The Perfect Lie
Page 1
THE PERFECT LIE
Also by Karen Osman
The Good Mother
The Home
The Perfect Lie
The Perfect Lie
Karen Osman
AN IMPRINT OF HEAD OF ZEUS
www.ariafiction.com
First published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © Karen Osman, 2019
The moral right of Karen Osman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781786699206
Aria
c/o Head of Zeus
First Floor East
5–8 Hardwick Street
London EC1R 4RG
www.ariafiction.com
For Fahad, Zane and Ryan
Contents
Also by Karen Osman
Welcome Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Prologue
August 2017
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
September 2017
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
October 2017
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
September 1989
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
November 1989
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
December 1989
Chapter 26
October 2017
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
January 2018
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
February 2018
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
March 2018
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
April 2018
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
May 2018
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
June 2018
Chapter 46
July 2018
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
December 1989
Chapter 50
July 2018
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About Karen Osman
Become an Aria Addict
Prologue
Even from this distance, she could see his fingernails bitten down to the quick and her body tensed instinctively, resisting the urge to run towards her son. It would only make things worse. Instead, she caught his eye and reassured him with a confident smile.
This will soon all be over, and everything will go back to normal.
Those had been her mother’s words as they had all left the house that morning. She’d noticed her son’s light brown hair had grown and it desperately needed cutting, but he’d resisted a haircut and instead combed it down with some gel. It was coarse hair, like her own, but unlike hers, it hadn’t been subjected to various treatments. Had it only been six months ago that she’d laughingly squirted her son’s stubborn tufts with water, threatening to tame his hair herself if he didn’t do something about it? He’d giggled then, rewarding her with a glimpse back into his childhood when she used to tickle him as he sat on her lap for story time.
The memory assaulted her and her right hand involuntarily went to grasp her husband’s, despite the gulf between the two of them. She could feel the tension emanate from him and she gently squeezed his fingers before releasing them and placing both of her hands together in prayer on her lap, reverting to her own childhood habit. She focused on her crossed thumbs, right over left, the usually long, manicured nails bare and jagged, and began the silent chant.
Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right. Everything will be all—
‘All rise!’
She quickly got to her feet, her eyes urgently seeking her son’s once more as the judge swept into the room, but all she could see was his taut back and the nape of his long neck as he looked at the ground. Head up, she wanted to cry out. You’ve done nothing wrong!
The judge indicated for the court to sit before the clerk spoke.
‘Would the foreman of the jury please stand,’ instructed the clerk.
Claire noticed the foreman was wearing a wedding band. Most likely he had kids himself. Surely he wouldn’t let an innocent child be convicted for something he didn’t do? She caught herself on the word child. He was almost eighteen. If found guilty, he would be sent to an adult prison along with the country’s worst offenders.
‘Have the jury reached verdicts upon which they are all agreed?’ asked the clerk.
‘Yes,’ replied the foreman.
They couldn’t take him away. Could they?
She felt her chest tighten.
Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right.
Her throat was closing and she coughed frantically.
Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right.
She was struggling to breathe and a silent primal scream rose in her throat.
Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right.
‘In the matter of Aiker versus Carmichael, do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?’
August 2017
1
Claire’s husband strode through the front door and she observed him, trying to be discreet. It wasn’t difficult. His blue eyes were locked on his mobile phone, entranced as his thumb moved quickly across the screen. Having found what he was looking for, the spell was broken as Chris raised the phone to his ear, his attention finally coming to rest on her. Sorry, he mouthed as he rolled his eyes and she smiled at him, keen to show patience and understanding. She hoped that this, along with the warm smell of the simmering beef casserole, would soothe his transition from stressed employee to loving husband and father. However, she suspected it would take another couple of hours for him to relax.
She felt a warm hand on her knee and turned towards her youngest son, Jamie, who held a toy train in his outstretched hand. She took it automatically, knowing what was required, and absent-mindedly choo-chooed the train along the arm of the sofa. Despite still thinking about Chris and his mood, her effort elicited a squeal of delight from their five-year-old son, and whilst it wasn’t loud enough to drown out Chris’s aggressive-sounding conversation, it was loud enough for Chris to shoot her a warning glance. She knew what that meant – keep Jamie quiet until he finished his phone call. Her husband’s imp
atience and tiredness pervaded the air and Claire quickly placed a finger over her lips, whispering to Jamie to use their indoor voices.
As her son turned back to his trains, she sensed that tonight was not the right time to talk to Chris about her going back to work full-time. But when then? Maybe at the weekend when he might be a bit more relaxed? She quelled the flicker of impatience and silently counselled herself to bide her time – she only had one shot at this. Still, she was anxious. There were only a couple of weeks left of the summer holidays and she wanted to be full-time when Jamie started school. Plus, she had already confirmed with Julia.
That particular thought nestled uncomfortably. It was unlike her not to run something by Chris first, especially such a big change as this. She would have to talk to him tonight, and hope his mood improved.
Claire looked at her son, his attention now captivated by some crayons and a colouring book. She knew that both she and Jamie were ready. She had put Jamie in playschool for a few mornings a week and he’d loved it but since he’d stopped his afternoon nap at two-and-a-half years old, she’d struggled to keep him occupied during the long afternoons. He seemed to need a lot more stimulation than other children, certainly more than her first son, Joshua, who had been content to sit and play with his toys by himself for hours on end. But Joshua would be eighteen next year, and then next September, he would be off to university. If his exam results this year were anything to go by, he would have no problem getting into Cambridge to study law.
Claire smiled as she thought of him, her firstborn, her pride and joy. She didn’t have favourites when it came to her sons – they were so different – but there was no doubt Joshua was a dream child. She’d rarely had a moment’s worry over him – well, apart from the difficult few months they’d had the previous year, but that seemed to have all passed, thank goodness. He’d always done well in school and was well liked with a good circle of friends.
Her nightmares of him doing drugs or falling in with a bad crowd had come to nothing during his early teenage years and she felt confident that he now had enough common sense to make good choices. She didn’t like to tempt fate by questioning her good fortune too much, but she secretly suspected it was perhaps because Joshua had had her all to himself for twelve years. When Jamie came along, Joshua had been old enough to help with the baby and, as a thirty-eight-year-old mother the second time round, Claire appreciated the help – especially as Jamie had been colicky. Her second son never seemed to settle easily, and his naps were sporadic to say the least.
Claire hadn’t realised just how difficult it would be with a second child and she’d felt permanently tired for two years. But as Jamie got older, it became easier and he doted on his older brother, sometimes even preferring Joshua to her. Some of her happiest memories were watching Joshua entertain his baby brother and she believed it encouraged Joshua to be gentle, and even more caring and loving than he already was.
Picking up her phone, she was about to scroll through some of her photos of her sons when she heard a loud crash coming from another room. Jamie jumped at the noise and Claire rose from the couch, or sofa, as her mother liked to call it, quickly going to investigate. Jamie trotted after her, a train in each hand as if ready to do battle with whatever had intruded on their playtime. She’d barely taken a few steps before she heard Chris shouting from his office and she stopped abruptly, Jamie bashing into the backs of her legs.
‘Who left this bloody suitcase here? Claire!’
Shit, thought Claire, hurrying through to him. She had put the suitcase in his office, so he could lift it to the top shelf of the wardrobe. She would have done it herself, but she couldn’t reach. She didn’t think she’d left it where he could have tripped over it though.
Had she?
Stepping into the room, she saw the suitcase, along with a small table and lamp, all on their sides. He must have kicked the suitcase out of the way with such force it knocked over the table.
For God’s sake.
‘Sorry, love, are you okay? Did you trip?’ she said now, careful to keep her tone neutral, conscious of Jamie standing in the doorway.
‘No, I didn’t, but what’s it doing in my office?’
‘I couldn’t manage to lift it myself onto the top shelf of the wardrobe. Could you?’ she asked. ‘I’m not as tall as you,’ she added.
As she’d hoped it would, his anger dissipated, the compliment a pacifying balm on his irritation.
‘Sorry, love, bad day at the office again,’ he admitted, righting the overturned furniture, and Claire felt herself relax slightly at the acknowledgement.
Chris lifted the suitcase and she saw the strong muscles in his back, his slim waist, and powerful legs. At school, Chris had always been the best-looking boy and even now at forty-three, his good looks had only intensified with age, as had her attraction to him. Chris easily slotted the empty suitcase onto the top shelf, and she came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest. His body felt tense; the strain of his job etched onto his muscles. Turning around to embrace her, he kissed her on the forehead before turning to Jamie.
‘Come here, little man,’ he said to his son, bending down, and Jamie propelled himself forward almost tripping over his feet to get to his father. Claire watched lovingly as the two of them hugged. Releasing his son, Chris stood up.
‘I just need another hour to finish working on this proposal and then we can eat,’ he told Claire. ‘What’s for dinner? It smells amazing.’
‘Your favourite – beef casserole,’ she replied with a smile. Taking Jamie by the hand, she quietly left Chris to his work and closed his office door behind her. Claire went back into the living room; thankful she’d successfully calmed him down. Who knew, perhaps with a glass of red wine over dinner, the conversation about her going back to work full-time might go down better than she’d expected. Claire led Jamie back to his trains and she sat down in the large armchair near his play area in the living room. Her phone beeped, and she picked it up and read a message from Joshua.
Staying at Mark’s for dinner – won’t be too late.
Claire put down her phone thoughtfully. With Jamie in bed, Joshua out for the evening, and Chris a bit more relaxed, tonight could be promising. Claire’s approach to the topic would be simple; solution-oriented. She knew how her husband’s mind worked; he would need to know that his life wouldn’t be affected in any way and that he was still the main breadwinner. The former, she wasn’t a hundred per cent sure of yet and the latter? Well, Claire knew she was very good at her job. She knew he was secretly proud of her, but she also knew he struggled when she did better than him, and not just financially.
Claire remembered years ago, when they were both taking their exams. Their A-level results had been the same – straight As – but when she’d got a first-class degree with honours from the University of Manchester and he’d got an upper second-class degree, it had brought out a side of him that she’d not really seen before. It had taken her weeks to work out what was bothering him. He’d been quiet and moody but every time she asked what was wrong, he had said it was nothing.
And then she’d gone off on her girls’ holiday, a week in Portugal, flush with success and looking forward to some fun and sunshine. She’d hoped that a week apart would do them both good but when she came back, the situation between them was even worse. He snapped at her for the tiniest of things, constantly criticised her, and complained about her leaving him for a week even though he’d said he didn’t want to go on holiday after their exams.
It was only when Chris received a letter, offering him a position on the prestigious graduate management programme in a technology company, that she’d finally understood, mainly because his personality did a complete 180-degree turn, but also because he couldn’t resist gloating.
‘I may only have got a 2:1 but I still got the job!’ he crowed, doing some ridiculous celebratory football dance.
‘Congratulations!’ Claire had said when she’d read the let
ter, giving him a huge hug. She was genuinely pleased for him. Over the following weeks, as he returned to his normal loving self, Claire felt herself relax around him again. They went out for dinner, drank champagne to celebrate, and they made plans to have a few days away together before Chris started work. He bought two new suits and did more research on his employer.
Claire was still waiting for responses to her applications and she hoped she would also be offered an opportunity in Manchester. She hadn’t told Chris that she’d applied to one in London. She hadn’t planned on applying outside of their home city but one of her law lecturers had encouraged her to do so and written a personal letter of recommendation. It was the best law graduate training programme in the country, so Claire had applied, reassured by the knowledge that only one in six hundred applicants got accepted.
So, when she did receive an acceptance letter for that particular course, she was shocked. But instead of celebrating, she told no one and instead she slipped the letter between her textbooks in her desk drawer and closed it firmly. A few days later, there was a flurry of letters on the doormat all addressed to her and she picked them up, quickly opening each one and scanning their contents.
While she hadn’t been accepted for every single graduate programme she’d applied for, the three that she’d had her heart set on had all offered her a placement. She’d hoped for just one so she couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her face as she hurried to her bedroom, clutching the letters and their envelopes, not yet ready to share her success.
2
Claire winced as she stood on a small piece of Lego, resisting the urge to shout at Jamie to clear up his bloody mess. It was her own fault – she should never have come in barefoot. Jamie’s bedroom floor was covered in toys and she looked around in dismay.
Years ago, she’d given up the pretence of being easy-going about how much mess her children made. Why they couldn’t just take out one toy, play with it, and put it back before taking out something else was beyond her. She’d always felt most comfortable in a clean and tidy house, most likely a hangover from growing up in her mother’s home, which was always spotless – in retrospect, perhaps obsessively so. She could still remember her mum trailing after her, tissue in hand, ready to wipe, mop or dab.