Tell Me No Lies

by Malorie Blackman

  ‘Would you like some dinner?’ Dad asked Tarwin.

  ‘Yeah, OK. Go on then.’ Tarwin flung his bag down in the corner of the kitchen. ‘D’you two need any help?’

  Gemma watched Tarwin. He was smiling. Dad was smiling. She was the only one who wasn’t. She tried but it felt as if her face was twisting instead of smiling. She tried harder. It felt worse. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right that Tarwin and Dad should smile when she couldn’t. It wasn’t fair.

  ‘I wonder what Mum’s doing now?’ Gemma said to no one in particular.

  Immediately the atmosphere in the kitchen changed, like a light being switched off. Gemma regretted the words as soon as they were out but it was too late to call them back.

  ‘Well, she’s not outside the house watching us, that’s for sure,’ Tarwin said sombrely. The smile had left his face and gone out of his eyes. Now he was giving Dad the look that Gemma recognised of old.

  ‘What d’you mean by that?’ Gemma frowned at her brother. What a strange thing to say . . .

  ‘Why don’t you ask Dad?’ Tarwin replied. ‘Don’t bother with any dinner for me. I’m not hungry any more.’

  As Tarwin left the room, Gemma turned to her dad. ‘What’s Tarwin talking about? Why would Mum be outside the house watching us?’

  Silence. Gemma watched as her Dad’s expression slumped.

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Tarwin thinks it does,’ Gemma pointed out. ‘And from the look on your face, so do you.’

  No answer.

  ‘Dad?’ Gemma prompted.

  Her father fumbled for one of the breakfast stools and sat down wearily. Gemma watched in silence, waiting for him to speak. He looked down at the lino for a long time before he at last summoned up the courage to look at her.

  ‘A couple of months after she left, she came back wanting to see you,’ Dad admitted softly. ‘Not me. Just you and Tarwin. I . . . I wouldn’t even let her in. She started standing outside the house on the opposite side of the road, hoping for a glimpse of you and Tarwin. She’d stand there for hours, not moving.’

  Each word her dad spoke was like a push towards the edge of a cliff, and yet Gemma couldn’t ask him to stop. She wanted to hear every word. ‘I can’t remember ever seeing her.’

  ‘I made sure you never did. I thought Tarwin didn’t know what was going on, but I caught him waving out of the window to her a couple of times. That’s when I’d finally had enough. I told her to stop because she was upsetting you. I told her if she didn’t stop, I . . . I’d move somewhere where she’d never find you again. I never saw her after that.’

  Gemma felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. All the air left her body in a painful rush. She stared at her dad, almost unable to take it all in. Her mum was not just alive – she had actually tried to see her and Tarwin. Only Dad had stopped her. How could he? How dare he? But Mum shouldn’t have given up. If she’d been in her mum’s shoes, she wouldn’t have let that stop her.

  ‘I don’t understand. Why didn’t Mum try to get custody of us? She could’ve done and you wouldn’t have been able to stop her.’

  Dad looked away, unable to meet her gaze.

  ‘What’re you not telling me?’ Gemma asked, icily.

  ‘I . . . your mum did try to get custody.’ Dad’s voice was a quiet monotone. ‘But only of . . . Tarwin.’

  The final push. And Gemma was falling, falling, falling in total silence. Even her heart was silent. There was no sound. She’d always instinctively known just how devastating the truth could be, but she’d never expected this quiet that came with it. The death of hope. ‘I see.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand,’ Dad said at once. ‘After you were born, your mum had a breakdown. Looking back I’m sure it was a severe case of post-natal depression but it meant that she couldn’t look after you for a long while. I think she always felt guilty about that and a bit scared of you because of it. I’m sure that’s why she felt she could only . . . take care of Tarwin.’

  Gemma hardly heard. Dad’s words floated past her in a hazy jumble. All she knew, the only fact in her heart and in her head, was that even her own mum hadn’t wanted her.

  ‘Gemma? Gemma, you’re not listening to me. Your mum loved you too – very much. It was my fault. I was the one who said I’d have her declared mentally unfit to look after a breadstick if she tried to take either of you away from me. She backed down then and in her shoes I would’ve done exactly the same. For a long while after that, I felt sure she was watching us, but she always made certain that I couldn’t see her. So when I couldn’t stand it any more, I spent a weekend packing up and we all moved here.’

  ‘That’s why Tarwin is always quarrelling with you, isn’t it?’ Gemma realised. ‘He knows what you did . . .’

  ‘I’m not proud of it, Gemma. I did what I thought was best. I was wrong, I know that now, but at the time I was hurting too much to think straight.’

  ‘And you’ve never seen Mum since?’ Gemma asked.

  Dad shook his head.

  ‘D’you know where she is now?’

  Dad shook his head again.

  ‘Is there anything else you and Tarwin know that you’re not telling me?’ Gemma asked icily.

  ‘No, I . . .’

  Gemma turned and walked towards the door.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To my room.’ Gemma carried on walking.

  ‘What about your dinner?’ Dad called after her.

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Gemma, wait . . .’

  Gemma didn’t want to hear any more. She didn’t care if she never heard another word from Dad again. She ran into her room, slamming the door behind her. She looked down at her hands. They were shaking. Her whole body was shaking. Her head was about to explode. The silence was over.

  Do something.

  She had to do something to stop herself screaming till she was hoarse. She went straight over to her bedside table and dug out her mum’s scarf from the bottom drawer. Scrunching it in her lap, she stared down at the stars and moon crumpled up all over it. It reminded her of the jumper in Material Girl. An idea swirled and found form in Gemma’s mind. A horrible idea. She tried to push it away, to dismiss it, but it had taken root and now refused to budge. There was another way to get her jumper, with no danger to herself.

  And then, just like that, it wasn’t so horrible any more. Well, if the idea wouldn’t go away, then she’d use it. And not just use it but embrace it. She’d be like her dad – one of the people in this world who made things happen. Who got what they wanted. Gemma could feel her face set like petrified stone. For the first time she was going to stop fighting against the way things were and not only accept them but use them to her advantage. Wasn’t that what everyone else did? She had no one else and she needed no one else. From now on, the only person she was going to care about was herself.

  36

  Mike

  All I Have

  Oh, for goodness’ sake! He hadn’t even set foot in school yet and already she was waiting to hassle him. Mike briefly considered the possibility that Gemma might be standing outside the school gates waiting for someone else, but he dismissed the idea at once. Bowing his head against the driving rain and her, he tried to walk past her. She fell into step with him.

  ‘Mike, d’you know that boutique Material Girl, the one around the corner?’

  Mike frowned. ‘Yes.’

  ‘They’ve got some lovely jumpers in the window. Dark blue jumpers embroidered with the moon and stars.’

  ‘So?’ What was she telling him that for? Like he was the slightest bit interested in jumpers, Material Girl or her for that matter.

  ‘I’m a size ten.’

  ‘Fascinating! Excuse me.’

  ‘Could you get me one please?’

  ‘One what?’

  ‘One of the jumpers in Material Girl. One of the jumpers with the moon and stars on it.’

  Mike glared at her. ‘W
hat’re you talking about?’

  Pause.

  ‘You want me to buy you this jumper?’

  Gemma nodded. ‘The jumper is fifty pounds.’

  Mike froze. Had he heard right? Fifty pounds? ‘You must be joking.’ Mike dug into his pockets and took out his loose change. ‘If it costs one pound, seventy-four pence or less you can have it, cos this is all I have in the world. You’ve seen to that.’

  ‘I want it.’

  ‘Tough. I just told you – I haven’t got any money!’ Mike shouted. He saw Gemma glance nervously at the people walking past them. The others going into school were curious about their argument, but not curious enough to stop and listen. It was too wet and cold to be nosy. ‘You must be living in cloud-cuckoo-land if you think I can get my hands on that kind of money.’

  ‘Then find some other way to get me the jumper.’

  ‘Like how?’

  ‘I’m sure you can think of something.’

  And then Mike clicked. No slow, burning realisation. Just a click in his mind and he knew. She wanted him to steal it.

  ‘No way,’ he said at once.

  ‘I want it, Mike. I want it by tomorrow night or by the weekend everyone will know the truth about you.’

  There they were again, those words – the truth. Funny how Gemma always used those words to batter at him over and over again.

  ‘I mean it, Mike. I’ll tell everyone about you.’ Gemma frowned.

  ‘You can’t. You wouldn’t.’

  ‘Watch me.’

  Mike tried to swallow but his throat was now the size of a pinhead.

  ‘Tomorrow afternoon, Mike. I’m giving you a day to come up with the money, but if you can’t you’ll have to get it some other way,’ Gemma told him. ‘I’ll wait for you outside the shop after school. We’ll wait till it opens then you can get it for me. I want that jumper.’

  Mike stared at Gemma. How could someone so normal-looking, someone you wouldn’t even look at twice for heaven’s sake, be so . . . evil? Why was she so determined to make his life a misery? What had he ever done to her?

  She walked away. Walked fast. He watched her go, unable to tear his eyes away from her back. How he wished his eyes could send out white-hot lasers or red-hot bullets. A train? A plane? Concorde? A rocket? What would be the fastest way to get away? From Gemma. From Gramps and Nan. From Mum. From everyone. Run away and hide. Mike stood in the pouring rain watching Gemma walk away from him. He wanted to turn and run in the opposite direction.

  Run and run and run. And never stop.

  37

  Gemma

  Done It

  School was over for another day and she was going home. And . . . well, she had done it. Just as she said she would. She felt nothing – which was good – no, which was great. You could get anything you wanted in this world if you didn’t feel. It was just a shame that she couldn’t feel happy about it. She would’ve settled for feeling satisfaction at what she’d done, but feeling nothing at all was better than feeling bad. If that was all there was, then that was all she wanted or needed.

  Gemma turned into her street, her footsteps slowing as she approached her house. She stopped outside her front gate. She didn’t want to go in, not just yet. But she had nowhere else to go. She turned and crossed the road to stand opposite her house. Years ago, her mum had stood outside their old home, like this. Just watching.

  The cold rain pattered on Gemma’s upturned face, the raindrops stinging. A curtain fluttered against the window of her dad’s bedroom. At once, Gemma knew that Dad had spotted her and that he was now watching behind the anonymity of white-grey net curtains.

  Gemma’s expression hardened. What was Dad thinking? He was probably suffering from a severe case of déjà-vu. What would he do now? March outside and tell her to come in with all the force he had once used to tell her mum to stay away? Or maybe he would just stand there and watch from his bedroom window.

  With a sigh, Gemma bent her head and crossed the road. Her whole life was suddenly so complicated and instead of trying to make things better, she knew she was making things worse. She felt like she was rolling down a hill – rolling faster and faster, totally out of control. And she knew that when she stopped rolling, the pain would start.

  38

  Mike

  The Letter

  When Mike opened the front door, he immediately noticed that something was different. There were no savoury cooking smells wafting towards him from the kitchen, no instant, ‘Hi, Mike’ or ‘We’re in here!’

  ‘Nan? Gramps?’

  No reply. Then Mike remembered Nan telling him that she and Gramps were going to the local hospital to visit a friend with a broken leg. He was astounded at how disappointed he felt that they weren’t here. He was desperate to speak to them. The one time he needed them to be there, they weren’t. If Nan and Gramps had been home at that precise moment, he would’ve told them everything. The truth about his mum and dad and all about Gemma. He couldn’t steal that jumper. He couldn’t steal anything. He’d never stolen anything in his life. Whatever else he might be, he wasn’t a thief. But that was exactly what Gemma wanted to make him. Well, he wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t.

  You don’t have any choice . . .

  Mike tried to ignore the words in his head. He did have a choice. Everyone had a choice when you got right down to it. It was a question of what would be his decision. If he told the truth, Gramps and Nan would insist that he tell his story to the police and then it would all come out. It would be in the papers and on the telly and he still wouldn’t be able to see Mum. But at least he’d have the satisfaction of stopping Gemma. She’d probably get into a whole load of trouble for trying to . . . to blackmail him. And it was blackmail, wasn’t it?

  Mike slumped down on the sofa, ignoring the folded note and the money lying on the coffee table before him. What was he going to do? If he told Nan and Gramps and the police, Gemma would probably only get a caution or a reprimand, but his life would be ruined. Every time he thought things couldn’t get much worse, they always did. But he wasn’t going to let Gemma turn him into a thief.

  Slowly, Mike stretched out his arm to pick up the note.

  Dear Mikey,

  How are you? Did you have a good day at school? You must tell us all about it when we get home. I hope you haven’t forgotten that your grandad and I won’t be home until around nine tonight.

  There’s some cold ham and chicken in the fridge but in case that doesn’t appeal, I’ve left you some money so you can get some fish and chips or a pizza or a takeaway curry. Please don’t buy crisps and sweets and other such nonsense – that isn’t proper food and will only rot your teeth. I suggest you eat a good meal first then do your homework. If I were you, I wouldn’t put on the television because then you’ll feel inclined to watch it.

  See you later.

  Love, Nan.

  Mike forced a smile. Nan wrote the way she spoke. He looked at the money on the table. Two five pound notes. Another forty pounds and he’d be home and dry. Another forty pounds . . . Mike stood up and pulled off his jacket.

  Another forty pounds . . .

  Would Nan and Gramps have that kind of money lying around the house somewhere? It wouldn’t be stealing – not really. He’d take the money but leave them a note promising to replace it. Probably, they’d never even miss it. He’d get a part-time job and pay it back, with interest. Gramps and Nan wouldn’t lose out, he’d see to that. They’d get their money back eventually. Besides, from the look of the house and the fridge and cupboards always being full and their big car, Gramps and Nan weren’t exactly short of a penny or two. But Mike needed the money now – well, tomorrow afternoon at any rate. If they had it, he’d borrow it, that’s all. He’d start from the top of the house and work his way down. All he needed was another forty pounds.

  Don’t be so stupid, said a voice in his head. Mike ignored it and made his way upstairs.

  Ten minutes later he was going through Nan and
Gramps’s wardrobe. He’d already looked under their mattress and through the drawers of their dressing table. Their fitted wardrobe ran from one side of the room to the opposite wall. Nan had her clothes on one side and Gramps had his on the other. The rail upon which the clothes hung was quite high up – that way there was a lot of room beneath the skirts and shirts and jumpers for shoes and shoeboxes and hangers and other odds and ends. There were shelves at either end of the wardrobe for jumpers and underwear and bedlinen and all the other things Nan didn’t want to hang up. Mike wondered where he should start. In Gramps’s jacket pockets? Or maybe in Nan’s spare handbags. He hesitated over the decision. Maybe he should just wait and ask Gramps and Nan for the money when they came home. But they’d want to know why he wanted so much money and then what? No, that wouldn’t work. This way he could buy himself a couple of weeks until he had time to replace the money.

  Mike glanced down and a strange thing caught his eye. Beneath the lowest shelf on Nan’s side of the wardrobe there was a silver Humpty-Dumpty. There was no other way to describe it. Sure his eyes were playing tricks on him, Mike bent down for a closer look. No, he was right. It was a silver-plated Humpty-Dumpty about twenty centimetres high. Mike picked it up and shook it. A smothered rattle sounded. Mike turned it this way and that in his hands. It looked smooth but bits of it were jagged and quite rough against his fingers. He saw the join where Humpty-Dumpty sat on the silver wall beneath. Tugging with all his might, at last the head came off! Rolled-up papers and a gold ring with a single sapphire flew out on to the carpet.

  Mike picked up the ring first. It was so beautiful. The stone was of the deepest blue and sparkled like Sirius. Mike put the ring back in Humpty-Dumpty. He gathered up the papers which were now scattered across the floor and had started rolling them up when a word on one of the pieces of paper caught his eye – Prison. Ignoring his heart which had started to hammer painfully in his chest, Mike unrolled that particular sheet of paper. He suddenly felt almost unbearably hot. It took a few moments to focus on anything but the words at the top because the letter was written on Amstead Prison headed paper. His mum was in Amstead Prison. Mike began to read.