The Lies We Told(19)

‘I keep thinking about those awful emails. Tell me again what DS Anderson said, he does think they’re connected, doesn’t he?’

‘I don’t think he knows yet what—’

‘But it must be! The same person who broke into your flat, who took those photographs …’

For the briefest moment Clara considered telling Rose about Luke’s affair, that she was washing her hands of her son, that he had hurt her too much to care about his whereabouts any more. But even before the thought was fully formed, she knew she never would. Because despite everything, despite all that he’d done, she couldn’t do it, not to Luke, and especially not to his parents. After all, it was hardly their fault that any of this had happened. ‘I’m going to get on the Tube now,’ she said instead. ‘I’ll phone you as soon as the police get in touch. Try to stay strong, Rose. We’ll find him. I promise.’

Sitting on the Northern Line a few minutes later, Clara brooded over Rose’s distress. Her mind wandered to a weekend in Suffolk a year or so before. It had been the day of the village fete, an event organized entirely by Luke’s parents, to raise funds for a little local girl with leukaemia. There had been stalls and games, live music and dancing, and the whole village had come along, a joyful atmosphere of community and goodwill in the air. Clara had watched as Rose had danced energetically to the band, while a smiling Oliver had organized tug-of-war contests and run the coconut shy. Despite the weeks and weeks of hard work, the time and money that had gone into organizing the event, she saw how they brushed off all congratulations and thanks with self-deprecating modesty. It was only when the parents of the girl for whom the fete was in honour approached and hugged them both that Clara saw how touched and relieved they were by the day’s success.

As her train drew into Old Street, Clara got up, reflecting bitterly at how cruel life was. Why was it that bad things seemed to happen to those who least deserved it? Hadn’t Rose and Oliver suffered enough? She stepped out on to the platform, resolving that she would do everything she possibly could to help Luke’s parents find him.

Mac was waiting for her on the street outside her building when she arrived. He was leaning against the wall, watching her warily as she approached. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘I just wanted to see how you are,’ he said.

She sighed, too tired to turn him away. ‘Come up.’

Five minutes later they were sitting across the kitchen table from each other. She took in the familiar, endearing gawkiness of him, the pale skin that looked like it barely saw sunlight – which wasn’t far from the truth: Mac was a freelance photographer and spent his nights taking pictures of gigs and music concerts for a living, which meant he often slept during daylight hours. Luke’s funny, loyal friend who could usually make her helpless with laughter within seconds, who until yesterday she had thought was one of her closest friends, too. ‘Why did he do it?’ she asked. ‘We’ve only just moved in together, he told me he loved me! What the fuck was he playing at?’

Mac shrugged helplessly. ‘Because he’s a bloody idiot.’

‘You should have told me, Mac. I thought you were my friend.’

‘I am your friend. Think about the position I was in. I fucking hated it. But it needed to come from him, not me. I told him to tell you, I told him over and over, you’ve got to believe that!’

She rubbed her eyes, considering this. ‘How did it start between them?’ she asked.

‘Sadie was in the pub one night after work and Luke got talking to her. Her dad had died recently I think and she was drunk and upset, so he comforted her, told her he was always around for a chat. You know what Luke’s like, always wants to be there for people. Anyway, he said after that she used to seek him out whenever she could, they’d meet at lunch now and then, and she’d turn up at the pub after work and make a beeline for him. A few of them ended up at her flat one night and, well, I guess one thing led to another. He told me she wouldn’t leave him alone after that, saying she’d fallen for him, he was the only thing keeping her going. He got in too deep, didn’t know how to get himself out of it …’

‘I expect it helped that she looks like a fucking supermodel,’ Clara muttered, once again mentally comparing her own looks to Sadie’s and finding herself humiliatingly lacking. She was the sort of woman others referred to as ‘cute’. Five foot five with a short, Bettie Page bob, a slightly snubbed nose and freckles, she’d long made peace with the fact that she wasn’t the stuff of male fantasy – until now, that was, when suddenly every long-buried adolescent insecurity seemed to be rushing back at her with the speed of an express train.

He sighed. ‘Look, I’m not trying to excuse him, but he made a mistake, a massive one, he totally ballsed up and he knows it … he’s truly sorry, I know he is.’

‘Jesus,’ she said, putting her head in her hands. ‘I thought he was so … nice.’

‘He is nice,’ Mac said. ‘He’s just a bit of a fuck-up underneath it all.’

‘What right has he got to be fucked up?’ she said angrily. ‘I mean, you’ve met his parents, seen their beautiful home …’

Mac was silent for a while. ‘Did he ever talk to you about when Emily went missing?’ he asked.

She glanced at him. ‘No, not really,’ she admitted.