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

by Lucy Dawson

  I take a hesitant step towards her as she straightens up and smiles.

  ‘Mia’ she repeats, only this time she speaks like she’s sure of it.

  I pause, pulling my own parka more tightly around my body, scanning her up and down. She looks familiar. I know her, I’m sure of it – but from where? She raises an amused eyebrow, steps forward and twirls around slowly on the spot to make it easier for me to assess her.

  I blush. I didn’t mean to be rude, I’m just confused, but the only way out of being called on my bad manners is to hold my head up high… and coolly continue, which is exactly what I do. She’s mid-forties. Very slim, clearly eats like a sparrow. Brunette hair piled up on her head in an artfully messy way, but with a heavy, blunt fringe that covers her eyebrows; she’s almost peeping out from under it. Not had any work done, but good skin about to go over. She has very round, high cheekbones that are as red as the very tip of her small nose. How long has she been out here waiting for me?

  She crosses the street, and my attention immediately shifts to her dress and the full skirt swishing with every step. Up close it’s stunning: midnight blue velvet with a lush pattern of green foliage fronds and peony-red, exotic flowers in full bloom. They weave around a slender bodice and tiny waist, before cascading down to her ankles. I want to reach out and stroke it, it’s so beautiful.

  She offers me her hand and as I take it, her skin feels cool.

  ‘We met briefly last year in Edinburgh. I’m Charlotte Graves. You came to my book signing?’

  My mouth falls open. Now I remember. ‘Of course! Wow! Good to see you again. You look – er, a bit different.’

  She reaches her fingers up and touches her hair – ‘not blonde anymore.’

  That and you’ve lost a couple of stone. ‘No,’ I agree politely. ‘But now you’re talking, I completely remember your voice too.’

  ‘My voice?’ she repeats, surprised.

  ‘Yeah, it’s really…’ I’m about to say ‘posh’ but manage to settle on ‘grand’ instead.

  ‘Years of elocution lessons,’ she says drily.

  That and a lot of cigarettes. Suddenly I hear my most intimidating tutor from drama school in my head: You must command the stage, Mia! Your voice is an instrument. At present you have a voice for film, and film is for people who cannot act. Then I hear the director, telling me pretty much the same thing in my dressing room ten minutes earlier, only much more angrily. My eyes fill with humiliated tears again; I swallow and have to look away, rummaging around in my pockets for some old tissue.

  ‘You were outstanding tonight.’ A fresh, folded Kleenex appears under my nose. ‘I couldn’t take my gaze from your every move. I saw no one on that stage but you.’

  I look up, surprised and pathetically grateful. Does she really mean that? I stare into her violently black eyes. Unafraid, she smiles again. I take the tissue, whispering ‘thank you’, before sneaking another glance. I can’t imagine someone like her allowing either of those two arseholes to denigrate her and pin her down like a butterfly to a board. She’s both delicate and terrifying all at once.

  Charlotte reaches back into her Mulberry handbag – my mum has one exactly the same – and drops the tissue packet into the depths. ‘You look like you need a drink.’ She twists suddenly on the spot and glances to the far end of the street at the pub on the corner.

  I hesitate, knowing most of the stage crew will already be in there. I can’t face them. Everyone heard Theo yelling at me. I know they did.

  She is already looking at me again, not missing a trick. ‘It’s OK, we can go somewhere else.’ Before I can comment, she’s turned and is walking away from me, calling over her shoulder: ‘I’m heading back in the direction of Charing Cross. I need to be on a train no later than eleven. Let’s find somewhere on the way, shall we?’

  I find myself hastening after her and falling into step. I can hear her heels clicking on the pavement. It’s a bit like being accosted by a sexy Mary Poppins.

  ‘Your dress is very nice,’ I say breathlessly, like I actually am Jane.

  ‘Thank you. It’s The Vampire’s Wife.’

  I nod like that’s what I thought – even though it’s a label I’ve never heard of and am taking note.

  ‘So Mia,’ she moves us on, ‘I’m no authority on Chekov – my tastes are more pedestrian, if I’m honest – but I thought your Nina tonight was utterly convincing.’ She steps briskly round a group of noisy, sweaty-suited drunk blokes mucking about in the middle of the pavement. A couple of them look at her; she ignores them and marches on. ‘I completely bought into your ravening ambition and determined passion.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I’m delighted, but confused. What exactly does she want with me?

  ‘I have a role that I’d like to discuss with you,’ she says calmly, reading my mind and I don’t even care that she probably hears me catch my breath.

  YES! I internally air punch. This is why you always give your best performance – you never know who is in the audience. Oh, thank you, God! I feel faint with relief. Thank you! Thank you! With only a week left to go of the run, you’ve cut it a bit fine – but thank you. And ha ha, Theo; I picture the disgusting white tidemark of saliva drying around the director’s thin lips as he repeatedly licked them, while shouting at me earlier. You have horrendous breath by the way… like The Seagull actually died in your mouth. That’s what I should have said.

  ‘Mia?’ Charlotte has stopped and is holding open the door to a glitzy hotel.

  I blink and force myself to concentrate. I don’t want to screw this up. I take a deep breath and smile confidently like I come here all the time, although during my most indulgent phase, I never drank at the bar here on account of it being outrageously expensive, even by London standards. Charlotte pulls the door a little wider; a beautiful, fierce fairy Godmother inviting me into a world I’ve always wanted to be part of. I nonchalantly cross the threshold but, in my head, The Jam is playing and my insides have begun to leap and dance about like Billy Elliot.

  ‘This is very exciting!’ I beam. ‘So one of your books is being made into something on TV or a film then? Congratulations!’

  ‘You grab a seat and I’ll get a waiter.’ She gestures at a small table in the corner.

  I settle myself on a small mushroom-like stool, leaving the comfy armchair for her. When she returns, she sinks onto it elegantly – and a waiter appears, silently placing down two heavyset, cut-glass tumblers containing an inch of amber liquid and lumps of ice. Neat whisky? Urgh. I smile politely as she reaches forward and raises one up.

  ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  We clink glasses and they scratch against each other, which makes my teeth go funny. She sits back and takes a mouthful as I pretend to take a kitten sip.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me ordering for you? It looked like you needed something a little stronger than Prosecco. Had a rough night?’

  I set the drink down, carefully, next to my mobile phone, on the mirrored table top. I now need to explain my tears but I’m obviously not going to tell her about Theo letting rip about how crap I am, what a disappointment I’ve turned out to be and how he should have actually cast someone who was nineteen, not twenty-five. And definitely not that I shouldn’t rely on looking young to get me any more jobs, rather than talent. Bastard. My eyes well up again.

  ‘I had a row with my boyfriend,’ I lie, instead, feeling instantly bad about blaming poor Seth, who I bet would actually give me the biggest hug if he were here now, and probably offer to punch Theo’s stupid weasel face in. ‘He hasn’t apologised yet.’

  ‘Oh!’ She puts her head sympathetically on one side. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ She waits for me to continue.

  ‘Seth struggles a bit with me being an actress sometimes.’ I get into the part, feeding the roots easily as the lie sprouts leaves.

  Don’t tell fibs! I hear my mother scolding in the back of my head. I can’t help that it makes life more interesting. It m
akes me more interesting. And now I’m paid to pretend, so it all worked out in the end. In any case, sometimes – like now – it’s necessary to lie.

  ‘So what exactly doesn’t he like about your job?’ Charlotte frowns. ‘Isn’t he in the business then?’

  I laugh. ‘No! Been there, got the T-shirt. I’d rather be in a relationship with someone who isn’t mad, gay or married, thanks very much.’

  She doesn’t laugh back, just stares at me as it dawns on me she might be with an actor for all I know. I look quickly at her hand and spy a wedding band and several large diamonds sitting on her finger above it.

  ‘No offence,’ I stammer.

  ‘You’re all right, my husband works in an office.’

  I feel so relieved I could practically neck that whisky. ‘Like I said, my boyfriend gets a bit jealous, that’s all,’ I plough on quickly. ‘We’ve not been together long.’ I blend in a bit of truth. The best lies are always anchored in reality. ‘He’s still getting used to the idea that I’m only acting up there.’

  ‘But doing it very well,’ she says smoothly, hauling us back on track, as I remember she’s got a train to catch.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say quietly, and then unable to help myself, I blurt: ‘so tell me about this job I might be able to help you with?’ I can practically hear the desperation in my own voice and I want to punch myself in the face. I need to shut up and let her talk.

  She drains her drink and sets the glass down. ‘How old are you, Mia? I mean really.’

  OK, here we go. I swallow and step into my professional persona. Not easy in a manky old jumper and no make-up, but I do at least manage not to say, ‘how old do you want me to be?’ like I’m Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, or something. I will always love that movie so much, even if it wouldn’t stand a hope in hell of being made today. I read that, originally, it had a much darker, more serious script – which still lurks in there somewhere – but they changed it because Julia Roberts and Richard Gere had such amazing chemistry, how could they not end up together? It would have been a travesty. Everyone wants the dream, right? No matter the circumstances you overcome to get you there. We all want a happy ending.

  ‘I’m twenty-five,’ I admit. ‘But as you saw tonight, I can play late teens… right through to mid-thirties.’

  She nods. ‘Did you always want to be an actress?’

  ‘No. I wanted to be a singer. Well, a songwriter mostly. I was the kid up in my bedroom filling notebooks with crappy lyrics about boys who had broken my heart. I hope none of them have survived. The notebooks that is, not the boys.’

  She smiles faintly. I politely pick up the glass and let the ice bash against my teeth as I mime the whisky disappearing into my mouth. ‘I wasn’t a strong enough singer though,’ I continue. ‘I can hold a tune, obviously, but I was never going to stand out in a crowd. It’s a shame, really, because I love singing, but I’d have been nothing but a disappointment to myself and I’d never have made it.’

  ‘And is that what it’s all about?’ Charlotte asks casually. ‘Making it?’

  I hesitate and put the glass back. ‘Being the best I can, as opposed to just wanting to be famous? Yeah, that’s what it’s all about.’

  ‘Who is your inspiration?’

  ‘Glenn Close.’ I don’t miss a beat.

  Charlotte laughs. ‘You weren’t even born when Fatal Attraction came out!’

  I stare at her blankly. So what? ‘Dangerous Liaisons is my favourite. That bit where they all hoot and hiss at her in the theatre because they’ve discovered what she’s done? Her revenge has ruined them all. She’s humiliated but she won’t show it. She holds her head high even when she stumbles – until that last scene where she takes her make-up off and you see she’s actually totally broken. It’s incredible. A masterclass.’

  ‘Is Mia Justice your real name?’

  She completely ignores what I’ve just said. I obviously sounded pretentious. ‘Strictly speaking it’s my stage name,’ I say, quickly, ‘but I pretty much use it all the time now. Even with my family.’

  ‘It’s great. Sounds like an action hero.’

  I shrug and smile. ‘I’m fully stage combat trained, so maybe one day!’

  She nods briskly. I get the feeling my initial interview is over and we’re moving on. Sure enough she shifts position.

  ‘So – let me tell you a little bit about this job.’

  But before she can continue, my phone lights up next to the glass with a WhatsApp from Seth. I see his name immediately and snatch it up, paranoid that she might notice the cheery message from him that won’t support my earlier lie. ‘Sorry about that,’ I say quickly, scanning it anxiously, before shoving the phone in my hoodie pocket.

  ‘Seth has apologised, I hope?’

  I nod and blush. ‘He wants to meet me in a bit.’

  ‘Well, there we go.’ She smiles. ‘All’s well that ends well. Now – as you know, I’m a writer.’

  I brace myself, already seeing the future. Me sat in my own hotel suite. PR people milling around as I do the press interviews: Charlotte was in town researching her latest book adaptation for Netflix, she came to see the production of The Seagull I was in and we ended up having a drink afterwards that changed everything! And here we are now – about to start the second season with all of these Emmys and Golden Globes! It’s been one crazy ride!

  ‘I’ve actually been writing for – hang on a minute.’ Charlotte stops and checks in her bag, pulling out a mobile phone. ‘Sorry – my turn. It keeps vibrating. Do you mind if I take this quickly?’

  I shake my head. I’ve been waiting five years and counting – I can hang on another minute or two.

  ‘Hello, darling,’ she sounds impatient as she presses the phone up to her ear. ‘No, I’m not at home yet – that’s why. I’m sorry to hear that. Ask reception if they’ve got some earplugs maybe? I’ve got to go – let’s chat in the morning. You too. Night.’ She hangs up and turns back to me. ‘Sorry – that was my husband. He’s away on business, in a noisy hotel, apparently. Anyway, my books. In case you don’t remember, I write thrillers. My first was a bestseller back in 2008 – funnily enough about a girl called Mia. I think it’s fate.’ Charlotte smiles at me, then beckons to a waiter, who glides over. ‘I’ll have the same again, please,’ she tells him, then looks at me.

  I shake my head. ‘Just water for me, thanks.’ It’s genuinely what I want and, moreover, this might be a test. Stay professional. ‘Tap is fine,’ I add, gunning for ‘down to earth’ bonus points.

  ‘Anyway,’ Charlotte continues, ‘the book did pretty well. It’s about a girl who finds out her boyfriend is cheating on her, and the lengths she goes to, to keep him. She does things like break into the other woman’s flat and pulls all sorts of stunts to make her rival look crazy… but I’m getting distracted, That’s not what I want to talk to you about now. You look relieved?’ she says sharply.

  I re-arrange my features quickly. ‘No, no – not at all. It’s just…’ I hesitate. ‘No one really wants to play just the wife or girlfriend anymore – the love interest/victim – you know?’

  She doesn’t react at all, just stares at me again – and for a horrible moment I think I’ve overstepped the mark completely, blown this and she’s just going to get up and leave.

  ‘Sorry, what I mean is…’ I try to explain myself. ‘I’d rather do something more interesting than that.’

  She laughs. ‘Says the girl who played the victim earlier this evening. Isn’t the part of Nina all about a perfectly happy girl destroyed by a man out of sheer boredom?’

  ‘Yes, but its Chekov, isn’t it?’ I explain. ‘That’s different.’

  Her smile fades, she gives me a long steady look and sighs again. ‘Sadly, Mia – yes, it is. I take your point though. I’ve written a lot of women-in-peril stories and I want to do something different now. I’m bored of them. If I was writing my first book today, I probably wouldn’t do it the same way.’

  ‘Yes, because w
ouldn’t someone just leave a boyfriend if he was cheating on her?’ I think aloud. ‘I would. Does she?’

  ‘No. She stays with him.’

  ‘Really?’ I reply before I can stop myself, adding quickly, ‘but maybe stuff was different back then. I mean, things feel different now. Post #MeToo. Women are standing up for themselves.’ Then I remember Theo shouting at me, me saying nothing – just taking it – and shut the hell up.

  ‘The book was more complicated than that, but I take your point.’ Her second whisky arrives and she drinks some immediately. ‘Anyway. The story I want to talk to you about is different. My next one is about an extraordinary woman and it’s a very good book.’

  I manage not to raise my eyebrows. We’d all like to write our own reviews.

  ‘It’s going to be a bestseller and almost certainly a major film,’ she continues, without a hint of embarrassment, ‘as long as certain measures are put in place first.’ She puts down the whisky. ‘That’s where you come in.’

  This is where I need to stay calm. I’ve been here before and messed things up. I’m not going to again. But I’m already an overexcited puppy. ‘You want me to audition for you?’ I blurt eagerly.

  She laughs properly and her face is transformed as it lights up. She’s very beautiful when she looks happy. ‘No! You’ve already got the part. I think you’d be perfect.’

  Huh? Now a bell rings. A great big, fat warning one. If she were a bloke, I’d assume she was talking crap and trying to sleep with me. As it is…

  ‘You’re going to have the starring role, Mia. Everyone is going to know who you are.’ If she’s noticed my hesitation, she’s ignoring it. ‘You’re going to make a lot of money and this is going to launch you so high, so fast, you’re not going to be able to see the ground as it falls away from you.’