Little White Lies (19 page)

My heart constricts.

“My lawyer advised me to plead guilty to burglary—he said there wasn’t any evidence to prove my story, that I’d get a much shorter sentence if I did, that otherwise I could go down for years and years.” He looks away. “So the police concluded that it was a burglary gone wrong. They said that Tariq and I had planned it together, but he had become impatient and broken in without me. Then, when Poppy had surprised him, he’d panicked and attacked her. And the jury bought it.” He shakes his head. “It’s crazy. Tariq
knew
she was there. That’s the whole reason we’d gone round—to pick her up!”

“So why
did
he attack her?” I ask quietly.

“I don’t know.” Christian looks at me for a long moment, his eyes pained. “I can only assume the worst. They were in her bedroom, after all.”

I hug my arms tighter, look away.

“If only I hadn’t been late—if I’d got there sooner.” He sighs miserably. “I’ll never forgive myself.”

“What about your text to Poppy,
saying
you’d be late?” I say suddenly. “Your phone was smashed, and the records expired, but didn’t they find it on Poppy’s phone? Wouldn’t that prove you were friends?”

“The police said they didn’t find it, so I assumed she’d deleted it.” Christian frowns. “Until today. Until I saw your phone cover in the car.”

“What do you mean?”

“Poppy had a cassette tape in her bag—I saw it when I hid the bag and thought nothing of it, except it was a bit odd, old-fashioned—who has cassettes these days, right? But what if it
wasn’t
? What if it was a retro phone case like yours?”

I stare at him. It could well have been. She gave me mine, after all—what if she’d bought one for herself too?

“Then the police might’ve
lied
about having Poppy’s phone...?” I frown.

“I told you,” Christian says. “I can’t trust them. If they can leak my location to vigilantes, who knows what else they’re capable of?”

“Vigilantes?” I ask quietly.

He sighs. “I got death threats all the time in prison. People who thought I’d got off lightly, who wanted to take justice into their own hands.”

I look away guiltily.

“And now Poppy...” He rubs his hands over his face. “Now that it’s all over the news again, they’ll be more determined than ever. I can’t believe they found me so quickly—it can’t be a coincidence.”

My stomach tightens. I can’t believe it either. The thought that there are other vigilantes around, hunting him down, ready to go to such extreme measures, gives even
me
the creeps.

“I can’t trust the police to keep me safe anymore. I can’t trust anyone.” He shrugs. “Except you.” His eyes pierce mine and I look away. “And Joe, of course. Wherever he’s got to.”

Just then there’s the sound of footsteps running along the balcony outside.

“That’ll be him now.” Christian wanders to the window. Then suddenly he rushes to the door.

“It’s locked,” I tell him. “Joe locked it.”

His head whips round. “Joe
locked
it?”

I shrug. “But he’s back, right?”

“No. Not Joe.” He hurriedly slides all the bolts across the door, then grabs my arm and drags me off the sofa. “We’ve got to go.”

“Christian, wait!”

“We’ve got to get out of here.” He hustles me into the bathroom. “Shit. No window.”

“And we’re on the third floor!” I add.

“We could lock ourselves in.” He bolts the door.

“That won’t keep anyone out for long.”

“Shit!” He opens the bathroom door and looks around hopelessly, the footsteps just outside now. “Shit!”

“Maybe it’s for the best, Christian.” I hesitate. “Maybe you should turn yourself in.”

“Lou!” He stares at me. “It’s not the police!”

“What?” I stare at him, goose bumps prickling down my arms. “What do you mean? Who is it then?”

There’s a sudden thud at the front door.

“We know you’re in there, Niles!” a man’s voice yells angrily. “And this time there’s nowhere to run!”

I shriek as a cricket bat smashes through the frosted window in an explosion of glass.

Definitely not the police.

Christian grabs my hand and races to the bedroom, slamming the door behind us, but there’s no lock. He looks around desperately. Amid the debris of dirty clothes, crockery, and papers, there’s a disheveled double bed by the window, a desk, and a wardrobe.

“Quick,” he cries. “The wardrobe!” Together, we push and shove, but it doesn’t budge.

“It’s too heavy!” I cry.

Outside the room there’s the sound of splintering wood as they break through the front door. We have to do something—
fast!

“Desk!” I cry. We shove it onto its side, sending more papers and cups and cans tumbling to the floor, and quickly push it across the doorway—just as the handle turns and the door smashes into the desk, making me jump.

It opens an inch, then a hand snakes through. Quickly, Christian hurls himself against the door. There’s a crunch and a yell; then the hand disappears, followed by loud swearing. Christian dives to the floor, wedging himself against the desk, his feet braced against the heavy wardrobe, and I do the same.

“Thanks,” he pants.

Suddenly a force like a car crash slams into the door, snatching my breath away.

“Are you okay?” Christian whispers.

I nod. “How many are there?” I hiss through clenched teeth.

“I don’t know. At least—
Shit!
”

This time it’s a tank that strikes my back. Pain ripples through my whole body and my knees begin to tremble.

“Lou—go and sit on the bed,” Christian says.

“No,” I argue, my spine throbbing. “You can’t hold them by yourself.”

“I don’t think we can hold them for long anyway, and you’re going to get really hurt when they burst through.”

I don’t move. I told Kenny to call the police, and suddenly a mob of bloodthirsty thugs are at the door? It
can’t
be a coincidence! This is my fault, but Christian doesn’t deserve this. This isn’t justice. Even if he is guilty, and everything he’s just told me is a lie, he doesn’t deserve this—I wanted to
scare
him, not kill him!

“Please, Lou,” Christian begs, just as another battering ram smacks against the door, pushing it open a centimeter. His eyes stream as we shove it closed again. “It’s me they want. They won’t hurt you.”

What should I do?
He’s right—even with both of us pushing we can’t keep them out for long. My heart racing, I scuttle over to the bed.

“Thank you.” He sighs, his eyes defeated as he braces himself to cover the whole door.

But I don’t sit down. I grab the end of the bed, its legs screeching against the wooden floor as I push it towards the door. Despite everything, I’d rather take my chances with Christian than a violent mob.

“Move!” I yell at Christian, shoving the bed as hard as I can, wedging it between the desk and the wardrobe. There’s no way the door can open now. As if to prove it the door shudders again but doesn’t budge.

Christian stares at me. “Nice one!”

“Thanks,” I pant. “But now we’re trapped.”

“Trapped is better than caught,” he says grimly.

“So what now?” I whisper, flinching each time the door rattles. “We just wait till they go away?”

Christian shakes his head. He crosses to the window and peers outside.

“We’re three floors up,” I remind him. “It’s impossible!”

“Not impossible.” His gaze darts around the room. “Difficult, but not impossible.”

He grabs two pairs of jeans and starts knotting the legs together.

“Are you serious?” I whisper. “It’s at least a ten-meter drop outside!”

“Look around,” he says. “There must be enough material here to reach the ground.”

He’s right. I fly to the bed and start stripping it. “They always used sheets in Enid Blyton!”

“Brilliant.” Christian smiles at me.

I pull the scissors from my pocket and cut the sheets in half for extra length.

“Where’d you get those?” Christian eyes them warily.

“The kitchen,” I say hesitantly. “I thought they might... come in handy.” I look away quickly and hack at another sheet. It rips easily between the sharp blades, and I try not to think about what they could have done to Christian’s flesh, had things gone differently.

We work swiftly, my fingers fumbling with the knots, my heart racing with every thud against the door.

Then suddenly there’s a splintering sound.

My head whips round. “They’re breaking the door down!”

“Quick!” Christian lunges for the window with the makeshift rope we’ve cobbled together. “Throw it out!”

But the end dangles hopelessly a few meters above the concrete pavement.

“It’s not long enough!” I panic.

“Shit!” Christian hisses as the door splinters again. Shards of light begin to stream through. “We don’t have much time.... We’ll just have to jump from the bottom of the rope.”

“Jump?” I stare at him. “Are you crazy?”

“Ladies first,” Christian says, tying the end of the sheets to the radiator pipe.

“Are you kidding? They’re after
you
. They won’t hurt me, remember?”

“I can’t take that chance,” he argues, pushing me towards the window. “Besides, you have to go first.”

“Why?”

“I need to check it’s safe.” He grins.

Large shards of wood spatter onto the bed.

“Lou, go—before they see what we’re doing,” he pleads. “Otherwise it’s over. They’ll be down before us.”

“Okay.” I climb gingerly onto the narrow window ledge, my legs trembling. The ground rushes beneath me, the makeshift rope in my hands wafting flimsily in the breeze.

What if it snaps? What if the knots aren’t tight enough? What if I can’t hold on?

“Lou, you have to
go
!” Christian urges. “Take a deep breath, take it steady, and don’t look down. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Okay!” Clutching the sheet tightly, I step backwards off the window ledge, holding my breath as my arms suddenly take all my weight—but the sheet doesn’t break. I lean back impossibly, terrifyingly, dizzyingly far, till I’m sure I’m going to fall—then finally my foot meets the wall. Slowly, carefully, hand over hand, I inch my way down, the cold air whispering in my ears as I concentrate on holding on, my hands slick with sweat, the knotted sheets threatening to slip straight through my fingers at any moment.

“You’re doing great,” Christian hisses. “But can you speed up a bit?”

I try. I take bigger steps, faster, till it feels like I must be nearly at the bottom.

Then I pass a window—I’m only at the second floor! Christian’s anxious face stares down at me and my blood pumps as I take quicker, longer steps, then— Shit!

My foot slips completely and my face rockets towards the brickwork.

“Lou!”
Christian calls.

I twist quickly and my shoulder takes the impact, grazing painfully against the rough wall as I twirl helplessly, my arms burning as I hang on to the rope for dear life.

“Lou!” Christian calls. “Jump!”

I stare up at him. “Are you crazy?”

“Just do it!” he hisses. “Trust me!”

Trust him?
The guy who lied to everyone about everything?

“On three,” he hisses. “One, two—”

I take a deep breath.

“Three!”

I let go, feeling completely weightless for a second before I crash into a hedge below.

In a second, Christian is out of the window, rapelling like a pro—and not a moment too soon. When he’s halfway down a man with dirty blond hair peers out.

I stare at him in horror. It’s one of the guys from the blue Ford in Sheffield. They
were
after Christian!

“He’s gone out the window!” he yells back to someone in the flat. “Go down and cut him off!” He grins grimly. “While I
cut
him off.”

“Christian!” I squeal as the man disappears. “Hurry!”

He bounds faster and faster—but he’s not fast enough. Suddenly the rope slackens and he drops like a stone, crumpling to the ground.

“Take that,
murderer
!” the man yells as his head disappears back inside.

“Christian!” I rush to his side. He’s clutching his left leg. “Oh my God, are you okay?”

“Car!” he gasps. “Get the car!”

I scramble to my feet and sprint to Uncle Jim’s car, slamming on the accelerator as I screech into the road running behind the flats, praying the men haven’t got to him first.

I round the corner and spot the gang up ahead, just where Christian landed. My heart plummets. I’m too late!

Suddenly a dark shape hurls itself out of the bushes next to me and I immediately hit the brakes. The gang’s heads turn as one, and my heart flips as they shout and start racing towards me.

Christian yanks open the back door and crawls inside. “Go!”

I spin the car around and speed off down the road.

“You...,” I pant, “... have got to stop
doing
that!”

“Sorry!” he gasps.

I scan the rearview mirror. The gang is sprinting after us, but they’re not fast enough. One by one they disappear from sight; then I round a few corners swiftly, till I’m sure we’ve lost them.

“Are you okay?” I glance round.

His trousers are covered in blood.

“Shit, Christian—you need to get to a hospital!”

“No!” he says firmly. “No hospitals. It’s too dangerous.”

“But—”

“I’m fine,” he insists.

“Fine?”
I question.

He doesn’t answer.

“Fine,” I say reluctantly. “Then where?”

“Anywhere,” Christian sighs. “Nowhere’s safe anymore.”