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

by Sue Watson

  It’s 5 p.m. and the caterers have just arrived. I say caterers – they are a group of young women not long out of catering college, very confident for their age, full of ideas and creativity. I’m finding them quite inspiring with their plans for edible flowers and shaved beetroot. Simon loathes beetroot – it gives him the most terrible indigestion – so I’ve ordered a double quantity of that canapé and requested beetroot be included as much as possible in all the canapés, because it’s my husband’s favourite. I know it’s petty, but these tiny acts of rebellion are as delicious as the canapés themselves. These catering girls aren’t cheap. They probably saw the size of the house and thought they’d take the piss, but so what, it’s his money and, quite frankly, he won’t care about the canapés or the cost – there’ll be far more for him to worry about after tonight.

  I’m not wasting time and energy on a full dinner, especially as I despise all the invited guests, except Jen. But I need Caroline to see me as a hostess. I want her threatened and defeated – and gone. I need to make it clear that I will not lie down while they walk all over me, and they certainly won’t separate me from my children… Simon can go where he pleases, but my kids stay with me.

  I’d sincerely hoped she would take up my offer of arriving early and seeing the house before other guests arrive, but she texted to say she has to work late and will arrive the same time as everyone else. I wonder if that’s true or if she just can’t face being here alone with her lover’s wife – either way, I want her to have a peep into my perfect life, see my fabulous home and want it, because Caroline’s clearly never wanted something she can’t have before.

  I’m dotting Jo Malone candles everywhere when the door chimes, bringing the first arrivals – and it’s Jen with a gaggle of mothers. She’s brought them early which is nice because I want everyone to see how in control I am, how very solid my life is in this house. God only knows what Simon has told his colleagues about me, but I imagine he’s already laid the poison to pave the way for moving her in. ‘His wife was ill, you know, he was a saint.’ I can hear them now and it makes me bristle, so I grab a couple of bottles of champagne and pop them, hoping the fizz will calm me down.

  As the caterers unload trays of canapés and place glasses on trays, I welcome Jen and the girls. She’s brought Suzie and Francesca and someone called Yvonne who is quiet but nice enough. I pour us all a flute of cold champagne and make small talk. I’m not taking any medication this evening, which is risky, especially as there’s champagne around and I’m feeling celebratory, but I don’t want to be drugged up. I’ve been asleep for the past ten years and tonight I don’t want to miss a thing.

  ‘You look lovely,’ I say to Jen. She has great taste – tonight she’s in an apricot long-sleeved dress with matching high heels. ‘You’ve got such a fabulous figure. I couldn’t wear anything so fitted.’

  ‘Yeah, but I’m tall. I’m five foot ten in heels.’

  ‘Lucky you.’ I smile, feeling short and dumpy next to her.

  ‘No, it’s awful! I could never get a boyfriend when I was a teenager. I can’t wear these shoes with Peter – makes him feel inadequate. Fucking little midget,’ she mutters as an add-on, which makes me laugh.

  ‘You are awful, Jen.’ I smile. I’m looking forward to being friends with this feisty woman, and hope to see more of her once tonight’s over. I will be independent, live my life on my terms, see who I want and go wherever I please.

  ‘No, I’m not, he’s such a dickhead. I hate him. These are my sexy bedroom shoes,’ she says, forgetting Peter for a moment and twisting her ankle around to show me the full shoe.

  ‘They’re gorgeous,’ Francesca sighs.

  ‘Yeah, they’re the kind you keep on after you take everything off – they’re wasted on Peter.’

  I smile at Francesca and she rolls her eyes. We both look at Jen, blonde, beautiful, tall and willowy and – yes, it’s not just her shoes that are wasted on Peter.

  ‘We had a huge row before I came out tonight. He’s so fucking jealous all the time. Says I only married him for his money. Wanker.’

  ‘You did, didn’t you?’ laughs Suzie.

  Jen looks like she’s about to defend herself and come up with some false declaration of love, then thinks better of it and nods, giggling. ‘You got me there.’

  We all laugh, and I’m surprised and amused again by her rather brutal honestly. I sip my champagne, wondering what Jen and the others’ reaction would be if I suddenly announced that Simon checks my phone and hits me for fun.

  ‘When I was looking for a husband, I didn’t go for love or looks. But now I realise that there’s a compromise,’ she says ruefully.

  ‘Between you and Peter?’ I ask.

  ‘God, no. I mean a compromise to be had in relationships. There are some gorgeous guys out there who could keep me happy in the bedroom and all the way to the bank. Peter buys me things, but he doesn’t make me happy – never has. He’s a crap lover who made his money in market stalls. I want a man with intelligence, wisdom. Someone who can teach me, and not just in the bedroom.’ She sighs.

  ‘And he’d have money?’ adds Francesca.

  ‘That’s a given.’ Jen giggles.

  I giggle too, enjoying this conspiratorial ‘girly’ chat. I haven’t been able to get this close to anyone for a while, but Jen’s different. I admire her independence and drive, the way she’s able to steer her own ship in spite of being married, but then again, she’s not married to Simon. Jen sometimes says the most awful things, especially about Peter – but I can’t help but enjoy her company. I think she likes me too. Most of all, Jen’s there for me and she cares, which I so need right now because I’m very much alone.

  ‘Anyway, let’s not talk about men,’ Francesca says, clapping her hands together like an excited child. ‘Oh, darling, I am loving the flowers – ooh it’s positively bridal in here,’ she gushes, alighting on my floral displays.

  ‘You don’t think it’s too much?’

  ‘NO, NO, NO – you can never be too rich, too thin or have too many flowers,’ Jen agrees loudly.

  I know the other mums probably only came tonight because they wanted to see our house. It’s the biggest on the road, and with the new extended kitchen it’s even larger. I’ve never had good vibes from ‘the girls’ at the school gate and I’m hoping no one has picked up on why we moved from our last place. That barmaid pressed charges and thanks to her I’ve now got a police record; they’d probably only have to Google ‘Surgeon’s Wife in Bar Fracas’ and there you go. But Jen’s already seen the house. She isn’t interested in my expensive German kitchen and my fridge that’s big enough to hold its own reception – she came to spend time with me and I appreciate that.

  ‘Oh my God, the girls all hate you.’ Jen’s taken me aside and is now hissing in my ear. I whip round quickly, almost knocking over the child-caterer who’s doing something clever with pickled walnuts.

  ‘Hate me?’ I ask, a little alarmed. My propensity for paranoia is wide, especially when I don’t take my pills – and along with imagined affairs, I sometimes think people are talking about me when they probably aren’t.

  ‘Yes, hate you… you bitch,’ she jokes, but it comes out like she means it and for a moment we’re both a bit awkward. It’s funny really, but we still don’t know each other well enough to joke like that, and I’m really rusty on new friendships, so can’t rescue it. ‘Because you have such a fabulous house and such gorgeous stuff,’ she says, holding up her champagne flute and clearly coveting it as the others chat and gaze around the kitchen, commenting on the size of the two-acre garden through the bifold doors.

  ‘Oh, yes, Simon spotted these champagne flutes in a magazine, had them shipped from Paris. They cost a bloody fortune, but that’s Simon for you. He takes after his mother when it comes to beautiful things – the woman never once, to my knowledge, hugged him, but I bet she hugged her bloody French antique furniture every night.’ I giggle.

  Jen guffaws and I’
m flattered she thinks I’m funny; it gives me the confidence to take this further.

  ‘Simon’s terrible – has to have designer clothes, labelled sportswear, and don’t get me started on his tennis. I reckon he’d rather spend the night with the new tennis racquet than with me,’ I half joke. But she doesn’t laugh at this, she gets all serious and looks at me like she’s waiting for me to say more and when I don’t she puts down her glass.

  ‘Marianne, you know you can talk to me?’

  I nod, warmed by this more serious, caring side of Jen. ‘Thanks Jen, but I don’t think…’

  ‘Look, I’m your friend, and I know you’re not happy. You were upset that time in the coffee shop and we haven’t really had chance to talk since. It’s not easy at the school gates with the little monsters tearing around. Tell me to mind my own business, but didn’t you say something about Simon and…?’

  ‘Oh, I… Things haven’t been too good.’ Because I haven’t taken my pills, I’m feeling quite anxious and hear myself talking, unable to stop myself in time. ‘Yes, it’s Simon and… you know, the woman I told you about.’

  ‘But I thought you imagined it?’

  ‘Is that what Simon told you?’ I feel a rising sense of panic – has he been laying his poison among all my potential friends?

  ‘No… you said it yourself, when we talked in the coffee shop. You started to say something, then you said you could be imagining it.’

  ‘Oh… well, I thought then I might be. Now I know I’m not.’

  ‘Wow!’

  ‘Yeah. She wants my kids… She’s going to move in, Jen. She wants my children, my life and…’ I realise at this point I sound mad, so shut up.

  ‘The home-wrecking slut!’ She’s absolutely furious on my behalf and I love her for it.

  ‘Oh, it’s not just her… He’s as much to blame. I feel so angry at both of them.’

  ‘Damn right you do,’ she says, cheerleading me on – not that I need my flames to be fanned.

  ‘Yes, I can’t eat or sleep and…’

  ‘I’d be more than angry – I’d be stalking the bitch, then rooting her out on social media and posting pictures of her head Photoshopped onto a pig’s body!’ she says this loudly with such venom, I touch her arm gently. I don’t need her to be in full force when Caroline turns up… if Caroline turns up.

  ‘She’s coming here – tonight,’ I say as calmly as I can.

  Jen is open-mouthed. ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘I know, I know, but I want to make a stand. She doesn’t know I know, so don’t start anything.’

  ‘But why would you…?’

  ‘I want her to see me on my territory, see me owning it and giving her the message that it’s not up for rent or purchase… and after tonight I think she’ll get the message. In fact I know she will.’

  ‘Ooh you dark horse.’

  ‘Jen, she’d take everything if she could. I’ve seen the emails,’ I add, without mentioning her and Simon’s plans to have me certified. If Simon’s given Jen any doubts about me that might just confirm it, I need to keep Jen believing in me and on my side.

  ‘The kids, the house, are mine – and they are staying that way,’ I hiss, and take a large swig of champagne, the kind of swig that isn’t meant for such elegant flutes and would horrify Simon. Good.

  ‘Whoa, Marianne – you want the kids and the house, but you’re not letting her get away with the husband, are you?’

  ‘She can keep him, as far as I’m concerned, but I doubt she’ll want him after I’ve finished.’ I don’t mention the pregnancy; even without my medication I know this isn’t the time. Not yet.

  ‘You are quite the dark horse, aren’t you? Well, good luck to you – you know me, I’m here if you need muscle.’ She laughs and sips her champagne and I love that she said that, because I finally feel like someone’s on my side.

  I’m strengthened by her cheerleading, and go on to say more. It’s good to get it all off my chest. ‘I don’t want to lose my temper or my dignity, but it makes me so bloody angry. Caroline wants everything I’ve got – but she could have anything. Why doesn’t she just fuck off back to her double-barrelled boyfriend?’

  ‘She has a boyfriend?’

  ‘She did, but it seems to be over now.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘Because she’s with Simon – oh, and because I stalk her on social media,’ I admit, taking a glug of champagne, the bubbles making me almost want to giggle.

  ‘So what else have you managed to pick up from social media about this… this surgical… slut!’ she hisses.

  ‘Oh, that she’s popular, has travelled the world, she’s in love with my husband and she’s into pain… Or did I see that in her emails? I can’t remember now.’ The champagne is making me a little giddy. I must stop drinking.

  ‘Emails? You’ve read her emails?’

  ‘The ones to my husband, yes.’

  ‘What, so you accessed his emails without him knowing…?’

  I nod vigorously, relieved to share this. ‘I know it’s not nice, but I had to know.’ I half giggle out of embarrassment more than anything else. I’m ashamed of who and what I’ve become – sneaking around, poking into their relationship.

  Jen looks shocked, perhaps even she thinks I’ve gone too far?

  ‘I only did it because I knew something was going on,’ I say defensively. ‘I wouldn’t normally read his emails… I just logged in and the email account came up as his favourites, and there was a whole folder with their messages. He hasn’t exactly hidden it.’

  ‘Wow! Do you think he wants to get caught?’ she asks, sitting on the kitchen bar stool and slowly crossing her legs.

  ‘No, he just isn’t very good at online stuff. He doesn’t even have a Facebook account.’

  ‘Will you confront him about her?’

  ‘I want to, but he’ll say I’m mad. I’ve imagined things, in the past… I’ve thought he’s having an affair when he hasn’t. I can be a bit jealous. I even thought he was having an affair with a barmaid at the pub where we lived before… and my best friend before that… and others.’

  ‘Bloody hell! I hope you’ve never thought I was up to anything with your hubby.’ She swigs the final dregs of bubbles and heaves the dripping bottle from the ice bucket, pouring herself another.

  ‘You? No.’ I laugh, incredulous.

  ‘Why are you laughing?’

  ‘Because you’re not his type,’ I say, wishing I hadn’t been so honest and gone down this route. I don’t want to offend her.

  ‘Oh, thanks a million.’ Too late.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean it like that, I… Oh, who knows what his type is, and now you come to mention it, I do remember you dancing close up to him at the school barn dance.’ I wink.

  ‘Yeah, but that was just to keep warm – that bloody old school hall can get very cold, even on an August night.’ She pouts at this and I feel a bit uncomfortable, like I’ve accused her of something and offended her. I can’t ruin this friendship like I’ve ruined the rest with my stupid insinuations. We’re new friends, and if I want us to be old friends I shouldn’t even joke about things like this. Besides, she’s the only ally I have.

  We both sip our champagne and the doorbell rings; a couple of Simon’s work colleagues arrive with their wives. Next is my personal favourite and master stroke, his boss – Professor and Mrs Robert Cookson, staunch right-wing religious types who will probably think this is the most decadent gathering since Caligula was on the party scene. I introduce everyone, open more champagne and remind them all that Simon is due home in about half an hour so we have to be ready to hide and leap out when he comes in. I’m feeling a bit twitchy as there’s still no sign of Caroline – perhaps she won’t come after all and this will be for nothing? I wonder if after our lunch she decided that Simon’s telling the truth, his wife is mad and she wants to steer well clear until the divorce is finalised and the house is hers?

  Each time the doorbell rings
I hope it’s going to be her and brace myself, and like the good friend that she is Jen seems to sense my agitation.

  ‘You okay, babe?’ she asks, pouring us both another drink. I should say no, but she’s already pouring and I need to take the edge off.

  ‘Yeah, thanks, Jen. I just feel vulnerable, you know? I’m angry too and I don’t want that to show, but I could honestly kill her for what she’s done to me.’

  ‘I don’t blame you, sweetie, how fucking dare she…’

  ‘I know, I know. But just do me a favour, keep it all to yourself.’ I nod, squeezing her arm affectionately.

  ‘Hey,’ she says gently. ‘Don’t you worry, Marianne, I’ve got your back.’

  I smile and touch her arm; it’s good to have her onside.

  I move over to the sink with a couple of empty glasses and I’m just rinsing them when the doorbell rings. The contents of my stomach rise to meet my throat. Why am I putting myself through this? Then I remind myself it’s my attempt to break Simon and Caroline from within, to hurt and ruin them and, at the very least, it’s a shot across her bows to show her I mean business and won’t roll over. I have to make her think I’m in charge of everything, including what’s in my own head… and the way I’m feeling just now, that might be a little tricky.

  I head for the door and open it, the smile already plastered across my face. She’s standing on the doorstep, looking totally amazing – her hair is blonde, shiny and tousled in a ‘just got out of bed’ model kind of way.

  ‘Heyyyy,’ I hear myself say in that fake way people do when they see someone they hate.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  She’s in a loose navy dress and, at what I guess must be fourteen weeks pregnant, looks bloody amazing and I feel like crying. All the time he’s been seeing her, sleeping with her, he must have been comparing me, and though I don’t want him any more and I know our marriage isn’t good for me, I still mourn what we had, what we might have been without her. It’s hard to just switch off.