Each Little Lie: A gripping psychological thriller with a heart-stopping twist

by Tom Bale

  Jen spent most of her time at the centre’s newest addition: an indoor bouldering area which offered five hundred square yards of rope-free rock climbing for all ages and abilities. As well as being available for individual tuition, she ran regular classes for small groups, mostly first-timers curious about this relatively unknown form of exercise.

  She was twenty minutes late, which wasn’t ideal, though the hot weather was having a notable effect on visitor numbers, making it the quietest summer holiday anyone could remember. The first class didn’t start till eleven, and there were only a handful of regulars limbering up when she arrived.

  Glynn was on the desk this morning. He was a tall, wiry man in his forties, an avid road cyclist who had quickly become obsessive about climbing. He had a ball of putty in each hand, and was squeezing them to build up the strength in his forearms.

  ‘You’ve got Nick on the warpath.’

  ‘Have I?’

  ‘Just kidding.’ Glynn’s soft Welsh accent and deadpan manner were perfect for wind-ups, but Jen should have known better. Appraising her carefully, he said, ‘You up for a one-to-one?’

  ‘I guess so.’ Jen looked around, surprised there was any demand for tuition this early in the day.

  ‘The feller was here a second— Ah, there he is.’

  A young man had emerged from the changing rooms, dressed in green shorts, a yellow T-shirt and a pair of Scarpa climbing shoes. Jen turned before he could make eye contact; her wince told Glynn all he needed to know.

  ‘Then again, you could assume command of the cash register while I instruct this novice in the finer points of crimping?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Jen grinned. ‘Least you can do, after scaring me like that.’

  A flurry of customers appeared, and then it was time for the eleven o’clock class. After that, one of the seasonal employees begged for help setting up the soft-play equipment. A couple of regular staff had called in sick, including the woman whose job was to oversee birthday parties.

  As a result, Jen was in the sports hall for nearly two hours, corralling a boisterous group of nine-year-olds. The job was often like this, chaotically varied, and Jen rarely spent the whole day in the role that had been assigned to her. Some of her colleagues resented that variety, but in general she welcomed the chance to acquire different skills.

  By most people’s standards this was an unconventional occupation, though for her it represented a major compromise: not only was it rooted in one geographical location, but the majority of her work took place indoors. There were times when she sorely missed the freedom she’d once had, leading small groups of wealthy tourists on treks across the Serengeti or over the mountains of Patagonia. And while she had been glad to make the sacrifices that motherhood required, it was proving far more difficult to meet the challenges of life as a single parent, while also accommodating the many demands made by Charlie’s dad, Freddie.

  Thinking of her ex-husband made her realise that he hadn’t been in touch about the arrangements for the final week of the holiday. She sent him a quick text once she’d finished up in the sports hall: Don’t forget you’re having Charlie from tomorrow night.

  When she returned to the climbing centre it was almost two o’clock, and Glynn had just finished an intermediate class. There was no sign of the young man from this morning, whose name, she thought, might be Dean. Earlier in the summer she’d given him some tuition in a number of group sessions that had also included his girlfriend – an attractive but surly woman who’d shown little enthusiasm for bouldering and even less for her partner. This sort of climbing tended to be very social, with a lot of discussion about the best way to tackle a problem, and yet the two of them had barely exchanged a word.

  Since then he’d come in several times on his own, and she’d caught him gazing wistfully in her direction. Glynn confirmed her worst fears when he said, ‘That bloke Dean was asking if you were single.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry. Married, I told him.’ A wink as he placed his palm above his head. ‘Loved up to here.’

  ‘Who is?’ a voice cut in. For such a burly man, Nick had a disconcerting ability to appear from nowhere, usually when there wasn’t much work being done.

  ‘Me, boss.’ Glynn came to Jen’s rescue, only to get a signal that one of the climbers needed advice. His knowing look as he trotted away told her: You can take it from here.

  Nick frowned in his wake. ‘He’s joking, right? I thought Glynn’s been with his wife forever?’

  ‘Fifteen years – and don’t look so shocked. Some people can stay in love for that long.’

  The lucky few, she thought, while he only shrugged at such a preposterous idea. But she was glad that Nick hadn’t picked up on the true subject of the conversation. The centre had had problems in the past with female staff members being propositioned – and even stalked – so he tended to react very firmly to any hint of unwanted attention, and sometimes he could be a bit too heavy-handed.

  Nick was thirty-eight, a lifelong fitness fanatic who’d moved here from Australia more than a decade ago. He was short and thickset, with piercing green eyes set into a face that might have been carved from mango wood. His light brown hair was cropped close to disguise a growing bald patch, and he had Aboriginal dotwork tattoos on his biceps. As far as Jen could tell, he wore shorts and muscle vests all year round, the better to display his fabulous physique.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked, in a warmer tone. ‘I heard you came in late?’

  Jen nodded, wondering who had ratted her out. ‘Yeah, sorry, I’ll make up the time.’

  ‘What’s up – more problems with the ex-hole?’

  She shook her head, taking half a step back as he edged closer. ‘Just bad luck with the buses—’

  ‘Jen! Call for you.’ They turned; Clare at the desk was holding up the phone. ‘It’s Freddie.’

  Not great timing. Freddie was usually impossible to track down, and Jen had texted with the expectation that he wouldn’t reply for hours, if at all.

  Apologising to Nick, she hurried over to take the call. ‘Hi, Freddie.’

  ‘Uh, Jen, about tomorrow …’

  ‘Freddie, this has been agreed all summer.’ She heard her voice come out flat, as it always did when they spoke.

  ‘Yeah, I know, but I don’t see why you have to get so hung up on, like, exact dates.’

  Jen opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again. Transferring her frustration to a clenched fist, she said, ‘Are you telling me you can’t have him? Because he’ll be devastated.’

  ‘Nah, that’s not what I’m saying, if you’d listen. It’s just, Wednesday’s not great. It’d be better if I took him from Thursday, or maybe Friday? Friday for a week would be cool.’

  Jen sighed. A clenched fist wasn’t enough, and now the muscles in her legs were rigid with tension. A few feet away, Nick was pretending to inspect the main noticeboard. Jen knew the glossy printed posters had a reflective sheen, so either he was admiring his own image – a distinct possibility – or he was slyly keeping an eye on her.

  ‘Charlie thinks you’re taking him to Cornwall. Is that still the plan?’

  Freddie made a surprised little sound in his throat, which she had come to recognise as a signal for incipient dishonesty. ‘Something like that, yeah.’

  ‘Well, Friday for a week isn’t possible, because he starts back at school next Thursday.’

  ‘So what? It’s only a day or two—’

  ‘He can’t afford to miss the start of term. Year three is a big deal. What’s so urgent that you can’t have him tomorrow night?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just—’ The way he broke off suggested a reluctance to incriminate himself.

  ‘A new conquest, then?’

  Silence, until her snort prompted a laugh. ‘Jen, c’mon. I can’t admit to that – but if I did, we’d be talking seriously, scorching hot.’

  She glanced round at Nick, the muscles in his shoulders taut from the
effort of eavesdropping, and said, ‘I’ve got to go, or I’ll be in trouble at work.’

  ‘What, with that guy Nick?’ He said the name in a taunting sing-song voice. ‘Nah. My guess is he’d bend all kinds of rules for you.’

  Jen was shaken by the innuendo, but affected boredom. ‘Whatever. Please think about tomorrow, and for Charlie’s sake try and stick to the schedule we agreed.’

  She ended the call, and Nick was immediately at her side, his fingertips brushing against her arm. ‘Hope he wasn’t giving you a hard time?’

  ‘Just problems with the arrangements for Charlie.’

  ‘So the bastard’s going back on his word?’

  ‘Not completely, but. . .’ Jen shrugged. Even now, after the infidelities and the lies and the break-up, the failed attempt at mediation and the prospect of the painful, expensive court hearings to come, she was still reluctant to be openly critical of Freddie, particularly to another man who, if she was honest, shared more than a few of her ex-husband’s less appealing traits.

  Too many men interfering in my life, she thought, and the only one I want or need is Charlie.

  4

  Jen left work at four thirty and was lucky with the buses she needed to get to the Hanover district of Brighton. Anna Morgan’s home was in a smart Victorian terrace within easy walking distance of Queens Park, where Charlie had spent so much of his summer holiday with his best friend – Anna’s son, Lucas.

  The boys were in the back garden, constructing a den from garden chairs and beach towels. When Charlie spotted her on the patio, he dashed across the lawn and thudded into her arms, hugging her as if they’d been apart for weeks rather than twenty-four hours. Jen was touched by his willingness to show such wholehearted affection in front of his friend, though the intensity of his embrace only deepened her guilt that she didn’t have enough time to give him. Her own parents had warned her how fast he would grow up, and there wasn’t a single day, a single hour she’d ever get back.

  ‘Hiya, bud! Had a good time?’

  ‘Yeah. We went to the beach, and I swam underwater.’

  Lucas, who had charged up beside him, rubbed his knuckles into Charlie’s dark curls and said, ‘I held my breath for two minutes!’

  Charlie countered: ‘I held my breath for longer!’

  ‘I can do it the longest.’ Lucas took a dramatic gulp of air and then clamped his lips together, scrabbling away as Charlie tried to tickle him.

  ‘It was closer to twenty seconds than two minutes,’ Anna confided, ‘though they both did really well.’

  ‘Oh, they did. And thanks so much for taking them to the beach.’

  ‘Best place to be in this heat. You know, I think this could be the summer that defines their memory of childhood. Endless days of sunshine and carefree living. . .’ She paused, examining Jen closely, and said, ‘Carefree for them, at least. You, by contrast, look rather …’

  ‘Frazzled?’ After telling Charlie to go and fetch his bag, Jen explained that Freddie looked set to renege on his agreement.

  ‘What about Cornwall? Charlie’s talked about it non-stop.’

  ‘I don’t know. I strongly suggested he put Charlie first, instead of. . .’

  ‘This week’s floozy,’ Anna finished with a disparaging snort. ‘Does that mean no drinks on Thursday? Because we are both badly in need of a night out.’

  Jen nodded. ‘All we can do is hope.’

  Charlie was chattering happily as they left the house, and Jen didn’t have the heart to tell him about her conversation with his dad. She’d leave it till tomorrow morning and hope that Freddie’s better conscience prevailed.

  Earlier this afternoon Nick had sidled up and told her she should insist that Freddie keep to his agreement. ‘It’s important to get time to yourself. You’re overdue a bit of freedom.’

  Jen had nodded, though in reality any sense of liberation was quick to evaporate, with Charlie’s absence from their dingy flat making her feel lonely and dispirited. But she understood what Nick was hinting at, and deftly changed the subject.

  The best part of her working day had been a one-to-one tuition with Oscar, a boy of eleven who had cerebral palsy, epilepsy and learning difficulties. He’d bonded with Jen from their first encounter, and with her help had rapidly overcome his fear of this strange new environment. Now he could spend twenty or thirty minutes on the wall, slowly negotiating the lowest-grade problem. Following a lateral route, he was never more than a couple of feet off the ground, but the sense of achievement when he completed the challenge – the glitter of pride and delight in his eyes – was a joy to behold.

  Today his parents, who for the first few sessions had watched with hand-wringing anxiety, had felt confident enough to slip away to the centre’s cafe. When the session finished, his mother had spontaneously kissed Jen on the cheek. ‘We can’t thank you enough. This is having such a positive effect on other areas of his life.’

  Embarrassed, Jen said, ‘Only doing my job. And I love watching him progress.’

  ‘No, it’s more than that,’ Oscar’s father said. ‘The time you take with him, the patience and encouragement, that’s going well beyond what we’d expect for our money.’

  Recalling the conversation now, as she walked home with Charlie, Jen couldn’t help thinking it should be her son who benefitted from this level of attention. Then again, she was hardly unique in having to earn a living while others took care of her child.

  And isn’t it the truth, a wicked voice whispered in her head, that full-time motherhood would drive you insane?

  They trekked down the steep hill towards Kemptown in almost thirty-degree heat. Beyond the grand Regency terraces and ugly modern tower blocks, the sea was as flat and blue as a child’s drawing. Maybe go for a swim after dinner, she thought.

  Then she remembered this morning, and the keys that hadn’t yet been collected. She considered whether to walk on and check the note was still in place, but Charlie had been muttering about needing to pee, and now he protested again: ‘Mum, I’m bursting!’

  ‘We’re nearly home. Why didn’t you use the toilet at Anna’s?’

  ‘I didn’t need to go then.’

  She hustled him along the street, the sweat trickling down her spine. Home was a modest, poorly maintained flat in a small block, just eight apartments on four floors. In return for swallowing up nearly nine hundred pounds a month in rent, they had only one bedroom – which she’d given to Charlie – while she slept on a sofa bed in the lounge.

  Jen unlocked the main door, and again thought about the man who’d dropped his keys. If he had a shop in a big retail centre like Churchill Square, he might not be home until eight or nine o’clock.

  ‘Faster, Mum!’ Darting past her, Charlie ran for the stairs. Jen had made a game out of climbing to the top floor, mostly to quell his complaints about the lack of a lift; now she quickened her pace, but made sure she didn’t catch him till the landing.

  ‘I won! I won!’

  ‘So you did.’ She placed a finger to her lips, but behind her the door was opening.

  Their neighbour, Mrs Martin, was a small but solid woman in her mid eighties, still remarkably active for her age, though a couple of times lately she’d confused Jen for her own daughter, Angela, who must have been sixty if she was a day.

  ‘Hello, Bridie, sorry about the noise.’

  ‘Oh, I like to hear him. Popped out somewhere, did you?’

  Jen let Charlie into the flat, then turned, frowning. ‘No. I’ve just got back from work.’

  ‘Really? I could have sworn you were at home today.’ She issued a little laugh, but Jen caught the flash of concern in her eyes.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s easy to get mixed up.’ Jen gestured towards the flat. ‘Sorry, I have to check on Charlie. . .’

  That wasn’t strictly true, and Jen felt lousy when it struck her that Bridie might have concocted a reason to engage her in conversation. The poor woman didn’t get enough human interaction, so once she s
tarted talking it was virtually impossible to get away – and right now Jen just didn’t have the energy.

  She was fretting over the likelihood that Freddie was going to ruin the final week of Charlie’s holiday. The prospect of having to manage his disappointment was grim enough, without the problem of trying to sort out more childcare, when she’d already asked so much of Anna.

  Tomorrow, she told herself. I’ll invite Bridie in for a cup of tea and properly catch up.

  She made for the kitchen, reminding Charlie to wash his hands as she passed the bathroom – lately he’d started taking more care to shut the door. She filled two glasses with water, added ice cubes from the freezer and found a purple straw, aware that it wouldn’t be enough to compensate for the essential dullness of the drink.

  Sure enough: ‘Can’t I have Ribena?’

  ‘No. It’s bad for you.’

  ‘Juice, then?’

  ‘You had juice at Anna’s. Water’s better than anything.’

  ‘But it tastes horrible.’ He didn’t raise his voice, but he opened his mouth again, his tongue moving to form the word ‘Dad’ – as in, Dad lets me have juice – then caught her expression and thought better of it.

  They moved into the small, cluttered living room, which after six months still didn’t feel like their own place. They’d had to vacate their previous apartment in a hurry when the landlord decided to sell. This one, in Jen’s mind, was only a temporary bolthole, though the reality was that they stood no chance of finding somewhere better – affording somewhere better – for a very long time.

  The problem was that her marital home had actually been owned by Freddie’s father, Gerard, so when the relationship ended there was no alternative but for Jen to move out. Her divorce lawyer agreed that she’d had little option, but it had placed her at a disadvantage from the start.