Embellished Deception: A Psychological Suspense Novel (The Crime Files)

by Netta Newbound

  I was hobbling up the garden path when I heard his car door close, and he was behind me in an instant.

  "Wait, Geri, wait. I'm sorry." He came round the front of me as I reached the doorstep, and put both hands on my shoulders.

  I don't know why I did what I did next and can only blame the alcohol. I stood on my tiptoes and pushed him into the doorway. I kissed those beautiful full lips as hard and passionately as I'd ever kissed anybody before in my life. I was so carried away that it took a minute to realise he was pushing me away, and it wasn't until he actually bit my lip that I got the message.

  I stood staring at him in shock, tears stinging my eyes. I couldn't believe that yet another man was rejecting me. I took my key out of my pocket, and after a short fumble let myself into the house and slammed the door in his face.

  Chapter 8

  James marched back to the car, completely disappointed in himself for allowing the evening to end this way.

  The date with Geraldine had been everything he'd imagined it would be—she looked stunning. It had been all he could do to stop his tongue lolling ungainly on the floor every time he glanced at her.

  She was funny and game for a laugh. He smiled as he remembered the expression on her face when the waiter whisked her away from the table and around the dance floor at speed.

  But then it had all gone downhill from there.

  Geri had had quite a lot to drink, not that he minded. Just because he didn't like to drink to excess didn't mean he thought everybody should do the same—everybody was different. But he had seen the damage alcohol could do to a person, never mind to a family and a community, so he'd made the choice to avoid it himself. He would have to live with the aftermath of drink driving for the rest of his life after a drunk driver killed his own mother.

  But even that hadn't bothered him. In fact, he'd actually enjoyed seeing the change in her as the alcohol took effect. She seemed to shed the self-consciousness.

  But when he came back from collecting the car, he'd felt a wild jealousy to find her sitting astride a young bloke on the side of the road. And then to hear they'd arranged a date to boot had really sent him over the edge.

  However, even that hadn't ruined his chances. Even her thinking he was trying to grope her breast hadn't put her off—he was well and truly in there for the taking.

  However, as she lunged at him and began snogging his face off, he froze.

  All the years he'd dreamed about that very thing. Firstly, as a young hormonal teenager he'd gone to sleep night after night playing that same scenario over and over in his head. More recently, after splitting with Katrina and considering his options and his ideal woman, Geraldine had been the first person to pop into his mind.

  But when it came to the crunch—he'd crapped out. And to top it all, he'd bit her fucking lip! What the hell was wrong with him?

  He pulled into the hotel car-park, and contemplated going to the bar. He was too fired up and couldn't face being alone right now. As he approached the internal door from the hotel reception, he could hear the raucous high spirits of Saturday night revellers, and instead he changed direction and went straight to his room.

  He knew he wouldn't even be able to write in this mood, so he climbed onto the bed and switched on the television.

  Chapter 9

  The pumping music from the pub sounded like a dull duf-duf-duf from where the man stood on the side street.

  He wasn't certain which way the evening would go. It would totally depend on whether Samantha got lucky, or if she would leave the pub alone.

  He'd popped into the bar earlier and spotted her fawning all over a deadbeat from out of the area. She had no class.

  He glanced at his watch—almost closing time. He'd know soon enough.

  Shortly afterwards the music stopped, and the lights came on inside the bar. People began steadily leaving the pub. Several groups of women staggered up the street arm in arm. Two drunken men began having a slapping fight on the corner and were being egged on by a crowd of men. Several people got into taxis and cars.

  Then Samantha appeared. She staggered down the steps still attached to the man from earlier.

  "Fuck!" the man said, kicking the kerb.

  But as luck would have it, their voices carried on the slight breeze and he could make out they were saying their goodbyes.

  Staying to the shadows, he made his way furtively to his car and waited, slumped in his seat.

  Samantha, ignoring all the warnings, began her usual stroll home. He'd heard her mouthing off a couple of weeks ago that she wasn't bothered about the rapist—he didn't scare her. Well, he'd see about that.

  Once she'd passed him, he started up the car and sped along the backstreets to her home.

  Being in a rural area, there were no street lights except for in the centre of the village. Samantha's tiny cottage was in pitch darkness as he turned into the cul-de-sac. He drove past and parked just beyond.

  He used a small torch he had on his key ring to get around the back of the cottage, where he tried the back door.

  It was locked.

  "Shit!" He tried the window to the side of the door—also locked.

  He walked around the cottage towards the front, trying each window, but no luck. He'd resigned himself to the fact he'd have to break in but was surprised when the front door handle turned and the door swung inwards.

  Glancing around before slipping into the hallway, he closed the door behind him. Samantha would be there any minute, so he had no time to waste.

  Quickly he scanned each room, merely a formality. He knew Samantha lived with her son who stayed with his dad on the weekends.

  He'd only just reached the top of the stairs when he heard the front door opening and Samantha's high heels clunking noisily on the tiles as she let herself in.

  He hovered, listening as she filled the kettle, all the time singing Shania Twain's Man I feel Like a Woman—badly. She went through to the lounge and switched on the television before making a phone call.

  He waited patiently as she relayed the details of the entire evening to her listener, making several crude and revolting remarks that made him screw his face up in disgust.

  After hanging up the phone, she fell silent. Only the sounds of the TV could be heard from his position on the stairs. He was becoming increasingly agitated and contemplated going downstairs, but he didn't want her to hear him and ruin the surprise.

  Then, just as he'd convinced himself she must have fallen asleep, the TV went silent and Samantha headed for the stairs.

  In two strides, he was inside her bedroom where he hid behind the door.

  Samantha went into the bathroom and urinated noisily, then let out the most unladylike fart he'd ever heard.

  He shuddered, seriously thinking he'd made a huge mistake.

  When she walked through to the bedroom, she'd already begun undressing and dropped her tarty black, nylon top to the floor.

  Seeing him standing there, she froze. Obviously the alcohol had dulled her senses, and it took a few moments before she realised what was actually happening.

  By then he had her arms fastened together with a plastic tie and had pushed her backwards onto the bed. There was no headboard to secure her to. The double bed had been shoved up against the wall. The grimy bare mattress had just a duvet inner and two pillows on top, both devoid of linen. This had confirmed his suspicions of the dirty skank.

  "Who are you?" She finally managed to say—her voice showing signs of hysteria.

  He covered her mouth and roughly lifted her skirt. He took the knife from his pocket and cut the black control panel granny panties at each hip before tearing them off through her legs.

  While he fitted his condom, he had to uncover her mouth, and she continued talking—demanding to know who the hell he was.

  He hit her on the side of the head, the butt of the knife giving more weight to the blow.

  She yelped and went quiet.

  As he pushed her legs apart,
she began to scream.

  Chapter 10

  My head felt as though it would explode. I could hear Mum banging and clattering in the kitchen below me, and all I wanted to do was to crawl back under the duvet and die. But I needed a drink—my mouth was so dry I could hardly even swallow, and my lips were sticking together.

  I crawled out of bed, my eyes still half closed and a wince on my face.

  Mum was busily cleaning the oven when I walked into the kitchen, and her face spoke volumes when she saw the state of me.

  "Oh, Geraldine. What have you done to yourself?" She climbed to her feet and took her rubber gloves off.

  I could have sworn the snapping sound of them coming off reverberated right through to my brain.

  "I need something for my head, Mum, and a glass of milk, please."

  "Sit yourself down. I could swing for that bloody James Dunn for getting you into this state. I really could.” She took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with milk.

  "I'm a big girl, Mother. I got myself into this state."

  "He should know better though." She handed me the glass and a strip of paracetamol.

  "I don't see why. He didn't drink, I did. End of discussion. And besides, it was only yesterday you were hung over yourself."

  "I think that was something I ate."

  "Whatever, Mum. Let's just drop it now, eh? I'm going back to bed."

  I was halfway up the stairs when I remembered Carl. "Mu-um ..." I called.

  Mum appeared in the hallway below me.

  "Could you call Carl and cancel tonight, please? I'm really not in the mood."

  I spent the rest of the day in my room. Mum brought me a bacon sandwich mid-morning, which seemed to settle my queasy stomach, but I couldn't shake off the tiredness.

  At just after five I ventured downstairs feeling a bit better. Mum was pottering in the kitchen, and I could hear Dad singing away in the bathroom. I lay on the couch and had another rest.

  Dad came bounding down the stairs, and soon after Mum appeared in the kitchen doorway. They were both dressed in their best clothes.

  "Are you going out?"

  "Yes, love. We're going to Beryl's. She's having a few friends over."

  "Oh, I thought you were making dinner."

  "I was—we're all taking a dish."

  She continued talking, but I wasn't really listening, more concerned that I wasn't going to get fed. I looked up and noticed they were both staring at me.

  "What?" I asked.

  "You were miles away, love. Your mum said she wasn't able to get hold of Carl, so it looks as though he'll be here in an hour or so. You'd better go and get ready."

  "Oh for God's sake! Hasn't he got a mobile?"

  "Don't use the Lord's name in vain, Geraldine!"

  "You're not even religious, Mum!"

  "Never mind that, I don't like it. And for your information, I tried his mobile and he didn't answer. Besides, it'll do you no harm to get seen out with a handsome young man. Hopefully, Simon will hear about it. That'll sort him out if nothing else will."

  I had no choice but to get ready, although I was damned if I was going to enjoy myself.

  I had a quick shower and put on my old faithful black slacks and a blouse. I was blow drying my hair when Mum popped her head around the door and waved goodbye.

  "See ya, Mum. Have a great time," I shouted.

  At six forty-five I was ready and more than satisfied with my reflection in the full-length mirror. As I was on my way down the stairs, the doorbell rang.

  I grabbed my jacket off the banister and opened the door, flabbergasted to find Simon on the doorstep.

  "Hi, Geri. Can I come in?"

  I didn't say a word as he stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

  "You look lovely. Are you going out?" he asked.

  "Not that's it's any of your business, but I have a date." I snapped bitterly.

  He flinched.

  "I don't know why that should bother you, Simon. At least I waited 'til we'd actually split up. What you doin' here, anyway?"

  "We need to talk, and you won't talk on the phone, so what choice did I have? Are your mum and dad out?"

  "Yes, but not for long. Just say what you came to say then leave, please."

  He walked into the lounge and I followed him. The clock above the mantelpiece said 6.50pm. Of all the times he could have called, it had to be now.

  "Well?" I asked.

  He sat down. "This week's been awful, Geri. I haven't been to work or faced anybody. I don't know what to tell them—we need to get our story straight."

  "I knew it." I shook my head. "All you're bothered about is what people will think of you. I told you I wouldn't tell anybody and, except for Lucy, I haven't. She promised she won't even tell Mark—that's for you to do. Although I suggest you do it soon, he is your best friend for God's sake."

  "That's not all I'm bothered about," he said. "I've missed you."

  "Why? Won't Kevin do your laundry?"

  "Don't be ugly, Geri. It's nothing like that."

  We sat in silence for a few minutes, then I got to my feet. "Well, if that's all, I'll see you out."

  "There is one other thing. I just wondered if there's going to be a baby?"

  "Pardon?" I was astounded. "Do you really think I would have a baby after all this? If there was a baby, and believe me I truly hope not, I wouldn't have it anyway. I'd have an abortion. A baby needs two parents, Simon, not just one." My voice was raised and I began to shake. How dare he do this to me?

  He continued. "So you're not sure if you're pregnant or not?"

  "Er—hello! Did you not hear anything I just said, Simon? Forget it. There is no baby. There is no marriage. And there is nothing left to say. Please leave." I pointed to the door.

  He stood up and came to stand in front of me. He took both of my hands in his. "I would have it. I'd take it off your hands, and you wouldn't want for a thing. We'd see you got a good allowance."

  I was flabbergasted.

  "You selfish bastard. I can't believe the cheek of you."

  "No, Geri, it's not like that. I'm trying to be responsible. If there’s a baby, I want to do the right thing by you—and if you don't want it, I do."

  It all became clear right then and there. "That was your plan all along, wasn't it? You were already seeing Kevin when you brought up about us having a baby. You planned to get me pregnant and then tell me about the two of you. How stupid of me not to realise." I sat down in a daze.

  "I'm sorry, Geri. The last thing I wanted was for you to get hurt. Believe it or not, I do love you. But, think about my situation for a minute, please. I'll never get another chance to have a baby. You could go on to have ten kids from your next relationship, maybe even with the guy you're seeing tonight. I won't. All I'm asking you to do is think about it."

  I stood up and silently walked to the window, then I slowly turned on him. "Get out! Get out!" I spat. "I would rather die than give you and that boyfriend of yours anything, never mind a fucking baby.

  You've taken my life, my home, my friends and my security. Look at me—back at home with my parents, and I can't even tell them why. But I'm not doing it for you! I’m doing it for me! Imagine for just one minute how it feels to be me! My husband has not only left me for somebody else, but he's left me for a man! God, Simon, you're the most insensitive jerk I've ever known."

  He stared at me for a moment, and then turned and walked out the door without another word.

  I heard the front door open and his car drive away. Only then did I start to cry.

  I had my head buried in a cushion when I realised I wasn't alone. I looked up and saw a pair of brown loafers and blue jeans. Oh no! I'd forgotten all about Carl.

  He knelt down at the side of me and began stroking my back.

  "There, there, it's okay, get it all out."

  "I'm sorry," I sobbed. "I was ready, but now I'm a mess and don't feel like going anywhere." I glanced up at him and
he brushed my hair out of my eyes.

  "That's okay. We'll stay in," he whispered.

  "No, honestly. I can't ruin your night. I'll be alright, and besides, I'm not much company in this state anyway."

  "Was that your husband I saw leaving?"

  "Yes, worse luck."

  "Did he hurt you?"

  "No. Not physically anyway." I smiled.

  "I thought at first you were crying because I was late." He laughed.

  "Gosh, you have a huge opinion of yourself, don't you?" I sniffed and wiped my eyes, the intense mood lifting.

  "Well, if you don't love yourself, who will?" He shrugged.

  "True, but no, I wasn't crying over you. Sorry to burst your bubble. I was crying because my husband is a self-centred pillock."

  "I promise I will try not to be self-centred for one night at least, but you do know it's a trait most men are born with?"

  "Thanks, Carl, but I think you should go to dinner alone and leave me to my sorry self."

  "I don't think so somehow, come on.” He held his hand out towards me. “Go and freshen your lipstick, comb your hair and you'll be right as rain."

  Chapter 11

  I did as he suggested and Carl was right—I felt much better.

  He drove us to the pizza bar in Kirkby Mayor, and before long I found myself relaxing and warming to him.

  Once we'd ordered our pizza, Carl slapped both palms onto the table. "So spill."

  "Sorry?"

  "What were you and hubby arguing about?"

  "It's a long story."

  He glanced around, held his hands out in front of him and shrugged, comically. "They take ages to make pizza in this place—we have a bit of time to kill."

  I laughed. "We've separated—he's seeing someone else."

  "Wanker!"

  "Exactly." I poked at the corners of my eyes.

  "And now he wants you back?"

  "Not that simple, I'm afraid. No—he wants a baby."

  "With you?" His eyebrows shot up, and he shook his head in disbelief.

  I laughed again. "Not now, but we were trying beforehand, and he wants to know if I'm pregnant. If I am, he wants the baby."