Bright Lies: A Chilling Psychological Thriller

by AA Abbott

  Miss Broadstone shows us the kitchen, a vision of polished stainless steel. I hear that I will bake bread, make cakes and eventually take home a full three course meal with wine suggestions.

  “You might be allowed a glass to try.” David winks at me.

  Miss Broadstone shrugs, as if to say it’s none of her business. “Would you like to see the art room?”

  “Yes, please. I love art.”

  “My favourite too,” David says. He hesitates, before adding, “I still indulge myself sometimes.” He pulls out his iPhone, scrolling through the pictures. “Here’s a sketch I did of Rachel.”

  Miss Broadstone scrutinises it. “Very good. You’re hiding your light under a bushel, aren’t you? My secretary mentioned you had an exhibition in Bath a few months ago. I hear it went well.”

  David beams at her. “I’m a talented amateur, I hope.”

  “You can see some examples of the pupils’ work there, and I’ll show you more photos on my laptop later.” She takes his arm, guiding him through a door to a herb garden.

  Mum and I trail after them, exchanging glances. I’m less daunted now: intrigued, but irritated. Miss Broadstone and her school are beginning to seem slightly weird. Why is the art room outside, and why is she over-friendly with David? I’m sure it’s annoying Mum too.

  We take a gravel path through a rose-covered trellis. A sweet perfume scents the air. That’s when I see the huge studio, a glassy cube.

  “You can see why it’s tucked away. The architecture is somewhat alien.”

  “Like a spaceship,” Mum whispers to me.

  Intent on impressing David, Miss Broadstone ignores her. “The quality of light in the art room is amazing,” she says, unlocking a door and ushering us all inside.

  The midday sun is relentless. Despite the blackout blinds on many windows and skylights, I’m expecting a hothouse. The studio, however, is cool.

  “This is a pleasant temperature,” David remarks.

  “Special glass,” Miss Broadstone explains. She points out canvases on the walls, then shows us project rooms for sculpture and pottery. Enamel jewellery can be fired in the kiln too. Several old girls are now successful jewellery designers. Others are promising sculptors and painters.

  “I could really be an artist and make a living from it?”

  “Believe me,” Miss Broadstone’s aquamarine eyes fix mine, “if you have any aptitude, for anything at all, Marston Manor will find it.”

  “I think you’ve sold it to her,” David says to Miss Broadstone.

  He’s not wrong. I’m even more keen when Miss Broadstone mentions riding lessons. She’s all smiles on the rest of the tour. When it’s over she shakes hands with David and Mum, promising the paperwork will be emailed as soon as possible.

  “She was flirting with you,” Mum says, as David drives back through the grounds.

  “She knew who was paying the fees, that’s all. Money talks.”

  We don’t see the porter again, but the gates are opening as we approach.

  David drives through.

  “I assure you, Rachel, I didn’t encourage Tania Broadstone. You’re the woman of my dreams and I’d never look at anyone else.”

  Sitting behind Mum, I watch her shoulders relax.

  “She wears a lot of make-up for a teacher,” Mum says.

  “I didn’t notice any,” David admits.

  “Really?” Both Mum and I exclaim at once, and David laughs.

  “I guess you girls can tell. But enough of Miss Broadstone. What do you think of the school?”

  All my doubts have been swept away by the bright future I’ll have as an artist. “I definitely want to go there. I can still visit Megan sometimes, can’t I, Mum?”

  “Of course,” Mum promises.

  “Great. We’ll sign every document Miss B sends us, won’t we, Rachel? Then Emily can start in September.”

  My excitement is interrupted by the chirrup of Mum’s phone.

  She swipes the screen. “Yes?” She listens, seeming shocked. After a while, she says, “We’ll come right away.”

  “What’s up?” David asks, obviously concerned.

  “My Mum’s been rushed into hospital in Bristol,” Mum says. She looks pale.

  “Gran? What’s happened?”

  “It’s her heart.”

  “I’ll take you there. Pedal to the metal.”

  David brakes, turns the car in the opposite direction, and starts driving faster than I’ve ever known.

  Chapter 6 August 2014 - Emily

  “I can’t stand that man,” Gran grumbles.

  “Who? David?” I don’t really believe that’s who she means. He drove all the way from Bath to give her a lift home from hospital this morning.

  Gran grunts. “That’s right. Wouldn’t trust him as far as I can throw him. I’m sure the feeling’s mutual, and all.”

  “He took us straight to hospital when you phoned Mum. And helped us get you back here earlier.”

  “Wants to stick a pillow on my face, I expect. He’d slit my throat soon as look at me.”

  I stare at her uneasily, wondering if she’s losing her mind. She seems to have shrunk. Her face is thinner. She looks a bit like a zombie, grey and pale. Does a heart attack cause dementia too? Megan’s great-aunt has it. She talks to us about sixties bands like the Beatles as if they’re playing in Bristol next week. Megan and I used to laugh about that. It doesn’t seem so funny now.

  “Cup of tea?” Mum emerges from Gran’s small kitchen with a tray of tea and biscuits. Since Gran was discharged this morning, Mum has insisted we sit with her ‘to pamper her’. Gran’s flat is only around the corner from our cottage, and Mum can move her cleaning jobs around.

  Mum pours the drinks from a Brown Betty that’s probably older than me, adding milk from a matching jug. Gran’s cup is liberally sugared.

  Gran hums in appreciation. “You make a lovely cuppa, Rachel.”

  “It’s strong, the way you like it. What were you talking about?”

  I pull a face. “Gran doesn’t like David, Mum.”

  Mum raises her eyes to the ceiling. “I know.”

  “I call a spade a spade, Rachel. Always have done.”

  “You’re wrong about David, Gran,” I blurt out. “He’s really nice.”

  “Until he’s got what he wants.”

  Mum flashes her a warning glance. “Not in front of Emily, please.” She turns to me. “Gran doesn’t approve of Dave because he’s been married before.”

  Gran tuts. “That’s not why. The man gives me the creeps. It’s the way he stares at you both, as if you’re his possessions. I asked the police about him―”

  “You did what?” Mum almost spits out her tea. Her face flushes.

  “My daughter wants to marry him and take my grandchild to live with him. I’m entitled to find out if he’s a wife-beater or a kiddy-fiddler.”

  “And what did they say?”

  “They have no relevant information.”

  “Exactly.” Mum takes a deep breath. “I get that you did it because you care about us. You mean well, but you don’t know Dave at all.”

  “Nor do you.” Gran tries and fails to sit forward in her slouchy armchair. “You’ve only been seeing him for five months. That’s too early to rush into marriage. I wish you’d wait.”

  “Actually, I’ve already told Dave we should postpone it to next year. I’m not moving in with him either, until you’re properly better.”

  Gran looks smug, while I gasp. “You mean I can’t go to Marston Manor?”

  “Of course you can, sweetheart, just not right away. Dave offered to let you stay at his place so you could start this term, but I can’t put him to all that trouble.”

  “I’m no trouble, Mum.” I’m horrified, my dreams of art and riding lessons vanishing into the distance.

  “Your mum needs you here, and so do I,” Gran says firmly.

  I realise she’s right, but the disappointment is almost overwhelming.
Biting my lip, I say, “I’m going home. I want to be by myself.”

  “Finish your tea first.” Gran finally manages to stretch forward, picking up a bag of sweets from the coffee table. “Would you like a toffee?”

  Gratefully, I take one and suck it, savouring the comforting taste.

  “Feeling better?” Gran asks, kindly.

  I nod. “I’d still like to be alone.”

  “Have you got your keys?” Mum says.

  I pat my jeans pockets. “No.”

  “Take mine, but look after them.” Mum unclips them from her handbag, an expensive new leather one that David bought for her.

  I help myself to a few wrapped sweets, and put everything in a pocket. “Bye.”

  To my surprise, the first thing I notice outside Gran’s flat is David’s Range Rover. He jumps out.

  “Is Rachel with your gran?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought she would be. You seem worried, Emily. Could you use a hug?”

  “Maybe,” I say shyly.

  He flings his arms around me. “Your gran will recover. You’ll see. She’s a tough old bird.”

  I pull away. “Don’t go up there. She isn’t in a friendly mood.”

  David’s expression is troubled. “I have to see Rachel. I’ve had bad news.”

  “What’s happened?”

  David squeezes my hand. “Not that sort of bad news, fortunately, Emily. No-one has died. My factory in Thailand burned down, though. I’ve got to get a flight there ASAP to arrange the rebuilding.”

  I understand why he wants to tell Mum personally. “I’ll get her,” I offer, rushing back.

  Gran’s key is among the bunch Mum gave me earlier. As I open the door, I hear raised voices.

  “You didn’t need to go to the police,” Mum is saying. “I’d already asked them. Sue watches all those crime programmes, and she pushed me into getting him checked out. I knew he wasn’t a paedophile. My daughter’s totally safe with him.”

  “You could have told me, Rachel.”

  “I had no idea you would interfere.”

  “What’s that noise?”

  “Only me,” I say, entering the lounge.

  “Emily.” Mum looks sheepish. “What’s up?”

  As soon as I explain that David has arrived, Gran’s reaction is predictable.

  “I’m not having that man in here. He’ll cross the threshold over my dead body.”

  “I’ll just go out and talk to him.” Mum’s tone is soothing.

  It’s twenty minutes before Mum comes back. I’ve made Gran more tea by then.

  “Is that a fresh pot?” Mum asks, helping herself to a cup just in case. She slumps onto the sofa with a sigh. “Poor Dave. There’s been a factory fire.”

  I know the story, and stay silent.

  “It’s in Thailand, so he has to go back there. He’s leaving from Heathrow tonight.”

  While Mum is anxious, Gran seems pleased. She wags a finger. “Mark my words, that’s the last you’ll see of David Anderson. He’s off to easier pastures.”

  Chapter 7 February 2015 – Jack

  In the moonlight, the houses of Sneyd Park resemble forbidding castles: grey hulks of rough-hewn stone, topped with turrets and battlements. Jack lives barely two miles away, but Bristol’s council estates are another country. At least Uncle Ken was impressed when he said where the party was.

  Katie isn’t with him, though. His uncle muttered darkly that he ‘knows what teenage boys get up to.’

  This is a suburb where houses have real names, not unofficial ones like crack den or rathole. There’s a Range Rover parked on the floodlit drive of Firtrees. A young man is unloading a crate of beer. His tanned skin stands out in February. It contrasts with short blond hair and designer stubble.

  “Hi,” Jack says.

  “Hi, I’m Andy. Friend of Bailey’s – student. I brought the booze. You’re early. Are you on your own?”

  Dark eyes sweep over Jack, seeming to find him wanting. He knows his scruffy curls need cutting, but it’s more than that. Andy’s gaze says, ‘You’re a loser.’

  Jack collects himself. “Yes, Bailey invited my sister, Katie, but she had to stay in.”

  “Yeah, Bailey mentioned her.” Andy looks annoyed.

  Bailey emerges from the house. Tall and wide, he almost fills the doorway. His black beetle brows scowl at Jack. “No Katie?”

  “She’s only twelve. She’s not allowed out.”

  “Her mate Cara’s coming, with Maddie.”

  “Great.” Cara is thirteen-year-old jailbait, but Maddie’s legal. She’s the year below Jack and Bailey in the sixth form.

  Jack fancies her. She’s dark-haired and pretty. Best of all, she’s petite. That’s important when you’ve just reached your eighteenth birthday but haven’t grown to your full height yet.

  He wonders briefly how Bailey knows Cara, and knows she’s Katie’s friend, but Bristol’s like that. You see a lot of people around without being best mates with them.

  “Help us carry the booze in, then,” Bailey says.

  As well as beer, Jack hauls in bags full of vodka bottles, soft drinks and plastic cups. There’s a large conservatory at the back, and a kitchen-diner. That’s where Bailey wants the partygoers to gather, then it’s easy for them to go outside for a smoke. His parents are away for the weekend and he’s not having their return ruined by tell-tale signs of visitors.

  “Let’s get the party started. Who wants a line?” Andy asks, when they’ve set the drinks out. He removes a wrap from his pocket.

  “Count me in.” Bailey waves a twenty-pound note around.

  Jack glances anxiously from one to the other. He’s been around drugs before, everyone has; he just hasn’t done coke. He doesn’t drink either, but that’s because he knows what happened when his dad got off his face on White Lightning.

  Andy’s dark eyes bore into him. “Mate, just chill.”

  Expectation hangs in the silent air. Andy’s lips tighten, and Jack knows the student will keep asking until he says yes. He also knows, without being able to say how, that Andy is more than just a student.

  Jack nods. “Thanks.”

  Andy tips the powder onto the kitchen worktop, using a credit card to marshal the drug into three parallel tracks: two thick, one thin.

  Bailey looks at him quizzically.

  “A big one each for us, the rest for the virgin,” Andy says. He grabs Bailey’s note and rolls it into a tube, then snorts his share swiftly. His eyes glint.

  Bailey’s next. When he’s finished, he hands the rolled-up banknote to Jack. “Your turn. I want that back, mind.”

  Jack concentrates on keeping his hands steady. Bending forwards, he inhales slowly, the dust tickling him so much that he nearly sneezes it right out again.

  “Breathe in faster, you moron,” Bailey says.

  There’s a bitter taste in Jack’s throat, a numbness in his gums. He really doesn’t want to take more, but he can’t back down. Then the rush hits; he feels invincible and pumped full of energy. Who wouldn’t want more of that?

  Eagerly, he snorts the rest quickly. This time, it’s much smoother. He’s supercharged now.

  “Well?” Bailey says. There’s a twitch at the side of his mouth.

  Jack wonders if Bailey’s even noticed it. He hands the money back.

  "Like it, Jack? It enhances sexual performance too,” Andy says.

  “Did you use it in Thailand?” Bailey asks. “You were saying you had three―”

  “No,” Andy says. “Thailand’s all dope and pills. They’re technically illegal, but you go to the right places, pay the right people, you can do what you like.”

  “Everything’s for sale there, right?” Bailey leers.

  “Everybody too. Have anyone you want. Get rid of anyone you want.” Andy looks away, as if staring into the distance, another time and place. He returns to the present with a smirk. “Tell your friends I can do them a good deal, okay? And if you lads want a boo
st later, just say the word.”

  “Shame you won’t pull,” Bailey jeers at Jack.

  “Watch me.”

  Maddie may have ignored him until now, but his new, bright and shiny personality will win her over.

  “They’ll be here soon, and we need sounds.” Bailey hooks up a laptop to a sound bar. “Something bassy.”

  “No, put on Ariana Grande,” Jack suggests. “The girls are into her.”

  Andy raises an eyebrow. “Know your music, do you?”

  “I’m doing music tech A level.”

  Andy shakes his head as Jack helps Bailey compile a playlist of crowd-pleasers: Calvin Harris, Sam Smith and Taylor Swift. Bailey won’t risk alerting the neighbours with a light show, but he uses dimmer switches for some atmosphere.

  Ariana’s breathy voice is filling the house by the time the others appear: the handful of geeks Jack counts as friends, and a dozen or so faces he recognises from school. They’re not all sixth formers, but Cara is by far the youngest. She and Maddie wear short skirts and clingy tops. Maddie is stunning, but Cara’s just a kid trying to look grown up.

  Jack feels a surge go through him when he first spots Maddie. It fizzles out as soon as she makes a beeline for Bailey and plants a hungry kiss full on his lips. Bailey grabs her in a bear hug, squeezing her bottom with a meaty paw. He winks at Jack triumphantly.

  Sensing eyes on him, Jack looks to his left. Andy is watching, reading him like a book. ‘Path-et-ic, mate.’ Andy doesn’t actually say the words, but his expression leaves no room for doubt. Mouth curling into a sarcastic grin, Andy uncoils and picks up a couple of bottles.

  “Diet Pepsi, Cara?” Andy sloshes vodka into a cup, almost filling it before adding the soft drink.

  “Don’t get her wasted.” The words sound more hostile than Jack intends.

  Cara pouts, flicking her long blonde hair. “Shut up. I’m not a baby.”

  Jack turns away to hide his disgust. He only succeeds in seeing Bailey and Maddie locked in a snog. The high has subsided, leaving him flat.

  “Over here, Jack.” Two of the guys in his computer studies group want him to adjudicate an argument about physics and music. It’s a nerdy subject, not what he’d planned for the evening at all, but it helps him escape the sights and sounds of romance.