The Darkest Lies: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist Read online

  Unless…

  Headlines ripped from newspapers flew across my mind.

  ‘Teenage Girl’s Rape Horror!’

  ‘Tortured Then Left for Dead!’

  ‘Drugged & Abused in Frenzied Attack!’

  Anything could have happened to you. ‘It’s bad,’ Mum had said. You could be barely alive. Every bone broken. Unspeakable things done to you at knifepoint. Your beautiful skin slashed and gouged.

  No! No! No!

  Just a few hours earlier, everything had been fine. I’d thought you were safe at your best friend’s house, and had called Ursula to see if you fancied coming shopping with me in Wapentake.

  ‘Beth? She’s not here. She didn’t come over last night,’ Ursula had said.

  I’d almost smiled through my first shot of fear, convinced she’d come back, laughing, at discovering you in Chloe’s room. I’d heard her calling up to her daughter, checking with her.

  At the sullen ‘no’ my stomach had plummeted. I’d insisted on speaking with Chloe.

  ‘You didn’t see her last night?’

  ‘No, no, she didn’t come round last night,’ she said.

  The terror had been a lump cutting off my oxygen.

  ‘She must have done! Where is she? What’s happened?’

  Chloe started to reply, but I slammed the phone down, biting back screams of frustration. My hand shook as I dialled your mobile. It went straight to answerphone.

  ‘Sweetheart, call me as soon as you get this message. It’s urgent.’ I made my voice stern but calm.

  Maybe I’d got the wrong friend? Maybe you hadn’t said you’d be staying with Chloe. No, that made no sense; you and I had walked virtually up to her front door. Still, I called your other pals, but no one knew anything. Repeat-dialled your mobile, but it never rang out.

  Even as my head whirled in panic, I tried to convince myself I was overreacting.

  Snatching up my mobile, I’d run from the house. You had disappeared on Holders Lane, on your way to your best friend’s house, so that was the obvious place to start looking for you. That’s when I’d called your dad. That’s when this nightmare had begun.

  At least you had been found now. Mum stared at me, eyes wide and wary. ‘It’s bad,’ she had said. I needed to stop imagining and see for myself exactly what had happened. Surely nothing could be as bad as what was going on in my head.

  ‘I… I need to get to the hospital.’

  ‘Just… just wait a little bit.’ Mum’s restraining hand was once again on my arm.

  ‘I need to see my daughter.’

  ‘Let’s have a cup of tea first, let the police sort a couple of things out.’

  ‘No, I need to see her now.’ I pulled away from your Granny Heather’s grasp as tyres crunched on the drive. My dad’s car pulled up. But he didn’t get out. I saw him put a hand on my brother’s shoulder. John was crying.

  Big brothers don’t cry. Your Uncle John was a tough fireman, and I hadn’t seen him shed a tear since he’d broken his collarbone when he was ten, after showing off jumping from a tree.

  So there was only one explanation for his tears. You were dead, Beth. You were exactly two weeks short of your fourteenth birthday.

  Another scream ripped through the air. This time, it was mine.

  Six

  My triumph, the moment I committed murder, was a film in my head I revisited. I knew it so well that it could be fast-forwarded through the dull bits and rewound to watch the interesting bits over and over again.

  The sound of the girl’s head being hit was like a watermelon smashing open. That wasn’t a metaphor, because when the thought first occurred to me I bought a watermelon to compare the sounds. It gave me a rush to hear it, and so I’d done that again and again too.

  Of course, the watermelon didn’t make the helpless little huff of breath that she had given. Remembering that was one of my favourite parts.

  The real highlight had been watching her skin turn from a pink glow to a corned beef mottle to grey then finally blue. That was amazing, and each time I replayed the memory I felt a warm glow of satisfaction.

  Seven

  I felt a touch on my shoulder, but I didn’t look up. I stayed curled on the floor of the hallway, Wiggins whining and trying to get to my face to lick away my tears.

  You were dead. My daughter was gone.

  My chest tightened horribly. I couldn’t breathe. Maybe I’d die. That would be good.

  Voices surrounded me; Mum, Dad and John hunched over me. Jacob’s voice broke through, pulling people away. A strong hand under my chin forced my face up to meet his.

  White face. Wide eyes. Pupils like bottomless wells. He was as stricken as me. I stood and threw my arms around him, clinging on, a drowning woman to a life preserver.

  Not a word was uttered between us. Just pain screaming silently.

  Everyone stood back, watching, hands over mouths. In a separate world to us now. Mum’s hands fluttered around us, weak as butterfly wings in a gale.

  Jacob cradled my head in one hand, protecting me and holding me safe against him as he turned and looked at someone.

  ‘Mick, what happened?’ His voice rumbled through his chest against my ear, distorted, as he questioned my dad.

  ‘There’s CID on their way. We should wait for them. The new lead officer, Detective Sergeant Devonport, she’ll be able to explain things better,’ said a muffled voice. A woman’s. Must be that Family Liaison Officer, Britney.

  ‘Mick.’ Jacob’s urging tickled my ear. I buried my face further into his jumper. Wanting to escape. Desperate to hear.

  ‘We were on the marsh.’ My dad spoke, his voice uncharacteristically unsteady. ‘We, er, we heard a shout. Saw police running.’

  ‘Yeah, everyone ran,’ John confirmed.

  My fingers dug further into Jacob’s jumper, feeling the taut muscles of his back.

  ‘We ran too. Jill’s youngest, Davy, was pointing at something. There…’ Dad’s voice broke. ‘Beth was there. Floating in a mere.’

  ‘No. I don’t want to hear.’ Jacob pulled me tighter as he protested, trembling against me.

  But I raised my head.

  ‘I do.’

  Dad looked at me, shocked. Shaking his head. But I didn’t agree with Jacob. I needed to know what had happened to my daughter, no matter how hard it was. I had to do it for you, Beth.

  He and John looked helpless, but John took a deep breath, carried on speaking. ‘Right, so… the, umm, the one officer felt for a pulse. And shook his head.’

  Seismic shocks ran through Jacob’s body. I held him close, each of us stopping the other from falling apart. There was something that had to be asked…

  ‘What did she look like, Dad? What had happened to her?’

  ‘I didn’t see too close, duck. I don’t know. Pale. She looked very pale. I didn’t really see anything else.’

  ‘What was she doing on the marsh?’

  My question went unanswered, along with a million others. Perhaps you had gone there in the dark to do some bird-spotting. Slipped and hurt yourself. Had hypothermia killed you? Or had you hit your head when you fell? Why the hell were you there in the first place?

  Jacob and I were too stunned to cry. Wiggins pressed against us, trembling, because he knew something was terribly wrong, the way animals always do.

  ‘Love, love, let’s get you onto the sofa,’ sniffed Mum, her own face wet with tears.

  I nodded. Because what else could I do? I let myself be urged gently along, supported, to the living room. Murmured talk. A hot drink pressed into my hand, which was held only because I couldn’t think of anything else to do with it. More staring at the carpet.

  I wouldn’t get to hold my daughter again. You loved your cuddles. As a youngster you’d asked for them so often that I’d even had to stop in the middle of washing up, suds dripping on the floor as we’d hugged. Do you remember, Beth? You hadn’t changed a bit; even as a teenager you were always asking for a hug.


  Another knock at the door. I didn’t move. More voices; this time urgent.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Oak.’ A woman with a low, calm voice but with such authority that my head rose in spite of itself.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Oak,’ she repeated, to be certain she had our attention. ‘My name is Detective Sergeant Ellen Devonport. I have an urgent update about your daughter.’

  ‘We know.’ Call herself a detective? I shrugged helplessly at the scene in front of her.

  ‘I believe you’re aware that Beth has been found on a section of marsh a couple of miles from the village boundary. An officer couldn’t find a pulse—’

  ‘We know.’ Jacob spoke to the floor, head in his hands. Voice dead.

  ‘What you don’t know is that a paramedic did detect a faint pulse.’

  What! Invisible strings jerked everyone to their feet. We all stared at the CID officer.

  ‘She’s alive? Beth’s alive?’ I demanded.

  Jacob’s nervous laugh sounded.

  DS Devonport gave a cautious hint of a smile. ‘She’s being taken right now by air ambulance to St James’s Hospital in Leeds.’

  ‘But she’s all right? She’s alive?’ I had been drowning and now rushed up to the surface, dizzy, gasping, euphoric. ‘Can we see her?’

  ‘We can drive you to Leeds now, if you’d like.’

  Jacob and I clung onto each other, grinning.

  ‘You must understand: Beth is very poorly,’ DS Devonport added.

  But we barely heard, too busy celebrating. Your Grandpa Mick gave a whoop of relief, and clapped Uncle John on the back. Granny Heather looked as if she couldn’t decide between dancing and fainting.

  You were back from the dead, Beth. Our miracle girl.

  Eight

  Alien bleeping sounds, a spaghetti of wires, odd machinery and crisp white sheets: I had entered a different world. And in the middle of it all lay you, my love. You were as pale as the bedding, a breathing tube crammed down your throat and a device forcing air into your lungs and out again.

  ‘So that’s breathing for her?’ I checked.

  The machine hissed, and your chest rose. A bitter taste of bile hit the back of my throat.

  ‘That’s right. Beth is in an induced coma to help her heal,’ said the consultant. It was the third time he’d explained that bit. This was all so hard to take in, I’d asked for a bit of paper and a pen to make notes. A string of incomprehensible words had been jotted down.

  The Family Liaison Officer, Britney, had driven us to St James’s Hospital, Leeds. The two-and-a-half-hour journey had been a blur of elation that you were alive, Beth. You probably don’t know, but that’s a really famous hospital. People call it Jimmy’s because they love it so much – it even had a television programme devoted to it years ago. You’re too young to remember that, of course. But it’s a centre of excellence in the treatment of head injuries, so your dad and I had been pleased knowing you were in such capable hands.

  Until we’d seen you. Hope had rapidly been replaced with fear again. Beth, you looked like something from a horror film.

  A moan escaped through the fingers covering my mouth. I clamped them down harder as I made myself look at you.

  Your beautiful long blonde hair had been completely shaved off on the right side, and a tube came out of your skull. The sight of it made me feel faint. Your temple and eye were swollen and blackened, distorting your delicate features so that you didn’t look like you.

  Always as slender as a fairy, now you looked insubstantial in the hospital bed. Someone could whisk you away with the bedding, screw you up and toss you to one side without noticing.

  This was not my daughter.

  You were always rushing about. Hiding round corners and jumping out: ‘Boo!’ Laughing like a loony at the look on your dad’s or my face. You even did it to the dog, who would look at you full of reproach, then leap forward and pin you down for a thorough licking, so the pair of you formed a tumbling, giggling, barking mass of fun.

  You would talk in a breathless stream about nature, about working in conservation one day and saving the world. You had an opinion on everything. Like me, you read voraciously – the only time you were quiet was when you had your head stuck in a book. You sang, played guitar. Thundered down the stairs making more noise than was surely possible for one tiny teenager.

  Now you just lay there. Dead but not dead. In limbo. I could not equate the empty shell with the lively daughter. Your soul seemed to have fled.

  I peered at you, trying to see a spark of life. Something that looked like an inflatable Li-lo covered your body for some strange reason. Then I remembered, I’d been told about it. Something about it keeping you cold to aid healing.

  I shuffled even closer, taking in the terrible dark circles beneath your eyes. No, it was smudged make-up. Odd. You never wore cosmetics, and certainly hadn’t had any on when you left the house.

  The thought was snatched away by the other doctor speaking, the one who wasn’t a consultant but a neurosurgeon. Yes, you had a team looking after you, Beth.

  ‘For now, the most important thing to understand is that we have stopped the bleed on your daughter’s brain. That’s good news,’ she said. The blue of the scrubs set off her eyes, which confidently met first mine, then Jacob’s. We moved our heads like nodding dogs.

  ‘Right now, it’s too soon to say how profound Beth’s injuries are. We won’t have any idea until she wakes up – if she wakes up.’

  ‘If?’ Jacob’s voice sounded scratchy and thick.

  ‘The injury to her brain is significant. The blow was to her temple, and caused an epidural haematoma – a bleed to the brain. Although we have stopped it, you need to be prepared for the worst. Beth may not wake up, and if she does, her injuries may be profound.’

  ‘Wait.’ I flapped my hands as if to shoo away what she had said. ‘You mean Beth might die?’

  ‘I’m going to do everything in my power to stop that happening. But yes.’

  ‘I’m going to be sick.’

  The doctor grabbed a kidney-shaped cardboard bowl and pushed it under my mouth as my stomach heaved. Just in time.

  ‘Nurse,’ she called.

  One had already appeared with a larger bowl. I heaved again, my whole body rejecting what was happening to my daughter.

  Nine

  BETH

  FRIDAY 22 JANUARY

  As she walked down the lane that crisp Friday night, Beth had a spring in her step, only slightly burdened with guilt. She had fooled her mum, and the plan was working a treat. But if her parents ever found out the truth they would totally freak out.

  Lying wasn’t something the teenager was good at, but lately she seemed to be getting a lot of practice. So many secrets weighed down on her; and not only her own. She needed this night to let her hair down and have some fun.

  Beth checked over her shoulder. Her mum wasn’t watching her progress towards Chloe’s house; in fact, she had disappeared. Good.

  No one saw Beth change direction and slip away to her real destination.

  Ten

  Jacob and I sat side by side, holding each other’s hand and yours too. The machines were a constant percussion.

  ‘Come on, love,’ I whispered. ‘You can do this. Come back to us.’

  Those hours were the worst of my life. I held your hand, willing my strength into you. Wishing I could swap places. Jacob sat beside me, doing the exact same; silently, fearfully, fervently.

  Each second that ticked by was an achievement. She’s held on for this long. She’s made it this far. That has to be a good sign.

  The conviction that you would wake any second kept us beside your bed well past the point of our own exhaustion. I stood, stretched, my back giving a twinge, then walked around a bit and yawned. A nurse bustled in, chubby hands checking the read-outs from the bits of machinery. Quick eyes running over me, then Jacob.

  ‘There are private family rooms on the other side of the hospital. You should go there, get som
e sleep,’ she said. Brisk, efficient, well-meaning.

  ‘Yes, your colleagues have mentioned it.’ About a thousand times, I silently added. ‘But I have to be here when she wakes, no matter when that is.’

  You would be scared, confused, and you’d want your parents there to hold you and tell you everything would be all right. And then you could tell us who had done this to you. Because the more I thought about it, the more I realised it had to be someone local – strangers stood out a mile in our little village, where everyone knew everyone else so well they could quote their lineage or even their favourite breakfast cereal. Besides, you’ve had stranger danger drummed into you since you were so high, and are far too sensible to disregard it – aren’t you? Which meant someone we knew had done this.

  They must have lured you into their car on a pretext, then whisked you to the marsh and hurt you. It couldn’t have been for money, so… My stomach lurched. Sex?

  Your fingers were digging into my palm; I uncurled my hand from the fist I’d unconsciously made, afraid I’d inadvertently hurt you. But the anger remained balled inside me as I tried to make a list of people you would trust to get into a car with. It consisted of pretty much the entire village.

  A strangled sob came from beside me. Jacob wiped furiously at his face, but couldn’t hide the tears.

  ‘I didn’t say goodbye to her properly last night,’ he croaked. ‘Too busy watching football, I barely even looked at her. She must have thought I didn’t care.’

  ‘She knows how much you love her,’ I soothed.

  But despite the calm of my voice, I couldn’t tamp down my growing anger. Whoever had hurt our daughter, they were going to pay.