The Family Lie

by P L Kane

  Lucy.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Mitch said for a third time, and he wasn’t sure whether he was saying it to Denise or the woman waiting back in the city for him.

  ‘It’s just that, I thought we were …’ Denise shook her head. ‘I guess I figured something more might happen. I was a little bit heartbroken. When you took off.’

  ‘I …’ He didn’t know how to reply to that. Had Denise sat here and waited, pining, wondering if he’d return?

  ‘There was someone, for quite a while actually. But it didn’t work out.’

  Waited for him to walk through the doors of this pub and declare his undying love for her, say that he’d made a mistake and after seeing a bit of the world had returned to sweep her off her feet like in some romantic novel or movie? If so, why did that make him feel more guilty than ever – like he should have come back and been with her all along? Like Lucy was the mistake?

  Except she wasn’t. He loved her. The routine they’d got into was just a sign they were compatible, at ease with each other. Wasn’t it? Yes, yes of course it was! Yet he couldn’t help wondering what might have been.

  ‘It’s okay. I understood,’ Denise said. ‘Just wasn’t meant to be, I guess.’ She searched his face. ‘Was it?’

  ‘I …’ Mitch began again, but at that precise moment he felt really uncomfortable – and not all of it was to do with the topic of conversation. There was a rumbling in his stomach, which let out a strange gurgle.

  Denise couldn’t help the laugh that popped out. ‘You hungry?’

  ‘No, I … Would you—’ He wanted to say ‘excuse me’, but A) Mitch couldn’t get the words out, and B) didn’t feel like he had the time – just nodded over to the loos and hoped Denise got the message.

  She did, letting go of his hand. ‘Sure. No worries.’

  Mitch tried to get up, but had to grab the edge of the table to make it. This was the first time he’d tried in fairness since he entered the pub, and once again the booze was suddenly hitting him hard. Four or five pints? Over several hours? What was happening to him? He didn’t used to be this much of a lightweight. If anything, he should be developing a tolerance.

  Or perhaps it was having the opposite effect, a cumulative effect. And his sleep patterns – his sleep in general – had been awful of late, understandably. He’d spent most of one day unconscious in a bloody cave!

  He took a step, feeling like he was walking on the moon or something. Then decided the best bet was to just point himself at the gents and let the momentum carry him. It almost ended in disaster when he got to the door and banged into the frame, but he finally made it inside and promptly aimed for the nearest cubicle, locking himself in.

  Mitch bent, hand out to steady himself using the cubicle wall. The toilet bowl veered left and right below him, a moving target, but no matter how much his guts churned, somehow he wasn’t able to be sick. He got close a couple of times, but then started to feel a little better. Enough to come out again, before heading back in sharpish and at last throwing up. That seemed to take forever, until he was just dry-heaving, clutching the porcelain for support. When he felt like he was done, he straightened up and emptied his bladder, before flushing everything away like it never happened.

  God, he hadn’t been in this kind of state since studying for the police force – tying more than a few on during benders, some which lasted the whole weekend. Coming out of the other side of it, he’d always felt like he wanted to die, but a full English would usually sort him out. The thought of something like that right now just brought on the nausea once more.

  Mitch opened the cubicle door, staggered to the sink and ran the water. He splashed his face, then washed his hands, drying both on the paper towels he got from the dispenser on the wall. He had no idea how long he’d been in there, but when he made it back to the booth at last, Denise had a worried expression on her face. ‘I thought you’d got lost,’ she said as he stood there, debating whether or not to sit down again.

  Got lost … Had he been lost? Was he still lost?

  ‘No. Just not sure that last one sat very—’ He clutched his stomach again to mime it instead.

  ‘Bad pint?’ asked Denise, who looked like she’d seen her fair share of people suffering from those. How often did they clean the pipes in this place?

  Mitch nodded, having no idea whether that was the cause. ‘I just don’t feel … I’m not—’

  ‘Okay mister, I think we’d better get you back home, don’t you?’

  ‘I’ll be—’ Then he suddenly had to grab the back of the bench to stop himself from keeling over. Denise was up and there in seconds, the G&Ts she’d consumed having bounced right off her. Her tolerance, as a barmaid, was probably through the roof.

  ‘Come on, sweetheart,’ she whispered to him, helping him into his jacket and grabbing his helmet that was on the seat. Then she nodded over to the barman: ‘Thanks Ted,’ she called to him. Mitch had to wonder what for? Poisoning him? Yeah, thanks for bloody nothing, Ted! Arm in arm again, the same way they’d entered, she led him to the door, then pushed on it to let them both out.

  He looked over, the road stretching out ahead of him for miles. ‘I …’ he started again; it was rapidly becoming one of his stock phrases.

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ said Denise, making sure he didn’t trip as they wandered down that road. ‘I know. Won’t be long, almost there.’

  ‘I …’ he managed a final time, trying to say he didn’t want to put her out. Hadn’t meant to bother her, not like this.

  But somehow he felt that it wasn’t a bother, not a burden at all. On the contrary, Denise seemed to be quite enjoying it, being able to look after him. For some reason he trusted her to do it, though he had no clue why.

  That thing again of thinking maybe he should have been with her all this time, all these years. All that time wasted, lost. Then he could have seen his dad singing in the pub, might have been able to help him when he started to go funny. Could have been helped back home so many times by Denise when he’d had a few.

  Home. His real home sweet home. A place he was starting to wonder why he ever left.

  And how different things might have been if he hadn’t.

  Chapter 26

  Thought you were lost.

  He’d lost so much time, recently too, judging from the light outside. It had been dark when Denise had helped him get back home, when he’d gone to sleep (when had that happened exactly?) and now he could see through the window that it was daytime. A little overcast, but no less warm. And not night anymore. The next morning then? Mitch had no idea, couldn’t remember much after the bad pint. Or could he?

  Snatches were coming back to him: the incident in the toilet; making it back to the booth; making it back here, Denise having to search his pockets for the key to the front door. Him laughing involuntarily because it tickled. ‘Hold still, hold still – almost got it!’

  She’d almost got it all right, but that wasn’t the key, and he couldn’t help chuckling himself at that joke.

  ‘You like that, eh?’ Denise had grinned, tickled him some more – which probably wasn’t such a great idea, given how queasy he felt, though actually that was wearing off a little. ‘Ah, here we go!’ she’d produced the key, held it up in front of him. Opened the door, and—

  Then suddenly, in the blink of an eye she’d helped him out of his jacket and they were on the stairs, the landing, Denise trying to get him to move towards his mum and dad’s old room and Mitch shaking his head. ‘Not in there.’ Pointing to his old room instead.

  ‘All right, soldier. Here we go.’

  And they had gone, Denise taking him to his old room. What he wouldn’t have given to have smuggled her inside when he was a teenager, instead of them having to sneak about all over the place, in the meadows, the woods. Near those caves.

  Another laugh and he’d looked at his watch, though the hands were swimming. ‘D-Do you want to know something?’

  ‘All right,’ the woman had rep
lied.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Knocking on for eleven.’

  ‘Ha, yeah. Okay. It’s almost my birthday,’ he remembered saying. ‘Yeah, tomorrow’s my birthday.’

  Denise had grinned. ‘Is that so? Happy Birthday!’ The memory came to him then: the kiss. Not the ones from way back when, but fresh. Abrupt, impulsive. She’d taken him off guard; he hadn’t been expecting that, given the state he was in. Was she taking advantage of him? Come on, Mitch. Hardly that! If he hadn’t wanted it, then—

  He’d broken it off, though. Moving his head to the side so she couldn’t do it again. Not that it hadn’t been fantastic. ‘Denise, please. I can’t. I have … There’s a—

  Lucy. He had a Lucy, and even as Denise was kissing him, he was seeing her face. Longing for it, because he’d been away from her for far too long. Been away longer than they’d ever really spent apart. Was meant to be with her on his—

  ‘What?’ Denise had asked, because he hadn’t finished his sentence, had he? Hadn’t told her that back in Downstone he had a—

  ‘Girlfriend,’ he managed, unable to even look at her. ‘I have a girlfriend.’

  Silence then. ‘Oh,’ Denise had whispered. ‘Have I just made an idiot of myself?’

  ‘No.’ Then more emphatically. ‘No.’

  ‘Because, well, I thought … I’ve been getting mixed signals from you, but I just assumed that was because of—’ My dad being murdered? Me being beaten up, seeing a guy roasted alive right in front of me, who was screaming for help (no, don’t think about that). Telling you it’s my birthday, and expecting … what? She shook her head. ‘Doesn’t matter.’

  ‘No,’ he’d repeated a third time.

  ‘Then what? I don’t understand. Is it because I’m here and she’s not? Where is she anyway? Why isn’t she—’

  ‘Lucy,’ he broke in.

  Denise looked sick herself. ‘Why isn’t this Lucy woman here with you anyway?’

  It was something he was beginning to wonder himself, right when he needed her the most. Where exactly was she? Doing prep for her students, who he sometimes thought were more important than him. He wasn’t with it enough to offer Denise an explanation, however.

  ‘If I was your girl then I wouldn’t …’ She sighed. ‘No way you’d be here on your own, let’s put it that way! You still don’t have to be.’ Denise placed a hand on the side of his face, turned his head back so he was facing her – but he still wasn’t able to look at the woman. Not even as she was placing her lips on his again.

  Mitch felt helpless. He liked Denise, and he’d enjoyed spending time with her again, but he didn’t want this. Did he? No, Lucy – he had to think of Lucy! Again, he pulled away. ‘This … It’s not a good—’ At the same time Mitch really didn’t want to hurt Denise’s feelings; she was a nice person, a kind person, and he should have filled her in about his situation long before now. ‘I just don’t feel that great.’ It was true, he didn’t. Wouldn’t have been up to anything with the girl he was actually going out with, let alone Denise. ‘I just want to …’ He pointed at the bed, hoping she understood. That she wouldn’t misinterpret it as some kind of invitation.

  ‘Right, I get it. You want to go to sleep. Maybe, you know … Do you think we could pick this up tomorrow?’

  A raincheck? A birthday drink?

  Mitch gave her something that was partway between a half-nod and a shake of the head. Then he let her help him over to the bed. ‘I’m going to hang around anyway, for a bit. Just to keep an eye on you. That okay?’

  Another nod-shake, just like Lucy used to give. And that was all she wrote, all he could recall now he’d woken up, but he guessed there wasn’t much else that had happened. Did he remember staggering to the loo at some point, or had he dreamed that? If so, it was all he’d dreamed, thankfully. The toilet had probably happened, because he didn’t feel that overwhelming urge to go that he usually did when he’d drunk too much and woke up. Might just be dehydrated?

  Whatever was the case, Denise had more than likely bailed at some point. Mitch couldn’t say he blamed her, she’d watched over him till she was sure he wasn’t going to choke on his own vomit or something; wouldn’t exactly have been a great start to his birthday. It was more than he deserved for leading her on. Was that what he’d done? He hadn’t thought so, had tried to keep her at arm’s length if anything until yesterday – and then he just hadn’t wanted to be alone, he supposed. Today of all days. Had wanted to reconnect with – Denise, Lucy – his dad. After what had happened, he just wanted to talk to someone who wasn’t a …

  Stranger.

  So Denise hadn’t woken him up, and he hadn’t made a fool of himself last night which was something. Hadn’t slept with her, though if he hadn’t felt so sleepy and under other circumstances might he have? He hadn’t though, that was the main thing. They’d just kissed. Get it right, she’d kissed him. He’d have to tell Lucy about it at some point, but at least he wouldn’t have to explain anything more than that. Kiss, a birthday kiss when he wasn’t really thinking straight.

  Awake, right … Think about that. He was awake now, because something had woken him up. Noises, downstairs. Was Denise still here? Was she cooking breakfast or whatever? Mitch checked his watch. No, because it was late afternoon again already. The day had gotten away from him, his birthday – not that he had much to celebrate. He’d lost so much time, and God it was so, so hot today! Stick with it, Mitch. What had woken him? Not just the noises, but—

  He heard a meowing in his ear, jumped at the movement. Cat, who’d been completely absent the night before, was now on his bed again crying. Probably wanted food. ‘Okay, okay,’ he croaked, his voice cracking. But that wasn’t just because of the state he’d been in, his voice was hoarse because of the—

  Smoke.

  There was smoke, he could taste it. Faint, but there. And now the cat wasn’t just crying, wasn’t wanting to be fed. It was trying to get him up and out of bed. Trying to warn him. Screaming at him that there was danger, clawing at the mattress. Not only could he taste the smoke, but now he could see it, coming in through the open door. He could smell it too: acrid, unrelenting.

  ‘Christ!’ he hissed. Cat hopped down off the mattress and went over to that door, standing there and urging him to join it. Definitely had the right idea. At the very least he needed to see where that smoke was coming from, because there was never smoke without—

  Mitch could see it, even as he got to the door of his old bedroom. The flickering on the walls of the landing, red and yellow fingers stretching upstairs, reaching for the upper levels. Just the reflection of it at the moment, but it wouldn’t be long before the real thing reached them up here. He bent and scooped up Cat. It made no attempt to scramble free, to get out of his clutches (which was good because his hand was still throbbing a little from the barn door). Cat was apparently happy to let someone else do the legwork, now that its job was over and it had alerted him to the danger.

  He got to the top of the stairs, looked downwards and saw those flames – angry, fierce. Coming from the kitchen, from where the cellar was. Had it started in there? Wherever it had begun, it was going to tear through the entire house – and them too if he didn’t get them both out. Mitch took the stairs two at a time, ambitious given he still felt like seven kinds of dog crap. But the adrenalin was kicking in, getting him moving. The race was on, to get out through the front door before the fire prevented him. There were already smaller fires simmering in the living room, which meant that this wasn’t a natural thing. Someone had started them, maybe the same person who’d set fire to Neil Sheldon. Farmer Granger, or his workers, or his co-conspirators in the Commune? Mitch had obviously become too much of a threat to leave alive.

  Almost tripping on the bottom step, he stumbled forward, free hand already out to unlock and open the front door up. He tugged on the handle, but the wood was sticking: probably warped. The fire was on the left of him, behind him, coming at him in a pincer movem
ent. Cat was going mental in his other hand, preparing to abandon him perhaps if he couldn’t save them.

  Mitch could feel the heat now, real heat, the sweat running down his back, dripping from his forehead. Running into his eyes and making them sting. Hoping that Denise really had left the house, she was probably well into another shift at The Plough by now, he gave one last almighty tug on the door and it opened, allowed him to tumble outside with the animal held close. Mitch ran forward a few metres, then stopped and did an about-turn. That seemed to be the only thing the fire was waiting for, and it burst out through the gap like a tongue attempting to lap at him and the feline.

  Moments later it was on the upper levels. Mitch looked up and saw the flames at the windows there, the fire taking the whole of his – of his father’s – house. It was mesmerizing, a few seconds more in bed and he would have been ravaged by the thing; would have been trapped. Cat let out another cry, legs kicking to be let down.

  ‘Right, yeah.’ Mitch set the creature down, and the action seemed to snap him awake again. He rushed to the neighbour’s house, banging on the door to warn them – and get them to call the fire brigade if no one had already. If he was lucky and they called right now, the fire engine might be here in a couple of weeks.

  Nobody answered, but it was as he was doing this that he spotted them. Men, dressed in black hoodies – no caps this time, because the hoods were pulled up – and jeans, getting into a dirty grey van that looked like it had seen better days. The kind of vehicle he’d spotted up at the Commune, or at the farm. At both places.

  As they did a couple of nights ago, people started to emerge from their homes to see what was happening, and it was only this that made Mitch feel like it was okay to leave. To chase after those bastards even as the van set off trundling away from the square. Mitch ran after it, luckily still mostly dressed, with his shoes on from the night before, past the tape around the war memorial and thought to himself that his dad’s old place would be cordoned off as well soon enough. Another crime scene in Green Acres. Another fire. Arson this time, to add to double murder. Oh, those guys were going to pay – whoever was responsible – he’d make sure of that!