Little White Lies (24 page)

“Leave the bag, Lou—come on!” Vix cries. “There’s no time!”

“I can’t!” I cry, pulling and tugging, desperate to get free—then suddenly the strap rips and I land flat on my face in the mud, the backpack still strapped to one shoulder—with the vicious dog bounding straight at me.

I jump to my feet and we race across the allotments, straight past the old man, and I hurl myself at the gate, praying it’s open, but—
shit
!—it’s locked. We both leap at the fence, but while Vix starts to scramble over it, I can’t get a grip! I try again, managing to hook my fingertips over the top, then scrabble desperately with my legs, finally managing to get my arm over—just as the dog’s jaws close around my shoe, yanking me backwards.

Shit!

“Lou!” Vix cries from the other side of the fence.

I cling on for dear life as the dog wrestles with my foot. I shake my leg, kick at him, and yell for all I’m worth, but it’s useless. This is one determined dog. I change tack and start kicking at my shoe instead, pushing and wriggling—till finally it drops to the ground, where the dog pounces on it. Hastily I pull myself over the fence and we leg it back to Kenny’s car.

I hurl myself inside, adrenaline pumping wildly in my veins, a stupid smile plastered across my face.

“We did it!”
I cry. “I can’t believe we’ve got Poppy’s phone—I can’t wait to show Christian!”

“Now?”
Vix asks, swinging the car into the road. “What about the funeral?”

I look at my watch: 10:20. “That’s over four and a half hours away—I’ve got time.” I beam at her. “Christian could be cleared by then!”

She drops me off near the Travelodge and I run inside, up the stairs and all the way down the corridor, fumbling with the lock in my haste to tell Christian the good news. Then suddenly the door swings open on its own.

I freeze. The room is totally trashed.

The lamp lies smashed on the floor, shattered cups and saucers are scattered like broken eggshells, bedding is strewn everywhere, and the mirror has a huge crooked crack like a spider’s web threading through it, sending my splintered reflection staring back at me.

My eyes flick quickly around the room, panicking. Tentatively, I tiptoe inside.

“Christian?”

Suddenly someone grabs me from behind, their hand covering my mouth, stifling my screams.

I scream and struggle and kick, but he’s just too strong.

“Shh, Lou—stop! It’s me!”

The hand disappears from my mouth and I whip round to face Christian.

“What the—”

“Shh!”
he hisses. “They found us.”

“What? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says. “I was in the bathroom when they burst in, and I managed to scramble onto the fire escape and get away. Are
you
okay? What happened to your shoe?”

“Dog. Long story. But look!” I beam, holding up the backpack.

His face lights up. “You found Poppy’s bag!”

“And her phone!” I grin. “But it’s dead, Christian—we need to charge it up.”

He nods. “First we need to get out of here.”

We hurry down the fire escape, but when we get to the car I can’t find the keys anywhere.

“Shit!” I curse. “They must’ve fallen out of my pocket when that bloody dog chased me! What are we going to do?”

“Give me the hoodie.”

“What?” I shrug it off and pass it to him. “Why?”

Christian scans the car park quickly, then wraps his hoodie round his fist and smashes the car window.

“Christian!”

“We need to get out of here
now,
Lou. These guys don’t muck about. They could be back any moment.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“I couldn’t leave you,” he says. “I was afraid they’d hurt you to try to find me.”

I swallow.

Christian swiftly brushes the glass off the seat and begins tampering with some wires beneath the steering wheel.

“Where’d you learn that?” I ask incredulously as the engine bursts into life and I jump into the passenger seat.

“You go to prison, you pick up stuff,” he says with a shrug as we swing out of the car park onto the road.

Which time?
I wonder, shrugging the hoodie back on, a shiver skipping down my spine as I remember his fraud conviction.

“What?” Christian frowns.

Shit
. Did I say that out loud?

“How did you even—’ He sighs heavily. “The papers.”

I don’t correct him.

“Lou...” Christian looks at me for a long moment. “I didn’t go to prison for that—I got a reprimand. And it was all a misunderst
anding.”

“Another one?” I ask curtly.

He sighs. “Yes.”

“Right.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Believe a con man?” I counter, then sigh. “I just wish you’d tell me everything,” I mutter. “Otherwise I don’t know what to believe.”

“Lou.” Christian takes my hand, but I pull it away. “Lou, please.”

My hand closes around Poppy’s phone in my jeans pocket as we speed away, but just because it was there doesn’t mean Christian’s text will be on it. It doesn’t prove anything. I close my eyes, my head spinning as doubt creeps back into my mind.

Suddenly he swings the car into a narrow side street and pulls over. My eyes fly open. “What are you doing?”

“Telling you everything.” Christian takes my hands in his, looks me straight in the eye. “When I was sixteen I did some busking. I told you I used to sketch people’s portraits and sometimes I’d do some magic tricks as well—card tricks, that sort of thing, using my knack for remembering numbers—and sometimes punters would bet that they knew which card would come out and sometimes, usually, they’d lose. But it was a magic trick—they knew that—they were paying for a show.”

I frown, unsure where this is going.

“But then this one guy didn’t like losing his money, so he called the police, and I got a reprimand.”

I look at him. “That’s it?”

“I swear, that’s it.” He crosses his heart. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Lou, I promise. I’m done with that. That’s no life, it’s just... fake. It’s not real. It’s not worth it.”

I search his eyes, so clear, so blue. Then I smile. “Okay.” I lean over and hug him close, feeling awful for doubting him—and for keeping so many secrets of my own. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he sighs. “No, I’m just... Shit.”

“What?” I laugh, but his body tenses around me.

“We’re being followed.”

“What?”

Christian glares at the rearview mirror. “That car parked behind us. It was in the hotel car park.” As I turn to look my blood runs cold.

“It’s the blue Ford I saw in Sheffield!” I pull my hood up quickly as Christian swings the car into the road.

“But why didn’t they get out?” I ask anxiously. “What are they waiting for?”

“Backup,” Christian replies darkly.

Sure enough, at the junction ahead, a red BMW screeches into view, blocking the end of the road as the blue car pulls out behind us and seals our exit.

“We’re trapped!”

All the doors on the car in front fly open and four huge men climb out. Behind us, three more get out of the Ford, and they all close in on us.

My hand moves to the door handle. Maybe we can run for it.

“Hold on,” Christian whispers, his hand still on the steering wheel, his expression tense. “Just a few more seconds...”

The men are almost at our car, their faces stern, their hands balled into fists. I nearly jump out of my skin as the first guy punches the bonnet; then Christian slams his foot on the accelerator and swerves around them, heading straight for the empty BMW.

I grip my seat tightly, wincing as we slam into the car, sending it spinning wildly into the main road. Christian veers hard to the left, tires screeching as he speeds away from the side street.

I twist round to see the four big guys racing to the BMW, horns blaring angrily around them as they jump inside. It’s badly dented, but unfortunately still drivable. The car spins a full 180 degrees; then the Ford pulls out behind it, in hot pursuit.

Suddenly I’m thrown against the window as Christian swerves to the right.

“Where are we going?” I ask frantically.

“Anywhere they aren’t.” He spins the steering wheel to the left and I’m slammed towards him as we turn down another side street.

I stare at the wing mirror. “Have we lost them?”

“Not yet,” Christian says grimly, and sure enough, moments later, the red BMW squeals round the corner behind us.

Shit!

Ahead of us, the traffic lights change to amber and a group of pedestrians get ready to cross.

“Christian—” I begin, but he keeps going, his eyes focused intently on the road ahead. “Christian!”

The light flicks to red.

“Christian!”
I scream as a woman steps off the pavement.

He swerves hard, missing her by a meter. She leaps back onto the pavement, her hair blowing like a banshee’s as we zip through the crossing, the BMW roaring behind us.

Christian grits his teeth as we race on towards a T-junction. Cars on the main road speed past in both directions, but Christian doesn’t slow down. My heart pounds as we zoom towards the junction; then suddenly Christian spins the steering wheel and we swing to the left onto the main road—just centimeters from a white truck. The driver blares his horn angrily, but as I stare out the back windscreen I spot the red BMW screech to a halt just as a long car transporter charges past.

Phew.

But suddenly the blue Ford swings out of another side street, right on our tail. Christian swears. He weaves quickly away through the traffic, but the Ford’s still gaining on us. Then the lights change to red.

“Shit!” Christian slams on his brakes, and we skid to a stop just centimeters from the car in front.

Behind us, the doors on the blue Ford fly open and two burly guys jump out of the backseat.

I stare at the lights, praying, wishing,
willing
them to change, while Christian squirms in his seat, trying to find a way through the traffic, but it’s too busy—there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to go.

Except the verge.

“Hold on!” Christian cries, swinging the car up the steep grassy slope. I grab the door handle to keep from falling out of my seat, then turn to look behind.

The blue Ford swerves swiftly out of the traffic, pausing only briefly as the two men dive back inside before racing after us. I hold on tight, my knuckles white as we drive along at a crazy angle, the other drivers staring at us as we race past.

Suddenly the grass verge ahead abruptly ends, sloping steeply down to meet the traffic lights, still glaring red at us—as straight ahead two lanes of cars speed around a busy roundabout.

I expect Christian to swerve again, to turn left and join the traffic, or follow the verge, but instead, he watches the stream of cars intently, then suddenly slams his foot on the accelerator, the vehicle jolting wildly as it flies down the hill, speeds straight across the line of traffic and onto the grassy roundabout. The blue Ford follows suit, narrowly missing a double-decker bus.

We judder over the roundabout, then fly down the other side, traffic whizzing past in front of us. I brace myself as we crash back down onto the road, cars swerving wildly to avoid us.

I glance behind, watching as the blue Ford finally slams to a stop to avoid colliding with the medley of vehicles tangled together in Christian’s wake. I keep my eyes fixed on it as it shrinks, then finally disappears behind us. Then I take a deep breath and suddenly realize I’m shaking.

“Are you okay?” Christian turns.

I nod numbly, my hand still glued, white-knuckled, to the door. “Where’d you learn to drive like that?”

“My grandad.” Christian grins. “Gardening wasn’t his only hobby. He was a bit of an adrenaline junkie too, and he took me go-karting a few times.

“Go-karting?”
I laugh.

Suddenly a siren begins to wail, wiping the smiles from both our faces. I turn in my seat, my heart sinking as I spot the flashing blue lights of the police car.

The traffic behind us peels away as the police car slices through like a lightsaber. But as the cars in front do the same, Christian charges through the gap, forcing Uncle Jim’s Toyota up to its top speed as the police car quickly gains on us. Then suddenly another one joins it.

Christian races through an amber light, then turns sharply to the left, leaving the divided highway and heading down an exit ramp towards a street lined with shops. Ahead of us the lights of a railroad crossing flash warningly as the barrier begins to lower.

“Christian, stop!” I shriek. “It’s the police—they won’t hurt you—it’s not worth
dying
for!”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes just flick back and forth between the rearview mirror and the road; then suddenly he slams on the brakes and the car screeches to a stop just in front of the barrier.

“You’re right,” he says. “It’s not worth getting you killed.”

Behind us, the police cars swerve, blocking our only exit.

I stare at Christian, my pulse throbbing. “You’re handing yourself in?”

“Not exactly.” He takes my hand. “Lou, I need a favor.”

“Anything,” I promise, my voice jittery.

“I need you to pretend to be my hostage,” he says. “That way you won’t be in trouble and it’ll buy me some time—to get away.”

“No, Christian—it’s too dangerous!” I argue. “We’ll just show the police Poppy’s phone. It proves you’re innocent!”

“But it’s out of battery,” he reminds me.

“I—I know,” I falter. “But as soon as we charge it up—”

He sighs. “We don’t even know that my text’s on there—if it’s even going to do any good. I can’t take the risk, Lou. I broke my curfew—they’ll lock me up again. Please, do this for me.”

“No!” I cling to him. “We’re in this together, remember? If you go now, I might never see you again.”

He hugs me close.

“We’ll be together again. I know it. We’re meant to be. It’s fate, remember?”

I close my eyes miserably. None of it’s been fate.

“Please, Lou? Trust me?”

I hug him tight, screwing up my eyes as I breathe him in. “Okay.”

“Okay.” He grabs Poppy’s bag. “Let’s go.”

He kicks open the car door and drags me out with him.

“Stay back!” he yells at the gathered police officers. “I have a hostage!”

“Let her go, Niles! You’re only making it worse for yourself!” a policeman cries, slowly stepping closer.

“Back off!” Christian warns. “I’ll let her go if you let me go. If not...”

Suddenly I gasp as I feel something cold against my neck. The scissors from Joe’s flat.

“You don’t want to do this, Niles,” the policeman says, inching closer.

“You’re right,” Christian agrees. “I don’t. But if you leave me no choice.”

I cry out as the scissors nick my flesh.

The policeman halts in his tracks.

“I’m warning you,” Christian growls.

I screw my eyes shut tight, my pulse racing, afraid to even breathe with the edge of the blade pressing against my throat, Christian’s arm gripping me so tightly it hurts. But I guess he has to make it seem real.

“Okay, stand down!” the policeman calls to the other officers. “Back away.”

I open my eyes as they all slowly retreat to their cars.

“Now keep your word, Niles,” he says sternly. “Release the girl.”

Christian hesitates for a moment, looks around, then leans his mouth close to my ear and whispers, “I love you.”

He shoves me forward roughly, sending me tumbling to the ground.