Sometimes I Lie: The gripping debut psychological thriller you can’t miss in 2017

by Feeney, Alice

  She doesn’t look up, just casually makes her way along the stall, picking up pastel-coloured lumps of wax, lifting them to her face and breathing them in.

  ‘Tell me what you did.’

  Finally, she turns to face me. ‘I wrote some letters to the head of the medical school from women who wanted to complain about his conduct. Your ex. I wrote them all on different paper, using different handwriting. It was really very clever.’ She smiles. ‘Then I rang him from a payphone and said the letters would only stop if he left you alone.’ Her smile erupts into laughter.

  ‘That isn’t funny, Claire. You could have ruined his career.’

  ‘What does he do now?’

  ‘He’s a doctor.’

  ‘No harm done there then. Getting yourself all worked up over nothing as usual. I’m only telling you in case you happen to “bump” into him again. I wouldn’t advise it.’

  ‘Why?’ I ask, fearing I already know the answer.

  ‘Because I think I might have said the letters were from you.’

  Then

  Christmas Eve 2016 – Lunchtime

  The market starts to spin a little and I need something to steady myself. The smell of mulled wine rises above the stench of candles, spices and people. I have to calm down. I try to make myself focus on what I came here to say. I push Edward to somewhere dark at the back of my mind and lock him away inside a box there. I’ve hidden memories in boxes inside my head before. Sometimes it’s the only way to deal with things.

  ‘Shall we get a drink?’ I ask.

  ‘Go on then,’ says Claire.

  I queue up at the counter while she finds us a table. I see her giving the twins some crisps to keep them quiet. They shouldn’t be eating that crap but I won’t say anything. I hear someone taking a photo behind me and I spin around, my mind replaying the recent photos of myself I saw in Edward’s hallway. I half expect to see him in the crowd, taking pictures of me again right now. I have to stop thinking about him, need to deal with one thing at a time, but I can’t shake the image of how my face looked when I thought nobody was watching. Photographs like that capture the way we hold ourselves up when life tries to drag us down. A paper rectangle revealing how we might unfold.

  I put our drinks down on the table, warming my hands by wrapping them around the hot glass. It burns a little but I don’t mind the pain. Claire takes a sip of the velvety liquid and I watch her mood cool down as she warms up. Her thermostat restores her to a less volatile version of herself but it still feels awkward between us. Dangerous.

  ‘Don’t be cross. It was years ago,’ she says, taking another sip.

  ‘I’m not cross.’

  ‘Then what’s wrong?’

  The question catches me off guard and I feel like I might slip out of my seat. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Come on, spit it out. I know you, remember?’ She smiles, she still thinks she’s in control. ‘You’ve got something to say, so say it.’

  I look around. There are a lot of people here.

  ‘I’ve done what you asked,’ I say.

  She puts her glass down.

  ‘Madeline?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She smiles again. I’m not surprised that she doesn’t already know, she’s spent most of her life living in a Claire-shaped bubble. She has no interest in social media, doesn’t even email, she only uses the Internet for online shopping. She doesn’t watch the news now I’m not on it, prefers a surplus of soap operas and endless hours of reality TV.

  ‘Well, it’s about bloody time. Don’t know what took you so long. Tell me everything,’ she says, her eyes as eager as a child’s on Christmas morning.

  ‘All that matters is she’s gone. She quit.’

  ‘Good. I wish her a very unhappy retirement.’

  I’ve always known where I stood with Claire, she doesn’t pretend to be someone she’s not with me. She knows what I know and it never seems to bother her. Katie starts crying in her high chair. Claire doesn’t even glance in her direction.

  ‘How did she look?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When you told her?’

  Katie is crying louder now. I can see people throwing irritated glances in our direction, but Claire just stares at me, her face so familiar and yet impossible to read.

  ‘I don’t really want to talk about it.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘I did it my way. All that matters is it’s done.’

  Both children are screaming now, but it’s as though we can’t hear them.

  ‘Thank you,’ she says. The conversation feels like a forgery.

  ‘I didn’t exactly have a choice. Now that I’ve done what you asked, leave Paul alone.’ She gives me a look when I say this, a warning look. A glass smashes on the stone floor a few tables away and it feels like something between us has also broken. I know I shouldn’t say any more, but a drawer has opened in my mind and the words that were neatly folded away for so long, tumble out.

  ‘I mean it, Claire. Leave Paul alone or I’ll disappear, you’ll never see me again.’

  ‘Has something happened?’ she asks, sitting up a little straighter in her chair.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. You’re not yourself. You’re not . . . balanced. Has he hurt you?’

  ‘No!’ She studies my face and I look away. Too late. She’s seen something.

  ‘Has someone else hurt you?’

  ‘No,’ I reply again. Not fast enough. For a moment I want to tell her everything. I want to tell her that she’s right, she’s always right. Someone has hurt me but I still can’t remember how I ended up in Edward’s bed. When I recall my naked body on the navy sheets I worry that it was all my fault.

  ‘It’s OK. You’ll tell me when you’re ready. You always do. Paul is no good for you though, not any more. He’s lost his way in life and you can do better. Mum and Dad knew it too.’

  ‘Leave him alone.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘If anything ever happens to him, I’ll kill myself.’

  The corners of her mouth turn upwards. ‘No you won’t,’ she says, through her smile.

  Run rabbit, run rabbit. Run! Run! Run!

  The twins are screaming and I’m crying now too. Claire is the only one left on our table who isn’t.

  ‘We had an agreement,’ I say. ‘If people knew what you . . .’

  Claire reaches across the table and takes my hand. Her grip is so tight that it hurts.

  ‘Just be careful, Amber.’

  Before

  Saturday, 19th December 1992

  Dear Diary,

  I haven’t been talking to Mum or Dad since I found out we are moving again, but I’m not sure they’ve noticed. I told Dad this morning that I wanted to go to the park and he said that I could. Then, when him and Mum were arguing upstairs, I called Taylor. Her mum made her come to the phone, she didn’t say much, but I told her to meet me there if she could. The park is exactly halfway between our houses. I left at 12.47 because I know it takes thirteen minutes to get there and I told Taylor to meet me at one o’clock. I don’t have a watch, but I must have walked very quickly because I was waiting on the swings for a long time.

  Just when I was about to give up, I saw the Volvo on the street outside. Taylor’s mum waved and smiled. I waved back at her but I didn’t smile because I wanted her to know how sad I was. I thought it was strange that Taylor hadn’t walked there by herself, it isn’t far. She took ages to get out of the car and, when she finally did, she didn’t look like herself. She’s had her hair cut into a bob, so now we don’t look the same any more.

  The playground is for little kids really, so there are bars all the way round the outside to keep them in, to keep them safe. Taylor came and stood on the other side of the bars, so it looked a bit like she was visiting me in jail. It felt strange at first, not easy and comfortable like before. I told Taylor I was moving and she said that she knew that and did a funny shrug of her shoulders. Then sh
e said that she had heard her parents say that Dad had been fired for stealing. I told her that wasn’t true and explained that Dad left his job to look after Mum; I’m not sure she believed me. I said maybe we could talk on the swings instead of through the bars and she came round.

  I asked her about school and she said I hadn’t missed much before the end of term. It seemed really difficult to talk to her and I felt like she didn’t understand how terrible it was that I had to move house, so I cried a little bit on purpose. She was much nicer after that, like the old Taylor even though she looked different. I asked her if she’d been OK at school without me and she shook her head. She took off her coat and rolled up the sleeve of her jumper. There were two round red scars on her arm. I asked who did it to her but she wouldn’t tell me. I asked if I could touch it and she nodded. I was very careful, feeling the smooth skin on her arm and then circling the inflamed red craters in a figure of eight. I told her I was sorry I wasn’t there to stop it from happening. When I took my finger away, she pulled her sleeve back down and put her coat back on. I knew that was her way of saying she didn’t want to talk about it any more.

  She stood up and walked off and I was scared I had upset her and that she was leaving but she didn’t. She stopped at the roundabout and lay down inside one of its quarters. She looked silly so I laughed. Then I ran over and started to push as fast as I could, running alongside, and she started to laugh too. When the roundabout wouldn’t go any faster, I jumped on and lay down in the opposite quarter to Taylor. We were both still laughing and I reached my hands up to touch hers through the bars. We held on to each other, laughing and spinning until I was dizzy, but I didn’t care. I wish we could have stayed like that for ever.

  Later, when we had stopped spinning but were still lying there, Taylor told me this funny story about her friend Jo. She said Jo was really good at going to new places and meeting new people, that she was brilliant at listening and keeping secrets. I started to feel a bit jealous of Jo, I think that as Taylor and I are the best of friends, she shouldn’t really need anyone else. I didn’t like the sound of Jo much at all actually, until Taylor told me that she wasn’t real, she was an imaginary friend. I laughed so much. She said I could borrow Jo when I moved if I wanted, that Jo would keep me company when I was scared or lonely and that I’d always have a friend wherever I went. I told her I didn’t need any other friends so long as I had her but it was like she didn’t hear me. She said Jo could come home with me for the night, just to see if we could be friends too. I said no thanks. Taylor got all weird then and said that Jo was sitting on one of the empty swings and not to hurt her feelings. I looked over at the swings. There was nobody there. I started to think Taylor was a nut job, but when it was time to go home I agreed that Jo could come with me, just to keep Taylor happy. Jo is here in my room now, watching me write my diary. She’s got blonde hair and blue jeans and we like all the same stuff. She keeps whispering things in my ear. I don’t know whether we’re going to be friends or not yet, but she can hang around for now.

  Now

  New Year’s Eve, 2016

  Paul leaves my room and I wait for Claire to say something. Even if she doesn’t believe I can hear her, I know she won’t be able to resist.

  ‘Thirty-five years old and you’re still making up stories about your imaginary friend? Seriously?’ Her laugh is unkind. ‘I suppose the real question is who have you really been with when you’ve been telling Paul you’re with Jo?’

  The door opens and I’m so grateful for the interruption.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ says Edward.

  My sense of relief dies instantly.

  ‘You must think I’m crazy, sitting here talking to myself,’ says Claire.

  ‘You might be crazy, but you’re not talking to yourself, you’re talking to your sister. It’s good to talk to coma patients. Good for them and good for you.’

  ‘I don’t think we’ve met before. How did you know I was her sister?’ asks Claire. She’s got him, Claire can see through anyone.

  ‘You look like sisters,’ says Edward. ‘I just need to . . .’

  ‘Of course. Doctor . . .?’

  ‘Clarke.’

  I thought he told Paul he was a porter.

  I listen for a while, as my captor and sister make polite conversation. She doesn’t like him, I can tell by her tone. I try to hold on to the shapes of the words, no matter how mundane. Their voices become quieter, as though someone is turning the volume of my world down until I can barely hear anything at all. I don’t know what it is, but I know that it’s coming. The silence always chooses me back because I chose it first.

  Time slows itself down. I can still hear Claire in the distance, but only just. My eyes and mouth are closed, so the quiet fills my ears until I am completely deaf as well as dumb and blind. When I can no longer hear her voice, I open my eyes and see Claire standing right in front of me. We’re in her hallway and she is frozen still, like a living statue. It’s as though she has been paused mid-sentence, horror etched on her face, refracting off her glistening eyes. I follow her stare and look down. I can see blood running up my legs until it disappears completely, as though I imagined it. I already know I don’t want to see any more but I can’t close my eyes now that they are open. I want to hit stop, but instead my mind continues to rewind the image. Claire is shouting at me, I can’t hear what she’s saying, everything is mute. I reverse through her front door and walk backwards down the drive, she closes the door as I get into the car. She had been waiting, she was expecting me. Before I can process what that means, I turn on the engine and drive Paul’s car backwards down familiar streets and then I’m outside our own home. Paul is standing on the driveway shouting as I reverse to a halt. I open the car door twice before getting out, my cold, wet fingers clinging on to the key so hard it hurts my palm. I crouch down on the gravel, ignoring the pain as it engraves the skin on my knees, and let go of the key beneath the shadows of the car. Things seem to unravel in reverse. I stand up to face Paul while we shout at each other in the rain. I can’t hear what we’re saying, but I watch the shapes his mouth is making. He’s waving his hands in the air, but my initial interpretation is wrong, his face translates into fear, not anger. It’s raining hard and everything slows down again until time is almost still.

  I can see it all so clearly that my surroundings start to feel real. Because they are real. This is a memory, not a dream, I’m sure of it. I look down and see that my new cream dress is soaked and clinging to my skin, but there is no blood and I know that the baby is still there, she’s still alive inside me. I place my hand on my stomach. I wonder why I’m not wearing a coat and realise that I must have left in a hurry. Paul shakes his head and walks backwards into the house. I stand alone in the rain. I’m quite sure that this part is wrong. I didn’t stand in the rain like this, but now it seems important that I should be frozen in time and space until I can remember, until it makes sense. The rain is so heavy now that it hurts my face. My vision blurs and I realise that some of the water on my face is my own. I hear Paul’s voice pouring down with the rain from the night sky above me.

  ‘She’s crying.’

  The black sky runs down over the house and spills over the top of the car. The memory is being painted over, but I need to hold on to it, I have to remember what happened. I sense her presence before I see her. The girl in the pink dressing gown stands next to me and slips her little hand into mine. I can see her face now, I know who she is.

  ‘Look, she’s crying,’ says Paul again, from behind a tree and I realise that I am.

  The little girl starts to cry too and I pull her close to me, knowing that I must never let her go. She couldn’t have stopped it from happening, it wasn’t her fault. The picture darkens, stripping away the memory until all that remains is black. It is only then that everything becomes clear. She chose silence and now I must endure it. The little girl holds me tight, over two decades fall away and I look down at th
e girl I used to be. She’s travelled a quarter of a century through time and space to remind me who I was then and tell me who I must be now.

  Some people are ghosts before they are dead.

  Then

  Christmas Eve 2016 – Afternoon

  My hands are still shaking when I arrive home. I left Claire at the Christmas market, walked away without turning back. The sky is dark with unfallen rain and I just want to get inside and shut the world and my mistakes out for good. I take the keys out of my bag and realise I’ve picked up Paul’s set instead of my own. It’s not like me to be so careless. I need to calm myself down, keep it together, stay focused. I feel better as soon as I’m inside. I lean my back against the door and encourage my breathing and thoughts to slow down. I close my eyes for a moment and try to think clearly but I still don’t have the answers when I open them. It’s hard to see something that isn’t there.

  I peel off my coat in the hall, hang it on the rack and bend down to take off my shoes.

  ‘I’m home,’ I say without cheer or expectation.

  There’s no response.

  I untie the second set of laces.

  ‘Paul?’

  Nothing.

  I’ve never been fond of being touched by others. I’ve trained myself not to flinch or pull away, but I’ve always thought it was pointless to hold on to someone when you know you’ll have to let them go. Despite all of that, I’d like to be held right now. I’d like to hold on to someone and let them hold me back.

  I can feel that I’ve burnt my tongue on the mulled wine and I’m thirsty so I head to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water from the tap. I look around as I gulp down the cool liquid and spot it straight away. I put down the glass and stare at the oven. The dial furthest to the left is not in the correct position. I straighten it until it is completely turned off, then stare at it, as though it might twist itself out of shape again before my eyes. I look around for an explanation and feel a surge of anger that Paul could be so careless, today of all days. I hear a floorboard creak in another room and allow my anger to bubble to the surface.