Little White Lies (27 page)

“This is surreal.” I gaze around at the crowded church. “It doesn’t feel real. Every day I see something, laugh at something, and think ‘I must tell Poppy about that.’ But I can’t.” I blink quickly. “It’s hard to imagine how the world can still be turning, how everyone’s still going about their lives—when Poppy isn’t.”

I swallow hard, willing myself not to cry.

“Growing up we were inseparable.” I smile. “Two peas in a pod. But then I went away to boarding school for sixth form, and... and it made me realize the huge difference she made to my life. How her infectious laughter tickled your insides, how her smile warmed you down to your toes, how she always brightened every single moment you were with her. I’ve spent so much time away from her that now I keep forgetting she’s really gone. Before, I always knew she was still there, somewhere, that I could still talk to her whenever I wanted, even if I couldn’t always see her... and I like to think that, in a way, that’s still true.” I blink fiercely and shake my head. “I wish I’d spent more time with her, treasured every second. Poppy’s like—
was
like a sister to me. She was my best friend....”

It’s no use. The tears gush through my words and the congregation blurs before me as I clutch the lectern to keep from crumpling to the floor. I close my eyes, and when I open them again Uncle Jim is by my side. He hugs me close, his strong arms holding me together as he always has, then kisses my head, his bristly beard scratching my scalp like a toothbrush as the prison guard looks on.

Uncle Jim clears his throat. “Friends.” He smiles. “Thank you so much for coming here today to remember my Poppy.” His voice cracks. “But let’s remember her not as a victim, but as the girl she was. Joyful. Cheeky. So, so funny...” He laughs hoarsely. “My princess. My angel.” He swallows hard. “But now she is a true angel. And I know she would be incredibly touched by all your kind words, your beautiful flowers, your being here at all. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Thank you.”

He squeezes my shoulders and leads me back to my pew. As I sit down Aunt Grace’s cool hand finds mine and holds it tight.

As the organ strikes up again the six men from before approach the coffin, but Uncle Jim turns and looks at the prison guard, who nods. They both get up and slowly walk towards the coffin, and instantly one of the policemen steps aside to let Uncle Jim take his place. He stares sadly at his daughter’s coffin for a long moment, stroking his hand slowly over the smooth wood. Then, taking a deep breath, they all lift it onto their shoulders.

We follow them outside, the bright sunlight blinding after the cool darkness of the church, but this time I don’t wear my sunglasses. We trudge slowly through the graveyard, a great black snake, till finally we reach the gaping hole. It’s all I can look at, all I can focus on as the vicar says the final prayers. The neat, straight sides slice deep into the soil, their dark walls plunging down, down, as they lower Poppy’s coffin into the ground.

As I take my turn to sprinkle a handful of earth into her grave a million memories flood my head and hot tears streak down my face. I can’t believe she’s really gone. Forever. That these memories... are all I have left.

Goodbye, my beautiful Poppy,
I tell her silently as the last crumbs of soil drop from my fingers.
I love you so much. Sweet, sweet dreams.

I screw my eyes shut tight, take a deep breath, then finally force myself to turn away, to let her go.

Numbly, I follow the trail of mourners as they slowly, quietly, make their way out of the graveyard, lost in my thoughts, my memories.

Suddenly an angry cry breaks the peace.

I turn, startled, to spot an Asian woman with a stroller talking heatedly with one of Uncle Jim’s colleagues, who’s blocking her way to the grave. I frown, then edge closer.

“I don’t know how you’ve got the
nerve
to show your face here,” he growls at her.

“I only wish to pay my respects,” she insists.

“Respects?” he scoffs. “If you had any respect, you wouldn’t have come—now sod off!”

Her brown eyes darken. “I have as much right to be here as you.”

“You have no rights.” He steps closer to her, menacingly. “Not here. You’ve caused enough pain already. Now. Clear. Off.”

Who is she?
I’ve never seen her before in my life.

The woman meets his gaze for a moment, her eyes glistening.

“I’m sorry. I meant no harm,” she mumbles. “Please put this on her grave for me.” She hands the policeman a white rose, then turns her stroller and hurries away.

He watches her go, glares at the flower for a moment, then flings it carelessly to the ground, stamps on it, and turns his back on her.

What’s going on?
First Aunt Grace told Amir to leave; now this woman’s been warned off.... Why aren’t they welcome?

Carefully, I make my way around the crowd of mourners and pick up the rose. I brush the dirt from its soft velvety petals, then look round for the woman and I spot her kneeling by another grave, a few meters away.

As I approach I realize she is talking quietly—to the child? Or the grave? A twig cracks beneath my foot and she twists round sharply.

“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“What do you want?” she snaps, her eyes filled with tears. “Aren’t I even allowed to visit my own family now?”

“Yes... I... I’m sorry, I just... you dropped this.” I hold the rose out to her awkwardly.

She looks at it for a moment, then sighs. “I didn’t mean any harm.”

“I know,” I tell her. “It’s just it’s a difficult day. I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

“Thank you.” She sighs. “But I’m pretty sure he did.” She turns back to the gravestone, rearranging the flowers at its base, and it’s only then that I notice the name inscribed on it.

Tariq Khan
.

The breath catches in my throat.

Tariq. Poppy’s killer.

I glance at the woman.

“You’re... you’re Tariq’s...” What? Sister? Cousin?

“Fiancée.” She sighs, fingering a diamond ring that sparkles in the sunlight. She turns to me. “Sabina Mir. I’m sorry if my being here offends you. But, as you say, today’s a difficult day. For everyone. I’m so sorry about Poppy.”

My stomach hardens. She’s
sorry
?

“I’ve been praying for her, always hoping she’d pull through.”

I bet.
“So Tariq wouldn’t be remembered as a murderer?” I ask, a sharp edge to my voice.

“No.” She looks at me, her eyes clear. “So she could finally tell everyone the truth.”

I blink.

“Tariq didn’t do this. I know it. My Tariq would never hurt anyone, especially a woman—a girl.” She sighs. “She was a lovely girl.”

“You
knew
Poppy?” I say, surprised.

She shrugs. “Not really. Not properly. I only met her a couple of times—with Leo.”

Of course!
Christian told me about Sabina! She’s the one who introduced him to Tariq in the first place—she knows
Christian was friends with Poppy and why he was really there that night.

“But I wish we’d never met,” Sabina says. “Then none of this would’ve happened.”

I frown. “How do you mean?”

She looks up. “It’s my fault he was there that day. I asked Tariq to give Leo and Poppy a lift to the train station. Leo didn’t have a car and they wanted to go to Glastonbury—”

I nod eagerly—her story matches Christian’
s....

“And I...” Sabina sighs. “I wanted Tariq out of the house.”

“You’d had an argument?” I ask.
Was that why he attacked Poppy, because he was already angry?

“No,” she laughs. “No, far from it. I wanted to cook him a special meal—a surprise. I wanted everything to be perfect when I told him.” She glances at the sleeping baby in the stroller, her dark eyes glittering with tears. “He never knew he was going to be a dad. And now Ash will never know his father.”

I stare at her, then at the little boy, snoring softly as he clutches his teddy bear against his tanned cheek. Tariq’s son. Despite myself, my heart aches for them. I know how terrible it is to lose a parent.

But that doesn’t mean Tariq was innocent.

“What makes you think Tariq didn’t do it?” I ask. “You weren’t there.”

“I
knew
Tariq. Almost as well as I know myself.” Sabina smiles. “Sometimes it doesn’t matter what the evidence says, what the world says, if you know something to be true in your heart. And I do.”

“But it doesn’t make sense,” I argue. “If Tariq didn’t attack Poppy—”

“He didn’t!” she says firmly.

“Then who did?” I demand. “How did she end up with a fractured skull?”

She looks away. “I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “It pains me to even think it, but if anyone hurt Poppy, it had to be Leo.”

I freeze.

“Maybe it was an accident.” Sabina shrugs. “Or maybe they had an argument—a lovers’ tiff?”

My skin tightens. Christian was Poppy’s
boyfriend
? I’d never thought of them like that—boyfriend and girlfriend. And then suddenly I remember something Joe said when he thought I was Christian’s girlfriend:
Better luck with this one
. My hearts sinks. Could it be true...? They were
going away together, after all, and she was attacked in her bedroom....

“No.” I shake my head vehemently as bile swims in my stomach. “No, he wasn’t even there—he texted Tariq to say he was running late!”

“He could’ve sent that text from anywhere.” Sabina meets my gaze evenly. “He could’ve already been inside the house, buying time, trying to keep Tariq away till he’d figured out what to do.” She looks away. “Only he didn’t expect Poppy’s dad to come home early, did he?”

I stare at her, my head reeling, all my evidence crumbling to ashes at her words.

“But—but then why was Tariq in the house at all?” I demand. “Why did he break in? They found his fingerprints and blood on the broken glass!”

“Tariq was waiting outside the house,” Sabina replies calmly. “He would’ve seen Poppy’s dad come home and heard the fight, so he must’ve broken in to try to intervene. He was like that—he always tried to keep the peace.”

“But then why would Poppy’s dad attack
Tariq
?”

Sabina’s eyes narrow. “Of course he’d attack the Asian guy first.”

“What?”
I stare at her. “Uncle Jim isn’t
racist
!”

“So he’s your uncle.” She nods bitterly. “Well, no one likes to believe the worst of the ones they love, but his neighbors
heard
him shouting racist abuse.”

“I... He was upset!” I protest. “His daughter had been attacked—he was yelling every insult under the sun! It was the heat of the moment!”

“Well, the jury didn’t think so,” Sabina counters. “Why do you think he got such a long jail sentence?”

“What do you mean?” I frown. “Because he was charged with manslaughter.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Defending his own daughter in his own house? Every jury understands parental instincts.” She shakes her head. “What they couldn’t understand were Tariq’s handcuffed wrists, the racial abuse, the fact that he was stabbed in the
back
.” She looks away, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Tariq didn’t even have a weapon. He couldn’t even defend himself.”

“He didn’t
need
a weapon!” I counter angrily. “He bashed Poppy’s head against her bedpost! Uncle Jim stabbed him in the back to try to stop him killing her, and he used handcuffs to stop him getting away. It was defense!”

“It wasn’t
defense
! Your uncle didn’t call an ambulance, did he? He didn’t try to save Tariq’s
life
once he’d stabbed him and cuffed him up—he just sat there and watched him die!”

“Lou, there you are!” Kenny cries, rushing up to me, Vix on his heels. He glances at Sabina uncertainly. “Everyone else has gone back to the house, but I said I’d bring you—are you ready?”

“Yes, go back to your precious uncle,” Sabina spits at me. “
He’s
the murderer, not Tariq, yet he gets let off with manslaughter. Five years.
Five years
for taking away my little boy’s father!
”
Her eyes blaze. “And the whole country’s on his side. He’s a bloody
hero
! While my
innocent
Tariq’s remembered as a killer! Ash will have to live with that his whole life.” Tears splinter her words. “That’s not fair. That’s not justice.”

Vix and Kenny glance at each other awkwardly, but my gaze falls on the sleeping child and I try to swallow my anger.

“It’s not fair,” I agree. “Ash is innocent. But Tariq wasn’t— He
killed
Poppy.”

“No, he
didn’t
!” Sabina says angrily.

“No one likes to believe the worst of the ones they love,”
I repeat back to her. “But you can’t
know
Tariq’s innocent, Sabina—you weren’t there.”

“Neither were you!” she says hotly. “And both the people who
were
there have blood on their hands—they can’t be trusted. Leo even went on the run from the police
the very day
Poppy died,” she says bitterly. “You think that’s a
coincidence
?”

I stare at her. “What do you mean?”