watch as my parents’ former friends all manage to pull their faces into complicated expressions that somehow communicate their regret and disappointment in Mum! They look totally innocent and credible. Honestly, they must have been rehearsing this! Mum looks like she wants to pull her hair out in fists, she probably wants to bang their heads against the wall – I know I do. The lying, thieving con artists!
Mum turns to Dad, collapses against his chest, she’s becoming increasingly unstable, hysterical. She bursts into frustrated tears and yells, ‘Just because you say a thing often enough doesn’t make it true.’
And I think of Ridley. His hand on the inside of my thigh. His chest rising and falling, as he took in fast, excited breaths, pushed them out again, as we moved together. ‘I know what I’m doing, we’re safe.’
I’ve never felt more alone. My mum is right. Just because you say a thing often enough does not make it true.
12
Lexi
Tuesday, 30th April
The room is full of suited and booted men and women. It’s a small space, airless. Too many expensive perfumes and aftershaves clash up against each other. It’s cloying. They all flash me efficient, practised smiles that are so brief they have gone before they’ve fully arrived. They hold out their hands for me to shake. No one has sweaty palms, or irritatingly weak grips, no one tries to assert their dominance by crushing my bones. It is all very sleek; these people know how to do things properly. That makes me feel more nervous, not less. I wish someone would make a mistake. I look for laddered tights, low flies; of course, there are none.
Our lawyer is Ms Walsh. She is a slight woman in her thirties. She looks as though a strong wind could blow her away but when Jake and I met with her on the day of the dreadful press announcement, I was struck by her fast mind and her no-nonsense approach. She remained calm and cool with us, I admired her for that. She’s someone who just wants to get on with the job in hand. Since we’ve become lottery winners, people mostly seem flustered around us; either sycophantic or resentful. It is refreshing to meet such neutrality.
There are two people from the lottery: Gillian and a man who I don’t know. ‘Mick Hutch. My boss,’ says Gillian, pointing her thumb at him whilst pulling her face into a fake grimace that suggests they like and respect one another.
A man in his fifties, who is a poster boy for pale and stale, introduces himself as, ‘Terrance Elliott, old family friend of Fred and Jennifer Heathcote.’ He is their lawyer. Yes, a family friend too. I met him last year, at their twentieth wedding anniversary party; we spoke for several minutes about ambulance chasers, but he obviously doesn’t remember me. The Heathcotes’ family friends are all accountants, solicitors, doctors.
There are three more lawyers in the room. They all have a haughty, complacent air about them, undoubtedly they are the sort of people who are used to winning. Mr Piper-Dunn, Mr Caplin-Hudson and Ms Chen-Ying all say they are representatives of Patrick and Carla Pearson. Whilst I am good at remembering names, I don’t commit these three to memory but instead dub them Double Barrel 1, 2 and 3. Three. Three! They have three lawyers. We are the ones with millions in the bank and they have three lawyers. I feel exposed and underprepared.
‘Do you mind if I record the interview?’ asks Double Barrel 3.
I look at my lawyer. She smiles encouragingly. ‘Lexi, this is entirely voluntary. You must keep that in mind.’
Gillian chips in, ‘You are not under arrest.’ Her tone suggests she is joking but my eyes widen. Gillian sees I’m frightened and quickly adds, ‘No one is. We’re simply trying to get to the bottom of the matter.’ She squeezes my arm.
I take a deep breath and try not to panic. This inquiry is serious. I have never been on the wrong side of the law and I don’t like the merest implication that I am now. I have to stay calm and focused. I have to tell my story to the best of my ability. Sort this mess out. I wish I was wearing one of my new dresses; after all I’ve bought three this past week, but this morning I just put on the first things that came to hand: jeans, a T-shirt, trainers. Suddenly I am struck by the concern