The Lying Room Page 12

  ‘At least one of us has been successful,’ said Gary. ‘Maybe you could give us all jobs.’

  ‘Well,’ began Will, his face flushing slightly. ‘If you—’

  ‘He’s joking,’ said Neve, putting a hand on his arm.

  ‘And you four have always worked together,’ said Jackie. ‘It must be nice. You always were a tight-knit group.’ She sounded wistful.

  Then she leaned in closer. ‘But I heard that you and Fletcher . . .’ She stopped, looked sympathetically at Neve.

  ‘What about us?’

  ‘Were having troubles.’

  ‘Me and Fletcher?’

  ‘I must have misunderstood.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘I think Tamsin said you were going through a very rough patch. I shouldn’t have said anything. Me and my big mouth.’

  Neve gave a sigh. Tamsin must have been referring to everything that had happened with Mabel. She wished she wouldn’t.

  ‘We’re fine,’ she said.

  Looking at Jackie and Will, people she hadn’t seen for – what was it? – twenty years, they looked almost like ghosts of their younger selves. Neve remembered dancing with Will once in a dim and crowded hall; he’d been a terrible dancer, shuffling and self-conscious, his feet too big. And then there was Jackie, who had been funny and reckless. She remembered her drinking and smoking and singing loudly at parties. Then she looked round at Renata and Tamsin and Gary. Objectively they were middle-aged now, with wrinkles and grey hair and saggy skin and were generally battered by life, but still, for her, they remained the age they had been when she first met them, young, hopeful, heedless.

  She felt a nudge and looked round. It was Renata.

  ‘I’m going out for a cigarette,’ Renata said.

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Do you want to come along?’

  ‘I don’t smoke. Since like fifteen years ago.’

  Renata leaned in closer and spoke in a hiss. ‘I know that. I mean that I want to have a word.’

  Feeling slightly awkward, Neve got up and followed Renata out on to the pavement. They stood in a little designated smoking area to one side, where the pavement was littered with cigarette butts. Renata took a cigarette out and lit it and took several short drags on it.

  ‘Well?’ said Neve.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ said Renata.

  ‘In what way?’

  She sucked on the cigarette almost desperately. ‘I need to start smoking e-cigarettes,’ she said. ‘They’re meant to be just as good.’

  ‘Renata, what’s this about?’

  ‘I don’t know how to say this.’ She paused for a moment. ‘You remember back in May when we first moved into the office and there was an event for us to meet people in the new company.’

  ‘Vaguely.’

  ‘I was terrified so I remember dressing up with an insane effort and being incredibly friendly with everyone and drinking a lot. I got into a long conversation with Saul. I talked about all of us, how we’d been friends since we were teenagers. I remember him saying he envied that. Anyway, none of that’s relevant. What I’m really saying is that about two hours later I was in bed with him in his flat in Covent Garden.’

  She looked at her cigarette and stubbed it out on the little brass container attached to the wall and lit another one. Neve looked at Renata, looked at her fingers as she handled the cigarette and the matches with the expertise of thirty years. It reminded her of being on a boat and staring at the horizon as a way of stopping yourself being sick.

  ‘You probably expect me to say it was because I was having a bad time with Charlie and I wanted someone who really desired me.’

  ‘I don’t really—’ Neve began but Renata spoke over her.

  ‘It wasn’t really like that. Things were just the way that they always are, whatever that means. I just drifted into it and I let it continue for a few weeks, a couple of months really.’ She looked at Neve with what was almost a puzzled expression. ‘It was kind of intense. The sex was amazing. And of course I got emotional about it all.’

  Neve wanted to stop her but she didn’t trust herself to speak.

  ‘I knew it wasn’t going to lead to anything and I think that was part of the attraction for him and I felt pretty awful about it really. It was almost a relief when he broke it off, though it was distressing as well.’

  ‘When was that?’ Neve managed to say.

  ‘A couple of months ago, I suppose.’

  That made sense, Neve thought to herself.

  ‘He said stuff about his wife,’ Renata continued. ‘It was the first time he’d talked about her. What I really think is that he’d met somebody else. Somebody more exciting.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘I just do. Does it matter why?’

  ‘No,’ said Neve. ‘No. Of course not.’

  ‘The real reason I’m talking about this is that I lied to the police.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You heard me. I said I’d never been to the flat.’ Renata looked at Neve with an urgent expression. ‘So what do I do? That’s a crime, isn’t it, lying to the police. Do you think I should own up to it or continue with my lying and make the crime even worse?’ Neve still didn’t reply. She couldn’t find the words. ‘I don’t know what they’d do if I told them. Would they tell Charlie? That would just wreck everything.’

  Neve tried to think of what to say. There seemed nothing good to add. If Renata told the police about her affair with Saul and, worse, that she suspected that he was having an affair with someone else, surely they would look for that person. They would wonder why that person hadn’t come forward. But she couldn’t ask Renata to lie to the police to protect her.

  ‘I’m sure they’d be discreet,’ she began slowly. She took a breath. ‘I’m not an expert but I know that lying to the police is a crime. It might be better if you tell them than they find out in some other way.’

  ‘But maybe they wouldn’t find out,’ said Renata. ‘And it couldn’t have any relevance to Saul dying, could it?’

  Neve thought. ‘I suppose not,’ she said. ‘No.’

  Renata stubbed out the second cigarette and then looked at Neve intently.

  ‘You’re such a good friend,’ she said. ‘You’re the one person I knew I could tell and you would just listen and not judge and be calm. This means so much to me.’

  That did it for Neve. ‘If you tell the police,’ she said, ‘it’ll be very painful. And it would mean Charlie would almost certainly have to know. But in the end you might feel better about yourself. And it’s the right thing to do.’

  Renata came forward and hugged Neve who tried to reciprocate as best as she could but her arms didn’t seem to function properly. As they moved towards the entrance of the pub, Neve saw Fletcher walking down the pavement towards them. He came forward and kissed Renata on both cheeks.

  ‘Neve joined me while I was having a cigarette.’

  ‘I hope you’re not getting her addicted again.’

  ‘Not much chance of that.’

  Renata went inside and left Fletcher and Neve outside on the pavement.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ said Neve.

  Fletcher shrugged and then looked at Neve more closely. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Tough day?’

  ‘It’s a strange time.’

  Neve found it a relief to go inside and join the others at the table and lose herself in the general conversation to which she didn’t have to contribute much. Several more people had turned up and there was an air of slightly anxious cheeriness. Fletcher went to the other side of the table and quickly got into conversation with Tamsin, Jackie and Will. They looked as if they were having a better time than she was. But then nobody, she thought, could be having a worse time.

  She answered questions, asked them, laughed when everyone else did. She looked at Renata’s expressive face, her cloud of hair, her dancing han
ds. Renata and Saul; Saul and Renata. She watched Renata hug everyone goodbye, pick up her jacket and leave the pub.

  Her mobile gave a bright ping and she pulled it from her pocket. It was Mabel asking when they’d be back because she had plans for the evening.

  Soon, she keyed in and pressed ‘send’ then went and squeezed herself in beside Fletcher.

  ‘We need to go soon,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Mabel’s going out.’

  Fletcher looked round at her. ‘Already?’

  ‘It’s nearly nine.’

  ‘I’ll go back if you want to stay longer.’

  ‘No. I’m tired. It’s fine.’

  She stood up and put on her jacket, fishing in her pocket for her bike lights.

  ‘You’re going already?’ asked Tamsin. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was coming unravelled.

  ‘I have to take over from Mabel.’ She looked round the assembled group, speaking to everyone, lifting her hand in a gesture of farewell. ‘It’s been lovely. Great.’

  Jackie Cornfield stood up and gave her a vast, perfumed hug. ‘Let’s meet soon,’ she said. ‘Just you and me.’

  Neve nodded several times, her head bouncing up and down.

  Will Ziegler stood up and kissed her, first on one cheek and then the other. He smelled of moss and wood.

  ‘Very good to see you again after all these years. I would have recognised you anywhere.’

  Neve nodded once more. Something was about to happen to her, she thought. She needed to leave.

  Fletcher was on his feet as well, shaking hands. He was making an effort, she thought, but she wished he’d chosen another night for it. And then she heard him say:

  ‘I tell you what. Why don’t you three’ – he meant Jackie, Will and Tamsin she realised – ‘come and have a meal with us tomorrow night? For old time’s sake.’

  ‘But—’ Neve began.

  ‘That would be wonderful,’ said Jackie. ‘Are you sure it’s OK at such short notice?’

  Neve pulled at Fletcher’s sleeve. ‘I think we might be busy tomorrow night,’ she hissed.

  ‘No. Definitely not,’ Fletcher replied.

  ‘I think we are.’

  He took his phone from his pocket and pulled up the electronic diary and opened it. ‘Look. I’ve put all our dates in.’

  ‘And Will’s probably going back to Bristol,’ said Neve.

  ‘I only got here a couple of hours ago,’ said Will. ‘I’m staying with a friend for a few days, doing a bit of business here. But look, it’s probably the wrong night. We’ll find another time.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Fletcher. He was looking pleased with himself. ‘We’d love to have you for dinner.’

  ‘Great,’ said Tamsin. ‘It would be a relief to get out. People stop inviting you when you’re not part of a couple.’

  ‘Settled then,’ said Fletcher. Good. Come at about eight.’

  Outside, it had started to rain, a blustery, discomforting drizzle. Neve turned to Fletcher.

  ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know.’

  Fletcher looked puzzled in a way that made Neve want to punch him in the face.

  ‘You’re always saying I don’t make enough effort to be sociable. You go on at me to invite people round, go out and see people – and as soon as I do that, you don’t like it. I can’t win.’

  ‘It’s the wrong night.’

  ‘It’s Saturday night. Anyway, you sound like me. You always say that the right time is now.’

  ‘We went to Renata’s party on Thursday, then this thing tonight.’

  ‘It’s only nine.’ He peered at her. ‘You do look tired though. And you were out past midnight on Tuesday as well, seeing Tamsin.’ She nodded miserably at the repeated lie. ‘You just need an early night and you can have a lie-in tomorrow. It’ll be fine. We can’t uninvite them.’

  ‘I guess not.’ She unlocked her bike.

  ‘What were you talking to Renata about? She looked upset.’ He paused a beat then added, ‘So did you actually.’

  ‘Oh, you know. Life. I’ll see you at home. I’ll put the kettle on.’

  She biked against the wind and growing rain, which came at her in waves. She didn’t want to think; she wanted to drink a mug of tea and climb into bed and pull the covers over her head. She didn’t want to dream; she wanted everything to be wiped away from her consciousness, for a while at least.

  Renata was going to tell the police. It was the right thing to do. Neve thought about it over and over. She had to as well. She had to tell the truth before her lies were discovered. The thought of the present that Saul had ordered for her and which at any moment would be arriving at the flat stabbed at her. She had to tell Fletcher and then she had to go and see Hitching and confess everything, pull her whole life down on top of her.

  Mabel was waiting for her, already pulling on the coat that Neve had given her on her last birthday. She was wearing high platform boots, a short leather skirt and lots of make-up. It was like a mask over her face.

  ‘Everything OK?’ asked Neve.

  ‘We had pasta and I got beaten at various computer games and now Connor’s asleep on the sofa and Rory’s in his room with a book.’

  Mabel was good with her brothers. Even at her lowest, when she seemed like a snarling animal in pain, she would pull herself out of misery to act the elder sister.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Neve. ‘I hope we haven’t kept you waiting.’

  ‘It’s OK.’

  ‘Where are you off to?’ She said it casually, as if she didn’t really want to know.

  Mabel shot her a sideways glance. ‘Just to see a couple of friends,’ she said.

  ‘Enjoy it.’ Neve wasn’t going to say anything else; she absolutely wasn’t. She turned to go into the kitchen. ‘Take care,’ she said.

  ‘Neve.’

  ‘Yes. Sorry. Just—’

  But Mabel was gone.

  Neve went into the kitchen to fill the kettle and turn it on, and then into the living room where Connor was curled up asleep in his pyjamas. She thought of letting Fletcher do it when he came home, but then leaned down and heaved him to his feet, half carried and half led him up the first stairs, then the second, into his room. She lowered him on his bed and pulled the covers over him. Teeth could wait till the morning. She leaned forward and kissed the top of his bristly head. He smelled of clean sweat. His eyelids fluttered and for a moment he smiled at her, then turned on his side and was asleep again.

  She knocked on Rory’s door and put her head round it.

  ‘All right evening?’ she asked.

  He murmured something without lifting his head from his book. She closed the door and made her way downstairs. She was cold and soaking and tired to the bone. Her legs felt like they were filled with cement. Don’t think, she told herself, don’t remember. Don’t look back and don’t look forward.

  She was on the second flight of stairs, on her way to the kitchen to make tea, when an alarm played from Mabel’s room. She halted. Mabel had an alarm clock that the boys had given to her at Christmas, which had moving feet and which lurched itself off the bedside table and on to the bed if Mabel didn’t switch if off in time. It also had a tone that got louder and louder and didn’t stop. It had been like a family joke. Mabel had in the past regularly slept through all the phone alarms that she set to go off every five minutes. But it made a terrible noise and she often forgot to set it anyway, or set it for some random time. Like now. Neve looked at her watch: twenty-five past nine at night.

  The alarm sounded again. Soon it would wake Connor. Then it would wake up the entire neighbourhood. She trudged back up the stairs and hesitated outside Mabel’s room, then pushed open the door on to darkness. There was a strange smell in here, a bit foetid, and something else as well. She tried not to think what that might be: this was Mabel’s sanctum. When she turned on the light, the room sprang into visibility, and it was like suddenly finding herself in an altern
ative reality: Mabel’s chaotic university preparations, Mabel’s war zone, Mabel’s self-harm, the inside of Mabel’s head.

  The chair was inside the room, separated from its legs that lay under the window, one of them broken. In the wild disorder, it was at first hard to pick out specific objects: she saw soft piles of clothes and a tangle of metal and wood hangers, split bin bags, a rolled-up rug standing crookedly on end against the wall with Mabel’s old teddy perched on top – and then she saw with a lurch of terror that Mabel had cut into the bear’s soft middle so that its fabric innards were spilling out. The alarm rang again, getting louder.

  Dry-mouthed, Neve moved further into the room. Her foot slid on something shiny and she looked down. There were dozens of photos on the floor and she realised that Mabel had ripped apart the family albums and scattered dozens, no hundreds, of photographs everywhere. She’d taken down all the pictures and posters from her walls and leaned them against her bed, except for one poster that she’d ripped into large pieces. A segment of face stared up at Neve, an eye as big as a hand.

  The alarm rang again, insistent, like a drill inside Neve’s skull, and she picked her way through the debris towards the clock but before she reached it, it took a few lurching steps across the little table and slithered into the folds of Mabel’s duvet. Neve pulled the covers back and took hold of the clock, which rattled and shook in her hands. It had a yellow, smiley face. Rise and shine. It rang again.

  Neve didn’t turn it off. She was staring at something poking out from the cover. She put out one hand and lifted up her bangle.

  She didn’t know how long she stood there, holding it. The alarm clock shrilled once more and she heard Rory’s voice calling: ‘Mum? Mum, can you turn it off?’

  She pushed the bangle over her wrist and fumbled with the little button at the back of the clock until the noise stopped. Then she lunged across the room, feeling things crack and splinter underfoot, shut the door and locked it. She fell to her knees and started to scrabble through the pile-up of things on the floor, ripping open bin bags and plunging her hand deep inside, delving into soft heaps of clothes, yanking open drawers. She worked in a silence that was broken only by the slight gasp of her breath.