The Cold Hard Truth: A Gripping Novel About Secrets and Lies

by Amanda Leigh Cowley

  After a quick visit to the restroom, Harriet points to a patio area beyond the glass. “I’ll order our drinks; you go find us somewhere to sit.” She grabs a menu off a table and waves it in my face. “And what about something to eat while we’re here?”

  My stomach rumbles and I realise I haven’t eaten since Heathrow Airport, about fourteen hours earlier.

  “A burger would go down well.” I say, reaching for my purse. I flip it open and stare at the unfamiliar dollar bills and coins. I exchanged the money I raised from selling Dad’s furniture back in London, but I haven’t had a chance to familiarise myself with the currency yet. I offer the purse to Harriet. “Here, take what you need. My treat.”

  She bats it away. “Don’t be silly. You’re the guest. Go find a table and I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”

  She turns and makes her way to the counter, and my eyes follow her. It’s so weird to be with her again after all this time. And she’s right; I am a guest. I don’t belong here. But then I don’t feel like I belong in England either. I seem to have lost myself over these past six months and now I don’t really know where I belong.

  I make my way over to the glass door, push it open and step outside onto the decking.

  There are six tables on the patio, each with a tea light in the centre throwing patterns of light onto the surfaces. Beyond the tables is a wooden fence with white lights strung along it, separating the patio area from the dusty road and the beach beyond. I walk across and lean on the wood, gazing out towards the ocean.

  In the few short minutes since we entered the cafe, the sky has changed, intensifying dramatically. Tall palm trees are silhouetted against pale purples, lavenders and pinks and on the horizon, fiery streaks of orange and yellow sizzle into the ocean.

  Despite the sun setting, it’s warm; much warmer than it would be in London in late September. There’s a breeze coming off the water and it catches and lifts my hair. I close my eyes and inhale the briny scent of the ocean and for a brief moment I feel calm. Peaceful. I’d almost forgotten how that feels.

  I take a couple more breaths, filling my lungs with the fresh ocean air before pushing myself off the fence and sitting down at the nearest table.

  A girl with wavy blonde hair approaches a group of girls seated nearby. “Hey….” she says, leaning across the table to catch their attention. “There’s a really hot guy inside.”

  Her friends giggle as they twist round, attempting to catch a glimpse of whoever she’s talking about through the glass.

  “And when I say hot....” she emphasises each word, “I mean on fire. Seriously.” She catches me listening and winks.

  I smile politely and turn my attention back to the tealight. I’m not remotely interested. Hot guys are the last thing on my mind right now.

  It’s not long before Harriet comes outside to join me. She bangs two bottles of Coke on the table and retrieves a couple of straws from her pocket.

  “Thank you,” I say, taking a straw from her, peeling off the wrapper and inserting it into the nearest bottle. Then I purse my lips around it and draw in the icy drink. Harriet picks up her bottle and pauses, holding the straw between her thumb and forefinger. “I know I keep saying it, but it really is good to see you, Em. I’m so happy you wanted to come and stay with us.”

  I fight my instinct to tell her the truth; I didn’t want to come, but I had nowhere else to go. Instead I ball my hand into a fist on my lap and plaster on a smile.

  Her gaze lingers on my face and her expression tightens as if she’s fighting a wave of emotion.

  I know what’s coming….

  “It must have been awful for you to walk in the house and find Dad like that.”

  I shoot her a warning look. Don’t go there.

  She ignores it. “I can’t believe you were there while the murderer was still in the room….”

  My mind brings up a replay of that afternoon and a familiar tsunami of emotion threatens to engulf me. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I hiss.

  She presses her lips together and switches her focus to the flickering tea light.

  I breathe deep and even, mentally forcing the ugly feelings back inside.

  When Harriet eventually looks back up, her watery eyes lock with mine. “We’re all worried about you, Em. What you’ve been through…. what you’ve seen.… It’s enough to bring anyone to their knees.”

  I frown and look away.

  “Mom’s been talking to her therapist about you,” she says gently. “He said it’s not healthy to bottle up stuff like this. You’re going to have to talk about it sometime.”

  “I can’t do this,” I whisper. “Not now.”

  “Em, listen to me….”

  I snap. “Harrie, stop. Please, I’m begging you.”

  The girls at the next table have gone quiet and a couple are staring our way. I lower my voice. “I will talk about it ... one day. But not yet. I’m not ready, okay?”

  She watches me for a moment before giving a small, jerky nod. Then she loops a few strands of hair around her finger and starts twisting it. “I just want you to know I’m here for you, Em. Whenever you’re ready to open up.”

  I turn to look across the ocean. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  We sit taking small sips of our drinks, the silence between us growing more pronounced with each long second. My chest feels heavy. I’m beginning to think I’ve made a huge mistake by coming here.

  The silence is shattered when the girl with the wavy hair squeals out loud. “You know that hot guy I told you about….” she addresses her table. “Well he’s just come outside. And he’s looking our way.”

  I catch Harriet’s attention. “Maybe it’s because they’re all staring at him.” I whisper. “He’s probably deciding whether to get a restraining order or not.”

  She laughs and the awkwardness of the last few minutes eases.

  Harriet turns towards the glass door, to see who the girl is talking about. When she turns back her smile has gone. “So, it’s not them he’s looking at. It’s you.”

  I shrug. “He can look all he likes. I’m not interested.” Men and relationships spell drama, and drama is the last thing I need right now. But as I pick up the icy bottle and position the straw between my lips, I can’t resist a sideways glance at whoever the girls are swooning over.

  I spot him immediately. He’s chatting to a group of people seated near the door. He has dirty blonde hair and facial stubble. He’s wearing a black t-shirt with sunglasses hooked over the neck and there’s a tattoo running up the inside of his arm.

  I stare for a moment too long and he turns, nailing me with his eyes.

  Busted.

  I inhale some of my coke, spluttering as I spin back round to Harriet. She’s staring at me with her eyebrows raised.

  “Well, I guess they’re right,” I say, wiping coke from my chin. “He is pretty hot.”

  She sniffs. “He is, but guys who look like that … they’re no good. They know they can have their pick of girls and it ruins them.”

  “Oh, that’s a bit harsh. He could be a really nice guy for all we know.”

  She looks horrified. “Please don’t tell me you’d be taken in by looks alone.”

  “Of course not.” I cast my eyes down and start fiddling with a bit of label that’s peeled away from my bottle. “Anyway, men are the last thing on my mind right now.”

  “I can understand that….”

  “And even if I was interested in hooking up with someone, it wouldn’t be him. He’s not my type.”

  I expect Harriet to comment but she stays silent. I look up and notice her lips are pressed into a thin line and the skin around her eyes is tightening.

  I’m about to ask her what the problem is when a smooth, deep voice cuts in from behind.

  “Who’s not your type?”

  My fingers dig into the glass bottle. I know without looking who is standing behind me.

  Crap.

  I take a deep breath
before I trust myself to speak. “Do you mind?” My tone sounds more hostile than I intend. “I’m trying to have a private conversation.” I turn around to give him a snarky smile but it freezes on my lips.

  He’s standing closer than I expected, practically invading my personal space. He’s tall; a couple of inches over six foot I’d guess. His features are perfectly-sculpted, and close-up I can see how his blue eyes contrast against his dark lashes and eyebrows. He smells good too, spicy and fresh. The fact that I notice all this irritates me.

  There’s a smirk on his face. “You’ll have to forgive me … it wasn’t my intention to piss you off. I just came over to deliver these.” He holds up two plates and places one in front of me and the other in front of Harriet.

  Our burgers.

  Crap. I hadn’t noticed he was holding anything.

  For the second time since I saw him, all of two minutes ago, I feel blood rush to my cheeks.

  Harriet jumps in and rescues me. “Thank you,” she says. “You’ll have to forgive my sister. She’s just flown in from London so she’s a bit jet-lagged.”

  I don’t say anything. I sit still, praying for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

  “Hey, don’t worry about it.” He smiles causing dimples to form in his cheeks and to my disgust, something responds deep in my stomach. “I enjoy getting put in my place by people who sound like Mary Poppins. It’s kind of sexy.” He brushes a hand across his top and holds a tanned, muscular arm towards me. “Seriously, no hard feelings.”

  I draw in a deep breath, hold my arm out to meet his and his warm hand dwarfs my palm. The skin-on-skin contact sends tiny electric currents up my arm. I try not to notice.

  “I’m Nate O’Shea.” His arm stills, the handshake part over, but he keeps hold of my hand as his eyes burn into mine. “And you are?”

  I swallow. “Emily.” All the venom has disappeared from my voice and it now sounds unnatural; too high or something.

  His lips curve into a smile. “It’s great to meet you, Emily.”

  I don’t think I could feel any more uncomfortable than I do right now. I slip my hand from his grasp and gesture towards Harriet. “And this is Harrie, my sister.”

  She raises her hand towards him. “Harriet,” she corrects.

  He reaches across and shakes her hand, his smile still in place. “It’s good to meet you too, Harriet.”

  Once the introductions are over I expect him to leave, but he stays where he is, resting a hand on the back of my chair.

  I wish he’d move it. It’s distracting.

  “So, Emily, you’ve just flown in from London, huh?”

  I twist round at an awkward angle and give him a nod.

  He moves to the side so I can see him better. “Are you here on vacation?”

  “Ah, no. Not really a vacation….”

  “No, she’s not,” Harriet says, plucking the top off her burger and inspecting the dill pickle beneath. “She’s come here to live with me and our mom.”

  I shoot a frown at Harriet. I’m only here while I sort myself out. I have no idea what I’m doing long term.

  “So, Nate O’Shea....” Harriet glances towards the O’Shea’s Place sign hanging over the door, “Do you own this café?”

  He looks towards the sign and nods. “Yeah, it’s mine.” Then he gives her a crooked smile. “Well, mine and my investor’s.” His eyes light up as he thinks of something. “Hey, I don’t suppose either of you are looking for work?” It sounds like he’s throwing the question out to both of us, but it’s me he’s looking at. “One of my waitresses, Olivia, has just gone on maternity leave and her replacement fell through. I need someone to help out for a few months.”

  “I can’t,” Harriet says, “I’m at college full-time doing business studies.”

  I turn to face her. “I didn’t know you were taking business studies.”

  “That’s because you’ve never asked….”

  Ouch.

  Nate places his hand on my arm and I’m intensely aware of his touch again. “What about you, Emily? Could you see yourself working here?”

  “Oh, uh….” I clear my throat. “I’m not sure I’m even allowed to work over here. I’d probably need some kind of permit?”

  “You don’t,” Harriet picks up a packet of ketchup and uses her teeth to rip the corner off. “Mom was born here so you have birth right citizenship.”

  “Awesome,” Nate says, not taking his eyes from mine.

  “But she doesn’t need a job,” Harriet adds.

  Nate’s still looking at me, waiting for me to say something.

  I clear my throat. “Coming here was a bit of a last-minute decision. I haven’t really thought that far ahead yet.”

  He withdraws his hand from my arm, fishes a pen out of his pocket and writes something on a small pad. “Here….” He rips off the top sheet and hands it to me. “If you change your mind, give me a call and we’ll sort something out.”

  I suck in a deep breath and take the paper, knowing I have no intention of calling him. I manage a brief smile and pray for him to hurry up and leave so I can stop feeling so uncomfortable.

  “Well, I’d better get back to work,” he says, raising his eyebrows. He seems reluctant to go. “Pop in anytime. It’d be really good to see you.” He remembers his manners and turns to Harriet. “Both of you….”

  Chapter 4

  Less than ten minutes after climbing in the car, Harriet is parking the Nissan Rogue on the driveway beside a black Audi.

  “She’s back,” she says under her breath. I’m not sure, but it sounds like relief in her voice. Did she think Rachel might not have bothered coming home?

  “Well, this is it.” She brightens and waves an arm theatrically towards the house in front of us. “Welcome to your new home, Emily.”

  I stare up at the large house. It’s stunning - pale lemon walls bathed in light, wrought iron shutters on the windows and a large wooden door.

  “It’s a lot bigger than I thought.”

  “It is pretty big. It’s not where we started off.” She points up the street. “We used to live in an apartment building up there.”

  “With Dominic?”

  “Jesus, no.” She laughs. “I think his wife might have had something to say about that.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know he was married when you came over.”

  “He still is. His wife has got some long-term illness. She barely recognises him these days, but he feels obliged to stay with her. Mom didn’t mind because he paid all the rent on the apartment and spent most of his time with us anyway. But when she snapped back to her senses and wanted to go back to Mike in London, Dominic bought this house to persuade her to stay.”

  I’m only half-listening to her as I look up and down the street. So, this is the place Rachel came when she left me five years ago.

  I still remember that day vividly. Rachel, or Mom as I called her back then, had asked me to step into the hallway for a moment. I’d been watching TV and had lumbered into the hall with my shoulders drooped and my hands swinging by my sides, ready to complain about the interruption. When I saw her standing solemnly by the front door, the protest died on my lips.

  Her suitcase was by her side and her lips were pressed into a thin line. She smiled when she saw me, but even at that young age I knew it was forced, not genuine.

  She’d bent down and placed a perfectly manicured hand on my shoulder. “Emily, I need you to be brave, honey.” Her voice faltered. “I’m afraid I have to leave.”

  Instinct told me she was talking longer than one of her regular trips. When I spoke, it came out as a whisper. “Why?”

  She frowned, glancing beyond me to the doorway of the dining room. I twisted around to follow her gaze and saw Dad leaning against the door jamb with a look on his face that terrified me. He’d been ill recently so I was used to him looking rough, but his brows were pinched together and his eyes were red and puffy.

  Mom reached out and touched m
y chin, dragging my focus back to her. “I’m sorry, Em, there is no easy way to say this....” She paused to clear her throat. “I’m going to live in California.”

  I screwed my face up. “But I thought the judge said you couldn’t go?”

  She shook her head. “No, what the judge said was that I couldn’t take you with me.”

  I didn’t react for a few moments. I just stared at her as the ugly realisation sunk in.

  “No,” I said eventually, my face crumpling. “Please don’t leave me.” I looked back towards Dad. I desperately needed him to say something; make Mom take back her words, tell me everything was going to be okay. But he just stood there, motionless.

  “I’m sorry honey….” Mom’s voice was firm but gentle. “I really do have to go.”

  I turned back to face her, hot tears of frustration spilling onto my cheeks. “No,” I cried, lunging at her and grabbing fistfuls of chiffon scarf. “You can’t leave me.”

  She lowered her head, scooped me into a fierce hug and whispered into my hair, “Please don’t do this, Emily. It’s killing me.” She held me tight for a couple of minutes, long enough for me to bury my face in her top and soak it. The floral smell of her perfume was both comforting and devastating all at once. Then she let go and stepped back creating a massive void. Panic rose in my throat. I reached forward to grab her hand. I wanted to hold it tight and never let go, force her to stay with me, but she pulled it sharply out of my reach. Then she disappeared through the front door and out of my life.

  I turn back to Harriet, desperate to delay walking up the front steps to the house. “Thanks for coming to pick me up.” My voice has picked up an annoying wobble.

  “Hey….” She puts her hand on my arm and gives it a small squeeze. “It was my pleasure.”

  There’s a click as Harriet pops the trunk. I take a deep breath and force myself to climb out of the seat.

  The warm evening air carries the fragrance of flowers … night jasmine I think, and I can hear the unmistakeable ‘phftt, phftt’ noise coming from sprinklers up and down the street.

  I join Harriet at the back of the car, hauling my suitcase out with a grunt before standing it on its wonky wheels. Harriet heaves my backpack out and slings it across her shoulder. “Okay then,” She arches an eyebrow and studies my face. “Are you ready?”