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

by Feeney, Alice

  ‘We already celebrated my book deal. Are you crying?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘If it’s about Claire saying she doesn’t want you to come to America with me, then I don’t care what she says. She can cope without you for a few weeks, I’m sure.’

  ‘You told Claire about the book? When?’

  ‘It just slipped out when you were upstairs reading the twins a bedtime story.’

  I understand now why she looked at me that way before we left. It was a warning. Paul carries on, oblivious to what he’s done.

  ‘Why shouldn’t we tell people anyway? And you’re right, we should be celebrating.’ He takes the bottle from the table and opens it.

  ‘What exactly did you tell her?’ I ask, hearing my voice shake.

  ‘Please can we stop talking about your sister, her dull husband and the terrible twins?’

  ‘What did you tell her, Paul? It’s important.’

  ‘Why are you getting all bat shit? She was acting nuts too.’

  ‘Because she’s upset about the idea of me going away, I knew she would be. I told you not to tell her yet.’

  ‘It wasn’t that, it was her stupid diaries. She asked me why I bought you one and I told her because I’d found hers in the loft, and then she went from nought to psycho in less than a few seconds.’

  It’s all getting very loud inside my head.

  ‘I told you not to tell Claire about the diaries and I told you not to read them.’

  ‘I didn’t read them, not really. Just one line about you two being peas in a pod. I quoted it back at her, thought it was funny, but she didn’t seem to think so.’

  Two peas in a pod.

  ‘She’ll kill you.’

  He laughs. He doesn’t understand that I’m not joking. She won’t let anyone take me away from her, she never has. She’s done terrible things to people over the years – friends, colleagues, lovers, none of them good enough for me in her estimation. She thought I needed saving from every single one. I thought once the twins were born, once she had a family of her own, things might change, but they didn’t, she held on more tightly than ever before. I think she was even a little bit pleased when I couldn’t get pregnant, worried that my love for a child would somehow diminish my love for her. It was different with Paul, the celebrity author. She decided he was good for me and she was delighted when he was happy to live less than a mile away. It was like a test – he passed because he didn’t try to take me away from her. But now he’s failed.

  I feel sick. I know what she’s capable of. I walk out of the room, find my phone and dial Claire’s number.

  Nothing.

  I try again but it still goes straight to voicemail.

  ‘He hasn’t read them. Don’t do it, you don’t have to,’ I say as quietly as I can.

  ‘Have you all lost your minds?’ says Paul, appearing in the hallway behind me. ‘We’re talking about a kid’s diaries. Maybe I should have read them,’ he says.

  ‘If she calls you or turns up here, tell her I already burned them. Don’t open the door and don’t let her in. Where are your car keys?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  I run over to the sideboard, opening up the drawers crammed full of odds and ends.

  ‘Whatever happens you are not to trust her, do you understand?’ I find the spare set of keys, grab my handbag, without even checking what’s inside, and run to the front door.

  ‘Amber, wait . . .’ He’s too late, I’m already down the path, trying to make out the buttons on the car key through the dark and rain. I’m not wearing a coat and I’m already soaking wet. Paul follows me outside, still in his new Christmas slippers. He holds his phone up to his ear.

  ‘It’s me. . . your sister is really upset. I think it’s got something to do with you. Can you call me so we can try to sort this—’ I spin around and knock the phone out of his hand. It smashes on the driveway.

  He stares at it, his mouth open, then looks up at me. ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘Stay away from Claire!’

  ‘Can you hear yourself? You’re acting fucking crazy! You can’t drive. You must be over the limit . . .’

  ‘I’m fine!’

  A light comes on next door and I see our neighbour has come outside. I hadn’t realised we were shouting. I turn to get in the car, and drop the key. My hands are shaking as I bend down to find it, feeling around in the dark. When my fingers find their prize, Paul tries to stop me getting in the driver’s seat. I push him back, get inside and slam the door, trapping his hand in the metal. He screams in agony, yanks it back and I slam the door again. I put the key in the ignition and drive away.

  Now

  Tuesday, 3rd January, 2017

  ‘I’m going to go home for a bit, check David hasn’t killed the twins or vice versa,’ says Claire.

  ‘Sure,’ Paul replies.

  ‘Shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to even mention the twins, let alone . . .’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘You sure I can’t give you a lift?’

  ‘No. I’m not leaving her again. Not this time.’

  I hear the door open.

  ‘Claire?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘This isn’t your fault.’

  He’s being kind to her, but he’s wrong. This is Claire’s fault. Everything that is wrong with my life is Claire’s fault. I hear her leave and I’m glad.

  Paul’s hand holds mine, it feels strong and warm and safe.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispers. ‘I just keep letting you down. I should have been here.’

  I imagine Paul watching what Edward did to me in this room. I picture him sitting at home, so far away and seeing a stranger slip his hand beneath my sheet. I’ve been imprisoned inside a nightmare but Paul has been trapped outside, forced to watch me live it. He has been wanting to get in just as much as I wanted to get out.

  ‘I love you so much,’ he says and kisses me on the forehead.

  He’s been through his own personal hell while I’ve been sleeping in my own. I wish that I could tell him how sorry I am for putting him through all of this and that I love him too. I say the words over and over in my head until they sound fat and real.

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ says Paul and lets go of my hand. I instinctively want to see what the matter is so I try to open my eyes. The bright light overwhelms me at first and the pain of it shoots through to the back of my skull.

  ‘Paul.’ I hear a voice and realise it is my own.

  ‘I’m right here,’ he says and I can see him. He’s crying and now I’m crying. He’s kissing me and I can see him. This is real. My eyes really are open. I’m awake.

  Then

  Christmas Day 2016 – Evening

  I pull into Claire’s driveway and can see her standing in the porch. She’s been expecting me. I get out and march through the rain towards her, without even closing the car door. My dress is soaking wet and clings to my legs. It’s as though the material is trying to hold me back, trying to stop me from going in there.

  ‘Hello, Amber,’ she says. Arms folded. Features relaxed. Body perfectly still.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘I think you need to calm down.’

  ‘He hasn’t seen anything; he doesn’t know anything.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘If you hurt him, if anything happens to him . . .’

  She steps forward. ‘What? What will you do?’

  I want to hit her. I want to hurt her so badly but I can’t. I still love her more than I hate her. We can’t have this conversation out here. You never know who might be listening.

  ‘Can I come in, please?’

  She stares at me for a while, as though assessing the risk. Her arms unfold themselves before her eyes decide. She nods and steps inside the hall, leaving just enough room for me to follow.

  ‘You’re wet, take your shoes off.’


  I quietly close the door behind us and do as I’m told. I stand barefoot on her new cream carpet and worry about what happens next. We’re somewhere we’ve never been before. I wonder where David is, whether he can hear us.

  ‘David is upstairs. He passed out not long after you and your husband left,’ she says, reading my mind. My husband, not Paul any more. She’s already disassociating herself from the person she has identified as a problem. Her eyes are dark, cold. I can see that she’s already gone to that place inside herself that scares me so much.

  ‘I want them back,’ she says. I don’t need to ask what.

  ‘I’ve burned them.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘He didn’t read them.’

  ‘Why do you even have them?’

  ‘They were here. In the attic. I found them after Mum and Dad died. They’d kept everything of yours. There was nothing of mine.’

  ‘So you stole them?’

  ‘No. I just wanted something. They left you everything. It was as though I didn’t even exist any more.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have taken them and you shouldn’t have let Paul read them. Or did you want something to happen to him?’

  ‘No! He didn’t read them. Stay away from him!’

  ‘You need to calm down.’

  ‘You need to back the fuck off.’ I push her. I didn’t mean to. She stumbles backwards, that flash of something I remember in her eyes. She steps forward again, her face in mine. I feel her breath.

  ‘He read them and now the situation needs to be dealt with,’ she says calmly.

  ‘He doesn’t know.’

  ‘He read them.’

  ‘No, he didn’t.’ I plead with her, already knowing her ears are closed to the sound of truth.

  ‘Two. Peas. In. A. Pod. That’s what he said to me. He read them.’ She spits the words at me and, with each one, the pain in my stomach increases, so much so, that I think she must have stabbed me. That’s when I see the blood. I look at both of her hands, but they’re empty, there’s no knife. She’s looking down too now at the single line of red running down the inside of my right leg. My hands reach down to my belly and the pain bends me in half.

  ‘Oh, God,’ I manage to whisper. And then my knees are folding and I’m sinking lower and lower into the pain.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Claire asks.

  ‘Oh, God, no.’

  ‘Are you pregnant?’ She looks down at me, a mix of awe and disgust on her face. She doesn’t wait for my answer. ‘How could you not tell me something like that? We used to tell each other everything.’ I can see her mind working, overwhelmed with this new piece of information. Plotting a new course.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I manage to say, because she thinks I should be. Her face doesn’t change.

  ‘It’s just a tiny bleed. You’ll be OK. Give me the car keys.’

  I shake my head. ‘Call Paul.’

  ‘Just give me the keys. The hospital is fifteen minutes from here, it’s quicker than calling for an ambulance. We’ll call him on the way.’

  I do what she says, like I always have.

  Now

  Tuesday, 3rd January 2017

  ‘Are you hungry?’ asks Paul. I’ve been sleeping, the kind of sleep you can wake up from. I sit up in the hospital bed and let him adjust the pillows behind me. The door is open and I can see a trolley just outside.

  ‘She needs to take it slow, just a little at a time,’ Northern Nurse says to Paul, giving him a tray of food. I recognise her voice. She doesn’t look the same in real life as she did in my head. She’s younger, slimmer, less tired-looking. I never pictured her smiling, but she does, all the time. Some people appear happy on the outside and you only know they’re broken inside if you listen as well as look.

  Paul takes the tray and puts it down in front of me. There’s chicken, with mash and green beans. A carton of juice and what looks like strawberry jelly. I’m so hungry but now that I can see what’s on offer, I’m less eager to eat it. Paul picks up the cutlery and loads some mashed potato onto a fork.

  ‘I can do it,’ I say.

  ‘Sorry.’

  I take the fork from him.

  ‘Thank you.’

  I eat most of it. I chew and swallow small pieces at a time, my throat still hurts from the tube. It didn’t look like much, but right now it feels like I might have eaten the best meal of my life. The chicken was overcooked and the potatoes were lumpy, but just to be able to chew and swallow and taste again made every mouthful exquisite. Because it means that I’m alive.

  ‘Can you remember any more?’ Paul asks.

  I shake my head and look away. ‘Not really.’

  He looks relieved. He talks about the future as though we have one and it makes me feel real again. I can’t imagine how it must have felt, seeing what Paul saw, watching a man do that to me. But it doesn’t seem to have changed things for him, not yet at least. My thoughts start to flatten out, his words ironing out the creases until the folds in my thinking are smooth. He persists over any remaining lines until the imperfect is made neat and tidy, as though brand new, unused and unspoiled.

  Paul’s phone buzzes on the bedside table. He reaches over, reads it, then stares at me.

  ‘What?’ I ask.

  ‘You’ve got a visitor.’

  I feel myself start to fade.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Claire.’ He waits a while for me to say something, but I don’t. ‘Is that OK? You don’t have to see her if you don’t want to. You don’t have to see anyone. But whatever happened between the two of you, I know she’s very sorry.’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘OK. She’s in the car park, so she’ll be a few minutes. I’ll tell her to come up.’ I look away while he texts my sister. Paul doesn’t know that I remember what happened that night. I haven’t decided what to do yet, how much of it I should pretend not to know.

  ‘Can I get you anything else?’ Paul asks.

  ‘I’d love a glass of wine,’ I reply.

  He laughs, it’s a great sound. ‘I’m sure you would, but I think it might still be a tiny bit too soon for grape juice. One day at a time.’

  He takes the tray and leaves it on the floor just outside, as though this is a hotel room and we’ve been ordering room service. I’d like to go somewhere, when this is over. Run away from real life for just a little while. Any place where you can feel the sun by day and see the stars at night. The door is open but she knocks on it anyway.

  ‘Hi,’ she says, waiting to be invited before coming any closer.

  ‘Come in,’ says Paul.

  ‘How are you?’ she asks looking between the two of us, but meaning me.

  ‘I’m OK,’ I say.

  Paul gets up from his chair. ‘Right, well. I might just pop out for a bit, leave you two to catch up?’

  I nod to let him know I’m all right. Claire and I stare at each other, a silent conversation already taking place behind our eyes. She sits in the chair Paul has vacated and waits until she’s sure he’s far away enough from the room not to hear.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, eventually.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘All of it.’

  Before

  Sunday, 14th February 1993

  Dear Diary,

  Today is Valentine’s Day. I didn’t get any cards but I don’t care about that. I have a family now, a proper one and that’s all I ever wanted. I’ve even got a new name. Claire Taylor. I think it sounds nice. I call Taylor’s mum ‘Mum’ and I call Taylor’s dad ‘Dad’ and I think they like it. I like it. Everyone likes it apart from Taylor. She sulked all morning today, playing with the doll I gave her in her bedroom like a little girl. She calls the doll Emily and sits and talks to her when she thinks nobody can hear.

  After lunch I asked to go to my room and Mum said yes. I said I wanted to read my new book and she believed me. Because it is a Sunday, we had a roast dinner. We always have a roast on Sundays. Today we had chicken
, a whole one, with roast potatoes and puddings from Yorkshire and lots of gravy. I ate all of mine, Taylor left most of hers. I would have eaten that too but I was already so full up I thought I might burst. I could hear Mum asking Taylor what was wrong as I climbed up the staircase. They’re always asking her what is wrong and it makes me so cross. Nothing is wrong. She should be just as happy as I am and stop spoiling things.

  I passed Taylor’s bedroom on the way to my own and spotted Emily sitting on the bed, her glass eyes looking right at me. I remembered choosing her on one of the visits with the social worker, she was mine really and I could take her back if I wanted to. I had never seen a doll like her before, so real looking. She had shiny black hair, pink cheeks and a pretty blue dress with matching shoes. She looked precious. Perfect. I didn’t like her. I don’t remember picking her up or taking her to my room. I only remember looking down and seeing the compass from my pencil case in my hand and Emily on my lap, with her eyes all scratched out.

  I wasn’t sure what to do after that, so I took Emily by the hand and went out into the front garden. I’m too old to play with dolls so I put Emily down. In the road. Her little feet tucked into the kerb. I still felt very full from lunch so I sat down on the front lawn and pulled out little tufts of grass with my fingers. The sun was shining and the sky was blue but it was cold. I didn’t mind though. I wanted to be outside, I wanted to see.

  I got that feeling you get when you know that someone is watching you and turned back to look at the house. Taylor was there in the upstairs window of her bedroom looking down at us both. Her eyes moved from me to the doll and back again. She turned away and I wondered if she would cry, she was always crying lately.

  The first car didn’t touch Emily at all and I felt cross about it, cars don’t drive down our road all that often. Taylor was there in the garden in time to see the second car though, so that was good. It didn’t miss. Its front left tyre went over the doll’s face, her hair getting caught up in the wheel. I watched as she went round and under, round and under. The back left tyre went over her then too, but it left her where it found her, lying flat on the tarmac. Taylor stood next to me, still staring at the doll in the distance. Her face didn’t change, her body didn’t move, she just stood there. I carried on pulling out blades of grass, rolling them up between my fingers. I started humming a tune without even meaning to: