Two Years After ; Friends Who Lie ; No More Secrets

by Paul J. Teague

  Author Notes

  I was originally going to write a completely different book from Friends Who Lie, then in December 2017 I went to Spain on holiday with my son, saw lots of great locations, and came back with a strong idea for a story which I couldn’t resist writing straightaway.

  Most of the action in Friends Who Lie takes place in Benidorm. Now, if you read any of my thrillers you will know already that I have a soft spot for Spain, particularly the area down the coast from Alicante, which includes Benidorm and Torrevieja.

  Benidorm is full of British pubs and eating places and the Brits have flocked there for years to enjoy the Spanish sunshine and the beautiful beaches.

  I tend to go out in the winter, it’s too busy and too hot for me in the summer. But even in the winter, when the resort is packed with retired people from all over the world, Benidorm is just a great place to be – there’s so much to see and do.

  This book is directly based upon my experiences during my visit, and if you head over to my website at https://paulteague.co.uk you will find a picture gallery showing some of the key locations featured in my story.

  I hesitated about making it bitcoin that Caitlen discovered on her computer, but I needed something that could create incredible wealth for her completely out of the blue. Essentially, I needed plot device which could drive a wedge through a group of friends and bitcoin seem to be a modern way of doing just that.

  At the time I went to Benidorm I had just got interested in cryptocurrencies and was learning about how they were kept safe and secure, but also how vulnerable they could be.

  I was wary of getting too bogged down in explaining what bitcoin is or where it is stored and how it’s protected. Hopefully I managed to convey the key points without turning it into a bitcoin user manual.

  I also think that you’re going to see cases quite like this in the future as people discover that they’ve bought and perhaps lost considerable amounts of money dealing in cryptocurrencies.

  I often feel when I’m writing my thrillers that these are as much books about relationships as they are tense whodunits. Caitlen’s relationship is pretty messed up, as are some of the other characters in the book.

  Most of them have something to hide, and that doesn’t necessarily make them bad people. As with most of the characters in my books, they’re just flawed in a very human way.

  With Matt and Harriet I was keen to explore the type of relationship that just won’t die, when two people are compelled to be with each other in spite of the world conspiring to pull them apart.

  In Caitlen’s case she’s just fallen into a relationship with the wrong guy and she can’t figure out how she’s going to escape and can’t face the drama of doing so.

  We’ve probably all known people like that at some time, and if you’ve been in situations similar to these the solution often seems so simple yet at the same time impossible.

  I do think there are many lessons to be learned from social media in terms of how people project themselves in public and what’s going on in their private lives.

  With Rhett and Naomi it really is a case of keeping up appearances. They’re in deep trouble. Rhett did something wrong but not unforgivable, and they are just trying to keep their heads above water. At the same time they’re incredibly embarrassed by the situation and don’t want anybody else to know about it.

  I wanted to make Gina a likeable character to come into Caitlen’s life, one who offered her the possibility of a different future. We’ve all been at stages in our lives where we’re not happy and sometimes daydreaming about change can be intoxicating to us. Gina represents that possibility of change in Caitlen’s life, the breath of fresh air that she so desperately craves.

  By the way, Gina also pops up in Two Years After where we encounter her just before she moves out to Spain.

  You’ll notice that I like to have a few little digs about things that I observe in everyday life and this time it’s people who smoke e-cigarettes who come off worse. Poor old Porter and his exploding cigarette! I know lots of people who vape and it surprises me in the UK that we haven’t been stricter about it. However, my books are not there to make political points, I just wanted to set Porter up for a scene which I hope made you laugh.

  The karaoke scenes are based upon my own experiences in Magaluf when I first tried my hand at it in a bar on the island. My wife and I were sitting next to a British couple and, although our partners were not the slightest bit interested in having a go, the other lady and I were keen to try our hand, so we performed a duet of ‘You’re The One That I Want’. I was terrible but she was great – getting up to perform a song with me gave her courage and she was away on her own after that. I think karaoke is a hilarious gift to mankind, and of course some people are excellent at it, but I wanted to bring that sense of fun to this book.

  The funny thing about this story is that the murder takes place on the first page and the resolution pretty well occurs on the last page. The rest of the book explores the pasts, the jealousies and the personalities of the people who may have committed the crime. I hope you get a sense of rising tension and throughout the story you’re trying to guess who it is who commits that foul murder at the Benidorm Cross.

  I’ve walked up to the Benidorm Cross on a hot day and it’s exactly as described in the book. The comment I made about somebody leaving the ashes of a loved one at the Cross are based on fact. There really was an urn filled with ashes placed next to the Cross when I visited.

  I hope that my love of the resort comes over clearly in this book. If you haven’t been there, you really should give it a try. If, like me, you prefer a quieter holiday I suggest you pop over during the winter months. However, if you like nightlife and quite a raucous environment, then summer is the best time for you to visit.

  If you’ve enjoyed reading my thrillers I would love to hear from you, and if you’ve got tales of Benidorm to share, then all the better!

  I send out an email to my readers every month with details of my latest books and what I’m up to as an author. I’d love you to sign up and then drop me a line in reply to my welcome email to let me know what you’re reading at the moment. Just head over to my website at https://paulteague.net/thrillers.

  I look forward to hearing from you very soon!

  Best wishes,

  Paul Teague

  No More Secrets

  Part I

  Spean Bridge, 1999 & London, 2017

  Prologue

  Fort William, July 1999

  Katy watched as the cottage burned. Elijah was in there, unable to escape from the wooden structure as it was engulfed in flames. The fire was ferocious in the wind, with huge flares sweeping across the garden, keeping the huddle of horrified onlookers at bay. The air was filled with the crackle of burning timber and the sobbing of the five friends, distraught at the thought of Elijah trapped inside.

  Driven back by the searing heat, they watched in terror, unable to think of any action that they could take to extinguish the inferno. They were forced to sit it out and wait until the horror ended. Elijah didn’t stand a chance. There was nothing to stop the flames once they’d started, and they consumed the building in less than half an hour.

  There were no phone boxes nearby. The cabin was nestled at the foot of a hill, surrounded by trees, and at the end of a long, winding track. Even if help could have been summoned, it would have been too late. They were too far away from the nearest town.

  It had seemed like such a good idea: two weeks in the Scottish Highlands, a log cabin in the middle of nowhere, and a car boot filled with booze. They’d finished their year one exams, they had a long summer ahead of them, and they were in love – young, idealistic love, their whole lives yet to live. They had nearly four months away from university and nothing to do with all that time.

  Five of them had piled into the car – it was a wonder there was any room for the clothes and toiletries. They didn’t care, all they could think of was two weeks of sleepin
g in, laughter and drinking. But it all turned to shit fast. The easy-come, easy-go bubble of university life quickly evaporated as the reality of living in a cabin with an erratic boiler and night-time visits from the local vermin set in. The laughter turned to bitching, the booze remained unopened in the fridge, and relationships became tense. What had seemed like too short a time to go on holiday soon turned into an eternity. Two weeks became a lifetime and plans to share a student house in the new term began to look hasty and ill-conceived.

  But it never should have come to this. They watched and wept as the wooden structure was transformed into a smoking, charred ruin. Elijah was in there somewhere. There would be nothing left of him, the flames were so fierce. The squabbles seemed so petty now. How had they let it get so out of hand?

  Eventually, in the darkness of the night time, the emergency services arrived, alerted by a farmer across the valley. He’d thought it was a woodland fire, started by careless campers. It turned out to be much worse.

  When the police got there, they found five shocked friends, standing and watching the scene before them, stunned at what had just happened. It would take them a long time to recover from what they’d seen.

  In spite of the tears, Elijah’s death was no freak accident, even though it would be sadly recorded as such by the Sheriff. There was a reason why Elijah hadn’t escaped to safety, even though he should have got away well before the flames took a grip. Nobody could understand why he hadn’t got out, but there was nothing to suggest anything but a tragic sequence of events.

  The repercussions of that day would be felt for many years to come. There was always a lingering doubt among the friends, a feeling that somebody could have helped him on that terrible day. Elijah’s death could have been avoided. But not everyone had told the truth.

  Chapter One

  London, 2017

  Katy woke with a start. It was the third time this had happened in a month. The police seemed useless in stopping it. She flinched as the doorbell rang persistently, abrupt and rude in the silence of the night.

  ‘Come out here and talk to me, you bitch!’ a man shouted, followed by a violent thumping at the door.

  Katy remained still in bed. It was as if he could see her through the walls. She’d changed the locks, and the windows were double-glazed and secure. There was no way he could get in, but fear gripped her entire body.

  Louis was a prick, a Class 1 prick. She’d left it far too long before she confronted the issue, probably because she knew that this is how it would end. Badly. There was no telling the man it was over. He was an arsehole. There was no way she was spending her life with him. She’d wasted enough of it with him already.

  At first he’d seemed charming, handsome and sexy. Louis was hot, there was no other way to say it. Yet again, she’d allowed her worst judgment to get the better of her. He was educated, a lawyer in the City, well-groomed and sharply dressed, and a man over whom other women drooled, but that didn’t stop him being a violent, jealous idiot.

  It took some time to reveal itself, as it usually does. They’d met in a bar, and Katy had been a little worse for wear. She and Emma had been out on the razz – short skirts, tits out, the lot. She knew it wasn’t clever, and that she was doing womankind a disservice, but sometimes a girl needs to get laid, and that’s how she’d felt that night.

  Louis showed more interest in Emma at first. His hand had been glued to her waist after he’d placed it there casually while they were all chatting and she hadn’t thought fit to remove it. But as they spoke, it became clear to everybody in the group that it was Louis and Katy who were sleeping together that night. Emma was out of the picture, she’d have to settle for his greasy mate or go home alone.

  Even as Louis was going down on her, Katy despised herself. How had it come to this? She was in her mid-thirties and still jumping into bed with idiots. She thought back to a conversation with her dad earlier that week.

  ‘When will I be seeing a grandchild?’ he had asked. ‘I won’t be around forever … especially now.’

  Probably never, she thought, as Louis worked his way back up to her lips. She could tell even then that he was a vain, superficial tosser, but he had all the right parts. She’d thought that well-toned stomachs like that were only photo-shopped onto models – she didn’t realise they could be for real.

  Screw it! she thought as his hand moved over to his wallet to pull out a condom. I’ll stop this soon. Soon I’ll find somebody like Elijah …

  She banished the thought to the back of her mind. It had been nineteen years ago and they were kids back then, but she’d never met somebody she loved as much as Elijah. Would they have made it? Perhaps they’d have got married and had a family. By now she could have been a frumpy old woman ravaged by the demands of motherhood. Who knew? They never got the chance to find out. And if her experiences of men since had been anything to go by, Elijah had been the only decent bloke in the entire world. All the others were wankers. At least the ones she’d met.

  She knew that she had to change this pattern of behaviour: unsuitable men, never relationship material, and always ending in tears. Was it her fault? Did she attract them? No, it was never her fault. No woman turns a guy into an aggressive idiot. That’s his choice. But she had to admit that she might be attracting them. Perhaps it was a signal she was giving out – guilt, perhaps, culpability even.

  Katy acquiesced as Louis began to deliver some accomplished moves below the sheets, her thoughts dispersing, encouraged by the bliss of a man who knew exactly what he was doing in bed. She shut that mental door and left her convictions safely on the other side.

  That had been three years ago. And now here he was hammering on the windows and leaving her a petrified wreck once again. She hated herself for it. She despised herself for sleeping with him in the first place. She’d known it was wrong and that it wouldn’t lead anywhere, but she’d done it anyway.

  The wonderful, regular sex and the initial over-attentiveness of Louis soon resulted in him moving in. That was when the bad behaviour started: the questions about who she’d been drinking with after work; the Spanish Inquisition whenever she stayed on in the office; the smell of perfume on his jacket when he arrived home late at night after an evening working on a case. Or so he claimed.

  She knew he was sleeping around. She saw that his behaviour was threatening towards her. He was controlling and spiteful. He hadn’t hit her – yet – so she convinced herself that it didn’t matter. It was psychological, not as bad as physical violence. That’s what she told herself. But she knew the drill. It started with mind games and it would end with violence. But when you’re caught up in it, it doesn’t happen all at once. It creeps up on you and you don’t see it coming. Then when you realise what’s happened, it’s too late. You’re stuck in there. It takes a monumental effort to begin the change. And Katy simply didn’t have the energy for the inevitable confrontation.

  Then he hit her. Sure as houses, it came. There was no bruise, not one that anybody would see beneath her clothes. She’d challenged him one night when they were all out together, accusing him of fancying Emma. After all, it had been Emma he’d been chatting up right at the beginning.

  Of course, he denied it. Katy was pretty sure that her best friend wouldn’t do something shitty like that, but she wasn’t imagining it, Louis was flirting with her. Emma wasn’t reciprocating, but Louis was provoking her, trying to get a rise. Well, he got it alright. Katy threw her drink over him in full view of their friends and stormed out. As she exited the bar, she heard him laughing it off. Some joke about it being her time of the month. Wanker.

  He followed her out, all smiles, the epitome of a concerned boyfriend. Then, when he’d caught up with her, he pulled her into a side alley.

  ‘You ever embarrass me like that again, you bitch, and I’ll break your fucking neck. Understand?’

  He had his hand around her throat, his face was right up to hers. He was furious, out of control.

  ‘Und
erstand?’ he shouted again.

  Katy nodded, tears in her eyes. She was trying to be strong, but it was terrifying. What could she do?

  His other hand slammed hard into her stomach, not in a fist, but with so much force that she doubled up and couldn’t stand straight for quite some time.

  ‘Now, let’s go home,’ Louis said, once she’d steadied herself. ‘Your tits look great in that dress. Let’s not put them to waste, eh?’

  At that moment she knew that it had to end. She couldn’t put it off any longer. There was no more kidding herself, no more explaining it away. She’d sensed this was coming and she should have ended it before it happened. She felt ashamed. She was an educated woman, for Christ’s sake. Someone like her shouldn’t end up being the victim of domestic violence.

  In her youth she’d scolded women on the TV countless times, shouting things like ‘Why don’t you just bloody leave him?’ and ‘I’d have been out of there ages ago!’

  Well, as she’d discovered, it wasn’t as simple as that. Louis was like a tick. He’d burrowed into her life and he wasn’t getting kicked out without a fight. Katy didn’t get it. If he hated her that much, and he really seemed to, why didn’t he go away and find some other woman to terrorise?

  This was the middle-class face of domestic violence, a sharply dressed lawyer and an accountant. They were affluent, outwardly successful, and to everybody looking in at the relationship, a modern couple who had everything going for them. But he was a shit and Katy had to get him out of her life. She was ashamed and humiliated by how far she’d let things run, but she’d sort it out first thing on Monday morning. She’d get the locks changed and she’d throw him out. It was her house – he was renting out his place still. It wasn’t as if they were engaged or married or anything like that. And thank God they hadn’t got kids.