Bright Lies: A Chilling Psychological Thriller Page 17

  Cassie pats the space beside her. She takes a drag as I sit down, and passes the joint to me. “Relax.”

  Dubiously, I hold it to my lips. The smell turns my stomach: sickly sweet and similar to the silage odours wafting over the fields near Bath. Ignoring my nausea, I breathe in, hard.

  The taste isn’t any better, nor am I prepared for the heat that catches my throat. Lucretia’s cigarette felt rough, but this is ten times worse. Coughing, I nearly drop the blunt.

  As Jack deftly removes it from my grasp, I round on him. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “Haven’t you smoked before?” He’s the picture of innocence.

  I pant, forcing fresh air into my lungs. Perhaps the weed is making me calmer. “Can I try again?”

  “Of course.” Jack draws on the oversized cigarette.

  I grit my teeth and wait for the spliff to do its circuit around the others before my second go. This time, I inhale slowly and don’t cough so much. “It’s all right,” I concede.

  “Play some music.” Cassie seems wide awake.

  “Yeah, sure.” Jack stands up and switches on his laptop. “What are you into, Emily?”

  I’m afraid my tastes will seem childish. He did play Alan Walker at the club, though. “Um, I think Alan Walker is good. And Liam Payne from One Direction.”

  “Payno? Yeah, he’s all right.” To my surprise, Jack takes my choices seriously.

  Cassie scowls. “I wanted to hear that last song again. What was it? You said it was one of Oli’s dinosaurs, but I actually liked it.”

  “Yeah, I EQd out the vocals and added some extra beats. Want to hear the original?”

  “Go on.” Cassie reaches out to take the joint, which is nearly at an end. She drops it onto a saucer. The paper vanishes to ash, leaving orange embers glowing.

  Jack hooks up his laptop to the record player. Sound bounces from its tinny speakers, the first time I’ve heard them used. He wore headphones earlier when we were alone together. “This is Auto Da Fe, an Irish electropop band. Oli’s second generation Irish. He’s got a few discs from the old country.”

  The singer’s ethereal tones soar and swoop through the tent. I stiffen as I hear her lyrics.

  “Yeah, the song is called Bad Experience. You can tell why I cut her out. Got to keep the clubbers in a happy mood.”

  “Emily’s freaked,” Cassie says. “Have you had a bad experience, Emily?”

  Where do I start, and do I even want to?

  Jack’s eyes flick across to mine. Before I can reply, he answers.

  “I have.”

  Chapter 36 October 2016 - Jack

  Jack has known Cassie for seventeen weeks. He didn’t set out to keep secrets from her, but the distant past is a book he keeps closed to protect his state of mind.

  Emily really doesn’t want to talk, though. Considering how he found her, at the mercy of strangers in an alley, it’s hardly surprising. Anger rises in him as he considers the sort of men who attack defenceless women.

  “It was nine years ago,” he says. “My little sister, my mum and I were all scared of our dad. When he’d had a drink, he was evil. He hospitalised Mum a couple of times.”

  Emily gulps.

  “Is it all right to carry on?” he asks.

  Emily nods. Her eyes are wide. He notices that they’re blue and pretty, but Cassie is woman enough for him.

  “Mum always lied. She’d say it was a road accident or she’d tripped on the stairs.”

  “She should have left.” Cassie sits up straight. She has the air of a cobra about to strike. His father would be in trouble if he were in the room right now.

  “She stayed for my sake and Katie’s. You’re right, it was a mistake, her biggest mistake. Apart from getting pregnant with me and marrying him in the first place.”

  Jack lets himself remember.

  “Jack! Where is everyone?” Four-year-old Katie stood at the top of the stairs. One hand held her teddy bear. With the other, she rubbed her eyes. They were swollen from crying.

  “I’m down here, Katie. Go back to sleep.”

  “But,” she sniffed, “Mummy and Daddy aren’t in their bedroom. I’m all alone up here, and I’m scared.”

  “Mummy and Daddy went out.” He heard his father’s snores echo in the parlour, giving the lie to half of his assertion at least.

  “I’m coming downstairs. I want to be with you, Jack.” She began to descend, almost tripping on the hem of her faded pink nightie. It had been cut down from one of their mother’s and was still too long.

  “Don’t.” He raced upstairs to her, scuttling sideways to keep an eye on the door. The glass had a lumpy pattern, so he couldn’t see clearly through it, but in dawn’s grey haze he would spot man shapes and blue lights. Once the ambulance was here, he must open the door. He prayed the medics would arrive before his father woke up.

  On the landing, he hugged his little sister. She snuggled into him, sleepily.

  “Don’t leave me by my own, Jack.” Her large eyes glimmered in what little radiance made it through the murky windows. The landing light no longer worked.

  There was nothing he could do but take Katie back to the bedroom they shared and tuck her into the bottom bunk. He stroked her brown curly hair until her eyes closed and her breath took on the soft rhythm of slumber.

  It was a miracle his sister hadn’t heard Daddy and Mummy arguing – or had she? Perhaps she’d ignored it, hoping it was a bad dream. Jack hadn’t. He was a big boy now he was ten, Mummy had said so, even though he was the smallest in his class, and he had to protect her. Daddy wasn’t impressed by that. He’d given Jack two black eyes to prove it.

  A loud rapping noise brought him to the top of the stairs again. There were sounds of movement, and curses, and his father staggered into the hall, opening the door a crack. “Whaddaya want?”

  Jack saw his opportunity, streaking down the steps, past the stumbling man with the brewery smell. He’d wriggled through the gap and out into the cold street before his father could stop him. “It’s my mum. She fell over and she didn’t get up.”

  Jack wants to cry now, but he doesn’t. He never has. It wouldn’t change anything. “She was dead,” he says.

  Cassie hugs him. Her limbs are as tense as his. “Don’t blame yourself, Jack. You were a kid. You couldn’t have done more.”

  Chapter 37 October 2016 - Emily

  Cassie stands by the desk, hugging Jack. “I didn’t know,” she says.

  “You couldn’t.” He doesn’t look at her, or me. His eyes are still focused on the past.

  I grip his hand, unable to think of another way to offer support. He could tell I didn’t want to talk about myself, I think, but his revelations are heavier than either Cassie or I expected. The smoky air is thick with misery.

  “I could use another joint,” Jack says. “Got any weed, Cass?”

  “No, but I’ve got pills. As many as you like.”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t do pills. You know that.” He catches my worried expression. “Don’t fret, Emily. I’m still standing, aren’t I?”

  “What happened next?”

  Jack shrugs. “Dad went to prison. My mum’s sister and her husband took us in. They didn’t have children, and she’d always wanted them. Well, a girl, anyway.”

  The pain of rejection shows on his face. I squeeze harder.

  “They were halfway across the country, in Bristol, but it was a new start. Except I kept getting into fights. We lived on a rough estate, so I had to look after myself, but I was too good at it. When I beat up a local councillor’s son, my uncle threw me out.”

  “I can’t believe you did that.” Cassie almost screams the words out, she’s so shocked. “You’re not violent.”

  I remember Jack’s steel in the face of my attackers. What did he say? ‘I never start fights, but I finish them.’

  “I’d done coke,” Jack says. “Some guy at the party gave it to me. We weren’t the best of mates, but somehow, he pers
uaded them not to involve the police.”

  “He wouldn’t want the pigs asking questions, would he? Not if you were doing drugs.” Cassie speaks to him as if he’s simple.

  “Yeah, I guess,” Jack admits. “I was just eighteen. What did I know?” He grimaces. “I couch-surfed for a bit after that. Helped out at festivals and found a tent. Picked up cash busking. Ended up in Brum.”

  “Where Oli found you singing Elvis songs on New Street.” Cassie smirks.

  “Why’s that so funny? It brought in some cash… Yeah, Oli got me to take part in a competition at the club.”

  “It’s not a regular club night,” Cassie says. “Oli opens the club up to anyone who pays his room hire. Then stings them on the drinks.”

  “It was a charity fundraiser. I came second and won twenty quid. Then Oli started giving me odd jobs, like you, Emily. One night, the DJ didn’t turn up. Oli was frantic. I’d done music tech at school, and I stepped in.” Jack’s calming down now.

  “Oli needs to get his branding right. Elvis!” Cassie laughs, but her green eyes, directed at me, issue a challenge.

  I’ve only got the faintest idea who Elvis Presley was, but sensing Cassie wants me to, I say, “Sing us some Elvis, Jack.”

  “I’m not a fan, if I’m honest,” Jack says.

  “Go on,” Cassie urges.

  He sighs, turns away from Cassie and taps at the laptop. “All right, if it’ll keep you quiet. I’ll find a karaoke track.

  “This is Heartbreak Hotel.” Guitar chords jangle from the speakers, then his rich voice fills the space.

  I haven’t heard the song before and I don’t even like it, but Jack sings it well and I clap my hands when he stops. Cassie does the same.

  “Enjoy my performance? It won a prize at the Bob’s.” Jack grins. His gloom is beginning to lift.

  Cassie brushes her lips against his neck. “Want to go to bed?”

  “That’s an offer, is it? You’re on.”

  Giggling, they fall onto the mattress together. I scuttle back to my cushions. Sleep still takes hours to come. When I’m not seeing a continual stream of coats in front of my eyes, I worry about Jack’s self-confessed violence. His father is a killer. Is Jack capable of murder too? At least, whatever I’ve learned, neither Cassie nor Jack know any more about me. I’ve kept my secrets, for now.

  Chapter 38 November 2016 - Emily

  Mild and foggy October has rolled into frosty November. The breeze that rattled through the red brick streets when I arrived has turned into a full-blown icy blast, whipping through my new winter coat.

  The grey furry cape isn’t brand new, of course. I can’t go on a spree as I would have done with David and his credit card. Cassie took me charity shopping. She drove me in her father’s Porsche to Harborne. It’s a rich area of Birmingham with a high street full of bargains.

  Once I’d stocked up on winter clothes, I bought her a reduced lipstick to say thank you. I chose a gold-coloured chain for Jack. If he wants to be DJ Jackdaw Jack, now’s his chance.

  I also found cheap art materials and a good-as-new fan heater in Harborne. They are my excuse to stay out of Jack’s way. Under the harsh fluorescent light outside the tent, I use my spare time to make sketches and daub canvas with oils. The dimly lit club is in my mind when I paint. My style has changed: lines are blurred and figures melt into shadows.

  When the crumbling walls close in too much, I walk in a tangled route through the cold streets outside. From tatty old Digbeth to the brash new Eastside, the busy Bullring and the pretty canals of Brindleyplace, I try to understand how my adopted city fits together.

  Sometimes, Jack goes out: to use the free wi-fi at the library, or to a gym under the railway arches. Then, my heart slows down, and I relax into relief at his absence. Since his revelations, I can’t help thinking I’ve jumped out of the frying pan into the fire.

  If he’s caught me looking at him oddly, he doesn’t show it. This morning, he’s taking me to the gym as a guest. Lumpy grey clouds sit low on the sky, spots of sleet catching my face as we near the Bobowlers. I shiver.

  “Never mind, Emily. Not far now. Looking forward to it?”

  “Am I? A hot shower, after weeks of boiling kettles to wash.” I couldn’t even freshen up at the club yesterday, because it was closed. Despite my worries, I beam up at him.

  Jack’s face crinkles into a smile. “It’s a treat for me, too. I love that shower and shave after a work-out.” He fingers his chin. “What do you reckon to Oli shaving off his whiskers?”

  “His Movember challenge? Suits him.” Rather than grow a moustache in November to raise funds for prostate cancer, Oli is spending a month clean-shaven. Weirdly, he looks much younger.

  “Talk of the devil.”

  A jet-black sports car glides to a halt beside the club. The passenger who jumps out is unmistakeable. Oli’s beard may have vanished, but his height, waxed brown hair and smart clothes mark him out.

  “Hey, Ol!” Jack waves.

  Oli turns and nods towards us. He unlocks the fuchsia-pink door, slamming it behind him.

  I have an odd sense of foreboding. Staring at the car, I realise I’ve seen it before. In fact, Cassie gave me a lift in it last week. Turning to Jack, I see the penny begin to drop.

  “It’s Cass’s Porsche.” He stares, as if he can’t quite believe it. The car’s engine hums into life again. Like a TV programme suddenly flicked from pause to play, Jack jumps towards it. He pulls at the driver’s door.

  The car stops again and the window winds down. Cassie’s scowling face appears. “What the hell. Are you trying to kill yourself, Jack?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “What does it look like? I gave Oli a lift to work.”

  He’s seething with fury. “How come you were together this morning?”

  “It’s none of your business.” Now the initial shock has passed, Cassie’s voice is calm and clear.

  “I think it is my business if you’re seeing someone else.”

  “You don’t own me, Jack.”

  I admire her for standing up to him, but knowing Jack’s potential for violence, I’m also concerned for her. What if he snaps and turns nasty?

  Helplessly, I watch Jack eyeballing his supposed friend with benefits. If only she would just step on the gas and drive home.

  Jack continues to glare at her. “Well, Cass?”

  “All right, if you really want to know. Yes, I slept with Oli and it was great. He lasted ten times longer than you.”

  “No!” Jack’s cry of outrage pierces the dullness of the street. “That’s only because he does so much coke.”

  “Who cares?” Cassie finally decides she’s had enough. With a roar, her car speeds away.

  Oli’s old enough to be her father. I’m still dumbfounded as I watch Jack pound his fists on the club door. If I were Oli, I wouldn’t open it. Our boss, however, is either very brave or doesn’t know Jack’s history.

  “Jack, what’s the matter?” Oli’s grin blazes.

  Dizziness washes over me and I gawp, convinced Jack is going to hit him. Oli won’t forgive him, and the extra custom Jack has brought to the Bobowlers won’t count. Jack will lose his job, and so will I. How will I survive without money? Oli might even find a way to have us evicted.

  Jack squares up to him without actually striking a blow. “You’ve been shagging my girlfriend.”

  Oli’s grin turns rueful. “I’m sorry, Jack. I thought you and Cassie were in an open relationship. You know how it is; women are always throwing themselves at me.”

  “Oh, it’s her fault?”

  “She said you were happy to share.” Oli’s hungry eyes alight on me. “How about the four of us get together some time? I’ve got a hot tub.”

  Memories of David, leering and touching me, buzz through my brain. Fog clouds my vision. Already giddy, I stumble.

  “Look out, Jack, she’s about to fall.”

  I sense Oli leaping past Jack, grasping my arm and b
ringing me back upright.

  “All right, bab?” Oli’s face radiates concern. He might be a sleazeball, but he’s not completely without decency.

  “She’s saying no, Oli.”

  “I get it. That haircut doesn’t do it for me, anyway. I like a girl who looks like a girl.”

  Oli releases me from his grip. I sway, but manage to stay upright.

  Jack glowers at Oli. “We’re going to the gym. I’ll see you later.”

  “Laters.” Our boss seems unruffled.

  Jack stalks away, leaving me to trail after him.

  “Jack…”

  “I don’t want to talk, Emily.”

  Struggling to keep pace with Jack, I shudder. The thought of David’s touch prickles my skin. I’m desperate for that shower now.

  We round the corner of yet another rundown street. The railway line is ahead, its dark brown brick embankment high above us. As well as the tunnel over the road, a row of arches has been cut into either side. I’ve seen the gym when I explored the area. Paint is peeling from the door and there’s litter outside, but its shabbiness doesn’t bother Jack. He’s told me it’s a cheap way to stay fit and clean.

  “I’ll sign you in, but then you’re to leave me alone, okay? Go back home when you’re done. Here’s the key.”

  My palm closes around the solid metal. It’s the first time I’ve been trusted to borrow it. I feel strangely flattered.

  Jack swipes a card for entry. There’s a reception desk facing us, manned by a thin-faced black youth. His grey cotton vest displays an amazingly toned upper body. Behind him, a room full of fitness machines is already busy.

  “Hey, Cam, how goes it? This is Emily, my guest today. Can you sort out an induction for her?”

  “Of course, Jack, I’ll do it myself. Just sign her in.” He hands Jack an exercise book and a pen.

  Jack scribbles our names in it, then disappears past a clump of treadmills without so much as looking back.

  “So, I’m Cameron.” The youth smiles. “Haven’t I seen you before, Emily? You work at the Bob’s, right?”

  “Yes.” Apart from one or two regulars, I would recognise few of the customers at the Bobowlers if I bumped into them in the street. They’re just hands thrusting coats and money in my direction, a constant flow like a conveyor belt in a factory.