‘Dale. Hello, darling. Are you all right? Only you sound a bit cross.’
‘Ha! That’s one word for it. Actually, no – I’m not all right. You remember Helena, that girl I was seeing?’
There’s a pause on the line. ‘No, I don’t think you mentioned her,’ Susanne says.
‘Ah, well there you go – that’s because it was just a fling.’ Dale is triumphant, adding ‘Just a… thing… that meant nothing, and now the woman won’t leave me alone!’
Cradling the phone against her shoulder, she opens the fridge, removes a bottle of pinot grigio and sploshes some into a large glass.
‘That’s better,’ she sighs after taking a big glug of the chilled wine. ‘Okay, Susie – where was I?’
‘You were telling me about your stalker. So, let me get this straight. Helena is some woman you saw a couple of times and now she won’t take no for an answer. Ooh, you callous heartbreaker, you.’ Susanne chuckles softly.
‘It’s not funny! She’s a barista in my favourite coffee shop. I’ll have to go elsewhere for my pre-school flat white now… or… or settle for bloody instant in the staffroom, yuk!’
Susanne giggles. ‘Oh, Dale. Sweetheart, I’m sorry – but you’re such a drama queen!’
‘What can I say? Guilty as charged; it’s my job. Oh, but what am I going to do about this girl? Seriously, she’s left me about ten messages and we only met twice. Once we went to some tedious book fair on the South Bank, and the other time we had a drink and I… slept with her. And, Susie, believe me when I say, it wasn’t good. So, I said I’d made a mistake. That’s it. End of.’
‘Not for her, apparently. Your place or hers?’ Susanne asks.
‘What? Oh, hers of course. I mean, I’m not stupid, she doesn’t know where I live. Yet. But she knows where I teach, because I told her on our first date – and I’m worried she’ll rock up at school. Thank god we break up for summer in a couple of weeks.’
‘Okay, just don’t give the woman any oxygen. Ignore her.’ Susanne’s tone is firm.
Dale drains her glass, refills it. ‘You don’t think I should tell her to bog off?’
‘No, do nothing. Remember that guy I had problems with last year? The muscly one from the gym… anyway, we didn’t even go out, let alone shag – but all my polite, wheedling refusals just gave him the attention he craved. He soon stopped contacting me when all he got was silence. Dale, you still there?’
Dale takes another swallow; the wine is beginning to take effect. ‘Yes, just thinking. Anyway, sorry, I haven’t even asked about you. How are you? When does the boy wonder leave town?’
‘He’s already gone. Cody left three days ago. I felt sick putting him on the flight. I know he’s with Colin and I’m being ridiculous, but I miss him so much. Now I’m rattling round this big house, wondering how I’ll get through the holidays.’
Dale’s mood softens. ‘Bless you, Susie. I’m sorry. Do you want me to come down?’
‘Would you? A visit would be fab. In fact, why don’t you come for the weekend? Get away from what’s-her-name. We can go out in Tunbridge Wells on Saturday night, let our hair down a bit. Shall I pick you up halfway? Sydenham to here is a right faff by train.’
‘It is, but don’t worry, I’ll borrow Mum’s car, she won’t mind. Shall we say sevenish? It’ll be great to see you. Sorry for being a grumpy cow. Lots of love, honey – keep your pecker up.’
Mollified by the wine, Dale slumps on the sofa. Outside, the sun is sinking below the stucco-fronted flats on the other side of the park where she’d meant to cycle for half an hour before marking essays on Macbeth. Now she’s too lethargic to do anything more productive than forage for a ready meal in the freezer and find a drama serial on TV.
She reflects on the weekend. It will do her good to get out of London, and anyway, a stay at Susanne’s swanky pad is never a chore.
Even at school, it was a standing joke that with her looks, Susanne was bound to do well for herself: that she’d meet a rich man and live in a big house somewhere smart and leafy.
Marrying Colin Campbell, an Edinburgh-born fund manager, and buying a period town house with a view of the common in Tunbridge Wells had ticked several boxes in one hit. But the dream hadn’t included divorce, nor failing to get pregnant a second time. Dale of all people knew that as perfect as it appeared, Susanne’s life was as flawed as anyone’s and that she nursed her own brand of pain and disappointment in private.
Aware she has already drunk two thirds of a bottle, Dale excavates her freezer and is digging into an indeterminately flavoured pasta bake when her mobile pings with another text from Helena. Fuck you bitch is all it says. Dale hurls her phone across the sofa, then casts the remains of the gloopy red mush into the bin, her appetite vanished.
She rakes long fingers through her floppy blonde crop. ‘Roll on the weekend and getting out of Dodge,’ she says aloud, draining the last of the wine and switching on the television.
4
Evie
Outside the master bedroom, Evie hesitates. She pushes the door open; it drags on the pile of the rose-patterned carpet. She rarely comes in here: the room where five months earlier, Jean’s eyes had fluttered open for the last time, moments before she’d taken her last breath. Evie stands within its peach-coloured walls and feels the sadness weigh upon her like an old eiderdown.
A dry smell, like stale biscuits, has gathered now, not helped by the heat. She heaves up the sash window which has stiffened from lack of use. Dust motes dance in the sunshine as fresh air pours in.
She pads to the wardrobe where Jean’s best wool coat hangs beside a row of tweed skirts, slacks and cotton blouses; a beaded dress shimmers beside a Nehru velvet jacket – both bought for a theatre trip organised by Evie on Jean’s sixty-fifth birthday.
On the dresser, shrine-like, her mother’s toiletries have garnered a thin layer of dust. A zipped floral bag, crammed with cracked palettes of eye shadow and face powder, tubes of worn-down coral lipstick and a pot of rouge, sits beside a barely used bottle of Lalique that has begun to cloud. Evie picks up Jean’s hairbrush, still laden with her DNA, and a sob escapes her throat. She tears a bin liner off a roll and gets to work.
By five o’clock, Evie is tired, hot and dirty. On a whim, she calls Susanne.
Susanne’s tone is gentle. ‘Hi Evie, how did it go today?’
Evie puffs out her cheeks and exhales slowly. ‘It was hard, Susie. But I’m glad I finally got over myself and dealt with it. Mum’s house is mine now and I have to move forward. So, anyway, I filled at least a dozen bin liners for the Sue Ryder shop, put some things in the loft and packed a little suitcase of all the bits I want to keep… you know, jewellery and photos and so on.’
‘Well done. Bet you’re relieved, aren’t you? Look, why don’t you jump in the shower and come over? It’ll do you good to kick back a bit. Dale’s coming later, my old school friend. I’ve mentioned her before – the one who teaches at the big comp in south London.’ Susanne’s laugh tinkles across the phone line. ‘Dale’s feisty but great fun and she can cheer anyone up.’
The company of happy, shiny, good-looking people holds little thrall for Evie. But the thought of another Saturday night spent alone in the shadows of her mum’s house, wallowing in memories, is worse.
‘If you’re sure I won’t be gatecrashing your evening, that would be lovely.’ The words are out before Evie can think them through.
‘Absolutely not! Get your lippy and some high heels on and we’ll hit a couple of bars. Dale’s fab – honestly, you’ll love her.’
Evie feels guilty as she showers away the day’s misery, spritzes on perfume and slips easily into her best jeans and wedge-heeled sandals. She pats her shrinking midriff. There’s no diet like the Grief Plan, she muses. A slick of lip gloss and two coats of mascara later, she totters across town in the direction of Susanne’s.
Outside the grand townhouse, Susanne’s white Range Rover dwarfs a red VW Polo that Evie has never seen bef
ore. As she stands there gripping the tissue-wrapped bottle of white wine she bought en route, Evie fights the urge to creep away unseen. But before she can escape, the sound of a sash window opening rumbles overhead. Susanne leans out, her hair falling around her face. ‘Hi! I’ll come down.’
Seconds later, there’s a clack of high heels behind the front door. Evie takes a deep breath and smiles.
Susanne glows, sleek in midnight blue jeans and a silk vest top.
‘Hey! You look gorgeous,’ Susanne says, giving Evie a hug. ‘Is the wine for me? Bless you, you shouldn’t have. Come and meet Dale.’
Stomach knotted with anticipation, Evie follows Susanne into the tiled hallway, passing beneath an exquisite chandelier and into the kitchen which leads to an orangery. Slouched against the island in the centre of the room is a coltish-limbed blonde in a silver vest top, black jeans and battered cowboy boots. She straightens up, beams at Evie and extends one slim brown hand.
‘Hi Evie, I’m Dale. Susanne’s been filling me in. So sorry to hear about your mum – must have been awful. You need a drink!’ Right at home, Dale fills a glass from an already open bottle and hands it to Evie.
She’d struggled across town in high heels, her feet swelling in the heat as she walked, but now Evie wonders why she’s even bothered; the top of her head could tuck under the chins of both women. Her confidence flounders. Why is she here, in the company of these glamazons? They are not her tribe.
Susanne raises her glass. ‘Cheers, girlies. Thanks for coming over. We’ve all had a pig of a week and we’ve bloody earned this,’ she says, taking a large swallow of wine, and adding, ‘Our cab is booked for eight, so drink up.’
Embracing the party mood, Evie smiles gamely then splutters on her wine as she attempts too much at once.
Susanne giggles. ‘I thought I was the only one who did that,’ she says, handing Evie a tissue to wipe her eyes.
They hover by the island exchanging small talk for a while, ignoring the nibbles that Susanne has put out as though they’re only for decoration.
When their car arrives – a gleaming new Mercedes – Susanne and Dale fold themselves into the cavernous back seat. Evie hesitates then sits in the front, wondering whether or not she should chat to the driver.
In sensible shoes, the distance to The Gallery would be walkable, but Evie is glad of the lift. Her pink puffy feet have already rebelled and it’s a huge relief to sit down at a window table.
Dale announces she’s starving after a long bike ride in a south London park. Susanne agrees and soon they are ordering an array of tempting platters to share and topping up each other’s glasses with prosecco.
‘Is it naughty to order another bottle?’ Susanne asks, her face a picture of innocence.
‘Naughty? Bollocks to that!’ Dale replies with a wave of her hand and a mimed exchange with the waitress. She leans forward and lowers her voice. ‘So, Evie, what would you do in my shoes?’ she begins, launching into a complicated story about an obsessive barista with a crush on her.
Susanne giggles and rolls her eyes. ‘Oh, not this again. Dale, I told you what to do; just blank her, you know it makes sense.’
Evie hesitates. ‘Sorry, Dale, I’m the last person to ask. Nothing exciting ever happens to me, so I’ve got no experience of… stuff like that.’ Embarrassed by Dale’s candour, Evie feels her cheeks redden, but by the time they are on their third bottle, she has hit her stride and all three women are screeching with laughter – to the point where the manager asks them to tone it down a bit – which only makes them laugh harder.
‘Oh, I’ve loved tonight, it’s been brilliant,’ Susanne says. ‘We should do this more often.’
‘Oh, yes please,’ Evie agrees, her stomach sore from laughing. ‘I wasn’t really in the mood for tonight, but I’ve had the best time.’
‘Hey, you know what we need?’ Dale says, her expression thoughtful.
‘More prosecco?’ Susanne suggests.
‘Good point, but I was thinking more of a holiday. A bit of R and R in the sunshine would do us all the power of good.’ Dale’s eyes glitter with mischief.
Evie appraises Dale. Earlier, she’d been shocked by her lesbian stalker saga; now she gets it – the woman lights up a room.
‘Sounds dreamy,’ Evie says, ‘But I can’t afford a holiday, I’m not working, am I?’
Susanne leans forward, her face eager. ‘No, but you’ve just inherited. Bet your mum would approve. You’ve had a terrible year, Evie. You should treat yourself,’ she says with conviction.
5
Susanne
It’s after nine when Susanne surfaces with a sour taste in her mouth and an insistent buzzing in her head. Listening for signs of life from the guest suite, she hears the shower running and smiles as she remembers how even from a tender age, Dale’s capacity for alcohol far exceeded her own.
With a feeble groan, she pulls on sweats and heads for the kitchen.
Dale strides in a few minutes later.
‘Ooh, you smell gorgeous,’ Susanne says, as she hugs her friend.
‘Cheers. That’ll be the lemon-and-grapefruit shower gel and body lotion I’ve just borrowed. You run this place like a hotel, Susie.’
Susanne studies her friend. With damp hair and no make-up, Dale could be a decade younger than her forty-two years.
‘I just want you to be comfy, darling. Anyway, why are you so bloody perky? There’s a woodpecker in my head.’ Susanne massages her temples. ‘I wonder how Evie’s doing.’
But after wholemeal toast with honey and two strong cups of tea, Susanne is back on form and remembering the conversation from the night before.
‘Okay, so you know we talked about getting away this summer, somewhere warm and glamorous,’ she begins.
Dale’s eyes widen. ‘Are you serious? That was just my prosecco-speak.’
‘Well, maybe it was, but why can’t we? My son’s away, you’re about to start the school hols and Evie’s between jobs while she gets her life sorted. I mean, hell-oo? Could there be a better time?’
‘Well, put like that… but I can’t afford to just swan off, Susie.’
‘Ah, but what if we could stay somewhere seriously gorgeous for mates’ rates?’
‘Interesting. Go on.’
‘My neighbours who live next door-but-one have a villa in Tuscany – Veronica and Eddie, they’re called. Ronnie can come across as a bit brusque but she’s a complete sweetheart once you get to know her. Anyway, I know they’re not there themselves because I’ve seen them around town and—’
‘And you think they might lend us their house?’ Dale has beaten her to the punch, her eyes sparkling.
Susanne shrugs. ‘Maybe. Surely it’s worth an ask?’ she says, scrolling through her mobile for Ronnie’s number.
An hour later, resplendent in a canary yellow cotton shift and Jackie O sunglasses, Veronica sips espresso in Susanne’s sun-filled orangery.
‘And this,’ she says, angling her tablet towards Dale and Susanne, ‘is the view from the sun terrace. Look, you see those towers in the distance? That’s San Gimignano – which is soo charming and less than half an hour away by car. There are other, closer villages, of course – but we love San Gimi,’ she sighs, pronouncing it like the boy’s name.
Susanne’s gaze is wistful. ‘Can’t believe you’re not there yourself, Ronnie. If I owned a villa in Tuscany, I’d be there half the year.’
‘Darling, you say that, but it rarely works out that way. Eddie is having surgery in ten days’ time – otherwise we might have spent the summer there ourselves.’
‘May I?’ Susanne takes the tablet from Ronnie and swipes through a dozen or so images. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t mind lending us the house for a month or so? We’d pay, of course,’ she goes on, unable to tear her eyes from the screen.
Ronnie smooths her dress over tennis-honed thighs and pushes her sunglasses up onto her head. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t charge you; you’d be doing me a favour.’
> ‘Really? How do you work that one out?’ Dale’s expression is quizzical.
Veronica’s smile is indulgent. ‘My godson, Harry, is staying there for the summer. He’s been travelling around Europe for a few weeks. Bless him, he’s at a bit of a crossroads. He has a business degree from Cambridge, but now he’s not sure he can hack a career in the City – and he’s already had one false start as an intern. Anyway, his parents agreed to fund his travels as long as he learned a language along the way. So, now he’s supposed to be learning Italian.’ Veronica’s laugh is affectionate. ‘Harry’s a good kid really – and smart, too – he should be, considering what his father spent on his education. Regardless, boys will be boys and I’d be somewhat reassured by a steadying adult influence.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Crestfallen, Susanne chooses her words carefully. The idea of babysitting someone else’s son when her own is far away and much missed holds little appeal.
‘Er, well… do you think Harry would mind sharing with three ladies?’ she says eventually, adding, ‘I mean, we wouldn’t be very exciting company for him – would we, Dale?’
Dale flashes Susanne a desperate look, unsure how to answer.
Veronica crosses her legs and leans forward. ‘Of course, the villa’s huge so you wouldn’t be under each other’s feet. Even the pool’s a decent size.’ She stands and looks from Susanne to Dale. ‘Why don’t you think it over and let me know in a day or two?’
‘Look, I get it, Susie. Cody’s at his dad’s all summer and you’re wondering why the hell you should look after someone else’s son. But I can’t believe you’d turn down a month in Tuscany, in that fabulous villa for the price of a flight. I think we should go. You heard what she said: he’s been privately educated and he’s having a last fling… he’s not some gormless teenager who’ll be looking for mummy substitutes, is he?’ Dale cackles with laughter. ‘Because good luck with that! I bloody hate kids.’
The Perfect Liar: A completely gripping thriller with a breathtaking twist Page 2