The Perfect Lie

by Karen Osman

  Eventually, she decided to call Julia to see if she had any more news. She’d been on hold for almost fifteen minutes. She realised then it had been a mistake to leave the office. Her fingers itched for the Rose Aiker file. In the absence of Chris, all she wanted was to go back to her own office where she could review everything and just have a few minutes to think. She knew that if she was alone with the file, she would work it out. She would discover what the hell had happened that had Rose accusing her son of sexually attacking her.

  A nauseating panic rose inside her and Claire pushed it down knowing that she would need every brain cell focused on the task at hand. Eventually Julia came on the line.

  ‘I need the file, Julia,’ said Claire.

  ‘Claire,’ replied Julia gently. ‘I just told you that the board agreed for you to be off work.’

  ‘Julia, I—’

  ‘Claire – I know it’s frustrating, but it’s my top priority to find out what’s happened here. Chloe and Greg are due in my office in ten minutes and we’ll work out what’s going on,’ assured Julia.

  I thought you were doing that two hours ago!

  ‘And what about Rose? Is she coming in today?’ demanded Claire.

  ‘Well, no,’ said Julia, ‘she’s not due in until next week.’

  ‘Julia – I’m telling you, the only way to find out what’s happened is to ask Rose directly. She’s a liar!’ Claire was struggling to control her temper.

  ‘Claire, I can’t just accuse one of our clients of lying. You also have to remember she’s a victim. Besides, she’s already asked about the possibility of moving to a different law firm…’

  Claire listened in disbelief. ‘So that’s what this is all about? Money? You’re worried that we’re going to lose her as a client?’ Claire was shouting down the phone now.

  ‘Claire, I know this is difficult, but you have to calm down—’ stated Julia.

  ‘Calm down?! This is my son we’re talking about and all you’re thinking about is money!’

  ‘That’s not true – all I’m saying is, we have to be careful about how we approach this.’

  But Claire wasn’t listening. ‘Why is Rose suddenly mentioning Joshua now? She just suddenly remembered?’ Claire was pacing around her living room, the adrenalin pumping.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Julia, calmly. ‘She says it was the photo and that’s what we need to understand. And until we can find out, I’ve agreed with the other partners that—’

  But Claire didn’t want to hear it again. They were asking the impossible – for her to watch her son be accused of something he didn’t even do. She hung up, trying not to give in to the sobs that threatened to overwhelm her, and hurried through to Joshua’s room frantically searching for something, anything to prove his innocence.

  *

  When Chris finally arrived at dusk, she was sat stewing on the sofa, angry with him for being so late and not picking up his phone. Why hadn’t he come home immediately? Where had he been? What was more important than this? She was worried sick about Joshua and her nervous energy needed to be unleashed at someone. Which is why she attacked Chris as soon he came in.

  ‘Just for once, Chris, can you put your family before work? I’ve been waiting here for hours, worried to death. What is wrong with you?’ She was so worked up she didn’t see his tight jaw. She didn’t see his fists clench or his hand pull back. She saw the release though – smashed glass halted her diatribe and she looked in shock, but not surprise, at the broken picture frame, the two of them on their wedding day now criss-crossed with fractures.

  ‘What the fuck, Claire? Why do you never stop complaining?’ roared Chris, his voice reverberating off the walls. He was like a caged tiger, prowling, hunting and Claire knew she had to calm him down quickly.

  ‘I’m sorry – I was upset about Joshua and—’

  ‘You’re always upset! Has it ever occurred to you that maybe none of this would have happened if you hadn’t started working such ridiculous hours? If you hadn’t wanted change so much? If you couldn’t just be happy with the way things were?’

  Claire tried not to retaliate. Trying to reason with him would only make it worse. She had to let him burn himself out. It could have only been fifteen minutes but it felt like a lifetime as Chris shouted and stormed his way around the house before finally leaving and slamming the door behind him. During that time, she didn’t move, she didn’t speak; she just kept perfectly still, too frightened to move. Tears silently poured down her cheeks and she was glad the boys were going to their grandparents for the night. Sometimes he came close to her and she almost lost her nerve but then he moved away perhaps not even trusting himself. As the door slammed behind him, Claire finally collapsed into an armchair, wrapping her arms around herself, crying softly.

  *

  Chris hadn’t always had an anger problem. It hadn’t been a constant companion throughout their marriage, a silent threat that could make its presence known at any moment. No, it had only started a few years ago when Claire had slid into depression, or what Chris and her mother referred to as her breakdown. Even then, his outbursts weren’t frequent, not by any means, and in a way that made it harder, because then his explosions were so easy to dismiss as isolated incidents.

  But how many did you count before it went from someone just having a bad temper to someone having anger issues? It wasn’t a question Claire had liked to dwell on. The problem was that everyone had focused so much on Chris’s positive attributes – of which there were plenty, she reasoned – that they disguised anything negative. And by everyone, she meant literally everyone. Her parents, her friends, people from Castlefield who had seen Chris in the park playing with his sons.

  But now thinking back, had it started earlier? She remembered when Chris had been hauled into the university dean’s office for fighting. At the time, she’d dismissed it as normal student behaviour until she’d found out that the other guy had ended up in hospital with a broken arm. Or the time they’d gone on holiday and there was no space left in the business class lounge and the poor guy manning the desk relaying this information had received such an earful security had had to step in.

  So perhaps it had always been there but because he had never directed his anger at her, not until a couple of years ago anyway, and never at the boys, it hadn’t registered as a problem. Although occasionally, she had felt a churn in her stomach – a tiny web of worry that had wound its way around her intestine. At those times, she simply upped her efforts to create the perfect home and family. It came easily to her – she’d had years of practice dealing with her own parents, but she perhaps knew on some level she couldn’t sustain it and her breakdown had certainly triggered something in her husband. It wasn’t the major upheavals in life, such as when Joshua went off the rails, but more the smaller everyday stresses – the dishwasher hadn’t been unloaded or his shirt wasn’t ironed in the right way. Each time, the anger passed quickly, and she’d learnt to live with it.

  Sometimes, he recognised it himself and he left the house immediately, walking it off. He returned, calmer, apologetic but as she sat now, her arms wrapped around herself trying to contain her own frustration and helplessness, wondering when he would come back, she knew that her return to work full-time had impacted him more than she’d realised. Now she could only hope that he wouldn’t use it as leverage as a way to stop her working. But even if he did, once word got out that her son was involved in a criminal case, who would want to work with her or be associated with her organisation?

  Claire swallowed hard and tried to think. This had to be a bad dream or at least a horrible mistake. If she could just talk to Rose… Without thinking, she got up, grabbed her keys and bag and put on her shoes and coat and left the house. If she’d remembered it correctly, Rose lived at 61A Sherbourne Road and she programmed the address into the satnav. She knew she shouldn’t, knew it might damage the case, but she had to know. This was her son and whatever Rose was playing at, Claire was going t
o find out.

  *

  Claire drove the ten miles, thinking only of what she would say when she saw Rose. Every so often she checked her rear-view mirror, but it was dark and the only thing she could see were beams of headlights. As she pulled off the main road, and into a side street, she didn’t notice the car behind. She turned left, then right, right again, and then a final right before stopping on a nondescript, quiet residential street.

  Slowly driving along the road, she found number 61 and parked just before it, not wanting to draw attention to herself. The terraced houses looked small but each one rose at least three floors and most likely had a basement too. There were small gardens at the front and a quick glance through the windshield told Claire that number 61 was overgrown. A gravel path ran up to the front door, splitting the paved terrace in two, which housed a few shrubs and dead flowerbeds.

  Now she was here, she hesitated. She caught herself in the mirror and stared back, shocked. Her earlier crying had caused her mascara to leave a trail of shadow under her eyes and her hair was wild around her face. She quickly got a tissue from her bag and wiped the residue away, and then pulled a comb through her hair. Taking a breath, she stepped out of the car and walked up the path, unaware of the eyes watching her from a car parked further down the street.

  *

  The house was divided into flats and Claire rang the buzzer for 61A, the noise sharp against the darkness of the house. She didn’t see any lights come on, nor hear footsteps in the hallway. The house remained silent and closed off. Without thinking, she placed her hand on the door handle, and was about to move it when she heard a rustle behind her. She whirled around and saw on the pavement outside the house a man of about sixty with a Jack Russell who was scrabbling in the leaves.

  She removed her hand guiltily, hoping he hadn’t seen her. Claire watched him walk away before checking her surroundings again. She tried the handle, but it was locked. Disappointed, Claire turned back towards her car. There was nothing left to do except go home.

  38

  Paul cursed under his breath. Despite the month of March promising the early signs of spring, his feet were like ice. He had broken his golden rule of avoiding Castlefield unless absolutely necessary but the desire to see her had been overwhelming. She hadn’t updated social media in days and he felt desperate.

  Steady, he’d cautioned himself. Don’t blow it now. He knew he needed to try and control his impulses but today was a significant day and after prowling around his tiny bedsit like a caged animal, he knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself. The computer screen glared at him from the corner of the room, inflaming him even further with its lack of updates. Why couldn’t she just post something? Anything?

  His frustration with Claire rose like bile and he knew he had to do something. He would take a drive. Perhaps stop off for a pint. But as soon as he got into his car, he found himself heading in the direction of his hometown. He needed to see her. Which is why he found himself hidden in some bushes just metres from Claire’s house, in a crouched position. It wasn’t comfortable, but it gave him a decent vantage point of her home, the smart navy-blue front door with its gold knocker and sweeping driveway.

  It was almost dark, whatever daylight there had been slowly ebbing away. A train of lampposts had come on, one of which had a fault, the constant flickering provoking Paul’s peripheral vision. He scrabbled in his pocket and found an old piece of chewing gum, unwrapped it, and put it in his mouth wishing he’d brought more supplies.

  Just minutes ago, he’d watched as Chris had left the house, his shoulders hunched against the cold, his face raging. Paul felt a moment’s irritation. What did he have to be angry about? He had it all, if only the dumb fuck would realise it. Paul looked at their house – three floors of success right there.

  Some of the windows were lit and he wondered which one was Claire’s bedroom. He didn’t let his imagination stretch to Chris. In his mind, it was just Claire and Paul – her long blonde hair splayed on the pillow, a novel in her hands. It would be literary fiction of course, and every so often she would look up at him and ask him a question. What did he think the writer meant by this? And then she would read the paragraph out to him, her voice low and honeyed, just like she used to all those years ago when she came to his house and lay on his bed, their textbooks spread out around them.

  Claire had been fascinated with his mind: his ability to recall information, his quick understanding of subjects. He remembered one afternoon when she’d asked him about the encyclopaedias that lined his bookshelf.

  ‘What do you mean, you’ve read them all from cover to cover?’ she’d asked, disbelieving. Her fingers had been running along the spines of the blue faux leather books, but her head swivelled to look at him. ‘No one reads encyclopaedias from beginning to end – you use them for reference!’ She’d laughed. Paul had narrowed his eyes then, trying to work out if she was taking the piss, but she’d come over, one of the encyclopaedias in her hand, and kissed him on the forehead, and any anger he’d felt had immediately melted away.

  Just like that.

  She had the power to literally change him from the inside out.

  ‘Okay, let’s see, shall we?’ Claire had giggled as she opened the book to a random page. ‘We’ll start with C for Claire,’ she added, indicating the volume of the encyclopaedia. Flicking through the pages, Paul observed her as she scanned the book, drinking her in. ‘Okay, Cambodia,’ she continued. Paul barely heard her. Instead he took in her bowed head, the way her blonde hair fell across her face, her fingers as they trailed the pages. He imagined those fingers on his body. God, it was almost too much for him.

  ‘What is the capital of Cambodia?’

  It was an easy question and he reluctantly dragged his brain to focus on what she was saying. Hadn’t Brian’s brother, Simon, said that girls loved it when you listened to them? Christ, it was hard though. All he wanted was to kiss her, feel her lips pressed on his. He remembered shaking his head as if to clear the thoughts away, and Claire had laughed, thinking he was pretending not to know the answer to her question.

  By some miracle he’d managed to control himself and he screwed up his face, joining in her game and giving fake answers. She’d seen straight through him of course and she’d playfully swatted him, giving him the opportunity to grab her and pull her body closer to him. He’d whispered the correct answer in her ear, and then they’d kissed. And after that, she didn’t get the chance to ask him any more questions.

  He was so lost in the memory; he almost didn’t see Claire leave the house. The front door opened, and she slammed it behind her, the noise alerting Paul to her movement. The outdoor porch light lit her up and he watched as she walked quickly to her car. He was lost in her and he felt his whole body respond like a drug addict taking a long-awaited hit. Claire was wearing a long formal coat and a pair of trainers and Paul guessed she’d been in a hurry to leave. Even he knew, with his limited knowledge of fashion, that she was mismatched.

  But he didn’t get a chance to wonder why she was dressed so oddly. Her Mercedes came to life and he quickly emerged from the bushes, keeping close to the wall and away from the lampposts as he walked the few steps to his own car. He could already see the white reverse lights on Claire’s car as she inched her way out of the driveway and he cursed as he fumbled for his car key, hoping she hadn’t spotted him.

  Just then, several cars passed on the road in front of her house forcing Claire to wait to let them pass and giving him some much-needed cover. Shoving the key in the lock, he swung open the door and sank low into the driver’s seat as he put the key in the ignition. The Mercedes was now reversing out onto the road and Paul shoved the gearstick into first and followed behind her.

  *

  He trailed Claire for about thirty minutes, his old Renault often struggling to keep up with the speed of the Mercedes, but he managed to keep her within sight. It didn’t matter where she was going. He’d seen her and that was enough. He was cu
rious about the state of her marriage as he recalled the twisted look on Chris’s face. It reminded him of the time he was watching the family, a few years ago now, at a summer carnival.

  Jamie had been a baby and Joshua was still young enough to enjoy such a family event. The crowd was dense which is the only reason he’d felt safe enough to attend. He knew Claire was there because she’d checked in on Facebook. By sheer luck, he’d managed to find them, guessing correctly that with a baby, they would head for a quieter area where families were picnicking on the grass.

  He’d observed them, his presence camouflaged by the crowd and the trees. To anyone passing by, they were the perfect family enjoying a picnic. Joshua was playing with his football a few metres away and the baby was gurgling happily in his mother’s arms. So only Paul saw Claire’s forehead crease in annoyance as Chris had abruptly got up from the grass and walked off without a word. He saw her eyes trail after him, and the baby, perhaps sensing his mother’s tension, started to cry. Joshua looked up just at that moment and Claire was left to play a solo performance. Daddy’s just gone for a walk, he’ll be back soon, he imagined her saying in a sing-song voice. And she would jostle the baby and wave to Joshua and her smile would never leave her face.

  But inside, she was pulled taut and Paul didn’t need to be next to her to feel the tension emanating from her. But then Chris had returned ten minutes later, all smiles and ice cream and he watched as Claire looked up at him, her relief and desire naked for all to see, and Paul had retreated, jealousy and anger his only company.

  39

  Transcript – Witness Statement

  ‘I hadn’t arranged to meet Rose at the opening night of Studio 65 but I was aware that she was going. It was all she’d talked about for a while. She was excited about the footballers. I had arrived early, about nine-thirty in the evening. I went inside and sat at the bar mainly. I talked to a few people I recognised and had a drink.