Liars: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist

by Frances Vick

  All day they watched TV and ate biscuits, keeping a fearful eye on the door, jumping when the telephone rang.

  Later, she asked Jenny to help wash her hair – her arm was too hurt to do it herself. In the bathroom sink, the shampoo lather was filled with loose hair, and spotted with scabs.

  Sal, meeting her eyes in the mirror, water running down her neck, tried to smile. She flexed her bruised arm, stroked her black eye. ‘I look a state, don’t I?’ Jenny silently handed her a towel. Sal took it, shook her head, tried to smile. ‘Not going to win any beauty competitions any time soon, am I?’

  ‘Mum—’

  ‘Still, if I put some make-up on—’

  ‘Mum—’

  ‘I always feel better once I’ve got my face on-—’

  ‘Mum? Shut up.’

  Once again, their eyes, in the spotted mirror, locked. There was a long pause. ‘Look, it looks a lot worse than it is, Jen. You know me, I bruise like a peach; you only have to touch me and I… and it was all my fault anyway. I kept going on and on at him, and… you know what I’m like. I can be a right nagging bitch—’

  ‘Mum.’

  Sal nodded, turned away from the mirror, kept up the chatter. ‘I know it’s not right, OK? I know, but it does take two to tango and—’

  ‘Mum. Just shut up now. Shut up, OK?’ Jenny, frowning, had her eyes closed. ‘It’s got to stop, now. It’s getting worse. He’s getting worse.’ She opened her eyes then, hesitated. ‘And it’s getting worse for me too.’ She made sure she was looking directly into Sal’s face as she said this. ‘Mum? He’s—’

  ‘Don’t know what you’re on about.’ Sal’s eyes were shiny with fearful anger.

  ‘He touches me, Mum!’ Her voice was loud in the small room. ‘He comes in here when I’m having a shower, and he—’

  Sal put up one irritated hand. ‘Just leave it, will you?’

  ‘He tried to make me touch him too. I’ve tried to tell you before, but—’

  Up went the hand again, and Jenny watched Sal’s injured face go through a series of painful expressions: shock; horror; pain; and finally, horribly, jealousy. She looked at her daughter with the hateful envy of a rival. ‘Well, you think a lot of yourself, don’t you?’

  ‘What? Mum—’

  ‘Why don’t you lock the bloody door, then? If he’s… whatever you say? Eh? Why’re you just telling me this now if you’re so scared?’ Her voice boiled with fury.

  ‘He broke the lock. The lock doesn’t work. Mum, you know that—’

  ‘And why don’t you put a bra on. Tight T-shirt and no bra, what d’you expect to happen? You’re just—’ But then she stopped, opened her eyes, looked at Jenny properly, steadily.

  Then she took her hand, and silently led her back into the living room. They sat together on the sofa.

  ‘I’m going to ask you this once,’ Sal said eventually. ‘Is it true? What you said? Has he been… getting at you?’ Jenny nodded. Sal shuddered. A tear leaked out of her one good eye.

  ‘He’s been—’ Jenny began.

  Sal held up one hand. ‘I don’t want to know. I don’t want to hear what he’s been doing.’ She clenched her jaw painfully, nodded at her knees. ‘And, hand on heart, you’ve not… encouraged him? You’re a nice-looking girl, and he’s just a big teenager, really, they all are, men, aren’t they—?’

  ‘Jesus, Mum!’

  Sal closed her eyes, nodded again. ‘All right. All right, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll call Kathleen now. We’ll go and stay with her.’

  ‘Really?’ Jenny was shocked.

  Sal nodded. Her face was tired, defeated. ‘Go and get my phone, will you? And then get that suitcase out from under the bed.’

  ‘Mum… I-I’m sorry. I mean—’

  ‘Just get me the phone, love, all right? And start packing. He might come back any time.’

  ‘If we called the police they’d come, make sure he didn’t stop us—’

  ‘No. The police make everything worse. No. Kathleen’ll help. We can do this ourselves. Get as much as you can and pack it up. There’s a money belt somewhere; see if you can find that.’

  ‘But later? Should we tell them about, you know, what he’s been doing to me?’

  Sal turned to her very seriously. ‘That’s private. All that stuff, that’s family stuff.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Leave it now, Jen, or you can forget about going to Kathleen’s, all right? I’m getting you out of here, that’s good enough. Anything else that may or may not have happened to you, just try to forget it. OK? What’s past is past.’ She stood up. ‘Chop chop!’

  An hour later, they crept out of the back door, quiet, so quiet down the alley, Jenny carrying a holdall and pulling a bulky suitcase on wheels that made a noise like pebbles rolling on a tin roof, loud, too loud on the silent street. Sal’s injured arm curved protectively around a bin bag containing her hairdryer, make-up and underwear.

  When they got to the main street they passed The Fox where Marc was at work. They had no choice.

  ‘Heads down, fast as we can, all right? Right, here we go then.’ And Sal scuttled towards the door, the bin bag beginning to slither from her weak grasp. Together they trotted past the door like loaded mules.

  ‘Where’re we going after Kathleen’s, Mum?’

  ‘We’ll sort something; I’ll sort something.’ She gasped. ‘Just keep moving— shit!’ The bin bag slipped, mascara rolled into the gutter and eyeshadow shattered. Sal cried out, knelt painfully down to pick it all up.

  ‘Mum, just leave it!’ Jenny hissed. ‘Come on, just leave it!’

  ‘I’m not leaving it!’ Sal said. ‘It’s new!’ And she walked a few paces back towards the pub, following the silvery trail of eyeshadow.

  ‘Mum!’

  Then, with horrible suddenness, Marc was there. A big man, just running to fat around the middle, but still agile, still dangerously strong. Jenny instinctively dodged into a doorway, but Sal froze. Mark pulled her up by one elbow. Jenny watched the resolve start to leak out of her mother, like stale air from an old balloon.

  ‘What’s this then?’ he asked calmly. ‘Where d’you think you’re off to then?’

  Sal began to babble. The laundrette. The new one? The one on Ladysmith by the pool hall? There’s an opening-week offer. Half-price service wash after five. Thought I’d take the sheets.

  Marc smiled faintly, plunged his hand into the bin bag, and pulled out a bra.

  ‘See?’ Sal said. ‘I told you, it’s just… clothes,’ He reached in again, brought out a mascara wand, held it up questioningly.

  ‘How’d that get in there?’ Sal managed.

  Marc dropped it, stepped on it lazily, cracked it like a bug. Then he took the bag out of Sal’s shaking arms and dumped everything out onto the pavement… toothbrushes, a hairdryer, tampons, more underwear with its popped and worn elastic. Finally, her phone dropped with a clunk. He stepped on it, all the while smiling gently. Then he grabbed her bad arm.

  She began to cry.

  Marc smiled even more gently, took her bad arm, twisted it. Sal was whimpering now, promising to go home, saying it had all been a mistake and please let go of my arm you’re going to break it, no you are, you’re going to break it, don’t break it.

  A bus trundled past, a whole top deck of pale moon faces gazed at the man pulling the crying woman by her injured arm, with no curiosity, no surprise. The few people on the street said and did nothing; at best they lingered at a distance, concern on their faces, as if, somehow, concern was action enough. Others just kept their heads down and walked. One man even loitered behind Marc, trying to pass him, before crossing the road and going on his way.

  None of this meant anything to anybody.

  She’d fallen now. He pulled her up. There was dirty water on her knees where she’d been kneeling on the pavement, and she was chattering again, and Jenny hated the chatter more than anything, because Marc liked that. He liked it when you panicked and begged; she kne
w that first-hand. He was breathing hard. He always breathed heavily when he was excited, when he was about to win. She knew that too. His left arm, wrapped around Sal, looked loving and intimate, but he dug the dirty nails of his right hand into the soft meat of her upper arm; her bruised face creased in fresh pain as he talked to her, softly, reasonably; it was time to go home. Stop making a fool of yourself now, and it was this – Sal’s inevitable, depressing submission, head bowed like an ox before the axe – that filled Jenny with a rage she’d never felt before. They were going to go back. They were going to go back home, back to the unlocked bathroom door, and the hand in her knickers. Back to the screaming and the tears, but it would be worse now because this time they’d actively rebelled – Marc would make them pay for that. Marc would make them pay, and Sal would make her pay double. The jealous hatred Jenny had seen in her face – as if they were love rivals – told her that.

  No.

  No.

  Jenny let the rage flood into her, let it intoxicate her, and it was a glorious feeling. And she ran at Marc hard as she could, pushing the suitcase in front of her like a battering ram. It slammed into his shins, making him stumble into the road and slip on some rotting leaves in the gutter. Jenny came forward then, watching him struggle on his back like an upturned insect, trying and failing to pull his shirt over his paunch. His hat, that stupid fucking hat he wore to hide his bald spot, had fallen off, and he was groping for that too. Behind her, she could hear Sal whimpering about her make-up.

  Look at them both, scrabbling about in the dirt like apes.

  They were cunts. Both of them. Scum. And they weren’t going to drag her down with them any more.

  Jenny kicked kicked kicked Marc in the head, on the shoulders, missing most of the time, but not stopping until she saw blood. She was shouting, screaming things she didn’t even hear or understand, and then Sal was clawing at her, telling her to stop, stop it or you’ll kill him, stop it!

  And now there were other people, pulling her off him, dragging her backwards. A group of men ran to help him, carried him out of the road, you all right mate? You all right mate? And it almost made her laugh. Where were they when he was hurting Sal? Where’d they been then?

  That was the turning point. That was when whatever had been left of Child Jenny died. From then on, though she tried to hide it, she hated Sal. Hated her weakness, hated how she’d hidden behind Jenny’s skirts, asking for protection one minute, and abandoning her to abuse the next. From then on, too, she hated Men in general, because they were all hypocritical bastards who clubbed together, protected each other, would happily stand by watching a woman get beaten on the street, and only step in when the tide turned and the man was getting the worst of it.

  Jenny grabbed the suitcase from the gutter. One of the men tending to Marc half turned. ‘Stop! Stop her!’

  And Jenny and Sal ran, rain in their faces, every step a victory.

  Jenny wished she’d found the money belt though… He owed them.

  53

  Kathleen let them stay the night at hers.

  ‘But tomorrow you’ll have to go. He’s a clever bastard is Marc; he’ll find you, and he’s from bad stock. Remember I went out with his cousin, and he ended up in Rampton? No offence, love, but I don’t need a visit from another Doyle.’

  It was Kathleen that called the helpline, got them their place at the refuge. It was Kathleen who helped them move into their gloomy room at the back, and strutted around like a little general. ‘It’s big, isn’t it?’ She looked at the cornicing. ‘Needs a bit of a dust around the corners.’ She looked critically at Sal. ‘You look done in. Have a rest. Have a lie down. Me and Jen’ll have a cup of tea together. There’s a place up on the hill that looked like it did a nice breakfast. Jen, get your coat, it’s spitting out there. Chop chop.’

  Outside, Kathleen spent a few seconds studying the building. ‘You’d never know, would you? What it is?’

  ‘Well, nobody’s meant to know what it is. Safety,’ Jenny answered.

  Kathleen pointed at the security camera poised above the doorway. ‘That gives it away though, doesn’t it?’ She sighed, and moved briskly on. Jenny had to trot after her.

  Kathleen was one of those women who liked to tell people that they ‘don’t mince words’ and ‘tell it like it is’. She expected children to get over themselves and understand the world around them with clear, hard eyes. She treated them like miniature adults; that was probably why her own daughters were so intimidating. As soon as they sat down, she got straight to the point.

  ‘Right. I need you to look after your mum. She’s been through a lot,’ Kathleen said seriously. ‘She’s been through too much. It does things to you. But you, you can take it; you’re like me – you’re tough, that’s why I’m telling you this.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ Jenny muttered.

  ‘Oh, you are though, like it or not. And, you’ve got to get her to stop drinking so much.’ Kathleen sat back. ‘No drinking, no calling him, none of that. You’ve got to keep an eye on her. And don’t look at me all gormless. You’ve got to step up.’

  Jenny looked at the tabletop, clenched her jaw. ‘I can’t,’ she managed, and her voice was slightly more forceful.

  Kathleen’s eyes widened in exaggerated surprise. ‘What d’you mean, “can’t”? ’Course you can. You’re very capable. You’re like me. Now, what’ll you have? Bacon sarnie?’

  ‘I mean I shouldn’t have to look after her,’ Jenny said. ‘It should be the other way around. She should be looking after me.’

  Kathleen scowled at her. ‘Now you’re just feeling sorry for yourself. She has looked after you! Look, you’ve always had a roof over your head, a meal on the table. Plenty of kids don’t have that, you know,’ Kathleen said sharply. ‘She gave up a lot to have you. Think on that. She didn’t have to have you at all.’ She paused significantly.

  ‘So I have to be grateful she didn’t abort me, is that what you mean?’ Jenny’s voice was raised.

  ‘Shhh!’ Kathleen flapped her hand, looked around anxiously. ‘Keep it down. And no, that’s not what I meant. I mean that you and Sal, well, you’re a unit. A woman has a baby, and that’s… that’s a special bond. Nothing comes between you.’

  ‘Marc did.’

  Kathleen’s face creased with irritation. ‘Yes, but not any more. Now it’s just you and her, isn’t it? She did the right thing eventually and she’s going to need you. You’re her darling.’ She smiled, held out a hand, patted Jenny’s cold fist. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Let me tell you something.’ Jenny tried to keep her face still, tried to keep the raging emotions from showing, knowing that, if she cried, Kathleen would dismiss her as a baby and stop listening. ‘Marc. He didn’t just hurt her. He hurt me too. He did things to me. I told Mum, but’ – she looked up – ‘she didn’t believe me; she said I was jealous of her, trying to split them up. She said I’d let it happen. She was jealous.’ Tears started then; she couldn’t help it. ‘So, you know, I’m really not her darling, Kathleen.’

  Kathleen’s face stiffened. Her mouth opened, then closed. She made a show of getting out her cigarettes.

  Jenny raised her voice just a little. ‘She’s never looked after me, and now you’re asking me to carry on looking after her, even though—’

  Kathleen closed her eyes and made an irritated gesture with her unlit cigarette. ‘Why’re you telling me this now?’

  ‘I’m saying it because … I need to.’ Jenny’s voice broke. She dug her nails into her palms, hoping that the pain would distract her from more tears. ‘I can’t feel safe. I can’t relax because, deep down, I still don’t think she believes me, and I think she’ll go back. She loves him more than she loves me. And I-I hate her for that, Kathleen. I’m sorry, but I do.’

  Tap tap tap went Kathleen’s cigarette. Jenny heard the click of her lighter, the approaching footsteps of the waitress, ‘You can’t smoke in here,’ and Kathleen’s righteous indignation: ‘Oh for God’s sake, one ciggy
? And I’m right by the door!’ and she knew that Kathleen had deliberately lit up just so she’d have to step outside for a few minutes to buy herself some time, some kind of wiggle room, a way to think how to refute Jenny and back up Sal. Of course. Sal was the priority – always helped, coddled. And Jenny? Well she was just a supporting player who should be grateful for being given any role at all.

  It wasn’t fair.

  When was it ever fair?

  Jenny felt the two sides of her nature meet and clash. One half – the bruised, guilty half – adored strong, cynical Kathleen and treasured her spare, infrequent compliments: that she was a good girl, she was tough, she could cope with everything thrown at her. The other half – unwillingly precocious and bitter – bristled with contempt at Kathleen’s failure to believe her, protect her, take her side.

  All this was depressingly familiar.

  Then, suddenly, watching Kathleen greedily sucking down the smoke, her profile all vexed angles, raw bones, a new Jenny stirred, and this Jenny had had enough. This Jenny promised herself, with dispassionate clarity, that none of this will ever happen to me again.

  Fuck Sal.

  And fuck Kathleen too.

  They’re never going to do the right thing. They don’t care about you, so you better start caring about yourself. You better do whatever you’ve got to do to make sure you’re safe, that no one can harm you, ever ever ever.

  You’re the priority.

  You’re the only one that matters.

  You’re cleverer than all of them. I bet you can make them do anything.

  This new Jenny watched Kathleen come back, sit down again, stiff with tension. The tension indicated that she’d wrong-footed Kathleen, unsettled her. New Jenny turned this over in her mind, savouring it. She stayed silent, waiting for Kathleen to speak.