I Never Lie Read online

  I would pour vodka into my water bottle and put it in my school bag. I don’t remember much after that. Much of my teenage years was spent trying to forget what happened to me while my dad wasn’t there. His guilt plays out in his inability to take time off from work. I guess he felt he needed to make up for it somehow, so he became a high earner, hoping that wealth would ease our pain. It didn’t.

  In a way, it might have been better if Mum was broke, then at least she wouldn’t have been able to buy alcohol. Dad offered to put some money in my bank account, and I said yes. In fact, I think he’s going to make it a regular thing so I can make a fresh start, a new life away from all this. It’s the guilt, you see. He has plenty of that. He wants to somehow make up for those years when he left us. I may as well let him, because I need the money for where I’m going. London. I saw Alex drunk on the evening news. She needs help.

  44

  There’s a loud bang in the hallway of the building, which wakes me up. It’s gone two o’clock in the morning when I open the door to find Charlie slumped by his mountain bike in the dark, clutching a bottle of wine in his right hand.

  ‘Alex, gorgeous Alex. There you are.’

  He’s blind drunk. I have only seen him this wasted once before, and that was when he broke up with his ex, about a month after I moved in. That’s when we first slept together.

  ‘Women can be so heartless…’

  ‘Yes, I know. That they can. That they can.’

  He tries to stand up but slides back down the wall. The bottle slips from his hand, creating a torrent of red on the carpet. This isn’t exactly how I envisioned seeing him after I discovered he knew Maggie Horrocks.

  ‘Let’s get you inside, shall we?’

  It’s quite awkward given the narrowness of the hallway, but although he’s much bigger than me and is now crushing my shoulder, I manage to get my arm around his back and help him up. I’m not cleaning up his mess, though. He can do that himself.

  ‘Where’s your key?’

  ‘In my pocket.’ He’s slurring his words. ‘You’re such a darling, Alex. You really are a darling.’

  I search his pockets but can’t find the key. God, I really don’t need this. Not today. Not on a day I’m detoxing. I’m going to have to bring him into mine or leave him to sleep in the red puddle. I’d prefer not to have to make either of these choices, but I’m stuck with them. Physically it would be impossible to get him up a steep flight of stairs on my own anyway. He’s a big guy and it’s proving difficult to move him. Christ, there’s a wet patch on his jeans, which is now touching my leg. Ugh. Luckily I’m wearing my black leggings, but if I don’t get these wine-soaked jeans off him, it’ll end up all over my flat. What a fucking mess.

  I deposit Charlie in the bedroom undressed and resign myself to a night on the sofa. He’s out within moments of hitting the pillow. What a day. My body feels like crap, but I suppose this drama brings it all home; it’s a good reminder of what I have to do. Alcohol is destructive. I have to stop drinking. I’m awake now, so I make a cuppa and read Laura MacColl’s piece on Mrs Wilcox. I wanted to read it before I went to sleep but was too drained.

  The interview isn’t on camera, which means it’s not quite as powerful as it could have been, thankfully. They are leading with her anger at the police for not informing her of what is happening with the investigation, especially in light of the arrest this afternoon. She also criticises our report, and me in particular. I don’t know why she has taken such a beef with me. I mean, she agreed to our interview and was friendly when I met her. I assume she’s distraught, as any mother would be, and experiencing extreme mood swings.

  Laura’s report also suggests that the gym card found by the body was dropped weeks before the death of Alice Fessy and was a false flag in the investigation. I expect DI Brook won’t be happy with this development, because it’s moments like this that can hinder an investigation.

  Over fifteen hundred people have liked the page and at least three hundred have commented on it, mostly readers expressing their anger at the police and sympathy for Mrs Wilcox. She’s becoming a bit of a media darling by all accounts. I recall Dutch’s words. He didn’t like her one bit. He had a sense that something was up with her. Viewed her as an attention-seeker. Thinking of Dutch reminds me of our night together. I launch my fertility app, which tells me there’s three days until I can take a pregnancy test. I live in hope.

  The temperature has dropped tonight. There aren’t nearly enough extra covers in the flat to stay warm on the sofa, and I don’t fancy sleeping under a pile of towels. I decide that it’s too cold to give up my bed while detoxing. Charlie will just have to deal with that. He’s out for the count and doesn’t notice when I climb in beside him. Thankfully he’s not snoring, which would have just topped it all off. Shortly afterwards, I drift off into a well-needed deep slumber.

  * * *

  When I wake up, there’s a bad energy in me. I’ve had a nightmare. They happen when I detox. Greg featured in it, which hasn’t happened for a while. We were at a function, an outdoor event. It was summer, a time of fun and relaxing, but it was anything but relaxing. He was flirting with a woman; I don’t know who she was. From behind she looked a lot like Sarah Wilcox. I was sober, but he was plastered. There was a deep feeling of betrayal in me. I took myself out of the situation by walking away and leaving the function, and ended up in a huge house where a party was going on. Everyone was having a good time, but I didn’t care about that because I was searching for someone, although I don’t know who. Then I woke up.

  Daylight is creeping into the room because the blinds are only half closed. Charlie rolls over and wraps his arm around me, nestling his face into the back of my neck like a cat in need of affection. Moments later, he runs his finger down my arm to my thigh, though he still hasn’t said a word. I’m not sure what to do, so I do nothing and say nothing. It’s awkward but electrifying at the same time. I pretend I’m still sleeping, but I’m sure he knows I’m not.

  It doesn’t take long before he’s kissing the back of my neck, then my shoulder, then brushing my lower stomach, and I begin to feel aroused. He’s not quitting and I don’t want him to because I need this too. I want to feel loved after that terrible dream. I want to feel needed, if only for a moment. I lean into his body, wrapping my arm around his back, giving him a sign that I consent to his moves. That I won’t push him away.

  Charlie is a good lover. He has such a light touch it would be difficult to push him away even if I wanted to, and before long our bodies are entwined until we’ve exhausted our desires. It’s about finding solace in someone else: me from my fucked-up life, him from what I suspect is another break-up with someone he quite liked.

  ‘Good morning, gorgeous.’ Charlie has a cheeky smile and ruddy cheeks.

  ‘Hello, you old fool.’

  ‘Well, that’s charming, isn’t it?’

  ‘A bit like you last night! There’s a bottle of red wine all over the hallway carpet, which you’d better clean up before the landlady sees it. I’m not taking the rap for that.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. It’s not like you haven’t benefited from it this morning.’

  ‘Yeah, right. Just what I needed, a drunken person in my hallway in the middle of the night.’ As I say it, I have a mild case of déjà vu. Greg used to say this to me all the time. I feel pleasantly exhausted, though.

  He’s sitting up now, his well-built chest on show. He’s quite enjoying himself. I’ve got my T-shirt back on and am looking for something to cover up my bottom half.

  ‘You were in a right state last night. What happened?’

  ‘I had a right to be. The fucking police picked me up yesterday and took me in for questioning over Maggie bloody Horrocks.’

  ‘They did what?’ I’m still annoyed that he didn’t mention he knew her, but then I’m not doing any better given that I’ve just slept with another potential suspect.

  ‘They had me in a bloody cel
l until one o’clock this morning. Just because I knew her and apparently I have a dating profile on that site.’

  ‘Oh, it’s all coming out now. Now that you’re in trouble. Yeah, come and dump your shit on me, why don’t you.’

  ‘Don’t be like that, Alex. You’re the one person I can talk to, always have been. The one person who doesn’t read into things. You like facts. It’s who you are.’

  ‘It’s not one of my finer qualities.’

  Not that I even know what those are these days. I’m starting to feel the need for an alcoholic beverage, and it’s early. My life is becoming one big shit storm. How did this happen? I moved here to get away from drama and now I seem to be in the middle of it.

  ‘For the record, the dating profile they showed me was created by someone else. Not me. A case of stolen identity. Can you believe it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah, right. Mental. Look, I think you’re adorable, Alex. You took me in last night, not many women would do that.’

  ‘What else could I have done?’

  Looking into his laser-blue eyes, I wonder if I should open up to him and tell him what’s been going on since DI Brook hauled me in too. Be honest about my life for a change, like he is being with me. Just let it all out. Admit I’m an alcoholic in need of help. But I can’t. Not while I’m on the story.

  ‘Do they think you’re a suspect? Are you?’

  ‘Noooo, of course not. That’s why they let me go. I just knew her, that’s all.’

  ‘Fuck, Charlie.’

  ‘Yes please. Let’s make love again, my sweet Alex.’

  ‘Would love to, but work calls.’

  I wink at him and make for the bedroom door, hoping to find some dregs of something somewhere in the flat. I’m desperately in need of alcohol this morning, just to get going. There’s a can of cider in my bag, which helps

  When I return to the bedroom with tea, Charlie is dressed and holding a piece of jewellery in his hands.

  ‘This from someone special?’

  ‘That? Old junk is what it is.’

  I hand him the tea, forcing him to put it down. It’s a piece I haven’t worn for a while.

  ‘Doesn’t look like old junk. It has your initial on it entwined with… what’s that? An S?’

  ‘An ex gave it to me a long time ago.’

  It’s a lie, but easier than explaining that I don’t know. I can’t believe I’ve still got that thing. It was a gift for my birthday last year that arrived with a note from ‘Sarah’. I didn’t make the connection at the time but wonder now if it could have been Sarah Wilcox. I meant to try to find out, but shortly after that my life turned to utter shit. These reminders of my past creeping into my life in London are doing my head in. I wish I’d never called in to the newsroom now. Wish I had never taken on this bloody story.

  ‘So the S was your ex?’

  ‘Yes. No one special.’

  He knows I’m lying. He knows me too well, but I’m not going to change my story if that’s what he wants.

  ‘But you’ve held onto it?’

  ‘I thought I’d thrown it away, but I suppose it got mixed up with other stuff when I moved.’

  ‘Jesus, Alex. What have you done to your leg?’

  He’s pointing at my thigh, and when I look down, I see a huge bruise.

  ‘I don’t know, probably knocked into something. It’s not a big deal.’

  ‘I hope I didn’t do that to you when you picked me up off the floor last night.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure you didn’t, don’t worry.’

  He’s right, it is quite a bruise, but then I find them all the time after being on a binge. The things I walk into are unclear while under the influence. And the blackout is probably the culprit. I could have done anything that night, really anything.

  I have Charlie’s spare key in my hand, having found it in the kitchen drawer.

  ‘Here, take your key. You can bring the mug back later. I’m sorry, but I really need to get on. Another long day ahead, most likely.’

  ‘So that’s it, you’re kicking me out. Charming.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I am.’

  ‘Guess I touched a nerve, did I?’

  Moments later, Charlie is gone and I’m left staring at the bracelet, a bracelet I’d completely forgotten about, but which I should probably get rid of, give to charity or something. I should have prodded Charlie about the police interrogation further. It’s my job to uncover all the facts. My head really isn’t thinking straight. He’s probably dead to the world now, though. I put the bracelet in my bag and promise myself to get rid of it today.

  45

  November 2017

  Dear Diary,

  So here I am, living in London. I made it to the capital. It’s much bigger than Manchester and I find myself getting easily lost. I can’t get my bearings at all. Jamala’s friend Suzy rented her spare room to me in Fulham. It’s a nice area. Feels very much like Didsbury in a way, village-like, although of course there are a lot more people from other countries living here. It’s very international. Suzy is also an alcoholic, so it’s easy to be around her because we can talk openly about it. We go to AA meetings together. The group numbers about eight on a slow day and up to twenty when it’s busy. They are nice people. It helps to keep me sober. I mean, it’s my sobriety that has got me this far, isn’t it? To move to another city, to start again. Something that didn’t seem possible only a year ago. I’m finally achieving something in my life.

  At the AA meetings, I find it difficult to share with the group, although I was never really any good at that in Manchester either. Rehab forced me to because I was made to open up by the programme. So I attend the meetings in silence, listening to what everyone else has to say and hoping to identify with them, which is part of recovery. I can see myself in others, I mean in their actions, but I’m way ahead of them emotionally. They say they feel guilty for having hurt people with their drinking, but I don’t see why I should be made to feel guilty for something that wasn’t my fault.

  I haven’t touched alcohol since I left rehab – well, only once, but I decided not to do that again because I risk ruining everything I have worked for. I feel so much more together these days. I think it’s the first time in my life I’ve felt genuinely excited about the future.

  My dad sends money every month. He pays my rent and gives me an allowance to live. He thinks I’m using part of it for therapy, but after my rehab experience, I decided to knock therapy on the head. Don’t see the point in it now that I’ve made a new start for myself. I do need to see Alex, though, talk to her. I think it would be good for me. Just to settle things in my mind. Oh, and Suzy also has a cat called Womble. It’s fat and waddles around, hence the name. She overfeeds it, spoils it actually. Womble is a cute cat but can also be a bit annoying. He constantly rubs up against my leg when I’m eating. Suzy says he’s just looking for affection, but I had this urge yesterday to hurt him. I have these sudden urges now to hurt living things, bugs and animals.

  46

  December 2017

  Dear Diary,

  It’s almost Christmas and Suzy has kicked me out after I almost killed Womble. She came back from work and found me sticking pins in him. She thought I had gone mad. I’ll admit it was a pretty strange thing to do, but I’m not sure what came over me. I just had this urge to hurt him after he wouldn’t leave me alone. Anyway, it’s probably a good thing that it happened, because I’ve finally moved into my own space, which is tiny but it’s mine. It’s not how I thought it would be. Living on your own can be quite lonely, especially at Christmas. But I need to find my independence if it’s the last thing I do. It’s the only way I’m really ever going to sort my life out. My mum always told me I couldn’t stand on my own two feet, so I am doing it and at a time of year when it’s not easy to be alone. Although in a way, as an alcoholic it is easier, because everyone is drinking at this time of year. Life kind of revolves around it.

  I’ve spoken to
my dad a few times on the phone since I left, but I haven’t spoken to my mum because I really needed to cut her off. She’s a trigger for me now, and so I have to keep away from her. All she does is put me down and make me feel terrible about myself. I don’t need that in my life. I’m trying to start something new. Start afresh. I need to stay focused on being sober. I’m thinking about doing some online dating, but I’m not sure where to start with that really. There are so many websites, it feels quite daunting. I signed up to one yesterday called COMEout. It’s advertised on the Underground and is promoted as a place online where women can meet both men and women, and vice versa. It looks fun but I’m nervous about meeting new people because I have to come clean with them about my drinking, which is really hard. And actually the thought of talking about myself generally is quite frightening.

  There’s one reason I’m in London really and that’s Alex. I owe her in a way. She saved me from myself. I was rotting away in my mother’s house but now here I am living independently in the capital. Who would have thought that a year ago? I think Alex needs my help. In fact, I’m sure of it since I witnessed the episode on TV. The whole country saw it. Since then I haven’t seen her on telly at all. I see her name on bylines on their website, but it doesn’t seem like she’s getting on air. I’m guessing it’s her drinking issue. I know I can help her like she helped me. I wonder what she’s doing for Christmas. Maybe I should send her a card.

  47

  It’s day five since Alice Fessy was found dead in London Fields. A day since another woman was found dead there too. It’s been just over a month since the first victim was found. Britain’s newspapers are demanding the police use the term ‘serial killer’ which they are still loathe to do. They keep skirting around it by saying the murders are connected. The public is largely fuelling these demands on social media. As one daily put it, ‘Police fail to connect the dots’, a reference to child’s play.