Beautiful Liar: a gripping suspense thriller Page 6

  He had said he'd be returning to Bristol by train on Sunday, refusing to pay for parking and congestion charges all week. When he told me that, I rather thought he had his head screwed on. He seems like the kind of man to prepare for any eventuality. I hope if our relationship does reach the official status, he won't spend as much time away from me. I'm not sure I like the idea of being a part-time girlfriend.

  We arrive home later than I like. The sun is casting a low light over the street. The shadow of the flat darkens the overgrown grass in the front garden, as Rose clip-clops along the pavement behind me. I reach the foot of the path with my key in hand, and the sight in front of me stops me dead. Leaning against the front door is a large bouquet of bright red roses, with a small card attached to the gold leaf-patterned paper.

  I scoop them up, flipping over the tag to reveal the message.

  Some beautiful flowers for a beautiful woman. J.

  'Oh, that's sweet,' I say, unable to hide my joy.

  'I think he's smitten,' says Rose, winking.

  'I hope so.'

  'It's too early for love, but might something be blooming between you two?' Her expression deceives the nature of her question.

  I falter, not sure whether she's asking me because she genuinely wants to know if I feel the same way about him, as he obviously does for me, or if she detects something in Joel, I've not perceived myself. After all, there seems to be a hidden agenda to every word she speaks regarding him.

  'Are you jealous?'

  I don't mean for my words to come out so abruptly, but it's hard for me to keep hold of my temper. Since we entered that café earlier, Rose seems to have distanced herself from me, and I want to know why.

  'Of course not. I just think maybe the flowers and the sun have got to your head a little. Look, I don't mean to patronize you, it's just, well, when does a man send flowers?'

  'When he wants to appear romantic.'

  The slip of my tongue damages my credibility even more, because, at that precise moment, Rose suggests something I hadn't been expecting, which only makes my voice quiver more.

  'Appearances can be deceptive, Erica.'

  'What is that supposed to mean?'

  'Men only buy flowers, bottles of wine, and boxes of chocolate when they're feeling guilty.'

  'You're talking from experience, I presume?'

  'Erica, think about it. You've been on two dates. You don't know anything about him.' Rose twists the knife into my chest further.

  'Neither do you.'

  She drops her shoulders, and raises her hands in resignation.

  I turn to open the door, inhaling the sweet-smelling flowers, as I make my way into the kitchen to find a vase. I hear the click of the front door behind me, as Rose crosses the hall toward where I stand. I want to tell her she's wrong, but the words leave my lips before I can take them back.

  'What could Joel possibly be feeling guilty about? We've only known each other for six days.'

  'Exactly. For all you know, he could be living in London, with his wife and kids.'

  JOEL

  The third day of court is complete shambles. The prosecution has run out of excuses for lengthening the case a further day. We're sent home just before 3:00pm, as the sky begins to turn grey. A heavy downpour sends dirt from the street, spraying up over my newly polished brogues, and along the hem of my trousers. When I reach the hotel, I'm more than a little pissed off.

  I had hoped to take a shower and dress into a clean shirt, making my way downstairs to order something to eat from the adequate restaurant I passed, as I snaked my way toward the lobby. However, I've accidentally left my mobile phone on after speaking to Roger, my partner at the firm, and Erica calls.

  'Hey, beautiful.'

  'Joel! I didn't think you'd answer.'

  'I know. I've left court late and exhausted all week. I haven't remembered to turn my phone back on, but I'm so glad to hear from you. Did you like the flowers I sent?'

  'They're lovely. Thank you.'

  'You seem a little quiet, what's the matter?'

  'Oh, I suppose, I miss you. I can't help it. I really do.'

  'I miss you, too. What have you been doing, while I've been away?'

  'Rose and I did a spot of shopping today, and I've been mentoring a team of executives in a leadership development programme at work.'

  'Sounds like fun?' I can't keep the humour from my voice.

  I notice the line has gone quiet.

  'Erica?'

  'I'm still here.'

  'It looks like the case will be over by tomorrow morning, so if I can file my notes through by 5:00pm, I might be able to catch a late train back.'

  'I'd love to see you Friday. That will make my weekend.'

  'That's settled then.'

  We say our goodbyes. I place the phone onto the bedside cabinet, not forgetting to switch it off. I lay back against the headboard, with an array of pillows and cushions behind me, the laptop flipped open on my thighs.

  I'm not really sure what I'm looking for, or how I've ended up on a social networking site I've disliked from the time it began, but I find myself drawn to Facebook, searching for Erica's profile.

  The photograph she uses is rather provocative. She smiles at the camera, her hair hanging down past her shoulders. The vest top she wears offers the hint of a cleavage. But, it isn't this I find seductive. It's the look she wears in her eyes, as if she is daring the viewer of the picture to do something.

  I scan the page for hints of drunken nights out, or lurid conversations between friends, but can't find anything, other than a few public posts relating to work matters between Erica and Karen, who I met at her place of work the day I gave Erica my number. The discussion is boring, and of no interest to me.

  I click on to her photo album, but there are only a handful of pictures, devoted mainly to Rose. Each offering the viewer a further glimpse of her sat at a different bar, in a more inebriated state than the last. By the end of the album, she looks like a drunken clown, with more makeup smeared around the glass she holds in her hand, than on her face.

  Erica must be the one taking the photographs, and has therefore not drunk too much, because the camera angle is always spot-on, and actually flatters her friend's oversized nose and careless demeanour. I knew it the moment I met her, but these photographs only illuminate the fact Erica is a good girl—nothing like Rose.

  When I close down the tab, I find myself drawn to visit the website I've only been able to dare myself to gaze at before now. I have skimmed over the pictures and read the descriptions, never moving beyond that. It's one of those unwholesome websites, where women undress and feign orgasm for paying men. The idea I could find it arousing is ludicrous, even to me, but for some reason, it has provided a comfort for the past year or so. The fact the pay-per-view site enables me to fantasise about the things I don't have the time, nor the inclination, to act out excites me.

  In all honesty, since Jessica went, I've been troubled by the fact I'm veering into my mid-thirties, and still haven't found the one woman I wish to spend the rest of my life with. At least I hadn't—until now.

  I don't feel guilty about it. It's only natural for a man to want the company of a female on the occasional lonely night, especially if his girlfriend is a hundred miles away, and hasn't slept with him yet. Not that I want to push her, but I wouldn't be human if I didn't think about it. I wouldn't be normal if I didn't imagine undressing Erica slowly, lying her down on the bed, and making love to her, caressing every inch of her naked body.

  I want our first time to be memorable. I want her to feel so at ease with me she allows me to do whatever I want with her. I want her to replay the moment our bodies melt into each other, as she lies awake at night, thinking about me, as I do her.

  I unclothe myself, and shift beneath the covers, drifting into a deep sleep, punctuated by dreams of Erica, standing in the grounds of the Ashton Court estate, with her back to me. I hold out my hand to touch her, only to be met
with a stony silence. Each time I bring my hand out to touch her, she moves further away from me. I call out her name, but she doesn't hear me. As she nears the wall at the far end of the gravel path, the figure of another man steps out from behind it, takes her hand, faces me, and smiles.

  I awake some time before dawn, unable to fall back to sleep, angry and afraid I've lost her, and she's fallen in love with somebody else. Though I know it's only a dream, I can't shake the feeling it might be a premonition.

  I haul myself up from the bed, and dress quickly, before switching on my phone, and shifting through the contacts list until I find her number, calling her, despite the fact it's early. I have to speak to her. I need to hear her voice.

  'Who is this?' she says, sleepily.

  'Joel.'

  'Joel, sorry, you woke me. Is everything okay?' she says.

  I hear her lift herself up from the bed, the sound of the mattress shifting reminds me of sex.

  'I had to hear your voice.'

  'Oh.'

  'What's the matter? You seem distracted.'

  'It's not that. I just didn't sleep well last night.'

  'Neither did I.'

  'Joel?'

  'I know it's early.'

  'You're sweet, but, I'm so tired,' she says, yawning for effect.

  'I'll call you later. I just wanted to tell you I can't get you out of my mind.'

  'I think I'm falling for you already,' she says, laughing.

  I'm not sure whether to take her laughter as nervousness, or a sincere snipe at my adoration of her. Right now, I don't care what she thinks. I have to tell her how I feel, if only to confirm my dream of her unfaithfulness isn't some kind of prophecy for things to come.

  'I've definitely fallen for you, Erica. I can't wait to see you.'

  After ending the call, I put the phone down, pull my shoes on, and leave the hotel room, following the hall toward the lift. I'm thinking of breakfast when I enter the restaurant, which I find shrouded in darkness. The curtains are pulled taut against the windows, and the slight gap between them shows the sky still wears the hue of night-time; a warning I should retreat back to bed.

  When I realise how early it still is, I'm not expecting anyone else to be awake, and certainly not any of the waitressing staff to be stacking chairs beneath tables beside the self-serve kiosk.

  A slim, relatively attractive brunette, with a slight tan, wearing faded black half-cut jeans and a light blue T-shirt creeps about almost silently in the far corner of the restaurant. She stops what she's doing, and looks over to where I'm standing, when she feels my sight gaze the back of her neck.

  She looks startled, and with a worried voice, says, 'We're not open until 7:00am.'

  'That's okay, I'll come back. I couldn't sleep.'

  'Is there something wrong with your room?' she says, unable to disguise the anxiety creeping into her voice.

  'Not at all. I think it's the change of atmosphere. That's all.'

  'Right.' She seems unsure what to make of my choice of words.

  'I'm not used to sleeping anywhere but my own bed.' I hope my explanation is enough to quell her nerves.

  Even in the dimly lit room, I can see the beauty in her face.

  'I'd better get on with this.' She motions to the duties I've distracted her from.

  'Can I give you a hand? Once I'm awake, I like to have something to do. If I spend another moment in that room, I shall go insane.'

  She smiles, and stifles a giggle. 'I'm not permitted to allow you to work. Health and safety is very stringent these days.'

  'Perhaps I could keep you company?'

  'Well—'

  'I don't bite.'

  Not unless you want me to, I think.

  'Okay, but you'd better keep out of my way. I have a tendency to clumsiness this early. Ask my husband.'

  I'm sure she adds this in to make certain I know where I stand with her, but she's got nothing to worry about, because the images in my head are enough to keep my mind busy.

  She comes toward me, and grabs a cloth from the table I'm leaning in front of, and spritzes lemon disinfectant onto the wood.

  I walk around the table, sliding back the chair she forgot to place beneath the table, when I interrupted her.

  She looks up at me, as I edge closer to take the cloth from her hand. I stretch behind her to begin wiping the surface of the table, my arm grazing hers. For a moment, I can sense the anticipation in the air between us. She thought I was going to kiss her. But, it's not kissing I have in mind. Not that she has any idea what is going on inside my head right now.

  'I can't let you do that.' She gestures to the table I've begun to clean.

  'Who's going to stop me?'

  ERICA

  Rose is hurrying about, collecting up the last remnants of her existence in the flat. She tidies away a cup and plate, then turns, with tears in her eyes, as she leaves the kitchen.

  'I'm going to miss you.'

  I halt her movements at the door, and envelop her in a hug from behind. I am unable to hold the tears back any longer, not wanting to give her the idea I won't be able to cope without her. 'This doesn't seem real. I thought we'd still be living together in a nursing home.'

  'Don't,' she says. 'I feel awful.' She releases my arms from her neck, and heads toward the living room.

  'You shouldn't.'

  'But, I do. I've left you to find another flatmate. I'll pay up to the end of the month. Give you a bit of breathing space. I know it won't be easy once I'm gone, but . . . what?'

  'I love you.'

  'I love you, too. Soul sisters. Remember that.' Rose grabs her summer coat from the back of the armchair.

  'I'll call you tonight. See how you've settled in.'

  As I watch Rose leave the flat, I cannot help but hope it doesn't work out with Jared, and for some reason, she has to come back. And then, I feel awful for thinking such a selfish thing.

  I close the door behind her, and breathe in the stale afternoon air. The place looks almost empty now. She might be a messy person to live with, but I know I'm going to be lonely without her.

  I drift into the living room, and dial Joel's number, but his phone hasn't been switched back on, since he told me he was going to be arriving sooner than he'd thought. On Friday, he had said. I haven't heard from him since his phone call yesterday morning.

  I'm a little lost, having booked the afternoon off work, hoping to spend time with Joel. I decide to head onto Gloucester Road for a look around the shops, something I'd usually be doing with Rose, but will have to get used to doing on my own, now she's living with Jared. I simper around the flat, until I can't put it off any longer. I'll have to pick up something to eat for tonight while I'm out.

  The sun is bright, and if it isn’t for my thoughts, I may actually enjoy it. Sadly, I can't seem to imagine what tonight, and every other night, will now be like—alone, in a half-filled flat, without Rose's annoying little habits and our endless conversations over meaningless babble to fill the evening. At least I'll have Joel to annoy.

  I pass the pub on the corner, and reach the top of the hill where Muller Road meets Gloucester Road North, when I see a familiar car shoot through the amber lights heading down the hill toward the shops. I've never been very good with number plates, and probably wouldn't have recognised Joel's car, if it wasn't for the small window sticker at the back, which I remember seeing when he picked me up for our second date.

  Either he hasn't seen me, or doesn't recognise me, because the dark-haired driver continues down Gloucester Road, as if he's being chased, his eyes fixed firmly on the road. Maybe he's just got back from London, and he's heading home to catch some shut-eye. Not that I know where he lives. He was rather vague about that when I asked him. In fact, he's told me very little about himself since we met. I vow to discover who Joel is, and what makes him tick, if only to reassure myself he isn't hiding anything.

  It was Rose's suggestion he was married which set me off. The only reason I'm second-gu
essing him is because of her insecurities, having been let down far too many times by men, including Jared. But, I can't help wondering if there is some truth in her words. Is Joel holding something back from me?

  I look up at the sky, as if something above me will hear my inner monologue, and answer the question. The clouds are bunched up together, overlapping, soaking up the last of the afternoon sun.

  As I follow the pavement down past the church on Pigsty Hill, making my way down Gloucester Road, my thoughts drift in and out of the present, always seeming to return to Joel. His smile. The way his eyes light up. His perfect appearance. Maybe some of his charisma will rub off on me, I think, as I keep my eyes to the ground, trying to concentrate on my footfall. But, I'm obviously not paying attention to what's going on around me, because I hit something, well, someone. For a moment, I look up, about to apologise. Then, I see his dark eyes, and he smiles.

  'I thought I saw you.'

  Joel doesn't answer me, at first. He just takes my shoulders in his hands, and presses himself against me. I can smell his expensive aftershave, and feel the warmth of his skin beneath his pale lime-green shirt.

  He steps back, planting a kiss on my forehead. 'I missed you.'

  'You, too.'

  'Let's go, and find something to eat.'

  'Actually, I've already eaten.'

  'I thought I'd treat you to lunch.'

  'But, you didn't tell me, Joel. I haven't heard from you since yesterday.'

  'Do you have other plans?'

  Do I detect slight annoyance in his voice? 'I've got to get some shopping.'

  'Suit yourself.' He walks away, without as much as a backward glance in my direction.

  'Wait, what's going on?' I run up, and tap him on the back.

  'I want to spend some time with you, that's all.'

  'Let's have a light lunch, then?'