Tell Me I'm Wrong Page 10

  If Doctor Ashford finds this shocking, he doesn’t let on. Then again, he probably hears all sorts of things every single day.

  ‘Okay. Was there anything in particular which led you to start thinking that?’

  Try as I might, I can’t force the words out. However I frame them in my mind, they don’t make any sense. It sounds ridiculous whichever way I try. I decide to skirt round the baseball cap.

  ‘He was out when both the murders happened. Not in the house. They were both boys that he taught. He’s a teacher. And he’s been really funny since it happened. Weird. Distant.’

  ‘That might be because he’s upset. If he knew the boys and taught them, he’s bound to be affected by their deaths. Have you tried talking to him about this?’

  I shake my head. ‘No. Well, sort of. He talked to me about Riley, the first boy who died. And when we heard about the second boy, Kai… Well, he sort of broke down.’

  ‘That would explain his odd behaviour. It’s a lot of trauma to deal with. People deal with things in different ways. How does he usually deal with grief?’

  I think about this for a moment. ‘He doesn’t. When his dad died he just sort of seemed to accept it. He nodded, said something along the lines of “Well that’s that, then” and went back to what he was doing. He didn’t even cry at the funeral.’

  ‘That might be a coping mechanism. It’s surprisingly common.’

  ‘But it was so different to the way he reacted recently,’ I say, before stopping myself going any further.

  ‘Everyone has their breaking point,’ Doctor Ashford says. Ain’t that the truth. ‘And his relationship with his father may well have been completely different to the connection he had with his former pupils. How have you been coping?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘With the news. I’m sure it’s had an impact on you, too. I imagine most parents in the area are worried sick.’

  ‘I guess so. But it’s not… it’s not like that,’ I say. ‘I’m more worried about my own state of mind, about the thoughts I’ve been having.’

  ‘I understand. And these thoughts. Are they intrusive?’

  ‘Yes. Very.’

  ‘Getting worse?’

  ‘I think so.’

  He nods. ‘I’m conflicted here. I’m tempted to prescribe some mild anti-psychotics, but like anything it’s possible some of the drug could be passed to your daughter through breastfeeding. It’s not been clinically proven either way, but it’s a decision you ultimately need to make for yourself.’

  ‘What would the effects be?’

  Doctor Ashford raises his eyebrows and takes a deep breath. ‘It’s impossible to say, but there’s a chance that if trace amounts of the drug reached your daughter she might experience some side effects. My inclination would be to try a very low dose of olanzapine. There are some more common side effects with it, but none of them are serious. You might get some joint pain, increased cholesterol in your bloodstream, increased appetite, tiredness. You might also get some water retention.’

  ‘And they’re all things that could effect Evie?’ I ask.

  ‘Could. Although, having said that, derivatives of this drug are used to treat breastfeeding women who suffer from nausea and vomiting. I’d recommend trying the lowest dosage — two and a half milligrams — and seeing how you get on. Make an appointment to come back in a week and we’ll look at both you and your daughter and work out a plan for how to move forward. How does that sound?’

  I nod and force a smile. It’s something. At the very least, if the medication does help, at least I’ll know it’s just my mind playing tricks on me. But I can’t shake that feeling that I haven’t told Doctor Ashford the full story. Either way, very soon I’ll know the truth.

  30

  Chris

  The police came round again today. Two plain clothes detectives, this time. A senior officer called McKenna — an inspector of some sort — and a bloke called Brennan. They wanted to know about safeguarding measures at the school, what the kids were taught about speaking to strangers and walking home on their own. They said Kai Bolton was meant to be dropped back home by his dad, but for some reason that didn’t happen. The dad’s in pieces, apparently, as I imagine he would be.

  They wanted to know if I could think of anyone who knew both boys who might be a person of interest. I got agitated and worked up. I couldn’t think of anyone, I said. I desperately wanted to help them, I said, but there was nothing I could do. I told them I’d been racking my brains ever since it had happened, trying to make sense of it all, but I couldn’t.

  It seemed to me as though they’re suspecting everyone. I suppose once they’ve eliminated the people on their watchlist, anyone’s fair game. They asked me almost all the same questions as the other officers asked me a few days ago. I don’t know if they’re doing that to see who changes their story, or to try and find inconsistencies somewhere along the line, but they seemed happy enough with what I had to say. It’s a good job, too.

  I’ve spent a lot of time lying awake at night, getting my story straight. I’ve gone over and over it in my head, like an actor rehearsing his lines. I’ve memorised what time I said I left the house. I’ve pointed to the spot on the map where I was fishing. No, I didn’t see anyone walking past, I said. That’s the only part where my story could fall down, but it’s highly unlikely. No-one ever walks past that spot. I told them I was there the whole time. No, I didn’t catch much. Just a few tiddlers. I always throw them back. I do it for the solitude and time on my own, I said. That bit wasn’t a lie.

  They seemed to believe what I told them. I knew they would — it matched perfectly to what I told them a few days earlier. Besides which, they’ve no reason to suspect otherwise. I just hope it stays that way. If they uncover the truth, that’s it. Everything is finished.

  They said they’d ask the press to leave us alone and give us time to come to terms with what had happened. We’ve had phone calls and knocks at the door at all hours, and it’s not doing anyone any good. I’ve been in touch with a couple of other teachers at the school, and they’ve had similar experiences. It seems every red-top rag wants inside information on the boys and their families.

  I didn’t expect much to happen, but it stopped almost immediately. For what it’s worth, apparently they’re pretty good at leaving people alone when the police ask them to. It’s probably in their best interests; they’re not going to get any juicy information out of the police if they don’t do as they’re told. Slowly, slowly, catchy monkey.

  I asked what they were doing to find the killer, and they couldn’t tell me much. I asked about checking for DNA at the scene. That’s something they do regardless, apparently, but they couldn’t match DNA on the bodies to any known offenders. There must be hundreds of people’s DNA around there, I told them. It’s a public area.

  Things have a habit of hanging over us like looming spectres at the moment. The number of elephants in the room is unreal. Neither of us are particularly looking forward to this family meal tomorrow. It’ll be good if we can put water under the bridge, but I’m really not sure it’s a great idea if Megan and Lauren end up being friendly again. Besides which, they always end up falling out. Sometimes things are better kept at arm’s length.

  I’m just about holding things together right now. I’m keeping it all firmly under lock and key. For now, at least. I don’t know how long for. At some point, I know I’m going to crack. I know it’s all going to come out and there’s not going to be a thing I can do about it. We’ve all got our breaking points, and I’m getting ever closer to mine.

  It takes some getting used to, becoming a new person. Having to lie and keep secrets, pretend nothing is wrong. It’s not the way I usually do things — the way I used to do things. But I know this is my life now. From now on, my life is all about secrets and lies. And I have to be comfortable with that. It has to be fine. Because otherwise I’m going to be my own worst enemy, my own biggest liability. If I don’t s
ay anything, no-one need know. Things can gradually go back to how they were. Especially if I can stop it happening any more, stop it getting worse.

  Quit while you’re ahead. That’s the old saying, isn’t it? I reckon that’s the truest thing I’ve heard in years. I wouldn’t say I was ‘ahead’ by any stretch of the imagination, but the sentiment still stands. The next time could be the time it all falls apart. That could be the time someone sees me. The time my story doesn’t quite add up because I’ve fudged a detail or somehow managed to inadvertently contradict myself. I can’t take that risk. I just can’t.

  Right now, my family needs me. If I don’t focus on them, I’ll lose everything anyway. What else do I have? Self-destructive behaviour isn’t going to help anyone, least of all Megan and Evie.

  And that’s why I know I have to put all this behind me. I have to put a stop to it. Because otherwise there’s only one way it’s going to end.

  I just can’t take that risk.

  31

  Megan

  My anxiety has been lower since I started taking the medication. I feel calmer. The papers have been full of stories and theories about who might have killed Riley and Kai, and we’ve been besieged by reporters knocking at the door, wanting to find out what the boys were like at school.

  I don’t know if I’m imagining it, but Chris has seemed brighter in the last day or so. Maybe he’s been fine all along and I’ve only been able to see the negative stuff. If it was some sort of psychosis, that might be a reasonable thing to happen. I just can’t believe that the medication would work that quickly. I was under the impression that antipsychotics were like antidepressants, and could take weeks to work effectively. If they’re anything like antidepressants, things get a whole lot worse before they get even slightly better, but that just doesn’t seem to be the case. I’m definitely calmer, more rational. I feel like the storm has settled.

  I’m not even feeling too anxious about the meal today. I’ve been worrying about it since Lauren phoned two days ago, but now the day has come I’m actually quite relaxed about it. What’s the worst that can happen? Lauren turns out to still be a bitch and we go back to not talking again. Nothing improves, nothing gets worse. But on the other hand, she could give me a grovelling apology, promise to always be there for me and we’ll have a lovely meal and leave as best friends. Unlikely, I know.

  I decide I’m going to put on my best dress and spend a good hour doing my hair and makeup. I’m not usually one to bother getting tarted up or spending ages slapping stuff on my face, but today I want to make a good impression. If Lauren’s going to prove she hasn’t changed a bit, I’m going to have my beautiful family by my side, my plastered orange face held high as I sashay the fuck out of there and back to my perfect life. At least, that’s what she’ll think, if she actually bothers to look.

  Even Evie appears to be playing the game. She woke at nine-thirty this morning and has been good as gold. I just hope she can keep it up throughout the day, so I don’t end up going from successful supermum to some demented old bitch dragging her screaming brat across the pub.

  Chris and I made the most of Evie’s lie-in this morning. Until recently, we hadn’t had sex in months. Not proper sex. That’s twice this week now. If this is the new normal, I can handle that.

  He remarked on how I seemed to have changed in the last couple of days, too. He asked if it was anything to do with my visit to the doctor, and I told him it probably was. I’ve hidden my medication away, though. I don’t want him knowing I’m on antipsychotics. I don’t know why, but I don’t. I told him I had a good chat with Doctor Ashford and he taught me some coping mechanisms and exercises which seemed to be helping. He doesn’t need to know it’s down to the drugs — as long as the end result is the same.

  When we park up at the restaurant, I feel a sense of nervous anticipation. It’s not a negative feeling — just a sense that, either way, this will be another marker post in the relationship between me and my sister.

  We arrive almost fifteen minutes before we were due to meet, but as we enter the Forester’s Arms I can see Lauren and James already sitting at a table on the other side of the restaurant. No matter how punctual and early we are, she still has to go one better.

  James is the first to get up, as he marches over to Chris and shakes his hand, before greeting me with kisses on both cheeks — continental style. He’s what many women would call the perfect catch: tall, dark, handsome, successful. Personally, I’d go for ‘slimy little shit’, but then again it’s all personal preference.

  Lauren waits at the table, but when we get there she greets Chris with the same continental-style kisses her husband greeted me with. This pair really couldn’t get any more middle-class if they tried.

  ‘Hi Megan,’ she says, holding her arms slightly apart as if to invite me to hug her without wanting to look as though she was the one initiating it. Take the high road, I tell myself, and I go in for the hug. It’s brief and awkward, and I’m not quite sure who pulls out first but it’s done. We’ve made contact.

  If I know my sister at all, she’ll now consider everything to be hunky-dory. We hugged, so that means everything’s fine now. I’d like that to be true, but it’s going to take a lot more than a hug and a pub lunch.

  ‘Is Mum looking after Evie?’ Lauren asks. I decided not to mention it first — I wanted to see how long it would take her to bring up the subject.

  ‘Yeah. I thought it might be better that way,’ I say, not mentioning the fact that I only asked Mum an hour before leaving. We were going to bring Evie with us, but it just didn’t feel right. I didn’t want her to become a distraction. Besides which, I want to make sure Lauren wants to see us — not Evie. ‘Adults only. You know.’

  ‘Absolutely. Taylor and Theo are with James’s sister. They’d only get bored here.’

  You could always prop an iPad up in front of them, I want to say, but don’t. I made Chris promise me from the start that we wouldn’t turn into one of those families who wheel out electronic gadgets in restaurants because they’re incapable of parenting.

  After more stilted chitchat, we look at the menus and decide what we want.

  ‘I think this is one of those places where you have to order at the bar,’ James says. ‘Shall I go up?’

  He asks Chris to join him, and he reluctantly does. Whether that’s because he thinks he’s helping by leaving me and Lauren together, or whether he wants to be away from the atmosphere, I don’t know.

  ‘Nice here,’ Lauren says, after a few moments’ silence.

  ‘Yeah. Never been. Not since it’s been done up.’

  ‘Us neither. Heard good things, though.’

  ‘Mmmm,’ I reply, noncommittally.

  ‘Listen. Before the boys get back. I really just want us to be able to get along again. It’s silly how things were before. We should be able to get on, especially with the boys and Evie. It’s silly that they’ve never met their cousin.’

  ‘It is,’ I say, stopping myself from adding And who’s fault’s that?.

  ‘I know things must have been hard for you when you thought you couldn’t have kids. What I said was a bit silly. I can see how you might have been upset by that.’

  ‘Can you?’ I ask, genuinely interested. It’s not like Lauren to feel any sort of empathy.

  ‘Of course. We’ve been lucky, James and I, but I know some other people aren’t as fortunate.’

  Here we go again, I think.

  ‘Listen, Megan. I didn’t mean to upset you. Sometimes I just say things without thinking. And then afterwards I’m so bloody stubborn that I’d rather cut off my nose to spite my face than I would apologise. It doesn’t mean I’m not sorry. It just means… I don’t know what it means.’

  ‘Well, if it doesn’t mean you’re not sorry…’

  Lauren looks at me, and for a moment I’m not sure whether she’s going to apologise or call me a bitch for backing her into a corner.

  ‘Then it means I am sorry. Which I
am.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I say. I thought about saying thank you, but that would sound patronising. There’s no point in spoiling things. It’s taken long enough to get her to apologise for the first time in her life as it is.

  Before we get much further, Chris and James return to the table, having placed our order.

  ‘James was just saying we’re welcome back to their place after lunch. They’ve got a couple of new board games they reckon we might like.’

  ‘Oh God, yes!’ Lauren shrieks, clearly excited. ‘There’s this one, called Liar Liar. Have you seen that TV programme where the celebrities tell a story about themselves and you have to guess whether it’s true or not? It’s a bit like that, but better. It’s such good fun.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ I say, trying not to look at my husband.

  32

  Megan

  Mum was right. Lauren and James’s new place is impressive. All the rooms are good sizes, and their garden seems to go on for miles. It’s the sort of place I can see them being really happy in. Most people would be. I don’t think I’d fancy their mortgage, though. I’ll stick with our three-bed semi.

  Even though it’s only four o’clock in the afternoon, Lauren and I have already had a couple of glasses of wine at the Forester’s and Chris and James have had a beer each, so Lauren decides to crack open a bottle.

  ‘Not for me, thanks. Got to drive home,’ Chris says, as Lauren offers him a glass.

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ Lauren says. ‘You can leave the car here and pick it up tomorrow.’

  Chris looks at me. ‘Honestly, it’s fine. I’ve got stuff to do when we get back anyway. Maybe another time.’

  The bottle of red doesn’t go far when shared between the huge glasses Lauren has given to me, James and herself, so she quickly opens a second and leaves it to breathe.