Little White Lies (33 page)

What have I done?

I stare at the phone, dead in my hand, and burst into tears.

What is the right thing to do?
What would Poppy do? If she’d woken up and remembered everything, would she have kept quiet to protect her father? Or would she have told the truth? What would she want
me
to do?

I screw my eyes shut as the world blurs around me, but all I see are Poppy’s frightened face, Uncle Jim’s desperate eyes, and Christian’s sad smile.

Whatever I do, someone I love gets hurt—so how can I
choose?

I can’t. I can’t do this alone. I can’t possibly make this decision by myself... but who can I talk to? I can’t tell Christian, can’t tell Aunt Grace; I can’t tell Neil because he’s a policeman and his moral code would make him use the evidence whether I want him to or not, and after what happened with Kenny, can I really trust Vix?

No.
This is a family problem now—it’s not just about truth and lies anymore. It’s more complicated than that.

There’s only one person I can talk to, I realize suddenly. Only one person I can tell.

I open my eyes, start the car and drive, just drive for hours, till finally I pull into the car park and race through the entrance, not stopping till I’m by her side.

She’s still asleep, she probably can’t even hear me, but she’s here.

I collapse into a chair and Gran lies there silently, hooked up to machines, as I sob my heart out, pouring my story into the hospital bedclothes, hoping against hope that some of her infinite wisdom will seep into me in return.

“How can doing the right thing be so complicated?”
I moan. “If only there was a way to protect
everyone
—some way of vindicating Christian without pointing the finger at Uncle Jim....” I rack my brains, turning the USB necklace over and over in my hand.

“Maybe—maybe I could edit Poppy’s video diary so that it cuts out before Uncle Jim comes home? Then it’ll prove that Poppy and Leo were friends—prove that he was telling the truth...” I suggest hopefully.

Gran frowns in her sleep.

“But what about the text message he sent Tariq?” I sigh. “That doesn’t look good—it connects them.

“How can I
choose?
How can I decide what to do, who to hurt, when I’m so involved, so biased? Should I sell out my uncle to save my boyfriend, or let Christian take the blame to protect Uncle Jim? How can I make the right choice when it’s all mixed up with my own feelings?” I scrunch the sheets up in my fists, my thoughts hopelessly tangled.

“And it doesn’t just affect Christian or Tariq or Uncle Jim,” I sigh miserably. “It’ll hurt their families just as much. Uncle Jim said he wouldn’t have cared about telling the truth and going to prison—but he couldn’t bear what it would do to his family. And what about Sabina and her baby? They deserve justice too.” I think of the gorgeous little boy with his chubby cheeks and long eyelashes—so innocent. “It would be so easy to lay all the blame on a dead man—but he has family too. And they’re suffering for what he did. What people
think
he did. But he didn’t. He was innocent—he tried to
help
Poppy, and for that he died.

“And Christian...” My voice cracks. “All Christian wants is his old life back. His family. His mum. His dad.” I think of the sad-eyed shadow of a man hiding from his memories in his allotment shed and my heart twists painfully. “I haven’t just robbed him of a few months’ freedom, after all. I’ve taken away his safety, his family—his whole life!” I shake my head.

“But if I tell the truth...” I screw my eyes closed. “What about Aunt Grace, and little Millie? You should’ve seen their faces when they had to say goodbye to him again, Gran.” Tears streak through my words. “How could I do that to them? Betray my own family like that—and for what? Doesn’t Uncle Jim deserve a second chance?

“But what if it happens again?” My heart sinks. “You should have seen him, Gran, he was really drunk—out of control. I’ve never seen him like that, not for years and years—since he punched that wall. I don’t know what happened,
why
he’d been drinking—he said he’d just had a rough day—but, Gran, if he can slip once... what if it happens again? What if he hurts someone else—hurts Millie?” My insides twist at the thought, my head whirling so hard and so fast and so painfully it takes me a moment to feel Gran squeezing my hand, her pale green eyes shining up at me, her lips moving silently.

“Gran! You’re awake!” I cry, relief thrilling through me. “Nurse!”

I move to get up, but Gran grips my hand tighter, holding me there, her lips still moving. I lean closer, her breath gentle on my cheek, her voice the softest whisper.

“You know what you have to do.”

I look at her, her eyes so clear, so wise.

“Gran?”

She squeezes my hand.

“Is everything okay in here?” A nurse pops her head into the room. “Mrs. Brown! Good of you to join us!”

As the nurse fusses around Gran she holds my gaze and I swallow hard. She’s right.
I know exactly what I have to do.

But somehow it doesn’t make me feel any better at all.

“Are you sure about this?” Vix asks me the following day as I stare out of the window at the students below milling about outside the halls of residence, laughing and gossiping without a care in the world. How I envy them.

“Last chance to change your mind,” Vix says.

I bite my lip, feeling like I’m poised on the edge of a precipice. I’ve been changing and rechanging my mind all day, and all last night, stewing over what’s the right thing to do, trying to filter through all the possible consequences and ramifications.

Finally I sigh heavily. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” She squeezes my shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing, you know?”

I turn. “Thanks, Vix. For doing this. For coming all the way back here. For everything.”

She smiles, then gives me a hug. “What’re friends for?”

I hold her tight and suddenly realize she’s the only friend I have left.

“Did Kenny come back with you?” I ask.

“No, he’s... not coming back,” she says quietly. “He’s dropping out of uni—said he’s going to go to Oxford next year instead.”

“I’m sorry, Vix,” I say gently. “I know you really liked him.”

“Oh no, that ship sailed last week.” She smiles. “I don’t pursue guys who obviously aren’t interested in me—that’s not my style. Besides, Matt keeps calling, and sending me all these really cute texts.”

“Good.” I smile. If I never see Kenny again, it’ll be too soon. “I still can’t believe he told the vigilantes about Christian. Why would he
do
that?”

“You really don’t know?” Vix raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, I know he said he thought it was what I wanted, but I
never
intended Christian to get hurt, and he knew that, so why would he tip off the vigilantes after he’d come all the way to Sheffield to help me
harass
Christian? It doesn’t make sense. I could have tipped them off myself, but the whole plan was to be
subtle
. I don’t get it.”

“You actually don’t, do you?”

“What?”

“He’s in love with you, Lou.” Vix sighs.

I blink.
“What?”

“You think Kenny followed you all this way just to help you out with Christian? He turned down
Oxford,
for God’s sake.”

“I know, but—”

“It was an
excuse,
Lou. Kenny was telling the truth on your birthday—he only came to Sheffield Uni because he thought he might have a chance with you.”

I frown, remembering the look on his face when he’d told Vix he was in love with me outside Christian’s house, how impressed I’d been by how believable he was.
Because he was telling the truth
...?

“Yes, he wanted to help you,” Vix continues. “Your campaign against Christian is what brought you together in the first place, after all—it’s what you had in common, and it gave him a reason to spend time with you. A shared secret. A
bond
.
Partners in crime
.

“But then you started having feelings for Christian, and
that
wasn’t part of his plan at
all,
so he decided to pull the plug, get rid of Christian once and for all. And then, I guess, everything just snowballed. Love can really mess with your head, you know?”

Love can really mess with your head....

Her words haunt me as I try to get to sleep that night, images of Uncle Jim and Christian filling my mind. My decision would have been so much easier if I didn’t love them both—if it was all happening to strangers. If I’d never met Sabina and Ash, it would be so tempting to just leave the blame on Tariq. If Uncle Jim wasn’t my uncle, I would’ve told the police the truth in a heartbeat. And if I’d never met Christian...

My throat swells painfully.

If I’d never gone looking for Christian, I’d never have found out the truth, never
fallen
for him, and everything would have been a
million
times simpler. But it’s true—right and wrong seem to get all muddled up when your own feelings are involved.

So who am I to judge Kenny, really? After all, I’m the one who hatched this whole wretched plan in the first place.

I toss and turn for hours, till finally it begins to get light and I give up on sleep. I huddle in my duvet, watching the sun rise into a clear blue sky, and wonder how in the world some things can be so simple, so pure, so beautiful. Nothing seems simple anymore. Everything we do, every decision we make has a million unforeseeable consequences, all tangled together. My head throbs, heavy with guilt, with fatigue, helpless to do anything but watch the new day dawn.

I’ve done my bit now. It’s over.

It’s only just begun.

The shadows slip slowly behind bins and lampposts and phone booths, hiding as the sun stretches searching scarlet fingers down every street, across every rooftop, as bright and unforgiving as the truth, hunting out the murky lies. But some shadows always remain.

What’s that saying?
Red sky in the morning: Shepherd’s warning...

My skin prickles, wondering just what this day has in store once this moment’s over, once the sun’s high in the sky and people repopulate the streets, turn on their televisions, read their papers....

A noise at the door startles me, and I turn to see a newspaper being pushed beneath it into my room. I look over at it for a long moment, my heart pounding with dread. Then I close my eyes and lie down, drained of every last ounce of energy.

It’s done now. There’s no undoing it.

I only hope I did the right thing.
If such a thing even exists.

I stay in bed all morning, trying to block out the dawning day, to put off the inevitable for as long as physically possible, praying for the blissful oblivion of sleep. I turn Poppy’s phone off and ignore Vix when she knocks on the door, reluctant to face her. To face anyone. Ever.

But I have to.

It’s nearly one o’clock by the time I finally force myself to stagger outside, the low winter sun blinding, judging me like a spotlight as I hide behind my sunglasses and climb into Aunt Grace’s car.

The radio blares on as I start the ignition and I flick it off quickly, anxious to preserve the silence, the peace, for just a little while longer.

I duck my head as I hurry past the television in the hospital waiting area, and make a beeline for the little gift shop, where I choose some beautiful yellow roses for Gran. But as I turn to the counter to pay there they are:

WILLOUGHBY-WHITE: COP COVER-UP?

WHO REALLY KILLED POPPY?

KILLER COPPER SHOCKER!

My heart sinks as I read the headlines, each carefully designed to ignite the maximum public outrage and hatred.

But what did I expect?

Guiltily, I remember the stacks of cuttings about Christian I’d hungrily collected, each one adding fuel to the fire of my anger and determination to get justice as I eagerly believed every word—not only believed them, but acted on them. Kenny was right; the media is scarily powerful.

I think of the violent vigilantes and feel sick.

I scan the rest of the papers in the rack. They’re all jumping on the bandwagon too, spinning more and more salacious headlines. All except one, which has the exclusive:

LEO NILES INNOCENT—THE PROOF!

by Victoria Keeley

She finally got her big break.

I knew Vix would do a great job—she’s the only person I could really trust to tell the whole truth, and to keep the focus on Christian, rather than gleefully dragging Uncle Jim’s name through the mud like everyone else.

His bearded face stares mournfully out at me—a photo from the funeral—and my insides constrict. What must he be feeling this morning? Fear? Guilt?

Betrayal.

I pay for the roses, then hurry to Gran’s ward to find her tucking into macaroni and cheese while watching the lunchtime news.

Her face lights up when she sees me.

“Gran!” I kiss her cheek. “You’re looking so much better!”

“Good afternoon, darling!” She beams.

“Is it?” I sigh, glancing at the TV, which is replaying footage from early this morning: Uncle Jim’s lawyer outside our house, giving a statement confirming that new evidence has been discovered against Sergeant Willoughby-White but that nothing has yet been proven.

The gathered reporters pelt him with questions, but all I can focus on is the pale face watching from the bedroom window.

Aunt Grace.

“What have I done?” I crumple into a chair.

“You did what you had to do,” Gran reassures me. “Sweetheart, this isn’t your fault, none of it is. Doing the right thing is rarely easy.”

“But
was
it the right thing?” I say miserably.

“Darling, you had no choice,” Gran says gently. “Even accidents have consequences that must be faced, and innocent people were suffering.”

“But innocent people are
still
suffering,” I argue. “Look at Aunt Grace. Think of Millie.”

“Think of Sabina and her baby.” Gran nods at the TV and I drag my eyes to the screen. A delighted Sabina is beaming at the camera, cuddling Ash, who keeps reaching for her dangling earrings.

“I’m just relieved that the truth is finally out,” she says, her dark eyes shining proudly. “That my son can grow up knowing his father was a hero, not a criminal.”

“A hero indeed,” the reporter comments to camera. “For new evidence shows Tariq Khan entered the property
after
Poppy was attacked and was killed while trying to call for help. Here’s what DI Goldsmith had to say about the matter earlier today.” The image changes to show the same reporter outside the police station this morning.

“DI Goldsmith, how could you have got this case so wrong?” He points a microphone at the detective, who has aged a decade overnight.

“The footage has yet to be verified,” he mutters. “But it does appear that the case may have been more complex than we thought. The justice system is not infallible.”

“Did it have anything to do with Sergeant Willoughby-White’s position in the police force? Did the police conceal evidence?”

“Absolutely not.” The inspector glowers. “This evidence has only just come to light.”

“In that case, why do you think this new proof was given to the press, rather than the police?”

The inspector glares into the camera. “No comment.”

Of course, after Kenny’s confession that he tipped off the vigilantes, I had no real reason to doubt the police, to believe that they were biased, or any proof that they ever knew about Poppy’s phone—perhaps they did lie, but then maybe when Christian told them about the text and they said they didn’t find it, they meant they couldn’t find Poppy’s
phone,
not just the text? It could easily have all just been a big misunderst
anding—there was no irrefutable reason to believe that I couldn’t trust them with this crucial evidence against a former member of their team....

But Vix wasn’t sure the webcam footage would be admissible in court anyway, and it could take ages to get it authenticated, and I wanted Christian to be exonerated as soon as possible, if only in the minds of the public and—more importantl
y—the vigilantes. That way, even if he has to spend the rest of his sentence in jail, when he gets out he will be safe, vindicated, and able to go back home to his family.

“Breaking news just in,” the reporter says suddenly. “Following the leaked webcam footage, Sergeant Willoughby-White has
confessed
that he was responsible for his daughter’s death.”

I look up, startled.
Uncle Jim confessed
?

“His account of what he claims was a tragic drunken accident corresponds exactly with the scene as depicted in the webcam video. Additionally, he has admitted that Leo Niles was Poppy’s friend—and that he knew Leo had arrived that evening to visit Poppy, not burgle the house.”

My jaw drops.

“There can be no more room for doubt,” the reporter says. “Sergeant Willoughby-White has confessed his guilt and exonerated Leo Niles.”

I can’t believe it. I stare numbly at the screen, trying to take it all in.

I should be happy. This is what I wanted. The webcam footage might not have been enough to exonerate Christian, but this... this has to be. Uncle Jim told the truth about Poppy... but he lied about knowing Christian. One final White lie so an innocent man would go free, so he’d be safe.