Lies Love Tells (Eastcove Lies Book 1)

by Gina Dickerson

  Mr Nice accepted it. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I can never tell the difference, I lose my head after a few glasses, as far as I’m concerned it may as well be homebrew.’

  Darrelle eyed Mr Nice as we sat down at the dining table to eat our starter. ‘What do you do for a living?’

  Mr Nice smiled somewhat shyly. ‘I’ll be opening a café within the next few months.’

  ‘Where abouts?’ Mr Cool asked.

  Mr Nice drained his glass and pulled the bottle from its ice-bucket. ‘It’s opposite the harbour, between the vintage clothes emporium and the art room gallery. It’s a good location, near the train station and the beach.’ He explained the ideas for his café between forkfuls of food and gulps of champagne. ‘Saze is going to be my baker,’ he finished triumphantly.

  Mr Cool’s eyes widened. ‘You never said! I thought you worked at “Masons Advisors”?’

  I blushed. ‘I did, until I quit but… ’ I cast a glance at Mr Nice and decided not to tell them about the almost-job, thwarted by Kelly. ‘This way I’ll have more free time.’

  Darrelle refilled our glasses. ‘I think it will be wonderful for you, Saze. What do you bake?’

  ‘Cakes mostly. Although I can also turn my hand to cookies, savoury nibbles or bread.’ I shrugged. ‘I’ve always made birthday cakes for family. I’ve a memory stick somewhere with photos of my cakes. I’ll dig it out and show you sometime.’

  ‘How will you occupy Sam?’ Mr Cool asked Mr Nice. ‘We were thinking of offering after school classes if we can muster the interest and keep the costs low. Would that be something you’d be interested in?’

  Mr Nice guzzled his champagne before replying, his face reddening slightly. ‘Actually, I thought Saze could look after Sam once school kicks out.’ He looked at me. ‘You’d be up there anyway collecting your daughter and I’d let you work whatever hours you want.’ He swallowed what was left in his glass in one gulp. ‘You can’t say fairer than that, can you?’

  Thus talketh Mr Nice-but-Lightweight, I thought. ‘Every day?’

  Mr Nice nodded and held his glass out for Darrelle to reload after she had topped up hers. ‘I knew you’d help.’ He scratched his head. ‘We help each other, don’t we? I’ve helped you out loads. I think we make a good team—’

  ‘Your train of thought is,’ Mr Cool interrupted, ‘that if you have one child to look after, another can’t hurt?’

  Mr Nice agreed and I sighed quietly. I’d been looking forward to spending more time with Daughter. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Sam; it was just sometimes she spoke with her mother’s voice.

  ‘During the holiday times will you want Saze to watch Sam?’ Mr Cool’s smooth voice sounded level.

  ‘Yeah, she won’t want to spend all of her time with me stuck in the café, and holiday clubs charge a bomb.’ Mr Nice rose unsteadily to his feet. ‘I need the toilet.’

  ‘Will you pack it in?’ Darrelle piled the four plates on top of each other.

  Mr Cool leant back in his chair, his elbows resting on the chair arms. ‘I’m merely expressing an interest.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ muttered Darrelle while I watched their mini-domestic with interest. ‘You’re stirring because you think he’s an idiot. I do know you.’

  Mr Nice ambled back from the bathroom, tripped over his own foot then glared at the carpet as if it had attacked him. He steadied himself by grasping the back of his chair before pulling it out and dropping heavily into it.

  Darrelle hid a smile. She laid out bowls of pasta and a plate of twisted bread sticks.

  Mr Nice crinkled his nose. ‘Cor, this stinks. What is it?’

  Darrelle slipped back into her seat opposite Mr Cool and next to Mr Nice. ‘It’s Stilton pasta with a crispy herb crumb and sprinklings of parmesan, freshly chopped chives, and spring onions. I made the cheese sauce with double cream and a hint of garlic.’

  I inhaled the steam rising from my bowl. ‘It smells gorgeous. Maybe you should open a restaurant.’

  Darrelle smiled softly and tossed her silken hair over her cashmere clad shoulder. ‘I enjoy spoiling the people I love with my food.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ joined in Mr Cool. ‘What a shame to waste food on someone who doesn’t appreciate it.’ He cast a subtle nod at Mr Nice who was sniffing his forkful of pasta suspiciously.

  Mr Nice burped, forgetting to cover his mouth. ‘Any more champers left?’

  ‘I’ve opened your cava.’ Darrelle pointed at the bottle she’d placed near to Mr Nice.

  Mr Nice poured some into his glass, bubbles dribbling down the outside. ‘Did we finish the champagne?’

  ‘You did,’ commented Mr Cool quietly.

  Mr Nice laughed and raised his glass to his lips, taking a long drink. ‘Perfect, it tastes the same.’

  ‘I doubt that.’ Mr Cool wrinkled his nose. ‘That champagne was a vintage number with subtle undertones of almond.’

  Mr Nice burped again and offered the bottle to Mr Cool. ‘This one’s great and only cost a fiver from the supermarket. I bet its way cheaper than champers. How much was it, forty quid?’ He drained his flute and slopped in more cava.

  ‘Six-hundred pounds a bottle,’ Darrelle answered evenly.

  Mr Nice spat his mouthful of cava over his pasta. ‘You paid six-hundred for a single bottle of plonk?’ His eyes rounded incredulously. ‘The wife and I only paid thirty quid a pop for the bottles at our wedding.’

  Mr Cool cleared his throat. ‘Well, you certainly enjoyed the six-hundred pounds bottle. You drank a whole one to yourself.’

  Mr Nice pushed his barely touched pasta bowl aside. ‘I can buy you one back, mate.’

  Mr Cool shook his head slowly. ‘They’re hard to find.’

  ‘There’s no need,’ Darrelle said. ‘We don’t need you to buy us a bottle back, forget it.’

  ‘Fair is fair,’ Mr Nice slurred.

  ‘Exactly.’ Mr Cool stared at Mr Nice.

  Not liking the increasing chill in the air, I changed the subject. ‘Is Sam okay?’ I couldn’t help wondering if Mr Cool was about to push Mr Nice’s inebriated head into his unfinished pasta.

  Mr Nice slurped his drink. ‘Of course she is. She loves it here. She’ll enjoy coming here when I’m working in the café. She’ll want to sleep here. Actually I think that could be a really good idea.’ He drained his glass. ‘Then I wouldn’t have to worry about getting her to school and I could go straight to work. You could start work after you’ve dropped them both at school and leave in time to pick them up. Brilliant!’

  Darrelle subtly slid the half-empty bottle of cava out of Mr Nice’s reach. ‘I think you’ve had enough wine,’ she said to Mr Nice. ‘You either need a coffee or bed.’

  Mr Nice leant forward. ‘Are you offering?’

  ‘For goodness sake man,’ Mr Cool reprimanded. ‘Pull yourself together and stop being so rude.’

  ‘You’re posh, aren’t you?’ Mr Nice jeered. ‘Don’t you know how to act like a normal person and let your hair down?’

  ‘If,’ Mr Cool replied frostily. ‘You’re insinuating I should behave like you then you’ve misread me.’

  ‘Can’t everyone just play nice?’ I shouted. ‘You’re all free to do whatever you want but I’m stuck in this bloody flat, my every move monitored. I don’t need my friends falling out.’

  Darrelle reached across the table and squeezed my hand. ‘Of course, sweetheart. We’re only here for you.’ She turned to Mr Nice. ‘I think you should accept the coffee offer or go home.’

  Mr Nice hung his head. ‘I’ve done it again, haven’t I?’ he wailed. ‘Got drunk and been an idiot. I’m sorry! I don’t know why I do it.’

  Mr Cool visibly softened. ‘Come on, old chap. Let’s pour you a coffee.’ He helped Mr Nice to his feet.

  I smiled gratefully at Mr Cool.

  ‘He changes into a different person,’ I apologised to Darrelle as the two men went into the kitchen. ‘When he’s had a drink.’

  ***<
br />
  Unexpected Hand.

  20:10

  Mr Nice, snoring on the sofa, scratched his stomach in his sleep. His shirt rose to reveal a hairy midriff. Jeans hung low on his waist and the band of his boxer shorts peeked above. His feet, encased in black socks which bore a hole to the left big toe, hung over the arm of the sofa.

  ‘Damn rude, falling asleep on your sofa. It’s bad enough you’ve had to take responsibility for his daughter,’ Mr Cool said.

  I thought of Daughter, playing computer games with Sam. They hadn’t been a problem and hadn’t even emerged from Daughter’s room since having eaten their dinner. ‘I suppose we should wake him. He’ll have an awful neck ache in the morning.’

  Mr Nice stretched in his sleep and turned onto his side, one hand tucked under his head, the other scraping the floor.

  ‘Right that’s it,’ said Mr Cool decisively. ‘Next thing you know, he’ll be demanding breakfast in bed and a morning newspaper.’ He stood over Mr Nice and poked him in the side.

  Mr Nice murmured and rubbed his side.

  Mr Cool shook him. ‘Wake up!’

  ‘Wah… what?’ Mr Nice shot up. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ He looked around the room sheepishly. ‘I must’ve dozed off. I’ll collect Sam and be out of your hair.’

  ‘She’s asleep,’ I replied. ‘You can leave her here for the night.’

  Mr Nice smiled gratefully. ‘Thanks, Saze. I’ll be off then. See you in the morning.’

  Mr Cool opened the lounge door for him. ‘Don’t forget your uncooked food.’

  ‘I’ll collect it in the morning and pop in for a coffee. You’ll still be here?’ he asked Darrelle.

  Darrelle coughed lightly. ‘Yes.’

  ‘See you then.’ Mr Nice grinned before he left.

  ‘I think you have an admirer,’ Mr Cool chuckled to Darrelle as there was a knock at the door. ‘Maybe he’s changed his mind about the food.’ Mr Cool returned a few moments later, carrying a large black box. ‘It’s for you, Saze.’

  Mr Nice poked his head around the doorframe. ‘It was just inside the main door, I was unlocking my door when I noticed it. I don’t know how long it’s been there.’

  ‘What is it?’ A shiver of apprehension crept through my body.

  Mr Cool set the box on the floor. I knelt next to it and lifted the lid off. A violent scream erupted from my lips and I turned away, gagging.

  The three others raced over and peered into the box. Mr Cool clamped a hand over his mouth. ‘I’ll alert the police. Nobody touch it.’ He ran from the lounge.

  Darrelle, the colour gone from her already ivory face, turned to me in horror. ‘It’s real,’ she said dully.

  Mr Nice stopped opening and closing his mouth. ‘Fucking hell it’s a hand!’ His shocked face paled. ‘A real hand!’

  ‘Mum!’ Daughter called from her bedroom door. ‘We can’t sleep with all the noise!’

  Darrelle tried to compose herself. ‘I’ll see to them. Shall I pop the television on for them?’

  I nodded mutely and watched her skirt around the offending box on her way from the lounge. ‘I recognise the ring,’ I said to Mr Nice. ‘I bought it at a car-boot sale for fifty pence. Andrew gave it to Kelly as an engagement ring.’

  ‘You mean—’ Mr Nice’s voice broke and he promptly threw up all over the carpet before wobbling slightly and passing out in a crumpled heap, his cheek splattering his vomit.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, although no-one could hear. ‘That’s Kelly’s left hand but where’s the rest of her?’

  With its protruding sawn bone, translucent fingernails on skin which had paled and its ring which used to be mine, the evil associated with the severed hand manifested heavily in the room as if it were a hovering demon.

  21:00

  With the police examining the hand and my flat, and after having given brief statements we had been turned out. Luckily Daughter and Sam found the whole experience exciting and demanded milkshakes and ice-cream at the all-night fast food restaurant on the way into town. Of course they didn’t know about the hand.

  With the children chattering and leading the way, we four adults followed in silence.

  21:20

  The back of the restaurant overlooking the dark carpark was empty. Daughter and Sam ran upstairs to where there was a soft seating area for children. Mr Nice sat on a chair with a glazed expression on his face. Overhead bright strip lights buzzed. Mr Cool alternated between watching him and me. He seemed concerned one, or both, of us were about to suffer a breakdown.

  Mr Nice voice’s was low, ‘I’m going to kill him.’

  ‘That kind of talk won’t help.’ Mr Cool folded his arms. ‘It’s up to the police to handle.’

  ‘We all know who the murderer is and we’re sitting here doing nothing about it!’ Mr Nice pointed at me. ‘Didn’t you know Andrew had something wrong with him?’

  I shrank back from his onslaught. ‘It’s not my fault.’

  Mr Nice’s eyes blazed. ‘How could you have been with him for all those years and not realised? There must’ve been signs.’

  Darrelle shook her head. ‘We understand you’re upset, we all are. It’s not an excuse to take it out on Saze.’

  Mr Nice’s shoulders sagged. ‘I know, I know, I just can’t believe Kelly’s gone.’ He suddenly jumped up.

  Mr Cool stood in front of Mr Nice. ‘You need to calm down and keep your voice down. Think of the children.’

  Mr Nice’s face grew red. ‘Move out of my way.’

  Mr Cool, unfazed by Mr Nice’s increasing anger, refused. Mr Nice emitted an almighty roar and changed direction but Mr Cool blocked him and grabbed him by the arms.

  ‘Let go of me!’ Mr Nice shouted.

  ‘Calm down.’ Mr Cool eased his grip. ‘Sit down.’

  ‘I don’t need to sit down. I need my wife. How do I tell Sam her mother’s dead?’ Mr Nice whispered desolately. ‘I know we’d separated and everything but you don’t stop caring about someone as soon as the relationship ends. Oh, God,’ he sobbed. ‘She died thinking I hated her and knowing the new man she was in love with, was a mass-murderer! She must’ve been petrified.’

  ***

  Friday, 15th March 2013

  The Curtain Falls.

  01:05

  After being allowed back into my flat after what seemed an eternity spent in the brightly lit fast food restaurant, I snuggled beside Mr Cool, curled my legs underneath me, and leant into his warmth. ‘I keep thinking what that poor woman must have gone through. I know we didn’t get along and, at times, I wished she’d disappear off the face of the earth but I never wanted this. Why would Andrew murder her? It doesn’t make any sense.’

  Darrelle squeezed onto the sofa with us, her hand resting lightly on my foot. ‘That man’s clearly disturbed. The sooner he’s caught the better.’

  ‘Do you think Kelly could still be alive?’ I asked. ‘I mean, years and years ago people survived after having a limb removed. It’s a possibility, isn’t it?’

  Mr Cool chuckled. ‘You sound like one of my students. It is a possibility. I assume we’ll know for sure if the police find her body.’

  ‘Do you think they will?’ I felt warmed by Mr Cool’s strong arm around my shoulders.

  Darrelle lowered the sound on the television as it blasted into adverts. ‘The other bodies were found so it would seem likely. Personally, I think it’s as if the bodies are being positioned to be found, otherwise wouldn’t they have been buried?’

  I shuddered. ‘I hadn’t considered it in detail. I’m still having difficulty believing Andrew is a maniac.’

  ‘He certainly led me to such an assumption the other evening,’ remarked Mr Cool. ‘When he was on top of you. You should have seen the look in his eyes, it was inhuman.’

  ‘I’m glad I had my eyes closed.’ I shivered. ‘But I’m sorry I missed the look on his face when you hit him on the head.’

  Darrelle laughed. ‘There was this almighty clunk, he moaned then flopped s
ideways, and was out. But,’ she continued, ‘it was terrifying to see you so vulnerable.’

  Mr Cool stretched languidly. ‘I’m exhausted. Shall we turn in?’

  I huddled closer to him. ‘I don’t want to be alone. Will you sleep with me?’

  ‘I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be. Darrelle,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Are you going to sleep in here on the sofa or on the chaise in the dining room?’

  Darrelle patted the sofa. ‘Here. Good night you pair.’

  ‘I’ll bring you some covers,’ I told Darrelle.

  I pulled the spare quilt and a sheet from the airing cupboard. Darrelle was rearranging the cushions on the sofa when I returned to the lounge.

  ‘I know he’s jumps in feet first,’ she said, nodding in the direction of my bedroom and Mr Cool. ‘But he really is very lovely. He flirts a lot but he’s a gentleman.’

  Mr Cool turned the quilt down. ‘Well, this is a first for us.’

  ‘It’ll be squashier than those beds you and Darrelle have in your house.’ I burrowed under the duvet. ‘I’m frightened to fall asleep. I keep thinking “What if Andrew breaks in? What if he tries to kidnap my daughter?” She’s my baby!’

  Mr Cool peeled off his clothes and wriggled in beside me. ‘We’ll manage even if it is squashy. It’ll be cosy and no-one will break in. The police are right outside.’ He kissed me on the lips before settling back on the pillow. I twisted onto my side and melted into the curve of his body, my back pressed into the warm firmness of his chest.

  ‘Darrelle and I are both here for you,’ Mr Cool soothed. ‘You’re not alone. You don’t need to be afraid. And I can stay with you for as long as you need.’

  ‘A prisoner in my own home,’ I grumbled.

  ‘Better a prisoner than dead. I’ll look after you. I promise.’ He stroked the side of my face. ‘You know that, don’t you?’ He snaked his arm around my waist and squeezed. ‘I am so in love with you.’

  ‘So fast?’ I asked. ‘I can feel your love poking me in the back. Well you’ll have to put a plug on your love.’