Silent Lies: A gripping psychological thriller Page 4

  I tell him I don’t and he stands up and plants a kiss on my forehead. He does this often and I like this way he has of reassuring me that everything’s okay.

  ‘My keys are on the phone table,’ I say, and as he heads out of the door I add, again, that I’m sorry.

  Once Will’s gone, I stand up to get a glass of water from the kitchen and notice his iPhone tucked between the cushions of the sofa. I shouldn’t do it. It’s a complete abuse of his privacy and he is the last person who deserves that, but I lean forward, compelled to pick it up. I already know his passcode – he’s told me before it’s the day and month we met, that’s how much he trusts me – and before I know it, it’s in my hands. I type in 0-8-1-0 – his home screen greets me.

  I’m doing this for you, Zach, because I need answers. I thought I had come to terms with it, that I’d accepted what you did and made my peace with it, but now this woman comes along and detonates a bomb right beside me. It’s ticking – and I don’t have much time.

  I make a silent promise to Will that I will not snoop, I will only search for Alison Cummings and Dominic Bradford and nothing more.

  The shop is only a five-minute walk away so Will won’t be long; I need to be quick. But once again my search is futile. Although there are plenty of people named Alison Cummings and Dominic Bradford, nobody matches the people I’m looking for. There are some profiles without pictures, but nobody living in London who could match either of them.

  But I won’t give up. And I have an address – most likely fake – I can use as a starting point: Hawthorn Gardens. Although it’s here in Ealing, I don’t know the road, but my navigation app on my phone will help me with that. Keeping my silent promise to Will, I delete my search and put his phone back where I found it, but guilt wraps around me, squeezing me tighter.

  Seconds later, Will is standing in the doorway, clutching a bottle of wine, his head turned slightly to the side.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t hear you come in.’ How long has he been standing there? Long enough to see me on his phone? I panic and prepare to explain what I was doing. To tell him about Alison Cummings and risk his uncertainty about my sanity, because that’s better than letting him think I don’t trust him.

  ‘I was extra quiet,’ he says. ‘Didn’t want to wake Freya.’ No mention of his phone or what I’ve been doing with it.

  ‘You left your phone here,’ I say, reaching across the sofa for it.

  He takes it from me and slips it into his pocket. ‘Thanks. Didn’t even realise.’

  I search his face for any clue that he might have seen me, any sign that this is some sort of test and he’s waiting for me to admit what I’ve done, but his face is unreadable.

  In the kitchen Will pours himself a glass of wine and kisses me goodnight. It’s not the usual long kiss he gives me whenever we say goodbye, but I hope that’s just disappointment that we won’t be together tonight.

  Once I’m ready for bed, I close the bedroom door, even though I usually leave it wide open in case Freya needs me, and get back to my search. This time I hunt for Dominic Bradford, and even though I start with the University of West London website, where he worked with Zach, there is no mention of him in the faculty list. It’s no surprise he no longer works there – things change and people move on. I put his name into Google but no search results reveal the person I’m looking for.

  I have a vague recollection of what he looks like – dark hair too slick and groomed – but I never knew this man. He wasn’t a friend of Zach’s, not really. They were colleagues, but didn’t even work in the same department. The first time I met him was at the funeral, and I remember him taking my hand, telling me how sorry he was, that Zach was a great man, in spite of what people were saying. I remember being grateful he had turned up, when so many other colleagues – and even friends – had deliberately stayed away. He was clean-shaven, and had that look about him that advertised he thought too much of himself. Exactly how Alison Cummings described him.

  I click to the next page of results and the top link is for a university website, and underneath the address is his name: Dominic Bradford. With a lump in my throat I click again and it takes me to the University of Westminster site. Moments later, I find out he is the head of the law department, and works at the Westminster Law School Site, near Euston station.

  Finally, I am getting somewhere. This is the man who will lead me to Alison Cummings.

  And then I will find out what she knows about my husband’s death.

  Chapter Four

  Josie

  * * *

  Over the last few weeks I’ve really pulled myself together. I’m at home, cocooned in my bedroom with my books, more often than I can be found in a bar, and to my surprise I’m happier than I’ve ever been.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m no saint – not like Little Miss Prim, Alison – and I did find myself in the back seat of Anthony’s car last night, but I got out of there before things went too far. The thought of undressing him actually repulsed me, so he didn’t get more than some drunken kisses I put no effort into. I deleted his phone number the second I got home.

  It’s the Christmas holidays now, but this morning I decided to come to university and study in peace. Alison’s parents are visiting and the thought of them playing happy families only metres away from me was too much to bear. Actually, there’s no playing involved. They are what anyone would consider a functional, happy family. They visit at least once every two weeks and whisk her off for lunch or dinner. I can’t imagine going for lunch with a parent, as they smile proudly at you. She doesn’t know how lucky she is, she really doesn’t.

  So here I am, and the place is like a ghost town, most people only too pleased to be having a break, back in the welcoming embraces of their families, so I have my pick of the computers for a change.

  A couple of hours later I’m in the middle of making notes for my Shakespeare assignment when someone taps me on the shoulder. Assuming it must be one of the librarians telling me they’re about to close up, I turn round, ready to beg for a bit more time, but it’s Zach Hamilton standing behind me.

  He smiles at me and when he squeezes my shoulder, it’s like a bolt of electricity surging through me. I guess having a chat over an espresso and cigarette has made things more casual between us. ‘Hey, Josie, I’m pleased to see you here.’ There’s a huge grin on his face to back up what he’s saying.

  ‘Is that because this is the last place you thought you’d ever see me?’

  He chuckles. ‘Let’s just say it seems you’ve made good progress since our last chat. You know, the one where you tried to choke me with your cigarette smoke.’

  ‘Very funny.’ I flick my hair back and then wonder what the hell I’m doing. Am I flirting with him? My eyes dart to his left hand, to the band of silver – or perhaps it’s platinum – circling his finger.

  Of course he’s married.

  He takes a seat in the computer chair next to me. ‘You know I’m just messing around. Seriously though, I’m proud of you. From what you were saying before, it’s been a bit of a battle for you to stay here.’

  And to get here, I think, but I won’t tell him that. He doesn’t need to know where I’ve come from. After all, isn’t it where you’re going that’s more important?

  ‘Why are you here, though?’ I ask. ‘Don’t you have a family at home you should be with? Lecturers need a break too, don’t they?’

  For a second his eyes flick to his hand, but then he looks up again. ‘I left my USB stick here in one of the computers,’ he says. ‘It’s got all my lectures for next semester on it so I had to come in and get it.’ He studies my face. ‘The computer in my office broke and they’re taking their time fixing it so I’ve been coming here to work. I’m not usually so disorganised, but never mind. Thankfully, Maggie over there’ – he gestures to the librarian – ‘checked the contents, realised it was mine and kept it for me.’

  So he’ll be leaving any second. An emptiness fills my body, a
feeling I can’t understand, and actually don’t even want to try. ‘Well, have a great Christmas,’ I say, closing my textbook. It’s nearly 3 p.m. and my stomach’s just begun to remind me I haven’t eaten a thing today.

  ‘You off then?’ he says. Is there disappointment in his tone, or do I just want there to be? People see and hear what they want to, don’t they?

  I nod. ‘I need food. Need a break. I’ve been here over two hours.’

  ‘In that case I’ll walk out with you. Is your car in the car park?’

  How does he know I drive? ‘Um, yep.’

  ‘Silver Polo, isn’t it?’

  Now my heart is starting to leap around my body. ‘That’s right. The cheap one that’s about to fall apart any second. Are you my stalker or something?’ I grin to let him know I’m just messing around, but I can’t help wishing that he was.

  He laughs. ‘No. Sorry to disappoint, but you drove right past me the other day. You don’t like speed limits, do you?’

  This definitely sounds like me. Reckless. That’s what Liv called me once, and the funny thing is it was the first time she’d actually got me a bit right. ‘Well, I’m always in a rush,’ I tell Zach. ‘Life’s too short, isn’t it?’

  He shakes his head at this. ‘Not at your age it shouldn’t be, Josie.’

  Why does he keep saying my name? He needs to stop, because whenever he does, I melt like a silly schoolgirl.

  ‘Do you live far from here, then?’

  ‘Nope. I live by South Ealing station.’ I hold up my hand. ‘I know, I know, it’s barely a few minutes’ walk, and I usually do, but I was running late the other day. Didn’t want to miss my lecture.’ I could have lied, told him I had somewhere I had to go afterwards, but somehow I knew he wouldn’t judge me.

  He grins. ‘And today?’

  ‘Um, today I have no excuse, actually.’

  ‘Well, we all have days like that. I certainly do. And can I confide in you?’

  My heart almost stops. ‘Yeah. Course.’

  ‘I live in Ealing too, so I could quite easily walk here. Only I’m never up early enough to leave the house in time. But to be fair it would be a pretty long walk.’

  ‘Sod that!’ I say, and then I clamp my hand to my mouth as if I’ve sworn in front of a priest.

  He laughs again, and it’s satisfying to know I can put a smile on his face.

  ‘Anyway, Josie, are you ready to go?’

  Outside, the bitter air hits me like a punch, so I pull my coat tighter around me. The car park is at the other side of the building and as we walk, Zach asks me about my plans for Christmas.

  It’s a question I dread having to answer, and I frantically search for a response, one that he will believe. ‘Not sure yet,’ I say. But I should have lied, because now he will ask me about my parents and that’s a conversation I don’t want to have with anyone, let alone this man who is doing something to my insides with every word he speaks.

  ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘You must have a lot of options.’

  I need to change the subject, and push from my mind the thought of another Christmas Day alone. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be visiting my parents,’ he says.

  This perks me up. Maybe he’s divorced. Please let him be divorced.

  ‘They don’t get to see us that much and our little one’s almost two now.’

  I feel like I’ve just been smacked across the face. But this is ridiculous. He’s my lecturer and of course he’s married, so why do I feel so disappointed?

  Because you like him, Josie, you fool. He’s seen what’s inside you, not your looks or your body, and he genuinely seems to like you as a person.

  ‘That’s nice,’ I say, quickly recovering. I can never let him get an inkling of how I’ve only just realised I feel.

  ‘Yes, it will be,’ he says.

  We continue walking in silence until we round the corner and I see my car. ‘I’m over there,’ I say. ‘Where are you parked?’

  I feel half relieved and half disappointed when he tells me he’s parked along the back too. It means more time with him, but that’s more time with a man it’s pointless even thinking about.

  We reach the last row and he stops, turning to face me. ‘Actually, Josie, I’m glad I’ve bumped into you today. There’s something I wanted to say to you, that I meant to say the other day, but didn’t get a chance.’

  Stay calm. Be cool. ‘Go on.’ I distract myself by pulling my car keys from my pocket.

  ‘Okay. Um, this is a bit weird, but I just had to tell you.’ He avoids my eyes and stares past me, shuffling his feet like a nervous teenager. ‘Your story really inspired me. I don’t tell anyone this, except family, of course, but I’m actually writing a novel. Kind of a long story, but I started it years ago and, well, I’d hit a block and hadn’t written anything for a long time, but when I read your story… it kick-started my motivation, I guess.’

  It takes me a moment to register everything he’s said, and then, when it dawns on me exactly what he’s saying, I feel as if I’m floating, riding high on his huge compliment. ‘I… er… thank you. That’s unexpected but… wow.’

  ‘It’s me who wants to thank you. You’re so talented, Josie, and I really don’t want you to give up, no matter how tough things get. Just keep remembering what we talked about in the coffee shop. Whenever you hit a low point, just think of that.’

  I barely know what to say to this so I just thank him and watch him walk off, shocked that it meant so much to him that he had to tell me all this.

  What does it mean?

  * * *

  I didn’t go home after getting into my car. Instead, I waited until Zach had driven off – fiddling around in my glove compartment to make out I was searching for something – and then I got out of the car and walked to Walpole Park. I couldn’t bear the thought of being alone now, and even if Alison was home, we were no company for each other.

  Sitting on a bench, I’d got lost in the book I had to read for next semester: The Handmaid’s Tale. It engrossed me so much, I lost track of time, and suddenly it was getting dark.

  Now, as I drive home, Zach fills my thoughts, even though I know he shouldn’t. He’s my university lecturer, and married with a baby, so what am I doing even thinking about him?

  I’ve done some pretty questionable things in my life so far, but never something like that. I have to pull it together. Besides, even if I was tempted, there’s no evidence he feels the same.

  * * *

  The minute I step into the flat I hear voices in the living room. Alison’s parents must still be here, trying to spend as much time as they can with their daughter.

  A cloud of loneliness settles over me. Perhaps I’m envious of her, of what she has, because I just can’t imagine anyone giving up their time to visit me, to check how my studies are going. Maybe this is what drives me to go in there. The feeling that, just for once, I want to be part of something normal, even if I’m only looking in from the outside.

  I flounce through the door, plastering a smile on my face I know will annoy Alison. I’m the last person she’ll want socialising with her family.

  ‘Hi! Nice to…’ But it’s not Alison’s parents sitting on the sofa. It’s a young guy I’ve never seen before, with floppy hair, jeans and Converse trainers.

  Alison’s face drops, as though I’ve caught them naked in bed together instead of sitting metres apart on our tatty sofa. ‘I thought you were working today,’ she says, glancing at the guy then back to me.

  ‘Nope, not today.’

  The guy stands up and holds out his hand. ‘I’m Aaron, nice to meet you. Josie, isn’t it? I’ve heard a lot about you.’ His smile is hard to read. No doubt everything he’s heard has cast me in a dismal light.

  ‘And I’ve heard nothing about you, Aaron,’ I say. He takes too long to let go of my hand. ‘Are you and Alison on the same course?’

  ‘No. But we’re just—’

  ‘Let’s go to my room, Aa
ron.’ Alison jumps up, placing herself between us like a wall. That’s when it dawns on me that she likes this guy. This is interesting. She’s made no mention of having a boyfriend, or even just being interested in anyone – but then again, I’m the last person she would talk to about anything like that.

  ‘Why don’t we stay here?’ Aaron suggests. ‘Join us if you like, Josie? We’re about to get a takeaway and have a few drinks.’ He smiles at me, and that’s when I know he has no interest in Alison. ‘Well, I’m about to have a few drinks. Alison says she’s got a headache.’

  I glance at Alison and see the pained expression on her face as she silently begs me to leave. ‘Nah. Think I’ll leave you to it.’ But then I think of my empty room, of spending the next few weeks alone while everyone else is celebrating Christmas. Sod it, I’ve got to eat, and spending a couple of hours with Alison isn’t the worst thing in the world. Better than being in a bar, breaking the promise I made to myself, meeting another Anthony. Besides, it’ll be fun finding out what’s going on between them. ‘Actually, I will join you. What are we having? Indian?’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ Aaron says. ‘What do you think, Ali?’

  It’s funny to hear her being addressed so informally. I’ve never even considered shortening her name. Somehow it doesn’t fit with the uptight clean freak that she is.

  ‘It’s not my favourite, but that’s fine,’ she says quietly. She stands and walks over to the bookshelf, pulling out a folder and flicking through it. It takes me a moment to realise the folder is a menu organiser, and I can’t help but chuckle. Only Alison would have one of these. ‘Here,’ she says, pulling out a sheet and handing it to Aaron. ‘This is the best one around here.’

  The food arrives and it isn’t great, so when Aaron offers me a Beck’s I’m grateful to have something strong to wash it down with. One won’t do any harm, will it? I’m not going to do any more studying tonight anyway, and at least I’m at home.