Closest Kept

28

By eight p.m. on the evening before my exhibition, all the paintings were finally in position on the gallery walls.

“It looks fantastic, Lily,” Diane told me as we stood side by side in the centre of the room, looking around. “You should be very proud.” She considered my expression. “But you’re looking worried. What’s wrong? We can still make changes if you like.”

“No,” I hastily reassured her. “I think it’s as good as it can be. Thank you so much for all your help and suggestions. I’d have never been able to do it without you.”

“But ...?” she prompted.

I shrugged. “I’m just a bit scared, I suppose.”

Diane clapped me on the shoulder with an is that all? expression on her face. “There’s nothing to be scared of, Lily, trust me. Your work is amazing. You’re going to make so many sales. Truly.”

Then she walked off to do some final tidying, artist’s insecurities dealt with in her mind, and I knew she hadn’t understood what I’d meant at all. Of course it would be good to make sales; very good. In fact, my bank account pretty much demanded it. But that wasn’t what I was worried about. It was the fact that my whole life was broadcast all over the gallery walls—my mistakes, my vulnerabilities, my deepest traumas, rawly exposed for everyone to see. Things I barely liked to remember myself blatantly on display to invite questions and opinions.

Some of the paintings were safe enough—my seal paintings, and a recent series of seascapes inspired by my love of Joan Eardley’s work at Catterline. I’d painted them at night, the waves and the boats on the beach picked out by the lights from Cromer Pier and the promenade. Diane had literally clapped her hands when she’d seen them, declaring them to be “ really saleable. ”

No, I wasn’t worried about them. It was the paintings like Flayed that made me feel vulnerable and exposed. And of course, in a side room, together with a series of framed, preparatory drawings, the giant canvas of Phoenix , the painting I’d promised Matt I’d include.

Suddenly, as I walked with Diane to the gallery door, making the decision to display that painting seemed like the most reckless thing I’d ever done.

“See you here tomorrow at six o’clock, then?”

I nodded. “Six o’clock.”

“Sleep well, Lily. And well done.”

Despite being utterly exhausted, I didn’t expect to sleep well that night. Violet was still missing; there’d been no word from her at all. Inga hadn’t been in touch, either; I didn’t know whether either of them would be coming to the exhibition. I did sleep, though; almost as soon as my head hit the pillow. But it wasn’t a restful sleep; all night long I had violent, unsettling dreams.

At seven o’clock the next morning, I was having an anxiety dream about the art gallery being savaged by a huge thunderstorm. Heavy rain was lashing down on my guests, forcing them back home to safety. As thunder cracked deafeningly overhead, a huge bolt of lightning suddenly struck the gallery roof and the whole place caught fire, flames licking high into the sky. Inside the gallery, Diane and I clutched each other, terrified, watching as my artworks spontaneously combusted one by one.

The nightmare moved on—now I was out on the street, desperately searching for something, the storm and the blaze of the gallery fire far behind in the distance. But somehow, despite being away from the storm, the clatter of thunder was still reverberating in my ears, louder than ever.

Then a man’s voice jolted me awake. “Police! Stand back from the door!”

What the hell?

I sat up in bed, clutching the duvet to me, utterly terrified as boots clumped up the stairs.

Seconds later, two police officers burst into my bedroom. “Stay where you are!”

“What’s happening?” I asked, my voice shaking.

The female officer came towards me. “We have reason to believe class A drugs are being sold from this property, and we have a warrant to search the premises.”

Drugs? Shit. What the hell?

“If you could get out of bed, please, madam.”

Trembling, I did so, reaching for my dressing gown, thinking about Violet and her friends. The unusual hours. The constant knocks at the door. Kevin saying, “ You know she’s a user, don’t you? ”

Surely Violet wouldn’t have sold drugs from my house, even if she’d been taking them herself? She wouldn’t do that to me.

But it turned out that she had. Because the police officers were soon pulling little packets of drugs from the toilet cistern, from beneath Vi’s mattress, and even from the top of the kitchen cupboards.

All this time, while I’d been painting, doing my best to blot out Violet’s noise, she’d been selling drugs. Letting strangers come round to my house to buy them.

Unless one of the undesirable types she’d invited round to the house had hidden them here and Violet wasn’t responsible at all? I so wanted to believe it, but try as I might, I couldn’t.

“They aren’t mine,” I said flatly. “I’ve no idea how they got here.”

The police officer ignored me. “Lily Best, I’m arresting you for intent to supply a class A drug. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”

I nodded, dumbly, because I did understand, only too well. I understood that my sister didn’t care about me much at all. She couldn’t, if she’d done this. Jesus. I could end up in prison.

“Can you get dressed, please, madam?”

The nearest thing to hand was the dress I’d hung on the back of my wardrobe ready to wear to the private view that evening—swirly skirt, large floral-inspired pattern in reds, oranges, and blues, designed to inspire confidence. So, while all but the female officer searched the rest of the house, I slipped it over my head and stuffed my feet into my paint-splattered Dr. Martens boots. A sweatshirt and sweatpants would have been more suitable, but who cared what I was wearing? Violet had betrayed me, and because of that I was going to be arrested. Shit. I might miss the opening of my show—after all those months of work. All the sacrifices I’d made, all the pain of laying my heart open on those canvases, might now turn out to have been for nothing.

Thank God little Fitz was safe away from this nightmare with Lewis. He’d have been so frightened when the police battered the door down, he’d probably have bolted out into the traffic. As the police officer clipped handcuffs on my wrists and led me down the stairs, it was the only silver lining I could think of.

When we reached the police station, I was booked in, and my possessions were taken away. There wasn’t much—my bag containing my purse, my door keys and my phone, and a seal pendant Inga had given me years ago that I rarely took off. I almost cried when I saw the sergeant at the desk slip it into a little plastic bag. I wasn’t sure how this could be happening to me, and how, as it was, my best friend had zero knowledge of it. I didn’t even know where she was.

But no, I couldn’t, wouldn’t cry. I must stay strong and get through this. I’d done nothing wrong, after all. They couldn’t send me to prison, surely? Where was the evidence? Except for the drugs hidden everywhere in my house.

“I’ve never used any drugs,” I said later in the interview room. “Not heroin, not cocaine, not even cannabis. Nothing.”

“Then why did we find class A drugs in your home, Miss Best?” asked the interviewing officer.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know how several bags of crystal meth ended up on top of your kitchen cabinets?”

“I do not.” Even now, I was protecting Vi. Why, when she clearly didn’t give a fig about me? But I knew full well why. Because, after all this time, I still felt guilty about the past.

“Well, I suggest you try and think, because I suspect the courts are unlikely to believe somebody broke into your house without your knowledge to plant them there. Have you had any visitors recently?”

Reluctantly, I nodded. “Yes, my sister, Violet.”

“Is it possible that Violet hid the drugs in your home?”

I shrugged, dredging up the theory I’d abandoned hours ago. “I don’t think so. She had friends come to visit, though. I suppose one of them could have planted the drugs.”

“Where is Violet now?”

“I don’t know. She went away. I don’t know where.” It sounded pathetic. Entirely unbelievable.

“Did she say when she’d be back?”

“She said she’d be back in time for my exhibition. I have an exhibition of my paintings at the Bond Gallery. It opens tonight. She said she’d come.”

I pictured the scrawled note Violet had left me. No doubt an empty promise.

“Is this your sister?” The officer placed something on the table between us. Violet’s passport. They must have unearthed it during their search of the house.

“Yes,” I confirmed, even though the name Violet Best was clearly visible, and they didn’t need me to confirm it.

The officer stood up. “Wait here, please, Miss Best.” He took the passport from the table and left the room.

I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes, thinking about the exhibition. About my guests arriving soon. But most of all, I thought about Violet hiding those bags of drugs around my house. About how little she must care about me. How very much she must still resent me for leaving her that fateful night.

I wanted suddenly to be held. For someone to comfort and reassure me. A tear ran down my cheek. “Can I please make a phone call?” I asked the police officer standing by the door, my voice broken.

But before she could reply, the door opened, and the detective re-entered the room.

“A witness has confirmed that it was your sister he bought drugs from, not yourself,” he said.

What? What did that mean?

“You’re free to go for now, Miss Best. We’ll be in touch if we need to question you further.”

I began to really sob then, not just from relief, but because it was proof of Violet’s betrayal of me. I’d wanted us to make a new start. She’d just wanted to use me.

“Is there anyone we can call to come and get you?” the detective asked, his tone kinder now.

There was only one person I wanted to speak to.

“It’s Lily,” I said when he answered. “I’m at the police station. Can you come?”

When Matt arrived, I threw myself into his arms, and he just held me, letting me sob, and for once I didn’t rein myself in. I doubt whether I’d have been able to anyway, even if I’d wanted to. And I didn’t want to. I needed comfort. Someone on my side.

“Oh, Matt,” I stammered, but before I could launch into an explanation, a drunk guy staggered through the entrance doors, and Matt finally pulled back, keeping a firm grip on my hand.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

“What happened?” he asked me when we were safely in his car.

I found a tissue in my bag. “Violet’s been selling drugs from my house. Hard drugs. They found crystal meth hidden all over the place.”

“My God.”

I looked at him. “How can she have done this to me, Matt?”

He sighed. “D’you think she could be an addict? It would explain a lot. I know it’s no excuse for her doing this to you, but if she couldn’t help herself, it might explain her actions a bit.”

I shook my head. “I honestly don’t know whether it’s that, or if she hates me.” I looked at him. “You saw my painting, Matt. Phoenix . The night our house burned down, I was out with a boy. I left Violet alone with Mum when I should have guessed Mum would just forget about her. Mum went out, God only knows where, and the house caught fire with Vi alone in it. She nearly died, Matt, and I don’t think she’s ever forgiven me for not being there. For putting myself first that night. Maybe she just thinks she’s got a right to treat me the way she does.”

“But you were a child, weren’t you?” he said. “Your mother ought to have been taking care of Violet, not you. You weren’t responsible. None of it was your fault. You have to believe that. You have to forgive yourself.”

I knew he was right; I’d probably always known that. But knowing it and feeling it were two very different things. But if someone kept on saying it to me, then maybe the guilt I’d been carrying for so long would start to lift.

“I’ll try,” I said, my voice quavering with emotion. “I promise I’ll try.”

“Good.”

He was gazing down at me, so dear, so familiar. God, how I loved him. I opened my mouth to say something. Closed it again. Because nothing had changed, had it? He may have raced across town to rescue me from one of the shittiest days of my life. Listened to me. Sympathised with me. Held me. But he was still Inga’s ex. And right now, I had no idea where Inga was, or even whether she was coming tonight. If she did come, she mustn’t think there was something going on between me and Matt. We might never be able to put things right between us if she did.

But resisting the impulse to pour my feelings out was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do.

“I’d better get to the gallery,” I said. “Diane’s expecting me at six.”

“Want me to drop you off at home first?” he offered. “I can wait for you.”

I shook my head. “No, I can fix my hair and makeup at the gallery. If I’m on time, I won’t have to make any excuses to Diane.” Or tell any lies. I was done with lies.

So, we set off for my big night—the night I’d been working towards for months. I sat back against the seat and closed my eyes, trying to put my pig of a day behind me, to focus on what was to come in the next few hours.

Oh, God. In a way, the prospect of a room full of people studying my paintings, expressing opinions about my paintings, was every bit as terrifying as my day in a police cell.

“All right?” Matt asked.

I opened my eyes. Shook my head. “Honestly? Not really, no. I’m scared. A part of me wishes I’d never agreed to this exhibition.”

“That would be a huge shame for everyone else,” Matt said.

“You haven’t seen all the paintings,” I said. “People might think ... well, I have no idea what they’ll think. That I need help, probably. And maybe they’d be right.”

“All good art involves self-exposure, though, doesn’t it? People will connect with your work. They’ll look at it and see their own sorrows, their own challenges. Phoenix will give them hope.”

“Don’t,” I said. “You’ll make me cry.”

The traffic lights just ahead turned to red. Matt stopped the car and looked at me, reaching for my hand. “It doesn’t matter if you do cry,” he said. “Just as long as you also laugh. So long as you let yourself feel proud of what you’ve achieved. Celebrate that achievement.”

I swallowed, blinking back tears.

“Believe in yourself, Lily. I do, and after tonight, lots of other people will too. You’re going to kill it.”

The traffic lights turned amber, then green. Matt let go of my hand to set the car in motion again.

“Thank you,” I said. “For saying such wonderful things. For coming to get me. For being here.”

For being you.

“I told you before,” he said. “I’ll always be there for you.” He shot me a smile. “But I will just abandon you briefly to pop home and get changed after I’ve dropped you off, if that’s okay? I was doing some clearing out when you called me, which is why I’m dressed like this. I don’t want to be wearing tracksuit bottoms for your big night.”

Clearing out. Of course he was. He was leaving for Spain very soon, and his house would be rented out to strangers. I’d do well to remember that.

“Of course,” I said, telling my first lie after deciding I’d never lie again. “No problem at all.”

At the gallery, Diane was very pleased to see me.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Diane.”

“Only ten minutes late. Don’t worry about it, Lily.”

She was so kind. Too kind. If she wasn’t careful, I was going to spew all my troubles out to her. And while I was starting to realise it might be a good idea for me to share my true feelings with people more, it didn’t seem like such a good plan to do it with someone I had more of a professional relationship with. Especially at the start of a very big night for my career. “I’ll just go and fix my hair and make-up. Won’t be long.”

“Sure. I’ll have a glass of wine waiting for you.”

“Fantastic, thanks.”

There wasn’t much chance to drink the wine, though. By the time I emerged from the ladies, Diane was talking to a silver-haired man in an expensive-looking business suit.

“Ah, Lily,” she said to me, “I’d like to introduce you to Simon Carter. Simon’s an avid art collector, aren’t you, Simon? He was just asking me about Flayed .”

It was surreal to be smiling at Simon; preparing to talk to him about my art when I’d just come from being questioned at a police station, but somehow I did it, and by the end of our conversation, Diane was placing a red sold sticker next to Flayed , and my mind was spinning. Simon had been so enthusiastic and full of plans for the painting. He’d said he was going to show it to some friends of his, and that he thought it very likely could lead to future commissions. How ironic that such a painful period of my life might lead to my being more financially secure in the future. Not having to worry about how to pay the mortgage at the beginning of the month. Or how to pay for groceries when I went shopping.

Turning from the painting, I looked around to decide who to speak to next, when a figure caught my eye in the room where Phoenix was hanging. A very familiar, very dear figure.

Inga. On her own, without Noah.

I wondered vaguely where he was, resisting the urge to call out her name. Run to her. Pull her into my arms. But I restrained myself—because who knew if she’d want me to do any of those things after the way we’d parted—and went to stand quietly beside her instead.

She didn’t turn to acknowledge me. Didn’t speak. So, I didn’t either.

I watched her drinking in every tortured brushstroke. The greedy flames, licking the dark sky as they devoured my childhood home. My treacherous mother, at the bottom of the painting, running away from the chaos into a thick, concealing forest. Violet, held back in strong arms as she reached up screaming into the night sky, attempting to catch a bird woman flying from the flames. A phoenix, wings spread, the detailed feathers reflecting the colours of the fire, beating strongly to take me—for the phoenix was definitely me; my head was painted onto the phoenix’s body—up and away from pain and disaster.

Little pieces of my soul were embedded into the pigment and texture of every brushstroke. Painting it had demanded—and taken—everything from me. Now, here was that everything on display for the whole world to see. For Inga to see.

And I knew that what she very likely saw most strongly was the hard evidence of those things I’d always kept from her. Everything I ought always to have shared with her, my best friend, had I been able to fully trust our friendship.

Finally, she said, “This is all true, isn’t it? I mean, I know you’re not secretly a bird or anything, but this really happened to you, didn’t it? A house fire. Your mother leaving.”

I didn’t ask how she knew the figure at the bottom of the painting was my mother, because I’d painted the woman as I imagined Mum would still look if she were here now—as an older version of me.

“Yes.”

“You lied about her dying of breast cancer.”

It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. But I answered it anyway.

“Yes. I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head, and I could see the glitter of tears in her eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Lily. All these years. Why the bloody hell couldn’t you trust me with the truth?”

Shame washed right through me. I’d always taken the easy way out. Lying, refusing to think about that night and its terrible aftermath. Except that doing that hadn’t been the easy way out at all, had it? Not if it made me lose the love and the respect of one of the people I cared about most in the world.

“It wasn’t just you, Ing. I didn’t tell anybody about it.” I gestured towards the painting. “I thought my mum was dead. I stood there watching our house burn down, and I begged and begged the firemen to go back in to search for her. And all the time, she was gone. She went out without me knowing and left my sister all on her own with about a hundred burning candles and she never came back. Violet almost died , Ing. Our lives were utterly destroyed. Can you really blame me for not wanting to talk about that?”

Inga swiped a hand across her eyes and looked at me for a moment before turning back to the painting. “I would have told you, if something like that had happened to me,” she said, and I knew it was true. Then maybe you’re stronger than me , I might have said, but she was talking again, so I didn’t get the chance.

“It feels as if I’ve never known you properly all this time if our friendship has never been based on truth.”

Panic clawed at my belly. “Don’t say that. Please. Our friendship means everything to me. I’ve missed you so much these past few weeks. You’ve been gone ages.” I paused, waiting for her to say something. When she didn’t, I said. “I’m so sorry about your mum. I assume she ...”

She glanced very briefly at me. “Died? Yes, she’s gone. Then, after the funeral, I went trekking with my cousin Olaf and his wife.”

I stared at her in disbelief. “Trekking? You and Noah?”

She turned in my direction again, not quite smiling, but almost. “Yes, I do realise how unlikely that sounds.”

That almost smile encouraged me. Maybe a little too much. “You couldn’t stand hearing owls in your back garden, let alone ...,” I started to say, but I immediately regretted it, knowing it would remind her of the home she’d shared with Matt.

But Inga just shrugged. “I couldn’t, could I?” she said. “Well, somehow, Olaf and Ida managed to convert me. We went to a place called Thy—it’s a wilderness park. Olaf carried Noah in the papoose. It was tough, but kind of restful, as well. All that nature; time to think. I wish I’d got to know Olaf and Ida sooner, actually. I could really talk to them about Mum.”

I tried to imagine Inga walking in such a place without complaining about it the whole time and couldn’t do it. It was far easier to imagine her at the hospital, at her mother’s bleak bedside.

“Did you get the chance to speak to your mum before she died?”

Inga seemed to draw back, even though she stayed exactly where she was. As if the privilege I’d always enjoyed of knowing the innermost recesses of her heart had been withdrawn.

“Oh yeah,” she said when she finally answered. “We spoke. She said that when I was growing up, we had so little in common she was convinced I’d been swapped at the hospital. That she’d come home with the wrong baby.”

I could see her there, seated alongside her dying mother, hearing that, dealing with that, and I wanted to take her hand. But I didn’t quite dare to. “I’m so sorry.”

Another shrug. “I could have told her how I fantasised every day about being adopted. About my real mother turning up one day to claim me. But you can’t say things like that to a dying woman, can you? There are some things you have to keep to yourself. So, I said nothing.”

“ There are some things you have to keep to yourself. ” Even if Inga hadn’t meant it that way, my guilty conscience made it feel like a dig at me for letting Harry in on her secret.

I’m sorry , I wanted to say. I shouldn’t have interfered .

But instead I changed the subject. “Where’s Noah? Did you find a babysitter?”

Again, that casual, slightly withdrawn tone. “Yes. I can’t leave him long, though.”

I wanted to ask who she’d left him with, but Diane was approaching us.

“Lily, I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I have someone interested in speaking to you about your seascapes. Can I steal you away for a few minutes, please?”

I didn’t want to go, not with everything still unresolved with Inga, with her still so obviously cool towards me.

But Inga smiled for Diane’s benefit. “It’s okay,” she said. “I haven’t even looked at your other paintings yet, Lily. I’ll catch up with you again later.”

So off I went with Diane, a mass of stuffed-down emotions and insecurities, vaguely registering Amy and her boyfriend making their way into the gallery, waving to her, mouthing that I’d see her later. I was pleased to see her here; really pleased. But it was almost as if I was experiencing it all through a thick, choking fog.

Matt arrived hard on Amy’s heels—dressed now in smart trousers and a denim shirt. He stood for a moment, looking around. Spotted me. Lifted a hand in greeting. Smiled. Then I saw Inga walk over to him.

“Lily, I’d like you to meet Lorraine and Ian Collins,” Diane was saying, forcing me from the fog; from the sight of Matt bending to kiss Inga’s cheek.

Somehow I smiled and shook the couple’s hands, doing my best not to speculate about what Matt and Inga were saying to each other and to give myself over to their compliments about my seascapes.

By the time I’d finished with the couple, Inga and Matt weren’t alone. Alex was with them too. Alex, who I hadn’t seen since Violet had told him in no uncertain terms not to come round to my house anymore.

I walked nervously over to them, noticing, to my surprise, that Alex had Lola strapped to his front. Perhaps one thing had turned out all right then.

“Hello, Alex. Hi, Matt,” I said, joining them.

Matt bent to kiss my cheek, not giving any sign of how recently we’d seen each other. “Congratulations, Lily. I haven’t had the chance to look around yet, but from what I can see, this looks amazing.”

I felt like an actor in a play. One I hadn’t learnt the words for. “Thank you.”

Alex had a bouquet of pink roses in his hand. He held them out to me. “Hi, Lily. Congratulations.” As I took them, I remembered the faded garage forecourt flowers and Vi, and the way she’d dealt with them.

“I brought you these,” he said. “Stupid idea, really, I suppose. I don’t imagine you’ve got any vases, or any time to arrange them either.”

“Not at all. It was a lovely thought.”

The two of us were like polite acquaintances, not two people who’d made love on a hillside, overlooking the cathedral. We’d been engaged . If it hadn’t been for Alex letting slip about his feelings about having children, we might even be married by now.

One of the rose thorns pricked my finger, drawing a speck of blood. I sucked it away, seeing Inga notice, wondering whether she was thinking what I was thinking—that the roses were a lot like my relationship with Alex—beautiful but secretly harmful, destined to slowly wilt and die.

But no, of course, she wasn’t thinking any such thing. Not with our argument and everything I had kept from her still lying between us.

“It’s good to see you with Lola,” I said to Alex. “Are you and Fliss back together?”

“No, not exactly. But she has been letting me see Lola.”

“That’s great.”

“I’m really glad you talked her round, mate,” Matt said.

“Well, I had to, didn’t I?” Alex said. “I couldn’t give up on Lola. Besides, I had some help.”

“Who from?” Inga asked.

Alex looked suddenly embarrassed. “Remember my uncle?”

“The one you told us about in Wales?” Inga asked. “The guy who spoke to you in the chicken-processing factory?”

Back in Wales, when the four of us had still been firm friends. Before life had intervened and we’d lost our innocence. When my friendship with Inga had seemed as unbreakable as diamonds.

Alex nodded. “Yes. I had a dream about him. We were at the pub, the two of us. I was the age I am now, and my uncle was the age he was when he died. We were chatting about football, I think, then suddenly, out of the blue, he changes the subject. Tells me Fliss is depressed. That all her micromanagement and doing everything to the clock for the baby are because it’s the only way she can see for things not to totally fall apart.”

“Blimey, Alex,” Inga said, and just for a second, it was almost like the old days; the four of us united again. “What did you do?”

“As soon as I woke up, I went round to talk to Fliss, and she ... well, she just crumbled and admitted it. Honestly, it was carnage; she’s crying, Lola’s crying, I’m crying.”

“It can be bloody overwhelming, being a new mum,” Inga said.

I looked at her, remembering the times she’d been at the end of her rope with Noah, but she avoided my gaze, saying, “Believe me, I know.”

I saw Matt look at her. Knew that in other circumstances, he’d have asked whether she was all right.

“I’m getting the help I need now, though,” she went on. “So everything’s fine. As is Fliss, I hope, Alex?”

He nodded. “Yes, she’s getting lots of support now. I think it just helps knowing that she’s been feeling the way she has because she’s got postnatal depression and not because she’s a bad mother. And she’s started to trust me enough to have Lola again. Oh, and get this, the thing that settles Lola down quicker than anything else is me playing my guitar to her. Isn’t that great?”

I watched Inga reach out to stroke Lola’s hair, a gentle, moving gesture that somehow made my heart ache.

“Are you a music fan, then, Lola?” she said, and I remembered Alex strumming his guitar outside the cottage in Wales. Matt and I in the kitchen making dinner, Matt having just told me about the job in London. Me doing my level best to act as if a bomb hadn’t just gone off in my life.

A bit like now, really, standing and speaking to my friends when Inga and I still hadn’t properly made things up and just a few hours ago I’d been arrested and hauled off to the police station for questioning.

“It is a big thing, you know, to trust someone else with your child,” Inga said. “Even when it’s their child too.”

I wondered whether she was talking about Harry. Whether she’d seen him again. Whether, in fact, it was Harry who was taking care of Noah right now.

“Where is Noah?” Matt asked. “I was hoping to meet him.”

Was that really true? Or was it yet another example of Matt’s kindness? Whatever, it was a hopeful sign. A sign the two of them might be—if not exactly friends in the future, at least civil towards each other.

But before Inga could answer, someone spoke to me.

“Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt.”

I turned to see who it was and saw a familiar-looking middle-aged man I couldn’t immediately place.

“I’m Beryl’s son,” he explained. “Beryl from the hospital? She was one of your patients?”

Tom. Of course it was.

“Of course. Tom,” I said, and he nodded.

“That’s right.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said. “You mum was the sweetest person. I loved our chats.”

He nodded sadly. “Thanks. Yes, she loved chatting to you too. Always said it was the highlight of her day when you were on the ward.” He paused for a moment, then said, “That’s why I’m here, actually.”

“Oh?” I couldn’t imagine what he meant, but he’d brought a bit of Beryl to my exhibition, so I was really glad he was here.

“Yes. Mum told me about your exhibition before she died. She asked me to come and give you this.”

For the first time, I noticed he had something in his hands—a book of some sort—and now he held it out to me.

“It’s one of her journals; the one she kept when she went to New Zealand. She wanted you to have it. Made me promise to come and give it to you. She thought it might inspire some paintings.”

“Oh,” I said, taking it from him, holding it as if it were something uniquely precious. Which, of course, it was. “Thank you. This means so much to me.”

He nodded. “She thought it would. Anyway, I won’t stop if you don’t mind. I have to get back to London tonight. Good luck with your exhibition.”

“Thank you. And thank you so much for coming. For bringing this.”

“It was my pleasure.”

As he walked away, I opened the journal with shaking fingers, and when I saw Beryl’s bold, slanted handwriting, tears rushed to my eyes. Instinctively, I looked up, seeking Matt out. Matt, who knew how much Beryl had meant to me, because I’d told him that night he’d come round when Alex was drunk and emotional.

“That’s really special, Lily,” he said, returning my smile.

I hugged the book to my chest. “It really is.”

But then I glanced over at Inga and saw she was frowning.

“You haven’t told me anything about Beryl,” she said, and it sounded like an accusation. As if it was another thing I’d deliberately kept from her. She was glancing between Matt and me, too, and I knew she’d noticed our closeness.

I opened my mouth to speak, but she stopped me.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’ve got to get back to Noah soon. He’ll be needing a feed. I’d better look at the rest of the exhibition. Coming, Alex?”

“Sure,” Alex said. “We can talk babies between pictures.”

In other circumstances, I might have laughed. These were not other circumstances, though, so I watched the two of them move off together, leaving me alone with Matt, feeling about as bleak as it was possible to feel, noting vaguely that the course Alex was on would soon take him to Flayed .

How crazy life was. Not much more than a year ago Alex would have been standing at my side at this exhibition, supporting me, speaking to my guests with me, taking me home afterwards. And now there was a painting about how heartbroken I’d been when he left me displayed on the wall for everyone to see. And even that was out of date, because I’d fully accepted and moved on from our break-up.

“I think,” I said to Matt, “Alex is going to flip when he sees the next painting.”

“He’ll cope,” Matt said. “Especially with Lola in his arms. Try not to worry. Enjoy your big night. All your fabulous paintings. Your hard work.”

Oh, God.

Had he noticed Inga’s expression just then when she’d looked at the two of us? Had he interpreted it the way I had?

Matt nudged me. “Isn’t that Violet?” he said.

I looked up, and sure enough, there was my sister, dressed in a dramatic full-length black dress which showed off her purple hair.

She’d come. To support me? To ruin my big night? I had no idea. And it didn’t much matter, anyway, did it? Because it would get ruined anyway as soon as I told her I’d been arrested. That she was very likely going to be arrested herself sometime soon. And I had to tell her. I couldn’t just make conversation about the exhibition or the number of guests or the bloody weather and not mention the fact that she’d deliberately concealed class A drugs in my home.

I needed, suddenly, to get away. Not from the gallery—I couldn’t do that to Diane after all her hard work—but at least to the ladies’ cloakroom for a few minutes.

“Excuse me,” I said to Matt. “I’ll be back in a minute.” And I made my way through my guests, doing my best to avoid eye contact with anyone in case I was drawn into a conversation.

When I made it safely to the cloakroom, I found Amy in there, touching up her lipstick.

“Lily!” she said when she saw me, her voice lit with pleasure. “I absolutely love your exhibition. It’s fantastic.” Then she took a closer look at my face and frowned. “But wait, are you okay?”

I had a sudden desire to laugh. “Yes, I’m okay. Just preparing myself for a confrontation with my sister.” I forced a smile. “Don’t worry, it’s all right. Just a little more drama in the shit show of my life. I bet you’re glad you’ve left me and my messes behind you, aren’t you?”

Amy shook her head. “Not at all. You’re my friend, Lily. Anytime you need to talk, about anything, you can give me a call. You do know that, don’t you?”

Her kindness had me blinking away tears. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

She squeezed my hand. “D’you want me to wait and go back out there with you?”

I shook my head. “No, really. I’ll be okay in a minute.”

“Sure?”

“Sure. Thanks, Amy.”

When I emerged from the cloakroom a few minutes later, I could see Matt talking to Alex and Inga again. There was no sign of Violet, so I moved further into the room and spotted her in the room off the main gallery, standing in front of Phoenix.

I walked over. Stood by her side, just as I’d done earlier with Inga.

“Well, would you look at that,” she said, her voice wickedly sarcastic. “My sister, flying free without me. How absolutely fucking nice for you, Lily.”

I sighed. “It’s not like that, Violet. You know it’s not.”

“No? Look at you in that painting. You aren’t thinking about me at all. You’re headed for the sky with absolutely no thought of turning back for me.”

I looked at the phoenix woman in the painting, wings spread, ready to take her up into the beautiful clouds and out over the shimmering sea, and I sighed.

“The painting’s just a fantasy, Vi, that’s all. It’s not real. I’ve always been there for you. I’ll always love you.” I looked at her. “Even when you go behind my back and hide drugs in my house. Sell drugs from my house.”

She looked away from me, back at the painting.

“How could you do that to me, Vi?” I asked. “The police came to the house this morning. I was arrested.”

I was going to go on to tell her there was a real chance she’d be arrested soon, too, but there were tears streaming down her face; tears I hadn’t seen since she was a little girl, when she’d begged to go home with me, instead of letting the foster mother take her away again.

“Oh, Vi,” I said, reaching out to her, but she flinched away, swiping at her tears as if she despised them.

“You have no idea what it’s been like for me all these years, living with what happened that night,” she said, and I frowned, moving closer to her because she’d spoken so quietly. “I need the drugs. It’s the only way I can forget.”

For Violet it had been drugs. For me, it had been art. My friends. Lies. We were both broken.

“Why did you stop wanting to see me?” she asked, swiping away her tears. “Losing Mum, the house, then you, on top of it all. It was too much. It fucking broke me, Lily.”

I frowned, shocked by her words. “Wait a minute,” I said, “I didn’t stop wanting to see you at all. Your foster mother rang to say you didn’t want to see me anymore!”

She looked at me pityingly. “And you believed her? That woman was an absolute shit, Lil. She shut me in my room on my own for hours at a time. Made me sit at the table until I’d eaten every bit of her lousy meals. Of course I wanted to see you. I was eight years old, and my fucking world had just ended.”

I stood there, reeling as if she’d hit me, remembering the way I’d sobbed my heart out after that phone call. And all the time, the foster mother had lied. She’d known what had just happened to me and Vi, and she’d lied to keep us apart.

“Why would she do such a wicked thing?” I asked.

Vi shrugged. “To make her life easier? Because she was a bitch? I don’t know. You should have tried harder, though, Lil. You should have fucking tried harder.”

I should have; she was right. I’d only been sixteen, but I’d possessed a bucketful of experience of being let down by adults. I shouldn’t have blindly accepted what the woman had told me as the truth. “You do believe me, though, don’t you, Vi?” I said now.

She sighed. “I don’t know. I guess. It doesn’t even matter anymore, does it? That’s not why I came here tonight, anyway.”

I dragged the back of my hand across my eyes. “Why did you come?”

Her expression changed. There was a glint of something like triumph on her face.

“Vi?” I said. “What is it?”

“I’ve found her,” she said. “I’ve found Mum.”

I reeled back. “What?”

“That’s where I’ve been; visiting a mate in London who’s good with computers. He tracked her down in Scotland. She’s living in some commune near Stonehaven, in Scotland.”

Stonehaven. Literally a few miles from Catterline, Joan Eardley’s home. How was that even possible? It was as if I was dreaming all this. I’d wake up soon in my own bed, and the whole of this God-awful day would turn out to have been a nightmare.

I shook my head, wanting to reject the information.

“And get this,” Vi carried on. “D’you want to know how my mate found her? There was this old article about Mum’s prize-winning vegetables.” She nodded at me. “Yeah, you did hear right. All this time we’ve been picking up the fucking pieces of our shit lives, and Mum’s been happily growing carrots and potatoes.”

I couldn’t speak. What was there to say? It was unbelievable. And yet, at the same time, deep inside me, I knew it was the truth.

When my silence stretched on, Vi shrugged. “It’s true. I’ve seen the newspaper article online. Anyway, I thought I’d go up there. Have things out with her.” Her gaze dropped. Then she said, her tone carefully casual, “You could come with me if you like.”

But I never got the chance to answer. Because at that moment the police arrived at the gallery to arrest Vi.

“Violet Best,” one of them said, while his companion pinned Violet’s arms behind her back. “I’m arresting you on suspicion of possessing and supplying a controlled drug. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”

A sob rose in my throat. I reached out a helpless hand in Vi’s direction, watching as she struggled against the officer holding her.

“Please,” I said. “Don’t hurt her.”

“Lily?” Violet said, sounding small and afraid.

Diane appeared at my side. “Lily?” she said. “Is everything all right?”

I had no words to reassure her. Because of course everything wasn’t bloody all right. My sister was being arrested in full view of everyone at the exhibition opening. And what’s more, her eyes were now blazing at me with utter contempt.

“You told them I’d be here, didn’t you?” she spat at me. “I can’t believe you did that, Lily. I hate you. I fucking hate you!”