The Book of Lies Read Online Free Page B

I’m not blaming her (really, I’m not), but because she was always working Nic and I could please ourselves. Nic really liked our house – I thought it was shabby compared to Les Paradis but she called it ‘real’. She snooped in every room and Dad-filled cupboard and decided that this room, Dad’s study, was the best place to sit. It was seven months and eleven days since he’d died and not much had changed. I thought she’d find it creepy but I remember her sinking onto some cushions on the floor and looking right at-home. After that the study became our den, and nobody noticed the mess we made because it was a mess already.
    At first Nic made me nervous. She was the expert in sex and boys and make-up, none of which I knew about. I usually hate it when someone knows more than me, but Nic had this way of talking. She was so honest and I felt like we could tell each other (almost) everything. She actually listened to me, as well. She couldn’t believe it when I told her Mum and Dad had slept in different rooms, and that we weren’t allowed a TV, and that Dad’s fingers had turned black and died before he did. I remember feeling so proud when she lifted up her head, scanned the dusty shelves and said: ‘. . . and I thought my parents were fucked.’
    I was the only girl in our class with a dead dad and it made me demi-exotic. Nic wasn’t scared of death, like some people. Is that why she liked me? I don’t know. I just don’t know! She definitely liked Dad’s study, though, and in between plucking off my eyebrows/trying to pierce my ears I told her grisly stories about the German Occupation. 11 They were much better than the brainless trash you read in Jackie or Just Seventeen .
    But the one story I couldn’t tell her was the one she most wanted to know. I had this huge pile of papers that I’d been carefully putting in order. I’d labelled it ‘The Whole Grim Truth’ (very catchy, I know), because it was the story of Uncle Charlie, Dad’s older brother, who got in trouble with the Germans and ended up being starved and tortured and driven mad. He only just survived the War and he was the reason Dad made himself an expert on said German Occupation.
    Nic wanted to know what Charlie had done to get in so much trouble, but I decided not to tell her. I just said he chose the wrong friends, which I think was good and tactful.
    Of course she was disappointed and wrinkled up her pretty nose.
    â€˜What? That’s it?’
    â€˜Trust me,’ I replied, ‘that’s enough.’
    Then we stared at each other for ages, until she blinked and I won.
    â€˜You should have a drink.’ I pointed to the desk. ‘Third drawer down on the left.’
    She reached over and pulled at the drawer and a half-drunk bottle rolled towards her.
    Whisky, of course. That was definitely one of my top-ten moments.
    I’d never have dared drink Dad’s whisky before, but now it felt better than perfect. Very soon Nic started doing impressions of people at school. She was very good and would’ve made a brilliant actress or model or TV presenter. After she’d done Mrs Queripel with her manic-secret-nose-picking, she did Adèle Mauger and her dying-pig laugh, then she jumped up and grabbed a wad of papers.
    â€˜Well! Top marks again, Cathy, you bring History to life! Gosh, you put us all to shame. I’m rather overcome. I can’t hold back any longer. Come here and give me a kiss.’
    She leaned in and puckered up and I had to burst out laughing. It was a pretty good impression of Mr McCracken, our form teacher, who also taught History, which was (of course) my best subject.
    â€˜He thinks the sun shines out of your arse, and he’s your next-door neighbour. Star-crossed lovers!’
    I pointed out that Mr McCracken lived three doors down at La Petite Maison, and that star-crossed meant doomed.
    â€˜Still. He’s