Little White Lies (11 page)

He meets my gaze. “What did Edna tell you?”

“Just that you didn’t move here under the best of circumstan
ces.” I watch him closely.

“She’s right.” He sighs. “To be honest, I didn’t have a choice—I
had
to move. I lost my job and my home where I used to live.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “What happened?”

He shakes his head. “There was a... misunderst
anding. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

A
misunderst
anding...
?

“Anyway, it’s a long story.” He shrugs. “I needed to make a fresh start—here’s as good a place as any.”

“To reinvent yourself?” I say.

He nods. “In a way, I think we all do it, to different degrees. But in the end it doesn’t work, you know?” He looks straight at me in the piercing way I find so disconcerting. “Wherever you go, however hard you try to reinvent yourself, there’s always one person you can’t fool. One person who’s too close, who sees through the web of lies, who knows the real you.”

His eyes stare deep into mine and I feel totally exposed.

Christian sighs. “You.”

I blink. “What?”

“No one can hide from themselves, from their memories.”

“Right.” I nod, relieved.

“Unless you’re like some of these ladies.” He glances around at the pensioners.

“What do you mean?”

“A lot of them have dementia,” he says. “They can’t remember who I am from week to week. Some of them can’t even remember who
they
are.” He sighs. “I’m a bit jealous, to be honest.”

“Jealous?”

“Sometimes I think it would be nice to forget, to start each day totally afresh like that—a clean slate—no baggage, no bad memories, no regrets.”

“Regrets?” I ask gently, not wanting to push him too far now he’s finally started to open up to me.

He sighs heavily. “I—”

“Tommy!” Daisy calls. “Hurry up, dear, you’ll miss the cake!”

“I’m right behind you, Aunt Daisy!” Christian replies, waving as she blows him a kiss.

“Sorry.” He smiles at me. “She’s convinced I’m her nephew.”

“I know.” I smile. “We met earlier. Why don’t you tell her the truth?”

“I tried to the first day I came here, but she got really upset.” Christian frowns. “Then a care worker told me her real nephew died in Afghanistan.”

“How awful.”

He nods. “I felt terrible the next time I visited—but she was thrilled to see me. She’d completely forgotten our conversation, and still thought I was her nephew, so now I just go with it.”

“You don’t feel bad, lying to her?”

“Is not telling the truth the same as lying?” he asks. “Is a white lie still a lie?”

I frown.

“If it’s not hurting anyone, and makes someone happy, surely it’s okay?” he says. “Sometimes telling little white lies is the only way to protect the people you care about from ugly truths.”

“I guess so,” I say uncertainly. “But it means you’re pretending to be someone you’re not.”

“Don’t we all do that?” He looks at me. “Even if it’s just to fit in?”

My cheeks burn. Does he remember everything I say?

“So who are you really, Louise Shepherd?” He smiles. “What’s your story?”

“Oh.” I shrug and look down at my hands. “I don’t really have one. My life’s pretty boring.”

“Don’t lie.”

“What?” I look up sharply.

“You can’t fool me,” he says.

I stare at him. Has he finally recognized me?
His eyes glitter in the sunlight.

“If you don’t want to tell me, that’s cool,” he says. “But don’t lie. You’re far from boring. I bet the person you write to in prison doesn’t think so either.”

“What? What do you mean?” Why would he mention that now? Does he know it’s Uncle Jim?

“Just that I think it’s really cool. Most people’s compassion wouldn’t stretch that far—not for people they don’t know. I just don’t know why you’re pretending to be someone you’re not, because the real you seems pretty cool to me.”

I shrug. “We’ve only just met. You don’t even know me.”

“You don’t have to know someone’s life history to know them,” he counters. “It’s what we
do
that defines us. I know you’re honest—you went out of your way to return my wallet when I dropped it,” he says. “And I know you’re slightly insecure, and go clubbing just to fit in with your friends, even though you secretly have much better taste.”

I smile.

“I know you’re generous—you helped out at the bar when I really needed you, despite having a twisted ankle. You’re a bit of a klutz, and shouldn’t be trusted with hot drinks....”

I grin.

“But most importantly, I know you’re a Libra, which of course tells me
everything
I need to know.” He grins, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket.

“You didn’t!” I laugh as he unfolds a horoscope page.

“ ‘Libras, represented by a pair of scales, endeavour to be fair and even-handed in all aspects of life, although this sometimes leads to difficulty in taking sides,’ ” he reads. “ ‘They can be very bossy.’ ”

“Hey!”

“ ‘They dislike noise, confusion, dirt, pressured decisions, and being rushed....’ ”

“True,” I relent.

“ ‘They always plan ahead, and have a meticulous eye for detail.’ ”

I bite my lip.

“ ‘They also love attention, admiration,
credit cards
...’ ”

I laugh.

“ ‘And gifts.’ ” He pulls a small square present from his pocket. “Happy birthday.”

“Christian!” I stare at in surprise. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Actually, I didn’t,” he confesses. “I’ve had it for ages. I’m a complete skinflint.”

I laugh as I unwrap a scratched CD case.

“Tinie Tempah?”

“I remember you saying you liked him.”

Wow, he really
does
remember everything I say.

“Thank you.” I smile. “It’s great.”

He grins. “Turn it over.”

I do as he says, then stare at the inlay.

“Oh my God, Christian, it’s signed!” I gasp. “I can’t accept this!”

“Course you can.” He shrugs. “I don’t even like him.”

“What?”

“I bought it from a charity shop by mistake.”

I raise an eyebrow. “By mistake?”

“Uh-huh. Anyway, I was going to chuck it the other day, but it seemed easier to give it to you. Less effort. Save the landfill, and all that.”

“Well, in that case”—I grin—“I’m all for recycling. Thank you.”

“Happy birthday.” He smiles.

“Christian!” someone shouts suddenly, startling me. “Christian! Come quick!” Shirley runs onto the lawn. “We’re about to bring out the birthday cakes!”

“We’d better go.” Christian grins. “After all, one of them’s for you!”

“Ugh!” I groan as I stagger out of the party. “I have eaten
far
too much cake!”

“No such thing,” Christian argues. “There’s
always
room for birthday cake. After all, it has no calories.”

I laugh. “If only!”

“It’s true,” Christian says, deadpan. “In fact, you
have
to eat it all on your birthday, otherwise it’s bad luck.”

“Oh, bugger, I need an ATM,” I remember suddenly. “I haven’t got enough cash for a taxi. And I need to call a taxi too!”

“There’s an ATM in the middle of the village, but there aren’t any local taxi firms,” Christian says. “You could try a Sheffield cab, but it will take half an hour to get here.”

“Crap!” I moan.

“See, it’s bad luck—you should’ve eaten more cake!”

“What am I going to do?” I glance at my watch. Five-thirty. “It’ll be starting to get dark soon too.”

“The answer,” Christian says with a grin, “is staring you in the face.” He nods at his motorbike.

“No. Way,” I say firmly.

“See you later, alligator!” He climbs on.

“Wait—you’re just going to leave me here?” I protest. “On my birthday?”

“No, I’m offering you a ride.” He pats the seat behind him.

I hesitate.

“Come on,” he says, those blue eyes dancing at me. “You’re not scared of falling, are you?”

But I am. Suddenly I’m terrified of falling. And it has absolutely nothing to do with the bike.

“There’s nothing to be scared of.” He smiles. “I’ve got a spare crash helmet, and I’ll even let you wear my special protective leather jacket. Then, if you do fall, you won’t feel a thing.”

“Very reassuring,” I say nervously. If only there was another way back...

“Come on!” he laughs. “You might even enjoy it—you never know till you try, remember? And I’ll look after you,” he says. “I promise.”

I don’t have much of a choice. Reluctantly, I take the big leather jacket and helmet and pull them on.

“Suits you.” Christian winks, putting on his own helmet. “Now, the important thing is to hold on
really
tight.”

“Yeah, right,” I say, climbing on and wrapping my arms around him as loosely as possible, the familiar foresty scent already making me feel dizzy.
Calm down,
I tell myself.
It’s just the cocktail messing with your head. It’s just a way to get home. It’s okay... Oh God, he smells so good...

“Tighter,” he insists, tugging my arms closer around him, and a shiver tingles down my spine as I feel the warmth of his body through his jacket. “That’s better.”

It’s too close. It’s too dangerous.
Kenny’s words echo in my head.

“Ready?”

Hell, no.
One
mistake, one slipup, and it’s all over....

“Steady?”

I’ve never been more unsteady in my life—what am I
doing
?

“Go!”

My body lurches backwards as we set off, and I shriek, instantly clinging tighter to Christian as we swing out of the car park in an explosion of gravel.

The road rushes beneath us like a concrete river as we roar along the country lanes, trees flashing past, the evening sunlight flickering like a strobe as we race beneath the dappled canopy of the trees, lazy cows and horses glancing up as we disturb the peace.

My heart beats madly, my whole body trembling as the engine roars like an untamed beast between my legs, Christian’s body jammed against mine as the wind rushes past like a tornado, so intense, so fast, so dangerous.

Every corner takes my breath away as we dip and lean and turn, one way, then another, more like we’re flying than driving, till finally we swing to a stop outside my halls of residence, and the bike’s roar dulls to a contented purr, then judders to silence.

Christian pulls off his helmet. “Are you okay?”

“That,” I gasp, “was
amazing
!”

“See!” He grins. “I knew you’d love it once you tried it.”

“It was incredible!” I beam, climbing off the bike and shaking my hair free from the helmet. “Thank you.”

“Any time.” He smiles.

“And thank you for today, for my cake, my present—ev
erything.”

“You had a good time?”

I nod. “A surprisingly good time.”

“A
surprisingly
good time?” He raises his eyebrows. “As in you weren’t
expecting
to have a good time with me?”

I giggle giddily. “There was a lot I wasn’t expecting—a care home, riding a motorbike, blue cocktails....”

“Point taken.” He grins. “But despite all those things, you still had a good time?”

“Yeah.” I smile. “I did.”

“Me too.” He beams, his gaze deep in mine. “Happy birthday.”

I beam back at him, drowning in those eyes, my whole body warm and tingling.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

I turn, startled, as Vix races out of the building, a cake tin clutched in her arms.

“Happy birthday, Lou,” she says, presenting the tin to me as Kenny appears behind her. “You can’t have a birthday without a cake!”

“Vix! You shouldn’t have!” I smile, opening the tin. Inside lies a singed lump with
Happy Birthday
scrawled over it in pink icing.

“Wow!” I gasp.

“She’s been slaving over a hot oven all afternoon,” Kenny says, glancing from me to Christian.

“Well, I wasn’t given any notice!” Vix nudges me. “Hope it tastes as good as it looks!”

“Mm.” I nod enthusiast
ically.

“Well, go on, then—try it!” Kenny urges.

“Oh, I don’t have a knife,” I say.

“Use your fingers—it’s your birthday!” Vix winks.

“I just ate,” I tell her. “I’m stuffed!”

“Just a tiny piece—just to taste,” Vix insists.

Here goes!
I break off a piece of cake—black on the inside as well—and start to pop it in my mouth.

“Stop!” Vix squeals with laughter as she grabs my arm. “I can’t believe you were really going to
eat
that—it’s terrible!”

“She set off all the halls’ smoke detectors and everything,” Kenny adds. “The whole wing had to be evacuated!”

“What can I say? I’m not a cook!” Vix shrugs. “So, unfortunately, no birthday cake. But I
do
know how to party.” She winks. “I’ve managed to reserve the VIP room for all of us at that new club in the city center!” She beams at me, and Christian and I force a smile.

Great.
More clubbing.

“Sorry, Vix...
,
” Christian starts, and my heart sinks. Just as I thought things were going well between us... “But unfortunately I sort of already promised I’d cook Louise a birthday curry,” he lies, glancing at me.

I stare at him in surprise, then smile.

“I’d put it off, of course, but I’ve already put the chicken into marinade, and I’m not sure it’ll keep till tomorrow.”

“Oh right. Of course.” Vix’s face falls.

“Sorry,” Christian says. “I didn’t know you had plans—you can go clubbing instead, Lou, if you want?”

“Oh no—I couldn’t,” I say quickly. “Not after you’ve gone to so much trouble.”

“Well, we can go out afterwards,” Kenny says, an edge to his voice.

“Actually, then we’ve got an Xbox tournament lined up—I got Lou the new
Halo
for her birthday, and she naively challenged me to a dual.” Christian smiles at me. “There’s money and honor at stake.”

“Xbox?” Kenny blinks.

Curry and Xbox. I smile. He remembered.

“Besides, I can’t really dance much with my ankle,” I add.

“Oh yeah.” Vix frowns.

“So is eight o’clock okay for you guys?” Christian asks.

“What?” Vix looks up, surprised. “Oh, I thought you meant just—”

“It’s not a party without you, Vix.”

She beams.

“And should I get red or white wine? Or both? We are celebrating, after all.”

“Well, in that case.” Vix grins. “Make mine a bottle of vodka.”

Christian winks at me. “Vodka it is.”