Her Last Lie: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist!

‘Bron,’ Isla called after her, when she’d fully gone from view. ‘Wait up.’

‘I’ve told him I’m not sticking around here for too long,’ Bronwyn called out.

‘And he’s OK with that?’ Isla called back.

‘Why wouldn’t he be?’

The darkness was suddenly total, the silence only punctuated by Bronwyn’s distant footfalls, and the intermittent sound of an owl hooting. ‘Bronwyn, please wait up,’ Isla called, picking up speed. ‘Bron? I’m knackered. I can’t be arsed to run.’

‘Ahhh!’

‘Bron!’ Isla called out, grabbing her torch from her rucksack and searching the darkness. ‘Bronwyn, are you OK?’

‘Over here,’ Bronwyn called out, laughing. The beam of Isla’s torched picked her out among the trees. She was sitting on the gravelled earth, brushing down her knees. ‘Lost my balance,’ she said, her face spreading into a wide, intoxicated smile. ‘Should have been looking where I was going.’

Now

‘Get out of my head,’ Isla cried, burying her head in her hands, tears burning. The appeal had got to her more than she realised. ‘You can’t hurt me any more, you bastard.’

But she knew she wouldn’t sleep. She couldn’t even close her eyes.

Chapter 5 (#ulink_8f79039e-ec29-55b0-9c8c-bd1b26583dc3)

Wednesday, 26 October

Water streamed from the shower over Isla’s hair, and soapy bubbles slid down her back. She could have stayed there for hours, washing away her tiredness, the harshness of the journey home and the awful unease of the night before.

She turned off the water, reached out for a fluffy towel to wrap around her, and stepped onto the mat in the steamy bathroom, determined she wasn’t going to let Carl Jeffery ruin everything. In fact, the smoothness of the water had already worn away the sharp edges, perspective almost restored. The person in the sports car could have been anyone visiting the apartment block, she told herself, and she wasn’t even sure the buzzer had been activated.

The door nudged open, and she looked up from rubbing moisture from her hair with a hand towel. ‘Luna.’ The cat ran towards her, meowing, and Isla crouched and tickled her ears. ‘I’ve missed you so much, my little angel.’

‘I hope you missed me too.’ It was Jack, outside the door.

‘Hey, you,’ Isla called.

She smiled as a head of wayward dark hair appeared, along with a familiar smile. He crossed the bathroom and took her in his arms. ‘So all went OK in Canada?’

She nodded. ‘It did, yes.’

‘You should feel pretty pleased with yourself.’ He touched her hair, and leant in to kiss her lips. Luna mewed and made a quick exit, as he began trailing kisses down Isla’s neck. He went to unhook her towel, but she flinched and pulled away.

‘What’s up?’ he said, his eyes wide and hurt.

‘Nothing. Sorry.’

He went to reach out to her once more, but she stepped away. ‘Have you been smoking?’ she said.

He narrowed his eyes. ‘Just the one. It was bloody stressful with my mother.’

‘Oh God, yes, sorry.’ A pang of guilt. ‘Is she OK?’

‘Heart attack.’

‘Jack, that’s awful.’

He shrugged and screwed up his nose. ‘It was mild. If she listens to the doctors, which she probably won’t, she’ll be OK.’ He reached out his hand and touched the St Christopher necklace hanging around her neck. ‘Is that new?’

She placed her hand over it. ‘Sort of,’ she said with a shrug.

‘I didn’t think you were into the saints.’

‘No, no I’m not, not really. It was a gift.’

‘A gift?’

‘Jeez, Jack, what is this, the third degree? Roxanne bought it for me, if you must know. Before I left for Canada.’

‘Easy, Isla. Don’t bite my head off. I’ll put some coffee on, shall I?’ he said, turning his back, and leaving her alone.

Isla dried herself, and pulled on a pair of leggings and a crumpled Fat Face top she’d retrieved from her case. She grabbed the rubber band she’d discarded to take a shower, pulled it back onto her wrist, and pinged it three times.

In the kitchen, she plonked three magnets on the fridge – Toronto, the Canadian Rockies and Niagara Falls – as Jack took two ready-made rolls from a paper bag, and placed them on plates.

‘Cheese and pickle OK?’ he asked, as she headed towards him. ‘I picked them up on the way home. Thought you might be hungry. There’s nothing in the fridge.’

‘Sounds great,’ Isla said, reaching him, and pulling him into a hug. ‘Listen, sorry about earlier . . . ’ She nodded towards the bathroom. ‘It’s just . . . ’

‘You hate me smoking. I know.’

‘No, well I had thought you’d given up, but it’s more that I didn’t sleep too well, that’s all.’ She bit her lip. If she told him about the car, the buzzer, he would think she was taking a step back.

She released him, and pulled herself onto a stool at the breakfast bar.

‘I have given up, by the way,’ he said, as his phone screamed out the Spider-Man theme tune. He picked it up, looked at the screen, and cancelled the call.

‘Who was that?’

‘My mother – she can wait.’ His eyes were on Isla. ‘I’ve had one cigarette in three months.’

‘You sure about that?’ she said with a smile.

‘OK, two, maybe three, tops. But that’s pretty good.’

Isla tucked her damp hair behind her ears. ‘Yes, you’re right. Sorry.’ She bit into the roll, crumbs sprinkling the breakfast bar, and chewed slowly. ‘So you don’t think your mum will listen to the doctors?’

He shook his head, a crease forming between his eyebrows. He looked pale, his eyes shadowed, as though he’d had little sleep in Dorset. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I only went out of duty, and I’m not sure I even owe her that.’ He sounded cold, so unlike Jack, and Isla felt lost for the right words. His relationship with his mother had always been rocky. She’d been a drinker when he was kid – neglected him, especially after his dad left.

Luna jumped onto the breakfast bar, and attempted to sniff Isla’s roll. ‘You’re so naughty,’ she said, lifting her from the worktop and putting her on the floor where she gave a little mew. ‘Was she good at my mum’s, do you know?’