Three Little Lies Page 19

  Karina

  July 2006

  Oh my God, I can’t believe he’s interested in me. He’s so gorgeous. He wants to keep it a secret for now, something that’s just for us. I totally understand why. People can get so jealous.

  Ellen would go CRAZY if she knew. Since she got friendly with Sasha, she thinks it’s all about her. She’s so worried about me. Even worse, she feels sorry for me. Poor Karina, we must make sure she’s included. If only she knew!

  There have been times when I’ve almost told her, when she’s going on about Sasha this and Sasha that, Sasha’s got such amazing clothes, she’s had such a cool life, her mum lives in America, Leo is totally obsessed with her, blah blah blah. I’ve had to hold myself back, desperate to see the look on her face if I told her.

  We used to have all these conversations about how far we’ve gone with boys, and who’s done it in our class and stuff. We haven’t talked about it in a while. For her, I think it’s because she’s embarrassed that she hasn’t gone past first base. Mind you, as far as she’s concerned, I’m the same, apart from that time Andrew Papadopoulos felt my tits at Tamara Gregg’s party, and that doesn’t really count because he was squeezing them like stress balls. I’ve gone so much further than that now. I bet she doesn’t know some of the things I’ve done even exist.

  He looks after me, though; cares about me. I know it’s a cliché, but he really does think I’m something special. A lot of girls my age are so silly, so childish. I’m more mature, and he can see that. Sasha and Ellen are a couple of little girls, sometimes, trying on clothes together, laughing over something totally stupid. We have proper conversations about life and stuff. He’s committed to me, doesn’t want me to have anyone else, only him. He says I’m enough for him, and he is enough for me. We don’t need anyone else. I think about him all the time, and he says he does too.

  It’s so romantic, I could die.

  Ellen

  September 2017

  Surely they will have to believe me now. I tap in the numbers from the card PC Bryant gave me, figuring it will only be switched on if she’s on duty. If I can’t get her, I’ll call 999, but I would rather speak to her than to somebody who doesn’t know the circumstances, to whom I would have to start from the beginning.

  ‘Bryant,’ she says, sounding as if her mind is on something else. There’s a buzz of chatter and the faint sound of music in the background.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ I say, suddenly unsure I’ve done the right thing in calling her. ‘It’s Ellen Mackinnon. I reported my friend Sasha missing last week.’

  ‘Yes, Ellen, of course. Hang on one second.’ She issues instructions to someone, then I hear a door slam and the background noise fades away.

  ‘That’s better,’ she says. ‘How can I help you? Is there any news of Sasha?’

  ‘No, it’s not that. I’m… sorry to call at this time.’

  ‘It’s fine, I’m working tonight.’

  ‘Someone was in my flat just now. They broke in.’

  ‘Were you awake? Did you hear them?’

  ‘Yes. I hid in my room. I couldn’t move.’

  ‘Oh, Ellen. That must have been very frightening.’

  I swallow, determined not to crumble. ‘Yes. Yes, it was. I think I know who did it, though. Remember I told you about the boy who raped my friend? He —’

  ‘Ellen, hang on. I’ll come over to you now and we can discuss it properly. Are you absolutely certain the intruder has left the property?’

  ‘Yes, yes I am.’ I’ve checked under the beds, even in the wardrobes, snatching the doors open, my heart in my mouth, my pulse only subsiding when I’d checked every possible hiding place.

  Half an hour later, the buzzer goes, and for the second time I hear her shoes clip-clopping up the stairs. We sit at the kitchen table, and despite my head being thick and hot with lack of sleep, I manage to give her a coherent account of what happened.

  ‘And there was no sign at all of a forced entry?’ says Bryant.

  ‘No. Is there any way someone could get in without a key, without breaking the door or the lock?’

  ‘It’s possible. Did you double-lock it, or was it just the Yale lock?’

  ‘I usually double-lock it, but I don’t know. I can’t remember.’

  ‘Do you think anything’s missing?’ she asks.

  ‘Not as far as I can tell, no. Neither of us has anything particularly valuable, anyway. And if it was a robbery, wouldn’t they have taken the telly or something?’

  ‘Possibly,’ she says. ‘We’ll double-check in a minute, though, just in case. Now, you said on the phone that you thought you knew who had done this?’

  ‘Yes.’ I keep my hands in my lap, twisted together to keep them still.

  ‘You think it was Daniel Monkton, the one who raped your other friend?’ says Bryant.

  ‘Yes.’ My fingers thread around and around each other, my legs crossed at the ankle, the outside of one foot pressing into the other. ‘Have you spoken to him yet?’

  ‘No. We have spoken to Mr and Mrs Monkton, and they’ve given us a mobile number for him, but as yet we haven’t been able to contact him. They say they don’t know where he’s staying.’

  Of course they know.

  ‘They were able to give us an address for Sasha’s mother, but we haven’t managed to speak to her yet, although of course we’ll keep trying.’ That’s on my list, too, although I don’t tell Bryant that.

  ‘The other thing we have to consider,’ Bryant goes on, ‘especially given that there are no obvious signs of a break-in, is that it was Sasha herself who was in the flat.’

  I knew she would suggest this, and even I can see it’s the most likely explanation, but despite everything, I can’t believe she would deliberately frighten me like that.

  ‘Can you think of any reason why she might have wanted to come back to the flat without you knowing?’ Bryant goes on.

  I think of her strange mood that Friday, a couple of weeks ago, when she got back from work; her unexplained absences; the truth about her mother that she’s been hiding from me for twelve years; the night she spent with my ex-boyfriend a month ago; the fact that I’m not sure I know her at all.

  ‘No,’ I say. If I say any of that, they won’t look for her, and I want them to. I need answers.

  ‘The first thing I would suggest, if you’re worried, is to get the locks changed. The fact that there’s no sign of a break-in suggests that if there was someone in here, they had a key.’

  If there was someone in here. Does she not believe me? Does she think I was dreaming, or making it up? Maybe she thinks I messed up Sasha’s room myself, or perhaps she can’t tell the difference between the Sasha-mess and what it’s like now. I want to protest, take her by the shoulders and shake her, make her see what is going on here. There’s no point, though; it’ll make me look even crazier than she already believes me to be, so I leave it, assuring her I’ll let her know if anything else happens that makes me concerned. I won’t, though. I can see now that I’m on my own, unless something worse happens, of course, and by that time it will be too late.

  She’s right about one thing, though: I do need to change the locks. When she’s gone, I search for locksmiths on my phone, but pull a face when I see the prices. So far, Sasha’s absence hasn’t affected me financially, but next month, will I be facing paying all the bills alone? I can’t afford a locksmith. There are forums online suggesting I could replace the locks myself, but I don’t even understand the instructions, let alone have the ability to carry them out. I go on the website for a DIY store instead. I can afford some bolts, a heavy-duty chain. That will have to do. Even those I can’t fit myself, though. I don’t own a drill and even if I did, I wouldn’t have a clue how to operate it. I curse myself for my stupid, stereotypical femaleness, while simultaneously running a list of people through my head who might be able to help. My dad is famously hopeless at DIY – my parents have a handyman they get in to do work in their house. I can’
t ask him to do it, though – he’ll tell my parents and I don’t want to worry them.

  The one person I can think of who has a drill and the necessary know-how is Jackson. Sasha used to laugh about it, his old-fashioned manliness. She was taking the piss but I could tell she liked it really. I text him, explaining briefly what has happened and asking if he can help. It’s five in the morning, so I’m not expecting him to reply now, but I know there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep. I grab my duvet and decamp to the lounge, putting the telly on. A sunburnt retired couple are trying to decide whether to move to Wales or Portugal. I must have fallen asleep eventually, because I’m woken just after 7 a.m. by my phone ringing. It’s Jackson.

  ‘Shit, Ellen, I’ve just seen your text. Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine, but I need to add some security to the door – bolts and a chain. I was wondering if you might… with your drill…’

  ‘Don’t you need a locksmith? How did they break in?’

  ‘They didn’t. Either they had a key or… maybe I didn’t double-lock the door – someone could have broken in somehow.’

  ‘They had a key? Don’t you think…?’ He is wary of upsetting me.

  ‘Don’t I think it was Sasha? That’s what the police said.’ I can’t bring myself to mount a vociferous defence of her, not this time. ‘Would you be able to come over? I’ll go and get the stuff this morning. I’m working tonight, but you could come round when you’ve finished work, just let yourself in.’

  ‘I don’t have a key,’ he says, embarrassed. ‘Sasha didn’t want me to have one. I’m not working today, anyway. I can come over this morning, if you like?’

  There’s a DIY store about ten minutes’ walk from the flat, and I’m there shortly after it opens at 9 a.m. On the way home, bolts and chain clanking in the carrier bag, I screw up my courage and call Leo.

  ‘Hello.’ He sounds pleased to hear from me. ‘What’s up?’

  I’m not in the mood for pleasantries, particularly after the night I’ve had. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d slept with Sasha?’

  There’s a stunned silence.

  ‘Don’t bother denying it – Rachel told me.’

  ‘Ellen,’ he says under his breath, ‘I can’t talk now. I’m at work.’

  ‘I don’t care where you are.’

  ‘Bloody hell. Hang on a sec.’ It sounds as though he’s walking, and then there’s a clang and the background office sounds die away. ‘OK, I’m on the fire escape. I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you because I thought you might be upset, and it sounds like I was right. But you and I went out a million years ago. I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong here. If I’d done something back when you and I were together, maybe you’d have a right to be pissed off. But not now. Not ten years later.’

  ‘That’s not why I’m upset!’ This is a lie, of course.

  ‘Really?’ he says. ‘What is it with you and her, anyway? What have you actually got in common, other than the trial? You seem to think she’s been this amazing, supportive friend to you, but if you ask me, it’s the other way around.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything? You still should have told me. It might have something to do with Sasha’s disappearance.’

  ‘I didn’t because I know it doesn’t have anything to do with it. Unless… unless you’re accusing me of having something to do with it. Jesus, is that what this is? You think I’ve done something to her?’

  ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying… but any information helps. The police might want to talk to you if they know you slept with her recently. You need to tell them.’

  ‘What, or you will? Bollocks to that, Ellen. I slept with her once, a month ago. It’s got no relevance at all to whatever’s happened to her now. I’ve got to get back to work. Goodbye.’

  He cuts me off, and I walk the rest of the way home with stupid, hot tears stinging my eyes. Jackson arrives not long after I get back, toolbox in hand, and gets to work straight away.

  ‘Did they take anything?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘So if it wasn’t Sasha, who do you think…?’

  I wait for the drill to stop, weighing up my options. Ten seconds is enough to decide I don’t owe Leo or Sasha anything as far as this goes.

  ‘I don’t know. But I have found something out. I saw Rachel last night, and she told me that about a month ago, Sasha slept with someone else.’

  ‘I knew it. I fucking knew it.’ He stares at me, drill in hand like a gun. ‘Who was it?’

  ‘Leo Smith. He’s an old friend of ours from school. My ex-boyfriend, in fact.’

  ‘She mentioned him. She bumped into him recently, didn’t she?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve only just found out about that too. She didn’t say anything to me.’

  ‘I bet she didn’t, the stupid cow.’ Despite echoing my own secret feelings, the ugliness of his words makes me recoil.

  ‘Sorry, Ellen. But honestly. Hang on, I think I met him. He was there in the pub one night. Jesus. And your ex as well. What is she like?’

  ‘I know. What’s going on, Jackson?’

  He doesn’t answer but starts drilling again with renewed vigour. I lean against the wall and watch him. He said he doesn’t have a key, and that may well be true. But as he skilfully fits two bolts and a chain with a minimum of fuss and mess, I reflect on how, if I had to pick one person out of everyone I know to break into a house without leaving a trace, I would pick him.

  Ellen

  August 2006

  It was obvious from the moment I arrived that something wasn’t right. When Leo texted me to say Nicholas and Daniel were having a party, my heart had leapt even more than it did normally when he contacted me. Nothing had happened between us since that day in the park, but every time I’d seen him, at school or at Sasha’s house, there was something between us, like an electrical current that nobody else could feel. He texted occasionally, jokey little messages, not mentioning what he’d said on the rug that day, but enough to fuel the connection between us.

  This time, though, it was the thought of being back at the corner house that made my pulse skip. It had been disconcerting without Sasha around. Once my anger at her running off to France without me had subsided to a low-grade, nagging gripe, I’d realised how difficult it was going to be to spend much time at the Monktons’ without her. I often stayed on if I was already there when Sasha went out, chatting to Olivia in the kitchen. A few times I’d even shared a bottle of wine with Tony when Olivia wasn’t there, although he drank so quickly I didn’t get more than a glass and a half. But turning up when there was no chance Sasha would be there felt like a different matter altogether. This party would give me a completely legitimate excuse to spend hours there. I could probably even stay the night in Sasha’s room if I wanted.

  I dressed with extra care and hurried along the road slightly before the appointed time of 8 p.m., an addict desperate for a fix.

  ‘Ellen! You’re looking lovely, as ever.’ Tony kissed me on both cheeks, his face whiskery against mine, his familiar smell of whiskey and the dry, citrusy aftershave he wore assaulting my senses.

  I followed him into the kitchen, where Olivia was getting glasses out and banging them down on the table. ‘Hi, Ellen,’ she said, barely looking up.

  ‘Hi.’ I stood awkwardly in the doorway. It was the first time I’d spoken to her since she’d called to tell me Sasha had phoned from France. I’d been expecting a hug, or at least a bit of interest.

  ‘The boys are in the piano room,’ she said, opening the fridge and putting in some bottles of beer from the kitchen worktop.

  ‘Oh, right. I’ll just go and…’ I drifted across the hallway, sharply conscious of Sasha’s absence. Was it that which was causing the frosty atmosphere? In the front room I found Nicholas, alone, idly picking out notes on the piano. He stopped abruptly when he saw me, slamming the lid shut.

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ I said, starting to back out of the room. Where was I going to g
o now?

  ‘It’s fine, you don’t have to run away,’ he said.

  I stopped, but was grateful to be liberated by a ring on the doorbell.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ I said, gratefully rushing to the door.

  Leo was wearing a pale blue shirt, his skin lightly tanned, the natural golden highlights in his hair glistening in the last rays of evening sunshine. I’d never been so glad to see anyone in my life, and without thinking, I stepped forward and gave him a hug. We held each other a fraction of a second too long, and then I stepped back breathlessly.