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

by O. C. S. Francis

  Her phone buzzes on the floor next to her, and she jerks upright.

  47

  Amber

  ‘Ed, that was quick.’ Seeing Ed Kapoor’s name on the caller ID, Amber has tried to flip her voice into her professional mode, but it sounds fake and weak in her own ears.

  ‘Yeah, well, I started with the easy stuff. You want to know what I got?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Your man Gallagher. Born 1969 near Belfast. Seemed to spend a lot of his youth in trouble with the law, as far as I can tell — fairly minor stuff, but a bit of time inside.’

  Benny’s photos flash in Amber’s mind — angry young men, hard eyes staring out from under balaclavas.

  ‘Any links to paramilitaries?’ But as she asks the question, the maths catches up with her — Finn would have been only a kid when Benny was taking those shots.

  ‘Well, you know, these things are all tied up together there, aren’t they? But anyway, he moves to London in his mid-twenties. Again, seems to have a few minor scuffs with the law, but stays out of jail this time. Keeps some interesting company from what I can tell, but seems to keep his nose clean enough.’

  Ed clicks his tongue on the back of his teeth. ‘But here’s the thing I find interesting: he wasn’t actually from the wrong side of the tracks to start with. His parents were well off. His dad owned a fair bit of land, and his mum was a history prof at Queen’s Belfast. So, for whatever reason, Finn is a bit of an outcast. And when his mum dies of cancer, his dad leaves Belfast and goes to live on his own in a little village in Cumbria.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘That’s what I’m getting to. I only know all this because of what happened to the dad. Finn doesn’t have any siblings, not much family at all as far as I can tell, and his father is living all on his own, middle of nowhere. Then, out of the blue, his house burns down with him in it. Looks pretty much like arson, and the doors have been blocked shut.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Well, they found the body… uh… let me see… yeah… 4 November 2001.’

  A chill runs through Amber. Just five days before that weekend in the cottage.

  ‘So then Finn stands to inherit all his father’s money,’ Ed goes on. ‘Which puts a big flashing sign on his head as far as the police are concerned. Except he’s got a cast-iron alibi the night of the fire — he’s hundreds of miles away in London, surrounded by witnesses and CCTV. But then, well, you know what happens next. Last anybody sees of him is four days later, 8 November.’

  Ed stops. There is silence on the line. He is waiting for Amber to speak. She can tell he is burning to ask her again about who this man was to her, about why he’s been chasing down all his police contacts to get this dirt on a missing man from two decades ago.

  ‘Did they ever find who did it? The arson?’

  ‘Not as far as I can make out. You want me to keep digging?’ A brief pause. ‘And is there anything else you want to tell me?’

  Amber hesitates to reply. She wants to ask Ed if he can tie the name to Benny or Mika or Sam or Genevieve, but she doesn’t dare. Not yet. Not till everything else is exhausted.

  ‘Amber…’ She can hear the concern in Ed’s voice and is aware of how long her silence has become.

  She looks around at the archive and fears the truth as much as she craves it. She knows that each new piece of information Ed uncovers will start a trail that could lead eventually back to her. She can see in front of her a future where she will have to lie to Ed, and she will have to ask Ed to lie for her. Just as she has asked Kay to keep a secret that was not fair to share.

  ‘Thanks, Ed, no. That’s all for now.’

  ‘But you are okay, aren’t you?’

  ‘Ask me again when you see me. I’ll tell you, I promise.’ And she hangs up.

  She pulls herself from the floor and stumbles out of the archive, light-headed and her mouth dry. She holds tight to the railing of the stairs as she descends, and puts her other hand across her body as if preparing herself for the risk of a fall.

  When she comes out into the studio and flicks the glass back to transparent, she sees how late it has got. Shadows are winning against the light; the clearing feels smaller; the woods are pressing in on her.

  She gets out her phone and finds a message that must have come through whilst she was talking to Ed. It is from Johnny. It is full of support and love and emojis. She feels the searing stab of all the lies she’s told him, knowing that soon the lies will have to end.

  She swipes it away and starts a new message. It is to her tormenter

  If I tell you everything, will you leave me alone?

  There is nothing in reply. Only the crackle and swish of the trees. She types another message.

  You can’t frighten me anymore. I don’t care who knows. I’ll tell everyone. I’ll do it now.

  She waits. Still nothing.

  I’m not a coward like you.

  But she is a coward. If she wasn’t a coward, she would have told Kay and Ed everything. If she wasn’t a coward, she would call the police right now.

  A noise comes out of her mouth, a low moan, animal-like. Then she raises her face to the trees and shouts.

  ‘Come on, you bastard!’ Her voice is pathetic and childlike in the gloom. She sits down on the earth and wraps her arms around herself in a desolate embrace of her unborn child.

  She isn’t sure how long she is there. The present stretches and collides in her mind with the past: the knife in the intruder’s neck, his blood flowing out across onto the cottage floor, her own naked body, and Benny’s voice threatening a confession.

  When she finally pulls herself up, she is dizzy for a second, and the circle of the clearing moves vertiginously around her. Then there is the crackle of breaking twigs and movement in the corner of her vision. She closes her eyes and bites down on the fear that is welling up inside her.

  When she opens them, they are blurred with tears, and a red shape moves towards her from the trees like an old wound reopened. Her chaotic brain takes a moment to see first that it is a person, then that it is Yvey, wearing her red leather jacket and hoodie. She is moving uneasily, her shoulders turned in, her right hand holding her left wrist — perhaps in pain, perhaps just a gesture of protection across her body.

  Yvey stops, looking up, realising there is someone in the forest in front of the studio. She squints towards Amber, who is caught in silhouette from the lights of the studio behind her. Yvey takes a couple of steps forward and pulls back her hood. She doesn’t say anything, just draws a little closer as if still trying to see. The flesh around her left eye is red and swollen, and there is a raw graze across her cheekbone.

  Then a new expression comes over Yvey’s face. In that moment, her resemblance to Benny is gone, but there is another face that flashes in Amber’s mind. She is thinking of the Lebanese boy, that look of fear and devastation on his face, but also one of righteous anger and a seed of vengeance.

  Yvey looks for a moment as if she is about to speak, but then she dips her head, turns and runs back into the trees towards the house.

  48

  The phone in my hand feels like an explosive device that might go off.

  It’s unlocked. The screen is glowing. I managed to grab it whilst Yvey was using it, those busy little thumbs typing away.

  I’m sorry I had to hurt her. I didn’t expect her to fight so much or to be so strong. But at least she didn’t see me. I wore my helmet. I felt cold when I put it on, suffocated, like I might drown in my own breath. I hadn’t put it on since that night. The night I killed Benny. Yes, I can say it. I can admit it.

  I tap the phone periodically to stop it timing out and locking. Then I get a grip of my thoughts, go into the settings and turn the screen timeout to its maximum. I still have to move quickly to explore what’s on it before it’s locked remotely.

  I don’t know what I’m going to find, but teenagers, they live their lives on their phones, don’t they?
If Yvey knows something about what I did to Benny, it’s got to be on this thing somewhere. And it might tell me what she’s been saying to you, Amber. And maybe what you’ve been telling her.

  I hesitate again.

  I don’t know what I’ll do with what I find. It’s all got so out of control. All because I tried to help Benny. Because I was helping. It doesn’t matter what Benny says, I was helping him.

  It’s not my fault what happened to Finn. But I should have known he’d mess it up. I should never have made the deal in the first place. Neither of us got what we wanted from it. All I got was nightmares about what I did. But I was doing my part of the deal. I’ve always kept my word. You can say whatever you like about me, but you can’t say I’m not loyal, that I’m not true.

  I grit my teeth and look back at the phone. I scroll through the screens, looking at the apps, trying to decide which to explore first.

  Something catches my eye. There are two WhatsApp icons. Which I know must mean two accounts and a phone with dual sim cards. Yvey’s real number and a second number. What’s she been up to with those?

  I swipe down from the top and see there’s a WhatsApp notification. I tap it, and a message comes up on the screen.

  If I tell you everything, will you leave me alone?

  I start to scroll up the messages, a sickness rising inside me.

  49

  Amber

  Amber doesn’t hesitate to follow Yvey through the trees. The girl is running in a haphazard way, catching on the branches and ignoring Amber’s calls.

  They break through into the garden. Standing in the open French doors, the glow of the kitchen behind her, is Genevieve. She puts a hand up to her chest, and a cascade of emotions runs across her face — alarm, confusion, a flash of anger.

  Yvey sees her mother, stops for a moment, then twists round and darts back across the garden. She skips over a flowerbed and rushes into the thick of the trees, quickly swallowed up by the branches and the darkness. Amber turns to follow her, but is stopped by Genevieve’s voice.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’

  Amber is unable to speak for a moment. When she does, she is surprised at the boldness in her own voice when she speaks:

  ‘What happened to Yvey’s face?’

  Genevieve shakes her head. ‘I asked you what was going on. Look at yourself.’

  Amber’s eyes fall. Only now does she realise she is covered in dirt from the floor of the clearing. She runs a hand through her hair. It feels dusty and unkempt. She has no time to construct an excuse, and Genevieve is on a roll, her voice shifting into the high sharp tones of a disappointed headmistress.

  ‘Now, do you want to tell me what this is all about? Sam tells me you turned up unexpectedly and have been asking about Yvey. And now… this.’ She waves a hand aggressively at Amber. ‘If I’m honest, I thought you started acting a little oddly when you came to visit. But I let it go. I thought perhaps I was imagining things, that if you settled into the job, you might calm down. But I should have listened to my instincts.’

  ‘Why won’t you tell me what happened to Yvey?’ Amber can’t get the question out of her head.

  ‘Because I don’t bloody know. She says she went into the village to go to the shops and got mugged. But this is Radlow. People don’t get mugged. She won’t say anything else about it.’ The hard lines soften a little. She steps forward into the garden. ‘Honestly, I’m worried about her. She didn’t come home last night till God knows what time.’

  ‘She didn’t message you?’

  ‘Message me?’ The suspicion is back on Genevieve’s face.

  ‘Radlow, it’s not walkable from here, is it? Not along these roads.’

  ‘What are you talking about? She goes everywhere on that bloody scooter Benny gave her.’

  Amber nods, beginning to see. ‘She still has it, then?’

  ‘Of course she still has it.’ Genevieve gives a long sigh of exasperation. ‘You know what, Amber, if you’re not going to tell me what’s going on, I think perhaps you should go.’

  ‘No, please, I’ll explain. I’ll try to. But can I ask you one more question?’

  ‘Go on,’ she says stiffly.

  ‘Why did you ask me to do this job? No more lies.’

  ‘Lies? I asked you for all the reasons I told you. Because Benny always…’

  Amber cuts her off. ‘It’s been years. Why me, why now? There are dozens of people who could’ve done the job. Why did you bring me here?’

  The impatience on Genevieve’s face has not left, but Amber can’t see even a flicker of guilt or malevolence. There is nothing that speaks of any grand plan playing out. The impatient look falls away with a sigh as she lowers herself into a moss-covered wooden chair by the back door. There is a heaviness about her movements.

  ‘All right, I’m sorry. I haven’t been entirely straight with you. It’s foolish. You’ll forgive me… I didn’t tell you because it seemed… it seemed unprofessional. Your name was on a list; it really was. All of us at the Foundation wanted someone whose work connected with Benny’s. And I’ve always felt the kinship in your photographs and his. I got talking to Yvey about it, and she said she loved your work. It felt like the first proper conversation I’d had with her since Benny died. She’d been so withdrawn. It was sentimental of me, I know, but she’d lost her father.’

  ‘You hired me because your daughter thought you should?’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. It might seem like a strange decision, but she was set on it. She talked about your work for days, said how much she’d like to meet you. I thought it was a way… a way just to include her again. Something to cling to, I suppose. But now all this. What’s happening between you and Yvey? No more lies.’ The last words are pointed and thrown.

  Amber pauses before she answers. She looks towards the woods, as if Yvey might re-emerge from them.

  ‘You know Yvey thinks Benny was murdered?’

  ‘Why would she think a thing like that? Have you been putting ideas in her head?’ Genevieve’s reaction is sharp and a little angry. But the defiance collapses quickly, and the form goes out of her shoulders. ‘Oh, Amber, what’s she been saying to you?’

  Amber grits her teeth for a second, then finds the courage to reply.

  ‘She’s been saying she doesn’t trust you. She said your mother says you weren’t visiting her the night Benny died.’

  ‘You’re not telling me she thinks I have something to do with Benny’s death? Oh God. Tell me Yvey doesn’t think that. Tell me you don’t think that.’

  ‘Well, were you? Were you visiting your mother?’

  ‘Of course I was. That silly girl. Look, my mother is nearly ninety, very senile. She thinks it’s Christmas every second Tuesday. She wouldn’t have a clue.’ Genevieve shakes her head. She is smiling ruefully, the shape strangely out of place on her fallen face. ‘Oh, I hoped this was all behind us. I’m afraid this isn’t the first time she’s fixated on a notion that wasn’t true, that she’s lied for attention.’

  There is a quiver in Genevieve’s voice, and all the parts of her that are weak seem to be winning against the parts that are strong. ‘We tried, we really tried, Benny and I. But he was never here, and there was always so much work. She’s such a bright child. Too bright, I’ve sometimes thought. The psychologists throw all sorts of words around with their large bills, but…’

  She tails off and smiles weakly. It all seems slightly beyond what she is able to express. ‘We thought we had it under control, we really did. Then last year, she developed… I’m not sure what it really was… a crush, an obsession, some kind of unhealthy relationship with her art teacher, a young woman. It turned out Yvey had been inventing all sorts of stories about Benny and me to gain the teacher’s sympathy and attention.’

  ‘What sort of stories?’ Amber asks, still not sure what she is hearing now is the truth.

  ‘It really doesn’t matter. They were all nonsense. And when it all came out, Yvey made some lurid a
ccusations about her teacher, which of course the teacher denied. After that, Yvey…’ Genevieve pauses, losing Amber’s eyes again. ‘She attacked her teacher. In the street outside her house, right in front of all her neighbours. We were lucky the teacher agreed not to press charges. She was badly hurt.’

  Amber is shaking her head, the knowledge of Yvey’s lies sinking in, yet still unable to imagine her as someone with violence in her. She thinks about Yvey’s black eye and her story that someone attacked her. She looks at Genevieve and feels they are thinking the same thing, questioning everything Yvey has told them for days, even weeks.

  ‘It’s my fault,’ Genevieve says. ‘I tried to tell myself it was a good thing she seemed okay after Benny. But she isn’t, is she? Just because she seems like that on the outside.’ A tear is drawing a path down Genevieve’s face. When she speaks again, there is a pleading note to her voice. ‘Please tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘I’ll try, I really will.’ Amber feels she has finally begun to understand. The picture is not fully there in her head: bits of it are still burned away, patches of white light. But she can see large parts of it now, seeping into view, the chemicals coming through on the print. ‘It’s true Yvey has some explaining to do to you. She has some explaining to do to both of us. But that’s okay. I do too.’

  As she speaks, she wants the fear to lift. She wants the part of the frame she can now see to be all of the picture. She wants to be able to tie everything back to Yvey and be free from her secrets. At the same time, she still has that feeling deep within her, that relentless dread drawing ever closer.