‘I know I should leave him, but it’s not that simple,’ she continues. ‘Oh, God, I know what I must sound like. But we have a history together, a complicated one. We’ve been through a lot together.’
On the phone, Alison had led me to believe she had come out of the relationship, and now she is telling me something different. But I cannot make a big deal of this; I’m just grateful she’s being so open. Usually it takes longer than this to get to the root of things.
‘Please don’t tell me to go to the police,’ she says, before I even open my mouth to speak. ‘That’s just not an option.’
‘It’s understandable that you’re afraid, but there are safe places you can go, and they’d make sure he couldn’t hurt you again. That’s the number-one goal, isn’t it?’
She doesn’t answer, and a heavy silence fills the room, somehow stifling the roar of car engines and the shrieks from the park.
Alison sighs. ‘Please, can we just talk about it without you trying to get me to report him? Aren’t you supposed to help me find the strength to get away from him?’
Those expectations again. The belief that I can wave a magic wand and banish all problems. Life just isn’t that straightforward – I know that well enough. We bear the scars of our past, permanent tattoos carved onto our skin, whoever we are.
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Then why don’t you start by telling me more about what’s going on? How does that sound? Don’t worry about anything else for now.’
She clasps her hands together and sucks in a deep breath. ‘I was young when we met. I mean, I’m only twenty-six now, but I was twenty-one at the time. He’s a lot older than me. Forty-one when we met.’ Her eyes scan my face, searching once again for signs of judgement, but that is the last thing she will find.
I do a quick calculation and work out he must be about forty-six now. With a nod, I wait for her to continue.
‘I really didn’t like him at first. That’s the ironic thing. In fact, I would actually say I hated his guts. He was arrogant. So full of himself, as if the world owed him.’ Her eyes drop to her lap. ‘I suppose that makes it even worse, doesn’t it? That I saw signs of the person he was before I even got involved with him.’ She pauses for so long that I wonder if she will ever speak again.
‘How did you meet?’ I need to get the conversation moving, and this is a harmless enough question.
‘At his work. Well, actually, it was university for me. He was a lecturer there. Not mine, but that doesn’t matter, does it?’
My chest tightens and it feels as if it will collapse inwards. It’s just a coincidence. I need to hold it together, but I can’t seem to manage any words. It is all coming back to haunt me.
Alison leans forward, frowning. ‘Mia? Are you okay?’ Our roles have reversed and now Alison seems like the counsellor while I am the one needing help.
I manage a nod. ‘Sorry, please continue.’ For show I grab a tissue from the box on my desk. ‘I get really bad hay fever and, well, the pollen levels are extra high today.’
She frowns, but carries on speaking, and I try to focus on each word she says, though they are now blurring into each other.
‘We got together by accident. I was drunk and I shouldn’t have gone anywhere near him, but I was feeling so bad about myself, so… I don’t know… rejected, by everyone and everything, and I think I just needed to know someone wanted me. Does that make me a weak person?’
‘No, definitely not. It makes you human.’ It’s a struggle to remain present, but I must force myself to focus if I’m to have any chance of helping this woman. ‘It’s understandable to feel like that, Alison. We all lapse in judgement sometimes, don’t feel guilty about that.’
She shakes her head. ‘It’s not guilt I feel. I have more than enough to feel guilty about, but that’s not it in this case.’ She pauses. ‘Stupid, that’s how I feel.’
‘Well, you’d been drinking.’
‘A lot. And I never normally touch alcohol. If only I hadn’t. Everything would be different and I’d be… free.’
‘So you feel like a prisoner?’
‘Yes, that’s it. A prisoner in my own life.’
‘Again, that’s normal,’ I say. ‘But what we’ve got to do is work out how to get you out of this prison, and there’s always a way.’ Wasn’t I evidence of exactly that?
‘I’ve got to get the key from Dominic and set myself free,’ she says, staring me straight in the eye.
And now there is no way to ignore the huge coincidence. I’m burning up, suffocating, and I can’t escape. ‘Dominic?’
‘Yes, my partner.’ And this time her voice is firmer, more controlled; she is almost a different person. ‘And I think you know who he is.’
Her words are a punch to my gut. Who is this woman and what is she doing here?
‘Dominic Bradford,’ she says, when I cannot bring myself to speak. ‘I believe he was a colleague of your husband, Zach.’
His name echoes into the room and bile rises in my throat. ‘Who… who are you?’
‘Exactly who I said I was. I just didn’t mention that I know who you are, or that I’m here to tell you your husband didn’t kill himself.’
Chapter Two
Five years earlier
Josie
* * *
Do you ever get the feeling you don’t fit in? Like you’re the wrong piece of a jigsaw puzzle, trying to wedge yourself into a space you just can’t squeeze into? Well, that’s how I feel every day of my life. They all think I’m just a party girl, that I spend more time downing shots than studying, and do you know what? They’re right.
It’s a miracle I’ve even made it through the first three months of university, but I got this far to spite her, because she doesn’t believe for one second that I’ll make it. But here I am, Liv.
Although there are days, like today, when I want to just jack it all in.
The coffee shop is empty this evening so I’ve pretty much been left alone to deal with the customers, although Pierre is in the back office if I need help. It’s suffocating me, being in this place, but I need to pay my rent so I just have to suck it up. I’m not one of those girls who’s lucky enough to have parents supporting her. No, I’m the other kind. The kind nobody can believe has made it this far, one of those girls who ends up in trouble before they’re out of their twenties. But I revel in their shock. It drives me, spurs me on to do even better with my life. I will not be like her.
I’m so wrapped up in these thoughts that I haven’t noticed the middle-aged woman who has approached the counter and is now staring at me, hands on her hips and an impatient frown on her face. A designer handbag hangs from the crook of her arm and she teeters on heels that are too high for her. She shakes her head and huffs at me.
Screw her, I’m only human, and if she knew me she’d understand why I have trouble concentrating sometimes.
‘A skinny cappuccino,’ she says, with no greeting or smile. Maybe her tight, thin lips aren’t capable of one. Perhaps it would just crack her face. She pulls out a matching designer purse and squints at me. ‘Are you allowed to wear that thing in your nose when you’re serving people?’
She’s talking about the small diamond stud in my nose. But I’m used to it. Used to people silently, or not so silently sometimes, thinking, She would be pretty if she lost that disgusting thing.
Even though I want to scream at her to go and get her bloody coffee somewhere else and take her judgement with her, I plaster on my sweetest smile and say, in an exaggeratedly posh voice, ‘Of course. Is there anything else I can get you?’ The smile is painful, straining my face.
‘No, that’s all.’ She pushes back her coat sleeve – on her thick wrist is a shiny gold watch, which probably cost more than my car – and shakes her head when she notices the time. It’s all for show, to force me to hurry up, and because of this I take my time, pretending I’m having trouble with the coffee machine. I give her a shrug, as if to say I’m sorry, but inside I’m smirking.
Don’t get me wrong – I have nothing against wealthy people. Good for them. What I can’t take is people looking down on others, thinking they’re better than you.
When she finally leaves, I silently pray she disliked me enough to never come back in here, no matter how desperate she gets for caffeine, and then I clean the coffee machine again, just for something to do. This shift is the worst; it’s late and people are travelling home from work and probably not expecting us to be open, but Pierre insists on staying open until eight. He must know these last two hours are dead ones, but if he does, it doesn’t faze him. Perhaps he makes extra money doing something else. It wouldn’t surprise me. He’s always getting calls on his phone and never lets anyone hear what he’s saying. A bit dodgy, if you ask me. And believe me, I know how to spot it.
So I’ve got two more excruciating hours here, then an assignment waiting for me at home that I will probably fail, and each minute ticking by feels like a year. But then I turn around and a familiar face is smiling at me.
Zach Hamilton, one of my lecturers.
It takes me a moment to place him because he is so out of context here; I’ve never seen him outside of the university buildings.
‘Hi,’ he says. ‘Josie, isn’t it?’
How does he know my name? He must have a thousand students to teach and the academic year only started a couple of months ago. ‘Yeah, hi. Um, what can I get you?’
He orders an espresso to have sitting in and hands me a crisp new five-pound note. And as I turn away to prepare it, I feel his eyes on me.
‘Actually, I wanted to have a quick word with you after the lecture today, but you disappeared before I could catch you.’
This doesn’t sound good. I search my brain for something I could have done to warrant him needing to speak to me. ‘Yeah, I had to go home before I came to work.’ I hand him his drink. ‘What was it about?’ But I already know. He’s going to tell me my first assignment was rubbish, that I’ve got no chance of passing this module so I may as well give up now.
‘Nothing bad at all. Um, maybe we could have a chat now? Do you get a break?’
I’m not really given a break at this time, but I’m allowed to have a cigarette out the front if I get desperate. Thankfully, Pierre smokes so he’s happy to indulge me. I tell this to Zach.
He turns and glances through the window. ‘Okay, I can have this sitting out there. It might be minus five degrees but what the hell?’
The first thing I do when I get outside is light up because I’m nervous. There is so much riding on my degree and I can’t afford to fail a module. ‘So are you going to put me out of my misery?’ I ask, taking a deep pull on my cigarette and sitting opposite him. I don’t mean for the smoke to head straight in Zach’s direction, but it does and he tries to discreetly wave it away. ‘Sorry. You’re not a smoker, are you?’
‘No, not now, but I used to be in my youth.’
I laugh because he must only be in his thirties. ‘Yeah, I can see you’re heading for retirement.’ As soon as I say this I wonder where it’s come from. This man is one of my lecturers, not someone to have friendly banter with, but it’s too late to take it back now.
Thankfully he chuckles. ‘Not just yet. Anyway, I want to talk to you about your short story assignment. I’ve just finished marking them and, well, quite frankly, I was blown away by yours.’
I stare at him, wondering if somehow I’ve misheard. Or misunderstood. Does he mean he liked it? He can’t mean that. He must have got me mixed up with another student.
When I don’t answer, he carries on speaking. ‘Where did that come from? I mean, you’re so young to have such insight. I don’t mean to be patronising, but if I hadn’t known who’d written it I would swear they were much older.’
So he liked it. Relief pumps through my body, but I am still in shock. Nobody has ever praised me before. Not for something I’ve done, or created. The only compliments I’ve ever had have been from lecherous men, right before they’ve tried to sleep with me. ‘Um, thank you. I… I just wrote from the heart.’
He has no idea just how true this is. That I was able to bring my story to life because it was partly about her. I laid bare my soul with those words, but I guess it was worth it.
‘And I’m older than you think,’ I tell him. ‘It took me a while to get my A-levels, so I’m already twenty-one.’ The age of most third-year students.
Zach smiles. ‘Well, you’ve got a real talent, Josie. I really felt the character’s despair. What are you planning to do after university? I know you’ve only just started, but these years will fly by, you know. You really should think about what you want to do.’
But time isn’t passing quickly for me, it is stagnant, and the end of these student days can’t come soon enough. I need an accomplishment behind me, something to prove I really am nothing like her, that I’m not the selfish, heartless woman she is, because there are brief moments, tiny fragments of time, when I actually begin to wonder.
I don’t want to tell Zach I’m not sure, that it’s hard enough getting through each semester without the added pressure of deciding what to do with my qualification. But I’m not a fool – I know I need to decide quickly. The job market is tough and there is too much competition, too many people will be graduating with me. People who are much better than I am.
The answer comes to me without any thought. ‘Teacher training, I think. English, of course. Secondary school. The truth is, English is the only subject I’ve ever been interested in. The only one I was good at.’
A smile spreads across his face. ‘I’m sure that’s not true. But that’s great that you want to teach. It’s difficult, but definitely rewarding, I’d say. It means another year of studying, though, after your degree.’
But hopefully by then I should be better able to deal with it. Once I know I can achieve something. Yes, I have my A-levels, but I barely scraped by with the bare minimum I needed, and had to wait for clearing to get my place at the University of West London. I had my heart set on London, but I would have gone anywhere I could to get away from Brighton.
I take another pull on my cigarette, careful this time to turn right round when I exhale, and then look at Zach’s kind face. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Of course.’ He lifts his espresso and takes a sip.
‘Do you have any advice for… prioritising, I guess. I mean, things just keep getting in the way and I feel like I’m getting behind with it all. It’s weird – I want this so badly yet… I just keep procrastinating. Going out when I should be studying, then everything gets done at the last minute.’ I don’t tell him that it’s much deeper than this. That I need to be out of the flat and out of my mind – vodka or gin will usually do the trick – so I don’t have to think about anything. Then the next day I hate myself, and cram in as much studying as I can to make up for it. I will burn out soon enough – it has to all catch up with me eventually.
‘Hmm,’ Zach says. ‘That’s a tricky one. I probably shouldn’t say this but when I was in my first year at uni I didn’t take it too seriously. I think I was out most nights, just getting used to, and making the most of, student life. But I knuckled down eventually. And do you know what? You will be fine. If you can produce work like you’ve just done for me then you’ve got nothing to worry about.’
His words flow over me, wrapping me in a warm blanket. This man really believes in me. Trouble is how do I believe in myself?
I don’t know what makes me confide in him even more. Perhaps it’s the kindness he’s showing, or the belief he seems to have in me. ‘Sometimes I just feel like walking away, to be honest.’ But the second the words leave my mouth, I regret revealing so much. He will think I am a waste of time now, not worth his attention or advice.
He shakes his head. ‘Don’t ever do that, Josie. Don’t be a quitter. At anything.’
‘You’re right. And I probably should stop going out so much. I need to be more focused.’ But I already know the chal
lenge this will bring: it’s not easy to go against the grain of who you are.
‘Well, remember to cut yourself some slack, too,’ Zach says. ‘You need a balance. But you know what? I really believe you can have anything you want if you put your mind to it.’ He stares up at the dark sky. ‘What I’m trying to say is, just never give up.’
Crushing out my cigarette in an ashtray that needs cleaning, I stand up. ‘I’ve taken up too much of your time already,’ I say. ‘Enjoy your coffee.’
He reaches out his hand to shake mine and it’s surprisingly warm. ‘Nice chatting to you, Josie Carpenter.’
As I walk back inside, an unfamiliar feeling overcomes me. I can do this. Zach believes in me. He liked my story. I’m going to make a go of this.
When I step inside the café, I turn around and he’s still watching me.
* * *
The flat stinks, as usual, of Alison’s cheap perfume and the cloying vanilla scent of the candles she insists on placing in every room. She never says anything but I’m sure it’s to hide the smell of my cigarettes. Even though I only ever smoke hanging out of my bedroom window, the smell somehow seeps into all the rooms.
Alison and I couldn’t be more different from each other, yet here we are, sharing this poky flat, in each other’s pockets, when both of us know we can’t stand the sight of each other. We can’t even make small talk about our studies as I know nothing about environmental science and she shows no interest in literature or creative writing.
The dopey woman who arranged our flat-share said she was sure we’d have a lot in common. That even though Alison was a third-year student and I was just beginning my first, we were the same age so should get along fabulously. Like that’s all it takes. I hit it off better with my lecturer within minutes – as opposed to the months I’ve lived with Alison – and he said goodbye to his twenties some time ago.
Silent Lies: A gripping psychological thriller Page 2