Where the Truth Lies

by Julie Corbin

  He gives a sarcastic laugh. ‘I knew that was coming.’

  ‘I mean it, Jack. I absolutely mean it.’ I take the turning on to the motorway. ‘Do you have nothing to say for yourself?’

  ‘It was just half a bottle of whisky. Schreiber loves to make a fuss.’

  ‘Mr Schreiber.’

  ‘I didn’t even do the graffiti.’

  ‘Well, you were with the boy who did. You have to pick your friends more carefully.’

  ‘So you’ve said.’

  ‘I have yet to hear an apology.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbles into his collar. ‘Is Dad home?’

  ‘Yes.’ I look at the clock, my heart sinking as I realise that no matter how quickly I drive I’m unlikely to get home before Julian is in bed. Normally, when he’s working on a case, he stays up well past midnight, but tonight I know he will be too tired. ‘He’ll most likely be asleep by the time we get back.’

  ‘Well, that’ll stop him having a go.’

  ‘Do you ever think about anyone other than yourself?’ I snap. ‘Your dad is tired.’

  ‘Cry me a river.’

  ‘Enough!’ I accelerate into the outside lane. ‘I am so disappointed in you. Not one more word.’

  Stalemate. We drive without speaking for over thirty minutes and my mind slides back to what happened this evening. I wish I hadn’t argued quite so strenuously with Julian. I know I have to move past the point where I feel let down and just accept that he genuinely had my best interests at heart. It’s difficult, but I remind myself that he’s my husband and the father of my children. He’s my best friend and, mostly, usually, my confidant. This is no easier for him than it is for me. I know he loves Bea and the boys as much as I do. I know that the fact his job is putting us in danger will not sit easily with him. I have to make it up with him. I can’t afford to let this wound fester.

  It’s gone eleven o’clock when we get home. I pull into a space in front of the house. Jack gets out straight away and goes inside. Three spaces behind me, two policemen are sitting in their car. The interior light is on and one is reading something aloud to the other. They’re not the same men as are here during the daytime. This must be the night crew.

  I go inside. There’s no sign of Sezen or Lara, and I’m relieved to see that Charlie’s shoes are by the front door. Thank heavens he came home. I was worried that he might stay away to punish me. And for all Jack’s teenage cheek I’m glad to have him home too. I set the alarm and go upstairs. Bea is fast asleep in her bed. I tuck in her covers, kiss her forehead and go through to my bedroom. The bedside lamp is on. Julian is lying fully clothed on the bed, dozing. I go into the en suite and get ready for bed. When I come back, Julian is still asleep. I stand next to the bed, looking down at him. I feel an acute, almost painful love for him. All I want is for us to be in this together.

  I bend down and kiss his cheek. At once his eyes open. They focus on mine and stay there. I see inside him as if seeing inside myself: love, anger, level-headedness and a burgeoning, visceral fear. We are no different. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and hugs me to him. I soften at once. His arms are too tight round me, but I don’t complain. I hold my breath and kiss the top of his head, wait until the shaking has gone from his body, then pull back a little.

  He looks up at me. ‘We will get through this.’ His tone is urgent and I stroke his hair.

  ‘I know.’ I kiss his lips and smile. ‘Now get undressed.’

  He starts pulling off his clothes and then my nightdress and then we make love. It becomes electric, both of us naked, his hands and mouth warm, expert. It feels healing, like we are fixing each other, restoring blood and oxygen, honesty and love to each other’s hearts.

  Afterwards we lie together, arms and legs entwined. I feel as light as candyfloss, young and carefree, until I remember we are up against a greater crisis than we’ve ever faced before. I lean up on my elbow, propping my head on my hand. Julian is lying with his eyes shut. His jaw is relaxing open. I watch him for a few seconds – not thinking, just feeling.

  Suddenly he opens his eyes and says, ‘Did you collect Jack OK?’

  ‘Yes.’ I fill him in on the details.

  ‘Is he sorry?’

  ‘Not particularly.’ I nuzzle my face into his neck. ‘I think we need to have a serious talk with him.’

  ‘We can do that over the weekend.’ He closes his eyes and relaxes his head back on the pillow again. I close my eyes too and allow myself to wallow in the warm waters of post-coital bliss. This works for about ten minutes and then slowly a thought starts to intrude. At first I ignore it and then it grows louder until I speak the words: ‘Did another email come today?’

  Julian’s body jerks as my voice breaks into the stillness. ‘Yes. It came a couple of hours ago.’ His right hand feels around my neck and rests on the crest of my collarbone. ‘Do you want to read it?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘I printed out a copy. It’s on the chest of drawers.’

  I climb out of bed to get it and don’t look at it until I am back under the covers. Like all the others, there is no preamble. I read it aloud:

  Bea’s birthday party didn’t go to plan, did it? How did you feel when you realised she was gone?

  I think it’s time we copied Claire in on these emails, don’t you?

  ‘Jesus!’ I stare at Julian. ‘So it has to have been someone who was at Bea’s party.’

  ‘It looks that way.’ His eyes are wide open now and he pulls himself up into the sitting position. ‘But I’ve just run it by Mac and he agrees that it’s hard to imagine it could be any of the people there.’

  ‘Amy?’ I say. ‘Now that I’ve asked her to leave, she could be throwing caution to the wind.’

  ‘But do you really believe Amy could be working for Georgiev?’

  ‘Maybe she isn’t directly working for him. Maybe she’s just earning a bit of extra money and feeding information to a person who is part of his organisation.’

  ‘Still. The blackmailer could just as easily have got the information about the party second hand.’

  ‘From whom? I mean’ – I come up on to my knees – ‘the blackmailer doesn’t have to be a killer. She only has to be in a position of trust in our family. Her only role apart from feeding information could be to open the front door. Crime is about access and opportunity.’ My mind immediately thinks of Sezen. Earlier this afternoon I invited her to stay with us. And as she’s been coming for a month, she already knows the code for the alarm. But how can Sezen be involved in this? She didn’t seek me out. I employed her through an agency, a reputable one. I checked her references. They were genuine. ‘And she wasn’t at the party,’ I say out loud.

  ‘Who wasn’t?’

  ‘Sezen. And all Bea’s friends’ mums had left by then. So if it isn’t Amy, it has to be Jem or Miss Percival.’ I shake my head. ‘And it can’t be Jem. We’ve been friends since Bea and Adam were born. I’d trust her with my life. I’d trust her with Bea’s life.’

  Julian makes a face. ‘Miss Percival doesn’t strike me as a valid suspect.’

  ‘Me neither, but then she could be playing the part of a shy, slightly awkward nursery teacher. And she’s often quite strange with me.’

  ‘Strange how?’

  ‘When I collect Bea, I have the feeling she’s staring at me, trying to listen to what I’m saying to the other mothers.’

  ‘That hardly makes her our emailer.’

  ‘And there’s the business of Bea being watched when she was playing in the sandpit.’

  He still looks dubious. For the moment, I let it drop. ‘So did Mac have anything else to say?’

  ‘Just that he holds you in high regard.’ He reaches across, takes my hand and kisses my fingers below my knuckles. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the emails straight away.’ He shakes his head. ‘It was wrong of me.’

  ‘I see the logic in it.’ I smile, glad that we’re finally getting somewhere. ‘And I kn
ow I’ve been preoccupied with Lisa. I don’t blame you for thinking it might all be too much for me.’

  ‘Mac also mentioned your reluctance over the safe house.’

  I can’t help but stiffen. He feels it and slides down until his face is level with mine. ‘It is the best option.’

  ‘I’m not so sure.’

  ‘I know what happened with Kerry Smith preyed on your mind, but this is different.’

  ‘Is it? Her ex-partner, her killer, found her, either because she was spotted or because someone in the police service gave away her location. Exactly the same thing could happen to us.’

  ‘Apart from ourselves only three people will know where we are: Mac, the specialist nurse for Lisa and the armed policewoman who will live with us.’

  ‘Mac’s not going to notify the local police?’

  ‘Not about us, no. But where we’re going is normally the home of a senior member of the Foreign Office. If the alarm does go off, the police response time is less than two minutes.’

  ‘A lot can happen in two minutes.’

  ‘The house has a state-of-the-art home security system, cameras front and back, and all the windows and doors are laser-protected.’

  ‘We have that here,’ I say.

  He nods. ‘We are well protected here, but with an increased threat it makes sense to move somewhere else.’

  ‘Is the house in London?’

  ‘No. Further north. I’m not sure exactly where.’

  It all sounds perfectly sensible, but my gut isn’t convinced. ‘Let’s just see how the next few days go,’ I say. ‘With any luck the police will have a breakthrough. Maybe that last email will help.’ I put out the light, relax on to Julian’s chest and close my eyes.

  He falls asleep immediately. I don’t. I lie awake for several hours thinking about what little information we have and trying to make connections. I know there’s a danger I’ll see what I want to see, be suspicious of women who don’t deserve it, but I don’t have the luxury of blind trust, not with Bea’s safety at stake. Amy has already left the house and I don’t intend to send Bea back to nursery, so Miss Percival will also be out of our lives. It sounds like the blackmailer intends to copy me in on the next email. That alone will narrow the field because I’m not a regular emailer. I don’t belong to social networking sites; I rarely shop on the Internet. Very few people know my email address.

  Finally my limbs grow heavy and I fall asleep. I dream about car chases along badly lit streets and Bea, always ahead of me, being taken away into the darkness.

  9

  Friday morning and I wake just before seven. The curtains haven’t been pulled completely shut and a shaft of bright light cuts its way across the carpet. Outside, seagulls squawk over the rooftops and I’m reminded why so many Brighton residents complain of lost sleep during the summer months. Julian’s side of the bed is empty. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and burnt toast drifts up the stairs. I grab my dressing gown and pop my head round Bea’s door. She’s still fast asleep. I go down to the kitchen, keen to see Julian, stopping short when I spot Megan sitting at the table. She’s dressed in a different suit this morning, trousers and, as ever, an immaculate white blouse. She has spread papers out across the table, and when I come in, she immediately shuffles them together as if I’m about to read them over her shoulder. I’m not. I make a beeline for Julian, who is taking the final bite of a piece of toast.

  ‘Claire.’ He gives me a wide smile and kisses me.

  I look over at Megan. ‘Do you mind if I just borrow my husband for a minute?’

  She shakes her head and her ponytail swings across her shoulder. ‘Of course not.’

  I take Julian’s elbow and he doesn’t resist as I pull him out into the hallway. ‘I hoped you’d be in bed when I woke up.’

  ‘You looked so peaceful.’ He slides his hands under my dressing gown. ‘I didn’t have the heart to wake you.’

  ‘A replay of last night would have been nice.’

  ‘Can you hold that thought until this evening?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘What are your plans for today?’

  ‘Nothing much. I’ll visit Lisa over lunch, but otherwise I’ll stay at home. Will you call me if you hear from Mac?’

  He nods.

  ‘I’ll be checking my emails every five minutes to see whether she copies me in, like she said she would.’

  ‘Don’t let it dictate your day, Claire. I promise I’ll be in touch if another one arrives.’

  Megan comes out from the kitchen and Julian pulls his hands away from me, his eyes lingering on my face as we say our goodbyes. I watch from the sitting room window as they begin their walk up the hill to the station. The after-effects of making love still resonate, a sweet liquid in my limbs and heart. But seeing him walk away makes me feel vulnerable and twice I whisper his name. It’s not until I turn round that I realise Sezen is behind me and I jump.

  ‘I didn’t hear you come down,’ I say. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her eyes are large in her face. ‘Is everything OK?’

  ‘Of course.’ I’m biting my nails. I stop at once and thrust my hands into my pockets. ‘I’m just . . . Julian’s off to work. So’ – I manage a smile – ‘on with the day.’

  ‘I hear the girls,’ she says. ‘I will make them some breakfast.’

  I get dressed and potter about. Bea and Lara play under the stairs – a teddy bears’ picnic this time – and Sezen goes shopping. Wendy calls to remind me that she and Sezen have arranged to cook together today and is that still OK? I tell her it is and try to get on with some vacuuming. Twice I pull the emails from their hiding place in my wardrobe and pore over them, not coming up with anything new, and over a dozen times I press the refresh button on my email inbox, but nothing has arrived. It still seems likely from the last email that the blackmailer witnessed the aftermath of Bea’s party, and that sheds suspicion on Amy and Mary Percival. Neither is an obvious suspect, but I know from my work as a lawyer that it’s not always the obvious ones who end up being guilty.

  By eleven thirty I’ve yet to see signs of either Jack or Charlie. I hesitate outside Charlie’s bedroom door, listening for movement, but hear none. I wonder whether I can somehow make it up to him but realise I have no idea how to go about this, so decide to leave him be and go down to Jack’s room at the bottom of the house. I knock and say his name. No answer. I go in. He’s dumped his bags behind the door and I have to push hard to open it. His room is sparsely furnished: a bed, a wardrobe, a desk with a computer, a television and games console. Last night he must have started to unpack the bags. Clothes and textbooks are spread all over the carpet. He is still fast asleep, lying on his front, one arm and leg hanging over the edge of the mattress, the covers pushed down to his waist. For almost a minute I stand watching him. A residual bubble of anger at his behaviour is lodged beneath my sternum. As I watch him sleep, peaceful as a nine-year-old, the bubble dissolves.

  ‘Jack?’ I shake him gently. ‘It’s after eleven. You need to wake up.’

  ‘What?’ He shifts position. ‘Why?’

  ‘I need you to watch out for Bea.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Sezen’s here and Grandma Wendy’s coming round, but they’ll be cooking and I’m going to visit Auntie Lisa.’ I rub my forehead. ‘It would be really helpful if you could take care of the girls.’

  ‘Does that mean I won’t be grounded?’

  ‘It means you’ll go some way towards redeeming yourself if you look after your sister. But don’t go outside with her.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’d prefer you not to.’

  ‘She’ll want me to take her to the corner shop.’

  ‘Well, don’t. Play with her in the house or in the back garden. Watch Finding Nemo.’

  ‘For the thousandth time.’

  ‘Just do it!’

  ‘OK, OK!’ He rolls over. ‘No need to shout.’ He sighs. ‘I’ll get up
in a minute.’

  ‘Good.’ I stroke my fingers across the top of his hair. It feels stiff with hair gel. ‘And have a shower.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  I go upstairs. There’s still no sign of Charlie, but Wendy has arrived and is in the kitchen with Sezen. I take the food parcel that Sezen has prepared for Lisa and go off to the hospital. Lisa is on good form and we spend a happy couple of hours together. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her what’s going on in my life, but I don’t. She’ll find out soon enough and then my problems will become her problems. There’s no way to save her from that.

  When I return home, Jem is standing in the porch, having turned up earlier to finish painting the room. Although she is the neatest of workers – nothing is ever spilled, no paint marks end up on the skirting or around the light switches – her dungarees and shoes are spotted with paint, standing testament to what she does for a living.

  ‘I’m just nipping out for a roll-up.’ She walks past me and sits on the step. ‘Finished the room.’ She opens her silver cigarette box and rolls the tobacco with an expert hand, which is as rough as sandpaper and stained with paint. Then she sees my face and thinks that I’m judging her habit. ‘I know – I’m a slave. An hour goes by and – ping! – it’s like an alarm goes off in my head. I start to itch. I crave it. Nicotine. I’m an addict.’ She lights it quickly and takes a grateful puff. ‘It’s too late for me. Cancer, here I come.’ Then she realises what she’s just said. ‘Shit, I’m sorry, Claire.’ She stands up. ‘Me and my big mouth.’

  I shake my head. ‘Lisa’s cancer had nothing to do with smoking. And anyway, we all have our vices.’

  ‘And yours would be?’

  ‘A glass or two of wine, a big piece of chocolate and some trashy TV?’

  ‘I’m sorry, hon, that’s more comfort than a vice.’

  I think harder. ‘Many moons ago, when I was at university, the person I was then,’ I stress. ‘She liked to have a joint or two. Three even. At one time it was quite a habit.’