Everything Is Lies

by Helen Callaghan

  That poor deluded fool.

  I remember the sex even now. I was Aaron’s creature, as he posed me on his giant bed with its antique carved headboard. He commanded me to open for him and I did. There was nothing I would not do for him as I panted, moaned and yelped out my prayers to him.

  Afterwards he would stroke me like a pet, between lines of cocaine, and murmur into my ear, ‘You’re so beautiful. You’re so unique, so innocent, so hot. You’re not like the others.’

  Despite my flattered vanity, I wondered why he would compare me to the others. I didn’t dare ask him – anything like sexual jealousy would arouse his forbidding displeasure, and I was not about to displease Aaron. Instead I chose to hear: He loves me best!

  He never once said he loved me, though he was always talking about love, or rather ‘Love’ as a general concept. Rather, he told me he loved things about me; such as my hair, or my laugh, or the way I gripped his cock.

  Sometimes I would stop for a second in the middle of all this bacchanal and think, This is not real life. Nothing about it makes sense.

  Sometimes I would think he didn’t make any sense. He was engaged with me; passionate, intense and vigorous. He didn’t like me to close my eyes during sex, or look away from him, while I swirled my tongue around him or he pounded into me, my feet trembling by his ears. He was always present. I had no prior experience to fall back on, but I could never quite shake the feeling that I could have been anybody, and I would have elicited exactly the same responses from him, just with the names changed. It was a mere ghost of a feeling, but at stray moments in the wee hours of the morning it haunted the foot of his bed, regarding me with mournful eyes.

  But I’m describing mere bubbles of uncommon wakefulness in an ongoing sea of euphoria, perhaps a little more detail than you would like, dearest one. I’m sorry for it, but I need to explain myself. I was in love, I was out of my mind. I was living the dream, as they say nowadays. I had no idea it would ever become a nightmare.

  * * *

  I had been at Morningstar for ten days before I finally spent the night in the room they had given me, a pretty bedroom facing out over the moat, decorated in what I suspected was original William Morris blue wallpaper.

  I lay in my quaintly ruffled bed, surrounded by dusty china ornaments, weeping. Like them, I had been put on a shelf.

  That evening, we’d had yet another splendid dinner. This time it was duck a l’orange, which I’m not sure people still cook. It was served to us by Michelle, a silent woman with thin tawny hair. Like the driver, she gave the impression that while she worked for us, we were not people she wished to know any better.

  ‘You know, Nina,’ Aaron murmured into my ear as Lucy chattered to the table at large, ‘I’m tired. I think I need to just sleep tonight.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, whatever you want. I could do with an early night too, I mean,’ I breathed, my mouth tasting of good Malbec. ‘It’s enough to be together …’

  ‘No.’ There was a hidden ring of steel in his whisper. ‘I mean alone. You go to your own bed tonight.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said back, the blood draining from my face. ‘Of course, if that’s what you—’

  ‘Thank you, Nina.’ He moved his head away from me and rejoined the conversation at the table.

  It was the end of the discussion.

  The evening had gone by in a kind of dark dream. Was I being rejected? Had I done or said something to offend him?

  I was gloomy and silent and on the verge of tears all evening as the others drank and smoked and laughed, while I pondered what this announcement could mean. No one remarked on my obvious pale misery.

  Finally, I fell asleep in my single bed, and woke early. I lay awake there in a fug of dread, my hair stuck to my face by dried tears. I stayed there during the bustle and gentle clanging from Michelle in the kitchen below, presaging the rising smell of bacon and eggs.

  I didn’t want to get up. I was terrified of what I might find.

  Then came the footsteps in the gallery, amplified by creaking – Morningstar was a grande dame, beautiful and luxurious but with arthritic bones that snapped and popped as we crossed her floorboards or clung to her bannisters. At night, her plumbing gurgled and murmured.

  ‘Where’s Nina got to?’ asked Wolf. His voice shocked me with its suddenness, its loudness. He must have been mere feet from my closed door.

  He’d been looking for me, I realized. I froze, not ready, in my unhappiness and dread, to be discovered.

  ‘She’s in the blue bedroom.’ I recognized Tristan’s voice. ‘You know. Sarah’s old room.’

  Who is Sarah? I wondered.

  I rose, silent, and stole towards the door, my curiosity piqued.

  ‘Oh right. Are you going into town today, mate?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I need to get to the bank with Lucy.’ Tristan sounded anxious.

  ‘Great. Can you pick me up some rolling tobacco from the offy? I’m nearly out.’

  ‘Yeah, sure thing, of course.’ There was a doubtful edge to this reply.

  ‘I’ll pay you back, you know.’ Wolf’s tone rose in confrontation, as though Tristan had accused him of something. ‘And the rest.’

  ‘It’s no trouble, Wolf.’ Tristan’s voice had moved off, his tread heavy on the ancient stairs now. ‘Really it isn’t.’

  There was a beat of silence after Tristan had gone.

  ‘Fucking pillock,’ I heard Wolf mutter under his breath.

  He must have been standing right next to my closed door now. If he knew this was my bedroom, he must have meant for me to hear him.

  Seconds passed as I stood, perfectly immobile, waiting for him to move on. It seemed to take for ever, but eventually the creaking recommenced and he thundered down the worn stairs and away.

  * * *

  ‘Ah, there you are!’ Lucy bounced up to me and threw her arms around me, kissing my cheek. ‘How did you sleep?’

  She seemed very happy and animated, her big eyes made up, her long hair a dark red shawl around her.

  ‘Very well, thank you,’ I lied. My head felt thick and my heart felt hollow.

  ‘Oh, good, good! Big day today!’ She was grinning broadly, and swooped back into her chair at the breakfast table, her white teeth quickly tearing into a slice of buttered toast.

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ She swallowed quickly, brushing at the crumbs on her mouth. ‘Don’t worry, all will be revealed when Aaron comes down. But first I have to just dart into town with Tristan.’ She glanced over at him, caught his eye, and his already ruddy cheeks blushed.

  ‘That’s all right, isn’t it, Tristan? Today’s still good, yeah?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, yeah, it’s fine. We’ll go after this.’ He gestured at his plate with his knife, noticed me and offered me a grin in welcome. ‘Morning, Nina.’

  At the table, Penelope, still in her dressing gown but with her white-blonde hair pulled up into another flawless chignon, offered me one of her small, cool smiles. ‘Good morning, Nina.’

  There was, naturally, no sign of Aaron yet, but everyone else was there. Tess chirped out a happy hello from underneath her messy dark-blonde hair and dimples. ‘Are you coming into Tonbridge with us, Nina?’

  A little flutter of interest moved me. I could call Rosie maybe, try to apologize for my previous behaviour, and then run this recent development past her and see what she thought. I hadn’t realized it, but growing within me was a restlessness to talk to somebody from outside, to get some perspective.

  Before I could answer, however, Penelope did.

  ‘Lucy and Tristan are going to the bank, Tess.’ She did not raise her eyes from her muesli. ‘Nobody else.’

  ‘Oh,’ Tess’s face fell in childlike disappointment. ‘I wanted some chocolate. Some Dairy Milk.’

  ‘Ask Lucy and Tristan nicely to pick some up, providing they have time.’ Penelope’s voice was cold. ‘Though it might be an idea to stop gorging on chocolate for a while. You’re getting rather plu
mp.’

  Tess crimsoned, as did I, in empathetic embarrassment.

  Lucy scowled behind Penelope’s back.

  ‘You’re gorgeous, baby.’ Lucy kissed Tess’s pink forehead. ‘Never change. I’ll get you a bar on the way back.’

  Penelope ignored this, resuming her breakfast.

  I pulled up a chair, hiding my confusion by helping myself to toast and bacon. I felt I wanted to confront Penelope on Tess’s behalf, but the moment had passed, and Tess in any case now seemed content, slurping away at her tea.

  Mostly, if I’m being honest, I very selfishly didn’t want to fight with the others now that my relationship with Aaron felt so suddenly, inexplicably tenuous. But the whole incident troubled me. Having been raised by bullies, I knew what one looked like.

  In my self-conscious unhappiness, I forgot to ask the others about Sarah.

  * * *

  We were to meet in the dining room at noon, Penelope told us archly, as Michelle took our plates away and got on with cleaning the kitchen. We were not to be late.

  This was very unusual. We never went in there during the day. We didn’t even dine in there.

  I was there first, by some accident – the others were downstairs, greeting Tristan and Lucy, who had just returned from town – and I was peering out of one of the three big sash windows, at the grounds beyond.

  Normally the room stood empty, cleared of all furniture, completely bare and wooden-floored, with only what looked like a mobile television camera mounted on a tripod in one corner. A case of tapes lay next to it, and nearby, a microphone stood in its stand. I had always assumed it was something to do with Aaron’s music career.

  I didn’t like the camera. There was something plasticky and alien about it. Its single blind eye, facing the empty centre of the room with nothing but the stirred dust to film, gave me the creeps.

  ‘There you are! Little Nina!’

  From behind I was swept up into strong male arms, and I shrieked in alarm until I caught the smell of his sandalwood aftershave, that low laughter.

  ‘Aaron!’

  ‘Hey, baby, it’s me.’ He crushed me to him and kissed me. ‘Did you miss me?’

  My agony had lasted all night and morning, and it was all I could do not to burst into tears.

  ‘Oh you did! My little Nina, you did. I’m sorry. I just … I sometimes need to be alone. It’s been so intense with you. But we’re good, right?’

  He had my shoulders and was gazing deep into my eyes.

  I nodded, blushing. I had been so stupid. So clingy and desolate, and here, look, nothing was wrong. I felt such a fool. I let him squeeze me in his embrace.

  As the others filed up the stairs, he let me go with a final kiss on my chin. ‘Time to get to work, right?’

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but I nodded enthusiastically anyway.

  * * *

  ‘So, the time has come,’ said Aaron, addressing the room, ‘to get on with the main business of our lives, which is preparing for the ritual.’

  Lucy and Tristan let out little cheers, and everybody clapped. The sound reverberated through the high ceiling of the dining room, its emptiness giving everything a strange echo. In a flash of insight I realized that it had been chosen for this; these peculiar acoustics.

  What ritual? I wondered.

  ‘Lucy,’ he gestured to her and she performed a brief, self-mocking curtsy, ‘is going to read the cards tonight and find the best time to perform it. In the meantime, we need to get this place ready. We’ve got rid of the most obvious negative influences …’ Here the others’ grins faltered as Aaron’s expression grew stern. ‘This time it has to work.’

  Everyone nodded.

  I still had no idea what was going on.

  ‘Um, Aaron?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Sorry, I still don’t … get what we are doing.’

  ‘We’re going to perform a ritual, a symbolic marriage that will enable us to get in touch with our deepest subconscious urges.’

  I blinked at him. ‘I don’t understand,’ I said. Everyone stared at me. ‘What do you mean, a “symbolic marriage”? And isn’t the point about subconscious urges that they’re subconscious, that you can’t control them? I mean …’ I tailed off, too overwhelmed by their collective conviction to continue.

  ‘We can access our subconscious by using drugs and herbs, which we source naturally,’ said Lucy, glancing towards Aaron, who ignored her, keeping his gaze on me. ‘We call it the Sacred Draught. It puts us in touch with our untrammelled inner selves, allows us to abandon our consciousness and ego and explore the inner course of our instincts within the context of the ritual.’

  Nothing about this explanation reassured me. I, for one, did not want to abandon my consciousness and pursue my untrammelled inner self through the medium of pharmaceuticals. The weed we all smoked was one thing; even Aaron’s coke was merely a different mood applied to his normal state of mind.

  This sounded like something else. Something unknown.

  ‘You don’t want to be involved, Nina?’ asked Aaron patiently, but that hidden ring of steel was back again, lurking beneath his calm demeanour.

  ‘I … I didn’t say that,’ I stammered. ‘It’s just that … it sounds very … strange. And maybe even dangerous.’

  It sounded crazy, to be honest, but I thought it best not to point this out.

  ‘I suppose you could call it strange, but it’s not dangerous – or at least not physically dangerous. Everything worth having comes with an element of risk. We’re getting in touch with our divine, creative heritage. We are working to manifest the World Soul.’ He leaned back and sighed. ‘It’s worked for me so far. It’s worked for all of us.’ He fixed me with a look. ‘It could work for you, too, Nina. If you let it.’

  I didn’t know what to reply.

  But he was Aaron Kessler, and he was regarding me with those dark, assessing eyes, his lips pursed as though he was concentrating on me, nailing me to the ground with sheer force of will. My heart was pounding, my thighs shaking.

  I didn’t believe in what he was saying, but I absolutely, positively, believed in him. He was the most overwhelming physical and emotional experience I had ever had, an experience that would not be supplanted until the squalling, bloody bundle of you, Sophia, was pressed into my trembling arms by the midwife.

  ‘We would never let you do anything you were uncomfortable with, or that put you in danger. You can observe, if you like, until you’re ready to commit.’ Lucy smiled and reached across to gently move a stray strand of my hair out of my face.

  I swallowed …

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I can see you retreating. This is a lot to take in, Nina, I know. This is a whole new thing. You don’t have to say yes or no right this instant. Think about it for a little while.’ His face darkened. ‘But by the time Lucy chooses the hour tonight, you’re either in or you’re out. OK?’

  Where else could I have gone, what could I have done? I couldn’t let it end yet. Which is what refusal would have meant, I knew.

  ‘You don’t have to worry about me. I’m in.’

  Aaron came over and wrapped me in his arms, while the others cheered and clapped and embraced us both. ‘This is great, baby, just great,’ he murmured. ‘We couldn’t do it without you. You’re the missing piece of the puzzle.’

  ‘Uh … thanks …’

  ‘Go with Penelope and she can tell you what needs to be done.’

  ‘Sure …’

  I followed Wolf out of the door, Tristan and Tess ahead, Penelope leading the way. Tristan was pressing a bar of Dairy Milk into Tess’s hands behind Penelope’s back, and they both giggled quietly.

  But as I was leaving I heard Lucy murmuring to Aaron. ‘The bank went OK. He signed the forms and they accepted them. The cash will take a little while to come through, though. Maybe as long as ten days. I’ll drive him down and we’ll pick it up then.’

  ‘Great,’ said Aaron, as though the subject bo
red him.

  ‘Shall I call Peter? Tell him we’ve got the money?’ Lucy had lowered her voice and, intrigued, I paused just outside the door, pretending to adjust my skirt, while listening in.

  ‘Sure,’ said Aaron. ‘Do it.’

  The mention of Peter stirred my curiosity. Lucy had spoken of Peter when I first arrived.

  Nobody had seemed that fond of him at the time. I wondered why.

  I was soon to find out.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After a late dinner we sprawled, as usual, in front of the fire. We did this every night, Sophia. Tonight, however, something was different. The lamps were off and the room was lit by white church candles in a variety of purloined and mismatched candelabras. Lucy, with a newfound primness, carefully carried in a carved wooden box and seated herself in front of the fire.

  ‘This is it!’ she said.

  She told us to sit around her, close our eyes, join hands and focus on her. This we did. Penelope’s hand in mine was hard and chilly, like a doll’s hand. Wolf’s, however, was large and sweaty, and he gripped mine tightly. A little too tightly.

  I tried to dismiss him from my thoughts and concentrate.

  When we were told we could open our eyes, Lucy had opened the box and three tarot cards lay on a swatch of black silk before her.

  Lucy spread her hands above the cards, as though they were coals warming her.

  ‘The message is clear. The ritual must take place in twenty-one days …’

  I was not entirely ignorant of the Tarot. Rosie had tried to teach me a little. That said, I couldn’t make out how the cards had said what Lucy thought they meant. ‘What does the fact that it’s upside down mean? That card, the Knight of Swords?’ I asked.

  Aaron’s brows flexed at me in displeasure.

  ‘What?’ Lucy snapped, surprised at the question. The disapproval of the others was palpable. I had a sudden sense of myself as the neophyte trying to undermine her, undermine them.