Never Tell A Lie

by Gail Schimmel

  ‘Are you warning Lorraine off me?’

  ‘Someone has to.’

  He laughs and then starts coughing. My mother rushes over and pats at him, asking if he wants water, if he’s okay.

  He opens his eyes and pats her hand. ‘I’m okay, poppet,’ he says.

  Poppet?

  ‘So, Mary,’ says my father, now with his eyes open. ‘Does a man have to have a stroke to see his daughter these days?’

  I sit down and take his hand. ‘You gave me a fright,’ I say.

  Chapter 40

  I am leaving the hospital, thinking about my father and my mother, trying to get my head around it, when I bump into Leo Goldstein.

  He is literally the last person that I want to see. But when I say that I bump into him, I mean we actually walk bang into each other in the foyer of the hospital, and both start apologising before we recognise each other. I’m not sure, but from the look on Leo’s face, he is as unhappy to see me as I am to see him.

  ‘Mary,’ he says, his voice flat.

  I take him in.

  His arm is in a sling, and there is bruising and a cut on his face.

  ‘Oh my God, Leo,’ I say. ‘What on earth happened to you? Were you in an accident?’

  Leo looks down at his arm. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘An accident.’

  I look around.

  ‘Where’s April?’ I say. ‘Does she know?’

  ‘She knows,’ he says. ‘She knows.’

  I think about April telling us yesterday how she will be the ideal wife until this is over, and I have a terrible thought. Could Leo have hurt himself hurting April?

  ‘Is April okay?’ I almost yell. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘April’s fine,’ says Leo, giving me a searching look. ‘She’s at home. She didn’t feel like coming to the hospital with me. So she didn’t.’

  I meet his eyes. I always forget how compelling they are.

  ‘That doesn’t make sense, Leo,’ I say. I obviously can’t tell him that April has decided to be the ideal wife while she plots how to leave him.

  ‘I’m going to check on her, Leo,’ I say, feeling brave. ‘You know that, right?’

  Leo sighs. ‘Go for it, Mary,’ he says. ‘Whatever it is you’re expecting to find, you won’t find it.’

  ‘What am I expecting?’ I ask.

  I don’t know what’s made me this confrontational. Breaking up with Joshua? Finding out my parents are sleeping together? Or just knowing for a fact that this man hits his wife?

  ‘I don’t know,’ says Leo. His voice is strangely toneless. ‘My guess is that you think I’ve hurt April.’

  ‘And haven’t you?’

  Leo’s eyes bore into mine. Then he sighs. ‘You’re not going to believe me, whatever I tell you. So check on April. Go ahead. Nobody’s stopping you.’

  And he turns and walks away. He’s limping slightly. I still don’t know the details of the accident.

  I phone April as soon as I’m in my car.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I say when she answers. I must sound slightly frantic.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she says. ‘Bit nervous. Scared. But, you know, also pleased to be doing something. Saving myself and my kids.’

  I wait, expecting her to say something about Leo’s accident. She says nothing.

  ‘Was Leo okay last night?’ I eventually ask.

  ‘He worked late,’ she says. ‘Always good news. And left early this morning, so I haven’t seen him.’ She gives a sad laugh. ‘If only it could be like this always.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘So, everything normal then?’

  ‘As normal as it ever is,’ she says.

  ‘Right.’

  I don’t know why I don’t tell her that I just saw Leo at the hospital. I just don’t.

  ‘Okay then,’ I say. ‘Well, keep safe. I’ll send that draft CV through for you to check. And look for some jobs.’

  ‘Thank you, Mary,’ says April. ‘I am so grateful.’ There’s a noise in the background. ‘I better go,’ she says. ‘Dammit, don’t tell me Leo is home.’ The last bit is almost to herself.

  ‘Okay, chat soon,’ I say. ‘Be careful.’ But as she rings off, I realise that of course, Leo can’t be home. I’ve just seen him. There is no way he could be at their house already.

  My phone beeps. A text from Joshua.

  Just let me see you, he writes.

  Fine, I type back. When?

  Your place tonight?

  I think about it. I am determined it is over with Joshua. I can’t be with a man who doesn’t believe a woman when she says she was hit. From the very beginning of the #metoo movement, I have known where I stand on men who don’t believe women. The fact that Joshua has turned out to be like this is making me put my money where my mouth is; and I am not a hypocrite. I know what is right. And anyway, we can’t seem to talk without arguing. I don’t want Django to overhear anything, so I don’t want to be at home. And to be honest, the way I feel about men right now, I want to be in public.

  No, I say. Out. We can meet at the Mugg & Bean. At 6.

  Have I really turned into someone you don’t want to have in your home? he writes.

  I pause. Obviously, he is right in a way. But I don’t like his tone.

  Actually, I thought we needed privacy. Because I have a child at home.

  You say that like I am in the habit of discounting Django, he writes, after a few minutes’ pause.

  And then another message.

  I don’t think I have ever discounted Django. I think I have been great about him.

  Great about him? Like, being nice about my son has been a burden? Him and his secret daughter! My fingers fly.

  Sorry that it’s been such a burden. You know what? Forget it. This is over.

  Don’t say that, Mary, he types, and then he tries to call.

  I message him again.

  Don’t contact me. I mean that. It is over. Do not contact me again.

  I throw my phone on to the seat beside me and drive home, my vision almost obscured by tears.

  When I get home, I try to lose myself in work. I write a few whisky reviews, where I compare everything to snot and tears, and then remember that I have promised myself I will actually taste the bloody things this month. Then I turn to April’s CV. She’s given me the basics of her career, but I still leave huge blanks for her to fill in. I send it off to her as soon as I can – followed by a message that I’ve sent it. Then I go into a job search site and start looking for jobs for her. This is more fun, and I manage to compile a list of ten jobs that I think would not only pay okay, but would be fun for her, and help her grow. I try to phone her, but she doesn’t answer, so I email her the list and remind her that there are hundreds of people looking for jobs, so she needs to be quick.

  This makes me think of how jobs often actually come through connections, so I send a few people emails – particularly magazines who might be looking for stylists. April would be great.

  The busyness has worked – when my phone rings, I have put not only Joshua but also the strange encounter with Leo out of my mind. Then I see Leo’s number.

  I consider ignoring it. I have nothing to say to Leo Goldstein, accident or no accident. But my curiosity gets the better of me, and I answer.

  ‘Mary?’ he says, like I could be anyone else really.

  ‘Hello, Leo,’ I say.

  ‘So I guess you checked on April,’ he says. ‘And found everything was okay, just like I said.’

  I don’t really want to tell him anything, so I make a non-committal noise.

  ‘And you didn’t tell her that you saw me,’ he says. ‘I want to thank you for that.’

  ‘How do you know?’ I ask, before I can stop myself.

  ‘If you’d said anything, she would have, um, mentioned it,’ he says. ‘But she said nothing, so I guess that you didn’t tell her.’

  ‘It didn’t come up,’ I say, realising that I sound defensive.

  ‘Right,’ he says. ‘Well, thanks.
It helped. I know that that makes no sense to you, but still. I appreciate it.’

  I am starting to feel awkward. The last thing that I intended was to do Leo a favour. For God’s sake, I’m helping his wife leave him. I’m on her side, not his. But I can’t say any of this, obviously.

  ‘Okay then, Leo,’ I say. ‘Was there anything else?’

  ‘I guess not,’ says Leo. ‘Maybe we’ll see you guys sometime soon.’ He sounds like a little boy asking for a play date.

  I don’t know why I tell him, but I do. ‘Well, not us,’ I say. ‘Joshua and I have broken up.’

  ‘Oh,’ says Leo. ‘Mary, I’m sorry. He’s a great guy. Can I ask what happened?’

  I can’t exactly tell him about Joshua not believing April, so I say, ‘We were fighting a lot. I’ve done enough fighting with men. I don’t need more.’

  ‘I hear you,’ says Leo with a sigh. ‘It’s nothing like it looks on TV, is it? Marriage, that is. And relationships. You imagine it one way, and then discover that it’s quite another way.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, with feeling. ‘Exactly.’ Then I remember who I’m talking to – a wife-beater who has broken all April’s dreams about what a marriage should be, so I bite my tongue.

  ‘Well,’ says Leo, ‘I know you have lots of friends, but if you need to chat . . . Well, maybe I understand more than you think.’

  Huh?

  ‘Okay, thanks,’ I say. I’m about to end the call, when I ask, ‘How are you? Injury-wise?’

  I don’t know why I ask – after what he has done to April. Maybe I’m hoping he’ll slip up, contradict himself.

  ‘Sore,’ he says, and then laughs. ‘Guess that’s inevitable when a car drives through a red light, straight into you.’

  ‘God, is that what happened?’ I say.

  ‘The police say that if my car wasn’t so solid, I’d have been killed,’ he says. ‘Just shows. Safety first.’

  ‘That’s awful,’ I say.

  ‘It’s made me think a lot,’ he says. ‘The idea that I might’ve died. Made me re-evaluate things. Look at my life.’

  Is he trying to tell me that he’s going to stop beating April? Even if that is what he thinks, what he means, it won’t last. I just hope April doesn’t believe him and stay.

  ‘Re-evaluation can be good,’ I say, cautiously.

  ‘Oh, listen,’ says Leo, ‘that’s the other reason I called. April once mentioned that your dad is a great mechanic. Could I get his details?’

  I really don’t want my father dragged into this.

  ‘Surely your insurance will want to choose where you go?’ I say.

  ‘I checked with them,’ he says. ‘They’re okay with that.’

  ‘The thing is, Leo, my dad actually had a small stroke last night. That’s why I was at the hospital.’

  ‘Oh my God, Mary,’ says Leo. ‘I know you guys are close. Is he okay?’

  I’m a bit taken aback by the strength of his reaction.

  ‘He’s fine, I think,’ I say. ‘But not sure when he’ll be back at work. So maybe he’s not the ideal person for your car.’

  ‘That’s a pity,’ says Leo. ‘But he must rest and focus on getting better. He’s the only parent you have, am I right?’

  There’s something in his voice – an invitation. It’s like treacle, sticky and sweet and tempting. For a moment, I want to talk to him about everything in the world. But that’s Leo’s charm, that’s his trap. I know better.

  ‘That’s right,’ I say, instead. I realise that I’ve now told Leo about my break-up with Joshua and I haven’t told April, so she’s going to feel hurt and wonder why I’m speaking to Leo in the first place. I just need to hope that Leo doesn’t say anything.

  ‘Listen, Mary,’ he says, after a pause. ‘I’ve loved chatting, but I better go. April sent me out for milk, so I better hurry.’

  We ring off, and then I realise how ridiculous his last sentence is. Firstly, April would never send an injured man out for milk, and secondly, she’s working hard at being Mrs Perfect. She wouldn’t run out of milk.

  I can’t help it; I’m worried about her. I phone her again.

  ‘Mary,’ she answers. ‘I was just about to call you. Jesus, the day I had. Leo was in an accident this morning – can you believe it? And he didn’t even call me when it happened, just came home all strapped up.’

  That’s not what Leo told me, but I can’t say that.

  ‘What?’ I say, hoping that my acting is up to scratch. ‘He just came home? Didn’t call from the hospital or anything?’

  Damn, damn, damn. I shouldn’t know that he was at the hospital. I could never be a spy. But April hasn’t picked up anything.

  ‘Exactly,’ she says. ‘That’s not normal, is it? A normal husband would call, right?’

  ‘I think so,’ I say.

  She sighs. ‘You know, he’s been through so much. His childhood made him think you can’t count on people. And he probably thought I’d mess up somehow. And he’s probably right. I always mess up. Like, I ran out of milk again. I can’t do anything right.’

  ‘Stop,’ I say. ‘Stop talking like this. You are amazing. Stop internalising what Leo tells you.’

  She takes a shuddering breath.

  ‘Right,’ she says. ‘You’re right. And anyway, he did go to get the milk, even though he’s all banged up. He wasn’t even cross. Maybe he’s changed?’

  ‘He hasn’t changed, April,’ I say, although I also can’t quite figure out what game he is playing. He definitely told me that April knew he was hurt, and implied that she didn’t care enough to come to the hospital. One of them is lying, and I don’t think it’s April.

  I want to tell her about my mom and about Joshua. That need to talk to someone that Leo opened up is still there. But it seems a bit heartless to just launch into my own news while she’s in the middle of her marriage falling apart.

  ‘Um, April,’ I say. ‘I need to chat some time, you know, catch up, okay?’

  ‘Oh my God,’ she says, her overreaction taking me a bit by surprise. ‘I have been so self-involved. I never even asked how you are. I am such a bad friend. Bring Django and come over tomorrow arvi? How would that be?’

  ‘That would be perfect,’ I say. ‘But maybe if Leo is at home recovering, you should come here?’

  ‘Oh, can we?’ she says. ‘That would be even better. Reenie loves coming to your place. Fab. I’ll bring cake.’

  ‘Perfect,’ I say, feeling like a broken record. ‘That will be great. See you after school.’

  Now I just have to hope that Leo doesn’t mention that we spoke. Because I don’t want April to know, even though it wasn’t my fault at all.

  Chapter 41

  That afternoon, when Django and I are struggling over his Afrikaans homework – me trying to remember how the passive form works in Afrikaans, him complaining that he’s never going to need to speak Afrikaans and what’s the point of anything – a flower delivery arrives.

  Of course, I think it’s Joshua, and I feel myself thaw slightly. The flowers are simple – exactly my style – an elegant bouquet of white tulips tied tight with a hessian bow, and as I sign for them, I think that maybe I’m a fool to be losing a man who knows me so well, and hasn’t fallen into the trap of an ostentatious mixed bunch. Just quiet, perfect simplicity.

  I take out the card, a smile already on my face, ready for the apology that I might accept.

  ‘I know things have been tough. Thinking of you. Your friend, Leo.’

  I drop the card as if it’s burnt me. I don’t know what to think about this. Leo sending me flowers. Leo, who hits my friend April, thinking that he’s my friend. Leo, whose wife I am plotting with so that she can leave him.

  I don’t know whether to ignore this, to maybe throw the flowers away. But I look at them, and they are so perfect, and I know just where to put them so that the sun will catch them and cheer me up. But I can’t have Leo thinking that I am his friend. I am April’s friend.

  I
’ll keep the flowers, because they’re nice. But I’m not going to thank him for them. He’s playing a game with me, and I’m not prepared to be his pawn.

  I sigh and turn back to Django’s homework. He glances at the flowers, which I have put in a glass vase next to us.

  ‘Nice,’ he says. But he doesn’t ask me anything more, and I feel relieved, like I’m keeping a secret.

  Django has become anxious about his grandfather, so in the evening, I take him to visit. My father is well on his way to recovery, sitting up and chatting and flirting with the nurses. There’s a redhead that, if I know my father, will be having dinner with him before the week is out. I wonder if my mother realises. She’s there too, sitting quietly by his bed, and Django seems unfazed to see his grandparents together. I can’t say the same. When the redhead throws us all out – she claims visiting hours are over, but the hospital hadn’t seemed that hung up on visiting hours before, so I wonder – we go out for supper with my mother. She is in a strangely retrospective mood, telling us stories from when she first met my father and their early years together, before I came along.

  Django loves the stories, and asks all the right questions, laughing uproariously at the antics of my younger father. This is good. It leaves me to my thoughts, and to glance at my phone every two minutes, wondering why Joshua isn’t trying harder to get me back. That moment, when I thought the flowers were from him, I could see that we could work this out. If he just reached out to me, showed me that he cared. What we had was good. Stable. I want it back.

  But he doesn’t message.

  By the time April brings her kids after school the next day, Joshua still hasn’t messaged. I am vacillating between anger and heartbreak, and I am dying to talk to April.

  But when April arrives, she’s shaking. We go to sit outside, knowing that the kids will play in Django’s room, out of earshot.

  ‘I think Leo knows something,’ she says. ‘I think he knows I’m planning to leave. I think he’ll stop me. I think he’ll kill me. Or take my kids away. I think we must just drop this whole idea.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ I say.

  ‘He was being really nice yesterday. Something had put him in a good mood, and he was humming, and he kept looking at his phone. And then as the evening progressed, he started getting angry, and he said the supper I made was terrible, and got cross with me because Zach failed a Zulu spelling test. At one point, I thought he was going to throw the food across the table.’