The Last Lie: The must-read new thriller from the Sunday Times bestselling author

‘She wouldn’t need to know, would she?’ Alfie said. ‘I mean, you can’t tell her any of this, can you?’

Dr Singh did not reply for a long time. When he did, his voice was low and guarded. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I can’t.’

‘Good. Then I’d like it if you didn’t.’

‘May I ask a question, Mr Daniels?’

Alfie nodded.

‘Do you intend to tell your wife that everything is normal with your sperm test?’

Alfie thought for a moment. ‘Yes, I do. But you can’t say anything.’

‘No,’ Dr Singh said. ‘I can’t. But I will have no choice but to stop treating her.’

Alfie looked at him. That could be a problem. ‘Why?’ he said.

‘Because I will know – even though I will say nothing – that the real cause of her not conceiving is your sperm. Knowing that, I cannot continue to act as though the problem might be her, not to mention the ethics of charging for treatment I know will be ineffective.’

‘What will you tell her?’

‘That an ethical concern has arisen and I can no longer be her doctor.’

‘She’ll want to know why.’

‘I’ll tell her I can’t say why.’

Alfie nodded, slowly. He shouldn’t have said he was going to tell Claire his sperm was normal, but then Singh would have felt he could have discussed it with her, since Alfie had already told her. And he had to keep it from her.

So he’d had no choice. And now it was obvious what would happen: when the doctor told her there was some ethical concern, Claire would think something was badly wrong and would go immediately to another doctor. She’d make Alfie go with her, and she’d insist she was there at every appointment. That doctor would discover his zero sperm count and suggest a scan to look for a blockage, at which point the vasectomy would be revealed and his marriage, and the lifestyle that went with it, would be over.

The problems would pile on top of each other until the whole thing came crashing down, and that left him with only one option. The option Henry Bryant would have taken.

‘OK, I’ll tell her the truth. I have no sperm.’ Alfie tapped the desk. ‘Then what will you do?’

‘I’ll say it is true you have no sperm, but I don’t know why, and since you do not want further treatment there is nothing more I can do to help at this point.’

‘Well,’ Alfie said. ‘Let me tell you – patient to doctor – why I have no sperm. It’s because I had a vasectomy. And before you ask, Claire doesn’t know about it, and she’s not going to find out. So here’s what’s going to happen: I’m going to tell her I have no sperm, and then, if she asks you about it, you’re going to say it’s true. And that’s it. You’re not going to say another word.’

Dr Singh’s eyes narrowed, and he pointed his index finger at Alfie’s chest. ‘I’m not intimidated by you, Mr Daniels. I will keep your secrets, but I will not treat—’

Alfie’s hand snapped out and he grabbed the doctor’s finger. He stared at him and slowly bent it back. Dr Singh flinched in pain. ‘Listen to me,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Listen to me, you filthy little Paki. You’re going to tell her there’s nothing more you can do to help me and she’s going to leave here feeling sad, and you’ll never see her again. And if you don’t, you won’t need to worry about breaking doctor–patient confidentiality. You’ll need to worry about me breaking your disgusting brown neck.’

‘I’ll call the police,’ Dr Singh said, through gritted teeth. ‘This is assault.’

Alfie shook his head. ‘No, you won’t,’ he said. ‘There’s no evidence of any assault. And when they get here I’ll say you fondled me when you examined me. I’ll tell everyone. And they’ll believe me, because people believe that kind of thing.’

He tightened his grip and lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘And I will kill you. One night, when you’re all alone, you’ll wake up and wonder what the noise in your house was, whether there even was a noise, and then you’ll look up and I’ll be in your bedroom and it’ll be the last thing you ever see. Understand?’

He could see fear in the doctor’s eyes. He relaxed. This was going his way.

‘I asked you a question,’ he said. ‘Answer it, you piece of immigrant shit. Do. You. Understand?’

Dr Singh nodded, his lips pressed together to suppress the pain.

‘I understand,’ he said.

‘Good,’ Alfie replied, and let go of his finger.

Claire (#ulink_0f83ad8f-70ff-59ee-9482-21e1f8eeb8e4)

Claire’s phone buzzed and she glanced at the screen. It was a text from Alfie. The meeting was in full flow, but she had to read his message.

Can you call?

Her stomach balled up. There was something about the text message which didn’t seem right to her. He’d have his results by now. She’d been expecting a breezy no problem or all fine down below, but not this. Not a request to call her. She started to type a reply – call you back soon – but before she could finish it, she became aware that the room was silent. She lifted her head. Vicki Turner, the senior partner and founder of the firm, was looking back at her.

‘Claire?’ she said. ‘Your thoughts on the last question?’

Claire swallowed. She had no idea what the last question was.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t catch the question.’

Vicki Turner – tall, late-fifties, hair groomed into a static pile, pencil skirt and expensive jacket – looked pointedly at Claire’s phone, and then spoke slowly.

‘The question,’ she said, ‘was about the relationship with the client. If we have a strong relationship then maybe we can resolve the matter without pursuing legal action. Since you manage this contract, I was wondering whether you might be able to provide an opinion on the matter.’

‘Right,’ Claire said. ‘Of course.’ She searched for something to say but her mind had gone blank. She felt the heat rise in her neck and cheeks, felt herself flush. It was ridiculous; she was a grown woman, but here she was, her mind frozen.

‘It’s …’ she began, ‘it’s fine, I think. No, it’s better than that. It’s good.’

Vicki nodded. ‘Do you think we may be able to resolve this payment dispute without going down the legal route?’

‘I’m not – well yes, maybe.’ Claire smiled. ‘Maybe I can talk to someone there. Test the temperature.’

‘OK,’ Vicki said. ‘Let’s do that. Perhaps by the end of the day, if possible?’

‘No problem,’ Claire said. ‘End of the day it is.’

Back at her desk, she picked up her phone and called Alfie. He answered on the second ring. She could tell immediately it wasn’t good news.

‘Alfie,’ she said. ‘What happened?’

There was a long pause. ‘It turns out,’ he said eventually, ‘the problem is me.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well,’ Alfie replied. ‘I have a very low sperm count.’