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

by Tom Bale

  ‘But I’m happy to do you a favour. . .’

  ‘No. We could both end up in prison.’

  Her tone wasn’t particularly sharp, but he flinched as if she had spat in her face. A flash of anger was replaced by an unconvincing smile.

  ‘It sounds to me like you’re in a heap of trouble, Jen, and here I am, doing everything I can to help.’

  ‘I know that. I just don’t want to make things any worse.’ She started to move. ‘But thanks for the offer.’

  ‘Think it over. You know where to find me.’ He frowned, and added quickly, ‘I’m often busy in the evenings, but drop by during the day. Weekdays are good.’

  You’re married, she thought, as she watched him marching back to his home. It was right on the corner, the perfect location to monitor activity in the street. A total sleazeball, she thought. And yet she couldn’t quite shake off the sense that she’d been a bit too hasty in turning down his proposal.

  15

  After the second knock, Anna’s muffled cry of ‘Just coming!’ sounded a little stressed. Jen understood why when her friend opened the door with a toddler under one arm: both she and the little girl had white powder dusted all over their faces.

  ‘Oh, Anna,’ Jen tutted. ‘Didn’t I say – no more cocaine parties!’

  It won a belly laugh, but even that wasn’t enough to dislodge the concern in Anna’s eyes. ‘We’re icing some buns. The boys decided the two of us should become snowmen – in August.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I forgot you had Keira today.’

  ‘It’s fine. They all get on well.’ She ushered Jen inside. ‘You look like you could do with a coffee, and maybe a coconut bun – if the boys haven’t guzzled them all.’

  ‘I wan’ bun!’ Keira shouted. By now Jen could hear the clatter of spoons and voices from the kitchen. On the way over she’d pictured Charlie running into her arms, just as he had yesterday afternoon, but perhaps he didn’t realise she was here.

  She reached the doorway and saw the boys kneeling on chairs at one of the worktops, giggling as they competed to scrape icing sugar from a mixing bowl. Then Charlie registered her presence and fell silent, turning to gaze at her with a grave, almost shameful expression.

  Jen felt her stomach lurch, but did her best to keep the sorrow from her voice. ‘Hiya, buddy. Sorry I couldn’t get back here last night. The, er, thing took longer to sort out.’

  Charlie just nodded curtly and turned back to the worktop, clashing elbows with Lucas as they jabbed their spoons into the bowl.

  ‘Not so wild,’ Anna chided them, before murmuring to Jen, ‘He’s a bit upset. Let’s get a coffee, and I’ll explain.’

  Jen had been longing to hold Charlie, but now she approached hesitantly, fearing rejection. She put her hands on his shoulders and he squirmed slightly, but didn’t throw her off. She settled for kissing the top of his head, and whispering, ‘I’m back now. It’s all right.’

  The response was a disinterested grunt. Anna saved her embarrassment by announcing that the mixing bowl had to go in the dishwasher. As she took it from them, Jen felt her phone buzz.

  It was a text from her divorce lawyer, suggesting she drop by for a chat. Deciding not to reply straight away, she helped Anna clean up, then they sent the boys into the garden. Keira sat in a highchair, munching on a carrot stick while Anna made coffee and described how Charlie had woken her in the middle of the night.

  ‘I heard him crying and thought it was just a bad dream. But he’d wet the bed.’

  Jen covered her mouth with her hand. It was a problem that had surfaced when she and Freddie first separated, and continued intermittently for a few months, but as far as she knew it hadn’t happened for nearly a year.

  ‘I didn’t make a big deal of it,’ Anna said. ‘And Lucas sleeps like a zombie. Once I’d changed the bedding and given Charlie a hug – which I told him was from you – he went back off quite quickly.’

  As Jen thanked her, Anna remained sombre, lips pursed. ‘I’m afraid that’s not all. When I fetched him last night, your neighbour was a bit sniffy. She said the police had come round and you’d gone off with them. I didn’t want to pry, but while I was comforting Charlie in the night, he mentioned that you might have been. . . arrested?’ She gave a fluttery laugh, as if it must be a mistake.

  Jen had to nod. ‘I can hardly believe it myself, but it’s true.’

  It took her about twenty minutes to recount the whole story, though she found herself unable to admit to the report of the keys going missing from the Skyway. That detail, she felt sure, would see her condemned even by someone who knew her well.

  Anna listened mostly in silence, and then admitted that she was utterly baffled. ‘I’m lost for words.’

  ‘You don’t think I’ve had a blackout and did it without remembering?’

  ‘I very much doubt it.’ She leaned towards Keira, who was bored with the carrot and trying to escape the highchair. ‘I wonder if the man came home, saw your note and realised it was a chance to stick in an insurance claim.’

  ‘So he smashed up his own artwork?’

  ‘Perhaps it wasn’t selling. Claiming on the insurance is a much faster way to turn property into cash.’

  It was a feasible idea, up to a point. ‘But what about the figurine they found at my flat?’

  ‘That they say they found at your flat. How much do you trust the cops?’

  Jen had to smile. Anna had previously told her about a wild period in her late teens when she’d picked up a couple of cautions for possessing class B substances, an experience that had formed a somewhat jaundiced view of the authorities.

  ‘They didn’t give me any reason to suspect them.’ Jen sighed, then told Anna about the text from her solicitor. ‘God knows what she’ll say.’

  ‘And Freddie.’ Anna grimaced. ‘Will you tell him?’

  ‘I suppose I’ll have to.’ She opened the back door and called to Charlie. ‘Time to go!’

  Their farewell was hampered by Keira, writhing against Anna’s shoulder as she fought off the need for a nap. With Charlie waiting sullenly at the front door, Anna whispered, ‘He’ll be okay. Just keep me updated – and let me know if you can still do Thursday night.’

  Once they were away from the house, Jen offered her hand and felt profoundly relieved when, after a couple of seconds, Charlie’s fingers curled around hers.

  ‘We’ve just got to pop into town before we go home.’

  He groaned. ‘Do we have to?’

  ‘It’s only for a quick chat with Yvonne. Hey, how about if we grab a McDonald’s afterwards?’

  He stared at her in astonishment. ‘You never let me have McDonald’s.’

  ‘Yes, I do. Occasionally. Anyway, I think you’re due a treat, for being so good at Anna’s.’

  He said nothing, and she guessed that he was dwelling on the bedwetting. Then, after a minute or so of silence, he asked, ‘Are you in a lot of trouble?’

  The arrival of a bus gave her time to get her thoughts in order. They sat at the back, opening some windows to lessen the stifling heat. And then, doing her utmost to sound normal, Jen explained that a good deed had somehow been misinterpreted, but would soon be recognised for what it was.

  Charlie listened to the end, his bottom lip protruding, then he thrust his head against her chest and sobbed. ‘I thought you’d gone to prison, and I wouldn’t see you again.’

  His raw anguish speared her heart, and it took every ounce of self-control not to break down. Drawing him into a tight embrace, Jen gave what comfort she could, but the thought of being forcibly separated from him was unbearable.

  It was a good deed, she insisted to herself. So how could it mean that she stood to lose everything?

  The solicitors occupied two floors of a modern office building in Middle Street, a short walk from the seafront. The office next door was home to a visual effects company, which had recently expanded after winning an academy award. One of the partners, an acquaintance of Freddie’s, had
suffered a terrifying home invasion that led to the abduction of his wife and daughter. Jen tried to draw strength from the knowledge that the family had faced a far greater ordeal than her own, and they had come through it.

  So will I, she told herself. So will Charlie.

  Yvonne Cartwright was in her forties, a tall, plump black woman with unruly hair, a Croydon accent and the cheekiest smile Jen had ever seen. She had a fondness for charcoal suits, generally half a size too small, and bright purple eye shadow. Stepping into the reception area, she greeted Charlie with genuine fondness but sent Jen a quick worried glance. Clearly this wasn’t going to be a child-appropriate conversation.

  ‘Will you be okay to wait out here?’ Jen asked him.

  ‘Do I have to?’ Charlie looked with disdain at the low table on which half a dozen glossy magazines were fanned out. The likes of Sussex Life and Latest Homes were never going to capture a seven-year-old’s attention.

  Jen passed him her phone. ‘You can play Lego City. But nothing else.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  She indicated the first of several offices in a short corridor, and Yvonne said, ‘I’ll leave the door open. Come in if you need anything.’

  Jen followed the solicitor into the office, and confided in a whisper that Charlie was still very unsettled by yesterday’s incident.

  ‘I’m not surprised. My jaw hit the ground when you rang.’ Yvonne took her seat behind a desk piled high with documents, reports and folders. ‘Old-fashioned chaos,’ she’d explained when they first met. ‘It brings out the best in me.’

  And she was probably right. Certainly Jen couldn’t dispute the effectiveness with which Yvonne had countered the initial attacks in what Freddie’s representatives had made clear was going to be a long and vicious fight.

  Now, though, she began with an update. After months of arguing over the terms of a possible shared residency, Freddie’s lawyers had announced that an increase in their client’s private income – courtesy of Pa – enabled him to give Charlie far more time and attention than Jen could provide, and as such they were proposing that Freddie should be the resident parent.

  ‘Not so much shifting the goalposts as bashing them down and using them for firewood,’ Yvonne commented.

  ‘But it’s about more than money. I’m far better placed to give Charlie a stable routine. Freddie’s supposed to be a busy professional musician, remember?’

  ‘They’re saying it’s predominantly local session work, with only a minimum of evening gigs, and usually just at weekends.’

  ‘But even that’s not true. Freddie’s lucky if he plays for money half a dozen times a year. He’s in love with the idea of being a musician, because it justifies the lifestyle, the partying, the women. And that’s no environment for Charlie.’

  Yvonne nodded curtly. ‘By contrast, they’re arguing that your shift work is far too intrusive. It’s bollocks, you and I both know that. But it won’t be easy to refute, even without the horror story I got from Tim this morning.’

  A pause. After a heavy sigh, Jen said, ‘I didn’t do it, Yvonne. I can’t have.’

  The solicitor narrowed her eyes at this odd turn of phrase, but Jen had no better way of expressing her tiny, lingering doubt. She ran through Anna’s theory of an insurance scam, but had to concede that it didn’t account for the item they found in her flat.

  ‘No, it doesn’t.’ Yvonne lowered her voice. ‘And as it stands right now, I think you’re gonna be found guilty.’

  Her confirmation of Allenby’s grim prognosis hit Jen like a physical blow. ‘Six to twelve months, according to Tim.’

  ‘Perhaps less. From our point of view, even a week is a disaster. With that in mind, I’m duty-bound to suggest you consider going for a settlement, even if it means making concessions that—’

  ‘I won’t do that. It’s not right for Charlie.’

  Yvonne held up a hand. ‘Hear me out. You have to be aware that whatever ground we surrender now, it could be nothing compared to what they get once you have a conviction to your name.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound nasty, but Freddie’s still a child himself at heart. He has no routines, no discipline, and if you strapped him to a lie detector he’d probably admit that he doesn’t really want full parental responsibility. It’s more about that bloody father of his being determined to win at all—’

  Yvonne’s sideways glance alerted her to the mistake she’d made. Jen looked over her shoulder, and there was Charlie in the doorway, his gaze burning into her, the hurt all over his face.

  16

  ‘All right, buddy?’ Jen tried to keep her voice normal: there was always a chance that he hadn’t picked up on the conversation.

  ‘Can we go soon? I’m hungry.’ He sniffed, and she saw he was on the brink of tears. Of course he’d heard. And he was embarrassed, backing away even as she assured him that they wouldn’t be long. ‘Five minutes at most, and then we’ll get lunch.’

  She turned back to find Yvonne studying her. ‘How have you been sleeping?’ the solicitor asked quietly.

  A shrug. ‘Not great.’

  ‘You have to take care of yourself. The stress of a divorce can cause serious illness – even somebody as fit and healthy as you isn’t immune.’

  Jen thought of the woman who’d shouted at her in the custody suite, the vomit stains all down her front; how easy it would be to lose control, to become weepy and confused and even violent.

  ‘Do you think I did it?’ she asked abruptly.

  Yvonne had a smooth line in evasion. ‘What a solicitor thinks isn’t relevant, as you know. What matters is getting the best possible outcome for you and Charlie, and that’s what Tim and I are here to do.’

  Jen chose the branch of McDonald’s in the Churchill Square shopping centre, but swiftly regretted the decision. The food hall on the top floor appeared to be the exclusive territory of noisy teenagers, making Jen feel almost as oppressed as she had last night in the cell. Charlie seemed unaffected, though – and this was his treat, after all.

  She had said sorry about the conversation he’d overheard, and now she apologised again. ‘I know it sounded like I was being really mean about your dad, and that was wrong of me.’

  ‘He thinks you hate him,’ Charlie said, in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘I heard him on the phone to someone. He said, “I loved her like crazy but I couldn’t live with the bitch”.’

  He cringed as the b-word came out, unsure whether the rules against bad language applied to quotes from other people, but Jen only frowned.

  ‘Did Daddy know you were listening?’

  ‘Um. . .’ Now awkward, Charlie decided that the burger required his full attention.

  Jen took a sip of water. ‘I don’t hate your dad, I really don’t. But there are a lot of things about his lifestyle that worry me – especially if you were living with him for most of the time.’

  Charlie pondered wisely, funnelled a couple of French fries into his mouth and said, ‘I’d keep being late for school. Dad never does anything when he says he will.’

  Jen tried to be diplomatic, though there was no way she could plausibly disagree. This week’s proposed trip to Cornwall was a good example: she’d heard nothing more from Freddie, and Charlie had stopped asking about it.

  They were both subdued on the journey home. Charlie made no comment when they got off the bus a stop early and followed an alternative route to the flat. Nor did he seem to register how quietly Jen opened the front door, anxious to avoid an encounter with Bridie Martin.

  Having popped home earlier to shower and change clothes, she knew that the police had left few traces of their presence. Now, with Charlie watching TV, Jen examined the front door more closely. Somebody must have gained entry to the flat to plant the figurine, and yet there was no sign of any damage; just various nicks and scratches around the keyhole consistent with years of wear and tear.

  She joined Charlie on the sofa, grateful for a chance to cuddle u
p and relax. But within a few minutes he was complaining that it was too hot in the flat. ‘And it’s boring.’

  Jen shut her eyes, sent a prayer for some energy to the gods of parenting and sprang to her feet.

  ‘Beach?’

  Jen was distracted as they turned the corner into Henley Gardens; passing Russell Pearce’s house, it felt like she was being watched, though she couldn’t see him at the windows.

  Then Charlie tugged at her arm. ‘This way’s quicker!’ When she wouldn’t change direction he broke free and ran back into Regency Place.

  ‘Charlie, stop!’ She chased after him, but that just turned it into a game. ‘We’re not going that way.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I said so.’ An answer she’d once sworn she would never give. But Charlie was laughing, putting everything into outrunning her, only faltering when he heard the snarl in her voice: ‘Come here now or you can forget the beach!’

  ‘But Mu-um. . .’ He slowed to a trudge, jerking his shoulders in disgust, then came stomping back.

  Behind him, across the street, there was a man walking towards the X-Trail, parked outside number 14. It was Alex Wilson. Without looking in her direction, he moved towards the back of the vehicle, tapping away at his phone.

  Jen gasped. Was she close enough to be in breach of her bail terms?

  Then came defiance: To hell with it. I haven’t done anything wrong. I ought to be demanding an explanation from him.

  Charlie grumbled: ‘I wanna go this way. I’m tired.’

  ‘It won’t be much further, and we can get an ice cream.’

  She grabbed his hand and hurried him away. Good sense had prevailed: it would have been disastrous to confront the man in front of Charlie. But she wondered how long she’d be able to resist the urge to approach the house.

  It was just after three o’clock when they got to the beach. The hottest part of the day in an exceptionally hot spell of weather, and the sea was blissfully cool and refreshing. Jen stayed in for twenty minutes or so, helping Charlie improve his freestyle technique. He was already a proficient swimmer for his age, and one of the coaches at the Skyway rated him highly, joking that she might never get a lie-in again. The juniors who were serious about their sport were in the pool at 6 a.m.