Liars: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist

by Frances Vick

  24

  The following Saturday afternoon, Jenny and Freddie drove back to the village together, and she navigated their way to David’s large half-timbered house, secluded, hidden from the road by a tall line of conifers. The curving drive, bordered by well-tended flower beds, led to the front door: a massive slab of wood with a whimsical brass knocker in the shape of a mermaid. When David opened the door he was smiling, wearing an apron with a William Morris-type print on it, and his hair was a little dishevelled.

  ‘Hello! It’s so lovely to see you!’ He smiled, hugged Jenny and pumped Freddie’s hand heartily. ‘I’m making a curry, but I haven’t made it before, so apologies if it’s… come in, come in!’ He shut the front door behind them. ‘Here, let me put a light on, it’s so gloomy, isn’t it?’

  He was nervous, bless him. Freddie felt himself relax. He gazed around at the parquet floor and slightly shabby wood panelling on the walls. The place smelled of musty lavender.

  ‘This way, Freddie. Oh, mind the boxes – I’m sorting some things out.’ David led them past two rooms that looked largely empty, and then the hallway widened into a kind of vestibule at the centre of the house from which led three small corridors. The walls were covered with framed photographs.

  Freddie pointed at one. ‘Who’s this cutie?’ A small boy was grimly clutching a kite in one hand and a resigned-looking grey kitten in the other. ‘Is that you, David?’

  ‘Yup.’ He reached up and took it down, smiling. ‘That’s my old pet cat Tinker. I think that was taken on my fifth birthday?’

  Freddie looked from the picture to his face and back again. ‘You haven’t changed that much!’

  ‘Oh God, I hope I have,’ said David. ‘Here’s another, look.’ An indistinct, frowning figure stood next to a bike. A silver balloon attached to the handlebars read ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY!’ ‘This was taken just a few weeks before I first met Jenny.’

  ‘How do you remember that?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘Oh, I have a long memory,’ he replied. ‘For the important things.’

  ‘Is this your dad?’ Freddie pointed to slightly larger photo, framed in wood.

  David glanced at it briefly, and shook his head. ‘No. That’s a family friend who sadly isn’t with us any longer.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry.’ Freddie, flushed with optimism since calling the infant David a cutie and getting away with it, was now sure he’d managed to put his foot in it by mentioning a dead friend.

  ‘Oh don’t be. This place is full of pictures and memories, and… Well, like I said, I’m doing a clear-out at the moment. Right, just down here is my mother’s room,’ he said. ‘I told her I’d introduce you. Do you mind if we just say hello?’

  He tapped at the open door and pushed it without waiting for a reply. Everything in this room was soft, tufted, in varying shades of pink and apricot; it looked like the inside of a seashell. In the corner, a shrunken woman was nestled in a peachy velvet armchair. Her cerise coloured quilted dressing gown seemed to have bled all the colour from her skin.

  David moved soundlessly over the deep pile of the pink carpet, and crouched over her. ‘Mum? She raised her head. ‘I’d like to introduce you to Freddie.’ He pointed at the doorway. Freddie gave an embarrassed little wave, which the woman didn’t register. ‘This is Jenny’s friend – Jenny’s and my friend, I should say. I was telling you about him the other day? Do you remember?’ He left a pause. The woman smiled vaguely. ‘They’re staying for dinner.’

  ‘Nothing for me.’ The woman had a surprisingly strong voice. ‘I ate at the club.’

  David half turned to Jenny and Freddie with a slight frown. ‘So, Mum? If you see Freddie in the house, you’re not to worry, OK? He’s my friend.’

  ‘Oh I won’t worry,’ she told him. ‘You’re doing very well.’

  David left the room and closed the door quietly. ‘She has good days and bad days, and today is a bit of a bad one.’

  ‘Oh God, I hope us being here hasn’t, you know, disturbed her or anything,’ said Freddie.

  Jenny answered. ‘No, no. It has nothing to do with you being here. It’s just the illness; it fluctuates. That’s why nurses are hard to get and keep, aren’t they, David? Sometimes they have nothing to do, and sometimes it’s too big a job for one person. It can change within the hour.’

  ‘But, she liked you, Freddie, I could tell,’ David told him.

  Even though David had obviously been primed to be as friendly and welcoming as possible, Freddie was still touched. This was the David he’d first met at the funeral. A decent, serious man. Sober, interested and sweet.

  They followed him to the kitchen at the back of the house, a large, modern extension.

  ‘This is lovely!’ Freddie looked around admiringly.

  ‘Yes, I managed to put a bit of pressure on them to modernise the place a bit. Just before Dad… passed. OK, so I have red wine, white wine, beer?’

  ‘Red wine, please,’ Freddie said.

  ‘Hang on, Fred, I brought that bottle of Prosecco! It’s in the car; I’ll go and get it.’ Jenny pulled the keys out of his pocket.

  Even though David was being so nice, and Freddie was more relaxed than he’d been around him in months, both men quailed when she left and self-consciousness filled the vacuum. Freddie nosed about the room like a puppy waiting for praise, while David busied himself with a manly looking corkscrew, his lips pursed, as if he was whistling. Seeing this, Freddie only just managed to stifle an insane urge to whistle ‘Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf’. Desperate, he grasped for the blandest topic at hand.

  ‘It’s a lovely house.’

  ‘Well,’ David said absently, yanking the cork out with an effort, ‘it will be once I get the building work finalised.’

  ‘And how are you, Claudine?’ Freddie picked her up and placed her on his lap. ‘Having fun scratching all this furniture?’

  ‘I had her declawed,’ David said absently.

  ‘Oh really? But don’t cats need their claws? I mean—’

  ‘What does she need her claws for? She won’t be getting into any fights here.’

  ‘No, I meant… I don’t know what I meant. Is it even legal to have a cat de-clawed? I mean…’

  David looked at him, and smiled bleakly. ‘What d’you mean? I can do anything to her. She’s my cat, isn’t she?’

  As if offering her opinion, Claudine playfully sunk her claws into Freddie’s thigh. He jumped up, and the rattled animal sped out of the room, and David laughed, not an entirely good-humoured laugh. ‘Did you really think I’d had her de-clawed?’

  Freddie grimaced confusedly. Between the scratches and the weird turn of the conversation he was struggling. ‘Well, you said you had—’

  ‘I was joking.’ David laughed. ‘As if I’d hurt her like that. It was just a joke.’ David nodded at the open door, put one finger up, and crossed the room to shut it. ‘I need to ask you something. Matt.’ His voice was low.

  ‘Matt? Matt: Jenny’s flatmate Matt? What about him?’ Freddie sat back down, wincing.

  ‘You know he’s been breaking into her room? She told you that?’ David shook his head grimly and thrust a glass of wine at Freddie.

  Freddie hesitated. ‘Oh well, I don’t think he broke in. She didn’t tell me anything like that—’

  ‘Have you met him?’ David interrupted.

  Freddie blinked. ‘A few times, very briefly.’

  ‘What’s he like?’

  ‘Well, he seems very nice, I mean—’

  ‘What kind of a man does something like that?’ David interrupted again. ‘I mean it’s strange enough that a single man would rent a room to a single girl, you know? That’s strange, isn’t it?’

  Freddie tried to laugh. ‘Well, no. I mean it’s not the 1950s, is it? And anyway, he’s not single. He has a girlfriend and spends a lot of time with her.’ Happily, Freddie knew now that this was the case.

  ‘Still. To rummage about in other people’s things. Private things.’ David seemed t
o be working himself up into a quiet rage.

  ‘Look, I really don’t think… I mean, I don’t know, but then neither does Jenny. She told me that she’s so tired after work that she forgets things, and that’s probably the explanation. It’s more likely to be that, isn’t it? Rather than him breaking into her room—’

  ‘D’you think I should have a word with him?’ David asked urgently.

  ‘What?’ Freddie shook his head, as if dizzy. ‘I don’t—’

  ‘Just to let him know… that I know what he’s up to.’

  ‘Let him know? But he hasn’t been up to anything! Jenny isn’t sure of—’

  ‘Or I could go round there and put a lock on her bedroom door. That’d send a message, wouldn’t it?’ He topped up Freddie’s wine. ‘Of course, what she should do is just move in here with me. She’s told you about that? That I want her to move in?’ David said this very quickly.

  Freddie opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again. ‘Um…’ he managed.

  ‘Because she’s not safe where she is. Is she?’

  ‘I think—’

  ‘See? Now we just have to convince her.’ He smiled grimly. When Jenny skipped back into the room, his face softened. ‘And here she is!’

  ‘Sorry I was a while – the bottle had rolled under the seat and I took the handbrake off by accident and then the car started to roll towards the flower beds... it was a bad sight gag. Anyway, what’ve you two been talking about? You look shifty.’

  ‘Oh, I was just reassuring Freddie that I’m a responsible pet owner,’ David said lightly.

  ‘He absolutely loves Claudine,’ Jenny told Freddie. ‘I’m not getting her back.’

  ‘And he was asking about Matt,’ David said smoothly. He didn’t seem to be the same person who’d just been speaking so alarmingly of locks and sending messages. ‘Freddie’s concerned too, aren’t you?’

  ‘Oh, Fred, I told you, I’m just being a bit paranoid, that’s all.’

  ‘But – and Freddie was just saying this, and he makes a good point – you are Matt’s tenant, and he has a duty to make you feel as secure as possible. Why don’t you let me put a lock on your bedroom door? It might make you feel better, and worry us less,’ David told her seriously. ‘What d’you think, Freddie?’ Freddie nodded dumbly. ‘Well then, I’ll come over in the week with my trusty toolbox.’ David smiled then. His teeth were as white and even as piano keys. ‘Now we can both stop worrying about her, can’t we Freddie? I have a cold bottle of champagne in the fridge – what say we drink that, and keep your prosecco, is it, for another time? D’you mind getting it, Jenny?’

  When she was gone, Freddie started to splutter, and David was all apologies. ‘Sorry. I’m genuinely sorry about that… I’m just so worried about her and I knew that if I told her you were just as concerned, she’d take it a bit more seriously. She hates the idea of worrying you.’ He smiled winningly. ‘So I lied. A white lie, but, still, I’m sorry. But we’re on the same side, aren’t we? I want us to be on the same side.’

  Then Jenny came back with the champagne and David opened it with a great flourish.

  ‘My mother always said that when you toast you should look everyone in the eyes so they know how important they are to you.’ He handed out the glasses ‘To Friendship!’ They all clinked glasses, gazing at each other as requested.

  A year or so ago, Freddie had briefly dated an actor and spent many a dull hour sitting in on rehearsals for a very insignificant production of The Seagull. One day, all Chekov’d out, he wandered into the wings, and came across the discarded costumes, the dusty ropes. As the draft from an open door wobbled the inept trompe l’oeil of the false proscenium, Freddie had gazed around, seeing the silhouettes of the actors through the safety curtain, listening to their voices, flat and artificial in the empty theatre, and it was all just so silly. It was a conceit that relied on complicity rather than honesty. He reflected that one heavy step would bring the wobbly walls of the set down and stop the performance dead. That’s all he had to do, just stamp a bit, force it to fall, and they could all stop pretending and go home. He hadn’t done it though. He’d waited and left when he’d planned and he hadn’t split up with the actor until a few weeks later when a stormy argument about The Beatles forced him to (The Beatles – more specifically, the general overrated shitness of The Beatles – was one of Freddie’s few red lines). He had the same feeling now, in David’s house – the same feeling, but worse, and he couldn’t escape – not without abandoning Jenny.

  And so, Freddie did what any normal person would do under the circumstances. He decided to get drunk enough to cope with the weirdness and get through the day as best he could.

  ‘So, basically, I’m going to have to get a better job if I want to keep on seeing Cheryl and keep my placement at the same time.’ Jenny sighed. ‘That way I’ll have enough money to still finish the course by next year and get registered, but if I don’t—’

  ‘What then?’ asked Freddie.

  ‘I’ll have to, I don’t know, up my temping hours or take a second job or something. Or I could defer for a year, but I really don’t want to do that. There’s too many balls to juggle at the moment, you know? And I haven’t even updated the blog or anything for ages.’

  David said: ‘Don’t you think you’re trying to do too much?’

  ‘I say that to her all the time, but she doesn’t listen,’ Freddie added.

  ‘Oh I’m all right. This year will be the hardest. After that things will get easier.’ She nodded, as if she was convincing herself. ‘Some people use work to help them through grief. I think maybe that’s not a bad thing. I mean, if you know that’s what you’re doing, you’re not fooling yourself or anything, maybe it’s useful? Cheryl and I were talking about this the other day—’

  ‘Oh, Cheryl. Of course. Your therapist.’ David’s voice seemed to put quotation marks around the word. ‘Why are you still seeing her anyway?’

  ‘I have to see a counsellor myself as part of the course,’ Jenny said after a short pause. Her voice was small, confused.

  ‘So when you stop the course you can stop seeing Cheryl?’ David frowned.

  Jenny shook her head. ‘God no! I don’t think so. I don’t know really. I think there’s still a lot of work to do, to be honest. And it’s standard practice for a therapist to see their own therapist. It’s to help you stay on track, discuss good practice, all that.’

  David smirked. ‘“Discuss good practice”.’

  ‘I know, I know, all the jargon is a bit…’ Jenny smiled apologetically.

  ‘You know what it sounds like to me?’ David sat back. ‘It sounds like a pyramid scheme. People see a counsellor, who sees their own psychotherapist, who probably sees a psychologist, who probably needs a psychiatrist, and they’re all complicit in trying to fleece as much money as they can from someone who’s arguably saner than all of them put together.’ He laughed. ‘You have to admit, it’s a great way to make money.’

  ‘I don’t think many people go into it for money,’ Jenny admonished him softly. ‘I’m not going to make my fortune out of this, you know. But, I’ll be doing something important.’

  ‘And something you’re great at,’ Freddie said warmly. He hadn’t spoken in a while. His voice was a fraction too loud.

  David held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘No offence. I’m no expert. It really is great that you’re doing what you want to do.’ He topped up her wine again. ‘So long as it really is what you want to do, and not what you’ve been persuaded to do.’

  ‘The careers adviser at school told me that I should be an admin assistant,’ Jenny said.

  ‘He told me I should be an air stewardess. He thought he was being funny,’ Freddie added. ‘What about you, David? What were you meant to be?’

  David frowned. ‘There wasn’t a careers person at our school,’ he said.

  ‘Didn’t you see the same one we did in Sixth Form? He did all the schools in the area. That guy with the ginger beard? The
one with the limp?’ Freddie asked.

  ‘I wouldn’t have seen a careers adviser,’ David said again, smiling. ‘I was homeschooled, remember.’

  ‘But I thought you boarded at… where was it?’ Freddie screwed up his face, trying to remember. ‘Hazleton? Or Hazlewood? Or somewhere?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I did, but before that I was homeschooled. After the stroke.’ David stood up, started collecting the plates. His averted face was tense. When he left the room, Jenny leaned into Freddie,

  ‘He’s a bit sensitive about the stroke,’ she told him sternly. ‘Can you back off a bit?’

  ‘Well how could I know he’d take it there? He went from bad careers advice to a stroke in, like, one sentence?’ Freddie hissed.

  ‘Maybe we just shouldn’t talk about school at all,’ Jenny said. ‘Are you going to be all right to drive? How many have you had anyway?’

  ‘And what’s his problem with therapy?’

  ‘I don’t think he has a problem with it,’ Jenny told him. She glanced at the door, lowered her voice. ‘Maybe he had a bad experience or something.’

  ‘No need to be aggressive about it though, was there?’ Freddie whispered loudly. ‘I mean, especially seeing as you’re in training? That was just rude... Oh, and talk about aggressive, you know the Matt thing? The lock? It wasn’t me—’

  But then David came back pushing an old-fashioned dessert trolley. ‘I didn’t make anything, I’m afraid. I don’t have the knack, but I did buy in a selection of things. Let’s see, we have cream cakes, and… what’re these? Scones? Scones. And a trifle.’ He passed around delicate china bowls. ‘It’s all a bit random, I’m afraid.’