Our Little Lies: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller with a brilliant twist

by Sue Watson

  ‘So sorry, Mrs Wilson, you said you’d be free at 1 p.m. so I was just calling back to talk to you about…’

  ‘Oh, you are sweet… yes, and I know, darling, you’ll have to save that until you get home and the kids are in bed.’ I giggle girlishly and mouth ‘my husband’ to a shocked-looking Caroline. Admittedly she’s only slightly more surprised than cocky Jordan must be, but like all these relentless telephone intruders, he’s a true salesman and keeps going. I want to laugh. It’s as if what I’ve just said is perfectly normal – he’s probably just grateful I haven’t cut him off.

  ‘Wonderful Windows can provide draught-free windows at half the…’

  ‘Sweetie, I’m with a friend and you can’t say embarrassing things like that,’ I purr. I’m now shaking my head and feigning my embarrassment with a shy smile. ‘Yes, babe, I do too, and I always will… Oh and in other news, don’t forget the boys’ rugby like you did last week.’ I wonder if she’ll clock this; after all she was the reason he didn’t turn up to see his sons play. ‘I know. I know you were busy, but they cried so much when you didn’t see them in their special game… Okay, I forgive you. Oh, you’ve already made it up to me. Love you too.’

  I put down the phone, ignoring Jordan the salesman’s promise of ‘a very good estimate and a ten-year guarantee’. I don’t believe in guarantees any more. I glance over at Caroline and know at this moment she is hurting even more than me. I wish I could say I am sorry, but I’m not – it gives me pleasure, makes me feel alive and like I actually have something to contribute instead of just letting it happen. I’m taking action. I’ve had time to accept the situation, to know what Simon is, but she has no idea at all. I know he’s manipulated her by misrepresenting me, and for a while he’s been controlling both of us. But not any more. I’m in the driving seat now.

  ‘So sorry, that was Simon, he’s hopeless.’ I smile indulgently as I place my phone carefully on the table. ‘Such an old romantic, but he’d forget his head if it wasn’t screwed on. He should have been at the boys’ first rugby match last week. They’re only six… they’re twins,’ I say, like I’m assuming she knows nothing about our lives – why should she? ‘Anyway, they were devastated. He said he was busy, said he wished he could have come, but a colleague was being really high-maintenance and demanding he stick around. He’s too soft for his own good.’

  I look at her face. My account of our life is so far away from Simon’s, perhaps she’s thinking that he may not be telling her the truth about everything? He probably isn’t.

  This is what it feels like to be betrayed, Caroline.

  Our meals arrive. She’s said very little – she’s finding my words hard to digest – and it looks to me like she might vomit at any moment, but seems to gather herself together.

  ‘So… how long have you been married?’ she asks, evidently deciding to play along and get as much information as she can. Caroline is as thirsty for more marital revelations as I am for her online posts. #ThirstyGirls #LadiesWhoLunch.

  ‘Almost ten years,’ I sigh contentedly. ‘And they’ve been happy… well, mostly,’ I add as a little tease, while piercing a prawn on the end of my fork.

  ‘Mostly?’ she asks, instantly looking up, then feigning disinterest and picking absently at a lettuce leaf.

  ‘Yes, I mean, it hasn’t always been a bed of roses. We’ve had our ups and downs… like anyone, I guess,’ I say, putting down my fork. I’ll be up for a bloody Oscar for this – I’m surprising myself at my skill. Subtle nuances, averted eyes. I am believable and brilliant, if I say so myself.

  ‘Oh… are you okay?’ she asks, going through the motions – if she really cared if I was okay she wouldn’t be shagging my husband. No, she can see from my acting that I’m upset and wants me to expand on this hint that there have been shadows. She’s leaning forward, all ears to find out what happened inside my marriage. She thought she knew, she thought she had every single moment of a decade pinned down, the hopeless mental case married to the kind, brilliant man. But I’m giving her my version – and like his, it makes a very good story.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say, clearly not.

  She orders another water for her and a soda for me. I’d love a big glass of wine, but daren’t mix alcohol with my medication. I have to be clear-headed, feed her enough information and take enough in. I mustn’t alert her to the fact that I know.

  ‘But you seem upset…?’ she pushes.

  I nod. ‘Yes, I just find it hard… it doesn’t matter when or how many times… I just… Oh, it’s all in the past now.’ I look away, hoping I’ve piqued her interest.

  ‘The past?’ she asks, eager to know more. #Bingo.

  ‘Yes, well… I shouldn’t really say, it’s just… my husband’s had a few little indiscretions during our marriage… It happens.’

  She sits back. ‘What do you mean?’ She probably doesn’t believe me. He’s told her I imagine this stuff, so she’s ready to consign it to the lunatic ramblings of a madwoman. I need to give her just enough to doubt him, but not so dramatic that she thinks I’m fabricating. Just a drip, drip, drip to keep her on her toes.

  ‘You know, just the odd indiscretion with women who’ve meant nothing to him, but oh, it’s very indiscreet of me – you’re a colleague of Simon’s. It isn’t fair.’

  ‘You’re right, I don’t think this is appropriate.’ She looks relieved and disappointed at the same time.

  ‘No, of course, and I apologise.’

  ‘It’s fine… really.’ She takes another large glug of water, probably to stop herself demanding names and telephone numbers. I know I would, but then I’m supposed to be mad.

  Sometimes I am.

  ‘Anyway, I want to throw this lovely party for Simon because I think it’s important to celebrate good news. We’ve been through so much stuff over the past year, but we had a long talk last weekend. He says he wants a fresh start and asked that we put everything behind us.’ I’m amazed at how easy it is to tell my stories, my lies. I suppose it’s wishful thinking really. I’d love to be in a secure marriage where a promotion is celebrated because it’s good for our future. But because of Caroline my future’s hanging in the balance.

  ‘Yes, Simon’s been under so much pressure with the consultancy,’ I continue, ‘but promised he’s going to focus on our family now.’

  ‘Oh…?’ She’s absolutely dying for more information. But I’m not giving it away. I want her to really want it; after all, that’s how she likes it. #ForbiddenFruit.

  ‘Oh… that’s nice.’ She’s absolutely horrified at the prospect of Simon focussing on his family, but is desperately trying to cover it. I want to laugh out loud in her face, but manage to resist.

  ‘Look, Marianne, this has been lovely, but I really have to get back…’ Her salad is barely touched.

  ‘Oh no, we haven’t even talked through the canapés.’ I look crestfallen. ‘I’m sorry, I probably seem really sad to you, don’t I?’ I say, in an effort to get her back on board and surprise her with my self-insight. ‘It’s just that I’m fairly new to the area. I don’t have any family, the school mums are all a bit cliquey and…’

  ‘I’m sorry about that, Marianne. But really I…’

  ‘Look, I’m not trying to play the sympathy card, it’s just, as I said on the phone, I really want to do this for Simon. I haven’t thrown a party for a while and you’ll know everyone there because they’ll mainly be his work colleagues I just would so appreciate your help.’

  ‘Help?’ She has no intention of giving me a moment’s help with anything. She wants nothing to do with me or my sad party, but I see something around the edges of her eyes. I think it’s pity.

  I don’t want your fucking pity, Caroline. I want your unease, I want your fear, I want you to taste it like I taste mine.

  ‘Look, I’m setting the date for a week on Friday…’ I say, then I offer her the bait I’ve been holding back, that I know she won’t be able to refuse, a peek at what she imagines will on
e day be her home, a glimpse into her future.

  Over my dead body.

  ‘Why don’t you come over to ours early evening? We can have a little drink, I can show you round before the other guests arrive…’

  She looks vaguely interested now, and seems to sit back in her seat; her need to leave has suddenly become less urgent.

  ‘Friday? I don’t know. I’ll have to check with…’

  ‘Your boyfriend? Bring him too.’

  ‘No I meant check with my schedule. I don’t know what I’ll be doing… I sometimes work late,’ she says, but we both know she won’t be able to resist.

  ‘Of course, I understand if you can’t make it, but I just know you’ll have fun. Along with his colleagues, I’m inviting some of Simon’s oldest friends…’

  The idea of meeting Simon’s friends in his beautiful home must be bringing her to the point of orgasm, which according to her emails she reaches easily when my husband’s around. She thinks knowing his history will bring her closer, but I shared his history – it’s one of the few things a wife has over a mistress. She can’t wait to have a good poke around the nest too… my nest.

  Cuckoo Caroline laying your eggs in other women’s nests.

  ‘No pressure,’ I say, piling it on, ‘but give me your address and I’ll pop an invite in the post. I so hate those email invites – so impersonal.’

  I find a pen and notebook in my bag, hand it to her and she writes her address. How can she refuse?

  I take it from her and put the notebook safely back in my handbag.

  I know where you live.

  ‘You can be there from the beginning, so at least if Simon’s early, it won’t be just me surprising him. And you have to see my new kitchen, before it gets all messed up.’ I giggle like a middle-class idiot.

  ‘Marianne, that all sounds lovely and I’ll try to make it,’ she says and I swear I hear something like guilt in her voice.

  ‘Great! I’ll call you and we can talk through the canapé list…?’

  ‘No, er, I’m not very good at…’

  ‘Oh, I just thought… as Simon’s out on Wednesday, I’d be able to go over the canapés with you on the phone without him listening in… Let me check my diary.’ I open up my phone and gaze at a photo of the twins. ‘Yes, he’s out Wednesday seeing our solicitor.’

  ‘Oh?’ Her interest is so fucking piqued; he told her he’s seeing David about a divorce. He probably is, but as he lies to me, I’m going to lie to her and use his solicitor’s meeting to drop another little bomb into her life, which she will hopefully detonate into his.

  ‘Yes. David our solicitor’s an old friend; he’s helping us with our plans for the place in Tuscany. If ever you need anything like that, he’s your man. Simon wanted me to go with him as we’re all old friends – the Merlot will be flowing and David’s wife is hilarious,’ I add in a cheeky aside, making like we’re all besties yet unable to remember his wife’s bloody name. ‘But Sophie’s out and I can’t just leave the boys. My husband’s terrible, sometimes forgets we even have kids.’ I giggle. ‘One of the boys said the other day that he wished he had a dad like his friend Josh’s. I said “Why darling?” and he said because Josh’s dad actually talks to him.’ I shake my head as she glares at me; she can’t believe this. ‘He’s outrageous, honestly,’ I continue. ‘I have to do everything. He’s hopeless – loveable but bloody hopeless.’

  Her hand instinctively touches her stomach – protective, defensive.

  What do you think of your baby daddy now, Caroline? #PerfectFather.

  ‘Do you have any children?’ I ask, trying not to laugh.

  She shakes her head.

  ‘Would you like children of your own?’

  Do you want mine too? You already have my husband, perhaps you’d like the complete set?

  ‘I… yes, I’d love children. I have two younger sisters…’

  ‘Lovely. We have Sophie who’s the seventeen-year-old, then the twins, who, as I said, are six and a handful, often in trouble at school. The other day they found a toy gun and pretended to “kill” another boy,’ I lie. ‘His parents went mad and threatened the police, all sorts of trouble – I’m still untangling all that with the help of the rather stroppy headmistress and hundreds of pounds’ worth of therapy. Simon’s completely unaware of all the drama, of just how hard it is to manage two wilful boys with a death wish.’

  ‘Shouldn’t their father be aware of what’s…’ she says judgementally, and I see the strong second wife emerging. I doubt her line of questioning would go down well with Simon.

  ‘Yes, absolutely he should, but if you ask me, he makes them worse with his pretend wars in the sitting room and gunfights in the garden,’ I lie. This is quite delicious – not only am I scaring her, I’m describing Simon as some psychotic jingo dad who encourages gun play and war games. It couldn’t be further from the truth, but I’m only doing what he does when he misrepresents me and my actions.

  ‘Gun… fights?’ she stutters.

  ‘Yes. Simon loves guns, but when I try to tell him that it’s not good for them and we need to talk about the boys’ wild behaviour, he says “not now, Marianne, give me a massage,” or sex or whatever he wants that evening. He finds the children far too demanding. I mean, he has three kids and has never changed a nappy in his life.’ I laugh, like this is something to be admired and amused by.

  I can see by her face that the father of her unborn child, the man she wants to spend the rest of her life with, may not be who she thinks he is. I also hope that I’m not the woman she thought I was, the woman he painted me to be. Hopefully now she now knows I’m invested in this family, in this life, and I will cling to it like a limpet on a rock. I will not be the easy part of their plan.

  You can’t have my life; it’s not for sale.

  I insist on paying the bill. When Simon queries it – and he will – I’ll tell him I took Jen out to lunch to thank her for collecting the boys from the French tutor when I had to pick Sophie up from dance.

  We get up from the table and when we part outside the restaurant, I give Caroline the warmest, most sincere hug I can fake. I think she buys it, and with a girlie wave I thank her so much for her time, threaten to call and talk canapés on Wednesday and desperately hope she’ll be able to make the surprise party.

  I will not be disposed of, Caroline, I’m here to stay. Whatever it takes.

  Walking back to the car, I think about how I fed her the pretty little crumbs, and how hungry she was to take them. Caroline isn't going to tell Simon about meeting me because we both know he’d put a stop to it – and she wants more. She longs to find out what’s really going on inside our marriage; she probably doesn’t trust him quite as much now. And if she’s trying to muscle her way into my new German kitchen, she needs to know exactly what to expect, and I can tell her what I want her to know.

  My glee at the apparent success of my plan starts to wane when I get to the car. I climb in and pull down the mirror to check my face and seeing myself brings me back to reality. My eyes are wild and the grin on my face looks painted on and I see the Joker staring back. I quickly put the mirror away. What the hell am I doing? Who have I become? I just had lunch with my husband’s mistress, I probably tortured the woman and despite what she’s done to me suddenly I’m not sure I feel comfortable causing someone so much hurt. She’s pregnant after all. But then, I remind myself, it’s my husband’s child and if I want to keep my own kids I might just have to play hardball, even though it’s against my nature. I’m a mother who will do anything to protect her family – who knows what I’m capable of?

  I start the car, tell myself I need to toughen up and check my make-up again in the mirror. I look better than I have for a long time. I’m taking something back, and it’s about time.

  I’m not a mean person, but Caroline had to taste the pain of his betrayal today over her salad. I think she was trying to come over as cool, detached, just a work colleague, but it translated into cold an
d snooty with a rather smug, superior topcoat. She doesn’t know that I know who she really is. She unwittingly shares with me her deepest thoughts, her darkest desires, her most profound orgasms every time she sends her lover an email. Despite her superior air I know she is a homewrecker with the morals of an alley cat. Simon is equally to blame of course and between them they’ve conjured up this image of me that is ill-informed and judgemental, based on his lies. How dare she take his word and condemn me as a wife and mother. How fucking dare she get herself pregnant and push me out of my own nest. She thought she could see our marriage very clearly, but the truth is many-faceted and, today, I was able to offer her a different perspective. I hope it’s given her food for thought, and I hope she will at least now question some of what he tells her regarding me and our family life. I hope this lunch will stop the ‘Marianne needs help…’ line and start Caroline thinking about how much Simon’s lied to her about his ‘mad’ wife. But more than anything I hope this lunch will result in her fucking off and leaving us to get on with our lives.

  As I pull away, I see her climbing into her sporty little Mini. Her shoulders are stooped, her face is filled with angst. Caroline looks ten years older – and I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I don’t go home. I want to enjoy my victory with a lap of honour round the supermarket. I throw random things in my trolley as I go over our conversation, again and again. Yes it must have been awful for her, but each time I feel a tiny twinge of guilt at her pain, I remind myself how much fucking pain she’s caused me. She really thought she could just sail through lunch with her lover’s wife, the woman she wants to put away and replace. But guess what Caroline, you’re not as strong or secure in your relationship as you thought you were. #PuttyInMyHands #SurprisedSlut.