Lies Lies Lies

by Adele Parks

  Simon instantly stands up, moves towards me. ‘Forget what I’ve just said. Forget it. Of course I was driving.’

  ‘No, you weren’t,’ I whisper. His face collapses.

  ‘I just said that to hurt you,’ he insists.

  ‘No, you were finally telling the truth. I remember.’

  He reached forward and put on the radio. He turned up the volume. The car was practically shaking. I leaned forward to turn it off, but he lunged at me and pushed my hands out of the way. I am in the driver’s seat. I realised it was safest not to struggle with him. I needed to keep my two hands on the wheel. The mindless, pointless, clubbing tune hurt my head, it was hard to concentrate. He was making accusations. Crazy, insulting accusations. He said I’d had an affair with Luke. Because Luke is blonde. My head was full of Daryll. Him grabbing my wrist, pulling me out of Sophie’s room, into Fran’s. What would he have done if Luke hadn’t interrupted us? What might he still do to me? I was so scared. So lost. The weather was horrendous. The windscreen wipers swished backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. Simon screamed at me.

  Millie? She shouldn’t have been in the street at that time of night. She just stepped out.

  The world stopped.

  ‘I did it.’

  Simon looks horrified. ‘You’re wrong, Daisy. You feel sad, full of grief and guilt because you let me drive. Your mind is playing tricks on you. You’re making false memories, mixing up dream and fears with reality.’

  ‘I’m not wrong,’ I say with determination. He’s right, my mind has been playing tricks on me for three years. I have mixed up dreams and fears with reality. But now the void is filling. ‘I remember the thud, her body against the car.’

  ‘When I hit her,’ he insists.

  ‘You pulled me into the passenger seat. I remember you pulling at my shoulders. I never understood that, until now, I thought it was people pulling me away from her that I remembered.’

  ‘No,’ he mutters, but he doesn’t sound convincing.

  ‘Stop lying to me,’ I whisper hoarsely. ‘I need to know Simon, is it a dream? Or—’ I wait on the cliff edge. Part of me wants him to give me an alternative. To take the burden from me. But I know he can’t. Not again. It would be another lie, he can’t lie anymore. He doesn’t say anything. He looks at the table between us. ‘Or is it a memory?’ I whisper, closing my eyes. To stop the tears, so as not to have to see him.

  ‘What do you believe?’ he asks.

  I open my eyes. My lungs are burning. ‘I was driving,’ I admit quietly. ‘You didn’t hurt Millie. I did.’ The confession sits between us. Heavy and staggering but determined and vitally important. I wait to see what he will do with it.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I never meant to tell you. I hadn’t planned on doing so. Now it’s all for nothing. The time I served because you will still—’

  ‘Feel guilty.’ I finish his sentence for him. ‘Hate myself.’

  He shakes his head slowly. It’s a forlorn movement and it fills me with pity and admiration. It’s been so long since I felt anything other than anger or disappointment for Simon. It almost floors me. He looks horrified, stumped. ‘But Daisy, you shouldn’t. You mustn’t. You have to understand, I’m the one who deserved to be in prison. Who needed to be there. I dried out, you see, Daisy. And out here, people needed you. No one needed me here. Ever.’

  But he’s wrong about that.

  I’m shaking, my knees buckle. He lowers me into a seat. I try not to wince, not to draw attention to the fact it hurts to sit down. Simon kneels at my feet.

  ‘I couldn’t let you go in there, Daisy. Because of people like the Dales. Or whoever the female equivalent might have been. It was my choice. It was my decision. I don’t want you to feel bad about it, not for a moment. I don’t regret it. At least, I didn’t until now. Now, it means I led them to your door.’

  ‘Who are the Dales?’ I ask. I can’t follow him.

  ‘The men who did this to you. I wouldn’t do something they wanted me to. They think I owe them. Look, it doesn’t matter. I’m just so, so sorry. You do believe that, don’t you?’

  I take a deep breath. ‘I don’t know who the Dales are, Simon. They sound like trouble. But Daryll Lainbridge did this to me. Not your prison people.’

  Simon looks stunned. ‘Daryll Lainbridge? The Daryll you went to university with?’

  I nod and then whisper, ‘He’s hurt me before.’

  ‘But why?’ I lift my head. I watch as realisation dawns on him. He sees it in my eyes. All of it. He sees through the lies I had to tell and finds the truth. ‘Where does he live? I need an address? Do you have a car? Give me the keys.’

  57

  Chapter 57, Simon

  He had never felt such cold white fury in his entire life. His rage was such that he felt transformed. No longer a man but now an animal, a hunter. He had no barriers, no walls. He was going to find Daryll Lainbridge and he was going to kill him. He imagined knocking on the man’s door, him opening it and then whoosh, Simon would beat him, and he would keep beating him until he lay on the floor, lifeless, the sack of shit he no doubt was. He wished he had a gun, he would shoot him point blank. It would be quick and Lainbridge didn’t deserve quick, but Simon would at least feel certain that the job was done. He didn’t have a gun, however. Then a knife. He could stop and buy a knife. He wanted to plunge it, time after time, into the man. He wanted his blood to splatter up walls, on to ceilings.

  It didn’t matter that this man was Millie’s biological father. That mattered not a jot to Simon. He wasn’t jealous or insulted. This wasn’t about his pride or his place. This was about Daisy, one hundred percent Daisy. What she had endured. It was unthinkable. That could not go unpunished. It would not.

  Lainbridge lived on a quiet, leafy, street, just a mile or so from where Daisy lived. On either side of the road, the street was lined with parked cars: posh, wide cars, that were parked confidently, inconsiderately, leaving too much space between each one. There was no room for him to park. Lainbridge lived at number 32. Simon stared at the door; it was shiny, painted navy. There were bay trees either side of the entrance. It didn’t look like the home of a rapist. No doubt, Lainbridge had depended upon how respectable and charming people found him. He depended on his shiny door and his bay trees to draw a cloak over the vileness, the cruelty, arrogance and entitlement in his heart, in his fists, in his head and body. Simon watched the door and thought about just leaving his car in the middle of the street, blocking the road entirely. He didn’t care if he caused a traffic jam, he just wanted to confront Lainbridge. Simon was just about to turn off the engine when the shiny door swung open.

  Lainbridge emerged. Simon recognised him, not so much from that fateful night but from before then. Things had come back to him since he became sober. He noted the man’s height, his blondness. He looked rested, serene, a horrible contrast to Daisy and Millie. He was whistling. It was insulting. Simon watched as he crossed the road, walked to the corner shop. Simon waited and only a couple of minutes later, Lainbridge emerged with a newspaper tucked under his arm, a broadsheet, he was carrying a protein drink. Lainbridge crossed the road, headed back towards his house, no doubt anticipating a lazy Saturday morning. He glanced at Simon’s car. Probably wondering why someone was sat in the middle of the road, running his engine. Simon liked to think that they made eye contact, that Lainbridge recognised him in that last moment.

  Before he put his foot down on the accelerator.

  58

  Chapter 58, Daisy

  When Simon returns, he knocks on the back door. I quickly unlock it and let him in. He appears wired, alert, purposeful. He doesn’t tell me what has occurred but starts to ask questions instead.

  ‘Is Millie still asleep?’

  ‘Yes,’ I whisper back. I’m still struggling to find my voice.

  ‘What were your plans for today? If I hadn’t turned up?’

  ‘I was supposed to be going to Rose’s for lunch and then
…’ I break off but decide I might as well tell him. There is no room for any more lies between us. I don’t want there to be. ‘Millie and I have tickets to fly to Hamburg this evening.’

  ‘A holiday?’

  ‘One-way tickets,’ I confess. I watch as he takes this in, understands.

  He nods, looks to his feet. ‘OK, well you need to repack those cases.’ He points to the clothes that are strewn all over the floor. Daryll threw them there in a frenzy. ‘We must tidy the house and then you need to go to Rose’s as planned. ‘Here,’ he hands me the car keys. ‘I popped your car through the wash. It’s all shiny now.’

  We work quietly and efficiently together. I repack, and Simon washes the walls and floor, tries to remove any traces of blood. I watch as he dips the soiled cloth into a bucket of water and the water turns pink. The more he scrubs, dips, wrings and scrubs again, the deeper pink the water turns. ‘We’ll need to paint over this,’ he mumbles. ‘I’ll bury the cat, you sweep up the broken ornaments. There can’t be any sign of a disturbance. Then I’ll go and buy paint and do the painting whilst you are at Rose’s. Does that sound OK to you?’

  ‘Yes.’ I’m grateful to him for his focus, his clarity. I’m also grateful that he asked my opinion, it feels a long time since I’ve been consulted on anything. It feels respectful, equal.

  ‘I have to get back to Lucy’s by 4 p.m. The probation officer will be calling by then.’

  I nod and start to sweep up the broken china. I watch as he carefully picks up the shoebox, inside which lies the poor kitten. He turns to me. ‘What was his name?’ he asks tenderly.

  ‘Eric. Eric Cloud.’

  I wake Millie and tell her to get showered and dressed. When the house looks close to normal, Simon lets Millie come downstairs. He hugs her tightly and then kisses the top of her head. I can see he doesn’t want to let her go, but he checks his watch and says, ‘You two need to get going. Go upstairs and check your room one last time, Millie, see if there’s anything you might need to take with you on holiday.’ As soon as she’s out of the room he says, ‘Take the car to Rose’s.’

  ‘I always take the tube,’ I point out.

  ‘Always or usually?’

  I think about it. ‘Usually.’

  ‘OK, well if it’s not unprecedented, take the car and then leave it at hers.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s just better that it’s not seen around here, or at least not straightaway. Leave it at Rose’s and get the tube to the airport from hers. Tell her you want to leave it in her street, so she can keep an eye on it while you are away. If you don’t come back, she’ll think you were gifting it to her.’

  ‘And what if I do come back?’

  Something flickers across Simon’s face. Hope, possibly. ‘You should stay away until all your bruising has healed, at least.’

  ‘How should I explain the bruises to Rose?’

  ‘You can tell her whatever you want, whatever you need to. She’s your sister, but we can’t risk others seeing you like this.’ I nod, beginning to understand how much he is trusting me. ‘Is there a way I can reach you?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t have a phone anymore.’

  ‘OK, well call Rose and I’ll find a way of letting you know if it’s safe to come back.’

  I gasp. ‘Can he still hurt me?’ I ask, hating myself for trembling.

  Simon shakes his head. ‘No, never again.’

  ‘You mean…?’

  ‘I think you should come back to England, Daisy. It might look suspicious if you disappear permanently, just after what’s happened.’

  I want to ask him if that’s the only reason he wants me to come back, but I don’t have to because, very carefully, he leans towards me and kisses me on the forehead.

  ‘If you come home, Daisy, I’ll be waiting for both of you.’

  59

  Chapter 59, Simon

  ‘You cut that fine,’ said Lucy, as she opened the door to Simon. ‘Fifteen fifty-nine. The probation officer is due at four. Why have you got paint on your hands?’

  Simon quickly walked to the kitchen and ran his hands under the tap, scrubbed them with a brillo pad. Lucy stood by, watching. She only left him when the doorbell rang.

  The probation officer was accompanied by a policeman. Simon hadn’t been expecting that. He didn’t think it was usual. Luckily, Lucy had no idea what to expect under these circumstances, and so behaved with her usual imperturbable poise. The policeman was stern-faced and silent, the probation officer was chippy; he didn’t like Lucy’s beautiful house and beautiful neighbourhood. He did not believe this was a fair place for a man to serve his on-licence sentence. He would have preferred to see people banged up for the duration of their sentences, but if they had to be released into the community, he didn’t like to think of them dwelling in such luxury. He also found Lucy attractive and he was the sort of man who thought being attracted to anyone was a weakness, being attracted to someone in this situation was unprofessional, so he covered it up with a blunt, terse tone.

  ‘Of course, I won’t be trekking out here every day. From now on, you will have to go to the police station. I’m just here to see everything’s in order,’ he told Simon. He did, after some persuasion, accept a cup of tea. ‘Just usual tea. Builders,’ he said gruffly, in a tone that suggested he believed fruit teas to be morally reprehensible. The police officer still hadn’t said anything, other than ‘yes’ to milk and ‘no’ to sugar. Neither man accepted a slice of cake, although the police officer did ask, ‘Make it yourself, did you?’

  ‘Me? No, I’m not the baking type. I got it from local patisserie,’ replied Lucy.

  The probation officer wanted to see Simon’s bedroom. He opened a few drawers, looked inside the wardrobe. Simon had no idea what he was searching for. He asked if Simon understood the rules of his curfew. Simon assured him he did.

  As the men were about to leave, the policeman turned to Simon and said, ‘Just one thing, Mr Barnes. Are you acquainted with a man called Daryll Lainbridge?’ His tone was neutral but obviously calculated.

  Simon tried to keep his breathing steady, to look as though he was wracking his brains. He understood now why the policeman had accompanied the probation officer. They were on to him. His hands felt clammy. He put them on his hips so he could furtively wipe the sweat away. He might have to shake hands in a moment. ‘The name does ring a bell.’

  ‘I know a Daryll Lainbridge,’ piped up Lucy.

  ‘A friend of yours, is he?’

  Simon noticed that Lucy didn’t answer the question, not exactly. ‘We went to university together.’

  ‘I understand he’s a friend of Mrs Barnes too,’ said the police officer checking his notes.

  ‘We all went to the same university.’

  ‘She’s down as his next of kin.’

  Lucy didn’t look too surprised by this, but Simon knew she was a cool customer. She matter-of-factly pointed out, ‘They’re not related.’

  ‘Well, next of kin isn’t a legal term here in the UK, Miss.’

  ‘I’m married,’ said Lucy.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I’m not a Miss.’

  ‘Oh, Madam, sorry.’ Simon could see that it took every ounce of Lucy’s self-control not to roll her eyes at the casual condescension. ‘Next of kin doesn’t even need to be a relative. Just a person you consider important. We are trying to get hold of Mrs Barnes, but her phone is ringing out, we’ve had no luck.’

  ‘I know she was going on holiday today, I’m not sure of timings. She might be on a plane right now,’ Lucy explained.

  ‘Oh, I see.’ The policeman tapped his pen against his notepad. ‘But you say you are a friend of Daryll Lainbridge too?’

  ‘I said we went to university together. Why?’

  ‘You might want to take a seat.’

  ‘I’m perfectly fine standing.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, Madam, but I have some distressing news. Mr Lainbridge is dead.’

  Lucy
gasped. Rubbed her forehead, slowly. ‘I don’t understand. When? How?’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to share any details at this point.’ The policeman turned to Simon. ‘Where you have been today, Barnes?’

  The question was brusque, designed to catch him off-guard and most certainly the only question the officer had ever wanted to ask from the moment he walked in the door. ‘Here,’ said Simon, with a casual shrug.

  ‘All day?’

  Simon almost hesitated. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say or do. He had wanted to eradicate Daryll, that he was certain of. He hadn’t thought beyond that. Did he want to get away with it, or did he want to be punished? What sort of punishment would be fair? He opened his mouth to answer but Lucy jumped in, ‘I picked him up from prison this morning and I brought him straight home with me. Neither of us have left the house all day.’

  ‘Not even to visit the local patisserie?’ the police officer asked.

  ‘I bought the cake yesterday,’ replied Lucy.

  Epilogue

  The death of Mr Daryll Lainbridge, as a result of a hit and run, was reported in the local north London papers and in a small paragraph, on the seventh page of the Evening Standard. The case was investigated and it was agreed that it was a horrific accident involving a driver with no moral compass, someone who panicked, decided to save his own skin. There was one police officer, Sergeant Heidi Kent, who continued to think there was more to it than that. She did not believe in coincidences and was unsettled by the fact that Mr Lainbridge had been knocked down the very day Mr Simon Barnes was released from prison. Mrs Daisy Barnes was named as Lainbridge’s next of kin, so clearly they were in a relationship of some kind, Sergeant Kent reasoned. Her daughter was set to inherit his entire estate, following a DNA test, so an ongoing, long term relationship. That was a motive for murder.