Little White Lies (72 page)

‘Will someone . . . ?’

‘You can’t have children of your own
so you’ve taken mine!
’ It was the beginning of a sentence that, once embarked on, would have no end. She knew that much. She saw Tash wince and the wide-eyed, faraway look in her eye was something Rebecca recognised; it was the look she’d always had, the look of an outsider, gazing in on something she longed to take part in, but couldn’t. Another cry broke forth from her throat but Julian was holding her arms, pressing her to him. Adam had his arm round Tash and, together with the policewoman, they prised her fingers from the doorjamb and led her away.

In the confusion, no one heard the doorbell until Betty Lowenstein suddenly began to scream.

ANNICK
Martha’s Vineyard, Cape Cod, USA

It was almost midnight. The house was finally quiet, struck by a silence that, after the emotions unleashed by the day, seemed almost eerie. Tash and Rebecca were upstairs, both utterly wrung out by events. Adam had gone with the police and Tariq Malouf, the man who’d simply walked up to the front door, a gurgling Maryam in his arms, and handed her over. To everyone’s surprise, Adam had offered to go. ‘He looks as though he could use some support,’ he said in an aside to Annick and Yves. ‘No one’s going to press charges but . . . shit, I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes. What a mess. What a fucking mess.’ Annick watched him go, a new respect for Adam slowly surfacing in her. He’d phoned an hour or so ago to let them know that Tariq would be released without charge within the hour. Under the circumstances, the police thought, it would be better for Mr Malouf to spend the night somewhere in town and then drive back to his home in Connecticut the following morning.

Now the three of them, she, Yves and Julian were still sitting downstairs in the living room, not speaking, yet not disconnected either, reluctant to get up and put an end to the day that had been more dreadful than each could possibly have imagined.

‘D’you want something?’ she asked them both, finally getting to her feet. She pushed both hands into her hair, pulling it back from her face before letting it spring free again.

‘Something?’ Julian looked up. His eyes were bloodshot and his expression weary.

‘A drink, maybe?’ she offered. Despite everything, it seemed the only appropriate thing.

He glanced quickly, almost shyly, at Yves. ‘A drink. Yeah, why not?’

‘I’ll get them. You stay.’ Annick quickly left the room.

She came back a few minutes later with a tray, balancing the three large brandies carefully as she set it down. ‘Rémy Martin. Good,’ she said, half-apologetically. ‘Trust Tash.’

Julian nodded slowly. ‘Yeah,’ he sighed. ‘Trust Tash.’

Annick served both men, then sat down beside Yves. The day was over. She’d seen and heard more in it than she cared to think about. The hysteria that the day had unleashed would take days, weeks, months to subside.

‘Listen,’ Annick said suddenly. The other two looked up. ‘I want to say something.’ She held the brandy glass in both hands, warming it. The day was over, in the strict sense of time passing; it was after midnight and another was about to begin. But it wasn’t over, not by a long shot. Tomorrow would be another word and another world and she wanted to forestall that. Someone ought to say
some
thing – what had been said couldn’t be un-said – and she realised it was up to her. It didn’t matter that Rebecca and Tash weren’t there to hear her. She loved them; they loved each other, even if they’d lost sight of it. She saw Yves’ look of disquiet and she shook her head.
It’s all right
, she wanted to say.
I know what I’m doing
.

‘This is what I want to say. Things don’t always turn out the way you think they will. Things just . . . happen, somehow. Without you thinking about them, or planning them . . . it’s what Americans always say. Shit happens. But nothing
happened
today. Oh, I know, it’s easy for me to say,’ she said, glancing at Julian. He was looking at her expectantly. She felt confident now she had their attention. ‘It wasn’t my child that went missing. But I
know
Rebecca and I
know
Tash and the way it was said, the way it came out, that’s not how either of them meant it. I know that. We’ve been through so much together – too much – for this to be the end of it. They’ll find their way back, I promise you.’ She looked at Yves and Julian; their eyes were fixed intently on her.

‘I suppose, for me, the most shocking thing about today isn’t just what happened to Maryam or the fact that Tash drank too much and fell asleep. It could happen to anyone. No, what’s worse is how far from the truth we’ve all strayed. Everyone has secrets; that goes without saying. And yes, some of us have more secrets than others.’ She stopped for a moment, looking at each of them in turn. Then she looked at Yves. ‘You once said to me that Rebecca and Tash were all I had, that without a family, my friends were everything. It’s still true. Yes, I’ve got my own family now . . . you and Didi . . . but we’re
all
each other’s family. All of us. You, me, Didi, the twins, Julian. And Tash and Adam, of course. Even Tariq. We’re all bound together, whether we like it or not. And secrets and lies, even little white ones, don’t belong in families.’ She stopped and looked at her glass for a moment before bringing it to her lips. ‘That’s all,’ she said. ‘That’s all I wanted to say.’

Neither Yves nor Julian said anything. The silence between the three of them was deep but strangely comfortable. After a moment, Annick got up and walked into the kitchen. She drained her glass, feeling the brandy burn its way down her throat, warming her belly. She walked over to the sink and turned on the tap, rinsing the glass carefully, setting it down on the drainer. Someone had left a bunch of flowers on the island counter – peonies, from the garden – in thanks, perhaps, for Maryam’s safe return? She picked them up, pulled off the few already-dead leaves and looked around for a vase. There was one on the bottom shelf of one of the cupboards and she bent down to pick it up. When she straightened up, Julian was standing in the doorway.

She smiled at him, a little embarrassed by her long speech, and began arranging the stems. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she asked after a moment. He said nothing but sat down patiently like a child at the kitchen table. She could hear Yves’ slow tread on the stairs. It was just the two of them, alone now. She switched on the kettle and the silence between them was filled by its throbbing. She made them both a mug and sat down opposite him, sliding it across the warm grain of the wooden surface.

‘What I’ve always liked about you, Annick,’ he said after taking a sip, ‘is the way you see everything. Every detail.’

She blushed deeply. She hadn’t meant to show off. ‘No, I—’

He shook his head, forestalling her. ‘It’s true. You see beyond the surface of things, to where things really matter. You’re right.’ He took a sip of his tea. ‘Secrets and lies. It’s time to stop. We’ve all got too many of them, myself included. Thank you,’ he said in his oddly formal way.

They sat for a little while longer, neither speaking. The wind had picked up outside, stirring the trees. A night owl flitted past, emitting a long, soulful hoot. Something barked in response – a fox perhaps . . . the trees stirred again. Night ploughed on, and would continue ploughing until the sun came up, bringing with it all the bright, expectant promise of a brand new day.

Also By Lesley Lokko

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