Bright Lies: A Chilling Psychological Thriller Page 5

  “I like it too. Dad took on Gran’s place, and I lived there until I was twenty-three. Then I met Benny and we moved in here.”

  It’s a shock to realise how young Jade is. I glance at Alicia, noting her sour expression.

  Jade pats her stomach. “Now we’re going to bring up the next generation in Sea Mills.”

  “A baby. How exciting,” Megan says, her face falling as she sees that Alicia looks miserable.

  “Can we read the books in the garden?” I ask.

  “Of course,” Jade says. “Take the biscuits too.”

  I pick up the cups and carry them to the sink. It’s instinctive; I’m so used to clearing up after myself at home.

  “Wait,” Jade says. “Don’t you want me to read the tea leaves?”

  “It’s just superstition,” Alicia sneers. “Why would my friends be interested? Anyway, Emily’s already washed three of them.”

  “I think this one’s mine.” I hand the remaining cup to Jade.

  She smiles, ignoring Alicia’s insult. I guess she’s used to it.

  “A moth or butterfly.” Jade stares at the cup for a while. “I’m not sure. A transformation might be about to happen, but it could mean a fickle lover, too.”

  Alicia huffs. “Emily doesn’t even have a boyfriend.” She snatches the plate of biscuits and heads for the door to the garden.

  We leave Jade inside, and sit on steamer chairs in front of the pond. It’s a sun trap, and I feel sleepy. I keep myself awake by finishing the biscuits, and getting up to pick the wild strawberries peeping up from cracks in the patio.

  Megan flicks through the local history books, snapping a few pages on her phone.

  “Jade seems nice,” I say.

  “She tries,” Alicia admits.

  “What’s your new school like?” Megan asks.

  “Shire? It’s okay, I s’pose. Matthew is all right.” Alicia grins.

  Megan nudges her. “You kept that quiet.”

  “It’s only been a week,” Alicia says. “He’s fifteen.”

  “That’s two years older than you,” Megan says.

  “Yeah. Boys our age are just so…”

  “Babyish?” I say.

  “Yeah.” Alicia sighs with satisfaction. “Want to see photos?”

  “If they’re not rude,” Megan teases her.

  “No worries. The day he sends dick pics, I’m dumping him.”

  She shows us images of a tall lad with sandy hair and a hint of a beard.

  “Mum would call that bumfluff,” Megan says.

  Alicia shrugs. “I like stroking it.”

  “Too much information,” Megan says, relenting to add, “He’s hot.”

  Alicia nods. “Maybe you’ll meet him some time. We’re going to a party later. I can ask if you can come too, if you want. He might fix you up with a friend?”

  “I’d like to, but we wouldn’t be allowed, would we, Emily?”

  “No. Mum said she wants me back by six. We’re going round to my Gran’s.”

  “How is she now?” Alicia asks.

  “Not great.” Gran struggles for breath most days. Her legs are swollen.

  Megan squeezes my hand. “Let’s talk about something else. Your mum’s wedding – that’s still on, isn’t it?”

  “When David comes back from Thailand. I hope it’s soon.”

  “Want to see a clip of my cousin’s kitten?” Alicia offers.

  We chat and listen to music for a couple of hours. Alicia prefers Justin Bieber, but she plays 1D too, just for Megan and me. On the way back to the station, Megan takes pictures of some of the houses.

  “That was fun,” she says, flinging herself into a double seat on the train.

  I sit across from her, facing backwards. Sea Mills slips away before my eyes. “Do you really think her boyfriend’s hot?” I ask.

  “Not your type?” she says mischievously.

  I shake my head.

  “You know Mark, in our class? He fancies you.”

  I splutter. “No way.”

  She looks sad. “I wish he liked me.”

  I stare out of the window, wondering what will happen when Megan and I have boyfriends. Whoever mine is, it won’t be Mark. Although I’ve hardly spoken to him for four years, he’s too familiar. I’ve known him since my first day at school.

  When I kiss a boy, I want him to set my pulse racing, to make me feel alive. Otherwise, what’s the point?

  The train emerges from the tunnel, picks up shoppers at Clifton Down, and rambles past big houses. It stops at Redland, then Montpelier.

  “Hey, daydreamer.” Megan points through the dust-streaked window. “Isn’t that your mum’s fiancé?”

  “What…where?” My brain isn’t in gear yet.

  “On the other platform.”

  “It can’t be. David’s in Thailand. He Skyped her from the beach this morning.”

  The man does look exactly like David, though, apart from his dark tan and blond beard – the sort that Megan dismissed as bumfluff earlier. He’s laughing and chatting with a couple of girls. They’re much shorter than him, about my height, but maybe they’re older: one of them is smoking a cigarette.

  Jealousy flares. I tell myself I’m crazy. It isn’t even David. If it was, Mum should be worried, not me.

  “It is him, isn’t it?” Megan says, and then, “Are you all right?”

  “It must be his double. David doesn’t have a biker jacket.” I haven’t seen him wear one, anyhow. It looks amazing on the man outside. I gawk at him, admiring his smile and imagining it directed at me.

  The carriage doors close. Megan kicks my foot. “Hurry up, Em,” she hisses. “We’ve got to move.”

  The train manager is advancing towards us.

  Chapter 10 August 2015 - Emily

  “Thanks, Sue,” Mum says to Mrs Harris. “You’ll behave yourself, won’t you, Emily?”

  “Of course.” I clutch my overnight bag as Mum embraces me. I’ve had sleepovers at Megan’s before, but this time it’s different. Mum won’t be in the next street, ready to bring anything I’ve forgotten. She’s being whisked to Babington House, a luxury hotel and spa, for her honeymoon night.

  “Hurry up, Rachel.” David is sitting in the rear of the white limousine that’s just driven us all from Bath Registry Office. He salutes me, grinning. “Be good, Princess. And if you can’t be good, be careful!”

  I stand next to Megan’s mum by the door of their house, which rambles next to and over the convenience store she runs with her husband. We both watch the limo speed away, until the Just Married sign and white balloons tied to the bumper are pinpricks in the distance.

  “Well,” she picks up my case and leads me into the lounge, “you’ve had a lot going on lately, haven’t you? Would you like to get changed before I fetch Megan? She’s serving in the shop.”

  “No thanks, Mrs Harris. I want Megan to see me like this.” I’m wearing the perfect prom dress – puff-sleeved, full-skirted and nipped in at the waist. It gives me a figure for a change and the cornflower blue matches my eyes. Mum and I chose it a year ago. Luckily, she was able to swap it for a larger size, as I’m at least five centimetres taller now.

  Mrs Harris smiles indulgently. “I know, you don’t get to be a bridesmaid every week. I’ll make us all a cuppa, then call Megan.” She sniffs. “Have you been drinking alcohol?”

  “Only champagne.” A bottle, ice bucket and glasses had magically appeared in the limousine.

  The smile has gone, but she says, “It is a special day, I suppose.”

  She vanishes to the kitchen to make tea. When she reappears, Megan is with her.

  “Awesome dress,” Megan says. “Your make-up’s great too.”

  “Want to try it? It’s all here.” I pat the overnight bag. David took me to MAC in Bath again.

  Megan glances at her mother. “Can I? Please? And do my hair like Emily’s?”

  My wavy blonde hair has been tonged into ringlets and set with half a can of hair
spray. I’m not sure we can achieve the same effect on Megan’s red frizz, and it seems Mrs Harris isn’t certain either.

  “Maybe we could straighten yours instead, Megan,” she suggests. “And how about glitter nails? You can try that too, Emily, if you like.”

  All I’ve had for the wedding is a French manicure, so I readily agree. After tea and home-made cherry cake, Megan and I head to her bedroom. We set up a make-up station and begin working on each other.

  “We could be twins,” Megan gasps, once I’ve carefully duplicated MAC’s makeover on her face.

  “Supermodel twins.”

  We both giggle, then Megan asks about Mum’s dress. I show her a picture on my phone.

  “I love your iPhone.”

  “I know. It was nice of David to buy it.” About to say I think he felt sorry for me when Gran died, I fall silent. A tear begins to form.

  Megan guesses. “Here, have a tissue. Are you thinking about your gran?”

  I sniff. “Yes.”

  “Bummer. Three months ago, now, isn’t it? She was old, though.”

  “Mum says sixty-eight isn’t that old.” I dab at my eyes with the tissue. The waterproof mascara stays in place. “We’re getting by. The wedding helped. It kept Mum busy. She didn’t want a big party, but it still needed organising.”

  “You look amazing. So did your mum, in that cream lace.”

  “She made her own bouquet to go with it. Lilies and roses. David said she was very clever, and the loveliest flower of all.” A twinge of envy surfaces.

  “What did he wear?”

  “A white tuxedo.” I swipe my phone again.

  “Very smart. You like him, don’t you?”

  “Yes, he’s really kind. He came straight back from Thailand for Gran’s funeral. I don’t know how Mum and I would have coped otherwise.”

  Megan hands me another tissue. “I remember. You were both crying on his shoulder. Come on, have a hug.”

  Sobbing, I let her hold me. I wish Gran had been here today. It would have been even better if she’d changed her mind about David.

  Perhaps it was just as well he was in Thailand for ages. It meant Mum could concentrate on Gran when her health took another turn for the worse. If he’d been back home, Mum would have felt torn between them.

  My tears dry and I pull away from Megan. “Can we listen to music?” I ask.

  “As long as it’s 1D.”

  Mrs Harris brings us a tray of cream buns that went out of date yesterday. “Save me from myself.” She pats her stomach. “You teenagers can eat what you like without putting on weight.”

  Megan, skinnier than a telegraph pole, takes three. “What’s for dinner?” she asks. “Lasagne?”

  “No. Salad, coleslaw and pasties.” There’s always plenty of food at Megan’s house, but often in unusual combinations. It depends what they haven’t been able to sell in the shop.

  “Can we watch Frozen afterwards?” It’s Megan’s favourite film. She’s played the DVD over and over again.

  Mrs Harris frowns. “Your dad wanted to see the football. I’ll tell him he’s watching it on his tablet in bed. As long as he’s got his beer, he’ll be happy.”

  Megan play-punches me as her mum’s footsteps echo down the stairs. “I get special treatment when you’re here.”

  We stretch out on her bed, admiring our glittery fingernails and licking cream off them.

  “I hope we’ll be friends forever,” Megan says.

  “We will be, Meg. Definitely.” I throw the words out lazily, without thinking.

  “Are you sure?” Megan’s eyes are wide. “You’re moving away and going to that posh school.”

  I’m alarmed now. It’s exciting to be starting at Marston Manor in September, a year after I expected, but why should it affect my bond with Megan? “I’ll ring you every day,” I promise. “BFFs, right?”

  Chapter 11 September 2015 – Emily

  “Well, that was painless,” Mum says, “apart from the bill.”

  Even that didn’t hit her pocket. David has given her a credit card. She’s used it for the first time at the specialist school supplies shop we’ve just visited in Bath. It’s the only place where you can buy Marston Manor’s uniform. Instead of the usual trip to Asda in Bedminster to buy the next size up, I’ve been measured and fitted for everything.

  “Shall I start on the labels?” I ask. We’re sitting in David’s kitchen, surrounded by bags. There are scores of garments: a coat, blazer, skirts, blouses, ties, gymslips, sports kit. Each needs a name tag sewn in.

  “There’s three days before school starts. Let’s have a cup of tea first and try some of my carrot cake.”

  Now she doesn’t work anymore, Mum is determined to be the perfect housewife. A vase of flowers decorates the kitchen’s dark wood table, one of the pieces David has imported from Thailand. The matching cupboards gleam with polish. I used to do half the housework in the cottage, to give her a break. Now, she doesn’t want me to touch a duster. I’ve never had so much free time.

  After barely two weeks, David’s house doesn’t seem like home yet. The white china teapot is one of his. We brought the mugs into which Mum pours the drinks, though. Decorated with the words, ‘Is it TEA you’re looking for?’, they bring a smile to my face.

  Mum cuts two slices of cake and slides a plate towards me. “Marks out of ten?”

  I bite off a chunk with creamy icing. “Ten, definitely.”

  She beams happily. “Feeling ready for Monday?”

  “A bit nervous.” I don’t want to admit I’m a gibbering wreck inside. It will be hard going to a school where I won’t know a soul. Megan is already back. She messaged me this morning to say Mark sends his love. Maybe I’ve taken them both for granted, but I miss them.

  “Dave’s suggested we give his new hot tub a go. Shall we do that once you’ve finished your tea? It might cheer you up.”

  “The sewing,” I say.

  “Plenty of time for that over the weekend, especially if we share it between us.”

  She dashes upstairs to fetch our swimsuits. When she returns, she cuts more cake. “I expect Dave would like some too,” she says, laying a tray for him. “Ready?”

  I follow her through the back door, across a cobbled courtyard to David’s den. It’s only my second visit to his private space. Since we moved in, he’s worked there in the office, but otherwise he’s been spending time with us.

  In a converted stable block, the den is cosier than the main house, which David treats as a showcase for his wares. He sells chunky wood furniture from Thailand. Last week, he had a visit from a big hotel company. Mum spent a whole day tidying and cleaning first. He’s promised her a new car if he wins the contract.

  Mum knocks on the door of his office, then opens it. “Surprise!” she says.

  David’s using his standing desk. He snaps his MacBook Air shut and sticks it in a drawer. Another laptop is still open, columns of figures arrayed on the screen. With the flick of a mouse, it powers down.

  “You brought cake. How did you read my mind?” He grins.

  “That’s not all. I’ve brought your swimming trunks. Catch.” She throws him a pair of pastel shorts covered in palm trees.

  He pulls a face. “Oh no, those old things. Emily’s going to think I’m desperately uncool.”

  “I don’t think so at all,” I protest, blushing.

  “You’re just being kind,” he teases, a glint in his eye. “Never mind, you won’t see my legs under the bubbles. Why don’t you girls go through and get changed, and I’ll get the tub ready.”

  We have to walk through David’s art studio, in the next room. Several easels are set up, but the canvases on them are covered with white sheets.

  “Can we take a peek?” I ask Mum.

  “No, ask Dave first.”

  She opens the door to the relaxation room. The hot tub is in the centre: a huge, circular whirlpool bath with steps up to it. Beyond, there’s fitness equipment, a small kitchenette
, shower room and WC.

  Mum and I squeeze into the shower room.

  “Want me to lock the door?” she asks.

  “No, David won’t come in, will he? He’ll know we’re here.”

  I stack jeans, T-shirt and underwear on top of my trainers. Mum has brought the plain black swimsuit I wore at school last year, rather than the new navy one specified by Marston Manor. She has a red designer bikini she bought for her honeymoon.

  We return to the tub to find David’s filled it with steaming water. He’s already in his trunks. His legs, arms and torso are muscular and tanned. When I have a boyfriend, this is what he should look like.

  David has left the cake on a folding table next to the tub. “How about a drink, Rachel? TGIF.”

  “What would you like? I’ll get my shoes and go back to the kitchen,” she offers.

  “No need. There’s champagne in the fridge here. We can celebrate the hotel contract.”

  “Did they give it to you? That’s marvellous.”

  “Not yet, but I’m hopeful.” He grins. “Don’t tell me you’re turning down champers?”

  “No, but don’t give any to Emily. She’s developing a taste for it.”

  “Mum!” Until she said that, I hadn’t even planned to ask for any.

  “Just a glass,” David says.

  I remember his mysterious paintings. Mum’s right: I should ask to see them. This would be the best time, before we’re dripping wet.

  “David, please could I see what you’re working on in your studio?”

  “Not a lot, is the answer. I’m enjoying married life too much.” He winks at Mum.

  Her eyes flick to the beamed ceiling.

  My disappointment must be super-obvious, because David relents.

  “I could show you a canvas that’s nearly finished…?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He flicks a switch, and the water starts to bubble. “Get in, girls. I’ll be back.”

  Mum and I exchange puzzled glances. She tiptoes up the steps, sits on the edge and slides in.

  “It’s lovely, Emily. Come on.”

  I walk up, dip a toe in. “It tickles,” I say, slipping in and sitting beside her. The water fizzes around me.

  “What do you think?” David is standing in the doorway, holding up a painting half his height. His eyes lock onto mine.