Little White Lies (31 page)

“You were a-ages and I th-thought you’d g-gone away again!” I hear Millie whimper. “W-without saying g-goodbye!”

“Oh, sweetheart, I promised I’d read you a story first, didn’t I? I don’t break my promises, princess,” he says softly. “Now, let’s see what that naughty Gerty’s up to, shall we?
Gerty was very excited. She was going to Jenny’s party that afternoon....”
He begins the familiar tale, his voice filled with forced brightness. “Isn’t that exciting?”

“Mm-hmm.” She sniffles and my heart aches.

Poor Millie
. What a rough time she’s had—losing a sister she can barely remember, now getting her daddy back for just a few short hours, knowing he’ll be snatched away again any moment.

I slump into my room and close the door. It hurts when you lose someone you love after so short a time.
Especially when there’s nothing you can do about it.

I plunge my hands into my pockets miserably. Suddenly my eyes fly open.

Maybe there
is
something I can do. I hurry over to my old desktop computer, pull the USB necklace from my pocket, and plug it in.

It’s worth a try, I reason. It might all be homework and photos and stuff, but by some miracle there might actually be
something—
anything—
proving Christian’s innocence, and I’m going to bloody well search every single document till I’m sure.

I type in the passcode and a whole bunch of files pop onto the screen. I painstakingly open each one and scroll through it carefully. Essays, coursework, photos... Then, suddenly, a document opens filled with different PIN numbers and passwords.

I glance at the file name:
Cryptology.
Nice.

I scan the list of passwords quickly. Online banking, email, Facebook, blog, Twitter, Movie-Memories... I frown. I’ve never heard of Movie-Memories. I open a webpage and type it into the browser and instantly a website opens:
Movie-Memories—the secure way to share your video diary with family and friends.

I stare at the screen. A video diary?

I glance back at the password document and quickly type Poppy’s password and user name into the login box. A list of dates and times scrolls down in front of me, each with a frozen thumbnail of Poppy looking into the camera beside them.

I click on one at random and my heart leaps as Poppy springs to life, grinning at the camera, wearing a paper party hat and blowing a plastic whistle.

“I can’t believe I’m sixteen!” she squeals, her eyes shining excitedly. “I’m old enough to smoke—lega
lly—but ugh!” She screws up her nose and I smile. “Old enough to get married—sc
ary!” She pulls a horrified face. “Old enough to play the lottery...” She waves a pink ticket at the webcam. “Who knows, by the time anyone sees this I might be a multimilli
onaire! What a cool birthday
that
would be!”

I grin. She looks so happy.

“Well, it’s already pretty damn cool actually, as I got some in
credible
prezzies! Look at these!” She hoists her leg in the air to show off a brown leather knee-high boot. “Four-inch heels!” she squeals. “I don’t have to be a midget anymore!”

I laugh out loud. Poppy was always paranoid about her height and I was always jealous she was so petite and delicate.

“And look what Lulu got me!” She holds up a shiny MP3 player. “
And
she filled it with all my favorite songs—I have my very own sound track! How cool is
that
? Do I have the best cousin in the world or what? Thanks, Lulu!” She blows a kiss at the camera and I beam.

“I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.” She smiles straight at the camera. “I wonder where I’ll be in another sixteen years?
What
I’ll be? What are you now, Poppy Willoughby-White?” She taps the screen. “A dropout? A housewife? Or did you finally fulfill your life-long ambition of playing lead guitar in a band? Of course, if I win the lottery tonight, none of that will matter! The life of a multimilli
onaire would suit me very nicely, thank you very much—and I could start my own band! Now excuse me, darlings, but my presence is required in the kitchen to eat vast quantities of birthday cake!” She blows another kiss at the camera, then reaches forward and clicks the webcam off.

I stare at the screen.
The luckiest girl in the world
... My heart aches for her. She would’ve made a wonderful guitarist. A wonderful anything, if she’d had the chance.

I scan the list of diary entries till I find the last one, dated 24 June—the day she was attacked! Quickly, I click the link.

“So this is going to be my last entry for a couple of days.” Poppy smiles. “Because I am going to...” She beats a drumroll on her desk. “Glastonbury! Whoop, whoop! I just hope it doesn’t flood this year, as Wellies
so
aren’t a good look on me.
Why
hasn’t someone designed Wellies with wedges? Hello?” She rolls her eyes. “Actually, I wouldn’t have time to chat at all except Leo’s running late. Again.
Typical
!”

I stare at the screen in disbelief—this is it—proof! Evidence that Christian was telling the truth. Poppy
was
going away with him, they
were
friends, and this proves it—from her own lips!

“I wish he’d hurry up, though.” She checks her watch anxiously. “I can’t wait to get away. Mum and Millie have gone to Gran’s for the weekend, and—”

Suddenly there’s a faint noise in the background and Poppy glances out of the window. Then her face falls. From further inside the house I hear a door slam; then heavy footsteps stomp up the stairs.

Shit. This is it.

I stare intently at the screen, watching, waiting, my breath tight in my chest, my heart pounding.

But is it Tariq—or Christian?

Poppy hurriedly fumbles with the computer mouse, the keyboard, the webcam—then suddenly her bedroom door bangs open, making us both jump. A man stands in the doorway, his face red with rage, and my jaw drops as all the feeling seeps from my body.

It’s Uncle Jim.

I stare at the screen, my breath trapped in my lungs.

“Poppy,” Uncle Jim pants. “You’re here.”

But what’s
he
doing there? My head spins crazily. It doesn’t make sense—he’s not meant to be here yet—he said he got home later. Why would he
lie?

“Poppy. Sweetheart. What’s your bag doing by the front door?” He stares at her, his eyes dark, his breath heavy.

Poppy squirms. “I—”

“You going somewhere, angel?” He steps towards her, his words slurring together. “You running away?”

“No... no, I was just—”

“Liar!”
I flinch as he knocks a stack of DVDs crashing to the floor. Christian was right—Uncle Jim’s completely wasted. I’ve never seen him like this. But
why
? Why would he get trashed that afternoon, when he hardly ever even drinks?

“You were just going to sneak off behind my back?” he yells, his voice cracking. “You were going to leave me?!”

“No, Daddy, I’m sorry, please—” Poppy begs.

“You don’t love me,” he slurs, shaking his head. “Yerown father.” He turns away.

“I do!” Poppy protests, racing after him, grabbing his arm. “Daddy, I do!”

“Just—do what you want. Leave me alone.” He shrugs her off, but she clings to him.

“Daddy, please!”

“Gerroff me!” He tries to shake her loose.

“Daddy—”

“
Get off me
!” he bellows, shoving her hard. My heart stops as she smacks the back of her head on the bedpost, smashing her bedside lamp as she crumples to the floor.

My blood runs cold in my veins, my eyes wide, disbelieving.

Uncle Jim killed Poppy.

I feel sick as I stare at her unmoving body.
Call an ambulance!
I want to scream at him.
Help her—do something
!

But he just staggers backwards, his hands covering his face as he groans miserably.

I can hear someone shouting in the background; then there’s the sound of frenzied knocking, but Uncle Jim doesn’t seem to notice. He hasn’t even realized Poppy’s hurt.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” His shoulders slump as he crouches down and gingerly picks up the broken pieces of her lamp. “It was your favorite— Shit! Ouch!” He winces suddenly and sucks his thumb. “Bloody glass!” He grabs a pair of scissors from Poppy’s desk and begins carefully prying the shards of glass from his thumb. “I’m sorry, angel, it’s just—I can’t do this!” He begins to sob. “I can’t pick up the pieces—I can’t fix it! I can’t fix this and it hurts so much.” Tears gush through his words and he buries his face in his hands. “Please don’t go, Poppy—I need you. Please?”

But Poppy doesn’t reply.

There’s a sound like shattering glass in the background. The downstairs window.

“Please, Poppy.” Uncle Jim turns to her, but she doesn’t move. A pool of dark blood seeps from her head.

“Poppy?”
His tone changes in an instant as he scrambles to her side. My heart beats fast as tears fill my eyes, praying for the impossible, yet already knowing there’s no hope.

“Poppy, baby, are you okay?” He strokes her face, blood covering his hands. “Oh God, no.
Poppy
! Poppy, answer me, angel. Wake up!”

Suddenly her bedroom door flies open and an Asian man rushes in.

Tariq.

“I’m sorry to intrude, but I heard a commotion and— Oh my God!” He stares at Poppy’s bleeding body. “Have you called an ambulance? What happened?” He pulls his mobile phone from his pocket.

“Who are you?” Uncle Jim lurches to his feet, grabbing Tariq’s shirt and pushing him against the wall, his mobile clattering to the floor. “What are you doing here?”

Tariq stares at him. “I’m Tariq—Tariq Khan—I came to pick up Poppy, but—”

“You came to pick her up?” Uncle Jim frowns.

“Yes, but—”

“You!
You
did this!”

“What? No!”

“You were going to take her away!” Uncle Jim rages, tears streaking his cheeks. “You’re the reason she was going!
That’s why we fought
!”

“No, I—”

“How
dare
you!” Uncle Jim screams at him. “How dare you come into my house! How dare you try to take my daughter away from me! Thieving Paki scum—you’re all the same!”

“What?”

“Look at her—
look
what you made me
do
!” He points at Poppy and Tariq seizes his chance, squirming from Uncle Jim’s grip, but he’s not fast enough.

Uncle Jim whips round to grab him and the blades of the scissors plunge into Tariq’s back. He screams in agony.

“Shit!” Uncle Jim’s eyes widen, the blades gleaming in his shaking hand. “I didn’t mean—”

“Help!” Tariq yells, running for the door. “Help! Somebody!”

“No! Stop!” Uncle Jim cries, lunging after Tariq and knocking him over. Tariq cries out again as his head smacks against the floor.

“Calm down!” Uncle Jim hisses. “It was an accident! I’m sorry!”

Tariq moans and closes his eyes.

“Shit!” Uncle Jim panics. “Shit! Shit!
Shit!
This is your fault! Look what you’ve done!” Tears gush from his face as he pulls out a pair of handcuffs. “Just stay here and calm down while I... while I work out what to do.”

He snaps the handcuffs round Tariq’s wrist, but he doesn’t react.

“Shit!” Uncle Jim stares from Tariq’s unmoving body to Poppy’s for a long moment, sobbing and running shaky hands through his hair, his expression wild, desperate, panicked. He picks up the bloodstained scissors and stares at them in horror.

Suddenly my heart jumps as Christian appears in the bedroom doorway behind him.

Run
!
I want to scream.
Run away now
!

“Poppy, are you ready? Oh my God!” Christian grabs Uncle Jim’s arm and he whips round, startled. The scissors graze Christian’s chest as he springs backwards.

He stares at Uncle Jim in terror, then darts back through the bedroom door, Poppy’s pink rucksack bouncing on his back.

Uncle Jim moves to follow, then stops, drops the scissors, and covers his face with his hands as he screams with misery.

I flinch involuntarily as he reels towards the webcam and collapses against Poppy’s desk, sending books and pens scattering to the floor. Then suddenly the video jolts and abruptly blacks out.

I stare at the blank screen, feeling clammy, cold, sick with horror.

Uncle Jim did this. Uncle Jim did all of this.

Suddenly I notice a second face reflected back at me from the black screen, and twist quickly to see a shadowy figure standing in the doorway.

Uncle Jim.