Someone Is Lying

by Jenny Blackhurst

  Let’s talk about Erica. She and Jack had been happily married for nearly seventeen years. In fact, it was their anniversary plans that consumed Erica’s thoughts on the day of her death. Would they go to a restaurant or take a holiday? Who would look after the children? The couple have two children together, Max and Emily – Max was nearly sixteen at the time of his mother’s death, and Emily just seven. Emily attends the local primary school, while Max is in the sixth form.

  Although she had no paid employment, Erica was always busy. She dedicated her time and effort to giving back to the community, volunteering at the local library, running the PTA, volunteering as a parent governor at the school Emily attended, and organising events. Their sizeable home in Severn Oaks reigns from the top of the bank, looking down on the other houses that sit humbly at her feet, twelve other houses in total. A small, tight-knit community – or so they would have you believe.

  So how did Erica Spencer end up lying sprawled on the grass beneath a large oak tree in Severn Oaks, her neck snapped in two places? Were the head injuries she sustained truly ‘consistent with a fall’ as the coroner concluded? Or were they inflicted before the fall? Did Erica need to be silenced? If so, by whom?

  Who would want this philanthropic mother of two dead? What really happened that night? And how many of the Halloween party guests know the truth about Erica?

  In this podcast I’ll be looking at the six people with the most to hide about the night Erica Spencer died and discussing how each and every one of them had a motive to murder the woman who, in 2015, was named a local hero for saving a young man from drowning. We will meet a fresh-faced businesswoman with a reputation and a secret to protect; the new alpha female who slid seamlessly in to fill the gap Erica left in our community; the local celebrity couple who are not all they seem; a best friend who is a little too good to be true; and her husband, who features heavily in Erica’s diary. A diary I just happen to have exclusive access to.

  Six suspects, six podcasts and a murder. I’ll see you the same time next week when we discuss how Erica Spencer died and focus on the first of the Severn Oaks Six.

  10

  ‘A fresh-faced businesswoman with a reputation and a secret to protect? I know you all talk about whether I’ve had cosmetic surgery behind my back. The beeping beeper is mocking me! Who else the flip could it be, Karla?’

  ‘The beeping beeper? The flip?’

  ‘I’m putting Amalie to bed. She’s like a bad language sponge, the other day her teacher told her she’d made a mess in the toy area and Amalie asked her what the bloody hell she expected her to do about it. Are you coming over? Are you not freaking out about this?’ Felicity wedged the mobile between her cheek and shoulder as she held up teddies one by one for Amalie to inspect.

  ‘Not that one.’ Her daughter shook her head.

  ‘But you have this one every night, see—’

  ‘Not that one.’

  Felicity tried another – Benji Bear, or some other idiotic name. Felicity could remember the exact moment she bought one each for the twins because it was the first time she’d almost said ‘fuck me’ in a soft toy shop. She’d never realised you needed a mortgage to buy a couple of bears, especially considering you had to do half the work by stuffing and dressing them yourself.

  ‘No . He’s stupid.’

  Stupid. Nearly fifty quid’s worth of stuffing and pink tutus and poor, cross-dressing Benji had been relegated to stupid .

  ‘Well, I mean it’s not the nicest thing that can happen on a Tuesday evening but what am I supposed to do? We had a journalist call us the minute it had aired – we hadn’t even heard it ourselves. Marcus is on the phone to his lawyer now so we’ll just have to see what he says. I’m sure we can get this thing taken down by tomorrow, and hopefully no one has even listened to it. Maybe no one will think it’s you if you screw your face up a few times, see if you can get some wrinkles like the rest of us.’

  ‘Funny!’ Felicity held up a dilapidated elephant, and Amalie shook her head. ‘I can’t help my naturally youthful complexion.’

  ‘I’ll have that one,’ Amalie announced, pointing to the first toy her mother had offered her.

  Felicity sighed. Mollie had been fast asleep nearly twenty-five minutes ago, her eyes closing the minute she laid her head down like a baby Annabell. How could twins be so different?

  There was no way Felicity believed that Karla wasn’t freaking out about the effect this might have on her career. Which Felicity supposed she should be worrying about too – after all, Karla was the most lucrative client her PR business had – but all she could worry about right at this moment was her own reputation.

  ‘Natural, right,’ said Karla sweetly. ‘That’s what I told Miranda. I said maybe she should set an alarm to drink algae every forty-five minutes and plunge her face into ice water – perhaps then she’d be described as fresh-faced. Do you think she’s heard it?’

  ‘I’m more concerned about Mary-Beth. Have you even heard from her? Why would she disappear from the picnic yesterday? And now this awful podcast is talking about Erica’s best friend knowing something. What do you think she knows?’

  ‘She doesn’t know anything,’ Karla said, but her voice cracked a little. ‘Do you really think that if she knew what happened to Erica she wouldn’t have gone to the police straight away? Mary-Beth is straight as a ruler. She could have pushed Erica from the window of a fifty-storey building and she’d have a written and signed confession ready by the time the police arrived.’

  Felicity leaned down to kiss the top of Amalie’s head, almost dropping the mobile phone on her in the process. Amalie gave her a look that clearly said If you think it’s going to be that easy, you’re crazy.

  ‘I know. I know. You’re right.’

  ‘I know I am. We can’t start doubting each other. There will be enough people doing that for us.’

  ‘I thought you said no one will have listened to it?’ Felicity took her place at the top of the stairs and groaned. ‘This is going to be all over Severndale by tomorrow, I just know it. My business can’t afford a scandal, Karla. It’s just getting to the point where I don’t have to worry about where my next client is coming from. How can I run a brand management company if my name is linked to someone’s death?’

  ‘You’re worrying over nothing.’ Karla’s voice was soothing, but Felicity sensed something behind it, something that told her even Karla didn’t believe the words she was saying. ‘This isn’t going to have any effect at all. I promise you.’

  Amalie shouting her name cut short any reply Felicity could have given. She sighed. ‘I hope you’re right. I have to go. Speak tomorrow?’

  ‘Of course. Try not to worry, Fliss. I’m not.’

  Karla placed the phone back in its cradle and let out a breath.

  ‘She okay?’ Marcus asked, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder.

  ‘I hope so,’ Karla replied. ‘She’s in charge of my brand management – if she goes to pieces, I’m screwed. Did you call your lawyer?’

  ‘No, not yet. I’ve been trying Jack for the last twenty minutes. He’s not answering. I’m going to go and knock on the door, check he’s okay.’

  ‘Yeah, poor thing, you’re right.’ Karla nodded and looked slightly ashamed of herself. ‘We can talk to lawyers and agents in the morning. Jack is more important right now.’

  ‘Mum,’ Zachary’s voice came from behind her. ‘I’ve been thinking, about this podcast—’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Zach,’ she snapped. ‘Why is everyone so obsessed with this stupid thing? It’s just some idiot with nothing better to do than cause drama. Go and play in your room, okay?’

  Zach’s blue eyes blinked twice, and he nodded, taken aback at his mother’s sharp tone. ‘Yeah, okay,’ he mumbled, nodding. ‘Fine. Whatever.’

  ‘You need to calm down,’ Marcus murmured gently as a crestfallen Zach trudged past him up the stairs.

  ‘I know, I’ll go and say sorry to Zach. I shoul
dn’t take it out on him.’

  Marcus pulled her in close to his chest and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. ‘It’s like you just told Felicity – this is just someone’s idea of a sick joke, it’ll all blow over when people realise he knows nothing.’

  ‘And what if it doesn’t?’ Karla looked up at her husband – the man she had protected for all of their marriage, the man whose fame and reputation had made their life possible. She wouldn’t – no, she couldn’t – lose it all now. She had worked too hard to create the life they now shared, their perfect home, their fame, the success. Karla Kaplan knew all too well what it was like to never feel good enough. Now she had it all, and she would do anything she could to protect it.

  Just like she had ten months ago.

  ‘What if it doesn’t go away, Marcus?’ she repeated, looking up into her husband’s sky-blue eyes, the perfect mirror image of their youngest son’s – only Zachary’s were innocent and trusting, while Marcus’s eyes held the knowledge of what the world could be like for them if he was wrong. ‘Who is he? Andy Noon, who is he? What if he does know something? What if he knows everything ?’

  Marcus laid a gentle kiss on top of his wife’s head. If her fears were true then their money, their fame, nothing they had would save them from what was coming. And he didn’t know how to tell her that, so he said nothing at all.

  11

  ‘Mummy? Can I just put this message in the cross?’

  Miranda sighed and waved a hand in the general direction of her daughter (who was watching YouTube videos on her phone), her head not emerging from the bottom drawer in the kitchen where she was currently searching out the sticky notes she’d written the PTA bank details down on. You see, despite Miranda being Erica’s natural successor, she really wasn’t. Natural, that is. In fact, the only thing Miranda had going for her was her ability to think on her feet. Take, for instance, the time she had forgotten to dress Charity up for ‘My Hero’ day at school. Upon seeing the other mums turn up with mini firemen and nurses, and Charity in her uniform as always, Miranda had whipped off her blouse in the back of the car, pulled out her make-up bag and fashioned little Charity as her chosen hero – Mummy, of course. How everyone had coo’d at the little angel swamped in Mummy’s flowery blouse, as Miranda kept her emergency jacket zipped up to the neck in the middle of spring. Yes, Miranda’s ability to think on her feet had helped her practically get away with murder.

  Until last night, it seemed. Last night and that man with the voice like nails scraping down a chalkboard, sermonising about an angelic version of Erica that no one Miranda knew would even recognise.

  ‘What time are we going to Poppy’s house?’ Charity appeared again in the doorway.

  ‘Oh bugger, I forgot you had that play date thing arranged this morning. Quick, darling, get dressed in one of your nice dresses, and we’ll go. LOGAN! Get some shoes on, we have to drop your sister off at the Elcocks’.’

  Ignoring the groans of annoyance from her son, Miranda slipped on her pumps and looked around for her car keys. How did everything go missing in this house?

  ‘Ready, Mummy!’ Charity pirouetted proudly into the room wearing her best dress and ballet pumps.

  Miranda smiled. ‘You look beautiful, sweetie. I just have to find my keys and . . . LOGAN, ARE YOU READY YET?’

  ‘Your keys are in the fruit bowl.’ Charity pointed to the table where her bunch of keys were indeed perched on top of what Miranda was confident were out-of-date apples.

  ‘Thank you, honey. Come on, into the car . . . YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS, LOGAN, OR I’M LEAVING WITHOUT YOU AND CHANGING THE WIFI PASSWORD.’

  Logan appeared reluctantly, his head still buried in his tablet. Miranda smiled. Out of the house in less than an hour – not too shabby.

  Predictably, Logan opted to stay in the car while Miranda took Charity to the door of the Elcocks’. The two girls had been friends practically since they were born, much to Miranda’s consternation. Trust Charity to pick the daughter of the local gossip brigade as her best friend.

  Miranda rang the doorbell and waited. When the door finally opened, Cynthia stood behind it looking red-faced and confused.

  ‘Miranda, hey.’ She smiled without looking happy and scanned the street. ‘Didn’t you get my message? Only it said on Facebook you’d read it . . .’

  Miranda shook her head, confused. ‘I haven’t checked my phone this morning.’

  ‘I told you, Mummy,’ Charity piped up. ‘That I was putting it in the cross. I was trying to watch YouTube, and the circle was in the way.’

  Miranda laughed. ‘Ah, that would be it then. What did it say?’

  Cynthia chewed on her lip. ‘Just that it was best if Charity didn’t come over today. Poppy didn’t sleep very well and—’

  Predictably, as is always the way when trying to lie to a fellow mother, Cynthia’s daughter chose that moment to yell from inside the house.

  ‘MUUUUM? Can me and Amy get some ice cream later?’

  Miranda cleared her throat. ‘If Poppy isn’t very well then why is Amy here?’

  ‘Well, her mum didn’t get the message either, and she had come so far, and Poppy was feeling a bit brighter so . . .’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’ Miranda plastered on a smile. ‘So it’s fine for Charity to come in too, yes?’

  ‘Of course.’ Cynthia looked defeated and stepped to one side. ‘Come on in, sweetheart.’

  ‘What time shall I collect her this afternoon?’

  Cynthia glanced up and down the street again, and Miranda fought the urge to ask if she was waiting for the police to swoop in and arrest her. The words from the podcast she’d barely managed to make it through floated back to her. ‘The new alpha female who slid seamlessly in to fill the gap Erica left in our community. ’ Was this how it was going to be from now on? Women she had known for years not wanting her to stand outside their houses in case anyone saw them talking to her?

  ‘I can drop her back at yours if you’d like?’ Cynthia’s voice was so casual that Miranda could have grabbed her by the neck and strangled the life out of her on the front porch.

  ‘No, actually Cynthia, I wouldn’t fucking like. I will turn up here whenever you’re ready for me to pick my daughter up, and if you try and pull this shit on me again, I’ll turn up covered in blood playing that fucking podcast at full blast on the car radio. See what your neighbours say then.’

  As she stalked down the path, leaving an open-mouthed Cynthia staring after her, Miranda had to admit that after all these years it felt good to finally drop a carefully placed F-bomb or two.

  12

  Felicity jammed her finger on the buzzer for the third time, her foot impatiently tapping against the floor. At her feet, the twins fought incessantly about which colour bow was best, and she felt as though if she missed her coffee the day would be nothing short of ruined. Screw it, the way she felt she was stopping for her coffee if it put her off schedule or not. The idea actually felt quite free—

  ‘Morning, girls!’

  The door swung open, and Felicity made no attempt to hide the impatience in her voice as she said, ‘Oh, it is still morning then?’ She laughed, as if she was joking.

  ‘Sorry,’ Jemma muttered, without looking at her. ‘We’re rushed off our feet.’

  ‘No bother, you’re here now. Can I just run through with you the plans for next Wednesday while I’m here?’ Felicity whipped out her planner and turned to the page marked ‘Girls’ Day Trip (yay!)’.

  ‘Um, yeah, about the trip . . .’ Jemma sucked on her bottom lip and pretended to look over Felicity’s shoulder at the children playing. ‘There’s, um, there’s been a bit of a mix-up. You see we have plenty of volunteers, so we don’t actually need you to come any more.’

  Felicity froze, planner mid-air. ‘What do you mean, “don’t actually need me to come”? I’ve planned a full week’s meetings and appointments around taking Wednesday off. It’s the first trip I’ve been able to volunteer on since the girl
s started coming here.’

  ‘I know.’ Jemma looked uncomfortable, her eyes finding a spot on the wall and sticking to it. ‘And I’m sorry, Miss Goldman, really I am, but all the volunteer spots are gone.’

  ‘So tell someone else they can’t go,’ Felicity demanded. ‘What about Chloe’s mum? She goes every single time. Tell her to stay at home and get her hair done or something – God knows, she needs it.’

  Jemma sighed. ‘I’m just telling you what I’ve been told. I’m sure you understand. Look, I have to go – we’re short-staffed today.’

  Felicity glanced at her watch and gave a groan.

  ‘Fine,’ she muttered, blinking furiously to rid her eyes of the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks, and turning her back on the young girl before she could see.

  The coffee shop was quieter than usual – Felicity supposed there had to be some benefits of being in the post-9 a.m. crowd. The woman in front of her grappled with a pushchair while balancing a baby on her hip, as a toddler – probably around four – sat at her feet ripping a napkin into pieces. Behind the vast glass cake cabinet, two baristas chatted animatedly.

  ‘I listened to it twice. Do you think—’ The whoosh of the milk steamer blocked out the end of the sentence.

  ‘—at all. I mean, who is this guy? How does he know more than the police anyway? Come to think of it, if he has real evidence why hasn’t he—’ Felicity strained to hear snatches of the conversation as the two young girls walked back and forth to the counter, mugs clattered, and the coffee machine sprang into life.

  ‘—he will? Like at the end of the podcast or something. What I want to know is why he didn’t name her husband as a suspect. I mean, the husband is always a suspect, right?’

  ‘Unless the podcast guy is the husband? He wouldn’t put himself in the frame, would he? Maybe he’s trying to deflect attention . . .’