One Little Lie. Sam Carrington
‘You okay?’
Lindsay didn’t take her eyes from the tor. ‘Still plays on my mind. This place.’ She sighed.
‘I can imagine.’ Connie placed her hand on Lindsay’s arm. Even she had bad thoughts about Haytor: of Steph, one of her clients last year, and her son – but she hadn’t had to witness it first-hand like Lindsay had; the broken bodies at the foot of the rock, the shock of seeing an innocent child taken to his death by his own mother in what was, as far as the police were concerned, a terrible suicide. Connie took some comfort in the fact that she wasn’t the only person troubled by her past and wanted to support her friend just as she’d been supported herself. ‘New memories, though – remember? We both need to attach positive feelings to this place, I think it’s the only way we can move on.’
‘Yep. Absolutely. Thanks, Connie.’
‘You don’t have to thank me. That’s what friends are for.’
‘That, and half-killing them in the name of fitness,’ Lindsay laughed.
‘Yeah, don’t push it. Friendships can turn nasty, you know.’
It was hard to get out of the house this morning. Every time I was about to leave, something dragged me back.
One more chore.
One more check.
One more problem.
I’m out now, though, and I’m trying to stop my mind wandering as I walk to the bus stop. I want to be thinking about what’s ahead, but what’s behind me appears to be dragging me back. I need to talk myself out of it – keep my goal firmly in my mind’s eye.
I concentrate my thoughts on her. I know where she lives, and now I’ve found out where she works. It didn’t take much. The internet is both a curse and a blessing. It’s so easy to find out details with a few clicks, some clever searches using key words. Most people would think I’m mad, given how the internet brought my life crashing down. But it’s like most things, there is good and bad in everything. You just have to be careful – treat it with respect.
As I approach the bus stop at The Plains, opposite the Seven Stars Hotel, pain in my palms alerts me to my clenched fists. My nails have left crescent-shaped imprints where they’ve dug in. I can’t believe she’s still working. I wonder how she’s managed that when I was barely able to drag myself out of bed – the amount of sedatives I was taking for my anxiety, together with the drinking, turned me from a bubbly, chatty customer assistant at Marks & Spencer into a drowsy zombie not fit to be employed. A small part of me is jealous she’s continued with her life. She’s kept her job. I lost mine. She’s kept her husband. I lost mine.
But our sons. They’re a different story.
She won’t agree we’ve both lost them.
Maybe she doesn’t have to agree on that point. There is a truth in her denial. But we’ve both suffered, and I need to show her that. I can help her to come to terms with what happened. She’ll realise I am like her, that we can both support each other. I must help her. Then, in return, she’ll help me achieve my goal.
It’s the only way I can be free.
I cross the road quickly as the bus is there already. I pay my fare and take a seat halfway up – a window seat. The glass is smeared. Dirty. I don’t want to contemplate what with. I shuffle into the aisle seat. I don’t need to see where I’m going anyway. I hate having to use public transport, but I can’t afford a taxi to Coleton, my destination. The only destination I’ve ventured to this past month. I’m lucky no one has sat with me. Nothing worse than being squashed next to another body, a stranger who typically feels the need to speak – make polite, yet utterly useless, boring conversation. Small mercies.
Every now and then I check where we are – counting down the minutes until I arrive. Not long now. We’ve just passed the huge grey monstrosity that is the multi-storey car park. Another minute and I’ll be there.
A tall, narrow-looking building comes into view. My heart flutters nervously. I’m not sure what I’m going to do once I get off the bus. I don’t want to draw attention by hanging around the entrance to her workplace.
I press the bell. The bus slows and I stand, gradually making my way to the front. The bus stop is opposite the building, so once I step out, I stand for a few moments to gather my thoughts. I stare at the rows and columns of windows. Which one is hers?
I’m buffeted by someone walking past. I didn’t realise I was in the middle of the pavement, getting in the way. I back up, pressing myself against the wall of the hairdresser’s to allow the shoppers, the random people, to go about their business. Despite having been thinking about this for days, now I’m here I have no idea of how to progress. Should I wait for her to come out? Or make an excuse to enter the building, ask to speak with her. I’m not certain how she would react to my presence here, she could make a scene. I can’t risk that.
I’ll have to go into the building, though, as I’ve no idea which level she works on. I could do a recce of the place, then sit somewhere out here. I glance around me to see where would work. Yes, I could sit on one of the benches along from the building, near the river. Maybe she’ll leave at lunchtime, and I can catch up with her then, save me going inside. Whatever happens today though, I can’t wait past three o’clock. I’ve got my appointment with Connie at four, so I have to get the 3.10 bus back to Totnes to get there on time. I probably should’ve waited to do this until tomorrow rather than have two things to worry about in one day. But once I decided I was going to do it, it had to be attempted right away. No putting it off.
‘Hello, Alice.’ The voice, though soft and unassuming, sends a jolt of electricity through my body. I take a steadying breath as I realise it’s only Wendy, from my support group. Not great timing, and I could certainly do without her here, but it could be worse.
‘Lovely to see you, Wendy,’ I trill, twisting my lips into a forced smile. Now, how to get rid of her quickly without appearing rude. ‘Not long until our group session now – will be great to catch up on Wednesday, see how we’ve all done these past few weeks.’
‘Yes, I’m actually looking forwards to it.’ She lowers her dark eyes, looking to the ground. She carries on talking, and while I am listening to Wendy, and trying hard to appear interested in whatever she’s talking about, my eyes keep flitting around her bulky frame. I want to keep my focus on the entrance, in case she walks out.
Then the situation worsens.
A familiar face stands out from the crowd of people walking alongside the building.
What’s he doing here?
How?
I turn quickly, snapping my head around to face the wall I’d been leaning against prior to Wendy turning up.
Please, God, don’t let him see me.
I forget Wendy’s here, next to me. I take her arm, and gently pull her towards me. I whisper conspiratorially in her ear: ‘Don’t look behind, but my ex-husband is over there and I can’t handle him today. Just keep facing this way.’ I keep my grasp on her arm, so she knows I’m serious.
Her eyes are wide as she stares at me, saying nothing.
If he hasn’t seen me, it’ll be all right. If he has …
I use Wendy as a shield as I twist my head slightly to look over her shoulder to the building opposite. It’s clear. He’s gone.
For now, at least. But that was too close. And with Wendy here too. It could’ve