Beautiful Liars_a gripping thriller about friendship, dark secrets and bitter betrayal

by Isabel Ashdown

  For the first time that evening I was compelled to move from the safety of my seat. The heat of the crowded room struck me, and without thinking I followed the girls out on to the grass, trailing them at a distance as they ran barefoot towards a derelict-looking building at the rear of the field. As my eyes adjusted to the half-moon’s light, I noticed there were small clusters of people everywhere – groups of girls and boys, couples, some of them smoking and drinking, some just hanging out, laughing or kissing. Juliet and Liv seemed so much apart from all this, and as I trod in their footsteps and saw them disappear around the old brick wall, I felt certain that they were seeking out the third of their number, Martha. As I too rounded the corner, I was surprised to find myself at the edge of an old outdoor swimming pool, overgrown with moss, ivy snaking its way through the cracked tile edges and rusting steps. In the pale light, I caught the flash of the girls as they slipped inside the derelict building to the far side of the pool – the old changing rooms, I assumed – and with care I followed the path around the edge of the gaping hole, feeling the chill of late night against my bare legs. What adventures! I thought. They were clearly up to no good, and there was I, in on the action; a fly on the wall; a will-o’-the-wisp! What fun we will have, my new friends and I, when I tell them of the time that I pursued them through the school grounds, chasing them unseen, hoping to catch them out in their midnight mischief! Beyond the entrance to the crumbling old structure I could hear their whispered laughter, their low, murmured conversations. Was that one voice or two? My breath was caught like a butterfly inside my chest, and I dared not release it for fear of capture!

  ‘Mart will be looking for us,’ I heard one of them whisper.

  The other one tutted. ‘Martha will be fine. She seemed to be getting on quite well with Denny Scott the last time I looked.’ Now a heart-stopping silence, before she said, ‘Forget Martha.’

  As I eased slowly around the brickwork I saw those beautiful girls, swathed in the strips of moon glow that crept in through the broken rafters overhead. Their shoulders were bare, their dark and fair skins intertwined like wind-blown saplings, their faces joined in a kiss so tender and taut with longing that I thought the sky might break apart in a burst of stars.

  I really had no plan in mind when I arranged for Liv and Martha to meet here; I just knew that I had to see them together and to put things straight with Martha. I’m so, so sorry about hitting her like that. Really, what basis is that for a friendship? I have to explain to her that it was an accident, that I was out of my mind with worry – that I panicked when Carl just wouldn’t stop knocking at the front door. She’ll want to know why I panicked, and this is something I’ve gone over and over in my mind since the very moment I took flight from the terrifying scene. Why did I panic? I suppose I was afraid that I’d been caught out. I was afraid that she wouldn’t like me, like all the other people before her. But I think, if I’m honest, I was most afraid that she will find out what happened with Juliet all those years ago – and that she’ll never be able to forgive me when she does. If she’ll just give me a chance to explain things properly, then maybe I can hang on to the smallest hope of our future friendship.

  They’ve been sitting together on that wooden bench for five minutes or so now, and I’m captivated by the affection they share so readily. Even now, Liv’s hand is resting in Martha’s, their heads closely inclined as Martha draws a bundle of papers from her bag. Clambering above deck as quietly as I can, given my bulky attire, I step from the boat’s edge on to the paved towpath just metres from where the two sit. I’m near, but they don’t even look up, so absorbed are they in their conversation, in each other. Am I foolish to believe that some day I might experience friendship of this kind? I’ve no idea what I ought to do next, so I do what my father always taught me in these nervous situations, and I put on a smile. Even as I approach, I’m wishing I had biscuits on-board, or better still a cake. Oh, for heaven’s sake – I don’t even have milk!

  When Liv looks up her expression is confused, as though she’s trying to place me; when Martha sees me, she looks alarmed.

  ‘Hello again!’ I say as brightly as I can muster. ‘I wondered if you two wanted to join me for a cup of coffee on my houseboat?’

  Martha and Liv exchange a look, and I feel a flash of exclusion. Why do people look at me in this way? Why must I always be the object of suspicion and ridicule?

  ‘Katherine,’ Martha says, clutching the papers in her spotty-gloved hands, and I’m not fooled by that wheedling tone. It’s the kind of voice that mothers use on misbehaving children. It’s the kind of voice that says. You’re not quite right in the head so we’ll tread carefully … I’m insulted that she thinks she has to treat me like a child, but then she throws me off guard by sounding more like a concerned friend. ‘I’ve been worried about you, Katherine. Are you OK?’

  And I want so much to believe she cares about me that I can’t think what to say next. So I repeat, ‘Would you like to join me for a cup of coffee on my houseboat?’

  Liv shakes her head, moving her hand so that it rests on Martha’s forearm.

  ‘We’ve got to be somewhere,’ says Martha, and of course I know she’s lying, because the only place she’s arranged to be is here with Liv!

  And I hate her for lying to me, and I hate her for wanting Liv and not me, and I stamp my foot towards them and lean in close enough to whisper, ‘I have a knife in my pocket, and, if you don’t both come and have a cup of coffee with me on my boat, I don’t know what I might do with it.’

  I’m appalled by the change in Martha’s expression, as it shifts from concern to fear. She stands, hooking her bag over her shoulder, but she doesn’t move away from the bench. She thinks I don’t notice the way she glances up and down the towpath, but I do the same, and I know there’s nobody there for her to call out to. For once, the path is completely empty. Not a dog walker or cyclist in sight! Perhaps this is serendipity at work. I can tell that Martha is thinking of breaking into a run, because I see the look that passes between the two of them, so I quickly position myself close to Liv and through the fabric of my pocket I press hard against her side.

  ‘We should do as she says,’ Liv tells Martha, and she jerks her head towards her shoulder to draw attention to the way I’m standing at her rear.

  Martha nods calmly, and, taking the lead, she boards John’s old houseboat and descends the wooden steps to the living quarters below. In the far distance, I see a young family wandering along the towpath, and I thank providence that my timing, for once, was simply perfect. I confiscate the ladies’ bags, stowing them beneath the bottom step, and invite them to take a seat.

  ‘Now,’ I say, doing my best to smile and sound confident as they slide on to the bench behind the narrow kitchen table. ‘How do you take it? Milk and sugar?’

  If they ask for tea, I’m afraid they’re out of luck. I did a taste test with the crushed sleeping tablets last night, and I could definitely detect them in the tea. Coffee’s better. They’ll never guess I’ve put them in the coffee.

  31. Martha

  It’s only when Martha and Liv are seated behind the galley table that Katherine confesses with a nervous giggle that she didn’t really have a knife in her pocket. Somehow this news doesn’t make Martha feel any less anxious about the situation she and Liv now find themselves in, stowed away below decks with a disturbed woman who is behaving as though they’d just boarded voluntarily.

  Now she fusses in and out the cupboards, barely leaving space between one rambling observation and the next. She opens a cutlery drawer and brings out a large knife, pausing to consider it for a few seconds before placing it on the worktop beside a chipped red kettle. Martha feels the panic rising inside her, her pulse racing as she runs through the options in her mind. A sealed shallow window on to the canal is behind them. Their legs are tucked tightly under the table. Liv is to her left, pressed against the wood-panelled wall of the cabin, and to her right is the small kitchen arrangement of
sink and worktop, beneath a broad window view of the canal and towpath along which she had walked only minutes earlier. The windows are so grubby, Martha doubts anyone on the path could possibly see them inside, and the quietly formidable Katherine stands between them and the only exit available, up the steps.

  They’re trapped. Even if they tried to rush at her, the table between them will rob them of the element of surprise they’d need to overpower her. And now, of course, there’s that knife. Nobody knows they’re here, and Martha can only hope that when Toby and the others arrive they’ll notice the glove she dropped at the edge of the path when they boarded. She’s afraid, and she’s doing her best to mentally convey to Liv that she’s to follow her lead, to do nothing until she gives her the nod.

  Now Katherine turns to face them with a clap of her hands. ‘Actually I’ve got sugar, but no milk, I’m afraid. I haven’t used the boat for a while, you see – not since I moved into your old place, Liv! I mean, I love the boat, of course, and I was so grateful – and surprised – when John left it to me in his will, but it’s not the same as a house, is it? He died, you know, John? And he left me his boat. It was a gift. A complete surprise!’

  Martha smiles politely. Inwardly she kicks herself again. If she were any kind of investigator, she would have found out that Katherine owned a boat, wouldn’t she? And for that matter, shouldn’t the police have been on to it? Surely it would have been one of the first places they’d have searched for the wanted woman, had they known?

  Katherine hooks a finger behind the closed curtain of the opposite window, peeking out towards the towpath and the wooden bench where Liv and Martha had been sitting just a few minutes earlier.

  ‘So, it was you who sent the emails to us?’ These are the first words Liv has spoken since they came on-board, and they’re uttered robotically. Her skin has taken on an ashen shade, rendering her complexion dull and sickly.

  Katherine lets the curtain drop, and looks back, bringing a hand up to cover her smile. ‘Oops!’ she says, and then she holds up one wrist, giving it a ‘naughty girl’ slap with the other hand.

  Jesus, Martha thinks. This gets more terrifying by the minute. She thinks about Toby, and Jay and Sally, and she glances at her watch, hoping that perhaps they will be less than the hour she had insisted she’d need between her meeting up with Liv and their arriving. Please God, let Toby see that spotty glove, let him recognise that it’s hers, let him realise that she’s trapped down here with this mad woman.

  ‘So, tell us why you wanted to meet up, Katherine,’ she says now, determined not to show her that she is, in fact, shitting herself. ‘You went to great lengths to get us here. Well, here we are!’

  Katherine finishes making the drinks, placing them on the narrow table between them as she takes a seat on the low vinyl stool opposite. The quarters are cramped; Katherine must find it a squeeze to move about at the best of times, without two hostages crammed in too. Martha’s eyes roam the space, calculating how they might free themselves before Katherine can reach for that knife, and once again concludes it’s impossible. The only way they’ll get out of this fix is by talking their way out.

  For a few minutes now Katherine has been silent, nibbling away on the edge of a thumbnail, her eyes darting back and forth, from Liv to Martha to the tabletop, and from the way her lips silently move, it seems possible to Martha that she’s rehearsing what to say next.

  ‘Why don’t you start from the beginning?’ Martha asks gently. When Katherine’s eyes meet hers they are glistening with moisture, and she does, indeed, begin to speak.

  ‘Drink up, and I’ll tell you everything,’ she says, gulping hers down and showing them the empty cup. She’s like a child, the way she speaks and moves, and it seems to Martha that the best way to appeal to her is to treat her like one.

  ‘Of course,’ Martha says. ‘Thank you. It’s a lovely cup of coffee, Katherine.’ Martha and Liv drink it down, as sweet and bitter as it is, and Katherine clears away their cups, her face brightening as she takes her seat again.

  ‘You won’t remember me – very few people ever do,’ she says. ‘But we’ve met on a few occasions, and I remember you – all three of you – very well.’

  Martha and Liv remain silent, waiting for her to continue.

  ‘Of course, you now know that my father was David Crown, and I’m certain you won’t have forgotten him.’

  She directs this particularly at Martha, the weighted pause enough to unsettle some buried memory.

  ‘He was the loveliest man. It’s important that you know that,’ Katherine continues. ‘There’s all this talk about him, and every word of it is untrue. The idea that he ran off with Juliet! That he killed her! It’s all lies. He didn’t have a bad bone in his body. I should know! I’m his daughter! Who would know him better than me?’

  Martha feels a surge of sympathy for this tragic woman, who has spent all these years convincing herself that her father was incapable of this awful crime, despite the strongest of pointers towards his guilt. In the name of love, and with the passing of time, we can all convince ourselves of anything, can’t we? We can convince ourselves that we’re not responsible for the misfortunes of others, that we’re not culpable in some small way, that there was nothing more we could have done.

  ‘Sometimes people are capable of doing things their loved ones might never think possible,’ she tells Katherine. ‘We’re not responsible for our parents’ mistakes. Sometimes good people do bad things.’

  Katherine shakes her head vigorously. ‘No, not my dad. You didn’t know him the way I did. He was a good man. He is a good man.’

  ‘Do you know where your dad is, Katherine?’

  ‘Dad and I used to visit John on this boat,’ she says, skimming past the question. ‘And I think maybe that was when I first noticed you. I didn’t go to school like other children – so I’d sometimes be at the boat at the end of the day when the canal path was busy with pupils on their way home. The three of you – you two and Juliet – became quite a familiar sight over the years, and really, I almost felt as though I knew you! You were always laughing and talking, and sometimes you’d sit on that bench down there and smoke a cigarette or share a can of Coke.’

  The thought of Katherine watching them sends a chill up Martha’s spine. She glances at Liv, who appears dumbstruck by the revelation. ‘So, was Square Wheels the first time we properly met?’ Martha asks now, wanting to move Katherine’s rambling account forward.

  ‘No,’ she replies. ‘We’d met before then. It was at the Sixth Form Welcome Ball a year earlier, when I was planning to join your school to do my A-levels. Juliet showed me around. Of course, I was a bit slimmer back then—’

  Now Liv suddenly stirs, leaning forward in her seat. ‘Blue dress, red cardigan?’ Her voice sounds slow, uncertain.

  ‘Yes!’ Katherine shrieks. ‘You remember me! Golly, that’s amazing!’

  ‘It was you in the changing rooms,’ Liv replies, but she doesn’t expand. Instead, she sits back, pressing her back into the wall, a worried expression setling in her features.

  ‘But I don’t recall you after that,’ Martha says. ‘I’d know if you’d been in the sixth form.’

  Katherine shakes her head, clamming up again, and Martha’s impatience gets the better of her.

  ‘Katherine, I should tell you that we know Juliet was involved in some secret relationship in the period before she went missing – she told me and Liv as much – but just not who. I hate to say this, but it seems possible – likely, even – that David Crown was her secret lover.’

  Liv is crying. ‘Martha, stop,’ she’s saying, and when Martha, confused, looks back at Katherine, she sees the woman’s face is now puckered towards Liv in an admonishing, eyebrow-raised scowl.

  ‘Are you going to tell her, or shall I?’ Katherine asks Liv archly.

  Liv lowers her eyes, not responding.

  ‘Juliet’s secret lover wasn’t my dad, you silly billy!’ Katherine points a finger acr
oss the table. ‘It was Liv!’

  With that, she picks up the knife and tip-taps above deck, bolting the door behind her.

  Liv covers her face with her hands. ‘God, Mart. I don’t know where to start.’

  How could she not have seen it? The night of the sixth form ball had followed close on the heels of Liv and Juliet’s school trip to Venice, when they’d returned home closer than ever before. At the time, Martha had felt left out, jealous, even, and when Liv started hanging around at Juliet’s house all the time, Martha had convinced herself that it was because she had a crush on Juliet’s older brother, Tom. She’d suggested it to Juliet, who at first laughed it off as a ridiculous idea, but before long she was agreeing with Martha in hushed tones, telling her not to mention it in front of Liv because she’d be embarrassed. Of course it had suited Juliet to let Martha think Tom was the object of Liv’s attentions! How could she have been so blind? Flashes of that party night return: the three of them behind the drinks table, topping up their orange juice with vodka; Mrs Matthews and Mr Curtis starting off the slow dance and clearing the floor; an unexpected moonlit kiss with Denny Scott – the first of many more to come. And here she is out among the revellers on the school field, moving from group to group, still clutching her empty plastic cup, asking if anyone’s seen Juliet and Liv. She’s looked everywhere, inside and out, and it seems as though they’ve vanished into thin air. They wouldn’t have left without her, she knows; they’re all walking home together when the party ends. The half-moon is bright in the starry sky and Martha is standing at the edge of the grass, contemplating what to do next, when she sees the flash of red and blue over in the far corner near the derelict swimming pool. It’s that new girl Juliet was showing around, she’s sure of it. Certain that her friends will be there, Martha drops the empty cup and jogs across the grass, out towards the shadowy brick building, calling their names into the darkness. As she nears, there’s no sign of the new girl, but Liv and Juliet appear from behind the brick pillar, laughing, arms linked. ‘You found us!’ Juliet cries out breathlessly, and she looks at Liv with mischief in her eyes. But Liv’s expression is altogether different.