The Liar's Sister (ARC) Read online

  ‘Mum’s WI meetings,’ Peter says with a grin, moving into the room to sit himself down at the breakfast bar while I pour milk into the tea. ‘Very clever.’ I can see that the letter has shaken him, despite his jokes. He runs his fingers through his hair and then under his eyes.

  ‘Rosie won’t go at all,’ I say. ‘She bought this pint, by the way.’

  ‘Ah, I see. Well, I tell you what, I’ll save you both the trouble and bring you a couple of pints next time I visit.’

  My cheeks flush and my eyes burn with unshed tears at his kind gesture. I quickly blink them away, hopefully before he notices.

  ‘Fine, but I have to pay you or I’ll feel weird about it,’ I say with a forced smile.

  ‘I thought women appreciated gifts from handsome men,’ Peter teases.

  ‘I see you’re as modest as most of the other men I’ve met.’

  He laughs. ‘I’m glad you’re still in good spirits considering everything that’s happened to your family. I’m sorry you’re having to go through all this.’

  I gesture for him to come through to the lounge, and he follows. Chatting to him is the best distraction I could have hoped for, and some of my fear slowly begins to ebb away. He’s funny, good to talk to, and most of all, he makes me feel safe. Even though he’s a Murray and has every reason to hate my family, I believe I can trust him. Yes, he reminds me of Samuel because of those childhood days on the farm, but he doesn’t have the same intensity. Peter is lighter; he’s one side of the moon and Samuel is the other.

  ‘I’m sorry too.’

  He sighs. ‘Okay, so you’ve pissed off the village with your presence.’ He settles into the sofa next to me. ‘Someone broke into your house, stole your things and sent you a nasty letter, then fired a gun at you in the woods, and yet I don’t see you packing a suitcase to get out. You’re a brave lady, Heather Sharpe.’

  ‘Or stupid.’ I sip my tea before placing it on the coffee table. The warmth helps to keep me calm after the anxiety-ridden day I’ve had.

  ‘I guess the arsehole with the gun is the same arsehole that sent the note.’

  ‘They didn’t send it,’ I say. ‘They hand-delivered it.’ I sigh. ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time for us to go. Nothing is worth this kind of risk, is it? Not even finding out what happened to your brother.’

  ‘Is that why you’re staying?’

  I can’t read the expression on Peter’s face. Is he impressed that I care that much? Or upset that I still have feelings for his brother?

  ‘Well, yes and no. I’m also here because this is my childhood home and I won’t be driven away by some idiot who can’t aim a gun. There’re all my parents’ belongings to sort through. I’m not going to just throw away our precious things because I’m scared.’ My eyes burn again when I think about Rosie, about the way my head keeps trying to make me believe she’s guilty. I close them tightly, then open them again and focus on my surroundings. ‘This is where all the memories of my parents are. I can never see Mum and Dad again, but I can live where they lived. Walk where they walked.’ Nothing in my entire life has made me feel as helpless as the moment I heard that gunshot in the woods. Nothing has made me long for my dad so much. And then, running into this house, all I wanted was Mum. But they’ll never comfort me again. ‘I guess I’m an orphan now.’

  Peter is quiet for a heartbeat or two, gaze directed towards me. He puts his tea on the coffee table and takes my hand in his. ‘Come on. You need something stronger than tea.’

  I resist him when he tries to pull me up from the sofa. ‘Oh no! I’m never drinking again. Remember what happened last time?’

  ‘I do,’ he says with a grin. ‘I remember you drooling on my shoulder. It was one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen. Come on. Show me where the hard liquor is. I know your dad enjoyed a tipple. There must be a bottle somewhere.’

  Reluctantly I allow him to lead me back into the kitchen, where I open the cupboard and slosh whisky into two glasses.

  ‘Here’s to drowning sorrows.’ Peter clinks my glass and winks.

  ‘You’re a bad influence.’

  ‘I am not! I was the one who stopped you drinking the pub dry the other night.’

  I almost laugh, but not quite. The whisky burns my throat as it goes down, forcing a choked cough out of me. ‘Urgh.’ This is certainly one way to dull my senses. One way to stop all the frightening thoughts from swirling through my mind.

  ‘Have you never drunk whisky before?’ The corner of his mouth lifts in surprise.

  ‘Nope. Why didn’t you warn me it was disgusting?’ I take another sip, and this one goes down much more smoothly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says with a laugh. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘The other night gave you a bad impression of me. I don’t actually drink that much.’

  ‘No, that was what I thought. You were always more sensible than your sister.’

  ‘Yeah, boring.’

  ‘No. Never that.’

  His eyes connect with mine, and there’s a moment when I think we might kiss. Part of me longs for it. Another part of me isn’t ready. I quickly cast my eyes downwards to break the spell.

  ‘Do you think the person shooting at me did it with Dad’s gun?’ I say, trying to avoid any kind of romantic talk.

  If Peter is frustrated by the missed opportunity, he hides it well. ‘I suppose they could have done. You probably should have reported the gun missing.’

  ‘What’s the point? Sergeant Dixon lurks in every corner. He hates me too. Everyone’s in this big conspiracy to get the Sharpe sisters out. Look at the letter. It says it’s from the whole village.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ Peter reminds me. ‘The person who wrote it might be lying. There are no names mentioned, just a vague suggestion.’

  I drain the last of my whisky. My throat burns, but I manage not to break out into an unattractive coughing fit. ‘No, but I can feel it. When I walk around the village, the animosity hits me in waves. I don’t know how Mum could stand it. She must have felt it too.’

  ‘The village has weird rules,’ Peter says thoughtfully. ‘The older generation are accepted because they’re the originals. Despite being born here, the children are considered different because of their youth. And you two girls – sorry, women – have lived outside Buckthorpe, which means you’re double outsiders.’ He frowns. ‘That’s an odd phrase. This whisky has gone to my head.’

  I laugh a little at his expression, but then I think more about what he’s saying. ‘I’m never going to be safe here, am I?’

  ‘Were you planning to stay?’ he asks softly. It’s a pleasant change from the demanding tone everyone else in the village uses.

  ‘Honestly, I just don’t know. I think I fantasised about it. Settling down in the same place I was brought up. I could buy a horse and a few chickens. Maybe I could find a way to work from home, despite the patchy Wi-Fi. Find someone to live here with me. Consider having kids.’ It all seems such a pedestrian fantasy. ‘I’m sure Rosie wants to travel the world and see everything she can possibly see. But I want to stay rooted, like an old oak tree. It’s pathetic.’

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘It isn’t at all.’

  The expression on his face is one I haven’t seen since I kissed Samuel in the woods that final time. Peter’s eyes are open wide, jaw tense, hand gripping the edge of the kitchen counter. I have a few seconds to contemplate what I know is going to happen next, and my heart races wildly. Despite everything telling me not to do it, I realise that I want this.

  I’m not sure who moves first, but in an instant, Peter’s mouth is on mine, a faint taste of whisky on his tongue. His hands grip the back of my head, bundling up my hair, before trailing down to feel the shape of my body through my clothes. Every part of me wants him, and for once, I allow myself to give in.

  Twenty-Five

  Rosie

  Then

  I watched the text message deliver, and then leaned back on the bed, closing my
eyes for a moment. The police had finished questioning Samuel at this point, but they hadn’t officially arrested him because they were continuing to collect evidence. The accusations that Rhona and Emily had made didn’t help to validate my own; instead they had the opposite effect. More and more suspicion was cast on me instead of on Samuel. The village was divided between those who believed me and those who didn’t.

  It all had to end.

  My stomach flipped over after I sent the message. I knew that what I’d done could not be rescinded. I had to see it through to the end. My skin went cold. I tried to remind myself that what I’d done was for Heather. I could be putting myself in danger, but it was all for her.

  Finally I received a response.

  I can do it. Where you said. At the time you said.

  And that was that. The realisation began to sink in regarding what I was about to do. I wondered whether Heather would ever forgive me. Probably not. But if I didn’t go through with what I’d started … I didn’t even want to think about it.

  It felt weird to go back to the living room knowing that I’d just set a potentially dangerous event in motion. But I did. They were all in there – Mum, Dad, Hev, Grandad –watching X Factor. All the seats were taken, so I sat on the floor with Heather. No one said anything when I walked in, but Mum patted me on the shoulder and stroked my hair.

  Heather wasn’t actually watching the show; she was reading a book. Edgar Allan Poe. Way too dark and depressing for me, but then that’s Heather. Then I remembered that Samuel had lent her the book a few months ago, and the nausea came back again.

  Why did it have to be Samuel? Of all the boys in Buckthorpe. Why was it Samuel that had melted her icy exterior with gothic poems and days on the farm? The whole thing was messed up.

  But I was going to put it right, once and for all.

  Twenty-Six

  Heather

  Now

  Afterwards, the fog clears from my mind. My eyes roam around the kitchen and see the remnants of our momentary madness. I bend down and grab my jeans, bra and top. Where is the rest of my underwear? Socks? I can’t look Peter in the eye as he dresses.

  Finally, clothed, we face each other, and I’m all too aware of my mussed hair and flushed face.

  ‘Hev,’ he says. ‘I think you’re incredible.’

  I close my eyes, waiting for the but. Of course there will be a catch; what we did was reckless and impulsive, not like me at all. What if Rosie had walked in?

  ‘That was … unexpected, but also amazing.’ He laughs. ‘I hope you don’t think I came over here for—’

  ‘No,’ I say quickly. ‘I know you didn’t. I really appreciate you coming over.’ It feels as though my entire body is hot with embarrassment.

  He runs his hands through his hair and moves closer to me, resting one arm on the kitchen counter. ‘It’s okay. I know how stressed out you are about what’s going on in the village. I know that’s probably the reason why it happened.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ I interject. But I’m not sure I’m being honest with myself.

  His eyes travel across my face, searching for more from me. I quickly glance away, but he takes a step closer and brushes some of my messy hair behind my ear.

  ‘Let’s go out tomorrow night,’ he says. ‘Me and thee. What about it?’

  ‘Are you sure you want to go out with a pariah?’

  ‘Fuck the village.’

  ‘I’d rather not,’ I say with a laugh.

  He holds my face and plants a tender kiss on my lips. ‘Seriously, Hev. We could go to a restaurant in Ingledown. Or go out in the village and show them all that the world has moved on since ten years ago.’

  ‘Hmm, I’m not sure the village is ready for that.’

  He laughs. ‘Ingledown it is then. Maybe a romantic stroll in the woods after.’

  The thought of walking in the woods makes my spine tingle. ‘No. Not the woods. I don’t want to go back there.’

  He leans in for another kiss, pulling me close, and then whispers in my ear, his breath hot against my skin, ‘I’d be with you. I’d keep you safe.’

  I think he might be half joking. But I still feel cold at the idea of going into the woods.

  When we break apart, I say, ‘Maybe we shouldn’t joke. Someone took a shot at me. There’s a person out there with a gun.’

  ‘Dad has a shotgun on the farm,’ Peter replies. ‘I could borrow it and walk around with you until the psycho reveals himself.’

  I choke out a hollow laugh. ‘I always forget just how many people in the countryside are armed.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s like the Wild West out here.’ He takes me in his arms for another long kiss, then breaks away. ‘I should get back. I told Dad I was popping out for a bite to eat. I’ll pick you up about seven tomorrow, okay?’

  I nod, wishing he wouldn’t leave.

  He winks at me as he steps out of the back door, and I quickly lock it behind me before checking the windows again. Then I head back to the kitchen, memories of what just happened flashing through my mind. I can’t believe I allowed myself to be so impulsive. But then I feel as though I haven’t been myself for days. I’ve let it all infect my ability to make decisions – the grief, the danger in the village, the torment of the past.

  I can’t deny that being with him brought me comfort when I needed it most. Yet what we did leaves a sour taste in my mouth, tainting the memory of his sweet kisses. By being with Peter, am I betraying the memory of Samuel? Or am I betraying my sister? Peter is stuck in the middle of all this, blissfully unaware of how much I loved his brother.

  I didn’t tell him my suspicions about Rosie, but if Rosie did play a part in Samuel’s disappearance, then he has a right to know. Not only am I not opening up my heart to him, I’m not letting him into my deepest thoughts either.

  After making myself a ham sandwich for lunch, cleaning up around the house and sorting through more of Mum’s clothes, the afternoon sinks into its sunset. I wander through into the bedroom I once shared with my sister and allow my fingers to trail over the window she climbed out of that night. If only I’d woken up, I could’ve stopped her before anything bad happened.

  I check my phone. Still no word from Rosie. Surely the addiction meeting is over by now. How long do these things last? An hour? Two? It has been several since I last heard from her. Do I even want her to come home? It depends on whether I believe she’s a liar or not, and I still don’t know. I want her to be my sister. And if she is telling the truth, I want her to be safe. I fire off a quick message to see how she’s doing. Getting back from Ingledown can take a while, with cancelled buses and country roads to negotiate. And I’m worried about her coming home in the dark.

  If it wasn’t her in the woods, someone else is still out there.

  * * *

  With the setting sun pouring warm light through the living-room windows, I find myself drifting in and out of sleep on the sofa, with an old episode of Friends on the TV at a low volume. Soon I find myself falling into a deep slumber, dreaming about Buckbell Woods. There’s Jack, waiting for me. I’m his wife-to-be, dressed in a floating white dress. Peter is the best man, and Rosie carries a bridesmaid’s bouquet. Mum and Dad sit in the front row of the little gathering by the bluebell field, their skulls shining through their flesh.

  I wake with a start, convinced that someone is in the house. Chest tight and muscles tense, I hurry around checking all the windows and doors. The nasty letter from the village sits in the middle of the kitchen table. Never have I felt so alone.

  According to my phone, it’s almost nine p.m. There are no messages from Rosie. I call her and leave a hurried voicemail about staying safe and watching out for anyone who might be following her.

  Why hasn’t she come back? I keep asking myself the same question over and over again: Am I in danger?

  The last bus from Ingledown was 7.15. Which means she either lied about where she was, gave into temptation and is in a pub somewhere, or someone has h
urt her on the way home. My heart flips over. No matter what, Rosie is my sister, and if someone has harmed her …

  I let out a scream of frustration. For ten years I’ve fought and berated myself for believing that Rosie killed my boyfriend, but despite it all, I can’t stay in this house if she’s out there hurt. There’s only one thing for it. I’m going to have to go outside and search for her. With a longing gaze towards my phone, I consider texting Peter, but our relationship is complicated now that we’ve been together. I don’t want to continue intruding in his life by constantly asking for help.

  The least I can do is ask the Campbells if they know anything. It’s late, and Joan was downright rude to me last time, but what if they saw Rosie on her way back home? At least then I’ll know if she tried to return. Fuck. Why did I fall asleep before darkness fell?

  I grab my jacket and hurry out onto the drive, making sure to lock the door behind me. I don’t want to come back and find someone waiting for me in the cottage.

  The gravel crunches under the weight of my trainers as I hurry towards the narrow track that connects us with the Campbells. There’s a fair stretch of land between us, which means I have to walk along the road in the dark for a few minutes, jumping at every change in atmosphere, every owl hooting in the distance. Anyone could be watching me. They could be waiting somewhere out there in the dark.

  It’s a little late for visitors, but I’m too desperate to truly care. They ignore the first knock, but I persist until Mrs Campbell opens the door, mouth set into a stern line.

  ‘Heather. What do you want?’

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you this late, but I wondered if you’d seen Rosie coming down the lane? Or maybe heard a car? A taxi.’

  ‘No,’ she says. ‘Nothing at all.’

  As she’s about to close the door, I reach out and try to push it open.