Beautiful Liar: a gripping suspense thriller Page 7

  I walk alongside him, continuing down the road. He takes my hand in his, and draws me closer so our hips are touching. He leads us past Sainsbury's and the little pub on the corner, until we are standing outside the old swimming baths, which are being converted into flats.

  We use the pedestrian crossing, and Joel leads me through a set of dark chocolate doors into a small café that smells of grilled cheese and makes my mouth water, despite my full stomach. I've only ever eaten in here once, with Rose.

  Joel strides straight up to the woman behind the counter, and orders us both a salad and a latte. I follow the sunlight through the back doors, finding us a table in the little garden shaded by a canopy of wood so the sun can't penetrate through it, and burn you while you eat. The shade causes the garden to appear dark and romantic.

  As I'm adjusting myself in the wooden chair, Joel appears at my side, carrying a tray in his hands.

  I move my chair back quickly so he can place the tray on to the table, but swipe the corner of it with my hand, sending one of the glass cups smashing onto the concrete ground.

  'I'm so sorry.'

  'You shouldn't rush about.' He shakes his head.

  'It was an accident.'

  'I'm not getting you another one,' he says. 'You'll have to buy your own.'

  I'm sure Joel is joking, but my cheeks burn when I notice the woman sitting alone in one corner of the garden, knowing she might have heard.

  'Okay.' I know he's not being serious, when one corner of his lips rise, leaving a flicker of a smile to appear on his face for just a few seconds, but long enough for me to know he's trying to be humorous.

  Joel takes the seat opposite me, making my cheeks burn further when I realise he meant it. He really has no intention of going up to the counter to order me another latte.

  'Hadn't you better pick that glass up?' He unravels the fork from his napkin, ready to begin eating.

  I'm stunned into silence, unable to find the words to reply. Even if I could, I wouldn't know what to say. Why is he enjoying humiliating me this way?

  As I'm asking myself this question, the waitress appears in front of us, with two plates containing a garden salad, with couscous, some olives, and sun-drenched tomatoes.

  I allow Joel to take his plate from the woman first, before she slips mine down onto the table in front of me. My hands mechanically reach for the edge of the table, as I try to ground myself, whilst feeling as though I'm not completely attached to my skin.

  'Can I have something to pick that up with?' I ask her, pointing to the pretty glass smashed into three pieces covering the concrete beneath the table. The frothy cream of the coffee has begun to soak through the ground, leaving a trail of mess where my feet are pressed together twitching.

  'Of course,' says the waitress, turning to disappear back inside the building.

  Joel looks me in the eyes, lifts up his glass from the table, and takes a sip of his latte, licking his lips, as if watching for my reaction.

  'It's good.' He places the glass back down onto the table, folding the napkin in half, and dabbing it along his mouth.

  The waitress appears with a cloth and a bottle of spray, bending down to clear the glass away with a set of thick plastic tweezers.

  'Let me,' I say, my eyes fixed on Joel, my movements automatic.

  I take the cloth from her hand, and begin to wipe away the mess, which soaks through the cloth in seconds.

  'There was no need,' she says, thanking me, and taking the cloth from my unsteady hand, before retreating back inside the café.

  'I would have offered to help her. You didn't need to embarrass me like that.'

  'So you should have. You spilt it.'

  'Joel, I—'

  'Later,' he says, silencing me with dismissal. 'Let's eat.'

  I'm too annoyed and humiliated to eat now. Even though my stomach growls, it's doing somersaults. What possessed him to embarrass me that way?

  The rest of the meal is a blur, though I do manage to force the food into my mouth, not tasting it. Perhaps he notices I haven't really been myself. Since Rose walked out of the door this morning, I've not been able to keep my eyes on the world around me. If I wasn't so consumed with thoughts of Rose, and of what she said about Joel potentially hiding something from me, I never would have walked into Joel in the first place, and I wouldn't have knocked that stupid glass over.

  Not wanting to continue the rest of our unplanned date, with the air thickening between us as each minute passes, I take Joel's hand in mine, just as he's about to take one last mouthful of his food, holding the fork in front of his face.

  'What is it, Joel? What's going on?'

  'Nothing, but there's obviously something going on with you. You look miles away.'

  'I guess my mind’s all over the place today. Rose said something, and I can't seem to get it out of my head.'

  'What did she say?' he says, swallowing his final forkful of couscous.

  'She thinks you're married.'

  He laughs. 'What do you think, Erica? Do you believe your friend’s preposterous lies?'

  'She's not a liar. She cares about me, that's all. She thinks it's weird you disappear all week, turn your phone off. And—'

  'You knew I was going to London. I told you about the case.'

  'You said you'd call me.'

  'Something came up. I have a lot of responsibility, you know; I can't just take off when it suits me.'

  Is he taking a jibe at the fact I've taken the day off work to say goodbye to my best friend?

  'I know how important your work is—'

  'Do you, really?'

  'Of course, I do. Please don't patronize me, Joel.'

  I sit back in my chair, seething at his words, not able to comprehend what has caused this fracture in our otherwise perfect romance.

  'You're upset about Rose leaving the flat, and moving in with Jared. Your mind isn't focussed on what is going on around you, and you've missed me, but instead of voicing your feelings, you push me away, and act hostile.'

  He's right. I'm being an idiot. I'm acting defensive, and I should know hostility breeds contempt. I have got to be honest with him. I have to tell him how I'm feeling, if I want to make this work.

  'I guess you're right.'

  'I know you, Erica.' He rests his hand on mine. 'And I forgive you for knocking over the glass.'

  I'm not sure why I'm being forgiven when I haven't actually done, or said, anything wrong, but I don't reply to his obviously well-chosen words. We're okay, and that's all that matters.

  'What will you do now?' he says. 'You can't possibly afford to live in that flat alone.'

  'The rent is paid up until the end of the month, but I will have to start advertising for a lodger soon.'

  'Why?' he says. 'I mean, why don't you move in with me?'

  My gaze has fallen onto a couple sat behind us, sipping tea, reading newspapers, and ignoring each other over the silent table. I've been thinking they must have been married so long they've run out of things to say to one another, when I'm snapped out of my thoughts.

  'Why don't you move in with me?'

  He must see how surprised I am, because he continues, before I have the chance to reply.

  'You don't have to make a decision now, but it makes sense, doesn't it?'

  'I don't know what to say. I'm flattered, but—'

  'Think about it.' He shuts down the conversation, before I can explain my reason for not wanting to move in with him so soon.

  I shake my head.

  'You can't have decided already,' he says.

  'We've known each other barely two weeks, Joel. It's too soon. I'm not ready for that kind of commitment.'

  'You see, this is the reason you're now living alone.'

  'What?'

  'What I mean is, Rose has moved on with her life. Isn't it time you thought about your own future? Don't you think you deserve to be happy, too?'

  'Of course, I do, it's just . . . I don't even know where you
live.' I am unable to hold back my concerns any longer.

  'We'll talk about it later.' He stands up from the table, dismissing my worries again.

  I follow him out of the garden, and through the café, back out onto the street. I look up and down the road, wondering why relationships can't be easier, then thinking it must be me. Maybe I pick the difficult ones. Matt was difficult. But, Joel, I think, looking up at him, as he takes my hand in his, and leads me along the pavement, isn't unkind. If anything, he's only proven to me he has a problem with untidiness.

  Though he did ask me to move in with him a little soon, I can see the reasoning behind his idea. It makes sense. I'll be spending less money helping Joel out on his mortgage than paying rent on the flat. If only we were in a long-term relationship, and hadn't met less than a fortnight ago, I'd probably have said yes. But, I feel as though we're moving too quickly already.

  As we reach the spot where, only an hour ago, I walked into Joel, he stops to glance through the window of a new modern art shop that's just opened up beside Billy Jean. He's standing in front of the window, evidently not aware my eyes are following his to where they fall on a woman, who is leaning over a summer dress, attempting to apply it to the mannequin in the window. Her office skirt is tight against her slightly tanned legs, resting snugly against her skin, below a crisp white shirt. She wears black stiletto heeled shoes, smiling to herself, oblivious to Joel's attention.

  I don't really know what to say, and am in the kind of mood which could end in one of two ways: I lose it with Joel, or walk away, never to set eyes on him again. He must sense the decision I'm trying to make, because he says, 'She looks awful in that skirt. Don't you think?'

  I wait until he turns his gaze away from the woman he's been leering at for almost a minute, and nod my head to agree, not sure what else to do.

  'I can't move in with you, Joel. I'm not ready.'

  'Fine, that's your choice. But, you do realise it could have saved you a lot of money.'

  'I know, and I appreciate how much you've thought about this, but it's too soon. We're only just getting to know each other.'

  'You want to know anything, ask away. But, please, don't discuss it with Rose.'

  'I wouldn't—'

  'You did.'

  He's right. I allowed Rose to ply her own insecurities into my head, twisting her words around, making myself believe Joel had a secret family.

  He tugs on my arm, pulling me gently toward him, placing his hand on the crook of my neck, so I have no choice but to look up into his chestnut eyes.

  'You're the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on, and I'm not going to let you out of my sight. So, let's make a deal.'

  'What kind of deal?' I say, unable to hide the anger, which still causes my heart to pound at the very thought of Joel seeing me as weak now I've forgiven him.

  His hand lowers to rest on my shoulder, and he tightens his grip. I can feel the pressure of his fingers sinking down into the bones of my shoulder.

  'You've got almost one month before you need to find a flatmate, correct?'

  I nod.

  'If you don't find anyone, will you consider moving in with me?'

  'There are always students looking for somewhere to lodge.'

  Joel removes his hand from my shoulder, and steps back, clearly wounded.

  'One month,' he repeats, as if he hasn't heard my previous answer.

  'Okay. Deal.'

  'You mean it?'

  'I said yes, didn't I?'

  'Great,' he says, visibly pleased with himself.

  It isn't until we turn into the little side street, where Joel has parked his car, I remember seeing him shooting off down the road earlier.

  'Where were you going in such a rush before?'

  'What do you mean?' he asks, holding out his key fob, and opening the door with a click of the button.

  'I saw you driving down past the ATS garage. You were going so fast, you almost didn't make it through the amber lights.’

  'It must have been someone else.'

  'But, it was your car. I remember seeing the sticker you have in the back window.'

  'There must be hundreds of cars in Bristol with the same sticker, not least of all thousands in the country. I assure you, my car has been parked here since 12:00pm,' he says.

  I nod my head, not sure why I'm agreeing with him, positive it was his car I saw and not, as he seems to be suggesting, someone else's. Though what possible reason he could have for lying, I cannot say. I decide to ignore the butterflies leaping around in my stomach, and slip on to the passenger seat.

  'I'll drop you straight home, if you don't mind. I've still got some paperwork to file on the court case.'

  'Okay.' I try not to show my disappointment.

  'I'll see you Monday?' he says.

  'I'm working until 5:00pm, but I could see you Friday evening. I get to finish an hour early.'

  'I'll see what I can do.'

  He closes the car door, and fires up the engine. His movements are hurried, and his expression is still, as though he's closed himself off from emotion since our disagreement in the café. The journey is silent, and I don't notice that we've made it home, until the car parks up on the kerb outside my flat.

  'I'll call you tomorrow,' he says, turning in his seat.

  I stare into his eyes for a moment, and watch as they warm again.

  'I'll look forward to it.'

  He takes my hand in his, and brings it up to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss on my wrist.

  'I'm very fond of you,' he says, in his oddly formal way.

  I can't think of anything to say, so I don't bother to say anything.

  'I care for you, Erica. I only want what is best for you. I can't imagine how lonely and dark that little flat is going to feel without your friend there for company. That's why I really hope you don't find another lodger.'

  That’s a strange thing to say, I think, as I open up the car door, ready to say goodbye.

  He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

  Am I getting paranoid?

  I decide I must be, and angle forward to kiss his cheek, before stepping out of the car.

  'I'll speak to you tomorrow.' He leans over the handbrake to close the door behind me.

  I walk around the front of the car, and head toward the open gate, but as I pass, his hand comes out of the open window, halting my exit. I can feel his warm palm through the thin fabric of my top. His touch sends shivers down my spine.

  'You mean a lot to me, Erica.'

  I spin around.

  I spin around. 'I know. You mean something to me, too.'

  'I hope so,' he says, starting the engine.

  I watch as the car pulls away from the kerb, and disappears past the hedgerows of next door’s gorse bush.

  I make my way down the path toward the front door. I really must start on the garden, before I begin to advertise for lodgers. The nettles entwining themselves around overgrown honeysuckle running along the bushes swipe at me as I pass them. I open the door, step inside, and feel the chill in the air hit me, as I close the door to the sun behind me.

  I realise what Joel meant as I enter the flat. It doesn't just feel empty, but cold and dark, now Rose is gone. Which is all the more reason for me to start looking for someone to take over her room.

  JOEL

  I reduce my speed, as I turn the corner of Keys Avenue, taking the side roads to avoid the traffic. My thoughts are jagged; I'm tired and looking forward to returning home to a warm bed and a glass of whisky.

  It's been an exhausting day, travelling back from London, and then having bumped into Erica, who I'm sure would have preferred her own company, if it wasn't for me walking straight into her. She wasn't looking where she was going, and I could tell her mind was elsewhere. Even as we sat at the table in the garden café, her thoughts kept wandering back to something else, or, as I suspected, someone else.

  I'm not sure what kind of hold Rose has over her, or if Erica
just can't bear to live alone, but I feel like she needs a helping hand to see the benefits of us moving in together. After all, we're not young and naïve—well, at least I'm not. It's the natural order of things, to show our commitment to each other. Unless Erica doesn't see us that way. Perhaps I'm wasting my time. Maybe she doesn't feel as strongly toward me as I do her.

  I'm never sure what Erica is thinking, but I'm taking note of her little quirks. The way she looks down at her foot, endlessly tapping the floor when she's nervous. She says she has ADD, and I can't help but agree with her. She does seem to lack the ability to think before she speaks, and her movements aren't fluid but hurried. She doesn't take my hand when I offer it for her to hold, but snaps it up. Something else I've noticed about Erica is she's unable to hold my gaze for very long. That's probably why I struggle to read her thoughts; why we keep missing the hidden agendas behind one another's expression.

  She's as impulsive as I. I thought this would mean she'd take up any, and every, opportunity as it arises, but, now, I'm not so sure. I am certain her experiences with Rose have left her feeling insecure. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have thought twice about moving in with me.

  Once back in my sanctuary, I head straight for the kitchen diner, remembering how difficult it was to ensure the designer kept to the agreed plans, having decided if it were to be used for the purpose of entertaining, the bar in the corner should be made bigger. I'm glad I didn't listen to him, because it suits me just fine the way it is. I look around the room, wondering what happened to all those big ideas of holding dinner parties. The only thing the kitchen is used for these days is the microwave, where I heat up a ready-prepared meal from Waitrose each night, taking it into the living room to eat alone, in front of the television.

  Once I've made myself comfortable on the leather sofa, the hot meal balanced on my thighs in front of the fifty-two-inch screen, I'm confronted by the soul-destroying news of disasters and violence. I switch the channels over to listen to BBC Radio 4.

  After my meal, I feel hot and full, so I undo the top buttons of my shirt and slide the shoes off my feet, traipsing into the kitchen to wash and put away the plate, which hasn't even been dotted with the sauce from my vegetable lasagne, having left the food in the microwavable plastic dish it came in.