Sweet Deception (34 page)

“Charlotte.” Richard's voice jolted me out of my thoughts. I looked up and saw the sympathy in his eyes. He'd obviously guessed what was going through my mind. “You aren't to blame for what happened that night. Toby is. And you need to tell your parents the truth. They'd want to know, so they could support you.”

When he put it like that, it sounded so logical. But still . . . I couldn't shift the nagging feeling that I was doing something wrong. The thought of revealing everything to my parents was going to hang over me today. Because even though I'd spent the past seven years pretending that I didn't give a damn about what they thought, nothing could
actually be further from the truth.

A light snow was falling. Little flakes landed on the windscreen of Richard's car, like confetti, before melting into water. The roofs and trees were covered with a light dusting of white powder. It must have settled overnight, and the pale, cold morning sun was still too weak to melt it.

To my surprise, I'd managed to put the meeting with my parents from my mind and enjoyed the previous day with Richard. Even when I'd woken this morning, I'd somehow been able to block out the prospect of what lay ahead, keeping up a steady stream of chatter as he drove us to Claylands. It was only now, as we neared the house, that I fell into silence. Fortunately, Richard seemed attuned to my mood, and hadn't attempted to make conversation or put the radio on. The only sounds that could be heard were the rhythmic whooshing of the windscreen wipers, and the squelch as the tyres cut through slush on the road.

As we turned off the motorway, and onto the country lane that led to my parents' house, I let out a sigh.

Richard's eyes flicked over to me. “You okay?”

“For now, fine. But ask me again in an hour. I have a feeling my answer will be very different.”

A brief smile flitted across his face. “At least you can still joke. That's a good sign.”

We drove for a couple more minutes, but I could sense something was on Richard's mind. “What is it?”

“What Toby did . . . that's why you never liked coming home, isn't it?”

I nodded. As a child, I'd always loved being at Claylands. A childhood home was meant to be somewhere full of fond memories—a place that you could come back to when you were feeling lost or unsure of yourself as an adult, to remind yourself of where you'd come from. Instead, after that night, it had become somewhere I couldn't stand to be.

Richard reached out and took my hand. “Hopefully, after this, it'll get better.”

I didn't get a chance to reply, because at that moment we reached the entrance to Claylands.

“Here we go,” I muttered, as we turned into the driveway.

My parents must have been listening for the car, because by the time we parked, they were standing on the porch, waiting for us. Their faces were grim-set, their eyes wary.
Given that I'd walked out of my party on Friday night, they no doubt sensed that whatever I had to tell them was bad.

I walked slowly up to meet them. We embraced awkwardly, our greetings minimal.

Richard stood behind me, like a bodyguard. My mother turned to him. “We had no idea you'd be coming. We heard the car, but we assumed Charlotte had just got a cab from the station . . .”

There was a question in her voice, and I had no idea how to answer. There was too much already to explain, without getting into that. Richard must have been able to sense my panic, because a second later he took my hand in his. My mother saw the gesture and her eyes widened a little, but she seemed to guess that I didn't want to talk about it yet, because she simply stood back and held the door open.

“Let's go inside to the warm.”

We went through to the main sitting room. With less than a week until Christmas, the preparations for the festive season were under way. There was a six-foot real fir tree, which my mother had tastefully decorated with little silver and blue baubles. It was a picture-perfect rendition of an English family Christmas, like you'd find on greeting cards. A fire even crackled in the hearth.

We all settled around the room—Richard and I sat side by side on the couch, with my parents in each of the armchairs. My mother had brought through tea, and poured us
all a cup. Thankfully, there was no offer of food, and no attempt at small-talk. My parents no doubt understood that whatever I was going to say was serious. After all, they weren't fools. They knew I wouldn't be here without good reason.

“So,” my mother said, once we were all settled, “are you going to tell us what this is all about?”

All eyes were on me. I took a sip of my tea, only aware of how much my hand was shaking as I went to put the cup and saucer onto the coffee table. I looked from my mother to my father. I saw the anxiety on their faces, and hated the fact that I was about to make it worse. But I had no choice. I'd spent too long covering this up.

“I—” I started, but my voice came out as a squeak. I stopped, cleared my throat, and then tried again. “I have something to tell you.”

“Yes,” my mother prompted.

I took a deep breath and then before I could think about it any more, I said, “Seven years ago I was raped.” I could have left it there, but I wanted to get it all out before I could change my mind. “And the person who did it was Toby.”

“Why didn't you say anything?”

It was my mother who voiced the question I'd been dreading. She was on her feet and pacing the room. It was half an hour since I'd dropped my bombshell, and after my parents' initial confusion, I had managed to give them the details of what had happened to me. Richard had sat quietly by my side throughout the whole thing, supporting me with his presence.

I wasn't sure the gravity of my accusation had quite sunk in with either of my parents yet. They seemed confused, as though they were still piecing the story together in their minds. I wanted to ask them if they believed me, but I didn't dare. I'd got such unconditional support from Richard when I'd first told him. But my family—I felt an uncertainty that I wished I didn't.

“Does Kate know?” my father said suddenly. He, of
course, had been the quiet one so far, letting my mother take the lead.

It was another question I'd been dreading, because it was inevitably going to lead to which of us to believe. But it wasn't like I could avoid it.

“I told her the other night. At the party. That's what we were arguing about.”

“Oh God . . . Kate!”

Something in my mother's voice put me on alert. Her hand was clamped over her mouth, and I could see the anxiety in her eyes. A bad feeling began to form in the pit of my stomach.

“What about Kate?”

“She's due here any minute.” She took a step towards me. “I didn't know why you were fighting. Like you, she said she'd come down and tell me today. I didn't say you'd be here. I thought if I got you both in one room, you could talk it out. It seemed like a good idea, but . . .”

But that was before she'd realised what we were fighting about.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. No one spoke or moved.

“Is Toby going to be with her?” It was Richard who spoke first. His body was tense, primed for a fight.

We all looked to my mother. “No. She's coming alone.”

I noticed Richard relax a little, his fists unclenching. He'd seemed so controlled throughout this whole weekend that I
hadn't appreciated just how much my revelation had affected him, too. I had a feeling it was just as well for Toby that he wasn't around today.

The doorbell rang again.

“I better let her in,” my mother said.

I waited in silence with Richard and my father. From the sitting room, we could hear the front door being opened, and the inevitable exchange of greetings. Then there was some more conversation—it was too far away to make out the words, but I could hear my sister's voice becoming increasingly animated. A moment later, I heard the clump of her boots as she strode across the wooden floorboards of the hallway. I couldn't help thinking that it must have been the first time ever she hadn't taken her shoes off to enter the house.

“Seriously?” A second later she burst through the door. For the first time that I could remember, she looked dishevelled and tired. I winced, knowing that I'd done that to her. “You're telling Mum and Dad your lies now? You really are unbelievable.” My mother was right behind her. Now Kate turned from me to address our parents. “You know she's making this up, don't you? Toby already told me what happened. She tried to seduce him, and he rejected her, so she concocted this story to cause trouble.”

My heart sank as she spoke. Even to my own ears, the story sounded plausible. Whom were they more likely to
believe—respectable Toby, with his good job and nice manners, or their wayward daughter?

“You know Charlotte's been off the rails for years.” It was as though Kate was reading my mind. I slunk farther into my seat as she spoke. I could see Richard opening his mouth to object to her tirade, but I put a hand out to stop him. My sister clearly needed to get this off her chest. “She wouldn't miss any opportunity to cause trouble. She's just trying to ruin my wedding because she can't stand everything being about me. She's just a jealous little bitch—”

“Kate.” We all started at the sound of my mother's voice. “That's quite enough. I appreciate this is very upsetting for you, but you have no right to talk to your sister that way. You know Charlotte. She wouldn't lie. Not about this.”

There was stunned silence. I just looked at my mother. I hadn't expected her to say that—to believe me so readily. I looked over at my father. He was nodding in agreement, too.

Kate made a scoffing sound. “So if you think Charlotte wouldn't lie, then that means you believe Toby would?”

My mother's chin went up. “If you're asking me whether I'd believe my daughter over anyone else, then the answer is yes. I'm sorry, Kate, but I'm one hundred per cent sure that Charlotte's telling the truth.”

*  *  *

The stunned silence set in again. I continued to stare at my
mother, still too shocked to react. Of all the outcomes I'd been expecting today, it certainly wasn't her unmitigated support.

A log shifted in the fireplace, and the unexpected sound broke the silence and made us all jump. It also galvanised Kate into action again.

“Oh, of course you're taking Charlotte's side. She always gets away with everything. I have to be perfect all the time, and live up to your expectations. But she can behave however she likes, and you still forgive her.”

The bitterness in my sister's voice was clear. I'd never realised Kate felt that way, that she believed our parents favoured me over her. I'd always thought it was the other way round. What was the reality? Or did we all just see what we wanted to?

“Well, I'm not going to stay and listen to this rubbish any longer.” Kate began to back towards the door. “I'm going back to Toby, to the man I love.” Despite her defiant words, I could hear the quiver in her voice and see the tears gathering in her eyes. “And if you all want to sit round and believe these lies about him, then I suggest none of you come to our wedding—”

“Kate, wait.” I spoke quietly, a deliberate contrast to her increasingly hysterical tone. I think that's why she stopped to listen. It would have been too easy to turn this into a slanging match, and that was the last thing I wanted. Because
even after everything that had happened, even though she'd called me a liar and a slut, I felt bad for my sister. She was a victim, too. She was having to accept that Toby, the man she loved, had been fooling her for years. That their whole relationship had been a lie.

I got up then, and walked over to stand in front of my sister. I needed her to see my sincerity when I spoke.

“I am so sorry, Kate,” I began. Her arms were folded defensively, but I didn't let that put me off. “I know how hard this must be for you to hear. But I wouldn't lie about this. Not after what happened with Kit. I wouldn't do anything to break our family up any more than it already is.” I paused, and placed my hands on her shoulders, hoping that my touch would connect us mentally as well as physically. “I wouldn't do anything just to hurt you, Kate.”

There was nothing more that I could say. I'd given it my best shot, and now it was just up to her and whether she believed me or not.

Kate looked around at us. Her mouth was still set in a defiant line. For a moment I was sure she was going to storm out. But then a second later her shoulders dropped, and she collapsed like a rag doll, all the fight suddenly leaving her body. I managed to catch hold of her before she fell, and putting my arm around her waist, I helped her over to the nearest chair.

“I just can't believe it,” Kate kept saying. She was staring
straight ahead, as though she was talking to herself. Then she looked up at me. “I'm so sorry for all that stuff I said to you. I didn't mean any of it. I just didn't want to admit that what you said was true.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I mean, what kind of monster is he? And what's wrong with me that I never saw it?”

She started to cry then, softly at first, and then she was weeping into her hands. I wrapped my arms around her, and she buried her face into my shoulder, so I could feel the sobs wrack her body, as she told me again and again how sorry she was.

Six months later

The courtroom fell silent as the judge took his place at the bench. Word had gone round about half an hour ago that the jury had reached a verdict, and the players in the trial had reconvened with surprising speed. It was almost four o'clock on a Friday afternoon—no one wanted this to drag over the weekend.

I sat in the spectators' gallery, just behind the prosecution. All the people I cared about were with me. Richard sat on one side of me, and my mother on the other. My father and Kate were also there, along with Lindsay. We were all dressed as smartly as possible, hoping to make a good impression.