Between the Lies

by Michelle Adams

  ‘You’ve literally got no idea, have you?’ I shake my head. He seems to feel sorry for me. ‘It was you, Chloe. You were driving my car.’

  THIRTY-NINE

  I walk away from Damien Treadstone, my head down, my hair swept left and right as the wind picks it up like flames. I find it hard to comprehend everything he has told me, to understand how his truth fits with mine. What we both think we know are two separate pieces of a puzzle. The edges don’t align; it is an abstract painting that makes no sense. Part of me wants to think he is lying, that this is nothing more than a ruse to exploit my amnesia. But I don’t believe that. He never tried to contact me between that night and now. He was relying on me going to court, relying on my inability to identify him. He trusts his account of that night. Because he is telling the truth.

  I wander without purpose, confused, until I arrive at the seafront. I sit in one of the Victorian shelters with the glow of an ornate street lamp above me and gaze out to the ocean, the vast blackness of it. The lights of the Palace Pier shine through the mist, the dome lit up. The waves charge towards the shore like a squadron of cavalry, crash-landing across the shingle beach. I can feel the spray of the water on my face, a fine mist. I see the ghost of the West Pier and, as I turn, the Brighton Metropole behind me. I’ve been here before, I know it. Seen this same view. Further up the road a couple laugh as they share a bag of fish and chips.

  I wrap my arms around my body and consider what Damien Treadstone told me. I believe his version of events. He is adamant that he wasn’t involved in the accident. It makes more sense than anything else I’ve heard. At least now I know why I can remember running through the trees to reach the clearing where Joshua died. It makes sense why I was found with cuts all over my face, and why my injuries seemed inconsistent with the findings from the crash site: I wasn’t driving my car. But why would somebody else be driving it with Joshua in it? And how did I end up in it before I was found by the police? Although I can’t explain why I was in Preston Park, I now know I was there prior to the crash. I need to talk to the police.

  I find my way to my house, my old home, and with a rock from the beach I break a pane of glass in the door to let myself in. It is dark, cold without the electricity or heating, filled with that scent of a house left empty. The vulnerability of being alone smothers me. I move into the kitchen, stand there for a moment just looking. Trying to make sense of the things I have remembered. But I can’t. Instead I look through the drawers. Although most of them are empty, in one drawer I find an old kitchen knife. I take it out, run my finger along the edge of the blade. I take it with me, sit down on the couch and pull the phone towards me. I find DS Gray’s number in my pocket and punch it into the handset.

  When he picks up, I tell him what I know: that I was in Preston Park on the night of the crash; that I believe I stole Damien Treadstone’s car because somebody else had stolen mine with my son inside. For a moment there’s silence, and I wonder whether he is going to believe me. But then, just as I am about to prompt him, he speaks.

  ‘I’ll struggle to get any CCTV from that area overnight, but I’ll do my best. If you remember anything else, be sure to let me know. And Chloe, there’s something else I should tell you before you go.’ He pauses. ‘Andrew’s alibi checks out.’

  Of course it does.

  I hang up the phone. In some ways I’m relieved to know I wasn’t driving the car that crashed with Joshua in it, but at the same time I can remember DS Gray telling me there was paint transfer between the vehicles, indicating that the two cars touched. I might still be responsible for causing the crash, which in some way is even worse. I look down at the knife, wonder how well it might cut.

  I take off the coat which belongs to my mother, the one she forced across my shoulders before I left my parents’ house. I curl up on the sofa, hugging my legs in close with a dusty throw from the settee pulled over me to get warm. I think of Andrew alone in that tiny room, trying to fix himself even though he has lost the people most precious to him in the world. I am comforted by the idea that we were going to try again, by the thought that even now he is prepared to forgive me, that he understands we both messed up. Somehow it makes my mistakes easier to bear.

  What I also know is that going to Preston Park has triggered certain memories, helped push my story further on. I knew as soon as I walked through the rose garden that I had been there that night. Now I know I must visit the scene of the crash, understand that night once and for all. I pick up the phone and dial Guy’s number.

  ‘Hello?’ he says.

  ‘Hi, Guy, it’s Chloe.’

  ‘Hey, it’s good to hear from you. I’ve missed you.’

  He sounds coy, adolescent. We haven’t spoken since he dropped me at my parents’ house earlier, but surely that’s not enough time to miss me? The night we shared hangs over us, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it like I am. Should I be ashamed that we had sex? That’s certainly how I feel. But he is the only person who can help me now.

  I explain what happened: the meeting with Damien, the certainty that somebody else was at the scene of the crash. I even admit that I think I was having an affair, because it now seems pointless not to. Andrew knows, and he has, in some small way, forgiven me. He doesn’t blame me like I blame myself. That somehow makes it easier.

  ‘Will you take me to the crash site?’ I ask. ‘I think you were right about facing up to things. Going there might help me remember the final pieces of the puzzle.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re ready?’

  ‘I don’t have a choice. I have to try to remember, and you’re the only person who can help me with this.’

  ‘OK. Let’s say nine in the morning. Do you want me to pick you up from your parents’ house?’

  ‘No. I want to go now.’

  ‘Isn’t it a bit late to go today? It’s nearly 9 p.m.’

  ‘I have to do this tonight. I’ve already told the police about what I’ve remembered. I can’t wait.’

  The flippancy leaves his voice. ‘The police? What did you call them for?’

  ‘Because I’m convinced that Damien Treadstone is telling the truth, Guy. Somebody else took my car with Joshua in it. The police are already looking for CCTV from Preston Park now that Damien has admitted where he really was, and if they find what they’re looking for, we’ll know who took my car, killed my son and left me for dead. But what if they can’t find anything? I have to go there, Guy, and maybe then I’ll remember who it was.’

  I listen as he takes a breath. For a moment I worry that he is going to say no. ‘OK, Chloe. When you put it like that … I’m on my way.’

  I hang up the phone, pull the small throw from the back of the sofa and position it over my legs. It’s freezing cold in this house, the life gone. I dial one more number and hope my sister will answer. She does.

  ‘Chloe?’

  ‘Yes, it’s me.’

  She lets out a long breath. ‘Chloe, where are you? You’ve been gone for hours.’ I can hear her footsteps pacing back and forth in the hallway, my mother in the background trying to take the phone from her. My father? Where is he now? Now that I know he is still lying, that he had no intention of ever telling me the truth? ‘Just tell us where you are so that we can come and get you. It’s not safe for you to be alone for too long.’ It’s sometimes easy to forget that I’m only a few weeks past brain surgery, despite the reminder every time I look in the mirror.

  ‘It’s not necessary, Jess. I’m with Guy.’ What is one more little lie? ‘I’ve already spoken to the police. I know now where I was that night. I have to go and see the scene of the crash for myself.’

  ‘Chloe, why don’t you just wait for the police to do their job?’

  ‘I can’t do that. I’ll call you later, Jess, OK?’

  And with that I hang up the phone. When it begins to ring, I pull the cable from the wall and the house goes silent. Guy will be here soon and then I can try to put this right. I close my eyes, let my head rest ba
ck, awash in the knowledge of everything I’ve remembered. It’s only minutes before sleep takes me.

  FORTY

  Friday 1 September 2017, 7.15 p.m.

  My breathing was fast as I set down the phone, my hands shaking. I could see my father in the rear-view mirror, waving at me to come back. I could still hear his words ringing in my head: Don’t go back to him, Chloe. Don’t leave like this. I looked to the passenger seat and Joshua glanced up at me. ‘Are we still going to meet Daddy?’

  I flashed him a warm smile, nodded my head. ‘Of course we are.’ We were on the cusp of a new start, one last chance to get things right. Andrew had agreed to leave tonight, to leave everything behind. But now it was all under threat. ‘It’s just that Mummy forgot she has to do something first. Before we meet Daddy we have to go somewhere. To Brighton. But it’s a surprise, OK, so I need you to keep it a secret. Can you do that?’ His smile widened, worry disappearing from his face. The guilt of the lie cut through me.

  He gave his seat belt a tug, checked it was tight like he always did, and set himself facing front. I couldn’t have felt worse, having to take him along with me, but I had to do this now. I had to end it before it went any further. Before he told Andrew like he had threatened to. It was so hot I felt sick, sweat in my armpits damp and sticky. Beads of it forming on my face.

  ‘Who was that on the phone?’ Joshua asked.

  ‘Nobody, Josh. It was nothing.’

  ‘But Mummy,’ he said, his voice quiet and soft, ‘you look upset.’

  ‘That’s just because I had a silly argument with Grandpa. It’s nothing, Josh, I promise.’

  I drove for twenty minutes, through the countryside, heading towards Brighton. I opened the window, but the air was so heavy I found no relief. I pulled up at the entrance to Preston Park, manoeuvred the car into the usual spot on The Ride, concealed from the road. I turned off the engine, listened as it settled to silence. Took a deep breath.

  I saw another car parking behind me. Was it him? But seconds later a man I didn’t recognise got out. He slammed the door, pulled up his collar and walked away from the car, looking over his shoulder, paying no attention to me.

  Was I really doing this with Joshua here alongside me? Leaving him in the car while I went to talk to him? To demand he stopped threatening to tell Andrew about our affair?

  ‘Mummy, are you OK?’

  I tried to smile, reached over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Of course. I’m fine. Just excited about seeing Daddy soon, that’s all.’ The smile that spread across Joshua’s face was huge, the gap between his teeth where one had fallen out gaping and wide. And the saddest thing was that it was the truth: I was excited. How had I fucked this up so much? How was it that I was here in Preston Park demanding an end to the affair that threatened our future? How had he got Andrew’s telephone number? ‘I really need you to behave, OK, Joshua? I need you to stay here and look after the car.’

  His smile disappeared. ‘On my own? Can’t I come with you?’ He clicked his belt open, edged forward. ‘I could help with the surprise.’

  I shook my head. I could drive away now. I didn’t have to do this, did I? I could end things tomorrow once I was far away from here, or the next day, or not at all. I could just disappear. He wouldn’t go through with the threat and tell Andrew, would he? What would be the point if he did? It would ruin everything. But what if he was past that? What if all he wanted was revenge? No, I had to tell him now that it was over. If I did it face to face, I felt sure I could make him understand.

  ‘I’m afraid not, Josh. You need to stay here. But I’m going to lock you in, OK? Don’t open the door to anybody.’

  I stepped from the car, clicked the button, and flashed Joshua a wink. My face felt flushed and damp. Heat and nerves. Josh was already settling in with Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, his new obsession, magic and wizards. He wanted to be a wizard when he grew up, said he wanted to be able to change the world to make it anything he wanted it to be. I loved the idea that he hadn’t lost faith in life being good, but hated the fact that he thought only magic would achieve it. I checked the locks, and then headed up the road.

  The scent from the rose garden was heady, with waves of heat rising from the ground. Just up ahead, the man who had parked behind me was striding along, arms swinging. I watched as he cut through to the left, next to the café. He was heading in the same direction I was.

  I stepped up my pace, wanting to get it over and done with. I hadn’t seen him in days. I’d been ignoring his text messages so I knew he was going to be angry. I had tried to end it once before, but he had worn me down with his promises of a better future. Together, he always told me, we could be a family, easy and simple, without any of the problems that had driven me to him in the first place. I would always fall for that, the idea of something better, something stable for Joshua. Something normal. But now Andrew was offering the same thing. He had promised to go to rehab once we settled into a new life, told me he would do anything to make things work. This time there was something different in his voice that made me believe he might just do it. Not just for me, but for all of us, so we didn’t lose what we had. Our family. I had to try one last time, for Joshua’s sake.

  I suddenly noticed a set of keys on the path in front of me. I bent down, picked them up: a silver key chain in the shape of a D. Did they belong to the man walking ahead of me?

  ‘Hey!’ I called. I saw him glance over his shoulder. I waved the keys back and forth, hoped he could see what I was holding. ‘Wait up!’

  But instead of stopping, he began to hurry on even faster. It was strange, because he looked like he had heard me. As I picked up the pace in an effort to reach him, he sped up again. Seconds later, he disappeared into the bushes.

  ‘You dropped your keys!’ I shouted, but it was futile. I decided I would leave them on his car, by the wipers, hoping that he found them before anybody else did.

  I looked back to my own car, saw Joshua’s blonde head just visible through the side window. I could smell roses, freshly cut grass, hear the distant chugging from the engine of a ride-on lawn mower. Soon enough the seasons would change, things would be different. It was time for change. That was what we needed. At least that was what I hoped.

  I shoved the keys into the pocket of my dress along with my own as I passed the café and took the right-hand fork, heading towards the bench, the place we had met so many times before over the course of the last three months.

  He was late. It must have been ten minutes before I saw him walking towards me. He was obscured by shrubbery but it was unmistakably him. I noticed his car parked just out of view of the road like it always was, away from mine, safe from suspicion. He smiled as he approached, his large frame casting a shadow as he narrowed the distance. Still I felt a weakness for his touch, a need for his body to be close to mine, even now when I was determined to tell him it was over.

  I took a breath.

  I had to do this.

  I had to do it now.

  I had no other choice.

  FORTY-ONE

  I wake with a start to the sound of a fist drumming against the door. When I pull it open, Guy is standing there. He steps forwards, stops abruptly.

  ‘Oh Christ,’ he says. ‘What are you doing with that?’ He reaches down, takes the knife from my hand, sets it down on the side.

  ‘I was here alone,’ I say.

  He stares at the blade for a moment, then takes me into his arms. His grip is strong and powerful, his stubble rough against my cheek. ‘I’m here now. I got stuck behind an accident and tried calling, but the line was dead.’ He looks down at the phone, notices the cable unplugged from the wall. ‘I thought something had happened to you.’

  ‘I fell asleep. I pulled it out so my parents couldn’t call me back. I knew they wouldn’t leave me alone to do this.’

  ‘Well, grab your coat. It’s cold out tonight and it’s started raining again.’ He looks down at my trainers. ‘You could do with
a pair of wellies where we’re going.’

  ‘Should we wait a while, do you think?’ I peer out of the window. The rain is battering the glass, streams of it rushing down in abstract waves. The street lights blink behind it.

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘You were right in the first place. We need to do this now.’ He reaches past me, grabs the coat from the sofa. ‘But wear this, otherwise you’ll freeze.’

  We run to the car pressed up against each other as he tries to use his coat to shelter us both from the rain. I get into the passenger seat, and he rushes around the front to the driver’s door. He struggles out of his wet coat, then starts the engine and pulls out into the road.

  ‘I can’t believe the weather,’ he says as we drive through the city. But I can. I am thankful for it. It’s just like that night.

  ‘At least it will help me remember, don’t you think?’

  He smiles, running a hand through his wet hair. ‘Well if this doesn’t, nothing will.’

  We speed through Brighton, past the gothic steeples of St Peter’s church and onto Ditchling Road, the Victorian villas decreasing in number until the green plains of a golf course come into view on our right. Little white flags hang limp and drenched. The tail end of the city dwindles until eventually we leave it behind. And as the rain strikes the windows, the wipers swinging back and forth, I’m able to picture myself in Damien Treadstone’s car. On this road. I was speeding, frantic, doing well above the speed limit. I know that I was alone in that car, closely following a set of red lights ahead, tears streaming down my face. It was my car in front, stolen with Joshua inside. I look across at Guy, reach to place my hand onto the steering wheel.

  ‘Chloe, what is it? Are you OK?’ he asks. He touches my knee. A shiver rises up my back, my mouth suddenly dry.

  ‘Yeah,’ I tell him, but I know that I sound less than sure. I feel less than sure as well.

  ‘Did you remember something?’ I nod as we slow for a corner, the wind buffeting the car. The force is so strong that Guy has to hold the wheel with both hands. He takes my hand, peels it away. ‘Don’t be scared. You’re safe now. Everything is going to be OK.’