White Lies: A gripping psychological thriller with an absolutely brilliant twist Read online

  White Lies

  A gripping psychological thriller with an absolutely brilliant twist

  Lucy Dawson

  Also by Lucy Dawson

  White Lies

  The Daughter

  Everything You Told Me

  His Other Lover

  You Sent Me A Letter

  What My Best Friend Did

  Little Sister

  The One That Got Away

  Contents

  Part 1

  1. Dr Alexandra Inglis

  2. Dr Alexandra Inglis

  3. Dr Alexandra Inglis

  4. Dr Alexandra Inglis

  5. Dr Alexandra Inglis

  6. Jonathan Day

  7. Jonathan Day

  8. Dr David Harper

  9. Jonathan Day

  10. Jonathan Day

  11. Jonathan Day

  12. Jonathan Day

  13. Dr David Harper

  14. Jonathan Day

  Part 2

  15. Rob

  16. Rob

  17. Cherry

  18. Rob

  Six months later

  19. Cherry

  20. Rob

  Part 3

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  The Daughter

  Lucy’s Email Sign Up

  Also by Lucy Dawson

  A Letter from Lucy

  Acknowledgements

  For Sarah

  Part 1

  The Accusations

  (Statements supplied 18 September 2017)

  1

  Dr Alexandra Inglis

  Blinking awake, I tried to twist on the pillow away from the bright sunlight steaming between the flimsy curtains. It was only a tiny movement but a white-hot flash of pain stabbed into my skull from behind my eyes. I moaned slightly, lifted up one hand – trying to hold my head together – my sticky tongue unpeeling from the dry roof of my mouth. I needed water.

  Propping myself up on an elbow, I squinted at the bedside table and shakily reached for the pathetically small hotel glass which wasn’t even a third full. I drank it anyway, but some bits of surface dust clung to the inside of my mouth as I gulped it down, and nausea swirled in my gut as the liquid hit my stomach. I had to crash back onto the pillow quickly to stop myself from being sick. The room was uncomfortably stuffy, and I shoved a bare leg out from under the twisted sheet to try and cool down.

  Someone sighed and moved next to me. I froze and very slowly turned to look over my left shoulder, to see the back of a head; tousled sandy-brown hair tapering softly down a tanned neck that swept out into a broad, naked male back.

  My heart stopped, and I lurched back into the airless, packed club of eight hours earlier; a light sheen of sweat on my skin, clutching my slopping drink as I pushed through the crush of hot bodies. The base thudding through my muscles from the inside out while I looked around the club drunkenly for the girls… my eyes alighting on a face looking back at mine through a break in the throng. His eyes and skin alternated electric blue and hot pink as relentless, beat-blinding strobes of white light bounced off our bodies, and a neon cage of flashing triangles descended over the heads and waving hands of the dancing crowd. He straightened up, and I realised he was tall. I drank in a tight T-shirt, gym-honed arms, beautiful eyes – and didn’t stop staring. He looked confused at my brazenness, but then came a shy smile.

  I saw how it was going to go immediately.

  He looked down, rubbed his chin and neck awkwardly, as if trying to make a decision, then walked towards me…

  I turned away from him, keeping my head on the pillow, and urgently scanned the hotel room. My shoes were next to a tangle of jeans and his T-shirt, my dress was crumpled by the chair – a large trainer lying on top of it – my bra over by the door to the bathroom.

  I slid a hand under the cover. I wasn’t wearing anything at all. Shit, shit, shit.

  I held my breath and, moving in triple slow motion so as not to wake him, reached for my mobile phone, lying next to the empty glass, and picked it up. There were ten text messages, all from Rachel, starting with

  Where are you? I can’t find you?

  through to the last,

  YOU DON’T WANT TO DO THIS!! Trust me, stop NOW!!!!

  With a jolt, I suddenly remembered the sound of hammering on the hotel door; staggering over to throw open the lock and putting my head round to find Rachel standing there. She must have got a taxi all the way back to check on me. She would have seen our clothes on the floor.

  I closed my eyes in shame.

  The ping of another message arriving made me jump, but it wasn’t mine. The body alongside me shifted again, and I lay motionless while the bed groaned as he leant out, presumably to pick his phone off the floor.

  I realised I was going to have to turn over. I couldn’t just pretend he wasn’t there.

  Cautiously, making sure I exposed nothing, I twisted to see that he was lying on his back. Thank God, the sheet was covering him; he’d tucked it in under his arms. My eyes moved over the top of a hairless chest, before briefly catching the edge of blue-black tattoo, some sort of Celtic lettering skimming a well-defined tricep and deltoid, then up again to an embarrassed smile and light-brown eyes looking right back at me. My heart crashed with horror as I realised he was young. About twenty-five? I swallowed and croaked ‘Hi’, before clearing my throat.

  ‘Hey,’ he replied, and gave me an awkward little wave. His hair was sweetly all over the place, and it occurred to me that he was exactly the kind of boy I would have killed to wake up next to when I was at university – a couple of decades ago.

  Before I had the chance to say anything else, there was a knock on the door and a firm shout. ‘Ally? Are you in there?’

  ‘Just a second!’ I lifted my head up and it almost exploded. Looking around desperately and finding nothing in reach, I was forced to drop the sheet and dart naked into the en suite, grabbing a towel to wrap around my body.

  He was sitting up in bed – having already put on his T-shirt – when I returned, and watched quietly as I hurriedly kicked the rest of our clothes and his shoes out of the line of sight from the door. I took a deep breath and threw open the lock, before carefully leaning my upper body round to peer into the corridor. Mercifully, it was just Rachel, freshly showered and dressed – and alone. Unable to see the bed, as it was hidden behind the door and me, she looked down the length of sanitised room visible from the door. ‘You got rid of him then?’

  I closed my eyes briefly and shook my head, pointing over my shoulder.

  She looked horrified and covered her mouth with her hand, before simply turning on the spot and walking hurriedly back to her room.

  There was no way he wouldn’t have heard what she said.

  I closed the door and returned to him. He’d drawn his knees up and had let his head drop awkwardly. What I could see of his face was burning bright red with humiliation.

  I felt dreadful. ‘I’m so sorry. My friend, she…’ I trailed off. There was nothing I could say to make it any better. I hadn’t wanted to be unkind. He didn’t need to hear that. Throwaway comments can hurt for such a long time.

  He hesitated, did his best to smile and said manfully ‘It’s OK’, before slipping from the bed. I averted my eyes, but thankfully he had boxers on. He reached under the valance and pulled out his belongings, dressing quickly, as I sat down on the chair by the window and focused studiously on the luridly patterned carpet. He pushed his feet into his trainers, slid his mobile into his back pocket and brus
hed past me on his way out. I opened my mouth to apologise again, but the door was already swinging open, then clicking shut quietly behind him. Before I could find the words, he was gone.

  I exhaled and leant sideways so that I was resting my head on the side of the chair and could hug my knees up to my chest. I stayed like that for a moment, feeling numb and hollow, then reached to wipe away a few tears with the heel of my hand. With my thumb, I began to twist my wedding and engagement rings on my finger. I needed to dress and go downstairs to join the others for breakfast. Staying shut away would only make things look worse. I glanced at the crumpled, empty bed and shuddered at what I’d done there with him in the night – things that I let happen. That I made happen. I put my hands up to my thudding head, threaded my fingers into my hair and closed my eyes.

  Things that I will now never be able to undo.

  I stood up, walked into the bathroom and let the towel drop, but the movement of being on my feet again was too much, and I threw up violently, kneeling on the cold, hard tiles in front of the loo before I was able to climb in the shower. It turned on with a clunk, and I winced as the water pushed into my skin like an old-fashioned wire brush. The pressure turned me slightly pink as I moved under the head and washed clean every bit of me that he’d touched. Brushing my teeth afterwards made me retch, and even once I was dressed and had some make-up on, I was shocked by how pale and ill I looked in the mirror.

  My previous benchmark for alcohol consumption was passing in and out of consciousness on a toilet floor having necked half a bottle of vodka at a student ball in the Birmingham Botanical Gardens – again, some twenty years ago. Strange faces had loomed over me, asking me if I was all right, and someone even pulled my dress down to preserve my dignity before my friend, Tim, eventually found me and took me back to the coach. But that was immature stupidity. I couldn’t pretend that I didn’t know what I was doing in Pacha – I admit I drank that much deliberately. I was desperate not to think any more. I wanted to blank everything out.

  Once I’d grabbed my room key and phone, I let myself out and started to walk unsteadily down to breakfast. A little girl shrieked as she ran up the wide staircase towards me, her younger brother in hot pursuit, and I winced visibly at the pitch her voice hit – the jaunty parents apologised cheerily for the noise as they passed by, already on their way back to their rooms after breakfast, and I smiled weakly in return. They would have been up for hours and were probably envying me my late start and child-free status. I watched them happily walking away and was suddenly so desperate to be back at home that I had to grip the bannister and stand still for a moment.

  That was how Rachel found me, as she appeared at the bottom of the stairs and looked up. She tried to rearrange her expression of shock at my appearance but failed. ‘Have you been sick yet?’ she asked once she was alongside me, holding out a steadying hand.

  I swallowed. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, that’s good. You should start to feel better soon, and it’ll help if you have something to eat, come on.’ She started to lead me gently, as if I was the patient for once. ‘Everyone is down there,’ she lowered her voice and leant in slightly. ‘All they know is what they saw: you kissing him at the club. They don’t know you came back here together. I told them I went with you in a taxi and put you to bed. They were all pretty wrecked themselves by then.’

  ‘Thank you, Rach.’ But my initial relief quickly gave way to shame. ‘I’m sorry for ruining your evening. I’m so embarrassed that you had to come back here looking for me to make sure I was safe, and that you saw all of his clothes on the floor.’

  ‘You don’t need to apologise. I shouldn’t have come crashing in so thoughtlessly this morning.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘It was unnecessary.’

  ‘The whole thing was unnecessary,’ I replied blankly.

  We fell silent for a moment, and she turned to me as we reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘Ally, who you tell about this, if anyone, is your call, but no one will hear a word from me.’ She gave my hand a final, supportive squeeze, and released me. ‘Come on, let’s do it.’

  I took a deep breath and followed her into the busy restaurant. The smell of warming buffet food began to make me feel queasy again. We arrived at the table where our six other friends were already sitting in varying degrees of morning freshness. Clare was enthusiastically and noisily scraping the last of her yogurt and muesli into her mouth – Stef glaring at her, hunched over a mug of black coffee. Marie and Cass were staring down at their phones, while Carolyn had propped her head upright with one hand and was holding a piece of buttered toast in the other. Only whippet-thin Jo had gone down the full English route, and as I stared at her loaded plate, I felt a small amount of sick rise up into my mouth.

  They all looked up and there was a brief pause before Rach said warmly: ‘Here she is!’ Everyone tried not to exchange awkward glances as I sat down.

  Only Stef made no attempt to smile. ‘You look like I feel,’ she said. ‘We need a Bloody Mary.’

  ‘God, no.’ I blanched. ‘I’m never drinking again.’

  There was another awkward pause, which Rachel covered by saying brightly: ‘Checkout isn’t until half eleven, I’ve discovered, so I might have a swim after breakfast if anyone’s keen?’

  Stef looked at her, briefly appalled, and then turned back to me. ‘So you had a good night then?’

  I cleared my throat. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking.’

  ‘It’s always the quiet ones you’ve got to watch,’ Cass teased, reaching out to rub my back supportively. The motion made me want to vomit into her lap. ‘It was just a snog, Al. None of us is going to breathe a word to anyone. Don’t beat yourself up.’

  They all nodded in agreement. Their kindness was harder to deal with than the disapproval I knew I deserved. I wished we’d just gone to a nice boutique hotel somewhere near home and stayed over for a night or two, like we normally did on our annual weekend away. A spa, wine and chat. When I suggested a last-minute Ibiza jaunt two months ago, it really was innocent. I’d never been, I’d always wanted to, and I thought it would be fun. There was no agenda.

  I tried to smile but felt very near to tears all of a sudden. They all looked at me worriedly, and Rachel passed me a napkin. ‘We’re jealous as hell, if truth be known. I’d like something as pretty as him to keep in my pocket.’

  They all laughed and the tone felt momentarily lighter, but it didn’t ring true. She doesn’t think that at all, I know she doesn’t. None of them do.

  ‘He looked like he was in a boy band,’ whispered Carolyn.

  ‘And I think we can confirm you’ve definitely still got it, baby,’ said Marie. They all murmured agreement.

  Cass even brightly said: ‘Hell, yeah!’ which sounded un-comfy in itself – as if she were issuing trotting instructions to a pony – but I couldn’t join in with a sheepish, or even slightly smug, smile… Still got it? I didn’t want it. I wasn’t the woman from the night before, craving attention while feeling drunkenly dangerous, reckless and determined. I could sense their pity, and I knew exactly what they were thinking: “Ally has had such a shocking time of it these last three weeks. It was just a kiss – and you know what? This might have actually done her confidence the world of good.”

  I swallowed and remembered his body on top of mine. I could hear my own gasps. Acting a role. No one has to know. I don’t even know your name. And now you have to go.

  But this wasn’t some glossy music video a million hungry kids were watching on YouTube as they memorised the ‘empowering’ lyrics. There was no glamour. It was just so sad. A tear crept down my face – and my friends didn’t know where to look. Marie reached out and gently took my hand, which I had to pull away when my phone started to vibrate. Glancing at the screen, I saw it was Rob. I couldn’t pick up. I just couldn’t. If he’d put the girls on the phone I’d have broken down completely.

  They all watched me dismiss the call, and th
en, even more embarrassed, I tried desperately to think of something to say. It was our last morning and I was ruining it for everyone, making it all about me and my selfish domestic drama. I made a huge effort to gain some control again. I took a deep breath and drew myself up with as much confidence as I could muster; the same blank authority and professional persona I tap into when a patient starts verbally laying into me.

  Dr Alexandra Inglis will see you now.

  ‘I’ve changed my mind, Stef. I think that Bloody Mary might be just what I need.’ My voice was calm and steady.

  Stef plonked down her coffee cup. ‘Now you’re talking,’ she said. ‘That way, I might just about be able to contemplate getting on a plane later today.’

  ‘Hair of the dog,’ I said automatically. Hair of the dog, life in the old dog yet, only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun. I scratched the itching sunburn on my neck.

  I am nothing but a cliché. Let sleeping dogs lie.

  Except I knew I was going to tell Rob when I got home. I had to, because while my friends may have said they weren’t going to breathe a word to anyone, I knew they would each gossip to their husbands about what I’d done pretty much the second they got back. I would have, too, if I were them. I wouldn’t have been able to resist. And then a dozen people, at least, would know I had kissed another man. That was bad enough. I trust Rachel implicitly, but she’d learnt the truth, and when it all came out eventually – because these things always do – Rob would not be able to handle the humiliation of being the last to know and feeling like a fool.