All Your Lies: A gripping psychological thriller that will keep you guessing to the very end

by O. C. S. Francis

  I was in one of those situations I had seen before. A knife wound, a gunshot, the trauma from an explosion. I knew what we should do. I looked at the intruder and knew it was probably futile, but we should do it anyway. Amber didn’t move. I pulled myself up and ran to find whatever I could to stop the bleeding.

  By the time I came down, it was already too late. Amber was sitting on the floor, the intruder’s head propped in her lap, his blood pooling around her bare legs. His eyes were open, staring up at her still with that look of bewilderment. But it was an illusion. The man was not feeling surprise or pain or fear. He wasn’t feeling anything at all. He was gone.

  36

  Amber

  Amber is frozen on the landing of her house, the memory of those blood-drowned moments pulsing in her mind. She’s safe here, she tells herself. She’s not going to be attacked in her own home. Then she thinks about that empty house next door, and that her next neighbours are a hundred yards away. Far enough not to hear.

  She wrenches herself out of her paralysis and runs back into her bedroom. She pulls on her dressing gown and grabs her phone. She doesn’t even check for notifications or messages, just presses the keypad and taps in 999. She doesn’t dial, not yet. The sounds from outside have stopped.

  Treading softly down the stairs, she is aware she has nothing in her hand to defend herself with. The only things she can think of are the knives in the kitchen, and that thought makes her feel sick. Yvey is standing in the doorway of the living room, still dressed, but blinking and rubbing her eyes.

  They both stand in the darkness, just listening. Nothing, silence. Amber moves into the room, listening to every breath, every creak. She turns on the light. Then she hears the sound.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  She can’t place its source at first.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  The window.

  She brings her phone up in front of her, ready to press the call button. That moment, a message comes through on it. WhatsApp. That same number, that same blank white silhouette.

  Look out your window.

  She is rooted to the spot. She doesn’t want to look and has to look all at the same time. She inches towards the curtains and grips them. She needs to know who is on the other side. One swift yank and a curtain is open, like tearing off a sticking plaster.

  All she sees at first in the glass is her own reflection, the light in the room too bright. Then she sees there is something on the window. It’s a photo, a small piece of sticky tape attaching it to the glass. She can’t make it out for a moment. Then she sees. It is Amber, asleep in the cottage, that same soft splash of moonlight on her in the dark of the room. But this time the sheet has been pulled back to show her nakedness.

  Looking at it, she doesn’t feel shame or fear anymore. She feels rage. She runs out of the living room, barging past Yvey, and fumbles the keys from the hook in the hall. They fall, and she scrabbles on the floor for them. She’s unlocking the door on her knees, then she is up again, and the door is open.

  She looks out but can’t see anything — it’s pitch black, and her eyes have lost all their night vision. Her feet are fast into a pair of sandals by the front door, and she is outside, running to the end of the path. She can barely make anything out for a second. Then she sees the movement of a shadow in the road. Someone is running, fast, short and slim. The rage fills her again. She shouts at the night.

  ‘Come back, you coward!’ But now she feels afraid again and retreats towards the house. Yvey has come out and is peeling the photo off the outside of the front window.

  ‘Don’t!’ Amber shouts at her. ‘Leave it, please.’

  But Yvey is already looking at it, a frown creasing across her face. Then she holds out the photo.

  Amber snatches it from her. ‘Go inside.’

  Yvey meekly complies, and Amber follows. They stand in the hallway, looking at each other, their silent questions thrumming in the air between them. Eventually, Yvey speaks.

  ‘What is this, Amber?’

  ‘I think you should go home now. I’ll get you a cab.’

  Yvey does something that surprises Amber. She steps forward and takes the photo from her hand. Amber should take it back, but she is transfixed by the new forcefulness Yvey is projecting. She is studying the photo, her face creased in a frown: confused, sympathetic.

  ‘Please, the photo,’ Amber says.

  ‘What’s going on? Who was that?’

  ‘You think I fucking know?’ The words are full of Amber’s rage, and Yvey flinches.

  ‘I saw how you were at home. Something was going on then, and something’s going on now. What is it, Amber?’ There is a slight whine in her voice.

  ‘Please give it to me.’ Amber’s voice matches Yvey, both caught in their different confusions. Yvey finally proffers it back, and Amber walks away from her into the living room, ashamed to be looked at. She sits down on the sofa and forces herself to look again at the photo of her exposed body. She turns it over for the first time. There is a message written on the back in crude block capitals.

  WHAT WOULD JONNY SAY?

  It makes her skin crawl, and she turns the message away from her, faced only with the photograph. This young, foolish, violated girl, naked on a bed.

  When Yvey sits down next to her, she doesn’t move away. It seems futile to keep this from her.

  ‘My dad took this, didn’t he?’ Yvey says very gently.

  ‘How do you know that?’ But the question is unnecessary. Both women must know there is only one man at the centre of all this.

  ‘What happened between you and him?’

  ‘It was a long time ago. I didn’t even know he took this photo.’

  ‘And now someone’s trying to get at you because of it? Why?’

  ‘I don’t know, Yvey, I don’t know. I wish I did.’

  A new look comes over Yvey’s face — a look of deep seriousness that Amber hasn’t seen before. ‘Do you think… it sounds crazy… do you think this is something to do… something to do with my dad’s death?’

  Amber doesn’t say anything, because she cannot avoid the fact that the two must be connected.

  ‘D’you believe my mum? D’you really think Dad killed himself?’

  Amber can’t answer. She closes her eyes and is back in the cottage. She is thinking about the photo she took of the intruder, about how she killed him, about the secret she has hidden from everyone in the world for all these years. Everyone except Benny. And now he is gone, but these images are not. She is being punished. Someone is punishing her for everything she did.

  She opens her eyes and looks at Yvey.

  ‘What do you believe? You don’t think it was suicide, and I don’t think you believe it was an accident either. Why is that?’ She reaches across to Yvey and grips one of her shoulders. ‘What is it you know? What is it you’re not telling me? Why is it you came here tonight?’

  The girl pulls away out of her grasp, standing up and stumbling back.

  ‘I told you, I had my scooter stolen.’

  ‘Then why not just get a cab home? Why not call your mother? Did you come here to try to tell me something? You’ve been acting like you’re terrified since you got here. What is it you’re scared of?’

  ‘What happened to my dad?’ says Yvey starkly, boring a look into Amber. ‘You would tell me if you knew.’

  ‘Of course I would.’ Amber hesitates before asking the next question, but then throws herself into it. ‘Do you think your mum knows something? Do you think she’s not telling you the truth?’

  Yvey’s eyes go down again.

  ‘I don’t know if anyone’s telling the truth,’ she says forlornly. ‘Mum said she was visiting Granny, but when I talked to Granny about it at Dad’s funeral, she didn’t know what I was talking about.’

  A cold feeling rises in Amber. ‘Have you spoken to anyone else about this?’

  Yvey is looking at the floor, chewing on her lip. ‘I think you’re right. I think I should g
o.’ Without saying anything else, she picks up her coat from where it was draped over a chair and pulls it quickly on.

  ‘Wait. Stay.’ But Yvey is heading towards the door. ‘You have to tell me what you know.’

  Yvey has opened the door and is halfway down the path.

  ‘At least let me get you an Uber.’

  Yvey turns back, hesitating. Amber brandishes the photograph at her.

  ‘And you don’t know anything about this?’

  ‘Of course I don’t.’

  ‘Nothing about the messages I’ve been getting?’

  ‘What messages?’

  ‘Someone’s been…’ But Amber doesn’t go on, frightened of how even the smallest thread might unravel everything.

  ‘I’m sorry, Amber,’ says Yvey, and she is walking quickly now, away from the house. She breaks into a little trot, scampering off into the darkness.

  ‘Please wait,’ Amber calls out after her. But Yvey doesn’t stop, and Amber finds herself following to the end of the path, then beyond it, chasing down the road after Yvey, possessed by her unanswered questions. Her feet slap and slip on the wet ground, so dark beneath her that she can’t judge its distance and surface. She’s not going fast, but her foot catches on the edge of a pothole. She feels a wet splash on her bare skin, and her balance is thrown.

  She is falling. She gets an arm out before she hits, but is surprised by the force through her body, by the shock wave that travels through her limbs and into her torso. And in that last bit of the fall, she came down hard on her stomach.

  She rolls away instinctively, feeling the cold tarmac sharply through her dressing gown. She looks at her hands, the blood already beginning to seep through the grazes. She looks up for some sign of Yvey, but there is nothing. She shouts for help, trying to stand up, but is dizzy and disoriented.

  Then Yvey is at her side, materialised out of the night, helping her up, asking her if she is okay.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Amber says, but she doesn’t believe her own words. She runs her hands over her belly as if she can somehow sense the true effects of the fall. How hard did she fall on it? Has she hurt the baby? She is cold and numb. Her whole body feels strange. She is holding her breath, trying to detect some movement. Any movement. But there is nothing. No strange pains, no reassuring ripples, no popcorn sensation. None of the feelings she was having all evening. A screaming silence from within.

  She grabs Yvey’s wrist, hard. ‘I think I need to go to the hospital. Right now.’

  37

  Benny

  Sunday, 11 November 2001

  Amber had gone very quiet. She had crawled away from the body and sat on the floor in the glass extension. Her legs were crossed, and her head was bowed into her hands as if in deep prayer. I recognised the shock she was in. I was shocked too, but I knew more about what to do with the feeling.

  I had been thinking very quickly: as the man attacked us, as I ran up to get towels, as I came down to find him dead. The suspicion I had come to wasn’t one I could ignore anymore. I looked towards where the dead man lay, covered now in a sheet, and the idea wouldn’t leave me. I knew what I did and said next was crucial. I had to take control of this situation. I knew what the right thing to do was, but I also knew what I was going to do. They weren’t the same thing.

  ‘You should have a shower,’ I said to Amber as matter-of-factly as I could manage. ‘Take that jumper off now and leave it there on the floor. I’ll deal with our clothes later.’

  Amber finally looked up. She didn’t turn to me, but we faced each other’s reflections in the darkened glass.

  ‘What? We shouldn’t touch anything. Benny, we have to call the police.’

  ‘You realise we can’t do that.’

  ‘We just killed a man.’

  ‘You just killed a man.’ It was cruel for me to do this, but I had to use her fear.

  She dropped her eyes towards her lap. ‘He was… I was defending you… It was self-defence.’ But I could already feel the weakness in her words.

  ‘Everything is over if we go to the police.’

  ‘You think I really care about us right now?’

  ‘I’m not talking about us. I’m talking about me, and I’m talking about you. We’ll both be finished by this.’

  ‘It was self-defence,’ she says again, finally twisting round to look at me.

  ‘Don’t you see, it’s not about that. This will all play out in public. Do you really want that?’

  ‘You’re worried about our affair being discovered? Is that it? Christ.’

  ‘And you’re not?’

  ‘You’re a piece of shit, Benny.’ She re-engaged with my reflection in the window. ‘Who was he, anyway?’

  ‘How the hell should I know?’

  ‘Maybe it’s connected to… you never told me who owns this place. What if it’s to do with them? Maybe we should call them.’

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’ I threw at her. ‘Look, he was probably just a homeless guy, or some burglar taking a chance, or someone off his face.’

  ‘Someone who’s been following us all weekend? Why are you lying to me, Benny?’

  I went silent, thinking for a moment about how much to say.

  ‘Okay, honestly? You think someone like me doesn’t make enemies in my work? I’ve spent my life taking photos of people… a lot of people who don’t want their photos taken. You know how many times I’ve had someone want to kill me?’

  ‘Enough to track you down later and… What aren’t you telling me?’

  I had to shut this down. ‘You have to trust me when I tell you this. At the moment, no one knows you’re here. No one knows you’re a part of what just happened. And I can tell you, you want to keep it that way. If there are people who want me dead, there’s no need for them to want you dead as well. Now, just do exactly what I say, and we’ll be fine. I promise you.’

  I looked at her reflection. It helped that she wouldn’t face me. It was like two shadow versions of our true selves were having the argument. But now, I walked across the room and crouched in front of her.

  ‘Kiddo, look.’ I took her hands. One was wrapped tightly in a tea towel, dark with blood. ‘Please look at me.’ She raised her eyes to me, full of tears. ‘If you really want to call the police. If you really want to have this dragged out in public. If you really think you can take all the damage that this is going to do to us. If you want this to follow you round for the rest of your life…’

  ‘Stop it, Benny, stop it!’

  But I wasn’t going to stop. There was only one way this could end.

  38

  Amber

  Amber is hunting in the eyes of the on-call obstetrician for a sign, any sign. But he is doing his inscrutable routine as he moves the ultrasound probe around her belly. The cold gel sends tingles around her middle and a shiver up her back. She closes her eyes, unable to look at the doctor or at the strange moving negative forming in waves on the screen.

  She is waiting for the steady whoosh-whoosh of her baby’s heartbeat. But she knows, even if she hears it, that it won’t be enough to reassure her. She has done the reading and knows about the risks of a fall in pregnancy: the placenta separating early from the uterus, or a skull injury to the baby. Then there are all the things she has not read about but can imagine.

  She had stumbled back into the house with Yvey and gone into a dissociated autopilot, calling the urgent contact number printed on her big plastic pregnancy folder. She ordered two cabs. One was taking Yvey home, the other taking her to the hospital.

  A process of compartmentalisation was happening in her brain as she sat and waited, shutting away all thoughts of Benny and the photos. All she could think about was the child inside her. She didn’t even have enough attention to speak to Yvey. She just asked her to wait in the kitchen while Amber sat in her living room, wrapping her arms around herself. She closed her eyes, directing her attention down into her body. Come on, come on, move!

  She didn’t feel an
y guilt when her car arrived first, and she left Yvey waiting outside her house in the darkness. But as she drove towards the hospital, she felt negligent and unmaternal, as if it was her own daughter she had left there. She sent Yvey a text, asking her to message when she got home safe.

  The person she wanted to call more than anyone was Johnny, but she couldn’t. She got his number up but couldn’t dial. She couldn’t construct another lie; couldn’t hear his voice and tell him she had done something reckless and stupid to endanger their child. Not with all the other explanation it would involve. She had to face this alone. If the news was bad, then she would tell him. She would tell him everything. There would be no more secrets between them. That thought kept her thumb hovering over the green dial icon.

  Besides, right now he would be drunk. He wouldn’t be able to do anything or come back to see her till the morning. She didn’t want him to do something rash. She had visions of him rushing down, a crash on the motorway, leaving her alone, completely alone.

  The decision solidified for her, and she put her phone away. She rode out the rest of the journey to the hospital in cold stillness, watching the stretching glow from the passing street lamps moving on the inside of the cab.

  The hospital was still and empty. Her voice was choked with tears as she tried to speak to the midwife who greeted her at the clinic. She did not trust anymore the small feelings of movement she thought she had detected on the journey. She just knew that her whole world was on the edge of collapse, and she would do anything to protect this small part of it.

  And now she is sitting, waiting for the obstetrician to speak, imagining all the worst things.

  Finally, he breaks his impenetrable frown and gives a light smile. Not much goes in after Amber hears him say: ‘Well, everything seems fine.’ Just a wave of relief like the hit of a drug. She tunes back in to hear him talking about her blood pressure being a bit high. ‘We should keep an eye on that. Has it been high generally?’