‘I’d rather stand.’
‘Okay.’ He raises his hands in surrender. ‘Just feels a bit weird, standing in the middle of the room like this.’ He gives another nervous laugh.
My face remains stony, the muscles in my jaw tense and stiff. ‘Did it feel weird when you were propositioning my sister?’
Joe’s face drains of colour. He splutters. ‘What! What the hell are you talking about? I never propositioned Emma. Is this why you’re acting so weird? Has she been spouting off more lies about me? What’s she said this time?’
‘She said she never tried to kiss you. She said it was you who came on to her.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Lizzy. Not this again. We’ve been over it all before, years ago. I thought we’d put all this crap behind us. What? You’re telling me you believe her lies now, that it, hm?’
‘Save it, Joe. I know the truth. Emma has no reason to lie to me. We don’t even have a relationship any more, thanks to you.’
‘This is bollocks. I’m going out.’
‘Yeah, well if you leave now, don’t bother coming back.’
He strides over to the lounge door and then stops. His body sags. He turns. ‘I can’t go over it all again, Lizzy. Your sister, she’s a liar. She’s a flirt.’
‘What, a flirt like me, you mean?’
He tuts. ‘Don’t be daft.’
‘You called me a flirt the other day.’
‘Yeah, but I was wrong. I was angry.’
‘Joe,’ I say, my voice calmer. ‘Can you do me a favour?’
‘Anything.’ His eyes widen. He’s the picture of blue-eyed innocence.
I fix him with a stare. ‘Can you please just tell me the truth about what happened that night? Did you try it on with Emma? Just a simple yes or no. Tell me the truth and I promise I won’t get mad.’ That last part is a promise I may not be able to keep.
Joe takes a breath and chews his lip. I see his brain working behind his eyes. Weighing it up. His hesitation is enough to tell me that Emma’s version of events is the real one.
I shake my head. ‘Fuck, Joe. Why?’
He freezes, and then: ‘Look, Lizzy, it’s the only time I’ve ever done anything like that. I was drunk. I’m an idiot. I… I don’t know what I was thinking. But I love you, Lizzy. I can’t lose you over something that happened years ago. Over something that meant nothing.’
The thing that keeps playing over and over in my mind is when Emma told me that Joe thought she was prettier than me. That Joe would drop me for her if she gave him the word. Was that true? Would he have let me go if she had crooked her finger? I can’t bring myself to ask him. It’s too demeaning, too humiliating. But it makes no difference anyway, because after his betrayal and his lies, this is the end of our relationship. How could I ever trust Joe again? Nausea rises from my gut, the acrid, taste of betrayal in my throat. I can hardly bear to look at my so-called boyfriend.
‘Why don’t you ask Brycie if he has room on his couch,’ I say. ‘Because you’re not staying here.’
‘Lizzy, please.’ His eyes are bright with tears. ‘I get that you’re angry, but we need to talk about this properly.’
All this time I was worrying about Joe’s jealousy. About the fact that he didn’t trust me. But it should have been me worrying about him. ‘How many other women have you chatted up while we’ve been together?’ I ask. ‘How many times have you LIED TO ME?’
‘None! Nobody! I swear, Lizzy. I love you, I love you.’
‘She’s my sister! All those years… you let me believe that she’d betrayed me, when it was YOU!’ I pick up a cushion and throw it at his head. Good job there aren’t any rocks lying around, or I’d smash his cheating head in. ‘Would you ever have told me the truth?’ I pant. ‘You’re a total and utter bastard for lying to me. For putting me and Emma through all that crap!’ I collapse onto the sofa. Joe takes a tentative step towards me. But I glare at him, daring him to come any closer. He stays where he is, by the window. The TV is still frozen on the yelling man. He looks like I feel.
‘Lizzy, I’m so, so sorry. I made a terrible mistake. Please don’t punish me for one mistake.’
‘One mistake?’ I snarl. ‘One mistake!’
‘It’s because I love you. I didn’t want to lose you. I’d do anything to keep you, you must know that.’
Now that Joe has confessed to trying it on with Emma, now I know for certain that my sister is innocent, I realise it can’t be her who sent the letters. She doesn’t want to split Joe and I up. She never did. Was Joe the one behind it all along? What if he was trying to set me up somehow? Or to make me believe it was her? My brain is spinning. All I know is that I can’t trust him. I need him gone.
‘You need to leave,’ I say, my anger mixing with a swirl of darker thoughts.
‘Please, Lizzy.’
‘Now. Just get your things and get out.’ I pick up the remote and switch off the TV. But the actor’s glaring face is tangled up with my own fury. My own hurt. My own devastation. And it’s not only Joe I’m angry with. I’m angry at myself. At my stubbornness. I should have spoken to my sister years ago, but I was too scared of the truth. I was too scared that believing her would mean breaking up with Joe. But the truth has a way of worming its way out. Of wriggling free. And what should have come to light back then is coming to light now instead. Only this time the crust of lies has grown thicker. It has distorted everything. I don’t think Joe and I will ever recover from this. And the look in his eyes tells me he knows it.
Thirty-Four
The heat inside the shop wraps itself around me like a shroud. My stomach is hollow, my throat tight and scratchy. As I go through the morning ritual of opening up, it’s like I’m moving through lava.
‘Are you sure you’re okay, Lizzy?’ Pippa asks, opening the front door and setting out the A-board. ‘You really do look very peaky. And I’m not being funny, but if you are coming down with something then you should be at home, in quarantine, not breathing your flu all over the customers, or me.’
‘I’m fine.’ My voice is thick, echoing inside my head as though my ears are blocked. I do actually feel like I might have the flu, but I know it’s not a virus that’s making me feel like hell. It’s my life disintegrating around me, pulling my defences down. I kicked Joe out last night, and, quite honestly, I never want to set eyes on him again. But that doesn’t stop me grieving for the man I thought he was. True, he had his flaws. He was overprotective, jealous and maybe even a little bit controlling. But I never thought of him as a liar, or a cheat. He let me believe my sister betrayed me. All those wasted years I spent loving him and hating her…
‘You’re clearly not fine,’ Pippa continues. ‘Are you hung-over? Where did you and Emma disappear off to last night? One minute you were there, the next minute, poof! Off you’d popped in a puff of smoke. Sebbie was disappointed. He wanted to come and say hi. You know he does have a bit of a mini-crush on you, Lizzy. And before you start, no, he’s not your stalker. And you could do worse. I mean, I know you’re with Joe, but Sebbie’s handsome and kind. Plus, he’s got a pretty nice pad, even if it is a bit dilapidated.’ She laughs.
As I switch on the shop lights, Pippa’s words float over me like butterflies over a lilac tree. Hovering, but never settling. Always moving, drifting. I hear them, but their meaning doesn’t seem to register. It’s all just meaningless chatter.
‘Your phone,’ Pippa says.
I try to think what I’m supposed to be doing next. I need to put the float in the till.
‘Lizzy, Liz! Your phone’s ringing!’
I glance over at Pippa, who’s by the front door looking at me like I’m deranged. ‘My phone?’
‘It’s ringing. In case, you know, you wanted to answer it.’
‘Oh, yes. Okay.’ I walk into the stockroom in a daze and take my phone out of my bag, but of course it’s stopped ringing now. I wonder if it was Joe. But a quick glance tells me that it’s George. Thank goodness I missed the call. He’s going to ask me if
I’ve spoken to Pippa. He doesn’t realise that I have more terrifying things to worry about than a few missing dresses. But that’s not fair. Theft is theft. George comes back from holiday today, and if he finds out I haven’t spoken to Pippa, he won’t hesitate – he’ll call the police. He may even fire me. I can’t let that happen.
‘Pippa!’ I call out down the shop to her. I don’t have the strength to do this now, but I have no choice. Everything is rising to the surface – the secrets, the lies, the betrayals. This is just one more uncovering of the truth. ‘Pippa! Can you lock the front door again?’
‘Lock it? I’ve only just opened it.’ She checks her watch. ‘It’s past opening time.’
‘I know. But I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.’
Pippa does as she’s asked and turns over the closed sign once more. She smooths her blonde hair and walks the length of the shop to reach me in the stockroom. I feel strangely calm, but at the same time I’m aware that I might be about to lose Pippa’s friendship. And Pippa is quite possibly the closest thing I have to a proper friend right now.
‘You do know George is back from his hols today,’ Pippa says. ‘If he comes to the shop and sees it’s closed, he won’t be a happy bunny.’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ I say.
‘Who are you, and what have you done with Lizzy Beresford?’ Pippa laughs, but stops when she sees I’m not joining in. ‘What’s the problem, Liz?’
‘It’s awkward,’ I say, my veneer of calm peeling away. I pull at my shirt collar. ‘Is it just me, or is it really hot in here?’
‘Spit it out, Lizzy.’
The stockroom feels too small, too enclosed for this conversation, but we can’t stand out there in the shop where anyone can see us through the window. I pull the stockroom door closed with a firm click. ‘I firstly need to say, this isn’t my doing. This is George’s decision.’
‘Now you’re making me worried.’ She gives a nervous laugh. ‘You’re not giving me the sack, I hope?’
I clear my throat and take a step back so we’re not standing so close to one another. ‘George thinks you’ve been taking things from the shop without paying. Goods and cash.’
Pippa’s face blanches. She swallows and then her expression quickly turns neutral. ‘I see. And what do you think, Lizzy?’
‘I honestly don’t know, Pippa. There have been some… discrepancies.’ I give a small shrug.
‘And you told George about them. About these… discrepancies?’ Her nostrils flare.
‘No. No, I ignored them, if you must know. Thought I must be mistaken. It was George who came to me. He told me he wanted to catch you in the act, then call the police.’
Pippa’s face flushes, her expression tightens.
‘I begged him not to get the police involved. I told him I would ask you to return what’s been taken. And he agreed.’
‘So you believe George? You think I’ve been stealing!’ Pippa folds her arms across her chest, a look of outrage settling across her face.
Have I made a mistake? Is she innocent? But my mind catalogues all the incidents and discrepancies, and I know I’m not wrong. She’s guilty, she’s just not owning up to it. ‘Pippa, listen to me, I’m not taking sides. All I’m saying is that if you don’t bring back what you’ve taken, George has said he’ll get the police involved. And I know you don’t want that. I’m trying to look out for you.’
‘Bloody funny way of showing it.’ She strides over to the shelf and grabs her handbag. ‘You can tell George to stick his job up his arse.’ A tear slides down her cheek and she swipes it away. ‘And as for you… well, I thought you were my friend. Obviously I was mistaken.’
‘Pippa! I am your friend. That’s why—’
‘Oh, just piss off, Lizzy.’
Pippa stalks out of the stockroom and I follow her, my heart pounding, wondering how I can make things right between us. But I’m in an impossible situation. ‘George was going to call the police! What else was I supposed to do?’
She stops and turns to face me. ‘You could have stuck up for me! Or spoken to me. We could have figured it out together.’
‘I’m speaking to you now.’
‘Yes, but now it’s too late. You’ve already been gossiping about me to George.’
‘I wasn’t gossiping, I was trying to protect you after he came to see me.’
‘He came to see you? When was this? It must have been before he went on holiday. So you’ve known about this for over a week and you didn’t think it was worth mentioning until now? Until the day he gets back?’
‘I didn’t know what to say, Pip. I was trying to work out the best way of telling you.’
‘So, when you were “sticking up for me”, did you tell George that there’s no way I’d been taking any goods? Did you tell him I was innocent?’
‘I…’
‘That’ll be a “no” then.’
‘Pippa! Someone’s been helping themselves to stock and cash and it isn’t me. What was I supposed to tell George?’
‘Goodbye, Lizzy. Doesn’t look like I’ll be coming back.’ Pippa opens the side door and slams it behind her so violently that one of the jewellery boards becomes dislodged from the wall and crashes down, scattering silver necklaces, earrings and beads across the floor.
‘Pippa!’ A few seconds later, the outer door slams and I see my friend march past the window and off down the road. My hands tremble. My heart races. I knew this conversation was going to be tricky, but I hadn’t anticipated just how angry Pippa would be. I naively supposed she might cry, or even admit to what she’d done. I didn’t expect this defensive rage.
Is she right? Should I have spoken to her when I first had my suspicions? If Pippa has serious money worries, maybe I could have helped in some way. A wave of nausea hits me; everything seems to be going wrong. But I get the feeling that there would never have been a right time to bring this up. I exhale. No. She’s done something wrong and she’s been found out. Let’s face it, nobody likes to get caught.
I feel like I’ve been alone all my life. Like there will never be a place for me in this world. I can be surrounded by people at work or at home, but nothing ever fills the void inside.
* * *
Will I always be drifting? Empty?
* * *
Only rage blots it out. Temporarily makes me forget. Channels the emptiness into something more. Something white hot. It’s been simmering for years, like a caged creature that is finally getting its chance to escape.
* * *
Soon they’ll realise what they’ve created.
* * *
And they’ll be sorry.
Thirty-Five
The rest of the day is a blur. In between serving customers, I clean the shop from top to bottom. I dust shelves, polish the glass units, replenish stock and freshen up the displays. I’m sweating, crumpled, frazzled. Anxiety gnaws at my chest and stomach. Exhaustion tugs at my shoulders and eyelids. But I can’t stop working. If I stop, I’ll collapse into a sticky puddle on the shop floor and I might never get up again.
I’ve set my phone to silent, but when I last checked, I had eight missed calls from Joe and three from my sister. Plus numerous texts. The only one I read was from George, who said his flight doesn’t land until this evening, but he’ll drop by Georgio’s first thing tomorrow. Another confrontation I can do without. I’m going to have to explain to him that Pippa is denying everything and it’s probably too late to call the police as she’ll have dumped the evidence by now. George will go mad. He quite rightly wanted the stolen goods and cash returned to him, but now it looks like he’ll be out of pocket. And it’s my fault for talking him out of calling the police. Don’t think about that now. Don’t think about anything. Especially don’t think about Joe. About the lies.
It’s almost closing time. Almost time to go home. But is it still a home if the person you loved is no longer there? The last customer comes to the till to pay for her items. I ring them up without payin
g attention to what they are, what they cost. My mouth issues pleasantries without my brain’s involvement. A smile. A thank you. A goodbye. The shop bell jangles and closes. My knees buckle and I grip the counter to steady myself. Although my body is upright, I feel as though I’m in free fall. When you dream that you’re falling, you always wake up before you hit the ground. But what happens if you’re already awake?
I need to lock up, but the door opens again. One more customer. I welcome them. I would stay open all night if it meant I didn’t have to go home and face my life. I decide that I won’t shut the shop just yet. I take a breath and prepare to ask whoever it is if they’re happy browsing, or whether they need any help. But I tense up when I see who it is – Pippa’s brother.
‘Hi, Seb. Are you here to pick Pippa up? She’s not here. She’s…’ My words die on my lips. I don’t know how to explain why she’s not here.
He’s striding through the shop towards me, a scowl on his face. Maybe he already knows. Maybe he hasn’t come here to collect her from work. Seb comes up to the counter and places both his hands on the glass top, like two pink hams. His face is red, a tuft of light brown hair sticking up on one side. ‘I used to like you, Lizzy,’ he booms.
‘Seb, I—’
‘No. You listen to me.’ He jabs a forefinger in my direction. ‘I used to like you, but that was before I found out that you’re an utter, utter bitch!’
I take a step back from the counter and place a hand on the stool to steady myself. This is not the Seb I’m familiar with.
‘Pippa came home this morning in tears,’ he cries. ‘She’s been in bed all day. Wouldn’t speak to any of us. She actually told Mummy to fuck off and leave her alone. Pip would never normally say anything like that. Anyway, I finally got it out of her that you – her supposed friend.’ He bangs on the counter with his fist to emphasise his point. ‘You accused her of shoplifting and now she’s lost her job!’
The Silent Sister_An gripping psychological thriller with a nail-biting twist Page 19