Don't Ever Tell: An absolutely unputdownable, nail-biting psychological thriller

by Lucy Dawson

  ‘What new chap?’ I looked at Flo who went pink again, but angrily.

  ‘No one important. We’re just dating. I only told Mum so she wouldn’t try and relentlessly fix me up with everyone’s single sons all afternoon. I didn’t think this was quite the right occasion to introduce him to the family, funnily enough.’

  ‘Oh dear. He doesn’t sound much fun.’ Mum pulled a face. ‘Who doesn’t like a party? Anyway, I need to get back out there.’ She peered out of the window. ‘Martha is winding up Lesley, which will end in tears if I don’t nip it in the bud! Darling,’ she placed an immaculately nailed hand on my arm, ‘has Tris noticed Teddy climbing the tree, do you think?’

  I spun round, and clocked Teddy perilously balanced on much too high and thin a branch. Clara was tugging on Tris’s jacket – who was deep in conversation with the cleavage of a woman I didn’t recognise – trying hard to get her father’s attention.

  I rapped on the window furiously and everyone within earshot looked round as I gestured frantically to Teddy. Tris frowned, walked over to the tree, lifted Teddy down and returned to his conversation with barely a pause.

  I shook my head. ‘I better go back out too, before he scales the fence and winds up in the river.’

  ‘Yes, you do that,’ Flo said tightly. ‘I’ll carry on in here. Next time, Mum, will you just get some caterers in if you’re going to have this many people?’ She paused chopping and put her knife down.

  Mum laughed and looked at her pityingly. ‘Dearest, do calm down. Everyone is fine. They’ve all got plenty to eat and drink. Just relax and try to have some fun for once. You do make such a drama out of everything.’

  I raised my eyebrows and looked down at the floor silently as she grabbed two bottles from the side and wafted from the room. I heard her announce gaily to the congregation: ‘Who needs a top-up of fizz?’

  Flo looked at the ceiling, near to tears, then wiped her eyes and started cutting again.

  ‘Just leave it for a moment.’ I put a gentle hand over hers.

  ‘You understand why she’s like this,’ she practically exploded, nodding at the window. ‘All the parties, endless streams of people here all the bloody time while we were growing up? It was so she didn’t actually have time to think about it all, or have to talk to us. The hostess just keeps smiling, flitting around filling glasses up, never revealing herself, and then when everyone goes home, there’s only time to sleep. You and I did all of the washing-up the morning afterwards. You can have that metaphor, by the way, stick it in one of your books about mentally messed-up people.’

  ‘Flo – has something else happened?’ I looked at her worriedly. ‘I appreciate today is challenging for lots of complicated reasons, but—’

  ‘It’s not challenging, Charlotte.’ She swung round to face me. ‘It’s completely abnormal.’

  ‘Will you put that knife down, please!’ I reached out and took it away from her.

  ‘It is not normal to have one parent literally disappear for eight years and no one, NO ONE tells us where he is, just that he’s not ever coming back, only then – whaddya know – he DOES!’ she hissed at me. ‘No explanation, no discussion – just literally like someone hit the pause button for eight years and now here we are, twenty-five years later and it’s like the whole thing never happened. Sometimes I wonder if I dreamt it and it didn’t happen, like my actual life was a Bobby-Ewing-in-the-shower scene.’

  I folded my arms. ‘No, it happened. You didn’t imagine it.’

  ‘But how does it not bother you?’ she said incredulously. ‘I don’t understand. Why is it just me that goes mental about this and no one else does? Is it me? Am I the crazy one?’

  ‘Of course you’re not crazy.’ I looked down again, starting to feel anxiety tightening my stomach. She was right. I didn’t want to talk about it.

  ‘But I feel mad.’ She got up close to me, tears in her eyes again. ‘Don’t you understand? If I were my therapist, I’d be encouraging me to try and work out why none of my family want to discuss this, but how can I? On the handful of occasions I’ve tried to raise it with Mum she literally gets up and leaves the room. Dad does too – then it’s back to jollysmile-ville and “would you like a drink, darling?” You’re the only one who acknowledges it’s not my imagination, but if it’s real, why did it happen? Was he in prison? Was he ill? Did he go off and join a cult? Was it something Mum did, or we did?’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ I told her truthfully.

  ‘But you don’t know that! It could be!’ She laughed and put her hands on her head. ‘Anyway, yes,’ she wiped her eyes, ‘let’s go and toast their not even real ruby wedding; forty pretend happy years together. Yay them.’

  ‘I know it wasn’t your fault, because it was mine.’ I blurted it out just like that, after three decades of silence, in our mother’s strawberry-scented kitchen.

  Flo went very still.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  I shook my head, already regretting it. ‘Ignore me. I’m talking crap. I just hate to see you upset like this, that’s all.’

  Flo stared at me then grabbed my hand, leading me out into the hall and upstairs to my old bedroom, now Mum’s odds and bobs room. My single bed was still against the wall, my chest of drawers under the window where it had been when I used to hurriedly pull vests, then bras, then secret packets of fags out of it – now filled with prettily wrapped soaps, assorted occasion cards in cellophane waiting to be written, baby blankets for friends’ grandchildren, scarfs and other random gifts. A framed picture of me and Flo sat on top of it, next to a china ballerina that I used to love with all my heart. I tried not to look at us smiling for the camera, aged about thirteen and nine, arms around each other. We’d been snapped at the back of the same garden now spreading out below us. I glanced through the dense lace curtain, starting to feel light-headed, and could just make out the river flowing beyond the fence.

  Flo shut the door firmly and turned to look at me. ‘What do you mean, it’s your fault?’

  ‘I honestly don’t mean anything! I just don’t want you to blame yourself. You were only six when he left.’

  ‘You have never, ever referred to Dad’s disappearance as being your fault. Why would you suddenly choose to do that today, for no apparent reason? It doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘Try not to read into this, Flo. You’re not going to find anything by digging deeper.’

  Flo sat down on the edge of my bed and crossed her arms. ‘Do you know it is almost completely impossible for a human being to keep a secret forever? That’s why there is such a thing as deathbed confessions. It’s why people like me have jobs. It’s simply too much to bear, because when you can’t release the truth, the secret keeper’s anguish begins to turn inward and causes genuine pain, sometimes it actually becomes physical… that’s how powerful the mind is. I’ve always thought that’s why you write the kind of books you do. It’s your way of releasing some of the pressure you keep built up within. Alternatively, in situations where someone has repressed something for a very long time, it can just randomly escape out.’

  ‘Oh please!’ I laughed, crossing my arms and looking out of the window again. ‘Don’t try and counsel me, Flo. I know you don’t mean to, but you end up sounding really patronising.’

  ‘Look at your body language right now.’ Flo ignored me. ‘Defensive, shut down. I’m your sister. If you can’t trust me, who can you trust? Dad was missing for eight years – a huge chunk of the most formative parts of our lives. I want to know what happened. I deserve to know what happened.’

  I closed my eyes and wavered on the spot.

  ‘Please, tell me,’ she begged. ‘How am I supposed to move on otherwise? I need you to help me. I know that you were about to sa—’

  ‘When I was ten, I went on some car journey with Dad,’ I blurted. ‘I don’t remember why and I have no idea where you and Mum were. I had my Walkman on – I had that thing for Wham’s ‘Make It Big’. Anyway, it was hot in
the back – no air conditioning then, obviously – and I fell asleep. I woke up to find we’d stopped and some woman was sitting in the passenger seat. I honestly don’t know who she was. My batteries had run out so I could hear everything. I think they thought I was still asleep. She told Dad she loved him and they kissed on the lips.’

  Flo gasped.

  ‘Then she just got out and we drove home. When we got back, I wrote about what I’d seen in my diary. I was big into diaries then, as you’ll remember.’ I swallowed and sat down next to her, feeling unsteady on my feet. ‘Twenty-four hours later, Dad was gone.’ I turned to her, frightened. ‘Mum must have read it, challenged him and thrown him out – or he left. I mean, obviously she forgave him eventually, or he came back or something… but it was my fault she found out in the first place.’

  ‘You wrote it down in your diary?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Flo simply stood up and left the room. I closed my eyes. I felt sick.

  ‘Charlotte? You up there?’ I heard Tris calling and then he appeared in the doorway. ‘What are you doing? Everyone’s looking for you to do the speech?’

  ‘I can’t,’ I whispered. ‘Can you do it for me, please?’

  ‘Of course.’ He came right into the room. ‘Are you crying? What’s going on?’

  I wiped my eyes. ‘I’ll tell you later.’

  ‘OK.’ He watched me, concerned. ‘I think I better take the kids home after they’ve done the cut the cake bit though. Teddy’s getting a bit much. They need to calm down. You’re still good to come back with Flo?’

  ‘I think so, yes.’ I looked up at him. ‘Try not to let Teddy fall asleep in the car, will you?’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Obviously. You say these things like I don’t know.’

  ‘Sorry. I’m just tired now, that’s all.’ I stood up. ‘I’d like a quiet evening later, rather than him up until who knows when. It’s been a challenging day.’

  ‘I’ll do my best. You stay as long as you want though, you don’t need to rush back. I’ve got a fair bit of work to do tonight once the kids are down, so you might as well enjoy yourself. Come on then, let’s do this speech.’ He took my hand and led me firmly downstairs.

  He hit exactly the right tone once everyone was gathered around the cake in the garden, clutching filled flutes. He avoided talking about my parents personally, but reflected wittily on marriage in general. Holding everyone in the palm of his hand, he spoke confidently while the lazy afternoon sun shone down on all of us. I was both proud of him and enormously grateful.

  ‘So please raise your glasses to the happy couple. We wish you love, happiness and plenty more fabulous parties. To Joan and David.’

  I watched as my father kissed my mother on the lips and everyone cheered. I glanced at Flo who was looking down at the ground, clutching the stem of her glass so fiercely I have no idea how the whole thing didn’t just shatter in her hands.

  Once everyone had gone home and we were silently washing up, Mum appeared in the kitchen and announced brightly she fancied a walk to the pub as it was such a beautiful evening, did anyone want to join her? Flo shook her head. ‘You and Dad go. We’ll finish up here.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ Mum said, gathering up her wrap. ‘You’re good girls, thank you.’

  ‘We probably won’t be here when you get back though.’ Flo didn’t look up from the sink. ‘I’m going to drop Charlotte off on my way.’

  ‘You’ll go M25 then A20?’ Dad said.

  ‘Of course. I wouldn’t go cross-country even if I was going straight home to Chislehurst. It’d take hours,’ Flo said shortly.

  There was a pause. ‘I’ll say goodbye then.’ I moved to kiss my parents. ‘I’m going to grab the rest of the dirties from the garden. Thanks for a nice afternoon and congratulations.’

  ‘Thank you, darling.’ Mum hugged me. ‘Take some cake back with you, won’t you? I can’t possibly eat it all. I’ll get fat as a pig. And we’ll see you at yours for lunch next Sunday? What would you like me to—’

  ‘Mum, Dad. I want to ask you both something.’ Flo whipped round suddenly, her wet hands dripping all over the floor.

  I turned as cold as if she’d poured the washing-up water down the back of my dress. I stared at my sister in horror. Oh God no. Not now. Please.

  Flo glanced at me and I begged her silently not to say a thing… not to ask them what I’d written about all those years ago.

  ‘How do you think it makes me feel when…’ She paused and breathed out, as if she was psyching herself up.

  I braced myself.

  ‘How do you think it makes me feel when,’ she repeated again, her voice trembling, before stopping and turning her head away, her eyes full of tears. She bit her lip. ‘How do you think it makes me feel when we always have lunch at Charlotte’s if we’re not here? It’s just assumed. None of you ever come to my house…’

  I began to breath out, very, very slowly.

  ‘It’s like I don’t exist.’

  Mum raised her eyebrows. ‘You want us to come to you for lunch next weekend?’

  ‘Yes,’ Flo mumbled. ‘I know it’s not the easy option for everyone, but yes, I do.’

  ‘Of course we’ll come,’ Dad said quietly. ‘That would be very nice, thank you, Flo.’

  She nodded, swallowed and turned back to the washing-up. ‘Great. It’s in the diary.’

  I walked around collecting glasses from the patio at the end of the garden, wondering how best to tackle everything with Flo again. My stomach was a tight knot of anxiety and I didn’t feel tired anymore, but rather alert and focused. Should I wait until we were in the car – some neutral space? I didn’t want her getting upset while driving though. I simply shouldn’t have blurted it out like that. Perhaps she was right, the ‘celebrations’ had distressed me too, far more than I’d allowed myself to realise. I stopped for a moment to look at the water and the late afternoon sun dappling the surface. A breeze had picked up and it was starting to feel cooler. Autumn was in the air. Mum was going to need her wrap on the way back. Without warning, as I looked upriver, the years rolled back in a flash and suddenly I could feel myself in my ten-year-old body, lifting the stone with the stupid diary page tied to it, sobbing as I struggled not to drop it, but finding the strength from somewhere to fling it as far away from me as possible, exclaiming aloud as I let it go… watching the water where it sank without trace, horrified and frightened by the power it had possessed.

  I felt a hand on my back and turned to find Flo there, her eyes red from crying.

  ‘I’m so sorry!’ My voice gave way and I hugged her to me tightly.

  We clung to each other for a moment before she pulled back. ‘You should have told me, for lots of reasons… but you’ve honestly never talked to either of them about what you saw?’

  ‘No,’ I said truthfully. ‘I didn’t want to ask Mum at the time. I was frightened that if she hadn’t read it after all, I’d make everything that was already awful a million times worse. Remember how often we were told “he’s not coming back”? I was really scared by what I’d done.’

  Flo shook her head.

  ‘Then when he did just… walk back into our lives… I definitely wasn’t going to rake it all up again then. I kept quiet.’ I paused. ‘You’re right though, I’m assuming this is what happened, that it was my diary. It might not be, but I think it probably is. Anyway, I love you so much.’ My eyes filled with tears. ‘I didn’t want you to hate me more than I hated myself.’

  ‘That’s so stupid. We’re sisters.’ She held a hand out, and I took it. ‘Dad’s absence was acutely painful for both of us. You’ve just dealt with it differently to me. I’m so sad that you’ve kept this secret for so long though. What a burden for you to have carried alone.’

  ‘Well, Tris knows.’

  She let go of my hand. ‘You told him?’

  I gestured helplessly. ‘He’s my husband.’

  She shivered; at first I thought she was cold, but her cheeks
and neck began to prick violently red, and I realised she was angry as she looked out over the water.

  ‘Charlotte, there’s something I need to tell you. All of this has just made up my mind. Secrets are destructive and you mean more to me than anyone and anything.’

  ‘What are you talking about now?’ I laughed nervously. ‘Are you in some sort of trouble or something?’

  ‘Do you know a woman called Amy Hendricks?’ She turned to face me.

  I shrugged, blankly. ‘No. Why?’

  ‘She’s an actress, her stage name is Mia Justice.’

  Immediately, a bell rang. I’d never forget a name like that. I scrolled back through my mind and arrived at the book signing in Edinburgh, the year before. I saw her standing in front of me, smiling.

  ‘She looks a lot like you.’ Flo took a deep breath. ‘She was, until last week, one of my new clients. There’s something you need to know about her…’

  TWO AND A HALF WEEKS LATER

  FOUR

  MIA

  I have to shove to get past them. They’ve crowded round Matthew in a hungry, breathless crush, shoving programmes and pens in his face, phones held aloft as they film and selfie themselves stupid. Someone steps back and squashes my rucksack against the wall, trapping me. I yelp and yank at it a couple of times to free myself, but they don’t even notice.

  I wipe the tearstains from my face, pull my hood up and shove my hands deeper in my pockets. I just want to go home. My bottom lip trembles. I want to climb into my bed, pull the covers over my head and cry myself to sleep.

  ‘Excuse me? Mia?’

  A forceful voice calls my name and, obediently, I turn back.

  The bright lights shining from the stage door have also illuminated the wall across the street. A woman is leaning against it. The tip of her cigarette glows before she pulls it away from her mouth, exhales deeply and the smoke clouds around her. She’s got her arms tightly crossed over her chest against the cold, and I can see why. Her dress is long-sleeved but she’s not wearing a coat. The days might still just be warm enough to get away with that, but not at this time of night – it’s practically November – she must be freezing. It was her that said my name, wasn’t it?