One More Lie

by Amy Lloyd

  I’m already half-awake when my alarm goes off for work, so it should be easy to get up but it isn’t. My body feels heavy, like I’m anchored to the bed, and even though my neck is stiff and I’m bored, I can’t seem to throw the covers off and step out. I set the alarm for another ten minutes and just lie there waiting for it to go off but even then I can’t make myself get up.

  This is what Dr Isherwood tells me is depression but it’s more like … nothing. That I am empty. Or that someone has scooped out my insides and filled me with concrete, grey and solid and heavy. And way down deep inside is a little piece of me that’s still there, trying to see and hear the world through the grey, but everything is far away and muted and so the good things don’t make me feel good enough because I can barely see or hear them.

  This makes me wish I had a phone. Dr Isherwood said this would happen, that I would want to contact her and that I would need my own mobile phone to do so.

  ‘You don’t even need a smartphone,’ Dr Isherwood said. ‘You could get an old-fashioned one without the internet and then you wouldn’t have to worry about all of that nonsense.’

  But it wasn’t really the internet I was worried about, even though it felt like I was always carrying around a hundred screaming people with me, angry and hateful. It was Sean. And I knew that so long as I had a phone, he would find me again.

  The last time I was out, Dr Isherwood had said that it would be impossible for Sean to find me. But there are things that Dr Isherwood doesn’t understand. How could I tell her that he had already found me, and that we had spoken for hours? I didn’t know how to explain to her that I knew it was Sean before he had even spoken and that I had always known it would happen, that maybe I had even made it happen just by thinking of it.

  I look at the clock again and know that I will be late if I don’t get up straight away. I count out loud, ‘One, two, three,’ and then throw the covers off in one go and swing out of bed. The air is cold and as I grab my towel I feel my stomach sink again thinking of getting in the shower. One thing at a time, I say out loud to myself. First, just brush your teeth.

  I am not late when I get to work but I am only just on time, which is almost as bad. I have to throw my bag into my locker and rush straight to Neil’s office because I’m not sure what to do or where to go.

  ‘Charlotte!’ he says, putting his hands in the air. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

  ‘What?’ I say.

  ‘How can I help you?’ He picks up a pen and fiddles with it. I try to look at his face but my eyes keep going to the pen in his hand as he clicks it and clicks it and clicks it.

  ‘I don’t know where I’m supposed to be,’ I say.

  ‘Join the club!’ he says, laughing.

  ‘Um,’ I say, not sure he’s understood me.

  ‘Come with me,’ he says as he pushes his chair back and stands. He gestures again, ‘Come, come.’

  We go back out into the store, which is quiet during the morning school rush, and he directs me to the front where two pretty young girls are pinning Halloween decorations to the upper shelves. When they see me and Neil walking towards them their expressions change and I blush because I know they hate Neil and it’s my fault he’s talking to them.

  ‘Anita, Katie, this is Charlotte,’ he says.

  ‘Hiiiii,’ they say. Their smiles look watery and weak.

  ‘Can you both look after Charlotte for the morning and please share with her all your wisdom and knowledge from your time working with me.’

  They both laugh but not really. I smile in a way that I hope says, I’m sorry.

  ‘You’re in good hands, Charlotte! These two will tell you everything they know!’ Anita and Katie force a laugh again and because Neil is enjoying the attention he goes on, ‘It won’t take long!’ He laughs at his own joke. As he walks away he whistles and I finally look at Anita and Katie, who roll their eyes.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Anita says.

  ‘I know,’ Katie says.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. There’s silence and I know I’ve said the wrong thing but then they both burst out laughing.

  ‘He’s a freak,’ Katie says.

  ‘So creepy,’ Anita says.

  ‘I don’t even know what he’s going on about half the time,’ I say, enjoying the feeling of unity we’re having and wanting to be involved.

  ‘I know!’ they say together and then we all laugh.

  ‘Anyway,’ Anita says. ‘We have to put all this shit up this morning but we’re trying to drag it out so we don’t have to go back on stock or checkout.’

  ‘So basically don’t rush it because I seriously can’t be bothered today,’ Katie says.

  ‘Seriously,’ Anita says.

  They both have shiny cheekbones and thick hair and there’s something electric about them that makes me feel shy and excited and I don’t want to mess up.

  ‘Are you new?’ Anita asks.

  ‘Oh my God, she’s obviously new,’ Katie says. They laugh so I do, too.

  ‘I saw you the other day,’ Katie says. It makes me jump, as if she was accusing me of something, but she says it like she’s bored. From her pocket she takes out a tin of lip balm and dips her finger in it and wipes it across her lips. ‘You were working with Dawn on the refrigerated meats. I felt so bad for you.’

  ‘We call her Dawn of the Dead,’ Anita says and we all laugh.

  ‘Oh my God, she, like, kills me, you know?’ Katie says.

  They both look at me and it feels like a test.

  ‘She kept talking about her bunions,’ I say. They laugh and I am glowing because I know I made it happen. I don’t want it to end but eventually their laughter fades and they look back to the stepladder and the shelves from which the Halloween bunting hangs to coil on the floor like snakes.

  ‘Hold the ladder for me,’ Katie says to Anita.

  She climbs and starts to fix the Halloween decorations along the top shelf. Every now and again she bites off more Sellotape and sticks the bunting to the shelf.

  ‘Oh my God, Katie, that looks properly shit,’ Anita says. Katie looks at me and I nod. She hasn’t stuck it up evenly so that some parts hang lower than others and the string has twisted so that it isn’t all facing the right way. It stresses me out to look at it, so I turn away.

  ‘Who cares?’ Katie says. Then, ‘Fine, you do it then.’ She climbs down the ladder and hands Anita the Sellotape.

  ‘I can’t!’ Anita’s voice squeaks like a child’s.

  ‘It isn’t even that high,’ Katie says. ‘You are such a drama queen!’

  ‘I hate ladders!’ Anita says, covering her face with her hands.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ I tell them.

  Katie hands me the tape and as she does her skin brushes against mine and I realise it’s the first time anyone has touched me since my appointment with Dr Isherwood.

  ‘Yes, Charlotte!’ Anita says. ‘My hero!’

  I blush but I don’t want them to see so I turn and start to climb. I put my foot on the third rung and my trouser leg rises, the cool air hitting my bare skin, except for where the ankle tag rests. I realise too late; my right foot is already off the ground. I take the next steps one at a time and when I get to the top I look back, hoping that they haven’t seen, but I can tell from the way that they can’t face me that they have. They aren’t laughing or smiling any more and I want to get down and leave but I can’t because that would only make it worse.

  I unpick the bunting and do it all over again. Beneath me I can hear them whisper something but by the time I look at them they’ve stopped. When I’ve finished I climb down and Anita tells me it looks good, but her voice is thin and her smile is weak at the edges.

  They both pick up decorations and head to the end of the aisle to dangle cobwebs and stack the fun-size chocolate bars and bags of gummy sweets. I can see them still talking quietly and I know it’s about me. Lost, I stand and wonder whether I will ever fit anywhere ever again.

  Then there’s
an announcement over the loudspeakers: ‘Can Charlotte Donaldson please report to Customer Services. Can Charlotte Donaldson please report to Customer Services. Thank you.’

  Both Anita and Kate look at me and then back at the sweets. Even though I know that they can’t possibly be calling me because of the ankle tag and that Neil knows I am on a release programme for a crime that wasn’t theft or sexually motivated, it feels like too much of a coincidence and my heart pounds and I start to sweat lightly.

  At Customer Services an older lady nods to the telephone and tells me there’s a phone call for me.

  ‘Hello?’ I say. The voice that comes back is familiar and floods me with warmth.

  ‘It’s me,’ Dr Isherwood says. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you. Didn’t the reception at the home pass on my messages?’

  ‘No,’ I say.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I’ve been trying to tell you that I have to cancel our appointment tomorrow.’

  I feel like I’m falling through the floor.

  ‘I’ve had a bit of an emergency. I’m so sorry. You know that I hate to let you down,’ she says. I think hard and I can’t remember a time that she ever has let me down. It is new and frightening. ‘And to make things worse our computers are playing up. We can’t get to half our patients’ details. Our IT guy says it’s a virus and we may not be able to recover … I’m sorry – you don’t need to know this. I’m babbling.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I say, wanting her to keep talking, to stay as long as it takes.

  ‘I know we discussed this before but it would make me feel a lot better if you had your own phone. You could call me any time. So long as I’m not with a patient I can always find time for you. Something to think about, maybe?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Have a think. If you do need me tomorrow I’ll be available on my mobile. You can always use the phone at the home, you know.’

  The phone is busy all the time: women spending hours on hold to Tax Credits and the DWP. Or else to the ex-boyfriends and ex-husbands that they aren’t supposed to contact, apologising, apologising, apologising.

  ‘I know,’ I say.

  ‘You can tell me if you’re mad at me,’ Dr Isherwood says. ‘It’s OK if you are – we can talk about it.’

  Maybe I was mad but now I feel bad because I can’t think of any other time she has cancelled an appointment. I’ve seen her when she’d lost her voice and had to hold up cards with questions on and we laughed through it all. I’ve seen her with migraines and panting out of breath because her car broke down and I have seen her stressed and distracted because a pipe burst in her house and the plumber could only come when our session was on and she didn’t want to let me down. So it must be something more serious than has ever happened before and instead of worrying about that she’s still worrying about me.

  ‘I’m not,’ I say. ‘Are you OK?’

  She pauses like she always does if I ask her something about herself. She is wondering how much it is OK to share, how much I should know.

  ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Just a bit of a family emergency. That’s all. It will be OK.’

  The word twists inside me. Family. She hasn’t talked about family before. I think of the backs of the pictures on her desk, wonder whom she keeps with her all day, how lucky they are.

  ‘Oh. Well, I hope it all works itself out in the end.’

  Dr Isherwood laughs. ‘I’m sure it will. And thank you for being so understanding. Other patients haven’t been as kind.’

  We say our goodbyes and I hang up the phone. I don’t want to go back to the Halloween aisle with Anita and Katie so I go back to Neil’s office.

  ‘Charlotte!’ he says again. ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘I don’t want to do the decorations,’ I say. ‘Can I do something else?’

  Neil stares at me and I stare back.

  ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘I don’t like heights,’ I say. ‘And I would rather work somewhere else so I can learn more.’

  Neil smiles. ‘We can make sure you get a chance to work in every section. Then we can see where your skills are best suited.’

  I wait for him to tell me where I’ll be working but he just smiles. Slowly the smile fades, like disappearing ink.

  ‘OK,’ he says, suddenly clapping his hands together. ‘Come with me, we’ll put you somewhere a little busier.’

  I follow him through the store, past the coffee shop and up the escalators to the clothing section. This time, Neil leaves me with a man called Thomas and a woman called Lisa who is about my age. I help them put out new stock and then they tell me to go around looking for stock that people have changed their minds about and dumped elsewhere.

  I’ve never understood the way people leave things around shops. Since being here I’ve seen frozen food left on the shelves of the cereal aisle, a pack of steaks ditched alongside the DVDs, butter thrown in with the frozen chips. It all gets thrown away but I don’t think they would care even if they knew that.

  I feel some satisfaction from putting things back where they belong. It also gives me a chance to look around at all the things I can’t afford. I look at a pair of ankle boots that are lined with fake fur and I love them but I know I don’t have anything to wear with them anyway, so it’s easy to walk away from them. It’s harder to walk away from a soft cardigan that looks so warm and cosy I want to put it on right away. I look at the price tag: twenty-five pounds. There’s no one around and I think about taking it. There’s no security tag – I’ve noticed that they only put security tags on things priced forty pounds and up, unless they are the kind of things that people steal the most, like packs of tights and pants and children’s clothes. The kinds of things that people need, so they have to steal them if they can’t afford them.

  Since I’ve been working here they have checked my bag as I left once. But since then, they have not. If I finish at the same time as Neil leaves – six o’clock – they will almost certainly check my bag. But today I finish at two and they have never checked my bag on this shift.

  The cardigan looks too big to sneak out under my shirt but now I feel the prickle on the back of my neck and I know I have to take something. After everything that has gone wrong today I think I deserve to feel better. As I walk around looking for discarded items I also think about what I can get away with taking.

  When I return a bra to the lingerie section I see a lace set in emerald green and I love it immediately. The bra doesn’t have any underwire so it won’t make awkward shapes under my shirt and it’s so delicate and small I can hide it easily. Also, if they do search my bag, there’s a chance they won’t even question it because they’ll be too embarrassed. I look through for my size and for a moment I worry that they’ve sold out but I find one right at the back. I check to make sure no one is close by and then I pull it out. As I do this I purposely knock off several sets at the front so that they all fall on to the floor. As I crouch and pretend to be untangling all the hangers I undo the set I want and ball it up in my fist. I place the rest of the sets back on to the hook and as I stand I pretend to adjust my trousers while sticking the bra and knickers into my waistband. Finally I take one last look around and when I’m sure no one was watching I go back to my job, tidying the rails and making sure everything is on the correct hanger.

  After five minutes I find Lisa and Thomas and tell them that I’m going to take a break. I go to the locker room and get my bag and take it to the toilet where I remove the set from my waistband and bury them beneath my book and my bus pass. I flush, lock my bag away and return to work.

  Instead of feeling bored I feel exhilarated; when customers ask me where things are I walk them over and I smile instead of just pointing and hoping they’ll go away. There are butterflies, the kind you get when you’re standing at the edge of a great height, knowing you could fall, or jump, if you wanted to.

  I glance at the clock on the wall and at two o’clock I take a deep breath and my skin prickles
with excitement. It is too late to change my mind and take the set back so even though I suddenly think of Dr Isherwood and feel a lurch inside me, I know I have to go through with it.

  I go back downstairs and put on my coat. I take my time so people don’t think I’m rushing. Neil isn’t around which is a good sign and I peek inside my bag to check it isn’t too obvious in case they do decide to search me. With another deep breath I walk towards the door. There’s no security there but I hesitate momentarily and consider taking the lingerie out of my bag and sticking the items back into my waistband, just in case they do search my bag. But as I’m already almost at the door and other staff are coming and going I decide to just go on and get out quickly.

  As I expected, no one stops me, and I am blinking at the light that comes in through the glass front of the building, zipping my coat against the crisp autumn afternoon air, when a hand falls on my shoulder. I stop.

  ‘Sorry,’ the security guard says. ‘I was supposed to do a bag check but I got caught up on the way to the staff room.’

  He has gelled dark brown hair and really white teeth. He smells of aftershave and I have never seen him before. I readjust my bag on my shoulder.

  ‘Oh?’ I say.

  ‘Can I just …’ He gestures towards my bag.

  ‘Here?’ I say.

  ‘In the staff room, then,’ he says.

  I try to think of something but nothing comes. This is it. I have ruined everything. Again.

  10

  Her: Then

  The church hall is cold like always and I sit on my hands to try to warm them up. Fiona is telling us about the Ten Commandments and what they mean. I look over my shoulder at the little children who don’t have to do lessons during Sunday school. Instead they get to play with toys in the corner but because I am ten now I’m not allowed to play any more. When I look back Fiona is handing out worksheets and putting the boxes full of pencils and crayons and felt tips on the tables.