Bright Lies: A Chilling Psychological Thriller Page 21

  “He’s banned Cassie from the club.” Sam looms over the cloakroom counter, clutching a cheeky pint. Half an hour since opening, there are still no punters.

  “They’re not friends, then.” Sometimes, it does no harm to state the obvious.

  “My guess is that he owes her money.”

  “I wouldn’t dare rip Cassie off.”

  “Nor me,” Sam admits. “She was round earlier, asking to see Jack, but I couldn’t let her in.”

  “Asking for Jack?” Alarm bells are sounding. Why wouldn’t she just visit the flat? She must want to speak to him alone, and the club gives her that opportunity, as Oli sticks a mop in my hand if he thinks I have nothing to do. However much I rely on Cassie to sell my art, I’ll have to make it clear to her that Jack is mine now. She can’t have him back just because it suits her.

  “Everyone wants a piece of him, don’t they? The latest sensation.”

  “I suppose.” Perhaps Cassie’s interest in Jack is strictly business. Oli is being super-nice to him now he’s realised Jack can attract a crowd.

  “Jack told me Vimal Korpal may pop round tonight.” Sam is clearly excited.

  “Yeah, I remember now. I’m supposed to tell Jack when Vimal arrives. Who is he?”

  Sam laughs. “You’re definitely not local, are you? He’s a Brummie journalist. Has his finger on the pulse. He wouldn’t have been seen dead at the Bob’s before Jack came on the scene.” His eyes flick to the door, and he swigs the rest of his beer. “Better go. We’ve got customers.”

  After the initial lull, the club gets surprisingly busy. Ray Cross scuttles past and I can’t even spare five seconds to wave to him. I check in twenty coats without drawing breath, and am reaching automatically for the next one when I realise its owner hasn’t removed it.

  “I’m told you’ll get Jack for me?” The young man grins boyishly, dark eyes glowing under two thick black brows. His brown skin contrasts with my own paleness.

  “You’re Vimal?”

  “The very same.”

  I holler to Sam. “Can you or Ben mind the cloakroom for five minutes, please?” To Vimal, I say, “I’ll take your coat, if you like. No charge.”

  Vimal laughs. “No worries. I’ll keep it on, as I don’t plan to stay long. Besides, I just bought it today, so I’ve got to wear it in.” It’s a black Crombie style and looks expensive: cashmere, perhaps. I’m becoming quite the expert on outerwear.

  Sam comes racing from the doorway, almost tripping over half a dozen customers who have arrived since I began talking to Vimal. “You stop here, Emily; the cloakroom’s an important job. I’ll take Mr Korpal to the decks.”

  He leads Vimal away. I giggle to myself as I overhear Sam saying, “That’s Jack’s girlfriend. She’s a talented artist, you know. Just like he creates music, she creates images, but she’s filling in here.”

  “Her face is familiar,” Vimal says, cutting my laughter short. “Does she do much online?”

  There’s no time to chew over his words or catch up with Vimal when he leaves forty minutes later, though. A steady stream of punters arrive until it’s past midnight. Eventually, the club is full, and the doormen turn people away. My heart leaps at the realisation that this is Jack’s doing. He’s making the big time at last.

  Jack, too, is on a high once he’s played his final song. “I’ve got great news,” he whispers, as he helps me dole out coats to departing punters. “Speak later.”

  I’m exhausted, but intrigued. “Out with it, Jack.”

  “Vimal’s offered to help get investment for my temperance bar.”

  “Awesome.” I throw my arms around him. Hugging, we both jump up and down with excitement.

  “Vimal recommends crowdfunding. He’s got good contacts, so he can really make it work.”

  “What about Oli? He won’t be pleased if you set up in competition, and we need him to give us a reference.” I turn worried eyes to him.

  Jack shakes his head. “Oli shouldn’t mind. I’ll still work for him for at least a year, and once we’re operational, I’ll be aiming for a different kind of clubber to him. Young people who don’t drink or do drugs, for a start. He might even invest in my business. I bet some of his regulars will.”

  “We’ll have to open a bottle of Pepsi to celebrate.”

  We say goodbye to Sam and walk hand in hand to the printworks. Now I know we’ll be moving out soon, it no longer seems so grim.

  Jack unlocks the door and switches the light on. His eyes narrow. “What’s in that carrier bag you’re holding?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “Is it alcohol?”

  “No, just something I’m looking after for Oli.”

  “Like, what sort of something?”

  “Um, maybe thirty wraps. And some weed.”

  His face pales. “No way are you using my place to store gear for Oli. Do you understand what that means? It’s an automatic prison sentence for both of us if you’re caught.”

  “I didn’t know. I was just trying to help him out.”

  “Take them back to the club now,” he hisses.

  “I can’t,” I lie. “I saw him leave.”

  “Do I know you at all, Emily?” Jack steps back and stares at me. “What else are you and Oli hiding from me?”

  “Nothing,” I say desperately. “I’ll sort it out with Oli tomorrow. Promise.”

  “Do that.” His voice is cold.

  “We’ll still get a flat together, won’t we?”

  “We’ll talk about it in the morning.” Jack turns on his heel and climbs the ladder. He reappears with the half-full bottle of vodka left over from Christmas.

  “What are you doing?” My voice is almost a screech. I try to fling my arms around him and stop him leaving.

  Jack slips from my grasp. “I’m going out,” he says. Within seconds, the door has slammed behind him.

  Chapter 48 January 2017 - Jack

  Jack wanders through the dark, silent streets. He stops, stares at the vodka bottle, sets it down and picks it up again. While desiring oblivion, he’s afraid of what might happen first.

  He walks away from the city centre, finding himself outside a telecoms shop on Deritend High Street. The decorative red brick terrace was built when the English Midlands were the workshop of the world. Now it’s crumbling at the edges. A shabby black-painted door leads to the flats above. He is supposed to view one with Emily tomorrow, or should that be later today? It’s already Friday morning, although it will be several hours before the sun wheezes over the winter horizon. Until then, frost sparkles orange in the streetlights.

  He won’t rent that flat. Without Emily, he can stay in a cheaper, smaller place. A studio is sufficient for his needs. He tells himself he doesn’t care what Emily does. It’s a lie. He cares about Emily a great deal.

  At last, Jack unscrews the cap and takes a swig. The neat spirit burns his throat. He hadn’t expected that. Spluttering, he tries again, hoping to be rendered senseless and slumped in a gutter.

  It hasn’t worked yet. He still feels stone-cold sober.

  Can he believe a word she’s told him? He wants to, but most likely, she’s exactly what she first appeared to be. When they met, he was convinced she was a kid with a coke habit, on the run from dealers. Addicts are polished liars: they have to be.

  His phone rings. Jack removes it from his pocket, sees it’s a call from Cassie, and swipes the red button. Who cares what she wants right now? He doesn’t need the hassle.

  A moth beats its wings against the lit screen. Jack blows gently at it, sending it tumbling away on the cold air, and replaces the phone in his pocket. The club is well-named, for bobowlers are creatures of the night, seeking light and excitement. Emily has always reminded him of one: fragile, yet a survivor. Cassie is a lioness, predatory in her pursuit of money and pleasure. Then there are the meaningless one-night stands, colourful hummingbirds sipping nectar. Since Jack started DJing, clubbers like Georgia have thrown themselves at him. They’ve t
aken him back to their trendy flats. He’d rather lie on a mattress in Digbeth with Emily.

  A police car screams past.

  Instinctively, Jack hides in a doorway. When it’s gone, he turns about, legs on autopilot to the club. Walking past it, he marches through the Bullring and into the old streets in the heart of the city. He ends up on a bench by St Philip’s Cathedral, in the green space they call Pigeon Park.

  The pigeons are asleep, the nearby office windows dark. Figures are slumped on other benches, and Jack feels a camaraderie with the dispossessed as he forces himself to drink. It should be too cold to sleep now, but he has his parka, and the vodka anaesthetises him. Those around him have already self-medicated into slumber.

  His eyes close. Dreams torture, soothe and puzzle his troubled brain for hours. Gradually, light creeps behind the eyelids. He rubs them, his head fuzzy and pulsing with pain.

  There’s a sour morning-after taste in his mouth, but a delicious aroma is tantalising him. “Don’t want breakfast, Emily,” he mumbles through a furry, swollen tongue.

  He remembers.

  “Emily?”

  Jack’s eyes snap open. He sits bolt upright, sending another wave of agony crashing through his temples.

  “I’m Sofia.” At first, he thinks it’s a schoolgirl standing in front of him. She’s a pretty little thing with brown skin and long black hair. Then he realises she’s wearing a business suit and killer heels.

  “Egg McMuffin?” she offers, dangling a McDonald’s bag at eye level.

  Confused, he looks around. The other bench-sleepers are tucking in.

  “I’m not like them,” he mutters, wincing at the pity in her eyes.

  “I know,” she says, soothingly, “but breakfast will do you good.”

  “Come on Sof, we’ve got a meeting to go to.” Her companion is a tall man with a ginger buzzcut and smart overcoat.

  Jack gives in and accepts the food he doesn’t really want. Suddenly, his stomach is rumbling. As he takes the first bite, he hears Ginger Man complaining to Sofia that she’s too soft.

  His phone jangles into life, reigniting the headache. He fumbles for it and sees it’s Cassie. Will she ever leave him alone? He swipes green this time; he’d better get it over with.

  “Yes?” he says, voice muffled by crumbs.

  “Jack? It’s a bad line. Listen, I’ve been trying to get you all night. You have to stay away from Emily. Get out of that slum now, and leave her there.”

  He stares at the phone in disbelief.

  “Cass, you’re making no sense.”

  “She’s only fifteen, Jack. She’s run away from home. The police are on their way now.”

  Emily had lied about her age, then. If Cassie’s right, he should have listened to his instincts.

  “How do you know?”

  “I phoned them. Her picture was all over the local news. I’m surprised you didn’t see it.”

  Since when has he had a TV? “You sent the feds round. Did you know she’s keeping drugs there for Oli? We’re both going down.”

  He cuts the call and jumps to his feet. Can he get there before the police and flush the drugs down the toilet? Oli will be furious, but it’s the least worst option: the club owner will have to stand the loss. Defying the hammer pounding inside his forehead, Jack starts to run.

  Chapter 49 January 2017 – Emily

  Downstairs, the door crashes open. I brush sleep from my eyes. “Jack?”

  There’s no answer. Stray rays of white light creep under the curtains. Slow footsteps sound on the ladder.

  The curtain lifts and a flashlight blinds me.

  “What the hell have you done to yourself?”

  David is here. It’s the moment I’ve feared since I left Bath.

  Sitting up and pulling the duvet around myself, I shrink away from him.

  I feel his fingers on my bare scalp. Screaming, I fumble for the lamp and switch it on.

  David is kneeling on the mattress, lips curled in a sneer. “That’s not the warm welcome I expected.”

  He sticks his phone back in his pocket. “This place stinks of weed and looks like the set of a horror film. I heard you were shacked up with someone. Couldn’t you do any better?”

  Panic takes over. My heart racing, I stare at him, wishing Jack was here. After last night, will Jack ever come back?

  “Lost for words? Get dressed, Princess. I’m bringing you home.”

  “No.” I edge away, intending to roll off the other side of the mattress and out of the tent.

  David is too quick. He grasps my hand and pulls me towards him.

  I struggle against his tight grip. “This is my home now. You can’t make me come with you.”

  “Can’t I?” With his free hand, he slaps my face. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Which do you want?”

  I cower, afraid to look at his cold eyes.

  “Do you understand? Don’t think you can just up and leave me like that. Defy me again and I’ll have you killed, and your mum too. We may part company one day, but it will be my choice, not yours.”

  His gaze rests on the curve of breasts under my nightie. “I’ve missed you.” He yanks me closer, into his embrace. Bringing his lips to mine, he pushes his tongue into my mouth.

  I squirm at his touch. He misunderstands and triumph shines in his eyes.

  “I knew you’d miss me too,” he murmurs. He looks regretfully at the mattress, then releases me. “Better hit the road. We’ll kiss and make up properly later.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “Money talks, Princess. Your mum insisted I offer a reward. Good call, wasn’t it? The police wouldn’t let me do it officially, but I put feelers out. I know people. That musician was quick to tell me everything.”

  “What musician?” I fight back tears. Jack regards himself as a music-maker, so was it him? Has he sold me to David?

  “You can’t guess? I’ll give you a clue: the raver on the bus.”

  No wonder Ray Cross dashed past last night without a word.

  “Can I pack, please?” I ask.

  “Just get your clothes on. We can buy you more things once we’re home.”

  Still sleepy, I grab jeans, jumper and underwear. This feels like a nightmare, but I know I won’t wake up from it. David will have my body later. Biting my lip, I resolve that whatever he does, he’ll never get inside my mind again.

  David fondles my scalp. “Have you got a hat? Rachel’s in for a shock.”

  I flash him a sharp glance.

  He puts a finger to his lips. “No, she doesn’t know about us, and you’ll keep it that way, won’t you? Unless you want me to kill you both.”

  I nod.

  “Good. We’re all going on a lovely holiday to Thailand. Me and my golden girls, relaxing together. We’ll play happy families.”

  Chapter 50 January 2017 - Jack

  There are no squad cars outside the printworks, and Jack’s hopes rise. He pauses at the front of the building, hands to the wall, panting for breath. After sprinting for a mile without a break, he has a stitch. Gathering his last reserves of energy, he limps to the door.

  It’s ajar. Senses on high alert now, he creeps inside.

  The fluorescent tubes cast their merciless glare over the dust. On the mezzanine, the curtain parts. Two figures stand at the top of the ladder.

  Jack reels. He doesn’t trust his eyes. It’s Emily, of course, but can that be Andy with her?

  Andy had a beard, but this man does not. The resemblance must be a trick of the light: no more.

  “Jack. My old mate.” Andy’s voice, with its heavy undercurrent of irony, is unforgettable.

  Jack peers up at him. “Are the police here?”

  “Police?” Andy frowns. “No. Why?”

  “They’re on their way. Emily, where are the drugs?”

  “Hide your weed, mate,” Andy jeers.

  “It’s more than weed. Emily, where are they?”

  Andy loses his cool.
“What are you mixed up in, you little bitch? Pretending to be so pure, and you were seeing him behind my back, all the time. You followed him here from Bristol, didn’t you?”

  “Don’t talk to her like that.” Jack realises he’s yelling.

  Andy shoves Emily towards the ladder, so she almost trips down it. “We’re getting out of here. Hurry up.”

  She looks shellshocked, but she descends quickly. “How do you know David?” she asks Jack.

  At last, Jack understands. Whatever this man’s real name, his nature is plain enough. When Emily spoke of seduction, rape and violence, she wasn’t lying. “You don’t have to go with that bastard. Tell the police. But get rid of the gear first.”

  Andy has followed her. He places a proprietorial arm on Emily’s shoulder.

  “Time to leave. You want to see your mum, don’t you, and go to Thailand? Look, I’ll forget about your little mistake.” Andy waves his free arm around the vast room, towards Jack. “Come back and I won’t mention it again, I promise.”

  “Okay.”

  Her voice is dull. She doesn’t look in Jack’s direction, but he sees tears in her eyes. It breaks him up. A memory tugs at him, then, of Andy talking about Thailand.

  ‘You can get rid of anyone you want.’ That’s what he’d said, wasn’t it?

  What does Andy have in mind for Emily?

  Jack tells himself he’s panicking for nothing. Then he notices her tears again. He recalls the vodka on Christmas Day. He recalls the limp and the bruises. He recalls Emily, asleep under a pile of cardboard, backpack at her side and attackers closing in. What darkness makes a fifteen-year-old girl run away to that?

  Glaring at Andy, he allows his fury to boil.

  Andy finally grasps that Jack poses a threat. Dropping his hand from Emily’s shoulder, he squares up for a fight.

  “Run, Emily. As far as you can,” Jack shouts, adding, “and destroy the drugs!”

  Knowing he doesn’t have the element of surprise, Jack runs straight towards Andy, swerving to the side as his opponent steps forward in defence. Spinning through ninety degrees, he smashes a fist into Andy’s face, feeling the cheekbone shatter.