Poppet

How to Tell the Truth

AT LAST AJ gets up the courage to go and tell Melanie about Jack Caffery. He knocks on her door and when he goes in she is sitting at her desk, smiling up at him.

‘Hi,’ he says cautiously. ‘Earlier – did you come to see me for something?’

‘Only to give you a hug. Say hi.’ She gives a sheepish smile. There’s no suggestion she knows he’s lied about the phone call. ‘Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine. I mean, sort of.’

‘Sort of?’

‘Yes, I … I need to speak to you. Something’s happened.’

‘Something?’

He sits down. Puts his keys and phone on the desk – looks her in the eye. He fumbles in his head for the first sentence of the speech he’s prepared. But when he opens his mouth, what pops out is: ‘Stewart’s ill. He’s been at the vet.’

Melanie’s face falls. ‘The vet? Is he OK?’

‘Yeah – he’s going to be fine. Patience dealt with it.’

‘God, I’m sorry. Poor Stewart. Maybe he ate something while he was – you know …’ She wrinkles her brow. ‘Wherever it is he keeps yomping off to.’

‘Maybe. But it’s OK. He’s going to be fine.’

‘That’s good.’ She smiles again, and he smiles stupidly back at her. She’s waiting for him to speak, but he can’t bring himself to say the words. He’s a wuss. A coward. A lily-livered surrender monkey. He casts around for a way of changing the subject, a way of justifying being here. ‘So.’ He indicates the corridor that leads from the director’s office to the kitchenette. ‘So. Do you mind if I make some coffee?’

‘Be my guest. I’ll have a cup too.’

He can feel her eyes on him as he leaves the office. He knows she knows there’s something more. He will say it. He will. He fills up the coffee-maker, clicks it on and starts getting the jewelled cups out, repeating under his breath: ‘I’ve lied to you, not because I’m like the others, but because I was trying to do the right thing …’

He puts milk and sugar on the tray. The coffee-maker pings, and he pours coffee into the cups. His heart is thudding.

He puts two biscuits on a plate and carries the tray through, sets it in front of her.

‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome.’

She sips the coffee and he places his cup on the desk. But instead of sitting and drinking he remains standing. Not speaking. Eventually she notices. She lowers her cup and raises her eyes to him.

‘AJ? What is it?’

‘Zelda Lornton. Pauline. Moses. The police want to open an investigation.’

The response is instantaneous, and exactly what he’d dreaded. Her face drains of colour. ‘What?’ she murmurs, disbelieving. ‘What?’