Читать книгу Deceit: A gripping, gritty crime thriller that will have you hooked - Kerry Barnes - Страница 11

The sun was just starting to rise. While Lucy was in the shower, full of the joys of spring, Justin sat on the end of the bed, with his hands cupping his tired face. It had been a long night, a stressful one, and he felt like shit. He’d rolled on his side just to avoid any affectionate contact and had found himself almost hanging off the bed most of the night. He took a deep breath. What the hell am I doing? I don’t even know her. It’s all madness.

Lucy obviously hadn’t taken the hint, as she casually walked into the bedroom from the bathroom completely naked. He’d looked up and thought about Kara. She was never so provocative, more sweet and shy. He was always the one doing the running, making the first move, but he liked it that way, not having it handed to him on a plate. Something about Lucy’s body made him blink. He thought perhaps his longing for Kara had messed with his mind because Lucy’s figure with her neatly shaped breasts and slim thighs was almost identical. He looked away.

‘Justin, please don’t tell me you don’t find me attractive, not after you were all over me before.’

Even her higher-pitched voice was irritating him; so much so, that he stood up from the bed and reached down to pick up his bag. ‘Lucy, I know that I slept with you and we’re having a baby, but it doesn’t feel right that I should live here as if we’ve been dating for years. We don’t know each other all that well, and so to play the happy family game right away doesn’t sit comfortably with me. Surely, you understand?’ He looked at her with his face half turned away, but it was definitely not easy, with her standing there naked. ‘I think for now I’ll stay elsewhere until I can figure this out. I don’t intend to shirk my responsibilities, but I need time. You do realise that, don’t you?’

Lucy felt like a schoolgirl. The way he pronounced his words – with no trace of an accent or slang – he bordered on being posh. She wasn’t used to it, and she felt a little intimidated. She wouldn’t be put off, though; his looks and money more than compensated for his more genteel and less manly ways.

‘Don’t be like that. Look, Justin, if you want to sleep in the spare room, then do that. Christ, all those things you said to me, I guess you never meant them, eh?’

‘What things?’ he snapped.

‘That you really liked me a lot, how you wished you were with me, and how things would be so different. Well, Justin, you have me now and a baby on the way. For fuck’s sake, she burned our … sorry, I mean your bloody house down and nearly killed the neighbour. Seriously, you aren’t telling me you’re having second thoughts, are you?’ She began to snivel and left the room.

It was bizarre. One minute, he was in his perfect world with Kara, where they shared his lovely home and enjoyed a comfortable lifestyle, with a deep sense of closeness between them, and now he was facing a life with Kara in jail and Lucy swanning around like she’d been with him for years. What the hell was he doing? Was being a father so important that he was blinded by the notion? He thought back to his childhood, and yes, he longed to have his father in his life, but could he really sacrifice Kara for this unborn child and Lucy? Who the hell was she, anyway? He knew absolutely nothing about her.

Still gripping his bag, he sighed. Perhaps he’d gone too far. ‘Lucy!’ he called out. She didn’t answer, so he wandered to the bathroom to find her sitting on the edge of the bath sobbing. She looked vulnerable and very different from a few minutes ago. With a towel wrapped around her, she whispered, ‘I’m so sorry, Justin, I guess you’re right. This is all too soon. I never knew I could get pregnant. The doctors said I couldn’t. I would never have put you in this situation, but you did say how much you liked me, and when you came back here for the second time, I assumed I wasn’t just a one-night stand. But it’s okay. I understand. You never really did like me.’

She wiped the tears away and pulled the towel tighter around herself. ‘You’re a good man, Justin, and I will admit I fell in love with you the first time I met you, and so having your baby is not a heartache for me. I just hope he or she grows up to be just like you. But, I promise you, I’ll be a good mum, so never worry about that. I’m just sorry you don’t feel the same way about me. I’m not Kara, and well, I couldn’t possibly be. I grew up in a foster home, a few actually, so I’m a bit wilder, I suppose. I can’t take her place, and so it’s best that you go and forget you ever met me.’

With a heavy sigh, Justin placed the bag on the floor. ‘It’s not you, Lucy – you’re probably a lovely person. It’s just so soon. We don’t even know each other, and I wish you wouldn’t act like we have done so for years. I feel suffocated.’

‘I only wanted it to be nice for you. I didn’t want you to feel awkward. Perhaps I wanted too much.’ Her voice was softer and gentle, and it tugged on his heartstrings. It wasn’t Lucy’s fault. After all, the only person who had caused all this mess was him. He needed to man up. Only he could put it right. He had played away from home and got this woman pregnant. He couldn’t bring himself to mess up two women’s lives.

‘Why she had to burn the house down, I don’t know. She could have stayed there. I suppose, she really hated me for what I did.’

Lucy looked away. ‘Babe, she did something terrible. The neighbour is in hospital, fighting for her life. That could have been you. Kara isn’t the person you think she is.’

Justin chewed the inside of his mouth, going over Lucy’s words in his mind. Perhaps she was right. Maybe Kara did have a vindictive side to her. ‘Okay, I’ll stay in the spare room, and we’ll see if we can work this out. I’m not ready for a full-blown relationship, so give me some time, eh?’

With an obliged, compassionate smile, Lucy nodded. ‘I understand, love, and I’ll back off, although it will be hard, because I do love you, Justin.’ She paused, as if wondering if she sounded convincing.

Those words kept repeating themselves in his mind. Still numb and racked with guilt and grief, he made his way into the spare room. It was little more than a box room, with just a single bed, one pine wardrobe, and a bedside table. The window looked out over the row of houses opposite, and as he stared, he shuddered.

This was worlds apart. His house was in a close and the property opposite was so far away, that he never felt hemmed in. Lucy’s flat was in what was once a large house with three floors. The property was now split into two flats. The basement flat that was accessible from the side door to the building was on one level, whereas Lucy’s flat had an upstairs as well as a downstairs floor. There were two separate entrances, but the back garden was only available to the basement flat. At least it was kept very neat and tidy by the old lady who lived there.

* * *

Lucy smiled to herself. She had to keep him there, close to her, and work on him. Acting as if they had been together for years wasn’t working, so she would have to change tactics. But she noted how he responded to her when she appeared needy. She would have to put on a first-class act, although she shouldn’t denigrate her acting skills. They’d made her what she was today. They had been honed to a fine art, and she knew she was good at disguising her true inner self.

She believed she’d been dealt the shitty hand, being left with her father, while her mother upped sticks and got on with her life, leaving her behind to live with a bastard of a man. She didn’t care what anyone said. Even the shrink, Julien Spinks, with his stupid ideas that she had an unhealthy vivid imagination. What did he know, anyway? As far as she was concerned, her father was a short-tempered, evil bastard.

The tears she’d put on for Justin, though, were fake. As she recalled it, all her life, no matter how much she cried, she was told to stop snivelling, don’t be a baby, and grow the fuck up. Her recollection from the age of six was that she’d had to cook, clean, and pander to her father’s needs or suffer a violent backhander. The freezing cold bath or the metal cabinet were two of his favourite forms of retribution, although no one believed her. She vaguely recalled being locked away overnight, unable to sit down because the space was too small, and standing in the dark, desperately hoping that he would let her out soon, feeling the cold walls and hearing the rustling of rats outside and the scurrying of spiders.

Then, there was her father’s face when he opened the cabinet, and her blinking furiously with the bright light and the silhouette of his big frame and thick neck. ‘Have ya learned ya lesson, then? Now, will you stop telling lies?’ he would bellow.

Lucy remembered a woman from the social services, called Rhonda, a big black woman, smiling sweetly at her father and then tutting at her, shaking her head, and with those condescending words, saying, ‘Now, now, Lucy, this has to stop. You have to attend your weekly appointments with Dr Spinks and take your tablets every morning.’ But they had her all wrong – even Dr Philippa Shelby, her GP, the condescending bitch, with her curt words and sharp tongue, telling her that without the medication, she would be sent to a home.

She hated Rhonda and Dr Shelby nearly as much as Spinks, and she also detested her teacher, Mrs Lyons, who always insisted she sat at the back of the class and refused to believe a word she said. Still, what did they know? They never had to take the vile gag-inducing pills. They were probably all being bribed by her father, Les, anyway, to pretend she needed psychological help. She put up with the shit until she was old enough to change it all.

Naturally, as a teenager, she found men were extremely attracted to her. Not only could she turn a head or two, but she had the guile and the confidence to wrap any man around her little finger. She’d already had practice when it came to sex, as she believed her father had sold her to his friend. For most young teenagers, it would have been a terrifying, traumatising experience, but for her, it wasn’t. Now, at thirty-one years of age, she looked back and concluded at that time it was rape. Of course, it was. And yet her rapist didn’t pin her down or hurt her.

Carl was his name. A man in his twenties, he was smart and handsome. From the weekly gatherings, which Les called their poker night, she soon realised that Carl was a villain. Carl would eye her up and pay her the most flattering compliments, which she wasn’t used to, but which gave her butterflies from all the attention. He was much younger than her father, and he had a sleekness about him and soft eyes that could make him everyone’s friend when he needed to put on the charm.

After she poured their drinks, she hid in the shadows, but all the time she did so, she listened to their conversations of money scams and prostitution and her eyes lit up. She was well on her way to becoming a minor player in the life before most boys her age actually knew where to find the hidden jewel of the female anatomy.

So as the years went by, her knowledge of the criminal underworld gave her the self-assuredness to think about getting into it herself. After all, it was easy money. And besides, who would stop her? Her own father could hardly look down on her for it, and he didn’t care about her anyway.

Then, one evening, when she was fifteen, she endured a particularly bad weekend, although her memory of the events was not clear in her mind. After she’d been out with her friends to a party, she put the key in the door only to be dragged the rest of the way into the house by her hair. Her father’s thick sausage-like fingers gripped her arms and shook her so hard she bumped her head on the back wall. He was screaming. As foam and spittle left his mouth, his eyes were red and violently angry, and his voice held an ear-piercing screech to it. In his rage, he threw her to the stairs and demanded she stay in her room, or she would be locked in that metal cabinet.

The recollection was vague, but the next morning, he gave her some pathetic lecture about her being drunk and rolling in at all hours, not knowing where she’d been or who she’d been with. How he was sick of her going so late and he was going to get someone to give her a good talking-to, who may knock some sense into her. Never mind what he said, she was convinced that the marks on her face were caused by him manhandling her. Okay, she’d had a little to drink, but she couldn’t have given herself the bruises.

Shortly after her perceived assault, the men had another meeting at her home. She had been getting ready for another night out, secretly downing a few shots of neat vodka before she applied more make-up to hide the bruises. The sound of the men downstairs seemed more appealing than the invitation to a house party put on by a few of her mates.

Carl noticed the marks on her face, and he immediately curled his finger for her to come closer to inspect the bruises. As she approached him, she noticed the compassionate smile that spread across his face.

‘You need to be careful, Lucy. Don’t you go ruining that beautiful face of yours,’ he uttered, quietly. Amazed at that time by his concern for her, she’d put it down to the fact that he’d been drinking, and yet, she felt goose bumps all over her arms and her face went bright red with embarrassment. He must have noticed how coy she was, and he played on it, running the back of his hand down her cheek. She didn’t move.

His eyes then darted to Les and then down at the cards in his hand. With a low sarcastic tone, he said menacingly, ‘You owe me now, Les. I don’t think you can trump three aces, can you?’ His eyes darted to the pot of money on the table.

Lucy looked at her father who appeared to be nervously chewing his bottom lip as he focused on the cards in his hand. He suddenly shot her a look and shook his head in disgust. She hated that expression.

‘Right, I think I will call it in. Come on then, pay up, Les – ya can’t beat my hand.’ Not looking at Les, he ran his hand down her face again.

Once again, Lucy looked at her father who lowered his eyes, studied his own cards, and then nodded with a heavy sigh. She never really knew if it was shame, guilt, or humiliation. Did he look down because he had sold his daughter, or was it because he’d reached the depths of fear of the repercussions if he had said no? Either way, as far as Lucy was concerned, it didn’t matter. She didn’t care. In her head, she guessed what he meant when he said, ‘pay up’.

The meeting over, the men left, one by one. Les took Carl into the kitchen and then re-emerged, giving her another one of his critical looks. ‘Carl wants to talk to you.’

With that, Carl nodded for Les to leave the room.

‘Come and sit by me, beautiful.’ He winked. Those words were like wandering into a Disney world, a magical place. She did as he said, and as he stroked her hair, she felt alive, with his warm breath on her neck and his gentle words of affection. Her ears buzzed, and her heart rate quickened. Whether or not it was the alcohol in her system or the closeness of a real man, she didn’t care: it felt good either way. That longing look of his sucked her in, and as he leaned in to her, she detected the subtle sweet-and-sour aroma of his aftershave.

She closed her eyes, as his words reverberated somewhere in the distance. Her hands covered his, easing them inside her school blouse. Immediately, he pulled away, but not before his eyes narrowed, sending a cold shiver up her spine. She hated that look of disappointment; it was the same one her father constantly wore. She wanted, longed even, for the attention, and could have cursed, just when things were getting interesting.

Get a grip, Lucy, she told herself. This is big school not play school and those soothing fingers and wanting eyes were sending furious signals to her brain. Leaning in to him, she arched her back, encouraging him to caress her. He held back as she urged him to touch her. All she could hear were words of adoration; those kind, sweet words were like music to her ears, words that flooded her mind with candy and lifted her spirits to a new height. It didn’t matter what he was saying; his voice was somehow hypnotic and addictive, like a drug.

If this was Les’s way of “paying up”, then she was going to ensure it was well and truly paid, and her father could live with the guilt for the rest of his miserable existence. It was then that she realised she could have this effect on men. She would become a player by using her looks and sexual powers to control them. But not just any men. They would need to be charismatic, wealthy, and stunningly good-looking, just like Carl. She wouldn’t settle for less.

He left that evening with a warm smile and an incredibly seductive wink. She remembered giggling and him saying, ‘Goodnight, my little darling, sleep well.’ And she did – for the first time ever, she slept like a baby.

By the morning, she felt alive, although, for a moment, she wondered if it had all been a dream. Les staggered into the kitchen, still reeking of booze. She had her back to him and snatched the toast as it popped from the toaster. In her head, she was singing a tune, but not aloud; he would hate any noise in the morning, usually suffering from a hangover. She placed the buttered toast on a plate and slid it under her father’s nose. This time, she didn’t feel so petrified of him. That morning was probably the first time ever he’d said, ‘thank you’. She then placed the coffee by his plate.

She didn’t have to look at his chunky, puffy face to know he was tormented with guilt; she could hear it in his breathing, by the way he quietly sat down, and by the tone in his voice when he asked if the talking-to from Carl had helped her in any way. She rolled her eyes and smirked. ‘Some pep talk, eh? My fucking arse. You know what he did to me? Call yaself a father. You should be ashamed of yaself!’

She glared at her father’s expression of resignation, rolling her eyes once more when he asked if she had taken her tablets again. Finally, she stomped off, after he accused her of such mad and disgusting lies. They weren’t mad, and she wasn’t going to stand there and allow him to fill her head with bullshit.

A week later, the firm gathered again for their poker night, but Les ushered her to her bedroom. ‘Stay up there and don’t make a fucking sound,’ he demanded, before he opened the front door to let the men in. Lucy listened at the top of the stairs and then she heard Carl. She could visualise his smouldering eyes, his command for attention, and then the soft glance he would give her, but she was upstairs, hidden away. She wanted him and pondered how she could let him know she was there.

She added another layer of mascara and lined her lips with red lipstick, swigged another mouthful of neat vodka, and waited for her chance. The problem was, if she made a sound, her father would beat her or send her to the metal cabinet. Then, she heard her Prince Charming. ‘You fucked up again, Les,’ came the sarcastic laugh from below. There was a long pause, as she strained to hear.

‘No matter, Les, I suspect you are holding an ace up your sleeve or calling my bluff. How’s Lucy, and where is she this evening?’

Her heart skipped a beat. She wanted to yell down the stairs, ‘I’m here! Come and get me, take me away. I will do anything, but just get me out of this fucking house away from my monster of a father.’ But she said nothing and waited whilst imagining her father sitting there counting the ten-pound notes that Carl was carefully slapping in front of him, all to have a piece of her. She took another swig from her bottle of Smirnoff.

‘She’s upstairs,’ her father uttered, defeated.

Lucy remembered the grin on Carl’s face, as he stood there in the doorway to her bedroom. The butterflies were back, along with the fast beating of her heart, and she was ready for him. Looking back at that time, she shivered. Her father had sold her again.

Before Lucy’s mind returned to the present, a chilling thought entered her head. Where was her diary? She couldn’t leave that lying about for Justin or anyone else to find. It contained her innermost personal thoughts and feelings. Years ago, Dr Spinks had suggested that she made a diary to help her control her somewhat aggressive tendencies and fanciful recollections. It had been the only good advice she felt he’d ever given her. She knew her head was still in a mess. But she truly believed that until her present plans came to fruition, she would not become the person she had always wanted to be … she needed to be … for her own sanity.

Lucy’s thoughts returned to the present. Leaving the bathroom, she hurried to the bedroom, where she quickly got herself dressed in a soft woollen dress. She liked to feel wrapped in cotton wool, but the long black dress would have to suffice. She would allow Justin his space and work on him slowly but surely. She had come this far now; she wasn’t going to give up on such a good catch so easily – not without a damn good fight, anyway.