Her Sister's Lie

by Debbie Howells

  I salvaged a brief interlude of tranquility when I walked Gibson the next morning, driving a few miles out of the village to wander the stony paths that crossed miles of open heathland, losing myself in a drab landscape that was only just struggling back to life after the winter, the brown of the heather lit now and then by bright yellow flashes of common gorse, the air laced with salt.

  At this time of year, when it rained, it could be bleak out here. Today, there was weak sunlight, but I didn’t mind that. It was the emptiness of the heathland I craved, to feel the solace it offered. It was too early in the year for the tourists who flocked here in summer, and so, apart from the ponies and cattle that wandered freely, Gibson and I met no one.

  I walked for a couple of miles, feeling the stillness soak into me, the air cool on my skin as my mind started to calm. It was a timeless landscape, transformed each year from the bleakness of winter to the lush green of the summer months before turning into the reds and golds of autumn again. Today held the promise of spring, in tiny leaf buds and brightening shades of green, the first wildflowers appearing in more sheltered places, reminding me that life went on, that no matter what happened, there was always hope.

  But it was a false, short-lived sense of peace I found. Peace that stayed with me only until I turned up the road to my house and spotted Matt’s car parked on the gravel outside.

  Parking next to him, I got out of my car, my heart racing. Out of nowhere, I was filled with hope. He was here. Maybe we still had a chance. Suddenly aware of my clothes, I was wishing he’d called to warn me, so that I could have put on some makeup and worn something other than the ripped jeans and ancient sweater I’d pulled on this morning.

  I was walking tentatively up the path toward the house, trying to think about what I wanted to say, when the door was opened from the inside.

  Matt stood there. He looked tired, thinner than when he’d left. As I took in the serious look in his eyes, my hopes vanished. I knew instantly he hadn’t come back for a reconciliation. I’d always been able to read his face. Gibson was at his feet, dancing around, his tail wagging furiously. Matt bent down to stroke him.

  “How are you?” His eyes were solemn as they looked up and met mine.

  Swallowing, I held his gaze. “I’ve been better. You?”

  “I’m OK. I hope you don’t mind. I still had my key. I let myself in. I thought it might be easier . . .”

  I stood there. I didn’t know what to say.

  He went on. “I came to pick up the rest of my stuff, but I can’t find it.” He was abrupt, his voice lacking the warmth I remembered.

  “I packed most of it in boxes. They’re in the shed. I’ll get the key.”

  He stood back and let me inside. The key was on a hook in the kitchen, and as I came back with it, I stopped in front of him. If I didn’t say anything now, he’d be gone before I knew it, and it would be too late.

  “Couldn’t we talk, Matt?” I tried to sound calm.

  As his eyes met mine again, I felt the familiar flicker of connection between us. But he looked away.

  “There’s no point, Hannah. I’m sorry.” His voice was hard.

  “I don’t understand.” Hearing the desperation in my voice, I stopped myself.

  He shook his head. “I know you don’t. That’s the problem.” He looked at me again. “You should talk to someone. Get help.” Then his eyes narrowed as he looked at Abe’s boots on the floor. “You have someone here?”

  I stared at him. It had been his decision to leave. It was none of his business who was here now. “My sister died. Her son’s staying with me. He didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  His face took on a look of incredulity. “You had a sister? Jesus, Hannah.” He shook his head. “I’ve known you all this time. We were living together. You never thought to tell me you had a sister?”

  “We were estranged.” I felt cold all of a sudden.

  “What else don’t I know about you?” Matt was silent for a moment. “Relationships are supposed to be based on honesty. And trust. I’ve had time to think about this, and, you know, the one thing I still can’t get my head around is how after all this time, I’ve no idea who you really are. Oh, I know, you’re Hannah Roscoe, and you live in the house your husband left you. You used to be in a band, and you teach music to private pupils—but other than that, behind those blue eyes and that smile, I really don’t know who’s in there.” He shook his head sadly. “But you know what’s even worse? I’m not sure you do either.”

  I pushed past him and walked back out, heading for the shed. Unlocking the door, I went in and pulled out the suitcase, then got each of the boxes I’d packed up, dropping them on the ground before locking the shed again, aware of Matt standing behind me.

  “Your stuff.” I nodded at the boxes, not meeting his eyes.

  He didn’t move. “You may not want to acknowledge what happened, but it doesn’t change it, Hannah. It won’t go away. The past will always be there.”

  I clamped my hands over my ears. “Shut up, Matt. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I felt his hand grasp one of my arms, too tightly. “I know far more than you think.” His voice was icy.

  Twisting my arm out of his grasp, I backed away. “Fuck off, Matt. I’ve nothing to say to you.”

  “Yeah, right.” His eyes glittered. “That’s how it is with you, isn’t it? A minute ago, you wanted to talk. But as soon as I say something you don’t want to hear, you tell me to fuck off. And you wonder why I left.”

  I couldn’t understand why he was twisting everything. Whatever he thought he’d found out about me, it was hardly fair of him not to tell me what it was, give me a chance to tell my side of events. Nothing he was saying was making sense. It felt like he’d gone a step too far for us to go back, to try and fix things. My eyes filled with tears. “It’s like you said. There’s no point trying, is there? Just take your stuff, Matt. I’m going inside.” Just then I heard my phone buzz. I fished it out of my pocket. It was DI Collins. “I have to take this.” Answering it, I turned and started walking back to the house.

  “Ms. Roscoe? I thought you’d want to know where we are with the investigation.”

  “Yes. Of course . . .” Clearing my throat, I tried to concentrate on what she was saying, aware of Matt standing there, watching me, as I walked back toward the house.

  “It looks as though your sister had been drinking the day she died, but her blood alcohol level wasn’t high enough to kill her. There wasn’t any evidence she’d taken pills, either.”

  “But . . .” I was trying to think straight. “What about the empty bottle—and the suicide note. What was the point of that?”

  “It appears that someone attempted to make it look as though she’d taken her own life—but they didn’t think it through.”

  I was shaking my head as I went inside and closed the door behind me. “They could never have imagined they’d get away with it.” It was yet another bizarre detail that didn’t fit.

  “I agree—unless they didn’t expect the police to get involved with blood tests carried out and so forth. We’ve also examined the CCTV footage. I told you before, it showed a figure walking along the street, then across the road toward your sister’s house. About fifteen minutes later, the same figure appears again, walking back in the opposite direction. We’ve also confirmed the timing is consistent with your sister’s death.”

  My heart missed a beat. “Can you see who it was?”

  “Not yet, but we’re still working on the footage. All we know is that the person was of average height and wearing loose-fitting jeans and a bulky hoodie that entirely obscured their face.”

  “So you don’t even know if it was a man or a woman?”

  “Right now, it’s impossible to know. But we’re looking at other CCTV in nearby shops and tube stations to see if whoever it was shows up anywhere else.”

  But there were dozens of shops and several tube stations that could be reached
on foot, not to mention the thousands of people using them daily, no doubt a proportion of them wearing loose-fitting jeans and hoodies. I began to grasp the scale of the investigation.

  DI Collins went on. “Forensics has finished in your sister’s house. You can go in whenever you like. The key’s been left with her neighbor.”

  As I switched off my phone, I suddenly realized that although I knew the house needed to be cleaned out, I’d given no thought to going back to Nina’s. Looking up, I saw Matt standing in the doorway. I hadn’t heard him come in. I wondered how long he’d been there. Reaching into his pocket, he held out something. “Your key.”

  “Is that it?” My earlier anger had faded. “You’re going?” Hope flickered, briefly, faintly. How had it come to this?

  “I’m sorry . . .” He hesitated.

  “Matt . . . Couldn’t we work this out?” I kept my voice calm. I had to ask, just once, even though I could see the answer on his face.

  “God, Hannah . . . After everything you haven’t told me, how could I ever trust you? It’s too late—can’t you see that?”

  “It’s not too late, Matt. I can change.” I couldn’t keep the desperation out of my voice.

  He stood there for a moment, then sighed. “Hannah, we’re way past ever working this out. I’m sorry. I should go.” He turned and walked away, closing the door behind him.

  Completely numb, I watched from the window as he walked down the path and loaded the last few things into his car, then stood there for a moment, looking toward the house. I shrank behind the curtains, not wanting him to know I was watching him. Then he got in his car and, seconds later, drove away.

  Only when his car was out of sight did I slump onto the floor, leaning against the wall, aware of the tears streaming down my face, feeling overwhelmed by the hurt, betrayal, and hopelessness I’d suppressed while Matt was here. All made worse because I didn’t understand.

  I would have stayed where I was, watching the light slowly ebb away, if I hadn’t remembered Abe would soon be home. Getting up, I dried my face, not wanting him to see me in this state. Shaken to the core by Matt’s appearance, I went to the fridge, getting out a bottle of white wine, my hand shaking as I poured a glass. I drank it quickly, welcoming the numbness that started to creep over me, blunting the edge of my pain, as I felt a flicker of strength return. Maybe it was as well he’d gone, because today, I’d seen a completely different side to him. The kind, gentle Matt I remembered had become cold and vicious, stabbing at me with his harsh words and his lies.

  His reaction when I’d told him about Nina had been overblown. I’d had reasons for not telling him about her. It would have meant opening the lid on the part of my past I’d tried my hardest to leave behind. There was nothing wrong with that. There were chapters in everyone’s lives they’d rather forget. I was no different from anyone else.

  I felt my resolve strengthen. As far as Matt was concerned, I was better off without him. My tears were already forgotten when just minutes later, I heard Abe at the back door. Putting my glass in the sink, I pulled myself together and turned to face him.

  “How was your day?” I tried to sound bright, noticing the look of suspicion on his face. “DI Collins called a little while ago.” I went on quietly, wanting to break it gently to him, but there was no way to take the brutality out of what I had to tell him. “Abe, they’re fairly sure that whoever killed your mum wanted it to look like a suicide attempt.” I watched him, expecting anger, tears, a reaction of some kind. But he showed nothing. “Also, they’ve picked up someone on CCTV who they think may be a suspect.”

  Staring at the floor, his face was blank as he nodded slowly.

  “She said that forensics have finished in the house. If you like, we could go up there on Saturday.”

  Abe looked at me oddly.

  “To London,” I added. “Only if you want to, but I thought you’d want to pick up the rest of your things—and anything from the house you want to keep. I suppose we’ll have to think about house clearance for the rest.” I wasn’t sure how he’d feel about going back there, but I’d been sure that at some point he’d want the rest of his stuff.

  “So . . .” He frowned. “I’m staying here?” Only he didn’t frame it as a question.

  I paused. “It looks that way.”

  He said nothing. Then suddenly he stormed out. As I heard him go upstairs, I thought of the second laptop again. I’d completely forgotten about it when I was talking to DI Collins earlier. Since the police were now looking at a murder investigation, however difficult it was going to be, I knew the time had come to talk to Abe.

  I went upstairs and knocked on his bedroom door. “Abe? Can I come in for a minute?”

  It was so quiet that for a moment, I wondered if he was in there, but then I heard footsteps from inside before the door was flung open. “What do you want?”

  “I need to ask you something. But first I want you to know that I wasn’t prying into your things, because I’d hate for you to think that. But when I came in to get your washing the other day, I couldn’t help noticing you had another laptop. I’m only mentioning it because of what DI Collins said. Maybe you should give it to the . . .”

  He interrupted me, looking furious. “What are you talking about?”

  “It was there, Abe. Under your bed.” I pointed to where I’d seen it.

  “There’s nothing there,” he said rudely.

  I was shaking my head. “But, Abe, I know what I saw.”

  He opened the door wide. “Why don’t you look for yourself.” With an exaggerated sweep of his arm, he gestured toward the bed.

  I hesitated. “I’ll show you where I saw it.” I went over, moved the bedclothes slightly, and pointed to where I’d seen the laptop. “It was there.” Looking under the bed, I frowned. The only thing under there was a thick sketchbook in a black cover.

  “Believe me now?” His voice was full of contempt.

  “Sorry . . .” I started backing out. “I’m so sorry, Abe. I was obviously mistaken.”

  “Yeah.”

  As soon as I was out of the room, he slammed the door behind me. Already I was regretting not standing up to him. He was lying, there was no doubt. I knew what I’d seen, but in the face of his denial and in the absence of any proof, there was nothing I could say. All I’d managed to do was damage our relationship even further.

  Going back downstairs, I found my phone and texted Curtis. Yes please to the telescope. H. I needed his help.

  8

  I was consumed with wanting to know why Abe had lied about the laptop. I knew enough about teenagers to realize that phones and computers were how they stayed connected, so I could understand him wanting to hang on to it. Maybe I was reading too much into the situation. He knew what was on it and if there would be anything of any use to the police. What bothered me most was why he’d lied.

  But communication was nonexistent between us. For the rest of the evening, Abe refused to speak to me, while I bit back my frustration, knowing another confrontation would achieve nothing. Unless I found the laptop, there was little I could do. But since seeing Matt, something else was nagging at me. It was his comment—about relationships being based on honesty. It had struck a chord. It wouldn’t be easy, but when the time was right, there was a conversation I needed to have with Abe.

  I’d already decided to thoroughly search his room, and while he was at school the next day, I let myself in. Taking care to leave everything as I’d found it, I looked everywhere I could think of, but there was no sign of the laptop.

  The black-bound sketchbook was still under his bed. As I stared at it, I was starting to doubt myself. Could I have been mistaken?

  I was distracted by the sound of Gibson’s barking, alerting me to the arrival of someone. Going to my room, I looked out of the window, but there was no car outside. I called down to him, but after a few seconds, his barking became more agitated.

  As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard what so
unded like knocking on the back door.

  “Gibson . . .” Hearing me, Gibson barked louder, then jumped up at the back door. “It’s OK. You want to go out?”

  The door wasn’t locked. I opened it, and Gibson took off across the garden, still barking frantically. I was puzzled. I could have sworn someone had been knocking, and I knew Gibson didn’t usually bark at nothing, but as I stood outside and looked around, there was no sign of anyone.

  I was already uncomfortable, and when I pulled on my boots and started walking around the house, my uneasiness grew. I knew I’d heard something. Then as I reached the back of the house, across the fields, a slight movement in the distance caught my eye, in the shadows under a group of trees. Was someone there? Frowning, I watched for any further movement, until Gibson came running over, wagging his tail.

  Seeing nothing more, I gave up. If anyone had been hanging around, they’d clearly gone. But as I went back inside, it crossed my mind—could it have been Jude? As far as I knew, the police were still trying to track him down, but I couldn’t help thinking that it wouldn’t be surprising if at some point, he turned up here.

  * * *

  It happened again later that evening. As usual, Abe had disappeared outside into the darkness. I was sitting in one of the armchairs in the den, with a drink and a book. I’d felt cold earlier on, and I’d already lit the wood burner. Now, I piled on more logs, listening to the crackle of burning wood, starting to feel drowsy in the heat it was throwing out.

  After a while, I put my book down and closed my eyes for a moment, until I was startled awake by what sounded like someone making a sound at the window. In my haste to get up, I knocked my drink over. Even as I told myself it was a stem of the rose that climbed up the back of the house, caught by the wind, I knew it wasn’t. I’d pruned that rose not long ago and carefully tied the stems back; not only that, there was no wind.

  As I stood there, I heard it again. Then the back door opened and slammed shut, followed by silence. I froze, feeling my he art thudding, straining my ears to listen. Was someone in the house?