Lies Between Us

by Ronnie Turner

  ‘Have the police found who did this yet?’ He guides her to the chair and sits down beside her, their fingers refusing to part.

  ‘No, no, I don’t think they will either. Every time I walk out the door, I feel like I’m being watched. It’s horrible.’ She shakes her head, and Maisie feels the first tendrils of dread spiral round the room. Does the man know what she’s hiding? Does Watson?

  ‘Do they have any leads? Do they have any suspects?’

  ‘No. There was no CCTV where he was attacked. No witnesses. Nothing.’

  ‘I hope they catch him.’ He nods, slumping into his chair. ‘Congratulations by the way. Is this little one your first?’ He grins at Heidi’s bump, and Maisie notices the swift change in subject.

  ‘No, our second. We have a little girl at home. What about you? Any children?’

  ‘I have three. William, Dolly and Jess. Complete monsters but I couldn’t live without them. My wife and I spoil them rotten.’ He laughs, pulling a wallet from his pocket and offering her a picture folded in two, proudly pointing out his children.

  ‘Oh, they’re gorgeous. We’ll have to get them together sometime.’

  He nods. ‘I think they’d love that.’ A pause. ‘How are you doing?’

  Heidi smiles sadly, her fingers twitching against the fabric of her handbag. ‘We’re… we’re doing OK. As well as can be expected, I suppose. It’s… it’s a lot to take in.’

  ‘I bet. If there’s anything I can do, let me know. I can’t even imagine how you must feel right now.’

  Heidi catches his eye and something passes between them. He wraps his arms around her and she tucks her hand into his shoulder. Maisie leaves the room as Heidi quietly begins to cry.

  Chapter 34

  Miller

  Tuesday 25 September, 1990

  Tufts of hair float to the floor, forming a circle round the chair. You stare intently at the Etch A Sketch, towel draped round your shoulders as your mother gives you a trim. I like it long on you, the way you push it out of your eyes and blow it away with your lips, but no matter. ‘Look, Mum. It’s an elephant!’ You proffer your creation for her examination. She nods and smiles. ‘Well done, John! Very good.’

  I struggle with her lack of enthusiasm; it makes my skin crawl, as if thousands of ants are marching across me. Doesn’t she see how hard you worked on that? Doesn’t she see how proud you are of it? All she can manage is a ‘well done’. If you were to show me, I’d shower you in praise, make you feel special. I’d give you more love than you could possibly know what to do with. I’d give you everything.

  You erase the drawing and start again, fidgeting on the chair. You are too skinny, that is why your bum hurts. You need to eat more. More veg, John, I want to say.

  I glance at the tufts of hair on the floor, my muscles bunching up in a yearning to scoop it up in my fingers. Your mother trims the last section, smiling. ‘There you go, sweetheart. All done!’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’ You jump off the chair and wipe up the hair. When you’re finished, you grin at me and walk into the lounge. ‘Mum might do yours too if you want?’

  ‘Nah, I think I want to keep mine long.’

  You shrug. I glance over at your mother, grit my teeth, curl my toes. If she came anywhere near me after what she just said, I know I’d want to stick the scissors in her hand. Sweetheart. She has the nerve to call you that after how she just reacted.

  Chubby is sitting in front of your TV, munching on a bowl of crisps, Bessie beside him. Sleeping bags are laid across the floor, a pile of books, games, cards, comics scattered across them. You sit behind Bessie and pull her onto your lap; she curls up and rests her head across your chest, sucking her thumb. I sit beside you, smiling at her. You notice and look pleased.

  ‘OK, Bess, come on. It’s bedtime.’ Your mother gathers her up and carries her from the room. You shout a goodnight, then roll across the duvets, laughing. ‘What shall we do first? Play a game? Read?’

  ‘A game! A game!’ says Chubby. My dad got me a new one yesterday. Do you want to play that? I brought it with me.’

  ‘Oh, yeah! Let’s do that! What’s it called?’

  Chubby drags his rucksack over and withdraws it, lovingly, delicately, as if it can be broken with a single touch. ‘It’s called Buckaroo!’

  While we play, I see what a difference the smile I directed at Bessie has made. You lean over to me, your shoulder brushing my leg, your head swivelling when I laugh. You like that I am making an effort with your little sister. I’ll make lots more if it makes you happy.

  You are turned away from me, snoring quietly, foot pressing against mine through the duvet. I am in the middle, separating you from Chubby, head propped up on my hand. I can’t sleep, not when this is one of the best nights of my life. I study the back of your head, marvelling at its perfection, imagining the cogs turning over and over. This is the closest I have been for the longest time. A shiver goes down my back as I think how I could reach out and touch your head. I could touch you and not have to worry that I will destroy my ‘act’. I have given you this boy, your neighbour, and now I have to stick to it. I cannot afford any slip-ups.

  My fingers quiver as I run them across your downy hair. So soft, like a baby. I lean forward and press my nose against your head, breathing in the scent of you, holding my breath so I can lock it in my lungs. I wonder if you can feel me, if reality is converging with where you are and who you are within your dream. If perhaps now you are talking to me, playing rock-paper-scissors with me. You so love that game. It is one of your favourites.

  You turn over and tuck your left hand under your cheek, right hand swinging across my waist. I wonder if you now think I am Bessie or your mother and in a moment you will nestle into me. I hope so. I’ll be ready. I study your features, thinking you are not only special on the inside, you are on the outside too. I brush your fringe out of your eyes and caress your cheek.

  My beautiful baby boy.

  Sleeping, dreaming. My waist burns with heat. I pull your hand to my lips and kiss it, running the nails over my chin, closing my eyes, savouring this moment. Confident you won’t wake up, I push your thumb into my mouth, pretending I am Bessie and that you love me with all your heart. I am your little sister and you are my big brother.

  Family.

  You mumble something in your sleep, brows knitting together. I release your hand and kiss your nose. I would kiss you all over if I could.

  I know you don’t love me as much as you do Bessie. But one day you will. One day, I will matter more to you than your mother, your father, Chubby, everyone. You were wary when I moved next door; I was a stranger from a strange town invading your close-knit community. But now I am growing into something else. I am becoming a friend. A close friend. I’m cementing a future.

  Our future.

  Together.

  Chapter 35

  John

  Wednesday 16 December, 2015

  You once told Bonnie that a fairy visited her in the night and touched her shoulder. I think you’re right, John. Her birthmark is the shape of fairy’s hand.

  Just.

  Like.

  Tinker Bell’s.

  He turns the photograph over and stares at the cleft in his daughter’s shoulder. Jules gasps, hand reaching for her mouth. Alice, flanked by two other detectives, stands in front of them. All of their expressions are hard, professional. John’s hand shakes.

  ‘Who… who was this sent to?’

  ‘Me.’ Alice catches his eye, and he thinks he can see the outline of fear across her face. ‘My daughter found it on our doormat this morning.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ Jules looks from him to Alice, panicked. ‘They know where you live?’

  ‘Yes. We must assume we’re being watched constantly. The investigation will proceed as normal. We’ve examined the photo and envelope for prints and DNA but there was nothing to find.’

  John gestures to Alice and walks into the lounge. She follows him, her layer of professiona
lism cracking. She throws a glance at her colleagues, then says, ‘I’ve sent Rosie to stay with my brother in France until we find this creep. God, I was so scared.’

  ‘How is Rosie? Did she know what it was?’

  ‘No. Just thought it was a prank. This is getting worse and worse. It means whoever’s doing this is gathering momentum, trying to make us feel trapped. Make us wonder who will be next.’

  ‘No new leads? There must be something we can do, Alice? He wants me – wants to hurt me – and he’s using Bonnie to do it. Can’t we use me as, I don’t know, bait or something?’

  She shakes her head. ‘No. This isn’t some crime drama, John. You’re probably the only reason Bonnie is still alive. Think about it: they’ll just keep on sending these photographs to try and get under your skin. If they didn’t have you, Bonnie would already be dead. They’d have no reason to keep her.’

  John cringes, the image of Bonnie’s mutilated shoulder filling his mind. ‘How do they know about the fairy? It was just Bonnie and I in her bedroom. Unless they were standing outside the door, but that’s impossible. How could they know? Did they force Bonnie to tell them?’

  ‘I don’t know, John. I just don’t know. We’ve asked my neighbours if they saw anyone suspicious-looking. If they saw someone come to my door between nine and ten this morning – nothing. No one saw anyone. No CCTV footage either.’

  ‘If I’m right, Alice, if they are just drawing this thing out for as long as possible, how long do we have before he or she kills her?’

  She sighs, shrugs, defeated. ‘I haven’t a clue. Not long, I’d guess.’

  ‘And how long until these photographs get boring? They’re clever; they’re going to tire of it eventually.’

  Alice’s mobile buzzes in her pocket. She pulls it out and holds it to her ear. After a few moments, she sighs, a look of relief settling across her face. ‘That was Rosie. She’s OK. She’s with my brother at the airport.’

  ‘What makes you think she’ll be safe there?’

  ‘I don’t think this creep wants to leave the country. They want to be close to you, John.’

  ‘I wonder if they’ll repeat themselves. They’ve sent photos to my parents, us, you, Don. Who else is there?’

  ‘Friends?’

  ‘Just Don. Jules is friends with Alison. She’s an employee at the gallery but that’s it mainly.’

  ‘I’ll get in touch with Alison. Get some uniforms over to her house. Anyone else?’

  ‘No.’

  She nods, squeezes his hand. ‘I’ll be in touch soon.’

  Once they leave, he sits beside Jules and replays their conversation. She leans into him, head burrowing into his chest, eyes flicking up at the windows. He knows what she is thinking. Are they being watched now? Is this person outside, looking in on them? Or in the house maybe? He’d thought he was alone when he told Bonnie about the fairy. He counts using his fingers. Four photographs. Four messages. How many more before they begin to receive pictures of Bonnie’s dead body?

  Chapter 36

  Maisie

  Monday 25 January, 2016

  She holds the fabric to her nose, inhaling the smell of blood. Old blood. The tunic is soft against her skin, and she can remember putting it on that morning, smiling at her reflection in the mirror, thinking she looked good despite being enormous. A beached whale but a well-dressed one. A world far removed from the one she inhabits now.

  The guest bedroom was going to be the nursery. While she was pregnant, she and Ben decorated it with a fervour she hadn’t known they possessed. They papered the walls, hung frames and garlands. Dotted about bags of lavender because she read it was soothing. She even bought a fluffy blue rug because she remembered loving things like that when she was young. The room was ready, a representation of their excitement and enthusiasm for the beginning of a new life with Billy. Something that reflected the hours they spent reading baby books, the countless times Ben massaged her feet and shoulders, the times he ran to the twenty-four-hour shop and bought her mini gherkins, the times she spent daydreaming, planning their lives, thinking how she would make birthdays and Christmases magical for Billy. The room was everything they planned and hoped for… then it was folded up and left to the dust.

  She smiles at the toy she’d positioned in the cot. It was Ben’s as a child. Toodles, it was called. She’d hoped Billy would love it as much as Ben. She runs her finger across its oversized ears, thinking back to yesterday evening and Ben sitting her down and explaining how hurt he was, how she shouldn’t have kept it from him and how, despite what she thought, Billy’s death was not her fault. It was then she realised they would be all right. They would restart, replenish their relationship, remembering their Billy with happiness.

  It took a few hours but gradually she began to see it wasn’t all her fault. Perhaps it was just a twist of fate, an accident. Perhaps she didn’t kill their child. Perhaps now she can move on.

  They can’t have any more children in the future, of course. The life she and Ben want is an impossibility. In theory she shouldn’t have been able to have Billy. He was their miracle. She doubts miracles happen more than once.

  She’d picked up an infection after Billy’s death and learnt she had PCOS. A syndrome that prevented her ovulating. The doctor told them it was hereditary and that, although there was no cure, surgery increased the chances of pregnancy. They could have had the treatment but at the time Billy’s death was still too raw.

  Maisie opens the wardrobe and pulls out a box brimming with photographs. Most are of her and Ben during the pregnancy but a few are of the nursery, documenting the different phases of its redecoration. She pushes her hand in and pulls out three. In one she is standing in front of the fridge, spooning a gherkin out of the jar with her fingers, a look of surprise on her face. The next is of Ben sitting on the sofa, head back, mouth open, snoring, a baby book in his hands. The final one is of them together, dancing round the lounge, laughing. She smiles, holding it close to her eyes. She can just see a slight bump underneath her jumper. Billy had been dancing with them.

  Maisie heaves the box out of the wardrobe, carrying it into the lounge. She goes back and forth, transporting parts of the past back into their lives. And when she is finished, she leaves the door of the nursery wide open.

  Chapter 37

  Miller

  Tuesday 3 March, 1992

  I rub my hand across your back, smearing the sun cream onto your skin, careful not to miss a single inch. When I am finished, I squirt more into the palm of my hand and add another layer. Our neighbours make the most of this early heatwave with water fights, glasses of pina colada and newly bought shorts and skirts.

  ‘Sorry to ask, but I can’t reach back there.’ You smile sheepishly, and I want to snap a picture and hang it on my wall.

  ‘It’s OK. I don’t mind. Can you do mine too? Mum would but I think she’s making lunch.’

  ‘Sure.’ You take the sun cream and smother it over my shoulders. You are gentle but firm, and you have no idea how much pleasure I garner from that touch. I close my eyes and sigh, my muscles relaxing. I could sit here like this all day, the sun shining on my face, the smell of raw eggs filling the air as Chubby tries to fry one on the pavement even though we’ve told him it’s not that hot, your sweet breath blowing into my face. A small slice of paradise.

  ‘Hey, guys! I think it’s working!’ Chubby excitedly hops on one leg.

  You drop the bottle of sun cream in my lap and run over to him, hair flopping over your eyes. In the two years it’s been since your mother cut it, it has grown down to your chin. I like it like this; I like that if I am walking behind you and a breeze blows it back, I will feel it. I like it when we have our sleepovers and I run my fingers through it. I cut some of it once, you know. A bit at the back so you didn’t notice. I keep it in my pillow so I can smell you at night. Our houses are within jumping distance but even that seems too far sometimes.

  ‘No, it’s not!’ you say, laughing, p
ointing. ‘It’s still runny! Look, Chubs. It hasn’t even cooked round the edges.’

  ‘Oh. Daisy Williams said it worked for her.’

  ‘I think Daisy might have told a lie.’ I smile down at the egg, patting Chubby on the back.

  You nod. ‘Yeah. Don’t worry, though, Chubs. I’ll go and get something to clean it up with.’ You rush into your house, helpful as always.

  Chubby sinks to the ground, legs crossed, cheeks squashed by his hands. ‘I really thought it would work.’

  I grit my teeth, stopper the words I’ve been wanting to scream at him all day. ‘Never mind, old chap.’ He smiles at me.

  ‘Guess what? Mum’s made us some ice lollies.’ You run up to us, tissues clutched in your hand. I want to tell you to let Chubby clean it up himself but I know you want to help, want to make him feel better about his failed experiment.

  ‘There we go! All done!’ I smile as you wipe up the egg, wondering if you realise you are talking like your mother. You lead the way to the kitchen, Chubby second in the line and me at the rear. I can sense it coming even before he begins to sing. ‘Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it’s off to work we go.’ Chubby whistles the tune from the Disney movie, skipping along. It makes you laugh, and so of course I laugh too.

  ‘Hey, gang. Ready for something nice and cool?’ Your mother smiles, offering us ice lollies, ruffling your hair. I very nearly reach out and straighten it back down. Chubby takes two, greedily.

  The phone rings, and your mother runs into the lounge. ‘Hello? Hi, Gail! How are you? I know, it’s stifling. I made the boys some ice lollies. Yeah. Of course. What have you called to say? You can’t remember. Oh, good. She said what? Well, I hope you told her. Good for you. OK. Yes, I’ll pop over later. Bye.’

  She is frowning when she returns, mouth pursed, brows furrowed. ‘Honestly, boys. People these days. Do you know what Gail just told me?’ She looks at us, flopping in our seats, then shakes her head and laughs. ‘Oh, never mind! You three look like you’re about to melt. Come on.’ She herds us into the lounge and sits us in front of the fan, where we take turns making Bessie laugh. Chubby tells the best jokes, pulling faces and making silly noises, and for a moment I am angry enough to swing the fan into his face because you are looking at him like you looked at me that night. Lovingly.