One of Us Is Lying: A totally gripping psychological thriller with a brilliant twist

by Shalini Boland

  ‘We are. But I haven’t exactly been straight with Nathan. In fact, he’s the main reason I’ve been doing it in the first place.’

  My blank expression must show that I’m not following.

  ‘Nathan thinks I’m some mega-successful interior designer. He thinks I’m this incredible businesswoman. And, yes, I do okay. Salinger’s is holding its own. But I don’t earn as much as he thinks I do. Not enough to afford the clothes I wear and the car I drive. Not enough to buy him his expensive presents and go halves on the luxury holidays. So, when I’m running low on personal funds, I put things through the business.’

  ‘But surely Nathan wouldn’t expect you to match him in terms of earnings?’

  ‘Kelly, Nathan expects a lot from me. Our relationship’s always been built on the fact that we’re each self-sufficient. We don’t rely on one another. He’s always liked that about me.’

  ‘Well, that’s fine. But he can’t expect you to be perfect all the time. You should tell him what’s been happening. He might be shocked at first, but he loves you, so he’ll bail you out of this. He’s your husband, Fi. I bet he’d hate to think of you going through this stress on your own.’

  At my advice, Fiona nods. ‘You’re right… I’ll tell him and I’m sure he’ll help me straighten this whole thing out.’ She bites her lip and blinks, trying to smile.

  ‘Of course he will. Are you sure you’re okay now, Fi?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks, Kelly. I’m sorry to have dumped this on you when your own situation is so crappy.’

  ‘What are we both like?’

  She gives me a small smile.

  After more hugs and apologies on both sides, Fiona finally leaves. I look around the kitchen and wonder if these are going to be my last few days as a free woman. If this whole Sophie thing is going to ruin my life.

  I check the kitchen clock and see that it’ll be supper time soon. No time for that long, soaky bath I was dreaming about. Instead, I check on the kids before taking a brief shower and changing into fresh clothes, which definitely makes me feel less icky.

  Back downstairs, I examine the contents of the fridge, but there’s nothing much inspiring in there. Maybe I should order that pizza we were going to have yesterday. Yes. That sounds good. A family evening of pizza and a movie. The boys would love that on a Sunday night.

  My phone pings. I take it out of my bag and see the battery’s almost dead, so I plug it into the charger and check my messages. The latest one is from a mobile number I don’t recognise. As I read it, I feel a nervous surge of hope:

  I can get the charges against you dropped. Meet me at Ashridge Falls Boathouse at 11.30 p.m. tonight.

  That’s odd. Why would whoever it is want to meet me there? And 11.30 p.m. seems like a crazy hour to meet up. I text back:

  Who is this?

  I wait for a minute or so but, frustratingly, there’s no reply. Could it be from Saul Barker? I haven’t added his number to my phone yet, so I suppose it’s possible… maybe he’s found out that Sophie’s lying. But I can’t imagine that he’d choose such a strange venue so late at night. I root around in my bag until I locate his business card. I compare the number on the card to the number on my phone. They don’t match, but maybe Saul has more than one phone. Or maybe it’s from Ash. But I don’t think so; surely he would call round or have me come into the station. It doesn’t seem like the kind of message either Ash or Saul would send.

  And then I realise that I’m being dense. This text has to be from Sophie. But if it is, then what’s she playing at? And why the sudden change of heart?

  Thirty-Three

  FIONA

  Sipping my warm G & T, I stare around my office, running my fingers across the marble desk. I pick up the hammered-brass pen pot and lay it down again, let my gaze drift over the art-deco black-framed windows and the carefully chosen artwork on the walls. This beautiful room that used to feel like a sanctuary is tainted. It doesn’t even feel like mine anymore. What the hell am I even doing, skulking here, alone on a Sunday afternoon? Aside from the fact that I’ve never bought alcohol to drink on my own before – I’ve always been a social drinker rather than a solo drinker, but right now drinking feels like the only thing that will do. The only way to dull the fear.

  After I left Kelly’s place, I couldn’t face going home to Nathan, so I came here instead. The tax inspectors won’t return until tomorrow, so this could be the only chance I get to enjoy sitting in my office in peace. It’s only a matter of time before HMRC discover what I’ve done. I don’t know what will be scarier – going to jail or facing Nathan when he finds out. And I don’t even want to think about what those threatening texts mean, or who they’re from. I decide that, for now at least, I’m going to ignore them. At this moment in time, I have far more pressing things to worry about.

  Faced with the realisation that my carefully ordered life could collapse at any moment, I have to face the fact that the only reason I got into this tax mess is because I’ve been trying to live up to the impossible standards Nathan sets for me.

  A few years ago I wore a dress from a cheap high-street store. It was a lovely dress – nothing wrong with it at all. Nathan asked me where I bought it, and when I told him he replied that if I wanted clients to think my business was cheap and classless, then ‘by all means carry on dressing like a pleb’. His words, although delivered in a jokey tone and with a smile, chilled me, because I saw in his eyes that he would never accept anything less than perfect.

  I drain my drink and pour another slug of gin and a slosh of tonic into the glass. It doesn’t go down as easily without ice and lemon, but it’ll do okay. The effect will be the same.

  I know my husband can seem unreasonable at times, but it’s only because I’ve never pulled him up on it. I never pushed back. The thing is, we enjoy the same things – glamour, beauty, perfection, control. I’ve let myself follow his unwritten set of rules. Rules that keep everything from descending into chaos. Only the chaos has managed to creep in anyway.

  If only I had someone I could talk to about it. Someone other than Nathan who might help give me some clarity. Who could help guide me back to that place of lightness where we both started out. Before it all became too restrictive and dark. My parents are nice enough people but they’re next to useless when it comes to talking about the big stuff. For a moment, I allow my mind to dip into the past. When I got into all that trouble at school, they were barely there for me. My mum, well, she just cried a lot, and my dad didn’t say a whole lot of anything. It was all simply an unfortunate incident that was swept under the carpet.

  I tried to talk to Kelly about it earlier, but I realised it wasn’t the time. No matter how strongly Kelly assured me that she wanted to know, that it would help take her mind off her own troubles if I talked about mine, she doesn’t need that kind of extra stress at the moment. Not with what she’s going through. So I lied, assuring her that I would tell Nathan about my financial problems. She seemed satisfied that I was telling the truth. Happy that she had helped me to resolve my issue. But if Kelly knew what Nathan is really like, then she would know that there’s no way I could ever tell him the truth.

  My only other friend is Tia. And she’s got her hands full with her kids. Anyway, who am I kidding, the two of us aren’t nearly as close as we used to be. If I’m honest, I wasn’t happy that she started going out with Ed after the two of us finished. I didn’t think it was a very considerate thing for her to do to a friend. It violated our girl code. And, quite truthfully, Tia’s a bit of a princess. She doesn’t know how lucky she is to have Ed – he does everything for her, worships the ground she walks on, but all I’ve heard her do is moan about how he works such long hours.

  I realise again that I might be just a teensy bit jealous of Tia, and that makes me uncomfortable. I knew back then that Ed wasn’t the right man for me, but that doesn’t stop me dreaming about what might have been. Conjuring up the fantasy that I’m the one he loves. That Rosie and Leo
are my children. That I’m living this carefree, uncomplicated life with a kind and caring man like Ed. The idea of being in that type of pressure-free relationship sends me almost light-headed with longing.

  Giving a deep sigh, I lean back in my chair. I’ve always been the strong friend – the one without any problems. I’ve never been one to moan or complain. I would hate to be seen as needy. So what should I do? I can’t bear the idea of therapy. Of opening up my life to a complete stranger. I know a lot of people swear by it, but I’m scared of the types of questions they might ask. Of the feelings and emotions they might dredge up.

  My whole body tenses as my phone vibrates with a text, the warm glow from my G & T already fading as I realise it must be Nathan wondering when I’m coming home. Shit, I shouldn’t be drinking. If I arrive home half-cut, there’s no telling what he’ll do. My skin prickles with dread and my brain switches to full alert. He probably thinks I’m still with Kelly. If I tell him where I really am, he’ll be annoyed that I’ve gone to the office on a Sunday. We always said that Sunday would be the one day where we didn’t work. Where we devoted time to one another. But the thought of going home makes me literally want to vomit. That can’t be good. Maybe I should ignore the text. Turn off my phone and pretend it ran out of battery…

  Reluctantly, I steel myself to look at the screen.

  It’s a text from an unknown number. I exhale and relax. Thank you, God. I realise that I’ve had a narrow escape this time. It wasn’t a message from my husband, but this has been a wake-up call – he could call or text at any moment, and then it will be too late. I should get myself back home before Nathan starts to worry. Before he starts to feel annoyed that I’ve stayed out too long.

  And then I realise that it’s the same unknown number as before. It’s from the same person who sent me those threatening texts. As I read it, my pulse begins to race as I understand that this person is behind all of it.

  Hello, Fiona. I can make Mr Taxman disappear. Meet me tonight.

  Thirty-Four

  TIA

  I pick my way along the edge of the lake, the beam from my torch bobbing up and down, illuminating the path ahead. Am I crazy for coming down here alone at night to meet goodness knows who? What possible other choice do I have? It’s either come here and meet the person who’s been making my life a misery or stay home and risk them sending those awful images to everyone I know, including my husband.

  The lake itself is black and still, the indigo sky studded with stars and a grey sliver of moon. Luckily, Ed isn’t working tonight, but I had to lie to him, telling him I was going to Kelly’s. Hopefully, after tonight, I’ll never have to lie to him again. But maybe that’s wishful thinking on my part. This isn’t going to be a straightforward meeting, or why would they have gone to the bother of the photos in the first place?

  As I walk, instead of fear, a gritty anger begins to flash through my veins, hot and furious. How dare this person screw with my life like this? How dare they try to intimidate and scare me? What could I have possibly done that’s so bad? If I find out it’s Fiona, I’ll… I’ll… Well, let’s just say she won’t get away with it. And if it’s not Fiona, then I’m going to demand a bloody good explanation. I push away the thought that there’s the tiniest chance the photographs could be real. That the man in the photo is the person I’m going to be meeting tonight. That I could be putting myself in serious danger…

  Should I have brought a weapon with me? But what would I bring? A knife? Maybe. But what if the person I’m meeting is physically stronger than me? Which, let’s face it, is more than likely. They’d be able to overpower me and take the knife. The only thing that might have been useful is some kind of pepper spray. Why didn’t I bring something like that? Probably because it’s Sunday, the shops are all shut, and the text didn’t give me any time to prepare. The texter must have arranged it like that on purpose.

  I have to stop psyching myself out. Instead, I need to go back to channelling that anger. I can’t go in there acting like a frightened little mouse. But as I draw closer to the boathouse, my legs turn soft and my fingers tingle – nerves are getting the better of me. Up ahead, the wooden building is still adorned with bunting from yesterday’s regatta. It flaps forlornly in the weak breeze. The whole place looks abandoned. I glance around to check if anyone’s near, but I can’t see a soul. As I approach the wooden door, I slow down and try to make as little sound as possible. My heart thuds in my ears.

  I wonder whether to try the front entrance that leads to the bar and function room, or to go round to the back gate where the spare boats and sailing gear are stored. I’m closer to the front, so I try that first. The door to the function room is usually padlocked when it’s not in use, but tonight the latch is open. I push at the wood and the door swings wide. It’s even darker inside the building. If it wasn’t for the fact that the door was unlocked, I’d assume there was no one here. But I already know there’s someone inside, waiting for me.

  ‘Hello?’ I cry out tentatively, cringing at the weakness of my voice, the dryness of my mouth. There’s a muffled sound like someone in pain. I swing the torch beam up from the floor and gasp at what I see straight ahead.

  In the middle of the vast black space, a dark-haired woman sits on a chair. She’s been tied up and gagged. She screws up her face, her eyes closing, as the light from my torch blinds her. I lower the beam a little and she opens her eyes. I suddenly realise I know who it is. It’s…

  ‘Fiona?’

  I walk towards her. ‘Fi? Shit, shit. Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here.’

  Her eyes widen, and too late I realise she was trying to warn me.

  A figure looms out of the darkness, cutting off my path. I cry out in shock and take a step back, still disoriented and confused by seeing Fiona tied up in here.

  ‘Hello, Tia… Mrs Perry.’

  It’s a dark-haired man and he’s carrying a lantern, illuminating the space around us. I recognise him, but it still takes me a second or two to place him.

  ‘Mr Jeffries?’

  He smiles and I realise that my senses were correct earlier – he is creepy.

  ‘What on earth’s going on?’ I lower my torch, wondering if I could use it as a weapon. ‘Why is Fiona here?’ Could I bash him over the head with it? ‘Was it you who sent me those pictures?’ My voice tails off when I notice what he’s carrying in his other hand – a large hunting knife with serrated edges. I swallow down fear and bile, my grip loosening on the torch as my palms begin to sweat. The torch clatters to the wooden floor.

  Mr Jeffries raises the lantern in the direction of Fiona. ‘Sit down, Tia.’

  ‘What? I…’ Hesitantly taking my eyes off him, I turn my head to look, and see an empty chair next to Fiona. Presumably it’s been placed there for me. At the edge of the pool of light, I see another empty chair. My mind is racing now. I’m thinking that if Mr Jeffries sent me a set of fake pictures, did he also send some to Fiona? And that third chair…? Is there another woman out there who’s going to walk through the door, hoping to bargain her way out of her own personal nightmare?

  ‘Did you hear what I said?’ Mr Jeffries has injected some steel into his voice. ‘Sit. Down.’

  But I realise that if I sit down and allow him to tie me up, then I’m relinquishing everything. At least right now, while I’m free, I could try to make a break for it. I could run out of here and scream for help. Hope that someone hears.

  ‘No you don’t.’ Mr Jeffries senses my hesitation, because in one swift movement he drops the lantern on the ground, grabs my arm and holds the knife up to my throat.

  I gasp and try to lean away from the blade, but he’s too strong. It’s no good; I waited a second too long. Behind me, I hear the sound of the door closing. Is someone else here? Soft footsteps come up behind me.

  ‘I told you to sit down, Tia,’ Mr Jeffries says through clenched teeth. He looks grotesque in the lantern light. Shadows flicker across his face as he looms even closer, th
e tang of beer on his breath.

  ‘You’d better do what he says.’ A young woman’s voice from behind. She walks around me, hovering just outside the pool of lamplight so I can’t quite make out her features.

  I shift my gaze back to Mr Jeffries. ‘Why did you send me those photos? They’re fake, right?’ I still haven’t moved towards the chair. I need to ask my questions before they gag me. ‘Just tell me why you did it? What do you want? Money?’

  Mr Jeffries sneers. ‘Stop asking stupid questions and sit the fuck down.’ He presses the blade to my neck, and I flinch at the pressure of cold steel against my skin. I can’t feel if he’s drawn blood. Would it hurt, or would my adrenalin mask the pain? I don’t have the nerve to test his patience further, so I shuffle forward in the direction of the chair, catching Fiona’s eye. I can’t tell if she’s scared or – knowing Fiona – angry. Possibly she’s both.

  This all feels so surreal. If only I hadn’t received that text before I confided in Ed. I was all set to tell him, and if I had, I wouldn’t have needed to come here. I would have called Mr Jeffries’ bluff. Too late for regrets now. I’ll have to make the best of it. Work out a way to get out of this nightmare.

  Presumably these two want something from us. So as long as we give it to them, they’ll let us go. At least I hope that’s how it’s going to work, because I don’t even want to let my mind formulate an alternative scenario.

  Mr Jeffries moves with me, the knife now millimetres from my throat. I reach the chair and he puts a hand on my shoulder, forcing me down into it. While he stands above me, the woman crouches down and shoves my legs apart, binding my ankles to the chair legs. She then moves behind me and pulls my arms around the back of the chair, tying them together. It’s only been a few seconds and my limbs are already protesting. Next, she wedges a strip of material in my mouth and ties the two ends into a knot at the back of my head, catching a lock of hair in the process, which pulls painfully at my scalp.