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

by Lucy Dawson

  ‘What do you mean?’ she demands immediately. ‘You’ve had a casting? You never said. With who?’

  ‘I can’t tell you. It’s top secret at the moment.’

  ‘No! I HATE it when you do this!’ she exclaims. ‘Oh, please tell me. You know I love this stuff. Who else is attached to it? Is it a director you like this time? Film or stage? Or TV? Come on, sing. I won’t breathe a word.’

  ‘Yes, you will. You know you will – so I really can’t. But my agent has said it’s going to be BIG money this time.’

  Kirsty gasps. ‘How big is big?’

  ‘About a million,’ I whisper.

  ‘Mia! That’s amazing!’

  ‘I know!’ I squeal, then look at my phone as it bleeps in my ear. ‘Oh! They’re calling me right now!’

  ‘Who?’ Kirsty shrieks. ‘Who is? Spielberg? David Fincher? Richard Linklater?’

  ‘Kirsty! Susanne Bier? Marielle Heller? Sam Taylor-Johnson?’ I remind her pointedly. ‘I’ll ring you back.’ I roll my eyes and hit call waiting. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mia? It’s Jack. Tell me – where are you?’

  ‘Right now?’ I look around me. ‘By the flowers in the doorway of Liberty. Why?’

  ‘Perfect, my fair lady! I want to be able to picture the scene properly when I give you the news.’ He pauses dramatically. ‘We have already had one very nice offer for your book to take it off the table so no one else can buy it, but…’ he stops again and waits to build the expectation, ‘I will be turning it down, because tomorrow, everything is going to go crazy with bids. Mia – we are already in the high six figures for your UK deal. I can’t promise, but I think we stand a very good chance of hitting seven.’

  My mouth falls open as I walk into the store slowly, stopping dead in the perfume section when it dawns on me. Seven figures… that’s a million. Just for selling it in this country? Shit!

  ‘Can you be around tomorrow if I need to talk to you?’ he continues, ‘because I want to have this concluded on our side of the pond before the weekend. Word is getting out that a big, big deal is underway and I want to tie it all up here while everyone is in a feverish state of excitement that will then also get the American publishers nicely hot and bothered. I do just need to ask you – this will be a two-book deal. What have you got lined up for the next one? Have you started working on it already?’

  My eyes widen. Charlotte hasn’t said anything about that. Like a rabbit in the headlights I stare desperately at the immaculately dressed assistant stood behind a counter in front of me, like she’s going to hold a cue card up or something, but she just smiles blandly, turns her back on me and then sticks her tongue out while pulling a face like she thinks I’m mad. I see this because she doesn’t realise the mirror to her left has caught her reflection. Classy.

  ‘It’s kind of hard to resist the temptation to do something about women putting other women down, to be honest, because that’s everywhere,’ I say loudly and unnecessarily, to make the point that I did see, thanks very much. ‘I’ve got a few ideas,’ I continue, thinking as fast as I can on my feet, ‘but because I literally make it up as I go along, I’m playing around a bit with a couple to see which one grabs me the most. Is that OK?’ That was vague enough, wasn’t it? Charlotte will have it covered, surely?

  ‘That’s fine,’ he says breezily. ‘I don’t need more than that at the moment. And you’d be happy to deliver a second within a year?’

  A year? That’s ages! ‘Oh, absolutely!’ I say breezily.

  ‘Wonderful. Right – well, sleep soundly tonight and I’ll be back with you soonest in the morning. Standby!’

  I hang up. Wow. Should I email Charlotte? Maybe I better hang on until tomorrow, when there’s something concrete to tell her. It wouldn’t fit with our ‘story’ otherwise and I don’t think she’d be happy with any deviation. I decide to wait and put my phone back in my bag before shooting a haughtily dismissive glance at the assistant. I am busy doing seven-figure deals – stick that in your pipe and smoke it.

  But as I continue on my way to the women’s department, I feel bad for being a bitch. I’ve seen so many actresses start to believe their own hype and turn into actual monsters. I didn’t even write this book. I’m just the public face; I need to remember that. Sighing deeply, disappointed with myself, I reach the women’s department… but immediately cheer up. It is full of very beautiful, expensive things, and I know exactly what I’m looking for!

  ‘Excuse me?’ I find a far friendlier-looking assistant. ‘Could you show me where to find The Vampire’s Wife? I had a look online and I think you stock it?’

  ‘We certainly do!’ She beams. ‘It’s just this way.’

  I follow her and feel my heart flutter with excitement as she leads me to a rail on which I immediately spy a long, black velvet dress. It has exactly the same languid silhouette as Charlotte’s. I reach out and let the soft, slippery material run between my fingers. It’s finished with a light frosting of silver glitter that sparkles under the shop lights.

  ‘It’s designed to be reminiscent of a starry night,’ the assistant confides. ‘Would you like me to put it in the fitting room for you?’ She’s just like Bridget in Pretty Woman. In fact this dress reminds me a bit of the black cocktail one Julia Roberts wears when she meets him in the hotel bar for the first time!

  ‘Yes, please,’ I say shyly.

  As soon as I put it on, I know I’ve made a fatal mistake. I now have to buy this dress. It’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever worn in my life. I imagine everyone staring at me in admiration, Seth proudly looking on – it’s the happiest of dreams until I find the price tag and almost faint on the spot: £1,650! I can’t – I just can’t. It’s all right for a proper grown-up like Charlotte to have expensive tastes like this, but Kirsty’s right – I’m going to be out of a job as of next week. But then Jack did say a high six-figure offer was already on the table. Surely I’m going to be able to afford it?… I stare at myself in the mirror, entranced. I’ll never be treated like an actress going places unless I start behaving like one, and I won’t always have to buy dresses like this. It won’t be long until people will want to lend them to me. I make a snap decision and that’s it, a done deal. I shall go to the ball.

  I don’t even falter when I hand my credit card over and watch as another assistant carefully wraps the dress in tissue paper. From then on it’s easy, the purple bag swinging on my arm as I walk confidently towards the theatre like I always carry dresses worth thousands of pounds around with me. I’m at the far end of Carnaby Street when my phone rings again and I scramble for it – that can’t be Jack again already? – but it’s only Kirsty.

  ‘You didn’t call me back,’ she says accusatively. ‘I knew you wouldn’t. So was it good news?’

  ‘Yes,’ I tease. ‘It was. I’ll be able to tell you more tomorrow, I promise. You’ll be the first to know.’

  ‘You swear?’

  ‘Cross my heart and hope to die. Hey, talking of my heart – want to hear my other big news?’

  ‘Always,’ she says, but I think I hear a note of apprehension creeping into her voice. I decide to ignore it and plough on anyway.

  ‘I told Seth I love him for the first time yesterday. Just blurted it out in the street then literally ran off like I was Forrest Gump or something.’ I laugh, and she sort of does too, before there’s a pause and, unable to help herself, she says: ‘And did he say it back?’

  ‘No, but I was at the other end of the road by then. He’d have had to shout it right outside his office. It’s OK, Kirst,’ I say quickly. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not worried. I know he loves me. It’s fine. It’s all going to be fine. Trust me.’

  ‘Sweetheart, I trust you one hundred and fifty per cent, but…’

  Frowning, I slow down and step out of the way to let other people pass, shivering slightly as I move out of the sunlight and into the shadow of some offices on the right-hand side of the street. ‘Go on. What’s the end of that senten
ce?’

  She sighs. ‘Remind me again why he split up with his wife?’

  ‘Well I can’t remind you, because I’ve never actually told you in the first place,’ I say tightly.

  ‘Don’t get upset. I’m not having a go. It’s just this is all happening very quickly. This is a man you picked up at a train station two months ago, and—’

  ‘Hey! I did NOT “pick him up” at a train station,’ I say hotly. ‘You could describe Brief Encounter exactly the same way and that’s one of the greatest romance stories of all time!’

  ‘Yes, with quite the happy ending.’

  ‘Why are you determined to do this?’ I demand. ‘Are people who have been divorced not allowed to fall in love again? Is that some rule that I wasn’t aware of until now?’

  ‘I don’t understand why you won’t just tell me why he split up with his wife?’ she insists. ‘What’s the big secret?’

  ‘There ISN’T one!’ I start to raise my voice, and a woman stares at me as she walks past. ‘This is all in your head.’

  ‘No, it bloody isn’t!’ she retorts. ‘He’s either divorced or he isn’t!’

  ‘I never said he wasn’t!’ I raise my arms in exasperation. ‘I meant there’s no big drama here. If you must know, he had a really hard time of it with his ex-wife. She’s a very difficult person. She—’

  ‘Doesn’t understand him?’ Kirsty leaps in and, just like that, I lose my temper. It’s ONLY my sister that can do this – get right in, under my skin in two seconds flat.

  ‘And THIS is exactly why I didn’t tell you,’ I say angrily, ‘because I knew you’d react exactly as you are! I’m having a really good day, can you please just let me enjoy it, instead of dragging your shitty bell of impending doom around with you and clanging it in my face where it’s not wanted?’

  ‘I am NOT clanging a shitty bell in your face,’ she says indignantly. ‘I’m trying to get you to listen to yourself! “My wife doesn’t understand me” is the warning label God attaches to shit-stick fuck-knobs so all sensible women know to stay the hell away from them!’

  ‘“Shit-stick fuck-knobs”?’ I repeat. ‘What are you – fifteen? And don’t sit on the fence, will you? Tell me what you really think!’

  ‘Fine!’ she says quickly. ‘I will! I don’t want you going out with him! I don’t want you involved with him. I haven’t met the bloke and I can already tell you he’s trouble. He won’t even tell you he loves you!’

  ‘Because I was at the other end of the bloody road! I already told you that! You’re honestly saying you don’t think it’s at all possible, perhaps, his ex-wife could genuinely be a bitch? It has to be all his fault, right?’

  ‘Amy – you don’t know this, because you’ve never been married – but trust me – it is very rarely just one person’s fault that a marriage breaks down.’

  ‘Mia. My name is MIA – and that’s just bollocks,’ I say, rudely.

  ‘If he’s telling you that,’ she loudly talks over me. ‘He’s lying. You need to—’

  ‘I need to go now actually,’ I say. ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘Don’t you dare hang up on me! I’m telling you that this will—’

  ‘Bye. Catch you later and thanks for completely ruining my nice day. Really kind of you. So glad you called back. Bye.’ I hang up shaking with anger and, shoving my phone in my bag, march off down the street so fast the tears in my eyes practically blow from my face.

  In less than three minutes my phone starts to ring again. I want to ignore it, but can’t, in case it’s Jack. Sure enough when I look – it’s Kirsty. I reject the call. She tries again. I ignore that too – and a third time. Three minutes later, Mum rings.

  ‘I don’t WANT to speak to her, Mum!’ I don’t even bother with hello. ‘You can tell her from me that it’s really SAD to be forty-two and phoning your mum to tell tales on your little sister so you can get your side of the story in first.’

  My mum sighs gently. ‘Darling. She’s trying to look out for you. She loves you so much. We all do. She’s just worried, that’s all.’

  ‘She swore at me. Lots. She was really unkind, Mum. I had to hang up on her.’

  ‘I don’t think you had to. You do know she hates it when you do that, darling, and then won’t answer the phone. I’m not sure it’s helpful?’

  ‘Why should I have to listen to that stuff about Seth? She’s not prepared to give him a chance! She goes off on one like that and then wonders why I don’t want to bring him to meet everyone!’ I start walking faster. ‘He’s done nothing to warrant her being like this. Genuinely, his ex-wife is really hard work.’

  ‘I’m not saying she isn’t. Kirsty cares about you. That’s all. Will you talk to her? Please?’

  ‘I don’t want to! I—’

  ‘I so hate it when any of you are fighting! Please. For me. Just talk to her.’

  I scowl. ‘Fine.’ I manage eventually. ‘I’ll message her in a minute.’ If there were a can on the street right now, I’d kick it. Boot it as hard as I could.

  ‘Thank you, sweetest. That’s all I’m asking. Why don’t you bring Seth to lunch on Sunday, if he’s around? I’d really like to meet him?’

  I hesitate, then sigh, mollified. ‘I’ll think about it – but thank you, Mum. I appreciate that… I just want to go now, if that’s OK. I’m still feeling really angry – but yes, I’ll speak to Kirsty. I promise.’

  True to my word, once I hang up, I stop again, in the street and message my sister.

  You called him a shit-stick. How would you feel if I called Bill names?

  I couldn’t care less!

  She messages back immediately.

  Bill IS a shit-stick. All men are!

  No they’re not, Kirsty! Not all men are out to hurt women! Dad isn’t. Neither is Seth. They are GOOD men. I think Bill is too, unless there is something you’re not telling me? I can’t help it if YOU are unhappy – but please don’t take out your stuff on me; “don’t write a book about yourself, don’t spend money. Seth is a shit.” Are you jealous of me and my life? Is that what this is about?

  I regret it as soon as I’ve sent it. I might be annoyed, but I’ve crossed a line. I’ve hurt one of the people I love more than anything in the world. I would kill for my big sister.

  OK. NOW I’m angry. And heartbroken that you could think that.

  I try to call her immediately, but she won’t pick up, turning my own trick on me. She’s never done that before. I feel frightened for a moment. She has always been there for me. When I was ill Kirsty and Mum kept me tethered to the earth; cuddling me on the sofa on Saturday nights while I stared at a blank screen that was just bright colours and sounds with no picture I could make sense of. It was Kirsty who came to see me every single time I asked for her when I was in The Pines.

  I’m sorry. I love you x

  She doesn’t message back.

  I can’t reach Seth either, which freaks me out a bit. I try him a couple of times after the show has finished but he doesn’t pick up. I have to remind myself as the train clatters back to Blackheath, clutching the dress bag on my lap, that Kirsty loves me, that’s why she’s so protective. It scares her to see me making myself vulnerable again – but she doesn’t know him like I do. The fact that he didn’t say it means nothing. It’s all been taken out of context. He loves me. He made a heart shape. I know that’s what he meant.

  At home, I slide between the cold sheets, shivering in the bed that feels too big. I briefly consider calling an Uber, getting it to take me to Putney right now, but there will be a good reason why he hasn’t called me back. It’s coincidence. That’s all.

  It’s 1 a.m. when I wake up with a start, unsure why I’ve disturbed. I check my phone and there it is. A message.

  I love you too x

  I blink, trying to focus on the screen – squinting in the dark. Seth. The relief is immense… which is so stupid. I have never doubted how we feel for each other. I’m now wide awake. I put my phone down and stare up at the ceil
ing. I told her. I wish Kirsty could just trust me on this.

  I wish she’d text me back and tell me she loves me.

  She still hasn’t called me by Friday lunchtime – although I am starting to get loads of weird congratulations messages… from people I barely know anymore but have worked with. One actually says: ‘Congrats on your book deal!’ That obviously freaks me out, and I call Jack, only to be told by his assistant he’s in a meeting but will ‘shout me back’ the minute he can. The randomness of the morning unnerves me completely and by mid-afternoon, Jack still hasn’t rung, I’ve left countless messages of apology for Kirst, am quite tearful and begging Mum to get her to contact me.

  ‘She will calm down, Mia. Give her a moment. She’s angry and hurt.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have said it. I know that. Plus she’s just going to blame Seth for this even more than she was already, but she’s never been cross with me like this before, Mum. I can’t handle it. It’s not kind of her to be deliberately punishing me like this.’

  ‘Give her some space. She’ll come round. Try not to think about it anymore today. Focus on the show. You only have three left, after all. Put your energies there instead. What do you think you’ll—’

  ‘Mum! I have to go!’ I say quickly, because a call waiting beeps in my ear. ‘It might be her or some really important work stuff I’ve got going on. I’ll catch you again in a bit… hello?’

  ‘Mia Justice! Author and superstar, hello! Do you want the very good news, or the extraordinarily good news?’

  ‘Hello, Jack. The very good news, please.’ I wipe my eyes and try to concentrate.

  ‘American publishers have got wind of everything happening here. Several of them are already preparing their bid. Lots of people’s weekend is going to go wonky, stateside because whole teams are going to be frantically reading your book. The other very good news is that after a ten-way auction, I have just secured you seven-figures for your UK deal. £1.1 million to be precise, for two books.’