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

by Lucy Dawson

  He looks blank, confused.

  I exclaim aloud again. ‘So you didn’t even bother to check the hundred messages I left for you?’ My tears are breaking through my voice now. Just when I think I’m standing on the furthest edge of hurt, another little piece falls away. ‘You left the lid off a bottle of Calpol. Teddy drank it. I had to take him to hospital last night.’

  He looks horrified.

  ‘He’s OK,’ I say quickly. ‘But you thought it could wait, didn’t you? You were distracted.’ I can feel everything changing within me like a speeded-up film of clouds moving across the sky; I am becoming relentless. I will spare him nothing. ‘I never call you like that unless it’s an emergency… but you thought your situation was more important. You were angry, you wanted to know why and how Mia stole your book and sold it for a million pounds yesterday.’

  He stares at me; I hear an exhalation escape through his dry lips.

  ‘While I was looking for more evidence of your affair, I found your book on your laptop,’ I say simply. ‘I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell me what you were working on. I could have helped you.’

  I wait but he says nothing.

  ‘What were you going to do?’ I’m desperate to know. ‘Have a go at selling it and then fess up? Did you imagine it was your way out of your “stagnant” life? Number one in forty countries, a whirlwind of book tours, audiences hanging on your every word? You would have been good at that, in fairness, and publishing loves a bad boy even more than a beautiful girl. You could have been their very own Mr Ripley; a smash book based on a real-life double life. Were you going to take Mia on the ride with you or dump her too?’

  Still he says nothing.

  ‘Or did you not really know what you wanted?’ My eyes fill up and I stem the flow of tears with my fingertips. ‘Anyway, I reworked it and I gave it to Mia. I told her it was my book. We’ve pretended she’s written it – and we’ve sold it. She thought she got the gig after we met in Edinburgh. You remember – you met her briefly there too, didn’t you?’ I point at him lightly. ‘I saw you speaking to her in the doorway. I assume you took an interest at a distance in her career after that, until you “bumped” into her on the station and asked her to coffee?’

  His eyes have widened but he holds my gaze.

  ‘Should I be flattered that you went for a brand new version of me, or just devastated? She doesn’t know I’m married to you, by the way. She will have had no idea why you were so angry with her last night.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ is all he says. That’s it. I wait, but that’s the best he can do. Not a man of many words now.

  ‘I’m not sure I believe your version of last night’s events. I don’t think you went there to end it. I think you wanted answers. I think you felt betrayed.’ There is no anger left. The film has stopped. The clouds have covered the sun. My tears start to fall.

  ‘You’ve hurt me more than I thought was possible and I want a divorce.’ As my mouth says it, I know that’s the truth of where we are. ‘We can’t come back from this. It’s broken.’

  He is still staring at me. ‘You did this? Not her?’

  I shake my head. ‘In these sorts of stories, it’s always the husband. You should know that by now.’

  He doesn’t seem to hear me. ‘You sold the book. What have I done? What the fuck have I done?’ he whispers, staring up at the ceiling his eyes wide. ‘I thought – Mia! Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Mia!’

  Oh! The knife shoves in so quickly I don’t feel it; it’s more like being punched in the gut than fatally injured. This is him loving me? By apologising to her? The breath leaves my body as I fall backwards from the edge. I watch him disappearing away from me, our life together becoming smaller and smaller.

  Machines start to beep. He gasps and a look of fear spreads across his face.

  ‘Tris?’ I reach out, but he doesn’t answer. ‘Tris!’ I shout.

  One of the policemen turns and stands up, calling to someone and pointing in through the window.

  The door bursts open. People are flooding into the room. ‘Mrs Tristan? Can you come with me please?’

  I am very firmly led away, but not before I see someone beginning chest compressions – all over again.

  SIXTEEN

  MIA

  ‘Sweetheart, I’m here!’

  I open my eyes and blink in the bright light, to see Kirsty sat right next to me, stroking my head. She’s been crying. I fumble for her hand and she takes it instantly, squeezing me so hard I exclaim aloud.

  ‘I’m sorry!’ she says instantly. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you! You were calling for me in your sleep. I just wanted you to know I’m here.’ She looks devastated. ‘I came as soon as I could and I’m so, so sorry I didn’t answer any of your phone calls yesterday. This is all my fault!’

  ‘Don’t be stupid! How did you work that out? Of course it’s not.’ I reach up with my other hand and tuck a bit of stray hair that’s fallen forward back behind her ear.

  ‘I should have picked up. You needed me and I wasn’t there.’

  ‘I’m not your responsibility. You’re allowed to be angry with me. I said some really mean things. I’m sorry too.’

  ‘I love you so much,’ she whispers and a tear runs down her face. ‘I will never, ever stop loving you, Mia. You hear me? There is nothing you could say to me that could ever change that. Ever. We’re all here with you now and we’re not going to let anything happen to you, ever again.’

  I nod. I don’t want to speak because I don’t want to start crying myself. Kirsty watches me worriedly.

  ‘So, I brought you some clean clothes.’ She opts for practicalities while I catch my breath – letting go of me to reach into a plastic bag on the floor at her feet. ‘I’ve got you a toothbrush and some shower bits as well. Some pyjamas, although Mum says they’re going to discharge you soon. That’s good!’ She straightens up and reaches for my hand again. ‘How is your neck?’ She doesn’t shy away. I wouldn’t expect any less from her. I wonder if she knows how many times her strength has carried me? ‘Still hurting?’

  ‘A bit. It’s OK though.’

  Her gaze falls to my throat. ‘The marks are very red. I can actually see where his fingers were pressing.’ I watch her jaw clench.

  I don’t say anything. Just withdraw my hand and look down at the bed.

  ‘And what about your head, where you were cut. How is that feeling?’

  I lift my hand instinctively, forgetting I have a tube going into the back of it. It pulls slightly and I let it drop down onto the sheet again without touching the dressing. ‘It’s OK. I’m pretty sure I slipped on the rug and hit it on the edge of the radiator. Did Dad tell you it looks like I went into my room and tried to get something warmer to wear from the wardrobe? I put a pair of trousers over my shoulders and went outside in the rain, before deciding that wasn’t such a good idea after all, only to come back in?’ I try to smile. ‘I was pretty confused.’ My voice starts to tremble. ‘And weirdly,’ I cough, in an attempt to steady it again, ‘I remember thinking I should get into Dad’s car. I thought I was back at the old house, in Brighton.’

  ‘You were trying to escape,’ she says softly. ‘I think you’re amazing. Mum said they found your phone right next to you. How strong are you, that your survival instinct was still there?’

  ‘Well yeah, except I didn’t actually manage to phone anyone to help me.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she insists. ‘You’re safe now. He’s never going to come near you again.’ Her voice takes on a low determination that she doesn’t try to hide. ‘Mia, there’s something I need to tell you. After we argued on Thursday I did a search on him. I got his address from Companies House – he recently set up a limited company – and I went there. I saw him come home from work and use a key to get into the house. I saw his children moving around inside. I saw his wife. I didn’t ring the bell or confront him or anything, I swear, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. I wanted to, b
ut I couldn’t. I was trying to work out what to do, if I should interfere or not. That’s why I didn’t answer when you called. If I’d told you, you’d never have let him in last night. I’m so very, very sorry.’

  I don’t know what to say to that and end up just staring at the sheet on the bed.

  ‘Do you want to talk about what happened? What he did?’

  I wipe my eyes and nod at the two policemen sat on the other side of the glass wall. ‘They said I’m not allowed to.’

  Before Kirsty can respond to that, the door opens and a nurse comes in.

  ‘You’re looking a lot brighter.’ She smiles kindly. ‘You’ve got actual colour in your cheeks again! Clever girl. Excuse me, can I just sneak past you?’

  She edges around Kirsty and the huge elephant in the room. None of the medical staff have directly mentioned the police sat outside the door. If only they too could turn out to be one of the many hallucinations I’ve apparently had in the last twelve hours. I don’t even like to ask why they are there. To protect me? Or because I hit him?

  ‘I’m just going to check your drip, Mia. Ooof! They never give you enough room in these little bays. So, what have we got here… Very nice. I think we can look at getting this down for you soon! That’ll make you more comfy.’ She gives my shoulder a quick rub.

  ‘Thank you.’ I try to smile.

  ‘I’ll just check with the doctors. See what their plans are. I’ll pop back in a minute and let you know.’

  As soon as she leaves, Kirsty pulls her chair closer again, looks over her shoulder and twists quickly back to me. ‘You can tell me – what happened?’

  ‘I’m not allo—’

  ‘No one can hear us. It’s just me.’

  ‘Honestly?’ I look her right in the eye. ‘I don’t actually know. I opened the front door and found him crying.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I’ve never seen him like that before. He pushed in, got me up against the wall. He had his hand on my face. He was calling me a liar and saying I don’t love him, that I’d stolen his love. I told him, of course I love him, then his hand sort of slipped onto my neck. This is going to turn out to be some sort of horrible misunderstanding.’

  Kirsty stares at me. ‘A misunderstanding? Mia, you hit him. You would never have done that unless you were frightened and trying to stop him from hurting you. I can see that he hurt you. What happened after his hand was on your neck?’

  ‘I’m not supposed to talk to you about this.’ I look up at the ceiling, desperately. ‘Please! I don’t want to get anyone into more trouble.’

  ‘You won’t. I know this is really difficult,’ she tries again, ‘but he was half-naked when his wife found both of you. Did he try and assault you?’

  ‘No!’ I reply immediately. ‘He’d never do that. I don’t know why he was like that. I can’t really explain it.’

  ‘“You can’t explain it”?’ she repeats incredulously. There’s a long pause. ‘Sweetheart, I’m worried that you might be trying to protect Seth. Please, just tell me the truth!’

  ‘I am!’ I insist.

  ‘Then why did you hit him?’

  ‘Please, don’t ask me to answer that,’ I whisper.

  ‘My darling, whatever you think you had with this man, you didn’t. No one that loves you would ever, ever try and hurt you, no matter how angry he got.’

  ‘He was drunk,’ I interrupt. ‘I don’t think he knew what he was doing.’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ Kirsty says. ‘Forget for a minute that he’s still married, forget that he’s lied to you and his wife. He wanted to hurt you, Mia. This is not a rational, sane, stable man. This is not the man I want for my beautiful little sister.’ Her voice cracks. ‘This is a man trying to stop his dirty little secret from being discovered. A man panicking… a man I want to kill for daring to lay a single finger on you. There was no misunderstanding. He intended to hurt you and he did. If his wife hadn’t found you when she did this morning, I might not even be talking to you now.’

  I close my eyes and picture Charlotte looking around her in horror at the scene she discovered. I don’t actually remember when we agreed she should come to the flat for a meeting. I very vaguely recall talking about it with her, but I certainly can’t pinpoint the specifics. I’m struggling with a lot of details right now. Mostly how Charlotte can also be Seth’s wife. It’s like someone unexpectedly appearing in a city where they shouldn’t be, where you would never normally see them, like in Inception when the buildings start crumbling down. Everything is out of context and in the wrong place. I think about us sitting in the Crypt on Tuesday while she told me about her cheating boyfriend inspiring her first book. She must be as devastated as I am. She must hate me.

  ‘Mia?’ Kirsty waits until I look at her again. ‘I need you to protect yourself now and tell the police the truth. Tell them what he did and why you hit Seth. Promise me?’

  Before I can say anything, a movement catches my eye on the other side of the glass. A balding man has appeared and is talking to the policemen, who are standing up.

  ‘Kirsty,’ I say, worriedly. ‘Where are Mum and Dad?’

  ‘They just went to grab sandwiches and scare off a couple of journalists. They’ll be back in a minute. Why?’

  ‘Something’s happening.’ I point over her shoulder and she twists to look, just as the door opens and the man comes in with the two officers flanking him.

  ‘Amy Hendricks,’ he looks right at me, as Kirsty jumps up, ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of the manslaughter of Seth Tristan on Saturday, the 10th of November 2018 at 6 Dolcis Road, Blackheath. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

  ‘Manslaughter?’ Kirsty repeats in shock. ‘He’s died? But why are you arresting HER? Look at her neck! Look at what he did to her!’

  My parents choose this moment to return with a bag of food and takeaway coffees. I close my eyes while all of the voices in the room begin to rise as they all tell each other to calm down and listen. Other people, medical staff, start to flood in.

  Seth has died. I try to block them all out. He’s dead.

  I see him standing outside his office, holding the heart shape over his head, smiling at me as I looked down the road towards him. He loved me, I know he did.

  I feel his arms around me, holding me gently to his body in my bed and I start to cry.

  I’ve killed him.

  SEVENTEEN

  CHARLOTTE

  When they tell me they did everything they could, that they worked on Tris for over an hour but, despite their every effort, he has died, I hear the echo of our children’s happy laughter ringing in my ears… sudden splashes and shrieks of delight… reflected sunlight on our bare skin. Me warning everyone firmly that you can burn in the water without realising, until you climb out.

  I hear him asking me to marry him – feel his lips on mine as we kissed – and I remember waking up all the way through that first night to stare in delighted happiness at the dazzling diamonds on my finger: the ring I’m wearing right now, eleven years later.

  They ask if I want to see him. Unable to speak, I shake my head.

  We have no answers for each other anymore.

  EIGHTEEN

  MIA

  Once I’m dressed the two officers lead me to the car. I can feel people staring. Someone shouts something – a question, I think – and my heartbeat quickens as I ignore them and focus on the floor. Once we are outside the hospital, I don’t know what makes me do it, but I lift my head just in time to see Charlotte walking across the car park towards a woman sitting in the driving seat of a stationary red car. She sees me and hurriedly pulls the visor down, blocking my view, but it’s too late. I saw her face and I know who she is. Florence. She counselled me after Maureen became ill, for all of two sessions. She knows Charlotte. That’s how Charlotte knew my addres
s.

  I climb into the car, my limbs rigid with shock and think about the things that I’ve disclosed in various counselling sessions. Things I would never want anyone else to know. Deeply private, personal, black-as-night troubles, questions and confessions about things I’ve done and have happened to me. I wonder what other details Florence might have disclosed, what else she might have told Seth’s wife and I feel violated. There’s no other word for it.

  My prints are taken and, mindful of my dad’s shouted instruction ‘not to say a word’ until my solicitor arrives, I stare at the wall of the cell silently while I wait to be taken for interview. I want to switch off my head; I feel jangly and unable to sit comfortably in my own skin. When the solicitor does appear, she reminds me a little bit of Charlotte – the same no-nonsense calm and self-assurance – kind but detached. I wonder what she’s left to come and help me today, instead of what she had planned for her weekend. She certainly looks the part: an anonymous black skirt and jacket with a cream silk shell top underneath as she scribbles on her notepad.

  ‘So you hit him because he assaulted you, by which I mean your visible bruising,’ she looks at me over the top of her glasses and notes something else down, ‘that no doubt matches his hands. Someone slender like you has virtually no superficial fat on a delicate area like the neck. It’s beautifully clear, practically a print. And that’s a scratch there too,’ she points the pen at me, ‘so your skin will probably be beneath his fingernails. If it is, they’ll have found it.’

  I look up at the strip light on the ceiling, but all I see is Seth falling to the floor. I feel my fingers releasing the lamp in shock. He was a husband, a father…