Little White Lies (29 page)

Beneath us, Poppy’s shadow stretches across the picnic rug, giving us all a thumbs-up as she takes the picture. I gaze at the shadow, feeling unbearably sad that she wasn’t in the photo with us. That she never will be again. I look back at our laughing faces, so joyful, so carefree.

Uncle Jim was right—we were all blissfully oblivious to what the future had in store.

I’d come home from boarding school just for the day, I remember, for Millie’s birthday. Poppy had begged me to stay for the whole weekend, to have a kind of slumber party catch-up that evening, but I didn’t—I had to rush back to school for some reason. I can’t even remember why. If only I’d known that was the last time I’d ever see her awake, alive.

My eyes trail sadly down, past her noticeboard full of photos and invitations to parties and events she never went to, past her beloved guitar, to her bedside table, the lid of the favorite perfume spray lying carelessly beside its bottle, waiting for her to return. I sink down on her bed, lift the bottle to my nose, close my eyes—and instantly she’s with me.
Poppy
. I remember her sitting here with me on her bed giggling about the new shoes she’d just splurged on, how she’d be broke for months, but they were
so
worth it. “After all,” she’d said, her eyes sparkling, “a girl only gets one prom—and I intend to make the most of it!”

I smile. But when I open my eyes she’s gone. I spot the shoes, gleaming beside her wardrobe. Still waiting. Still unworn. She never got her one prom.

Yes, everything is exactly how she left it. Almost.

Her bedside lamp and computer are missing—sm
ashed in the struggle—and her moon and stars rug has moved. It used to be in the center of the room, but now it’s right beside her bed, under my feet. Tentatively, I lift up the nearest corner with my toe.

It’s still there.
The dark reddish-brown stain that wouldn’t come out of the wood, however much Aunt Grace scrubbed, tears gushing from her eyes, her knuckles red and raw. I let the rug drop, shuddering as I imagine Poppy sitting right here that afternoon, completely unaware of what was about to happen.

Someone knocks on the front door, and as I glance outside to see yet more mourners arriving it suddenly hits me like a sucker-punch:
It couldn’t have been Tariq—it could never have been Tariq
!

The front door is directly below Poppy’s bedroom—so when Tariq broke in she would have
heard
him, then
seen
him downstairs—so why didn’t she run to the door, or the landing, or lock herself in her en suite bathroom? Why would she just sit here,
waiting
for him?

The answer stares me in the face. Because, while Tariq may have broken in afterwards, Poppy’s killer didn’t have to. She was expecting him, waiting for him, trusting him.

After all, he was her boyfriend....

My skin crawls as I remember Christian’s hands on me, his lips on mine.

Did he touch you in the same way, Poppy? Make you feel the way I felt?

A tear rolls slowly down my cheek.

Did you love him too
?

I brush it away roughly.

But you wouldn’t have even been here if it wasn’t for me.

I close my eyes.

I’m so sorry, Poppy.

“Lulu?”

My eyes fly open. Millie is clinging to the doorframe, her blond fringe flopping in front of her wide brown eyes as she stares at me.

“Hey, munchkin.” I smile, holding out my arms. She scampers into the room and crawls onto my lap, wrapping her arms tightly round my neck.

“You okay?” I whisper into her hair. She smells of strawberries.

She nods, then whispers back. “Are you hiding?”

“No.”

Yes.

“I’m just remembering Poppy, and all the happy times we had together.” I point to the calendar. “Remember your birthday party?”

She frowns, then shakes her head.

“You must do.” I smile. “Poppy made the cake herself—just for you!”

She stares at the photo, then shakes her head again sadly. “I don’t remember.” Her chin drops to her chest, her hair falling down over her face, and I have to strain to hear her whisper.

“I don’t remember her.”

Her bottom lip juts out and breaks my heart.

Millie was only three when it happened, after all. It’s over a quarter of her life ago. She must only really remember Poppy being in hospital.

I hug her tight. “Poppy loved you so much,” I whisper. “She always read you all your favorite stories—es
pecially
Don’t Get Dirty, Gerty!
You used to want that one over and over and over again!”

“It’s my favorite.” Millie smiles.

“I know, and even though you asked for it a thousand times, Poppy never got tired of reading it to you, and she always did the best voices.”

“She did?”

I nod. “You know, when Poppy discovered she was going to be a big sister she was so excited, because she’d finally have someone to take care of, someone to read bedtime stories to, someone to love and cuddle and play with. She even tried to knit you a cardigan—she spent hours and
hours
on it—but she got the stitch sizes wrong, so it was enormous! See!” I nod at Poppy’s giant teddy bear on her bed, wearing the oversized garment.

Millie stares at me, then giggles. “It’s ginormous!”

“I know!” I laugh. “Poppy said that you might grow into it someday, so she asked Big Bear to keep it safe for you.”

Millie reaches out and gently strokes the soft woolen sleeve.

“Shall we see if it fits now?” I reach over and tug the cardigan off the teddy bear and wrap it round Millie. She sticks her arms through the sleeves, but it still dwarfs her. She giggles.

“It’s far too big!”

“Oh dear! Shall we put it back on Big Bear?”

“No,” she says, snuggling into the soft wool, pulling it close around her. “Not yet.”

I stroke Millie’s hair as I cuddle her tight. “She loved playing with you. Hide-and-seek, and tea parties and shops—you had such fun! She was the kindest, most loving big sister anyone could ever hope for.” I kiss Millie’s head. “She always said the day you were born was the best day of her life.”

Suddenly my breath catches.
Millie’s birthday
. The best day of her life... 17 June. 17.06. That could be Poppy’s passcode, couldn’t it...?

“What are you two up to?” I look up to see Uncle Jim leaning in the corridor, smiling.

“Daddy!” Millie runs over and leaps into his arms, while the prison guard lingers awkwardly in the doorway.

“Hello, princess.” Uncle Jim grins, rubbing his nose against hers in an eskimo kiss. He looks around the room and sighs.

“We left it all here, waiting for her, for when she woke up,” he says sadly, carrying Millie further into the room. “Her posters, her photographs, even her Beatles bedding.” He smiles, smoothing the duvet gently with his long fingers. “I hoped that one day everything would be back to normal. I’d be back home, and she’d be back home, and we’d all be together again. A family.” His hand stops moving and he just stares at the bed. “But now she’ll never come back.”

I don’t know what to say. What do you say to a man who’s just lost his beloved daughter? Who’s been jailed for trying to protect her? Who’s only home for a few hours for her funeral?

I place my hand over his, and he looks down at me, his huge eyes deep brown pools of sorrow.

“Will you tuck me in tonight, Daddy?” Millie asks.

“I’d love to, princess.” He kisses her nose, then takes my hand, but as he sits down on the bed the rug slides beneath his feet, revealing the bloodstain.

Uncle Jim stiffens.

“The stain wouldn’t come out,” I tell him quietly. “We’ve tried everything.”

“Some stains don’t.” He sighs. “Besides, however you try to get rid of it, or cover it up, I’d still see it. It’s burned into my mind. I’ll always know it’s there—that one slip, one shift of the rug beneath my feet will reveal its ugliness for all to see.”

Silently, I nudge the rug back over the mark.

“I’ll never forget what happened here,” he says heavily, closing his eyes and resting his chin on Millie’s head. “Not for the rest of my life.”

I squeeze his hand. It must be so much worse for him—he was here, he saw Poppy lying unconscious—he tried to save her... but he couldn’t.

“Mummy!” Millie cries and I look up to see Aunt Grace, pale in the doorway.

“So this is where you’re all hiding.” She smiles weakly.

“We’re playing hide-and-seek, like me and Poppy did.” Millie grins and I smile.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Aunt Grace says. “I swear I don’t know half of the people in my living room.”

“Come and sit with us,” Millie says.

“Oh, I’m not sure if there’s room,” she says.

“There’s always room for my girls.” Uncle Jim shifts over and pats the bed next to him. “Come on, Grace.”

She hesitates.

“Group hug, Mummy!” Millie cries, stretching out her chubby arms.

Aunt Grace smiles at her, then sits down gingerly on the very edge of the bed, her face troubled. Haunted by bad memories, I guess.

“It’s so good to be home,” Uncle Jim sighs, squeezing us all tight. “It’s been far too long.” I smile as I hug him close. It’s been far,
far
too long.

Suddenly the tune of “Yellow Submarine” breaks the silence and my clutch bag vibrates violently.

Aunt Grace freezes. “Isn’t that Poppy’s—”

“Poppy’s ring tone, yes,” I say quickly, standing up and hurrying towards the door. “We both got the same one.”

“Best friends, huh?” Uncle Jim smiles.

“That’s right.” I flash him a swift smile. “Best friends. Excuse me.”

I hurry down the corridor into the bathroom and lock the door before I pull Poppy’s phone out and answer the call.

“Lou!” Christian cries. “Thank goodness! When you took so long to pick up I was worried something had happened to you.”

“Like what?” I ask warily.

“Like you’d been arrested for snooping around a stranger’s house or something!”

Oh,
that.

“I’m fine,” I whisper. “But I can’t really talk right now.”

“Of course. Sorry!” he apologizes. “I was just worried.”

I soften.

“Did you get into Poppy’s house? Did you find anything? The passcode?” he asks urgently.

Of course—
that’s
what he’s worried about.

“I think so,” I tell him. “There are a few possibilit
ies.”

“Brilliant! What are they?”

I hesitate. If I tell him now, he can open the USB files—but what will he find? More evidence to destroy?

“Sorry. You said you can’t talk,” he sighs, misreading my hesitation.

“Let’s meet later,” I say suddenly. “Do it together.”

“Okay. Can you come to the Internet café—A Byte to Eat, in Dartford—at five-thirty?”

“See you then.”

“Great,” Christian says, sounding relieved. “We’re in this together, after all.”

I hang up quickly as an icy chill shivers down my spine.

As I step nervously into the dingy Internet café I straighten my shoulders, trying desperately to look less anxious than I feel. There’s a girl busily tapping on her phone behind the counter, but as I look around I realize there’s only one customer—an old man round the corner from the desk, tucked almost out of view.

Shit. I sigh heavily. Christian didn’t come. He’s done a runner. Something in my voice must’ve spooked him, scared him off.

Frustration battles with relief inside me. Now I’ll never have to face him again, but I’ll never know what was on the memory stick either, or what really happened that night—though the very fact that he’s not here speaks volumes.

“There you are, sweetheart!” the old man calls across at me and the girl at the counter looks up. “You’re late!”

“What?” I turn. “No, I—” He doffs his cap and winks, and my jaw drops.
Christian
! “I mean, sorry, yes—I got held up.” I hurry over.

He replaces his hat and smiles as I round the corner, out of sight of the girl. I barely recognize him now his hair’s dyed gray beneath his flat cap, and he’s dressed head to toe in tweed.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” He stands up to hug me, but I stiffen involuntarily.

“Sorry, do I reek?” He cringes, misreading my discomfort. “The clothes are from a charity shop, so they’re a bit old.”

“No—it’s fine,” I say hastily. “They’re... nice.”

“You’re such a bad liar.” He grins and I feel my cheeks flush.

“So let’s try some of the possible passcodes,” I say quickly.

“Great!” he says eagerly, pulling the USB necklace from his pocket and stabbing it into the computer.

This is it.
Now or never
.

I slip into the swivel chair and try a few different possibilities as Christian leans over my shoulder, his breath hot on my neck. Then finally, slowly, I type in Millie’s birthday.

Immediately the files pop open.

“Yes!” Christian’s eyes widen as he leans forward. I frown. He looks
excited,
not
nervous
.

I scroll through the files, looking for anything that could be a diary.

“Shit,” Christian mutters as we reach the bottom of the list. “Nothing.”

I don’t understand. It
has
to be on here. I scan the list again carefully, then desperately perform a file search on Leo
,
Glastonbury
,
tickets
,
and festival. But there are no results.

“So that’s it, then,” Christian sighs. “No evidence.”

My skin prickles. No evidence to exonerate him or no evidence he’s lying?
What would he have done if he’d found the diary and it disproved his story? Destroyed it? But he could have destroyed the USB stick anyway if he thought it would incriminate him—so why did he want to meet up with me, if not to try to prove his innocence?

“Bollocks,” Christian sighs. “What about Poppy’s phone? You bring it? Did you delete my text?”

The penny drops. So
that’s
what he really came for—the phone. Of course. I’ve got the one piece of evidence the police could still use against him—besides the bloodstained T-shirt he’s probably already destroyed.

I pretend to check my pockets. “Shit! I must’ve left it at the hotel—sorry!” I lie. There’s no way I’m handing it over.

“Hotel?”

“Yeah—I can’t pick up my car till tomorrow, so I checked into a Premier Inn on the other side of town,” I bluff, hoping he won’t want to risk coming all that way to get it.

“But you
have
deleted my text?” Christian asks anxiously.

“Of course!” I smile, lying through my teeth.

“At least that’s something,” he sighs. “I can’t believe I phrased it like that—my one piece of evidence! And now no diary...” He sighs heavily. “That’s it. It’s over.”

I look at him carefully. “What did you think would be in Poppy’s diary?”

“I don’t know. Some
mention
of me, at least, to prove I wasn’t some stranger, proof that she knew me, that I was her friend.”

“Her boyfriend?” I ask quietly, staring at the screen.

“What? No!” He swivels my chair to face him. “No, Lou—where’s that come from?”

I shrug.

“I was just Poppy’s friend, nothing more,” he promises. “Just mates.”

Sabina and Joe’s words burn my ears. “But Joe said—”

“Joe doesn’t have any female friends,” Christian interrupts. “He thinks all girls who are friends are girlfriend
s—which is probably why he hasn’t got any female friends.”

“But you were going away together too....”

“Well, yes—but not like
that
.” He sighs. “Poppy seemed like she was going through a rough time, she wanted to get away—to go to Glastonbur
y—and she asked me to go with her for some company, because we liked the same kind of music. That’s all.”

“That’s all?”

He lifts my chin with his finger.

“That’s all. I swear,” he says earnestly. “We were just mates.”

I nod, surprised at the relief flooding my heart.
But what difference does it make?
my head argues. He could still have killed her. He could still be lying.

“So what now?” I whisper, watching him closely.

“Now... I don’t have a choice. I have to disappear. If the police find me, they’ll send me back to prison.” He looks at me, his eyes filled with sorrow. “I can never see you again.”

He strokes my hair from my cheek and my heart races despite myself.

“Thank you, Lou,” he whispers.

“For what?” I ask.

“For everything.” He smiles, those beautiful eyes deep in mine. “For trying. For a few wonderful days of hope. For believing in me.”

He kisses me then, his lips so soft, so warm, my heart thrumming so loudly it’s impossible to remember why I should pull away.

He couldn’t have killed Poppy, he just
couldn’t!
Every part of my being refuses to believe it. What was it Sabina said?
Sometimes it doesn’t matter what the evidence says, what the world says, if you know something to be true in your heart.

And I do. Christian didn’t kill Poppy. He couldn’t have. I’ve never been more absolutely sure of anything.

I trace his jawline with my fingertips, his high cheekbones, the prickly stubble, then gaze into those blue eyes that I could easily drown in, so bright, so clear.

“We’ll find proof of your innocence,” I promise, tears blurring my vision. “We will. We’ll be together.”

He pulls me into his arms and my heart aches as I inhale his familiar musky, foresty scent, memorizing the feel of his body against mine, my mind filled with dread.
What if we never find any evidence to exonerate him, never discover what truly happened?

I hold Christian tighter, unable to let go. If I do, I might never see him again. Never know if he’s safe or in danger, dead or alive. I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing with all my heart that this moment could last forever.

“I love you,” I whisper, surprising myself with my own feelings.

He kisses my hair. “I love you too.”

Suddenly he freezes in my arms and my eyes fly open as DI Goldsmith and two other policemen burst through the front door. “They must have followed you!” Christian cries, his eyes flying to the counter as another three officers rush in from the back entrance.

There’s nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide.

“Leo Niles, you’re surrounded,” DI Goldsmith warns. “Now step forward with your hands up.”

Christian sighs and pulls away, but I cling tighter.
Just one more minute
.

“Lou,” he says gently. “Let go. It’s okay.” He kisses my cheek and finally, reluctantly, I let him slide from my arms.

Tears streak down my face as I watch them handcuff him and lead him out of the café into the waiting police car.

I close my eyes.

He’s gone. It’s over. And it’s my fault.

After all, I called them.