Little White Lies (32 page)

“Lulu, I—” Uncle Jim takes a step closer and I spring from the computer chair, back away.

“You did this,” I say quietly, my eyes wide.

“Lu, please—”

“You killed Poppy!”

In one swift move he’s next to me, his hand pressed tight over my mouth. I struggle against him, squirming and kicking as he pins me with his huge arm.

“Please,” he begs. “Please, Lulu, just listen. I’ll let go, just please, hear me out.”

I scowl at him, but I’m not going anywhere—he’s too strong. Reluctantly, I nod.

Tentatively, he moves his hand away from my mouth. I’m tempted to scream, but something in his eyes stops me. He looks even more terrified than I am. Aunt Grace and Millie are nearby, after all. A single scream and they’d come running. Not to mention the prison officer.

“Thank you,” he says, his breath heavy. “Thank you.”

I glare at him, rub my jaw. “You hurt me.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to. I just wanted— I need a chance to explain.”

“Poppy’s video diary seems pretty explanatory to me,” I say coldly. “You killed her. And you killed Tariq.” Tears stream down my cheeks. “You’re a murderer.”

“No!” he cries, his eyes filled with pain. “No, it was an accident!”

“You handcuffed him to the bed!” I argue. “Then you told everyone
he
attacked Poppy—that it was a burglary gone wrong!”

He hangs his head, covers his face with his hands. “Oh God...”

“I bet you thought you’d got away with it too, when he died, and Poppy fell into a coma—when there was no one left to tell the truth. What a lucky escape!”

“No!” His head snaps up. “No, I’d... I’d give anything,
anything
...” He screws his eyes shut, his voice dropping to a whimper. “I’d give anything to have her back—anything at all.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have killed her, then,” I counter.

“Lulu.” He looks up at me, his face lined with grief. “It was an accident—you have to believe me—I never meant to...” He shakes his head wretchedly. “I’d been out drinking—too much—but it had been such a rough day. Grace had gone and I—I needed one.” He sighs miserably. “More than one. Then I came home and I found Poppy’s bag packed by the door and I just—I don’t know what happened—I felt so hurt, so angry. I wasn’t thinking, I just snapped. I couldn’t let her go—I had to stop her—I don’t even remember what happened. One minute we were arguing, the next—” He breaks off abruptly, his face ashen, like he’s about to throw up.

“You pushed her,” I tell him. “You pushed her and she smacked her head on the bedpost.”

He nods, tears streaking his cheeks as his face crumples. “I couldn’t wake her up. She wouldn’t answer—wou
ldn’t move.” He snatches a breath. “She was dead—I thought she was dead....”

“But you couldn’t be sure!” I protest. “Why didn’t you call an ambulance? They might have been able to save her!”

“I know!” he sobs. “Don’t you think I’ve reproached myself for that a million times? I wasn’t
thinking
straight—I’d had too much to drink. I was stupid. And I thought she was already dead.” He covers his face with his hands and curls over like a child.

“And Tariq?”

“He came from nowhere!” Uncle Jim’s face grows wild. “He was going to call the police! I couldn’t let him call them, they wouldn’t understand—I had to stop him!”

“So you stabbed him.”

“I didn’t mean to!” he protests. “I just meant to grab him, but the scissors were still in my hand.... It was an accident.” He shakes his head. “But then I couldn’t let him go—I had to explain!”

“So you handcuffed him to the bed.”

He nods. “I panicked. I had to stop him, that’s all. That’s all I could think about—
I have to stop him!
I never meant...” His words disolve into sobs. “That poor boy. That poor, poor boy.”

I close my eyes, but I can still see the terrible expression on Tariq’s face, the blood staining his clothes.

“Then suddenly another boy was there.”

I open my eyes.
Christian.

“I didn’t even hear him come in—he just grabbed my arm, startled me, and as I spun round I...” He blinks quickly as tears gush down his face. “I don’t know what happened, but suddenly he was bleeding too. Then he ran—ran out the door and I...” Uncle Jim shakes his head heavily. “I didn’t know what to do.”

I swallow hard. “Why didn’t you tell the police the truth?”

“I... I couldn’t. I couldn’t even speak, function—I just sat there in that room of horror, just staring at what I’d done, unable to believe it was real. It was a nightmare. I
wish
it was a nightmare.” He closes his eyes. “It’s haunted my dreams every single night, reliving that scene, praying that when I wake up it will all disappear, that I’ll have a second chance, that Poppy’ll still be here, still be alive.” Tears flood his words. “But she never will. She’ll never come back. Because of me. I killed her—my baby girl, my angel....”

I shake my head. “But how could you—how could you let Tariq and Leo take the blame?”

“How could I tell Grace what I’d done?” he asks in return, his red-rimmed eyes wide. “She was destroyed by what happened. How could I tell her it was me who hurt Poppy? How could I tell you, or Millie? Everyone was already hurting so much, how could I make it worse?” He swallows hard. “They could lock me up for the rest of my life, and I wouldn’t care. I’ve lost my daughter. And knowing she’s gone, knowing that it’s all my fault”—his voice cracks—“that’s worse than any prison sentence. But to lose all of you too? It’d kill me.”

I bite my lip.

“The police—my old team, Harry Goldsmith—they drew their own conclusions, and I was too numb at first to think about what had really happened. And then it was just easier to go along with it. Tariq was—was already dead. There was nothing I could do to help him,” he says wretchedly. “And Leo—I tried to make sure Leo got a lighter sentence, told them he only arrived afterwards, that I couldn’t be sure he was involved.”

I look up. He’d tried to
help
Leo?

“I had no idea how badly the press would react, the backlash there’d be towards him. I’m so glad he’s safely back in jail. Those vigilantes are terrifying.”

I stare at him. He was
worried
about Leo?

“Do you know, a guy actually came up to me this afternoon after the funeral and told me he was the one who set fire to Leo’s house and chased him back to London?”

“What?” I stare at him.

“He looked so pleased with himself as well. Proud. Like he expected me to
thank
him or something,” he says bitterly. “It’s horrible. Disgusting.
Vigilantism
. For some people it’s nothing to do with right and wrong, it’s just an excuse—an outlet for their own pent-up anger and mindless violence. I didn’t even know him that well! He was a mate of Neil’s, apparently.”

Figures,
I think bitterly. That’s why they were so chummy in the garden. Neil probably knew all about the attacks too—if he wasn’t involved himself. After all, he was in Sheffield that weekend....

“But that didn’t stop Neil arresting him when I told him what had happened, though he looked heartbroken to do it.”

I look up, startled.

“He’s a straight arrow, Neil. Honest to a fault. Always has been, ever since he was a boy at school.” Uncle Jim looks at me. “That’s why your mum chose him as your godfather. It’s one of the reasons I—I couldn’t tell him the truth about what I’d done.” Uncle Jim sighs. “He’s my best mate. It would have ripped him in two.”

Hot shame burns through me as Neil’s words suddenly echo in my ears:
If you’re innocent, you should go free, if you break the law, you should pay the price, end of.

How could I have suspected him—my own godfather?

But then I’ve just discovered my own uncle killed my cousin.

“Believe me, Lulu, there is
nothing
I’d love more than to erase that day, to take everything back. But I can’t. And I have to live with that, every day of my life.” He takes a ragged breath, and I realize that his words echo Christian’s:
You can’t change the past, however much you’d like to. That’s the biggest tragedy of all.

“But
I
can change. And I have. I’m not that man anymore, sweetheart. I swear.” Uncle Jim looks up at me, his eyes wide, beseeching. “And I’m so grateful to get a second chance. At life. At fatherhood, with Millie. My sweet little Millie Milkshake. With my wonderful wife. With you.” He squeezes my hand.

I look away.

“My family is everything to me, Lulu.” His voice quavers. “That’s why—that’s why I could never tell them.” He swallows hard. “That’s why I’m asking you—
begging
you.” He presses my hand to his heart as his eyes search mine desperately, his voice a whisper. “Please.
Please
don’t tell them.”

I stare at him, my pulse racing, my head a tangle of emotions. Horror, confusion, scorn, grief—even pity. Tears tumble down my cheeks as I hesitate.

“Jim? It’s time to go.” There’s a light knock at the door and Aunt Grace peers in. Her eyes widen. “What’s happened? Are you all right?”

He swallows hard. “Just... saying goodbye.” He sniffs as he wipes his eyes roughly. “It’s always harder than you imagine.”

She smiles sadly, nods. Uncle Jim pulls me close, his breath hot and damp against my ear.

“I love you,” he whispers. “Take care of them for me.”

Numbly, I watch him slowly walk downstairs to say his last goodbyes. He holds Aunt Grace in his arms like she’s the most fragile, precious thing in the world, then kisses her tenderly, a tear trickling down his cheek.

“You can’t go.”

We all turn to see Millie padding down the stairs.

“You can’t go with no shoes,” she tells him stubbornly. “And they’re lost!”

Uncle Jim pulls her gently into his arms, wrapping himself round her entire body.

“You look after them for me,” he tells her. “I know I can count on you, right?”

She nods solemnly, and a lump forms in my throat as they rub noses—an Eskimo kiss—before he finally disentangles himself from her clinging arms and gives her to Aunt Grace.

He forces a watery smile, blows us all a kiss, then joins the officer at the door and walks slowly out into the dark, his bare feet gleaming in the pale moonlight.

“Are you all right?”

I jump as Aunt Grace touches my shoulder. I didn’t even notice her come into Poppy’s room behind me.

“Yes—yes, I’m fine,” I say quickly.

She strokes my hair. “You were a million miles away.”

I wish
. Everywhere I look I see horrible images—Chr
istian fleeing down the stairs, Poppy smacking her head on her bedpost, Uncle Jim stabbing Tariq...

“I called the hospital,” Aunt Grace says. “There’s still no change—she’s still stable. I was going to go up tonight, but... Millie’s in bed and it’s been a really long day, so I thought we could all head up there together in the morning?”

“What?” I blink. “Where?”

“Sheffield.” She frowns, touches my forehead. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re really pale.”

“I’m fine!” I stand up quickly. “That sounds fine. I just need to— Can I borrow your car?” I need to get out of this house or I’ll explode.

“Of course,” she says, her eyes troubled. “Or I could drive you somewhere, if you like?”

“I’m fine.” I smile. “Really. It’s just been a tough day and I could do with some fresh air, clear my head. I’ll be back later,” I tell her, unsure if it’s true or not.

“Okay.” She nods, handing me the keys.

“Thanks.” I move to pass her, but she catches my arm.

“Take care, okay?” she says, her clear eyes deep in mine. “I love you.” She kisses my forehead, her lips cool, soft, and I close my eyes, savoring the moment, wondering if she’ll still feel the same way about me for much longer.

She finally lets me go and I leave, shivering as the night breeze billows through my hair, the cloudless sky looming like a black hole above me.

I slam the car door behind me and instantly my thoughts crowd into the tight space, my head a tangled tornado of terror and confusion as that horrific scene plays and replays over and over again in my mind. I lean against the steering wheel and shut my eyes, but the colors are brighter than ever, the terrible
thunk
as Poppy’s head collides with the bedpost pounding in my head, leaving me sick and shaking.

I open my eyes and start the engine quickly, desperate to leave, to get as far away from this place as possible while I decide what to do with the crucial piece of evidence burning a hole in my pocket.

This is it,
I realize wretchedly. This is what I wanted—the evidence that will clear Christian’s name once and for all... but at what cost?

I think of Aunt Grace, and Millie—they’ve suffered so much already, how could they possibly survive the truth? The knowledge that the man who ripped their lives apart, who killed their beloved Poppy, is not some faceless stranger, some monster it’s easy to hate, but her own father?

It would utterly destroy them.

I’m not that man anymore,
Uncle Jim promised. But then, he’s not the man everyone thinks he is either. At the moment he’s a hero. A loving father, serving time for trying to protect his defenseless daughter.

It’s an ocean away from the truth: a drunk father who killed his own child.

But it was an accident!
my heart entreats. I know Uncle Jim. His family is
everything
to him, and absolutely nothing in this world could hurt him as much as losing them—and to know that it was his fault? That’s the worst torture of all. Poppy was the light of his life—his angel—and she’s gone. He’ll hate himself forever. But does he really deserve to lose Aunt Grace and Millie too?

How could I do that to him?
Me,
of all people? He’s my uncle. More than that—he’s been like a
father
to me. He took me in when I had no one, welcomed me into his family, his home. I owe him everything. So how can I be the one to take it all away from him? Who am I to make that decision, anyway? I’m not God, I’m not the police, I’m his
niece,
for God’s sake—where are my loyalties?

Suddenly the tune of “Yellow Submarine” fills the car and I freeze.

Christian.

A car horn blares behind me and I realize I’ve just jumped a red light. I slam on the brakes and swerve to the side of the road quickly, my head pounding madly as the traffic rushes past, my fingers fumbling for Poppy’s phone.

I pull it from my pocket and stare at it as it hums merrily in my hand, ripping my heart in two.

How can I even
consider
hiding the truth from Christian? He’s suffered for so long, he’s done nothing wrong—how can I hold the key to his freedom and not give it to him?

But he’s already in jail,
a voice inside my head argues. He’s already served almost half his sentence... and at least he’s safe now. Now I know the police didn’t leak his location.

But what will happen to him? Will he have to stay in prison for the rest of his sentence? Or longer, as punishment for breaking his curfew?

But he only had a few days of his curfew left—that has to count for something, doesn’t it? And his house was torched; he had no choice but to miss his curfew—though he should’ve gone straight to the police....

And when he finally does get out of prison, what then? Will he just disappear again—another new identity, another new life? Will the people that want to hurt him ever forget...?

The police will protect him,
the voice soothes. The public backlash is peaking at the moment because Poppy just died—by the time he gets out it’ll be old news, they’ll have forgotten. And he’s only convicted for burglary, after all. Not murder, like Uncle Jim could be...

The phone flashes brightly in the dark car, demanding a decision. My fingers trembling, I press Answer.

“Louise?”

My heart sinks like an anchor.

“Hi.”

“Thank goodness—I was about to give up!”

I kick myself mentally.

“Christian, how are you—aren’t you in prison?” I frown.

“Yes, but I’m allowed one phone call—I nearly went crazy when you took so long to pick up! Was there anything on the USB stick?” he asks, his voice so full of hope it breaks my heart. “Tell me you found something—a mention of me—anything?”

I screw my eyes closed.

“No.” I force the lie out, everything inside me feeling ugly and toxic. “Nothing useful. Just coursework and stuff.”

He sighs heavily, and I hear every ounce of hope bleed out of him.

“Right,” he says, his voice barely audible. “That’s it, then.”

The truth swells painfully in my chest, struggling to burst out of me. I’m longing to tell him I’ve found the evidence that he’s innocent, that he’s free, that we can be together....

“I love you,” he whispers, and tears stream unstoppably down my face. I’ve never felt so miserable, so utterly wretched, in my whole life.

“Listen, I’ve got to go,” he says quietly. “But I just wanted to say thank you. From the bottom of my heart. You’ve been incredible, Louise. More than I ever deserved. And I’m sorry, for everything. For all the trouble I’ve caused you. The danger I’ve put you in. But I want to ask one more favor.”

I hold my breath.
Anything.

“Forget about me. Move on.”

“What? No—Christian—”

“We can’t be together,” he argues. “When I get out I’ll need another new identity—they could send me anywhere—and I... I can’t ever see you again.”

“Christian—”

“No, Lou. I can’t put you at risk again. It’s too dangerous, too hard.”

I struggle to control myself as sobs swell in my throat.

“I really hope you have a wonderful life. I know you will. You deserve it.” His voice cracks. “You’re amazing, Louise Shepherd, and I love you. I’ll always love you.”

“I love you too,” I whisper, the first true words I’ve spoken since I answered the phone.

“Goodbye,” he whispers, his voice husky.

I try to form the word on my lips, but I can’t.
I can’t do this,
can’t lose him, can’t let him take the blame. I take a deep breath. “Christian—”

The phone goes dead in my hand, the dial tone flatlining in my ear.

He’s gone.

Forever.