These Little Lies

by GRETTA MULROONEY

  ‘Oh, yes. Let me get you a drink.’

  They sat and she watched him pour. The gardens were looking so lovely, coming into May. It was her favourite month, with the cherry and apple trees heavy with blossom, everything laden with promise. She sighed with pleasure at the first cold hit of martini and told Harvey about Inspector Drummond and her questions concerning Lauren.

  ‘I could hardly believe it when she asked me if Lauren might have had an affair. Where did that come from? Someone must have been gossiping. I hope she doesn’t say anything to Ade, you know how he can flare up when he’s tense. Have you spoken to him?’

  ‘I rang this morning. He didn’t say much. Said he’d had to go to the morgue. Sounded in pieces. His mum was about to arrive. I suggested lunch or a coffee but he didn’t want to.’

  She put a hand on his, squeezed it. He looked distracted, worried. ‘Ade knows you’re a good friend, and that you’re there for him, that’s what matters.’

  He nodded. The hat threw shadows across his face. ‘What else did this inspector tell you?’

  Jenna was halfway down her martini. Her headache was easing. What a day it had been, answering all those questions and dealing with the staff, parents’ and children’s emotions. Everyone had been off-kilter and upset. After the police left, there had been a strange atmosphere. One of the mums had become hysterical, sobbing in the middle of reception, going on about what an angel Lauren had been, and alarming the kids. Then a group of mums had started that thing you saw people doing on the TV all the time now, they’d clustered around, encircling each other with arms out, heads bent together. Drama queens, trying to make it all about them. Of course that’d set their kids off, so that the place had resounded with their bawling.

  She poured it all out in a rush. ‘She didn’t tell me much at all. Lots of questions about what I thought of Lauren, how we knew her and Ade, what she was like at work, what her and Ade’s marriage was like. I suppose all the stuff they have to ask. She asked if Lauren knew the Lithuanian man found dead too, that’s the other body they talked about on the news. She asked all sorts of other strange things, like whether Lauren had ever had a child. She showed me a photo of a little girl. Then she wanted to speak to all the staff so I had to organize that and make sure everything was covered, as well as getting a letter ready for parents. Oh, and she asked if Ade had a temper.’

  Harvey was fiddling with his glass stem. ‘Sounds as if she suspects him. What did you say?’

  ‘He’s the husband, he will be a suspect, won’t he? I said no, he hasn’t and that they were happily married. It was all exhausting, to be honest.’

  ‘I can imagine, darling. I’m a bit tired too. Had a long hack and then of course thinking about how sad it is about Ade. Worrying about him.’

  They fetched supper from the oven — asparagus and mint risotto — and brought it out to the terrace with a bottle of Chablis. Harvey was quiet, saying and eating little. She didn’t mind the silence, although it felt a bit odd, not like their usual companionable lulls. He would be taking this hard and worrying about his friend. She was hungry and had seconds of the creamy rice. By the time it was getting dark, she was yawning and struggling to keep her eyes open. Scents from the terracotta planters behind her mingled in the air. She was reminded of a holiday they’d taken in Sicily, where banks of the herb grew outside the window of their room. One of the horses whinnied in the distance.

  Harvey spoke finally. ‘Are you going in to work tomorrow?’

  ‘Of course, it’s one of my days. Things have to carry on as usual. There’ll be fallout to deal with, anxious parents and so on. I can’t leave it all to Betty. Why? Is there something you want me to do?’

  He was gazing at her anxiously. But then he shook his head.

  ‘No, that’s fine. I understand.’

  ‘You always do. You’re a darling. I’m lucky to have you.’

  He reached for her hand and kissed it, looking over to the orchard.

  She took a long, deep bath, nodding off in the steaming water for a few seconds. When she emerged from her bathroom, Harvey had showered in his and was sitting in his dressing gown on the end of their bed, nursing a glass of whisky. It was dim in the bedroom with just one lamp on but when she went to switch on another he stopped her.

  ‘Can you leave it as it is, darling?’

  ‘Of course. Are you okay? You’re very quiet.’ She rubbed moisturiser into her hands.

  He cleared his throat, took a draught of whisky. ‘Actually, there’s something I need to tell you.’

  His voice wobbled. She’d never heard Harvey make that sound. Alarmed, she sat beside him, placing a hand on the back of his neck. He had a good neck, strong and shapely, like a Roman statue.

  ‘What is it? Are you ill?’

  ‘Nothing like that. This is . . . is difficult . . . but I have to tell you. I’ve been working up to it all day. Been feeling sick about it.’

  ‘Harvey, what on earth is it?’

  ‘It’s about Lauren. Me and Lauren.’

  ‘What about you and Lauren?’

  ‘We met up a few times. Had lunch, went for walks.’

  Her hand fell away. She shivered, her skin dimpling. ‘What are you talking about? When was this?’

  He got up, went to the decanter on the dressing table and refilled his glass. Then he stood with his back to her, looking out of the window.

  ‘It wasn’t for that long.’

  She stared at his back. Her brain had felt woolly with tiredness, martinis and wine, but now it was clear. ‘What are you saying? Are you telling me you were having an affair with Lauren?’

  ‘No, not that. It wasn’t an affair. I didn’t sleep with her. It’s hard to describe.’

  ‘Well, do try,’ she said cuttingly.

  He winced, drank some whisky. ‘It was . . . I suppose I’d call it a tendresse.’

  She felt a cold anger. ‘A what? You think you can wrap it up as something innocent with a bit of poxy French?’

  ‘Please, don’t get angry. It was a foolishness on my part.’

  ‘A tendresse and a foolishness. Well, that’s okay then. All fine and dandy. How long was this going on?’

  ‘Not long. We first had lunch last September and we agreed not to see each other again in that way in February. We were both worried that someone would see us. Lauren felt bad about Ade and I didn’t want to hurt you.’

  She snorted away the rush of tears in her eyes. No mention of loving his wife so much he had to stop the “foolishness.” No mention of guilt. ‘Why this confession now?’ As if she didn’t know.

  He leaned his head against the window. ‘Because there were calls and texts. The police will find out. I asked her to delete them from her phone and I deleted my history but they have ways of searching data. I’ve been worrying myself sick about it ever since we heard that Lauren was dead.’ He turned his head sideways, glanced over at her. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He seemed old suddenly, diminished. She thought she had a glimpse of how he would look at seventy. She wanted to go to him and embrace him but she sat still. She was warm now after the first chill.

  ‘Were you in love with her?’

  ‘I don’t think so. No.’

  He wasn’t sure, then. She saw her reflection in the mirror: elegant, trim, mature. She looked after herself, wore discreet make up, made sure her hair and skin always looked faultless. And he’d been fooling around behind her back with dull, virtuous Lauren with her thin hair and brittle fingernails. For God’s sake, the woman wore those clumpy vegan shoes! If he’d been romancing some glamorous type like one of the women at the country club, she might not have felt so shocked. ‘How did it start? Why, Harvey? Christ’s sake why? Were you bored with me? Are you now?’

  He faced her and slumped onto the window seat. ‘I don’t honestly know why it started. I was at a loose end one day. I know I have a full life but there are times when the hours drag a bit. You were working. I was in town, in the bookshop, and Lauren
happened to be there, looking at the nature section. She had a day off and Ade was away. There’s a café on the top floor of the bookshop so we went up there and started chatting. She was different. Refreshing. I’d always thought she was a pale imitation of Melody, but then she started talking so passionately about her work with Minstergreen and I found it fascinating. Since I retired, I miss that buzz of ideas flying. I don’t know . . . If you can have a crush in your forties, I suppose that’s what I had. Pathetic, really, having a crush on a woman half my age.’ He poured another whisky.

  She would be looking in the fucking nature section. She was coming to work, knowing she was canoodling with my husband. Sneaky little bitch. I’d never have thought she had it in her. ‘Sorry my business doesn’t bring me home with ideas flying,’ she said coldly. ‘Sorry I’ve been so boring. No causes, no passion, just making a roaring success of my business and making lots of dosh. Oh — and giving your girlfriend a job and promotion.’

  ‘Don’t,’ he said wearily. ‘That’s not what I meant at all. It was just . . . a silly bit of romance. Hand holding, soppy little kisses. Lauren got a bit lonely when Ade was away. She liked my company, said she felt at ease with me. We spent most of the time just chatting.’

  ‘I’m so pleased for you both. How many times did you meet for your little flirtation?’

  ‘I can’t say. I suppose a dozen or so times.’

  ‘Always when I was at work and Ade was away, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes. I know why you want to make it sound tawdry but it wasn’t. It was just a simple sort of attraction. A fond friendship.’

  Oh God, I might start howling. She felt queasy and stupid. How could she not have known that her husband’s attention was roaming elsewhere? ‘Did anyone else know? Did Ade?’

  ‘No. I don’t think so.’

  Lauren would be the type who might blab. Confession cleansing the soul crap. Another thought occurred to her. ‘So when she sat at our dinner table a couple of weeks ago, scrutinising her beetroot and mushroom burger in case I’d hidden meat in it, you two were presumably still exchanging fond glances?’

  ‘No. I told you, it wasn’t like that anymore.’

  ‘Didn’t you feel awkward, knowing that you’d been fooling me and Ade?’

  ‘Well . . . yes, a bit. But I knew I’d done the right thing in the end.’

  ‘Bully for you.’ She could imagine Lauren’s earnest tones, turning something mean and underhand into a virtuous cause: we have to stop seeing each other, Harvey. No matter how fond we are, we have to do the right thing, stick to our principles and keep our marriage vows. She wished now that she’d put raw steak in the bloody burger.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Jenna.’

  ‘Yes. Did you kill her?’

  The glass almost slipped from his hand. ‘What? No! Of course I didn’t kill her. I couldn’t kill anyone!’

  No, she thought. I could but you wouldn’t have the guts. He looked so pathetic with his dressing gown trailing, his bald patch just visible in the dim light. She had no idea if she believed his description of an innocent romance. It sounded ridiculous enough to be true, and he was a sentimental man. But for now, what she believed didn’t matter. Her headache was back, pulsing, stronger. She wanted to take a sleeping tablet and crawl into bed but she knew she’d have to take charge of this. Damage control.

  ‘Contact Inspector Drummond first thing. You need to talk to her before she finds out, because she will and then you’ll be her number one suspect. I’m not having the police coming here. You can ask to see her at the police station.’

  ‘All right. What am I going to tell her?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Harvey! What do you think? The truth. All of it. Exactly what you’ve told me.’ She stood. ‘And, of course, anything you haven’t.’

  Chapter Twelve

  The press conference finished just after six p.m. Mortimer had let Siv carry it, opting to speak at the end, saying that he needed to reassure the public that they were putting all their efforts into finding the perpetrator of these terrible crimes. Siv was just glad that the two photos of Rimas and the child were out there. Afterwards, she’d updated Mortimer on the investigation and the main lines of enquiry. He’d told her it sounded as if she had things on track. He could have sounded more enthusiastic.

  Afterwards she walked to the Talisman cinema where Cora Laffin worked. The roads were busy with office workers heading for home. She was relieved that unlike many British towns, Berminster’s handsome centre hadn’t been meddled with and uglified. There were streets of Georgian buildings and Victorian terraces lined with mature trees. As she approached the centre, narrow cobbled lanes with Tudor houses and tiny fishermen’s cottages sloped down, opening out onto the harbour. Berminster was a large town and had once been a thriving seaport, important for trading from Roman Britain to medieval times. It was now five miles from the English Channel. A combination of storms, silt and human intervention had changed the course of the River Bere, and the town had been an inland harbour since the thirteenth century. It still maintained a steady fishing industry.

  The Talisman was an independent cinema, housed in a pale stone building on the east side of the small harbour, facing out to the placid water. It had started life as a dance hall in the nineteen twenties, then transformed into a major chain cinema, then to a bingo hall, until it had been turned into a cinema again. When Siv was a teenager, it had been on its last legs as an Odeon, with grubby, broken seats, litter-strewn aisles and a pervasive smell of junk food and ripe socks. She remembered going there with friends to see Titanic, choking back tears as the doomed hero slid beneath the icy waves. Now she walked into a white-painted foyer with oak flooring, a scattering of sofas and chairs, an aroma of fresh coffee and film information written on chalkboards. There were two small screens, the Monroe and the Poitier, and a café on the ground floor. Siv waited in the café for Cora Laffin, sipping a coffee and studying posters for a Kathleen Turner season. A young man in a striped apron emerged from behind the counter with an ice-cream tray supported by a neck strap.

  ‘Choc ice, strawberry, vanilla or mango tub?’

  ‘Not just now, thanks.’

  He headed off towards the auditorium upstairs, humming the theme from the Godfather.

  Cora Laffin came in at a run. She was so slight she made underweight Siv feel like a giant. Her outstretched hand was small and soft. She had china blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair flowing down to her waist, completing the doll-like look. She wore denim dungarees, and the voice from her little frame was surprisingly deep and robust, although Siv could detect the nasal tones of recent tears and she looked pale.

  ‘Is it okay if we talk in the Monroe? There is an office but we’re having windows and flooring repaired and it’s a right mess in there. The Monroe’s having some seats replaced so that’s empty tonight, but it’s okay to sit in.’

  ‘That’ll be fine, as long as it’s private.’

  Cora led the way to the empty auditorium. It contained around fifty seats with several rows missing a few, like a mouth with gaps in the teeth. There were tall, framed photos of Marilyn on the walls, including the one from Some Like it Hot, where she was poured into a figure hugging dress, and the iconic image of her standing over a grating with her skirt blowing upwards.

  They sat in the front row, Cora with her ankles crossed. She wore round toed biker boots with straps. They looked like the ones in the cruelty-free catalogue that Siv had seen in the Vissers’ house. Music and voices reverberated faintly from the Poitier upstairs.

  ‘I’m very sorry about your friend,’ Siv said.

  Cora nodded. Her eyes were red and watery. ’Thank you. I still can’t believe what’s happened. I should have been there. If I’d gone swimming with her, she might still be alive.’

  ‘Do you mean you’d planned to swim with Lauren on Monday morning?’

  ‘We talked about it the night before, but there’s been so much to do here I had to give the river a miss. I’ve go
t staff off sick so everything’s down to me, and there’s all this work going on that I have to keep on top of. I haven’t even got time to grieve for my best friend.’

  ‘I’m sorry. That’s hard.’

  ‘Yeah. I hadn’t seen enough of her recently and I feel so bad about that. The last couple of months have been frantic workwise and I was away for most of March, climbing and bouldering in Cornwall. We hadn’t had a good catch-up for ages.’

  ‘Did Lauren often swim at Lock Lane?’

  ‘Not often. Just now and again. It’s clean around there so it’s a pleasant spot, but she didn’t go more frequently because of the anglers. I swam there with her once.’

  ‘Did you see anyone else around when you were there?’ Siv asked.

  ‘No. It was just me and Lauren.’

  ‘How long would Lauren swim for?’

  ‘About an hour, usually.’

  Siv showed Cora the photos of Rimas and the little girl. ‘Have you seen this man or child at Lock Lane or anywhere else?’

  The lights were on but they were low. Cora took her time. ‘No, I don’t know them. Who are they?’

  ‘The young man’s body was found near Lauren’s. His name is Matis Rimas. He was Lithuanian. Did Lauren ever talk about him?’

  ‘No. That doesn’t mean she didn’t know him but if she was friends with him, I think she’d have mentioned the name.’

  ‘Okay. I don’t know who the girl is, that’s why I was asking.’

  Cora looked as if she was about to say something else but then just sighed.

  ‘We haven’t found Lauren’s orange rucksack,’ Siv said. ‘Where would she leave it when she went to Lock Lane?’

  ‘We usually left our bags somewhere accessible but safe. Best place is hanging on a tree branch — hidden but dry. I think at Lock Lane we left them in one of the trees just up from the river.’ She closed her eyes, pain written on her face.

  Siv waited a couple of beats then said quietly, ‘Tell me about your contact with Lauren the night before she died.’

  Cora hugged her knees. ‘We didn’t talk for long. She was cooking quinoa with grilled vegetables. Ade doesn’t like quinoa. She was vegan, and meals with Ade could be difficult. He’s keen on hearty meals and likes his meat, so she was indulging herself in simple food while he was away. She asked me if I wanted to come round and share it but I was too bushed. Too tired that night and too busy the next morning. I let her down.’ A few tears slipped down her cheeks and she brushed them away. ‘Sorry.’