Little White Lies (8 page)

“But you’ve been drinking,” I protest.

“Actually, I thought we could walk.” Vix grins. “It’s more romantic. Hi, Heidi!” Vix waves across the car park to where Heidi’s chatting to Christian, who’s kneeling by his motorbike. “Feeling better?”

“Much!” Heidi beams. “Must’ve been one of those twenty-four-hour bugs. Christian says you covered for me, Lou—thanks! And welcome to the team!”

“Thanks.” I smile. “Something wrong with your bike, Christian?”

“Someone’s keyed it!” He frowns, pointing to a deep scratch in the paintwork.

“Oh no!” Vix cries. “Who would do such a thing?”

“I don’t know,” he says moodily.

“Jealous kids with nothing better to do, I reckon,” Heidi says.

“But thanks to whoever smashed the CCTV cameras last night, we’ll never know,” Christian grumbles.

“It’s still gorgeous,” Vix sighs. “What I wouldn’t give for a motorbike, scratched or not.”

“I’ve got a Ducati,” Kenny says quickly. “Maybe we could take it for a spin sometime?”

I roll my eyes.

“Really?” Vix beams at him. “That’d be awesome!”

“No problem.” He smiles. “Ready to go?”

“Ready and raring.” Vix grins. “Bye, Lou!”

“Wait.” I grab Vix’s sleeve, pulling her to one side and lowering my voice. “You’re right, we should follow Christian.”

“What?” She blinks. “You’ve changed your tune. Why?”

Because I’m desperate. Because I don’t trust Kenny. Because this is my last-ditch attempt to stop your date.

I glance at Heidi. “Because if it
is
a girlfriend he’s meeting tonight, who provided his alibi, then I just need to know.” I sigh. “So I can stop wasting my time.”

Vix squeezes my arm sympatheti
cally. “So follow him.”

“I can’t do it alone!” I protest. “I don’t know how to do it discreetly—I can’t risk him seeing me and thinking I’m some psycho stalker or something.”

She laughs.

“Please, Vix,” I beg. “I need you.”

“Hang on,” she says, and walks over to Kenny. A second later they both come back.

“Vix filled me in.” Kenny winks. “Let’s go.”

Crap.
Not
part of the plan. But I guess it’s the best I can hope for.

The motorbike is difficult to follow in the busy stream of traffic, as are Vix’s instructions on tailing him.

“You need to keep at least four cars between you and Christian,” she says authoritat
ively. “But don’t lose sight of him round the corner! Hurry up—overtake that van! Bugger, we’ve lost him. No, there he is! Second left! No
second
left! Not too close, he’ll see us!”

We weave through the traffic, up and down the hills, past shops and parks and university buildings.... By the time Christian finally turns into the hospital car park I’m exhausted.

“The
hospital
?” I stare after him as I pull into a parking space on the street. “What’s Christian doing at the hospital?

“Oh my God, is he sick?” Vix cries. “Is that why he couldn’t have broken into the pub? Maybe he’s got a debilitating illness!”

“Or maybe he’s just visiting a patient,” Kenny says. “He did say he was meeting someone.”

“That someone
could
be a doctor,” Vix argues.

“There’s only one way to find out,” I say, getting out of the car.

We round the corner into the car park just in time to spot Christian stepping through the sliding doors into the building. But by the time we enter the foyer, with its large waiting area, gift shop, corridors leading in three directions, and two lifts, he’s vanished.

“He could be anywhere,” I sigh.

“I’ll check the toilets,” Kenny says, following a sign down a corridor.

I turn and scour the waiting area. There are a few women flicking through magazines, a child glued to the news on the TV, and an old man who looks like he’s fallen asleep, but no Christian.

“Louise? Vix?” Christian’s voice startles me.

I spin round.

“Hi.” He’s standing in front of the little gift shop holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I...”

“She’s come about her ankle,” Vix lies quickly. “It’s still really painful, so we’ve popped in to see if we can get a doctor to have a quick look at it. What about you?”

“I’m visiting a friend. She’s a patient here.”

“A friend, huh?” Vix raises an eyebrow. “Nice bouquet.”

“Thanks.” He smiles. “I hope my landlady likes them too.”

“I’m, er... I’m sure she will.” Vix smiles sheepishly. “Excuse me.” She moves off to inspect the magazines.

“We just keep bumping into each other, huh?” he says.

My cheeks grow warm. Does he know we followed him?

“It’s like fate keeps pushing us together.” He grins.

“Well, you can’t resist fate.” I smile, encouraged. “I think I saw a pub over the road....”

His face falls. “I’m really sorry, I can’t, I—”

“Of course you can’t,” I interrupt curtly, wishing I could just chop out my tongue and save myself the humiliation. “Don’t worry. I’m starting to get the hint.” I turn away.

“Don’t.” He catches my hand. “I’m not hinting. Honest.”

I look up at him, at those clear blue eyes I’m trying desperately not to drown in.

“I’d love to get a drink with you,” he says gently. “Just... some other time?”

I sigh. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Christian!” A dumpy middle-aged woman rushes out of the lift. “I’m so glad I bumped into you—I just wanted to have a quick word about the party Friday.”

“Party?” I raise an eyebrow. “So you do actually socialize sometimes?”

“Sorry.” The woman hesitates awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything. I just wanted to check you can still come? Did you manage to swap shifts at the pub?”

“Yes.” He smiles. “I’ll be there.”

“Wonderful! And are you bringing anyone? Perhaps a date?” She smiles at me.

“Oh...” Christian hesitates. “I think Louise is busy next Friday.”

“No, I’m not,” I argue. “I’ve only got morning lectures on Fridays and no plans for the rest of the day.”

He falters. “And I’m not sure it’s really her scene....”

My heart plummets. So much for “some other time.”

“It’s a party!” the woman protests. “There’s music, alcohol, cake—what’s not to like?”

“It sounds lovely.” I smile at her. “But I don’t want to intrude.” I glare at Christian as I walk away.

“Louise, wait!” He rushes after me, blocking my path. “I’d be thrilled if you’d come with me to the party next Friday. As my date,” he adds, those eyes deep in mine. “Will you?”

He smiles, and somehow I can’t help but beam back at him.

“I’d love to.”

I glance at the clock for the fiftieth time.

Ten o’clock a.m.

I groan inwardly. Still half an hour of the world’s most boring lecture to go, and I don’t even have Vix to keep me company. I wish I were still in bed, like her. I mean, I can sympathize with Hamlet—if your uncle kills your dad and then marries your mum, you’re not exactly going to sit back and ignore it, are you? You might even feign madness to get to the truth. But Ophelia? Please. Who’d really top themselves because they think their boyfriend’s gone mad? Pathetic. Poor Hamlet. That’s collateral damage he could never have foreseen.

“Now,” the lecturer, who looks eerily like Ophelia back from the grave, says. “Who can tell me how Ophelia died?”

As if on cue the theme tune for
CSI Las Vegas
bursts on, and everyone laughs.

Except me.

“Very funny, Miss...?” The lecturer pins me with a scowl as I scrabble in my bag, trying frantically to locate my phone and turn it off. So much for keeping a low profile!

“Shepherd,” I tell her, my cheeks burning as I finally find my mobile, spotting Aunt Grace’s name on the caller ID as I switch it off. I look up to find everyone in the lecture theater staring at me, and suddenly I
do
empathize with Ophelia after all.
Oh God, kill me now.

“Not a very good start to the day, Miss Shepherd.” My heart sinks as the lecturer makes a note on her register.

“And the next time anyone’s phone disrupts one of my lectures it’ll be
them
in a body bag!” she warns everyone.

It’s official. This is the worst birthday ever. Not that anyone here even knows it’s my birthday.

Still, as we’re finally released from the dark lecture theater onto the sunny campus, my heart lifts. Things can only get better. It’s the weekend at last, today I’m
finally
going out with Christian, and tomorrow I’ll see Gran, Aunt Grace, and little Millie.

I head out of the soaring Arts Tower and across the bustling campus, past the library and the imposing orange turrets of the administration building, through the rumbling underpass, and buy myself a comforting chocolate muffin from the union shop before returning to the car park. It’s only once I’m safely inside the car that I pull my phone out of my pocket to call Aunt Grace back and realize it’s still turned off. As it flickers back to life I find the missed call from Aunt Grace and a text from Kenny:

Happy birthday Titch xx

I smile. Of course
he
knows it’s my birthday. It’s sweet of him to text, but I don’t want him telling Vix, don’t want a fuss, so I quickly send a reply:

Thanks Kenny :) But please keep it quiet. Lx

Then I call Aunt Grace.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart!” she cries. “I’ve got someone who wants to sing to you!”

“Happy burfday to you!”
I smile as my four-year-old cousin sings down the phone.

“You live in the zoo!”

“Millie!” Aunt Grace chides.

“You look like a monkey, and you smell like one too!”
I laugh as Millie bursts into giggles and Aunt Grace takes the phone off her.

“Sorry about that. I don’t know where she gets these things!”

“It was lovely,” I laugh.

“So what exciting things are you up to today?” she asks.

“Oh, you know, lectures, seminars...”

“Come on, I was a student once, you know. It’s all party, party, party!”

I smile. “Actually, there is a party later, and I just had my last lecture of the week, so I’m heading back to halls to tidy my room before you guys get here tomorrow—I
cannot
let Gran see the state it’s in! What time do you think you’ll arrive?”

“Actually...” Aunt Grace falters. “You know Millie’s ballet exam got canceled because the examiner was ill?”

“Yes.”

“Well, they’ve rescheduled it... for this weekend.”

“Oh.” My heart sinks, but to be honest, part of me is relieved—I’ve been worrying about how to keep them away from Vix and Christian all weekend, and the last thing I need is little Millie accidentally spilling the beans about who I really am. But I miss them terribly.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Aunt Grace continues. “And I’m sorry it’s such short notice—I only just found the note crumpled up in her ballet bag. Can you come home for the weekend instead?”

“I’d love to,” I tell her. “But unfortunately I’m working.”

“Of course you are,” she sighs. “I forgot you’d got a job now.”

“It’s not long till reading week, though,” I tell her. “I’ll be home then. I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Aunt Grace sighs.

“Me too!” Millie cries in the background.

“We all do, don’t we, Poppy?” Aunt Grace says.

“Can I talk to her?”

“Of course. I’ll put her on.”

I wait for a moment until I hear the soft sound of Poppy’s breath.

“Hey, Popsicle, snoring again?” I say. “Lazy, huh? Wait till you get to uni—you’ll love it. Loads of long lie-ins... though maybe you’ll have had enough beauty sleep by then.” My throat tightens. “You’re beautiful enough. You’re perfect. I miss you.”

“The doctor’s here.” Aunt Grace comes back on the line. “I’d better go.”

“Okay,” I tell her. “Speak soon. Love you.”

“Love you more,” she says. “Happy birthday.”

My heart sinks as I hang up the phone.
Is it?
I don’t really feel like celebrating. That’s why I haven’t even told anyone here it’s my birthday, especially Vix. Knowing her, she’d want to throw a big party or something, and that’s the last thing I feel like with Uncle Jim and Poppy the way they are.

Birthdays used to be such happy, joyful events. Aunt Grace and Uncle Jim always went all out: homemade birthday cake, balloons, jelly and ice cream—the works. But most importantly, we were always all together. Whatever our plans or commitments, we always made sure we never,
ever
missed a birthday. It was our family tradition.

But now...

Now everyone’s scattered. I’m here, Uncle Jim’s in prison, and Poppy... she can’t even wish me a happy birthday.

I close my eyes as I remember the last time she did.

“
Happy birthday!”
she cried, almost the moment I’d logged on to Skype at boarding school. “I’ve just bought your present and you are going to
love
it!”

“Uh... Poppy, you know my birthday’s not for six months, right?” I laughed.

“I know!” she squealed. “But this present’s special—you have to get it early because it only happens in the summer.”

“Intriguin
g...”

“And it was meant to be a surprise, but I wanted to make sure you save the date—you’re always so busy. I can’t believe you’re not even coming home for the Easter holidays! Wish I could afford to go skiing.”

“I’d rather have my mum and dad than their inheritance money,” I said quietly.

“Of course you would.” Poppy looked chastened. “I’m sorry, I just miss you so much. I was even beginning to forget what you looked like!”

“Drama queen,” I teased.

“Seriously, Lulu, we haven’t talked in ages.”

“We’re talking now!”

She frowned. “It’s not the same on Skype.”

“You’re right,” I admitted. “It’s just—”

“I know, the social whirl of boarding school. I can’t wait to finally join you there in September! Midnight feasts every night—it must be like one long slumber party!”

I laughed. “You’ve read too much Harry Potter.”

“But best of all, no parentals! The atmosphere at home’s been terrible since you left—they’re doing my head in. Mum’s always at her cookery class, and Dad’s working too hard, and when they’re at home they just—”

“Make your life hell?” I smiled, remembering how they’d nagged me about revision through my own exams. “Don’t worry, it’ll be summer soon.”

“Not soon enough.” She sighed. “I can’t wait for you to come home. But anyway, back to your present! All you have to do is keep the last weekend in June free, okay?”

“What?” My heart sank.

“Because...” Poppy pounded a drum roll on her desk. “We’re going to...
Glastonbury
!”

I stared at her.

“I know, right?” She beamed excitedly. “Is that the best birthday present ever, or what?”

We’d dreamed about it for years—going to a proper music festival, camping out, the works, but... “Pops—”

“I decided that life’s too short,” she interrupted. “It’s time for us to stop talking about it and actually do it—and this year’s perfect, cos I’ll have finished my exams, and your term finishes early, and we haven’t spent any proper time together in
ages,
so—”

“Pops, wait.”

She stopped, startled.

“Poppy... I’m really sorry,” I faltered. “I’m going to be in Mexico that weekend.”

She looked at me blankly. “Mexico?”

“Didn’t Aunt Grace tell you? A group of us have planned a trip—we’re flying out straight from school,” I told her, feeling terrible. “We’ve already booked our flights.”

She just stared at me for a moment. “Oh.”

“The thing is,” I said hastily, trying to explain, “it’s Juanita’s eighteenth birthday and she’s throwing this big party at her parents’ beach house—it’s been organized for ages—and let’s face it, when else am I going to get to Mexico?”

Truth was, a guy I liked was going on the trip. Brad Glade. Brad Glade, who I’d had a crush on for six whole months. Brad Glade, who Juanita had deliberately invited because she knew I liked him. Brad Glade, who I couldn’t wait to spend three long weeks getting hot and sweaty with under the Mexican sun. Brad Glade, who spent those entire three weeks getting hot and sweaty with my (ex)BFF, Emma.

“But I’ll be back in July, so we’ll still have weeks of summer left together—we can go away somewhere then, okay? Just the two of us. My treat?” I’d said hopefully.

She nodded slowly. “Sure.”

“And we’ll go to Glastonbury next year, okay? Write it in your diary in big font.” I pointed at the maple-leaf USB necklace hanging, as always, round her neck. “We’ll be there come hell or high water—lite
rally!” I laughed. “Rain check?”

“Definitely.” She nodded.

“Great.” I smiled back, deliberately ignoring the disappointment in her voice, the slump of her shoulders.

But we never got to Glastonbury.

Because that weekend in June, when we should both have been at the festival, Poppy was at home instead.

Because I was off chasing stupid waste-of-space Brad Glade, Poppy was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Because when I got back from Mexico, my cousin was in a coma.

And she still hasn’t woken up.