The Lie(5)
The road twists sharply to the left as it skirts along Braeburn Pond, and in the pouring rain, the wipers going faster and faster, I nearly miss it.
But it’s impossible not to.
The broken fence along the side of the road.
The steam rising from beyond the bank.
From where a car has gone over the edge.
A car has gone over the edge.
I slam on the brakes, the car skidding a few feet, and pull to the side of the road.
I don’t let the thoughts enter my head.
The thoughts that tell me this is them.
This could be them.
But if it is them, one thought says, you have to save them.
I can save them.
I don’t know how I manage to swallow the panic down, but I do.
I get out of the car, rain in my face.
The air smells like burned asphalt.
The pond is whipped up by the storm.
And as I approach the edge of the road, I can see the faint beam of headlights from down below, a misplaced beacon in the dark.
I look down.
The world around me swims.
The hood of the sedan is smashed into a willow tree, the same hood I had my hands on minutes ago, begging her not to leave.
The car is at an angle, leaning on its broken nose.
The steam rises.
And yet I still have hope.
I have to have hope.
I cry out, making noises I can’t control. Maybe I’m yelling for them, maybe I’m yelling for help. I stumble down the hillside to the car.
Praying.
Praying.
Praying.
That they’re going to be okay.
They’re going to be okay.
The windshield is completely shattered, the jagged glass stained with red.
I stare stupidly at the empty car.
Then turn my head.
To the space in front of the hood.
And the grass between the car and the pond.
Where two bodies lay, dark in the night.
Two bodies—one big, one small.
Both broken.
Both motionless.
I have one moment of clarity as the truth sinks in.
My truth.
This real truth.
And in that moment I want to grab the jagged piece of glass lying at my feet.
Put it in my throat.
And end it before I can feel it.
But that would be the coward’s way out.
So I stumble forward.
Vomit down my shirt.
Paralysis of the heart.
I cry.
Scream.
Noises animals make.
I stumble past Miranda.
To Hamish.
Fall to my knees.
And cradle my truth in my arms.
And I feel it.
I’ll never stop feeling it.
The rain.
The death.
The end of everything.
My world goes black.
And stays that way.
CHAPTER ONE
Brigs
Edinburgh
Present Day
Pop.
A cork flies off a bottle of alcohol-free champagne. The shit isn’t Dom Pérignon, but for the sake of my brother and his alcohol recovery program, it will do. Besides, it’s not what we’re drinking that counts—it’s what we’re celebrating.
“Congratu-fucking-lations, brother,” I tell Lachlan, grabbing his meaty shoulder and giving it a rather rough squeeze. I’m beaming at him, conscious of my all-too-wide grin in his face, but I’m happier than I’ve been in a while. Maybe it’s the real champagne I had with our mum before Lachlan and his girlfriend came over.
Wait. Not girlfriend.
Kayla is his fiancé now. And if you ask me, it’s about time.
Lachlan nods, smiling wanly in acute embarrassment, which only makes me want to embarrass him more. That’s the job of an older brother, after all, and since our family adopted him when I was out of high school, I missed out on those important torture years of childhood that most siblings experience.
My mum comes over and pours the non-champagne into our glasses, then into Kayla’s, who is standing dutifully at Lachlan’s side. As usual, she’s hanging on to Lachlan in some way—hand at the small of his back—and her cheeks are flushed with emotion. I almost wish she would cry so I could poke fun at her later. She’s such a feisty, smart-mouthed girl that a little vulnerable emotion would be wonderful to exploit.
“Here’s to Lachlan and the future Mrs. McGregor,” my mum says, raising her glass to the happy couple. Before she’s about to clink the glasses, she eyes my father, who is standing at the edge of the room, poised to take a picture. He’s been poised for the last few minutes. “Well, hurry Donald and get over here.”
“Right,” he says, snapping one more photo of us with glasses in the air, and then comes hurrying over. She hands him his glass and we all clink them together.
“Welcome to the family, Kayla,” I tell her sincerely. I glance quickly at Lachlan before I add, “I’ve been bugging him from day one to propose to you, you know. Can’t believe it took him so long, especially with a girl like you.”
The permanent line between Lachlan’s brow deepens, his jaw tense. I think I’m the only person alive that can piss him off and not get scared of him. My brother is a giant beast of a man, all beard and muscle and tattoos, and has most recently become the captain of the Edinburgh Rugby team. You don’t want to mess with him, unless your name is Brigs McGregor.