Bright Lies: A Chilling Psychological Thriller

by AA Abbott

  “Those clothes are falling off you. Turn up the legs,” Jodie advises, stubbing out her cigarette in a wall-mounted ashtray.

  “Who leaves trousers behind in a nightclub anyway?” Jack asks.

  Jodie shrugs. “Some lowlife. Who knows? Check yourself over for fleas later.” She turns to go back inside, nearly tripping over Oli.

  Scowling, the club owner scans the quiet road outside. “Seen Gav?” he demands.

  “He’s not here yet,” Sam says. “Give him time. It was his birthday yesterday.”

  “I know.” Oli’s face is pinched. It is the first time Jack has seen him stressed. Still, the DJ’s absence is a concern, with twenty minutes before punters arrive.

  “I’ve got a mixtape,” Jack says. “If he doesn’t show, I can step in.”

  “Not now, Jack.” Oli shakes his head. “Usually, I’d enjoy a joke with anyone, but―”

  “Go on, Oli, give the boy a chance. It’s got to be better than your Spotify playlist, hasn’t it?”

  Jack gawps at Jodie. He hadn’t expected her support.

  “If it goes wrong, who’s going to know? It’ll be a quiet night. August always is,” Jodie says.

  “All right for you to say. You don’t have to pay the bills,” Oli grumbles. “What’s your music like, Jack? And can you do the lights?”

  “It’s Radio 1, but mashups.” Jack thinks a mainstream mix will appeal to Oli. “And yes, I can operate the lighting. I did music tech at school.”

  “All right, we’ll try you out. Leaves me short-handed on the door, though.”

  “I can cope by myself,” Sam says.

  “Jack can leave the decks from time to time,” Oli offers. “Can’t you, Jack?”

  “Probably.” It would be a bad idea, but it’s wiser not to say outright.

  In the end, he only just succeeds in loading the USB stick he keeps tucked in his wallet. The club’s equipment is so old that it doesn’t recognise the USB. Oli has to connect his laptop to the CDJ decks. After they’ve grappled with it for ten minutes, Jack gets Rihanna’s ‘This Is What You Came For’ out through the speakers at opening time.

  The decks are set up on the stage where Jack sang as an Elvis hopeful. Behind it is the green room, a grandly named cubbyhole. Oli vanishes into it once he is satisfied Jack is competent. All the staff know this is where their boss takes drugs, and occasionally, women.

  Business is slack at first. The high bar prices deter punters until the pubs close. It’s not until midnight that the dancefloor could be described as full.

  Jack is proud that his beats have filled it. He dials in some delay effects and switches on a strobe. As he watches the dancers twitch to the pulses of light, he realises the party mood has turned ugly. Two young men have set upon a third, at the edge of the dancefloor nearest the bar. Their victim stumbles and falls, then they’re kicking him.

  They’ve had too much coke or booze, no doubt. Jack wishes the bar staff would refuse to serve customers who are already bombed. Sadly, hell will freeze over before Oli turns down a chance to make money.

  The argument will be about a girl. It always is. No-one else has noticed yet, though. The dancers’ faces are smiling: happy and excited. Jack doesn’t need to escalate the situation by stopping the music yet. If he acts quickly, he can break up the scuffle.

  He starts an extended track and edges towards the brawlers. The larger of the attackers is closest to him. Jack taps his arm.

  The youth, taller and beefier than Jack, swats at him like a fly. A curse, inaudible over the music, escapes from his lips.

  “Stop that.” Jack grabs the arm now, forcing the young man to twist around. The lad takes a swing at him with his free hand.

  Jack dodges. He is on autopilot now, instinct forcing him to hit back with a powerful thump to the chest. It’s enough to send his opponent reeling backwards.

  As the youth’s friend and their victim start to take an interest, Sam arrives.

  “What’s going on?” Sam steps between Jack and the others. “Shouldn’t you be on the decks, Jack?”

  “I was trying to stop a fight,” Jack pants.

  “Out, all three of you.” Sam points to the door.

  “Didn’t do nothing,” the beefy lad mutters. He eyeballs Jack.

  “Out, or I’ll call the police,” Sam commands.

  Jack is sure he won’t, as the last thing Oli wants is attention from the law. The punters don’t know that, though. Sam’s threat is enough to get them moving. He escorts them out to the lobby and through the door.

  Jack trails after them. When the troublemakers have left, he says to Sam, “I could have handled them.”

  “Perhaps you could,” Sam agrees, staring at Jack’s biceps. “But this way, nobody ends up in hospital.”

  Chapter 23 October 2016 - Emily

  “Earth calling Emily.” Mum brings a tray into my bedroom.

  “Can’t you knock?” I snap. Immediately, I regret it. “I’m sorry Mum. I’m so bored.” I turn away from my laptop with a shudder.

  “I hated history too, sweetheart. I was never any good at what they called academic subjects.” Mum places a tray on my desk. “A cup of tea and a few chocolate biscuits will help you concentrate.”

  “No cookies, thanks.” David has told me I’m ‘getting fat like Rachel’ and he doesn’t like it.

  Mum frowns. “You didn’t have breakfast. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, but I thought the October half-term would be a holiday, and it isn’t. Now we’ve started GCSEs, there’s so much homework.” I enjoyed Marston Manor when I joined in Year 9, but I’m struggling with the Year 10 workload. Only art and sports are still fun. I look longingly at the plate of chocolate digestives.

  Mum notices. “You’re too hard on yourself, Emily. You didn’t even eat cake on your birthday.”

  “Still no.” My fifteenth birthday, a month ago, was when David first mentioned my weight. Afterwards, he rushed off on long business trips to London and Thailand. Although I’d tried to eat less, he still complained when he came back.

  “Dave’s not himself either, lately,” Mum says. “I wondered if his business was in trouble, but he says he’s won more contracts. In fact, he’s doing so well that he’s ordered a new sports car – an Italian one. I told him it wasn’t really suitable for a family, but he didn’t listen.”

  She sighs. “I know. I’ll cook us all a big meal tonight, with everyone’s favourite food. That’ll cheer you both up.”

  “I’ll have it up here.” I can’t stand seeing David acting lovingly towards Mum, although he says he’s pretending until I’m sixteen and he can let her down gently. Anyway, if I bring the dinner to my room, I can flush half of it down the toilet.

  Mum nods, pulling the door to as she leaves. Alone again, I see the biscuits are still here. Despite myself, I take one, savouring the crunch and delicious blast of chocolate. Mum was right: somehow, the history homework is much easier. While I leave the rest of the plate untouched, I manage another hour of study before lunch.

  When I join Mum in the kitchen, she tells me that David is in his den working on another hotel pitch. He wants to be left alone, so it’s just the two of us. “Fancy a cheese toastie and some crisps?” she asks.

  “No thanks, Mum. I’ve decided on an egg white omelette and salad. There’s no need for you to make it – I’ll do it myself.” That way, I can ensure no oil is used.

  “Is that enough?”

  I glare at her. “Mum, I’m not a toddler. If you’re really worried about my nutrition, I’ll have an apple too.”

  I listen to Radio 1 on earphones, mobile shoved in my jeans pocket, to show Mum I don’t want to talk. She knows better than to argue. Side by side, we prepare our meals. Mum spreads a gingham cloth on the kitchen table and adds place settings. Silently, we sit together, the aroma of Mum’s toastie hanging between us. My omelette disappears in a few mouthfuls.

  I stand up again, helping myself to Diet Coke from the fridge. “Geograp
hy this afternoon.”

  Mum stops chewing the toastie and says something. I remove the earphones. The faint ghost of a song plays tinnily through them.

  “There’s someone at the door,” Mum says, rising to her feet.

  The bell rings, obviously not for the first time. I follow Mum through the butler’s pantry and drawing room to the hall. It’s a sunny day and the leaded lights throw whirls of colour onto the cream walls.

  Mum opens the door to three uniformed policemen. “Yes?” she asks.

  One of them flashes an ID card. “I’m Police Sergeant Alex Lamb and these are my colleagues, PC Jim Shah and PC Darren Timms. Does David Anderson live here?”

  “Yes, he’s working in his office. It’s out the back of the house.”

  “Can you take us to him, please?”

  “Of course. Why do you need to see him?” Mum is puzzled as she ushers them inside. Before the last of the trio closes the door behind him, I spot a squad car and motorbike on the drive.

  Alex doesn’t answer her question. “Do you live at this address?” he asks.

  “Yes, I’m his wife.”

  “Your name?”

  “Rachel Anderson.”

  Alex glances at me, a spark of concern in his eyes. “And you live here too?”

  “Yes. I’m Emily. This is my mum and David is my stepdad.” I try not to show my alarm. They must have found out that David uses cocaine. Who could have told them? I haven’t mentioned it to anyone.

  “What’s going on?” Mum asks.

  There is silence until we reach the den. Mum taps on the door, then opens it.

  “Hello?” David turns around. He’s standing at his desk. A grid of coloured lines glows on his laptop screen. I notice it isn’t the MacBook.

  “David Anderson?” Alex strides into the den.

  David whispers something to him.

  “Of course,” Alex says. “Rachel, could you and Emily leave us to speak privately with your husband, please?”

  Mum inclines her head towards the house. We traipse back across the cobbled courtyard to the kitchen, leaving the police officers with David.

  “I don’t understand this,” Mum says, and then, “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “Yes, please.” I can’t concentrate on my homework or even listen to music, but I don’t wish to talk to Mum either. We both sit, mute, at the kitchen table. I blow on my tea, hoping that David isn’t in trouble.

  It feels like a whole day, but it’s no more than twenty minutes before the police reappear. David is with them as they enter the kitchen. His mouth is set in a tense line.

  “I’m just going with Alex to the police station,” he tells Mum. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back later.”

  “What’s wrong?” Mum’s bottom lip quivers.

  “A misunderstanding I need to clear up,” David says. He doesn’t look at me.

  “Come on, David.” Alex is carrying David’s laptop bag. The two men walk through the butler’s pantry, Jim behind them. The front door slams.

  Darren, older and greyer than his colleagues, stays with us. “We’ve arrested your husband on suspicion of child abuse. Because you live with him, we need to interview both of you. Could you bring Emily to the police centre in Keynsham this afternoon, please?”

  The shock is like a slap in the face. It doesn’t make sense. They must know about me and David, but how? We’ve been so careful.

  Mum stares at Darren. “Of course we’ll answer your questions, but Dave isn’t a paedophile. I mean, when I first knew him, I asked the police…” Her voice trails off.

  “I’ll book you in for three thirty then. Do you have transport?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great. Meanwhile, I’ll be staying for an hour to conduct a search of the house. That’ll still give you plenty of time. It’s barely twenty minutes to Keynsham.”

  “A search?” Mum’s face is white.

  “For USB sticks, laptops, books. That sort of thing. I’ll start in here.” He begins quickly opening and closing the kitchen cupboards.

  “You won’t find a computer there,” Mum says.

  “You’re right.” Darren grins. “I have to check, though. It’s my job.”

  “I’ve got a laptop in my bedroom,” I say. “It’s for my schoolwork.”

  “Does anyone else in the household use it?” Darren asks.

  “No.” Mum and I both speak at once.

  “I think we’ll ignore that one. Don’t tell the boss. Do you have a mobile phone too, Emily?”

  “Yes, an iPhone.” It’s the latest model, a birthday present from David.

  “Can you bring it with you to Keynsham? We’ll take a look at it. Rachel, please make sure she doesn’t forget.”

  I stare silently out of the window during the twenty-minute drive in Mum’s hot pink Fabulous Flowers van. The police must be planning to ask me about David.

  I’m going to deny everything. Whatever the law says, David and I are guilty only of being in love. Once I’m sixteen, we can be open about it.

  Until then, no-one must know – not the police, and definitely not Mum.

  Chapter 24 October 2016 - Emily

  The police station in Keynsham looks bleak and cold, a big white box on a trading estate. In the reception area, Mum introduces herself. We’re told to sit on moulded plastic chairs while we wait.

  “Hello. Rachel and Emily?”

  A young woman smiles down at us. She’s wearing a pink jumper and pleated skirt. I expected a police officer to wear a uniform, so I’m surprised when she shows us her ID.

  “I’m Detective Sergeant Harriet Campbell. Hattie. This is my colleague, Laura Dent. Laura is a social worker.”

  “Hello.” Laura is older: more Mum’s age. She’s dressed in denim jacket and jeans.

  “Sorry?” Mum says, her face puzzled. “You’re a social worker? Why are you here?”

  “We often work with the council when we meet children,” Hattie says, soothingly. “I’ll take you to the interview suite. Would you like a cuppa? And biscuits?”

  “Yes, please,” Mum and I chorus. Luckily, stress causes weight loss, doesn’t it?

  “We’re going interview Emily first, and we’ll video the interview,” Hattie says. “I’ll show you the equipment. Can I borrow your mobile, Emily, please? You’ll get it back before you leave.”

  “Here it is.” I hand over my iPhone.

  She leads us to an office where a man in jeans and sweatshirt sits at a desk with a keyboard and monitor.

  “Here’s our tech room, and this is DS Jones, who is operating the equipment.”

  “Nice to meet you.” DS Jones has a kind smile. He reminds me of Mark from the village, and probably isn’t much older.

  Hattie gives him my phone. “See you later.”

  She takes us to a square, white-painted room with a bright orange sofa and armchairs. There’s a box of toys next to one of them.

  “There’s the camera.” Hattie points to a corner.

  The black box is small, mounted so high up on the wall that I wouldn’t have noticed it.

  “Sit down and make yourselves comfortable,” she says. “I’ll get some drinks.”

  “How about custard creams?” Laura removes a packet from her briefcase. “Not standard police issue, but they fill a gap when you’re peckish.”

  Perched on the sofa beside each other, Mum and I take one each.

  Hattie brings milky tea in Styrofoam cups. She switches on the camera.

  “This may sound a bit formal. I am Detective Sergeant Harriet Campbell of Avon & Somerset Police. I am interviewing Emily Dennis. Also present are Emily’s mother, Rachel Anderson, and Laura Dent of BANES council.”

  I sip my tea. It tastes faintly of soap.

  “Before I begin, Emily, let me stress that you are not accused of any crime. We have asked you to attend this interview because we are investigating an allegation of sexual abuse involving David Anderson.”

  “What is he supposed to h
ave done?” Mum asks.

  “I can’t tell you at this stage, Rachel,” Hattie says. “Please bear with me. We’ll go through some queries with Emily, then you and I can have a word afterwards. Okay?”

  Mum nods.

  Hattie continues. “Emily, we invited you here because you may have information relevant to our investigation. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” A sharp pain causes me to look at my hands. There are crescent-shaped imprints in the palms. I cross my legs and fold my arms. It feels strangely reassuring.

  “Laura will ask some questions and I may, too. Is that okay?”

  “Yes.” It doesn’t seem there’s a choice.

  Laura’s grey eyes fix mine. “We’ll make a start, then. How old are you, Emily?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “25, Milcombe Lane, Bath.”

  “Who else lives there?”

  “My mum and stepdad.”

  “What are their names?”

  I roll my eyes. She must know this already. “Rachel Anderson. Like Hattie said, she’s here. And David Anderson, who Hattie mentioned earlier.”

  “Where do you go to school?”

  “Marston Manor.”

  “I know the one. I bet you have lots of friends there.”

  “Not really.” I look at Mum for support, even though they don’t want her to speak. “The other girls are snobs. I don’t need friends like that, do I?”

  Mum is silent. Her eyes glisten. She dabs them with a tissue.

  “Who are your friends, Emily? Tell me about them.”

  “There’s Megan. I’ve known her since I was two. I just don’t see her much because we moved.”

  “What about boyfriends?”

  “I don’t have one. I haven’t even kissed a boy.”

  Laura finally changes direction. “What do you think of your school?”

  “They give me too much homework.”

  “Emily should be doing her geography now,” Mum interrupts.

  Hattie says gently, “Please let Emily speak for herself, Rachel.”

  “Sorry,” Mum says.