The Lies She Told: A wickedly twisted psychological thriller that you cannot put down!

by Paula Johnston

  I listened into their conversations discreetly as they batted around catty comments about the friends that couldn’t join them, and I started to feel a little bad for not messaging Hannah back. I suppose she was just being nice. They reminded me to be grateful of only having one best friend. I never need to worry about bitching or betrayals with her.

  I drag my case along the road to the designated bus stop where the shuttle bus has already arrived to take me to my hotel. The wheels rattle furiously against the concrete and loose gravel. I don’t think that there will be many drop-offs because there doesn’t seem to be too many people waiting to get on. I give the pleasant driver my case and thank him politely before climbing the four steep steps onto the bus. I choose a window seat near the middle of the carriage, putting my handbag down on the aisle seat beside me, hoping that it deters anyone from sitting next to me. The air smells slightly stale, a mixture of sweat and humidity.

  I turn my phone back to normal from aeroplane mode and send Hannah a quick message to let her know that I’ve landed safely and then take my earphones from my bag and pop them in gently, waiting for them to connect wirelessly to my phone.

  I put together a very impressive powerful women playlist on Spotify before I left, and I need it right now to keep me going. There's something to be said for listening to music that encourages your mood. When I'm sad, sometimes I listen to Lana Del Ray and ball my eyes out for no other reason than to release the angst inside me. The style of her music and the tone of her voice allow you to really feel the turmoil inside you, allowing you the freedom to release. As Beyoncé starts to holler in my ear drums, I close my eyes and rest my head back against the chair and let out a deep breath. Not long now I tell myself, not long now.

  Chapter 5

  My accommodation for the week is basic, but clean. The double bed is firm, and the sheets are a blank slate of white with a single gold trim embroidered across the middle. The white paint on the wardrobe doors could do with a freshen up and the bedside table has seen better days, but they will do. I could have chosen the posh hotel that I had seen online, I have the money after all, but it wouldn’t have been close enough to the action.

  I take my time unpacking my things and hang each item of clothing up on the flimsy metal hangers that the hotel has provided me with. From the bedroom, two sliding doors lead me out onto a wide balcony that you can also access from identical glass doors in the living room area. Normally I would have taken this opportunity to take a few snaps with the picturesque view behind me, selecting the best filter on my favourite one and adding a few additional touches before uploading it to social media. I would then have sent it on to Jacob too if we were in contact at the time because he doesn’t have Facebook or anything like that so he doesn't get to see what I'm up to, but this time I can’t do that. I can’t risk him recognising where I am.

  Once I had fully unpacked, I changed into something more comfortable and pottered around for a while. Now sitting on the balcony, the backs of my bare legs sticking to the cheap white plastic chair, I peer down at the world below me. I enjoy watching people when they don’t realise that they are being observed. Some walk around with a permanent frown, others smile as they read something on their phone and some laugh at a joke they’ve just been told, only to turn their head and roll their eyes. You can tell a lot about a person from how they act when they are unaware of judgement.

  My stomach slightly grumbles, and I check the time. It’s too early for dinner, but too late for lunch which leaves me wondering what I should do now. Unable to sit still for any longer, I slide my dainty feet into a pair of black flip flops that look cute against my ruby red painted toenails. I grab my purse and oversized black sunglasses from the table in the dining area and make my way downstairs to the hotel bar. It’s busy, but there’s still a few tables left for me to pick from, so I choose a vacant one at the far corner of the bar.

  The extremely handsome waiter with thick dark hair and large chocolate button eyes puts my raspberry margarita down gently on a fresh cardboard beer mat. His gaze lingers a little longer than necessary on my bare legs before walking away smiling. I enjoy the attention, I can't lie, not to mention the view of his ass as he walks away.

  I pull my sunglasses from the top of my head and push them over my eyes allowing me to observe the others around me with invisible eyes.

  I notice an adorable older couple sitting across from one another, sharing a bottle of red wine whilst holding hands in the middle of the table. She’s laughing at something he’s just said, and he looks extremely pleased with himself that he is still able to make his wife laugh so wholeheartedly after however many years they’ve been together. I appreciate elderly couples like them, the ones who still gift each other small tokens of affection. An age where people fought hard to make their relationships work instead of tossing them aside in hope of something better. I wonder if mum and dad would have turned out the same; I imagine they would have. They were always very affectionate towards each other; holding hands whilst they sat on the couch to watch telly. Dad used to always kiss mum on the forehead when they hugged and I'd watch in awe at my two beautiful heroes.

  I continue to watch them for a few moments longer, enjoying an insight into what Jacob and I are still to become. It excites me knowing we still have so much left to look forward to.

  My gaze drifts to an attractive man, early thirties I would say, sitting by himself and tapping away on his iPad. A full icy Corona with a slice of lime in its mouth sits beside him and I can't help but notice that there’s no glass of wine or cocktail accompanying it, suggesting that he is here alone. He is dressed smartly in a short sleeved white shirt with a few buttons left open at the collar exposing his smooth neck. The material hugs his muscular arms perfectly and the fashion critic in me can’t help herself examine further as my eyes flow down his navy chino shorts that he’s paired with similar coloured Ralph Lauren loafers. His hair isn't blonde, but not quite dark enough to be brunette which is why I'm surprised I even noticed him, I always go for dark haired men. I drink him in, impressed by his taste and I smile discreetly in approval. The invisible stench of wealth oozes from him. He definitely has a few bob or two in the bank that's for sure.

  Had this situation been back home, I imagine he would have approached me after I flirted from afar, flashing him my sexiest smile that says I'd be happy to indulge him. He would have asked me if he could join me for a drink and because it would have been rude of me to turn such a handsome man away, I would say yes and he would take a seat beside me, not across from me. We would spend the night flirting back and forward and depending on what qualities he possessed, the more similar to Jacob’s the better, it would then be entirely up to me whether I accepted his invite to accompany him home. I rarely invite men back to mine. My flat is my sanctuary, my peace. A place with no memories of heartbreak and abandonment. When I go home with anyone, I know that I am in control. I am the one who leaves in the morning before they wake up. They never get the chance to leave me. Tonight though, I don’t smile at him and I don’t even attempt to catch his eye, because I am not here for him; he would only be a distraction.

  An hour or so later, after sampling a few fruity cocktails from the happy hour menu, I decide to wander outside of the hotel; stretch my legs and find somewhere to grab a pizza to take back to my room. A bit of dinner and a good night’s sleep will set me up for tomorrow's activities. I lift my belongings and shimmy my way through the busy tables noting a few new faces that have joined the bar. I press the round button at the elevator to take me down to street level and casually flick through my Instagram feed when laughter explodes from the metal doors. The smell of perfume attacks my senses as they spill out one by one; their large cases dragging behind them. ‘Sorry babe!’ one squeals as she bangs heavily into me and nearly knocks me off my feet. The noise reminds me of a wild pack of hyenas that I had seen on a wildlife documentary not so long ago.

  When I think that all of them have finally empti
ed the lift and am now safe to continue my journey, I take a step forward to enter but am surprised that there is one final girl left to exit. As she emerges from the doors, she pulls her sunglasses from her face. My feet refuse to lift from the ground, I try to run, I try to break free but I am stuck in the moment as I watch her shuffle to catch up with her friends. I didn’t expect to see her until tomorrow. I feel now a wave of heat rush through my face, my stomach doing somersaults. I’ve seen plenty of pictures of her before, I knew what she looked like but I am starstruck viewing her up close. I am a rabbit caught in headlights. Seeing her in person is so different from viewing her life through a screen.

  Jacob

  ‘Do you have everything?’ I ask her. She’s running her fingers through her hair whilst looking in the bedroom mirror for self-validation. Her bulging suitcase is waiting by the door ready for me to lift downstairs.

  ‘I think so.’ she replies. ‘I’m sure one of the girls will have whatever I need if I’ve forgotten anything’. She seems a bit tense, flustered almost, as she pushes her hair up and down at the roots - I don’t really know what she’s doing there to be honest.

  She’s been a bit off with me recently, and I don’t know why but it’s been really fucking annoying. I wish women would just tell you what’s wrong with them when you ask them outright, you know? I'm not a bloody mind reader.

  ‘Last chance to change your mind babe.’ I tease. ‘You could always just stay here with me’.

  She pauses and puts down the red lipstick that she was holding firmly in her hand and turns on her heels to face me.

  ‘Do you not want me to go?’ she asks questioningly.

  I’m just messing with her of course, but I know that if I really did want her to stay, she would. I quickly fill the gap before she changes her mind. ‘I’m just messing, you doughnut. I’ll miss you that’s all’. She doesn’t reply. Instead she stares up at me blankly, her eyes starting to fill with fresh tears. She is tiny in comparison to my 6ft stature. Maybe I’ve been unfair to her by joking around. This is her first time away from me since we got married, she’s bound to be a little apprehensive, and let's be honest, who would want to leave me anyway? She turns her back on me quickly, realising that I’ve noticed her damp eyes and so I step towards her and pull her into me, wrapping my arms around her petite waist. I’m not lying to her, I will miss her, but I must admit there is a little part of me – OK a big part - that is giddy with anticipation.

  To be honest, I can't fucking wait for a full week to have some fun of my own without anyone looking over my shoulder. Reminiscing of my bachelor lifestyle; a week of bliss.

  Her pretty blonde friend picks her up in a taxi about forty minutes later and after I’ve waved her off to Gatwick Airport the first thing that I do is head to the fridge and pull out an ice-cold beer. I'm not usually into blondes, but her best mate is hard not to appreciate. She's a little firecracker too, a pocket rocket Barbie. Completely different to my wife.

  Excitement pulses through me as the fizzy liquid slides down my throat. I send my brother a quick message asking him if he fancies a few beers down the pub and then I scroll my thumb through my contact list until I land on Karly. I wonder what she’s doing right now.

  Chapter 6

  Karly

  Finally, the tightness in my legs starts to ease, I'm able to lift my foot and so I rush inside the elevator, waiting for what feels like an eternity for the heavy metal doors to close and help me in my escape to safety. I struggle to shake the image of her face; her natural beauty, her perfectly plump lips and her pale but glowing skin. She is much prettier in person than I ever gave her credit for and strikingly so.

  She wore a black playsuit that hugged her petite body, paired with a pair of wedge heels. I noticed the presumably expensive gold hoops which hung from her ears. Something unsettled me about this. Her outfit was very well put together, that wasn't the problem, it just reminded me of what I wore to a friend’s barbecue last summer. I didn't like the similarity, it made me feel uncomfortable actually. I’m understandably agitated by this whole situation, not to mention pissed at how stunning she looked, but what I'm feeling is something more, something eerie. I'm unnerved by Jacob’s selection of females because there is no denying that there are infinite similarities between us. Her figure, her dark hair, her sparkly eyes that reel you in. If I was to take a guess, I'd say she would probably be around my height too without those fucking heels on.

  There is absolutely no way I'm going to be able to stomach anything to eat now so instead I head back to my room. I swipe my key card at the door but it doesn’t register right away and I grow even more flustered as I wave the plastic card around a few more times, begging it to grant me access. The door finally opens and I burst straight through the living room area to the balcony doors, flinging them open with more force than intended and flinching at the sound of them thudding against the wall. I peer down at the pool, frantically scanning over stacked sunbeds and the remainder of today’s bikini bodies, but I can’t see her now - I can’t see any of them.

  I rest my hands on the metal railing and close my eyes. The raw heat it has gathered burns my fingertips and I allow it to do so; a welcome distraction to the anxiety whirling around inside me. I pray that she didn’t see me. She didn't flinch at the sight of me so that's a good sign. I take deep breaths in through my mouth and exhale through my nose until I find some comfort in the realisation that she doesn’t know who I am, and slowly the chaos inside me starts to ease.

  The next morning, I wake to the sound of plastic beds being dragged instead of lifted across the ground as the battle for the best sun spot commences. I stretch my arms above my head and yawn. I barely slept last night, my mind was racing frantically, unable to slow down, conjuring self-doubt and bad thoughts, one after the other. I feel groggy and I realise that the cocktails I consumed yesterday won't have helped any.

  I run my fingers through my hair, loosening the tugs that have formed from thrashing against the pillow. I don’t know what time it is, but I suppose I should get up anyway. I throw back the light weighted bed sheet and shuffle over to the edge of the mattress, lowering my legs and letting the soles of my bare feet adjust to the cool temperature of the tiles.

  My first stop is the kitchen. After pulling a bottle of ice-cold water from the fridge, I take a few deep gulps and make my way out to the balcony and rest my arms on the railing. It holds a different temperature from yesterday, soothing rather than menacing. I turn to pull over one of the chairs, but the morning dew has gently landed on the surface of the table and each of the plastic seats, so I remain standing.

  I realise that a bunch of beds have congregated to the left-hand side of the pool. Each of them has a different coloured towel placed delicately on top, and I’m positive they all belong to females. A blonde-haired girl appears and I recognise her from yesterday. She throws down a fluorescent yellow beach bag beside one of the beds and then disappears from my eye line once again.

  My eyes hop over the other beds, searching for an empty space. This habit of getting up before the crack of dawn to bag the best spot on a bed seems to be a tradition that cannot be broken regardless of your destination. To my luck I see the perfect gap directly across the pool from where the girls have gathered. That will do me just fine

  I watch as the rest of the group appear like marching ants and place their belongings beside their chosen beds. When they are satisfied, they make their way out of the hotel, taking the stairs this time instead of the lift. I count their heads as they walk away. They are one head short.

  With the coast now clear, I grab my own beach towel from my room and quickly run down the four flights of stairs which leads me to the pool. I struggle to catch my breath and my heart pounds deeply as it desperately pleads to burst from my chest. The bed I want is still empty and I quickly throw my pink and white striped towel on top. A woman behind me tuts and clucks like an annoying hen, quite clearly annoyed that I’ve disturbed her peace and quiet
. I turn on my heels, ready to head back to my room and as I walk past her, I flip her the finger and smile widely as she winces in horror.

  I stare down at two bandeau bikinis that I’ve pulled from the bedside drawer and thrown onto the bed. One set is canary yellow with delicate little white flowers. The other is a plain design but completely in your face shade of neon orange. Normally, the attention-grabbing orange set would have been my first choice, but I don’t want to stand out for the wrong reasons. I want them to notice me, acknowledge me - but not in a threatening way.

  I pull off my pyjamas and toss them in the direction of the chair that sits redundant in the corner of the room. I slip my legs into my bikini bottoms and tighten the toggles at my hips before clipping the bandeau at my front and then shimmying it round to the back. I'm useless when it comes to fastening a bra too, I have to do it the cheats’ way.

  I stand facing the mirror and pinch the loose skin at my stomach and groan. I wish I had lost a few pounds before coming here. It would have made me feel better about myself but there was no time; everything happened at lightning speed. I grab my barrel brush from the dresser and unwrap the plain white cotton scrunchie from the handle. Tipping my head upside down I give my thick hair a quick ruffle before scraping it up onto the top of my head in an attempt at a messy bun. It’s not quite right though, perhaps a little too neat, so I pull a few strands of hair astray from either side of my ears and twist them gently around my fingers, letting them fall into a slight curl.