The Lies We Told(43)

Emily’s voice was low and soft, with the same gentle middle-class Suffolk accent as her brother’s. ‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ she said, before adding anxiously, ‘You didn’t tell my parents you were meeting me?’

Clara shook her head. ‘No.’

‘You told no one? Are you sure?’

For a split second Mac’s face flashed into her mind but before she could even process the thought, she heard herself say, ‘No. I promise. I didn’t tell a soul.’

At this Emily relaxed a fraction, though she continued to scan the room with quick nervous glances.

What was she so scared of, Clara wondered. Because there was no doubt about it: Emily certainly seemed afraid of something. She was like a tightly wound spring, as though at any moment she might jump out of her chair and run off into the night. ‘Would you like a drink?’ Clara asked, the normalcy of the question sounding utterly surreal in the circumstances.

‘No. No thank you, I’m afraid I can’t stay long.’ She tucked her hair behind her ears and the smile that flickered across her lips was one of such sweetness that Clara smiled back.

‘I’m so glad you came,’ she said.

‘When I saw you on the news, I couldn’t believe it … that it was my brother you were talking about.’ Emily shook her head in wonder. ‘When they showed his picture … seeing him again after all these years, all grown up …’ Her eyes swam, and instinctively Clara reached over and put a hand on hers. ‘I’ve missed out on most of his life. He was ten years old when I last saw him and I’ve thought about him every single day since. When I saw you, I couldn’t … I couldn’t not contact you.’

Clara was about to reply when Emily leant down and pulled something from her bag. ‘I have something to show you,’ she said, handing her a small, creased photograph.

Clara gazed at the faded picture in amazement. It was of Luke aged about four, wearing stripy pyjamas and a huge toothy grin. Behind him stood Emily, a gangly, pretty girl of around twelve, her arms wrapped tightly around her brother’s shoulders, her smile a replica of his. In the background was the living room of The Willows, its walls painted an unfamiliar green.

‘Oh my goodness,’ Clara murmured.

‘I carry it with me everywhere,’ Emily said. ‘And this one too.’ She passed her a second picture, which showed herself aged about fourteen or so and standing between a smiling, much younger-looking Rose and Oliver in the back garden of The Willows, each of them with a glass of champagne in their hands. They looked so relaxed and happy, Clara thought; such a stark contrast to how battered by grief and worry they were now. ‘How are they?’ Emily asked. ‘How are Mum and Dad?’

There was such anguish in her face that Clara felt her throat thicken with sympathy. She paused, searching for the right words. ‘They’re not good, Emily,’ she admitted. ‘Luke’s disappearance …’

Emily looked so sad that Clara couldn’t help herself any longer. ‘Emily, what happened to you? Where have you been all this time? What happened when you were eighteen?’

But it was as if the shutters slammed down in her eyes and she looked away.

Into the tense silence, Clara said miserably, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t want to push you, it’s just … your mum and dad, it would make them so happy to know that you’re OK. Can I tell them I’ve seen you, that you’re alive and well? It would—’

‘No!’ A group of people sitting at the next table glanced over at them in surprise and Emily stared down at her hands for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was very quiet. ‘I hope, soon, I’ll be able to go home. When all this is over, when we’ve found Luke, I will go back to my parents. But you must let me do that myself. I don’t want someone else to break the news to them, to fill them with hope when I don’t know how long it will be before I can go back to them.’

‘But—’

Emily leaned forward, gazing at her urgently. ‘It wouldn’t be safe, for my parents, or for me, if I return home now. You have to trust me, Clara. But I will go to them. When they’ve found Luke, I will go home, I need more time, that’s all.’

Clara searched Emily’s face. ‘What do you mean,’ she said, ‘“it wouldn’t be safe”? What are you frightened of? If you’re in danger, you must—’

‘Clara,’ Emily cut her off. ‘I can’t talk about it. If you can’t promise me that you won’t tell them, I’ll have to leave.’ She half rose from her seat and Clara put her hand out to stop her.

‘No, please stay, please. I promise. I just …’ she trailed off uncertainly. It didn’t make any sense, and she didn’t know if she could bear to keep something so huge from two people she loved so dearly. But it was clear that Emily wasn’t going to explain herself now. Finally, she said, ‘Do you promise you will go to them, when Luke’s found?’

Emily nodded. ‘I promise, Clara. All the attention should be on him now, on finding him. There’s nothing I want more than to see them again. I’m just asking you to keep this secret for a while longer.’

And what if we don’t find Luke? The unwelcome thought snaked its way through Clara’s mind and with effort she pushed it away. Reluctantly she nodded. ‘OK.’