‘Night.’ I peck her forehead. ‘Don’t stay up too late.’
‘I won’t.’
I yawn as I leave, climb the stairs to the round room at the top of the villa and clean my teeth. I’m just getting into bed when Jed arrives, still muttering about irresponsibility.
‘She’s a child, Jed,’ I protest gently. ‘And anyone can lose a phone.’
He starts unbuttoning his shirt. ‘I don’t mean Dee Dee, I mean Gary. He knew we’d be back around ten, he’s so thoughtless. And, as you’ve just pointed out, Dee Dee’s only a child, for goodness’ sake.’
‘She didn’t see anything, they were in the water. Anyway, she’s far more upset about her phone.’ I yawn again as I stroke his face. ‘So no harm done.’
‘Mmmn,’ Jed grunts, then disappears into the bathroom.
I’m asleep before he gets back, then I sleep deeply and dreamlessly the whole night. Sunlight is streaming into the room when I wake with a start the next morning. Beside me, Jed sits bolt upright.
Someone, downstairs, is screaming.
It takes a moment before I realize that it’s Rose.
I’m out of bed in seconds, racing downstairs to her room next door to Dee Dee’s.
Rose is standing on the landing, pointing in through Dee Dee’s open door. A puddle of vomit lies on the wooden floor by the bed. Dee Dee is visible on top of the covers, face up, glassy-eyed. Her arm extends over the edge of the mattress, her bracelet dangling from her wrist.
I freeze, the room whirls around me. I think I might faint and clutch at Rose’s arm. She is shaking. Now Jed is beside us.
‘What the . . . ?’ His mouth falls open as he sees his daughter. He rushes into the room. Rose and I follow. The August heat hangs heavily in the air. It’s like a dream, a nightmare, as Jed feels Dee Dee’s forehead, then presses his fingers against her wrist, her neck.
‘Oh my God, oh my God.’ Rose is whimpering. ‘I just saw . . . then . . . then I came in . . . found her like that, oh my God . . .’
Jed turns to me, his eyes wide with shock. I’m expecting him to order me to call an ambulance and I’m already wracking my brains to remember the emergency number in France.
But instead Jed shakes his head. It’s too late for an ambulance.
Sweet, plump, thirteen-year-old Dee Dee Kennedy is dead.
June 2014
So like today just sucked. TOTALLY sucked. And yesterday being so brilliant made it worse. And now it’s actually my thirteenth birthday. TODAY! And I’m a teenager and I’ve been looking forward to it for SO long but now everything’s AWFUL and RUINED. Firstly it was school . . . I didn’t see Sam Edwards but some year ten girls giggled and pointed when I walked past and I wondered if it had got out that he liked me. Which would be bad OBVIOUSLY because I’m, like, two years below Sam and if his friends laugh at him it might put him off seeing me. So that’s not a ruined thing yet, but with my luck I expect it will be and I kept hoping I’d bump into Sam but I didn’t and then I had to come home cos Mum was picking me up early after school to go to tea at Craven’s which we always do on family birthdays except we didn’t for Dad’s in April and Dad wasn’t there for Lish’s in May and so everything is different and THAT tradition is gone so I don’t know why Mum still wants to do it.
Anyway, Lishy wasn’t there because he’s away at uni and I know Mum was sad about that. Then Daddy was supposed to come around in the evening to have dinner and cake with us and Mum was getting it ready for an hour and then he was late. Not that much late, just half an hour, and I wasn’t worried because he always comes when he says and he’s often late if it’s after work and this was Friday when he’s ALWAYS at his latest and I was watching an old Gossip Girl anyway. But Mum was angry. You could tell because she did that slitty thing with her eyes and her mouth when he arrived and she didn’t smile AT ALL which I noticed because she had put lipstick on and her arms were folded and first off Daddy didn’t see and he gave me a hug and my present which was a mini iPad which was OBVIOUSLY AMAZING. And Mum muttered something about ‘buying her affection with gifts’ and Daddy turned to look at her properly and saw she was angry and I was praying and praying he’d just smile and say let’s have dinner and cake but instead he asked what her problem was and Mum exploded that he shouldn’t keep me waiting, ESPECIALLY on my birthday, and Daddy said he hadn’t been that late and it wasn’t a fixed time and we weren’t eating until eight anyway and he was sure I couldn’t have been as upset as Mum said because I was thirteen now, not three. And then he looked at me and said ‘are you, Dee Dee?’ and Mum was looking at me too and I knew she wanted me to say I WAS upset. And I wasn’t, but I didn’t want her to be angry so I said nothing. Then Daddy got cross and he stood up. And suddenly they were shouting at each other. Which they haven’t done the last three times and which I was hoping was over. And Mum was all red-faced and yelling he was a loser and put his whore before his family and Daddy was spitting tiny bits out of his mouth and YELLING ‘Emily isn’t a whore, how dare you say that, why are you shouting in front of Dee Dee, now she WILL get upset.’ Which was true, but again, I didn’t want to show them so I just went out of the room and went upstairs and got under the duvet and next thing the front door slams and Mum says ‘bastard’ and I could hear her coming up the stairs so I pretended to be asleep under the duvet which OBVIOUSLY wasn’t going to fool Mum.
She sat down beside me and pulled back the covers and said she was sorry but she meant sorry Daddy was a bastard, not sorry that she’d got angry with him. And I thought that but I didn’t say it. Then she asked if I was okay and I could hear in her voice she really, REALLY wanted me to be okay so I said that I was and we went downstairs and she asked about my day and I said it had been cool at school (which wasn’t true because of the year ten girls and not seeing Sam though at least Ava and Poppy who sometimes leave me out of things wanted to sit next to me in the canteen because it was my birthday). And after that Mum cheered up a bit and she and I ate the dinner and had the cake which was like a gigantic cupcake with thirteen candles and I blew them all out in one breath and I told Mum I didn’t want any because I was fat but she said nonsense and gave me a huge slice and I ate it cos I did want it really and now I feel bad because eating it will make me fatter and I need EVERYTHING on my side to counteract the year ten girls knowing Sam likes me and Sam getting put off.
And now I’m upstairs and it’s very quiet. And I feel SAD, SAD, SAD and everything’s awful because it’s my birthday and I didn’t see Sam.
And Lish wasn’t here.
And Mum is upset.
And Daddy has gone.
August 2014
I can’t make sense of it, even after two hours. How can Dee Dee be dead? Gary’s girlfriend, Iveta, is hysterical, her wails echoing around the house, but Rose and I are numb, unable to take it in. Jed is in shock too, white-faced with disbelief, virtually speechless. He brushes away my sympathy, saying he has to call Dee Dee’s mother. I don’t hear their conversation but afterwards Jed comments only that his ex will be here as soon as she can get a flight, then retreats into a tightly wound silence. I cannot imagine what this is like for him. Or for Lish, who withdraws to his bedroom and locks the door. Much to my amazement it is Gary who takes charge – and brilliantly. He manages to contact the emergency services and oversees first the doctor’s visit then, immediately after, that of the local police. Inspecteur Chabrol is wiry, fox-faced and middle-aged, with greying sideburns and a sharply cut suit. He and his colleagues are soon questioning everyone in the house. They start with the most fluent French speakers: Gary and Lish. In among all this, Gary somehow manages to find time to console Iveta, who is still weeping, while Rose and I sit huddled together. I call Martin but he and Cameron were leaving port at dawn and must be out at sea as both their phones are out of range.
‘This is so terrible,’ Rose whispers through her tears. ‘Poor, poor Jed, to lose a child.’
And poor Dee Dee. It is incomprehensible that she isn’t in the
next room or out by the pool, her chubby legs tucked under her on a lounger. Rose and I sit in silence, waiting to be interviewed, while Jed talks to Inspecteur Chabrol. Lish is back in his bedroom.
‘I keep thinking back to when I got the call from the hospital about Mum and Dad,’ Rose says between sniffs.
I fall silent. I’ve heard Rose talk about this moment many times: how she was coming home from her gap-year waitressing job when she was summoned to the hospital and told our parents had been in a car accident, how she called the school to have Martin and I taken from our classes and asked one of Mum’s friends to pick us up and bring us to meet her at the hospital.
Rose can describe everything that day in minute detail. My memories, on the other hand, are smudged. I was eleven, in my first term at secondary school. I remember I was in Maths and very bored and initially and self-importantly delighted to be called out of class. Then I remember the strained eyes of my head teacher and the sense that something must be very wrong for her to have softened her voice so much. Later, I remember Martin holding my hand as we walked into the hospital and Rose’s tear-stained cheeks as she held out her arms to us and whispered the truth in our ears: that our parents had died in a side-on collision with a drunk driver.
I remember very little else from that time – the funeral is a blur, my memories of the next month consist of Rose in tears, Martin fighting someone at school, all the adults looking at me with pity and the many, many hushed conversations behind closed doors about who was to look after us in the absence of any directions from our parents. Rose insisted she could manage – that she would postpone uni for a couple of years. Mum and Dad’s friends were worried that she was throwing her own chances away, but Rose insisted and, backed by me and Martin, was officially awarded guardianship of us both.
Looking back I think it was selfish to lay all that responsibility on an eighteen-year-old. I blame the friends of our parents who, seeing as we had no aunts and uncles, could have stepped in and offered themselves. But maybe looking after us was what Rose needed at the time. It was certainly what Martin and I wanted. Rose became a mother to me while Martin became – if not quite a father – then certainly my staunchest ally. Despite my being so young when I was orphaned, I feel now that I was sheltered from the worst of the trauma, that Rose suffered most, that in looking after me and, to a lesser extent, Martin, she was inevitably cut off from her own friends and opportunities. The two-year deferment of university turned into three, then five. In the end, she never went. Her entire twenties were devoted to my life and my chances. Perhaps the most remarkable thing is that I have never once heard her complain about any of it. She missed out on jobs and, despite being stunningly attractive, long-term boyfriends. No young man, it turned out, wanted to date a woman with a truculent teen in the house. Once I’d left home to go to teacher training college Rose carried on as before. I assumed that she would go to uni at last, but she didn’t, saying to this day that she is happy in her job as manager of a local cookware shop. I also assumed she would find a man. After all, she wasn’t yet thirty when I moved away. But Rose has never had anyone really significant in her life. I’ve met the few boyfriends she has gone out with and have no idea why none of them ever stuck. Rose has only ever given me edited versions of her relationships, no real details, nothing like the way I imagine sisters normally share information.
Right now we are leaning against each other. Rose sits in silence, twisting the hem of her top around her fingers. Jed is still in with the police. I’m just thinking that I should get up and go and check on Lish, when I’m called into the kitchen.
Inspecteur Chabrol is sitting at the table, his arms folded. A younger man in a black T-shirt sitting beside him smiles at me and says, in perfect English:
‘Thank you for joining us, Emily, hopefully this won’t take too long. I’m Charles Meunière, the translator.’
‘Hello.’ I sit down opposite Chabrol. His small, dark eyes study me intently.
Outside the kitchen door Jed and Gary are talking on the patio. Jed turns and sees me sitting here. He takes a step towards the house but Gary puts a hand on his arm and he stops.
Chabrol speaks, a stream of rapid, intense French. Charles Meunière translates and in seconds I am forced to focus on the events of last night. It is clear that the inspector already knows Dee Dee wasn’t on any medication or suffering from any illnesses. He asks me if I think it is possible she was taking recreational drugs of any kind.
‘No,’ I say emphatically. ‘She was young for her age and anyway, no, there’s no way Dee Dee would have taken any drugs . . .’ I stop, suddenly remembering the headache powders. My stomach lurches into my throat.
‘Qu’est-ce que c’est?’ Chabrol asks. He turns to Meunière, who places his hands on the table between us.
‘What is it, Emily?’
I gulp. ‘Some painkillers, she took them just before she went to bed, at least I assume she did.’ I pause, trying to remember the exact sequence of events. ‘She said she had a headache, so I gave the sachet to her, then I left. But . . . but I took the same thing earlier on in the evening and I was fine.’ I stop, my mind leaping and whirling at the thought that the ExAche powders could have had anything to do with Dee Dee’s death.
Meunière translates and Chabrol leans forward. He asks me exactly when I left the sachet with Dee Dee. I tell him, then he asks me to explain everything I did that evening. I go over it again, describing how we ate our meal on the boat and how Dee Dee picked at her fish, then later said that she’d lost her phone. It’s like I’m disconnected from myself as I speak. My mind is replaying the moment I handed the sachet to Dee Dee. Did she take the powders? Suppose she had an allergic reaction? Or suppose she was too young for them? I’m sure I checked the small print to make sure of the dosage. I remember because it was in English. Just like a Lemsip, okay to take for over twelves. I rub my forehead. I need to call Martin, tell him not to touch the rest of the powders. I break off to explain this to Chabrol. He barks something in French before Meunière has even finished translating.
Meunière frowns. ‘He wants you to explain exactly what you did again?’
‘Okay, but will you send someone to check about the powders?’
Chabrol speaks. Meunière translates. ‘You don’t need to worry, we will do our job.’
‘I know,’ I say, ‘Of course. I just can’t bear to think I might have misunderstood the dose or . . . or . . .’ My stomach is twisted into hard, painful knots. I glance outside to where Jed is still talking with Gary. Our eyes meet. The pain in his expression is indescribable. Tears well up, my throat tight, my heart aching for him.
Jed strides to the French doors. As he opens them I can hear Gary protesting, telling him to come back, but Jed is stony-faced.
‘What’s going on?’ he demands. ‘Why is my fiancée looking so upset?’
‘It’s fine, Jed—’ But before I can say more Chabrol is on his feet, gesticulating and speaking rapid-fire French. All of a sudden Jed is shouting in French, then Gary is by his side trying to calm him. Chabrol is talking over them both. All I can think is that upstairs, poor Dee Dee is lying dead, that she died alone, in her own vomit.
Meunière touches my arm. ‘Go and call your brother,’ he says quietly. I rush away, my tears now trickling down my cheek. Martin’s phone is still out of range so I leave a hiccupy message, then go back to the kitchen. Gary is sitting at the table, his head in his hands.
‘Where’s Jed?’ I ask.
‘Up with the inspector, talking to Lish. They want to know where he bought the headache powders from.’
‘So Dee Dee did take them?’
Gary nods. ‘They’ve found the empty sachet by her glass, looks like she mixed it with some bottled water. They’re taking the whole lot off to be analysed.’
I nod, numbly. It all still feels so unreal. Two long hours pass while the police officers cordon off Dee Dee’s room. Her body has been superficially examined. There’s no sign that
she has been attacked, which leaves some kind of poisoning the most likely cause of death. As a result, the entire villa is thoroughly – and fruitlessly – searched for drugs while Chabrol questions and re-questions everyone. Jed stays upstairs with Lish. I haven’t seen him since he harangued Chabrol. By midday the sun is scorching, high in the sky. Gary comes over and tells me in a solemn whisper that the body is about to be removed, that he and Jed will go with poor Dee Dee to the morgue. He asks me to keep Iveta and Rose outside by the swimming pool.
I go and sit with them, the three of us perched side by side on one of the loungers. Jed and Gary leave with the police officials and suddenly, after hours of frantic bustle and panic, the house falls silent. I head up to Lish’s room but he doesn’t answer my knock. As I pass the police tape across Dee Dee’s door I suddenly remember the secret she hinted yesterday that she wanted to tell me, something she saw. Guilt wraps its cold fingers around my throat. I forgot all about it after Jed and I got back to the boat. Feeling sick, I seek out Rose and tell her how terrible I feel. She hugs me through her tears.
‘It was probably nothing, you know what girls are like,’ she soothes. ‘Anyway, if it had been important, Dee Dee would have made sure she told someone.’
I pray that she is right.
Another hour passes. I try to call Jed, but his mobile goes to voice mail.
‘Just calling to see how you’re doing . . .’ I check myself. What a stupid question. How on earth do I think he will be doing? ‘Just want you to know I love you.’ I ring off.
I wander around the living room of the villa, still numb, lost. Absently I clear the wine glasses Gary and Iveta used last night. As I’m placing them in the sink, Martin calls at last. ‘Oh, Emily.’ The love and concern in his voice finally releases my own tears. I bawl my eyes out as I tell Martin everything. To my relief, he reassures me that neither he nor Cameron have touched the ExAche sachets which the police seem to think are the most likely cause of Dee Dee’s death and that they are already on their way back to Calvi. They arrive a few hours later, shortly followed by yet another police officer who takes statements from them both. Rose insists that we all try to eat, though nobody has any appetite. All I can think is that Dee Dee is gone and that poor Jed must be hurting beyond anything I can imagine. He calls at last, shortly after nightfall. He is with Dee Dee’s mother, Zoe, who has gone straight to the morgue and is sitting with their daughter’s body. Jed sounds empty, wiped out.
Here We Lie Page 4