Her Last Lie

by Amanda Brittany

  ‘I thought he didn’t get in touch after you saw him on the train.’

  ‘He didn’t, and I hadn’t noticed him on Facebook either, well not until yesterday, oddly enough.’

  ‘Maybe he came on to sort out the reunion.’

  ‘Yeah, probably.’ She glanced up. ‘I like your beard, by the way,’ she said, touching his face. ‘Suits you.’

  ‘What this ol’ thing?’ He smiled. ‘It’s just something me and Ryan Gosling are trying out.’

  ‘Well you’re much cuter,’ she said, but her eyes had drifted back to her phone screen.

  ‘Coffee?’ Jack asked, and Isla startled. ‘Bloody hell, you’re a bit edgy,’ he continued, getting up after a bite of his roll. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yes, yes I’m fine. And yes please. Love one. Thanks.’

  Jack headed for the coffee machine, as she tapped the phone screen to open the event.

  The cover photo was Wetherspoon’s in Cambridge.

  Event Invitation:

  University Reunion, Wetherspoon’s, Cambridge. Friday, 28 October 7.30 p.m.

  INVITED: 6

  COMING: 3

  NOT COMING: 2

  I’m trying to get together a few old uni friends for a reunion. I thought it was about time. It’s been years! Do you guys fancy it? Trevor

  Isla looked to see who’d been invited. Roxanne wasn’t there, but then she’d fallen out with Trevor. Sara Pembroke, who had studied chemistry with him, had already accepted. Isla hadn’t had much to do with her at university, but recalled she was tall, and overweight, with short dark hair. An insular girl, if she remembered rightly. Super-intelligent.

  She clicked on Sara’s profile to try to find out what she was like now, but there was a hedgehog for her profile picture, and a field of poppies as her cover photo. Her friends list and settings were private.

  The declines were Stephen Grant and Jenny Dawson. They’d been the dream couple at university and were getting married on 28 October. The other acceptances were Veronica Beesley and Ben Martin. Their profiles were set to private too, their friends lists hidden, but Isla recognised them, even though they’d matured over the years. They’d unfriended Isla on Facebook a long time ago, at a time when they were clearing out old university friends, and moving on. She was amazed they’d agreed to meet up with Trevor. But then Trevor had been popular at university.

  She read the comments on the event page:

  Veronica Beesley: Sounds like fun. I’m in! x

  Reply: Trevor Cooper: Great. Looking forward to it! What are you up to now?

  Reply: Veronica Beesley: Fashion design. I’ll bore you about the last eight years when I see you. Can’t wait!

  Isla’s eyes widened as she took in the words. She could hear Jack talking in a cute voice to Luna as he made some coffee, but she was fully locked in cyber-world.

  She did a quick search for Veronica’s company and clicked on her website. She sold her own designs, with a quirky vibe about them. They were the kind of things Isla loved to wear, but were way out of her price range.

  She clicked back to Facebook.

  Ben Martin: I’ll be there if it kills me, Trev, mate.

  Reply: Trevor Cooper: Great news. Be good to catch up. Are you still in publishing?

  Reply: Ben Martin: I am indeed. See you Friday!

  ‘What’s up? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,’ Jack said, sitting back down, and placing two freshly poured mugs of coffee in front of them.

  ‘I think I have,’ she said in a whisper. ‘Well a haunting of ghosts, actually.’

  ‘A haunting of ghosts?’

  ‘Like a gaggle of geese, but ghosts,’ she said, with a smile.

  ‘Pretty sure you just made that up.’

  She hadn’t really looked at Trevor’s Facebook profile when he added her in July. Just registering, at the time, his profile picture was a wolf howling on a mountain, and his cover photo a generic beach somewhere. But she looked at it now. He had a dozen friends, including those he’d invited to the reunion.

  ‘Isla?’

  ‘What?’ She glanced up, and met Jack’s enquiring eyes. ‘Sorry. Sorry.’

  Jack placed his hand over hers. ‘I was thinking, do you fancy taking off on Saturday? Maybe have a picnic by the sea? I know it’s October but . . . ’

  ‘Yes, yes, why not? Sounds great,’ she said, barely registering his words.

  ‘So when is this reunion?’ He removed his hand from hers, and nodded at her phone.

  She sucked in a breath. ‘Friday night.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Spoons in Cambridge.’

  ‘Will you go?’ He swallowed a gulp of coffee.

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Could be fun meeting up with old friends. And I’ve got a backlog of Game of Thrones to watch, so I need you out of the house.’ He laughed.

  ‘Yeah, maybe I will.’ She looked at the phone once more. ‘Ben Martin is going. He’s in publishing.’

  Jack’s eyes widened. ‘That could be good, right? He might publish your book.’

  She smiled at his naivety. ‘I’m not sure he’d be best pleased if I started bombarding him with questions, but you never know.’

  ‘You should go, Isla,’ Jack said, his voice serious. ‘You’ll have a great time.’

  She returned her eyes to the screen, clicked yes before she could think too much, and put down her phone. ‘Done,’ she said, leaning over the breakfast bar and pressing her lips on Jack’s, kissing him long and hard.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ he said, slipping down from the stool. Taking her hand, he led her to the bedroom.

  ***

  Later, Isla spotted a butterfly on the work surface next to the kettle. Her stomach leapt, as she reached out to touch it, expecting it to spring into life and flutter around the kitchen, but it didn’t. She stared at the bright turquoise triangles on its wings, the deep black around the edges, recalling the photos she’d taken of the species when she was in Sydney.

  Carl had called her Butterfly Girl because she took so many pictures. He’d teased her, saying the Blue Triangle was common out there – nothing special. ‘You need to search out a Richmond Birdwing,’ he’d said, his smile seeming so genuine. She’d thought he loved her. Perhaps he had in his warped way – that’s what Roxanne had said in a bumbled attempt to heal her.

  ‘The Richmond’s wings stretch almost sixteen centimetres,’ Carl had gone on. ‘Saw one once when I was a kid.’ Now the thought of his smile – and the way he’d later morphed into a monster – sent a shudder down her spine.

  ‘How did it get in?’ she said, her words barely audible, as she glanced around at the sealed apartment windows.

  Jack looked up from shoving clothes from his holdall into the washing machine. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘A butterfly.’ She felt strangely helpless. ‘Where did it come from?’

  ‘Ah.’ Jack rose and slammed the washing machine door closed. ‘I found it by our front door yesterday. Forgot to say. I know you like butterflies, and . . . ’

  ‘On our doormat?’

  ‘Yeah. But I’m pretty sure the poor thing’s dead.’

  She gently touched its wing once more. ‘It’s not dead, Jack. I don’t think it’s real. It’s made of silk or something. What the hell was it doing on our doorstep?’

  He shrugged. ‘No idea. I just brought it in. Thought it might get a new lease of life.’

  ‘It’s silk, Jack. I just told you that.’

  ‘Yeah, well I didn’t know that at the time.’

  She held it in her palm, a slight tremor in her hand. ‘What was it doing out there?’

  ‘I guess somebody must have dropped it. The bloke upstairs likes weird and whacky things. Maybe it’s his.’

  ‘What bloke?’

  ‘Some professor type, moved in while you were away.’ He stepped towards her, and she flinched, dropping the butterfly, and it floated to the ground. ‘It’s just a butterfly, Isla.’

&
nbsp; ‘No, it’s not just a butterfly, Jack.’ She was close to tears. ‘It’s the Blue Triangle, found in Australia.’

  He looked at her for a long moment. ‘Isla, I don’t get what the problem is. Is this something to do with Carl . . . ?’

  ‘No. No, of course not,’ Isla cut in. ‘Ignore me, I’m just a bit jet-lagged, that’s all.’ She pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes to stop the tears.

  ‘You sure you’re OK?’ he said, and she looked up to see him studying her face.

  She couldn’t tell him that Carl had burrowed his way into her head. That she was worried he could be out, but was too afraid to find out. He’d be upset she hadn’t told him about the appeal – and then he would worry about her – she couldn’t have that.

  Jack stepped closer and pulled her gently into his arms, where she leant against his chest. A tear burnt the corner of her eye, before rolling down her face.

  Chapter 6

  Two years ago

  ‘It closed in 1994,’ Jack said coming up behind Isla as she photographed Aldwych Station in London.

  She turned into the bright sunshine, squinting as her eyes met his. Taking in that he was tall and slim, and wearing a faded Captain America T-shirt and a cap over dark hair. His hands were rammed into the pockets of knee-length shorts.

  ‘Sorry?’ she said.

  ‘The underground station.’ He nodded towards the building she was photographing. ‘It opened in 1907, closed in 1994.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ She turned away from him. She’d already researched the building ready for an article on London undergrounds she’d been commissioned to write. ‘And before Aldwych, it was Strand Station.’

  ‘Yeah, but the sign gives that away.’

  She glanced at the ‘Strand Station’ sign on the red-brick wall above the closed metal gate.

  ‘So that’s kind of cheating,’ he said.

  A smile flickered on her lips, as she aimed her camera.

  ‘Did you know it’s been used in films?’ he said.

  ‘Aha.’ She kept her eyes focused. ‘Atonement.’

  ‘Superman.’

  ‘28 Weeks Later.’

  ‘V for Vendetta.’

  ‘The Krays.’

  He smiled through a brief silence, where they locked eyes, before saying, ‘So are you a professional photographer, or . . . ?’ He stopped talking and took off his cap, glancing down as he brushed hair from his forehead with the back of his hand.

  A feeling she hadn’t felt for a long time absorbed her body. A good feeling – a feeling she thought had died four years before.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, turning and stepping away, ‘. . . being nosey . . . ignore me.’

  Her instinct was to shove her camera into her rucksack, and disappear into the London crowds. She was having good days now. More good than bad, since she’d accepted she would never be quite the same person she’d once been, and found ways of dealing with that. But she still avoided strangers – especially men. There was something about Jack though. Something about his innocent boyishness that she liked.

  ‘I’m a freelance writer and photographer,’ she said, pushing her camera into her bag, and he turned back. ‘Photography is my passion. It’s amazing how many fascinating and beautiful places there are in Britain.’ And the world, she’d wanted to add, but she had felt her days of travelling abroad were over.

  He smiled. ‘Yeah, I grew up in Dorset,’ he said. ‘Some stunning places down that way. Have you ever walked along Chesil Beach?’

  ‘Yes, I went last year.’ She’d done a series of pieces on the area for a travel magazine. ‘An amazing part of the country.’

  He moved closer. Not so close that he invaded her space. ‘So, can I see your photographs anywhere?’

  She shrugged. ‘I’ve had articles published in magazines and Sunday supplements,’ she said. ‘But they’ve come and gone. Ooh, and I wrote a small guidebook on York that you can probably still get in . . . well, York.’

  ‘Cool.’ He stuck out his hand. ‘I’m Jack Green, data analyst by day, London film location tour guide by weekend.’ He paused, a smile dancing around his lips. ‘I’m guessing by your face you didn’t realise that was your cue to be impressed.’

  She laughed again, taking his outstretched hand. ‘Isla,’ she said and, for the first time in four years, her guard lowered.

  Within a month they were seeing each other every moment. He even gave up his tour guide job, so they could spend weekends together. The passion was great, but it was more than that.

  ‘These are amazing, Isla,’ he said the night she showed him the photographs she’d taken before everything went so wrong. Pictures of the Taj Mahal, Humayun’s Tomb, and the warren of back streets in India, and those she’d taken in Australia and New Zealand too. He read her words about her early travels, as she looked on, cross-legged on the floor, cradling a glass of wine, and finding herself wondering what their children might look like, whether they would have his amazing eyes. ‘You’re so talented,’ he went on. ‘You should put this together. It would make a great book.’

  She laughed, embarrassed, but pleased. There was nowhere near enough for a book, and she wasn’t convinced her words and pictures were good enough. But still his excitement and enthusiasm washed over her, and the idea of her book took hold.

  That’s when their adventure began.

  Later, they travelled to America and Africa and many parts of Europe, Isla making notes and snapping pictures.

  Something she thought would never happen.

  Chapter 7

  Thursday, 27 October

  ‘Who’s Andy?’ Jack said, barely looking up, as Isla headed across the kitchen. He’d arrived home from work about an hour ago, and plonked himself at the breakfast bar with a bottle of lager. He was watching film previews on his laptop, while Isla finished writing up an article that needed submitting. They would grab a takeaway later.

  She stopped and stared at Jack, who finally looked up and smiled. ‘Andy?’ she said, moving on towards the fridge, and grabbing a bottle of wine.

  ‘Andy Fisher?’

  She looked over his shoulder to see he had Facebook open. He only used it for pages on his favourite films and TV programmes, and only had Isla and a couple of mates as friends.

  ‘He’s commented on your last update.’

  ‘Has he?’ She sloshed wine into a glass. ‘You want some?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ He pointed at his half-drunk lager. ‘He’s put, “Miss you already. Had such a brilliant time with you.”’

  ‘Has he?’

  ‘Did you meet him in Canada?’ His tone was upbeat.

  ‘I met quite a few people in Canada, Jack,’ she said, putting the bottle back in the fridge, and slamming the door shut. ‘Most added me on Facebook. I can’t remember half of them, and I can’t remember him, if I’m honest.’ She paused. ‘Let me see.’

  ‘No point,’ he said. ‘His profile picture is a maple leaf. There’s nothing to see from my profile. You’ve loved his comment.’

  ‘Have I? Well you know me, I “love” everyone’s comments.’ She took several gulps of wine. ‘You’re not jealous are you?’ she added with a half-laugh.

  ‘Of course not.’ He looked horrified. ‘If I was jealous, I wouldn’t let you go to that reunion.’

  ‘Let me?’ Her eyes widened with a mixture of playfulness and annoyance.

  ‘Oh come on, you know what I mean. I’m just saying I’m not jealous. I trust you.’

  She thought for a moment, not meeting his eyes. ‘Actually, I’m pretty sure Andy was one of a group of oldies at a hotel I was staying at. They knew how to have fun and joined me in. Made a fuss of me because I was young and on my own. That’s all.’

  ‘So Andy’s a fun-loving OAP?’

  She laughed, scooping her hair behind her ears. ‘Yep, something like that. They’re the best kind.’

  She smiled and sat down next to him, opening her laptop and keying in a website address she’d found ear
lier for a lodge in Sweden.

  ‘Where’s that? It looks beautiful,’ he said, looking over at the snowy scene.

  ‘Abisko,’ she said. ‘It’s in the Arctic Circle.’

  ‘Bloody cold then.’

  ‘Yes, well at the moment it is. I was thinking of going. It will be so peaceful, less than a hundred people live there. I thought it might be a great place to include in my book.’ She clicked through some pictures on the site. ‘It’s a fascinating place. For three months in the summer the sun never goes down, and in winter it doesn’t come up.’

  ‘You want to go somewhere where it’s dark all the time?’ He looked bewildered.

  She smiled. ‘There’s about five hours of daylight at the moment, which will be plenty to take lots of photos,’ she said. ‘It’s not until December and January that the sun doesn’t come up.’ She paused, searching his face, unsure if he minded her going. ‘I don’t have to go. I have just been away.’

  ‘When were you thinking of taking off?’

  ‘Well, I’d like to try and finish my book by the end of the year, and Scandinavia would be the perfect final chapter, don’t you think?’

  ‘It would, yes.’ His tone was even.

  ‘I was thinking maybe the second week in November. Perhaps you could come with me.’ But her words were empty, and she felt mean even saying them. She knew he couldn’t get time off work at short notice.

  He shrugged and shook his head. ‘I can try to get it off, but I doubt I will,’ he said, confirming her thoughts. ‘Plus the cold freaks me out.’ He broke into a smile. ‘There’s my recurring freezer dream to consider.’

  She smiled too, but knew there was more to it than that. He’d told her how as a six-year-old he’d climbed into the chest freezer to get an iced lolly, and the lid had fallen down on him and locked.

  ‘Mum had fallen asleep,’ he’d told Isla a while back. ‘Pissed, I realised later. I was always left to my own devices. If Dad hadn’t come back, I’d have died.’ The trauma had stayed with him. He hated the cold.

  ‘Did you know that it only takes seventy seconds to freeze your little finger,’ he said, holding his finger close to his face. ‘Must depend on the size of your finger, I guess.’