Then Spiky Hair and I just stood there. We were a long way from the fairground and you could hardly hear the music any more through the rain. The sound of the bike had faded too. They’d ridden so much faster and further than I had. I looked at Spiky Hair, close up now. I’d thought the two of them weren’t much older than us – seventeen, eighteen maybe. But now I could see he was much older than that. Both of them were so much older than us. He tilted his head back and blew smoke at the sky. ‘You’d better hope she enjoys herself,’ he said.
It was a long, long time before they came back. At last, I could hear the bike’s roar and smell the petrol hot in the air. I rushed up to meet them as the motorcycle veered sideways, the back wheel skidding so the bike tilted and wobbled. Curly Hair gave a laughing whoop and Abigail came sliding off in a graceful slow motion as Curly Hair skidded away in a show-boating circle.
In the warm rain, my cousin’s shoulders shook with hiccups, that way she laughed and the effort to catch her breath. I landed on my knees beside her, giddy with relief and laughter too.
But when I reached out for her, she knocked my hand away, pushing herself up to her feet.
‘Abigail!’
She was haring away and I stumbled after her, the rain falling in great strips now, so I could hardly see. When I caught her up, managed to grab her, she whirled round. I saw her hand come up, a white flash, and felt the explosion of pain as she drove a stinging slap across my cheek.
I tasted the iron of blood in my mouth. ‘What’s wrong?’ I was in shock.
Her words almost disappeared in a crash of thunder, just her mouth moving and her face contorted in the dark.
‘You think I wanted to get on a bike with him?’ Behind us I could see the boys – the men – grinning, scornful. ‘We don’t know them, they’re complete strangers!’
‘So why didn’t you say anything? You should have said you didn’t want to go on!’
‘Really, Jess? And you would have listened? You don’t see it, do you, you’ve no idea. It’s all just playing games to you. We’re not eight anymore, we’re not eight. But you’ve been safe, haven’t you, your whole life, how could you ever imagine anything different? How could you ever know what it’s like to be in danger?’
For a moment I couldn’t move, only stand like a statue as the thick rain battered down on us. It was true, everything she said was true. How could I possibly have done that to her? How could I have been so naive, so blind?
She sank to a crouch, like I’d punched her in the stomach. ‘You act as if I mean everything to you, but you’ve really no idea, Jess, how I feel.’
They were the most painful words she could have said. I got down on my knees in the soaking mud. I would have lain down there if she’d asked me to.
‘Abigail – please! I’m so sorry.’ I would have done anything for her, anything in the world. ‘I was so stupid, but I promise – I’ll never let you down again.’
Chapter 19
Friday 2nd August:
Day 68
ANNE
I stood the wine bottle on the flimsy worktop with a clatter. It was so humid outside the caravan, worse now that Robert had let down the awning sides against the rain. The close air was like someone breathing down my neck and I was glad I’d been given a reason to duck inside.
I wiped my arm across my forehead. The rain drumming on the roof sounded like an avalanche, hard pebbles hurled from above. I fumbled with the bottle opener, trying to lever out the cork. It was a fancy wine that Lillian and Fraser had brought but the wooden cork had swollen in the humidity and my hands were too damp in the heat. The opener slipped as I twisted it and the cork flaked.
I didn’t want to go back outside where Robert and Fraser and my sister were all waiting. We were all here on a family holiday, and wasn’t this everything I had wanted, yet I felt caught between two parts of myself: one part in here, on my own and uncertain; the other part who was supposed to be out there pouring wine, pretending I was as together as Lillian.
I thought I’d found a steady place with Abigail; when we’d painted her room, something had seemed to resolve. But now again, I felt things crumbling, splitting. I pushed the corkscrew in again, twisting it deeper into the crumbling wood. Inside, the dark wine looked almost black. Four glasses, one each; if we didn’t finish it, Lillian would say it wasn’t worth keeping. But I didn’t like the taste, I honestly never had. Even the smell of it caught at my throat.
In my pocket, my mobile blipped, another voicemail alert, another message like the others I’d deleted without listening. Or after only listening to half, words that didn’t even make sense: Please call me, listen, he seems so familiar …
I could feel myself so pulled in both directions, drawn to the past but so frightened of it too. It felt sometimes as though I had been split right down the middle, never having dealt with the mistakes of long ago, only burying them somewhere and sealing it over, trying to become a new person entirely. I had drawn a line and now was trapped on one side, except when something couldn’t help breaking through.
My phone buzzed again, ringing, needing me, and I was right on the verge of answering this time when I saw them coming back across the fields. Abigail and Jess, black against the sunset sky, picked out by the low lamps of the campsite. They were walking shoulder to shoulder, so close I could hardly tell them apart. Jess and Abigail. They were safe, they were happy, they were coming home. With the relief came the strangest clarity and I seemed to know, quite clearly, what I had to do.
The sky was ink-black now, barely a few streaks of light on the horizon where the storm hadn’t yet reached. I pulled the flaking cork free and threw it, useless, away in the bin. For a moment, the two girls disappeared from view, winding their way between another row of caravans. In those stolen few seconds, to the number of the last missed call, I wrote one message, as simple as I could: I’m sorry. I can’t. Please leave us alone.
Chapter 20
Monday 5th August:
Day 71
JESS
After the trip, back at the Whites’ house, Abigail and I went to sleep together and woke up together, just like before. The sun rose each day, slipping across the rose-pink walls of her bedroom. I’d wake first and lie listening to her breathing, the heat of the bedroom like a cocoon. In the mornings, we’d go out and sunbathe – beach towels, sunglasses, iced glasses of juice.
In the late afternoons though, my cousin would ask to spend time alone. I’d see it happening, soon learned to spot the point when she would ask to be excused. It was like something gradually fizzled out in her and a look of blankness would appear. ‘Go on then,’ Auntie Anne would say. ‘Up you go.’ I’d watch her climb the familiar stairs, her hand sliding step by step up the banister.
Once, I crept upstairs after her, pretending I was only taking clean towels up for Auntie Anne. From the landing I could see into her room – she’d left her door just a little bit ajar. I’d expected her to be napping, lying in bed but she wasn’t. She was at her desk, hunched over, writing something. I must have made a noise, creaked a floorboard because she turned round. When she saw me standing there, she got up off the bed, crossed the room until she was right there in front of me. Then she shut the door, right in my face.
Had something shifted since that night at the fair? I knew I had hurt her, that I’d let her down, but I refused to believe that that changed things forever. I just had to wait, be patient, till it came right. Till then, I’d be there for her, same as always. And I would never make that same mistake again.
In the evenings, anyway, she’d be up and about again. We’d sit watching TV, my legs stretched out across her lap, while the twins played some noisy card game on the floor. She liked comedy programmes, PG films. She didn’t like shows with swear words, sad endings or fights. While the TV flickered, I’d watch my aunt and uncle in the kitchen, one washing the pots, one drying. Each time Auntie Anne handed a pan over, holding onto it a second too long, it was like she had words she w
anted to hand over too. But nine times out of ten, she never said anything, and otherwise the words were only about everyday things: packed lunches, trips to the park, the Asda shopping list. Sometimes, when I watched them together, their little gestures of kindness, I’d hear fragments of my parents’ voices echoing in my head:
– Robert blames himself, can’t you see that?
– And so should we blame Anne instead? For a mistake, just a stupid mistake …
– We can’t keep doing this, Lillian, we can’t … I’m telling you, we have to say something.
– And I mean it, Fraser, don’t you dare.
An argument – from now or from long ago? I couldn’t tell, I just tuned it out. Instead, I’d persuade Abigail to join in with the twins. We’d play their card game, hand after hand, and I was always careful to make sure she never lost. Once the kitchen was clear, my aunt and uncle would come and join us, Uncle Robert putting his big feet up on the sofa. Everything felt totally normal then, and come bedtime, it would be just me and Abigail once more. Old playmates, sleeping side by side.
One night I dreamed we were playing Do-you-trust-me? We had jumped, thrown ourselves, leaped into thin air. Abigail was tumbling, falling, her back to me, hair covering her face. But I was there, falling with her. I was there, and I reached out and caught her. I knew then – when I landed, woke up – that everything was going to be okay.
Middle Saturday in August, I took Abigail to the cinema. They’d finally opened the new complex in town and I wanted Abigail to come see a film with me.
In the warm summer evening, we could have easily walked to the cinema from the Whites’ house, but Mum and Dad insisted on picking us up; they’d decided to watch a film too, some revival of a Seventies classic they wanted to see. ‘But we won’t get in your way,’ said Dad. ‘Just pretend like we’re not there.’
It wasn’t Abigail’s first trip to the cinema – I remembered going to the old theatre when we were little – but it was the first since she’d come home. She wore the yellow top, the one I’d tried to get her to wear for the music festival. She’d picked it out for herself this time and she pulled her hair into a low ponytail. It looked nice.
Mum and Dad’s film started before ours so they went in first, leaving us alone in the foyer. I took Abigail up to the sweets counter to buy popcorn, two big boxes, one each.
In the theatre, we found seats near the back. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the tall, wide screen, and my ears to the booming sound. ‘You okay?’ I whispered to Abigail, and she nodded. Her face was softened, relaxed. She was okay. We were okay. As the lights dimmed, I felt myself sink down into my seat. I loved the cinema, its cosy, enveloping feel. You could shut out everything in here, surrounded by the pictures and sounds. My blood grew warm. Abigail wriggled in her seat, her shoulder coming to rest against mine.
When the film ended we came out, ears ringing, blinking into the bright lights of the foyer. I was light-headed from the popcorn, the darkness and the heat. The foyer had a strange atmosphere. People stood in clumps, their faces serious. And where were my parents? Their film had finished half an hour ago. I stretched on my tiptoes, scanning. There. I saw him. Dad. He waved, came over.
‘Where’s Mum?’ was the first thing I asked.
‘Just outside, getting some fresh air.’
‘Has something happened?’ The lights felt super-bright.
‘It’s nothing. Nothing to worry about.’
‘What do you mean though?’ It was only now that I caught sight of the lights outside – blue, flashing.
Dad scratched his chin. ‘There was an elderly lady having breathing problems. They called an ambulance, just as a precaution. Your mum took care of her until it arrived. Her nurse training, you know.’
‘What about the lady? Did they make her okay?’
Dad hesitated. ‘She’s in the best hands.’ Maybe not so good then. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s catch up with your mum.’
The ambulance set off as we came out, its lights going, its siren now too. We found Mum in the car park. The sun was going down, nearing that time when your eyes keep struggling to adjust. The big neon sign on the wall of the cinema was blinking on and off, pasting a pink sheen on everything. People straggled past us, bleary-eyed from the dark, making their groggy ways home.
‘What did I tell you?’ Mum said, out of nowhere as we came up.
Dad stopped short, so short that Abigail bumped right into him. I knew that tone in Mum’s voice. I’d heard it a million times – through walls, up stairs, behind closed doors. ‘What did I tell you?’ she said again.
I saw Dad bristle, glancing at us, his shoulders rising. ‘What you always say: don’t mention it, don’t say anything.’
I realized she must have seen it in our faces. We must have come out looking all grave, not like we’d just tumbled out of a film on a popcorn high.
‘So you were listening,’ said Mum. I felt the blood emptying from my legs, all the warmth from sitting in the cinema beside Abigail.
‘We saw the ambulance,’ Abigail said.
‘Don’t,’ I tried to say.
‘I always listen,’ said Dad, his voice more brittle the louder it got. ‘But they asked a simple question and I gave them a simple answer.’
‘Worrying them and making a drama—’ A group of other teenagers wandered past, turning their heads and one of them pointed.
‘All I’ve done is tell them the truth.’
‘Yes, and in doing so you’ve spoiled their whole evening!’ Mum’s voice went bouncing off the cinema walls, the tarmac, the cars. One of the passing girls snapped her gum, watching us like we were some kind of freak show. This is spoiling it, I wanted to shout. The two of you yelling at each other in front of everyone! About nothing, about some stupid, tiny thing!
‘The girls could tell,’ said Dad. ‘It was obvious to them that something had happened. Do you think if you don’t mention things, they don’t exist? It doesn’t work like that, Lillian, it never has!’
I wanted the ground to swallow me up. I felt exactly like that. An argument escalating out of nowhere, both of them acting so out of control. My parents argued, I knew that, but always in private, so I could pretend not to hear. Never in front of me. Never, ever like this out in public. I was so angry I wanted to cry, but it was Abigail’s expression that I could hardly bring myself to look at: her face like a ghoul’s every time the neon flashed. What must she be thinking – finding herself in the middle of this, these adults, her own aunt and uncle, so angry with each other?
Perhaps it was Abigail that brought them back to themselves. Mum blinked, looked at my cousin, shook her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. Her smile looked like it hurt to make. ‘Just ignore us. Both of you, please just ignore us.’
Dad was still breathing quickly. I wanted to shake him. Shouting like that in a car park at Mum. It was horrible, like a bad dream. In that moment, he hardly seemed like Dad at all.
‘Come on,’ Mum said, her voice the only thing still working it seemed. ‘I think we all need to get some food.’
After dinner in the burger house up the road – a stifled, stupid affair – Mum and Dad dropped me and Abigail off at my aunt and uncle’s house. I could hardly manage to say goodbye to them. I could hardly look at them. I just wanted them to go.
Auntie Anne welcomed me and Abigail inside. She smiled at us, but then her face dropped. She could tell something had happened. I didn’t say anything, just said we were tired. Let Mum explain it to her, I thought.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said to Abigail as we brushed our teeth before bed. ‘I’m sorry if they upset you. I’ve no idea why they were acting like that.’ We were a family. That was supposed to be the glue that held us together.
Abigail spat a blob of toothpaste into the sink, the whitening toothpaste she always used. My own mouth was stinging, raw from Listerine.
‘It’s fine,’ she said.
But it wasn’t. Because now the glue was twisting, brea
king; cracks were showing and I didn’t know why.
Or – I thought I didn’t.
Abigail straightened up and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
I swallowed. ‘It wasn’t about you,’ I said.
Chapter 21
Sunday 18th August:
Day 84
ANNE
My sister called first thing the next morning. I think she wanted to apologize for what had happened at the cinema, although with Lillian it was never really an apology because that would mean admitting she’d done wrong.
‘Everything’s fine, really,’ she told me over the phone. ‘It’s just that sometimes Fraser and I clash.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘Neither of us are perfect. But trust me, everything’s fine.’
I don’t know what else I’d expected her to say.
‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘have they set a date for the trial?’
‘Yes,’ I told her. ‘September the twenty-third.’
‘The twenty-third? So close to Abigail’s birthday?’
‘I know. But it isn’t as though we have a choice. There’s something else though.’
‘What?’
I hesitated.
‘Annie, what is it?’
With her question, I felt the full weight of concern on my shoulders, a weight I had been trying to ignore for weeks. I should have told Lillian earlier and asked for her help before now. ‘It’s all going to play out differently. Because of Mrs Dillon.’
‘Mrs Dillon?’ Lillian took a moment to place the name. ‘Tonia’s mother? The other little girl? Why – what’s she done?’
I told her everything, all in a rush, and explained what DS McCarthy had told us. There’d been a case conference. Tonia’s mother was refusing to testify. She’d told police she wanted the charges relating to Tonia dropped and had signed a statement saying so. She was no longer speaking with police and the neighbour witness now wasn’t talking either. No comment was all either of them would say.
Little White Lies Page 16