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

by Paula Johnston

  I take a seat on an empty bed and scoot in close to you, pulling your dainty hand into mine. I move in even closer; our knees are just about touching; a complete intrusion into your personal space. I clear my throat and the words begin to float from my mouth like a well-rehearsed song.

  ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to be nosey,’ my voice is remarkably calm and soothing. ‘I’ve been in and out of my balcony today, trying to catch some sun as I’ve not been feeling too good and I couldn’t help but notice you.’

  You exhale loudly at the sound of my voice, almost as if you didn't expect it to be real. I continue to ride the dangerous wave that I’ve started to surf.

  ‘I couldn’t bear watching you any longer, and you don’t need to tell me what’s wrong, but are you OK?’

  Come on now babe, take the bait, it was a catch you were after whilst you were fishing, was it not? I watch as your forehead creases, a sign that you are wandering around my face, examining every bit of me intricately. Before you speak, you remove your hand from my tight grip and push those large, tacky sunglasses up on to the top of your head. Your eyes, they look puffy and strained, which is strange considering your discomfort hasn't been genuine. Your mascara is ugly, smudged across your cheeks like war paint and you appear timid and weak under my powerful glare.

  ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

  Your Scottish accent slaps me across the face. Your Glaswegian twang is unfamiliar to my ears, although not as difficult to interpret as I expected. Now that you have found the balls to finally speak, you don't want to stop.

  ‘It’s my boyfriend. He told me he didn’t want to be with me any more - a day before our holiday.’

  You puff your chest out and force another couple of sobs for good measure. It takes every bit of strength I have to stop myself from slapping you across your jaw. It seems that you have thought this through. You have a lie freshly baked and ready to serve me, so I let you continue.

  ‘I didn’t know what to do, so I came on this stupid holiday by myself and now everything is just a mess.’

  I consider the tangled web that you have expertly spun me for a few seconds. Had I not known who you are, I might actually have been gullible enough to take pity on you with such a sob story, but fortunately – or unfortunately for you – I do know who you are, don't I?

  I keep my attention firmly on you, my head painfully rigid and in position with my jaw clenched. My back faces the other side of the pool – the side where the girls are - and although I can’t see them, I can definitely feel their sharp eyes bore into the back of my skull. By now they will all have realised who you are and be wondering what the hell I am doing, and what I am going to do next. Maybe they are bracing themselves for a cat fight, claws out, sharp and ready for a showdown, but that's not going to happen. What I do next will shock them, I know this. It's probably going to shock you too.

  I stay as calm as I can be and tell you that I will look after you – be your guardian angel of some sorts. It was a friend you were after wasn't it? Isn't that why you've been trying your best but failing miserably to grab the attention of one of my girls? Let's cut out the middle man, shall we? We both know that it's me you're really interested in, and so I invite you out to dinner with me this evening. It would have been rude of you to refuse, and also quite strange considering you're here alone, so you don't.

  I bet you never thought that I would be the one to approach you, especially since I have been out of sight today, but you see, that’s the power of having the upper hand; something you believed you had by coming here. I tell you to meet me later tonight, around 7pm, and then leave you alone with your thoughts – I imagine you will have many now. I rise slowly from the plastic bed and begin to head back to my room, purposely not looking back because over my shoulder are the girls and I don't want them to make a scene. It won't take long for them now to pack up their things and scurry upstairs to demand answers from me.

  The four of them stand in front of me in my apartment; lined up like obedient soldiers waiting for command. The room is silent for a long time before anyone dares to speak first and so it's left to me to be the one who does. I speak first, explaining the ins and outs of our conversation and confirming that yes, it was you, you're the crazy bitch who has followed us to Tenerife. I tell them my plan for you, not just for tonight, but for the week.

  ‘You can’t be fucking serious Lauren’, Lilly exclaims. I flinch slightly, it's always so strange when she curses.

  They all wait for me to reply, to tell them that I’m only joking, but of course, I’m not. I shake my head, unable to give them the response they want and deciding not to waste another breath on trying to justify my actions.

  Danni is the second to shoot her shot.

  ‘So, let me get this straight. You are ditching us, your actual friends, to spend the entire week with her, your sleazy husband’s bit on the side?’

  Her finger jabs the air furiously, something she does when she’s extremely angry and desperate to start an argument. I try to stay as calm as possible and not let her rile me, even though the way she just spoke about my husband was a little out of line. Yes, he has done wrong, but it is not her place to throw names around.

  ‘It’s not quite as straightforward as that’ I reply.

  I look at Georgia, desperate for her help but her face is blank, as if it has been turned into stone.

  ‘Look, it’s like this. I have to spend time with her to find out what she’s like, you know, see what’s so special about her – if anything! I can really get to know her by pretending to be her friend, and then maybe she will come clean.’

  ‘And then what will you do?’ Georgia interrupts.

  ‘I don’t know George!’ I snap, angry that she has finally chosen to say something but only to attack me. ‘Maybe I will record a confession or something on my phone so that I can play it back to Jacob when we’re home.’

  They all look at each other, silently mocking me, not quite understanding or even trying to comprehend what I’m trying to say or why I need to do it, and I’m growing more irritated by the minute.

  I hadn't actually made my mind up yet on whether I would include the girls at some point, but their reactions do that for me. They cannot be trusted to support me and I now don’t want any of them to get involved – even George, which stings a little. I will do this, all of this, by myself and I order none of them to approach or confront you. If you pass them, they should look the other way, if you talk to them, they should be polite but disengaging.

  Their faces are a mixture of emotions; two of which definitely being disbelief and confusion with a third quite possibly being anger. The final person to say anything is my best friend, who approaches me in one quick stride and positions herself extremely close to my face, so close our noses are almost touching. She looks me dead in the eye and spits her words like venom.

  ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’

  She turns on her heels and swings open the apartment door. The rest of them all follow and leave the room behind her. The room falls eerily quiet and I bite down on my bottom lip hard, hoping that it will stop the tears that have begun to form in my eyes. So that's that then. It's just me and you now, all alone.

  Chapter 26

  The right outfit for tonight didn't come to me instantaneously, but after a quick scroll through your Instagram using my fake account, I managed to find exactly what I was looking for. The blood red jumpsuit that I bought before coming here is perfect. The shade is really out there and in your face. A simplistic item of clothing and yet still very much a statement in its own right. It's the kind of outfit that you wear when you want to say something, whether it be to yourself or someone else. I hope you feel intimidated by its boldness, and I'm sure that you will, but just to tweak it slightly, I add a little more emphasis to my small waist by pulling out a thin black belt from my case and securing it tightly around me. I admire myself in the mirror. I suppose I have what you call an hourglass figu
re. I'm petite, but my curves are always something I am proud of, they make me feel seductive and powerful, and you know what they say - if you got it, flaunt it. I guess the strangest thing is that I didn't ever imagine I would be flaunting myself to you.

  It's still a bit of a shocker to be honest; you being here, I mean. When I packed my case, I did it meticulously with photo opportunities in mind. I only ever expected Jacob to notice the similarities between us - play with his mind a little. But hey, you're here now so I guess that means I'm lucky enough to be able to toy with the both of you.

  At quarter to seven I’m ready to go but I decide to bask in the sunset of my balcony. The world below seems peaceful. The last of today's sunbathers have started to pack up their things from the poolside and there's a stillness to the chlorinated water that you don't see or appreciate until this time of night. I always remember thinking that the water itself was that dreamy blue colour. I couldn't believe it when my mum told me that it was in fact the tiles on the ground that made the water appear that colour. Such a simple and small snippet of information that changes your outlook on the surface of things. It's a bit like life really - my life. It appears perfect to the naked eye; some might even say I have the ideal marriage. To my friends and family, everything between us is rosy and beautiful and bright and I used to agree with them, I truly believed it too. But just like when my mum told me that one tiny truth about those pool tiles, I now see things for what they really are. Our life isn't rosy and bright at all, it's grainy and dull.

  I take a deep breath and inhale the warm air. Is this what it feels like – the calm before the storm? Although I told you to be there for seven, it has always been my intention to be late tonight. I want to keep you waiting for a while, just for fun – mine of course. I imagine that you will be really racking your brains now, conjuring up a wicked plan of your own, something entirely new and different than what you had originally thought of. Maybe you have been smart enough to think of something else already, but by personally choosing to befriend you I will have almost definitely thrown a cat amongst the pigeons. There is no doubt in the fact that you will have been forced to reassess the situation.

  I wonder if your conscience could have gotten the better of you. You might not be thinking of a way forward at all, but a way out of all this instead. Let's be honest, things have gone a little bit too far now, haven't they? Perhaps things just seem that bit too real now that you have met me, and you've decided to call the whole thing quits and set off home. That's really what you should be doing, and yet I just don't believe that you're capable of being so rational with your actions. There’s nothing more dangerous than being left alone with your own thoughts and you are one dangerous girl.

  After allowing a further ten minutes to pass, I start to make my way down to the bar to meet you. I feel confident as I walk towards you. Do you know that red is Jacob's favourite colour? I wonder what other intimate details you know about him. Do you know that even though he is half Italian, he can barely string a sentence together? Do you know that he has two brothers that look absolutely nothing like him? Do you know that he wears socks with his sliders even when he's in the house? You can't know him like I do.

  My perfectly curled hair bounces delicately with each click of my solid wedged heels and the narcissist in me can't help but wonder what you think of me as I approach you. For the second time today, I am confused by your choice of clothing. I'm not being mean, it’s not that you're dressed badly - just not how I expected you to be - not after seeing your pictures on Instagram anyway. You're always so extra and thirsty for the attention and the likes. I examine you subtly, taking in your petite legs that have been squeezed into pale blue skinny jeans and are dangling loosely from the high stool that you are perched on. You don't have on heels like I do either, and instead you've opted for a flat pair of flat sandals that I suppose match your equally bland white top. I don't have anything against a pair of skinnies and some flats, but again, it's just not what I expected from you.

  I make my apologies for being late of course, and now up close to you I can see that you have chosen to leave your make up behind tonight. Could it be that you've misplaced your foundation in the same place that you appear to have lost your fashion sense? Oh, meow Lauren. I guess that was a little catty of me, but you look demurely pretty and painfully innocent sitting in front of me, with hair that’s been straightened within an inch of its life.

  I can’t understand why you don't look the way you should. None of your pictures show you in this light, not one. Is your Instagram merely a facade? So many people post the best versions of themselves online in a pathetic attempt to dupe people into thinking that their lives are flawless and complete. It's become the social norm to filter the life out of your pictures, crop your waist a little and smooth out any stretch-marks. Who do we do it for? Is it for ourselves? Is it to look better than someone you're secretly in competition with? Or is it for men’s approval? In your case, I'm going to shoot my shot here and run with the latter, except the man you want to impress isn't yours, is he? He's mine.

  Slowly I start to realise that you are far more cunning than I first had you pegged. Of course, I’ve seen what an impressive actress you can be and I'm very aware that you're slightly unhinged, but this - all of this - all of you right now, it's an act isn't it? You've intentionally dressed like a lost lamb; weak, fragile and looking for guidance. I shake my head in amusement. You crazy, crazy, bitch. You definitely have some balls on you, I'll give you that.

  OK then, I decide, if you are here to stay and ready to play then tonight, I will be your trusty shepherd.

  Jacob

  What's going on babe? Haven't heard much from U x

  I'm surprised you've even noticed! X

  Of course, I notice, I always notice when you ain’t doing my nut in x

  Is that what I do yea? Do you not like nutters? X

  Only when they're as fit as you x

  I'll remember you said that x

  I'm sure u will, dickhead! X

  Charming. You're always so nice to me ... are you as nice to all your other girls? X

  Just you babe, always you x

  Chapter 27

  Lauren

  To this day, whenever I go to my old man for advice, he tells me the exact same as he has always done since I was a little girl - Baby girl, failing to prepare is preparing to fail. His ability to research and organise things down to the very last detail is only one of many things I admire about him, which is why I searched for a restaurant earlier today instead of leaving it up to chance. I browsed the internet for top rated restaurants nearby and scrolled through several reviews that boasted about the quality of food or exceptional customer service – sometimes even both. Even though there was many to choose from that would have been suitable, I settled on a beautiful Moroccan themed restaurant that looked cosy and intimate. I didn't want lots of eyes on us. I didn't want big, flamboyant cooking exhibitions. I simply wanted me, you and our meal. I'm pleased with my choice now that we are here, the pictures didn’t do it justice; it's much more beautiful in person.

  I watch you discretely over the top of my menu as you debate your choice of meal. Would you be a plain eater; fussy and uninteresting, or would you opt for something a bit more flavoursome; something spicy and wild? Much to my amusement you choose quite a simple chicken dish and part of me suspects that you might not be quite the dare devil you portray yourself to be. However, in order for me to form a strong alliance with you, I have to make myself likeable, someone you would naturally gravitate towards in a normal setting, and so I quickly decide to match your taste and order the exact same dish. You smile at me fondly and it's all the reassurance I need that I have successfully created common ground between us.

  You are extremely chatty and upbeat tonight, not the damsel in distress that I had met earlier today. The heavy sobs have disappeared, and your frown is now replaced with a permanent smile. I try my best to act as normal as possible, at least as norma
l as I can be in this situation, by pretending that I’m simply out for dinner with an old school friend but I admit, it is difficult. I feel like I’m on a really awkward first date or at an interview for a job that I don’t really even want. I almost wish you had gone to see Jacob after all, and allowed me the time with my own friends.

  Despite this, I answer all your questions, watching carefully for any signs of approval or disdain that you are willing to give. You are relentless though, firing them wildly at me; your mouth a loaded gun, and I am honest about most things. I imagine that Jacob will have already told you quite a lot, so I see no point in wasting energy trying to lie to you.

  I hope you never try your hand at poker, your face is unforgivably honest. A wave of jealousy crashes over you as I discuss life at home - especially at the mention of my own salon. Your pretty face twists into something sour and even though you try to hide it, you look just like a spoiled child who has pinched a fizzy sweet from someone else’s bag and then was caught off-guard by its bitterness, giving the game away.

  Through all this chitter chatter, there has been no mention of your connection to Jacob and I wonder when you are going to drop the act and come clean by telling me who you really are. I wait for you to tell me that you know who I am and that you have some sort of relationship with my husband. You could even swing it that you're here following the girl code and wanted to tell me woman to woman what type of man I was married to, and yet nothing even remotely like that escapes your mouth. I’m a patient girl, but eventually my patience will run out, especially when I know for certain that I am being lied to. I mean, you've even lied to me about your real fucking name, introducing yourself as Zara instead of Karly. The more lies you tell, the quicker I realise why you have done this though. By giving me a false name, you've successfully covered your back if I was ever to speak about you with Jacob. If I was to mention that I had bumped into a Scottish girl named Karly, I'm pretty sure that he would have been thoroughly alarmed. It's clear you don't want to risk any interference from him whilst we are here, and for that I am grateful, because neither do I.