The Perfect Liar
A completely gripping thriller with a breathtaking twist
Beverley Harvey
Books by Beverley Harvey
The Perfect Liar
Contents
1. Susanne
2. Evie
3. Dale
4. Evie
5. Susanne
6. Dale
7. Susanne
8. Evie
9. Dale
10. Susanne
11. Evie
12. Dale
13. Susanne
14. Dale
15. Susanne
16. Evie
17. Dale
18. Susanne
19. Dale
20. Evie
21. Dale
22. Dale
23. Susanne
24. Evie
25. Susanne
26. Dale
27. Susanne
28. Evie
29. Susanne
30. Dale
31. Susanne
32. Brandon
33. Evie
34. Dale
35. Brandon
36. Brandon
37. Brandon
38. Susanne
39. Brandon
40. Brandon
41. Brandon
42. Dale
43. Brandon
44. Susanne
45. Dale
46. Evie
47. Brandon
48. Susanne
49. Dale
50. Brandon
51. Brandon
52. Brandon
53. Susanne
54. Susanne
55. Star
Epilogue
Hear More From Beverley
Books by Beverley Harvey
A Letter from Beverley
Acknowledgements
1
Susanne
Tunbridge Wells, July 2019
Susanne paces and hunts for a stain to punish. It’s been three days since her son boarded a British Airways flight to Edinburgh and already separation anxiety and cabin fever have set in.
‘Give him some space, Susanne. Cody’s fifteen, for god’s sake. Do you think for one nanosecond that I’d let anything happen to him? Please, love, don’t phone every day, it smacks of you checking up on him – on us.’ Colin had been emphatic during their second phone conversation in twenty-four hours.
Deflated, Susanne had agreed. Col is right of course. Her handsome, smart and independent boy will be just fine with his father during the summer holidays. If only she could convince her heart.
She picks up her mobile phone, thumbs the app for her local gym and books a Pilates class for noon. Rule Number One while Cody’s at his dad’s: keep busy. Which shouldn’t be a challenge: she’s got an autumn 10K to train for, her regular midweek Pilates class with Evie and boot camp with her sadist of a personal trainer, Andreas, on Thursdays.
Then there are her landlady duties to contend with. It always amazes Susanne how much admin and running around two small cottages in the next street actually generates – especially after a tenant changeover when there are always teething troubles, however respectable the family.
So, work and fitness, then. She sometimes wonders who she’s keeping herself in such marvellous shape for.
She looks around her spotless kitchen – a dream kitchen, worthy of any interiors magazine – and is satisfied that there’s truly nothing left to clean; even the windows sparkle in the morning sunshine.
Susanne heads upstairs, twists long, nut-brown hair into a claw and steps into the shower where the warm, scented water has a calming effect. Then, after marching through her skin care routine, she goes to her dressing table and opens her leather jewellery box, ignoring the expensive trinkets gifted by Colin over the years, choosing instead the gold St Christopher bought by her Grandma Amy for her twenty-first birthday.
‘Miss you, Gran,’ she whispers to the mirror as she fiddles with the tiny catch.
After a quick trawl of her wardrobe, Susanne pulls on leggings and pictures Cody in his favourite T-shirt and faded denims, and hopes she has packed enough clothes to last him all summer.
With over an hour until she’s due at the gym, Susanne eschews a third mug of coffee for a cup of Earl Grey and forces herself to sit at the kitchen island and read her favourite magazine.
Exercise: Lifeline or Addiction, screams one headline; Loneliness on the Rise, warns another; then, over the page: Teenagers: When to Let Go.
Feeling like a living cliché, Susanne slams the magazine shut, pushes it aside and wonders how on earth she’ll survive the summer alone.
When her mobile phone shudders beside her she smiles, expecting the text to be from Cody, but it’s Evie, checking she’s still on for Pilates and whether she’s free for coffee afterwards.
Need class and coffee today. See you there. Susanne texts back a reply, adding a smiley face emoji at the end. As she’s got to know Evie, she’s learned that texts without kisses or smiley faces are deemed brusque in Evie’s eyes.
Despite her recent lecture from Colin, Susanne messages Cody. All OK? Miss you xx. It’s all she can do to stop herself texting ‘Mummy loves you, angel, come home at once’.
Car keys in hand, and gym bag over her shoulder, Susanne is about to leave the house when Cody replies to her message. She’s crushed when there are no words, just the slow download of a photograph of her son cuddled up to a liver-and-white spaniel, its eyes huge and a fuzzy blur where its tail should be.
A second message arrives: Melissa’s dog Banjo. So cute!
The dog is indeed as cute as Christmas, but Cody’s economy with words has done nothing to lift her mood. There’s no love, no kisses – and no ‘miss you mum’. She scrutinises the photo. Cody looks happy, playing with the dog (Melissa’s dog), his smile goofy and natural.
So, Melissa is still on the scene. When Col hadn’t mentioned her for a while, she’d begun to wonder if things had fizzled out between them. But Cody’s playful text has sent an entirely different message. The fact that her ex-husband has introduced his girlfriend to his son tells Susanne that they are serious about each other, and for reasons she can’t fathom, tears well in her eyes.
Still in leggings and trainers, Susanne steers Evie towards a window table overlooking the outdoor pool. A handful of people are swimming hard, putting their lunch hour to good use, while others bask in the sunshine, stretched out on plastic loungers, fooling themselves that they’re on holiday.
Feeling despondent, despite the punishing workout, Susanne pastes on a bright smile and focuses on Evie, who stirs her Americano, an expectant look on her flushed face.
‘So, how are you, Evie? What’s going on with you?’
‘I’m well, Susie. Actually, I’m feeling a bit better. More…’ Evie pauses, head cocked while she searches for the right word, ‘hopeful,’ she adds with a positive nod.
‘Well, hopeful’s good, isn’t it? I mean, you’ve been through so much recently…’ Susanne trails off, unwilling to upset her friend with painful reminders of the last few months. She diverts the conversation in another direction. ‘By the way, have you thought any more about going back to work?’
Evie grimaces. ‘It feels too soon, too many loose ends still to sort.’
‘Of course. You’ve probably got enough on your plate without job hunting.’ Susanne falls silent, her thoughts drifting back to Cody.
Evie is watchful, her expression full of concern. ‘Are you all right, Susie? Only you don’t seem quite yoursel
f today.’
‘I’m fine. Just feeling a bit sorry for myself and missing my son terribly; it’s only been three days. I’m pathetic, aren’t I?’
‘Pathetic is the last thing I’d call you, Susie. You’re bound to miss him. He might be as tall as you, but he’s still your child.’
‘You’re right, I suppose – and there’s other stuff that I won’t bore you with.’ With a stab of irritation, Susanne thinks of the adorable spaniel photo. Melissa’s dog.
Evie frowns. ‘Love, you can tell me. For months you listened to me endlessly going on about my problems.’
Susanne scoffs. ‘Yes, I know, but that was different. Your situation was a lot more serious than me feeling a bit miffed because my ex-husband has wheeled out his new girlfriend. And maybe not so new. It’s been at least a year since he first mentioned her, so I guess it’s time.’ Susanne picks up her phone and swipes the screen until she finds the photo of her son playing with Banjo.
‘This came from Cody earlier. Her name’s Melissa and that’s her dog.’
Evie purses her lips and runs a finger around the rim of her coffee cup. ‘Now I’m not a mum, but I can imagine it’s painful to think of Cody spending time with someone else. Don’t beat yourself up, Susie, any mother would feel the same.’
Susanne squares her shoulders. ‘Maybe. God, Evie, all this doom and gloom; I need to get a grip.’
There’s a lull in the conversation while they watch the swimmers thrash up and down, doing their best to avoid each other in narrow lanes.
‘What are you up to this weekend? Do you fancy getting together? We could certainly do with a laugh,’ Susanne says, her tone brightening.
Evie’s face clouds over. ‘Nothing really. I thought I’d make a start on mum’s things. I’ve been putting it off for ages.’
‘Oh, Evie. I’m so sorry. Here’s me banging on about nonsense when you’ve got that to deal with. Why don’t I come over and give you a hand? It’ll be easier with two of us.’
Evie sits up straighter. ‘Thank you, but I think I’ll just potter through it – go at my own pace.’
‘Okay, well if you change your mind…’ Susanne says, feeling spare and useless.
‘Thank you, but I won’t,’ Evie says, her round face set.
2
Evie
Evie heaves herself into black leggings and an orange Lycra vest before stuffing a bottle of water, purse and house keys into a small rucksack. She never showers at the gym and today will be no exception – although as time has passed, she’s become less self-conscious, so perhaps she’ll feel brave enough soon. Anyway, as far as Evie’s concerned, nobody even looks at her, certainly not in the way they actively gawp at Susanne.
Once, they’d been leaving Costa Coffee in Tunbridge Wells when a woman had stopped dead in her tracks and looked Susanne up and down with such unconcealed venom that Evie had half expected scorch marks to appear on her friend’s face.
To her shame, Evie had felt that way once, too, the first time she saw Susanne in the locker room at the gym – bra-less and wearing just the tiniest scrap of lace that passed for knickers and not an ounce of cellulite on her body.
Spellbound, Evie had watched Susanne walk straight to the front of the class where she’d thrown herself into the workout with total abandon, while Evie had hidden at the back, red in the face and breathless, embarrassed by her size.
That was the day she’d decided to do something about it – to change. Walking in alone on that first day had been excruciating. But after a few weeks, it was Pilates every Wednesday lunchtime that kept her sane – and not just because she’d begun to lose weight.
The gentle routine of seeing the same faces at the same time every week had soothed Evie, giving her a simple structure to cling to while everything else spiralled out of control. On the day she broke down in the changing room after class, the entire group of around fifteen women had filed straight past her as she’d sat blowing her nose and wiping away hot, panicky tears, but only one woman had asked if she was okay.
Still glowing from exercise, Susanne had squatted beside her, her clear, tawny eyes full of concern.
‘Oh dear, lovely. Are you all right? Can I help with anything?’
Evie had been mortified – she hadn’t meant to make a fuss, but the night before, over fish and chips destined to be abandoned and left to congeal in their waxed paper, things had come to a head.
‘We need to have a proper talk, Evie,’ her mum had said gently, before dropping the bomb that her cancer had spread, despite a harrowing course of chemotherapy.
‘The thing is, love, it hasn’t worked. All that pain and sickness, losing my hair… all for nothing. I don’t think I can handle any more. It’s time I let nature take its course, Evie – it’s for the best.’
They’d argued, of course, but Jean had dug her little size four heels in, and in the end, Evie had had no choice but to accept her decision.
The following week, she’d resigned from the solicitors, which had felt hard; Evie loved being a legal secretary and took great pride in the way people trusted and relied upon her. Then three weeks later, she’d given notice on her flat – which had been even worse – and moved back in with her mother. Rent-controlled and in a quiet house near the station, with good neighbours and a narrow strip of garden that Evie had lovingly filled with terracotta pots which were a riot of colour all spring and summer long, her flat had been her haven for seven years. Evie wept the day she gave back the keys.
And somehow, she’d ended up leaking her personal disaster all over Susanne, a complete stranger, sitting in the snack bar at the health club, mocked by its cheerful lemon-and-lime walls, her sniffles drowned out by the hiss and roar of the coffee machine and the perky banter of a dozen other gym-goers.
After half an hour, Evie had dried her eyes. ‘Sorry. I bet you wish you hadn’t asked now,’ she’d said with a watery smile.
But Susanne had shaken her head. ‘Don’t be daft. Shit happens to all of us, and it helps to talk. The way you’re looking after your mum is amazing. Not everyone would take that on, you know. You’re tougher than you think, Evie – never forget it.’
Months, and a dozen or so Pilates classes later, on Evie’s thirty-ninth birthday, Susanne had taken her to a swanky department store for a manicure and a sleek blow-dry. Then they’d taken the lift to the rooftop café for smoked salmon sandwiches and champagne. Susanne had even organised a neighbour to sit with Jean while they were out. It was a level of kindness unknown to Evie.
They’d made an odd pair, standing at the front of the chilly crematorium, the air heavy with the scent of lilies and carnations, on that crisp March day. Evie was braced between Susanne and her auntie Cath, her Uncle Ken and her cousins filling the rest of the pew, whilst behind them was a sea of faces, blurred by Evie’s tears, who’d come to say goodbye.
And as the visceral, gaping grief began to give way to something flat, grey and ordinary, Evie had assessed her situation.
She was alone now. She had no choice but to get another job; experienced legal secretaries were hard to find so at the very least she could temp for a while.
But there was no rush, because to Evie’s utter astonishment, thanks to her mum’s parsimony in life, as well as inheriting the small terraced house in Calvert Street, she’d gained a modest nest egg to renovate it with. It excited her to think of putting in a sleek modern kitchen and a pristine new bathroom; of taking down her mum’s twee wall prints of sunflowers and teapots, and kittens in baskets, and painting over her dusty and dated wall colours. It gave Evie a little rush of optimism to imagine replacing the busy, tired carpets and to put up cheerful new curtains and blinds, and when she thought of filling window boxes and the little garden at the back with vibrant geraniums and petunias, she could almost smell their perfume. No. 9 Calvert Street was her house now and she would work hard to make it her own.
The flare of a car horn blasts through Evie’s thoughts; she’d better get a move on or th
e class will start without her. Cheered by the thought of seeing Susanne, Evie shoulders her rucksack, steps into the late morning sun and power walks to the gym.
3
Dale
Dale snaps her laptop shut and strides out to the fire escape which doubles as a balcony. The insistent throb of a neighbour’s drum and bass music and the early evening humidity only adds to her ill humour.
Shit! How dare the woman? Five! Five fucking messages on Facebook, in addition to the three unanswered texts on her mobile. Helena has jogged past keen, sailed right by persistent and has now entered stalker territory.
What part of ‘I’m not into you’ doesn’t she understand? Dale hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but it was a case of being cruel to be kind. After all, Helena hadn’t responded to Dale’s initial – and gentler – attempts to say goodbye.
Fuming, Dale stomps inside and picks up the phone, but it’s not Helena’s number she dials.
‘Susie, it’s me, can you talk?’
The Perfect Liar: A completely gripping thriller with a breathtaking twist Page 1