Liars, page 36
Him hosting a TV show a few months after what he did isn’t fair.
Being on TV will give him money, power, status and opportunities to do the same or worse to other women. How would I feel if he did, and I hadn’t done anything to stop him?
‡
Saw Viv. He said going through the courts won’t be easy. It will definitely challenge my mental health, but I feel like I should. If I let this slide, maybe he’ll do it again to someone else.
‡
I’ve thought about it more. I’ll go to the police if I have to, but maybe there’s a better way. I’ll ask him to pull out of the TV job. I know how much the job will mean to him, so if he does that, he’s been punished. If he refuses, I’ll go to the police.
‡
I called him. It was awful, but I said what I had to say. I gave him two days to pull out of the show. Let’s see what he does.
‡
It’s been two days and I haven’t heard from Gary. Fuck him. Going to the cops.
‡
At midday went to the police station. I felt cold and determined and mainly ‘fuck him’. I was sitting waiting to see someone when he rang. He said he would withdraw from the show. He asked for a week to work out how to break it to his producers. I said okay. Huge relief. I feel less like a victim, more empowered, and relieved I don’t have to go through the legal system.
‡
I’m feeling better today, like that whole awful thing is over and I can get on with my life. A big step on the road back. Next one is seeing Seb. I’m going to invite him to come up here. I hope he’s not too pissed off with my vanishing act. If he comes, maybe that day will be my first 8!
That was her last entry. Seb couldn’t have read any more, anyway. The words had gone blurry.
For years he had thought that when he had told her how he felt about her on that last night in Sydney, it had caused her to run away, into the path of a killer. For years he had been carrying the guilt, doing penance by writing traffic tickets, too scared to chase any job or woman he wanted, because what if he stuffed that up too?
But what he had said hadn’t been a big deal to Sal. She knew how he felt. She wanted to see him again. She was looking forward to it.
A weight was lifting. One down.
*
In the hospital, Seb walked past the flower display. Not really appropriate this time. Once again, he wished the elevator was slower. When he emerged, he forced a smile at the nurse at the counter, got one in reply, walked down the corridor, and there was Claire.
‘Hi,’ he said.
She was alone, in a chair by the window, this time reading another Mark Watson book, Contacts. He wondered how things were going with her boyfriend and, more specifically, if that was still an accurate way to describe him. Not that it would matter after what he had to tell her.
‘You didn’t bring food.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Disappointing. I’m making progress. A hundred and seven steps so far today.’
‘Wow. Well done.’
‘Was hoping to celebrate with lollies that someone brought me. What’s wrong?’
‘I have to tell you something.’
‘Okay.’
‘The accident. There was no truck. I fell asleep. It was my fault. I lied to protect myself.’ He stared at the sheets, unable to meet her eye.
‘Why are you telling me? Did someone find out?’
‘Yes, but he’s dead. I mean … that makes it sound like I killed him to protect myself. No. He just … died. I’m telling you because … because it’s always there. The lie. Wherever I am, it’s there too. And because I … you should know the truth.’
‘I do know.’
‘You …?’
‘I remembered about a week ago. It came back in fragments, but I’m pretty clear now. I woke up, you were asleep, I screamed, you jerked awake and slammed the brakes and we went off the road. And there was nothing coming at us.’
His legs were weak. He should have sat down first. He leaned his hands heavily on the bed between them. He thought about all the days and nights she had spent in this room. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘I know. You wouldn’t have told me otherwise.’
‘You’re in here because of me.’
‘Did you fall asleep on purpose?’ she asked.
‘What? No.’
‘Well, then. You remember why we were driving home at 5 a.m.? To get me home so my boyfriend wouldn’t find out.’
He hated himself for asking, but couldn’t not. ‘Are you going … to tell?’ He felt like a six-year-old who’d pushed someone over in the playground.
‘Will that help me walk again quicker? You’d lose your job, right? Get charged with something?’
He nodded.
‘That’s not what I want. I was angry when I remembered, but I’m not now. Well, a bit, but not much. Don’t know why.’
There was a long silence.
‘You don’t ever need to see me again if you don’t want,’ he said. ‘If that’s easier.’
‘Would that be easier for you?’
‘No. But …’
‘Well, then.’
‘Would you like me to go now?’
‘Yes.’
He nodded. ‘Okay. Understand.’
‘Not to the hospital shop. They have fuck-all. There’s a 7-Eleven across the road. Fantales and Minties. Having them together is really good.’
‘Oh. Umm …’
‘What now? Something else you’ve done? Hacked my credit card?’
‘No. But … they stopped making Fantales.’
‘You’re joking. No, you wouldn’t dare at the moment. Fuck, that’s appalling. Freckles, then. And, Seb?’
‘Yes?’
‘Fucking hurry. Least you could do, considering.’
CHAPTER 83
Barb sat on her balcony, sipping chardonnay as the shadows lengthened, listening to the cockatoos vandalising trees. They were back, drawn by the feed. Ah, well. The more the merrier.
Job done, she supposed. It had been exciting and they had succeeded, so why did she feel so flat? Probably because Joe was still dead, and always would be. Same with Sal and the two other Blue Mountains victims. And Karen. And Gary. Six people. Goodness.
Now what? Back to the, let’s face it, not so exciting day-to-day of oiling decks, taming gardens and fixing windows. On her own again. Working with Joe had helped fill the sizeable hole Dennis had left. After Joe died, working with Seb had. What would now?
Careful. No self-pity.
She hoped Seb would be all right. We all do things we regret. Sometimes we shrug them off, other times they eat away at us, and weigh us down for years. He was a much better person than he realised. She hoped he would come to understand that.
Her phone pinged. Dennis.
Okay if I pop over for a coffee? Discuss things. Wouldn’t mind seeing the old place again
Charming. He wanted to see the house, not her. Unless, even worse, ‘the old place’ referred to her.
She started to reply, and then stopped. Dennis had got bored of her. Fair enough. She hadn’t realised it before, but perhaps she had got a bit bored of him, too. What she had thought of as a comfortable pattern may also have been a rut. It was hard to tell the difference sometimes. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life sitting next to someone in a way that was just comfortable. She deserved more. Maybe she wouldn’t find it, but being on her own wasn’t so bad. The bed wasn’t as warm, but on the other hand, there wasn’t any snoring. She ate alone, but there was only half the washing-up to do.
To practical matters. How was she going to do the Ballards’ gutters? It was a two-storey house. At the very least, she needed someone to hold the ladder.
She poked her phone.
I need a helper for a guttering job on Monday. $30 an hour. Interested?
She hoped Leanne would say yes.
Next she texted Seb.
I’m sorry we quarrelled and I hope things work out. It’s been a pleasure working with you. Remember how in the podcast you said you became a cop because you had a ‘stupid idea’ you ‘could save the world’. You didn’t quite do that, but you did solve Karen’s murder pretty much on your own, and together we solved four other murders, and saved Leanne’s life. No small thing. You did a wonderful job and I hope you know you’re a good man
She looked again at Dennis’ message. She realised that during the last few weeks it had been him texting her, not the other way around. She had just responded. As she would again.
Sorry, I’m a bit busy at the moment
She took another sip of wine. Quite the month.
She continued to sit there as the sun reached the horizon, heaved a sigh of relief and loosened its tie. Early night tonight, then up and at ’em again tomorrow. At dawn, obviously.
Acknowledgements
No book of mine is written without sitting in a chair for a long time. I suppose you could do it standing, but I’ve never got the hang of it. So thanks to three chairs in my office (aka our living room), one arm and two dining. Each contributed in their own way. Thanks also to various seats in Ubers, trains and planes (in particular 8C on QF 739 Sydney–Adelaide), and even the odd park bench. You know who you are.
Thanks once again to first readers, Scott Lockley and Shish Lal, for their feedback and constructive suggestions, gently shared. It takes ages to read a book, much longer than it does to look at a painting, so their efforts are much appreciated.
Thanks to the extremely knowledgeable Paul Dillon for excellent and generous advice about drugs and overdoses and death.
Thanks to Alex Khromtsov from GreenByte for help working out all the I.T. stuff. Any techno-mistakes are mine, not his.
I have been very fortunate to work with Echo Publishing. Juliet Rogers is always friendly, kind, insightful and astute. Diana Hill shepherds my stories through from Word document to book with great care. Many thanks to editor Lauren Finger for so many great suggestions. It’s a pleasure to work with them all.
I want to thank two of my favourite writers, Jane Harper and Richard Osman. I’ve never met either, but as I tried to figure out how to write an intricate murder mystery that worked, I studied one of each one of their books, Survivors and The Thursday Murder Club. I learned a lot from taking two books I loved, pulling them apart (not literally, except that one time I had a tantrum, but I stuck all the pages back together) and trying to work out how they did it. Learn from the masters.
Writing a murder mystery is kind of like doing a jigsaw puzzle, but you have to design all the pieces yourself as you go. Often you get to the point where things don’t quite work, and there is clearly no way they will ever work, because you’re hopeless and you always have been, and always will be. Luckily for me, that only happens about once every forty minutes. When it does, sometimes the best thing to do is to try to forget the bloody book for a bit and hang out with my family. So big thanks to my daughters Lily, Nina and Bibi and my wife Lucy for being great company.
About the Author
James O’Loghlin is a comedian, television and radio host, and author of thirteen books. He began his career as a corporate lawyer, realised it wasn’t for him, and became a criminal lawyer and a comedian. He has hosted four television shows – including The New Inventors on ABC-TV for eight years – and presented programs on ABC Local Radio for fifteen years.
In 2021 his first play, Television, was shortlisted for the Rodney Seaborn Playwrights Award and was Highly Commended by the judges of the Silver Gull Play Award. James co-hosts the mental health podcast ‘Minding Your Mind’ with Professor Ian Hickie.
Liars is James’ thirteenth book, and second novel for adults. His first novel, Criminals, was published by Echo Publishing in 2022.
James lives in Sydney with his wife and three daughters.
Echo Publishing
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Copyright © James O’Loghlin 2024
All rights reserved. Echo thanks you for buying an authorised edition of this book. In doing so, you are supporting writers and enabling Echo to publish more books and foster new talent. Thank you for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing or transmitting any part of this book by any means, electronic or mechanical – including storing in a retrieval system, photocopying, recording, scanning or distributing – without our prior written permission.
Echo Publishing acknowledges the traditional custodians of Country throughout Australia. We recognise their continuing connection to land, sea and waters. We pay our respects to Elders past and present.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
First published 2024
This ebook edition published 2024
Editor: Lauren Finger
Page design, typesetting and ebook creation: Shaun Jury
Cover design: Design by Committee
Front cover images: Main image, photograph of Australian coast by Stephanie Jackson / Alamy Stock Photo. Additional details, photograph of buildings and beach by Pavel Dudek / Alamy Stock Photo.
Back cover image: Norfolk Island pines and road, photograph by Kahuroa, Wikimedia Commons
A catalogue entry for this book is available from the National Library of Australia
ISBN: 9781760687496 (paperback)
ISBN: 9781760687489 (ebook)
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James O’Loghlin, Liars
