The rest of the pub patrons were locals, each engrossed in their own conversations.
Simon turned back to us. ‘Perfect timing. Bec’s right – no one’s going to be walking around now, are they?’
‘Why?’ said Lisa.
‘What?’ Simon’s head snapped around.
‘Why a swimming race? Why now?’
Simon pointed at Greg. ‘Because I reckon I can beat him. David reckons I can’t. We have to settle this once and for all. Are you a man or a boy, Fisher?’
I saw it, then. The defiance in Greg’s eyes.
His brow puckered, and then he reached forward, picked up his pint of Guinness and drained it.
‘We should have a shot of whisky,’ he said, his broad Glaswegian dialect exaggerated by the alcohol. ‘My grandpa always swore by it, to keep the chill away.’
‘I’ll get them,’ said Hayley.
I watched as she wove between the tables, a few heads turning as she passed. I wondered what any of them saw in her. Her eagerness to please would work to my advantage though – good looks were a poor substitution for loneliness; her desperation to fit in was her own worst enemy.
She returned five minutes later with a tray and six glasses. An amber liquid splashed at the bottom of each.
Bec raised an eyebrow as she took hers. ‘Doubles?’
Hayley grinned as she slid the tray onto an empty table next to ours. ‘I figured we’d need it.’
Six glasses clinked together as we toasted Simon’s challenge.
I closed my eyes and winced at the burn of the spirit as it slid down my throat, thinking it was so typical of Hayley to buy the cheap stuff.
Moments later, we shrugged on coats, wrapped scarves around our necks and tumbled out of the door into the street.
The darkened entrance gates to the Common loomed opposite.
‘Not going to chicken out on me now, are you?’ said Simon.
‘Not a chance in hell, you southern softy,’ said Greg.
We laughed as we ran across the road, a car splashing past us in our wake.
Snowflakes splattered across my cheeks and nose as we followed the curve of the dirt and gravel path amongst the trees, moving further away from civilisation and closer to the dark waters of the lake.
The reed beds and trees gave the place a sense of calm and tranquillity in the warmer months, but now, as the narrow path opened out to a grass expanse and split into two, the lake seemed foreboding. It was only a few metres deep, but plunging into it in these temperatures would be deadly.
The island in the middle seemed to beckon us closer, and our pace slowed as we drew near.
‘Whoa!’
Bec cried out as she stumbled at the water’s edge, and then slapped Simon’s arm. ‘You idiot – I could have fallen in.’
He grinned, and then pulled her into a drunken hug. ‘I’d have saved you.’
‘You’re still an idiot.’
Greg moved away, and peered into the darkness. ‘All right, how do you want to do this?’
Simon pointed towards the copse of trees to our right. ‘That’s our starting point. The land slips down to the water, so it’ll be easier getting in and out.’
He led the way, humming under his breath.
I hung back, my hands shoved deep into my pockets, and wondered if I had the stamina for what was to come.
I had to.
There was no other way.
By the time I had reached the beach Simon had described, I was a few paces behind the others and sweating.
I tugged my scarf away from my neck and loosened the zip of my thick jumper, letting the cold air whisk the heat away.
Greg and Simon stood at the edge, water lapping at their boots while Hayley hovered a few steps to their right.
‘What do you reckon?’ said Simon as I joined them. ‘Two circuits around the lake, keeping to the deep water around the island, then back here.’
Greg said nothing. He kicked at a stone, the soft plop as it hit the water the only sound.
‘This is silly. You don’t have to do this.’
I turned at Lisa’s voice.
She stood, arms hugging her side, her breath fogging on the air. Her hair spiked out from under her woollen hat, and at that moment I thought she was the most beautiful being in the world.
‘She’s right,’ said Bec.
She huddled next to Lisa under the trees, waiting for an answer.
‘What do you think?’ Simon hadn’t turned away from the lake. ‘Race, or quit?’
I shivered.
‘Race,’ said Hayley, her words slurring a little.
‘Race,’ said Greg, and began to pull off his boots.
We didn’t hang about after that. As we stripped down to our boxer shorts, and Hayley peeled off layers to reveal a matching black bra and knicker set, the perilous weather conditions became more and more apparent. A freezing blast of air moved across the lake’s surface and whipped our bare skin.
We all swore – profanities that let out the shock, but not the fear.
Not for me.
Greg and Simon seemed high on adrenalin, laughing and joking as they hopped up and down, waiting for me.
Hayley was being her normal self – desperate to fit in, to be accepted.
‘For fuck’s sake, David, get a bloody move on,’ said Simon.
Finally, we were all ready. We lined up on the shoreline, and Greg glanced over his shoulder to where Lisa stood.
‘Count us in, babe.’
‘You’re all crazy.’ She sighed, but joined us at the edge. ‘Three, two, one—’
I ran into the shallow water, my bare feet sinking into silt and stones. Mud oozed between my toes.
‘Shit.’
Hayley let out a shriek as the icy water slapped against her skin, but she kept going.
We stumbled into deeper water, cursing the sharp stones and whatever else was down there that tried to thwart our progress, until a buoyancy claimed me, and I began to strike out, keeping my focus on the street light bobbing through the trees.
We swam side by side; Simon on the far left, Greg and Hayley in the middle, then me.
I recalled my own advice – keep moving. Don’t let your body register the cold, I reminded myself. There was a long way to go yet.
And there was. I’d never appreciated the girth of the lake when I’d shot past on my bike over the previous months but then, swimming in its cold depths, my insignificance tightened my chest.
I risked a glance to my left.
Hayley powered through the water, keeping behind Simon.
Greg’s strokes were methodical, determined, but he had none of their speed.
That was fine by me.
As Simon and Hayley pulled forward, I moved across to take their place, keeping pace with Greg but giving him a little headway.
We circled the lake once, and I looked at the shoreline to see Lisa and Bec at the water’s edge, their pale faces staring back at us.
I turned my focus back to our progress as we turned away from them and began to circle behind the island once more.
‘Fuck.’
I blinked. Simon was pulling forward to easily take the lead.
Beside me, Greg cursed again then slowed.
‘What’s wrong?’ I gasped.
‘Cramp.’
Perfect.
I knew he didn’t use the gym like Simon did, and I knew my clandestine swimming practice would give me an edge.
‘What’s wrong?’ Hayley had stopped, treading water as she peered back through the gloom at us. ‘What is it?’
‘Keep going,’ I urged. ‘He’s just got cramp. We’ll catch you up – don’t let Simon win.’
She raised her hand in reply, then took off after him, her arms powering her through the water.
The splashes of their progress receded around the final bend of our makeshift race circuit, leaving Greg and me in the shadows.
Alone.
He groaned through his te
eth, and then stopped, treading water.
‘Keep moving,’ I said. ‘It’s too cold to stop.’
‘I can’t.’ His silhouette bobbed in front of me as I circled him, a slow breast stroke that enabled me to keep my muscles from seizing up in shock.
The lake was only three metres deep here, but it didn’t matter in these temperatures. If he stopped swimming, he’d be in trouble.
He cried out then, a moment before his mouth and nose went under and he resurfaced, spluttering.
I kept quiet, watching, waiting until his movements spun him around, his back to me.
Then I surged forward, placed my hands on his shoulders and forced him under.
He squirmed, his bones and sinews fighting against my grip. Bubbles rose to the surface; a sure sign I was winning, that soon his body would go limp, give up its fight.
Die.
I said the word under my breath as he stopped struggling.
I didn’t let go. I counted to twenty, and then turned and powered back towards the beach under the trees, strong strokes that left me gasping, exhilarated.
Ahead, I could see four figures jumping up and down, the cries of excitement carrying over the water, cheering me on.
I smiled as I hauled myself out of the lake.
Because even though Simon had come first, I knew it was me who’d won the race.
49
Lisa
David gives a slight shake of his head, and focuses his gaze back to me, his lip curling into a snarl.
His hands move from my wrists to my neck, and he begins to squeeze.
I wriggle under his weight, trying to ignore the pain that cleaves my torso and stomach. I prise my fingers under his, desperate to find a way to loosen his grip around my throat.
He’s crushing my windpipe, and I can’t breathe. I can’t suck a single breath into my desperate lungs.
A fresh terror sweeps through me as I realise I’m going to pass out.
And that if I pass out, I will die.
I grit my teeth, then slap at his face with my open palms, forcing the heel of my hand to smash against his nose, his ears, his lips. Anything soft that I can damage.
Blood bursts from his nose, arcing across my face, and I screw up my eyes.
His weight shifts, and his grip loosens for a moment.
I open my eyes.
David gasps, arches his back and cranes his neck back so I can’t reach his face anymore.
He grins through the blood pouring from his nose, a grotesque, manic expression in his eyes.
Then his hands wrap around my throat again.
‘Go on,’ he says. ‘Fight. You won’t win.’
His head whips around as someone starts ringing the doorbell.
‘Tell them to go away, Lisa.’
‘Help me!’
The backhanded slap comes from nowhere, the sound reverberating off the wall next to me, the pain from his knuckles against my cheek excruciating.
I’m weakening, losing consciousness, and I’m beginning to wonder if I imagined another voice.
Then, through the roaring of my own heartbeat in my ears, I can hear someone banging on the door, and a familiar voice calls through the letterbox.
‘Lisa?’
The banging grows louder, interspersed with shouted orders but David doesn’t seem to notice.
He’s mesmerised, tangling his hands in my hair before he lowers his face to mine.
My lips quiver as a solitary tear rolls down my cheek.
He strokes my face, running his hands down my ribcage, his fingers tracing the bones underneath the thin skin, and then he pauses, hovering over my bruised abdomen.
‘I wanted you. I did it all for you, Lisa.’
A crashing, splintering noise reaches me, and I cry out with relief.
David is dragged away from me, yelling as he’s restrained.
I let out a shuddering, gasping breath and try to sit up, but there’s a hand on my shoulder, a calm voice slicing through the panic.
‘It’s okay, Lisa. Deep breaths. Sit there for a moment.’
I do as I’m told, and watch as two uniformed officers haul David to his feet. They’re none too gentle about it.
He sneers at me, as if he’s going to spit at me or something but they spin him around and march him past the broken door, heading outside. I can hear the squawk of a radio and one of them talking to him in a low voice, telling him that anything he does say could be used in evidence.
Evidence?
I lower my gaze to my abdomen and lift my sweatshirt. The remnant stitches are fine, the bruising is not. I cry out as I lower my top, my fingers brushing against my wound.
‘Here. Stand up.’
I twist around and look up, and I can’t stop the sharp intake of breath, wondering why I didn’t recognise the voice.
It’s DC Angela Forbes, and she actually looks concerned.
I say nothing, but take the proffered hand and haul myself to my feet, then bend over and rest my hands on my knees as the room spins.
‘Take it easy,’ she says.
‘I haven’t got a lot of choice.’ I blink, and try to focus. ‘How did you know? Why did you come here?’
When she doesn’t answer, I straighten and turn to face her.
Her lips are pursed, and then she utters words that send a chill to my core.
‘Lisa Ashton, you do not have to say anything …’
50
Lisa
I straighten my shoulders as Forbes enters the room but I’m surprised to see the man behind her.
Mortlock, the detective who came to Mum and Dad’s house last weekend, sits opposite the solicitor who’s been appointed for me.
Forbes drags out the chair opposite mine, slaps a manila folder on the table between us and then gestures to her superior.
He reaches out, starts the recording machine at the far end of the table and recites the formalities, his voice clear and unwavering.
Amongst these people, in their business suits and shirt sleeves, I’m scruffy in my creased sweatshirt and old jeans. I wish I could’ve put on some clean clothes, some make-up, at least had the chance to run a brush through my hair. I understand now why Hayley is always so immaculately dressed.
It’s her armour.
I swallow, try to ignore the lump in my throat and wonder why I’m here.
I was the one who was attacked, so why am I being treated like a suspect? Don’t they have rules for victims of assault? Shouldn’t I be somewhere else, being looked after?
‘Are you okay, Lisa?’
Forbes’s opening question throws me for a moment. I stutter a response before I clear my throat and try again.
‘Yes.’
Because I am, I realise. They have David under arrest, don’t they? He can’t hurt me now. ‘How did you know?’
The question is out before I can stop it, and Forbes holds up a hand.
‘We’ll get to that. When did you first hear that Rebecca Wallis had tried to take her own life?’
‘After the ambulance left her house. David sent me a text message.’
‘Can you confirm this is the message that you were sent?’
She slides across a sheet of paper, and I read the transcript that must have been taken from David’s phone.
I sigh, and force myself to concentrate. I have no idea what this has to do with David attacking me, but if Forbes wants to drag this out to impress her boss, then so be it.
‘That’s it, yes.’
‘What happened next?’
‘I wanted to go to the hospital, to be there for Bec. I can’t drive at the moment, not after my transplant operation, so Mum took me there.’
‘What happened when you got to the hospital?’
‘Hayley and David were waiting. Hayley said Bec tried to kill herself. She said there was blood everywhere.’
‘Had she been inside the house?’
‘I don’t think so, no.’
‘So how did she know t
here was blood everywhere?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose David told her.’
‘Who else was at the hospital?’
I cross my arms over my chest. ‘That bloody journalist. The one who wrote the story about Bec supposedly killing Simon.’
‘What did he say?’
‘I can’t remember. Something about how did I feel about her trying to kill herself. David—’
I break off at the memory. David had come to my rescue. David had told the journalist to get lost, and had grabbed the man by the collar before walking him to the door. He’d protected me from the reporter.
So, why did he just attack me?
‘Lisa?’
I look up, to see Forbes and her boss watching me.
‘What?’
‘What did David do?’
I tell her. ‘I’ve never seen him like that before. He was never aggressive.’
‘Not in all the time you’ve known him?’
‘No.’
‘Do you have any idea why Rebecca tried to kill herself?’
‘I assumed it was because that news story was published about her. About you lot holding her for questioning. After all, you made it look like she’d killed her ex, didn’t you? Did you leak that story? Did you speak to that reporter and tell him what you thought she’d done? It’s your fault she nearly died, isn’t it?’
My voice is rising, but I can’t help it. I’m furious now that I’ve realised what Forbes must’ve done, just because she didn’t have any evidence and couldn’t charge Bec.
The solicitor, an elderly man, reaches out and places his hand on my forearm. I glance across to him, and he shakes his head, his blue eyes piercing.
‘I can assure you we didn’t speak to the press,’ says Forbes. ‘We have strict protocols in place for how and when we engage with the media, and neither I nor anyone else on this investigating team contacted—’ she glances down at her notes ‘—Scott Nash or Stella Barrett. However, we’ve interviewed Mr Nash in the past half hour and it transpires that he did receive a tip-off.’
‘From who?’
‘David Marsh.’
She may as well have punched me in the stomach. The breath leaves me in a drawn-out gasp, and I place a hand on the table to steady myself.
The Friend Who Lied Page 18
