanging around your village, trying to stir up trouble. She’s been cautioned. It was also she who sent Mr. Elliott the photo of you when you were pregnant. She had it in for you, make no mistake. But I don’t suppose even she imagined the consequences her actions would have.”

  I felt my jaw drop. “So are they . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to say back together.

  “I have no idea,” the DI said drily. “And it’s of no consequence.”

  “But that man . . . ,” I interrupted. “The one who caused the accident . . .”

  “He’s a friend of Ms. Elliott’s who agreed to help her. And you can hardly blame him for the accident. That was entirely your own doing. We’re not sure yet if they played a part in the death of your dog.” She paused. “I can understand how you might have found them intimidating. They certainly set out to cause you trouble. But your paranoia was almost certainly aggravated by alcoholism. These last few days have been difficult for you, haven’t they? Not sleeping, the feelings of anxiety, your nausea, sweating, tremors . . . they’re all withdrawal symptoms, you know.”