‘What’s wrong with you?’ I ask.
‘I want to know what’s caused this,’ he throws a hand up, directed to me. ‘What you’ve been told.’
‘But you seem odd.’ I can’t let it go. There’s something he’s not telling me.
‘Deborah, for fuck’s sake! Tell me what you know.’ His anger surprises me.
‘I told you – there’s another person responsible for Sean’s murder.’
‘Yes, I know that, but what about this psychologist? What’s she got to do with it?’
‘She had been seeing a woman, someone called Alice—’
‘Alice Mann?’ Nathan’s skin pales.
‘That’s what she said.’ I realise I’m not explaining myself well at all. I’m about to tell Nathan about fake Alice, but he disappears from the kitchen. ‘Are you leaving? Where are you going?’ I follow him, but he doesn’t head for the front door – he walks into the lounge and sits heavily in the armchair. This is a lot for him to take in, and me blurting it all out in a rush won’t help. I need to slow down. ‘Sorry, I’m not making sense, I know that,’ I say apologetically.
‘It’s my fault,’ he says quietly. Then he buries his face in his hands.
‘What is?’
‘I wonder how much Alice told the psychologist. Did she tell you?’
I’m losing the thread of the conversation now. He’s speaking like he knows who Alice is, but she only came to the house when I was here on my own. Nathan never met her.
‘I’m sorry, Deborah, really I am. I should never have followed you. You were acting so weirdly, secretively. I had to know what you were doing, why you weren’t going to work.’
Oh my God – he’s known the whole time.
‘You followed me? Where?’ I sit, before my weak legs give out.
‘I already knew about her coming here.’ He’s wringing his hands together, avoiding eye contact. What the hell is happening?
‘Right,’ I say, shaking my head, confusion and worry fighting for attention. ‘Go on.’
‘I’d been seeing her too.’
Finally he looks at me, his eyes filled with tears.
‘Seeing Alice?’ A hot ball burns my stomach, my heart bangs fast and I hear it in my ears. I want to scream. A darkness clouds my eyes. ‘You mean she was the other woman?’
I hear words, muffled, far away – Nathan’s face swims in front of mine.
I close my eyes and put my hands over my ears.
I don’t want to hear any more.
CHAPTER NINETY-SIX
Angela
What they’re saying isn’t even true.
My fear of them finding out I’m not really Alice is quickly supplanted. That isn’t what they’re saying. They know I can still access the online group support page – they haven’t struck me from the group, or blocked me – so they must want me to read this. After all the secret messages Wendy sent each member in private DMs, now it seems there’s one everyone can see. My eyes skim furiously over the words.
She pretends to care about us all, but she doesn’t: she’s an evil, selfish woman. Her son isn’t even in prison, much less a murderer. She’s got a mental disorder – she’s a pathological liar who’s been manipulating us, telling us she’s this brave victim of her son’s crime – all for the attention. Alice is not to be trusted.
It’s hugely exaggerated. She’s taking pleasure in spreading vicious lies about me and everyone’s jumping in, adding their ridiculous assumptions to the thread.
I have to keep moving, my muscles are jumping with annoyance; anger. I pace the room as far as the kitchen door and back. Where has this come from?
Of course. There’s only one person who could’ve told Wendy this pack of lies.
My son.
Why is he doing this to me? I get he’s got unresolved issues about how I didn’t protect him from his father, but to go to these lengths – and all these years later – after everything I’ve done for him, is cruel. Evil. He saw me that day in Coleton with Wendy. How long had he planned all this? My stomach rolls, a sickly sensation spreading upwards.
I’m going to vomit.
I’m not going to confront him, there’s little point. Nothing will be gained. My group won’t believe me even if I try to repair the damage Tom’s done. I knew time was running out, and it’s even more apparent now. It’s real.
I don’t think I can keep this up.
I know I’ve lied to myself for a long time; I’m not even sure what the truth is anymore. It’s never been to purposely deceive anyone, apart from myself, perhaps. Self-preservation. Seeing Connie had begun to make a difference; I’d delved inside myself, questioned my decisions, my reactions to events – to things I thought were beyond my control.
They weren’t. I know that now. Maybe Tom is right. I deserve to be punished for not protecting him. Everything that happened, that’s happening now, is because of me. Why have I kidded myself into thinking I could put it right? Maybe I really am as deluded as the support group messages are saying.
And I did pretend to be someone else. All this time I’ve thought it was Tom who needed help – but maybe it’s me.
It’s quiet in the basement as I pass by the door. I can sneak out without him knowing. He’s got food down there so he won’t emerge for a while. I’ll have enough time to finish getting what I need; I hadn’t wanted to draw attention to myself when I was in the hardware store yesterday by buying everything in one go.
Only a few more items and I’ll be ready.
CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN
Connie
Neither Lindsay nor Mack were at the station when she’d called yesterday evening. Connie hadn’t wanted to talk about the phone message with anyone else, so she’d hung up. This morning, having realised Lindsay had pulled an all-nighter – her bed unslept in – Connie decided not to bother calling the station, instead taking a different path. She dialled HMP Baymead.
‘I need to speak with you, Jen. Are you free after work?’
Connie heard Jen umming – she sounded flustered, distracted. She’d obviously not caught her at a good time. Eventually, she said, ‘I think it should be fine. Can you meet me in Coleton at four-thirty?’
‘Great, thank you – in the Country Table café?’
‘Yep.’ And she hung up.
Connie held the phone away from her ear, staring at it as if it held something more. The dead tone was proof there was nothing further. Jen was obviously busy, but it didn’t excuse her brusqueness. It wasn’t like her. Had Connie done something wrong? She’d refused to go into the prison again following the last meeting with Kyle, but she’d completed her report satisfactorily. Maybe it was something to do with him being ghosted. The timing had been coincidental to say the least. Hopefully, come this afternoon, she’d have some answers.
While she was in the mindset to make calls, Connie dialled her mum. The ringing carried on for ages. She mustn’t be home. Either that or she was in a mood with Connie for not contacting her for so long, and was ignoring it. Just as Connie was about to cut the call, she heard the receiver being picked up. She’d have to pile on the pleasantries, apologise quickly for her lack of communication, for being a rubbish daughter – get in first before her mother could chastise her and make her feel worse than she already did.
‘Mum? I’m so sorry for being useless and not calling. How are you?’
The silence stretched. Connie’s heart thrummed.
‘Mum, are you there?’
Stop looking. People will get hurt if you don’t stop. Do you want more blood on your hands?
The words echoed in her head. Shit.
‘Hello? Mum?’ Connie’s words wobbled.
‘Connie?’ Her mum’s voice was strained.
Was someone with her? Was someone going to hurt her? Tears burned Connie’s eyes.
‘Mum!’ she shouted.
‘Sorry, love. Was trying to get my cake out of the oven, thought I’d hit the speaker button …’
‘F
or fuck’s sake,’ Connie said breathily.
‘Connie! No need for language like that.’
‘Sorry, you scared me. I thought there was something … something wrong.’
‘Well, you’ve not bothered to call for so long, anything could’ve been wrong and you wouldn’t have known, would you? Could be stone-cold dead in bed, the neighbour’s cats all taking chunks from me …’
‘Oh, Mum, that’s disgusting.’
‘I read about that very thing happening, you know. In Hampshire last year.’
Connie butted in before the conversation deteriorated any further. Her heart rate had settled now she knew her mum was safe. It was silly her thinking that Tom could’ve got to her. The mobile message, the flowers – they were scare tactics, that was all. He wouldn’t risk further exposure, surely? The police were after him for suspected murder; he’d be stupid if he wasn’t keeping his head down, maintaining a low profile right now.
After a fifteen-minute conversation, mostly about Isabella Bond and Connie’s job, the call ended. It was a relief to know her mum was safe, although hearing the pain in her voice when she spoke about Isabella was almost unbearable. Some wounds never mended – particularly deep ones that were never allowed to heal before the scab was picked at again. Her mother’s lost son was one such wound. Knowing she had information that could repair it, leaving only a scar from the past hurt, was something Connie was struggling to live with. Each time she spoke with or saw her mum, the need to tell her grew ever stronger.
CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT
Connie
Connie chose a table at the rear of the café, the low one with the small leather sofas either side. It was cordoned off at the back because it was near to closing time, but the owner, who Connie knew well, said she and her friend could sit there and be un-disturbed for an hour or so.
Jen breezed in through the door spot on four-thirty. She gave Connie a kiss on each cheek before sitting down. Her usual calm persona had slipped, her face appearing hard, weary. Connie got the impression all was not well at HMP Baymead.
‘Thanks for coming,’ Connie said.
‘Sorry for my abruptness on the phone. It’s all a bit cloak-and-daggers at the moment.’ Jen was sitting stiffly on the edge of the sofa, her gaze not settling on Connie.
‘What’s going on? Is it to do with Kyle being ghosted?’ It was best to get straight to the point, and she knew Jen would be the same if the roles were reversed.
‘Well, you know my old saying, “What’s the worst that can happen?” – it appears that the worst might be me getting the sack.’
‘No way, really? What the hell …’ Connie’s mouth dried. The moment she’d gone back into Baymead, seen Kyle Mann, she’d opened a can of worms – and now she was afraid what Jen was about to tell her was somehow due to her.
Jen rubbed her hands over her face, making a low groaning noise. ‘I didn’t see it, not until it was too late.’
‘See what?’
‘What he was doing. How could I have missed it, Con? I’m a trained psychologist, and the signs were all there. It was obvious: the manipulating tactics, the conditioning …’
Connie put her hand to her mouth. Jen couldn’t be talking about herself, surely? She shook her head.
‘I don’t understand, Jen. What has happened?’
Jen leant forwards conspiratorially, talking in a hushed whisper. ‘Kyle was ghosted for security reasons. He’d been beaten in the showers, and the same men grassed him up as having drugs and several mobile phones.’
Heat rushed to Connie’s face. Mobile phones. Shit.
Jen finally made eye contact. ‘When the officers sprung his cell though, they only found one mobile. But it’s not that uncommon really, is it? And usually it’s an adjudication and time added to their sentence. I didn’t think it was such a big deal; didn’t contemplate getting involved past the usual risk factor assessment and writing it in a report.’
‘I’m taking it that somehow you are involved though?’
Jen didn’t answer her question. ‘I’d been so busy. You know how stressful that place can get. I haven’t slept properly, and the workload is ridiculous for our small team. When it happened, I’d been spending more hours there than at home. It’s not as if we get paid any extra, is it, Con?’ Jen stooped to pick up her drink, then carried on. ‘It’s when mistakes happen, when we’re tired, not really concentrating – that’s when we might not realise prisoners are manipulating us.’
Connie didn’t like the direction the conversation was heading. She was afraid Jen already knew about Connie being given the mobile.
She was even more afraid it was Jen who’d delivered it to Connie’s house.
CHAPTER NINETY-NINE
Tom
Now the excitement of the past two months had slowed right down, Tom’s mood crashed. As far as he could tell he’d covered all bases, but his mind wouldn’t let him rest – it kept swilling names around his brain, morning and night. He couldn’t escape them. Sean, Kyle, Isabella, Connie … Sean, Kyle, Isabella, Connie … then, every so often, Mum. At least two of the names were permanently taken care of now, only their ghosts could plague him. But Kyle, Connie and his mum – they were very much alive and, despite the measures he’d taken, there were no guarantees they’d keep their mouths shut. He wasn’t even sure how much the psychologist knew; how much his mum had told her. Maybe nothing of importance – in fact, his mind kept reminding him that he’d probably drawn attention to himself, made things worse by intervening.
You’re an idiot, Tom. Why are you so fucking dumb? His father’s nasty, needling voice wormed its way into his head at every given opportunity.
Ultimately, it was Kyle’s fault. If he’d stayed quiet, as agreed, none of this would be an issue now. He never imagined it would be Kyle who let him down, although if he was honest, he could understand it to a point. Fucking psychologists, getting in your head, messing with your mind. She’d broken him by using a dirty, underhand tactic. Dragging his mother into it was low. Tom felt bad for what happened to his mum. The mother–son bond was a complicated one. Kyle’s mum wasn’t bad – she’d looked after him, kept him safe. Kyle had had huge problems with his old man too, but his mum had ensured he’d never got physical with Kyle. She’d protected him.
It was a shame Alice had to come to harm.
But Tom’s need for another adrenaline rush, to kill again, had been too risky; his belief that he was invincible was faltering. He had to make a new plan to figure out how he was going to get away with what he’d done. There was no scapegoat for Isabella’s death like there’d been with Sean.
Tom’s chest tightened. For the first time, he realised that no plan, however clever, would ensure he got away with it. There were too many uncertainties, variables he couldn’t control; he’d involved too many people. In trying to cover up what he’d done, stop others talking, all he’d accomplished was to lengthen the list of people who could bring his world crashing down.
He banged his fist against his temple again and again until it was numb.
The answer to his problem screamed inside his skull. He may not have any other alternative.
It was time to do a runner.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED
Connie
Connie took a few sips of her latte, giving herself a bit of time to compose herself before speaking to Jen again; she didn’t want to give too much away by rushing in with questions that made it obvious she was in possession of a mobile sent by Kyle. She had to think carefully. Realistically, if Jen had agreed to take the phone out of the prison for Kyle and deliver it to Connie, then she’d have been sacked already, surely? Unless they didn’t know. Jen had said Kyle had been accused of having several phones, but only one had been found. Maybe there hadn’t been another one. Could Kyle have manipulated Jen into supplying the mobile to give to Connie, then told Tom the number so he could also contact her directly? As much as Connie didn’t want to know, she felt she had to. If she played it car
efully, even if she’d got it wrong and her mobile delivery had nothing to do with Jen, she shouldn’t implicate herself.
‘I’m scared to ask really, Jen. But how exactly are you involved in this?’
Jen looked over her shoulder, her gaze flitting around the café. ‘I’m not sure I should say, Con. I’ve said too much as it is and I’m in enough shit.’
‘No one can hear us. It’s not as if I’m going to sell the story to the papers, you know that!’ Connie was on edge, impatient to know – her anxiety levels increasing by the minute.
Jen smiled. ‘Don’t even joke.’ She tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘It’s been such a horrible few days. I’m a rubbish manager.’
‘No, Jen, you’re not. You’re under pressure, that’s all. Mistakes happen when there aren’t enough staff and resources. Some prisoners are quick to spot weaknesses and take advantage. If you’ve done something wrong …’ Connie couldn’t finish the sentence. If Jen had done something wrong, she’d be hung out to dry. Like Connie had been. She had no words of encouragement. Not ones she believed in anyway.
‘Do you still have Kyle’s mother as a client?’
‘No,’ Connie said. Jen was changing the subject and Connie wanted to get it back on track. If she expanded, telling Jen that all along it had been someone else, not Kyle’s mum, she’d get embroiled in a different conversation; get further away from the topic of the mobile phone. ‘Was Kyle using the mobile to contact his mum, do you think?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m not sure they could tell – phone numbers were saved to SIM, and they didn’t recover that.’
‘So,’ Connie said, squinting, ‘I still don’t get what this has to do with you?’
Jen gave a long, drawn sigh. ‘Like I said, I didn’t realise, didn’t see it. Right under my nose, and I failed to notice.’
One Little Lie Page 25