The Perfect Lie

by Karen Osman

  Between kisses, she indicated the old sofa and they moved awkwardly towards it eventually collapsing onto the cushions in a pile of nervous giggles. But then the laughter had subsided, replaced with an urgency to explore something new. They were moving together, sometimes out of sync, inexperienced, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. As he lay on top of her, his fingers about to unzip her skirt, he stopped and stared at her intently.

  ‘You are so beautiful,’ he whispered, and he kissed her on the forehead. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied.

  *

  England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Inside, Outside, Puppy Dog Tails.

  Perhaps if it all hadn’t happened so quickly, she would have said something. Defended Paul. Told the truth!

  But she hadn’t. Instead, she’d seen the look on Charlotte’s face and panicked. And within seconds she and Paul were surrounded by a clutch of Queen Bees and Charlotte’s boyfriend, and the explosion had drowned out anything that she had intended to say.

  At the time, she’d convinced herself that she couldn’t speak. The embarrassment of being caught had caused her to feel a sense of shame so intense, she’d wanted to run. And a part of her mind had run away. It had shut down, blocking out the unbearableness of the situation. And if truth be told, it had been easier to let everyone believe what they wanted to. Afterwards, of course, she’d wanted to do the right thing. She’d wanted to tell the teacher that Paul hadn’t attempted to force himself on her. She would have told the school the truth as well if it hadn’t been for her mother.

  Her mum had come and collected her that afternoon from school after the head teacher had called her to explain what had happened. It was the worst car journey of Claire’s life. Her mother had been silent, but as Claire stared straight ahead into a dark December afternoon, she could feel her mum’s worried gaze. As they got into the house, her mum told her to go upstairs and she would bring her a hot drink.

  Claire, numb, had done as she was told and lay down on the bed hugging her knees. It was only when her mother came into her bedroom, warm drink in hand, that Claire started crying and the truth had spilled out. For the first time ever, she remembered her mother actually listening. She didn’t interrupt; she didn’t shout or berate her daughter. Instead, she lay on the bed with her and held her like a baby, whispering.

  ‘Poor baby, what a shock for you.’ Over and over again, until Claire wondered if her mother had actually understood what she’d said, that she’d let everyone think Paul was about to sexually assault her when he wasn’t.

  She pulled away from her mother’s embrace and looked her in the eye.

  ‘Mum, I need to go to the school tomorrow and tell them what really happened,’ she said urgently. ‘They’ll expel Paul; they’ll call the police. If I know Charlotte, by tomorrow, the whole school will think he’s done this. And he hasn’t.’ Claire broke down and it was then that her mother had gently pulled them both up to a seated position on the bed.

  ‘Claire, listen to me and listen to me very carefully. Paul will recover from this. We won’t get the police involved. Yes, he will probably get expelled. But he will go to a new school and everything will be fine and forgotten about.’ Her mother stroked Claire’s cheek and continued. ‘But… if you tell the school now what really happened, it will be your reputation that is brought into question. And trust me, Claire, girls never recover from such situations. Do you understand me? You’re sixteen years old – you have your whole life ahead of you.’

  Claire searched out her mother’s eyes, trying to comprehend what she was hearing. ‘But you and Dad have always told me to do the right thing,’ protested Claire.

  ‘Claire, I’m not totally convinced that he’s completely innocent in all this. You say it was all your idea but was it? Was it really?’

  Claire thought back. Yes, it was.

  Wasn’t it?

  When she’d visited Paul at his house and they’d lain on the bed together, she always knew he wanted more. But he’d never pushed her.

  Had he?

  There was the one time he’d put his hand up her shirt and when she’d gently pulled it away, he tried again. But didn’t all boys do that? Try it on? Had she actually said no to him then? Claire pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead in frustration. It was all becoming such a confusing mess in her head. She’d spent the last few hours convinced that she needed to own up and now here her mother was telling her to leave things alone. If she did own up, she knew she would be a social pariah at school. But there would only be two more years and then she would be off to university. She could cope with being ostracised for two years… surely?

  She thought of Jennifer O’Reilly, the ousted Queen Bee, walking the corridors by herself, her only companion the odd lobbed insult. Lunch by herself. Break time by herself. No one willing to partner with her in class. No one picking her for sports teams.

  ‘I promise you, love, in this case, it’s least said, soonest mended and I know your dad would agree.’

  As Claire looked up at her mother, she started to believe her mother was right. Paul would move on. He had the brains to succeed whichever school he was in. Whereas she would always be known as the girl who had cried rape and it would follow her everywhere. Castlefield was a small town. She’d hugged her mother then, for the first time feeling relieved that someone had made the decision for her.

  July 2018

  51

  Even from this distance, she could see his fingernails bitten down to the quick and her body tensed instinctively, resisting the urge to run towards her son. It would only make things worse. Instead, she caught his eye and reassured him with a confident smile.

  This will soon all be over, and everything will go back to normal.

  Those had been her mother’s words as they had all left the house that morning. She’d noticed her son’s light brown hair had grown and it desperately needed cutting, but he’d resisted a haircut and instead combed it down with some gel. It was coarse hair, like her own, but unlike hers, it hadn’t been subjected to various treatments. Had it only been six months ago that she’d laughingly squirted her son’s stubborn tufts with water, threatening to tame his hair herself if he didn’t do something about it? He’d giggled then, rewarding her with a glimpse back into his childhood when she used to tickle him as he sat on her lap for story time.

  The memory assaulted her and her right hand involuntarily went to grasp her husband’s, despite the gulf between the two of them. She could feel the tension emanate from him and she gently squeezed his fingers before releasing them and placing both of her hands together in prayer on her lap, reverting to her own childhood habit. She focused on her crossed thumbs, right over left, the usually long, manicured nails bare and jagged, and began the silent chant.

  Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right. Everything will be all—

  ‘All rise!’

  She quickly got to her feet, her eyes urgently seeking her son’s once more as the judge swept into the room, but all she could see was his taut back and the nape of his long neck as he looked at the ground. Head up, she wanted to cry out. You’ve done nothing wrong!

  The judge indicated for the court to sit before the clerk spoke.

  ‘Would the foreman of the jury please stand,’ instructed the clerk.

  Claire noticed the foreman was wearing a wedding band. Most likely he had kids himself. Surely, he wouldn’t let an innocent child be convicted for something he didn’t do? She caught herself on the word child. He was almost eighteen. If found guilty, he would be sent to an adult prison along with the country’s worst offenders.

  ‘Have the jury reached verdicts upon which they are all agreed?’ asked the clerk.

  ‘Yes,’ replied the foreman.

  They couldn’t take him away. Could they?

  She felt her chest tighten.

  Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right.


  Her throat was closing, and she coughed frantically.

  Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right.

  She was struggling to breathe, and a silent primal scream rose in her throat.

  Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right.

  The clerk spoke again. ‘In the matter of Aiker versus Carmichael, do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?’

  ‘Guilty,’ replied the foreman.

  The court erupted but she didn’t hear the rest because just at that moment, Paul swivelled his head towards her, a glimmer of triumph playing on his lips, and the primal scream in her throat released itself in an explosion of agony.

  52

  ‘…by that time of course, Rose had already done everything she was supposed to do. Call the police, report the sexual assault, be examined, the full works. But her case was thrown out by the Crown Prosecution Service because there wasn’t enough evidence. She’d looked into private prosecution by then too. I’d known Rose since I’d started volunteering at the youth club a few years ago. I knew how damaged some of these kids were – it’s my job, isn’t it – and then to be raped and told it wouldn’t stand up in court? What kind of system is that?

  ‘Anyway, she didn’t say very much about the case after that and I didn’t ask her about it. I knew it would be confidential and I didn’t want to pry. It’s only later when she asked me to give a statement… I didn’t want to at first and I’m ashamed to say it took me a while to agree. I’m not one for the police especially as I’d done community service for having a bit of weed on me. But Rose told me it would make a difference, so I eventually agreed and here I am.

  ‘I hadn’t even remembered that I’d got some pictures on my phone from that night until Rose asked me. Photos of her and Joshua arguing. Joshua going for her, his mates holding him back. Well, it didn’t look good did it? Thank God I took them…’

  Epilogue

  Paul

  It was such a bittersweet moment watching Claire as they led her son away after the verdict. It’s not easy seeing someone you have loved fall apart, but all these years I have lived under the shadow of a reputation that Claire gave me.

  A rapist.

  I was never arrested or charged but I might as well have been the way everyone looked at me. No one believed me, no matter how much I denied any wrongdoing. Charlotte’s version of events was so powerful in its monstrosity that everyone thought it must be true. The teacher, the head teacher, even my own parents. And the only person who could’ve stopped it all was Claire.

  But she chose not to.

  She destroyed my life because she didn’t speak up. And it never seemed to bother her. She seemed to carry on as if nothing had ever happened. I watched her live her perfect life.

  Her marriage.

  Her career.

  Her family.

  Her house.

  Her friends.

  And I wanted to destroy it all just as she had destroyed me. Justice needed to be served but as a woman, she had the upper hand. Don’t they always? So I went for her son.

  Do I feel bad that Joshua was an innocent party in all this?

  Not really.

  It is a shame though because he’s a bright kid. To be honest, it was Chris I had initially targeted when I started grooming the girls at the youth centre. I just needed one looker to catch his eye and then accuse him of rape. And one certainly caught his eye, but the silly cow went and did exactly what I told her not to do – she fell for him. Or rather she fell for his lifestyle. She loved going with him on business trips, all the presents, the secret phone calls. And he loved having the attention of a twenty-year-old. It was the perfect match.

  And even though I couldn’t persuade her to implement the second part of my plan, which was to cry rape, at least she had destroyed their marriage. Still, it wasn’t enough. I needed Claire to suffer as I had. I needed her reputation ruined.

  The first time I saw Rose, I didn’t approach her at the youth club. I’d seen her type before and knew if I did, she would have brushed me off in a second. Initially, like I’d done with all the girls, I needed to find out her weakness. Everyone had one – hers, amongst other things, was money. She had expensive tastes in clothes and drugs. She also had a thirst for danger and excitement. And a little bit of revenge against her father, although it took me a while to discover that.

  For months, she was just Rose, a loud, sometimes irritating presence. Rose was always at the centre of the action. The loudest, the funniest, the one with the more interesting tale to tell from the night before. She liked to draw attention to herself – in fact, there was little she wouldn’t do for attention. She was one of those girls you noticed immediately. I left her alone though because I had originally wanted girls who were vulnerable. Anyone too mouthy would be a turn-off for Chris, I knew that much.

  Rose was many things but vulnerable wasn’t the first thing that came to mind. She was what my mum would have called a looker. Nineteen years old, curvaceous like the old-fashioned pin-ups, and sexy as hell. She would have made a good actress too. It didn’t take a psychologist to work out that she was severely messed up. Gloria had once mentioned Rose’s childhood was one of the most violent cases she’d ever read. But Gloria didn’t realise that some people just couldn’t be saved. It was too late. The damage was done.

  Rose was one of them.

  So was I.

  Rose didn’t want to change. She liked living life on the edge. She liked using boyfriends for everything she could get out of them. Whatever she’d grown up with, it made her angry. She wasn’t smashing things, screaming at people, or anything like that. No, it was subtler than that, and I saw it in her the first time I met her. She was ambitious. She also liked to party. And when Rose mentioned the name Joshua Carmichael a plan began to form.

  ‘They were a bunch of arrogant tossers, anyway,’ Rose had announced scrolling through her phone. ‘Surrounded by security and they weren’t having any fun at all. Just standing around drinking posh water.’

  Rose was obsessed with footballers. She’d kept scrolling through her photos and one of her friends had seen a picture and asked who the good-looking guy was.

  ‘Oh him – a guy called Joshua Carmichael,’ replied Rose, putting on an accent similar to the Queen. Her friend giggled. ‘So posh, but soooooo cute,’ Rose had said. ‘A real gent – and loaded too. Lives in Castlefield, don’t you know.’ Rose and her friend had laughed at her imitation.

  What were the odds? Seriously, what were the fucking odds?

  And what would a posh boy from Castlefield want to do with a girl like Rose? And then I looked at her slim figure, large breasts, and squeezable bum – the same thing every seventeen-year-old boy would want to do with her.

  After that it wasn’t difficult. I trailed Rose every night. I went to the clubs she went to. She was always surrounded by guys – she was that type of girl – Joshua was sometimes there but usually only on a Friday or Saturday night. He was obsessed by her – that much was clear. He was usually with his posh friends. I was surprised to learn they did drugs – Joshua didn’t seem the type but maybe it was his friends or maybe it was Rose. I didn’t care – it just made it easier. I sold to him a few times. I sold to Rose too.

  I wasn’t really sure what I was waiting for. I was biding my time, I suppose, to convince Rose to cry rape on Joshua. I had the whole story worked out but when I saw Joshua coming down the stairs laughing, I knew that was the night. There was a party, there were drugs, Rose was there, Joshua was there, they’d argued, and it wasn’t difficult to convince Rose that she didn’t need to regret having sex the night before. Had she actually consented? She couldn’t remember. Had she perhaps said no? She wasn’t sure, she told me, she was drunk and high but perhaps she had tried to say no when the guy was on top off her and pulling her skirt off.

  Actually, thinking about it now, she had said stop and not just bec
ause the guy had accidentally caught her earring and it had pulled painfully. And when I asked her about Joshua and suggested he had been there as well, she replied perhaps he was, especially when I told her that I’d heard Joshua had been accused of sexual assault but had got off because there wasn’t enough evidence.

  Completely untrue of course, but necessary.

  Perhaps someone should pay and if Rose had the opportunity to punish someone who had escaped the system why not? When her case fell through with the CPS, it was easy to give her a recommendation to Stephens & Carmichael – a nice touch, even if I do say so myself.

  And when I offered to pay for it, Rose didn’t hesitate. I knew that the money I’d saved selling drugs would come in useful.

  The fact that I also offered to introduce her to one of my clients who just happened to be a show biz agent helped sweeten the deal.

  It was the perfect lie. But then you would know all about that, Claire. And now you have a choice to make: come forward and confess your own lie to clear Joshua’s name or watch your son go to jail. And I know exactly which one you’re going to choose because it’s different when it’s your own son, isn’t it? Oh, I’m sure I’ll suffer a few legal consequences too – abuse of process or perjury or whatever bullshit they come up with but that doesn’t matter. Because finally, finally my name will be cleared.

  Acknowledgements

  As always, my gratitude goes to Luigi and Alison Bonomi for their support, encouragement and ideas and to my editors Sarah Ritherdon and Hannah Smith. Their feedback and direction were invaluable. The copyediting, sales, and marketing teams at Head of Zeus and Aria, including Helena Newton, Sue Lamprell, Victoria Joss, Nikky Ward, and Dan Groenewald, always do a fantastic job and I’m so grateful for their expertise.