Beautiful Liar: a gripping suspense thriller

by Louise Mullins

  'Just promise me you won't change.'

  'I'll never change,' I say, hoping to alleviate her worry.

  'Good.'

  'Erica, we get on well, don't we?'

  'Of course.'

  'I know you said you weren't ready, but you haven't found a lodger yet to take over Rose's room, have you?'

  She doesn't ask me how I know.

  'No. But, if this conversation is going where I think it is, I can assure you, I'm not ready to move in with you.'

  I don't press her. There is no need, because I know the only thing keeping her from agreeing to move in with me is the fact we aren't in a long-term, committed relationship—something I intend to change, very soon.

  It's almost 10:00pm. I'm a stickler for routine, and get antsy when I'm forced to break my habits, so decide if Erica is going to move in with me, she'll have to get used to my little quirks sooner rather than later.

  'Shall I hit the light?'

  'But, it's still early.'

  'I've driven two-hundred miles, and been up since 6:00am. I need sleep.'

  'Oh, okay,' she says.

  She rustles about in one of the bags she brought with her—still unpacked—leaning against the bedside unit, and takes out a novel, settling down beneath the thin cotton sheet we've decided to use as a quilt, now the sun has returned full-throttle.

  I wait until she's opened the book up to where the marker sits, before saying, 'I meant to sleep.'

  'Oh, right. Okay.' She closes the book, and puts it inside the drawer of the bedside unit.

  I turn away from her, after switching off the light, ensuring she knows I intend to sleep, and not, as I'm sure she is thinking, make love to her for the second time today.

  In the morning, I awake to the sound of rain. I glance out of the window to see the docks beyond the houses in the distance misted over in an odd sunny haze. The ripples of the tide sparkle from the weak light trying to break through the clouds.

  Thinking of Erica's body against mine, I roll over, but freeze when I see her side of the bed is empty. I make my way over to the window, as if propelled by some unseen force, magnetised to where I have convinced myself she'll be stood on the pavement peering up at me, with a naughty smile on her face. But, she isn't there.

  I check the ensuite, growing increasingly anxious, imagining Rose has called Erica away in the night for another of her dramas, but as I turn away from the window, the door opens. Erica stands there with two paper bags in her hand, looking as though she's been up to no good.

  'Where have you been? I was about to start searching for you.'

  She lifts up one of the paper bags, and swings it in front of my face. I have to control the urge to swipe it from her hand.

  'I thought I'd buy us some croissants and coffee. There's a little deli down the high street. It's much cheaper than the hotel.'

  'But, I've paid for breakfast.'

  'It doesn't matter. I'll eat both. I'm starved.' She throws one of the paper bags down onto the bed in front of me.

  'Why didn't you wake me?'

  'You looked so peaceful. I didn't want to disturb you.'

  'I had no idea where you were.'

  'It doesn't matter, does it?'

  'It does, if we're supposed to be in a relationship. I'd like to know where you are. You need to keep me informed.'

  'Don't be silly.' She lands down onto the bed hard, sending the paper bag in her hand to fall to the floor.

  'I need to know where you are. I want to keep you safe.'

  'Nothing is going to happen to me, Joel.'

  'You were almost burgled not long ago, or have you forgotten that?'

  'Thanks, Joel. But, I haven't forgotten, and I really don't need to be reminded of it while we're away.'

  'Not only that, but you had money stolen from your bank account.'

  'Is that what this is about? You're pissed off that you've paid for all this, because I can't?' she says, standing up from the bed.

  'Don't walk away from me, Erica.'

  She stops still with her arms down by her sides, and her back straight, ready for a fight. But, I'm not going to argue with her. I'm better than that.

  'I don't like croissants.'

  'Oh.' She sounds as though she couldn't care less either way. 'All the more for me, then,' she says, flippantly. She slips the trainers from her feet, and pulls at the flaky croissant in her hand which resembles a turd, leaving crumbs all over the bed. 'Oops.'

  Erica leaps up from the bed to fetch a small plate from the mini-counter, where the toaster sits beside the kettle and two cups. She bounces back down on the bed with a thump. I turn my head away from her, hoping she cannot see the anger I try so hard to contain.

  I doubt she was propelled out of the hotel so early in the morning at the thought of croissants and coffee. I snatch up her mobile phone from the desk where the television sits beside a mirror hung on the wall, and make my way into the ensuite, locking the door behind me.

  She doesn't bother with a password, so it takes me mere seconds to sift through her internet history, list of contacts, and recent calls. I almost give up, thinking she might just be telling me the truth about leaving the hotel with the need for coffee and cheap food, when a text message comes through.

  Pippa's fine. Have a good time. Rose. x

  Of course, she's fine. She's a dog, for fuck sake. What could possibly happen to her in the space of a day?

  I don't want Erica worrying over Rose for the duration of our holiday, so I delete the text message. Rose really needs to grow up, and start taking care of herself. She has Jared now; she doesn't need Erica. And Erica doesn't need her.

  I splash ice-cold water on my face, and leave the bathroom, dropping the phone back down onto the unit. Erica is oblivious to my actions, as she takes another bite of the disgusting pastry shit, which leaves crumbs around her lips. She licks them away like a dog, as she places the used plate down onto the mini-counter, and breezes past me into the bathroom to wash her hands.

  I breathe in and out to the count of ten, three times, until I've calmed my racing pulse enough to suggest we go for a walk to get out of the room, which now smells like a musty brothel.

  As we walk along the harbour, Erica takes notice of the small sailing boats dotting the side of the dock, held in place by thick ropes attached to metal posts in concrete squares. As we near the middle of the waterfront, I take Erica's hand in mine and lean close, breathing in the subtle scent of her soft hair, as the wind blows it in front of her face.

  We both turn to gaze out over the calm sea, luminescent in the bright sun peeking out between the thick, cotton clouds.

  I hold Erica tight against me, taking in the beauty of the rhythmic waves, splashing then foaming, as they hit the sea wall. I want us to stay like this forever, held in each other’s embrace, but Erica unfolds my arms from around her waist, and stands back, as if wanting to say something. My footing is unsteady. I feel as though I'm being discarded like a piece of flotsam in the water—drawn in, and then, spat out. Why does Erica have to treat me this way?

  For a moment, I wonder if she's going to tell me the truth about why she left the hotel room this morning; she wanted to speak to Rose without me overhearing, but she catches me off-guard.

  'I love you, Joel,' she says, looking into my eyes. Eyes I'm no longer sure I can trust.

  I don't want to say anything to ruin the moment, so I guide her back by her elbows and kiss her, silencing any words I may otherwise be forced to speak. I don't love her. I don't even know what love is. But, I know enough to know I can't let her go.

  The moment is perfect. Erica has made it so much easier for me. I draw my mouth away from hers, and bend down on one knee, removing the small, royal blue, velvet box from the pocket of my trousers. Before she has the time to protest, I open it to reveal a white diamond ring.

  Her mouth gapes open, but no words leave her lips. Her eyes glimmer bright with excitement and disbelief.

  A flicker of appr
ehension is pushed aside, as I repeat the words I've been rehearsing for the past two days, taking her hand in mine, and kissing the tips of her fingers.

  'Erica, will you marry me?'

  PRESENT

  ERICA

  As if being awoken from a trance, I am alerted to the sound of laughter coming from down the hall. I must have fallen asleep.

  I stand, feet wobbly, and unlock the door, opening it just a fraction to see a slightly drunk, happy couple leaning into one another, as they attempt to find the key card, slotting it in their door, and disappearing inside the room, oblivious to the woman who stands, staring at them, from eight feet away.

  I'm not usually this anxious. Having been numbed down from years of worry, I'm now suddenly forced to begin feeling again, something I'm not used to. I'm hopeful the heart-thudding nausea will begin to dissipate soon, now he's gone, but right at this moment, it feels as though it never will.

  The sun penetrates through the window, casting light across the room. I leave the bed and breakfast, and make my way down the hill. The detective I spoke to yesterday told me not to leave Bristol for the time being, and I can't without money. But, I'm not staying another night here. It reminds me too much of Joel, and the holiday we took to Cornwall. The layout of it dissimilar, but the corridors are similar to the ones in the hotel. I cannot bear to sleep another night in a double bed, alone for the first time in four years, so there is only one place I must go.

  When Rose answers the door half an hour later, her expression attempting to disguise unease, I can see she's been kept up all night by Lily. Jared must be at work, because there are no signs of dirty dishes in the living room, which means Rose must have already tidied up after him.

  I can see from the way she strains her eyes Rose wants to say something about Joel's tragic accident, which was all over the ten o'clock news last night, but she doesn't breathe a word. Instead, she offers me a cold hug. She leads me away from the living room, and along the warm hall into the kitchen, where Lily sits on a chair eating breakfast, oblivious to the new reality of our lives. Her long hair falls down her back, unbrushed, and her eyes glint, as she shovels another mouthful of cereal into her grubby pink lips.

  'Hey, baby.'

  She jumps up from the chair, and bounds over, wrapping her warm little arms across my knees.

  'I missed you, Mummy.'

  'I missed you, too, baby girl. I have to speak to Aunt Rose about something. Can you go and fetch your things?'

  Rose is about to say something, but hesitates, so I speak before I lose my nerve.

  'I'm taking Lily away for a while.'

  'Where will you go?' she says.

  Her question seems a little odd, considering I'm obviously a suspect in my husband's death, and can't risk staying here.

  'To my dad's.'

  She folds herself down onto the pinewood seat, then looks down into her cup. Not sure. 'Is that wise?'

  'They've decided to investigate his death.'

  'What does that mean?'

  I'm not sure how to respond. It still doesn't quite feel real. None of it. 'They can't rule it as an accident.' After a beat of silence, I add, 'I don't want Lily to know anything. She's too young. She won't understand.'

  She looks up to me then, her eyes cool and distant, and I wonder for a moment if I've done something to upset her. Our equilibrium has been broken. When she does speak, it is a quiet whisper. 'Do they think you had something to do with it?'

  I nod my head, hearing Lily bounding down the stairs, with her hair brushed and her coat on, ready to leave.

  Rose glances at Lily, and forces a smile, before turning back to me. 'You'll stay in touch, won't you?'

  'I promise.'

  'And if you need anything. Anything,' she reiterates to ensure I've caught the hidden meaning in her words, 'just say so.'

  'Thank you,' I say, unable to hold her gaze any longer.

  She brings Lily in for a hug, holding her close, sniffing her hair, as she plants a kiss onto her forehead.

  'I love you, Ly Ly,' she says, using the nickname she gave her the moment she was born.

  She wouldn't use it when Joel was around, and Lily seemed to understand why. For such a young child, she has a strong head on her shoulders, and the knowledge of a child much older. Her innocence has been eroded far too soon.

  As I gaze into her beautiful, soft eyes, I wonder why Joel wanted a boy so much, and perhaps, it was the disappointment of having a daughter, which eventually led to him disapproving of everything I said, or did, for her. Did he blame Lily? As if she can feel my thoughts, Lily shivers involuntarily, and steps forward, holding out her hand for me to take.

  I say goodbye to Rose, heading away from the kitchen, with Lily in tow. She digs her heels into the floor, as we near the front door.

  'Where are we going, Mummy?'

  I don't have an answer, so I don't bother to respond.

  Rose stands at the door, her eyes lingering on us, as we traipse the path toward our now uncertain future. Our friendship has stood the test of time. Even though we haven't seen each other for the past six months, Rose never gave up. That's why I asked her to take care of Lily for the night. I knew she would stand by me, no matter what.

  As soon as Joel told me he no longer trusted the local garage, who he'd become convinced had ripped him off the last time he took his car in to be repaired, and he'd be fixing the car himself, I knew what I had to do. He wasn't used to fooling around with cars. But, I was. Of course, I was. Having a father, who was a dab hand at practically everything, and Patrick, who used to bore Rose and me senseless with his mechanical information, when he was alive; I was the only one who listened with interest.

  I keep a tight hold of Lily's hand all the way to the car. Though I know he's dead, and these thoughts are stupid, I cannot help imagine Joel nearby, watching my every move, his spirit having followed me from the house. As we hurry down the road, I wonder if the houses we pass hold as many secrets.

  I fasten Lily into the seat, and walk around to the other side of the car. Closing the door behind me, I take a deep breath, and thank Rose for lending me the car and the eight-hundred-pounds. She must know why I'm running away, but she won't say anything. I trust her. I know I shouldn't, but I do.

  Even in my darkest hours, I never once believed a word Joel said about Rose. She and I shared an unhealthy bond. She was a trouble-maker. She wasn't really my friend, and had become infatuated with him. I may have fallen for his other lies, but not that. Rose would never hurt me.

  I drive out of Bishopston, and within twenty minutes, take the sharp turn from Eastville onto the M5 motorway, travelling in the direction of Berkshire. I don't have a plan, as such, and I have no idea what I'm going to tell my dad about Joel's death. But, none of that really matters now, because I still have Rose. I almost lost her once. I won't lose her again.

  JOEL

  The police will learn the truth about what happened when they question Erica again. I'm expecting them to arrive at any moment. It isn't the fact she killed me that bothers me, as much as why.

  All I've ever done is love her. Given her anything her heart desired. I've offered her more than I've ever cared to, and still, this is how she treats me. She really is a cold-hearted bitch. She never did love me. All she wanted was my money. It's stupid, really, but I wanted to make sure the kid got something, even though I know she isn't mine. I wanted to make sure, should anything happen to me, Lily was taken care of, financially. I know money doesn't buy happiness, but it helps.

  I came from a poor background. My parents loved me. They were good, hard-working people. So, I don't know why Erica thinks I'm such a bad person. Maybe it's because of her own childhood. The past she won't let me in on. I know Matt bullied her, but I wonder how far she provoked him to cause him to react that way. After all, she repeated those patterns with me.

  Look at me now. I'm lying in a morgue. Cold, still, pale. Dead. It should be her in here. Instead, she's wandering around, as
if butter wouldn't melt, telling lies about me. She's probably already tried to convince everyone I caused my own death, that I've been an awful husband, and that simply isn't true.

  I knew, in the back of my mind, something like this would happen. That's why I took precautions. I warned people what she was like. That she tried to control everything I said, and did, treated me with nothing but contempt. I'm sure they'll see through her lies, and then, it will all be over. She'll pay for what she has done to me; taking me away from a life I've built up for myself, pretending to be the long-suffering wife.

  I don't remember what happened in that garage. All I know is an awful pain shot through my chest. I remember a blackness enveloping me, and then, I couldn't see a thing. But, I could still hear her gasping breaths, as she tried to decide what to do with me. I heard the garage door close, and I've been trapped inside my own head ever since.

  Is this a form of purgatory? Am I being blamed for something?

  But, I haven't done anything wrong. So why am I the one being punished?

  I think back to the time we spent together—four years. Did I miss something? A warning I should have heeded. But, then, I can't think. My mind whooshes and sways, as if I'm being drowned. It really is difficult to concentrate in here.

  Then, I'm being propelled upwards, looking down at myself from above.

  I see her.

  Erica stands over my body, like the angel of death. Her eyes water, but her face is still, as if she is trying to work out the kind of reaction she is expected to portray as the grieving widow.

  Look at her. She's a liar. A beautiful liar.

  How I hate her, in this moment. I wish I could say something. Do something to alert the dark figures, who appear beside her, that she did this to me. She killed me in cold blood.

  She holds her face in her hands and weeps, inconsolable. She's certainly playing the role well. She always was a very good actress. All I had to do was ask her to wash the dishes, or to tell me about her day, and she would grow quiet, play the lines she used so often, she even began to believe them herself.