Little White Lies (7 page)

“I don’t think they ever do forget,” Christian says. “Memories don’t just disappear. They haunt you—secrets, regret, guilt....”

As his eyes meet mine they seem to stare straight into my soul, my own secrets, regrets and guilt swimming like bile in my belly.

“We all have to live with the consequences of our actions.” He sighs heavily. “You can’t change the past, however much you’d like to. That’s the biggest tragedy of all.”

I close my eyes, unable to stop the tears.

“Hey, Lou. I’m sorry. Are you okay?” Christian places his hand on mine and I snatch it away like I’m scalded.

“Louise?” His wide eyes are filled with concern.

“I-I’m fine, I just... I...” I’m cut off by a loud and unfamiliar ring tone.

“Sorry.” Christian fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a phone. “It’s Mike.” He flips it open. “Hello?”

Saved by the bell.

“See you later.” I hurry back to the car, shut the door behind me, pull out my own mobile, and dial the familiar number.

Christian’s right. If you love someone, you should tell them. Before it’s too late.

“Hello?” Gran’s voice says.

I take a deep breath, try to make my voice sound normal. “Hi, Gran. Where are you?”

“Oh, hello, dear, I’m just visiting Poppy, then I’m off to Grace’s for lunch.”

Just as I’d hoped. Her Sunday-morning routine runs like clockwork.

“Is everything all right?” Gran asks anxiously.

“Yes—just... can I talk to her?”

“Of course.” I can hear her smile down the phone. “Just a second, I’ll put you on speakerphone.”

“Hey, sweetie, how’s it going?” I say, tears stinging my eyes as I press the phone hard to my ear, anxious to hear any sound, but of course there’s just silence. I wish she could answer. It’s so hard being away from her, having one-sided conversations down a phone.

“She can hear you,” Gran reassures me. “Carry on.”

“I’ll be there soon, sweetie, okay? I’ll visit soon.” I sigh. “I miss you. God, I miss you.” I sing her favorite song, Coldplay’s “Yellow.”

“Sweet dreams, Poppy,” I whisper. “See you soon.” I hang up slowly and close my eyes, heavy with guilt.

We all have to live with the consequences of our actions.

A tap at the car window nearly makes me jump out of my skin.

“Christian!”

“Sorry!” he says. “I didn’t mean to startle you—again. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, swiping at my eyes. How much did he hear?
“What’s up?”

“Mike just called. He wants both of us at the pub ASAP.”

“Why?” I frown, glancing at my watch. “We’re not late, are we?”

“No, we don’t open till twelve on Sundays, but he sounded pretty agitated.”

He looks pretty agitated too—pacing up and down outside The Flying Pig as we approach, and as I pull into the pub car park I find a police car already there.

“Omigosh!” I gasp, climbing out of the car and hurrying over. “What’s happened?”

“Mike?” Christian cries, jumping off his bike and running up to him. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve been robbed.” Mike glowers. “Except nothing was taken—thank God I emptied the safe at the end of the night, eh, Lou? So technically it’s just a break-in. But there’s no sign of forced entry either. Just broken CCTV cameras, an unlocked safe, an open door and”—he glares at Christian—
“keys.”

“Excuse me?” A police officer emerges from the pub. “You two are?”

“My bar staff,” Mike tells him. “Christian Webb’s the one I told you about.”

I look at Christian.

“I understand you have a set of keys to the pub, Christian?” the policeman says.

Christian nods. “Mike gave them to me yesterday. I was supposed to open up today.”

“Where are they now?” the officer asks.

Christian shoves his hand in his jacket pocket, then frowns. “I must’ve left them at home.”

“Are
these
your keys?” The officer holds up a bunch of keys on a Bugs Bunny key ring.

“I...I don’t understand.” Christian stares at them. “I...I must’ve dropped them, or—”

“When was the last time you saw these keys, sir?”

“Last night, when Mike gave them to me. I put them in my jacket pocket before I went home.”

“And you hadn’t noticed they were missing?”

“No.” He frowns. “I didn’t—I had no idea.”

“Where were you last night at two-fifteen a.m., sir?”

Christian blinks. “Wait, hold on! Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with—”

“Answer the question!” Mike snaps. “Where were you at two-fifteen, when my CCTV cameras were smashed in? When someone used
your
keys to open
my
safe?”

I watch, transfixed, as Christian’s face drains of color. He looks scared.

“Please, sir,” the officer says calmly. “Let me ask the questions. Mr. Webb?”

“At home,” Christian replies curtly. “In bed.”

“Is there anyone who can verify your whereabouts?”

“I... no, but—”

“Miss?”

“What?” I look up sharply. “I
can’t
verify that, no!”

“No.” The officer smiles slightly. “Where were you last night?”

“Oh. In halls. In bed. Alone,” I say quickly, my cheeks burning.

“Don’t be daft, she didn’t do it!” Mike says. “I told you, she was there at closing when I emptied the safe and took the money to the bank. She knew it was empty.”

“Who might’ve thought the safe was full?”

Christian.
I look up at him.

“Anybody in the bar,” Mike sighs. “I’ve got a big mouth, and I was pleased at the day’s takings, and I said as much as I transferred the cash from the till to the safe.”

“In front of the whole bar?”

Mike nods.

“What time was this?”

“Just before Christian’s shift ended, about six-thirty.” Mike scowls at Christian. “I only promoted him because the takings had been so high while he’d run the bar.”

“So you would have assumed the safe was full, Christian?”

My eyes flick to his.

“What? No! I don’t know—I didn’t really think about it,” Christian protests, his cheeks flushed.

“What did you do after your shift?”

“Nothing—I just went home.”

“You just went home?” the officer repeats. “At six-thirty on a Saturday evening?”

“Yes,” Christian says defensively.

“You weren’t mugged? You didn’t go out? You didn’t see anyone else at all? No one who could have stolen your keys?”

“No.” Christian sighs heavily, his face creased with misery. “I must’ve dropped them.”

“And no one can confirm your whereabouts during the time of the break-in? No deliveries? No phone calls?”

“Yes, actually—loads of phone calls.”

I look up quickly. Does he have an alibi?

“Who called you?”

“Well, I—I don’t know,” Christian admits. He must mean the nuisance taxi calls, I realize.

The policeman sighs. “You had lots of phone calls, but you don’t know who from?”

“Well, yes...”

“So you can’t contact them to prove this?”

I watch a bead of sweat trickle down the side of Christian’s face as he falters helplessly.

“Well, no, but—”

“Would you mind coming down to the station, please, sir?” the officer says. “I have a few more questions I’d like to ask you. You might want a lawyer present.”

My heart beats fast.
He’s going to arrest him!

“Wait,” Christian says suddenly. “That’s... that’s not necessary. Can I have a word?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Christian glances at me and Mike. “In private?”

The officer raises an eyebrow. “Very well. Follow me.”

I stare after them as they enter the pub. What can Christian tell him that will make any difference? How can he possibly get out of this?

“Shit!” Mike mutters beside me. “That’ll teach me.”

I turn. “You think Christian did it?”

“It had to be, didn’t it?” Mike cries. “Everything points to him—his keys were found on the floor, he thought the safe would be full, and his alibi’s pretty shoddy.”

“The evidence is very compelling.” I nod.

“But he seemed like such a nice bloke.” Mike sighs.

“I suppose you can never
really
tell what’s going on inside someone else’s head,” I say quietly. “Evidence doesn’t lie. I guess that’s why justice is portrayed as blind—crim
inals deserve to be punished, however they look.”

“You’re right,” Mike says suddenly. “I’m such an idiot—I should never have hired him!”

I look at him closely. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” he says hastily. “Just... I think of myself as a fair bloke, y’know? I’ve had my share of rough times, I know what it’s like to be down on your luck, so I like to give people a fair go. And Christian... well, he seemed like a decent-enough lad when I took him on.” He sighs. “But I’ve learned my lesson now, all right—I won’t be fooled again.”

We wait for what seems like forever until the officer finally emerges from the pub.

“What’s happening?” Mike asks. “Are you arresting him?”

“No, sir. I’m satisfied that Mr. Webb had nothing to do with the break-in.”

I stare at him, gobsmacked.

“What? Why?” Mike asks.

“Mr. Webb has an airtight alibi for his whereabouts last night.”

“What?” I ask quickly.

“I can’t tell you that, Miss.”

“But you mean he lied about being at home?” Mike says.

“So long as he wasn’t breaking the law, his whereabouts are his own private concern, sir.”

Could he be any more cryptic?

“So what happens now?” Mike asks.

“Nothing,” the officer says, climbing into the police car. “By your own admission, anyone in the pub last night could have overheard you say you had a full till, and Mr. Webb could have dropped the keys anywhere on his journey home—so unless you know the names and addresses of all your customers, it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“But—”

“Plus, as nothing was actually stolen, there isn’t really a compelling case for spending police time hunting for that needle, especially as the keys are now once more in your possession, sir. Good day.”

Mike’s jaw hangs open as the police officer drives away. Then he glares at me. “Get to work!”

“How juicy!” Vix’s eyes gleam when she and Kenny come into the pub that afternoon. “What do you think Christian could possibly have told them that he didn’t want you to hear? That he rang a sex line? That he was on some dodgy Internet site?”

“Perhaps he just wasn’t home alone,” Kenny says. “Maybe someone vouched for his whereabouts after all—someone he doesn’t want anyone to know about.”

I look up.

“Like who? A stripper?” Vix laughs.

“Or a secret girlfriend.” Kenny raises an eyebrow. “Maybe he’s seeing someone else’s wife.”

“Or maybe he just had a friend over,” Vix says quickly, glancing at me.

“Then why would he keep it secret?” Kenny argues.

I frown. Maybe Kenny’s right. It would explain why Christian keeps turning me down when I ask him out....

“Or maybe it’s not an alibi at all,” Vix suggests. “Maybe Christian’s got a secret identity.”

“A secret identity?” I laugh nervously. “What, like Superman?”

“No, like a spy,” Kenny counters. “Perhaps he’s leading a double life. People do.”

His sparkling eyes meet mine and I glare at him. What is he
doing
?

“Of course!” Vix hisses. “Maybe he’s an undercover policeman. Or royalty! Royalty get away with everything, don’t they?”

“Do they?” I raise an eyebrow.

“That would explain Christian’s black hair dye too!” Vix beams. “
And
why he doesn’t like having his photo taken!”

“Vix,
loads
of people dye their hair,” I reason.

“Indeed they do.” Kenny winks at me. If there wasn’t a bar between us, I’d kick him. Hard.

“Besides, Christian told you why he dyes his hair,” I add.

“Yeah, cos he’s vain.” Vix smirks. “Speaking of which, I see you’ve glammed up again. Pulling out all the stops, eh?”

“Is it too much?” I run my hand over my curled hair anxiously.

“I’m just teasing.” Vix grins. “You look great, doesn’t she, Kenny?”

He nods. “Bit over the top for bar work, though.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Christian asks, walking over to us.

“Nothing,” I say quickly.

“Secret identities.” Kenny smiles. “What’s yours?”

Christian frowns. “What?”

“If you could choose a pseudonym, what would it be?” I bluff hastily. “You know, like Elton John or Michael Caine or... Tinie Tempah.” I remember the CD I spotted on his bookshelf.

“I’m not sure I could pull off Tinie Tempah.” Christian raises an eyebrow.

“Well, no, I think you’d have to be a rapper—and a good one, at that—to pull it off like he does, but anyway, bad example,” I babble, my cheeks growing warm as I try to dig myself out of the hole Kenny’s dumped me in. “If you could choose your name, what would it be?”

“I dunno, I’ve never really thought about it.” He shrugs. “ ‘What’s in a name,’ right? Anyway, it’s four o’clock. Our shift’s over.”

“Great.” I smile. “And as it’s still early, you must have time for a drink today, right?”

“I’m sorry—I can’t,” he says.

Another rejection. This time I mentally kick
myself.

“More must-see TV?” Vix raises an eyebrow.

“Not today—I’m meeting a friend.” He smiles. “See ya.”

We watch him leave.

“We should totally follow him,” Vix says, her eyes sparkling as I grab my jacket and we head out to the car park. “There’s a story here, I can
smell
it.”

“Uh-uh. No way.” I shake my head.

“We can’t, anyway—we’ve got salsa, remember?” Kenny smiles.

“Course I remember.” Vix beams at him. “I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

“Wait.” I stare at her.
“Salsa?”

“Yes!” Vix grins. “Kenny knows this great little tapas bar that does Salsa Sundays—with free sangria! Cool, huh?”

“Shame you can’t come, Lou, with your bad ankle and all,” Kenny says.

“Oh, it’s much better—it hardly hurts at all now,” I insist.

“Still, dancing’s probably not the best thing for it just yet,” Vix says. “Better take it easy for a few days.”

I grit my teeth. “Well, do you want a lift?” I offer, stalling for time to come up with another obstacle.

“No thanks, I’ve got my car,” Kenny says, nodding at a black Mini Cooper as we step outside.