Lying To You: A gripping and tense psychological drama by Amanda Reynolds

Author:Amanda Reynolds [Reynolds, Amanda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2018-03-31T22:00:00+00:00

Karen

Friday, 9th December 2016 (Late Afternoon)

I watch, fascinated, my breath curling from my lips in the icy air as Will pulls at the filled teat of the condom, a final stretch of slippery rubber before it slides free. He knots the open end, then wraps the offending article in its crumpled foil packet and tucks it into his shirt pocket. The darkness covers his movements to a certain extent, but my eyes have adjusted to the gloom since we arrived, the space no longer an inky blur. Our accommodation isn’t much more than a glorified shed, although it’s spacious, recently constructed by the cricket or tennis club; I forget which. The announcement was made at one of the meetings I missed; Will and I otherwise engaged.

‘Isn’t there anywhere else we can go?’ I’d asked when he suggested this venue; the days growing shorter, and colder.

‘The hut or the van, take your pick!’ he’d said. ‘I don’t have money for a hotel, do you?’

The overpowering smell of freshly cut wood is cloying, but Will has warned me not to open a window in case we forget to close it before we leave. I’ve told him we wouldn’t, but he takes his key holder responsibilities very seriously, and besides, it’s freezing. He was so proud the day he was awarded the contract by the parish council, his excitement infectious as he grabbed me and swung me round before I even knew why, both of us laughing like teenagers. Tending the common paths and cutting the grass on the playing field provides a good chunk of his income, but more than that, it’s a validation of him as a trustworthy professional. So we shiver, afraid to switch on a light, or the heater, the sweat on our skin chilling.

I sit up and adjust my clothing, the floor hard beneath me, the sleeping bag Will spread out across the dusty floor providing only a scant amount of padding. He keeps the bedding hidden at the back of the corner cupboard, retrieving it in almost total darkness from amongst the stacked chairs and cleaning equipment. The polyester fabric is cold beneath my bare thighs, possibly slightly damp too, the smell of mildew synonymous with our affair, although we’ve only resorted to this venue a handful of times so far. The mildew also reminds me of past camping trips with Mark and Frey, when she was a toddler, finances dictating the modest nature of our holidays. I look at Will, still fiddling with the condom, taking it out of his pocket to wrap it in another layer, his handkerchief this time, and a particularly painful pang of doubt stabs at my insides. ‘For God’s sake, Will, just put the horrible thing away.’

‘Do we really need to bother with these?’ He’s holding up the empty packet to the window for me to see what he means, although the park is unlit, and the moon nowhere in sight.

‘Of course we do. I might be forty-six, but I’m not a dried-up old prune quite yet.

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