Each Little Lie: A gripping psychological thriller with a heart-stopping twist

by Tom Bale

  Some of the kids splashing around in the shallows were from Charlie’s school. Before long he was playing with them, and Jen climbed out, dried off and checked her phone. She had two missed calls from Freddie.

  She felt a tremor of unease as she rang him, in case word of her arrest had already filtered back, but Freddie’s tone was easy-going, even diffident.

  ‘I changed a few things, so I’m fine to have Charlie tomorrow night.’

  ‘Oh.’ Jen had to stop herself from thanking him – all he’d done was revert to the original plan. ‘Are you still going to Cornwall?’

  ‘Ah, no.’

  ‘Freddie, he’ll be really disapp—’

  ‘It’s because I can take him to Greece instead.’

  ‘Greece?’ Jen was stunned.

  ‘Yeah. A villa on Crete. He’ll love it.’

  ‘Whose villa?’

  ‘What? Just a friend.’

  Jen heard the lie but decided not to call it out. ‘How long for?’

  ‘A few days, that’s all.’ She started to interrupt but he spoke over her: ‘I know what you said about school – back for Friday, yeah?’

  ‘No, Thursday. He needs to be home with me on Wednesday, to have time to prepare.’

  ‘It’s fucking primary school, Jen. He’s not off to uni.’

  She was stung by the scorn but made an effort to stay calm. She was still trying to process the bombshell of a foreign trip. In other circumstances she might have refused to agree until her solicitor had been consulted, but right now she had other considerations.

  ‘Look, can I ask a favour? Could I borrow one of your cars while you’re away?’ Freddie currently had an Audi SUV and a Porsche 911, even though his fondness for a drink at lunchtime meant he went almost everywhere by taxi.

  After an incredulous silence, he said, ‘We’re in the middle of a divorce.’

  ‘I know. But I’ve just agreed to let you take Charlie abroad, and in return—’

  ‘Sorry, Jen, I can’t do that. I’ll pick him up tomorrow night, say around six? Make sure he’s packed for a Greek island, yeah?’

  The call ended, and only then did Jen realise that she was crying. To make it worse, Charlie was crunching up the bank of stones towards her.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m fine, honestly.’

  He knelt down on the towel and put his arms around her, his body chilled by the sea, his hair dripping water onto her face as he leaned in to kiss her cheek, and not for the first time Jen felt that she might be the real child in this relationship, and Charlie the adult.

  ‘Try not to worry, Mum. It’ll be all right.’

  17

  On Wednesday Jen made a snap decision to call in sick again. She did it early, knowing Nick wouldn’t be there yet. She wasn’t proud of her behaviour, but this was her first such absence in nearly three years at the Skyway, and these were exceptional circumstances. Not only was she still traumatised by her arrest, but she was about to lose Charlie for nearly a week. . . and soon she might lose him altogether.

  She wasn’t at all comfortable with the idea of Freddie taking him abroad, and wondered now if the trip to Cornwall had only ever been a ruse. It was hard to shake off the feeling that she’d been outmanoeuvred, though if she was honest she’d have to say that Freddie was neither smart nor devious enough to play that sort of game.

  The superficial nature of his personality had prompted mixed feelings from the start, but his good looks and easy charm had overcome her reservations. Jen had never encountered a man with such a carefree attitude to life. His shameless devotion to taking pleasure wherever he could find it made for an exhilarating contrast with her own deeply ingrained belief that nothing worth having came easy. In the words of a friend of hers upon first meeting him, Freddie had just the right degree of intelligence to understand the world and have fun, but perhaps not so much that he couldn’t be manipulated when the need arose. . .

  And that sort of assessment, she thought, was just one of the reasons his dad had both feared and hated her from the start.

  The fact was, she had little choice but to let Charlie go. During a long period of anxious wakefulness in the early hours, she’d come to the conclusion that no one was going to rescue her from her current predicament. Somehow, she would have to do it herself – and for that she needed some time on her own.

  It was a measure of Freddie’s unreliability that she still wasn’t confident enough to tell Charlie he was off to Crete. The disappointment would be too much to bear if it fell through. But she got started on packing a suitcase with plenty of summer clothes, while he ate toast and Marmite, and they discussed what to do. Jen was determined to wrestle the maximum enjoyment from this final day with her son.

  ‘Can we go bowling at the Marina?’ he asked.

  ‘Really?’ It was hard not to baulk at the cost, though Jen reminded herself that she’d be spending less on food while Charlie was away. Quite often she lived on little more than pulses and fruit.

  ‘Let’s have a swim first, then bowling. Though I’ll warn you now, we’re not having junk food two days running. We’ll take a picnic.’

  He was happy with that, and said, ‘Can Lucas come?’

  ‘Good idea.’

  Anna was surprised by the change of plan – she was scheduled to have Charlie today – but admitted that a few hours without Lucas wouldn’t be unwelcome. ‘I’ve got lots of errands to run, and he hates being cooped up in the car.’

  ‘That’s perfect, then. Uh, talking of cars, is there any chance I could borrow yours at some point in the next few days, if I need to?’

  ‘Of course. Just say when.’ A hesitation. ‘Is this anything to do with. . .?’

  ‘Yes and no,’ Jen replied. Which was perfectly honest, since she hadn’t yet formulated any sort of plan.

  They collected Lucas and went to Hove, where the beaches were quieter, and at low tide offered up patches of sand for small boys to dig and mould and fight on, to kick and dive-bomb and use as a grave in which to bury their willing victim (Jen).

  After the picnic, they caught a bus to Brighton Marina and went bowling, then mooched around the arcade games. Charlie normally knew better than to pester for money – even at his tender age he understood that Jen didn’t have a fraction of the resources available to Freddie – but his friend’s presence perhaps added to the pressure.

  Jen gave in and let them go on a couple of games, though Charlie still got whiny when it was time to leave. She nearly told him about Greece, only to think better of it. She’d texted Freddie to confirm what time he was getting Charlie tonight, and he hadn’t replied.

  On the bus to Kemptown the three of them were tired, probably a bit dehydrated, and increasingly fractious. Slipping onto autopilot, Jen disembarked at their usual stop before realising her error.

  It was already a much longer walk to take Lucas home, and she couldn’t face adding what would seem to the boys like an utterly pointless detour. We’ll hurry past number 14 on the other side of the street, she told herself. That can’t do any harm.

  Regency Place was quiet. The only car parked outside the terrace was a white Citroën. Jen kept her head down and walked briskly, urging the boys to match her pace. When she heard a door opening, she tensed, expecting a cry of recognition. For the sake of saving a few minutes’ walk, she might be arrested and hauled back to a cell. . .

  She risked a look: a teenage girl was slouching towards the Citroën, while a middle-aged woman shut the door of number 12. Jen turned her head away from them, just as Charlie complained that his legs ached.

  ‘You’re both doing really well.’ Just a second or two till they were safely past. ‘Let’s pretend we’re explorers, okay? In the jungles of Sumatra, which is an island in Indonesia, there are tigers, and rhino, but also poachers armed with guns, so we’ll have to defend ourselves—’

  ‘I’ve got an Uzi!’ Charlie declared, instantly drawn into the fantasy.

  ‘Me too!’ L
ucas cried, and both boys lifted their hands and sprayed automatic fire into the surrounding gardens.

  Over their sound effects, she caught the growl of an engine. She turned, and saw the X-Trail coming up behind the Citroën, which was waiting to pull away from the kerb.

  Jen sped up, praying she hadn’t been noticed. The boys ran ahead, engrossed in their imaginary slaughter. Risking a glance back, she saw Alex Wilson staring coldly in her direction. Would he know the precise terms of her bail?

  They needed to take Henley Gardens to go west and then north to Hanover. Crossing the side road, there was an unmistakable flash of movement from a window at the corner house. Russell Pearce.

  Jen looked back one more time, just before the X-Trail slipped from view. Alex Wilson was still watching her.

  Who are you? she wondered.

  Who are you to me?

  18

  Freddie didn’t get in touch until ten to six, by which time Jen had practically given up on him, though as a precaution she’d finished packing and made Charlie an early tea. Her heart fell when she saw Freddie’s name in the display.

  ‘Who is it this time?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You ignored my texts, so I take it there’s been another lovely distraction, and as usual I’m the one—’

  ‘Hey! I’m parked up outside.’ He sounded amused. ‘Bring him down, will you? I’ve got a surprise for you.’

  Fuming at the way she’d been lured into an overreaction, she switched off the TV and said, ‘All set to go? Your dad’s here.’

  Charlie was slumped on the floor, his back against the sofa. He nodded without enthusiasm.

  Jen knelt to face him. ‘You’re going to have a great time. I think he’s got something really special arranged.’

  ‘In Cornwall?’

  ‘No. He’ll tell you.’

  She drew him to his feet, but his expression remained serious. ‘You’ll be all right, won’t you?’

  ‘Me?’ The word almost caught in her throat. ‘Hey, of course I will. And it’s only a few days till you’re back here.’

  He nodded. ‘I love you,’ he said, and then, while she was holding him close: ‘Be careful, Mummy.’

  In manoeuvring the suitcase through the front door, she bumped it against the frame; a second later her neighbour appeared. ‘Ah, I wondered if you’d been trying to avoid me.’

  ‘Oh – hi, Bridie! No, why would I?’ Jen offered a sickly grin, saw Bridie register Charlie’s presence and took advantage of her hesitation. ‘Can’t stop. Perhaps have a chat later?’

  ‘I think we should. It quite shook me up on Monday, the sight of. . .’

  ‘We’ll talk soon, I promise.’ Jen hustled Charlie into the stairwell, plagued by a fear that Bridie would find the energy to follow her out of the building and mention the police in front of Freddie.

  She would have to tell him, she knew that. But she wanted to do it on her own terms.

  The suitcase was bulky, but her progress was hampered more by Charlie, who slouched listlessly from step to step. Jen wondered if the lack of urgency was for her benefit – not wanting her to see how excited he was. But when they reached the lobby, he grabbed her T-shirt and asked for another hug. ‘I’ll miss you.’

  The sorrow in his voice carved up her insides. This was on another level from the usual difficult adjustment he had to make, going from one parent to another. She’d long worried that it must be making him feel schizophrenic, having to adapt to two such different lifestyles and personalities.

  ‘You’ll be fine. And don’t you worry about me for a second.’

  Freddie was waiting by the entrance, wearing a prepared smile that gave no clue to his mood. His eyes, as befitted a wannabe rock musician, were hidden by his trademark Ray-Ban sunglasses.

  ‘Hey.’ He opened his right hand to show her a smart key. ‘For the Q5.’

  ‘I can borrow it?’ Jen took the key and mumbled her thanks. She was about to ask what had prompted the change of heart when her attention was caught by a Mercedes SUV drawing up behind the Audi.

  ‘Grandpa!’ A yell from Charlie as Gerard Lynch climbed out and marched round to the pavement, crouching to beckon the boy into his arms.

  ‘Hello there, Chip!’ he roared, using the nickname that seemed to have been designed to annoy both Jen and Freddie.

  Charlie, his grandfather had declared when the boy was little more than a few months old, was the real chip off the old block: ‘He’s got my eyes, my spirit, my character – you just wait and see.’

  Jen thought of this when Gerard glanced at her over Charlie’s shoulder, a triumphant glint in his eye. Look at this bond we have. Squeezing the boy until he didn’t know whether to giggle or gasp. You think you can break this?

  She turned away, and caught Freddie looking defensive. ‘If you’re having my car, I had to get a lift back,’ he explained.

  Gerard finally released Charlie. ‘What about your daddy, Chip? Hey, has he told you where you’re going?’

  Charlie looked uncertain, perhaps because the three adults present were united only in their desire to put on a charade for his benefit. It was bitterly unfair, Jen thought, presenting him with conflicting loyalties when his natural instincts were so straightforward, so pure: to love them all.

  ‘Pa’s staying tonight and giving us a lift to the airport tomorrow,’ Freddie confided. He broke off to greet Charlie, and that was Gerard’s cue to join them.

  Lynch senior was taller than his son – a little over six feet – with a once muscular frame swollen by years of sumptuous living. In his favoured summer outfit of mustard-coloured slacks and a white silk shirt, there was no hiding a considerable spare tyre. On some occasions, however, it all but vanished, leading Jen to suspect that he wore a corset for TV appearances, book signings and the like.

  His hair was long and scruffy, and much darker than was realistic for a man in his mid sixties, though he would stridently insist it was natural. Jen had once mischievously suggested that there might be some Romany influence in his DNA. To a man who thought gypsies belonged in concentration camps – and had pretty much said so in the Mail, the Express and the Telegraph – there were few things that could be more insulting.

  He had a narrow face dominated by a crooked nose; his eyes were small and dark and deep-set, with black pouches that several cosmetic procedures had failed to improve. His teeth were yellow, with prominent incisors, and he revealed too much of his gums when he bared them. His smile was a gruesome sight: hungry and mocking, it rarely contained even a trace of warmth.

  He looked her up and down, and sniffed disapprovingly. ‘Nice of Freddie to lend you the car.’

  ‘Yes.’ For Charlie’s sake, she wasn’t going to rise to it. She heard the boy’s sudden exclamation – ‘Greece!’ – and for the first time this evening his face lit up with real pleasure.

  ‘Just wait till you see the villa, Chip,’ Gerard said. ‘A real home away from home.’

  Jen frowned. ‘Are you going with them?’

  ‘Not this time. Too busy.’

  She looked from Gerard to Freddie. ‘Hold on, so whose. . .?’

  ‘It’s my place.’ Gerard showed his teeth. ‘Bought it nearly a year ago, and the damn builders have only just got their sorry arses off the site. Five bedrooms, three bathrooms. . .’ He turned his attention to Charlie. ‘A huge swimming pool, Chip – and a games room, with table tennis and pool, and there’s a drum kit. How about that? Now, jump in Grandpa’s car. We need to get going.’

  After a final hug and kiss, Charlie headed to the car. Freddie picked up the suitcase and went to follow, then said, ‘Got the passport?’

  ‘Here.’ Jen reached into her pocket, only for Gerard to put his hand out for it.

  ‘Do Charlie the world of good, getting him away from this cesspit.’ It wasn’t clear whether he meant Jen’s flat, the street, or the whole city. Gerard had no time for Brighton, decrying it in print as a sinful hotbed of gay perversion.

 
She was speechless, reeling from the news of the villa in Greece, and the fact that she’d just surrendered Charlie’s passport to a man who bore her nothing but ill will.

  ‘Enjoy your time alone.’ Grinning sarcastically, Gerard raised one arm and waggled the passport in farewell. ‘Make the most of your freedom, Jennifer.’

  19

  That night she got drunk, not in a pleasant, social, accidental way, but steadily, with determination and effort. There was a decent bottle of Sauvignon that Nick had bought her as thanks for helping out during a crisis at work, and a good deal remained of the Grey Goose that her parents had given her at Christmas. Taken together, with only a couple of slices of toast to eat, it was more than enough to induce the unconsciousness she craved.

  Through the evening she obsessed over her father-in-law’s parting words, which hinted that he knew of the arrest and was gloating about her fate. Gerard had always envisaged a union for his son with somebody whose money and connections complemented his own. Having paid for Freddie to go on a six-week expedition from Santiago to Rio – part of a rehabilitation process after kicking a gambling addiction – he hadn’t reacted well to the news that his son had fallen for a penniless tour guide.

  While frenzied and passionate in the beginning, their fundamentally opposing personalities might have seen the relationship burn out within a year had Jen not accidentally fallen pregnant. She’d expected a commitment-phobe like Freddie to run a mile at the news, but instead he had insisted that this was ‘a sign’ – not only that he and Jen were destined to be together, but that it was time for him to knuckle down to a more conventional way of life.