Page 44 of Will You Stay Another Day?
This reminded Lili of being with Em. And, she realised, thinking that didn’t hurt as much as she might have expected.
‘Don’t laugh.’
Meg pretended to zip her lips.
‘Dylan is dressed as a Roman soldier, in a red tunic, silver armour and sandals. He’s holding two swords.’
‘Oh God. Don’t give me ideas for Kristen.’
‘We’re both standing in the middle of a battleground. I’m a Celtic Briton – dressed as a man. I won’t leave the defending of my community to the opposite sex; our people need all the help they can get. Therefore, I’ve hidden my long hair, smeared mud on my face, stolen a sword and shield. I’ve been practising my fighting techniques in the woods, having watched the men train for months.’
Meg leaned forwards. ‘I could get into this. Carry on.’
‘I hold my own. Wound a couple of soldiers. Help steer the Romans away from our camp. But Dylan spies me. I can tell he’s curious. I panic and run away, not wanting my fellow Britons, let alone the Romans, to work out my disguise. But he gives chase and easily catches me up in the woods. I lift my chin defiantly and get ready to lunge. But he’s high-ranking in the army, experienced, and before I realise it he’s darted to my side and easily pulled off my helmet. My hair tumbles down. His eyes widen and gently he tucks a loose strand behind my ear. Our eyes lock and respect fills his. Before we know it, we’re lying on the ground and…’
The grey-haired woman next to them had leant towards their table and jerked back when Lili stopped talking, her chair almost tipping over backwards.
Meg shook her head. ‘Dearie me, and I thought it was men who were supposed to be obsessed with the Roman Empire.’
Lili paid the bill and, linking arms, they did a couple more hours’ shopping and enjoyed a winter-spice hot chocolate from an outdoor bar. As dusk fell, multi-coloured twinkling Christmas lights zig-zagged across streets, up in the sky. Pockets of light lit up trees and the town hall. The two of them hugged and Meg went off to meet her friend. Lili threw her takeaway cup into a bin before strolling back to the car park, humming ‘Waking Up In Vegas’ by Katy Perry. As she passed the café where she and Meg ate lunch, a voice shouted out.
‘Lili! Hi there!’
Her eyes narrowed. Jags?
He waved and came over carrying handfuls of bags. He set them on the tarmac and rubbed his shoulder. ‘A bit out of area, aren’t you?’
‘Christmas shopping – and Dylan’s asked me over for a barbecue.’
‘Nice! He mentioned the other week that winter barbecues used to be Harry’s thing. Dylan’s brother sounds like quite a character. Wish I’d met him.’ Jags consulted his watch. ‘Better keep moving. The in-laws are around tonight and I need to hide a few presents before my wife gets home from work. Good to see you again, Lili.’ He paused. ‘Dylan’s a decent bloke and could do with getting out more, with making new friends.’ He looked at his watch again and picked up his bags. ‘The lads at work say he’s hardly left the office these last two years. It’s great to see him moving forwards, at last, since Harry died and his world fell apart.’ Jags said goodbye and hurried off.
29
Lili didn’t know how long she’d sat in Colonel Mustard. The car park was half-empty, her fingers ice cold. She ran a hand over the steering wheel, the nearest she could get to touching hands with Em again, hoping that, somehow, her friend’s finger imprints were still there. Sadness had hung over her at first, over Jags’s words. Poor Harry. Poor Dylan. But the longer she sat, the more anger brewed like a cup of tea that would eventually be undrinkable.
Lili had been honest about Em, about the person she’d been hoping to meet, that very first time she’d seen Dylan in The Rough Tor. Whereas how easily the lies had spilled out of his mouth. His explanation had sounded perfectly rational – that joker Harry had pranked his brother and was still away travelling. She thought back to how neat and totally unlived in Harry’s bedroom had looked. And how Dylan said he couldn’t show her the photos of the botanical garden his brother had snapped, saying they’d been put in an Instagram story so they’d disappeared after twenty-four hours. How convenient. Then there was how twitchy he’d been at the warehouse, steering her away from that employee in the overalls – clearly worried, in retrospect, that the truth about his brother might have slipped out.
She turned on the engine. Twenty minutes later, she pulled up outside Dylan’s house. Lili knocked loudly. He gave her a hug when she walked in, but she stood as stiff as an ironing board. Having taken off her coat, she accepted his offer of a coffee, before heading upstairs to use the bathroom. However, once on the landing, she went straight into Harry’s room and switched on the light. One of the things to learn from Em’s death had been to not let a guy’s lies ever screw Lili over, and here she was, barely one year on, making the same mistake as her friend. Why? How?
Em’s death had to mean something.
Lili sat on the bed. No wonder the room was so tidy. Looking at it now, it was more like a shrine.
She got up and went over to an old-fashioned record player. A Caravan Palace vinyl was on the turntable. She straightened up, studied the poster and gently ran a finger over it. So much life had been stolen away from another young person. Bookmarks stuck out from a couple of the musicians’ biographies. A tube of Starburst, half-eaten, lay on the bedside table, the packaging neatly twisted at the end. The alarm clock was set to seven. She opened the wardrobe doors. Clothes hung, neatly, with polished shoes and clean trainers on a shelf underneath, all wrapped up in a slightly musty smell. She closed the doors and went back to the desk. She picked up a photo frame. A shot of Dylan and Harry – she recognised the brother from that Facebook profile Meg had mentioned. By the pile of books was a photo album. That time she’d eaten pie at his, Dylan had been looking through an album when she’d arrived; said he’d wanted to snap a photo in there of Harry’s face covered in pie, so that he could send it to his brother – when really Dylan must just have been simply flicking through and reminiscing. Lili picked up a letter rack and went through the post that confirmed what Jags had said.
Almost slipping, Lili sped downstairs. She marched into the kitchen. Dylan went to hand her a cup of coffee, those inky eyes welcoming her in, that shoulder-length hair asking to have her fingers run through it. Christ. Hook, line and sinker. What a joke, falling for the cliché of a tall, dark, handsome stranger – because that was all he was. She didn’t know Dylan any more. Was he even half Italian? Was his middle name really Mario? And his physical attributes meant nothing without the charm, the way he’d been, that Lili had believed was genuine.
She placed the letter rack on the kitchen table, next to a plate of raw steak and marinated chicken, the smell of smoke coming through the back door that had been left ajar. Dylan frowned.
‘Harry hasn’t opened any post for two years,’ she said.
‘You’ve been in his room again?’ His eyebrows knotted together.
Lili stared at him.
‘No, he’s not the most organised person,’ he continued.
‘My God. How quickly the lies slip off your tongue.’
