The Lies We Told(56)

‘Doing my head in as usual,’ Hannah sighed. ‘I wish my mum and dad were like yours. They sound so great, you’re so lucky.’

The girl snorted. ‘You’re joking, right? They don’t give a shit about what I want. Mum just wants me to go into medicine like her so she can show off to all her friends, and Dad only cares about his own work and what my brothers are doing.’ She sighed. ‘They don’t take me seriously at all. Like that Greenpeace rally I went on last week, I tried to talk to them about it and they just nodded and asked me if I’d done my bloody revision. I mean, who cares about that? Half the planet’s being destroyed and they’re worried about a fucking mock Biology exam. So as usual we ended up having a row. They don’t see how important this stuff is to me, and I’m sure I’m going to fail my exams anyway, sometimes I feel like giving up.’

‘No you’re not,’ Hannah replied. ‘I wish you believed in yourself more.’ Mock sternly, she added, ‘OK, repeat after me: My name’s Emily Lawson and I’m going to ace all my A-levels. Go on, do it!’

I barely heard as the girl gigglingly obeyed. I felt as though I’d been sucker-punched, the air knocked clean from my lungs. I don’t remember what they said after that, only that afterwards I went into the kitchen and felt the room spin around me. As I clung to the table, I was dizzy with shock.

Emily.

Emily Lawson.

Oh please God, no.

Suddenly, everything made sense.





21


London, 2017

Her head felt full of cotton wool, her mouth and throat dry as sand. She became aware of the strong whiff of disinfectant mixed with the boiled-veg-and-gravy smell of school dinners. Her closed eyelids prickled. For a while she drifted, sleep ebbing and flowing.

‘Clara?’ A voice from far away, then the gradual drift forward into consciousness. ‘Clara, can you hear me?’

A sudden sharp awareness of pain in her throat and chest, each breath a dragging rasp. She opened her eyes, daylight harsh against her retinas. A face leaning in that was female, middle-aged, framed by a dark bob. The features took shape, a stranger’s patient gaze upon her. Clara tried to speak, ‘Uh—’

‘Well, good! You’re awake.’ The voice was briskly kind.

All at once the memories rushed back: her smoke-filled flat, the looming threat of Alison, and her fear returned in one violent rush. She tried to raise her head.

‘How are you feeling?’ The stranger’s face was nearer now; pale pink lipstick, crow’s feet around wide blue eyes, a white coat.

‘What happened?’ Clara asked.

‘You were in a fire. You were brought in last night suffering from smoke inhalation. I’m Doctor Patricia Holloway. We had to sedate you in order to examine the extent of the damage to your lungs and throat.’

‘Alison. She … it was her … in my flat …’

The doctor got up and wrote something on her clipboard. She shot her a sympathetic glance. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t have any information on what happened. The police were here earlier, they’ll be back later, I’m sure.’ She smiled. ‘The good news is you’re going to be fine. You were remarkably lucky.’

‘But …’

‘Try to relax now. You’re quite safe.’

It was half an hour later when Anderson knocked on her door. He looked incongruous here, besuited and authoritative amidst the pale green hush of the hospital room. He also looked exhausted, and she had the vague memory of him saying he had one-year-old twins at home. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, sitting heavily down on the chair by her bed. She caught the faint whiff of coffee and cigarette smoke.

‘I … don’t know. What happened? Did Alison … did you catch her? It was her … she tried to kill me.’

He considered her, brow furrowed. ‘It was Alison Fournier who alerted the emergency services, Clara. She and your downstairs neighbours dragged you out of your flat. She helped save your life.’

She stared at him, stunned. ‘But … are you sure? I mean, how did she get in?’

‘Your door was open when the couple in the flat below went to investigate the smell of smoke.’

Clara shook her head, unable to make sense of this new information. ‘Open? But—’

‘Were you alone when you went to bed?’ he asked.

‘I – yes. Yes, of course I was …’

‘And you shut the door to your flat securely?’

‘Yes! At least, I think so.’ She remembered how upset she’d been about Mac, the wine she’d drunk, her wooziness as she’d fallen into bed. The door had been closed though, she was sure of it.

‘How’s Mac?’ she asked. ‘Is he OK?’

Anderson nodded. ‘He’s going to be fine. He’s been discharged already.’ He leaned forward, fixing her with his tired grey eyes. ‘The fire was caused deliberately. Officers found a bottle of lighter fluid in your lounge near where it looks to have started. If you’re quite sure you closed the door behind you when you got home last night, whoever got in must have used a key.’ He paused. ‘Is there anyone apart from yourself who has a copy?’

She pulled herself more upright in the bed, aware suddenly that her head ached horribly. ‘I … no. I changed my locks after it was broken into last week.’