Where the Truth Lies

by Julie Corbin

  ‘I’ll have a shower first, I think. All that waiting around in airports has left me feeling grubby.’

  I follow him up the stairs. I feel I should give him a couple of minutes to acclimatise before we start to talk about the emails. When we reach our en suite, he says, ‘How’s Lisa bearing up?’

  ‘The same. You know how stoic she is. Results weren’t good and now . . .’ I shrug. ‘It’s a case of waiting and seeing . . . and hoping.’

  ‘I’m sorry, love.’ He leans towards me, gives me a kiss, leaves his hand on my hair. ‘I know this is difficult for you.’

  ‘I want to have everything sorted for her when she comes out of hospital. Jem’s coming round tomorrow to finish off painting the room.’ I hold his eyes, wait for him to mention the safe house, but he doesn’t. He looks strained. I know he will be as worried about the blackmail as I am. I don’t want arguments. I want us to be a united front, but we’re not going to get there unless Julian understands how hard the last twenty-four hours have been, learning about the blackmail and about his resignation.

  ‘Are you ready to talk?’ I say.

  ‘Let me have a quick shower first?’

  A question rather than a statement. I nod and go back through to our bedroom, sit down on the bed and wait for him. I count the seconds – all three and a half minutes of them – and then he’s standing in front of me drying himself.

  ‘Where’s Bea?’

  ‘In the kitchen with Sezen and Lara, her little girl.’

  ‘How are they getting along?’

  ‘Bea and Lara?’

  He nods.

  ‘Really well. Bea even let her play with Bertie.’

  He raises an eyebrow at this. ‘She must like her.’ He drops the towel on the bed and takes boxers and a T-shirt from the chest of drawers.

  ‘Sezen’s made a macrobiotic dinner for tonight.’

  ‘I look forward to eating it.’ He finds a pair of jeans in the wardrobe and pulls them on top of the boxers. ‘You must almost be able to cook that way yourself now.’

  ‘Not even close,’ I say quietly. ‘Which is a pity because what with everything that’s going on, it doesn’t look like we’re going to be able to keep Sezen, does it?’

  He sits down on the bed beside me and takes my left hand, staring at my wedding and engagement rings as if it’s the first time he’s ever seen them. ‘I’m sorry, Claire.’

  ‘Sorry for what?’

  ‘Sorry for all of it.’

  ‘You should have told me.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘From now on will you talk to me?’ He tries to pull me into his chest. I hold my back straight and lean away from him. ‘Let me know what’s going on?’ He looks into my eyes. ‘Will you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’ I take a breath. My chest feels tight and I have to force in air. ‘When I found out about the emails, I was shocked and confused and afraid for Bea. And then I invited Megan round and she told me you’d resigned and . . .’ I feel my lips trembling and tense my jaw.

  ‘Claire—’

  ‘Do you know how that made me feel?’

  He rubs his hand across his forehead.

  ‘Really. You should think about it,’ I say. ‘I had to ask your instructing solicitor for details that affect our family’s safety.’

  He keeps his eyes averted.

  ‘Two months ago, when you had the burglar alarm installed, was it because you thought something like this might happen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Anger swells inside me like a balloon filling with air. ‘Why didn’t you tell me then?’

  ‘At that point I hadn’t received any emails. I did it as a precaution.’

  ‘But you must have had a suspicion?’

  ‘I knew that Georgiev had threatened people before.’

  ‘So why not tell me that? Forewarn me?’

  ‘I felt you had enough on your plate with Lisa. I didn’t want to add to your worries when there was a chance that nothing would come of it.’

  ‘Don’t make this about my sister,’ I warn him. ‘You should have told me.’ My cheeks are burning up. I go to the bedroom window, open it and let the sea air cool my face. ‘How do you see me, Julian?’ I frown back at him. ‘As some sort of flaky, weak-willed woman who can’t cope with reality?’

  ‘Of course not.’ He comes and stands beside me. ‘I know how strong you are. I was trying to protect you.’

  ‘Protect me?’ Anger spikes again. ‘You went off to Sofia without a word of warning!’

  ‘There are two policemen ou—’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ I snap. ‘Two plainclothes policemen in a beat-up Ford Mondeo, parked in our street, sticking out like tarts in a nunnery.’

  ‘Claire—’

  ‘Big bloody deal,’ I shout. ‘Fat lot of use they’d have been if a couple of gunmen turned up at the front door and me none the fucking wiser.’

  He flinches at the F-word.

  ‘I’m sorry, Julian.’ I widen my eyes and lean towards him. ‘Are you offended by that?’

  ‘Sarcasm will not—’

  ‘Will not what? Will not change the fact that you left your wife and children in danger?’ I pace across the floor. ‘How dare you? How fucking dare you waltz off to Sofia and leave me and the children with no knowledge of what was going on?’

  ‘Will you please calm down.’ He tries to take my hands.

  ‘Do. Not. Touch. Me.’

  He steps backwards. ‘I was trying to protect all of you.’

  ‘By keeping us in the dark?’

  ‘I didn’t feel . . . We didn’t feel there was any point in worrying you before it was absolutely justified.’

  ‘We? Who’s “we” exactly?’

  ‘The police. Andrew MacPherson. He’s taking this extremely seriously.’

  Another moment to confess that I printed out the emails, that I met up with Mac this morning and that, in doing so, broke the promise I made to Julian five years ago. But I don’t say any of these things. Instead, I say, ‘Have you considered giving in to the blackmailer’s demands?’

  ‘Claire’ – he gives me a puzzled look – ‘you must know that isn’t an option.’

  ‘Of course it’s an option,’ I say. ‘Are you willing to consider it?’

  ‘Apart from the fact that giving in to someone like Georgiev goes against everything I believe in, I would be disbarred and imprisoned.’

  ‘So we spend months living in fear?’

  ‘Our witness will be called to give evidence first.’

  ‘And if the defence manages to think of reasons to delay?’

  ‘They have no more options open to them.’

  ‘You can’t possibly know that! They could have anything up their sleeves.’ I feel agitated. I pace backwards and forwards, five steps in one direction, five steps in the other. ‘If we make it impossible for the blackmailer to get close to Bea, she will be forced to go after one of the boys. We can’t let Charlie go back to university or Jack to school.’

  ‘She?’ He starts back. ‘Why did you say “she”?’

  ‘I think the blackmailer’s a woman.’

  ‘But you haven’t read the emails.’ He pauses. ‘Have you?’

  ‘This is me you’re talking to, Julian.’ I bang my fist against my chest. ‘After the way you reacted when Bea was missing with Amy . . .’ I look down at the floor and then back into his eyes. ‘You honestly think I was just going to trot off to bed when I knew you were receiving threatening emails?’

  ‘You logged on to my laptop?’

  ‘What option did I have?’

  ‘And have you read them?’

  ‘I have. And I printed them out.’

  He gives a slight shake of his head.

  ‘If you had been honest with me,’ I say quietly, ‘I wouldn’t have had to do that.’

  ‘I know,’ he acknowledges. ‘Perhaps, in your shoes, I would have done the same.’

  ‘You would never have been in my shoe
s,’ I say, keeping my voice low. ‘I wouldn’t have kept this from you. And another thing.’ I fill my lungs with air. ‘I called Andrew MacPherson this morning and met him in a café.’

  ‘I see.’ He purses his lips and turns away from me.

  ‘I would rather we had been together but’ – I shrug – ‘you weren’t here and I didn’t want to wait.’

  He sits down on the edge of the bed.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I bend low so that I can see his expression. ‘Shouldn’t I have done that?’

  ‘You know . . . Claire.’ He looks weary, his eyelids dropping low over his eyes. ‘I’m not the enemy here.’

  ‘I know.’ I’m not enjoying this. We rarely fall out. I’m not trying to take the upper hand. I’m simply trying to make him understand how hard it is being excluded. ‘But it’s like the train is already moving and I’m running alongside, trying to catch hold of your hand. I feel hurt, Julian.’ I kneel down at his feet. ‘I feel let down.’

  The kitchen door slams. Next thing, Bea lets out a delighted shout. I know she’ll have seen Julian’s case by the front door. Within seconds she’s in our bedroom, launching herself at him. She screams with delight as he first throws her up in the air and then tosses her on to our bed and tickles her breathless. I love seeing them together, but right now my insides are churned up like a ploughed field and only Julian and I working together will fix that. I leave the room. I help finish setting the table, hoping that Sezen’s calm demeanour will rub off on me, but it doesn’t, and when Julian joins us, carrying Bea, my heart is still sore. He says hello to Sezen and then she introduces him to Lara.

  ‘Bea tells me you like to play on the swings, Lara,’ he says.

  She blushes and looks down at her feet.

  ‘She is shy of men,’ Sezen says.

  ‘That’s no bad thing,’ Julian says, smiling.

  Sezen speaks to her daughter in Turkish and Lara looks up at Julian.

  ‘Thank you for my room,’ she says.

  ‘And I would also like to thank you,’ Sezen says. ‘It is very kind of you to offer us a home.’

  Julian looks across at me.

  ‘Sezen’s accommodation in Brighton isn’t ready yet. I invited her to stay with us for a couple of days until she can organise somewhere else.’

  He nods and smiles at me, with his mouth but not with his eyes. Then he looks at Sezen and says, ‘Glad we could help.’

  We all take our places at the table – apart from Sezen, who insists she be the one to serve. Bea won’t sit in her own chair and there’s no point trying to make her. She will start to cry and then wail and we will all end up with fraught nerves and indigestion. She stays on Julian’s knee, cosying in towards his chest, one thumb lodged in her mouth while the other hand twirls her hair round her index finger.

  ‘We are going to start with miso soup,’ Sezen says. ‘It is very refreshing on the palate.’

  ‘Charlie not around?’ Julian says.

  ‘We had a bit of an argument.’

  ‘Over what?’

  ‘Amy.’ Bea has slithered off Julian’s knee to fetch Bertie, and I check that Sezen is out of earshot at the hob. ‘I told Charlie she had to leave.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t trust her. I couldn’t find your hotel details. She had taken the paper from the pinboard and written something on the back of it, and yet when Charlie asked her whether she’d seen it, she said no.’

  ‘She is a bit scatty.’

  ‘Maybe. But I found her in your study – twice.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nosing around.’

  ‘In my desk?’

  ‘She was standing by the corner shelves, looking through one of the drawers. She said she was looking for printer paper.’ I throw my hands out. ‘I just didn’t buy it.’

  ‘How long do you think she was down there?’

  ‘No longer than thirty seconds.’

  ‘Do you think she could have taken anything?’

  ‘She had a bag with her, but I don’t think so.’ I breathe in. ‘I think it’s extremely unlikely she has anything to do with Georgiev, but I don’t want to take any chances.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ He leans back to allow Bea to climb on to his knee again. ‘Is Charlie angry?’

  ‘Yes.’ I sigh. ‘He may not talk to me for a while.’

  Sezen brings full bowls over to the table. Small pieces of spring onion and cubes of tofu float on the surface of the pale brown soup. We start to eat.

  ‘This is really tasty,’ I say. ‘Don’t you want to try some, Bea?’ I hold the spoon towards her, but she shakes her head.

  The doorbell rings and I get up to answer it.

  ‘It’ll probably be Megan,’ Julian shouts after me.

  It is Megan. She is standing on the step clutching bundles of documents to her chest. I know that even although it’s already six o’clock in the evening, she will be keen to catch up with the latest developments. We kiss each other on both cheeks and then I say, ‘Would you like to join us for supper?’

  ‘I don’t want to interrupt a family meal.’

  ‘You’re not.’

  I hold the bundles while she takes off her jacket and hangs it up in the porch.

  I’m just about to lead the way to the kitchen when she takes hold of my arm. ‘Claire?’

  ‘Yes?’ I force a smile.

  ‘I’m sorry if I was a bit off with you last night.’ She smooths back her hair. ‘I don’t want to step on any toes, but I don’t want you to think I’m not supportive.’

  ‘It’s fine, Megan.’ I shrug. ‘I understand your position.’

  Julian introduces Megan to Sezen and she helps herself to soup. I say nothing for the rest of the meal, preferring instead to order my thoughts. I want to go through the emails some more, and I want to check whether another one has arrived. I feel there might be clues none of us are seeing and if we pore over them for long enough, the answer will come. But now Julian will be taken up with Megan. I’ll have to wait until she leaves, and that probably won’t be for a couple of hours at least. When everyone’s finished pudding, Julian excuses them both and they go down to his study, Bea still with him, to bring Megan up to date with what’s happened in Sofia.

  I hang back in the kitchen with Sezen, tidying up and planning food for tomorrow, and when she takes Lara upstairs to bed, I go into the sitting room and switch on the television, half an ear listening out for Megan leaving. I pick up a novel that I’m partway through and then put it down again when the phone rings. It’s Jack’s housemaster.

  ‘Unfortunate incident this evening, Mrs Miller.’ Without preamble, he goes on to tell me that Jack and three other year elevens stole some whisky from the staff common room and are ‘suspended herewith. Obviously this is a serious offence and one that ordinarily results in expulsion, but with GCSEs still to be completed we’re going down the road of suspension.’

  My initial thought is a desperate Can’t anything go right? Why does Jack have to pick this moment to get himself suspended? ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Schreiber,’ I say out loud, while inside my heart grows heavy with disappointment. ‘I’ll come for him now, shall I?’

  ‘Excellent. The boys are packing for home as we speak.’

  I go downstairs and open the door to Julian’s study. Bea is fast asleep on his knee. Megan is on the chair opposite, reading aloud from a document in the bundles. ‘I’m going to school to fetch Jack,’ I say. ‘He’s being sent home.’

  ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘He and some others stole some whisky.’

  ‘Did they drink it?’

  ‘I expect so. I’m not sure.’

  Julian sighs heavily, then shifts Bea across one arm and attempts to stand up without waking her. ‘I’ll go, Claire.’

  ‘No, no.’ I wave him down again. ‘You’ve been travelling all day.’ I kiss his cheek, say goodbye to Megan and head off feeling dismayed that several more hours will pass without another opportunity for Jul
ian and me to talk.

  The school is over an hour’s drive north, along country lanes, motorway and more lanes. The driveway is long and curves round several slow bends, past playing fields, the cricket pavilion and staff housing until I arrive in front of the main reception, a tall, imposing brick building with long symmetrical windows, a clock tower at one end and chapel at the other. Jack’s house is through the entrance hall and behind the chapel. I follow the polished wooden floors through the sixth-form area, where young adults are milling about, talking on their mobiles, drinking coke from cans and generally making enough noise to wake sleeping lions. I smile and say hello to the ones I know, before finally arriving at Jack’s house, where the four boys are waiting on chairs in the corridor, surrounded by their belongings. I don’t speak, suddenly realising that I can’t, without unleashing a barrel-load of anger and frustration, not all of which should be directed at Jack. When he sees me, he sighs, stands up and balances his bags over his shoulders and arms. He has more stuff for one term than Sezen owns for herself and her daughter.

  Mr Schreiber comes out of his flat and fills me in on the details. Not only did they take the alcohol and drink it, they used a permanent marker to graffiti the French teacher’s workspace. I make repeated apologies, promise punishment and urge Jack ahead of me out of the school. A small crowd has gathered at the exit and Jack grins at some of them. I grab his arm and propel him to the car.

  ‘I am ashamed of you,’ I say sharply. ‘You have let yourself down. And Mr Schreiber. And your family.’

  We put his bags in the back, then climb into the car. He reaches for the radio, changes the station and ups the volume.

  ‘Feet off the dashboard and I’m not listening to that music all the way home. Change it back, please.’

  He does so and I then proceed to give him a lecture on respect. Halfway through he slumps down into his jacket and surreptitiously tries to put his iPod earphones into his ears.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ I warn him. ‘And sulking won’t help you. You need to write a letter of apology to Mr Schreiber and the French teacher, and you need to work for the money to replace the alcohol you took, and—’

  ‘Jeez, give it a rest, will you?’

  ‘And,’ I say, raising my voice several notches, ‘you need to stop being influenced by Oliver Traynor because he is not the sort of boy who will do well.’ I look across at him. ‘Or there will be no rugby tour later in the year.’