One good lie, p.3
One Good Lie, page 3
She dragged herself into the shower. Having taken so much time off recently with the court case and the memorial service, she ought to make the effort.
The water jets pummelled her upper back and cleared her head, making room for memories of yesterday to slither in. Of the service. The eulogy read so eloquently by her sister. The hymns. The whirlwind of faceless visitors back at the house.
Ewan in the alleyway, his mouth on hers.
Oh, God. Oh, God, no.
How could he take advantage of her when she was vulnerable? He’d been at Sophie’s side throughout the trial. Finished work early to collect her children from school. Cooked dinner for the family when she arrived home late. The model boyfriend. Or so she’d thought.
Poor Sophie. She’d finally found some stability…
A late-night phone call, four years earlier, jabbed at Ruby. The tremor in her sister’s voice as she told her that Greg, Sophie’s now ex-partner and the children’s father, had left. Right out of the blue. Ruby had driven across town in the battering rain to find Sophie in a crumpled mess at her kitchen table, sobbing her heart out. After four years, he’d arrived home from work and told her he wasn’t ready for a steady relationship and kids. He’d met someone new, been offered a job in Poland and was moving out.
Later, they discovered he’d been preparing to leave for months. Stashing away money from cash-in-hand building jobs, collecting belongings together in a case already packed beneath the bed. Leaving Sophie with crushing debts and a three-year-old and a baby who couldn’t understand where Daddy had gone and why they couldn’t see him.
It had been a struggle afterwards. With a mortgage to pay, bills crawling out of the woodwork and only a part-time receptionist’s job at the hotel in town. Sophie was torn between increasing her hours to keep the house and spending quality time with her children. Everyone rallied around to help, but eventually, with no maintenance or contact from Greg, the situation proved overwhelming.
Ruby switched off the shower and grabbed a towel. A cold shiver skittered down her spine as she recalled another late-night phone call, this time from their mother, three months later, to say Sophie was in an ambulance on her way to Leicester General. Her mother had called over late to drop off Alfie’s jacket and found her slumped on the bathroom floor, surrounded by empty blister packets of paracetamol and half a bottle of whisky, the children fast asleep in their beds.
Ruby could still see her sister’s ghostly face when she’d visited her in the hospital room that night. The faint summer freckles, the distance in her eyes. The medical team had pumped her stomach, yet she looked as though the very life had been pumped out of her.
By the time Greg returned a year later, saying he’d made a mistake, pleading with her to take him back, Sophie and the children were living with their mother. With Aileen assisting with childcare and the financial strain loosening, Sophie had increased her hours at work and grown stronger, more independent. And she sent Greg’s sorry arse packing.
It had been four long years. Four hard years of balancing shiftwork with parenting. Four years in which Ruby tried to persuade her sister to socialise and make a new life for herself. But Sophie refused, working out childcare access with Greg, who decided to move to nearby Leicester, and choosing to spend what little spare time she did have with her kids. It was only when Alfie started school that she relaxed and started to go out with some of the mums from the PTA. And it was on one of these nights out she had met Ewan, the delivery driver who’d recently moved to the area from Glasgow in search of work. The man who showered her with flowers and took her out for candlelit dinners.
Sophie made no secret of the fact that she was crazy about Ewan, and who wouldn’t be? He was handsome, thoughtful. Always there when she needed him. The children loved him, especially when he took them to the park and the cinema. He’d supported her with childcare after the death of her mother, hinted at a shared future together.
Everything was finally falling into place for Sophie.
Despite the shower, Ruby could still smell Ewan’s sporty aftershave. Taste the mint on his breath. Feel his sinewy hands on her, his fingers grappling with the straps of her dress.
She cringed. How could she let this happen?
Bile shot to her throat. She dashed across to the toilet and retched, staring at the spatter of clear liquid showering the pan. Predictable really. She’d been so concerned with looking after the guests yesterday, of making the ‘wake’ the success her sister wanted, she’d barely eaten, herself.
Back at the sink, Ruby splashed water on her face and checked her reflection in the mirror as she patted it dry. She could only imagine the gut-wrenching heartache if Sophie found out about her exchange with Ewan. Her sister was infinitely stronger than she had been four years earlier. She’d been surprisingly resilient after their mother’s death, especially considering the circumstances. But, still… sometimes, when she was tired or burdened, there was an edge of fragility to her. Ruby couldn’t let her find out. She wouldn’t.
Chapter 7
There was something going on at the school. Parents were gathered at the gates when Sophie arrived to drop off the children. Hunched under umbrellas to avoid the falling rain, deep in conversation. Usually, people took their kids into class and dashed off in the mornings; it was the afternoons when they gathered to chat at the gate while they waited to collect.
She picked out Louise, Daisy’s best friend’s mother, in the horde, talking to another mum, and parked up. Then checked the diary on her phone, wondering if she’d missed an event – an assembly, a performance, maybe even a school outing. It was empty.
A text blasted in from Greg asking if he could have an answer about his request to have the kids a day early next weekend. She ignored it.
‘Is there a trip today?’ she called into the back of the car.
The kids didn’t answer. They were arguing over the seat belts. They were always arguing over the seat belts. The one in the middle was broken and Alfie insisted on clipping his belt into the wrong catch.
Sophie pushed the thoughts aside, pulled up her hood and exited the car. When she finally got the children out, Alfie dropped his jacket on the wet pavement and had to go back for it. Daisy trailed her book bag on the ground. It was a normal Wednesday.
Only it wasn’t normal because the parents, still standing at the gates, lowered their voices and turned to watch as she waited for a gap in the traffic and ushered her kids across the road.
Sophie stared back at them through the rain. She caught Louise’s eye, pulled a quizzical face. Louise jolted her head back and widened her eyes in an expression that said, We’ll speak on the way out.
The children took time to settle in their classrooms. In the aftermath of yesterday, Alfie had forgotten his homework sheet and she needed to speak to his teacher to explain why. Daisy couldn’t find her PE shoes.
Sophie left the school to find Louise beside the gate, sheltering underneath a red golfing umbrella, head down, scrolling through her phone.
‘What’s going on?’ Sophie asked.
‘Have you seen the news this morning?’ Louise was short and mumsy, in jeans that became baggier by the day as she chased her Weight Watchers target, a loose navy T-shirt and sensible pumps. She pushed her dark bob out of her face and made room for Sophie to join her under her umbrella.
Sophie said she hadn’t seen the news. The morning television was always on, but the kids switched it to CBeebies and she was too busy chasing her tail and making their packed lunches anyway. Plus, there was the clearing up to finish from yesterday… Her voice trailed off as Louise’s expression tightened.
‘A woman was killed in the town centre last night.’
‘Oh my God.’ Sophie pressed her hand to her throat. Ruby had walked home yesterday evening, alone. She checked her phone. She hadn’t thought much of her sister forgetting to send a late-night message to confirm she’d arrived home safely; they were all weary from the day. But she hadn’t messaged this morning either. Sophie’s stomach knotted. ‘When. Where?’
‘The town centre, that’s all I know. The news said a blonde woman. Poor thing, the police haven’t released her name yet.’
Sophie swallowed, dry and hard. Blonde. It couldn’t have been Ruby. But any relief she felt was quickly squashed by the crushing reality of what another family was waking up to this morning. And she knew only too well what that was like.
Jagged lights popped and flashed at the sides of her eyes. She stepped out from underneath the umbrella. Air, she needed air.
‘Are you okay?’ Louise angled her head.
‘I’m fine.’ Her hair was getting wet now, clumping on her shoulders. Raindrops trickled down her neck. ‘I just need to get back.’
Louise reached out, touched her arm. ‘Are you sure, Soph?’
‘Yes. Let me know if you hear anything else.’
Back in the car, the rain was relentless, smearing the windows, blurring her view. Sophie didn’t notice herself switching her wipers to maximum, pulling off down the road, pausing at the junction. Didn’t register braking at the zebra crossing on High Street for a mother to push a stroller across. Didn’t remember crawling down her street behind the refuse lorry as the bins were emptied, one by one. Only when the gravel of her driveway crunched beneath her wheels did she turn off her engine and realise she was home.
She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the steering wheel, the cold plastic cooling her skin. Another murder. The maelstrom of emotions washing through another family made her pulse race. The shock. The horror. The anger. The carnival of pain. It was like someone picking at an old wound, opening it up.
The fateful day of her mother’s passing slipped into her thoughts. It began as a normal Monday. Her mother was up and out of the house before they woke, just as she always was when she was preparing the shop for a winter sale, her washed coffee mug upside down on the drainer the only sign of her presence. Sophie had dropped the kids at school and worked a shift at the hotel. It was the month before Christmas and a freezing fog had hovered all day, refusing to budge. It had been a relief to come in from school, close the doors and huddle around the fire. The children were watching the television while she cooked cheese and potato pie for dinner. She was about to dish up when the doorbell rang.
Sophie could still picture the detectives on the doorstep. A man and a woman, dark suits peeping out from beneath long overcoats. Everything about them – their military stance, the way they spoke with authority, the formality – screamed of police. As soon as she set eyes on them, she knew it was serious. An accident or even a death.
The memory faded. Raindrops drummed on the car roof.
The days and weeks after her mother’s death had merged as her brain had shut down and her body had moved into autopilot. Cooking dinner, keeping the house, caring for the children. Pushing the pain and anguish deep into the vaults of her brain. She’d blanked out those early months in the same way she’d blanked out the sickening details in the courtroom. Suppressed the depression, the relentless ache, the grief. Masked the anxiety brimming within. Only Ewan knew what she was going through. Ruby would have encouraged her to seek help and she refused to go down that path again. Not after last time.
A green room sprang to mind. Long olive drapes pooled at the floor either side of a sash window. The small arrangement of flowers on the coffee table, looking as fresh as those in the paintings adorning the walls. Lounging on the leather sofa, feet curled beneath her. Colin Halliday opposite, sitting forward in his chair, a pen poking between his fingers.
Ironically, it was her mother who had persuaded her to see a therapist after Greg left. ‘It’ll be good to talk to someone outside the family,’ Aileen had said. ‘You can tell them anything and you never need to see them again if you don’t want to.’
And it had worked. It had taken a while, and some very painful admissions, but eventually things started to shift inside her. She joined a gym, a yoga class and opened her eyes to the world around her, all thanks to Colin.
The day she introduced Colin to her mother stuck like putty in Sophie’s mind. It was almost two years after her therapy sessions had finished. She and Aileen were in the Highcross Centre, Christmas shopping. He’d stopped, touched her arm amongst the throng of shoppers. Made her jump. For a brief moment they’d exchanged small talk. He was looking for a present for his sister and had no idea what to buy. He’d visited Aileen’s shop the very next day and bought a purse. The first of many visits, it later transpired.
Tears swelled in Sophie’s eyes. She’d barely been able to contain her excitement when her mother had started dating Colin. Raised by a single parent, Colin was one of the kindest men Sophie had met, the counselling father figure she’d never had. He’d coaxed her out of the dark cave, encouraged her to embrace the light. He’d healed her, made her happy. Now he would make her mother happy.
But she was wrong. He’d duped her. Listened to her bare her soul with his soft brown eyes and false empathy. The same way he’d duped her mother into thinking he was kind, thoughtful and considerate. Because he wasn’t any of those things.
Raindrops clumped on the side window and trailed down the glass. Sophie wiped her face and checked the street outside, then reached over and hauled her handbag across from the passenger seat. Digging her hand in and moving aside a packet of tissues, a couple of pens, her mobile phone, she lifted out her purse. Jittery fingers opened it up and unzipped the middle pocket between the folds of change, where a small square of foil glinted at her. She unravelled it to reveal several tiny blue tablets, then sat back, placed one on her tongue and closed her eyes. No. She wasn’t about to let Ruby, Louise or anyone else know she was struggling. She’d find the inner strength. Deal with this herself.
A tear broke free and slid down her face. She couldn’t have known the depth of Colin’s temper. How, when her mother had tried to end their relationship, his anger had exploded into a rage that culminated in her death.
But it didn’t stop the niggling doubt that drip-fed into her system. A better person might have seen through him. Seen past the charm, the sweet smiles, the witty humour. Seen him for what he really was. A better person would never have introduced him to their mother.
Chapter 8
The rain was still coming down in thick needles. Newsreaders issued warnings about flash flooding. Cars crawled along High Street, windscreen wipers flapping back and forth. Ruby shook out her umbrella and heeled the door of Galanti Bespoke Kitchens closed. Perhaps the inclement weather would encourage some of her morning appointments to cancel. She hoped so.
‘Ah. I’m glad you’re here.’ Mark Galanti, manager and owner of the business as he liked to remind people on a regular basis, wandered through from the staff kitchen out back, a steaming mug in hand. ‘The phones have already started and there’s a ton of viewings arranged.’ His dark hair was slicked back, accentuating intense eyes framed with heavy brows, set into an angular face. A navy and white spotty tie hung loose over the lilac shirt stretched across his muscular chest. He marched to an arc of desks facing the door, navy trousers clinging to his thighs as he planted down his coffee on the end desk and then retreated out back.
Ruby sighed. It was only a quarter to nine, fifteen minutes before she was due to start. Start and finish times meant nothing to Mark. He was always there before everyone arrived in the mornings, watching them traipse in, and left after they’d gone at the end of the day. He even called in on his day off to finish paperwork, and that’s when he actually took his day off. The housing market in Market Deeton had taken a downturn in recent months. With talk of an economic crisis, more people were choosing to stay put and renovate, which meant an increase in new kitchens. What the company really needed was another pair of hands, though that was unlikely to happen any time soon. ‘The ex-wife’s bleeding me dry,’ was Mark’s stock phrase when Ruby talked to him about the possibility of taking on someone new.
She shouldered off her jacket and hung it on a coat stand beside the archway that led into their showroom. The bottom of her trouser legs, damp from the short walk from the car park, stuck uncomfortably to her calves. She tucked her hair behind her ears and fished her phone out of her pocket. In her rush to get through the rain, she’d missed two calls from Sophie. Her chest tightened.
Sophie answered on the second ring. ‘Finally!’ she said. Her tone was chipped. Ruby’s chest tightened another notch. Had Ewan beaten her to it and shared something? She was beginning to wish she’d spoken to Ewan first, when her sister said, ‘You didn’t text me when you got home last night.’
Ah. ‘Sorry. I dropped my mobile and the screen shattered. Then I fell asleep on the sofa in my clothes.’ Not strictly untrue. She’d woken in the early hours with a throbbing head and a mouth like sandpaper and clambered up the stairs.
‘That makes a change.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
The line crackled.
‘Are you okay?’ Ruby asked.
‘Fine.’ Sophie didn’t sound fine. She sounded distinctly pissed off. ‘Your phone’s working now I take it?’
Ruby looked down at the splintered front. ‘Yes… I just need to get the screen replaced.’
‘Look, I can tell you’re distracted. You obviously haven’t seen the news. Are you still coming for dinner?’
‘Um, sure.’
‘Okay, I’ll see you around six.’
The line went dead. Ruby lowered the phone. What did she mean about the news? But the thought didn’t linger. Something else was battling for supremacy in her brain: Ewan.
He hadn’t told Sophie about their exchange the evening before. He couldn’t have done, otherwise she’d have said something. Which meant he wanted to keep it quiet too. Good.
