Little White Lies (28 page)

“I mean Leo can’t afford for anyone to find out the truth—not now that Poppy’s dead,” Sabina says grimly. “Now that it’s murder.”

“Wow,” Vix says as I fill her and Kenny in on the rest of my confrontation with Sabina on the drive back to my house. “I did
not
see that coming.”

“But it’s not true!” I protest. “Christian
couldn’t
have attacked Poppy—he wouldn’t!”

“No way,” Vix agrees.

“But why would
Tariq
attack Poppy?” Kenny asks. “He didn’t even know her, he had no weapon, and now we know he had a loving fiancée cooking him dinner at home. Plus he knew that Leo was on his way to the house and could arrive at any time. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“But if Tariq didn’t attack Poppy...” Vix hesitates.

“It had to be Leo,” Kenny says grimly. “He was her boyfriend, after all.”

I shake my head. “I can’t believe it.”

“That he was Poppy’s boyfriend, or that he killed her?” Kenny asks, looking across at me in the passenger seat beside him.

“Both,” I say miserably.

“Maybe it was an accident?” Vix suggests gently. “Maybe Poppy fell and hit her head and Christian was about to call an ambulance when your uncle came home and—”

“No!” I insist. “No, what about the text he sent to Tariq? Christian didn’t even arrive till later.”

“But Sabina was right—he could’ve sent that text from
inside
the house,” Kenny argues. “He could’ve been there all along. It doesn’t prove anything.”

“So where was Christian while Tariq was being attacked?” Vix frowns. “Hiding somewhere?”

“No,” Kenny says, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror as we reach a junction. “Hiding evidence.”

“What?” I frown. “What evidence?”

“Lou, you can’t bash someone’s brain in without getting your hands dirty.”

I flinch.

“Oh my God, Lou,” Vix says suddenly. “Poppy’s bag!”

“But there wasn’t anything incriminating in there,” I argue, turning in my seat to face her. “It was just jewelry and music and clothes—”

“
Bloodstained
clothes,” Vix corrects, wide-eyed. “Lou, what if it’s
Poppy’s
blood?”

A shiver runs down my spine.

“
That’s
why he hid it!” Kenny cries suddenly. “That’s why he
didn’t
give Poppy’s bag to the police—why he withheld evidence.”

“But then why would he tell
me
about it?” I counter. “Why wouldn’t he just keep it safely hidden away?”

“It’s like Sabina said.” Kenny looks across at me. “He can’t afford for anyone to discover the truth. Not now that Poppy’s dead.”

“Then why on earth would he send me to
fetch
it?” I protest. “It doesn’t make any sense!”

“Actually... it makes perfect sense,” Vix says slowly, her face grim. “Lou, maybe he didn’t want you to
uncover
evidence. What if he’s using you to
destroy
it!”

I swallow. “What?”

“Poppy’s phone didn’t prove his innocence, did it?” Vix says quickly. “It proved his
guilt
!
”

I stare at her.

“ ‘I’m coming to get you’? That text was a threat, Lou—
that’s
why he asked you to find it.”

“And that’s why he told you to
delete
it,” Kenny adds. “It proves he hurt Poppy—and that it wasn’t an accident.”

“No!” My mind spins. “No, Christian wouldn’t
deliberately
hurt anyone!”

“Lou,” Kenny says gently. “Look at your throat.”

A chill runs down my spine as I remember the blade pressing against my neck, his iron grip hurting my arms as I pretended to be Christian’s hostage. It had seemed awfully real....

“It all makes sense!” Kenny cries. “Leo’s grandad has just died
,
which means his allotment’s no longer a safe hiding place—he might have been worried about a new owner finding Poppy’s bag with the bloodstained T-shirt and her
phone
... and maybe her diary....”

My breath catches.
The USB necklace.

“And if the police got hold of that kind of evidence, they could use it to convict him of murder,” Vix says quietly.

“He couldn’t let that happen,” Kenny says quickly. “But he couldn’t retrieve Poppy’s bag
himself
either—it’s right in the middle of his old neighborho
od—he wouldn’t have lasted five minutes if anyone recognized him. So he sent you.” Kenny covers my hand with his as we stop at traffic lights. “He
used
you, Lou.”

“No.” My voice comes out hoarse, hesitant. “He cares about me.”

“Like he cared about Poppy?” Kenny asks.

I snatch my hand away as my eyes fill with tears.

“He used you to get Poppy’s bag so he can destroy any remaining evidence,
and
to delete his incriminating text message,
and
to escape from the police,” Kenny continues. “And it worked, too.”

I close my eyes, feeling sick as I remember how Christian desperately grabbed Poppy’s bag before fleeing from the police, how worried he was when her phone wasn’t in there—how
relieved
when I’d answered it. Would he have ever contacted me again if I hadn’t got Poppy’s phone? If I didn’t have something he needed?

Of course not. Kenny’s right. He was just using me all along.

“How could I be so
stupid
?”
I cry, angry tears scorching my eyes. “Me, of all people! I
knew
what he’d done—I tracked him down to get revenge for Poppy and I let him con me!” I shake my head, my insides churning with guilt and shame and humiliation as the events of the last few days whirl wildly in my head. “All this time I’ve been feeling
guilty
for lying to
him
! I can’t believe he convinced me he was
innocent,
that he—” I break off, unable to say the words.
That I was starting to think he loved me—that I was falling for him
.
.
.

I screw my eyes shut against the tears stinging inside. “I’m such an
idiot
!”

“It’s not your fault, Titch,” Kenny says gently. “He’s a con man, after all. He’s good at deceiving people.”

“He had me fooled too.” Vix squeezes my shoulder.

“But not you, Kenny,” I realize. “You never trusted him. Why?”

“Guess I’m just smarter than you guys.” He smiles wryly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“Yeah, whatever!” Vix scoffs.

“I can’t believe he was using me this whole time,” I say numbly. “He used me to get away with murder... and I let him.”

“Hey,” Kenny says. “He hasn’t gotten away yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“The USB necklace,” Vix interjects, catching Kenny’s train of thought. “Christian still thinks you’re looking for the code at Poppy’s house, right? Which means he’ll call you again.”

Kenny nods.

“And when he does”—I take a deep breath—“this time I’ll be ready.”

“Oh, sweetheart!” Aunt Harriet flings open the car door when we arrive at the house. “Oh, you poor love, you’re all red and puffy—here you go.” She pulls a manky tissue from her sleeve before I can protest.

“Allow me.” Kenny winks, passing me a small pack of Kleenex.

“Oh, what a gentleman,” Aunt Harriet simpers. “And so handsome and clever too. You’ve found a keeper there, Lulu—we had a lovely chat this morning, didn’t we, Kenny?”

“Well,
I
certainly did.” Kenny beams. “But I was worried I bored you.”

“Bored me?” Aunt Harriet laughs. “Pah! I could listen to you all day!”

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” I smile, extracting myself quickly.

“I think Kenny’s found a fan,” Vix comments, following me as I pull on my sunglasses and head through the side gate. “You should have seen him earlier, schmoozing away.”

I smile. “He’s a star.”

“I guess the ability to charm women, think on your feet, and lie convincingly comes in handy sometimes,” Vix says, a note of bitterness in her voice.

“And it can also be heartbreak
ing,” I add, slipping my arm through hers. We’ve both been victims of
that
.

The garden is scattered with people catching the last of the day’s sun, sitting in plastic chairs on the lawn, and standing in groups on the patio. I duck my head and try to thread my way through them to find Aunt Grace, when suddenly a man steps backwards, treading heavily on my foot.

“I’m so sorry!” he cries, catching my arm as I stumble. “Are you all right?”

I stare up at his dirty-blond hair and those dark brown eyes and my heart pounds painfully.
It’s the man from Joe’s flat!
I’m sure it is. The man who cut the sheets, who chased us in the car—who burned down Christian’s house.

“You okay, love?” He frowns.

Sweat beads on my forehead. Does he recognize me? But I’ve cut and dyed my hair since Joe’s flat, and he couldn’t have seen me clearly in the car chase, could he? And thank God I’m wearing sunglasses!

“Lulu? Are you okay?”

My head snaps round the group to find Neil looking at me, concerned.

“Hope this dope didn’t break your toes—Jonno weighs a ton!”

Confusion spikes in my veins. Neil
knows
the thug? He’s
friends
with him? Christian said the police must’ve leaked his location to the vigilantes—but it never crossed my mind that
Neil
could be involved! Not my kind, caring, funny godfather
Neil
...?

But he was in Sheffield just before the arson attack, I remember, and all he could talk about was the flaws in the justice system....
It makes me sick that innocent, decent, good people like Jim rot in jail, while the guilty live it up, walk free,
get new identities...
it’s not right. Ever.
That’s
why I’m really here.

I feel dizzy. What if
Neil’s
behind the whole thing?

“Lulu?” He frowns. “Somebody grab a chair for her, will you?”

“Lou, are you all right?” Vix asks.

“No!” I turn quickly. “I just... I need to—”

“Lulu, sweetheart, are you okay?” Aunt Grace hurries out of the house. She slips her arm protectively around my shoulders. “Come on, let’s go and get a cuppa, eh?”

Gratefully, I follow her into the kitchen, where we find Uncle Doug boiling the kettle.

“Is there enough for three more?” Aunt Grace asks as Vix gets me a chair.

“Of course!” He smiles at me. “You look like you need some TLC.”

“What?” I look up sharply.

“Tea, a good listener, and choccie biccies.”

My skin prickles as Vix’s eyes meet mine.
That’s
where Christian got the phrase from—Poppy. I
knew
it sounded familiar—Uncle Doug used to say it whenever we went round to visit—I just couldn’t place it till now.

“Biscuit?” Uncle Doug offers me the packet.

“Actually, no, I—” I stand up. “I think I might just... go and lie down, if that’s okay?”

“Of course,” Aunt Grace says, squeezing my shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything. And, Lulu? Your tribute was so lovely today. Thank you.”

I smile quickly, then slip into the hall, ducking my head as I edge past the other mourners and head upstairs to my bedroom, desperate to be alone. But as I pass Poppy’s room I stop. The door is ajar, and I can’t help but peer inside.

Everything is exactly as she left it, frozen in time. Her Beatles duvet and matching sheets, her fluffy rabbit slippers, even her photo calendar still hangs on June of last year, the following months bare of photos and full of empty squares where Poppy’s life should have been.

“It’s blank!” Poppy had laughed in surprise when Uncle Jim gave her the calendar for Christmas two years ago.

“I know.” He’d grinned. “That’s because you have to fill it up with all your happiest moments of this year—and we don’t know what they’ll be yet.”

“But, Dad, I don’t have a camera!”

“Oh, yes you do!” He held up a shiny present.

Poppy’s shrieks of delight were deafening as she unwrapped the digital camera, then threw herself at Aunt Grace and Uncle Jim, hugging them tight and thanking them a million times.

I step closer to the calendar, drawn to the photo—Millie’s birthday picnic. Uncle Jim and Aunt Grace beam at the camera, their eyes sparkling in the sunshine while Millie balances precariously on my shoulders, her laughing face covered in chocolate as she tries to burst the bubbles I’m blowing.