Little White Lies (26 page)

I click miserably through the rest of the texts—messages Poppy will never read—filled with love and sympathy and get well soons. Then I’m back to before the attack:

Poppy, why aren’t you answering your phone? I have to talk to you. Please let me explain. Call me on my mobile or at Gran’s asap—it’s urgent. Mum xx

I frown. I wonder what that was about? But when I click the next message I forget all about Aunt Grace’s.

I’m coming 2 get U

I stare at it.

“I’m coming to get you?”
I read.

“What?”
Vix glances across. “Is that from...”

“It must be—it
has
to be.” My heart beats fast and my thumb fumbles on the screen, trying to scroll down, check the sender. “But there’s no name, only a number I don’t recognize....
Of course
!” I cry suddenly. “Of
course
I wouldn’t recognize his number—his old phone got broken!”

“Plus he’d have bought a new one when he got out of prison, wouldn’t he?” Vix says. “If he didn’t want to be traced?”

“Yes! Why didn’t I think of that sooner?” I beam. “
This
is the text—just like Christian said—telling Poppy he was coming to pick her up!
He
is
innocent!” My heart swells so much I can hardly breathe. “And this
proves
it!”

Vix grins at me. “So what now?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I have to tell him, but how? I have no idea where he is—or even if he’s still safe—and then there’s the funeral....” I glance at my watch as we stop at yet another red light.

Two-twenty-six. It’s going to be touch and go whether I make it.

Suddenly Poppy’s phone shudders in my hand, and I drop it instinctively. It shivers around the floor, buzzing and playing a tinny version of “Yellow Submarine.” I pick it up and a landline number I don’t recognize flashes on the screen.

“Answer it!” Vix urges.

“But I don’t know who it is!”

She snatches the mobile, puts it on speakerphone, then slams on the brakes to avoid crashing into the car in front as it stops at a zebra crossing.

“Jesus!” I gasp, my heart jolting out of my chest as we stop just in time.

“Hello?” a voice says on the phone.

“Sorry!” Vix mouths, thrusting Poppy’s mobile back at me.

“Hello?” the voice says again. “Hello? Lou?”

“Christian!”
I cry, dizzy with relief. “You’re
alive
! Are you all right? Where are you? How did you know—”

“You’ve got the phone! Thank God!” Christian cries. “I’ve been calling it for hours! I nearly went nuts when it wasn’t in Poppy’s bag—I thought I’d lost it!”

“Sorry! I’ve just charged it up! I can’t believe you remembered her number!”

“Thank goodness I did—told you I was good with figures!”

“Are you okay?” I ask nervously. “I was so worried.”

“I’m fine. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

I smile.

“So is it there?” he asks anxiously. “The text?”

“Yes!” Vix and I exchange grins. “It’s here, just like you said. It says ‘I’m coming to get you.’ The police will have to believe you now—it’s proof!”

“Wait,” Christian says, his voice strange. “
What
does it say?”

“That you’re coming to pick Poppy up,” I tell him. “ ‘I’m coming to get you.’ ”

There’s silence on the other end of the line.

“Christian? You there?”

“Shit.”

I frown. “What’s wrong?”

He continues to swear, getting louder and louder.

Vix looks at me, wide-eyed. I’ve never heard him so angry, so volatile. Suddenly there’s a loud crash.

“Christian!”
I cry. “Christian, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“No!” he cries bitterly. “No, I’m completely screwed!”

“What! Why?”

“Lou—don’t you see? There’s no way that text’s going to prove my innocence.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it.
‘I’m coming to get you’
—it sounds just like a threat!”

“But it wasn’t,” I protest. “You were going to pick her up!”

“
I
know that,
you
know that. But which way do you think the
police
are going to take it? Especially as, just minutes later, Poppy was attacked! You have to delete the message, Lou—if anyone finds it, they’ll take it the wrong way.”

“But if we explain—”

“They won’t believe us.” He sighs, his voice filled with despair. “It’s hopeless. It’s over.”

“No—no, it can’t be!” I protest, watching our future swirl down a big fat drainpipe. “There must be something—
something
else we can use, some other proof.”

“Like what?” he sighs. “That was it. That message was my only hope.”

I slump in my seat, my heart aching as I listen to him break down.

Vix taps my arm, mouthing something at me I can’t make out. I shrug.
What?
She tries again. It looks like...
Diarrhea
?
Is she feeling ill? I rub my stomach questioningly and she rolls her eyes.

“Diary!” she hisses. “Did Poppy keep a diary?”

“Of course! Poppy’s diary!” I cry.

“Diary?” Christian says, sounding startled.

“Um, yeah,” I reply, trying to sound less excited than I feel. “Is there a diary or anything in her bag?”

I’m such an
idiot
! I was so busy searching Poppy’s bag for her phone it never even
occurred
to me to check if her USB necklace with her diary on it was in there. If she really was friends with Christian, she’d have mentioned him in it for sure!

“I can’t see a notebook or anything,” Christian says.

That’s because it’d be a
necklace,
not a notebook, but I can’t tell him that. I bite my lip in frustration. If only I’d checked when
I
had the bag! “Well, what
is
there? Tell me everything,” I urge, praying madly.

“There’s a hairbrush, some clothes, an iPod...”

I close my eyes, trying desperately to remember if I saw the maple-leaf necklace in her bag in the shed. Poppy never went anywhere without it—it’s where she always kept everything most vitally important to her ever since I gave it to her on her fourteenth birthday. And it wasn’t on her when they found her—I haven’t seen it since—so it
must
be in her bag....

Otherwise it’s all over. Christian will go back to jail—or on the run with God knows how many people after him. We’ll never be together.

“A washbag, some makeup, some jewelry...”

“What sort of jewelry?” I ask, crossing my fingers tightly.

“Um, there’s some earrings, a charm bracelet, some necklaces...”

“I thought I noticed a... locket or something when I was looking for the phone,” I bluff. “I think it was shaped like a leaf....”

“Uh... nope. No lockets.”

Shit
.

“Wait, there’s a weird maple-leaf necklace with something on the back....” My heart leaps.
That’s it
!

“It kind of looks like a USB stick,” he says, and I want to kiss him.

“Where are you?” I ask. “If it’s a USB stick, we need to find a computer and see what’s on it.”

Vix nudges me, then points to the dashboard clock.
Shit.
It’s 2:35. There’s no time to go and meet him, wherever he is.

“Actually, there’s an Internet café over the road from my phone box,” Christian says. “I’ll try it now.”

“Great!” I cry, relieved. “Wait—won’t you be recognized?”

“No, I don’t think so. It’s a dingy little place. I doubt there’ll be anyone in there on a Monday afternoon. I’m actually probably safer in there than on the streets.”

“Okay—if you’re sure.”

“I’ll call you back if I find anything.”

“Good luck!”

I close my eyes as I hang up, praying madly.

Please let him find Poppy’s diary on the USB. Please let there be a mention of him, of Glastonbury. Please, please, please let it prove he’s innocent.

There are cars parked all along the curb as we finally pull into my road—I’ve never seen it so busy—so Vix drops me off outside my house before going to find somewhere to park. But just as I hurry up the driveway, Poppy’s phone rings in my bag.

“You found something?” I say excitedly, ducking down the side path to answer it.

“Not yet.” Christian sighs. “I’m on Skype at the Internet café, but the USB’s passcode-protected. Four digits.”

Shit.
I could try all sorts of possible meaningful combinations, but how would I explain it to Christian if I got it right on the first guess? Unless I try some wrong ones first.

“Okay, how about one-two-three-four?” I suggest.

He sighs heavily. “Nope.”

“Zero-zero-zero-zero?”

“Nope.”

“Do you know when her birthday is?”

“No.”

We try several more numbers, but still the files remain stubbornly locked, and I’m almost out of ideas. Plus I’m running more and more late for the funeral.

What number would Poppy choose?

“It could be anything!” Christian sighs heavily. “It’s hopeless!”

“Unless...” A seed of an idea plants itself in my mind.

“Unless what?”

“Well...” I hesitate. “The paper said it’s Poppy’s funeral this afternoon—I could go.”

Christian falters. “Go to her
house
?”

I nod, then realize he can’t see me. “Yes. I could have a look around her room, see if I could find any clues—or any other evidence?”

“You’d do that?” he says incredulously. “Go to a stranger’s funeral? For me?”

I cross my fingers. “Yes.”

He pauses, and I panic.
Has he guessed
?
Then he sighs heavily, his voice filled with gratitude.

“You’re amazing. Thank you.”

“No worries,” I say, suddenly overwhelmingly glad he can’t see me, where I am, and the lies written all over my face. “Call me later.” I hang up, then hurry inside.

“Lulu!” Uncle Doug rushes up to me with Kenny in tow. “Crumbs, I could’ve sworn you were Poppy’s ghost for a sec—nice hair! Thank goodness you made it—traffic’s a bitch, eh? Your friend here was just telling me how bad the queues are on the motorway.”

Kenny winks at me.

“A nightmare,” I agree.

“So how come you two didn’t travel down together, then?” Uncle Doug asks.

“Oh, I... we...,” I stammer.

“We go to different universities now,” Kenny lies quickly. “I know Lou from boarding school, but I only had to travel down from Warwick today, so I think I missed the worst of the jam, luckily.”

I could kiss him.

“Where’s Aunt Grace?” I ask Uncle Doug.

“Trying to get Millie out of the bathroom,” he sighs. “She’s locked herself in.”

My heart aches as I rush upstairs.
Poor Millie.

I spot Aunt Grace hovering outside the bathroom door with an Asian man I don’t recognize. She looks thin and ghostlike in a simple black dress.

“Millie!” she calls desperately. “Please come out, darling, it’s nearly time to go.”

“I’ve brought some jalebi just for you, Millie,” the man adds. “I know it’s your favorite. It’s waiting for you downstairs.”

“
You
should be downstairs,” Aunt Grace hisses agitatedly. “You shouldn’t even be here, today of all days. I don’t want any trouble, Amir.”

“Nor do I,” he protests, his eyes wide. “Grace, I’m just trying to help—” He spots me. “Hello?”

Aunt Grace turns, then gasps, her hands flying to her mouth.
“Poppy?”

“Aunt Grace.” I rush up to her. “It’s me, Lulu. Are you okay?”

“Lulu!” She wraps her arms around me. “Oh, sweetheart, for a moment I thought... your hair.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say quickly. “I never meant—I just dyed it, then the hairdresser cut it too short, and—”

“It looks lovely.” She smiles, her eyes tired. “It’s so good to see you.” She hugs me fiercely.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”

“You’re here now.” She squeezes me tight. “That’s all that matters.”

“I’ll leave you in peace,” Amir says.

“Lulu, this is Amir, my cookery instructor,” Aunt Grace tells me. “Lulu’s my niece.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say.

“You too.” Amir smiles. “I’m just sorry it’s not in happier circumstan
ces.” He looks sadly at Aunt Grace, then turns away.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here,” Aunt Grace says. “Millie won’t come out of the bathroom.”

“Millie?” I call gently. “Are you okay?”

“Lulu?” a tiny voice whimpers.

“It’s me, munchkin.” I smile. “And I’ve got this great big hug waiting for you, and it’s so big, it’s so heavy, I’m worried I might drop it!”

“Don’t drop it!” she cries.

“You’d better come out and get it, then—quick!”

The handle moves, but the door doesn’t open.

“I can’t.” She sighs miserably.

“Why not, munchkin?”

“I’m ugly.”

“What?” I say, surprised. “Impossible!”

“I am,” she snuffles. “My dress is yucky!” I stifle a smile.

“She hates black,” Aunt Grace whispers. “She says only bad guys wear black.”

“Well, maybe you could wear a dress the same color as mine?” I suggest. “Then we can be twins.”

“Yes!” she cries.

“Well, I’m wearing a beautiful black dress,” I tell her. “Have you got anything black you can wear?”

She hesitates. “But... my dress
is
black!”

“No
way
!” I say, winking at Aunt Grace. “I don’t believe you. Show me.”

She opens the door and peers out, her face pale against the somber outfit, but her eyes light up as she sees my dress. “We’re twins!”

“Well, fancy that!” I beam, grabbing her in a tight hug. “Great minds think alike, eh?”

Millie holds my hand all the way to the church, squeezing hard as I shield her from the assembled paparazzi outside the gates, suddenly glad for my new sunglasses. The reporters flock like vultures around the mourners, calling out to Aunt Grace as we pass, but she just picks Millie up silently and quickens her pace as we make a beeline through the graveyard to the sanctuary of the cool stone church.

The moment we step through the door, peace descends and the sweet perfume of lilies fills my lungs. I’ve never seen so many flowers—dozens of beautiful bouquets tied to the pews with silky pink ribbons, arranged in stands, and adorning every available surface—creamy carnations, velvety roses, sprigs of gypsophila, trumpeting lilies, and, of course, dozens of scarlet poppies. Lovely, delicate blooms that will dazzle for a while but then die all too soon, their lives cut short. Just like Poppy.

And there, nestled in a beautiful wreath of poppies at the front of the church, is her photo.

I step closer, drawn by her sparkling eyes and her easy smile, and my heart swells. This is how she was. How I remember her. I reach forward, stroking her cheek with my fingers.

Poppy.

“That’s my favorite photo of her,” Aunt Grace whispers, appearing at my side. “She looks like she’s laughing at something, doesn’t she? She was always laughing, always smiling....” She falters, her eyes fixed on Poppy’s photo, and suddenly I notice she’s shaking.

I take her arm quickly, and she looks up at me, her eyes so sad, so broken, like she’s about to fall apart. Then Millie tugs at her dress, and she takes a deep breath, straightens her shoulders, and calmly smiles down at her.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can we sit at the front?” Millie asks. “So I can see?”

“Of course, darling.”

“You can even sit on my knee if you like, munchkin,” I offer, holding her hand as we head to the pews. “Then you’ll see better than anyone.”

“Okay.” She smiles.

As we take our seats a sea of black figures trickles in, filling the pews around us. Poppy’s old teachers, school friends, neighbors, Aunt Grace’s work friends, and Neil with more of Uncle Jim’s colleagues from the police. A policeman I don’t recognize walks over to us.

“I just wanted to extend my deepest condolences,” he tells Aunt Grace. “And to let you know we’re doing all we can to find that monster. He’ll be back behind bars soon.”

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “I hope so.”

The policeman smiles at me and Millie, and I force a smile back, feeling unbearably guilty, sitting here on the front pew at Poppy’s funeral. Guilty for lying to Aunt Grace about where I’ve been, guilty for lying to Christian about the real reason I’m here now, and guilty for protecting the very person everyone else is searching for.

I try to shut all of this out as I watch the rest of our family take their seats. Uncle Doug clasps the arm of ancient Great-Aunt Mary as she hobbles down the aisle, while Aunt Harriet flutters behind, dabbing her eyes, followed by a flock of various second cousins I don’t know very well. Then I spot Vix and Kenny sliding into a row at the back, and I smile. I really don’t know what I’d have done without them these past few days.

Soon the church is full, and the organ strikes up a slow, haunting rendition of Coldplay’s “Yellow.” Then the doors open and I gasp as the coffin appears.

I stare at it, transfixed, as six uniformed police officers carry it slowly down the aisle.

It seems impossible that Poppy’s inside. It doesn’t look big enough. How can that box possibly contain her? She never sat still—she was always running, dancing, laughing....

The coffin blurs and I wipe at my eyes. The organist finishes with a flourish and the vicar approaches the lectern.

“Today we have come together to celebrate the life of an extraordinary young woman, Poppy Willoughby-White. It’s a tribute to her how full this church is today.” He sweeps his arms out, smiling at us all. “Poppy was special to all of us, whether as a pupil, a neighbor, a friend...”

I glance at her school friends, huddled together, heads on each other’s shoulders, sobbing silently.

“A niece, a granddaughter, a cousin, a sister, or a daughter.”

I squeeze Millie close as Aunt Grace tightens her grip on my hand. My throat swells.

“And she will be sorely missed.”

I stare at my feet, blinking quickly.

“Poppy was only with us a short while, but—”

Suddenly the vicar is interrupted by a commotion outside. The stained-glass windows flash like lightning as the photographers’ cameras go crazy, and everyone stares and mutters to each other.

Everyone but Aunt Grace, whose gaze remains intently fixed on the vicar, as if the slightest movement will shatter her to pieces. I follow her cue and don’t turn.

He clears his throat. “But... but she achieved a lot in her—”

A loud clank echoes through the church as the latch is lifted from outside, and the vicar purses his lips tightly as the church doors creak open. A hush sweeps through the congregation; then, finally, Aunt Grace turns. Her face blanches in shock and she drops her hymnbook with a clatter.

I look round quickly—and my jaw hits the floor.

“Daddy—you’re back!”
Millie springs from my lap, bounds down the aisle, and leaps into her father’s arms, her face brighter than the sun. He engulfs her in a tight hug, his ginger beard buried in her golden curls as she clings to him, their mutual joy and love written on every part of their bodies.

Finally.
My heart swells as I smile through the tears streaming down my face.
Finally something good.

Escorted by a prison guard, Uncle Jim carries Millie back to the front pew, where he kisses Aunt Grace’s cheek, then hugs me, his eyes filled with tears.

I squeeze him tight, unable to believe he’s here—
he’s really here!
He looks so different. The beard’s new, but it’s more than that. He’s like a ghost of himself, like someone’s stripped away the erect shoulders and proud chin that used to betray the fact that he was a policeman even when he wasn’t in uniform, to leave a smaller, hunched, tired husk of a man.

It breaks my heart. He’s the real victim in all of this. Not only was his daughter killed right in front of him in his own house, but he was locked up for trying to protect her. My stomach knits itself in knots at the injustice of it as he sits down next to Aunt Grace, clasping her hand tightly, Millie still clinging to him like a monkey. She doesn’t know where he’s been, of course—Aunt Grace felt she was too young to tell her the truth when it all happened, so she thinks Uncle Jim’s been away working. Which means she won’t realize that he’s not back to stay...

As the vicar continues the prison guard slides into the pew behind us, and Poppy’s friends and relatives take turns to read poems and tributes, sharing their memories of her with us all.

Then the vicar calls my name and I freeze. I totally forgot I’d promised to do a tribute. Aunt Grace squeezes my hand as he asks for me again, and slowly I rise from my seat, my heart pounding as I approach the lectern.

I look out at them all, this sea of faces staring at me, and my throat seizes up. I can’t do this—I don’t know what to say.

Then Millie sneezes and I look down at her, her big brown eyes watching me intently. I look at Uncle Jim, holding it together so well in spite of everything, and Aunt Grace, her eyes clear and green. She smiles at me, nods, and somehow words form on my lips.