Beautiful Liar: a gripping suspense thriller

by Louise Mullins

  I take a glass from the cupboard, pour myself a large whisky, and switch on the laptop, waiting for it to light up, before taking it into the living room with me. Seated back on the sofa, I navigate the website I visited yesterday for some light relief, not planning on discovering a video which sends my pulse racing. I run my hands down the legs of my trousers, damp with confused lust, as I hover the cursor over the image, daring myself to play the video.

  It isn't the usual kind of porn I find myself watching. The woman's body is already bent over a sofa, with her hand reaching out behind her to slow the thrusts of the man, who presses his weight on her shoulders with large palms, not able to see the distress on her face. He takes her wrist in one swoop of his hand, and holds it down against her back. His grip causes her to wince, before continuing to moan. Her voice grows louder; the tone deepens, as he pumps into her harder and faster, until she looks as though she can no longer catch her breath. When, finally, he releases himself into her, gripping her hips in his hands with each final thrust, flashes of pleasure build up inside me. It is the most erotic thing I've seen, and I've seen a lot of porn.

  I don't think it's the lack of passion between them, nor the brief look of helplessness I caught in the woman's eyes, as he came inside her, her hand twisted behind her back unable to slow his movements, but finding pleasure in his force anyway. No, it isn't that which makes me grow hard; it's the image of Erica I replaced the woman on the video with.

  I snap the laptop back down, and return to the kitchen to fetch the bottle of whisky, pouring myself another large glass, and swigging back the alcohol as though it's water. I take the laptop up from the sofa in the living room, and decide to bring it up to bed with me, hoping to emulate the fantasies circling around in my head.

  I've waited a long time for someone like Erica. Perhaps it's time we moved on to the next level in regards to our relationship. I'll offer to make her dinner tomorrow. I can't bring her back here yet, so it will have to be in that shabby little flat of hers. Of course, I don't want her to think I'm willing to visit her there often. I have to let her know what she'll be missing, if she doesn't agree to move in with me. She has to understand that, if she doesn't take me up on my offer, she'll be spending many evenings alone, with only a television and a ready meal for company.

  I'll call her tomorrow, to tell her I'll be cooking dinner at her's. I hope she wears something dressy, and not what she wore on our last planned date, which made her look cheap and classless. Good taste is something she's clearly been lacking, since taking her fashion advice from Rose, and I intend to change that. Their relationship, however close it is, cannot get in the way of Erica's future, which is why I'm not feeling in the slightest way concerned in losing the deal we've made. I'm sure Erica won’t think twice about moving in with me, once she falls victim to an attempted burglary.

  ERICA

  I'm awoken by the sound of the phone ringing. I bring my arm out to swipe at my mobile, which sits on the bedside table two feet away, knocking it to the floor. I allow it to ring out.

  Whoever it is isn't giving up, and the phone cries relentlessly, as I stuff a folded pillow over my face, pressing the edges down to muffle the sound. But, it doesn't work. I open my eyes, and manage to drag myself out of bed, sweeping my hand along the carpet until I find the phone, hitting accept call, and pressing it to my ear.

  'How did you sleep?' says Joel.

  'Could've been better.'

  'I'm cooking dinner later.'

  'Dinner?'

  'I know it's a little early to be talking about dinner, especially as it's barely 7:00am, but I thought I should warn you I'm a much better cook than any woman.'

  This comment snaps my mind into focus, forcing me wide awake. 'Excuse me?'

  'Excuse me?'

  'So, will you be joining me at your small abode around 6:00pm?'

  'I'll think about it.'

  'Would you rather dine alone this evening, or shall we share homemade macaroni cheese with croutons and gingerbread cheesecake for after?'

  'Mmm, you've got me at the sound of cheesecake.'

  'That's a date, then. Enjoy your day, and I'll see you later,' he says, as I'm about to hang up. 'Oh, before I forget. Get your little black dress on.'

  'I don't think I've got one.'

  'Nonsense. All women have one.'

  The line goes dead before I can summon the words, 'No, I really don't own one.'

  I leave the bed, half-dragging, half-carrying the duvet with me, leaving it to air over the door of the bathroom. I hate being woken up, no matter who it is, and especially when my alarm would have done it for me in just another thirty minutes. I'm still peeved as I pop two slices of just-in-date bread into the toaster, and stand waiting for the kettle to boil.

  Joel really is a surprising man. Not only does he think about me almost as much as I do him, if not more, but he seems to think he has a knack for cooking, and enjoys telling people what to do. If it wasn't for knowing otherwise, I'd probably think he was a tad controlling. But, I know he's considerate, and I'm lavishing in the attention if the truth is to be told.

  Though I'm not sure what I'm going to do about the non-existent little black dress. I haven't got time to go shopping in my lunch break, and Joel is going to be here at 6:00pm, so I can't go looking around the shops after work, either. I've got a red dress. That will have to do.

  I pour myself a strong coffee, taking the time to sip it, rather than pour it down my throat, as I usually would, having been woken up by Joel's call. In fact, I'm in half a mind to tell him off later. I remind myself now isn't the time to procrastinate. I have to decide what shoes are going to go with the red dress for tonight.

  I finally decide on wearing the new boots I bought when I went shopping with Rose the other day, and rummage around in my handbag to make sure I've got my purse and keys, stuffing a slice of thickly buttered toast into my mouth, reminding myself to dress before I leave the house.

  By the time I've made it to the bus stop, I've already decided it won't do to wear red without something black to tone it down, so decide to take a quick detour into H&M, when I grab a sandwich on my lunch break, hoping I've got enough time to eat it.

  I enter the building, thinking I should have brought a jacket now the summer is fading, and the air-conditioning inside the office is still pumping out cool air.

  The new intern for the head of finances makes a sharp impression on me, as she blusters into the office, exclaiming her name is Chloe, and asking to be shown to her desk. She's wearing a skin-tight dress, looking rather frazzled, so I offer to give her a tour of the place at 11:00am during our coffee break. However, I begin to wish I hadn't when she doesn't leave me alone for the rest of the morning.

  There are twenty of us sharing this spacious open-plan area, and she chooses to bombard me with all of her questions. By lunch time, I feel as though my head is spinning in a cement mixer. I should have left her to find her own way around, but know, deep down, I wouldn't have done such a thing.

  As I walk out of the office and head toward the lift, too mentally drained to take the stairs, I turn to see Chloe racing up behind me. She follows me into the lift, without a word. As we meet the ground floor, she asks me where the cheapest place to buy food is, and I offer to show her, stupidly thinking I can get rid of her. She follows me to Café Amore, and back out again to a bench opposite a hotdog stand. A group of builders lean against the wall beside us, smoking.

  'Do you want one?' she says, pulling out a cigarette.

  'No, thank you. I don't.'

  She shrugs her shoulders. 'How long have you been working for Mayer and Smith?'

  'Two years.'

  'What did you want to do?'

  I notice a smile creeping up her face, but pretend not to be bothered by her sarcasm.

  'I didn't get the grade I needed to train as a psychologist, so I passed a stress coaching course, and started running leadership programmes. They offered me work testing candidates for job roles
, and, well, I'm still there.'

  'Does it pay well?'

  'Not as well as practitioner psychologists.'

  She walks toward the bin, dumping her sandwich packet inside, and waltzes back over to where I'm sat, still stuffing the crusts of a sandwich into my mouth.

  'You could take a conversion course. What was it that you wanted to do?'

  'Clinical psychology.'

  'You're still young.'

  'Thanks, but I think I'll stick at what I'm doing.'

  'Why?'

  Misgivings aside, I admit, 'I guess I don't deal well with change.'

  Chloe takes a moment to re-light her cigarette, then swiftly moves the subject along. 'I'm turning twenty-one next month. I've already invited some of the girls from downstairs,' she says. 'Will you join us?'

  'I'd love to,' I say, not really sure if I should be agreeing to attend my co-worker's party, having only known her for four hours. But, I've never been very good at saying no to a party, especially when there are going to be free drinks.

  'Have you got a plus one?'

  I can't help but smile, thinking of Joel's handsome face. 'Yes.'

  'Married?'

  'Oh, no. We've only just met. Three weeks.'

  'Is that all? Christ, I don't want to be tied down. Not yet.'

  'Oh, it isn't like that. Well, we don't really know each other yet. Besides, he's older than me.'

  Her face drops then, and her smile fades. 'How old?'

  'He's thirty-four.'

  'Is he good in bed?'

  'Chloe!'

  'Sorry, I've never been very good at keeping my mouth shut.'

  'Me neither.' I laugh. 'We haven't . . . I mean, not yet.'

  'I wish a man would wait as long as three weeks to get me into bed.'

  I'm not sure what to say, but it looks as though Chloe isn't expecting me to say anything when she walks over to the ash bin, dabs out her cigarette, and comes back to stand beside me, waiting for me to rub the crumbs from my knees, as I follow her back to the office.

  Her words echo through my skull, as I make my way toward the desk, carrying a plate of biscuits and a freshly-made Styrofoam cup of weak coffee. Is Chloe right; am I too young to be tied down? Then, my thoughts return to what else she said, as I switch my computer on. Of course, Joel will be expecting to sleep with me tonight. That's why he invited himself over. That's why he asked me to wear my little black dress.

  A solid knot of tension forms in my stomach, causing me to feel nauseous. I type in my password, logging in to the office web browser.

  Later, as the bus climbs the hill, a flicker of relief washes over me, when I think of what Joel might have planned for us. A cosy meal for two, then a film, before making love to each other beneath the duvet. I don't know what I was worried about. Reaching the flat, I've already mentally showered, dressed, and sit waiting for Joel to arrive, but as I step toward the front door, I freeze.

  I know I locked the door behind me this morning, and it doesn't look as though whoever tried breaking into the flat actually got in, but there's evidence they've tried to. There are black scuff marks, where the intruder has either kicked the door, or attempted to force it open, whilst jabbing something hard around the wood beside the lock.

  I fall to the floor, landing on the step, cradling the mobile phone I've grabbed from my handbag to my ear, willing my limbs to cease shaking, as I dial Joel's number. I can't think of anyone else to call. My dad lives too far away to be of any immediate use, and I haven't spoken to him for months.

  Eventually, Joel arrives, and I force myself to stand, as he leaves the car. He's calm and organised, as he takes a quick look at the door, and dials the police from my phone.

  'Has anything been taken?' he says, repeating each question the call handler asks him.

  I shake my head.

  I'm asked a series of questions—what time did I come home, have I been inside the property, do I think the burglar might have got in, could they be inside now? I answer them all, unable to take my eyes away from the door.

  Eventually, he says, 'I have to check inside, wait here.'

  Joel grabs the key from my hand, and leaves the front door open. I wait for him to give me the all-clear, stepping into the flat which no longer feels like home. I know he's right; they didn't get inside, but I still find it hard not to imagine the space where I once felt safe has been violated in some way.

  I hadn't noticed Joel carrying several paper bags, until he dumps them down onto the counter top, and folds his arms around me.

  'You're not seriously going to cook that, are you?'

  'We still have to eat. Besides, nothing was taken. They didn't manage to get in.'

  He places his arm over my shoulders, and coaxes me into the living room, returning less than a minute later to shove a chilled glass of wine in my hand.

  'Drink this,' he says.

  I don't feel like drinking. Continuing with the meal we planned feels wrong, somehow, but I don't have the energy to argue with him. I sit staring at my feet, still shaking. I sip the wine until the glass is drained.

  'Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.'

  'It doesn't look like a professional job. I'd bet my life it was youths, hoping to steal enough money to get their fix.'

  'Drugs?'

  'Drugs, homelessness, poverty, anything could have caused them to pick this flat. They probably thought it was an easy target.'

  Them? I hadn't thought there might have been more than one person. But, surely, if it was, they'd have had a better chance to get inside. What if they had, and we missed them?

  'Did you check the back door?'

  'I've checked everything, babe. Nobody got in, I can assure you.'

  He called me, “babe.”

  'Why do you think it's an easy target?'

  'For starters, there are two ways to enter the flat,' he says, noting my comment regarding the back door. 'And the hedges provide a certain amount of privacy for any would-be burglar, meaning if they'd have got inside, nobody would have seen them. The fact you live on a main road is probably the only thing which stopped them.'

  'You think someone might have heard them?'

  'I think they got spooked.'

  After a few beats, he says, 'It's understandable you're a little shocked, but why don't you go and get changed, while I make a start on the dinner?'

  It dawns on me then I've forgotten to buy the black cardigan I meant to on my lunch hour. Typical. Could this day get any worse?

  I mope along the hallway toward the bedroom, trying to get the images of the damaged door frame, and the black smears on the paintwork of the front door from my mind.

  I emerge twenty minutes later, wearing the low cut, long red dress I bought when I first began working for Mayor and Smith. I've applied a tasteful amount of makeup to my worried face, and spritzed the skin on my neck and wrists with perfume.

  The smell of cheese wafting down the hall makes my mouth water, as I enter the kitchen. Joel appears at home, humming to himself as he prepares the dinner, seeming to enjoy the role of dutiful boyfriend. But, a memory of Matt jolts through my head, sending me hurtling into the fridge.

  'I didn't see you there,' says Joel, closing the fridge door to reveal me holding my shoulder. 'Did I hurt you?'

  'No. I'm fine. Smells lovely. Do you need a hand?'

  'No. I like to do things a certain way. Why don't you go and sit down?'

  I make myself scarce, noticing the flurry of irritation Joel fails to contain, as he tries to ensure the croutons aren't burnt, and the pasta isn't soggy. I snatch up the bottle of Shiraz, taking it into the living room, and pouring a second glass of the crisp wine, while I wait for Joel to call me to the table.

  It feels strange being welcomed into my own kitchen by a man, having thought I'd be spending the rest of my twenties living with Rose. He pulls out my chair for me, and I sit, noticing he's bought new cutlery and glasses for us to use. He's even found the pretty glass which once con
tained still lemonade from a few summers ago, and filled it with several cream carnations.

  The makeshift vase is perched in the centre of the small fold-away table I picked up yesterday on my way back from the newsagents. It had been left outside someone's house, but now, it's covered with a black tablecloth Joel must have found amongst the sheets and duvet covers in the airing cupboard in the hall. Two tea lights flicker on either side of the flowers. I suddenly have the urge to grab Joel and squeeze him tight.

  'Thank you.'

  'It's not the Ritz, but I hope you enjoy it.'

  'It's perfect.'

  He waits until I've taken the first mouthful, before he sits opposite me, and tucks into his food.

  'Is it to your standards?'

  'It's delicious.'

  He smiles warmly, and we both eat in silence. His eyes dance around the room, landing on unwashed clothes in a pile beside the back door, and the few dishes he's used to conjure up this tasty meal. My eyes settle on the box left on the counter top, which declares how much the new crockery he bought for this occasion cost him.

  'A hundred and forty pounds!'

  'You're worth it,' he says.

  'I would never spend that on a dinner service.'

  'You would, if you could afford to.'

  'I can't.'

  Halfway through the meal, a shadow descends over me. Joel will have to leave at some point tonight. I will be alone in this flat, unable to sleep in case the people who tried to break in earlier come back, and are successful this time.

  As if he can read my thoughts, Joel says, 'You're safe here, with me.'

  'But, I'm not with you, am I?' I find myself saying.

  'What do you mean?'

  'You're going to have to return home later.'

  I detect a definite change in the atmosphere, similar to the one I felt when I spilled the glass onto the floor in Café Rodak yesterday.

  Joel's eyes seem to darken. 'Would you like me to stay the night?'

  'Wouldn't that interfere with your work?'

  'Not at all. I'd be happy to, if it makes you feel safer.'