Bright Lies: A Chilling Psychological Thriller

by AA Abbott

  “What’s wrong?” Jack has raced down the ladder. He cradles me in his arms. “I’m definitely staying with you. I’ll ring in sick.”

  “No, go. I stepped on a nail,” I lie. “Give me time to cook that breakfast, that’s all.”

  “Once I’ve given you a present. Come on up when you’re ready.”

  As he returns upstairs, I splash more water on my cheeks and plaster a grin on my face. It doesn’t really convince me I’m happy, but it’s a start. In a further attempt at jollity, I put on make-up that only Jack will see.

  He notices. “You look nice.” Handing me a Cass Art carrier bag, he says, “I hope you like it.”

  It’s a set of paintbrushes. “Thank you.” I kiss him, then find my handbag, where I’ve hidden the chain I’ve bought for him. It’s in a small red velvet box, which I present to him with a flourish.

  “Wow. Real silver.”

  “It’s from the Jewellery Quarter.” I’d found the cluster of old Victorian workshops when I was exploring the city, but I have Cassie to thank for explaining the importance of haggling. No-one except a tourist pays full price, apparently.

  “It’s fantastic.” He runs the slippery silver through his fingers, letting it catch the light.

  “I couldn’t go mad, because we’re saving up. But look,” I scoop a sheaf of notes from my purse, “I’ve got over three hundred pounds now.”

  “And I’ve managed a cool grand. We’ll have a bit left over for furniture. Well done, us.” Jack smiles with pride. “Oli’s helping us out, too. He’ll give me a reference, and so will Cassie’s dad. It’s something landlords insist on.”

  “Will I―?”

  He interrupts, clearly sensing my anxiety. “No, it’s all my paperwork. I’ll keep your name out of it. I know you want to stay under the radar.”

  “Thanks.” I hug him.

  “In a fortnight, we’ll have our own place at last.”

  Daydreaming of a kitchen with a proper cooker, sink, table and chairs, I switch on the hotplate and stick two pans on it. Today, we’re having the full works: fried bacon, scrambled eggs and mushrooms, washed down with coffee for him and tea for me. Milk and tea bags feature on the shopping list since I took charge of it.

  We watch each other as I cook.

  “You do realise,” Jack says, “I won’t be going home again with Georgia or any of the other girls from the club? I just want to be with you.”

  “I guessed.” There’s a lightness in my heart as I serve the fry-up to him.

  “The perfect breakfast.” Jack raises his coffee mug. “To new beginnings.”

  “New beginnings,” I echo, taking a swig of tea. Finally, life promises more than mere survival.

  Jack sniffs the bacon. “Delicious. Better than the turkey dinner I’ll eat later. What are you going to have?”

  “Maybe a ham sandwich. I couldn’t face a traditional lunch with trimmings.” It would remind me of Mum. It’s weird to spend Christmas Day without her and I’ll only cope by forgetting the past and focusing on art. In case it gets too much, I’ve stashed a bottle of cheap vodka under my paintbox, with Oli’s drugs.

  Jack reaches into a desk drawer and produces a big bar of Tesco’s milk chocolate. “No expense spared. Treat yourself to this afterwards.”

  I grin. “Thanks. I might even save a square for you.”

  “Just keep it away from Pen. Chocolate’s poisonous for him.”

  Hearing his name, Penny pricks up his ears.

  Jack strokes the top of the cat’s head. “As it’s a special day, and you’re back from the dead…” He gives Penny a morsel of bacon.

  “We should feed him more often, Jack. He’s seen off all the rats, and the offices round here are closed until January.”

  Jack shrugs. “If it makes you feel better, but there’s no need. Our Bad Penny can look after himself well enough. Let him out when he gets bored, and he’ll hunt rodents by the canal.”

  “I might join him.”

  Jack looks at me quizzically, a glint in his eye. “I doubt they’re tasty.”

  “I’ll give them a miss, then, but I’ll take my sketchpad. I want ideas for more pictures.” I’ve been working so hard, there’s been no time to paint. As long as the threatened rainclouds keep away, I’ll walk alongside the canals when Jack’s gone. The network of waterways and towpaths stretches through the heart of the city. Apart from the shiny bars around Brindleyplace, it’s spookily quiet at the best of times.

  Jack gathers the breakfast things into a bucket to take downstairs. “Are you sure you’ll be fine?”

  “Definitely.” It’s another lie. “Leave those for me to do. You have to get going.”

  “All right. Just before I do,” he removes his phone, a cheap Samsung, from his pocket, “I want you to take this.”

  “Why? Don’t you need it?”

  “I sent Katie a card. If I call her, she won’t answer.” His expression is subdued.

  I clutch his free hand. “I’m sure she knows you love her.”

  Gently, he removes himself from my grip, placing his phone in my palm. “You didn’t send cards, did you? I understand why. Listen, I can see you’re hurting, but if there’s anyone you believe cares about you, anyone at all, then ring to let them know you’re okay.”

  I gape at him in dismay.

  “Please, Emily. Promise me?”

  “Promise,” I say, reluctantly.

  “Thanks.” His lips brush mine, and then he’s gone.

  A sense of loss hits me. I’d have loved a day with Jack all to myself. He’d put himself forward as a volunteer months ago, though, and it wouldn’t be fair to stop him. If I wasn’t afraid of attracting attention, I’d have gone too. Regretfully, I scrub the dishes, then climb the ladder to put them away. My gaze settles on the Samsung phone sitting on the desk. I shudder. Perhaps it’s best just to pretend to Jack that I used it. He’s right, though: the best Christmas present Mum could have is to know I’m safe. My breath sounds in short gasps. Although I know I ought to call, the very idea is causing a panic attack.

  Penny stares up at me solemnly. I pick him up and stroke him. “Good cat.” As if accusing me of cowardice, he squirms out of my arms and jumps onto the desk, beside the Samsung.

  “All right, then.” I reach for the phone, and fiddle with it to make sure the number won’t show up when I ring. I think Jack has a cheap pay as you go contract and he probably didn’t even tell them his address, but I can’t take risks.

  Mum’s mobile number is engraved on my heart. Trembling, I tap in each digit and hit the green button.

  It seems to ring forever. Eventually, Mum’s voice, tinny but familiar, says, “Hello?”

  Love and longing surge through me, striking me dumb. At last, I force a few words out. “Merry Christmas, Mum.”

  “Emily?” Relief bubbles through her voice. “Thank God. Where are you?”

  “I can’t tell you, Mum, but I’m well.”

  She begins to sob. “We were scared something had happened to you. The police took Dave away. It was terrible. I knew he was innocent, of course, but I feared the worst. Then Megan and Sue said you’d been to see them. At least it proved you were alive.”

  “Mum, I’m so sorry.” Shame reddens my cheeks. I knew she’d be frantic with worry, but I’d tried not to think about it.

  “Where did you go? Are you in London?”

  I seize my chance. “That’s right, I’m in London. I’m happy there, Mum. I love you, but I don’t want to come back.”

  “Is that Emily?” David sounds jubilant. There’s a scuffling noise, and his voice replaces hers. “Princess, we want you home―”

  Shaking, I drop the phone. I stagger to the mattress and collapse onto it, weeping. Like a door suddenly closing, the adrenaline that powered me throughout December finally vanishes. I can’t move.

  It takes a few minutes to realise the phone is silent. I must have cut David off. Curling up in a ball, I rock myself, but nothing can soothe me, not
even the cat snuggling into my side. Grabbing Penny in a big hug, I give in to a torrent of tears. Then, I stumble downstairs to fetch the vodka.

  Chapter 45 December 2016 – Emily

  In my dream, a firework explodes in my head, white light pulsing outwards. Ripples of pain turn into waves. I’m seasick and drowning. A voice calls my name.

  “Emily.”

  “I’m here,” I try to say.

  “Emily, are you okay?”

  I groan. When I open my eyes, I wish I hadn’t. Two images of Jack appear, merge together and spring apart again. The light is intense. I blink.

  “Jack,” I ask, puzzled, “Why is everything spinning?”

  “Because you’ve been drinking. You haven’t had enough to kill you, thank God.” He strokes my cheek.

  The slightest movement sends a surge of bile to my throat. “I think I’m going to vomit.”

  “You need to. I’ll get the bucket. Stay still until I come back.”

  I hear him padding around the tent, then he’s sitting behind me, an arm across my back and under one of my shoulders. He yanks my torso upright, nudging my head forward. The mattress, floor and curtains whirl in a crazy kaleidoscope.

  “There’s a bucket in front of you. Try to be sick. Please.”

  His voice is so full of concern, gratitude floods through me. I want to cry. Saliva gathers on my tongue and I heave up thick, bitter liquid.

  “Keep going.”

  He holds me steady until I finish.

  “Think you can sit up by yourself? I’ll get you a drink of water.”

  He places pillows behind me. I lounge backwards, gradually aware that my vision is working properly again.

  “I feel a bit better. Thanks.”

  “Sip this. Need me to hold it?” Jack cups my hand around a cold mug.

  “Please.”

  He lifts it to my lips. The sour taste and burning sensation disappear after a few gulps.

  “Why did you do it?”

  My mind is clearer now. I detect an edge of disappointment in his voice. Hesitantly, I try to explain. “I phoned my mum.”

  “Well done.” Jack squeezes my hand. “Was she pleased?”

  “Very pleased. Elated. I said I was all right. But my stepdad…” I shiver.

  “He was pleased too?”

  Unable to speak, I draw my knees to my chest and hunch down, hugging myself.

  “Emily.” He kisses the top of my head. “What happened?”

  The silence seems to last for hours, until I can’t hold the secret any longer.

  “He raped me.”

  Chapter 46 December 2016 – Jack

  Jack yawns and stretches. It’s Boxing Day. His last memory of the night is of the cat. Sitting sphinx-like on the desk, its yellow eyes glowed even after he switched off the light.

  Now, as he listens to Emily’s quiet breathing, he remembers the shock of finding her asleep and fully clothed, a half-empty vodka bottle by her side. At first, he was afraid she’d done something stupid. To his relief, there were no empty packets of paracetamol lying around. When he found her pulse was regular, his panic had subsided.

  Jack is ashamed of the anger that briefly flared afterwards, indignation that she’d brought alcohol into his home. He’s ashamed, too, that he left Emily alone on Christmas Day. What kind of moron would do that to a woman he cared about, after everything she’s been through?

  He hadn’t known about her stepfather, though. It had hit him like a lightning bolt when she mentioned the rape.

  She’d told him everything.

  David Anderson was rich and charismatic. He flattered Emily and helped her with her art. That’s where a stepfather should have stopped. David didn’t. He plied her with drink and drugs so he could sleep with her. There was porn on a MacBook he hid from the police when they searched his grand house. When Emily confronted him, the coward hurt her.

  Jack strokes her head as she sleeps, hating David, a man who take his pleasure and leaves others to pick up the pieces. He recalls Bailey’s party, and Andy using thirteen-year-old Cara as his plaything. Who knows if you can stick a girl like Emily together again, once a man like that has broken her?

  He’s going to try.

  If only he could be sure she was sixteen. Before she fell asleep in his arms, Emily asked him why she would lie about that.

  He knows why she would.

  She loves him.

  Jack loves her too. He wants to believe her.

  She shifts under the duvet, stretching. “Jack?”

  “You’re awake.” He switches the lamp on, blinking as brightness fills the tent.

  Emily’s eyes flick open. She squints at him, then the vodka bottle by the mattress. “Sorry.”

  “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Jack says, surprising himself by realising he means it. He stands up. “I’ll get us both breakfast. Stay in bed. That’s an order.”

  He dresses quickly and takes the kettle downstairs to fill it. A stubbly face stares back from the mirror, but shaving can wait. First, he’ll start the day as he means to go on. He’s been too selfish.

  Back upstairs, he sees Emily is up and about, choosing her clothes for the day.

  “You ignored me, then.” He grins. “Sit down when you’re ready. I’ll do breakfast.”

  “Let me. I’m really not into toast.”

  “It’ll be a fried egg sandwich.” He busies himself with the frying pan and kettle. “I can cook, but I chose not to. That’s going to change. We’re partners, Ems.”

  He’s picked a dish that takes longer to eat than to prepare. It’s ready in minutes. He presents it to her with a mug of tea.

  “Thanks.” Emily sits on the edge of the mattress, tucking in. She drops over-large breadcrumbs for the grateful cat.

  “I don’t suppose you walked along the canal yesterday, in the end? Shall we go together, once we’ve eaten?”

  “I’d like that.”

  It is dry and mild outside, the sun occasionally breaking through drifting clouds. The streets are quiet, factories and warehouses closed for the bank holiday. Jack holds Emily’s hand as they walk past the shuttered buildings without seeing a soul.

  Down brown brick steps, they reach the cutting where a path runs next to a ribbon of black water.

  Jack stands with Emily, staring at the slowly rippling canal, letting his eyes glaze over. He turns to kiss her lips gently. Passion will come later.

  “I meant what I said about a new start,” he says. “It’s not just the flat. It’s the temperance bar, too. I’m going to make that happen. Then there’s us. It’s equal shares from now on. Money, housework, everything.”

  A doubt still needles him, though. “I’m sorry to ask again. You are sixteen, right?”

  “Yes. I can’t serve alcohol yet, but I can work in your temperance bar.” Emily answers without hesitation.

  Jack squeezes her hand.

  She suggests, “Could we set it up in the printworks, after we’ve moved? I could paint murals on the walls, and you could furnish it from skips. What do you think?”

  “Why not? It’s in a central location.”

  Emily smiles, evidently pleased he likes her idea. “This is exciting.”

  He lets go of her hand, placing his arm around her waist instead. “It’s good to look forward. Leave the past behind. None of it was your fault, you know.”

  A shadow crosses her face. He holds her closer, nuzzling her hooded head.

  “What David did to you wasn’t love, Emily. It was abuse.”

  “I see that now.”

  “You should tell the police.”

  “No.” She stiffens.

  He won’t push it. “Promise me one thing, then. Don’t let him live in your head. All you’re doing is twisting a knife into yourself, again and again. You mustn’t let him win.”

  “I promise I’ll try.” Her voice is solemn. “Jack, have you let go, too? Does your father still live in your head?”

  The treacly de
pths beckon to him. “I don’t know. My biggest fear is becoming my father.”

  “You won’t.” She draws him into a kiss.

  Jack hugs her tightly. There’s no point telling her he loves her, because David has cheapened the word. He’ll just have to prove it through his actions.

  Chapter 47 January 2017 – Emily

  On the first Thursday evening in January, the Bobowlers is freezing. After New Year’s Eve, almost a week ago, the club was shuttered until the yoga ladies arrived this morning. They complained about the temperature and it hasn’t improved since. Oli doesn’t care. He thinks the place will be sweltering once the dancefloor fills up. December was so profitable that he’s convinced he’ll make money with a regular Thursday club night.

  He’s in a minority of one. Oli’s staff expect January to be quiet, as the punters open their credit card bills. We’re all slow and tired, as if we’re nursing hangovers. The extra shift hasn’t been welcomed, although the cash will be handy. None of us have any money, except me and Jack, and ours is set aside for a flat.

  “We’re going to see one in Deritend tomorrow,” I tell Jodie. “That’s not far, so we can still walk back home from the club.”

  She looks horrified. “I wouldn’t walk through Digbeth alone at night.”

  “I’ll have Jack with me.” I pull a face. “It isn’t near a cheap supermarket, though. Before I make my mind up, I want to view another flat in Selly Oak. That’s across the road from an Aldi.”

  “Selly Oak? It’s full of students.”

  “Good. I’ll be around people my own age.”

  I congratulate myself on sounding at least eighteen, but Jodie reads a different meaning into my words.

  “No need to rub it in. Wait until life’s given you a few knocks, girl.” She scowls, draining the glass of white wine she’s cadged from the bar. “I’d best get on. The doors will open in ten minutes.”

  I gawp at the back of her perfect figure, displayed in a leather mini that’s almost too tight. Until now, I had no idea she was sensitive about her age.

  Oli, on the other hand, thinks it’s just a meaningless number. He’s dumped Cassie and appeared tonight with a twenty-one-year-old actress who Security Sam calls Scarlett the Starlet. The couple vanished into the green room together as soon as they arrived.