Chapter 29
Lili didn’t know how long she’d sat in Colonel Mustard.
The car park was half-empty, her fingers ice cold.
She ran a hand over the steering wheel, the nearest she could get to touching hands with Em again, hoping that, somehow, her friend’s finger imprints were still there.
Sadness had hung over her at first, over Jags’s words.
Poor Harry. Poor Dylan. But the longer she sat, the more anger brewed like a cup of tea that would eventually be undrinkable.
Lili had been honest about Em, about the person she’d been hoping to meet, that very first time she’d seen Dylan in The Rough Tor.
Whereas how easily the lies had spilled out of his mouth.
His explanation had sounded perfectly rational – that joker Harry had pranked his brother and was still away travelling.
She thought back to how neat and totally unlived in Harry’s bedroom had looked.
And how Dylan said he couldn’t show her the photos of the botanical garden his brother had snapped, saying they’d been put in an Instagram story so they’d disappeared after twenty-four hours.
How convenient. Then there was how twitchy he’d been at the warehouse, steering her away from that employee in the overalls – clearly worried, in retrospect, that the truth about his brother might have slipped out.
She turned on the engine. Twenty minutes later, she pulled up outside Dylan’s house.
Lili knocked loudly. He gave her a hug when she walked in, but she stood as stiff as an ironing board.
Having taken off her coat, she accepted his offer of a coffee, before heading upstairs to use the bathroom.
However, once on the landing, she went straight into Harry’s room and switched on the light.
One of the things to learn from Em’s death had been to not let a guy’s lies ever screw Lili over, and here she was, barely one year on, making the same mistake as her friend. Why? How?
Em’s death had to mean something.
Lili sat on the bed. No wonder the room was so tidy. Looking at it now, it was more like a shrine.
She got up and went over to an old-fashioned record player.
A Caravan Palace vinyl was on the turntable.
She straightened up, studied the poster and gently ran a finger over it.
So much life had been stolen away from another young person.
Bookmarks stuck out from a couple of the musicians’ biographies.
A tube of Starburst, half-eaten, lay on the bedside table, the packaging neatly twisted at the end.
The alarm clock was set to seven. She opened the wardrobe doors.
Clothes hung, neatly, with polished shoes and clean trainers on a shelf underneath, all wrapped up in a slightly musty smell.
She closed the doors and went back to the desk.
She picked up a photo frame. A shot of Dylan and Harry – she recognised the brother from that Facebook profile Meg had mentioned.
By the pile of books was a photo album. That time she’d eaten pie at his, Dylan had been looking through an album when she’d arrived; said he’d wanted to snap a photo in there of Harry’s face covered in pie, so that he could send it to his brother – when really Dylan must just have been simply flicking through and reminiscing.
Lili picked up a letter rack and went through the post that confirmed what Jags had said.
Almost slipping, Lili sped downstairs. She marched into the kitchen.
Dylan went to hand her a cup of coffee, those inky eyes welcoming her in, that shoulder-length hair asking to have her fingers run through it.
Christ. Hook, line and sinker. What a joke, falling for the cliché of a tall, dark, handsome stranger – because that was all he was.
She didn’t know Dylan any more. Was he even half Italian?
Was his middle name really Mario? And his physical attributes meant nothing without the charm, the way he’d been, that Lili had believed was genuine.
She placed the letter rack on the kitchen table, next to a plate of raw steak and marinated chicken, the smell of smoke coming through the back door that had been left ajar. Dylan frowned.
‘Harry hasn’t opened any post for two years,’ she said.
‘You’ve been in his room again?’ His eyebrows knotted together.
Lili stared at him.
‘No, he’s not the most organised person,’ he continued.
‘My God. How quickly the lies slip off your tongue.’
Dylan put down her coffee. He stepped back. Rubbed the back of his neck. ‘What… what do you mean?’
‘I bumped into Jags this afternoon. He told me that Harry died two years ago. You’ve lied to me, Dylan. Right from the beginning. And what detail you’ve gone into, what with the pretend messaging and a video call with your brother, and him turning down Vegas to go to Vietnam and?—’
‘I—’
‘No! You don’t get to interrupt me! You don’t get to say anything!
Because there’s no fucking excuse.’ Her voice broke.
‘I opened up to you about Em – told you things I’ve never told anyone before, like about the nightmares.
Was it some sort of sick joke coming to meet me in the pub?
Did you think it would be an easy way to get a Halloween hook-up?
Had you planned it all in advance? How you played coy, like the perfect gent – is that just part of some creepy act? What a fool I’ve been.’
‘Lili, you’ve got this all wrong?—’
‘I bet you’d really read those texts I’d been sending Em.
Had you deleted them before going to the pub?
That would make sense. Did they give you the impression I was vulnerable?
’ She crossed her arms, heart racing as quickly as she’d driven over here.
Hold it together , Lili , don’t let him win , she told herself.
‘Well, you’re the one who’s got things wrong.
It’s taken me a while, but I’ve found you out.
And I’m fine.’ Her voice sounded hoarse.
He collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs, looking like a criminal who’d finally been proved guilty.
‘God, I bet you’ve had a laugh these last few weeks. After we had sex, you wanted me as a business contact so that you could dump your house clearance stuff out of area – as you said, it would make your life a lot easier. It all worked out pretty well for you, didn’t it?’
She wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve and pointed to the letter rack. ‘You don’t make sense – clinically gutting clients’ houses, yet holding on to every part of Harry’s life for as long as you can. But then why should I be surprised that you’re a hypocrite as well as a liar?’
Dylan got up and walked over to her. ‘Lili. I can explain. Just give me five minutes of your time,’ he stuttered and placed a hand on her arm.
She shook him off and disappeared into the hallway. She shoved her feet into her shoes, did them up and pulled on her coat before yanking open the front door.
‘It makes sense now why you were so uncomfortable when I visited the warehouse. When Jags arrived… you were worried, weren’t you, that he’d inadvertently drop you in it?’
‘Look, Lili, I?—’
‘Go to Vegas! Do it for Harry. Whatever. Or was that a lie too, about him wanting to go there? Did you just fancy a holiday? Either way, I don’t give a shit.
I won’t be going and I don’t ever want to see you again.
Lies have fucked up the lives of the people I care about most.’ She slammed the door shut and ran to Colonel Mustard, tears running down her cheeks.
Somehow she got home, chest still hitching.
Lili ignored her phone ringing until she got back.
Sitting in the darkness, in the lounge, she felt as if she’d lost something important all over again.
Well, she wouldn’t let that loser set her back.
Tomorrow she had a freedom ceremony to run and helping that person, who’d contacted her out of the blue last week, was more important than her own feelings right now.
Lili’s eyes dropped to her phone’s screen. Dad had rung. He never did that on a Saturday night, usually down the pub with his football mates. Perhaps there was an emergency. She sniffed, wiped her eyes, and pressed dial.
‘Lili, love! Thanks for ringing back. Wasn’t sure you’d be in.’
‘Hi, Dad.’ Normally she’d be pleased. He was happier these days.
‘You okay, chick?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said, almost unable to get the words out.
‘Really? You sound funny. Like when you were little and had been crying.’
She bit on her fist. ‘No, honestly,’ she said, voice higher than usual. ‘Maybe I’m… I’m coming down with a cold. Anyway – everything okay?’
‘No. Emergency stations. I’m having a panic about what to get you for Christmas. It’s only a couple of weeks away. Got any ideas, love?’
Thank God he was okay. Thank God she could end the call quickly. ‘I’ll have a think and text you, Dad. Gotta go now.’
‘Lili, what’s going on?’
‘Nothing. Love you,’ she croaked, and a sob escaped her lips before she could end the call.