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

by Paula Johnston

  ‘Is everything OK?’ she questions, her brow furrowed with concern.

  I snap myself back to reality as quick as possible and blurt out a weak ass excuse of simply being in awe of how lovely she looks. She laps the compliment up, cackling loudly as she throws her head back. Damn - not even a smudge of red lipstick on her teeth.

  She chose a loosely Moroccan styled restaurant for dinner. The brown tables with satin red tablecloths sit intimately together, each one placed directly under a rustic dimly lit shade. A soft mist sprays lightly over people eating their dinner, refreshing their skin with gentle droplets of what I assume is water, as they devour their delicious looking meals.

  I order first, picking skewered chicken breast accompanied by mixed peppers with a dish of peppercorn sauce and she orders exactly the same. I wonder if she copied me or if she genuinely has the same taste in food. I smile inwardly; yet another similarity between us.

  I tactfully start to build the blocks of our friendship, asking her all about herself: where she comes from and what she likes and dislikes in life. Normal chit chat, nothing out of the ordinary when you meet someone new. She tells me that she lives with her husband who she married just six months ago, in a little town just outside of Essex. Apparently, it rests only a street away from a stunning sea view; something she and her husband absolutely adore. I allow her to continue speaking, but I don’t really hear what she’s saying because it suddenly dawns on me that the only detail that I don’t know about Jacob is his address.

  She tells me that she owns her own hair salon on the high street and that it’s called Lauren, With Love. How terribly tacky, I thought to myself. How vain you must be to splash your name across your own shop front. I hope my face didn’t show my repulsion too much but to be honest I’ve always had a problem stopping my thoughts from escaping via my face. She delights in telling me all about her husband, Jacob; a handsome electrician from Battersea who she self-proclaims is her soul mate. I ask her how they first met, because I genuinely don't know the answer, and she tells me that they met in a bar in the City Centre of London in the evening. She boasts that he was with his friends and she was with hers, she played hard to get but he was persistent. It made me feel sick to my stomach and it churned as I tried to digest both the dinner, and her words. She’s living the absolute fucking dream, isn't she? The life I should be living. It isn’t fair.

  She continues to ramble, as if she enjoys the sound of her own voice. Although they’ve only been married for less than a year, they have been together for four. I try to feign interest; I already know these details, I’ve asked Jacob before, and hearing them pour from her mouth is not something I’m particularly enjoying. I need to pretend though, I must or else I might give something away.

  At the end of our meal, the waitress approaches us armed with a tray of two glasses filled with a beige liquid and a couple of ice cubes; complimentary drinks that tasted like a cheap imitation of Baileys. As I neck the last of mine, she eventually finishes talking about herself and broaches the subject of my ‘breakup’.

  ‘So, tell me’ she starts, ‘how can any man not want to come on holiday with a gorgeous girl like you?’

  I tell her the story I've practised over and over in my head; using small snippets of truth amongst a mesh of lies. I told her that my boyfriend (I called him Mark) and I had been together for ten years and things had recently become a little strained. I tell her that I have been dropping hints for him to finally take things to the next level but that he was just so strangely reluctant to move forward. I tell her that I felt rejected and insecure and I grew to become suspicious of where he was going and who he was talking to. I explain that I was convinced there was another girl in his life, but that I tried so hard to keep telling myself that I was being silly. I mean, he loved me – how could he try and replace me?

  She sat quietly, her body frozen like a statue, and was completely fixated on every word that left my mouth. On a whim, I decided to spice things up a little and threw in a little something extra about a note being left on the bedside table just a day before our holiday saying that he needed some time to himself to think things through, and then as if by magic, he was gone and I didn't know where he was. Sounds familiar, right? I couldn't resist. Being the professional that I am, I manage to conjure up a few tears on cue, and she speedily rises from her wicker chair embarrassingly, almost tipping it over, and lunges forwards to grab me. She envelopes me in a tighter than life embrace and I know here and now that I have her. Hook, line and sinker – this was too easy.

  After dinner we take our time strolling past the countless bars and restaurants, weaving in and out of the clutches of zesty seasonal workers desperate to pull you in to successfully up their commission. We decided that we will make a little detour before heading back to the hotel after all. We climb a steep set of stairs that leads us to the entrance of a snazzy rooftop cocktail bar. She excuses herself and heads to the toilet and so I take the liberty of ordering us two Long Island Iced Teas and a shot of tequila each.

  A table overlooking the strip lies vacant, so I pop our drinks down quickly before anyone else has the chance to grab it. It’s extremely lively down below us and I wonder if I would be able to spot any of her friends. Surely, they would all be out enjoying themselves. Maybe she would ask them to join us and introduce me, but I don't see any of them.

  When she returns from the toilet we chat comfortably about the usual girly things: make up, hair and trashy TV shows as we sip on our cocktails. Conversation is easy with her, there are no awkward silences and I hate to admit it but I genuinely find her quite funny. I didn’t ever expect to like anything about her but it was difficult to avoid. Despite this, I still watch with pure pleasure when her face twists horribly and morphs into something quite unflattering as the sharpness of the tequila reaches the back of her throat.

  I nip to the loo briefly when I come back, I'm surprised to see that she has just about finished her tall icy drink that was definitely more than half full when I had left the table. I look at her intensely, studying her face for any signs of confession that she had maybe knocked it with a clumsy arm and toppled it over, or even chucked it away because it was too strong for her, but there was absolutely nothing in her face to suggest any guilt.

  Her large sapphire eyes now look a little glossy and I notice that she is starting to slur some of her words and she keeps forgetting where she is in the middle of sentences. She confesses how happy she is to have met me and tells me that under no circumstances am I allowed to spend this holiday by myself. A small part of me feels flattered that someone is being so nice to me, with no agenda or ulterior motive other than becoming my friend.

  My original plan was never to personally befriend her. I was going to form a friendship with one of the other girls; drop subtle hints over a period of time about a boy I knew and wait for the penny to drop and realisation to kick in that low and behold, her friends husband had a big secret – and even bigger explaining to do. It would have caused absolute chaos amongst the group and threw a right spanner in the works for Lauren's perfect relationship. But hey, these things happen and I have a different plan now, one that is going to work out quite nicely.

  As we walk back to our hotel after an enjoyable evening, I notice that her legs are faltering, and I can't help but laugh. She looks at me questioningly and joins in on what she thinks is a funny joke; two drunk girls stumbling home after a wild night out. The difference between us though is that I'm not stumbling. My night has been calculated and perfectly controlled, not wild. Oh Lauren. Poor, sweet, naive Lauren. How easy it was for me to get you so drunk tonight. I wonder if you will make a habit of this. Who knows what you might do?

  Jacob

  Are you enjoying yourself? X

  Absolutely x

  It’s been quiet without you x

  Are you there?????

  Yeah, I’m here! X

  Have you been busy? I haven’t heard much from you x

  Very! So
mething... UNEXPECTED cropped up that’s had all my attention – Sorry! X

  That’s OK babe, anything important? X

  You could say that x

  What do you mean? X

  Oi, what’s with all the secrecy? X

  You know me babe, I like to keep you on your toes x

  Chapter 9

  ‘Come up here! Dance with me!’ I shout over the mixture of laughter and loud music.

  She shakes her head and laughs politely but I'm not taking no for an answer. I slither down from the sticky bar and my skirt hitches up a notch too far, exposing a slice of white lace between my legs, provoking a group of leering men to wolf whistle from their table, and so I flash them a smile. I'm not embarrassed, and they’re only human.

  I had left her sitting at the tall round table in the middle of the room. She was starting to bore me and I needed to release some pent-up energy. I desperately wanted to dance and she couldn’t stop me. She doesn’t make the decisions any more, like she had initially done at the start of our time together - I do. I discreetly eased my way into a position of power, allowing her to take the lead for the first couple of days but then I flourished before her eyes, transforming into a confident and headstrong butterfly. I think she believes that she is the sole reason that all traces of my heartache have now disappeared. That our friendship is what coaxed me out of my tormented cage and now I'm running free.

  I take the glass from her hand and put it down on the table. ‘Lauren, listen to me, there is no point sitting here on your todd with a sour face when you could be having the time of your life dancing on a bar, Coyote Ugly style - now get up!’ I demand.

  I yank her to her feet a little too roughly and she purses her lips and mouths the word ouch, but I don't think she actually said it aloud; it's too loud in here to tell. She’s a little wobbly, a result of the copious amount of alcohol I’ve expertly plied her with all evening. I position her in front of me and guide her through the crowd, maintaining a tight grip on her waist, leading her straight past the group of rowdy men and prop her up at the front of the bar. If she’s not going to willingly have any fun then I need to get her ready. You know, loosen her up a bit.

  I order us three shots of tequila each and line hers up in front of her. From the corner of my eye I notice one of our avid admirers from the whistling table. He's fixated on Lauren and I know that look; lustful and mischievous.

  I divert my attention back to Lauren, and she looks at me warily, silently begging me for reassurance as she slowly takes the first shot glass in her hand. I push the bottom of the glass upwards towards her mouth.

  ‘Go on then’ I urge, watching her carefully, making sure all three of her shots are swallowed one after the other.

  When she is finished, I quickly neck mine and push our empty glasses aside. There's a reason I always choose tequila over Sambuca; it's because I know how much I can tolerate with tequila. I know my limits; I know when it starts to affect my judgement. I realised that Lauren didn't possess that same super power.

  I hoist myself back onto the bar and stand towering over her, my hand stretched out for her to take. She looks up at me weakly pathetic and hesitant, but I keep my arm firmly out and she quickly realises that she has no other choice but to place her clammy hand in mine and join me.

  I enjoy the rush of heat that the shots have given me. The bass drums through my entire body, vibrating through my veins as I dance without care; my hair swinging from side to side. The handsome stranger from the corner of the room is still staring at Lauren, who is still completely shell shocked at finding herself standing on a bar in front of an extremely busy pub. She looks awkward and evidently unsure of what to do with herself and so I grab her hands and push them up into the air, keeping hold of them tightly as I force her to dance with me. Her body begins to loosen off a little from its rigid disposition and she slowly starts to sway to the beat of the music, following the rhythm and allowing her body to fold into mine seductively. The wolf whistles have returned in full swing and she’s laughing now, genuinely enjoying the attention that we are getting. She is no longer timid; she is as free and fluid as the alcohol swimming through her blood stream and to be honest, I'm a little proud of her.

  A few other girls have taken our lead and joined us on the bar, clearly jealous of the fun we're having. I was initially annoyed by their presence because we were having such a good time together just the two of us. So much so that I almost forgot what I still had to do. They have started to mingle between us, wanting to get in on the action that's attracting so much attention. I entertain it for a short while before tearing my hand away from one of the girls’ tight grip when I notice that Lauren is now at the other end of the bar. She looks beautiful and blissfully unaware of anyone else around her. She won’t even notice that I’m gone and so I shimmy my way towards the end of the bar and jump down; landing only a couple of feet away from our group of admirers.

  Upon closer inspection I realise that every single one of them is attractive, and eager for attention. I introduce myself to a couple of them, noticing pale stripes of skin where wedding bands have lived earlier that day but seem to have been stolen by night. The guy I need doesn’t have a white line or a solid band resting on his left hand. I slide my way over to him and place my hand on his chest. It’s firm and the heat is radiating from him - even through his white t-shirt. I whisper into his ear and his grin widens. He says his goodbyes to his mates and they all thud him on the back approvingly as he walks away with me, leaving behind an eruption of whoops and cheers.

  I take his hand and he follows me over to the bar where I tug at Lauren's ankle. She crouches down to meet my face and I notice a few beads of sweat have gathered on her top lip. I release my prey's hand and brush them away with my thumb, smoothing her hair with my other hand.

  ‘Come on babe, we’re going for a walk.’ I tell her.

  Like an obedient child she doesn’t resist or plead for us to stay. She doesn't even ask who my new gentleman friend is. Instead she jumps down from the bar confidently and far more agile than how she got up there. I look at her amused, wondering how she managed to do that so easily without my help.

  I dig my toes into the damp sand as a cool breeze whips through my hair. The sea glistens beautifully as the moon reflects off its body. A couple of feet away, Lauren and Scouser Jack, who I abducted earlier from his mates’ stag do, are deep in conversation. I study her face carefully as she laughs enthusiastically at whatever he's telling her. They seem to have forgotten that I’m even here, and if this wasn’t going so fucking perfectly, I’d think it actually a little rude.

  She lifts her hand, and a bolt of excitement ripples through me as she gently strokes his arm. I knew he was the one as soon as I saw him. Although his hair is shorter and a much deeper shade of dark than Jacobs, he has undebatable similarities to my favourite Londoners face. His dark eyes shine brightly when he laughs, and his smile sends shivers down my spine. He is without a doubt the most similar man to Jacob that I've ever come across in my life. How could Lauren not find him attractive when he looked so much like her husband? It would be impossible.

  I notice that the drinks I encouraged them to take from the bar are almost empty. I asked the bartender to add three extra shots of vodka into Lauren's previously ordered double.

  Where is Jacob in Lauren’s mind right now? Is he even there at all? She is incredibly lucky to even call herself his wife and yet here she is with me, flinging herself at handsome Jack. I wonder if she has ever done anything like this before. I hadn't previously considered that possibility, something I hadn’t considered, which makes this all the more exciting. I decide that I’m done playing gooseberry now. It’s time that we all head back to our hotel.

  The security guard shushes us for being too loud but we ignore him. The three of us burst through my apartment door and I pull Lauren away from Jack's clutches and into my bedroom. We both fall backwards onto my bed, giggling like schoolgirls. I turn on my side to face her.
Those mesmerizing long and wispy eyelashes flutter as she struggles to stay awake. I push her roughly, but she simply bounces back against my hand. Fuck sake. I pinch a bit of loose skin on her arm, carving a deep crescent with my nail but still she doesn’t stir. I realise that I might have taken things a bit too far; given her too much to drink. Her mascara has smudged drastically, and strands of her hair are plastered to her damp forehead. I sit up and stare down at her venomously. You stupid, stupid bitch. Why couldn't you just do what I needed you to this one fucking time?

  I scoot off the bed and walk round to where her head lies limp, pushing my arms underneath hers and tugging her upright. She’s slumped against my chest, her head lulling to one side. I use all my body weight to balance her as I lift her arms above her head and pull at her white sundress, sliding it up and over her head. I drop her limp body back down, leaving her vulnerable and exposed in only her underwear. I stand back and observe her lying there, wondering what it is that she has that I don’t. She isn’t perfect, she has visible flaws: light white stretch marks on her outer thighs that have developed over time with her curves, and a shadow of a scar above her hip that looks like a stab wound. A darkness creeps into my brain, daring me to imagine the unimaginable. I wonder what her body would look like if it suffered trauma and pain. A sharp rip of a warm knife across her stomach that exposed her organs, or even just blistering third degree burns from boiling hot water if it was poured over her legs. Would he still want her then?

  The rumbling of items being thrown around from the kitchen startles me from my trance and I am fired back to the present. I peer outside the bedroom door to find Jack with his head in the fridge.