The Perfect Lie

by Karen Osman

  There was a pause as Simone went through her phone and his earlier elation was replaced with a sliver of anxiety. Even to his own ears, he’d sounded too keen offering specific days. He should have told her he would check his availability.

  ‘Okay,’ replied Simone eventually putting her phone in her bag. ‘Thanks – I’ll see you then.’ And then she was walking away, her bag over her shoulder, a throwaway smile and a wave the only thing to remind Paul about the agreement. He waved back, the relief instantaneous, his own smile hidden as he turned away and began to pack up his things.

  *

  Paul walked home, his mind buzzing with possibility. He knew it was against the rules for volunteers at the youth club to meet up with the kids outside of the facility, which is why he had chosen Steeple Street. He’d met other girls there before and he knew it was unlikely he would bump into someone from the youth club, especially at that time of night. Anyway, he only had a few weeks to work on her.

  He unlocked his front door, his mind still going over the various possibilities. It excited him. Made him feel that she was within his grasp. And Simone had the look he liked as well, part naivety, part gullibility. It was the hand-made friendship bracelet around her wrist, the Hello Kitty case covering her battered mobile phone and the ladybird earring studs she sometimes wore.

  But more than that, it was the way she cocked her head to one side when listening to him, the concentration in her eyes as she focused on the test exam questions, and the eager way she looked at him to check if she had got it right. Yes, Simone was most definitely being added to his list.

  *

  Paul removed his coat, hat and scarf and dropped them on the chair in the hallway. He turned on the computer and while it loaded, he filled the kettle with water and switched it on, warming his hands close to the sides as it began to boil. First, he would do his usual checks on Claire, but he also wanted to track Simone’s movements. It shouldn’t be too difficult – she was on social media constantly – but he needed to create another different profile, so he could follow her anonymously.

  Paul grabbed a dirty cup from the sink and quickly rinsed it out. He was about to put a teabag in when he remembered an old packet of hot chocolate. It wasn’t Cadbury’s, like his mum’s, just some cheap crap from Aldi, but still, he was in the mood to celebrate.

  February 2018

  35

  Claire woke up and immediately felt the ache in her right shoulder. She’d been dreaming about Rose, her long dark hair streaming behind her as she ran. Claire was following her down a series of dark, damp alleyways, but Rose was getting further and further away until she eventually disappeared, and Claire was left alone. In the dream, Claire had stopped running, realising she was lost.

  As she looked around, all she could see were rows of closed garages, each with a rectangular window and although she couldn’t see anyone, she knew there were eyes watching her, peering through the small windows as she tried to get her bearings. And then it had started to rain and she’d woken up, disorientated, sleep making the real and imaginary cross over. As she came to, she realised it was actually raining, February signalling its arrival with its tap-tap on her bedroom window. Never had she felt less like getting out of bed.

  Wednesday. Just two more days until the weekend.

  She lay for a minute, trying to muster the energy to get up. Eventually, she sat up and switched on the lamp. The other side of the bed was empty and she hoped Chris was downstairs making some coffee. She tentatively flexed her neck trying to loosen the muscles and prevent the inevitable headache that would follow.

  Christ, she could feel it in her teeth.

  Swinging her legs round, she opened the drawer in her bedside table, scrambled around until she found a packet of paracetamol and popped two into her mouth with a slug of water. Reaching around to the back of her neck, she massaged the knots, the pressure giving some temporary relief.

  ‘Hey.’ Chris had come into the bedroom holding out a cup of coffee for her. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Thanks,’ she replied gratefully, taking the cup from him.

  Swinging her legs back into bed, she pulled the covers over her. ‘Yes, just a bit of a shoulder ache.’

  Just five more minutes.

  ‘Did you take something for it?’ asked Chris.

  She nodded and took a sip of coffee.

  ‘It’s stress,’ announced Chris. ‘With everything going on at work.’

  Claire felt her shoulders climb a fraction higher. She knew where Chris was heading. That she’d gone back to work too soon especially after everything going on with Joshua during his off-the-rails phase. She wasn’t ready to get into that conversation. Claire watched her husband. He was already showered and dressed, mobile phone in hand, pacing up and down the bedroom. It was exhausting just watching him. She didn’t reply, not ready to get into the conversation, and instead held her coffee in her lap and lay back against the headboard.

  ‘What do you fancy for dinner tonight?’ she asked instead.

  Just a few minutes more and then she would get up and get going.

  ‘Claire, I already told you I’m going to be late tonight. It’s the conference call with the US office.’ She looked at him blankly. ‘I told you about it last week,’ he insisted.

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Chris, you’ve been late every night this week. I thought you were supposed to be making some effort to be back home in the evenings.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Claire, what do you want me to say? I need to work. I can’t just turn around and tell the client “sorry, can’t make the call tonight as my wife needs me to be home with the kids—”’

  ‘All right, Chris, I get the point,’ interrupted Claire resignedly. ‘I’ll leave on time tonight.’

  Chris muttered a sarcastic thanks before leaving the bedroom. Claire didn’t have the energy to make a retort.

  It was only when the coffee had lifted the sleep fog that she remembered she had the Bar Association cocktails that evening.

  Shit.

  What time was it? Wasn’t it at five thirty p.m.? Maybe it would be all right although she knew the traffic would be hell afterwards. Claire unplugged her phone, which was charging on the bedside table next to her, and began scrolling through her calendar. She really needed to start getting up earlier, but after she’d put Jamie to bed, and had a chat with Joshua, she’d worked late into the evening. No wonder she had aches and pains, leaning over her laptop for so many hours. She also hadn’t been running for weeks now.

  Still, Chris was right about one thing – thank God, she hadn’t been working full-time when everything with Joshua had been going on. She recalled the conversation she’d had to have with her eldest son, or rather the few words she’d managed to get out of him after she’d picked him up from school following the meeting with the headmistress about the photo. Joshua had been angry; angry with the school for checking his laptop, angry about being caught with the picture, and angry with everyone thinking it was his fault. He hadn’t sent the picture. He hadn’t even requested it. Why was he in trouble?

  And when Claire had tried to ask him about the boys from Colston Senior Boys School, he’d gone to his room, slamming the door, and Claire had heard the thump of music as he went to a place she couldn’t reach. She’d put her head in her hands for a few minutes before going to the kitchen and pouring herself a large glass of wine. She’d downed it in several gulps and that’s how Chris had found her, already halfway through the bottle. He’d barely acknowledged her when he’d come in and Claire lost it.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ shouted Claire. ‘I’ve been calling you for the last three hours.’

  ‘I messaged you,’ replied Chris, looking puzzled. ‘I’ve been in meetings all afternoon. Why? What’s the matter?’

  Claire had felt herself crumble under his gaze. She didn’t remember getting any message but all she wanted to do now was unburden herself from the responsibility of pa
renthood, or at least share it with someone. As the story had tumbled out of her, the meeting with the headmistress, the sexting, her abrupt conversation with Joshua, she felt Chris take the load. When she’d finished, tears starting to form, he’d come over to her and wrapped her in his arms. She’d sobbed then, whether it was from sheer tiredness or the shock, she had no idea, but when she looked up into her husband’s face, she soaked up his reassurances like a sponge.

  ‘It’s all going to be okay,’ Chris had said. ‘Besides, Joshua’s right you know. He hasn’t technically done anything. All he’s done is exchange some messages with a girl. Did he ask her to send such a photo?’

  ‘No,’ replied Claire.

  ‘Well, then. It’s just some silly girl playing games with him. We’ll sort it. And,’ he added seeing the worry come back across her face, ‘he won’t get expelled.’

  ‘How do you know?’ asked Claire. It was her biggest fear.

  ‘Because I just do – we pay a shed-load of money for him to go there and, like we’ve just said, he hasn’t done anything wrong. I’ll call the headmistress tomorrow, okay?’ Claire didn’t reply.

  ‘Okay?’ he asked again, lifting her chin to meet his eyes. ‘It will be fine – I promise.’

  ‘Okay,’ replied Claire. She felt the relief that Chris would deal with it and hugged him hard. ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you too,’ he said. ‘Now, is there any of that wine left for me?’ he asked, with a smile.

  She’d smiled back then, feeling better than she had all afternoon and poured him a glass. Chris had gone in to talk to Joshua and her husband had come back out all smiles and reassurances. And just as Chris had promised, it had been sorted and Joshua didn’t get expelled. But later that evening, when Chris had gone to bed, she’d checked her phone, hoping that she’d missed his message, but there’d been nothing there.

  *

  Later that morning, still struggling with pain in her neck and shoulders, Claire dropped off the boys at their respective schools before driving into central Manchester to work. When she arrived in her office, she was surprised to see Rose already waiting for her. She was peering at the photo on Claire’s desk and didn’t hear Claire come in. It was only when Claire dropped her bag and coat on the chair with a thump that Rose turned in surprise.

  ‘Rose – what are you doing in here?’

  ‘Are those your kids?’ asked Rose, peering at the photo, ignoring the question.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Claire, not volunteering any more information.

  ‘What’s this one called?’ asked Rose, pointing to Claire’s eldest son.

  ‘Joshua,’ replied Claire.

  ‘Handsome,’ remarked Rose but the compliment clanged clumsily.

  ‘Rose – again – why are you in my office?’ asked Claire.

  ‘You told me to come in early, so we could run through the questions again and your new receptionist told me to wait in here.’ Rose’s thin coat was soaked through.

  New receptionist?

  Rose was right that Claire had told her to come in early, but she was pretty sure she’d said a few minutes early and not a whole hour. The meeting wasn’t until ten. Still, even if that was the case, Rose should be waiting in reception.

  ‘Follow me,’ instructed Claire. She led Rose through to a vacant meeting room, told her to take off her coat, and make herself comfortable. Then she instructed one of the interns to make Rose a hot drink while Claire went to the reception desk. It had been unmanned when Claire had first arrived but now she saw that there was indeed an unfamiliar face.

  ‘Good morning,’ greeted Claire. ‘My name’s—’

  The phone rang and the new receptionist held up one hand to Claire while picking up the phone with the other.

  Claire raised an eyebrow but waited until the call had finished. Finally, the receptionist put down the phone and looked at Claire enquiringly. ‘Yes?’

  Claire didn’t bother with any more platitudes. ‘Where’s Elaine today?’

  ‘Off sick. The agency sent me.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Stephanie.’

  ‘Okay, Stephanie, my name is Claire Carmichael,’ said Claire briskly.

  You might recognise my name from the big sign above the door.

  ‘Let me know if you need anything. Just a quick one – we don’t let clients into our private offices – they wait in reception.’

  Stephanie looked at her blankly.

  ‘Rose Aiker?’ prompted Claire. ‘She was in my office when I arrived just now.’

  ‘Oh right,’ replied Stephanie. ‘With what the client said, I assumed—’

  ‘Best not to make assumptions on your first day,’ Claire interrupted.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t know…’ replied Stephanie, clearly taken aback.

  ‘It’s okay – any other questions talk to Barry – he knows everything,’ replied Claire. ‘Has someone showed you where the coffee is? The toilets?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ replied Stephanie, keen to make up for her mistake, now she realised exactly who she was talking to.

  ‘Good,’ concluded Claire. Walking back to her office, she closed the door firmly and sat down at her desk, rubbing her temples, the pain having made its way up to a full-blown headache. What the hell was wrong with people? It wasn’t even half past nine in the morning and already she’d felt like she’d done a day’s work. Why did she feel so overwhelmed? She thought back to a few months ago when she’d been so excited to start full-time again. But with the long hours, Chris’s selfishness, and at the back of her mind, the worry about Joshua and whether he would stay back on track long enough to pass his A levels, she felt the mental load crush down on her.

  And there was something else that bothered her about Chris. Yes, he always worked hard but he always picked up the phone. He’d never been unreachable and while it had happened only a few times over the last year or so, there was a silent call of instinct nudging her to question him further.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Rose Aiker file and her heart beat rapidly in response. Despite all Claire’s good intentions, she knew that the case had triggered a whole heap of supressed memories, but she was damned if she was going to allow herself to be dragged back to the past. It was over. This was work. Fighting the rising panic, Claire took a deep breath and went to interview Rose in the meeting room. She reassured herself that the case wouldn’t last forever.

  36

  He’d never seen her before but as soon as Paul clapped his eyes on the girl, he felt attracted to her. She was perfect. He paused. Too perfect? He took in her long slim legs and curvaceous behind and smiled inwardly. There was no such thing as too perfect. She wasn’t his usual type with her short, bobbed hair but those cheekbones! They could cut glass. He guessed she had Slavic roots somewhere. Despite her cheap clothing, she had an air of superiority about her that was magnified even further by the crummy backdrop of her surroundings.

  Amongst the chaos that was the youth centre on a Friday night in one of the roughest areas of Manchester, Slavic Girl stood out. It wasn’t just her beauty. Paul sieved through his mind looking for the right word; he liked to be precise about these things. Composed? Graceful? Proud? No. None of those were quite right. Elegant. That was it. She had an elegance about her and he supressed a sneer of lust as he quickly turned away and walked to the office to dump his bag.

  ‘Hey, Paul.’

  Gloria barely looked up from behind the desk, a slash of pink lipstick across her mouth, which had smudged onto her teeth. She refused to use a computer, so the small office was always filled with boxes and piles of paperwork. She couldn’t navigate the internet, but she had a unique ability to find any document in seconds. An impressive feat when you considered just how many boxes there were.

  Gloria had run the centre as long as Paul had been there and it was Gloria who had founded and got the funding for it years ago. Gloria, in her own words, was a scrubber who had married well. She’d grown up on
a council estate that was so rocked with drugs even the police had given up, but somehow she had managed to slip through the net.

  She’d been working in a café as a waitress when the man, who would become her husband just months later, had seen her and apparently fallen in love at first sight. The fact that she’d refused to go out with him only fuelled his longing. Eventually, she’d agreed and once they were married Gloria used some of his money to set up youth centres around Manchester. It was a well-known story, probably embellished over the years, and Paul had heard that she’d counselled hundreds of kids off the streets and into her youth clubs.

  Still, he was disappointed to see her there. Now over sixty, she didn’t come in to see the kids as much, and Paul had been hoping to sneak a read of Slavic Girl’s file. None of the volunteers were allowed access to the files. Relevant information was shared in weekly meetings on a need-to-know basis by Jeremy, the youth club manager, so Paul had to develop his own system of getting the information on the girls. This was usually through his own conversations with them, but he’d built up a good enough rapport with Jeremy to get an overview. It didn’t hurt that he’d also had great success with his tutoring, and while the youth centre was primarily a place for kids to come to relax and enjoy activities rather than to study, there was talk of setting up a more official tutoring programme. In fact, Jeremy had shared the info just last week that Gloria was keen to look at something as soon as this year.

  So why isn’t she talking to me about it herself?

  Despite all his efforts with Gloria, he’d never clicked with her as he thought he would. Oh, she was polite of course, never rude. But still, he sensed that she kept her distance from him. Who was he kidding? He knew that she just didn’t like him. It was as simple as that.

  ‘Hi, Gloria, looking lovely today. Pink suits you,’ said Paul, turning on the charm, hoping to strike up a conversation about Slavic Girl.