The Lies We Told(77)
She nodded and took a deep breath, looking from one to the other of their anxious faces. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, sounding far more confident than she felt. ‘I’ll be fine.’
The journey from Highbury to Old Street seemed to take forever, her nerves winding tighter and tighter as the Tube rattled through the black tunnels. By the time she reached East London she felt sick with fear. She emerged on to the street to find that a cool wind had picked up, sending scraps of litter dancing across the pavement as she walked. At last she spied Great Eastern Street ahead of her and as she turned into it her mobile buzzed, causing her to almost leap out of her skin. It was a text from Zoe: I’m at the pub a little way down from The Octopus. I’ll call you as soon as I can afterwards.
And then Clara was at the bar. To her relief there was no sign of Hannah yet, and she took a seat at the same table as before. There was the same quiet, early evening buzz in the air and the same barman smiling at her from behind the bar. She both longed for and dreaded Hannah’s arrival. Would she be able to tell, just by looking at her, what was going on? Fear and adrenalin surged through her. Right at that moment a shadow fell across the table.
‘Clara?’ Hannah was dressed as usual in dark jeans and a hoodie. She tucked her hair behind her ear in a familiar nervous gesture that had once seemed endearing, but now seemed entirely staged, her smile oozing warmth and gentleness. It was utterly chilling how convincing she was.
Clara forced herself to return her smile, digging her fingernails into the palm of her hand, endeavouring to keep her voice steady as she said, ‘Hi, Emily, it’s good to see you, how are you?’
‘I’m OK.’ Hannah sat down and they stared at each other for a beat or two before she said, concern furrowing her brow, ‘God, you look awful, are you all right?’
‘No, I’m not,’ Clara said quietly. ‘Emily, after we last met my flat was set on fire. Luke’s friend Mac was attacked, and his camera stolen. I wanted to talk it over with you, I know how concerned you are about how the search is going. I thought I should let you know. To be honest, I’m still really shaken.’
Hannah leant forward, her eyes wide with shock. ‘Oh my goodness, Clara, that’s terrible. You poor, poor thing, I’m so sorry. Were you hurt? Are you OK?’
Clara nodded. ‘I’m fine, and so is Mac, but yes, it was awful.’ She took a sip of her drink, an excuse to look away from Hannah’s intense gaze. This was the single most difficult thing she had ever had to do.
Hannah shook her head. ‘I don’t know what to say. How are my mum and dad? This must have really rattled them.’
‘About as well as you’d expect,’ Clara replied. She hesitated, ‘Oliver, especially, is in a bad way. I’m worried about him, I mean, he’s not a young man …’
It was almost imperceptible, the flicker of pleasure in Hannah’s eyes, but it was definitely there. ‘And the police?’ she asked. ‘They have no new leads?’
‘No, nothing. It’s incredibly frustrating,’ Clara sighed. ‘Sometimes I think they’ll never catch this person, whoever they are.’
Hannah nodded sadly. ‘We mustn’t give up hope,’ she said. ‘They’ll find Luke, I’m sure they will.’
After a pause, Clara said, ‘It’s so good to talk to you, I feel like I’m losing my mind with worry. Having you to talk things over with … I don’t know, it makes it easier somehow.’
Hannah smiled her sympathy. ‘I’ll do whatever I can to help.’
They lapsed into silence, watching the bar slowly fill up. Clara made herself smile shyly. ‘It was so lovely hearing you talk about your childhood with Luke the other day,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why, but I found it comforting, somehow, hearing about what he was like as a little boy.’
At this Hannah smiled warmly and with such apparent sincerity that Clara could only stare at her in horrified fascination. ‘Oh, he was such a great kid!’ she said. ‘So funny, you know? Such a big personality. We used to have such good times together, all of us.’ Her eyes grew wistful. ‘My parents were the best. We kids always felt so loved and wanted, it was wonderful.’
As she listened, Clara felt icy fingers walk up and down her spine. It was almost as though Hannah had persuaded herself she really was Emily, adored child of Oliver and Rose. She remembered how Rose had said that Hannah would skip school to spy on them all, watching their every move, like a kid with its nose pressed up against a sweetshop window. A chilling thought struck her: if Hannah’s vendetta was partly fuelled by jealousy, or a sense of injustice that Emily was treated like a beloved daughter while she herself had been cast out, if it was Emily’s place in the family that she coveted, would it have been necessary for her to get rid of Luke’s sister entirely? Nobody had seen Emily for twenty years. As she listened to Hannah talk, unease moved inside her like cold water.
They discussed the police search next, Hannah asking question after question for all the world as though she didn’t already know the answers. Just when Clara thought she would crumble under the strain of it all, Hannah glanced at her watch. ‘I must go,’ she said. ‘But I’m so glad I’ve been able to talk to you.’ Her eyes met Clara’s. ‘I hope you know that you’re not alone in this. If ever I can help, in any small way, I want you to know I’m here for you.’