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

by Sue Watson

  He leans on the wall, his back to me, both palms flat, his whole body limp.

  ‘I’m used to being talked about, used to the whispers as I walk by,’ he starts. ‘But this… this… tonight was something else… I’ll have to put in for another a transfer – I’m taking the children with me.’

  I can’t see his face – he’s still standing with his back to me – but I go over to him, try to make some kind of contact, if only to see his face.

  ‘No… no. Simon, please… let’s talk about this, you can’t take them…’ Tears are streaming down my face, I am pleading with him, but he doesn’t move, just stands against the wall, his head down. He’s threatening to take them but can only do this if I’m locked away and she goes with him. Without Caroline, my replacement, he can’t take the kids to another place, start a new job – he needs me.

  ‘Simon, let’s not do anything stupid… the kids can’t be moved again, they’ve only just settled…’ I try to sound rational, practical even. I need to work out what to do next, but in order to do that I need to know what he’s going to do next.

  He shakes his head. ‘Marianne, you’ve driven me to it again. I can’t face anyone at the hospital after tonight. I’m going to bed. I need to clear my head.’ And with that he walks from the room, leaving me alone with his words ringing in my ears. My worst fear. The end of everything.

  I’m taking the children with me.

  I sit on the sofa alone, hugging a cushion for comfort, and rock back and forth. Despite the clouds of doubt, something is pushing through my brain. I know I saw those emails, our picnic rug on her Instagram, the fact she drinks his favourite wine with an anonymous friend and her timelines fit with times he was ‘working’. I saw them together tonight. I know they are together but it wasn’t snatched glances or smouldering looks that convinced me, it was the change in her. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but she was different – not the bubbly, bright career girl with the basketful of alcohol in Waitrose. Not the strong, independent woman who took an hour from her vital work to lunch with me, smiling benignly as I wittered on. No, this was a different Caroline, who in Simon’s presence became quieter, duller, less assertive, meek even – and I realise he’s turning her into me. His criticism, his disapproval and his slaps are all for the one he loves – and now it’s Caroline’s turn. And that’s how I know I’m not mad.

  Tonight everything I said was real, and the emails, the social media, the clues all lead to one thing – that this is not my paranoia. But there’s only one way for me to prove it. Only one person who can help me by telling the truth so he can’t say I’m crazy, and take away my children. The one that can save me is the one person I never thought I’d turn to: Caroline.

  * * *

  The following morning I wake up, make breakfast and when Simon disappears, I ask Sophie to keep an eye on the boys, who were deposited at dawn from their sleepover by the birthday boy’s mum. I notice Sophie’s wearing her hair scraped back with the scrunchie I made her and it reminds me that I still have the bag meant for Suzie. I never gave it to Jen after what Simon had said, and it gives me an idea. After last night, Caroline will be defensive and understandably might think I’ve come to cause more trouble. But that’s not what I need now. I need confirmation, assurance, clarity, and Caroline can give me that. If I arrive with a gift, it will feel more genuine and the sea-green bag will be perfect because I made it with my own hands – a true gesture of goodwill. So I grab the bag and a bunch of flowers from one of the vases and set off to see Caroline.

  I feel ready. We need to talk directly to each other and not through his filter of lies. But pulling up outside Caroline’s cottage, my mouth is dry. I feel so nervous. I really have to force myself to leave the car and knock on the big wooden door. It’s cold, and the swirling, biting December wind chills me through. I pull my coat around me and knock again a little louder. I open up the letter box and peer in, calling her name, but nothing.

  Standing up, I see the curtains next door twitch and an older woman’s face peer through. I make a waving gesture. I’m going to ask her if she knows if Caroline’s in, but just then the cottage door opens. I feel the warmth from within, but Caroline is cold and unsmiling and I have to stop myself from running back to the car. Why am I putting myself through this?

  ‘I’m so sorry about last night,’ I blurt out, standing on the doorstep, shivering. ‘It was inappropriate and, given your condition, I hope I didn’t cause you too much distress.’

  She stands there, no make-up, in leggings and an oversized grey cardigan. The designer gear, perfect lipstick and dazzling smile is gone – she looks pale and lethargic.

  ‘I think we need to talk,’ I say.

  She doesn’t budge, just stares at me, glassy-eyed.

  ‘I’ve not come here to upset you, Caroline, I just want the truth from someone, because Simon won’t give it to me. And I don’t think he’s been truthful with you either.’ We both stare at each other across oceans, and I know this isn’t going to be easy.

  ‘Please?’ I ask gently.

  There’s a moment’s silence and then, defeated, she says, ‘Come in.’

  She stands back to let me in and, still unsmiling, leads me through a tiny hall into a small kitchen with beams, an Aga, oak worktops and a little mug tree holding Emma Bridgewater mugs with little hearts on. I think I may have misjudged Caroline; her home isn’t the cold, minimalist setting I’d imagined. It’s warm and cosy, romantic even. Caroline isn’t the wild and worldly woman I imagined her to be, she’s just another girl who’s been seduced by Simon’s devastating charm.

  ‘Tea?’ Caroline murmurs and I nod as she flicks the kettle on.

  I put the flowers down on the worktop with the bag.

  She turns to pick out some mugs and sees my ‘gifts’. ‘For me?’

  ‘Yes… I… come as a friend,’ I hear myself say. It’s something I never imagined – yet here I am in my husband’s lover’s kitchen, she’s making me tea and I’m asking for her help.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she sighs with sadness, putting the mugs down momentarily and running her fingers along the velvet bag.

  ‘I made it…’ I think about how Simon said Jen hated the bag and I wonder for a moment if she’ll do the same and say something nasty about the bag to Simon later.

  ‘Thank you, but you didn’t have to,’ she says and pours boiling water into the two mugs.

  ‘I saw your neighbour.’ I smile, desperate to try and keep the conversation going but not sure what to say.

  ‘Oh?’ She puts a steaming mug down in front of me on the counter.

  ‘Yes, the old lady next door, a real curtain-twitcher. I bet you can’t do anything without her snooping?’ I realise what I’ve said. Do I sound like I’m referring to nocturnal activities with my husband?

  But before I can add anything, she shrugs. ‘I don’t know her. I work long hours.’

  We stand opposite each other; it’s similar to the previous evening when we stood over the marital bed, but this is different. She is different. She isn’t the girl on Instagram who seems to spend her time holidaying and rumpling sheets – and when I look more closely at her face, it looks like she’s been crying.

  ‘Have I upset you? I mean, apart from… the obvious, last night?’

  ‘Oh. No… though last night was horrific.’ She looks at me and I feel awkward.

  ‘I’m sorry… it’s just…’

  ‘Oh God I know, I know. Please don’t apologise.’ She reaches for her mug and on the inside of her wrist I see a deep-purple bruise. I suspect it’s the result of their bedroom action. She’s a grown-up, she can do what she likes I suppose, but it makes me wonder if he came here last night. He went to bed before me but he could have come here after I’d gone to sleep in the spare room. I wouldn’t know. I’d had pills, drunk a lot of champagne and slept heavily.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I ask, and she nods her head and runs her long fingers against the velvet of the bag again, like s
he’s seeking comfort.

  ‘You’re very talented,’ she says.

  ‘Oh, not really, making bags is a bit of an indulgence…’

  ‘But you are. I could see it in your home, the way you’ve made it so beautiful. The kitchen, stylish but homely, the children’s bedrooms all fitted out to their tastes, the way you talk about them…’

  ‘I’m a mum first, Caroline. You’ll know soon enough how that feels. You’ll do anything for them, even stay with a man who destroys you… bit by bit.’

  For the children.

  She lifts her face and I see something like recognition in the other woman’s eyes.

  ‘Marianne…’ She looks down again now, into her mug. I get the feeling she wants to tell me something, like when Alfie’s done something wrong and he feels bad.

  ‘It is Simon’s baby, isn’t it?’ I ask.

  She takes a ragged breath, the kind of breath you take after a long crying jag, and she lifts her head and looks away from me. Then after what seems like a very long time she nods, and turns back to me, tears in her eyes.

  Here is my proof and in this moment we seem to come together, two mothers both protecting their children, protecting themselves. She could have lied, she could have said what he did, that I’m mad, and people would have believed her… and him. But for some reason she chose not to. She decided to tell the truth – it’s about time one of us did. ‘It’s okay. You’re not telling me anything I didn’t already know, and as you probably gathered after last night – I’ve known about the two of you for some time.’

  ‘I hate myself,’ she suddenly says, and the tears flow. ‘Just meeting you and realising how nice you are, how…’

  ‘Sane?’

  ‘I suppose… I’d fooled myself that this was a harmless fling.’

  ‘No such thing.’

  ‘I know that now. But the more I fell for him, the more I convinced myself that you didn’t deserve him, that you were somehow… in the way.’

  ‘Simon convinced you of that, I’m sure.’

  ‘No, I take responsibility for my actions, Marianne. I… I became a villain in someone’s life story. I wanted what you had because I thought you didn’t care, that you were unhappy, a bit crazy, permanently bitter. I got pregnant deliberately. I wanted Simon to make me his wife and I didn’t care what happened to you.’

  ‘I understand… He told you lies about me, and you believed him.’

  ‘He did, and maybe I’m stupid for believing him. As much as I can move on, take responsibility, apologise to you and step back from him – that kind of experience lives with you, Marianne. It takes up residence in your soul.’

  How deeply she’s been hurt and manipulated by him too. Perhaps she isn’t the surgical slut, the man-chasing harlot I’d believed her to be.

  She looks at me through blurred tears. ‘It was fine at first. I didn’t know you, I had no idea about your life, your home, your children… your holidays, then I find out I’m pregnant and I was delighted.’

  ‘Does Simon know about the baby?’

  ‘Yes… he was shocked… He wasn’t okay about it, but said we’d work it out that you’d be… leaving soon and I could move in with him.’

  ‘I know what that means. He had big plans to have me sectioned… again,’ I sigh.

  ‘I’m sorry. I know you’ve had your… issues, and I’ll be honest Marianne, I believed what he told me, that you were ill, unable to cope and that you needed help. But as soon as I met you at lunch, everything changed for me. I didn’t see the woman Simon had painted. I saw your happiness and your pride in your kids, your love of life. I saw your posts on Instagram, the kids’ innocent little smiles everywhere, family days in the park, last year’s summer holidays, and I felt so guilty. I realised I wasn’t helping Simon by being with him. I might be responsible for ruining those children’s lives… and yours too. I hated myself, but then I started to hate him, because he was doing this too, but he was worse than me… because he was hurting his own family. Then, last night… after the party, he came here, but I plucked up the courage and told him it was over.’

  ‘Did he hurt you?’

  She instinctively pulls down her jumper sleeve to hide the purple finger marks. ‘He was upset… understandably. He said I led him on. I knew what I was getting into… and then, when he’s about to leave you, I just dump him. He said he could have lost everything: the house, his kids… you.’

  ‘He already has lost everything.’

  ‘This mess… it’s all my fault. You were probably happy before me.’

  I smile at this and she’s surprised, asks me why and I explain that this is Simon’s talent. ‘He has this way of making you feel guilty, like he’s the innocent party,’ I say. ‘But know that he isn’t. I don’t want you to go through this pregnancy hating yourself, because trust me, it will end in tears. I know from experience that an unhappy mother means an unhappy baby and the pain of…’

  She touches my arm. ‘I know.’

  ‘I’m sure you do, and one day perhaps, when this is all over, you’ll allow me to tell you what happened from my perspective.’

  She smiles, and I tell her that my marriage was over long ago; she must stop beating herself up and leave Simon to me.

  ‘It wasn’t you, but this has taken its final chunk out of a dying marriage. I just need to do it the right way and make sure the children are with me.’

  Marianne, I know how hard it’s been for you. Simon told me you’d been reading the emails. That’s why he deleted the account – he didn’t want to hurt you.’

  ‘Thank you for telling me. You’ve no idea how grateful I am. You’ve just given me my sanity back.’ I sigh with relief. ‘I just wonder how he knew about the emails; he deleted them before I’d told him I read them.’

  She shrugs.

  ‘Oh well, I guess we’ll never know. I should have confronted him straight away. It wasn’t fair of me to play that game. The same with your online accounts. I used them to try and work out who you were, where you were and when you were seeing him… that’s how I saw the baby scan.’

  ‘I wanted my friends to see it. I never thought for a minute you would see it and know it was Simon’s…’

  ‘I know, I know. And I won’t be looking again.’ I feel rather stupid. We both stand together in the hallway, and for a while we don’t say anything. The only sound is the rain lashing down outside. I realise in these silent moments that this woman was never a threat – she was a fellow sufferer, and now, hopefully, a fellow survivor.

  ‘To be honest, Marianne, I understand the online stalking. We all do it. I checked out your Instagram more than once. But… it was the late-night calls you made that bothered me more… They really freaked me out… That was really nasty stuff, and all the heavy breathing.’

  ‘Simon told me about that, but I didn’t make any late-night calls… At least I honestly don’t remember,’ I add. ‘God, if I did…’ I don’t know what to say; sorry wouldn’t be enough because they sound like really scary calls.

  She shrugs. She doesn’t believe me and who could blame her? I don’t even know what I did. All the online stalking, the obsessive jealousy, inviting her for lunch, ordering the same underwear – perhaps I was a little crazy for a while back there? Now I’m just confused and conflicted and all I’m left with is me and Caroline drinking tea from Emma Bridgewater mugs and trying to make sense of what has happened to us.

  * * *

  I don’t remember how I got home from Caroline’s. I took my pills earlier this morning because I was so anxious and by the time I got home they’d kicked in. Sophie was around, but Simon was nowhere to be seen when I got back, and I remember thinking so much for ‘family Saturday’ and laughing so loudly the boys came running into the sitting room to see what was so funny. I spend the day on autopilot and simply make sure the boys are fed and safe and later wake up in the spare room and wonder what happened to Saturday. It’s pitch black but I’m woken by the sound of Simon leaving the house
. It’s 2 a.m. I guess he’s going to Caroline’s. I just hope she was telling the truth and it’s over – and I hope she stays strong when he turns up at her door, because if she lets him in now – he won’t let her go.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The following day is Sunday and I wake in the spare room, feeling completely disorientated. I remember my meeting with Caroline and I’m uneasy, but I don’t know why. She’d seemed a little happier for getting it all off her chest, and I was grateful to her for her honesty. I didn’t imagine this affair. I was right all along, and knowing what happened I can now justify pursuing a new future with my kids, but without Simon.

  Within minutes, the boys come thundering down the stairs and I go into the downstairs loo, wash my face and discreetly take my tablets.

  ‘Can we have pancakes, Mum?’ Alfie is asking. This request is added to by a roar from Charlie, so I quickly turn into Mary Berry and start the process as they attempt upside-down gymnastics on their stools. There’s no sign of Sophie, so when the boys are eating, I pop upstairs and tell her there are pancakes waiting – she isn’t very impressed. She looks tired, and I know it’s because she isn’t eating, so I try and tempt her by offering all kinds of things, but she refuses. I dread to think how Sophie will react when Simon and I break up, but for now I just want her to eat something.

  After breakfast, I steel myself to go upstairs into our room, but there’s no sign of Simon, and no sign that the bed’s been slept in either. Did he spend the night with her? I feel like fucking Goldilocks.

  Did you lie to me, Caroline? Did you simply tell me what you thought I wanted to hear?

  I know this may sound mad – let’s face it, I have a history – but I resent the fact he’s probably with her again instead of his kids. It’s Sunday, and earlier in the week he’d promised to take the boys to play football in the park today. This would have left me free to take Sophie shopping. She needs some TLC and just because Simon and I are in a state of flux it doesn’t mean the kids have to suffer. I’m sure all the parenting rules have already been broken and I wonder at the state of our family after all the hurt and the hate they’ve probably seen. But we need to think about healing now. So where is he?