Lying Beside You (Cyrus Haven #3)(50)

‘I can’t help you,’ says Lilah, who pushes open the heavy door. I let out a moan and rest my head on my knees and pretend to cry. I have no idea if she’s watching, or if she’s gone inside, but Poppy seems to find me convincing. She puts her head on my lap, wanting to comfort me.

After an age, I hear Lilah’s voice. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Evie.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘London.’

‘How did you get here?’

‘I caught the train and I walked from the station. I don’t have enough money to get back and I don’t want to go. I’m going to stay with Uncle Mitch.’

‘That’s not a good idea.’

‘Do you know where he is? Can you call him?’

‘No,’ she says. ‘You should go home.’

‘I can’t.’

She frowns. ‘I’ll give you the money for a train fare. You can pay me back.’

‘It’s not that. My mum has this boyfriend, Barry, who’s always trying to walk in when I’m in the shower or getting dressed.’

‘Sounds like a creep.’

‘Totally. Gives me the ick.’

‘Did you tell your mum?’

‘She doesn’t believe me or she can’t be arsed.’

‘Go to the police.’

‘It’s Barry’s word against mine and Mum is going to side with him.’

Lilah is standing on the landing, hands on hips, deciding what to do.

‘Your uncle can’t help you.’

‘Why not?’

She sighs. ‘Come inside. I’ll make you a cup of tea, but then you have to leave.’

‘What about Poppy?’

‘Does she get on with other dogs?’

‘Loves them.’

‘Well, she can come and meet mine. I’m Lilah, by the way.’

I wipe my nose on my sleeve and follow her inside. As the door opens, I hear scampering sounds, claws on hardwood, and a large poodle appears around the corner, wagging a tail which is tipped with a ball of fur.

‘How are you, old boy?’ says Lilah, crouching to hug the poodle, who seems to creak a little with age. Trevor is more interested in Poppy. The two of them circle and sniff and circle some more.

Lilah dumps her bag on a chair, before pulling the pins from her hair and shaking it loose. She looks at herself in the hall mirror and touches the skin beneath her eyes. She’s come from a night-shift and is clearly tired.

‘You have lovely hair,’ I say. She looks at me oddly and touches it protectively.

‘I didn’t know Mitch had a sister.’

‘Just the one. I’m his only niece. That makes me his favourite. Uncle Mitch said that if I ever needed somewhere to crash, I could stay with him.’

‘When did you last see him?’

‘Not for a long time. I know he went to prison, but he’s out now.’

‘Do you know why he was there?’

‘It was a mistake. Mum said he was innocent.’

‘Did she?’

We’re in the kitchen. Lilah fills the kettle and puts teabags into two mugs. She wraps the string tags around the handles to stop them falling into the tea. Papa is the only other person I’ve ever seen do this. She takes a carton of milk from the fridge and puts a bowl of sugar on the table.

‘I’d offer you a biscuit, but I refuse to have them in the place.’

‘Work of the devil according to my mum,’ I say, even as my stomach rumbles. ‘Uncle Mitch was given parole, which is some sort of early mark for good behaviour. I thought he might come back here.’

‘I hope not!’ she says. ‘He’s not supposed to come anywhere near me.’

‘Why?’

She gives me a strange look and I act surprised, saying, ‘You’re her! The woman who said she was attacked.’

‘I was attacked. And I think you should apologise or leave.’

‘Don’t take it the wrong way. I’m only saying what Mum said. She called you a …’ I stop myself.

‘Go on. What did she call me?’

‘She said you lied and stitched him up.’

‘I did no such thing.’

‘Maybe you made a mistake.’

‘No. He left me naked, bound and gagged on the bed. He shaved off my hair.’

‘But you didn’t see his face.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Mum told me.’

‘She’s wrong. Your uncle deserved to go to jail.’

There it is – the flicker of doubt. It’s in her eyes or her voice or shimmering in the air between us. Sometimes it’s not a lie I see, but an absence of truth, or the illusion of truth, rather than certainty.

Poppy hears the raised voices and comes padding into the kitchen, putting her velvety head on my lap. I scratch behind her ears and say, in a childlike voice, ‘Have you been playing with Trevor?’

The moment the question leaves my mouth I realise my mistake.

Lilah is staring at me coldly. ‘How do you know his name?’

‘Who?’

‘Trevor. How do you know his name?’

‘You called him that when we came inside.’