The Darkest Lies: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist

by Barbara Copperthwaite

  Glenn cut through my thoughts. ‘Cost a fortune to do it up and make it habitable. Mind you, I bet the view’s great from the top.’

  ‘A man after my own heart, clearly,’ I said, forcing a smile.

  He looked at me and smiled, too, bemused.

  ‘God, I remember the fighter planes going over constantly, as a kid. The sounds of war, eh?’ He chuckled.

  ‘The bombs exploding in the distance, and the rat-tat of gunfire. Sometimes the windows would rattle!’

  Funny, really, that in such a rural landscape Glenn and I had grown up used to the noise of war, thanks to the marsh being used as a practice bombing range. In the distance there could still be seen the rusting hulks of ships that had been towed there so they could be bombed repeatedly. Instead of the peace and quiet of the countryside, there had been the boom of jets breaking the sound barrier overhead. Now that former scene of violence was so peaceful, at last.

  Maybe the fact that Glenn shared those ties of history was what made it so easy to open up to him.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said. ‘You know what we were saying, about Beth dressing up because she may have been going on a date?’

  I frowned, uncomfortable with thinking of my little girl this way: being interested in boys, growing up. But to deny it was ridiculously naive.

  Glenn continued. ‘So… do you reckon Davy might have been the one? I mean, he’s a bit simple, so maybe a kid would be right up his street.’

  ‘He’s not the brightest spark, but he’s definitely not simple.’ I was appalled by the idea of him enticing you away. Davy was a nice guy; he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Would he? ‘I know it would explain why he was so twitchy, but I’d need some proof before I went accusing him. We’ll talk to him again.’

  ‘How are we going to get proof?’

  I shrugged, playing with the toggle on my coat. I was not convinced by Davy being either Lothario or attacker, but how well do we ever know anyone? Glenn was right – you had got dolled up for a reason, and that reason had to be someone you fancied. It made sense that it was a person we knew, which meant everyone was a suspect.

  I’d racked my own brains and come up with nothing as to who it might be. I’d quizzed family and friends and even tried to speak with Chloe and Ursula, and come up with a big fat zero. Of course, there was one completely obvious thing I hadn’t done yet, Beth – have a thorough search of your room. I was still too afraid to spend more than five seconds at a time in it, because it felt so dead without you.

  If only you would wake up and give us all the answers we needed. I missed your smile, your voice, your laughter, so much.

  ‘We still need to talk to Aleksy, too.’ I sighed.

  Suddenly there came a high-pitched bark. A sound of distress.

  ‘Where’s Wiggins?’ I looked around, but couldn’t see him. ‘Wiggins!’

  There was no sign of him. Panic smashed into me, catapulting me back to the day you went missing. Searching, running, screaming, hoping, despairing. I couldn’t breathe, the sky feeling as if it was tumbling in on me. Where was the dog?

  I shouted his name. Another disconsolate bark came, more of a whine this time.

  ‘Over there somewhere,’ said Glenn, pointing to an area of marsh that looked exactly the same as the rest. It was right on the edge of the scrub, at the start of the mudflats.

  Seagulls broke into the sky, making me glance further into the distance. The sea was a grey line on the horizon, flat and featureless and far away, for now. But the tide was coming in – and on land as flat as this, it came in lethally fast.

  I started running.

  Thirty-Four

  ‘Melanie! Wait!’

  I didn’t slow. Shouted over my shoulder: ‘The tide, Glenn – don’t you remember?’

  ‘Oh God ‒ it comes in fast, doesn’t it—’

  ‘Faster than a person can walk!’

  That didn’t sound too bad. But factor in hidden creeks that people would come across suddenly, which forced them to double back the way they had come and made them try another route, then another and another. It could take an age to get across the expanse of marshland. And the terrain made it almost impossible to run. It was full of hummocks, and unexpected bits of bog that looked firm but gave way instantly.

  I couldn’t lose your dog. Not after everything else. I hadn’t been able to help you, Beth, but Wiggins was somewhere nearby. Surely I could save him.

  ‘Wiggins!’ Panic blinded me, like before. Another bark came, then another. Where was he?

  ‘This way!’ shouted Glenn. He jogged forward, but almost turned his ankle on a hummock. I went past him, hopping from one firm bit of land no bigger than my foot to the next. All the time spent on this marsh hadn’t been wasted.

  ‘Look for vegetation that’s greyer,’ I called, concentrating. ‘The greener the vegetation, the more likely it’s in a wet bit of land.’

  The sea was closer. Damn it. Ahead of me the earth opened up like a crevice, and a few feet below ground level was water. A creek. It was narrow enough… I leapt across it, just managing to keep my footing on the other side.

  Another whine from Wiggins. He was nearby, somewhere.

  ‘Melanie, wait. Is it worth it? If you get caught by the tide, you’ll drown,’ shouted Glenn. He moved slowly, carefully.

  ‘I can’t leave him!’ Tears gathered, but I forced them back. I had to keep my head. I had to save our dog. No way was I letting him die.

  There! Another high-pitched bark. Desperate. Scared. This one from somewhere near my feet. I stopped, searching the ground. There must be another creek nearby. Picking my way slowly forward, I spotted him. Yes – he’d somehow got jammed into a narrow creek. Unable to go forward or back, he was stuck fast.

  A quick glance at the water. The white crest was clearly visible. The land was so flat here that the tide didn’t come in as a series of waves, but as one continuous motion, pushing forward, relentless and speedy. It was gaining on us.

  I fell to my knees and started digging at the soft ground with my bare hands, all the time making soothing noises to Wiggins. Nails tore, my fingers hurt, but I kept digging.

  I can’t even keep your dog safe, let alone my daughter. I’m a Jonah. Better I keep away from you, Beth.

  More mud flung to one side. Wiggins wriggled but stayed stuck fast. The creek started to fill, the water level rising rapidly. Now Wiggins was up to his chest. I risked a glance up. The sea was almost covering the mudflats, and only the top of the whale’s vast skeleton could be seen.

  Glenn crashed beside me, sinking to his knees and hauling great handfuls of muck away.

  ‘Come on! Come on!’ he urged, grunting with effort.

  Wiggins gave another wriggle. Leapt forward and up in one movement, scrabbling into my arms. I fell back, laughing with relief. But we weren’t out of danger yet.

  ‘Come on, boy, stay with me.’

  Then I was up, all three of us loping along, picking our way back to safety. Eyes always down, just briefly looking up to check we were going in the right direction. We could hear the sea clearly now. A low, rushing noise. Jumping across the first creek, now almost full. The land getting wetter, not drier. My feet slipping and splashing.

  Then firmer ground. Smoother. Springy vegetation that came up to mid-calf. Now low, coarse grasses. Then soft, long grass. Finally we reached the sea bank.

  I almost crawled up its steep side, my jeans clinging round my ankles where they had got wet. Gasping with exhaustion and relief, I lay on my back, a starfish. A shorelark wheeled above, then turned and headed into the field behind me. The sobs hit as the adrenaline drained away. Wiggins licked my face feverishly until I pushed him off and sat up. Glenn sat beside me, knees up, arms resting on them, panting.

  ‘That was crazy. We almost died for a dog.’

  I was too knackered to reply.

  Thank goodness he had got stuck in a smaller creek, rather than one of the larger ones. The deeper creeks sometimes still had ba
rbed wire, or rusting drums, in the bottom of them. I had once seen what looked like an ejected plane seat poking up from some gelatinous mud. If Wiggins had been caught on one of those, then I might never have got him free.

  I cursed myself for getting so deep in conversation with Glenn that I hadn’t kept a closer eye on Wiggins. He’d gone further and further away from me, exploring the marsh. This was all my fault.

  Still, I’d saved him in the end. And as I lay there, catching my breath, I felt full of renewed determination. I would find your attacker, and you would get better. I would save you, Beth.

  ‘I’m going to talk to the Jachowski boy,’ I decided.

  Thirty-Five

  BETH

  FRIDAY 22 JANUARY

  Beth was careful never to refer to him by his actual name. Instead, he was always SSG, because he Smells So Good.

  He wasn’t like the other lads she knew, the still-childish boys she had grown up with. He was older. More mature. He would protect her. Even though they had only been talking to each other for a couple of months, it felt, to Beth, as though she had been dreaming of kissing him all her life.

  And now the moment was finally here.

  As she wrapped her arms around his neck, she breathed in his cologne. Hmm, lush. Then they kissed. It felt incredible.

  Until she saw the look on his face. Her stomach flipped as if she had smelled something sickeningly sour. She had made a terrible mistake.

  Thirty-Six

  Glenn had been instructed to wait for me in The Poacher, while I talked to Aleksy alone. I didn’t actually suspect the handsome seventeen-year-old. Not truly. But perhaps he could shed some light on what you had been up to.

  The only time I ever saw Aleksy was when he waited in the morning for the school bus to Wapentake Secondary, and hopped off it in the late afternoon. He used the same stop as you, almost opposite our house. I’d never taken much notice of him. He was one of those beautiful boys who seemed painfully shy about his looks and spent most of his time hiding behind a long lick of hair over his eyes, although the rest of his dark locks were quite short. Hands permanently in pockets, his head always down and bobbing to the beat of whatever music he was listening to through his headphones.

  I lurked in the lounge waiting for the bus to pull up. Your bedroom would, of course, have given me a better view in the failing light, but going in there was too much for me. Besides, it had become your dad’s place to go and cry ‒ mine was out on the marsh.

  The bus was late. Light was fading.

  I thought about when I was your age. I’d been a seething mass of insecurities about my looks, my personality, my future. Then I thought about what I was like at seventeen, Aleksy’s age. What a world of difference! I’d been confident, happy, felt loved – and I’d been just a year or so away from falling pregnant with you. Would someone such as Aleksy, on the brink of manhood, be interested in a girl your age?

  The bus pulled up, brakes squeaking gently. Ten minutes late. Typical.

  I hurried from my lookout, trying to appear casual. ‘Aleksy.’

  He didn’t hear, but caught sight of me as he crossed the road.

  ‘Hi, Aleksy, isn’t it?’

  His dark brown eyes widened in confusion. A quick movement and he’d pulled off his headphones so the wires dangled down and swung against his chest. A tinny tsk tsk tsk escaped from them.

  I’d never noticed before how tall he was, but he towered over me, the smell of his citrus body spray drifting over me. I cleared my throat. ‘I’m Beth’s mum. You know Beth? The girl who has been hurt on the marsh?’

  With the universal wariness of teenagers faced with a questioning adult, he nodded, avoiding my eye.

  ‘I’m chatting to anyone who had anything to do with her. Trying to find out a bit more about her life, you know?’

  What was I doing? This was ridiculous, and worse, we were drawing attention – Martin Young had just come out of the shop and done a double take before heading into the pub.

  ‘So I wondered, did you know her well? Did you ever speak with her?’

  ‘Er, yeah. Sometimes.’ His voice was surprisingly deep for such a skinny whippet of a lad; his legs looked like a couple of strings in his tight black jeans. There was no trace of a foreign accent in his speech.

  ‘What sort of things did you talk about?’

  Aleksy was built for the loose shrug he gave. His jacket looked like a wire coat hanger had been shoved inside it, rather than a body.

  ‘School. Music. Dancing.’

  ‘Dancing?’

  His eyes darted to his house then floated across my face before drifting back to the narrow pavement we stood on. ‘I better go.’

  ‘What sort of dancing?’ It was the would-be journalist in me that prompted the question. The untrained instinct that told me where the story was.

  ‘Dunno. Just clubs. You know. Dancing.’

  ‘But Beth has never been to a club.’

  He shook his head while pulling awkwardly at the straps of his rucksack. ‘Mum’s expecting me.’

  Why wouldn’t he look at me? Was this your attacker?

  ‘I heard you were a bit sweet on Beth. Is that right?’ But I was addressing his back, and he didn’t pause in his stride into the dusk.

  ‘Did she meet you that night, Aleksy? Aleksy! Did you take her to a nightclub? Did something happen? Did something go wrong? How did she end up on the marsh, Aleksy?’

  As he strode away, I felt more sure than ever that he knew something. But I had no earthly idea how I was going to find out what he knew about that night.

  Wiggins gave me a hero’s welcome when I came through the door. Jumping up, whole body wagging with his tail, as though we hadn’t seen one another for hours rather than ten minutes. I pushed him down and flopped on the sofa, unsure of what to do. There was only one person who I could talk it through with: Glenn.

  He answered my call within two rings, listening intently as I recounted what had happened.

  ‘You’re right; the kid may have taken Beth to a nightclub on a date, and somehow something went wrong.’

  ‘But what on earth led to her being on the marsh?’

  ‘God knows. But I think you should tell the police about this.’

  I curled my fingers through Wiggins’s fur, uncomfortable at the thought. ‘I’m not sure. There’s no proof, only my gut instinct.’

  ‘Yeah, but if you tell them, then they can find the proof, can’t they? That’s their job, after all – not that you’d know it at the moment.’

  ‘You’re right. I’ll do it now. They’ve been useless so far.’

  I called DS Devonport, but couldn’t get through. I left a terse message explaining that she needed to check if any cabs had been used by Aleksy and you that night.

  ‘The Jachowski kid knows more than he is letting on,’ I warned.

  Exhausted, I slumped back and closed my eyes. Wiggins rested his head on one of the colourful patchwork cushions I had made to brighten up the brown corduroy sofa we’d bought in a sale a few years earlier and hated ever since. Within minutes, he was breathing heavily. Sleep didn’t come for me, though, Beth.

  Twenty minutes later, the door slammed shut, making me jump. The dog jumped up with an instinctive bark that turned into a yelp of joy when he saw Jacob.

  ‘How’s your day been?’ I asked, getting up to give your dad a kiss.

  He gave me a cursory peck, his stubble scraping my face – he hadn’t even had time to shave that morning. ‘All right. You ready to go to Leeds?’

  ‘Just give me a minute to get some stuff together.’

  ‘You’re not ready? What have you been doing today?’ Something sharp in his tone made it sound like an accusation.

  ‘Not much, but—’

  ‘No? I heard you spent the day with Glenn Baker. That you’ve been spending a lot of time with him, in fact.’

  His jaw tightened. I blinked, confused. Then balled my fists.

  ‘If you’re accusing me of s
omething, come right out with it.’

  ‘Not accusing, asking. But the way you’re reacting makes me wonder…’

  ‘Oh, come off it! He’s just moved back to the village, and he’s been helping me with—’

  ‘Helping you? If you need help, why not come to me? How much did he help you when you got drunk together the other night? You didn’t tell me you’d been with him.’

  We stepped closer, eyeballing each other.

  ‘You didn’t ask! Are you seriously accusing me of something?’

  ‘Is there anything to accuse you of?’

  ‘Jacob! Don’t you think I have enough on my plate without adding an affair to the list?’ If he’d only shut up and let me explain…

  ‘What do you have on your plate? You don’t work any more, and you’ve stopped going to the hospital during the day. Why’s that? Have you stopped caring about what happens to Beth? ’Cos you only seem to go when I take you.’

  How dare he! ‘It’s only been a couple of days, and I go every night with you. I don’t see you spending any more time there than me.’

  ‘I go to work, Mel! When I’m not working, I’m there, talking to our daughter. Letting her know she’s loved, and that she needs to come back to us.’

  ‘I do that too. I’ve been trying to work out who did this. That’s what I’ve been doing with Glenn. I need to tell you something.’

  Wiggins barked, interrupting me. Just as well, because Jacob was glaring as if I were mad.

  ‘Quiet,’ I ordered.

  But Wiggins was right: there was a strange noise. Row temporarily suspended, Jacob and I looked at each other quizzically.

  ‘Something’s going on outside.’