So what happens if they do find something untoward? I don’t think they will. But they might. What if the truth comes out? Nathan will go mad. Could I go to prison for something like that, or would it just be a fine? I open up Google on my phone and start typing into the search bar. But before pressing ‘enter’, I pause, then delete the words. What if HMRC somehow have access to my phone and can view my search history? They might think I’m guilty just because I looked something up.
I’m becoming paranoid. Driving myself crazy. I need to get out of here.
I can’t face knocking on my own office door, so I don’t bother to tell them that I’m going out. I won’t be long anyway. Just a quick walk around the block to shake off this restless feeling.
I step out onto the pavement, taking a deep, steadying breath. The thing to do is to concentrate on my work rather than on this intrusion. There’s nothing I can do about it anyway, so it’s pointless stressing. I head up the road, towards the town hall, past the library and the supermarket, the clip-clip of my heels on the concrete going some way to alleviating my anxiousness. The town is still waking up. ‘Open’ signs being turned around, doors flung wide, A-boards set out, and tables and chairs arranged for the breakfast and coffee crowd. I navigate my way past all of it, nodding good morning to friends and neighbours as I go. As though nothing is wrong.
I’ve lived in Ashridge Falls all my life, but I’m not a beloved member of the community. I’m too stand-offish. Too self-contained. Sure, I’m liked, maybe even respected a little – I like to think so anyway – but not loved. Not like Kelly or Ed, or even Tia. That’s fine though. It suits me. Although a part of me admits that it would be lovely to be more easy going. More friendly and approachable. I guess it just isn’t in my nature, though maybe it used to be.
I stop in my tracks. Up ahead I see a familiar dark-haired figure talking animatedly to Tia’s brother, Ash. Ash Dewan is a local police officer. A nice guy, strait-laced and responsible – the complete opposite of his sister, who was always a bit of a tearaway. Right now, Ash is standing by his car sharing a laugh with Paul Barton, the local dentist. And Paul Barton is definitely someone I do not want to see.
If I turn around and head back the way I came, he might still spot me and catch up. So instead, I keep my head low, cross over the road and duck into a residential side street. I amble past the stone-fronted fisherman’s cottages, deciding to go for a longer walk than intended. Molly will arrive at work soon anyway, so she can deal with any customer queries that might come in.
I try to empty my mind, admiring the colourful window boxes and smartly painted front doors. Most of these houses are spruced-up holiday cottages. I’ve worked on a couple of them myself. They’re tiny, but full of charm and character. It’s nice and shady down here. Cool and quiet. I’ll keep walking until I’m sure the coast is clear.
Eight
She stumbles along the lake towards home. Her head bowed; her mind numb. She needs to get home. To close the door and fall onto her bed. There are too many people here – picnickers, clusters of kids hanging around chatting, skimming stones. It’s a sunny summer’s day, so what did she expect? She should have walked home via the quiet back streets. But the thought of that is almost as frightening.
‘Hey!’
Before she can stop herself, she looks up.
Her best friends are on the grassy bank by the old willow tree, waving and calling her over. She can’t ignore them. But how can she put into words what’s just happened? How can she explain it to them? She decides the best thing to do is to point to her watch, shrug apologetically and keep walking like she has to be somewhere else in a hurry.
She feels like she’s acting a part. Like those girls are not really her best friends. This town isn’t really the place where she lives. Today is just a scene out of a really horrible play.
‘Hey, wait!’
She quickens her pace, but her friends aren’t put off. They catch her up and ask what’s wrong. They want to know where she’s going in such a hurry. They’ve seen her face and can tell she’s been crying. They coax her up onto the bank and demand answers. Pull her down onto the grass beneath the frondy willow tree, where it’s cool and dark.
After a few moments’ hesitation, she finally succumbs to their concern, letting the words spill out of her like poison from a wound. Her friends’ eyes widen. They gasp and cry and hug her and vow to help her do something about it.
She is exhausted. But she is also relieved that her friends are here with her. That they have taken over. She’ll follow their lead and do what they say. She thinks it will be easier that way.
But she’s deluded. Nothing about this will be easy.
Nine
Thursday
TIA
Back home, I’m still fuming about the deputy head’s attitude towards what happened with Rosie. I huff into the house, itching to tell Ed about the meeting we had. If I’d thought about it, I would have asked him to come with me. Maybe Mrs Lovatt would have taken the situation more seriously if we’d both been there. I often have that problem – I may be thirty-one, but I still look about eighteen, so people tend to dismiss me as young and stupid. Which I most definitely am not.
‘Ed!’ I call up the stairs. ‘Want a coffee?’
‘Yeah, be down in a minute!’
Good. I could do with a good rant about Mrs Lovatt and her hoity-toity ways.
I turn at the sound of the mail thudding onto the porch doormat. It’s come earlier than usual. These days it doesn’t usually arrive until lunchtime. I pick up the stack and head into the kitchen-diner. I love this room – it’s so light and airy with its wide wooden doors that lead out onto the kid-friendly garden. Ed and I designed the room together and he transformed it almost single-handedly, except for the electrics, and my paintbrush skills. Before we bought the house, it was a bit of a wreck. But it was the only place we could afford on this side of town, close to the lake and to the school so that I don’t have to drive the kids in every day. Plus, my best friends Kelly and Fiona live nearby. Although Fiona and I aren’t nearly as close these days. Not like way back, when the three of us were inseparable at school.
I flip absent-mindedly through the mail. There’s the usual slew of flyers that I dump straight into the recycling bin, a bank statement for our joint account which actually doesn’t look too horrendous this month, and a large cardboard envelope addressed to me. I can’t remember ordering anything, and it’s not my birthday. I lay it on the counter for a moment and put fresh water in the coffee machine. While it heats, I open the envelope, mildly curious as to what it could contain.
As I slide my fingers in between the stiff card, I notice that I need to get my nails redone – the colour’s grown out already. I’ll make an appointment later. It looks like there are photographs inside the envelope. Maybe it’s this year’s school photos, but I’m pretty sure I already had those back in September. Surely they wouldn’t do two lots in one year. It’s great to have pictures of Rosie but the cost is always astronomical. With me being a stay-at-home mum for the past few years, things have been a little bit tight. Ed earns a decent amount, we’re not badly off, but extras like school photos always hit quite hard.
I slip the photo sheets out of the envelope, prepared to be suckered into buying the lot at the sight of my gorgeous daughter pulling a heart-melting smile, but these aren’t school photos – they’re too grainy and blurred. And they’re not of Rosie either. I frown. The photo is of a man and a woman coming out of a club. They’re leaning into one another, kissing. My frown deepens.
When I see who it is, I almost drop the photos in shock.
I slide off the top photo and stare at the one below. This time, the couple are inside a cab, kissing more passionately. The photo is taken from outside, but it’s obvious who it is. My stomach churns, and sweat prickles on my forehead. Upset and confused, I look at the final photo with trepidation. The couple are in bed and it looks like they’re having sex.
&nb
sp; Each of the photos has a date stamp in the corner. They were taken last month, in June. And I can recall exactly which day that was. It looks like the man in the photo has dark hair, but in each of the pictures, his face is turned away from the camera. The only face I can make out clearly is my own. The woman in the photos is me. The only trouble is, I have no memory of kissing anyone that night, let alone climbing into bed with them! I would never cheat on Ed. Never.
Who sent the pictures? I snatch up the envelope once again and peer inside, giving myself a paper cut on my finger in the process, but there’s no note – nothing. I turn over the glossy, slippery photos, but there’s nothing written on the back either.
Who are they from? What do they want? What the hell is going on? Acid burns my throat and chills ripple across my skin. I honestly feel like I’m going to throw up. But right now there are footsteps coming down the stairs. Shit. It’s Ed. He’ll be in here any moment. What should I do?
Think, think. I was going to make coffee for us both and talk about something – what was I going to talk about? My brain has stopped working. I yank open one of the kitchen drawers and shove the photos and envelope beneath some tea towels, trying to get my breathing under control.
I manage to close the drawer just as Ed comes into the kitchen. Then, like some kind of cliché, I wipe my brow. I need to compose myself before I turn around. Taking a deep breath, I smudge away a stray tear, but I can’t bring myself to turn and look at Ed just yet.
‘Are we having a coffee?’ he asks. ‘I’ve got to leave for work in twenty minutes.’
‘Yep, just making it.’ I walk unsteadily over to the cupboard and pull out two cups.
‘How did it go at school?’
School? And then it comes back to me – I spoke to the deputy head earlier about Rosie. About those boys saying that awful thing about me. Was that really only half an hour ago? It feels like a week. And it seems almost trivial compared with the revelation of the photos. But then, are the pictures even real? Maybe they’ve been photoshopped. Yes, that’s probably it. I’ll have to examine the photos more closely, but that has to be the answer. But who would do such a thing, and why?
Why do awful things always have to happen at the same time? First that terrible rumour at school, and now these photos. Could my week get any worse?
‘Tia?’ Ed comes around the counter.
I turn and manage to smile. ‘Hey, yeah, it was a bit…’ I shrug, realising my voice is higher than usual and I sound like a crazy person.
‘Hey, you okay? Sit down, I’ll finish making the coffee.’
‘Are you sure? Thanks.’ I take a seat at the kitchen table. My left leg seems to be shaking uncontrollably so I try to still it with my hand. All I can think about is those photographs in the kitchen drawer, the images imprinted on my brain. I cast my mind back to the night in question. Try to remember what happened. But it’s all a bit of a blur.
The sound of a drawer opening makes my stomach lurch. I stand up suddenly. What if Ed opens that drawer and sees the photos? ‘Ed, sit down! It’s okay, I’ll finish making it!’
He gives me an odd look and waves a teaspoon at me. ‘It’s fine, I’m done.’
I sit back down and attempt to breathe normally, convinced my husband must be able to hear my heart banging against my ribcage. I need to make normal conversation until I figure out what I’m going to do. ‘So how did your shift go last night? Sorry I forgot to ask about it earlier. You had that big birthday booking.’
‘Yeah, it was good. Everyone seemed to like the new menu.’ Ed brings our drinks to the table and sits opposite me.
I need to respond. To carry on with our conversation as though nothing’s wrong. But my mind is filled with those shocking images.
‘How did it go with Rosie’s teacher this morning.’
‘I… uh.’ Focus, Tia. My mind flits from the photos to my meeting this morning. ‘I didn’t get to speak to Mr Jeffries. He was with Rosie’s class, so I had to talk to the new deputy head instead. She didn’t seem to take it seriously at all.’
‘Really? Why, what did she say?’
‘Not a lot. Just some crap like she’ll see what she can do. Trying to fob me off.’
‘I hope you told her what’s what.’
‘I tried, but she made me feel like I was making a mountain out of a molehill. But then she didn’t see how upset Rosie was yesterday. And also, how would she like it if kids were going around calling her a murderer? She’d probably put them all on detention!’
‘Probably. Look, try not to get upset about it. Rosie went in happy this morning so hopefully it’ll all blow over. You know what kids are like, they bounce back.’
I nod and blow on my coffee. ‘I suppose.’
Ed carries on talking, but I can hardly concentrate on what he’s saying, my mind drawn back to the seedy contents of the envelope. I remember that I’m supposed to invite Rosie’s friends over after school, which means also asking Pip and Emily if they want to come too. But how will I be able to socialise with friends after receiving such a bombshell in the post?
I glance at my husband as he’s sipping his coffee, gazing out through the double doors without a care in the world, oblivious to the turmoil in my head. Oblivious to those photos in the drawer. I marvel at the idea that two people who know each other so well can keep such secrets. Ed has no idea of the nightmare in my head right now. He thinks everything is hunky-dory.
What would his reaction be if I showed him the photos? Would our perfect marriage be over? My whole body grows heavy at the thought. Ed and I have a great relationship. We’re rock solid. Neither of us would ever do anything to jeopardise that. Not ever.
Those pictures must be photoshopped. The alternative just doesn’t bear thinking about. The date on them is the same night I went clubbing with Kelly and Fiona last month – and yes I might have had a bit too much to drink, but that’s because I hardly ever go out any more and I was making the most of it.
I had a good time that night but got tired quite quickly. I jumped into a taxi and went home early. But if those photos are to be believed, I didn’t go straight home at all. I met someone, kissed them outside the club, got into a taxi, went home with them, got undressed and got into bed with them. Slept with them. Trouble is, I don’t remember doing any of that. And surely my friends would have said something if they’d seen me with a man. Unless one of them is behind it? But that’s an awful thing to wonder. I’m obviously not thinking straight. They’re my friends, for goodness sake!
I inhale deeply, but this time even deep breaths won’t save me. I rush from the kitchen and into the downstairs loo where I heave my guts into the toilet, throwing up my breakfast and coffee until there’s nothing left in my stomach but air.
‘Tia! Tee, are you okay?’
I manage to pull the loo door closed behind me and lock it. I don’t want Ed to see me like this. I don’t want him asking what’s wrong. And I don’t want to lie to him. I’ve never lied to him. I don’t trust myself not to tell him about the photos. And if I do that before I’ve figured out who’s behind it, he might not believe me. And, right now, I’m feeling more than a bit shaky about the remote possibility that I might have slept with a stranger. Or worse, that he might have taken advantage of me.
Ten
KELLY
I stand in the school playground trying not to bite my nails or chew my hair. I haven’t done the school pick-up for ages, now that the boys prefer walking in on their own. The normality of it all seems alien – the little cliques of mums standing in huddles, the preschoolers charging around with footballs or scooters. I take it all in, feeling a mixture of anxiety and nostalgia as car doors slam and the breeze rustles the trees.
I notice Leo racing up and down the playground on his scooter. That means Tia or Ed must be here. I glance around, finally spotting my friend standing alone by the fence, staring off into space, her unruly curls framing her heart-shaped face. She looks so young and lost. That’s not like T
ia – she’s usually surrounded by other mums. She’s one of those warm, friendly souls to whom everyone gravitates. Always laughing and making others feel great, so it surprises me to see her caught up so thoroughly in her own world.
I decide to leave her be, wanting to collar Ryan and Sonny as soon as I can so that I can firstly see how Ryan’s doing after today’s episode at school, and secondly tell them about Sophie.
When I returned from my earlier meeting with the deputy head, Sophie was still in the house, tucked away in the attic room, sitting in the rocking chair. There was no sign that she’d been into the rest of the house and she was still incredibly grateful to me. I’d got home with the intention of persuading her to contact a shelter or the police, but when it came down to it, I just couldn’t bring myself to turn her away. She’s a woman who’s been through something and she needs a break. I know how that feels.
Tia glances over and catches my eye, interrupting my thoughts. She doesn’t smile straightaway. Instead she looks hesitant, almost irritated to see me. I give her a short wave, but I stay put. If she isn’t in the mood to chat, then I won’t force myself on her. And anyway, it suits me not to get drawn into a conversation right now. Too late. She’s coming over, albeit reluctantly.
One of Us Is Lying: A totally gripping psychological thriller with a brilliant twist Page 6