Behind the Lie

by Amanda James

  ‘No. I don’t want to do this but… You see, I am in love with a wonderful woman. Lauren is a lovely name, don’t you think? She’s perhaps not quite as classically beautiful as you; you were a model after all – though lately, God knows, it’s hard to believe the way you’ve let yourself go.’

  Bastard. Jowan clenched his jaw; perhaps now was the time to go in? He eyed a decorative stone jug on a plinth a little way down the hall.

  ‘This way I can kill two birds with one stone. Make sure you never tell, and leave the way free to marry my Lauren. It won’t be too hard for people to believe that you went back on the drugs – not with losing your boy. Everything just got too much, didn’t it? I won’t be beaten, Holly, don’t you see? If any of this came out I’d lose Lauren, my job, my liberty…I don’t do losing as you know.’

  Holly said, ‘But as I said, I won’t tell anyone, I just want a normal life…’

  ‘No. I can’t trust you on that, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You won’t get away with this. No! NOOOO!’

  Jowan kicked open the door and ran into the bedroom. The horrific scene before him slammed into his skull.

  Holly on the floor.

  Simon astride her, syringe in hand.

  Duct tape binding her arms to her body. Round her ankles too.

  With a roar of fury, Jowan took a leap and, with his whole weight behind him, dropped a kick to Simon’s kidneys. He yelped in pain and surprise as he flew across the room, thudding into the wardrobe. As he was scrabbling to right himself, Jowan lifted the jug from the hall and crashed it down on the back of Simon’s neck. He went down and out.

  Holly’s screams of fear quietened and tears took over. ‘Oh Jowan, he was going to give me a heroin overdose, he was going to k… kill me! When I told Mark he was capable of it, I was making it up… but he was really going to…’

  Jowan knelt beside her, cradled her, kissed her tears away. ‘Shh, now. It’s all going to be okay. I’m here. I’m so sorry that I was late… I…’ Jowan stopped his excuses and grabbed a pair of scissors that were lying on top of the tape. Action not words. He cut through the tape and lifted her up. ‘Can you walk?’

  Holly leaned against him. ‘I feel a bit dizzy. He made me pass out… while he put the tape round me and…’ He looked into her ashen face and haunted eyes. She took a breath and said, ‘I’m okay now, I think. Jowan, get my bags and let’s get out of here. I want to go home.’

  Jowan nodded then looked at the prone Simon; he was already starting to moan and move his arm. Not dead then. Rage pounded through Jowan’s veins and he wanted to feel his hands around his throat. It wouldn’t take long and it was more than he deserved. ‘I ought to finish the fucker off,’ he said to Holly as she retrieved her phone from the floor.

  She turned, her eyes blazing. ‘No! That’s not you. That’s him. You are ten times the man he is, but if you kill him, you will be no better.’

  Jowan sighed and shrugged. ‘Okay, and I guess you need me with you, not behind bars.’ He tried a smile, but Holly just grabbed her handbag and led the way out.

  In the car, the shock of what had happened reduced Holly to a blubbering mess. Jowan tried to comfort her at the same time as his fingers fumbled to get the key in the ignition. ‘We’ll soon be far away. He won’t try and hurt you again, my love. But if he did, I swear it will be the last thing he ever does.’

  Holly just shook her head and sighed. ‘Take me home, Jo. I’m not feeling well.’ Then she looked at him and he watched all the colour drain from her face. ‘Sick…’ she murmured, lurched for the door and just got it open in time. Jowan rubbed her back and handed her tissues while she retched and vomited on the floor of the car park.

  Afterwards she at last had colour in her cheeks and after a drink was good to go. ‘Come on, we must get going. He might come after us,’ she said, looking into the shadows at the turn of the car park.

  Jowan snorted. ‘I doubt that. He’ll have a hell of a headache and feel like he’s walking on a trampoline for a bit. Besides, where is his car?’

  ‘Round the corner. And don’t underestimate him, Jowan. I did and look where that got us.’

  Jowan flicked on the wipers as they drove up the ramp into the afternoon deluge. A sickly yellow hue tinged the sky and in the east thunder grumbled from furious black clouds. ‘Supposed to be May,’ he said to Holly, but noticed she had her eyes shut. No wonder. Under his breath he muttered, ‘Spring in England, eh?’ He shook his head and then jumped as a fork of lightning speared a bus shelter about a hundred yards away.

  Forgetting Holly was trying to rest he turned to her and said, ‘Jesus, did you see that?’

  But her eyes were wide open and staring in the side mirror, a look of terror on her face as she said, ‘Yes, and I can see something far worse behind us, Jowan!! Drive, Drive!’

  Jowan looked through the rear-view mirror and saw Simon’s demented face looming at him through the windscreen of the car behind. His eyes were aflame and his mouth was wide open, shouting or screaming something while banging the side of his fist on the windscreen. Then he flung open his door and made to get out. Jowan stepped on the accelerator and tore down the street like a bat out of hell. How on earth could Simon be driving in his state? Surely he wouldn’t be able to keep up for long?

  As he sped the nippy Honda down the narrow side roads, dodging parked cars and cyclists, Simon’s big Mercedes four-by-four had to slow, and once they’d joined the main dual carriageway a few moments later they’d lost him. Good. Jowan prayed there’d be no hold-ups like they’d had that morning. It was rush hour though, so chances were…

  ‘Jowan,’ Holly said tremulously and put a hand on his arm, looking again through the side mirror.

  He didn’t need her to continue. He’d already seen the big car swing into the road, full-beam headlights cutting through the torrential rain. It was catching up to them. Fast.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  How can this be happening? Jowan said he should be woozy, incapable of walking straight, and judging by his breath when he was pawing me, under the influence too. But there he is, gunning our Mercedes through this hellish storm towards us. I twist round in my seat to get a better look and, between the forward-and-back of the rear wiper, I see a Mini change lanes and nip in behind us. Thank God, because I swear Simon was intending to ram us. A blare of Simon’s car horn over and over makes no difference and the Mini slows down, an obvious sign of the driver’s annoyance. Then all the traffic slows due to the sheer volume of rush hour. The speedometer says twenty miles per hour. This is all we need!

  ‘Christ, is he fucking mad? He’s trying to get round that Mini, he’s mounting the pavement!’ Jowan yells, banging the flat of his hand on the dash.

  ‘Yes he is, totally!’ I tell Jowan everything I have learned. Hearing the words out loud makes it seem even more unbelievable. My heart is thundering and I feel sick again. This has to be some terrible nightmare, doesn’t it? Please let me wake up in my bed in the beach house… please. No such luck. I watch the tussle going on between the two cars. The driver of the Mini is very obstinate thankfully and is cutting up in front of Simon each time he has nearly overtaken.

  I turn back in my seat and face front – take in my surroundings. Then I have a flash of inspiration. ‘Jowan, take the next exit. It cuts down a side street then down a few twisty roads and then across a viaduct. It’s a shortcut I’ve used sometimes and we might just shake Simon off. I don’t think he knows it.’

  Luck decides to be on our side, because the queue frees up again and Jowan does as I ask. I turn in my seat, stare back along the street, but Simon doesn’t follow. I can hardly believe it, but I daren’t let myself get too excited. ‘Okay, now next left. Then next right.’ We drive for a few minutes. ‘Nothing yet, Jo.’

  Jowan nods. ‘Okay. Where now?’

  ‘Over the viaduct; it’s a really old narrow one and then, once we’re across, it does a sharp right down a hill. W
e have gone out of our way, the wrong direction completely actually, but we’ll soon get to the ring road.’

  ‘And then that will take us to the M4?’

  ‘Kind of. Well, sort the satnav out in a bit …’ My words dry up as I see a big black car following in the distance… Oh, it can’t be, surely?

  ‘Fuck. It’s him,’ Jowan mutters.

  ‘He’s inhuman. How can he possibly know this shortcut? He never comes this way…’

  ‘He might just have been lucky, caught a glimpse of us taking the corners.’

  Tears are pushing behind my eyes and that makes me angry. I am sick of crying today, being weak – at his mercy. The memory of his thumb in my windpipe, the pressure on my neck, flashes in my mind again and I want to retch. Simon took great delight in telling me exactly how he’d made me pass out, once I’d regained consciousness and found myself trussed like a turkey. Something about pressing his fingers on my vagus nerve. He’d even made a joke about it, called it ‘the gambler’, as it sounds like Vegas. How appropriate. Simon and his fellow students had called it that in med school, apparently.

  I think again about how calmly he’d sat astride me, chatting as if it was most normal thing in the world. He was sorry, but he’d had to do it to make sure I didn’t struggle when he wrapped the tape around me. He didn’t want me struggling, scratching him, and getting incriminating bits of his DNA under my nails. Ever the bragger, he said that, if you weren’t careful, you could make someone have brain damage or worse doing what he did. But he was just so skilled there was no danger. That would have been funny if it wasn’t so sick. No danger of course until he plunged an overdose of heroin into my arm. A shock runs the length of me. If Jowan hadn’t turned up when he did, I would now be lying dead and cold on the floor of the bedroom.

  The narrow street behind us is full up with Simon’s powerful car and soon he’ll be feet away from our bumper. Then there’s a screech of metal as he drives too close to a parked car; it slows him, but he doesn’t stop.

  ‘Un-be-fucking-lievable! This man is hell-bent on chasing us down!’ Jowan shouts, his face flushed with fury.

  ‘He is capable of anything; after what he did today, nothing will surprise me.’ I place a hand on Jowan’s shoulder. ‘Okay, we’ll be on the viaduct in a moment; be careful of that sharp right bend as we get off like I told you…’

  A beep from my phone signals a message and I can hardly believe it when Simon’s name lights up. How the hell is he texting and driving the way he is? No wonder he nearly took that car’s door off! Against my better judgement I read it.

  WHO THE FUCK IS THE BOYFRIEND??!! YOU WON’T GET AWAY WITH THIS, BITCH!!

  I tell Jowan what it says and tell him to go faster if he can, but to be careful. Jowan nods and accelerates onto the viaduct. Simon is right behind now. Too close. I look at my phone. Hover my finger over the nine button, Three pushes, that’s all it takes. I know what the consequences would be, but after everything Simon has done, there’s no telling what he’d do in the future to get revenge. Don’t I owe it to my children to make sure he’s punished for what he’s done? I turn to face the back. I can’t bear it. Even through the driving rain I can see his face contorted in rage, determination in his eyes. I have to do it. I have to call the police.

  Then there’s a CRUMP as he rams our bumper and we are flung forward and back in our seats as we ricochet off the side of the viaduct and then over to the other wall. My phone clatters somewhere on the floor. I scream and close my eyes. Please don’t let us crash! The car judders and Jowan somehow manages to pull us back into the middle of the road just in time.

  I’m screaming again and, though I try, I can’t stop. It’s as if I’m outside my body; I have no control of it. Jowan is yelling a string of expletives as he floors the accelerator and pitches the car towards the end of the viaduct. Then, through the mirror, I see the big car coming again. My mind offers an unwelcome thought – the same car that we had planned to fit car seats into for the twins. All that seems a lifetime ago…

  ‘Right, hold on tight, Holly!’ Jowan says and wrenches the wheel tight right as we fly down the hill. It feels like we are on just two wheels as we skid on the tarmac, slick with rain. My stomach rolls and a scream catches in my throat as we hurtle towards a brick wall covered in flyers and graffiti. This is it. This is how we die. I close my eyes and think of my babies. Wait for impact.

  The impact doesn’t come. My head bangs against the window as Jowan miraculously wrenches the wheel to the left and pulls our car clear. We miss the wall by inches.

  ‘YES!! THANK GOD!’ As well as triumph there is a tremor in Jowan’s voice and he blows hard through his mouth a few times and guides our car into a street lined with small shops. We are alive. Normal life is going on around us. People are walking into a newsagent’s, laughing with each other in the laundrette…

  Overwhelming relief pulls a bark of hysterical laughter from my throat and I say, ‘Oh, Jo… I thought we were dead. I mean, I honestly…’

  A deafening squeal of brakes, screech of metal and what sounds like a rumble of thunder behind us stops my words. Then an ear-shattering explosion has me in the brace position and I feel Jowan accelerate but then slow the car to a stop. I think I know what has happened, but I can’t lift my head from my knees… can’t remove my hands, my fingers, from their tight interlinked clasp around the back of my head. I am paralysed by a mix of shock and hope. And something else is there. A pang of shame. Shame because hope is my dominant emotion. I hope that what I think has happened is correct.

  Suddenly I am enveloped in Jowan’s arms and he gently sits me up straight. ‘Jesus, Holly. The bastard crashed into that wall, his car has gone up in flames.’

  I look at a pulse jumping in his neck as he strains to see behind us. I want to look too but I can’t bring myself to do it. Suddenly there is a cacophony of noise and people run out of shops slack-jawed, pale. Some have hands over their mouths, wide-eyed. People are running past our car towards the crash, others are yelling about emergency services. I hear a loud male voice saying that all three emergency services are on their way and then I hear a woman’s high-pitched scream. It comes again, a hysterical scream. She screams and screams and screams, but I can’t turn round.

  Can. Not.

  Jowan tells me to stay put and gets out of the car. I yell at him to come back. I don’t want to be alone. He doesn’t listen and jogs off down the street so I gather my courage and undo my seatbelt. Turning, I see the Mercedes engulfed in a raging fire – black putrid smoke belches up into the sky until it’s lost in the dark of the rainclouds.

  A little knot of people have gathered in a semi-circle, their backs to me. To one side I can see a woman sobbing, her hands over her mouth. Perhaps she was the screaming woman. She’s is looking at something on the ground but I can’t see what it is because of the crowd. The woman is wearing a long white apron; I think she must be from the bakery because a man runs out of there with an umbrella and drags her away.

  Jowan fills the space she left, looks at the ground and then I see his hand fly to his mouth. He looks up the street towards me and runs back, just as I hear a faint wail of a siren in the distance. He gets back in the car. There’s a damp and acrid smell of smoke and burning clinging to him like a second skin.

  The haunted look in his eyes makes my heart jump. ‘W… what did you see?’ I ask, but I don’t really want to know.

  He takes my hand, kisses the back of it. ‘Let’s just say we won’t be bothered by Simon ever again…’

  Shame and hope tussle in my heart. ‘Are you sure… he might just be injured…’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure,’ Jowan says and draws his hands down his face.

  I’m torn. Though I don’t want to know, I have to. Have to be sure. ‘Tell me exactly what you saw,’ I say and put my hand on his knee. He shakes his head. ‘I need to know, Jo.’

  Jowan takes a breath. ‘Okay, if you’re sure. It was just like bein
g back at the marketplace in Afghanistan. The smell of burning flesh, the blackened body…’

  ‘No, stop. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God,’ I hear myself say. I can’t be here. Can’t listen to more. We need to be away from here. Far away.

  It’s as if I’ve spoken that thought out loud, because Jowan starts the engine. ‘Right. Let’s get out of here before the fire brigade, police and the rest arrive.’

  *

  We are an hour out of London before either of us speaks. Jowan suggests we stop for a toilet break and a coffee and I agree. He did try once or twice to ask how I felt earlier, but I just shook my head. I couldn’t answer because I didn’t know. Now, as we pull into a service station, my jumbled thoughts produce just a few halting words. ‘I’m glad Simon is dead,’ I say to the dashboard. ‘I’m not in the least sorry… does that make me a bad person?’

  Jowan puts a finger under my chin and raises my gaze to his. I look into his deep blue eyes, full of concern for me, and he says, ‘He was the bad person, Holly. He tried to murder you today, for Christ’s sake! He gave away your son, told you he was dead, who knows what else he’s done? You have nothing to be sorry for.’

  Even though I believe this myself, it is comforting to have it confirmed. Maybe now I can stop wondering if Simon will show up to get revenge, stop living in fear and truly look forward to a happy future with my babies… and perhaps even with Jowan too. Once we have got home to Cornwall, rested and celebrated the return of my boy, we’ll have that talk. I smile at Jowan and we get out of the car. My heart is full of hope again, but this time it’s because I’m wishing that he’ll decide to stay.

  Chapter Thirty

  The kiss of an ocean breeze wakes me from sleep. I watch the white gauze curtain’s gentle rise and fall at the open bedroom window, listen to the shush of the waves hurrying in their ceaseless journey back and forth along the sand and take a deep breath of morning air – ozone and lilies. Wonderful. Then panic creeps up me like acid along litmus and I can’t breathe. My limbs are dead weights, my heart thuds, and panic turns to terror as Simon’s blackened face looms over me – charred flesh peeling from bleached cheekbones. From a ruined mouth comes the stench of death and a red lizard tongue flicks my lips. A grotesque attempt at a smile, and in a voice from hell he says, ‘I told you you’d not get away with this, bitch. I ALWAYS win.’