The Lie (13 page)

“Jane! Lovely to see you.” Sheila envelops me in a bear hug, pressing my head to her sizeable bosom, then holds me at arm’s length and looks me up and down. “How are you doing?”

“Great,” I say, when the truth is I’ve never felt so tired.

After Angharad’s visit yesterday, I had even less sleep than the night before. I got out of bed three times to search for the note. I looked through the filing tray and the letter rack. I got on my hands and knees and peered under the Welsh dresser, and nearly put my back out trying to pull it away from the wall so I could check behind it. I rummaged through the bin, my pockets, the living room, but there was no sign of it. It had definitely gone.

Will sent me a text at 5 p.m. saying they were putting in a late one at work to go over something OFSTED related before the weekend, and then he was taking his department off to the pub to say thank you for all their hard work. He apologised profusely, explaining there was no way he could get out of it, but I was very welcome to join them. I turned him down. I’ve never met any of his work colleagues and I find small talk with strangers exhausting, particularly when I’ve got other things on my mind. Will isn’t the sort of man to turn up drunk for a leg-over after a night’s heavy drinking, so I knew I’d be spending the night alone.

I did everything I could to avoid going to bed. I watched a crime drama on TV, then a documentary about life on benefits, and then, with nothing else that even vaguely appealed, I watched back-to-back episodes of
Battlestar Galactica
until I fell asleep on the sofa somewhere around 3 a.m. I woke with a start at six, grateful to see the sun creeping over the horizon.

“You don’t look great,” Sheila says. “You need to eat some more of that cake Angharad brought you. She said you seemed a bit out of sorts. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Honestly, I’m fine.” I wriggle out of my waterproof and hang it up on the coat stand. There’s no sign of the red, wool-blend winter coat it usually hangs beside. “Angharad not in?”

Sheila shakes her head. “She doesn’t do Saturdays. You’ve got Barry working with you today.”

Barry’s one of the regular volunteers. He’s sixty-three, almost completely bald and as wiry as they come, but he’s strong. You’d never know it from his soft, lilting Welsh accent, but he used to be a sergeant major in the army. The dogs know it, though: they never put a foot wrong when Barry’s taking them for a walk. They respect and adore him in equal measure.

“You’ve got quite the fan there, you know,” Sheila adds.

“What, Barry?”

“No.” She laughs. “Angharad. Little Miss Twenty Questions she was yesterday at lunchtime. ‘How long have you known Jane? Has she got a boyfriend? She’s very secretive, isn’t she? She never talks about her private life.’ You know what, Jane, if I didn’t know better, I’d say someone had a bit of a crush on you!”

“Sheila!”

“Not like that!” She laughs again, flashing the sizeable gap between her front teeth. “It just seems a bit hero-worshippy to me. I think maybe she’s found her vocation here. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she starts enquiring about training and a full-time position. You know me; I’m a good judge of character. I employed you, after all!”

Tears prick at the back of my eyes and I blink them back. I hate that I’ve lied to Sheila, hate that I’m not the person she thinks I am. It never occurred to me when she first interviewed me that we would build a relationship more akin to mother and daughter than employer and employee. Could I tell her? Could I sit her down at my kitchen table and, over a bottle of wine, tell her what I told Will? But I only told him part of the truth, and this is a different situation. I’m in a position of responsibility here. If I’ve lied about who I am and what I’ve done, how could she trust me with some of the serious cases we’re dealing with? She’d have to let me go. I don’t know what I’d do if that happened.

But it may already be too late. Someone searched through my things yesterday, and there were only two people in my house other than me. One was Will; the other was Angharad. And one of them took the letter.

My walkie-talkie crackles when I’m halfway up the top field with Jack. “You’ve got visitors in reception.”

I wave at Barry, who’s over the other side of the field walking Bronx, a powerful Doberman with an excitable, inquisitive personality, and then point back down the field towards the gate to the sanctuary. “I’m going back.”

He cups a hand behind his ear and shakes his head.

“Back!” I shout and gesture again. This time he gives me the thumbs up.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” I crouch down and rub Jack behind the ear. He gazes up at me, his brown eyes warm and trusting, mouth open, dribbling saliva onto his chest. It’s only been a few days since we brought him in, but the change is remarkable. He’s not keen on Barry, he’s not keen on any of the men who work here, but he seems to have warmed to me. He flinched the first few times I reached out to touch him, but now it’s only sudden movements that scare him. He’s not over his dog-fighting experience, not by a long shot, but his psychological scars are slowly healing along with his physical ones. I’ve been half expecting Jack’s owners to pay us a repeat visit to demand him back, but there’s been no sign of Gary Fullerton and his wife. I can’t say I’m not relieved.

“Come on then, boy.” I straighten up and we stroll side-by-side back down the field. “Let’s go and see these visitors.”

Chloe throws herself at me the second I walk through the double glass doors to reception. Her small arms circle my hips as she presses her head into my belly.

“She was up at six this morning, according to Sara,” Will says. “Too excited to sleep, apparently.”

I reach out an arm to pull him into a group hug, but he sidesteps it and squeezes my hand instead. I mouth the word “Hungover?” but he shakes his head.

“I’m fine.”

“It’s my school fair this afternoon,” Chloe says. “Will you come? I’ve made some loom bands to sell. Mrs James said I can give half the proceeds to Green Fields. It would be so cool if you came. Please say you will.”

“What time does it start?”

“Two p.m.”

My shift finishes at lunchtime so, in theory, I could make it. I glance at Will, who shrugs his shoulders then turns away and plucks a cat toy from the merchandise display. He jiggles it up and down in his hand. The tiny bell inside makes a tinny jangling sound.

“Will?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t turn round. The annoying jangling sound continues.

He’s either lying about being hungover or there’s something else on his mind.

“I’d love to come to your school fair,” I say to Chloe, “but I won’t stay too long.”

“Brilliant! Can we go and see the kittens now?” Chloe gazes up at me and I’m reminded of Jack with his big, trusting brown eyes. “Please!”

“Of course.” I disentangle her and reach for her hand. She takes it then reaches for Will’s hand, too. She swings our hands back and forth as we cross reception. To an outsider, we’d look like the perfect, happy little family. Happy, that is, apart from the strange sideways looks Will keeps giving me.

“They’re so cute, can I have one, Daddy? Please?” Chloe is sitting on the carpet with a tiny, tabby kitten desperately trying to clamber out of the circle she’s made with her legs. We’ve completed the tour of the sanctuary and retreated to the “cat living room” where potential adopters can spend time with the cats in a more natural environment. We’ve furnished it with sofas, armchairs, beanbags and a radio. “Daddy?”

Will, who’s been looking at his phone since we sat down, looks up. “Sorry?”

“A kitten? Can we have one?”

He looks back down at his phone. “We’ll see.”

“Is that a yes?”

“We’ll have to ask your mum.”

“She’d say yes, I know she would. And if she said no, we could always keep it at your house, couldn’t we? Couldn’t we, Daddy? It could live at your house and I could see it at weekends. I know you’d have to look after it during the week, but I’d be there more often in the holidays, and—”

“I said, we’ll see, Chloe.”

She visibly jumps at his raised voice then folds herself over the kitten, tears pricking at her eyes, and scoops him off the floor and presses him to her chest.

I lean in towards Will and say in a low voice, “Is everything okay?”

He looks at me for what feels like the first time since they arrived an hour ago. His eyes search mine. “Not really.”

“Do you want to talk? Outside? Chloe will be okay in here with the kittens. We can keep an eye on her through the window.”

He nods. “We’re just popping out into the corridor for a bit, Chlo. You okay in here?”

She nods mutely.

“Chloe.” He eases himself up from the sofa and crosses the room then crouches beside his daughter and puts a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry I snapped at you just now. That wasn’t fair. We’ll talk some more about getting a kitten when we get home later, okay? It’s not a decision we should rush into, no matter how cute these little fellas are.”

“Okay, Daddy.” Chloe doesn’t unfurl but she doesn’t lean away when he pulls back her curtain of hair and kisses her on the cheek.

“We’ll just be in the corridor.” Will points towards the door.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises, the second the door clicks shut behind us. “Sara’s passive-aggressiveness used to drive me nuts, and you deserve more than that, Jane – Emma,” he corrects himself quickly.

I cross my arms over my chest and brace myself for the “It’s not me, it’s you” speech I know is coming. He’s too decent a man to have walked away when I first told him about who I really was, especially after what happened at Mrs Wilkinson’s house, but he’s had a couple of days to reflect, now. His daughter has taken a shine to me, and he’s worried. Who wouldn’t be?

“So the thing is” – he runs a hand through his hair and clears his throat – “I found myself in a bit of an awkward situation in the pub last night. We were talking about Graham’s impending wedding to Claire, and then someone asked me if I was going to marry you.” He waves away my sharp intake of breath. “Obviously, I told them that we’re very early on in our relationship, but the question opened the floodgates and suddenly everyone was quizzing me about you. Where are you from? What do you do? When did you move here? Where did you live before? Etcetera, etcetera. And I found myself …” He gazes through the window at Chloe, who’s teasing the kittens with a small grey catnip mouse. “… I found myself repeating everything you’d told me. Not what you told me the other night, but what you’d told me before, and …” He looks back at me. “… I felt like a liar. I felt like I was complicit in something I don’t fully understand. And that made me feel uncomfortable, Jane. Really, bloody uncomfortable. I’m the Head of Biology and I was telling bare-faced lies to my staff, people who look up to me.”

“But they’re not lies. Other than my name, nothing I’ve told you was a lie. I just … I just missed out some parts of my past.”

“And I get that. I get that you wanted to leave all that behind and start a new life for yourself, but I couldn’t help wondering if there’s more.”

“More?” My pocket vibrates as my phone bleeps, but I don’t reach for it.

“You told me about Ekanta Yatra, but have you been hiding more than that?”

My phone bleeps again. “Like what?”

“Like a husband? Children?”

“No.”

“A criminal past?”

There’s a third bleep and I grimace apologetically.
“No!”

Will glances through the window towards Chloe. He’s quiet for what feels like the longest time.

“I understand,” I say, when I can’t bear the silence a moment longer. “You have to protect your daughter. I get that, Will, and if you want to break things off between us, I … I’ll accept it.”

“But I don’t want to.” He looks back at me, with fear and confusion written all over his face, and my heart seems to squeeze in my chest. “I like you, Jane. Sorry, can I keep calling you that? You’re not Emma to me, not yet.”

“You can call me Jane. I’d rather you did, actually.”

He smiles the smallest of smiles. “Good. To be honest, Jane, this is really hard for me to wrap my head around. It’s not the sort of thing that you can have just sprung on you, and I need some time to process it. Can you do that? Can you give me a bit of time?”

“Of course. Shall I tell Chloe that I can’t make it to her school fair this afternoon? I could make up some kind of excuse about work.”

“No.” Will shakes his head. “She’d be really upset. Let’s go to the fair, then, you know …”

He leaves the sentence hanging and I don’t finish it for him.

“You should answer that,” he says as my phone bleeps for the fourth time. “I’m just going to go and let Chloe know that it’s nearly two.”

“Okay.” I reach into my pocket, grateful for an excuse to turn my back so he won’t spot the tears that are pricking at my eyes.

I swipe my fingers over the screen as Will opens the door to the cat living room and slips inside. The bleeps were alerts from the Facebook App telling me I’ve got four messages. But when I look at them, they’re not from Al: they’re from Daisy. Daisy, who is supposed to be dead.

Al stares at the river of water that’s cascading down the stone steps. “Shitting hell. Where’s this come from?”

“Want to turn back?”

She shakes her head. “We’ve made it this far.”

It’s the morning after Al announced she wanted to leave, and we’ve been picking our way down the mountain for over an hour. Progress is slow. Johan wasn’t kidding about the downpour. The ground on either side of the steps is a muddy swamp, and the trees are bent low and dripping rainwater. My waterproof, which the camping shop salesman told me could withstand the heaviest of downpours, is stuck to my arms and clinging to my body. My shorts are hanging limply from my hips and my socks, poking out the top of my hiking boots, are sodden.

It wasn’t raining when we stepped out through the gates of Ekanta Yatra. We had all of ten minutes of clear skies before the heavens opened again. Daisy came to the gates to wave us off, but Leanne stayed indoors. Officially, she was helping Raj prepare the lunch, but we all knew she was sulking. Her attempt to talk Al into staying didn’t end the moment we left the orchard; when she and Daisy finally returned from their private conversation amongst the mango trees, she continued to badger and cajole Al late into the night. Neither of us has had more than four hours sleep.

“Oh, God.”

Al stares at me. “What?”

“I’ve just realised we’ve left our passports behind. They’re still in Isaac’s study.”

“Doesn’t matter. Leanne and Daisy will grab them when they leave.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, ’course. Leanne will remember. She’s organised like that.”

“Is she? She forgot to book the Chitwan trip. Don’t you think it’s weird that she remembered everything else – everything from mosquito spray to the coach to Pokhara to a guide to bring us up here, and yet she forgot that?”

“No.” Al shakes her head. “She said she just wanted to play things by ear.”

“But she’s packed enough clothes to come on three holidays.”

“What are you saying?” Al runs a hand over her face. Rain is dripping off her eyelashes.

“I don’t think she wants to go back. You saw the way she reacted when we left. She was almost in tears.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not! Have you ever seen her as happy as she’s been recently?”

“That’s because she’s on holiday.”

“So am I, so are you, so’s Daisy, and we haven’t been skipping around, borrowing clothes from Cera and Isis and joining in with absolutely everything. You know Leanne; her default setting is sarcasm.”

Al shrugs. “I think you’re reading too much into it, Emma. Leanne’s a hippy at heart, and Ekanta Yatra’s a hippy paradise, and that’s all there is to it.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her inhaler. She puffs on it.

“You okay, Al?”

“I think it’s the altitude. My asthma’s been playing up since we got here.”

“And it’s got nothing to do with you smoking twenty fags a day?”

She flicks me the Vs. “Nah, the warmth of the smoke opens my tubes.”

“Try telling that to your GP.”

“She was the one who told me to try it.” She laughs good-naturedly. “C’mon, let’s get going.” She places one foot cautiously onto the first step. The dirt-brown water gushes around her boot and rolls down the hill, leaves and twigs twirling and whirling on the surface. It’s hard to see where one step ends and the next begins.

“It’s fine. Look.” She takes another step onto the path, and then, tentatively, another. “You just need to take it carefully and slowly, that’s – arrghhhh!” Her foot slips from beneath her and she falls backwards, landing on her bum with a splash.

“You all right?” I take a pace towards her, testing my weight on the first step, and reach out a hand.

“Yeah.” She twists round, plunging her hands into the water, and attempts to stand up. “Fuck. My ankle.”

“Have you twisted it?”

“Yeah, I think so. Shit!”

“Don’t move, I’ll try to lift you.” I inch forwards then crouch down. The water cascades over the top of my boots as I tuck my hands under Al’s armpits and take the strain. “Ready?”

She nods.

“One … two … three …”

I take as much of her weight as I can but she’s a good four stone heavier than me and she plops back into the river.

“You’re going to have to help me a bit,” I say. “Can you put some more weight on your good foot?”

“Okay. Ready?”

“One … two … three …” She groans as she puts her good foot on the ground and I yank her upwards. There’s a moment where we both wobble precariously and my heel slips on the step, but we manage to stay upright. Neither of us says anything for several seconds as we stare down the mountain, and then Al sighs heavily.

“There’s no way we can get down there. Not unless we both sit on our bums and make our way down toddler-style. We’re going to have to go back and wait for the weather to improve. Shit!”

My heart sinks. The excuse I made to Leanne and Daisy about my anti-anxiety tablets was only half the reason I want to leave. Despite the beautiful surroundings and the relaxed, easy-going way of life, cracks have started to appear in our friendship and the quiet rumblings of discontent that were much easier to escape in London have begun to grow louder. When you’re forced to live together twenty-four hours a day, there is no escape. You can’t go home and ignore your mobile for the rest of the weekend. Instead, the atmosphere follows you around, clouding the air, making it too dense to breathe.

“Leanne will be pleased we’re back,” Al says, but her voice is flat. She’s even more disappointed than I am. She came to Nepal to try to escape the spectre that was her relationship with Simone, but since her session with Isis, she’s been forced to deal with other ghosts she’d rather forget.

“You can put your weight on me.” I take her elbow and, slowly, we revolve so we’re facing back up the hill.

It took us an hour to get part way down the mountain, but it takes us twice as long to get back up. By the time we reach the gates of Ekanta Yatra, we’re both shivering and Al is gasping for breath and wincing with every step. We knock at the gates for what feels like forever, and are finally welcomed in by Johan, who takes one look at Al’s ankle then hoists her over his shoulder – backpack and all – as though she’s feather light, and carries her into the house and through to the kitchen, where Sally, Leanne and Paula are washing up the breakfast dishes. Leanne takes one look at Al and her face lights up, but then crumples with worry as Johan eases her into a seat.

“Al, what happened?” Leanne shoves me out of the way in her desperation to get to her, and crouches besides the chair. The skin beneath her eyes is puffy and swollen.

“I twisted my ankle. It’s a mudbath out there.” Al peels off her waterproof and drops it to the floor then looks back up at Leanne, her face creased with concern. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”

“I’m fine. I was just upset because I thought I’d never see you ag—” She presses a hand to her mouth as though she’s just said something she shouldn’t.

“God, you’re a softie.” Al reaches for a hug and Leanne wraps her slender arms around her and clings to her, closing her red-rimmed eyes as she nestles her chin into Al’s shoulder. She looks simultaneously delighted and relieved, like someone hugging a long-lost relative in an airport arrival lounge, not someone who said goodbye to a friend a few hours ago.

“Oh, no.” Leanne pulls away from Al, her red-rimmed eyes wide and worried behind her glasses as she glances up at Johan. “If the weather’s really bad, will Gabe and Ruth be able to get back from Pokhara okay?”

He crosses his arms over his broad chest and his lips tighten ever so slightly. “Gabe’s done the route so many times, he could do it blindfolded. He’ll find an alternative route. Anyway” – he turns away – “I need to get out to the garden. If I don’t put some straw on the veg, it’ll rot.”

“Thanks, Johan.” Al smiles up at him but then winces as Sally eases off her boot and rolls down her sodden sock. “Hope you didn’t put your back out.”

“No problem.” He strolls back out of the kitchen and heads for Isaac’s study, his face still pinched and drawn.

Sally stands up and crosses to the sink. She picks up a tea towel from the draining board and runs it under the tap. “I’m afraid we don’t have any ice, so a wet compress will have to do.”

Al mouths her thanks then smiles at Leanne, who is clutching her right hand, limpet-like.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” she breathes. “You have no idea how much I would have missed you.”

“You’d have joined us in a week’s time,” I say. “It’s not like you were never going to see her again. Unless …” The fog in my brain lifts. There’s only one explanation for Leanne’s over-the-top reaction to Al’s return. “… unless you were planning on staying here and not coming back to the UK with us.”

“Yeah, right, Emma,” Al says. “Of course she wants to give up her cosy little studio flat with a fridge stocked with food to sleep on the floor and eat lentils for the rest of her life.”

As Al laughs heartily, a flicker of irritation crosses Leanne’s face. She doesn’t say anything but instead eases off Al’s other boot then stands up. “I’ll get you a nice cup of chai, Al. It’ll warm you up.”

“I’d love one, too,” I say, slightly too loudly. “I’ll drink it after I’ve had a shower. See you guys in a bit.”

“See you!” Al raises a hand in goodbye as Leanne turns on her heel, crosses the kitchen and takes one cup down from the shelf.

“I’ll put some extra sugar in it for you, Al.”

Daisy is standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall beside the table, with her arms crossed. She’s dressed in a floor-length maxi dress that’s a size too big for her, with her hair piled up on her head and wrapped in an indigo scarf.

“Hi.” I pull the kitchen door shut behind me. “We’re back! Al slipped over and hurt her—”

“We need to talk. Let’s go into the girls’ dormitory.”

Without waiting for a response, she leaves the hall and walks down the walkway and into the dorm. It’s dark and gloomy, the sky black with rainclouds beyond the window.

“Sit down, please.” She gestures towards my mattress then sits down on Al’s and arranges her dress over her crossed legs.

I ease my backpack off, letting it fall to the ground with a thump, then rotate each of my shoulders in turn. “What’s this about? Why are you being so weird?”

Daisy smiles tightly. “I’ve been doing a bit of thinking.”

“Dangerous stuff.” I half sit, half fall onto my mattress and groan as I untie my boots and ease them off. My sodden socks cling to my feet. I yank off too then root around in my backpack for my towel, shower gel, shampoo and conditioner.

“Don’t.” Daisy’s smile vanishes. “Don’t try to be funny.”

“What’s the matter with you? I thought you’d be pleased to see us.”

“Not particularly.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Daisy.” I release the armful of toiletries I’ve gathered and give her my full attention. “What is it?”

“Enjoy slagging me off behind my back, do you?”

“What?”

“Don’t play the innocent, Emma, it doesn’t suit you. Apparently, you and Al were having a good old bitching session about me.”

“Who told you that?”

“It doesn’t matter who told me. What matters is that you were overheard.”

“Was it Leanne?” I think of the two of them, huddled together under the trees the night before.

“I told you, it doesn’t matter.”

“Fine, don’t tell me who it was, then, but we weren’t bitching about you.”

“No? So you don’t think I’m in
competition with you
.” She throws back her head and laughs. “Seriously, Emma. You really believe that?”

“I didn’t say that, Al did.”

She rests her elbows on her knees and leans towards me. “But you said I was embarrassing and weird, didn’t you?”

“I said it was embarrassing and weird when you go after men I’m interested in. Elliot, that guy you tried to push out of the taxi, he told me you tried to kiss him when I was in the toilet. And then there was that guy I met at Heavenly. I
saw
you on the floor with him at his house.”

“My God, Emma.” She looks up and the ceiling and smirks. “Elliot again! What is it with that guy? You seem determined to let him come between us.”

“This isn’t about him, Daisy. This is about you.”

“No, Emma.” She jabs me in the bicep with her index finger. “This is about
you
siding with some random bloke who couldn’t give a shit about you over me. Your best friend for seven years.”

I rub my arm. “I’m not siding with anyone. But I am sick and tired I am of everything being about men all the time. We can’t go to the pub and have a drink without you eyeing someone up. We can’t go for a meal without you spending the whole time analysing the behaviour of some guy you’re interested in. And we can’t go to a club just to have fun and dance; it’s all about pulling men.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? You pulled the bouncer when we went to get Al out of Malice.”

“To stop him chucking her out!”

“We were leaving anyway! And now we’re halfway around the world and you’re obsessed with pulling Isaac.” I gather up my towel and toiletries and stand up. “I can’t be bothered having this conversation any more. I’m going to have a shower.”

“No.” She grabs my wrist. “We’re not finished yet.”

I shake her off. “Yes, we are.”

“I think we need to take a break,” she shouts as I cross the room.

“What?” I turn to look at her.

“I had a little chat with Johan and Leanne after you and Al left, and they think we’re unnaturally attached.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Our friendship. We’ve been living in each other’s pockets for years, and a lot of resentment has built up over that time.” She gestures towards the mattress I was sitting on. “The conversation we just had confirmed that.”

The situation is so ridiculously melodramatic that I can’t help but smile. “So you’re breaking up with me?”

She shrugs. “I think we should spend less time together.”

“Because of one argument?”

“No, because we’re too attached to each other. Leanne was telling me what Isaac was talking about in the seminar she went to – about how our attachments to people and things make us stressed and anxious and jealous and bitter, and how, if we can let go of those attachments, it’s easier to be happy.”