Those Who Lie: the gripping new thriller you won’t be able to stop talking about. Diane Jeffrey
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happening here, they’d need Greg’s password to access his Facebook account, wouldn’t they? How many people know his login?’
‘As far as I’m aware, only Greg and I know it.’
That gives Emily an idea and she logs out of her Facebook account and types in the password for Greg’s. She no longer has proof she received a message, but she can prove that Greg sent her one.
‘So, only one person knows it now,’ Amanda remarks humourlessly.
‘Wow, Mandy. A mathematician as well as a psychiatrist!’ Matt jokes, and takes another biscuit from the plate.
Emily tries to ignore them. She feels crushed as she sees there is no trace of a private message from Greg to her in his Facebook messages, either. She has nothing to show her best friend, her sister and her brother that there ever was a message. Nothing to make them believe her.
‘If only you were an information technologist as well, Mandy,’ Matt continues as Amanda scowls at him. ‘We might be able to solve this, then.’
‘Ooh, that’s a good idea. Why didn’t we think of that before?’ Pippa says. ‘Emily, why don’t you ask Charles? He’s good with computers, isn’t he? Maybe he can work out—’
‘I don’t think he knows any more about them than anyone else,’ Amanda interrupts. She looks at Emily. ‘What time did you say the message was sent, Em?’
‘It must have been around 5:15 p.m. It says here I posted my obituary at 5:13. It can only have been a minute or two after that.’
‘Maybe you should take a screenshot next time?’ Matt suggests.
Emily doesn’t want to admit that she has no idea what a screenshot is, let alone how to take one.
‘Are you sure it wasn’t a message that Greg had sent before his…the accident?’ Pippa asks.
‘No, I’m not a hundred per cent certain. The message came up when I logged in to Facebook. I thought it had just been sent, but maybe I was wrong. And now I can’t check.’
‘When was the last time you were on Facebook before then?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I think Pippa is asking if you’d already been on Facebook since Greg died,’ Amanda says.
‘Allegedly died,’ Matt mutters almost inaudibly.
‘No, I hadn’t.’
‘So, the message could have been sent by Greg before he died,’ Amanda says.
‘I suppose so,’ Emily concedes. ‘But I still don’t understand what it could possibly mean.’
‘The sender was definitely Greg?’
‘Yes, definitely.’ But she can hear that she sounds doubtful. ‘And anyway, he called me “Alice”. No one else has ever called me by my middle name.’
‘Yes, but all your friends know he called you “Alice” so that doesn’t rule out the possibility that someone is screwing with you,’ Pippa says.
‘What sort of friend would play mind games like that?’ Matt asks. ‘That’s, like, really sick. Maybe you should call the police.’
‘The police are calling on me this afternoon, Matt,’ Emily says, feeling nervous at the thought of their visit. She is worried about what they might ask her. ‘Maybe I’ll talk to them about it.’ But even as she says it, she knows that she won’t mention the message. They didn’t protect her when she needed protection before. They believed her when she lied; they won’t believe her now, she reasons, even if she tells them the truth.
‘Maybe you shouldn’t say anything about it to the police just yet,’ Amanda says. She lowers her voice so that only Emily can hear. ‘You know, without proof and everything… The last thing you want is for them to make you out to be psychotic.’
‘Perhaps you’re right.’ Emily knows that Amanda understands how reluctant she is to have anything to do with the police.
‘Why don’t you wait and see if you get another message first?’ Amanda suggests.
Emily nods.
Matt takes his mobile out of the back pocket of his jeans and glances at the screen. ‘It’s a quarter to two,’ he says. ‘I’d better go. I want to go into town, then I’ve got to get the train back to Devon this evening.’ He puts his mug down on the tray. ‘Laters.’
Emily gets up and follows Matt through to the hall. She wants to offer to take him into town, but the thought of being behind the wheel of a car terrifies her. Her handbag is hanging by its strap around the newel cap of the staircase. She takes out her purse.
‘Oh, no, Em. I didn’t come here to hit you up for money,’ he protests half-heartedly. ‘I came – we all did – to try and cheer you up a bit. That’s all.’
‘Take it, Matt. I know you’re strapped for cash.’
‘Story of my life,’ Matt says as Emily thrusts a fifty-pound note into his hand. ‘Thanks, sis. When I’m rich and famous, I won’t forget you!’
‘I know. Don’t spend it on dope, Matt, OK?’
‘I won’t,’ Matt promises, giving Emily a peck on the cheek. ‘Catch you on the flip side.’
‘You shouldn’t give him money, Emily,’ Amanda says. She has stepped into the hall and is standing behind her sister. Emily whirls round. Although she’s older than Emily, Amanda is slightly shorter.
‘You scared me!’ Emily hadn’t known Amanda was there. ‘Aw, he needs it, Amanda. I don’t.’
‘You might do now that Greg has died.’
‘I suppose I’ll have to look into all that at some point. I’m not up to it yet, though.’
‘Just let me know when you are, and I’ll help you.’ Amanda unties the cardigan from around her waist and puts it on. ‘Pippa will give us a hand too, won’t you, Pips?’
‘Of course I will,’ Pippa says. ‘Right. We need to get going. Rehearsals. Will you be all right?’
‘Of course,’ Emily says. ‘Mum’s here.’
‘In that case you’ll be fine,’ Amanda scoffs. She takes the scrunchie from her wrist and uses it to fasten back her mousy hair into a ponytail. Emily notices that her fringe has been cut. It’s a little too short and not quite straight. She wonders if Amanda has cut it herself.
‘Don’t be unkind,’ Emily says, nudging her sister, who grins. ‘Go and say goodbye to her.’
~
When the visitors have left, Josephine suggests that Emily should take a nap before the police come. Emily doesn’t feel at all tired, but she likes the idea of spending an hour or so alone, so she goes upstairs with her computer tucked under her arm.
Minutes later, all trace of her earlier bad temper has evaporated and instead she feels overcome with sadness. She finds herself curled up in a ball on her bed, crying uncontrollably into the pillow. From time to time she thumps the bed, punctuating her sobs. She hears her crying rise in a crescendo.
Eventually, Josephine knocks tentatively at the door, but Emily barely registers the sound. Her mother knocks again, then enters the bedroom uninvited. For a moment, she just stands in the doorway. Then she comes over to the bed and perches on the end of it, awkwardly. Finally, she takes Emily in her arms and holds her until she calms down.
‘It’s so unfair,’ Emily says.
‘I know.’ Josephine rubs her daughter’s back. Emily can’t remember her mother ever doing this even when she was little.
‘I feel so…so empty,’ Emily sobs, as much to herself as to