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

by Barbara Copperthwaite

  ‘Yeah. I saw it there,’ he replied, still looking at the sky. ‘Bloody great red moon. In Sydney, Australia. In September. Supercool.’

  ‘Supercool. Supercool!’

  ‘Come on, let’s get you home,’ he sighed, and gently led me back to the van.

  ‘Supercool.’

  I didn’t know what I’d done to deserve such a good friend, but I was so glad Glenn had come along just when I needed him.

  Forty-Six

  At midday the following day, the police arrived at the house. DS Devonport looked as immaculate as ever. This particular day she wore a three-quarter-length black coat that, despite being plain, was clearly expensive. Either wool or cashmere or some kind of mix, it exuded quality.

  I exuded booze – from every pore.

  ‘Is Mr Oak here?’

  ‘He’s had to go to work. But I can fill him in.’ No need to tell her that I hadn’t set eyes on him so far that day. I’d been asleep by the time he arrived home from the hospital, and hadn’t even stirred when he rose for work. The joy of being in an alcohol-induced coma.

  ‘May I take a seat?’ DS Devonport asked. She was a cold fish, that one. Her gaze always appraising; her every move carefully considered. I wondered what you would have made of her; imagined you doing a pretty accurate impression of her husky voice and stiff manner. ‘We have news.’

  Yes!

  ‘You’ve charged James Harvey?’

  ‘We have released him. He has an alibi for the night your daughter was injured.’

  My stomach lurched. ‘He claims to have been with Alison Daughtrey-Drew, I know. But, obviously, she’s lying for some reason.’

  ‘We’ve absolutely no evidence of that, Mrs Oak, and—’

  ‘Come on! It’s the only thing that makes sense. James Harvey was taking advantage of our daughter, and, I don’t know, perhaps she realised, said no, fought back as he tried to force himself on her.’

  ‘Melanie—’

  ‘No, it has to be said,’ I insisted. ‘He gets angry that his advances have been rejected at last, and he’s scared that she’ll tell someone what’s been going on. So he hits her. Hits her to shut her up. Or maybe even just to scare her, and goes too far. Whatever – it’s clearly him who’s responsible.’

  The detective took a breath before speaking slowly, calmly. Enunciating each word as if talking to an imbecile.

  ‘Mrs Oak, there’s something else. The medical examination of Beth that you agreed to shows that she is still a virgin.’

  Relief flooded through me.

  The detective continued. ‘We’ve also looked into the dates mentioned in Beth’s diary. Dates where she claims to have met Mr Harvey. He has alibis for virtually all of them – he was at practice sessions of a church choir for most of them. Other dates you yourself have said Beth was with you. I’m afraid there is no easy way of saying this, but it appears the book was a work of fiction. A child psychologist has also studied the writings, and reached the same conclusion we have. Apparently the language used is innocent; there is a lot of talk of kissing and love, but only hints of more.’

  The silence stretched as I tried to take this in. She reached out to pat my hand. I moved it out of the way.

  ‘Beth developed an attachment to James Harvey, and created a fantasy relationship?’ I murmured.

  ‘That’s what the evidence points to, yes. I’m sorry.’

  The clothes, the secrets and lies, the fantasy world you had woven… Had I known my little girl at all, Beth?

  Forty-Seven

  BETH

  SATURDAY 16 JANUARY

  The. Biggest. Smile. Ever.

  That’s what Beth had plastered on her face as she walked home from Decoy Wood. Watching nature always did that to her. She had seen a hare racing across the dark brown fertile fields, then a little later a fox trotting along, following the scent before finding something more interesting that took it off in a different direction. Presumably something more likely to fill its belly. There had been redwings and fieldfares, crows and starlings, as well as several robins. Not too bad a haul to note in her journal.

  The sightings had made Beth lose track of time, though, and she was forced to hurry home. She knew her mum fretted if she were late.

  Almost there.

  She scurried past the Picky Person’s Pop In—

  ‘Oh!’

  Beth bumped into Alison Daughtrey-Drew. The woman’s handbag flew from her shoulder, spilling contents as it dropped to the ground. Both scrambled to pick everything up. Beth picked up a clear plastic bag stuffed with pastel-coloured pills that looked like sweeties. Almost.

  Alison snatched at them.

  They looked at each other, neither knowing what to do. Like a rabbit and a fox spotting each other, and that moment of stillness before they ran.

  ‘I, er, I better go.’

  ‘Wait. Keep quiet, and I’ll make it worth your while.’

  Mum always said Alison had a face like a horse. It was definitely long, but so was the rest of her – Beth only came up to her shoulder. But Alison didn’t have the vibe of a horse. Although she’d had very little to do with the older girl, Beth knew her as well as the next person in the village and had always been reminded more of a weasel. Lithe, intelligent, quick, with a ruthless streak beneath the kindly exterior and cut-glass accent.

  ‘I’m quiet. Nothing to tell!’ the teen squeaked.

  Alison gave her an appraising look. Then a gentle laugh. ‘It’s Beth, isn’t it? Listen, Beth, this really isn’t a big deal. I’m holding onto them for a friend, and I’d hate my stupidity to get them in trouble—’

  ‘Seriously, Alison. I’m cool – but I’m running late. Got to go.’

  As she walked away, she truly did try to be cool, but her eyes were wide with shock. She knew those tablets were Ecstasy – the school had given them an anti-drugs talk recently. Still, she decided to keep quiet about Alison’s haul. She didn’t want people thinking she was a grass.

  * * *

  Guilt gnawed at her at home, though. She felt that somehow her parents would know she had seen something she shouldn’t.

  ‘You okay?’ asked Mum, as if reading her mind.

  ‘Yeah! ’Course.’

  ‘Sure? Only you’re chewing at your thumb, and that normally means you’re worrying about something.’

  ‘I’ve got something to take your mind off whatever it is,’ Dad chimed. ‘My new camera’s arrived! You can borrow it sometimes for a bit of nature photography. Long as you’re careful.’

  ‘Oh, wow, Dad!’

  Soon they were mucking about, troubles forgotten. Pulling stupid expressions at the camera and smushing their faces together. Mum couldn’t stop laughing, and insisted Dad print one off to put on the noticeboard.

  ‘My gorgeous family!’ she grinned, stepping back to admire the bug-eyed image.

  Beth stood behind her, looking at the image, her smile fading. In the photograph she looked the same as ever: innocent, happy, carefree. She didn’t understand how the truth couldn’t show. Her innocence was being shattered; she was weighed down with secrets.

  Forty-Eight

  After DS Devonport left, I didn’t call Jacob. I didn’t want his hope shattered until it had to be. Let him stay at work. Not knowing was better than realising the person who hurt our daughter had been released – although the bad news would, of course, be tempered with relief that the test proved you hadn’t been interfered with sexually. Besides, with James Harvey exonerated, thanks to a fictitious alibi, Jacob’s own missing hour was bound to come under scrutiny again.

  Once more, I instinctively turned to my new friend.

  ‘How’s the hangover?’ Glenn quipped when he answered his phone. But he fell silent as I explained everything.

  ‘The police might have given up on James Harvey, but I’m still not entirely convinced,’ I finished.

  ‘Beth must have had some encouragement from him to weave such elaborate lies.’

  ‘Too right. She�
�s an intelligent, sensitive girl. He took advantage somehow.’ I picked at the skin on my thumb while speaking. A bead of blood appeared and grew; the light shining on it as it bulged until it could no longer contain its shape and began to trickle.

  ‘What about confronting him? A mother’s anger, and all that? He might cave when faced with what he’s done.’

  ‘You know what? That’s a bloody good point.’

  ‘Want me there, for moral support?’

  ‘I can handle that pond scum on my own, thanks.’

  Before that day, I’d have described James Harvey’s flat as neat, tidy, clean and modern. Pale blue walls, minimalist IKEA furniture and stylish, neutral striped throws. It had felt like a safe place to bring my daughter for private guitar lessons. Now it felt grubby, seedy, tainted with what the owner had been doing there.

  James had seemed such a squeaky-clean, polite, nice young man. Talented and artistic, he had reminded me slightly of Jacob, though they looked nothing alike, apart from being the same height. Where Jacob was blond, and his shorn hair showed off his fine bone structure, James was more hirsute: wavy brown hair shot with auburn and a neat, ruddy beard.

  He carried his guitar as though it was the most precious thing in the world. The way he caressed its neck, fingering the struts with the lightest of touches to produce the sweetest sounds, it was obvious how much he loved it. He had fooled me into thinking he would look after you with the same care.

  But as he stammered before me, unable to look me in the eye, I felt nothing but contempt for him. Even though he had let me in without so much as a word of protest, he refused to confess to me.

  ‘Tell me the truth, James. You were with Beth that night, weren’t you? Maybe you didn’t mean to hurt her. Things got out of control.’

  ‘No! No, it wasn’t like that.’

  ‘Then what was it like, James? Tell me.’

  His eyes darted, hands clutching each other. ‘I didn’t hurt her. It wasn’t anything to do with me, I promise you, Mrs Oak.’

  ‘For God’s sake! Why are you lying? When Beth wakes up, she’ll tell the truth anyway.’

  ‘I can’t… I can’t.’ Then he straightened, resolved. ‘I can’t help you. You need to get out or I’ll call the police.’

  ‘Fine, call them,’ I huffed.

  He picked up the phone. As he moved, a cloud of aftershave assaulted my nostrils. Notes of ginger, amber and citrus pushed me back, disgusted. Smells So Good…

  ‘Who do you think they’ll side with, James? A paedophile, or the mother of an innocent child who has been preyed on?’

  He gave his name and address down the phone. I wasn’t worried, though.

  ‘You let me in, James. I knocked on the door, and you let me in. I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  ‘Please… she won’t leave. Just make her leave,’ he begged the operator.

  ‘They’ll arrest you when they get here. Not me.’

  When he put the phone down, there was desperation and pleading in his eyes. ‘They’re on their way. Please, go. I swear to you I didn’t hurt Beth. I liked her—’

  ‘Yes, a bit too much.’

  Time was running out. I needed a confession out of him before the police arrived, then I’d be able to pass to them what he had done. What could I do to make him tell me the truth?

  Beat him senseless.

  Turn his well-groomed face into mush.

  Snip his penis off with a sharp pair of scissors and hear him scream and cry in agony.

  Empty his precious aftershave all over his body, then set fire to him.

  Desperation made the fantasies pound in my brain. My world was falling apart, and the only way to stop it was to find your attacker, Beth. James was the only person it could be, and I would be the one to make him face the truth. No matter what.

  I snatched up his beloved Taylor acoustic guitar, holding it with both hands by the neck like a baseball bat.

  ‘You hurt my daughter. Now I’m going to hurt you.’

  I stepped towards him. He stepped back.

  ‘Tell me the truth, or I’ll smash this over your head.’

  I wasn’t sure how much damage the guitar would do. It was surprisingly light and well balanced, and felt expensive. Smashing it into matchsticks over James’s head might not do him loads of damage, but it would hurt him emotionally. He loved that bloody guitar.

  Once it was gone, I’d move onto something else. Something heavier. Part of me screamed that I was acting like a crazy woman. The rest of me yelled back that doing whatever it took to uncover the truth was the only sane option.

  ‘I didn’t—’

  ‘How long were you grooming her?’

  ‘Listen, please—’

  ‘The diary isn’t graphic, but she loved you, you sick bastard. She thought you were going to marry her! What did you do to her?’

  ‘Nothing! I… I wouldn’t! I’d never… !’

  Everything about him pleaded with me, trying to keep me at bay. His body hunched, hands stretching towards me, fingers spread. Those fingers which had caressed my little girl.

  I’d break them to get a confession.

  ‘Tell me!’

  I lifted the guitar high over my head. Slammed it on the ground. James gave a horrified gasp. I hefted it again, destruction making me smile in satisfaction. The splintered wreck crackled and crunched beneath my feet as I jumped up and down.

  ‘I mean business, James. That’s all that’ll be left of you if you don’t confess.’

  I grabbed a glass vase, its thick bottom giving it impressive weight.

  ‘This will crack your skull.’

  ‘Please, no! She – I didn’t – we shouldn’t—’

  ‘What did you make her do to you?’ My voice was a horrified moan. The vase sagged towards the floor for a moment. But then I raised it higher. Up above my head, ready to smash in the brains of this man, just as he had smashed my daughter’s head.

  ‘I’ll kill you, you bastard! Confess—’

  ‘I’m gay!’

  His scream was barely heard above the crashing sound.

  Forty-Nine

  The crashing bang on the front door came again.

  ‘Police! Open up!’

  James, still half-crouched, was braced for my blow. I lowered the vase slightly.

  ‘You’re gay? You’re lying…’

  His eyes didn’t leave mine as he called out. ‘I’m fine, we’re fine. The door is open, so let yourself in.’

  He made a lowering gesture with his outstretched hands. ‘Put the vase down, or they’ll arrest you.’

  Confused, I found myself doing as I was told. The two officers who walked in could immediately sense the tension in the room, though.

  ‘What’s going on?’ one asked. I’d seen him before, and he nodded at me. ‘Mrs Oak, is everything okay?’

  James jumped in. ‘Mrs Oak came round for a chat, but now we’ve cleared the air, haven’t we?’

  ‘No, it’s not cleared up. If you’re gay, what’s the deal with your alibi with Alison? Why did you both lie?’

  ‘I really would like you to leave now, though,’ James talked over me.

  The anger flared back again. ‘Who are you, to tell me what to do? To tell me lies?’

  I wielded the vase again. The stocky officer who had recognised me stepped between us, his body a wall.

  ‘He’s just told me he’s gay. If he’s gay, why did he and Alison Daughtrey-Drew—’

  ‘I didn’t say any such thing,’ James laughed. ‘I’m not gay. I’m not gay.’

  ‘Oh my God, you’d say anything, wouldn’t you? Anything to make sure I don’t hit you!’ I lunged forward, but the stocky officer moved with me, blocking me effortlessly.

  ‘That bastard groomed my daughter, then tried to kill her. Why am I the only one who can see it?’ I screamed in frustration.

  The officer kept his eyes on me, his expression sympathetic.

  ‘It would be wise if you left,’ he said in a low, firm vo
ice, as if speaking to me confidentially. Leaning in so that I got a good look at the painful red razor rash on his neck and the yellow-headed spots it had caused. ‘I don’t want to have to make you. Not after everything you’ve been through. But…’

  But he’d have to if I didn’t do as I was told. The implication was clear.

  I hesitated, thinking. I might still be able to smash the vase over that conniving, slimy bastard’s head before the officers had time to react. It probably wouldn’t do any permanent damage, though, and would almost certainly end with me jailed. Which wasn’t so bad, but I wouldn’t be able to see you, Beth.

  Better to retreat and fight another day. I’d see James went down for what he had done.

  For a few minutes I drove aimlessly, unsure of what to do, where to go. I headed down Low Road, a long, straight but incredibly narrow lane that locals tend to floor their cars on, even though the surface is rutted. On either side are dykes deep enough to be lethal if a car careered into them. I put my foot down, not caring if I lived or died.

  Wanting the questions whirling around my head to slow.

  Wanting peace.

  Wanting to go back in time so that this had never happened and you were still my lively, gorgeous little girl, jumping out at me to say boo, or telling me a new fact you had just learned about some animal or other.

  40 mph… 50 mph… 60 mph…

  The whole car bounced along. Rocking and rolling, almost taking off. I’d once attended an inquest where a seventeen-year-old had gone so fast along the uneven surface that the car had flown off the road. Maybe that would happen to me, if I were lucky.

  A thought. I slammed my foot on the brake. The tyres squealed, my body was flung forward, seat belt straining across my chest. I rocked back into the seat suddenly, as the car came to a standstill.

  Talking to James Harvey again would probably result in me being arrested, and he was such a slippery bastard that he’d say anything that popped into his head to keep me off track. But there was another way of exposing his lies: by speaking to Alison Daughtrey-Drew.