Friends Who Lie

by Paul J. Teague

  ‘Just think, I’ll be shot of Porter, you’ll get rid of Caitlen and we’ll have cash in the bank. We should take a year out, you know. We’ll both be able to get sabbaticals from work.’

  ‘Yeah, I love that idea. My sexy Emmy all to myself and no crooks and criminals to chase for a whole year. We can spend the days sleeping in, shagging and going to the pub. Sounds like journalist and police heaven to me.’

  ‘Have you got your hands on any of the money yet?’

  ‘Only a small amount. She keeps going on about how it’s not like proper money and you can’t just get it out of a cash till. She’s moved some over into the joint account, but I think she’s got lots stashed in her own account. She’s keeping it deliberately quiet, the silly cow.’

  ‘We need to make some progress when we’re in Benidorm. I’ll talk to the others, see if I can get them to reveal their passwords. I’m a journalist, I’m good at this stuff. You’re a copper, you should be good at it too. Don’t you know anybody who could hack into her computer? There must be some bad lad you know?’

  ‘Jesus Emmy, I want to get my hands on the cash, but I’m not doing that. I’d go to prison and there’s a lot of hard bastards in there who could make my life a misery.’

  ‘Well, you need to lean on Cait and see what her plans are. If push comes to shove, you should tell her that if she gives you a cut of it, you’ll piss off and leave her to her new fortune. That’s if she wants rid of you. Offer to make it easy for her. A clean break for, what, 100k? That should do it. We’ll be set up with that amount of cash – once Porter fucks off, that is.’

  ‘Do you think he suspects what’s going on?’

  ‘Porter? The man’s barely alive, I don’t think he notices anything.’

  ‘Why on earth did you two get together?’

  ‘Why does anyone get together? Why did you and Cait become a couple?’

  ‘I’m serious. Me and Cait got along fine for a while. It’s only since we hooked up that I’ve seen her faults. We were never marriage and kids material, although I think she once thought we might be. But she realised a year or two in, I think. How about you?’

  ‘What? Kids? I’m not really interested. Porter is, but he’s ten years older than me. I’ve got my career on the paper, it’s exciting, I like to be in the thick of things. Porter’s just ... dull. When we met, I thought he was distinguished and intelligent. I was stupid enough to marry him before I realised he was just a boring little shit.’

  Emmy’s phone vibrated.

  ‘That’s the office. There’s a full staff meeting at ten – are we going out for breakfast?’

  Terry leaned over to pick up his phone. His back was as densely populated with hair as his chest was. When the body hair was being handed out, Terry got three times the regular allotment. Emmy liked that, a man who looked like a man. Porter had started to shave his pubes because he thought it would reinvigorate their love life. Every time Emmy saw his junk, she thought he looked like a freshly plucked chicken. Or a chick to describe it more accurately. She found the shaved look a real turn-off. It was good to spend the night with a simple guy like Terry.

  He texted Caitlen to put her off the scent.

  We got them good and proper. Video evidence of them handing over the drugs. Well worth an all-nighter. See you later, T.

  He thought about adding a kiss before sending the text. He decided to add two, he wanted her to feel like he was going to be difficult to get rid of. What a dance it was, both of them wanting the relationship to end but neither of them confronting the issue until it was the right time and place for them. Emmy and Porter were the same. Terry was not a deep-thinking man, but he did sometimes wonder how many relationships were based on complete bullshit. They were all going through the motions until the point at which somebody finally decided to call time on it. In the meantime, they supported the lie.

  ‘Breakfast would be good. There are a couple of places along this road, I think. I can’t face the breakfast here, it’s continental crap. I might just as well eat the Bible in that drawer for all the taste those bloody croissants have.’

  Emmy got out of bed. She was still naked, they both were. Terry imagined a life with this woman by his side. Just looking at her walking across the room made him hot. She was his kind of woman: straightforward, funny and really dirty in bed. It was a dream come true. He’d never been with a woman like that before. As a journalist, she knew his world, too. That’s how they’d met, both working a job. Only he was trying to find out who’d left the body and she was trying to report on it. They’d hit it off immediately. And now Caitlen and Porter were getting in the way of a good thing.

  Terry resisted the temptation to encourage Emmy back into bed. She’d need to shower – after what they’d been up to, she wouldn’t want to go into the office without cleaning up first. Besides, in Benidorm it would be hard – probably impossible – to get any time alone together. They needed to chat and make a plan. Benidorm was going to be their moment. He was going to end it after the visit to Spain, but he was determined not to leave empty-handed.

  By the time Emmy had showered, dressed and put on her make-up, Terry was also cleaned up and ready to go. They checked out of the hotel and began to walk up the street, looking in the windows of the cafés that were open and deciding what they wanted to eat for breakfast.

  ‘What will we do in Spain, Em? Do you think we’ll be able to sneak off from the others?’

  ‘We should find something to do that the others won’t be interested in. Walking or something like that,’ Emmy suggested.

  ‘This looks good,’ Terry said, as he stopped outside a burger bar to examine the menu. ‘They do bacon rolls here and you can always get a decent coffee in these places.’

  ‘Looks good,’ Emmy replied, thinking how Porter would have dragged her into some hippy place that served avocado or eggs Benedict, some crap like that. She was a journalist. Journalists live on bacon butties and coffee. Just like coppers.

  They pushed through the double doors and joined the back of the short queue. Terry held Emmy’s hand, moving close into her while they waited and made final decisions on what they were eating. Soon they’d be together. Soon. If they could just walk away with some of Caitlen’s cash in the bank, it would be perfect.

  ‘How may I help you this morning? We have a free extra topping with every long Macchiato that you order today.’

  Terry didn’t even know what one of those was, it sounded like an opera to him.

  The penny was slow to drop, but Emmy had picked it up straight away.

  It was the red cap and hair tied back in a ponytail. And the diverting uniform, which tended to make all employees look homogeneous. But it was the voice that did it and made her look twice.

  ‘Well, fancy that! What on earth are you doing here, Naomi?’

  ‘I might ask you two the same thing,’ Naomi said, noticing how quickly Terry had drawn his hand away from Emmy’s the moment he’d realised who was serving them.

  Chapter Ten

  Benidorm: June

  What a prat!’ Terry said, openly sneering at Wes. This new arrival was definitely not his kind of man. Caitlen, Naomi and Harriet were hovering around him, enthralled by his wonderful guitar playing and incredible singing voice.

  ‘Singing James bloody Blunt, too. I think I just died and went to hell.’

  Terry hated it when he couldn’t be the centre of attention. He’d tried a joke as soon as he realised which song Wes was singing.

  ‘Yeah, you’re beautiful too, mate, but if I see your face in a crowded place I’ll know exactly what to do.’

  His lyric-based satire fell on deaf ears.

  ‘I really like James Blunt,’ Rhett protested, as if the singer were in the room with them and had taken offence at Terry’s comments.

  ‘He’s sold a shedload of albums and for some reason lots of blokes seem to have a real problem with him. He was in the army before he was a pop star – he can’t be a prat because they’d
have sorted him out there if he was.’

  ‘Actually, I like him too,’ Kasey agreed.

  ‘Well, you would, wouldn’t you?’ Terry said, forgetting himself for a moment. He back-pedalled quickly. ‘What I mean is that guys who are gay are more sensitive, aren’t they? I mean you dress better than us straight guys and you have better taste in music. And you can dance ...’

  Rhett rescued him.

  ‘Whatever you think of James Blunt, you can’t deny that Wes is amazing.’

  Terry couldn’t deny that Wes was amazing. It was cramping his style already.

  Matt and Becky walked through the open apartment door. They’d been drawn by the sound of the music making its way along the hallway.

  ‘What is that lovely sound? I thought you’d put a CD on,’ Becky said.

  ‘It’s Wes, he’s amazing!’ Caitlen replied quietly, as Wes brought the song to an end and acknowledged the round of applause.

  ‘Yeah, him and James, they’re a right couple of Blunts!’ Terry muttered in earshot of the men. Still there were no bites.

  ‘Actually, I’m partial to a bit of James Blunt,’ Matt said. ‘I loved his first album, couldn’t stop playing it when it came out.’

  ‘Maybe we should adopt “You’re Beautiful” as our tune?’ Becky suggested.

  It was Matt’s turn to mutter something inaudible. He’d just spent the afternoon in bed with Becky, supposedly sleeping off that day’s journey. He wondered if she could feel that his heart wasn’t in it. He felt as if he was getting deeper and deeper into the trap.

  Wes started to play a new tune.

  ‘See if you recognise this one,’ he announced. He was performing already, he had a rapt audience and he hadn’t even ventured away from the sofa in Caitlen’s apartment yet.

  They recognised the tune immediately.

  ‘Oh, I love a bit of Oasis, what a great choice!’ Harriet smiled. ‘It’s like having your own private jukebox. This is amazing, Wes!’

  ‘Hi, mind if I come in?’

  It was Gina, drawn in by the excitement in the apartment opposite hers. There was a moment of disappointment as the men turned around to find that she was now dressed. However, she looked stunning in a figure-hugging, short dress. Her long legs were smooth and muscular, her figure spectacular and athletic.

  ‘Hi Gina!’ Caitlen said, a little over-enthusiastically.

  She’d immediately warmed to this woman but didn’t want to come over as her needy fat friend. In fact, Caitlen was in excellent shape for someone who was almost ten years Gina’s senior, but the sight of the younger woman dressed for a night out, fresh-faced and exuberant, made her only too aware that time was slipping away.

  ‘Mind if I listen?’ Gina said. ‘It sounds fantastic!’

  ‘Come in, come in!’ Caitlen encouraged her. ‘We’re heading out for some food and drink in a while. We’ve all recovered from the flight now and we’re ready to take a look around. You’re welcome to join us ... if you’re not doing anything else?’

  Caitlen hoped she didn’t sound too desperate.

  ‘I’d love to,’ Gina replied. ‘If you don’t mind me tagging along?’

  ‘Of course not, the more the merrier!’ Rhett chipped in.

  ‘Excellent, thank you. I was heading out on my own this evening, it’ll be lovely to have some company.’

  Caitlen envied her independence. She’d sung along with the Spice Girls, but whatever had become of her own girl power? There was a time, probably around Gina’s age, when she would have despised herself for staying with Terry a moment longer than she should have. But age had taught her that life is more complicated than that. Choices and life options have a habit of contracting as you get older. And sometimes, through no fault of your own, you get stuck with a Terry.

  Emmy and Porter arrived.

  ‘Jeez, are you vaping?’ Terry asked, before he’d even said hello.

  ‘Yes, I’m trying to give up the ciggies,’ Porter replied. He looked like he was sucking on a children’s toy. The earnest way in which he used the device made it look like he was dependent on it for his life.

  ‘What a prat!’ Emmy whispered conspiratorially to Terry, her words concealed by Wes’s passionate portrayal of ‘Don’t Look Back In Anger’.

  ‘Who, Wes or Porter?’ Terry replied.

  ‘Both!’ Emmy smiled. ‘Oh, and James bloody Blunt too. I heard that racket from our apartment. How long do we have to put up with this caterwauling?’

  ‘John Smiths anybody?’ Terry asked, interrupting the song’s finale. There were no replies, so he headed over to the fridge and took out two tins.

  ‘Here,’ he said, handing one to Emmy.

  There was a round of applause as Wes’s enchanted audience waited for the final guitar note to fade into nothingness.

  ‘That’s amazing, Wes!’

  ‘Incredible. I love it!’

  ‘Wow, thanks guys. Let’s hope they like it as much in town. I could do with a gig in one of the bars, I’m running a bit low on funds.’

  ‘You should call in at Erin’s Bar,’ Gina suggested. ‘You do covers, right? Anybody in particular?’

  ‘Yeah, well, I do lots of stuff, but James Blunt, Ed Sheeran ... I do that guy-with-guitar stuff. What do they want at Erin’s Bar?’

  ‘They do cover bands. They’d love you, I’m sure of it. It’s been on the telly, you might even know it. They actually film some of the scenes from that TV series in there, the one that’s set in Benidorm.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve seen that!’ Becky said. ‘I didn’t even realise it was a real bar.’ It turned out that most of them had seen the TV programme. Within three minutes, Erin’s Bar had become the most sought-after location in the town.

  Terry was pleased that the focus had changed and that it finally looked like they were on their way.

  ‘I didn’t know you drank John Smiths?’ Caitlen said, observing the can in Emmy’s hand.

  ‘Oh, yes, it’s just a recent thing,’ Emmy blustered. ‘A girl can have too much Prosecco. And it rots your teeth if you drink too much of it, you know.’

  It was a long answer for an off-the-cuff observation. If she hadn’t been quite so detailed in her reply, Caitlen might not have clocked it. She put it to the back of her mind and diverted her attention to encouraging everybody out into the hallway.

  ‘What are we going for, Indian or Chinese?’ Rhett asked, taking the lead. By the time they’d all made their way down in the lifts, they’d decided that they were eating Italian. Pizza to be precise. They’d eat together on the first night, but be a bit more flexible in the days ahead to accommodate everybody’s food tastes.

  Terry was still carrying his tin of beer when they walked out into the street. It was early evening, still light and sunny and the street was alive with holiday-makers. It was a sea of cheap sunglasses, baseball caps, sandals, cargo shorts and garish T-shirts. Terry became immediately invisible, the others less so.

  Gina guided them to an Italian restaurant and they enjoyed an early evening meal, fuelled by familiar wines and beers which had been stocked to please a predominantly British clientele. The serving staff spoke impressive English and if it hadn’t been for the stunning blue sky outside and the invigorating warmth of the sun, they could just have easily been in Blackpool. Only there, as Terry observed, the sea would have looked like shit and the sky would have been as grey as Porter’s hair.

  In response, Porter took a crafty suck on his vaper, checking that he hadn’t been spotted by the staff. He’d got away with it.

  ‘After all, it’s not really smoking, is it?’ he said to Naomi, who was sitting next to him at the table.

  ‘Well, actually, Porter it is really, isn’t it?’

  He looked stunned by that.

  ‘I see people all the time in the ... when I’m out. I see people in restaurants ignoring the No Smoking signs and when you challenge them about it, they say it’s not smoking. Well it is. Only we don’t know yet how much shit they put in those thi
ngs and what harm it can do to you.’

  Porter decided against a debate on the issue. Instead, he placed the device in his back pocket and resolved to try a little harder to try to give up the habit. Being a smoker was like being a plague carrier in the twenty-first century. Terry and Emmy exchanged a smirk. Both had given up smoking some years previously, in spite of it being so prevalent in their professions. They could now gloat at those still struggling to quit. Besides, any time Porter got called out for being a pillock, it was something to be celebrated. He and Caitlen were their only obstacles to being together, out in the open. And soon both of them would be out of the way.

  Chapter Eleven

  Benidorm: June

  ‘Now that sounds good. Much better than that shit Wes was playing.’

  Terry had already drunk a little more than he should have and his mouth was starting to run away with the excitement of it all. They’d gone along the seafront to walk off their pizza and had been drawn to a bar from which the sound of heavy rock tunes was emanating.

  Wes ignored the comment, he was used to arseholes in the audience.

  It might sound better if you stop trying to strangle it mate!

  Do you know any decent songs?

  Will somebody please put that cat out of its misery!

  Men like Terry were par for the course in his line of work. It was the women it brought into his orbit who made it all worthwhile.

  There’s something about a man who can make music. It worked like a charm for Wes. He’d travel the bars, playing covers of hit tunes, making a bit of money and getting laid along the way. He was a young bloke with no ties, what else would he do? Besides, he’d had to leave Thailand in a rush. He’d overstayed his welcome there.

  For Wes, Benidorm had everything that he needed: British holiday-makers, hundreds of bars which catered to their every need, and gullible women like Caitlen who’d take him on face value without a second thought about who he might be. She’d been standing right next to him in the passport queue and if she’d taken the trouble to glance at his passport, she’d have seen that the first thing he told her was a lie. His name was not Wesley Nolasco. He’d chosen that name on a whim. Now that he’d all but seduced them with his music, he had them hook, line and sinker. He was already a part of the group – it was as if he’d always been around.