36
Brandon
When the women decide to spend a night in Florence and visit the Uffizi, just for a moment Brandon feels a stab of disappointment at not being invited.
‘Girls only,’ Dale states with a smugness that makes him want to slap her. Instead he makes some cutting remark, but it only upsets Susanne and he regrets it at once.
Well, fuck it. He doesn’t need to queue in the heat only to go crawling round some overrated museum rammed with tourists and relics from the past. The future is all that matters now.
And anyway, getting the villa to himself will be a total bonus; Star will certainly think so.
So, he happily says a pleasant goodbye to them, as if they were his family, telling them to be careful and to stick together. He kisses Susanne last, like she’s his wife, heading off on a business trip or something; it feels weird, but not entirely bad.
Star is standing on the cobbles, two backpacks at her feet, a shaft of sunshine slicing through the tall buildings making a halo of her hair. She smiles and flaps small hands, as though he might miss her and drive right by.
‘Hey, get in,’ he calls, pulling over to the curb while she climbs in, throwing her stuff in the back.
‘I’m starving,’ she says, putting sandaled feet up on the dashboard.
‘Look at you, you’re a stick insect – you need to eat more, Star,’ Brandon says, revving so hard that his tyres squeal.
‘Hey! Don’t drive like a wanker when I’m in the car,’ Star says, flipping open the glove compartment and rifling through it. ‘Haven’t you even got any sweets?’
‘You’re eighteen, not eight. Wait until we get to the villa, you can stuff yourself then. By the way, you can have my room tonight.’
Star’s brow puckers. ‘Where will you sleep?’
Brandon’s grin is wolfish. ‘In her bed, of course. I’ll say I missed her so much I want to fall asleep inhaling her perfume. Clever, eh?’
‘Clever. But gross,’ Star says, ‘Are you sure they won’t find out?’
‘How will they? They’re in Florence until tomorrow night – and you’ll be gone by then.’
‘Yes, back to that shit-tip hostel. I hate it there, Brandon. It’s not fair that I should—’
‘Star, we talked about this. You’ve just got to trust me.’
In the car, Star had chattered all the way over, but now she silently stomps into the kitchen and opens the fridge. ‘I thought you said there was loads of food. I hate all this stuff. Can we go shopping?’
‘Okay, look, stop acting like a brat. You eat chicken – and cheese and olives and fruit – so don’t pretend you don’t.’
Brandon opens a cupboard, finds a large packet of the cheese puffs Dale is partial to, and tosses them to his sister. ‘Here, have some of these, grab a Coke and I’ll take you out for dinner later. Let’s go to the pizzeria in the village.’
‘Good plan, bro,’ she says, filling her mouth with a handful of the salty puffs before stepping outside through the French windows.
Brandon watches as Star paces around the garden, now stippled by the late afternoon sunshine. Then she’s running towards the pool, her sandals slapping on the stones and for a moment, he pictures her leaping in fully clothed.
Instead she stops, a huge grin lighting her young face. ‘I’m going in!’ She begins to wriggle out of her jeans and T-shirt, stopping only at small red knickers.
Brandon shakes his head, relieved to see his little sister smiling, nonetheless.
Star sits on the edge of the pool and slides in. Then she’s gasping with temporary shock before swimming to the far end and letting out a victorious whoop of delight.
Brandon saunters down to the pool terrace and grins.
‘God, I love it here,’ Star calls, pulling long strokes through the water. ‘Can’t believe you’ve been here all summer – living the life of fucking Riley, while I’ve had to stay back at that dump.’
Star stops swimming; her small white breasts stencilled from a golden tan sit just below the surface as she treads water and shields her eyes from the low sun. ‘Think I’ll stay a while,’ she says, cocking her head to one side.
‘I thought you wanted to eat out.’
‘You know what I mean. Go on, Brandon – let me stay here for a couple of days.’
Brandon’s laughter is hoarse. ‘Yeah, that’ll work, Star. How on earth do I explain you away? As far as I’m aware, Harry doesn’t have any pain-in-the-butt little sisters.’
‘You’re a good liar, you’ll think of something.’ Star crosses her eyes, pinches her nose and ducks beneath the surface. Seconds pass; he knows she’s holding her breath, desperate to get a reaction.
Ignoring her game, Brandon goes and sits at the table, which is still adorned by frothy white flowers picked by Susanne and tenderly placed into a jam jar as decoration. The flowers are now beginning to wilt. Brandon sags in sympathy.
Shit. He should have known this would happen. A pang of guilt washes over him. The sad thing is, Star has a point. It isn’t fair, the way things have worked out.
She is out of the pool now and walking towards him, shivering. She reaches for a towel left drying on a chair by one of the women.
Brandon is reminded of the two of them, playing on the beach at Camber Sands: a self-conscious, dark-haired boy of thirteen, all ribs, knees and elbows, and a four-year-old girl with white-blonde hair, wearing a pink polka-dot swimsuit, her chubby hands patting sand into a plastic bucket. A few metres away, their mother Ingrid sits smoking, long hair whipped by the wind, tanned legs drawn up as she hugs her knees and gazes out to sea.
‘All right. Two nights. We’ll work on our story over dinner. Now go and get dressed – and for god’s sake, put something decent on.’
When Star reappears, shiny-haired and sweet-smelling, she has transformed herself into an adult.
Brandon nods his approval. ‘Very nice, sis, you scrub up well. That dress suits you – don’t think I’ve seen it before? Very grown up!’
Star smooths down the cornflower jersey dress and squares her shoulders. ‘I can be feminine, you know. You’re not the only good-looking one in the family.’ She checks her appearance in the hall mirror. ‘Anyway, I borrowed it.’
‘You borrowed it? Star, where did you get that?’
‘From the room at the end – the one that smells nice. I was just having a little look around. No one will know, will they? Anyway, I think I look good. I mean, it’s a bit long, but other than that…’ She continues to preen in the mirror, adding, ‘Brandon, I’m only wearing the damn dress to a restaurant, not running a marathon in it. Just chill out, will you?’
‘Oh my god, you’re a bloody liability. I told you not to touch anything!’ Brandon sighs and covers his eyes. ‘That’s Susanne’s room, so it’s her dress you’re wearing.’ He shakes his head, and paces to the front door. ‘Let’s just go, before I make you take it off. Honestly, you are such a pain!’
Star scowls. ‘Oh, I’m such a pain, am I?’ she mimics. ‘Brandon, just because you can do the accent – which by the way, you can drop when it’s just us – doesn’t mean you’re better than me. You’re not with your affected model mates or those bloody women now.’
It had taken fifteen minutes to walk down to the village and Star had complained that her feet hurt for ten of them.
‘Well, you should have worn trainers,’ Brandon says, greeting the restaurant manager and scanning the room for a table.
‘You said to wear something decent. Stop giving me a hard time, Brandon. Ooh, look at that!’ Star eyes a bubbling plate of golden lasagne as it goes past them. ‘I’m having that,’ she says, her mood lifting in an instant.
Brandon takes in the scene: each table is covered by a blue gingham cloth, a red tea-light holder burns and a single gerbera blooms. There’s a cheerful buzz of conversation, but not so loud that he can’t hear himself think. Ah, the smell: an enticing blend of garlic butter, herbs and lemon suffuses the air, making
him salivate.
The atmosphere is welcoming, reassuring, familiar. Better than that, he can be himself tonight. Just plain old Brandon Connor, of no fixed abode, having dinner with his kid sister, Star. For a moment he feels he could cry with relief.
Tomorrow, he’ll go back to playing the role of Harry Klein, twenty-four, public school educated and with a Cambridge business degree. The spoilt, over-privileged bastard.
Star is watching him. ‘You look pissed-off, bro – you okay?’
‘I’m fine. But when I think about what I’m doing here, my brain hurts… I just can’t quite—’
A waiter hovers at Brandon’s elbow, a stubby pencil raised above a worn notepad.
Brandon changes the subject and focusses on the menu.
37
Brandon
Seething, Brandon strides several paces ahead of his sister. He’d called her a liability earlier; now she’s fast becoming one.
‘Wait, don’t be like that. It was an accident. I said I’m sorry, didn’t I?’ Star whines, struggling to keep up with him as he marches uphill towards the warm glow of the villa.
‘What good is sorry? Susanne’s dress is ruined, by not a drip, or a dribble of red wine, but a whole fucking glassful sloshed down the front! Jesus, you’re clumsy!’
‘Accidents happen! Anyone would think you’re really in love with her,’ Star pouts.
‘Oh, grow up!’ Brandon snaps. ‘It’s not about that and you know it. You’ll just have to wash it when we get home, dry it overnight and hope to god the stain comes out.’
‘Sorry,’ Star says, her voice small.
Brandon remains silent, weighing up the options. There’s a distinct possibility that Susanne, with her huge wardrobe, won’t even miss the dress. No way can it go back into her closet with an angry stain all down the front.
Neither of them says another word until they arrive back at the villa. Once inside, Star peels the dress off and, still in her underwear, goes to the utility room where she begins attacking the stain before loading the dress into the washing machine.
Realising that there is nothing more to be done, Brandon rolls a joint and takes it outside where a sliver of opal moon lights his way. Lifting his face heavenward, he gazes into an indigo sky studded with stars, and waits for the weed to take effect.
He pictures Susanne, looking up at the same stars, in a new city, before climbing into bed, her long hair fanning across the pillow. He wonders whether she’s alone, or whether she’s sharing a room with Dale. Spiky, suspicious Dale, who could at this very moment be filling Susanne’s head with poison about him. The tension between them is plain to see but if he’s going to pull off his master stroke, he’ll need to deal with Dale once and for all.
Star shuffles up to him, dressed in her own scruffy combats, a sulky look on her face.
‘Any luck getting the wine out?’ he asks, passing the joint to her.
Star shakes her head, closing her eyes and inhaling the weed before letting out a plume of smoke. ‘Maybe we should dispose of it completely so that she thinks she never packed it?’
A thought occurs to Brandon. ‘Not a bad idea, but I might have a better one.’
Taking long, purposeful strides, Brandon passes through the kitchen, out into the entrance hall and along the corridor that leads to Susanne’s room. Star trails behind, bombarding him with questions.
Once inside, he switches on the overhead light, startling a gecko in its journey across the ceiling, which makes Star jump in the process.
‘It’s harmless,’ Brandon says, shushing his sister as his eyes dart around the room for inspiration.
‘Why are we in here? What are we looking for?’ Star says, keeping an eye on the lizard.
Brandon is opening and closing drawers, a determined look on his face. ‘Insurance.’ He grabs Susanne’s St Christopher necklace from a shallow drawer, surprised that it has been left behind, and hands it to Star.
‘But it’s cheap, worthless crap,’ Star says, wrinkling her nose.
‘Maybe – but it means a lot to Susanne, her dead nan gave it to her. Right, one more thing… bingo!’ Brandon plucks a white bikini top from Susanne’s bedside table, stopping to inhale her familiar scent.
‘Perv.’
Brandon ignores her. ‘Where’s the dress now?’
‘It’s on a rack; in this heat, it’ll be dry in the morning.’
Brandon’s eyes gleam. ‘Then I know exactly what I’m going to do with it.’
Brandon watches Star cracking eggs into a frying pan, tapping their shells with a knife, the way their mother used to.
People could never get their heads around them being siblings, what with Star being as fair-haired as Brandon is dark, her long pale hair framing her small face from which topaz-blue eyes gaze out. And at barely five foot two inches, she’s dwarfed by her big brother in stature, too; even her hands and feet are childlike.
At least their nine-year age gap had spared them the taunts of other kids at school, and by the time Brandon had entered young adulthood, it no longer embarrassed him that he and Star had different fathers.
Different, and yet the same – a case of lightning striking twice. Because neither one had stuck around to love, protect or provide for Brandon, Star or for poor Ingrid herself.
Star jumps back as a bubble of fat bursts with a loud crack.
‘Make sure you wash that lot up properly,’ Brandon says, surveying the messy kitchen. ‘Susanne and Evie are both neat freaks.’
‘Ha! Well, that doesn’t bode well for you, bro. You’ll have to clean your act up when we get back to England.’
‘Look, just be careful what you say, okay? And stick to the story, no improvising. I don’t want anything to slip out. Which is why I’m taking you back to San Gimi tomorrow.’
Star turns to face him, brows knitted, a spatula poised in mid-air. ‘But we agreed last night that I’d stay for a few days,’ she protests.
‘I said a couple of nights and tonight makes two. You’re going back in the morning. Star, I can’t afford to fuck this up now. I’m on a major charm offensive here and I don’t want you getting friendly with anyone, especially Dale. If she starts digging around, you need to clam up, pretend to get upset, whatever; just don’t get into conversation with her. Promise me.’
‘Oh, shut up! You’re not my dad – stop telling me what to do!’
Brandon grabs her roughly, his finger and thumb digging into her chin, and jerks her head back sharply. His voice is icy. ‘Then stop acting like a child and just cooperate, will you? You’re right. I’m not your dad. Because your father is a worthless piece of shit. Just like mine. And it’s because of them that Mum died and it’s just us. So I suggest you start listening to me – unless you’d like to go it alone of course.’
Tears spring into Star’s eyes and spill onto her cheeks. ‘Ow! That really hurt,’ she whimpers, setting down the spatula and rubbing her jaw, which is pink with fingerprints. The eggs fizz and pop in the frying pan, brown around their frilly edges. ‘Now look: our eggs are ruined.’
Appalled that he has lost his temper with the person he loves most in the world, Brandon pulls his sister into a hug, and strokes her hair.
‘Star, I’m sorry. But you’ve no idea how stressful it is pretending to be someone else all the time. That’s no excuse though and I shouldn’t take it out on you. Come on, stop crying now,’ he says, scraping the burnt eggs into the bin. ‘Tell you what, you go sit in the garden with a cup of tea and I’ll find us something else for breakfast.’
38
Susanne
Susanne cups a hand over her mouth as a wave of nausea rises within her. Whether hangover related or pure and utter shock, she cannot be sure, but right now, standing beside Dale’s unmade bed, she feels physically sick.
‘No. Not Dale. She wouldn’t… it doesn’t make sense,’ she whispers, staring at the crumpled dress, its ugly blood-like stain visible, and her St Christopher pendant, chain knotted, balled up inside
it – and randomly, a white bikini top that she hasn’t even missed.
‘Susanne, I tried to tell you. The woman’s obsessed with you. It’s why she has such a problem with me – with us being together. And as for the charade of searching Star’s room just now? That was a classic case of smoke and mirrors. To be honest, I worry about Dale’s mental health, I really do. I mean, if she’s capable of this, who knows what she’ll do next?’
Susanne shakes her head, blinking back tears. How has this happened? And more importantly… She searches Harry’s face. ‘How did you know?’
‘I didn’t. But her reaction to Star when we got back from shopping was so extreme, she acted like a crazy person, and then I started to think, maybe she was projecting her own guilt and shame onto someone else. It’s not her fault, Susanne. Clearly, she isn’t well.’
‘But shoving my stuff under her mattress? Harry – it’s so creepy. Look, do me a favour, I know there’s no love lost between you and Dale, but we’ll be leaving soon and I don’t want any more unpleasantness. I’ll talk to her, but alone. And if there’s a problem, I’ll help her.’
‘You really are an angel, you know that?’ Harry says, taking Susanne into his arms and rubbing her back. ‘There’s no end to your goodness. It’s one of the reasons I love you.’
But Susanne stiffens and pulls away. She needs to think. What if Harry is right and Dale is fixated on her? And somehow, seeing them together has tipped her over some hitherto unseen precipice?
‘Look, promise me you won’t say anything to Evie or Star.’ She can hear them, clearing up the lunch pots, Star’s infectious giggle proof that she’s already recovered from Dale’s bizarre outburst.
Harry nods. ‘Okay. Here, take your things. But let’s put everything else back the way we found it. For the sake of your friendship with Dale, Susanne, I won’t say anything.’
The Perfect Liar: A completely gripping thriller with a breathtaking twist Page 17