The Last Lie

by Alex Lake

  That would remove it from the computer. At least, that was what someone like Claire would think. She would be under the mistaken impression that all you needed to do was delete the history and all traces of the website would be gone from the computer.

  Someone who knew better would know where to look, though.

  They would look for, and find, cookies. Cookies wouldn’t tell you much, but they’d tell you enough. They’d tell you that someone had been on a website they shouldn’t have been on.

  And when the time came that would be all he needed.

  Claire

  Claire called Dr Singh’s office. The receptionist, a tall, red-haired guy in his early twenties called Asher who was trying to make it in the acting world, picked up.

  ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘This is Claire Daniels.’

  ‘Hey,’ Asher replied. ‘Mrs Daniels. How can I help?’

  ‘I was wondering whether I could make an appointment?’

  ‘Sure. When were you thinking?’

  ‘As soon as possible. Ideally sometime this week?’

  ‘Hmm.’ Asher said. ‘I don’t know. He’s pretty booked up.’

  ‘It wouldn’t take long. I only need to have a conversation. I have some questions I’d like to ask him.’ She hesitated, and lowered her voice. She hated to do this, but she had caught him looking at her when she had been in the office and she suspected he had some older woman fantasies about her. ‘It would be really helpful, Asher. I’d really appreciate anything you could do.’

  There was a long pause. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I might be able to fit you in for fifteen minutes on Friday afternoon at four.’

  There was unmistakably a flirtatious tone in his voice. Claire felt bad for leading him on, and a little sorry that his fantasies – of her, at least – were going to be dashed. To her surprise, she did, for a moment, consider it – it would be a way to get pregnant, after all, and he did have a relaxed confidence that was very sexy. But she wasn’t interested in him. She wouldn’t – couldn’t – do that to Alfie, to a man who was so devoted to her, so devoted to them, to their marriage.

  ‘Thank you, Asher,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you then.’

  As she hung up she saw she had a message from Jodie.

  Want to meet tonight? Pippa’s off with her boyfriend. Seem to be back together. At any rate she hasn’t been here since the date.

  Good for her, Claire thought, and typed a reply:

  Sure. See you later.

  OK. I’ll text later with time and place. Everything OK with Alfie?

  Yes. Feeling a bit better now.

  Poor guy. I feel for him.

  I know. We talked this morning about the other options. I think he had some hesitation but he was OK with them. Fill you in later. Have to run. I was in late and I’m behind.

  She put her phone down. She was glad for Pippa. She only hoped it worked out. She wanted everyone to be as happy in their relationship as she was.

  Alfie

  Alfie walked into the estate agency. He still had the last vestiges of his hangover, but he needed to come into the office. He didn’t want to do this from home, not now it was getting serious.

  ‘Alfie,’ Victoria, the receptionist, said. ‘I thought you were off sick?’

  ‘I started to feel better,’ he said. ‘How are you?’

  She smiled at him, evidently pleased he’d asked after her. That was who he was: humble, great to work with, unthreatening. He didn’t want your job or your project or your wife. He just wanted to be nice and do the right thing for the company.

  He walked through the main office to the rear. The junior agents sat at desks near the front door. Alfie and Rachel, the other senior agent – she’d earned it, rather than having her father-in-law arrange it for her – had offices in the back corner.

  At his desk he switched on his Henry Bryant phone. For a second he expected a flood of desperate text messages from Pippa, but then he remembered. She was at the bottom of a flooded quarry, so she was in no position to be sending messages.

  He opened the dating app, and then searched the profiles for someone in Claire’s age range and location and scrolled through the people that came up. There were hundreds. A majority of them listed themselves as married, a fact that had amazed him at first. He’d never have guessed all these people were looking for a bit on the side, living their cosy domestic lives, kissing their wives or husbands goodbye in the morning and dropping the kids off at school and then, unbeknown to anyone, logging on to a website where they could arrange some dirty sex.

  People had all kinds of secret desires and, given a chance to satisfy them without getting caught, they took it.

  He clicked through the profiles. There were a few that interested him – a tall blonde whose photo showed off a pair of enormous fake breasts; a woman who looked like a body-builder, which would be a new experience for him – but he ignored them. There’d be time for that later. For the moment he – Henry Bryant, that was – had a specific target in mind.

  And there she was. Claire. In her white bikini. He had to admit that she was – without question – one of the most attractive women on the site. Henry was going to have some competition.

  He allowed himself, for a moment, the fantasy that Claire had set up the profile herself and he had stumbled across it, a husband who had found out his wife shared his penchant for extra-marital sex. It was quite a thrill; he was surprised to discover that he found the idea of his wife fucking another man, maybe with him in the corner of the room watching, a real turn-on.

  He snorted. Claire would never do that. She viewed sex as a spiritual transaction, as a symbol of the union between one person and another, as a holy act that led to the gift of a child. She would no more betray her beliefs than she would betray Alfie himself.

  Not that anyone looking at her photo would know that. They’d assume she was just another desperate wife trapped in a mundane life and looking for something, anything, to spice it up, to stop her turning to the numbness of whatever medication the doctor would throw at her to keep her from slitting her wrists.

  He clicked on her profile. A message box came up.

  Hi, he wrote. What an amazing photo. Would love to get to know you more. A bit about me: I’m a doctor, early thirties. Unmarried. I work long hours but when I’m not at work I like to enjoy myself – good food, the theatre, walks in the countryside, and, I’ll admit it, meeting up with women like you. Anyway, would love to hear from you. Henry B.

  He sent the message, then put the phone in his desk drawer. He’d learned from the experience with Pippa that he had to be careful. He’d made a mistake with Pippa, let Henry Bryant come too close to Alfie Daniels, and it wasn’t going to happen again. Which meant that nothing of Bryant’s – he found that he really thought of him as a different person – would be at the house. No more keeping the phone hidden in his work bag or a jacket pocket. It would stay here.

  Along with the other one he’d need to get. The one for Claire – or for him posing as Claire – to use.

  But first he needed her to reply to Henry, and for that he needed her laptop. He looked at the clock; it was lunchtime. There was a door at the back of the office which led out on to a terrace. He could leave that way.

  He took a key from his coat pocket, locked his desk drawer, and headed out.

  At home, he went to the desk in their bedroom and opened Claire’s computer. It was a thirty-minute trip from the office so he’d be back before anyone noticed he was gone – not that they’d care. They’d think he was at a viewing, as they always did.

  He logged in to her account. There it was. Henry Bryant’s message, along with seventeen others.

  Seventeen. Was that how it was for all the women on here? Were they all inundated with messages from men? He read a few and shook his head in disgust.

  Some were clearly stock messages, sent out in bulk.

  Hi, I’m a professional male, clean, forty-three but with a youthful outlook on life. Would love to
meet. Message me?

  Others were desperate:

  Looking for a soulmate who can understand me. I think that might be you. Please get in touch.

  Others were downright crude.

  Hi, sexy. Want to play? You’re a hot bitch. I’m 8 inches, uncut and open to any kind of fun.

  It was appalling. Henry Bryant was selective in his targets, judicious in his approach. He thought about what to say, about how to appeal to a specific person, but it appeared these people just sent out filth at random. The world really was full of awful people.

  He deleted – on Claire’s behalf – all the messages apart from two. The one from Henry, and one from a married fitness instructor who seemed half-decent. Then he composed her reply:

  Henry B. Thanks for getting in touch. You sound very interesting and I’d love to get to know you more. This is my first time, as it happens. How does it normally work?

  He hit send. This was going to be easier than he had thought.

  Claire

  Claire put the contract down on the table. She placed her pen on top of it then folded her arms.

  ‘This isn’t exactly what I was expecting,’ she said. ‘I have two comments. First, the price is lower.’

  Doug, the owner of the firm – an innovative engineering company she had been working on landing for months – shook his head.

  ‘Not lower,’ he said. ‘Spread out differently. We pay when certain operational metrics are met. If your design work supports that—’

  ‘Doug,’ Claire said, ‘I understand what the contract says, and I also understand that you’ve set those metrics up to be impossible to prove or disprove, which means when the time comes you’ll say we haven’t met them, and we won’t get paid. Like I said – the price is lower.’

  ‘I disagree. The price is the same.’

  ‘It looks like we have a difference of opinion,’ Claire said. ‘So let’s move on to my other comment.’ She glanced at Erin, the graduate trainee who was shadowing her. Afterwards she’d tell her this was the key moment. ‘My other comment is that, price reduction or not, this isn’t what we agreed.’

  ‘Not everything is signed,’ Doug said. ‘This is a negotiation.’

  ‘No,’ Claire said. ‘It’s a contract review. We’ve done all the negotiating. I agreed to do some work for your company and you agreed to pay for it. Now the price has changed but the work hasn’t. You’re getting – or trying to get – more for less. And I’m afraid I’m not prepared to do that.’

  Doug shrugged. ‘Then we don’t have a deal.’

  ‘It would seem so.’ She let the words hang between them. Doug held her gaze, then picked his phone off the table.

  ‘It seems a waste,’ he said. ‘To let all this work come to nothing.’

  ‘All that work led to an agreement,’ Claire said. ‘Which I took as a commitment. And I stick to my commitments. I expect my business partners to do the same.’

  ‘Well …’ Doug got to his feet. ‘It was nice to – nearly – do business with you.’

  ‘Likewise.’

  ‘You know,’ Doug said, as he turned to leave. ‘A reputation for being inflexible is not a good thing.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ Claire said. ‘But a reputation for being honest is invaluable.’

  When he had left, Erin stared at her. ‘You’re going to let him walk away?’

  ‘Yes,’ Claire replied. ‘Either he’ll be back, because he knows the original deal we had was good for both of us, or he won’t. If he’s not then that’s fine. There are more clients out there, Erin. And you have to be able to trust the people you work with.’

  She could see on Erin’s face that she was impressed, and she wished Alfie was there to see it. If she had a complaint about him it was that he sometimes gave her the impression he thought she was soft, spoiled by a life of ease and luxury. She wasn’t; she’d built a career in an industry unrelated to the one her dad had been so successful in, and she was good at her job. Dedicated, knowledgeable, honest and with a hard edge when necessary. Ironically, she would have excelled in the rougher world of real estate and construction. She was her father’s daughter, but Alfie didn’t ever see that. Maybe she’d have a chance to show him one day.

  Claire’s phone buzzed. There was a message from Jodie.

  Got some news. Still on for a drink after work?

  Claire replied:

  Sounds intriguing. 6pm at Piccolino’s?

  So Jodie had news. It could have been any number of things – a promotion, a big lottery win, a decision to run a marathon – but if Claire had to bet, she’d have laid her money on it being something to do with a new man in her life.

  She picked up her phone and sent a message to Alfie.

  Out tonight after work with J. Won’t be late. Home by nine. Is that OK? Love you.

  The reply came immediately:

  Of course. Have fun. Love you too. A xxx

  Alfie

  Alfie read his wife’s text message. She was out tonight, leaving him home alone.

  It was great news. First, because he didn’t have to see her. He could do whatever he wanted; on another occasion he might have swiped on someone’s profile and arranged a meeting, but not at the moment, not while he was being careful. Tonight, he’d content himself with some porn.

  The ease of access to hardcore pornography was, as far as Alfie was concerned, the most welcome development of the internet age. As a kid, getting hold of porn was a struggle. You had to either steal it from under the hawk-like gaze of some newsagent, or get lucky and find it in the darker corners of some municipal park. Even then, it would be pretty tame compared to what was available now at the click of a mouse button. There was anything you could think of. Alfie’s favourite were the videos in which the woman was humiliated, picked up, used, and discarded on some roadside. He loved that stuff.

  And second, it was great news because it fitted exactly with his plan for her. She said she was out with Jodie, but he didn’t know that for sure. All he had to go on was her text message. The truth was she could have been anywhere.

  Maybe meeting someone she shouldn’t have been meeting to do something she shouldn’t have been doing.

  He took Henry Bryant’s phone from his desk drawer and opened the app. He found Claire’s profile and tapped on it.

  Hi. I know this is short notice but I’m going to be free tonight. If you happen to be around, we could meet up? Would love to see you in the flesh. Henry.

  He needed her laptop again. It was early to leave the office, but that didn’t matter. He stood up and headed for the door. As he reached it, he hesitated. Although he could put a stop to all this later on, now was the moment when it became real. From this point forward, it would take on a life of its own.

  No. He would not hesitate. Henry Bryant had not hesitated when he needed to deal with Pippa. He’d acted. That was the lesson Alfie had learned from him. When opportunities arose, you took them.

  And this was an opportunity. He opened the door, and smiled.

  An hour later he was at the desk in the bedroom, Claire’s laptop open.

  He typed a reply.

  I’m meeting a friend for a drink after work but will be available (just to say hi – not for anything else, unless you’re very lucky!) after 8. We could meet at The Standard in Battersea? Let me know. Cx

  It was a good message. Alfie was quite proud of it; precisely the right mix of flirtatiousness and primness. Very Claire.

  He hit send and sat back in his chair. The pieces were all moving, sliding silently into place, but the only person who had any idea was him.

  It was a thrilling feeling.

  It was a little after nine when he heard the door open. She came into the living room and sat next to him on the sofa. He kissed her – she tasted of wine – and watched her take off her shoes and rub her feet.

  ‘I’ll do that,’ he said. He took her feet and put them in his lap. ‘You relax.’

  ‘God no,’ she said. ‘My feet are disg
usting.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘I love your disgusting feet.’

  ‘OK. If you say so.’

  He started to massage the large muscle below her big toe. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes.

  ‘That feels amazing,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure. And … I get a great view.’

  She opened one eye and looked at him. ‘Are you looking up my skirt?’

  ‘Of course I am. Do you think I actually want your sweaty feet in my hands? There has to be something in it for me.’

  He ran a hand up her leg to her knee and parted her thighs.

  ‘Now I see,’ she said, her breath short. ‘And I thought you were just being a loving husband.’

  ‘I am being a loving husband,’ he said. ‘But not just a loving husband. Also a husband with an ulterior motive.’

  ‘I think I know what your motive is.’

  ‘Are you sure? Let me show you anyway.’

  Afterwards, they lay on the sofa. Claire had her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed.

  ‘So,’ Alfie said. ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘To Piccolino’s,’ Claire replied. ‘It was packed.’

  ‘How’s Jodie?’

  ‘She’s good. She has some news.’

  ‘Oh? Anything exciting?’

  ‘Fairly exciting. She has a boyfriend.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘A guy called Josh King. He’s a lawyer. She met him online and they’ve been on a few dates. She didn’t mention anything. You know Jodie, she keeps herself to herself– but it seems it’s more official now.’

  ‘Great. But a lawyer? Is she sure?’

  ‘They’re not all bad,’ Claire said. ‘She seems keen on him. You know, I think it’s so brave to go on a date with someone you met online. You don’t know anything about them – they could turn out to be a mass murderer. It’s not like us. We met by chance and I had the opportunity to weigh you up before we met alone.’

  ‘So you think. You could have weighed me up wrong. I could have had sinister plans for you.’