Beautiful Liar: a gripping suspense thriller

by Louise Mullins

  'That's an odd thing to say for such a confident woman.'

  'I don't mean I see myself as any less than others, I just mean that, well, I'm not sure what I mean.'

  A Freudian slip of the tongue, then. I only know a little pop psychology, but enough to understand Erica, though she wants to give off an air of surety, is actually quite brittle. She's haunted by something, and I'd like to know what.

  'I grew up in Clifton. I'm sure my upbringing was quite different to yours,' I venture, hoping not to seem snobby.

  'I grew up in North Bristol. We moved a lot. My dad struggled to find work for some time after my mother's death, but he set up his own maintenance firm, ten years ago. He's doing well, by all accounts.'

  I wonder from this comment if she hasn't seen her dad at all since her mum died, or if their relationship had always been strained, but I don't pursue the conversation. Instead, I try a different approach.

  'Have you ever been in love?'

  'It depends on what you mean by “love.”'

  'What is your definition?'

  'Feeling completely safe to be yourself with another person. How about you?'

  'Trust is a big thing for me. I don't take well to being lied to.'

  I think for a moment Erica's eyes water a little at this.

  'You've been hurt before, I can tell. But, I can promise you, I treat the woman I choose to be with as if she is the most important person in the world. A diamond to be polished and protected. I would never let anything come between us.'

  'What makes you think there is an us,' she says, a little too sharply, between smiling, and offering a short nervous laugh.

  'Are you saying you wouldn't like to see me again, make this official?'

  I cannot hide the hurt I feel. It causes my words to stumble from my mouth, jarring the air between us. She leans forward in her chair, and brings out both of her hands to rest on mine. I jolt back, snapping them away in irritation. I really don't like to appear weak.

  'I didn't mean to offend you. I'd love to see you again, but I'd like to get to know you better.'

  'Isn't that what we're doing?'

  'I don't want to rush things.'

  I strain to understand what she means, but dismiss my apprehensions as being paranoia, and nothing more. Of course, she wants to see me again. I have been on my best behaviour. And she's right, it has only been two days. We shouldn't move forward too quickly.

  'You're right. Let's go for a walk?'

  She doesn't answer, but hurries to swig back the last of her orange juice, sliding her handbag onto her shoulder. She places her hand on my arm, and the tension begins to dissipate. Her fingers send spasms of electricity firing along my skin.

  She really has a warm touch.

  I pay for the meal, and meet her outside, where she stands waiting, her back to the entrance. I cannot help but offer her the element of surprise Rose showed me earlier, when I'd expected Erica to open the door of the flat to me. I tread slowly along the grit path and grab hold of her shoulders from behind, causing her to jump in fright. The look of fear on her face overshadows any shock I thought she'd be wearing, and I instantly note I've caused her to feel distressed.

  'I didn't realise you scared so easily.'

  'It's all right,' she giggles in a wooden tone. 'Let's go.'

  She grabs my hand, and allows me to escort her down the dirt path running alongside the huge field, until we reach the bath stone-built estate house. A large glass conservatory sits to the right of the building overlooking the rolling countryside. A lone horse stands, with his eyes on us, further up the hill, which leads away from the back of the house and into gleaming pastures.

  Once we're inside the cool building, we follow the tour guide up the red-carpeted staircase, and into each of the spacious bedrooms, a single, large, white-painted bathroom, and back down the steep staircase toward the nursery and kitchen. As we pass the scullery, I imagine what the house might have looked like in the eighteenth century. I pretend I can still see the governess, leading us into the hall where the gardener has slugged off his boots. The housekeeper swipes them up from the floor, and the cook appears, haggard and rosy-cheeked, to ask the lady of the house what she'd like her to cook for dinner. Are their spirits surrounding us, as we wander through the rooms of their house?

  A chill in the air stops me short. Catching my breath, I turn, and am met with my reflection in a tall mirror to the left of me, as we return to the entrance. Erica stands beside me, her hand in mine. We are a rather odd-looking couple, I think, as we make our way back to the half-open front door. I'm tall and well-built, whilst she's petite and thin-framed. She looks up to me, with her gaze still resting on the mirror, and I follow her eyes. She looks timid, as if something has broken her. I intend to get to the bottom of whatever it is causing her face to grow sad; noting it was only when I told her where we were going that it crept up.

  As we leave the big house, I coax her into following me down the winding path, back to where I've parked the car. We take a seat on a stone wall. The tweeting birds above our head in the trees break the silence. I resolve to ask her what's troubling her.

  'I can't help but see sadness in your eyes.'

  I turn to face her, lifting my hand up to stroke the dry skin of her cheek, where the sun has burnt a tanned hue into her pale complexion.

  'Tell me what is going on in there.' I press the tip of my finger onto her temple.

  'I came here once with Matt.'

  'I'm guessing it wasn't a pleasant experience.'

  'He was very rude, a bully. He used to shout at me. I never felt as if I could do anything right. It was like treading on eggshells.'

  'He sounds like a nasty piece of work.'

  'He wasn't always like that. I mean, he'd say some vicious things, but he wasn't cruel.'

  I smooth my fingers along the contours of her face and down to her chin, bringing her face up to meet mine, leaving a gentle kiss on her lips. So soft, so well-versed, I almost forget what I'm supposed to be doing.

  I don't want her to think I'm only interested in her body. It's her mind I want. I have to guarantee she understands I intend to get to know her, before we move on to anything more intimate. Besides, I think she'll respect me more if I wait. I know from what she's told me already the last thing she wants is to move too quickly. Now is the perfect time to tell her I'm otherwise indisposed after today.

  'I wanted to see you again so soon, because I'm going to London tomorrow. There's a case I've been working on for some time, which has finally been called into court. I won't be able to see you this weekend, either, because I'll have a lot of paperwork to write up. I hope you're not too disappointed.'

  'I can't interfere in your work.'

  'I won't let you,' I say. 'That's why I wanted to see you so soon after our date.'

  'I enjoy your company,' she says, moving toward me leaving a delicate kiss on my lips. This time, I don't hold back. I reciprocate, kissing her tenderly so our breaths are caught between each other’s. I pull away, just as she relaxes her mouth against mine, holding her face in my hand. Without another word, I take her hand, and walk her toward the car.

  I drive without thought. Though my eyes are trained on the road, I am aware Erica offers a cursory glance in my direction every once in a while. Once we reach the crappy-looking flat she shares with Rose, I park the car a foot onto the kerb, because of the idiot parked in front of her small abode, and glance up to see Rose, waiting eagerly at the door. Before I've turned the key to switch off the engine, she comes bounding out of the house toward the car, as I'm closing the door behind me. She greets us like an anxious mother after her daughter's first date.

  'Did you have fun, you two?' she says, as if we're old friends.

  'I hope so.'

  Erica looks up to me, and smiles as she leaves the car, accepting a hug from Rose. 'I really enjoyed myself.'

  I don't walk her to the door. Instead, I let Rose link her arm through Erica's. She doesn't try t
o disguise the whispered words in Erica's ear, as they make their way up the path toward the wooden front door. I know she's asking her if she'll be seeing me again, and I'm sure Erica's reply is positive, because they both turn as they reach the door, wearing a knowing expression on their faces. Erica gives me a little wave, and I smile, before turning back to the car.

  As I drive away, I notice Erica is still standing in the doorway, waiting until the car disappears from view, before stepping through the front door, closing it behind her.

  I expect Rose will be asking her what we did, where we went, what she thinks and feels about me. I'm hopeful I've passed her unsubtle inquiry, and met her approval, though I can't help wondering why Erica feels the need to share such closeness with another person. Must all women swap every intimate detail of their love lives with their friends?

  I really hope Erica respects me enough not to divulge every little thing regarding our relationship with Rose, who is so obviously jealous of sharing her precious friend.

  I meet the junction with a start when I see flashing lights in the distance through the rear-view mirror. In a few seconds, a police car shoots past me, hot on the tail of a motorbike, the owner of which is veering dangerously close to the pavement a few yards ahead of me. One snick to the kerb, and the driver is going to fall from his bike, and smash his skull hard onto the concrete. The image of the bike rolling across the busy street, juddering, spitting, and spinning in the centre of the wet road, where a pool of blood forms, forces my eyes to focus harder on what is in front of me.

  I try not to think such awful thoughts, but I cannot contain the dark images which often flood my vision when things tend to be going well in my life. The negative vibes seem to perpetuate my own misgivings, making me wonder if something will go wrong to destroy the happiness I'm feeling. Though I know it's only my fear of Erica's rejection, which causes these images to swarm my vision, I try to concentrate on the road ahead, and not on the feeling blossoming inside me. I believe the first buds of something sweet and new are forming between us. Lust.

  Erica is a very beautiful woman. She is elegant, as well as spirited. I hope she takes as much time thinking about me as I do her. Perhaps being forced to spend the rest of the week without each other will give her the time to appreciate the time we've spent together so far. As the saying goes, “absence makes the heart grow fonder.” The distance between us will make her grasp how lucky she is to have found somebody like me.

  It's going to be difficult for me to fight the urge to call her, but I'm sure I can overcome that. I'll keep my phone switched off, so I'm not tempted to hear her voice. I'll send her a bouquet of flowers mid-week, to let her know I'm still thinking about her.

  I'm fairly certain Erica will feel much more secure in the knowledge I'm in this for the long-haul. She must understand I'm not going to walk away from her.

  I park the car up alongside the east wall of the house, and look up to the bedroom windows, noticing for the hundredth time how dark the place looks without a woman to light up the rooms of the building.

  When I enter the house, the cool air is in stark contrast to the muggy heat outside. I place my coat on a hook opposite the mirror in the hall, glancing at my reflection, as I open the door to the living room, where I sit taking deep breaths to try to rid the images which still linger in the back of my mind. I relive the moment I held Erica's face in my hands, my grip light so as not to crush her jaw, as I pressed my lips against hers. Her lack of resistance as I pushed my tongue into her mouth summoned the images I've been fighting to keep at bay since I drove away from her flat.

  I have to contain the thoughts such images conjure, otherwise it isn't going to work out very well for Erica. Though, I've come to realise when I'm alone, these dark fantasies, which threaten to ruin everything I have built for myself over the past twelve years, have increased.

  I must be strong, I tell myself. I must conquer them.

  ERICA

  I spend the first day without the ability to contact Joel in a cloud of happiness. I can’t believe somebody as handsome and charismatic as Joel finds me attractive! Despite our whirlwind romance, I’ve secretly become infatuated with him.

  By the third day, the thought of not being able to see him for the rest of the week is killing me, so I take Rose's offer of a trip into town after work on Wednesday, as a chance to distract myself.

  I'm bored stiff hearing about Jared's resignation and the flat Rose has found, paid for, and all but already moved into with him, I'm grateful for the change in scenery. Being stuck inside the sweltering office all day has played havoc with my hair. As always, it's swept up high on my head, with a scrunchie to stop the frizzy mess from falling in front of my eyes. We meet the bus at the top of Muller Road, heading for the centre of Bristol.

  There is a definite chill in the air this evening, though. We make our way down through the subway into the Bear Pit underpass. I feel a sudden shift in the atmosphere, as if everything around me has slowed.

  This must mean the honeymoon period between me and Joel has stalled somewhat. The cloud I've been floating on is sinking, and knowing I'm not going to be making as frequent shopping trips with Rose as of next week, when she moves in with Jared, is only accentuating it.

  Though she's already paid the deposit, and moved most of her belongings into the flat in Bishopston, she's still sleeping in the bedroom beside mine, leaving a trail of mess in her wake, and acting as if nothing has altered. But, it has, hasn't it?

  In just a few short weeks, I'll be spending my days in the flat with a complete stranger, that's if I can find anyone to move in before the next month's rent is due.

  We head into Debenhams first for a mooch around at clothes, and then, into Primark for some shoes. I pick a high-heeled pair of boots, thinking they'll do for the autumn, which is veering ever closer. I’m determined to buy Rose something to thank her for our lasting friendship. In the end, I settle on a housewarming gift for the pair of them. Jared isn't such a bad guy; he's just a bit immature. Though, I think I'd much prefer to live with Joel than Jared, even if he does appear to be a little OCD.

  I noticed it on our first date. The way his face scrunched up at the sight of mushrooms tossed onto his plate. His eyes had flashed for just a second with irritation when the waitress brought the plate back over to him, having removed them. He didn't thank her. Not that she seemed to notice, so all consumed with her job. But, I had thought it odd at the time such a kind man could show such a sudden burst of hostility toward a complete stranger. At least he's not spoken to me in such a thoughtless way. If he did, I'd put him in his place.

  Joel appears to be the caring type with me—thoughtful and sincere. The way he looked so terrified I wouldn't want to meet with him again after lunch the other day, made my stomach knot up. I really felt ashamed of myself. I didn't mean to upset him; I was just caught off-guard.

  Still, I suppose, I wasn't the only one who found it odd he'd been so upset with the amount of time I'd taken to consider my reply. Rose told me she thought he was afraid of rejection, and he had abandonment issues. She read it in a magazine somewhere. She said it’s the complete opposite of a man who is afraid of commitment. He feels disabled of his masculinity when he has nobody to assert himself with. She said a man needs a woman to soften his edges, whatever that means.

  When we leave the shopping mall, we make our way inside the little greasy spoon café on the corner of Wine Street, beside a bakery and a travel agent's, taking a seat at the back. The smell of fried chips and sausages springs from the kitchens through a serving hatch. I take the opportunity to check my phone for probably the third time since we left the house, and look up to find Rose shaking her head at me.

  'He still hasn't called or texted you?'

  'No. And his phone is switched off.'

  'Maybe he's married.'

  'Or busy.'

  Rose shakes her head again, and I can't help the irritation bubbling to the surface of my chest. 'What?'

&nbs
p; 'He's definitely up to something. Nobody turns their mobile off these days, unless they have something to hide.'

  Though I disagree with her words, I cannot help the creeping sense of dread enveloping my skin. It tugs at my armour, like an invisible hand.

  'He's in court this week. He probably hasn't got the time to make unnecessary calls.'

  'The least he could do is send you a message to let you know he's thinking of you,' she says.

  Eager to let the conversation drop from Joel, I move on to Jared. 'So, he's definitely moving in with you, then?'

  Rose must sense the satisfaction I feel at having voiced my concern for her own relationship, because she narrows her eyes. 'Why wouldn't he?'

  'I never thought I'd see the day Jared settled down.'

  'What's that supposed to mean?' she says, visibly annoyed.

  'I didn't mean—'

  'Whatever. Are you ordering, or shall I choose?'

  Rose's dismissal has shown a chink in our friendship band. I pretend to ignore her sudden defensiveness, and let her think she's holding the reins, by letting her order for us both. Sometimes, it's easier to let the other person think they've won.

  The rest of our meal is punctuated by high-pitched wailing coming from a buggy at the front of the café. The boy’s mother is trying desperately to ignore his fevered cries, as she stuffs a burger into her mouth. We attempt to discuss the small group of friends we haven't seen for a while above the howling, but I find I'm not really listening. I zone out around the time the conversation kept back-tracking to Jared and the argument he had with his boss over a late payslip.

  We leave the café an hour later, making our way to the bus. As the driver climbs the hill at a reasonable rate, despite the growing traffic, I begin to wonder where Joel is, and what he’s doing. I imagine he's thinking about me, too, as he sits at a desk in a back room somewhere in the courthouse, shifting through piles of paperwork and case notes, preparing for the next day ahead.

  I don't remember which area of London he said he was staying in, or if he did. Wherever he is, I'm sure he could spare ten minutes to call and ask how I am. I consider sending him a text message for when he switches his phone back on, but stop myself. Treat them mean, and all that.