Lie to Me: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist

by Jess Ryder

  M: Yes. I’ll try…

  E: Any time you want to stop, you just tell me, remember?

  M: It’s okay.

  E: I’m going to count down from five, and when I get to one, you’re going to be grown up and at—

  M: I can’t.

  E: Just relax. Listen to your breathing. Everything’s fine. If you don’t want to go on, we won’t.

  (Pause)

  M: No, it’s okay. I’m okay.

  E: Very well. You’re still Cara, but we’re moving forward in time. You’re no longer a child, you’re grown up and you’re at university. Five, four, three, two, one. (Pause) Can you see yourself?

  M: I think so. I’m walking through campus. Faculty buildings on both sides. Grass. People sitting on the grass, chatting, lying down. Must be the summer term.

  E: Are you with anyone?

  M: I don’t know. Don’t think so.

  E: Look around – can you see any friends?

  M: I’m with someone. My best friend, I think. A woman.

  E: Do you know her name?

  M: No… I don’t know. I’m not sure.

  E: Describe her to me.

  M: Actually, I think this is my university. I think this is one of my memories. Sorry, I’ve… I’ve made a mistake, it’s confusing.

  E: That’s fine, it happens sometimes. Okay, let’s take you away from that. Let’s go back to Cara. I want you to think about Cara again and I’m going to take you forward to the end of her life, her final moments on earth. Is that okay? I’m going to count you down from five and then we’ll be there.

  M: Okay, I’ll try.

  E: No rush. Just concentrate on your breathing… And then five, four, three, two, one… Can you tell me where you are now?

  M: No. Sorry.

  E: Try looking down at your feet again.

  M: I can’t. I… I can’t see anything.

  E: Where are you? Describe the place.

  M: Can’t see. It’s dark. Can’t see a thing.

  E: Are you inside or—

  M: Out. It’s pitch black. (Pause) I’m scared.

  E: It’s night-time, yes? Why are you out in the darkness? Do you know?

  M: Got to get away. Got to hide. I feel dizzy, my whole body’s throbbing.

  E: Where are you?

  M: In the garden… Got to get away… I can’t breathe, I’m shaking… My dress is wet, sticking to me… It’s blood. I’m bleeding… Blood everywhere. I can’t stop it… Got to open the gate… My hands are shaking, I can’t breathe… Everything hurts, my head’s spinning…

  E: Try to stay calm. Tell me where you are now.

  M: I’m at the pool, on the path, bare feet, the stones hurt. Everything’s hurting. Deep, burning pain… I want to run but my legs won’t let me. It’s so dark, I don’t know where I’m going …

  E: Who did this to you?

  M: Got to hide, got to get away… So much pain, so much blood… can’t walk…

  E: Who is it? Do you know them?

  M: I’m trapped, can’t escape… I’m falling… The ground’s coming up to meet me… I hear footsteps. Breathing… They’re coming after me.

  E: Who? Who’s coming after you?

  M: No, no, leave me alone! Please go… (Screams)

  E: Three, two, one… It’s over, Meredith, you’ve left that place. You’re back in the garden, in the old house. Reading a book and swinging gently on the swing. Your father’s in the garage, sorting things out. Everything’s fine. You’re safe. Totally safe.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Cara

  June 1984

  Isobel imprisoned herself in her room for the next three days, only emerging to use the bathroom when she was sure nobody else was around. Cara brought her titbits of food – toasted teacakes, chocolate digestives, luxurious ice cream – and laid them on a tray outside her door. Sometimes the food stayed there for hours, melting in the heat and attracting flies, but she persisted. Nobody was going to accuse her of letting her friend starve to death.

  Downstairs, Cara spent her time wandering from room to room, trailing her fingers through the dust that was accumulating on the antique furniture, browsing through old hardbacks with tiny, unreadable writing, and constantly listening for signs of life above. She only left the house to go to the corner shop, throwing supplies into her basket and running home as fast as she could, imagining all kinds of horrors that might greet her. It was as if she’d left a newborn baby alone in the house. This situation couldn’t go on forever, she told herself. Eventually Isobel would have to come down and face her.

  But then what would happen? Would she have to go home to her parents, back to temping and sending off hopeless applications? Purple Blaze was finished, that much was clear; there was no chance of resurrecting it now. Toby (who’d been very understanding, bless him) had gone back to Kent, and Jay had been banned from the house. They’d had a few whispered phone calls over the past few days, during which he’d apologised and begged her to meet him at the pool as before. At the moment, Cara was refusing. Not because she blamed him, or didn’t want to see him – if anything, she wanted him more than ever – but she needed to put her friend first. Isobel seemed to be having a nervous breakdown and Cara felt the least she could do was be on hand to nurse her through it. She’d thought about calling the doctor, but felt embarrassed about explaining. Isobel was unlikely to do anything stupid, but Cara had cleared out the bathroom cabinet just in case. She was surprised at how spectacularly Isobel had collapsed under pressure – she’d always thought of her as strong and confident, a real fighter. But so many things were turning out to be not as she’d thought, she was starting to wonder if she knew Isobel at all.

  In the end, it seemed to be the unusually warm weather that forced her out of her attic room. It was day four, mid-morning, and Cara was sitting in the conservatory with the door and windows thrown wide open, reading an ancient copy of Great Expectations from a leather-bound set of the complete works. She was so immersed in the story that she didn’t hear Isobel coming down the stairs.

  ‘I’m going to London,’ she announced from the kitchen doorway.

  Cara looked up, shutting the book guiltily. There were dark shadows beneath Isobel’s eyes, but she was dressed smartly and looked as if she’d just washed her hair.

  ‘What do you mean? For a break?’

  ‘No, for good. I can’t stay here, can I?’ Isobel looked around, as if the place revolted her.

  ‘I’m the one that should leave,’ Cara said, her heart sinking as she uttered the words. ‘I mean, this is your house.’

  ‘It’s never really felt like it, and anyway, it’s all been spoilt. I’m going to sell it and share the money with Mum and Uncle Will.’

  ‘Right… I see. Well, you’ve obviously been doing a lot of thinking…’

  Isobel nodded. ‘You can stay here until you get sorted. I’m not in a rush.’ She was wobbling, as if slightly drunk. ‘I’ll be setting up a new company. With a different name, obviously.’

  ‘Oh…’ Cara said.

  ‘I’ll let you know my new address and phone number,’ Isobel went on, stiffly. ‘In case you ever need to get in touch.’ But not so I can visit, thought Cara. She couldn’t bear it – they’d never spoken to each other in this way before, not even on the first day they’d met, when they’d been total strangers. ‘And while you’re here, if you get a chance to do something about the garden… otherwise it’s going to run away with itself.’

  ‘No problem. I don’t really know what I’m doing, but…’

  ‘Thanks.’ Isobel paused, as if expecting Cara to say something. There were a thousand things she wanted to say, but no words came. ‘Right… better go, or I’ll miss my coach.’

  Isobel walked back into the hallway and picked up two large suitcases. Cara was so stunned she didn’t follow her to protest, or even say a proper goodbye. Later, she was cross with herself for letting Isobel leave so easily. If she’d forced her to have a proper talk about what
had happened and why it had gone so wrong, maybe they’d have been able to make up. Then again, maybe she’d wanted her to go; maybe these complicated, churned-up feelings were actually relief.

  The first thing she did was call Jay. His mother answered, shouting out, ‘Christopher! There’s a girl on the phone for you!’ So that was his real name – he’d refused to tell her before. No need for secrets now, she thought. He came over straight away, letting himself in with the key he was supposed to have returned.

  ‘This is a stroke of luck,’ he said. ‘I’d have put money on her chucking you out.’

  ‘What’s in there?’ Cara asked, pointing to his rucksack, although she knew full well.

  ‘My stuff. Save keep going back to Mum’s every time I need clean clothes. That’s okay, isn’t it?’ Before she could answer, he flung it down on the floor and gave her a long, insistent kiss. They went immediately to bed and spent the next couple of hours having noisy, vigorous sex – Cara felt it was a release of tension more than an expression of love, and although she enjoyed it, she still couldn’t fully relax. She kept listening out for the front door opening, or footsteps on the stairs, afraid that Isobel had suddenly changed her mind and come back.

  ‘She’s not that stupid,’ said Jay. ‘She’ll know I’m here.’

  ‘Then why make it easy for us? Why let us use her house?’ Cara sat up and reached for her T-shirt. They’d missed lunch and she was feeling hungry. ‘I suppose she doesn’t love me any more so has nothing to feel jealous of.’

  Jay laughed at that. ‘Isobel, not jealous? That’s a laugh. All this you can stay here as long as you like stuff is just an act. She wants you to think she’s still in control, ’cos that’s the one thing Isobel can’t bear not to have. She wants control over everything and everyone. Especially you.’

  Cara frowned. ‘She didn’t control me.’

  ‘Are you kidding? She was so clever at it, you didn’t even realise. You were her little pet.’

  ‘I wasn’t!’

  ‘Yes you were, but not any more.’ He ruffled her hair and kissed the tip of her nose. ‘You’re going to be my little pet instead.’

  It was a month before Cara heard from Isobel. She didn’t ring, but sent a letter, scrawled in purple ink and signed without a kiss.

  Dear Cara,

  Just wanted to let you know that I’ve moved into a bedsit just around the back of the Tricycle Theatre in Kilburn and am having a great time. There’s loads more happening down here, it’s so much livelier than Birmingham. I’ve started doing some improv workshops and have already made some brilliant new friends. And I’ve finally come out, which is a huge relief. I’ve even met a girl – it’s very early days, but so far it’s going extremely well. She is stunningly beautiful and an incredibly talented actress and seems really keen on me, which is amazing!

  So, weirdly, this letter is to thank you. If you hadn’t betrayed me, I’d still be in grotty old Birmingham, hacking away at Purple Blaze and getting nowhere. I’ve realised that the show we were working on was a pile of crap and a waste of my inheritance money. Luckily, I’ve still got several thousand left so I can pay the rent here and don’t have to get a bar job or anything. So at the moment, life is pretty sweet and I’m really, really happy!

  I’ll let you know when I need you to move out. I’m still going to sell, but right now I’m too busy doing more interesting stuff like falling in love!!

  On that subject, are you still with Jay or have you come to your senses and ditched him? I really feel you are making a big mistake there – you probably think I’m only saying that because I’m jealous, but I’m definitely not. You’ll be pleased to hear that I’m completely over you – in fact, since meeting Alice I’ve realised that my feelings for you weren’t as strong as I thought!

  Please look after my house.

  Will be in touch,

  Isobel.

  ‘What a prize bitch,’ said Jay, when he read it. ‘I bet half of it’s not even true.’ They were lying on a tablecloth in the garden. Cara still hadn’t managed to cut the grass and it was nearly a foot high. The flower beds were suffocating from weeds, and white-flowered bindweed was choking the roses that trailed over the wooden arch. She’d been feeling bad about it – and the lack of housework indoors – but Isobel’s letter had instantly wiped her guilt away.

  ‘It’s like she hates me.’ She picked several daisies and began to make a chain, digging her fingernail into their stalks to make slits.

  ‘You’ll be pleased to hear that I’m completely over you.’ Jay mimicked Isobel’s posh voice. ‘Yeah, right… Too many exclamation marks. When someone keeps telling you how happy they are, you always know the opposite’s true.’

  Cara smiled. ‘So if I asked if you were happy right now, what would you say?’

  He pretended to think about it. ‘Hmm, I’d say I was so depressed I wanted to top myself.’

  ‘Excellent!’ She leant over and gave him a long kiss.

  Later, when Jay popped out for some cans of beer, Cara read the letter again. The spitefulness of Isobel’s tone still shocked her. It wasn’t like her to brag about having lots of money, or to rubbish other people’s work. Their show hadn’t been crap; it had been good. Not that she and Jay were carrying on with it. They’d discussed the possibility of asking Toby to come back and doing it as a three-hander, but neither of them could really be bothered. It wasn’t as if they had any bookings to fulfil. They were both still signing on, and although they were skint most of the time, they were managing.

  Cara tore off Isobel’s address and burnt the rest of the letter in the kitchen sink. Turning on the tap, she washed the black embers down the plughole. Isobel could go to hell.

  A few mornings later, at about eight o’clock, she woke to find Jay wasn’t lying next to her. This was unusual. They’d got into the habit of going to bed in the early hours and not getting up till midday. She sat up and called out his name, but there was no reply. She checked in the bathroom, then downstairs. She looked in the garden, then went out the front and looked along the street, but he wasn’t there either. Panic rose in her throat. Had he left her? What had she done wrong?

  Bertha the Bedford had disappeared too, presumably with Jay driving her. A local garage had resprayed the van purple months earlier in anticipation of their summer tour, but it had sat outside the house ever since as a monument to their failure. Cara wasn’t even sure Jay had a driving licence – he’d recently confessed that he’d failed his test twice. But he must be driving Bertha; there was no other explanation. She went back inside, worrying that he might be stopped by the police. He was up to something, she knew that much.

  It was when she drew back the sitting-room curtains that she realised what that something was. The little velvet armchair had gone, and the door of the half-moon display cabinet was wide open. Cara tried to remember what had been inside – a silver tea set, a porcelain shepherdess, maybe some coloured glass… It was like that game they used to play at children’s parties, when you had to remember the objects on a tray. She’d never been any good at it and was no better now. But things were definitely missing; there were clues everywhere: indentations on the carpet where the feet of something had stood, dust-free shapes on the surface of the mantelpiece and bright squares of wallpaper that had once been covered with paintings.

  Jay had got up early and burgled his own house. Except it wasn’t his own house, was it? It was Isobel’s, and all these valuable antiques belonged to her. Cara felt sick with distress. She’d been angry with Isobel too, but this was going way too far. So much was missing, he must have filled Bertha to the brim.

  He returned early in the afternoon, parking badly with the wheels half on the pavement. Cara, who’d been looking out of the window for the past hour, came running out of the house to meet him.

  ‘What the hell have you been doing?’ she said.

  Jay climbed out, sliding the van door shut. He had a huge smug grin on his face. ‘Redistributing Isobel’s w
ealth,’ he said, taking a wad of notes from his back trouser pocket. ‘There’s nearly four hundred quid here! Four hundred fucking quid.’

  ‘You sold all the stuff?’

  ‘Of course I bloody sold it. What did you think, I took it to the dump? I drove out to Henley-in-Arden; the place is bunged with antique shops. I put on a snobby voice and told them my great-aunt Fanny had died, leaving me her heirlooms. Nobody turned a hair.’

  Cara put her hands to her mouth. ‘Oh my God…’

  ‘Genius or what? Come on, let’s go and get some booze. Time to celebrate!’

  Cara shook her head. ‘You shouldn’t have done it, Jay. It’s stealing.’

  ‘Oh, stop being such a wet blanket. There’s enough money here to last us a month at least. We can buy a load of dope and have takeaways every night!’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Me

  The cold is lodged deep within me; my organs are frozen solid, toes like stones in my socks. I emerge from the consulting room, teeth chattering, and Isobel, who’s been waiting for nearly two hours, leaps to her feet, scooping me up. She helps me on with my coat, but the tips of my fingers have gone waxy and she has to do up my buttons.

  ‘Here, takes these,’ she says, passing me a pair of gloves she’s found in her bag. They are made of beautiful soft black leather, as thin as skin. We walk down the two flights of stairs and step into the street below. I’m too shocked to speak, and, to be fair, she doesn’t ask me any questions, just grips my sleeve and shepherds me across the road when the lights change. I am a lost lamb, chilled in the snow. Take me back to the warmth and light, I think. Take me home before my system shuts down.