Liars: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist

by Frances Vick

  And so, after taking off the dead man’s flares, and swallowing paracetamol with a third cup of tea, he started digging for David. The real David.

  Where to start though? There were so many entry points. The fire. The stroke. The private school. Homeschooling. Catherine had said he was away for so long. They’d missed him. Hazlewood. They work wonders. Start there.

  There were quite a few Hazlewood Schools, but only one that accepted boarders, and even then only up to the age of thirteen. David was older than that when he’d had the stroke – the final year before Sixth Form, so he must have been fifteen or sixteen, and he’d gone to Hazlewood straight from hospital… Perhaps Freddie had conflated the hospital and the school in his mind? He searched for ‘Hazlewood Hospital’ on the off-chance.

  The first hit made him fizz with excitement.

  Turrets and spires. Smiling people lounging on the lawn. A friendly faced woman with a discreet name badge sat at a desk, smiling at someone with their back to the camera.

  Here at Hazlewood, we devise a personalised care package to suit your needs with a wide range of therapies and fee structures… depending on how long you want or need treatment, we use a range of therapies which we can offer to you individually or in group therapy session.

  Our Child and Adolescent facility supports young people with a range of diagnoses including:

  Depression or anxiety

  Emerging personality disorder

  Eating disorder

  Emotional, social & behavioural difficulties

  Psychosis

  Self-harm/suicidal ideation

  This was a mental hospital. Who goes to a mental hospital after a stroke? Was this the rehabilitation he was talking about? Hazlewood works wonders. We missed you. How long had he been there anyway?

  He opened a new document, and noted down everything that now seemed doubly sketchy about David:

  Looking through J’s phone

  Therapy as a pyramid scheme

  Matt paranoia

  Profile picture!

  (Lying about) Mental hospital!!!

  He hesitated. Should he include other, less concrete, fears? Buying Jenny the shoes, the clothes, styling her according to his wishes, as if she were a little doll. And what about the dead man’s clothes? The box marked ‘Precious Memories!’, the grave at the end of the garden, and the mad woman in the pink bedroom? But, while it was all very gothic and added to the atmosphere of general weirdness, he had to admit that none of these things amounted to evidence of anything; it was all background colour though, wasn’t it? It lent context and support to the idea that All Was Not Right With David. And what about the sudden rage at Barbra Streisand? Well… Freddie had to be fair; it was an incredibly annoying ringtone. He’d picked it because it was annoying… even his own father, normally calm as a Hindu cow, had threatened to smash his phone if he didn’t change it. Even Barbra herself probably hated it. Enough, enough with Barbra, focus… what had happened to make David ill enough to get put in a mental hospital? The fire? It was worth researching. Half an hour later though, he still hadn’t turned up anything about this Tony guy, or a fire in the village. Maybe the family had kept it quiet? Remember the day of the funeral? When Mum said that there’d been talk in the village about petrol… a suicide attempt… or maybe not a suicide attempt at all?

  He pushed the computer away, and took a shower to clear his head. The problem was that he was doing this by himself when he was used to working out difficult problems in tandem with Jenny. They worked better together, and always had. Look what happened when they went to different universities? Jenny had only lasted a term or two, but when they were together again, she believed in herself enough to start a whole new career. They were good for each other. Maybe that was it; Freddie had taken a back seat – given them space – all the other awful clichés you wanted to use, and, left alone, she’d got herself sunk into this mire with David. Perhaps all he had to do was tell her everything in a well-ordered, not-drunk-covered-in-wine way. Two Heads Are Better Than One. A Rolling Stone… stop that now. It’s no fun on your own.

  So he called Jenny, left her a voicemail, kept it brief so she could tell he was sober and serious. ‘Could they meet tomorrow? Here or in town? It’s important.’

  She texted back:

  8.30 a.m. Tiffin Coffee Bar.

  Her brevity spoke volumes. He nearly called her again, but stopped himself. He drafted three emails, but didn’t send them. Instead he sat in the darkening room, looking at his list, and rehearsing his opening line. ‘David has problems.’ ‘David has lied to you.’ ‘David might be dangerous.’ ‘Let me help you.’ After all, it was his duty to help her. It was all his fault. He’d done everything he could to get them together; he’d been David’s biggest fan; poor Jenny thought she’d found her Prince Charming, and tomorrow Freddie was going to break her heart. It was for the best, but it was still so sad.

  25

  In the end he was so nervous that he didn’t use any opening line at all. He just opened the laptop to the Hazlewood homepage and pushed it towards her, then watched her expression as she read, that little comma of worry appearing between her brows. A muscle jumped beside her mouth. She was tired. This always happened when she was tired or stressed. After a minute she pushed it back to his side of the table, saying nothing.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly.

  ‘What for?’ There was something hard and unreadable about her expression. ‘I don’t know what this is or why you’re showing it to me, or—’

  ‘David? Hazlewood? This is the school he said he went to, but it’s not a school, it’s a mental hospital.’

  ‘No, it’s a clinic.’ She looked up. ‘The term “mental hospital” went out with “gollywogs” and “gaylords”.’ She stared hard at him. ‘What’re you doing this for, Fred?’

  ‘OK, I know it’s a shock, but come on, Jen, I had to tell you... he’s been lying to you.’

  ‘And you’ve been spying on him.’ She sat back. ‘I seem to be the only honest person I know.’

  ‘I’m scared for you. He’s lied about being in hospital—’

  ‘No. You have no proof he was ever in hospital. All you have is a clinic that you think might be similar to the name of his boarding school. That’s all you’ve got, and you immediately start calling him a liar.’ Her face, furious and cold, was almost frightening.

  Freddie tried to keep his voice calm. He had to stay calm, stay with her, let her be as angry as she needed to be. She’d burn herself out eventually, and they could talk, finally, properly, and figure out what to do.

  ‘I know it’s hard. I know it must be – but Jen, I don’t want David to… I don’t want him to be a liar, but I spent hours on this last night, OK? There isn’t a boarding school by that name anywhere in the country. Not kids of fifteen or sixteen. Anywhere, Jen.’ His voice, despite his best efforts, had risen after all, and his carefully rehearsed, sequential arguments, fractured, fell apart. ‘After I saw him going through your phone – and it was your phone, I’m positive – I thought back to how jealous he was about Matt without even meeting him, and how angry he seems about psychiatry, and then, when I found out that he’s been lying about being in hospital? His mum said “Hazlewood”. I had to tell you, didn’t I? I mean, you’d have told me, wouldn’t you?’

  Jenny’s face tightened further into a frown. ‘Maybe he had some problems when he was younger. Maybe there was some post-traumatic stress after having the stroke. You don’t just get over something like that, Fred.’

  ‘Well we only have David’s word for it that he even had a stroke.’ Freddie’s voice rang with fervour now. The tired-eyed waiter glanced over before going back to his phone. ‘Mum didn’t know anything about him having a stroke.’ She flapped an irritated hand at him – keep your voice down. ‘But she told me about that man in the picture we saw?’ Freddie said this in an exaggerated whisper. ‘The friend of the family? He nearly died in a fire at the house, at the same time David sup
posedly had this stroke. And David’s mum and Tony – that guy in the picture? – they were having an affair, and—’

  ‘What?’ Now Jenny’s voice rose. ‘Where’d you get that from?’

  ‘Mum. She heard it at the time. Village gossip—’

  Jenny’s eyes were hard now. One white-knuckled hand kneaded the other on the sticky tabletop. ‘That’s it, Fred. You said it. It’s gossip, and it’s cruel.’ Her voice, low as a cat’s warning growl, was very, very serious.

  After a pause Freddie said: ‘I know it’s hard to hear. I wish I didn’t have to say it, but—’

  She sat back, stared at him with hard eyes. ‘Why’re you doing this? Are you that bored? Jealous?’

  ‘Don’t be—’

  ‘Maybe there was a fire. Maybe David saw things he shouldn’t have. Maybe something traumatised him and his parents felt that he needed therapy? Well, if so, then great! More parents should help their kids.’

  ‘Jen, listen—’

  ‘No, you listen! You’re making out having mental-health issues is a crime! For Christ’s sake, Fred, how are things in the 1920s? You, of all people—’

  ‘This isn’t about me—’

  ‘And also, since I’m in therapy, does that make me “mental hospital” material too?’

  ‘OK, OK, I shouldn’t have said “mental hospital”.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Freddie. I’m training to be a therapist. There’s nothing wrong with therapy.’ She seemed completely focused on this point.

  ‘I know that. I do. But, if David had had some kind of breakdown, why would he keep it a secret?’ Freddie asked lamely.

  ‘Precisely because of things like this! People are ignorant! They jump to conclusions; they gossip and they judge. They think that once a person’s ill, they never get better.’ She shook her head again, and shut the laptop with a brisk movement. ‘I never thought you’d be like that, Fred, I mean, you’re the person who told me I should get help.’

  ‘But you didn’t lie about needing help,’ Freddie said. ‘You didn’t tell people you’d had a stroke.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. But if I’d dropped out of school before Sixth Form I might have, or my mum might have, just to save me the embarrassment of having to explain my own private business to people who still use the term “mental hospital” and think it’s OK. And anyway, I did lie. Just by not telling people, I lied for ages about how awful I felt; I just lied by omission, and that’s the only difference between my situation and David’s – if he even was in treatment.’ She stopped, took some deep breaths to calm down. After a minute she faced Freddie, face still pale, but hectic pink spots showing on her cheeks. Her eyes were sad, disappointed. ‘You were the only one that helped me, Fred. You saw through me, you persuaded me to get help.’ She shook her head. ‘I had you. David hasn’t had anyone. That’s not his fault, is it?’ She stopped, began to speak, stopped again, before managing the words. ‘You don’t like him. It’s as simple as that isn’t it? Be honest, Fred.’

  ‘I do. I did… I just… look, I don’t want to think badly of David. I kind of helped get you together in the first place, but what do you want me to do, Jen? Just ignore everything? There are so many things that don’t add up. Like the Facebook picture I told you about? How did he have a photograph of you, that I took, before he’d even met you?’ He took her hand. ‘I’ve tried to square that in my mind, but it just doesn’t make sense. That’s a bit stalkery, isn’t it? I mean did he hack your account, or my account, or—?’

  ‘You want to know how he got that picture?’ Jenny said flatly. ‘OK, I’ll tell you.’ She sighed, and her tired, cold eyes met his. ‘I gave it to him. That’s how he got it.’

  It was one of the few times in his life that Freddie was genuinely lost for words. His whole body stilled and the air hummed with some strange electricity. ‘What? When? I saw it on his Facebook page the day of your mum’s funeral; you didn’t even know him then— it’s impossible.’

  ‘But I did know him then.’ Her voice was still flat. ‘I’d known him for a long time before the funeral. I just didn’t tell you, that’s all.’ The hum in the air became a buzz of confusion. He’d had the same sensation before passing out. Jenny signalled for a glass of water, made him drink some, and let emotion creep back into her face and voice. ‘Are you OK? Fred?’

  ‘I’m-I’m not sure. What did you say?’

  ‘I’ve known David for a few years. Not known him, known him, but Facebook known him. So he didn’t hack my account, or your account, or anything like that, and he hasn’t been stalking me, OK? You don’t have to worry about that.’ She looked up from her clasped hands.

  ‘But why didn’t you tell me?’ Freddie sounded like a hurt child. ‘Why did you lie like that?’

  ‘It wasn’t a lie. It was more of a secret. I didn’t want you to get hurt, Fred. It was all for you.’ Her tone hovered into reproof, like a disappointed adult speaking to an immature teenager.

  ‘How is this about me?’ Freddie managed.

  She sighed again. ‘Ryan Needham?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘When you and Ryan were – talking – Ryan friended me too, remember? Just before you and him split up.’ She said this last bit with a slight emphasis, as if using very faint quotation marks. ‘Well, Ryan and David are friends from uni; you know that, David told you a while back. So that’s how David found me – I popped up on some “People You Might Know” thing and he messaged me: “Hi, remember me from school?” “Yes, how are you doing?” that’s all.’

  ‘I don’t—?’

  ‘Then a week later, you and Ryan split; you were broken up about it and I was… worried. And pissed off on your behalf, so I messaged David to see if he knew what had happened, if Ryan was normally such an absolute bastard.’

  ‘And you didn’t tell me any of this?’ Freddie mumbled.

  ‘Well, how could I? Fred, you were in bits, and I felt so… useless. I wanted to send Ryan a message through his friend, you know, that what he’d done was shit, and people who loved you were pissed off, and… I wanted to know… something. I don’t know. I wanted to rant on your behalf.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I did rant, and David felt awful about the way Ryan just dropped you – he’d done the same thing loads of times apparently, but David was particularly pissed off about it happening to you because you seemed like such a nice, genuine person. In fact, he distanced himself from Ryan because of you. That’s how much he liked you before even meeting you.’ Her voice throbbed with sad reproach. ‘Anyway, David and I… we kept chatting on Facebook, that’s all, but the longer it went on, the harder it got for me to tell you; it just felt wrong, insensitive.’ She touched his hand. ‘I hated keeping it from you though.’

  ‘So, how come I didn’t see David on your friends list then?’

  ‘Well you might have done, but you didn’t know his name, did you? And he never put anything on my wall. I told him not to; I didn’t want you to see anything that might somehow link back to Ryan. I was only thinking of you. We just messaged each other, sometimes called each other, never met up. It was all very low-key. Then, when Mum died, David was in the village as well, and that’s when we finally met face-to-face.’

  ‘So at the funeral? You’d known each other for ages but you put on this act that you’d only just met?’

  Jenny winced. ‘It wasn’t really an act. I mean, if you think back, I never said it was the first time we met. I didn’t, like, explicitly lie to you.’ She shifted. ‘It all got convoluted and silly, and I hated keeping things from you, but I’m telling the truth now. All of it. And it’s a good thing, Fred, can’t you see? Now you know that you don’t have to worry about David – the picture and—’

  ‘What about the dinner at your house? I was playing cupid, but he’d been there loads of times before I suppose?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘That was all true. It really was the first time he’d come round, and we really had only been out on a few c
inema and restaurant dates.’

  Freddie shook his head. He sat in the too-small booth like a dazed, slumped bear. ‘When did you give him the picture then?’

  She gazed over his shoulder, thinking. ‘That would be just before Mum died. He saw it on my Facebook wall and asked if he could make a copy of it. I said yes.’

  ‘OK, so let me get this straight: he lives in the same village as you for months, and you never meet—–’

  ‘We did meet, we just didn’t very often, and only after Mum died.’ There was an edge to her voice. ‘I’ve explained that.’

  ‘And you knew him for years and never thought to tell me?’ Freddie was all incredulity.

  ‘I’ve explained that too. I was trying to save your feelings,’ Jenny said tightly. ‘And, if you remember, I had quite a lot on my plate at the time. College. Work. Therapy. You pining for Ryan. Looking after Mum, Mum dying, then having to convince the police I didn’t kill her and then arranging her funeral. And after that, finding myself homeless. So, you know, dealing with your jealousy wasn’t on top of my to-do list. Jesus.’ She shook her head. ‘David said you’d be like this. He warned me.’