Lying Beside You, page 32
My fingerprints have been taken biometrically, along with my photograph and proof of my address. Now they’re searching my bag.
“You can’t take this in,” says the guard. He’s holding up a box of Coco Pops.
“It’s only cereal.”
“There might be something hidden inside.”
Like what? Type 2 diabetes.
Cyrus is at the other security table. He looks at me as if to say, “I told you so.”
“You can pick it up as you’re leaving,” says the guard, putting the box on a shelf behind him.
Cyrus is waved through. He’s carrying some superhero comics and graphic novels, as well as writing paper and a deck of playing cards.
“What am I going to give him?” I ask, as we wait for our escort.
“You can give him this.” He hands me a photograph. “I found it in the attic.”
It’s a picture of two barefoot boys sitting in the bones of a treehouse made from planks of wood nailed across the branches. A knotted rope hangs down the trunk. The older boy has his hand on the younger boy’s shoulder and the two of them are beaming at the camera.
In a different, parallel universe, those boys grew up and became men together. They were the best man at each other’s wedding, and godparents to their firstborn children. They argued about football and Brexit and Scottish independence even though both supported the same side. I would have liked to have lived in that universe, but perhaps Cyrus would be different if Elias hadn’t done what he did. Maybe he wouldn’t have become a psychologist and visited Langford Hall and met me. I wouldn’t be here without him.
“Well, look who the cat dragged in,” says Oscar, grinning with his gold tooth. He doffs an invisible hat and bows. “How are you, Evie?”
“Very well, Oscar. Thank you for asking.”
This has become our running joke, being extra polite to each other like we’re meeting at a garden party at Buckingham Palace.
We follow him through fortified doors, along a covered path that intersects a large grassy lawn with raised garden beds at the borders. We pass an oversized chess set where the queen is missing her head and one of the bishops appears to be humping a horse. I know it’s called a knight, but it will always be a horse to me.
Eventually, we arrive at an accommodation block, and are taken to a small lounge with two sofas and a low table and a bookcase full of board games and jigsaw puzzles. The furniture is bolted down, and a camera in one corner of the ceiling looks like a bulging eye.
Elias arrives and is patted down one final time before being allowed to enter the lounge. He grins and does a little jig, which makes his oversized body shake.
“You came.”
“Of course,” says Cyrus, but Elias is looking at me, not him.
“How are you?” he asks. “Have you been well?”
“Very well, thank you,” I say, still playing the game.
“Sit down. Sit down,” he says. “Not there. Here. This chair. You get a view. You can see the trees.”
Oscar has stayed in the lounge but is very good at blending into the background. Right now he’s playing checkers against himself.
Cyrus gives Elias the comics and graphic novels and other gifts.
“I brought you this,” I say.
As I’m passing the photograph across the table, I wonder if it’s the wrong gift. What if it makes him sad, or brings up bad memories? Elias doesn’t say anything. He’s holding the picture in both hands.
“Where did you find this?” he croaks, his eyes shining.
“I can take it back,” I say.
“No. It’s wonderful. Thank you.”
I want to say that he should thank Cyrus, but I’m selfish and it doesn’t matter, and I know Cyrus won’t mind if I take the credit.
“I also have these,” says Cyrus, giving him two letters. The envelopes have been opened and taped shut again by the security guards.
Elias opens the first, which is written on pale blue paper with a floral design around the edges. He smells the page, which must be scented. He reads slowly, pausing every so often to relay the news.
“Lilah is selling her flat and looking for a house to buy, somewhere with a yard for Trevor. And she might be able to come and visit me next month. Look, she included a photograph.” He shows us a picture—a selfie of Lilah and Trevor sitting on the front steps. Trevor has his tongue out, trying to lick the camera.
Elias opens the second letter.
“Guess what? Daniela is engaged. She and Martyn are getting married in the summer. They say I’m invited to the wedding, but they know I probably can’t make it. Do you think I should ask Dr. Baillie?”
“You should,” says Cyrus. “And if you can’t make it, I’ll bring you some wedding cake.”
“I’ll write back to them tonight,” says Elias. “It’s nice having pen friends.” He turns to me expectantly. “Are you going to write to me?”
“I’m not very good with words.”
I get his sad eyes.
“I will keep coming to see you.”
“Even better.”
Elias grows quiet. “I have something for you.”
I think he means Cyrus, but he’s looking at me.
“Hold out your hand and close your eyes.”
Nervously, I do as he asks. His hand is twice the size of mine. He places something in my palm and closes my fingers over it. Even without looking I know what it is. My mother’s tortoiseshell button.
“Where did you find it?” I croak.
“It was under one of the boxes.”
“You’ve had it all along.”
“I’m sorry. I thought it might bring me luck.”
It didn’t bring it to me, I want to say, but I’m so happy I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I’ll decide later, when I’m in the attic, hiding among the boxes, with the button on the windowsill.
Wheels and cups rattle in the corridor as a tea cart arrives. Oscar maneuvers it through the door and Elias jumps to his feet, checking that we have enough cups, tea bags, milk, and sugar.
“I ordered us the carrot cake,” he announces. Another ritual.
And this is how we spend the next forty minutes, sipping tea and eating cake and making small talk, until Oscar tells us that it’s time to bounce. Elias waves to us from the door of the lounge and watches from the window as we take the covered walkway back the way we came.
“Will he ever get out of here?” I ask.
“Yes,” says Cyrus.
I stop and tug on his sleeve, making him turn and look at me. “Say that again.”
“One day Elias will be free.”
I nod, satisfied, and hook my arm through his as we walk out of the hospital, into the parking area. For a fleeting moment I consider his answer and wonder if Cyrus has discovered a way to deal with my questions. Rather than lying, he gives me the sort of answers that have more than one meaning.
One day Elias will be free, like all of us.
77 Cyrus
Takeout Tuesday. Evie’s choice. An Indian feast: butter chicken, beef korma, basmati rice, chapatis, and lots of side dishes. She takes off the cardboard lids and puts spoons in the containers.
“You over-ordered again,” I say.
“No, she didn’t,” says Mitch. “And I’m paying.” He pulls a bottle of prosecco from the fridge. “I got a job today.”
“Doing what?”
“This big online gamer wants me to edit his Twitch stream and post it on YouTube. And he’s recommended me to his friends. One of them has twelve million followers on TikTok.”
“That’s dope,” says Evie, who clearly understands what he’s talking about.
The cork pops. Mitch pours three glasses. Evie takes a sip and pushes her glass towards me. I drink twice as much when she’s around.
Mitch was released from prison in the new year. It took that long for his appeal to move through the courts and for the police to withdraw their objections and offer no defense. There is still a question over possible compensation for wrongful imprisonment, but DCI Hoyle is denying that he planted evidence. The chief constable is standing behind him, fearing the repercussions if Hoyle goes down—the convictions that might have to be overturned, the men it would set free.
Cassie Wright has resigned from the East Midlands Forensic Services. One neighbor said she’d gone traveling. Another thought she’d moved to London. She has changed her phone and left no forwarding email and my two letters have been returned unopened.
The police considered charging her with withholding information about her brother-in-law, but Cassie denied knowing Patrice’s where-abouts or having any prior knowledge of what he planned to do. The footage from the bar was inconclusive and there was nothing to prove that she delayed testing the rope that would have linked Patrice’s crimes. I am not a believer in justice for the sake of justice, particularly when someone has already suffered enough. Three nurses were given the benefit of the doubt eight years ago. Now it’s Cassie’s turn.
The doorbell rings.
Evie answers it.
“You’re late. We started without you.”
Lilah has come straight from work and is still dressed in her uniform. She has kept her hair short and has it pinned close to her scalp. She washes her hands, before taking a seat next to Mitch. They’ve been seeing a bit of each other these past weeks, walking the dogs, and going to movies or just hanging out.
“We’re friends,” she says shyly, when dinner is over and we’re cleaning up the kitchen. Mitch and Evie have gone to buy ice cream from Heavenly Desserts.
“Is it weird that I feel safe with him?” asks Lilah.
“Not at all. He found you. He called the police. He went with you to the hospital.”
“And I blamed him.”
“You made a mistake.”
“Which was huge and life-changing. He has every right to hate me.”
“And the fact that he doesn’t—what does that tell you?”
“That I let a good one get away.”
There are voices in the hallway. Laughter. Mitch and Evie have raced each other up the path and into the house.
Lilah smiles. “I’ll get the bowls.”
More from this Series
Good Girl, Bad Girl
Book 1
When She Was Good
Book 2
More from the Author
When You Are Mine
The Secrets She Keeps
About the Author
© TONY MOTT
Michael Robotham is a former investigative journalist whose bestselling psychological thrillers have been translated into twenty-five languages. He has twice won the UK’s prestigious Gold Dagger award for best crime novel, and twice been awarded a Ned Kelly Award for Australia’s best crime novel. His recent novels include When She Was Good, winner of the UK’s Ian Fleming Steel Dagger award for best thriller; The Secrets She Keeps; Good Girl, Bad Girl; and When You Are Mine. After living and writing all over the world, Robotham settled his family in Sydney, Australia.
SimonandSchuster.com
www.SimonandSchuster.com/Authors/Michael-Robotham
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ALSO BY MICHAEL ROBOTHAM
When You Are Mine
The Secrets She Keeps
The Night Ferry
Bombproof
Cyrus Haven series
When She Was Good
Good Girl, Bad Girl
Joe O’Loughlin series
The Suspect
Lost
Shatter
Bleed for Me
The Wreckage
Say You’re Sorry
Watching You
Close Your Eyes
Life or Death
The Other Wife
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Robotham, Michael, 1960– author.
Title: Lying beside you : a novel / Michael Robotham.
Description: First Scribner hardcover edition. | New York : Scribner, 2023. | Series: Cyrus Haven series ; 3
Identifiers: LCCN 2022028175 (print) | LCCN 2022028176 (ebook) | ISBN 9781982166489 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781982166502 (ebook)
Subjects: LCGFT: Novels.
Classification: LCC PR6118.O26 L95 2023 (print) | LCC PR6118.O26 (ebook) | DDC 823/.92--dc23/eng/20220624
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022028175
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022028176
ISBN 978-1-9821-6648-9
ISBN 978-1-9821-6650-2 (ebook)
Michael Robotham, Lying Beside You
