The Cold Hard Truth: A Gripping Novel About Secrets and Lies

by Amanda Leigh Cowley

  The downside is that I have to leave the café each evening and return to Rachel’s house. And tonight, we’re going for our family bonding meal at the restaurant Harriet booked.

  I’m about to follow Harriet outside the house when my phone springs to life in my bag. I fish it out, squinting to see who’s calling, but it’s a number I don’t recognise.

  “Come on, Em,” Harriet says, grabbing her purse off the side. “Mom’s already in the car.”

  “Let me just take this call. I’ll be right out.”

  “Okay.” She heads out the door, then calls over her shoulder, “But whoever it is, tell them to be quick.”

  I ignore her and swipe to answer. “Hello.”

  “Hello, is that Emily Everett?”

  “Yes, who’s this?”

  “This is George Peterson from Allied Bank. I’ve been trying to get hold of you.”

  “Oh, yes, I did try calling you back. Is there a problem?”

  He sighs. “I’m afraid so. After the mess you got yourself into with money just after your father passed away, you’re aware we’ve been keeping a firm watch on your account.”

  I clear my throat. “Yes, I’m aware of that.”

  “I need to ask if you’ve noticed any strange activity on the account recently?”

  “Uh … no. I haven’t touched that account since the security changed, so I wouldn’t have a clue if anything dodgy was going on.”

  “Okay, well, I’m sorry but I’m calling to tell you that more money has been moved out of the account suspiciously. We’ve traced it to Africa this time. It looks like you’ve been scammed again.”

  “Oh.” I pull at a loose thread on my skirt. “I don’t understand how that could’ve happened….”

  “I want you to think really hard, Miss Everett. Have you had any emails pretending to be from us, saying something like, I don’t know, there’s a problem with your account, and asking you to update your details by clicking on a link?”

  “No, I’m not an idiot.” I snap the thread off, puckering the material. “I told you I don’t remember doing that the first-time round, but after I got scammed, I definitely wouldn’t fall victim to that kind of thing again. I never give my account details to anyone.”

  “What about emails from people asking you to help them transfer large sums of money into the UK from abroad? Has anyone offered you a reward if you let them use your account.”

  “No, definitely not.”

  He sighs. “Right, well, we’ve been asked to share any suspicious activity on that account with the police investigating your dad’s case. In the meantime, if anyone sends you any emails, or contacts you directly regarding your account, please get in touch with me immediately. You have my number.”

  “I will,” I say quietly. “Goodbye.” I hang up, stretch the puckered patch on my skirt back into shape and then join the others in the car.

  The restaurant Harriet booked for our meal is cool and airy. Dark walls are framed by a barrel-vaulted ceiling with chunky wooden beams. Hundreds of dusty wine bottles line the shelves and long, tubular lampshades suspended from long cables throw muted light over the tables.

  Rachel wanted to bring Dominic, but Harriet insisted it should just be the three of us. “You see him nearly every day, Mom,” she said. “This is precious family time.”

  We were shown to our seats as soon as we arrived and a young waiter with downcast eyes was prompt to come over and take our order. Harriet chose charred octopus, Rachel picked beef carpaccio and I asked for the Singapore crab. I’ve still haven’t got much of an appetite and it seemed like the lightest option.

  Harriet is telling us about a recent incident where some guy proposed to his girlfriend in the college cafeteria and how the girl burst into floods of tears as she accepted.

  “And everyone was so happy for them, congratulating them and stuff,” she says, pulling a face. “As if rushing into marriage is a good thing.”

  Rachel sighs. “I can’t believe they’re all so stupid. I mean, how ridiculous getting tied down at their age, cutting off all their options….”

  I raise my eyebrows as I watch her, amused that she’s so annoyed. She’s in no position to judge. Apart from the settled period with my dad, she has a history of jumping feet first into doomed relationships. She used to have a pot on her dressing table in London holding all the engagement rings from her past relationships, like some sort of trophy cabinet. It used to drive Dad wild with jealousy. I wonder if she still has the ring he gave her?

  A vein starts to throb in my temple. I press two fingers on it and massage in a circular motion.

  The waiter returns with a bottle of red wine and holds it up for Rachel to inspect.

  “I’m sure that will be fine,” she says, sliding her glass in front of him.

  He nods and tips a small amount into the glass and then hovers while he waits for the verdict.

  She thanks him, raises the glass to her glossy lips, throws her head back and swallows it in one gulp. “Oh, yes,” she says, pushing her glass back towards him. “That’s divine.” She sits up straighter and tugs her top down, adjusting the neckline so maximum cleavage is on show. The poor waiter shrinks into his shirt as he tops up her glass.

  I try to catch Harriet’s eye, but she’s not looking my way.

  The waiter clears his throat and steps to the side, hovering the bottle over Harriet’s glass. Two spots of colour have appeared high on his cheeks.

  “Oh, no thanks,” Harriet says. “I’m driving.”

  I catch his eye and give a small shake of my head, and then try to convey a conciliatory smile.

  He nods again, places the bottle in the centre of the table, scoops up the redundant glasses and beats a hasty retreat.

  “What a lovely, firm chestnut butt he has,” Rachel says, following him with her eyes.

  This time Harriet meets my eye before she turns to Rachel. “He does have a cute butt,” she says quietly. “But you really should lower your voice when you pass an observation like that, Mom.”

  “What for?” She watches until the waiter disappears through the kitchen door. “I’ve just made that young man’s day.”

  Harriet laughs. “I don’t think so.”

  Rachel twists in her seat and the skin around her eyes tightens. There’s a distinct change in her tone. “You think men aren’t interested in me? Is that it?”

  Harriet’s face drops. “No, that’s not what I meant. Honestly, that’s not what I meant at all.”

  “I know exactly what you meant,” Rachel says, scowling.

  A different waiter appears beside us and clears his throat. He can’t fail to miss the tension that’s descended over our table like a fog.

  He places Rachel’s and Harriet’s meals in front of them and tells us he’ll be back in a moment with mine.

  While he’s gone, we sit in awkward silence. I feel hot and uncomfortable. I sweep my hair back from my face, wishing I was back home in London. With Dad.

  When the waiter returns, he places a large dish in front of me with a bright red crab still in its shell, before carefully laying out a finger bowl, some kind of shell-cracker tool, a napkin and a bib.

  Damn. I definitely ordered the wrong thing.

  He quietly asks if there’s anything else we need.

  Family counselling, perhaps?

  “No, we’re good,” Rachel says using a bristly tone. She shakes out her napkin and places it on her lap and then, in case Harriet thought she was forgiven, flashes her a caustic glare.

  The waiter keeps his eyes down and slips away from the table.

  Harriet picks up her fork and spears her charred octopus. Following her lead, I pick up the cracker tool and turn it over trying to work out the best way of attacking the shell.

  We both jump as Rachel bangs her cutlery on the table. “Men still want me,” she says. Then she waves her fork around her head. “Look at Dominic. He’s rich. He could probably have any woman he wants, but he chose me.”
r />   Harriet frowns. “But he hasn’t left his wife, has he?”

  Rachel glares at her. “You know why he hasn’t left her. And, anyway, he would if I asked him to.”

  “Of course,” Harriet’s voice turns soothing; the type of voice a parent might use to calm a hysterical child. “And you’re beautiful, Mom. I always tell you that. You look amazing for your age.”

  Rachel’s face creases. “What do you mean for my age?”

  Harriet sits up straighter. “I just meant….”

  “Jesus, could you be any more insulting?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” Harriet takes a deep breath and leans across the table, placing her hand on Rachel’s arm. “Mom, please, you need to tone it down a bit. People are staring.”

  Rachel looks around the restaurant and there’s a shift in the air as people quickly turn back to their tables, pretending to be fully engaged in their own conversations. “Good. Let them stare.” She directs her comments to an elderly couple sitting at the table closest to us. “If their lives are that boring they need to listen to me, then I’m happy to give them a break from their mundane existence.”

  Harriet meets my eye briefly. A cry for help.

  I clear my throat and turn to Rachel. “So, uh, I was wondering, how things are going at the salon?” The salon is obviously her pride and joy so I’m hoping mentioning it will be enough to distract her. “Is business good at the moment?”

  Her eyes are vacant, her mind elsewhere. It takes a few seconds for her to register I’ve even spoken. “Uh … what?” Her fingers pull at the tablecloth.

  “I just asked if business was good at the salon.”

  She takes a couple of deep, controlled breaths and then her eyes light up as she comes back to life. She turns to face me. “Actually, I’m glad you brought it up. Things at the salon are going pretty well.”

  I press a cool palm to my hot face and nod. “That’s good.”

  Her face becomes animated. “In fact things are going so well, I’m planning to expand.” She flicks her hair behind her shoulders and shakes it out. Just like that, she’s back in peacock mode.

  “That sounds great,” I say nodding.

  She glances in Harriet’s direction and her smile slips. “Of course, Harriet doesn’t approve.”

  My heart sinks as hurt flashes in Harriet’s eyes. Her lips press together and I can tell she’s keeping quiet for the sake of the peace.

  “Go ahead, Harriet. Tell Emily what’s on your mind.”

  Harriet takes a deep breath and frowns. “I don’t have a problem with you expanding … I just don’t want you to rush into anything.”

  Rachel narrows her eyes and then turns back to face me. “Expanding is exactly the right way to go. Dominic is happy to invest all the money I need, so I don’t see why Harriet would have a problem with it.”

  Harriet raises her palms. “It’s not that I don’t think you should expand, ever. I just don’t think you should be so reliant on Dominic. The salon is doing well, so why not start paying him off and then expand later.”

  Rachel laughs. “Dom’s money has never bothered you before. Who do you think pays for the house you live in?”

  “I’m fully aware who pays the mortgage.” Harriet shakes her head. “Mom, we’ve discussed this. I thought you wanted to be more self-sufficient. What happens if your relationship with Dominic ends? Do we lose the house? The salon? Where will we be then?”

  I glance at Harriet and try to convey moral support without Rachel noticing. I wish I’d never started this stupid conversation.

  Rachel sniffs and carries on talking, completely ignoring everything Harriet just said. “So, the plan is, I’m going to start offering cosmetic procedures, and in order to do that I’m going to need more staff.” She nudges me with her elbow. “Actually, Em, I’m hoping I’ll be able to persuade you to quit wiping tables and come and join me. I know you’ll love it and it’ll be so much fun working together.”

  I swallow hard. That’s the last thing I want to do.

  “And the good news is the number of customers we’ll get through the door for dermal fillers will pay off the investment plus all the other debts within the first year. It’s practically guaranteed.”

  “That’s what you said about the laser hair removal system,” Harriet says gently. “That investment is nowhere near being paid off.”

  Rachel stands so abruptly, her chair topples over. She sucks in a deep breath, making her chest rise. “That is enough, Harriet.”

  I scoot down in my chair, trying to ignore the disapproving looks of the other diners.

  “Mom, please,” Harriet says. “Can we talk about this at home?”

  “Oh sorry, Harriet, am I showing you up again?” She turns to me and her expression softens. “You’ll have to excuse me, Emily. I’ve completely lost my appetite. I’m going to grab a cab and spend the night at a hotel. I’m sure Dominic will be delighted to join me.” She snatches her purse, flicks her hair over her shoulder and walks stiffly towards the exit. You can almost hear a sigh of relief from the other customers as one of the waiters holds the door for her.

  I turn to Harriet. “Should I go after her?” I really don’t want to go after her.

  Harriet presses her lips together and gives a small shake of her head.

  “But do you think she’ll be okay?”

  “She’ll be fine. Leave her.”

  “Okay,” I say quietly.

  We sit in uneasy silence for a while. For something to do, I place the cracker around the shell on my crab and squeeze the handle. The shell splinters with a crunching sound and, despite losing my appetite, I scoop out a bit of the flesh and pop it in my mouth. Chili heats my tongue, followed by ginger and garlic.

  “She’s not drunk,” Harriet announces.

  I force my food down in one painful swallow. “Oh. She’s not?”

  “I know that’s what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. She’s not drunk.”

  I place the cracker onto the plate and dip my fingers in the water bowl, sending drips onto the tablecloth. “Are you sure? Because I was beginning to think…. I mean, she knocked that wine back pretty fast and she always seems to have a drink in her hand at home.”

  Harriet pushes her plate away and sighs. “She does drink too much, but she’s not drunk. Not yet, anyway. That’s not what just happened.”

  I pick up my napkin, dry my hands and wipe my mouth. “Okay, so you need to tell me then, what did just happen?”

  Harriet’s face creases and for a moment I think she’s going to cry. Then she takes a deep breath and her expression changes to one devoid of emotion. “Everything was supposed to be perfect,” she whispers.

  I wait for her to explain, but she stays silent.

  “What do you mean?” I say gently. “This evening?”

  She shrugs. “All of it. Tonight. This meal. Your stay with us.” She looks around the restaurant. “I wanted it all to be perfect so you’d like it here and want to stay, instead of going back home to the UK.”

  Oh.

  She picks up the jug, pours water into her glass and takes a long sip. Then she looks at me. “I know deep down you want to go back to London. You’re only here because you haven’t got any other options.”

  “Harriet….”

  “No, you don’t have to say anything, Em. I see it in your expression every time the subject comes up.”

  I want to tell her she’s wrong. I want to say something to make her feel better, but I’m not going to lie to her. I owe her that much.

  “I’ve been trying so hard to make everything work since you came here. Do you know how difficult it’s been giving you space so you don’t feel suffocated, when all I want to do is make up for all the time we’ve lost?” She raises her hand towards the door. “But Mom had to do her usual and ruin everything.”

  I wish I could find some words to comfort her, but she’s right. If I was going to start building bridges with Rachel, I needed tonight to be perf
ect too. It really couldn’t have gone much worse.

  “Every single night since I came to California with Mom, I prayed that you’d come and join us. That’s why I kept sending you letters, hoping I could tempt you to come over. You can’t imagine how hard it’s been for me.”

  My sympathy comes to an abrupt halt and I narrow my eyes. I take a couple of deep breaths before I dare speak. “You think it was hard for you? How can you say that, Harriet? You weren’t the one who got left behind.”

  Her eyes widen. “Do you think I wanted our family to split up?” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Em, I would never have left if it had been up to me.” Her voice shakes with emotion. “It was the worst thing that ever happened to me. One minute I was in a happy family, and then the next I was plucked away from the little sister I adored, taken away from my school, my home....” A lone tear starts to snake its way down her cheek. “It was like I was trapped in the middle of a nightmare and I couldn’t make it stop.”

  My mind whirls as I try to get my head around what she’s telling me. “I ... I thought you wanted to come here?”

  She makes a spluttering sound, a noise somewhere between laughing and crying. “I was fifteen, Em. Nobody cared what I wanted.”

  “But at least you knew what was happening.” I swallow hard. “I didn’t know you were leaving that day. You didn’t even bother to say goodbye.”

  She shakes her head. “That’s because I didn’t know what was going on. Mom told me she had a surprise and to go wait in the car. I had no idea what was really happening until we arrived at the airport. Even then she let me think you would be joining us soon. About a week after we got here she told me the truth. I was a mess, begging her to take me back home and threatening all sorts.” She looks up with make-up smudged under her eyes. “So don’t tell me it wasn’t hard for me, okay? Just don’t.”