Don't Ever Tell: An absolutely unputdownable, nail-biting psychological thriller

by Lucy Dawson

  It’s my turn not to say anything as we emerge into the cold night air. At the change in temperature, Teddy shivers and huddles into Noel more closely.

  ‘This is me here.’ I point at the car. ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘You got lucky, getting a space so close – we’re about ten miles away. You open the door and I’ll pop him in.’

  I watch as he carefully puts Teddy in his car seat, pulling the belt across gently so as not to disturb him. Tris should be doing this. Noel straightens up but his smile fades when he sees I’m crying.

  ‘I’m so sorry!’ I say, embarrassed. ‘Please, just ignore me. Long evening – I’m really tired.’ But the truth is, I’m suddenly so angry with Tris for doing this to us, that the tears are as good as burning my skin.

  I expect Noel to react like most men: woman-who-I-don’t-know-that-well-crying! Mayday, Mayday! But he actually gives me a hug. It’s really sweet of him – I think – except finding myself in the warmth of a familiar man’s arms… only not my husband’s… just makes everything worse. It’s like the dream I have sometimes: I’m still with Daniel. It’s so vivid I can remember exactly what it felt like to have him touch me. Only we’re now married. He’s acting like everything’s normal but I know, I know there’s someone else… someone else I’m supposed to be with… then I wake up feeling sick with relief to find Tris alongside me. Or at least, that’s what used to happen.

  My head starts to swim and I pull back. I want Noel to let me go. ‘Thank you,’ I mumble, my brain finally grinding into gear. ‘It was just very frightening not knowing how much Teddy had drunk. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your son.’

  ‘You’ve got some help at home?’ he asks, obviously trying to decide if he ought to let me drive off. ‘Tris is there?’

  ‘Yes,’ I lie. ‘He’ll be back from work by now.’

  ‘Oh, OK.’ Noel gives me a thumbs up. ‘Sorry us Dads are so rubbish. We mean well, I promise.’

  I laugh – it’s a horribly fake sound. ‘We know! Don’t worry! Cheers, Noel, you’re a star. Say hi to Kerry for me, won’t you?’

  Teddy is snoring as I start the car and reverse out of the spot. I glance in my rear-view mirror and wave, as Noel turns and walks back into A&E.

  Where is my husband?

  He should be here.

  TWELVE

  MIA

  I manage somehow to get through the show, but when I dash to my phone once the curtain is down, there’s not a single message. I try him again, but it’s just his work voicemail. In the pub, I double-check everything obsessively: texts, WhatsApp – even email… but there’s nothing from him. All I discover is that the mail I sent to Charlotte earlier didn’t actually send, so I re-send it. I hope she hasn’t already seen the news and is pissed off I didn’t tell her myself. I wouldn’t blame her for being annoyed though, it does look slack. She would never be so disorganised.

  Everyone, including Theo, wants to buy me a drink. I try really hard to insist I don’t want a hangover for the last shows tomorrow, but they keep pushing and pushing. My refusal starts to look churlish, so I give in and I promise myself I will stop after one. It will honestly and truthfully be one – but Theo buys a double, to prove how generous he is really, and it does start to relax me. I feel my tension about Kirsty easing away and after that it’s the same old stupid pattern. I end up knocking back several doubles far too fast. It’s on the brink of turning really messy, I’m starting to think to hell with it, let’s stay out – before I decide suddenly that I want to go home after all. I want Seth. Where is he?

  I weave back to the station in the hammering rain, my umbrella dipping and diving all over the place as I try to hold it up, dimly aware that people are staring at me, so I try to walk in a straight line down the wet pavements, swinging my hips carelessly like I’m just fascinating, actually. Sophisticated. Hot. NOT three sheets to the already blowing wind. I should have got a cab, it’s bloody horrible out here.

  At the station I’m raging hungry all of a sudden – as well as cold and wet – so I buy some chocolate on the platform and eat it while I leave Seth a voice message telling him it’s half past eleven, I’m on my way home and he should come round to the flat if he’s able to, I want to see him… It’s been an insane day and I’m starting to feel really weird. I want Seth’s arms around me, where I feel safe, protected – normal. I look up to see a bloke watching me, half smiling – and scowl back at him. I have not just made a booty call, thank you very much. Get back to your phone and mind your own. I love Seth and he loves me. I deliberately choose a different carriage to the perv. Safety first.

  At the other end, I stagger up my road against the rain, having given up on my umbrella because it keeps folding in on itself. I just drop it, blown out backwards – and it skitters down the pavement into the gutter. I don’t care anymore – I’m busting for a wee… but I hesitate as I round the corner of the drive. The house is completely dark and a bit creepy-looking as I zigzag over the gravel up to my front door. I’d forgotten Julia upstairs is away this weekend. I don’t like it when I get home and all of the lights are off. I get in, peel the wet clothes from my body and towel-dry my hair, having put some music on to banish the quiet. I have LOVED Fisher’s ‘Losing It’ since I saw him at Coachella even though it’s everywhere now and cheesy as hell. I wish I’d stayed out, after all… But I’ve done so well recently. I so don’t want to mess things up just as it’s starting to get really good. I decide to try my new dress on instead.

  ‘Mia Justice, author, relaxes at home and reflects on a life-changing year,’ I whisper to my reflection in the wardrobe door, stumbling slightly as I twirl and the sparkles catch the light – the track is starting to build and I lift my arms up above my head, but the joy has gone. Just as suddenly, I stop and sink down onto the bed, anxious, afraid – and really stressed. Where is Seth? No! I should go out. I’m not going to sit around waiting for him like some little good girl. I could go back into town and find the others? I slip a strap from my shoulder to get changed – but then, this is not like him.

  I jump up and yank open the bedside table drawer, pulling out a packet of fags. I need to calm down. A ciggie is better than doing something else. I’ll just have this and decide what to do. I start the track again, get up and weave through to the living space, past the sofa and throw open the bifolds, mindful of my promise to Mum and Dad not to smoke in the flat. It’s stopped raining but it’s really wet out on the decking and I’ve got bare feet. I light up and hover on the threshold instead, blowing anxious clouds into the garden that lies beyond, shivering in the cold and absently nodding my head to the beat of the music. Seth doesn’t just not call. He doesn’t disappear. Something is wrong, I know it. I inhale deeply and try not to panic as I stare at the bushes and trees in the darkness, casting odd shadows while various scenarios begin to creep into my head. Seth ill, or hurt – alone and no one having realised. I picture him lying on the floor of his flat, his mobile having fallen from his fingers as he fell, having blacked out from a stroke, tumour or heart attack… or in a pool of blood having been attacked as he unwittingly disturbed a burglary. I stub the rest of the fag out on the wall and flick the butt onto the grass beyond. Why didn’t I think of this before? I must go to his flat immediately! There’s no time to waste! I am about to shut the bifold when the front door buzzer goes. I can just about hear it over the music. I hurry into the hall and peer through the peephole only to see the back of Seth’s head. Oh, thank you, God! The relief is so huge I feel sick and giddy as I fling open the door.

  ‘Sorry about the noise. I’ll turn it off – you’re here! I’ve been so frightened!’ But as he turns round the sound dies on my lips. He looks terrible. His shirt is slightly untucked and despite the icy night air, I can smell the warm sweet/sour stickiness of stale booze on his breath and skin. He has also clearly been crying.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Appalled, I reach out to take his arm but he yanks back, away from me.

  ‘“
What’s happened”?’ he repeats staring at me. ‘You really just said that? You little bitch!’

  I recoil in shock.

  ‘You thought I wouldn’t notice? How stupid do you think I am?’ He pushes in through the door and slams it roughly behind him. ‘Except I fucking did trust you! I believed you! And all the time – all the time you must have been laughing at me. You warned me, didn’t you, at the station? Was it just an act then? You said you loved me!’

  With that last shouted accusation he suddenly moves across the space with a speed I’m not expecting, grabbing my face around my chin and shoving me backwards like we’re doing some sort of violent tango, until I thump roughly up against the wall. He pushes my head back, hard.

  ‘Ow! Seth stop it!’ I cry, terrified. ‘You’re hurting me! What are you doing? It’s me! Mia! I love you – I would never hurt you! Let me go, please!’

  ‘You don’t LOVE me! You LIED TO ME!’ Tears are streaming down his face, he looks deranged, a stranger – no hint of the gentle man I love. ‘You LIED and you stole it from me! LIAR!’ His face contorts; the harder he pushes the angrier he becomes, or maybe it’s the other way round.

  It all happens very fast. The music is building again, about to drop, I’m not sure if his hand slips because he’s drunk, or he means it to – but suddenly he isn’t pushing on my jaw, it’s my throat. It’s extraordinarily painful and I can’t breathe properly. I start to writhe against the wall. My hands flutter up like butterflies, pulling at his fingers in panic.

  I’m going to die.

  He’s going to kill me.

  THIRTEEN

  CHARLOTTE

  ‘Well done. You got him down then?’ Flo looks up as I come into the sitting room.

  ‘Yes, he barely woke. All that paracetamol. Thanks so much for coming. I hope I haven’t ruined your night?’

  She waves a hand. ‘I wasn’t doing anything, don’t worry.’

  ‘You didn’t have plans with Harry?’

  She shakes her head and smiles bravely. ‘Over. Done. So,’ she sits forward on the sofa and becomes business-like, ‘do we know exactly where Tris is yet?’

  ‘Nope.’ I move over to the fireplace.

  ‘Still nothing?’ My sister looks momentarily furious. ‘Even if he was driving to Wales he’d have arrived by now, surely?’

  I sigh helplessly and check my phone again. No WhatsApp, no texts, no voicemail, no – hang on. What on earth is this? I straighten up quickly. An email from Mia? When did it arrive? Quarter to eleven – just as I was leaving the hospital.

  ‘Sorry – one second.’ I hold up a hand and scan the contents quickly, as well as the article at the attached link. My mouth falls open. It’s happened and it’s already been in the papers? How? My heart seizes. Has Tris seen this? He must have. That’s what this is about. Either he’s sitting in a bar somewhere, shocked and panicking, or he’s gone to confront Mia. I swallow and look up at Flo, stunned.

  ‘What?’ she says warily. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Um…’ I hear my voice waver.

  ‘Charlotte?’ I can hear a warning tone creep into her voice. ‘Tell me!’

  A strange excitement ripples through my body. My fingertips actually tingle. I’ve done it. The sense of calm that settles over me that now there’s really no going back is almost liberating. I close my eyes for a moment and it’s like standing on the edge of a foreign beach as the sun sets; the last rays shining on my face as the cool breeze of evening begins to blow and lifts my hair in a cloud around me. I feel momentarily exotic… a different person. I take a deep breath and look right at my sister. ‘I’ve done something.’

  Flo freezes for a moment and, very slowly, she sits back on the sofa and adopts the position I imagine she uses for clients: legs crossed – but hands in her lap because she’s not taking notes. She settles in and then looks right at me. ‘Something bad?’

  ‘Um…’ I clear my throat. ‘You know during your first session with Mia? You were jolted the second she walked in because she looked exactly like a younger me… then this girl you’d never met before sits down and tells you all about her boyfriend, Seth… you see a picture of her hugging your brother-in-law on her screen saver and you realise your new client is sleeping with my husband. You then tell me.’ I stop for a moment. I’m starting to feel hot. Less like I’m in cool, white linen on a beach after all. I wish I had a glass of water or something. ‘You’ll remember I asked you to tell me what theatre she was in, so I could go and see her for myself? Make sure it was really her?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ she says slowly. ‘I think you need to stop buying time and get to the point. What have you done?’

  ‘I promised I wouldn’t speak to her, but you were right. I actually spoke to her quite a lot.’

  ‘I knew it!’ Flo springs up and marches to the window before swinging back and jabbing an accusative finger at me. ‘I knew you were lying. What did you actually discuss – and the truth, this time.’

  ‘I made her an offer. I asked her to pretend to be me.’

  Flo draws back in confusion. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I told her although I’ve got a really good book to submit to publishers, they don’t want to buy into me personally because I’m too past it. I explained I’ve come up with a way round that and remembered her from Scotland. We’ve agreed a secret arrangement that she’ll be the public face of my next book – she’s young, beautiful, with enough of a profile to get them all excited – and we’re going to split the money fifty/fifty. You’re now the only other person who knows.’

  ‘What would you do that for?’ Flo is astonished. She stares at me, open-mouthed, sways slightly on the spot, then placing her fingers on her temples, before closing her eyes. ‘I’m assuming you didn’t mention to Mia that you’re married to her boyfriend?’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘And you clearly didn’t come home and say to Tris, “I’ve just cut a deal with your bit on the side”. Seriously, what the hell were you thinking, Charlotte? Why would you do something so completely bizarre?’

  ‘Mia agreed a million-pound deal for the book this afternoon.’

  Flo’s eyes snap open and she looks at me in shock.

  ‘It’s also going to be turned into a movie,’ I continue.

  ‘OK, that’s a lot of money,’ Flo says slowly. ‘But—’

  ‘The news was in the Evening Standard,’ I interrupt. ‘Tris will have read about it by now, I’m sure.’

  ‘But if he doesn’t know you’re involved won’t Tris just think his girlfriend has sold a book for a lot of money today and be pretty pleased?’ She moves back over to the sofa, sits down suddenly and stares into space. ‘This is so messed-up – I honestly don’t know where to start.’

  ‘Well,’ I exhale. ‘I haven’t exactly told you the whole story yet.’

  ‘It gets worse?’ Flo whispers, aghast.

  I bite my lip so hard I can taste blood. ‘So, here’s the thing. When you first told me Tris was sleeping with someone I obviously did a bit of digging around.’ My voice wavers – she’s going to be horrified – but I plough on regardless. ‘Weirdly that bit was exactly like when I found that message on Daniel’s phone all those years ago. I wanted to know everything. You can’t help yourself. You need every tiny detail, no matter how much it hurts. Tris doesn’t have any social media though – as you know – and there was nothing on his phone. I checked Mia’s social media too and there was no mention of Tris that I could see. He’s obviously asked her not to post publicly about him. I had a look on his laptop, to see if he’d been emailing her. Which is when I found out he’s been writing a book.’

  Flo jerks her head back in surprise. ‘I’m sorry? What sort of book?’

  I’m now starting to feel cold and shivery. ‘The sort of book I write. Thrillers. An almost complete book about a man who is a spy, leading a double life,’ I laugh and suddenly the bloody tears come back again. It’s very annoying – ‘who gets a video message from hi
mself – on a WhatsApp – telling him he has to leave his family immediately because his cover has been blown. His whole life might be a lie. Are they even his family? He must go on the run… Basically my husband has written a book about giving himself permission to leave us. No doubt taking his inspiration from the double life he’s currently leading.’

  ‘Oh my god,’ breathes Flo. ‘Yeah – it doesn’t take Freud to work that one out.’

  ‘Not really, no!’ I laugh again, looking up while I blot the tears with my hand. ‘You know all that time he was tapping away on the laptop – even on holiday? That’s obviously what he was doing. He was away in his own little world. I imagine he did a lot of it on trains and in hotel rooms, probably long before Mia appeared on the scene. In fact, ironically I don’t see how he could have had time for anything else while he was writing it. Maybe that’s why they started up. His pretty much finishing the book left a space in his life. Irritatingly, it’s also good. Well – the idea is. The writing was patchy, baggy and nowhere near pacey enough – but since I copied it, edited it, made the main character a woman and rewrote the ending, it’s in very good shape.’ I exhale sharply. ‘In fact, it’s the book Mia sold for a million quid this afternoon.’

  Flo audibly gasps. ‘You just sold his own book from under him, and you got the girl he’s sleeping with to do it?’

  ‘Yes.’ I hold my head up high.

  Flo stands up – walks to the window, turns her back on me and stares at the closed curtains. She laughs but without seeing her face I can’t tell if she’s impressed or incredulous. ‘It’s safe to say you want revenge then?’

  ‘I don’t want to hurt Mia,’ I say immediately. ‘I don’t blame her at all.’

  ‘Oh please,’ Flo says. ‘I don’t buy that for a single moment.’