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

by Lucy Dawson

  I’m going to have to phone Flo, tell her I need her to stay with Teddy and be there for when Clara is dropped off.

  ‘What’s happening?’ She doesn’t even bother with hello.

  ‘Don’t panic.’ It’s all I seem able to say to her at the moment. ‘I’m at Mia’s flat and there’s a situation. Tris is here.’

  ‘Oh my god! Charlotte!’

  ‘I know,’ I interrupt her quickly before she can say anything incriminating, something that could be listened back to at a later date. ‘I can’t quite believe it either. I think I’m going to need to go to the hospital with him.’

  ‘Hospital? He’s been hurt?’

  ‘I’m not sure what’s happened.’ I turn back and watch them working on him in the back of the ambulance, and wipe my free hand on my trousers where I touched his skin. I want to wash my hands. ‘He wasn’t breathing when I found him.’

  My little sister utters a strange, breathy cry, a sort of whimper of fear.

  ‘Flo – stay calm. Can you do that? Stay with the kids and tell them I’ll be back later. Can you say I’ve gone shopping or something, please?’

  ‘Yes,’ she manages eventually. ‘What has?—’

  ‘I need to go now, the police want to talk to me, but I’ll be in touch.’ I hang up immediately as a uniformed officer approaches. I manage to confirm Tris’s full name, and my own.

  ‘And do you know who the woman is?’ He gestures in the direction of the ambulance Mia is being stretchered into.

  ‘Yes, her name is Mia Justice. This is her flat. She’s a work associate of mine.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I wasn’t aware that she also seems to know my husband.’

  He looks up quickly from his small screen, but doesn’t react further than that. ‘Thank you.’

  I hear a call from the ambulance. ‘OK, we’re ready! Now, please!’

  The policeman turns to me. ‘Do you want to go with your husband to the hospital?’

  I would say yes, wouldn’t I? I don’t know anymore. I twist to look in the back of the ambulance; I walk towards it automatically and the paramedic standing next to Tris beckons me up.

  ‘We’re ready to transfer. Don’t be alarmed at the tube you can see in his mouth – that’s just to keep his airway open. The silver blanket is to try and warm him up. He’s hypothermic.’

  My breath catches. But he’s alive?

  ‘That was some excellent CPR you did.’

  ‘I hit his chest,’ I blurt. ‘Really hard.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ the paramedic reassures me. ‘It’s better that than too light. You did really well.’

  I can’t look at him, or Tris. I turn my head away towards the drive, now swarming with police, busily sealing off the flat. A middle-aged, short, balding man in plain clothes and an overcoat is talking to the officer who just took my details. He turns and looks directly at me. Our eyes meet for a moment before the ambulance doors are slammed shut and the paramedic starts to explain that when we arrive at the hospital they have something called a Bair Hugger blanket – a device like a sort of soft plastic suit they pump with heated air to raise to body temperature externally, but that they might also warm Tris up with warm intravenous fluids. The words wash over me as I try, instead, to concentrate on what the inside of the ambulance looks like, the sounds – how it makes me jump as the siren comes on intermittently. It’ll be useful one day when all of this is over…

  I force myself to look at my husband. He has been successfully living two lives – I have no idea how he even found the time to write a book – and yet now he’s barely one whole person. I am frightened. I have lost control of this story. I don’t like it when something takes on a life of its own – becomes unruly, unpredictable – and I don’t know what to do to fix it.

  ‘Is he going to be all right?’ I ask suddenly, and the paramedic smiles kindly at me.

  ‘He’s still very ill but he’ll be in the best place, in under a minute. We’re nearly there.’

  He’s not giving me a direct answer. Making me no promises. Sure enough Tris is whisked off immediately at the hospital, but the police are already there too. Mia’s ambulance has arrived and I see her stretchered in once I’ve climbed out and am standing unsure if I am supposed to follow in through the ambulance entrance into A&E. Several uniformed officers walk in and disappear beyond two double swing doors, just as a nurse appears by my side.

  ‘Mrs Tristan? Would you come with me?’

  I follow her silently down some corridors until we arrive at a small, separate relatives’ room.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ she says. ‘Tea? Coffee? Hot chocolate?’

  Before I can answer, the man from outside the flat who was talking to the police sticks his head round. ‘Mrs Tristan? Hello. I’m DI Travers!’ He looks like a briskly enthusiastic train conductor. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he asked me for my ticket then gave me information about my destination I never asked for in the first place. ‘I wonder if you can spare me a moment?’

  ‘No – I wasn’t angry, just concerned when Tris didn’t contact me last night. I’d left him numerous messages and it’s not like him to not respond, but I just assumed he was making his way up to Wales for the stag do he’d mentioned attending after all. My husband’s arrangements are often fluid.’ I force a smile. ‘Our son was also fine in the end, so my plan was to try and reach him this morning, after my meeting with Mia. Given she’d just agreed a seven-figure deal, we had some talking to do.’

  ‘I can see that,’ DI Travers agrees. ‘But you arrived to find your husband lying semi-naked on the floor of the hallway, unconscious.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You weren’t aware of any relationship between your husband and Ms Justice? Up until that point?’

  ‘Would you willingly give half a million pounds to the man your wife was sleeping with?’

  DI Travers ponders that. ‘I can’t say I would.’

  ‘I was deeply shocked to discover him there,’ I say quickly. ‘I referred to him as my husband in front of Mia – and she corrected me, identifying him as “Seth” and “my boyfriend”.’

  ‘She was clear about that?’

  ‘Very. She was, as I said earlier, in a state of mental confusion when I arrived and her appearance was dishevelled, but yes, she was clear that Seth was “her boyfriend”. She seemed to have no idea he’s married.’

  ‘Just to clarify, you said her dress appeared ripped?’ DI Travers leans slightly towards me. He’s not so jolly now he’s rolled up his sleeves to get a look at the engine. What I mistook for an inappropriate lack of empathy is simply a man who enjoys his job – eager to get started.

  I hesitate. ‘You’re right to pull me up on that. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to confirm if that was “accidentally ripped” by catching it on something or “deliberately ripped” by someone. I don’t want to speculate or appear to be implying something isn’t the case.’

  The DI nods gravely. ‘I understand completely.’

  I sincerely hope you don’t. I take a sip of the watery hot chocolate. The thin, hospital paper cup is burning my hand. ‘She looked like she’d had a particularly heavy night out and just woken up, and at first I thought she was drunk, but she had a cut to her forehead, blood on her shoulder and when I touched her, she was very cold. I quickly realised what I had assumed was her being drunk could also be mental confusion. She didn’t seem to know what had happened or what she was saying.’

  ‘But she did speak to you, and in addition to identifying “Seth” as her “boyfriend”, the other word you clearly made out was “attacked”. What did you make of that?’

  I exhale. ‘She placed her hands on her neck and mimed being strangled. She had visible red marks. I took it to mean my husband had attacked her.’

  ‘Is he a violent man?’

  ‘No,’ I say truthfully. ‘I’ve never known Tris be physically or sexually violent. He has never threatened me or our children in any way. I’ve never seen him involved in a f
ight of any kind. He can be a bit belligerent when drunk, but nothing that has ever given me any cause for concern.’ My hand starts to shake as I speak and to my enormous surprise I am suddenly crying. Tears are flooding down my face. I have to move to set the cup down.

  ‘I’m sorry!’ I gasp, trying to stem the flow with the heels of my hands.

  ‘Please don’t apologise. You’ve had a very traumatic experience.’ He waits for me to compose myself. ‘I can organise someone for you to talk to, if you would like?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ I breathe. ‘Things haven’t been great between me and my husband recently. For example, I know he’s been staying with a friend of his in Putney while telling me he’s in Sheffield. He has a demanding job and is the major breadwinner in our relationship. I thought he was having a bit of a midlife crisis and needed some space. I never thought for one moment he’d cheat on me. He knows that’d be my red line—’

  ‘“Red line” meaning?…’ DI Travers interrupts.

  ‘It would end our marriage. But—’

  ‘So he knows he would have a lot to lose if you were to find out about his extramarital relationship?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can I ask when you told your husband about your publishing arrangement with Mia Justice?’

  I force myself to focus. ‘I haven’t. He already thinks my writing is a waste of time and that I ought to give it up; I didn’t want to give him any more ammunition by admitting to taking such drastic action unless it actually came good. I didn’t know it had happened until late last night. It was reported in the Evening Standard, I believe, but I didn’t see that. Mia emailed the link to me, but I didn’t pick it up until I’d come back from A&E in Pembury with my son.’

  ‘I see.’ He nods. ‘But he knew about the book itself? Is it a distinctive plot? One he might have recognised from the newspaper report?’

  ‘Yes, he knew about the book and yes, he would have recognised the plot.’ Not a lie. All true.

  ‘So he would have deduced some sort of connection between you and Ms Justice?’

  ‘Yes. That’s possible.’

  ‘And worried, he might have gone to her property last night to end their affair, perhaps? Fearing this connection? Or gone to ask her how she appeared to have sold your book?’

  I shrug. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’

  ‘But while he was there – he sustained an injury. He was hit on the head with some force. You didn’t think perhaps Ms Justice could have meant that she attacked him?’

  ‘At the time she said that, I didn’t think so, no, because I wasn’t aware of his head injury, but I could see she was hurt. I really wouldn’t like to speculate on what she may or may not have meant.’

  ‘I appreciate your efforts to present the facts to me so accurately and objectively. Lots of people in your situation wouldn’t be so fair, I don’t think,’ he says gravely.

  I start and look at him, worried. Have I made a mistake? Am I appearing too emotionless? Cold? Is this alerting him to something? But mercifully he stands up. We’re done.

  ‘One last thing, Mrs Tristan.’

  I tense warily. I’ve seen them do this before on Unforgotten. Wait right until the end of the interview when everyone has relaxed, then come back with the killer blow question, catching everyone off guard. It’s a nice technique. I noticed it too, DI Travers.

  ‘Just a total coincidence you chose Mia, I suppose?’ He smiles at me amiably as he reaches the door. Back to jolly inspector. Tickets, please!

  So far I haven’t successfully protected anyone at all. I picture Mia stood there in her beautiful, ruined dress with her cut forehead. I see her small, tear-stained face in the bar telling me earnestly that she could play late teens through to mid-thirties. I hear Flo telling me I promised not to speak to Mia.

  ‘No, it wasn’t random at all,’ I say truthfully. ‘I first met Mia in August last year at a festival in Edinburgh. I signed a book for her; we spoke briefly. I was struck by how she looks a little bit like me and I found myself wishing I was back at the start of my career, like she is, only with the knowledge and skill set it’s taken me the last ten years to hone; what a combination that could be. That’s when the idea occurred to me.’ I shrug. ‘Once I had a manuscript I was happy with and I’d watched her in a play and knew she was a good enough actress to pull it off, I approached her. You make your own luck, DI Travers. Unfortunately, it appears I wasn’t the only one who noticed her in Edinburgh. My husband did too.’

  By late afternoon Tris has started to come round from the sedation he’s been placed under so that the doctors can control all parameters while they rewarm and ‘rest’ him. He’s pulling at his airway support, so it’s decided to remove it while keeping him in ITU as a precaution, to make sure he can maintain breathing on his own. The doctors are amazing and a particularly nice one – a young man who weirdly makes me think of a grown-up version of Teddy, with his unruly curls and earnest frown of concentration – explains carefully that although Tris has been warmed up, he’s still being treated with fluids and medication to reverse his alcohol and chemical imbalances.

  ‘He’d had quite a few drinks,’ he scratches his head awkwardly, ‘so was already dehydrated, then add in the hypothermia and a long lie on the floor, your muscles start to react and the chemicals in your body can have a breakdown, but the good news is obviously his CT scan was clear and there’s no bleed internally from his head injury. Basically we’re going in the right direction and we’re making preparations to move him from ITU to another ward, but it’s slightly complicated by um, the situation.’ He glances at the two uniformed policemen sat alongside us, outside Tris’s room, on duty. ‘We’ll keep you updated though.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I turn to the two officers. ‘I’m assuming it’s still OK for me to go back in and sit with him now that he’s come round and is starting to talk?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s fine,’ says one of them. He looks so young too. ‘Just, if you could avoid discussing the case with him? Thanks.’

  I nod and as I close the clear door behind me, I see them both return to their phones, boredly. A nurse is busily checking one of the drips going into Tris’s arm.

  ‘I’m sorry, this keeps going off. I don’t think it’s the bag, but we’ll change it anyway. I wonder if we might also site a new line?’ She inspects the cannula going into the back of his hand. ‘It’s looking a little red and sore. It might have tissued. I’ll go and get the bits and pieces.’

  She leaves the room, and I sit down next to the bed. Tris turns his head very slightly on the pillow and opens his eyes.

  ‘Hello.’ His voice is very soft and low.

  ‘Don’t try to talk. Your mouth must be sore.’

  He closes his eyes. ‘What do you know?’

  ‘You mean about Mia?’ I say lightly. ‘Everything.’

  I watch him wince. We sit there in silence. Just the regular beeps of machines. I glance out of the window – the sun is setting on a bright, Saturday afternoon. We would normally have taken the kids swimming and after lunch back at home, perhaps we would have gone for a kick-the-autumn-leaves walk at Knowle followed by a hot chocolate. By now I’d be about to start tea. My phone bleeps with a text from Flo.

  All OK here – don’t worry. Mum and Dad have just arrived. Let me know when you want me to come to you Xxx

  I look up at the back of the policemen’s heads through the glass – still on their phones.

  ‘She says you hurt her.’ I say quietly. ‘Tried to strangle her.’

  He shakes his head silently, eyes still closed.

  ‘Tris, I was there. She told me herself. I saw the bruises on her neck.’

  His eyes open slowly and he looks right at me. ‘You? At the flat?’

  ‘I found you half-naked on the floor,’ I continue. ‘Were you having sex with her or trying to assault her?’

  He tries to sit up. ‘Neither!’

  ‘Don’t try and move like that,’ I put a hand out, ‘you’ll bloc
k the drip – it’s been going off for ages as it is. Lie down.’

  One of the policemen briefly turns round. I give him the thumbs up and he turns away again.

  Tris collapses back. ‘Someone is trying to make it look bad.’ He coughs. ‘Mia.’

  ‘Mia?’ I say incredulously. ‘You’re saying Mia has – set you up?’

  He lifts both hands from the bed, briefly, in helpless gesture. ‘Told her it was over. She went for me. Tried to hold her back. She kneed me, grabbed a light. Hit me – I was doubled over.’ He coughs again and I pass him the cup of water on the side table. He takes some small sips as I hold it to his mouth, before placing it carefully back down.

  ‘Do you love her, Tris?’ I ask suddenly.

  He shakes his head. ‘I love you and the kids.’ His voice cracks and tears begin to leak down through his laughter lines. ‘You and the kids.’ His hand reaches for me, but I can’t bring myself to touch him. ‘Forgive me. Please.’

  I watch him start to cough again, and again automatically pass him the water. I try to imagine what he has just told me; Mia, crazed, rushing towards him, screaming. She told me herself she had a breakdown over a former boyfriend. And as Flo warned me, people do unpredictable things in high stress situations.

  Perhaps, perhaps I could believe that he didn’t hurt her, but restrained her, because I have never, ever known him be violent. Unpleasant, yes, violent no. But do I buy that Mia panicked and stripped him to make it look like an assault? It’s not impossible. She’s an actress – perhaps she wasn’t in the state of confusion I believed her to be in when I arrived. Maybe it all happened exactly like he just said it did.

  Except who believes the already proven liar?

  ‘The thing is,’ I say slowly, ‘there shouldn’t have been anything that you needed to go and end in the first place. You know that’s my red line. You know how I feel about the damage infidelity does.’

  ‘Don’t punish me for what your dad did.’

  I half laugh, half cry at that. ‘I’m not. This is hurt you’ve caused all on your own, to all of us. Clara, Teddy, Mia – and me. Do you even want to ask me how Teddy is? If he’s OK?’