Lies

by T. M. Logan

  Wd love to see your face today bet its an absolute picture!!!

  He was trolling me, deliberately provoking me to get an online slanging match going. In the last five years, it seemed, the world had suddenly filled with trolls. Full of bravado when they were anonymous behind a screen, but would no doubt shit their pants at the thought of saying anything face-to-face. How about it, Ben? You going to show your face? Or just keep on trolling me until I’m charged with murder?

  I stared at his message.

  Bet your face is an absolute picture. Your face.

  That was it. A picture.

  All I needed was one picture of him, walking around, large as life, and this would be over. He had taken covert pictures of me at Kilburn Police Station—all I had to do was return the favor. But I needed something that was tempting enough to draw him out, make him break cover and come out into the open.

  He wouldn’t break cover for me. But he might for Mel.

  If she gave him the right motivation. If she pretended she wanted to get back with him. It might work.

  She picked up on the second ring.

  “Mel? Can you get home early tonight? I’ve got a plan.”

  * * *

  I watched Mel as she sent him the text, telling him she was sorry for breaking it off, she couldn’t live without him, and she was desperate to see him again. Kingsway, one hour, the usual place. A shopping center not far from our house. She signed off with three kisses.

  “Where’s the usual place?” I asked, my voice low.

  “Starbucks.”

  “That’s where you used to meet?”

  She looked down and away from me. “One of the places.”

  “There were other places, were there?”

  She nodded but said nothing, and we both lapsed into a loaded silence. The only things I could think of to say would make me sound wounded and resentful, so I clamped my teeth together and said nothing.

  We waited for five minutes, ten. William came into the kitchen rubbing his eyes and asking for his bath. Mel picked him up and moved to take him upstairs.

  I held out my hand to her. “Give me your phone.”

  “Why?”

  “Need to be sure that you don’t warn him.”

  She looked like she’d just been slapped. “I would never … Don’t you trust me?”

  “I don’t know who to trust anymore. But trust is earned, and we have to start from scratch on that score.”

  She nodded, eyes down, and handed me the phone.

  “Daddy’s got all the phones,” William said, his chin on Mel’s shoulder.

  I followed them upstairs and stood in the bathroom doorway as Mel ran our son’s bath, tested the temperature, helped him get undressed, checked the temperature again, and helped him up onto the plastic step and into the water. She sat on the little stool and played with him in a way she’d done when he was a toddler, filling cups and saucers with foamy water and talking with William as he chattered away happily, asking if she wanted tea or coffee or beer or soup or hot chocolate. Each drink had a different price. Watching them play together brought a lump to my throat.

  I hit Adam’s number in my phone. I had not spoken to him since the debacle at the pub on Sunday—out of shame at what he’d seen—but now I needed his help.

  He seemed to have other ideas.

  “I, er … can’t look after William tonight, mate,” he said, his voice hesitant.

  “Just for an hour?”

  “Got to take the girls to their ballet lesson.”

  I checked my watch. “At this time of night?”

  “Sorry, mate.”

  “Please? I wouldn’t ask unless it was important.”

  His voice dropped, as if someone were listening in. “What’s going on with you, Joe? Kate said you got arrested for beating some guy up. She saw it on Facebook.”

  “I wasn’t arrested. It’s bullshit.”

  “Really?” A note of disbelief in his voice.

  “Yes, really. I wasn’t arrested.”

  He made a hmm noise on the line as if he were considering my answer, and for a moment, I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t believe he wasn’t instantly on my side.

  “Adam, you do believe me, right?”

  “Kate heard you got suspended from school as well.”

  “That’s bullshit too. A smear campaign. Listen, mate, I really need your help. William won’t be any trouble.”

  He hesitated. “Sorry, Joe, I just can’t. Give me a call at the weekend. We’ll go for a pint or something, yeah? Gotta go.”

  He hung up.

  The other phone beeped in my left hand as Ben texted a reply to Mel’s invitation.

  Knew you’d change your mind beautiful girl ☺ 8 P.M.? xxx

  6:29 P.M. Ben cell

  I checked my watch. Eight o’clock was feasible. “Mel,” I said. “He said yes.”

  She stood up and dried her hands as I showed her the message.

  “Tell him yes,” I said. “Say it in the way you would have done while you were … together. You know what I mean.”

  She nodded, blushing, and typed a reply.

  Will b there. Can’t wait 2 see you again Mr. D xxx

  6:30 P.M. Me

  Staring at the string of messages, it felt like I had stumbled into a private conversation between two strangers and was intruding on their intimacy. It made me feel hollowed out all over again. Focus. One decent picture of Ben was all I needed to clear my name and keep my family intact. For the first time in days, I felt like I was in control for once, guiding events rather than being bounced from one situation into the next.

  Ben had taken the bait.

  I’ve got you now, finally. This ends tonight.

  “Get changed. Put some makeup on. Get ready like you’re going out on a date.”

  Mel’s cheeks were red with embarrassment. “A date?”

  “As if you were meeting him again.” Even saying the words, my throat was tight.

  “What about William? It’s his bedtime.”

  My parents lived near Bath so they were out of the question for short-notice babysitting. The truth was, there were very few people we could drop William with, out of the blue, on a weeknight, without arranging it well in advance.

  “Adam couldn’t do it. You said Emma and Peter are away for the week. We’re out of options.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  “We’ll go together. The three of us.”

  45

  I thought back to my promise to Beth and rang her as we were on our way to the mall. Her husband was about to reappear—she deserved to be in the loop.

  The Delaneys’ home number rang six times before a young voice answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Alice. It’s Joe Lynch. Is your mum home? I need to speak to her.”

  “Why?”

  “Need to tell her something.”

  “Did you talk to her earlier?”

  “Yes. I just need another quick word now, OK?”

  There was a silence before she answered, more quietly now. “I don’t think she can speak to you.”

  “What?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly. “What do you mean?”

  “She’s been … acting really weird since I got home from school. And I think she’s taken some tablets.”

  “What tablets?”

  “Valium. Supposed to be for when she goes on plane trips. She’s crashed out on the sofa, and I found the packet next to her.”

  “Can I talk to her?” I said.

  “I tried earlier, but she was totally out of it, not making any sense.”

  From my jacket pocket came a tinkling wind chime sound—a text message on Mel’s cell phone.

  We still on for 8, beautiful girl? xxx

  7:12 P.M. Ben cell

  I shook my head at the incongruity of receiving a text from Ben, meant for my cheating wife, while I was trying to speak to his cheated-on wife.

  I handed the cell
phone to Mel.

  “Send him a reply as if everything’s fine.”

  She took her phone from me and did as she was told, showing me the message for my approval before hitting Send.

  Of course! Can’t wait Mr. D ☺ xxx

  7:13 P.M. Me

  “Joe?” Alice’s voice sounded small and very far away. “Are you still there?”

  “I’m here,” I said into my phone. “Listen—just ask your mum to give me a call when she’s feeling better.”

  I hung up as Mel’s cell phone chimed in my pocket again.

  Not going to stand me up again like last time are you? xxx

  7:14 P.M. Ben cell

  I stared at the message, confused. Last time? What last time?

  * * *

  We split up at the mall, Mel taking up position in the front of a Starbucks on the ground floor of the main atrium, William and I taking the escalator up to a second-floor balcony where metal tables and chairs were arranged outside a mostly empty Costa Coffee. My heart was starting to thump in my chest. I was actually excited, elated almost, about the prospect of bringing Ben’s runaway train to a halt. I was leaving nothing to chance: I had my Nikon, plus zoom lens, to make sure I got him in focus. Three good pictures should do it. Bang bang bang. Press the shutter and just keep pressing it. Christ, one good picture would do it. One good shot of his face.

  7:49 P.M. I put the camera’s viewfinder to my eye.

  From my vantage point on the second floor, I could see Mel on the ground floor about sixty feet away, sitting at a table in front of Starbucks, sipping a skinny cappuccino. There was a copy of Metro that someone had left behind spread out in front of her. It was odd seeing her with a newspaper—she didn’t read them, not even free ones. She’d choose Heat, Closer, or Hello! every time.

  William sat cross-legged on the floor behind me with his cars, oblivious to everything. I turned away from him, back to the balcony, and put the camera’s viewfinder to my eye again. A slim figure all in black—black jeans, black jacket, black baseball cap—crossed my field of view. I adjusted the lens but not quite quickly enough as the figure disappeared from sight beneath the first-floor balcony just as they came into focus. I waited for the figure to reappear. Ten seconds, twenty, keeping the camera pointed at the same spot.

  A minute went by, and the figure in black still didn’t reappear. The world seemed to go quiet around me. Mel still sat alone at Starbucks, cup cradled in both hands. Her instructions were that she was not, under any circumstances, to look up at the balcony. One glance up here, at me with my camera, and Ben would be gone.

  Mel’s phone buzzed in my pocket, and I lowered the Nikon. A picture message. An image filled the cell phone’s small screen.

  It was a picture of William playing with his cars on a blue-and-white tiled floor. Quite close, maybe twenty feet from the camera. In the background of the shot, I could see a tall figure in a blue jacket hunched over a table, camera poised as if ready to take a shot.

  I looked down. It was this tiled floor. The tall figure in the picture was me. The message read:

  Whatever you do Joe keep 1 eye on little William. If he was to wander off I doubt you’d ever find him again

  7:56 P.M. Ben cell

  My stomach lurched, a flutter of panic.

  William—

  My coffee went flying across the table as I turned.

  His toy cars were there on the floor. His little rucksack.

  William, no, not that—

  My son was there too.

  Lying flat out on the floor, rolling a car in each hand.

  He’s OK.

  I stood up quickly to see if the picture-taker was still there, but saw only two elderly ladies, a cleaner mopping the floor, and a lanky teenager talking on a cell phone. No one who looked like Ben.

  The phone buzzed in my hand as another message dropped in. This time it was a picture of Mel, sitting in Starbucks, pretending to read Metro.

  You must think I’m a fucking idiot. Mel + newspaper = epic fail

  7:57 P.M. Ben cell

  The picture was taken from the same side of the mall where I was, but directly below me. Two floors down.

  Ben’s here.

  In the same building as I was, thirty feet of concrete and steel and fresh air separating us.

  This was my chance. It was now or never.

  I stood up, grabbed my son, and ran, slamming through the double doors and hitting the escalator at a run, taking the steps down two at a time as the Nikon bounced against my chest.

  “My cars!” William cried, reaching out with both hands as he tried to squirm out of my grip.

  “We’ll go back for them,” I said breathlessly.

  We hit the first floor, and I turned and leaped onto the next escalator down to the ground floor, running down it full pelt, William bumping against my hip, his arms tight around me, clinging on. I jumped the last two steps, skidded, turned, and sprinted out into middle of the main atrium—where Ben would have been when he took the last picture.

  A frowning security guard looked over at the commotion, arms crossed.

  Mel looked alarmed to see me. “What’s happened? Are you OK?”

  “He was here,” I panted. “Did you see him?”

  She shook her head. “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Christ. Well, he certainly saw you. And me.”

  “Where? When?”

  “Just now, not more than a minute ago. He was right here. He took your picture. You sure you didn’t see him?”

  “I didn’t recognize anyone. I’m sorry, Joe.”

  “Damn! Thought we had him.”

  The frustration was bitter in my mouth. Ben had just played me to perfection. Again.

  “Damn,” William repeated, imitating me. “Damn damn damn. Can we get my cars now?”

  Mel’s phone buzzed in my pocket again.

  Game, set and match big fella ☺

  7:59 P.M. Ben cell

  * * *

  I sat in the passenger seat of Mel’s VW on the way home. I wanted to drive, but Mel took one look at me, the frustration coming off me in waves, and refused point-blank to let me drive in that state with our child in the back.

  Think. There were two possibilities, as far as I could tell. It was possible that he had seen me first and realized it was a setup. Either that or he had been warned in advance.

  And there was only one person who could have warned him.

  46

  William was sluggish with drowsiness, wanting to be helped with everything. I took his coat off and knelt to help him with his shoes, all the while watching my wife out of the corner of my eye, waiting until she had taken her jacket off and put her handbag down on the hall table.

  “Could you put Wills to bed tonight?” I said. “I need a drink.”

  She nodded and leaned down to him, arms outstretched. “Of course. Come on, little chimp.”

  “Do you want a drink?”

  “Go on, then, if you’re having one.”

  William allowed himself to be picked up, clinging to Mel like a limpet, head on her shoulder straight away. Quarter to nine was a late night for him. Mel turned and headed slowly up the stairs, William mumbling into her neck something about having a story.

  “You’re too tired for a story, William.”

  Our son made a noise like he didn’t agree but was too tired to argue.

  I walked through into the kitchen noisily and deliberately. Took my shoes off and tiptoed back into the hall, in time to see Mel reach the top of the staircase and turn right onto the landing, out of sight.

  For a second, I almost changed my mind. I didn’t want to find evidence that my wife might still be lying to me, but at the same time, I had to know. To find out if my instincts could be right about what had happened tonight. To be right about something, for once. It had to be better than the feeling of slowly going mad, inch by paranoid inch.

  It is better to know than not know.

  Mel’s lightweight bl
ack jacket had four pockets. A packet of chewing gum, some tissues, a lip balm, but nothing that was the right size for a cell phone. I draped it back over the banister and unzipped her handbag, my pulse starting to throb as if I were shoplifting and about to get caught. The handbag was soft brown leather, expensive, smooth to the touch. My son and my wife were talking in low voices in his bedroom. He would be trying to convince her that he was too tired to clean his teeth, but I prayed that she would stick to the rules on that subject, tonight of all nights. It would buy me another minute or two while he brushed. The bag was full of pockets and zips and flaps, and I went through them as fast as I dared, pulling out and putting back three lipsticks, another lip balm, her purse, a makeup compact, a folding mirror, a small packet of sanitary pads, her keys, a key ring–sized flashlight, a rape alarm, a hairbrush and assorted hair bands, three pens, half a packet of mints, her small diary. Standard twenty-first-century woman’s handbag.

  No good. I checked the outside zip pocket. More of the same.

  Nothing hidden. No phone.

  And yet, there was something. Extra weight that should not have been there, a solid shape that didn’t correspond with any of the contents I’d found. Using both hands, I pressed the leather sides of the bag together. There it was again. A shape: small, flat, about the size of a packet of playing cards, but thinner. I checked the bag again, trying to trace the location of the shape from the inside. My fingers traced the bottom seam of the bag.

  There was a slit in the lining about six inches long, hidden by the folded leather seam. Straight and deliberate, a cut rather than a rip.

  I reached in, feeling the sweat under my shirt.

  There was a brush of carpet as William’s bedroom door opened, and I hurriedly put the handbag back on the hall table, stepping back into the shadows of the living room. I could just see their feet crossing the landing as Mel shepherded William in front of her to the bathroom. A click-clack as the bathroom light cord was pulled, a slab of light spilling out onto the landing. I hesitated—just for a second—feeling my heart thudding in my chest. My wife had already betrayed me, I knew that, but she had asked for my forgiveness. She had lied, and I had found her out. So what was this?

  It is better to know.