One Little Lie Page 8

  The world outside the window darkened as black clouds converged, blanketing the sky completely and plunging the houses opposite into shadow.

  Finally, Connie spotted Lindsay’s car. She smiled as her friend’s red-haired head came into view and she pulled up outside. Her movements were slow as she got out and made her way into the house. Even from the window and in the relative darkness, Connie could see the tiredness etched on her pale face.

  ‘Hiya,’ Lindsay said, throwing her coat over the bannister as she came in.

  ‘Hey! How’s your day been?’ Connie tried to make her tone light; upbeat, but from Lindsay’s expression it’d obviously been a long, hard one.

  Lindsay rubbed her eyes with her fingertips, then dragged her splayed fingers down over her face and neck. ‘Ugh. I don’t think I’ve the energy to tell you about it.’

  ‘That sounds bad.’ Connie followed Lindsay into the lounge. ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘Mack brought us some fabulously healthy Maccies to keep us going.’

  ‘Maybe just as well. There’s not much food left here until I get around to shopping.’

  ‘Ah, sorry – I don’t even know what day I’m on, haven’t even thought about food shopping.’ Lindsay threw herself onto the sofa.

  ‘No, don’t worry, I’ll do it tomorrow after work.’ Connie perched on the edge of the sofa, next to her. ‘Look, I need to say sorry for the third degree from my mother the other night. I haven’t really seen you since …’

  ‘Hah! Really, it’s fine. Interesting being on the receiving end of an interrogation for a change.’

  ‘Hopefully it’s out of her system now. Next time you’re in her company, she’ll be less inquisitive.’

  ‘It’s actually quite nice having someone pay an interest in my work.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Meaning I don’t …’ Connie gave her a gentle push.

  ‘Oi! You know I didn’t mean that.’ Lindsay managed a smile, although even that looked as though it took a lot of effort. ‘Right, I’m done in, Connie. Off to bed for me, early start tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, this missing person’s case? Sorry, I didn’t realise you were dealing with that.’

  ‘There’s so much more to it, I think. Not a straightforward misper.’

  ‘Oh, sounds bad. Poor girl.’

  ‘Tomorrow will be the turning point.’ Lindsay gave Connie’s shoulder a squeeze then turned, leaving the lounge and heading upstairs without expanding on her comment.

  After her day at the prison, Connie’s mind was too full – there was no way she’d be able to go to bed at this time. It was only 8 p.m. She kicked off her shoes and went to the fridge, pouring herself a large glass of Pinot Grigio. She’d wondered whether to confide in Lindsay, tell her about the meeting with Kyle Mann. Maybe even explain how she’d pushed ethical boundaries. But seeing how exhausted Lindsay was, and then her going to bed so early, meant the opportunity was lost anyway.

  For now, she’d have to keep it to herself.

  Connie took a gulp of wine.

  Another secret to add to the list.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Alice

  I’m so tired.

  I dot some concealer, then foundation to cover the dark bags under my eyes. The once-firm skin crumples and puckers underneath my fingertips. I wince as I spread double the amount over my right cheekbone.

  I have to get out of this house today. Do something positive, something to make progress. I fear time is running out. I’ve decided I should go into Coleton every day for the rest of this week, either to her home or work. One way or another, by Friday, she will have invited me to become her friend, her ally. I feel sure.

  I don’t hang around once I go downstairs; no breakfast for me this morning. No dallying – watching TV, checking the online support group or tidying. I grab my coat and bag and leave quickly without a backward glance. I’m a woman on a mission.

  The ground is damp from overnight rain, remnants of it puddling in the dips in the pavements and potholes in the road. The sky is clearer now, thankfully. I don’t want to be stuck outside in bad weather while I wait for her to emerge from her house. Supposing she even leaves her house today. I do hope so, I could do with a spot of luck following the failed attempt to see her at her workplace. Yesterday I’d braved a call, making up a random query and asking to speak with her. They’d said she was unavailable, and when I mentioned calling back the following day, I’d been informed she wouldn’t be in. I wondered if they were lying, but then questioned why they’d need to. If God is on my side, she won’t have left home this early even if she has plans, and I will therefore see her when she does.

  The bus driver looks me straight in the eye and gives a courteous nod as I climb the steps. He recognises me. I’m a regular now. I’m hoping that’s why he gives the nod anyway, not because he knows my face from before. I push the thought aside as I take my seat and the bus rumbles off.

  I need to be careful where I position myself; I can’t wait directly outside her house because obviously I’ll raise suspicion. Plus, if she sees me she might cause a scene, ask me to leave. No, I must play this carefully. I carry on past her house without looking up. The road is long, with a small shop at one end and a newsagent next to it. If I lived here, I’d use these amenities often. So maybe she does too. That would be good, and easier than trying to find out which supermarket she goes to. Although, the downside is it will be far more difficult to make it seem like an accidental meeting. I don’t think she knows where I live, though, so in theory, bumping into her here could be put down to coincidence.

  I must perfect my brief-but-convincing story of why I happen to be in the same place as her. But I can’t really hang around here for hours waiting for an appearance, it would look odd.

  I amble up and down the four aisles of the shop. It’s one of those corner shops that has all sorts in it. I pick up random items, stare at the labels intently for ages before replacing them. Then I move a few steps forwards and repeat the process.

  After doing this for what feels like an hour, I decide I should buy something, or I’m likely to be suspected of shoplifting.

  I opt for a bottle of water and a Mars bar. The sugar hit will keep me going. This could be a long day. I’ll come back a bit later for a sandwich.

  Back outside, I stop and read the notices on the huge corkboard in the window of the newsagent next door, each ‘lost’ poster and every ‘for sale’ post.

  I check my watch. Ten o’clock. I’ve passed an hour, that’s all. I sigh, looking up and down the street.

  There she is.

  I can’t believe it. She’s heading this way.

  I dart inside the newsagent’s, heart galloping, the blood whooshing through my veins. I cross my heart – Thank you, God. I pray she doesn’t walk on by.

  The door clangs as it opens. I turn away quickly when I see it’s her who comes in, so she doesn’t notice me straight away. My heart needs to settle before I make my move. I pull a newspaper from the white, plastic rack and hold it in front of my face, lowering it enough to see her. She approaches the post office kiosk, a large white envelope in one hand. I should be able to time it so I walk in front of her as she’s going back to the door. I’ll take this newspaper to the counter at the same time and bump into her.

  Perfect.

  She glances over in my direction, so I raise the paper again and, for the first time, I look properly at the front page.

  My heart jolts as I take in the headline.

  Still No Leads As Missing Isabella’s Dad Makes Emotional Plea.

  The photo, immediately below the words now floating in and out of focus, is Bill’s daughter. I take a sharp intake of breath. Oh, my dear God. I can’t read the article; my eyes are too bleary.

  I throw the paper back in the rack, holding onto the A-framed structure for support. How has this happened? When? I only saw Bill on Wednesday. I need to know the details, yet I also need to keep to my plan. I take a deep breath, and make to move of
f. The woman behind the counter is casting me a worried look. She probably thinks I’m about to keel over, have a heart attack. I may well do. The shock of this could bring one on, and together with my other stressors, I could be six feet under before I know it. I must get a hold of myself. Concentrate on what I’m meant to be doing. I look around.

  She’s no longer in the queue.

  During the time of my brief distraction, she’s sent her post and left. She’s nowhere else in the newsagent’s. I curse under my breath and head to the door. I can’t be far behind her. I walk outside on shaky legs – if they don’t stop shaking, it’s going to make catching her up very problematic. I can only just make her out ahead of me. She’s gained so much ground. She must be late for something, the speed at which she’s walking.

  She walks in the opposite direction of her house for a fair distance, maybe half a mile or so, before I see her slow, then stop. She disappears from my view, presumably into a house. I am too far behind her to be sure. The opportunity to bump into her accidentally, as I’d planned, has seemingly passed. But I’m nothing if not patient. I’ll have to adapt my plan now, think quickly on my feet if I still want to get into her house today.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Tom

  After checking the coast was clear, Tom climbed the stairs from the basement and grabbed a bowl and the nearest cereal box from the kitchen cupboard. He poured milk over the cornflakes until the bowl was brimming, then stood looking outside the back window while he spooned the food into his mouth. He was starving – couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten, as he’d been so busy meticulously planning his strategy. A few unexpected things had cropped up, meaning he’d had to alter some stuff – add in another level before he could make his kill.

  That was okay. It made the game more interesting. A higher level of difficulty.

  They’d see how good he really was now.

  His player was in place. Safe and secure – away from prying eyes and those who could ruin the plan. Waiting for his command.

  He hadn’t been totally convinced about using a girl this time. But she was a good gamer, and out of the ones in his online gaming group, she’d proved herself the best candidate to take it to the next level – reality. He hadn’t had as long to work on her as he’d had with Kyle, though. And she was more intelligent than Kyle, so there was a bigger risk. She might not keep him out of it if she got caught carrying out his instructions. Would she break and give him up? Kyle never had. That was his strength – he might not be the sharpest tool in the box, but he was loyal. He could use drugs against her, he reasoned; she seemed willing to do most things for easy access to ecstasy tabs – her drug of choice. In addition, he’d done a stellar job of convincing her that her parents were useless, didn’t care about her and shouldn’t be trusted. It’d been the ace up his sleeve and he was chuffed he’d manipulated the situation so well. She was certainly keen to make them suffer now; she’d already made her first move.

  Whether or not he’d made the right choice wasn’t something he could afford to brood on, though. Not now things had escalated. There wasn’t the luxury of time any more. He had to get going now.

  But he still had a couple of other things to take care of before he was ready to go to her.

  Then, and only then, could he hit the ‘start’ button.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Connie

  Connie’s phone alarm woke her with a start. She bolted upright and attempted to rub the lingering dream away with the palms of her hands. Another mash-up of dark images, this time with Kyle and Alice as the stars. Her unconscious was filled with guilt, and now worry. It clearly knew she’d done wrong, using unethical tactics to get Kyle to talk.

  She stumbled into the silent kitchen and flicked on the kettle. As she was about to open the fridge to retrieve the milk, she saw a note under the Mulder and Scully X-Files fridge magnet. Connie had jokingly begun using this as a way of communicating after complaining to Lindsay that she never checked her phone for texts, but it had stuck and now they both used it. She huffed as she read: Sorry, left early, didn’t want to disturb you – not sure what time I’ll be home. Have a good day, L xx

  She’d wanted to have a chat with Lindsay before she left for the prison today. Ask her advice about how to get out of the predicament she’d got herself in. When Connie had discussed going back, doing these assessments for the prison and said she couldn’t face it, Lindsay had encouraged her, said it wouldn’t be like before, because now she had Lindsay. She didn’t need to go through it alone.

  Connie slammed the fridge door. Alone was exactly how she was going through this. She spent most of her time listening to other peoples’ anxieties, helping them manage their problems, now she wanted someone to do the same for her. If Connie had known that Lindsay would hardly be around, wouldn’t be in a position to offer the support she’d need, she most definitely wouldn’t have agreed to do the stupid psychology reports.

  Hopefully today would be the last of them, though. Her final day going through those gates. She’d almost finished gathering all the information she needed to enable her to compile the reports at home. One big push today and that would be the end of it. The thought spurred her on; she made and ate some porridge, downed two cups of coffee, then jumped in the shower.

  ‘Well you’ve got the office buzzing.’ Verity’s words of greeting, along with her big smile, immediately set Connie on edge as she was collected from the main gate. She didn’t need to ask why.

  ‘I obviously have good timing – Kyle was ready to talk,’ Connie said and she shrugged her shoulders as if to back up the statement.

  ‘That’s not what Jen said. She said you have a knack, a flare with the men.’ Verity’s voice was bright, cheery, and her eyes sparkled with what seemed to be admiration. If only she knew.

  ‘A flare with the men, eh? Sounds bad.’ Connie gave a laugh she knew seemed awkward. She was trying to come across as jokey to hide her growing anxiety. But her stomach griped painfully, letting her know it was getting into flight mode.

  ‘So, you’re The One now,’ Verity said enthusiastically as she opened the last gate and let Connie through. ‘You know, like in The Matrix?’ She paused, waiting for a response.

  Connie felt sick. She didn’t want to be The One. Shit. Making this her last day within the prison walls might well be problematic now. Unsure how to respond, she smiled and walked ahead of Verity without saying anything.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Deborah

  It’s not like I can get to him. Kyle Mann. The one who took my Sean away. He’s locked away, doing his time. Justice was served. To a degree, at least. So why don’t I feel better? Why, when faced with the wide-eyed eager face of his mother, do I feel so wretched? So bloody angry?

  Even her voice, the sickly, treacle-covered sweetness of it, sets my teeth on edge. What began as curiosity has grown, nurtured by a deeply ingrained sense of being cheated, into full-blown obsession. I need to find out more about her. Need to make this woman see she is responsible for what her son did. What she allowed her son to do. You can’t tell me she had no idea. She must’ve thought something was very wrong for him to spend hours and hours shut away in his room playing violent games. In court, it was said ‘he was left to his own devices from a young age’.

  It’s down to her then. She created a monster.

  And now Alice has shoehorned herself into my life. For reasons my mind is blocking from conscious thought, I’ve allowed her to. I know she often stands outside my house, waiting for an opportunity to pounce. She’s a fucking predator. Like mother, like son? I think she has a screw loose. Her need to have me as a friend, some kind of ally in our shared grief, as she’s currently describing it to me, is sick. Her son is alive. Mine is dead. How can she be grieving?

  You can go and visit your murdering bastard of a son in prison.

  Somehow, despite their potency, those words don’t make it from my mind to my mouth. My lips seal them inside
.

  Just.

  She sits, my bone china teacup rattling in its saucer as she balances it precariously upon her knee, watching me. Waiting for my response to her question.

  The pressure builds inside of me. It makes it hard to remember what she asked. Makes it hard to stay calm; serene.

  ‘Sorry,’ I shake my head, ‘I’ve forgotten what you asked me.’

  Alice gives a nervous giggle. ‘I was asking about how you manage. I know I get days where I struggle to get out of bed.’ She reaches forwards with her drink, slopping some tea into the saucer as she places it on the table. ‘Although, I suppose you have your husband to help.’ She quickly lowers her gaze – maybe because she catches the expression that must be on my face, or because she knows the absurdity of the question. How does she want me to respond?

  The urge to launch myself at her, pull her hair out, is strong.

  She honestly thinks she is the victim in all of this.

  I take a moment to compose myself, and suddenly I know what to do – how to continue this bizarre interaction, now and in the future. Because she will keep coming; she’ll be there at every turn until I give her what she’s after. Yes, the only way forwards is to tell Alice what she wants to hear. Make her think she’s bringing me around to her way of thinking, allow her to believe we are alike, that we are both going through the same thing – both traumatised at the loss of our sons.

  Make her believe she is forgiven.

  Then, when she least expects it, I can deliver the truth.

  I want her to hurt as much as I do.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Alice