Those Who Lie: the gripping new thriller you won’t be able to stop talking about. Diane Jeffrey
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her own artwork.
‘That’s right.’ Emily nods, and then scowls as the pain in her head intensifies.
‘If it comes back to you, will you contact us?’
‘How do I get in touch with you?’
The policewoman produces a card from a pocket in her uniform and hands it to her. Emily looks at it and sees a series of addresses, telephone numbers and a shoulder number under the heading Sergeant Campbell, Roads Policing Unit, Thames Valley Police.
‘What’s your name again?’ Emily addresses Campbell’s colleague, thinking it would be infinitely preferable to deal with him than the scary sergeant.
‘PC Constable,’ he replies.
‘Police Constable Constable?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ he says wryly. ‘I desperately need a promotion.’
Emily tries again to smile at him, but yet another bolt of pain shoots through her head and she suddenly finds him far less amusing. She still can’t work out why she’s here. She seems to recollect being told last time she woke up that she’d been involved in an accident. A growing sense of alarm overcomes her initial disorientation.
Sergeant Campbell’s next question does nothing to reassure her. ‘Mrs Klein, do you know what caused you to crash the car?’ The police officer clicks her pen again.
Emily has a vision of her car hurtling off the road towards a tree. She feels a wave of panic break over her. Is this what really happened? Or is her imagination running wild? She takes a deep breath. So, she crashed the car. That makes sense. It would explain why she’s in hospital and why her head, neck and side hurt so much. But she can’t think straight. And she’s far too tired to answer any more questions.
At that moment, the door to her hospital room opens and in strides a tall, plump woman wearing a badge that identifies her as Staff Nurse Peterson. She reminds Emily a little of Chummy in Call the Midwife. Emily is now almost convinced she’s trapped on a TV studio set in a bad dream.
But then the nurse says, ‘Oh, Mrs Klein, you’re awake again.’ She puts her hand on Emily’s arm. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Very confused,’ Emily replies, ‘and in pain.’
Staff Nurse Peterson checks the drip, and tells Emily that she’ll administer some more painkillers. As the nurse completes her clinical checks and records the data on Emily’s chart, Sergeant Campbell drops her bombshell.
‘I must say, Mrs Klein,’ she says, ‘you’re taking the news of your husband’s death incredibly well.’
Emily senses Staff Nurse Peterson freeze at Campbell’s remark. Words swirl round in Emily’s head. Argument…my father…car crash…husband’s death. She tries to suppress the scream rising inside her, and it erupts as a strangled whimper. That’s the only sound audible in the room. It seems to resonate in Emily’s ears. She cradles her sore head in her hands.
‘Mrs Klein hadn’t been told yet that Mr Klein was killed in the accident,’ the nurse hisses at Sergeant Campbell, who looks unperturbed.
Campbell’s mobile phone rings out and shatters the silence that ensues. The police officer takes the call.
Staff Nurse Peterson glares at the redhead while talking soothingly to Emily whose eyes dart from one woman to the other. The sergeant, impervious to the nurse’s disapproval, continues to mumble into her phone. When she has ended the call, Campbell taps her colleague on the shoulder.
‘Let’s go,’ she says to Constable. ‘I am sorry,’ she mutters to Emily who isn’t sure if Campbell is apologising or expressing her condolences. Then she turns and heads for the door without so much as a cursory glance in Staff Nurse Peterson’s direction.
PC Constable gets up from his seat, and tells Emily how sorry he is for her loss. Then he leaves the hospital room before his superior, who is holding the door open for him.
Emily clearly hears Campbell’s words as she follows Constable out: ‘The witness has finally turned up at the station to give his statement.’
Just as Emily is wondering if Campbell’s phone call and witness have anything to do with her, Staff Nurse Peterson hangs the chart up on the end of her bed and says, ‘Don’t worry. You concentrate on getting better. You’ll be home in no time.’
But Emily barely registers what the nurse says. Greg is dead, Emily thinks. I was driving the car. I didn’t kill him. I can’t have killed him. The thought of going home without Greg fills her with despair and dread.
~
Devon, Christmas Eve, 1995
At half past nine, Josephine Cavendish was already snoring on the sofa in front of the television. Emily decided to go to bed although she knew there was no way she’d be able to sleep. Not tonight.
As she cleaned her teeth, she could hear Michael Stipe’s voice coming from the end of the corridor. Half a World Away. Amanda stayed up here a lot listening to REM. She also liked Pearl Jam and Nirvana. Even when she wasn’t listening to music, she seemed to spend as much time as possible in her bedroom. Perhaps she feels safe in hers, Emily thought.
Emily opened the door to her own room, which was larger than her sister’s. Through the window she could see it was pitch-black and wet outside. She switched on the lamp by her bed and drew the curtains to shut out the night. She smiled wistfully at the Sarah Kay design. Here the girl was cradling a puppy; there she was holding a basket of flowers. Everywhere she was carefree. The curtains had never been replaced even though they were faded from the sunlight and Emily had outgrown them long ago.
She thought about reading, and walked over to her bookcase. It was crammed with books, from the classics – Dickens, Austen, the Brontës – to modern bestsellers of different genres such as Jurassic Park, Diana: Her True Story, Captain Corelli’s Mandolin and The Silence of the Lambs. Her novels allowed her to escape. And she desperately needed to escape. But she couldn’t choose one. She wouldn’t be able to concentrate, anyway.
From the top row of her bookcase, at least a dozen teddy bears observed her bedroom through kind, beady eyes. She hadn’t played with her teddies for years, and they looked tatty, but she didn’t have the heart to get rid of them. Throwing them away would somehow have felt like giving up her childhood. Or giving up on it.
She turned around, imagining what the teddies could see from up there. They seemed to be looking at her double bed. Her parents had given it to her the previous year for her fourteenth birthday, although her mother hadn’t really been happy about it. Emily liked the colourful spiral patterns on the duvet cover, but the bed was too big for her.
She pulled on her nightie and climbed into bed. She could still hear the music faintly, although she couldn’t make out the song. Another one from the same album, no doubt. Out of Time. It occurred to her that her heart was beating too fast; it was out of time with the song. Lying on her side, she brought her knees up and hugged them to her chest. She felt cold in spite of the bedcover. She was wide awake. She looked at her watch on the bedside table. Ten o’clock. She felt sick with nerves.
She’d always been afraid at night-time, although when she was younger, her fears were unfounded. It was just that she was terrified of the dark. Amanda would make fun of her for that, but she’d often sung to her or stroked her head until she fell asleep. Sometimes they would even drag Amanda’s mattress along the corridor so she could sleep on Emily’s floor. In the end, their father said it was time Emily grew up and he forbade the girls to sleep in the same room.
The music stopped suddenly and a door banged. Emily’s throat felt tight and she couldn’t breathe. It’s too early. I’m not ready yet, she thought, alarmed.
Then she