As I head up the stairs, I tell myself over and over again that I need to do this, I need to make sure that I have solid evidence to confront him when I return home. I picture it playing out in my mind's eye. I will fire the first shot; an introductory accusation of his betrayal. It will come from nowhere, and I won't tell him how I know to start with, because what fun would that be? I will let him deny it – because he will – and I will listen to his weak and pathetic attempts of convincing me that I'm wrong, that he would never do that to me, and then I'll wait for him to become defensive as he tries his best to convince me that I’m crazy, because that's the ugly narcissist in him. Then, when I am completely satisfied that he has buried himself too deeply inside of a big black hole – a hole too deep for him to be able to climb out of without my assistance – instead of offering him my aid, I will launch my second attack, and show him the sordid recording footage and watch his face crumble when realisation finally sinks in that there is no way out for him, not now.
Just the thought of seeing him suffer gives me the boost I need to carry on as I dart into our bedroom. Once again, I examine the room as if it were a crime scene and take my time to pick the best possible place for the evidence to be planted. It doesn't take my very long to decide. I whip open a drawer in my dresser that holds all my bits and bobs and snatch up a tube of eyelash glue. I apply it to the back of the third little diamond in the mud and collect my favourite black earrings from my jewellery dish. I push the little black dot firmly into the earring’s centre, disguising it amongst the rhinestones until my thumb turns red from the excessive pressure.
I plod over to my bedside table at the right-hand side of the bed - the furthest away table, because if I manage to lay them down in just the right position, they will capture the entire room - whether I liked it or not.
Finished with planting my poisonous seeds, I take a seat on our bed and stare blankly out the window. I can't quite believe that this is real. That he would even be so stupid to entertain you if it meant breaking my heart. The heart he promised to protect. I run my hands over my duvet as overwhelming sadness overcomes me. This room used to be a happy place, somewhere we would enjoy the best parts of each other as we grew closer as husband and wife. There is no more happiness in this room, The life has drained from it, all its colour melting away like hot crayons under a London summer sun, and even with the curtains wide open, it looks nothing but dark and tainted. For the very first time in my life, I’m grateful that I only need to spend one final night here before I am able to escape tomorrow.
Chapter 22
‘Do you have everything?’ he asks as I’m fiddling about with my hair one last time before leaving for the airport.
I answer him privately in my head before actually replying. Sure, I have everything I need for my holiday, but I don’t have what I need from you Jacob.
‘I think so. I’m sure one of the girls will have whatever I need if I’ve forgotten anything anyway.’
He’s talking away at me but I’m not really listening to what he’s saying, at least not until I catch a hint of humour in his voice, a light-hearted tone indicating that he's making a joke. Something about staying at home with him instead of going away.
I slowly draw the lipstick away from my bottom lip and place it down on the dresser in front of me.
‘Do you not want me to go?’ I ask him curiously.
For a brief moment I wonder if he would really be suggesting that I stay at home if he had made plans with another woman. There would be no sense in that. I wonder what would happen if I did change my mind and decided against going. Would I be spoiling his plans, or have I just got all of this horribly wrong? A fleeting thought that I might have escalated this little demon in my mind beyond the realms of reality strikes me sharply. What if this is all in my mind and I'm making something out of nothing, something that isn’t actually there.
The idea begins to taunt me as I play over the solid facts in my mind. I haven’t actually found anything that would suggest they are planning a hook up; I just ran on gut instinct, which is silly really, but it’s something that's never failed me before. He interrupts my naïve train of doubt, forcing it to an abrupt halt, when he tells me he is of course, only joking about me staying at home. I sneer in response. Of course, he’s joking, I bet he can’t bloody wait until I’m gone. I curse myself under my breath for even giving him the benefit of the doubt.
I smooth down my clothes, wondering if he’s noticed my choice of travelling attire. Does it look similar to something he’s seen before, but on you? I took inspiration from you. I decided to dress just like you to entice a reaction. I bet you're wondering how I did that though, eh? It was quite simple really; I flicked through your Instagram account that was foolishly linked to your Facebook. Your need for attention and desperation to be seen was your downfall here.
I knew that your page would be public and not private, the vanity of it didn't shock me at all. I took my time to browse through your feed, starting at the beginning of its creation and then following your journey to where we are now. I could have worked in forensics or something really, because I examined every single photo with a fine tooth comb before I selected a handful of pictures that I felt able to imitate, and took screenshots as an aid to help me pick out the exact same if not very similar garments. So now, I stand here in a little black playsuit of my own, one just like yours.
He comes up behind me and pulls me in close to him, wrapping his muscular arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder. It feels like a hot dagger plunging into my flesh and I want so badly to push him off me, tell him not to come anywhere near me, but I don’t – it's not time for that yet. Instead I smile as best as I can and play my part of his leading lady perfectly, knowing that in no time at all I will have my answer, one way or another.
Georgia picked me up in a black cab about an hour later, stopping only a few streets away to collect the rest of the girls who had met up for coffee first in Costa. Georgia and I very rarely separate from one another, doing everything together, at all times. We've been best friends since we were kids, our families were constantly intertwined with each other and we were encouraged to look at each other’s parents as family rather than just our mum and dads’ friends. I'm so glad I have her here. I don't think I would manage to get through the next week without her. Even though she didn't know anything, her calming presence was enough to make me feel safe.
My four friends hopped in the cab and each had an iced brew to go. Great, that's all they need, more fucking caffeine! They were giddy with excitement which lasted the entire cab journey to the airport and then more relentlessly throughout the flight when they got their hands on the miniature bottles of wine and vodka. Their chitter-chatter irritated the hell out of me. It buzzed furiously in my ears and I just wanted everything and everyone around me to shut up. I was very irritable about what was about to happen, what I had just allowed to happen, but also a little jealous that they were having so much fun, completely oblivious to the heaviness that was weighing my soul down.
Cars with the remnants of sand stuck to their bumpers zoom passed us as we stand on the pavement outside of our hotel. We waited patiently for the lift doors to open because there was absolutely no way that any of us were about to climb the steep set of stairs directly in front of us. The afternoon air is uncomfortably sticky and muggy, and I feel a trickle of sweat run down my chest. I dance on the spot impatiently. I can't think of anything better than being able to take an ice-cold shower and change into something fresh and more comfortable. The playsuit is nice, but it’s also incredibly clingy and is wrapped tightly around my body. What I'd give to be in a pair of sweats right now.
The girls, who had bulldozed their way through the drinks menu on the flight were laughing loudly amongst each other and causing a scene. Locals who approached our direction started to cross the road before reaching us so that they could avoid any unnecessary drama of drunken holiday makers. Even Georgia was taking part a
nd I watched her cackle amongst the other witches around an invisible cauldron. I’m actually quite annoyed with her for not noticing that something is wrong with me. Surely, she must be able to tell that something is a bit off and that's why I'm not joining in on the fun?
As soon as we had landed, I switched my phone back to its normal state from airplane mode and urgently clicked open the surveillance app. It was strange looking at my home through a screen and it felt abnormal as hell; a little bit like watching the film Paranormal Activity, waiting for the worst to happen and although you don't really want to see it, you just can't help yourself. From what I could see from the live stream, nothing looked out of place and I felt a wave of relief wash over me. My single moment of comfort didn’t last long though, vanishing just as quickly as it had appeared when the devil on my shoulder reminded me that they could still be together – just not in my house, or just not yet.
The doors finally open and we all pile into the cramped, sweaty space. It takes forever for it to get going but when it does, I can hear the faint clicking of rusty metal cogs. I start to panic and my heart begins to flutter. What if we got stuck in here? How would I be able to check the app? I looked at my phone and seen that the signal had dissipated during the confinement. I'm being silly; catastrophizing when I've got enough to worry about and give myself a quick shake.
The lift smells bitter and yet also a little sweet; a variety of different perfumes blended with fumes of alcohol and body odour from all the different people who had graced it with its presence. It continued its ascent slowly but surely and the doors finally open. We are brought out at pool side and the girls stumble out one by one, giggling like children as they haul their over-packed and bulging cases behind them. I shouldn’t be so harsh on them, I know this. They’re just excited to start their holiday, I would have been too under normal circumstances.
I need to try a little harder to join in on the fun and brace myself, ready to at least attempt to pull myself together and plaster a smile on my face, for their sake, but as I pull on the handle of my suitcase it resists my jerk. I notice that one of the wheels has twisted the wrong way around and found itself stuck. I give it a heavy tug and kick the wheel with the side of my foot, forcing it back into its rightful position. I groan in irritation as I take my first step out of the doors. I push my black sunglasses off my face and on to the top of my head but I'm caught completely off guard by a pretty brunette impatiently waiting to enter.
My heart falls through my chest and into my stomach, my eyes widening in horror at the recognition of your face. Although I have only ever seen you in pictures, I recognise you immediately.
What. The. Fuck. How did you … where did you … WHY are you here? I struggle to comprehend the situation I have just stumbled upon. You for some reason look just as startled and dismayed as me; a vulnerable rabbit caught in headlights of a car as it naively travelled down a dark country road. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I played out every scenario that I thought possible in my head, and not one of them resulted in you standing before me today.
The time and effort I spent arranging those stupid, fidgety cameras around my house and here you are blowing it all out of the water. You have surprisingly not gone to see my husband after all, instead you are here for me. But how did you know where I would be staying, you crazy cow? Oh, shit! I could slap myself in the face right about now. Of course, the pictures I uploaded to my Facebook, the ones of our hotel that were intended to offer you confirmation that I would definitely be out of town, that’s where. My own foolish actions have come back to bite me in the ass and I can definitely feel the sting.
The girls have started to disappear from my sight and I am faced with two options here. As much as I would love nothing more than to plunge straight towards you and attack, I can’t. Yes, you think you have been very clever, and no I don't quite know what your next move will be just yet, but what I do know is that in your warped mind, I could never recognise you. To me, you are merely a stranger. Taking a deep breath, I begin my stride away from her without a second glance in her direction.
Chapter 23
A cool breeze blowing gently through the open balcony door rouses me from a distressed night's sleep. I tossed and turned and got up and lay back down more times than I can even remember. I was torn with what the best thing to do next was and to be honest, was still completely mortified that you were even here, that this was actually happening. After seeing you, the rest of last night turned into one big blur. We checked in at the reception and as the girls handed over our passports and placed deposits for the air conditioning and use of the safes, I stayed at the back, silently shitting myself for what was about to come next. I knew that there was absolutely no way that I could carry on with this holiday as normal; a sordid pretence looming over my head like a dark, violent cloud, whispering to me that everything was fine when in reality, it was far from it. I knew I couldn't keep this to myself for an entire week, and that's why I decided the only option I had was to come clean to the girls.
I gathered them round a small wooden table in the living area of one of our apartments, nobody took a seat which made everything seem all the more nerve racking, and as we all remained standing awkwardly, I told them everything. I barely took a breath, purposely spitting the story out like wildfire before anyone could interrupt or ask me questions until they knew the full story. I told them about the first time I had ever heard of you and why I believed that you weren't that big of a deal. I told them that last year I had seen his phone, and how I thought that he was about to take a dangerous step towards infidelity, and so soon into our marriage. I told them that he had seen sense though, that he had changed his mind about going through with anything stupid and how he returned home to me, where he belonged and so I saw no reason to do anything drastic. And finally, I told them about the mysterious like that I received on one of my Facebook pictures and how it led me to the conclusion that I believed that you would be visiting Jacob whilst I was here.
They stared at me as if I had told them everything in a foreign language, their mouths slack and their eyes wide and bewildered. I held my breath and waited for one of them to say something, especially Georgia, but I think they were, as cliché as it sounds, lost for words.
There was only one final thing left to tell them and really the only reason I decided to tell them about you at all. I exhaled slowly and lowered my head as I focused on a hairline crack on one of the white tiles on the floor and then I dropped the final bombshell; that you hadn't gone to see Jacob after all – you were here, in this country, in this town, and in our hotel.
There was a deafening silence for a couple of seconds but it felt like hours, and then the room erupted. Voices, so many loud voices, shouting and screaming and demanding more information. I held my hands to my ears and shook my head vigorously. The room was spinning out of control and I felt dizzy and dehydrated. I slowly lowered myself onto the blue and yellow striped sofa and braved to lift my head to face them. Although completely baffled by the whole fucked up situation, they reacted like true friends would and demanded that they be granted permission to go and find you, corner you and interrogate you on my behalf. I couldn't let them do that though, this wasn't their battle, it was ours – mine and yours.
Admittedly I did leave out the tiny, but irrelevant detail of setting up those stupid spy cameras around the house. I didn't want them to think I was crazy. I didn't think they would understand why I wanted to catch you both in the act, why I wanted to see it for myself, watch you both with my own eyes as my irises burned raw. I needed that proof to solidify everything in my mind, to watch any time I felt my resolve weakening as a result of my overpowering love and adoration for Jacob.
Georgia reacted the worst out of them all, which I expected, of course. Your best friend is always someone who takes on your pain as their own, who gets angrier about your hurt than you do, who will stop at nothing to protect you. Rage fizzled from her dark emerald eyes as she rocked back and
forth on her heels. She was so visibly upset for me, just as I would have been for her if roles had been reversed, but I also think she was a little bit hurt. It must have felt like a betrayal for her in some way. She hadn't known about any of this, about you, and part of me felt like I had stabbed her in the back by keeping you from her. I wanted to tell her, of course I did, but she wouldn't have understood why I chose to stay with him. She would have made things awkward and difficult and might even have stopped coming round the house altogether. I didn't want the dynamics of our friendship to change because Jacob fucked things up. Why should we suffer for his stupidity?
I struggled to meet her eyes. I felt ashamed and I had no idea what I was going to do next. My head was filled with a suffocating, thick fog that prevented me from thinking clearly; from making a rational decision. I knew one thing though, that I could not allow the girls to approach you. Whatever happened next was down to me. I had to be the one who took a step into whatever game you were playing and I knew that I had to be a better player.
I gently prod my face; it feels puffy, a mixture of lack of sleep and the sweltering heat. I feel extremely groggy and my mouth is dry; my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. Georgia is no longer lying beside me in the adjacent bed, but I can hear the faint whisper of voices flowing from the balcony. I peel a strand of my damp brown hair off my forehead and swing my legs out of bed forcing myself to get up before I changed my mind and curled back into the foetal position and pulled the lightweight sheet over my head.
I make my way out of the glass doors to greet the girls who have gathered around the plastic table. It's only Georgia and I who are staying in this room and yet they are all here this morning, presumably discussing me. Their heads swivel in unison as I emerge into the light. I don’t even need a mirror to tell me that I don’t look my best right now I can tell from their ghastly expressions.
The Lies She Told: A wickedly twisted psychological thriller that you cannot put down! Page 14
