Gemma Metcalfe - Trust Me - A gripping debut psychological thriller with a shocking twist!

‘Well, it’s about the holiday you’ve won. Well, when I say won, I mean sort of won. It’s like a “pay for one night get six free” kind of thing and, well…’

‘What’s your name, love?’ I’m not sure why I ask.

‘It’s Lana,’ she whispers softly. I can almost hear her smile.

‘Lana’s a nice…’

‘So, as I was saying,’ she interrupts, a steely determination suddenly taking hold of her, ‘have you ever been to Tenerife before, Mr, erm, Mr…?’

‘Roberts,’ I rescue her. She laughs nervously and I hear the turning of a page. Am I the furthest she’s ever got to a sale?

‘So, have you, Mr Roberts…? Have you been to the beautiful tropical island of Tenerife?’

I start to feel guilty. I know what she wants and I’m wasting her time, desperate as I am to stall the inevitable.

‘Look, love, I’m sorry,’ I offer reluctantly. ‘I’m not in the position to take a holiday, all right?’ I flick my cigarette ash as I speak; it misses the ashtray and lands on my jeans. I rub it in carelessly.

‘Oh, well, isn’t that a surprise!’

‘Pardon?’ I wonder if she’s been switched. Is this their sales tactic? Good cop, bad cop?

‘Let me see,’ she continues, her voice shaking with every syllable. ‘You’re all booked up, you have no time, and you aren’t in the market for a holiday right now?’ I can almost see her making air quotes above her head.

‘Sorry, love, it’s just really not convenient.’ I sound bored but really I’m just sad. A holiday would be nice.

‘Why? Why not?’ Her voice balances on the edge of tears; tears of frustration, no doubt. I stay silent, suddenly unsure of what to say. ‘Go on, then?’ she persists. ‘Why can’t you come on this holiday you registered for?’ A holiday you left your number for?’ She really emphasises the ‘you’.

‘I’m sorry, it’s just…’ I draw on my cigarette, desperately trying to think of a plausible excuse.

‘What? Go on! I’m all ears! Tell me your excuse so I can file it down in my book along with all the other shit excuses?’ There’s a moment’s pause. ‘Sorry.’ She laughs sadly, as if she may suddenly be embarrassed by her outburst.

I don’t know why I say it, because, as the words slip off my tongue, I know it’s a really bad idea – though maybe I want to shock her, maybe I feel really bad for her and I want to make her see I’m not just like every other time waster, or maybe I just really want to tell someone – but, whatever the reason, when I say the words, it feels good, it feels cathartic to say it out loud, even if only to a total stranger. ‘I can’t come, darling,’ I say quite calmly, ‘because, in a minute…’

‘Yeah?’ she mutters, the fight now gone.

‘In a minute, I’m going to kill myself.’

I’m not sure who hangs up first – perhaps it’s me, or maybe it’s her – but, suddenly, the line is completely dead.

CHAPTER FOUR

PRESENT DAY

Lana, 2.30 pm

‘Oh, God, shite… Mel ?’ I swivel round on my chair and fly over to where she’s sitting a few metres away. ‘Mel?’ I try again, almost shouting this time. My hands are shaking, heart pounding in my chest.

She puts her right hand up near my face, index finger in the air. ‘Oh, of course, Mr Matlock,’ she purrs, her attention back on the phone. ‘It would be an absolute dream to be acquainted with you when you arrive.’ She meets my eye and smirks. ‘Now, sir… or do you mind if I call you Stanley?’ Giggling, presumably at his response, she flicks her strawberry-blonde hair to one side. ‘Oh, you naughty boy; don’t let Edith here you saying that. Hey, just one second, Mr Matlock.’ As she flicks up her mouthpiece, I take it as my cue to speak but, as the words jump off my lips, she raises that bloody finger again. ‘Just two ticks, chick – I’ve got him here.’ She then reaches in her bag and produces a miniature bottle of vodka.

‘What are you doing? I really need to speak to you.’ I realise I sound pretty desperate but she obviously doesn’t notice.

‘You want one?’ she offers, while unscrewing the top.

‘No, I…’

‘Okay, suit yourself.’ Leisurely, she pours herself a generous measure in a plastic Coca-Cola cup and swills it around with a pen, conceals the empty bottle back in her handbag, then adjusts her headset accordingly.

‘Mel, I really…’ I try again, but she’s already back on the phone.

‘Okay, Stan, I’m back. Did you miss me?’ She laughs, while taking a sip of the harsh, neat vodka. ‘Well, we just have the small matter of payment, then you must tell me all about those lovely Speedos.’ She makes a ‘mmm’ sound before continuing: ‘So how would you like to pay, my dear, apart from in kind?’

Oh, for heaven’s sake, I haven’t got time to listen to Mel and her alternate sales tactics. Instead, I rush over to Damien, who’s sat at his desk playing on Candy Crush and chomping on some BBQ-flavour Pringles.

‘Damien, guess what? Guess what’s just happened?’ The words trip out of my mouth on top of one another.

‘You haven’t gone and got yourself a sale, have you, babe?’ he states without expression, the word ‘tasty’ blaring out of his phone as he clears the candy.

‘No, it’s not that. But I was speaking to some guy and…’

‘If you haven’t got a sale, I don’t wanna know… Vamoosh!’ He waves me off dismissively like you would a chastised toddler.

‘Damien, please.’ I realise I’m close to tears.

He pauses his game, raises his head slowly. His brow creases as he nods for me to proceed.

‘This man I just called.’ I swallow hard. ‘He said he’s going to kill himself. Like now. He’s going to commit suicide or something.’ I stop talking, unable to provide any further information.

There’s a pause, a fleeting moment where we both stare at one another. Then Damien bursts out laughing.

‘Bleeding hell, Lana. I knew you were bad on the phone, girl, but actually making people wanna top themselves?’ He claps his hands together, leans back on his chair and screeches like a banshee. ‘Hilarious, absolute quality.’

‘I’m being serious ,’ I shout, louder than I mean to. Tears of frustration threaten to escape as I inwardly plead with Damien to take me seriously. I can’t just allow that man to die now I know about it. I can’t just turn my back on him.

I did that once before… and I won’t make the same mistake again.

‘Listen, love,’ says Damien, as if reading my mind. ‘I’ve heard some excuses in my time but that’s the best.’ He smiles then, showing a teeny scrap of remorse, his face a mask of sincerity.

‘But…’ I struggle to speak.

‘But nothing ,’ he barks, breaking the brief moment of sincerity. ‘Go and chill out, have a ciggie and nip over the road for a pint or something. Take five minutes. Then get back on the phone. Forget it. That man, alive or dead, isn’t going to keep you your job.’

So that’s it, conversation over. I go to respond but he’s already back on Candy Crush . I see he’s on Level 387.

Liam, 2.35 pm

I’m not expecting the girl to ring back, so when she does I get irate and tell her to piss off, not so much because I want her to piss off but because I desperately need to get on with the small matter of killing myself.

Elliott, thankfully, dozed off a few moments ago, so I carried him upstairs and placed him in his dinosaur bed. Actually, it’s just a normal wooden bed held loosely together by those crappy screws and pins, which are probably all in the wrong place. But he has dinosaur bedding, which he absolutely loves. As I tucked him in, and pulled the covers up just underneath his chin, my heart broke all over again. To think of everything he has been subjected to in his short life. That’s why I have to do this now. Without Elliott, my life is nothing, and I’m going to lose him one way or another – that much is a given.