White Lies: A gripping psychological thriller with an absolutely brilliant twist, page 27
Then Day came along.
I glanced at the bags, tucked into the inside pocket of the car door and peeled off my gloves. I’d get rid of them on my late shift at the drop-in centre where I would be in exactly twenty-four hours’ time. The bags were destined for the recycle bin at the supermarket first thing in the morning, and Day’s phone would be finding its way into Bewl reservoir when I walked the dogs there after the shopping, along with one of my own pay-as-you-go phones. I’ve had several at home for years now. We get rotten coverage and I like to be prepared for all eventualities. When you have to make many difficult decisions a day about the one thing we all take for granted and yet could not do without – health – there is no margin for error. You get used to thinking around a problem and you certainly cannot afford to make mistakes.
I thought about Day, again, sitting in my room with his parents, casually feeding me his lies as if I was some kind of idiot. It was insulting that he thought I might fall for his routine. Charming, intelligent and ruthless types like him usually do well in life because they have learnt how to manipulate people and situations to their own end, leaving a trail of devastation in their wake without so much as a backward glance. I boarded with plenty of boys like Day. One of them is now the cabinet minister responsible for the stealth privatisation of the health service – whom I have also had the misfortune to erstwhile see wank into a sock. But here’s the thing about these people; they become so enchanted by themselves, so obsessed with power, they begin to believe they are unstoppable and then they overstep the mark. They make a mistake, they interfere and poke around in places they ought not to – upsetting the balance – as Day did when he parked his travelling circus in my waiting room that Friday morning and let his protein overloaded, ’roid-raged father start to yell about sexual abuse at the top of his voice.
What had Alex been thinking, sleeping with him in the first place? I knew she would, of course, need an alibi. Had she not called me first, I’d have contacted her to let her know that the police had been in touch for Jonathan’s medical records and did she need my help? I was naturally only too happy to oblige when she did ask.
I suppose had things come too close for comfort I might have been forced to retract my story and lay the blame at her feet – ‘confess’ that I had given her some pills of Mother’s that I shouldn’t have done, but I knew that wasn’t going to be necessary. The devil is in the detail. You just make sure you think of everything. Timings, especially, are what can trip people up, after the event. I really don’t like having to clean up like this and, thankfully, I’ve only had to do it a handful of times for one reason and another – one fellow medical student, but patients mostly. If you’re going to do it, however, do it properly and most vitally, for the greater good. Do it to affect the world around you for the better. Dispatch for a positive reason. Once her reputation has been fully restored, Alex will go on to treat countless patients successfully and she will make an enormous contribution to society. This is a demonstratively good thing. We need more people like her in our dark little world right now – shining a light – not less.
Jonathan was dangerous. It was like looking at my teenage reflection – I could see the damage he would do to every single life that became intimately entwined with his, how monstrous he would become, unchecked. Dispatching my younger self in the woods was not cathartic, but it was necessary. There is such a thin line between chaos and order, but Jonathan Day is now no longer a threat to anyone.
I do not mind that this will go unnoticed – no doctor ever seeks thanks for what they have done; I am no hero. I was just doing my job.
The truth does not always out, and for that we must all be thankful.
Epilogue
Alex
I knew there was something going on from the second David turned up at the house again with some excuse about having forgotten his mobile phone – he’d left it in our downstairs loo apparently. David is never without his phone, least of all for a whole afternoon. He remarked that the house was quiet and I explained that Rob had taken the girls to my in-laws – as he’d suggested. He looked quietly pleased and said he was sure it would help.
Only, I explained, I’d gone and lost the sleeping pills… He’d seemed worried about that and insisted on coming upstairs to help me look for them, which was weird too.
We were momentarily distracted by Gary Day showing up and saying his piece. I was actually quite glad when David insisted on staying for a bit once he’d gone. We found the pills, of course, and when I came back from the loo having brushed my teeth, David was sitting on the edge of the bed putting his phone away in his pocket and glancing at his watch. I got the distinct impression he had plans, yet he seemed to be waiting for something. I wrote a note for Rob and stuck it on the bedroom door, told David he didn’t need to worry about staying any longer and pretended to knock the pill back with water, actually palming it instead. I smiled gratefully at him as I climbed into bed. ‘Thank you so much for everything, David. Would you mind showing yourself out?’ I yawned. ‘I’m sure I’m going to get some sleep tonight, thank God.’
He got up. ‘Glad to have been of service. Toodle-pip, and sweet dreams.’
I snuggled down obediently, even switching off my light as he left. I heard him creak along the landing, then a moment or two later his light footstep on the stairs. The front door closed and I relaxed slightly, but oddly, there was nothing after that. No car starting up. I turned my head on the pillow and listened carefully. I got out of bed and went to the curtains, peeping through the gap – to see him sitting in the front of his car, on his phone. I climbed back into bed but after five minutes, still no engine turning on. I went back to the window. The car hadn’t moved – but David was walking up the road towards the woods.
Astonished, I tried to think quickly, and on a hunch spun round and opened the wardrobe door, reaching inside one of my knee-high boots to retrieve the phone from the toe. I switched it on and almost immediately, a text came through from Jonathan:
Are you there? Just had a message from someone saying ‘I have to see you.’ Was a different number tho? Told me to come to the woods. They were making out like they were you?
I hesitated. Bloody hell, David. Really? Why was he posing as me? I chewed my lip thoughtfully.
Definitely me. Wasn’t sure if you’d barred this phone, so used alternative option. Your father came to my house tonight… He just left.
WHAT? Why?
I could sense Jonathan’s alarm.
He had something to say. I’ll tell you when I see you.
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You’re lying. Don’t do this to me again. Please.
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Cross my heart. Come. It’s really important. I owe you the truth. Your mother deserves the truth. He’s not a nice man.
A small smile played around my mouth as I turned the phone off. That ought to do it.
Well! David – my knight in shining armour. Who knew he had it in him? I got back into bed, absurdly flattered at the thought of him coming to my rescue in such dramatic fashion, believing he was defending my honour. Dear David, always there for me, year in, year out – after every mistake. The thought of him telling Jonathan to back off, scaring him into silence far more effectively than Rob had managed, was beyond a relief. I shivered with anticipation and unable to settle climbed back out of bed to watch from the window, excited to see what was going to happen next.
I felt an actual thrill when I saw a figure come around the corner. It was David. I peered through the gap in the curtain as the clouds blew away from the moon – illuminating something strange on his feet. My smile faded. What was he wearing?
Then I realised. They were bags.
He had fucking plastic bags on his feet. I gasped and darted away from the window, scrambling back into bed. My heart was thumping so hard I felt sick. What had he done? David?
I listened for the car starting but instead heard a soft click of the front door opening downstairs and froze.
He was back in the house again? How? Why? What was he doing? He’d let himself out! I looked around frantically for my phone, realising as I did that even if I called the police immediately, I’d be dead long before they arrived.
The stairs creaked.
He was coming to find me.
I squeezed my eyes shut tightly and thought of my girls and of Rob. How could everything have come to this? I made desperate and silent deals with God that if he spared me, I would never, ever do anything like this ever again. I would be a better person. A good wife, a decent mother.
He walked past the bedroom, he was going to the bathroom? I heard the tap start running and the squeak of our bathroom cabinet opening… then tensed with fear as his footsteps approached the bedroom door once more. Oh God, please no…
But they passed, and he went downstairs again.
Still I held my breath as there was the quiet jangle of keys being placed back carefully down on the side, then the click of the door again, before the best sound I have ever heard in my life – after my daughters’ first cries – his car starting and pulling away.
Everything fell silent and after what felt like an age, I was brave enough to get up and go to the window. He’d gone.
I walked shakily over to the phone Jonathan had bought me all those weeks ago and checked it was switched off. I put his iPhone in a tin can at the bottom of the rubbish bag after I removed it from his car, and off it went with the bin men the following day. I knew I also had to get rid of the burner immediately – should I risk it when Rob was due back any moment or wait until the morning? I was pulling some socks on when the familiar noise of our car pulling onto the drive made the decision for me. Rob was home. I grabbed the phone and jumped into bed, under the covers. He must have seen the note on the door, as he didn’t come in.
I stayed there all night, wide-awake with shock, clutching Jonathan’s mobile.
By the morning I’d managed to convince myself I was being stupidly melodramatic. David wasn’t capable of killing someone! There would prove to be a logical explanation – but when I heard the police sirens, I knew what they’d found. I put a smile on my face, but when Rob drove us past the woods and I saw Jonathan’s car being recovered, I couldn’t hide it – my reaction was physical. I had a panic attack. Jonathan’s mobile was in my bag. I lost control when Rob said the police were following us. I thought they were going to stop and search and that would be that.
But they didn’t. I tried to think quickly and realised David had been thorough. I was the immediate suspect – and I needed a much better alibi than taking a sleeping pill and going to bed. I had no choice but to ring David, play dumb and ask him to lie for me, which I knew he’d be only too happy to do. His methodical planning was terrifying. He didn’t know I’d seen him of course, but what did it matter? I couldn’t tell anyone. It would be my word against his – what chance would I have? We were better stuck together, just as I know he’s always wanted. I never, for one minute believed he would do something like this, however. It makes me physically sick to watch him calling patients into his room with that kindly smile every morning – and yet he saved me. I was able to walk away, my reputation salvaged.
I slipped the mobile into the pond at my in-laws’ house. It’s given me nightmares. I dream that Jonathan is in there, looking back up at me from beneath the murky water.
I am not a bad person.
I really do love my husband and my daughters. Jonathan was just so beautiful.
What more can I say?
And who would believe me anyway?
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Couldn’t let go of White Lies? Order Lucy’s bestselling novel The Daughter here! You lost your daughter. You will never forgive yourself. Now someone’s determined to make you pay…
The Daughter
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‘Gripped me and didn’t let go until the wickedly twisted ending.’ Jenny Blackhurst, author of How I Lost You.
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You lost your daughter. You will never forgive yourself. Now someone's determined to make you pay…
* * *
Seventeen years ago, something happened to Jess’s daughter Beth. The memory of it still makes her blood run cold. Jess has tried everything to make peace with that day, and the part she played in what happened. It was only a brief moment of desire… but she’ll pay for it with a lifetime of guilt.
* * *
To distance herself from the mistakes of the past, Jess has moved away and started over with her family. But when terrifying things begin happening in her new home, Jess knows that her past has finally caught up with her. Somebody feels Jess hasn’t paid enough, and is determined to make her suffer for the secrets she’s kept all these years.
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A heartbreaking and unputdownable psychological thriller perfect for fans of Linda Green, K.L. Slater and Teresa Driscoll.
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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
A Letter from Lucy
Thank you so much for reading White Lies. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I liked writing it. If you’d like to keep up-to-date with all of my latest releases, you can sign up at the following link. Your email address will never be shared, and you can unsubscribe at any time.
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I came up with the idea for this book on a long car journey. I was listening to the radio and a song came on about a lover realising his ex only wanted his attention, not his heart. When I was a teenager, I wanted to be a songwriter and to this day still listen far too intently to lyrics. This particular track struck a chord with me (sorry) and before I knew it, I had Alex and Jonathan stuck in my head…
If you have time, I’d love it if you were able to let me know what you thought of the book and write a review of White Lies. Feedback is really useful and also makes a huge difference in helping new readers discover one of my books for the first time.
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Again, thank you so much for deciding to spend some time reading White Lies. I’m looking forward to sharing my next book with you very soon.
With all best wishes,
Lucy x
www.lucydawsonbooks.com
Acknowledgements
My very grateful thanks to Amit Dhand, Emily Eracleous, Nicky Walt, Paul Dodson, Ellie Nelson, Andrew Cox and Nathan Johnson. All errors are very definitely my own.
Thank you to Paddy Magrane and Jenny Blackhurst for their encouragement when I decided to stop work on a half-finished book with a deadline looming, to write this one instead. Thank you also to Sarah Ballard and Kathryn Taussig for not batting an eyelid when I broke the news to them. It did however mean I pretty much didn’t see my husband, family or any of my friends for three months, and when I did, boringly talked about nothing but my word count. Thanks to all of you for being so nice about it and still being there when I’d finished. Wanda Whiteley was as ever invaluable, and I’m very grateful to everyone else who supports me too; Eli Keren and all at United Agents, Kim Nash and the tireless Bookouture team. The bloggers and other authors who very generously give their time to help and cheerlead do not go unnoticed either. Finally, thank you to the CBs. I would get far more done without you, but it wouldn’t be anywhere near as much fun.
Published by Bookouture
An imprint of StoryFire Ltd.
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
www.bookouture.com
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Copyright © Lucy Dawson 2018
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ISBN: 978-1-78681-450-0
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Lucy Dawson has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
