Bright Lies: A Chilling Psychological Thriller Read online

  “No problem.” I notice he’s listening to Oli’s old vinyl through his headphones. Even if he switched on speakers and shone a torch in my face, I would be dead to the world. Fatigue has hit me like a mallet.

  It’s a different story when I wake later, in blackness. The temperature has dropped now the little heater is no longer humming. Jack’s breathing, rhythmic and almost inaudible, is the only sound.

  Mum’s face, reddened with crying, floats into my mind. ‘Come back,’ she whispers, her words resounding only in my head rather than the quiet air of the tent.

  David stands behind her, a finger on his lips. ‘Don’t tell,’ the phantom David says. ‘It was all your fault, you little bitch. You know you wanted it.’

  I scream. This time, the noise breaks the silence.

  “What’s wrong, Emily?” Jack pads across the floor, crouching next to me. He smells of soap. When he tries to stroke my bald head, I wriggle away from him.

  “Sorry, Emily, I won’t do that again.” His voice is gentle. “It’s night terrors, isn’t it? My little sister and I used to get them. I had to comfort her.”

  I nod, and, realising he can’t see me in the dark, say, “Yes.”

  “It’s okay to cry. They’ll be gone in the morning.”

  Sobs overcome me, a lament for Mum, who is clearly worried sick.

  “It’ll be all right, you’ll see. You can sleep on the mattress with me, if you like. I’ve got a double duvet.”

  “Wouldn’t Cassie have something to say about that? She’s your girlfriend.” My initial gratitude hardens to cynicism.

  Jack sighs. “Cassie wouldn’t say she was mine, or anyone else’s, possession. A friend with benefits is the best description. And I literally meant ‘sleep’ – nothing more.”

  “I’d rather stay where I am,” I sniff, feeling like a moron. He was probably just being kind after all.

  “Want me to sit up with you for a while?”

  “No, I’ll be fine.” I don’t want to put him to more trouble. “Where’s your sister now?” I ask.

  There’s a sudden intake of breath. “She lives with my uncle and aunt. She doesn’t want to see me and nor do they.”

  My eyes moisten. As Ray Cross said, you can’t tell what sorrows someone carries.

  “It’s okay.” Jack’s voice is gentle. “They’d always wanted her, not me, but I came as part of the package. They’ll be nice to her.”

  “I’m sorry, Jack.”

  “Don’t be.” He stands up again. “Try to get some rest, Emily.”

  “I will,” I assure him, but the cushion beneath my head is damp by the time Penny nestles into me and I doze off again.

  Chapter 34 October 2016 - Emily

  Oli’s cheerfulness has vanished. “What’s this?” He speaks to Jack over my head.

  “Emily needed a look.” Jack parrots Cassie’s words. His girlfriend, or friend with benefits, isn’t here to take the flak.

  “Too extreme. I wanted a cloakroom girl, not a freak.” Oli scowls at me.

  Desperation overcomes dismay. “It all adds to their experience,” I say sweetly. “Anyway, shouldn’t I be cleaning up after the yoga ladies?”

  “Those crazy women!” Oli has a new target for his ire. “I told them no children allowed, but do they listen? One of them brought a baby along this morning. It puked everywhere.”

  Jack had said a quick vacuum was all the club needed after a yoga session, with perhaps five minutes to primp the ladies’ toilets. He catches my worried glance. “Do you need any carpet tiles replacing, Oli? I’ll sort it for you if you’ve got spares left.”

  “No worries, Jack, it’s just the dancefloor – she can mop it up.” Oli seems happier now he’s found an unpleasant task for me.

  “Then we could listen to a few mixes. I’ve been sampling your old vinyl.” Jack waves a USB stick.

  “Grand, let’s hear it. Emily, if a visitor shows up, come and fetch me.” Oli follows Jack to the small stage by the dancefloor, where a deck is set up. They both put on headphones. No wonder Oli won’t be able to hear the doorbell.

  It’s two hours before the club opens for Jack’s regular Friday residency, and an hour before staff trickle in to man the bar, tills and security. That’s plenty of time to scrub and polish the dancefloor, squirt bleach in the toilets and dry the basins. Jack has warned me that the Saturday shift will be worse. Remembering yesterday’s work, when it took three of us to prettify the club after a party, I’m not looking forward to it.

  Occasionally, I glance over at Jack and Oli. Oli is beaming, chatting with animation despite the headphones. He must approve of Jack’s mixes, whatever they are. No-one turns up to see him before the staff arrive, and I forget all about the visitor he’s expecting once Jodie briefs me on cloakroom duty.

  Jodie is Oli’s cousin, around Mum’s age: a petite redhead with an enormous bosom and a cynical expression. She works the till, in a locked cubbyhole with a safety glass window between her and the public. It’s apparently bulletproof. However casual he may seem, Oli is serious about protecting his money.

  The cloakroom, beyond the till, has no glass screen.

  “Stand on the other side of the counter,” Jodie instructs. “See that red button underneath? You press it if anyone threatens you. Gun, knife, physical abuse...”

  “Who would hear the buzzer?”

  “Good question,” Jodie says, her tone suggesting it isn’t. “There’s no sound. A sprinkler goes off above you. Both you and your attacker will be dowsed in water.”

  “Me too?”

  “Well, you won’t be tempted to press it for laughs then, will you?” Jodie tuts. “It doesn’t do the customers’ coats much good.”

  They’re supposed to be arrayed behind me on a hanger, shielded with a clear plastic cape over the lot. Jodie warns me the covering will have to be tucked to one side.

  “It’s a madhouse when they all come in together. You can’t keep them waiting too long, or they won’t tip you. Now look, for each one, you take their money first. It’s two pounds―”

  “That’s my tip?” I can’t believe my luck. Oli has promised me half, so I’ll make a fortune. In October, everyone will be wearing a coat.

  Jodie stares at me as if I’m braindead. “No, it’s the cloakroom charge. Three pounds if they pay by card. Have you used a machine before?”

  “No.” My voice is subdued as the expected riches vanish.

  “Where did Oli find you? Are you his latest squeeze? They get younger all the time.” She peers at me, curiously. “You’re not his usual type.”

  I redden. “I’m Jack’s friend,” I mumble. “What’s Oli’s type, anyway?”

  Jodie cackles. “Blondes, bab, what else? Gentlemen prefer blondes. I may dye my hair back, myself.” She preens her long ginger locks.

  “Jodie, there’s a guy for Oli.” Sam, one of the two doormen, hollers at her. There are a pair of bouncers, their height and bulk enhanced by their padded jackets.

  “Hang onto him for five minutes,” she yells back. “Oli’s busy.”

  There’s no evidence of that, but she’s determined to finish her task so she can go out for a smoke. She gives me a bumbag for the takings, shows me how to operate the card machine, and points to a sheet of paper, taped to the wall, that displays the prices. “Pins and tickets are under the counter,” she says. “Don’t forget, one half on the garment, and give the other to the customer. All set?”

  “What about tips?” Anxiety is building. Maybe there won’t be any.

  “It’s just money with you Millennials,” she grumbles, reaching over the counter and underneath it to retrieve an ashtray. “You want to stick a sign on it saying big tippers make the best lovers. With a heart. It always worked for me.”

  “You’ve done my job?” I should have guessed.

  “I’ve done them all. Can you see to Oli’s man?” She sweeps away without waiting for a reply.

  Sam is unimpressed. “Where have you been? You’ve got
nothing else to do.” He waves the visitor inside.

  I recognise the sandy hair and beard, and, to my surprise, the guitar case. Nobody has mentioned live music. “Hey, Ray.”

  Ray Cross stares at me quizzically. “Have we met? You’re not the lady who spent a night of passion with me in the green room last month, are you? That was the best time I gigged at the Bob’s. I got so wasted, they carried me out next morning.”

  Under the heavy foundation, my face must be bright red. “No, it wasn’t me. But everyone knows Ray and the Ravers.”

  Ray swaggers. “A legend in my lunchtime. What do you do for Oli, girlie?”

  “Cloakroom,” I admit, relieved he doesn’t remember me from Bristol. I so nearly gave myself away.

  “The hat check girl.” Ray says the old-fashioned phrase slowly. His tone turns brisk. “A pleasure to meet you, but I’ve got business to do. Can you take me to the boss?”

  I escort Ray to the dancefloor, guessing that Oli will be there. At night, the club looks different: dimly lit and cosy, the carpet’s stains blending into its pattern. Jack is standing at his decks, testing the lights. Rainbow colours pulsate across the room, followed by a strobed white beam. My head spins. With a sense of relief, I spot Oli at the bar.

  Oli seems pleased to see Ray and they disappear through a door behind the stage. It leads to a small lounge half-filled with junk. Everyone calls it ‘the green room’. Jack has pointed out it isn’t green and there’s very little room.

  Jack removes his headphones and steps down to the dancefloor. “Last we’ll see of them if they’re doing drugs together.”

  “Really? Doors open in fifteen minutes.” It seems the height of irresponsibility. “I thought they were talking about a gig.”

  “Among other things. Oli’s partial to nose candy.” Jack pats my shoulder. “It won’t get busy for hours. It’s crazy starting at nine when most clubbers don’t turn up until the pubs shut. I’ve told him, but will he listen to a mere dogsbody?”

  Jodie appears with two glasses of white wine. She hands one to me. “On the house. You’re too uptight.”

  I take a sip. It’s unpleasantly sharp, nothing like the pricy bottles in David’s wine fridge. Rather than risk Jack’s mockery by saying I prefer champagne, I swig the rest of the glass.

  Jack’s eyes narrow. “Don’t get her pissed, Jode.”

  “Do me a favour.” Jodie’s voice rings with contempt. “Oops, drink it quick.” The green room door is opening.

  Jack’s right. It’s slow to start with, even though tickets are half-price for the first hour. Bored waiting at the door, Sam slips inside for a chat. He explains that bar prices are extortionate, so most clubbers do pre-drinks first.

  “Not just drinks, either,” he says darkly. “If they’re not high when they get here, they are when they leave. I can’t stop them bringing pills, or getting some from Oli―”

  I gasp.

  “Don’t sound so shocked. When someone spends money at the club, Oli wants it to be with him. He won’t turn a blind eye if you get out of your head, though. Save it for after work.”

  “I’m not really into it.” It’s easier to lie than explain I can’t afford luxuries; I’m doing this job so that I can eat.

  “Really?” His expression is sceptical. “You’re a friend of Cassie’s, aren’t you? She does everything.”

  I shrug. Jack and Cassie are the closest thing I have to friends, I guess.

  “You can always play games on your phone until it’s busy,” Sam suggests.

  “I don’t have a phone.”

  He arches an eyebrow, then wanders back outside.

  Although the dancefloor is around the corner, drumbeats and spikes of coloured light spill out from it. The loud music makes conversation difficult. Most of the songs are familiar from Spotify, but I’m positive Jack amps up the rhythm. I tap my fingers on the counter when he plays Alan Walker. After making sure Jodie can’t see, I sing along softly.

  Just as I’m yawning and wishing I could go back to the tent for some sleep, the door opens to admit a surge of punters. They’re younger than the drinkers I saw in the pub. Jodie’s predictions are spot on. After five minutes, I’m struggling to process the stream of garments thrust in my direction, even though most girls don’t bring any outerwear at all. Their bare limbs goosepimpled, they teeter into the club on the kind of heels Mum would never buy me. If I had time to think about it, I’d be envious.

  The youthful crowd are impatient to hit the dancefloor and they’re not shy to say so. Cursing and breathing sour beer fumes over me, the line of grumpy lads seems to stretch without end.

  One of them pats my head as I take his coat. I yelp, jumping backwards and colliding with the coat rack.

  Sam is through the door and by my side in a flash.

  “Are you okay, Emily?” Sam glares at the sheepish-looking punter.

  I blush, catching my breath. “Sorry. I was startled.”

  “No worries. Call if you need me. Any trouble, I’ll sort it out. Swearing, even.” Sam looks meaningfully at the queue before returning to his post.

  Following his visit, the mutters of discontent are more muted. Finally, at around twenty past midnight, the rush subsides. I slump on a stool beside the counter, exhausted.

  Jodie sneaks past me to the door, cigarette and lighter in hand. “When clubbers leave, ask them if they’ve got coats,” she yells over her shoulder.

  Her advice is golden. I’m sure half the clothes would still be on the rack at the end of the evening without my quick reminder to punters trickling out of the club.

  Not all of them are honest. One man claims an expensive-looking leather jacket is his, but he’s lost his ticket. When I tell him he must wait until everyone else has collected their garments, he starts to swear. As he eyeballs me over the counter, I wonder whether to press the red button.

  Sam comes to the rescue again. “All’s quiet outside. Anything I can help with?”

  I explain.

  “Sorry, lost tickets are sorted out at closing time.” Sam towers over the youth.

  “But my taxi’s booked.”

  “Give us your details, and we’ll contact you,” Sam suggests.

  The punter’s eyes flick upwards, taking in Sam’s height. “Fine.”

  I find pen and paper under the counter. The lad scribbles something.

  “Write Armani leather jacket next to it,” Sam says. When the youth has left, he adds, “That’ll be a fake name and address. You did well.”

  I sigh. “It’s harder work than I thought. Do you think I could get more wine? Just to take the edge off it.”

  Sam shakes his head. “If you’re hoping for a freebie from the bar staff, you’re asking the wrong person. Try Jodie. They respond to her womanly charms.”

  Another clubber approaches the counter, coincidentally with the ticket for the Armani jacket.

  Sam winks. “See you later.”

  Usefully, tips accumulate, although they’re disappointingly modest. Nobody leaves more than twenty pence, however tipsy they are.

  Cassie arrives at one thirty, and is ushered inside without having to pay. She hands over a bruise-coloured parka jacket.

  “That’s two pounds, please.”

  Cassie’s eyes, shining in tempo to a stray strobe lamp, reflect her disgust. “No way. I’m on the VIP list.” She notices the ashtray, and plonks two fifty pence pieces in it. “Pay me back afterwards.”

  I watch her blend into the shadows as she sidles into the club, overdressed in grey dungarees and T-shirt, yet totally at home. I can believe Cassie doesn’t belong to Jack, but I wonder if he belongs to her.

  Once Jack has switched off the decks at three o’clock sharp, they stroll to my counter arm in arm.

  “We’ll help you,” Cassie says, although as usual, she means that Jack will. While he gets behind the counter with me and starts doling out coats, Cassie stands nearby chatting with Oli and Ray. Still, her ploy for upping the tips is successful. They
jump to fifty pence a time. It doesn’t do any harm when the customers notice Jack, either.

  “Good job, mate.”

  “Loved the last tune.”

  “Thanks.” Jack accepts their praise with humility.

  “That last song was one of my records, right?” Oli butts in.

  Jack grins. “You spotted it.”

  “That eighties dance music is the best. Especially the stuff out of Ireland.”

  Ray nudges Oli in the ribs. “The kids don’t want a lecture from you. They weren’t even born then.”

  “Can we talk business?” Cassie says.

  Ray glances at Oli. “Not now, when he’s overdone it again. I’ll do that Christmas party for you, girlie; send my agent a contract next week.”

  Jack looks up. “If you want to book the club again, Cass, give me your dates and I’ll check the diary with Ol tomorrow. Before he gets stoned.”

  Finally, lost tickets are found, the cloakroom rack empties and the last punter leaves. Jack persuades Jodie to pay me. Outside, only the rustle of litter in the breeze and our quiet footsteps disturb the empty streets as Jack, Cassie and I walk back home. Although I’m shivering under the thin cagoule, I can’t stop smiling. I have money in my pocket again and I’ve survived my first night at the Bob’s.

  Chapter 35 October 2016 - Emily

  “Want a puff, Emily?” Sitting next to Cassie on his mattress, Jack waves a spliff.

  I sit up on the cushions, blanket still draped around me, and shake my head. “No thanks.”

  “She’s trying to sleep,” Cassie says.

  “I don’t expect I will, though.” I’ve pushed myself way past my bedtime and become overtired. My mind buzzes around, with none of the thoughts making any sense. “Why did Ray bring his guitar?”

  “Who?” Jack’s face looks blank.

  “The old hippie.” Cassie takes the blunt from him. “He carries weed in it.”

  “Yeah, we’re smoking some.” Jack has caught on. “Part-payment from Oli for services rendered. Sure you don’t want any, Ems? It’ll help you drift off.”

  “Okay.” I throw off the blanket and stand up. After all, I won’t know if it works unless I try it.