Isla picked up the bottle of red wine, which she’d almost drunk alone, and drained it into her glass. She picked up the glass and peered around the table, looking at her family’s faces in turn, her skull prickling.
‘I told Julian you thought you saw someone, Isla,’ Millie said, chewing her lip, and glancing at her husband. ‘I hope that’s OK.’
Jack turned, meeting Isla’s eye. ‘Saw someone?’
‘Isla?’ her mum said. ‘What’s this about?’
‘She thought she saw someone staring up at your apartment window, Jack,’ Millie went on. ‘Didn’t you, Isla?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Jack’s eyes fixed on Isla, who took a gulp of wine, and glared at her sister. Why were they bringing it up? Isla’s fingers tensed around the stem of the glass. ‘It wasn’t Carl Jeffery,’ she blurted.
‘Whoever said it was, Isla?’ Julian chirped in, searching her face as though looking for cracks.
‘It was nobody,’ she said, her voice small. ‘I made a mistake, that’s all.’ There was a snap as the stem broke, cutting her hand. ‘Oh God,’ she said, gripping her hand, as the glass crashed onto the table, and wine splattered the tablecloth like blood at a crime scene.
‘Oh my goodness.’ Sally grabbed her daughter’s hand, and pressed a napkin against the cut, absorbing the blood.
‘I’m fine.’ Isla pulled away, and tucked the napkin round her hand. ‘It’s only a flesh wound.’
‘Larry’s thrown up in your slippers, Gran,’ Abigail said. She eyed the fluffy, pink mules, bending to inspect them. ‘I can see peas, and I don’t think he liked the nut-loaf I gave him.’ She sat up straight again, eyes on her plate, and with an outstretched finger she prodded the three slices of nut-loaf laid out parallel. ‘I’m not sure I do either, actually. Can I have some turkey please?’
‘But you’re a vegan now, Abigail,’ Millie said. ‘Remember?’
‘I don’t want to be a vegan.’
Sally jumped up, grabbed the slippers and the broken glass, and took them into the kitchen. The puppy trotted after her, wagging his tail. There was a clatter, as it sounded like it all ended up in the bin.
Abigail pushed her plate away, and began rearranging her dinosaurs across the table, avoiding the splashes of wine. ‘I like dinosaurs,’ she said.
Back in her chair, Sally took a deep breath and, seeming to metaphorically brush the last few minutes under the carpet and out of sight, said, ‘I’m guessing there’ll be lots to think about with the wedding.’
Isla nodded, still clutching the napkin. ‘Yes, these things take a lot of planning,’ she said, her voice quiet, as she tried to get her befuddled head in order. ‘Could be quite a while, so don’t go buying your hat yet.’ She looked at Jack, who didn’t catch her eye. ‘I’ve heard decent venues get booked up ages in advance, and then there’ll be a band or a disco or something, the flowers, the cake.’ She was rambling, overcompensating, the thought of a big wedding sending shockwaves through her body. ‘Or we could have a quiet ceremony, just a handful of guests, perhaps.’
‘Don’t you dare deprive me of a decent wedding,’ Sally said, and Isla glanced at Millie, who smiled and shrugged. Isla had only been thirteen at the time, but she knew her sister’s wedding had been rushed, done on the cheap.
‘I want all the family to be there,’ Sally went on. ‘And I want to put lots of fancy photographs on Facebook.’
Isla bit down the urge to say, But you don’t like Facebook. ‘We’ll need to give it some thought,’ she said instead, trying to catch Jack’s attention, but when he didn’t notice, her gaze drifted to her dad who smiled and winked at her.
‘I hope you won’t make me wear anything too fancy-pants,’ he said. He’d been brought up in the East End of London, and had never lost his cockney accent.
‘You’ll wear what you’re told to wear, Gary,’ Sally said, spooning far too much cranberry jelly over her turkey. ‘Isla will be in charge. And you, Jack, of course.’
‘Well as long as we can have superhero table centres, I’ll be happy,’ he said with the briefest hint of a smile.
‘What?’ Sally’s eyes widened.
‘He’s joking, Mum,’ Isla said.
‘Am I?’ Jack picked up one of Abigail’s dinosaurs and whizzed it through the air. ‘Is it a bird? Is it a plane?’
Abigail giggled. ‘No, Jack. It’s a triceratops.’ She reached across the table and took back the plastic model.
‘So, Isla, I hear you’re off to Sweden,’ Julian said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
He was the last person she wanted to talk to about it. She glanced at her sister, knowing she had to keep the peace. ‘Yes, I’ve booked a trip to Abisko.’
‘Yes, I saw your Facebook update. Although you put so many on there, it’s hard to keep up. It will be jolly freezing over there,’ he said, his shoulders hunching. ‘The cold will get into your bones. You’d better stock up on thermal underwear.’
Millie glared at him.
‘Are you going with her this time, Jack?’ Sally asked, hope in her voice. ‘Protect her from those wild Scandinavian bears?’
‘Jack’s not coming, Mum,’ Isla said. ‘And before you say anything, I was fine on my own in Canada. You must stop worrying about me.’ Isla’s urge to jump up and throw open the French doors, to let some fresh air in, was overwhelming.
‘You will be here for my party, won’t you, Isla?’ Millie asked, chewing as she spoke.
Julian rolled his eyes at her. ‘Swallow before you talk, Millie. You look like a camel.’ He gave a derisive snort.
‘You won’t make me wear a ruddy top hat and tails, will you, Isla?’ Her dad was talking through a mouth full of mashed swede, his eyes on Julian as though deliberately making a point, always fiercely protective of his daughters.
‘Christ’s sake, so many questions.’ Isla put down her knife and fork, her head and hand throbbing. But it wasn’t the questions. It was Carl Jeffery filling her head. His thick dark hair, the rugged good looks that belied who he really was, and the way he’d dressed that day: the green beanie hat, the scarf wrapped around his face, despite the scalding temperatures in Australia.
‘Eat up.’ Sally wiggled her knife at Isla’s half-eaten dinner. ‘I’ve gone to a lot of trouble.’
‘Carrots make your hair white and your teeth curly,’ Gary said, clearly trying to lighten the moment.
‘You can’t have curly teeth, Granddad,’ Abigail said. ‘That’s just silly.’
‘I will eat it, Mum. It’s lovely.’ Isla sighed. ‘And in answer to your questions: Yes, Millie, of course I’ll be at your party. It’s the Saturday before I leave.’ She picked up her cutlery once more, and jabbed a parsnip with her fork. ‘And you can wear what you like at the wedding, Dad,’ she added, pushing the parsnip into her mouth, and wondering how soon she could leave.
***
Jack was quiet. In fact, he hadn’t spoken since her parents waved them goodbye from their drive, Sally on tiptoe, hand stretched towards the sky, until they’d turned the corner at the end of their road.
‘You OK?’ Isla said, finally. ‘Did you have a good time?’
‘I always enjoy your mum’s roasts,’ he said, his tone flat.
‘That’s not what I asked.’
‘Julian’s a dick.’
She smiled. ‘Yeah, well we all know that. God knows how Millie puts up with him.’
‘Because she’s a saint?’
‘Or stupid.’ She stared across at Jack, but his eyes stayed fully focused on the road ahead. ‘Are you OK?’ she said again, when they were almost home.
‘I don’t know, Isla. I feel a bit numb to be honest.’ He paused. ‘You didn’t tell me you thought you saw someone.’
‘It was nothing, Jack. Honestly.’
‘And not only that, I could see how awkward you were over dinner talking about the wedding. I’m beginning to wonder why you said yes.’
‘Don’t be silly, Jack.’
‘But you didn’t talk about it last night either.’
‘Don’t do this, please.’
‘What?’
‘You’re pushing me, Jack. I said yes, didn’t I? Just give me time.’
He pulled up with a squeal of tyres, parking haphazardly outside their apartment block, and tugged on the handbrake. ‘Pushing you?’ He paused. ‘Jeez, Isla, I only asked you to fucking marry me. If you don’t want to, put me out of my misery, like an injured dog.’ A tear zigzagged down his cheek, and he dashed it away.
‘Jack, you know I love you,’ she said, taking his hand, but somehow it came across patronising.
‘Do you? Do you really?’ He didn’t sound convinced.
‘Yes. It’s just my head’s a mess at the moment. I can’t seem to think straight any more.’
‘Why not? What’s the problem, Isla? You seem preoccupied since you came back from Canada.’
‘It’s just the book.’ She bit down on her lip. ‘I just want to finish it, that’s all. I just need some time and space before we start making plans.’
‘You’ve just been to bloody Canada for a month. How much time and space do you need, for fuck’s sake?’
‘I’m so sorry, Jack.’ She squeezed his hand, and then added softly, ‘When I come back from Sweden, we’ll sort it all out.’
‘The wedding?’
‘Everything,’ she said, leaning over and kissing his cheek, but he pulled away
Chapter 17
Monday, 31 October
Email:
From: SARA Pembroke [email protected]
To: ISLA Johnson [email protected]
Hi Isla
How are you? I just wanted to whiz over an email to say what a fantastic evening I had with you on Friday. It’s a shame the others didn’t turn up, although definitely their loss. We really must get together again some time, if you could bear it. I’ve sent you a friend request on Facebook, as I’d love to see the photo you took of us together. Hope you add me soon.
Looking forward to hearing from you.
Lots of love
Sara xxx
Isla threw her phone into her bag without responding, grabbed her parka, and rushed from her apartment into the beginnings of a rain shower. Needing to get her head out of her writing and do some shopping, she dived into her car and turned the key in the ignition. The engine whirred pathetically.
‘No,’ she cried, banging the steering wheel three times. ‘Please start.’ She tried the key again, but it gave out the same pitiful response.
She sighed. She’d get drenched if she looked under the bonnet, and her AA cover had lapsed months ago. She tried the key a third time. It continued to whir, so she got out, slammed the door, and kicked a tyre for good measure. Would another takeaway be so bad? And maybe she could grab some milk from the local shop. She fought down the desire to go back inside, pulled up her hood against the now hammering rain, and headed down the road towards the bus stop.
As she walked, she typed a text to Jack saying how sorry she was for the night before. They’d gone to bed in silence, and when she got up he was gone. She’d hoped their argument would be forgotten. Jack rarely hung on to their disagreements. Not that they’d had that many. But then they’d never rowed about anything quite so serious before.
Oh, and you’ll never guess, my bloody car battery is flat, she added with a row of kisses, as a car pulled up beside her, and the window slid down.
‘Isla.’
She glanced up from her mobile, and turned to see Julian leaning across the passenger seat of his Mondeo. ‘Hop in,’ he said, with a smile. ‘You’re getting drenched. I’ll give you a lift. Where are you heading?’
Isla shook her head. ‘It’s fine. I’ll catch the bus,’ she said, heading onwards. She didn’t want to be indebted to him, even for something as small as lift.
Julian drove his car in time with her footfalls. ‘It’s no trouble,’ he called. ‘Get in. It’s pouring down out there.’
Isla eased to a stop, and Julian braked. She was getting soaked on the puddling pavement, and the rain spilling down her collar made her shudder. The thought of cramming on the number twelve with a huddle of wet bodies was far from appealing.
He flung the door open, and Isla bent and peered into the car. She swallowed hard, before climbing in and fastening the seatbelt. She glanced at Julian. His complexion was waxy, and there were a few broken blood vessels around his nose she’d never noticed before. But then she’d never really looked at him. Not close up.
‘So where are you off to?’ he said, sounding chirpy as he put the car into gear, and looked in the wing mirror at the stream of oncoming traffic.
‘Just the supermarket,’ she said, tucking her damp hair behind her ears.
He indicated and pulled into the slow flow of traffic when another car flashed him, and Isla realised this was the first time she’d been alone with him. She’d been twelve when her sister started going out with him. He’d looked different back then. Still small and thin, but his hair had been thicker, gelled into frosted peaks, and he hadn’t worn glasses. He used to tweak her cheek. Tease her about boys. But she hadn’t minded that – not really. What she’d minded then, and still did, was how he treated Millie. The way he hammered down how incapable her sister was, destroying her confidence.
‘They say it will clear up later,’ he said, speeding up the windscreen wipers so they clonked rhythmically, killing raindrops.
‘Let’s hope so.’ She didn’t want to talk, but felt she had to. ‘So, have you got a day off work?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘I’m on my way into town to pick up a new train.’ He smiled. ‘Flying Scotsman. A1 Class.’
He pulled up at a red light, and she turned away. Through the window a mother dragged a crying boy wearing a duffel coat, a Batman rucksack on his back, through the relentless rain. They were drenched, and the mother’s face was red with … what was that? Anger? Her mind drifted to Jack. He hadn’t spoken to his mother since he got back from Dorset, as far as she knew.
The lights turned green, and Julian released the handbrake and stepped on the throttle once more.
‘Millie’s worried about you, Isla,’ he said.
‘Well she shouldn’t be. I’m totally fine.’
‘But you thought you saw Carl Jeffery. Why would you think that?’
‘No, no I didn’t think that, Julian. It was nothing.’
A heavy silence filled the car. The heating was on way too high, and the smell of air freshener was making her feel woozy.
‘I remember you when you were in your teens,’ Julian said, his way of talking making him sound older than he was. ‘You were such a spunky young thing.’
‘Was I?’ She’d never thought of herself as spunky. In fact, it was an awful choice of word, and the mere sound of it made her shudder.
‘Do you remember that day, you must have been about sixteen, when you told me to … now what were your exact words?’ He paused, staring her way for a few moments too long. ‘Stop fucking with my sister’s head.’
‘I don’t remember that,’ she said, but she did. And she remembered too how cross Millie had been. Don’t interfere, Isla. This is my life.
‘But that killer took it all away, didn’t he?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Carl Jeffery stole your spunk.’ He turned away, eyes back on the road.
‘I suppose so, for a time anyway.’ She sighed. ‘Listen, Julian, can we talk about something else? I’ve put all that crap behind me now.’
‘Have you? You seemed pretty jittery at your mum’s. How is your hand, by the way?’
‘Look out!’ she cried, and Julian slammed on the brakes, just missing a woman who’d stepped onto a zebra crossing. The woman raised her middle finger, and carried on walking.
‘I think I’ll walk from here. It’s not far.’ She opened the door before he could start moving again. ‘Thanks for the lift.’ She got out, and hurried away
through the rain.
His window whirred down. ‘Isla, I was only trying to help. Millie’s worried about you,’ he called. But Isla’s walk had turned into a run.
She was soaked by the time she reached the supermarket. And the sight of staff dressed up in Halloween costumes only added to her unease. She headed for the café, and ordered a large coffee.
Once at the table, she tried to push thoughts of Julian from her mind, and pulled out her phone. She’d seen Sara’s friend request the day before, but had been reluctant to add her. But now that Sara had emailed, she felt she had no choice but to accept. After all, Sara had seemed friendly in Cambridge, even spilled her heart out about her parents. There had been a sadness about her. Maybe she needed a friend.
She bit down hard on her lip before accepting it, noticing a message from Trevor. She hovered her finger over the delete button. He’d acted so odd – not coming to the reunion. But the temptation to read it was too much. She opened the message.
Hi Isla,
I loved you at university, and I keep going over and over how you let me down back then. I’ve never forgotten that. Never really got over it. Never really got over you. On the train that day everything came flooding back, and I know you’re engaged – I understand that you’re with Jack – but if you could just meet me, talk to me. I know from your Facebook update you’re heading for Sweden soon, but we could perhaps meet before that. Just let me know when you are free. I hope you are OK, and managing to deal with the appeal – I know how much it was worrying you.
Love you always, Trevor xxx
‘Jesus,’ she whispered and, with a shaky hand and barely a moment’s thought, she clicked her way into her settings and blocked his Facebook profile. What the hell was he thinking? Why was he behaving so weirdly?
Oh God, had blocking him been an over-reaction?
She sat for some time sipping her drink and pinging the band on her wrist, her mind eventually drifting to Ben Martin. Although she knew she should forget the reunion, he still nudged at her. She searched for him on Facebook. There were several Ben Martins, and she found the profile picture of him that she’d seen on the event invitation. His friends list wasn’t visible, like before, and there was no way of sending him a private message. If she wanted to get in touch she would have to send him a friend request. She hovered her finger over the symbol, before pressing it.
Her Last Lie Page 9