Three Little Lies

by Laura Marshall

  ‘It’s too late for tears, Karina,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t want to do this any more,’ I whispered.

  ‘It’s not up to you,’ he said, lying down on top of me, squashing me so I struggled to breathe. There was a slick of sweat across his face, his breath hot and sickly-sweet in mine. ‘What was he like, my brother? What did he do to you? Did he make you scream like I do?’

  I stared at the damp spot in the corner of the ceiling, but he grabbed me by the chin and kissed me violently, his tongue large and clumsy, a slug inside my mouth. I couldn’t believe I had ever thought I wanted this. I closed my eyes, waiting for whatever was to come next, but then the pressure on my mouth decreased, and he drew back, looking at me thoughtfully. He rolled off me and lay on his back on the bed. I lay motionless, silent.

  ‘Did he use a condom?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’ Nicholas had insisted I went on the pill when things started between us.

  ‘Is he drinking beer? Are there bottles in his room?’

  ‘Yes.’ The room where he had touched me so gently I could hardly feel it.

  Nicholas was silent again. ‘Is he still in there?’

  ‘No. He said he’d see me downstairs.’ He’s probably down there now, waiting for me.

  ‘I’ve noticed recently,’ he said, ‘that you don’t feel the same as you used to. I think you’re tired of me, Karina. I think you’re scared of me.’

  ‘No,’ I whispered.

  ‘Don’t lie to me. You are.’

  I kept quiet, not knowing what the right answer was.

  ‘There is a way, though. If you do something for me, Karina, I’ll leave you alone for ever. I’ll delete all the video footage. I’ll never… bother you again.’

  I kept my eyes on the damp spot, but my heart was beating faster. I’d do anything, anything at all. I vowed to myself that whatever it was, however hard it was, whatever the consequences, I would do it.

  A couple of minutes later, I slipped into Daniel’s room and grabbed one of the bottles from the bedside table, averting my eyes from the bed. I took his towel where it was hanging on the back of the door and picked a T-shirt from the wardrobe at random. Back in Nicholas’s room, he folded the towel carefully in half and laid it on the bed. I pulled my tights down to my knees, and lay on it, thighs apart. There was a crash and the jagged bottom half of a broken beer bottle glinted in the light. I felt Nicholas’s hand on my leg, and then a slicing, shooting pain that made me gasp, and blood running down my thigh. I bit my lip in an effort not to cry out as he sliced into my other thigh and held the T-shirt between my legs for a moment, soaking up the worst of the blood. He gestured to me to pull my tights back up, wrapped the broken bottle in the T-shirt and the whole lot in the towel, then handed it to me. Numbly, I stumbled back into Daniel’s room and hid the bundle at the back of the wardrobe.

  I vaguely registered Ellen’s worried glance as I passed her. I opened the back door and the cold crashed over me like a wave, like relief. My tights were soaked with blood as I sank down, freezing rain dripping on me from the leaves of the mulberry tree, the ground like iron beneath me.

  I remember the mascara streaks on Ellen’s face as she crouched down and put her arms around me, rocking me as if I was a child. I remember the kindly woman officer, the scratchy blanket she put around me, the swabs. Every time I thought about telling the truth, I reached around and pressed a finger to the raw spot on my back. The funny thing was, the longer it went on, the easier it got, and the harder it would have been to turn back anyway.

  By the time I was in court, it hardly felt like I was lying at all.

  Ellen

  September 2017

  A strange sense of something like calm, although it’s probably closer to paralysis, has fallen over me. I flick a quick look at Karina beside me in the doorway, and although she’s frightened, I don’t see any surprise there, and in that moment I understand that she knew it was going to be Nicholas. She never thought Daniel was watching the house. It’s not Daniel she is scared of. My brain struggles to catch up, reaching for strands that disappear as soon as I grasp them.

  ‘Sit down,’ Nicholas says, somehow short of breath, although he’s barely moved from the spot since we got here.

  We both hesitate. Should we try and run? What about Olivia?

  ‘Sit down!’ he says, more of a sob than a command, but the knife inches even closer to Olivia’s exposed throat and she gives an involuntary whimper.

  We step forward simultaneously and take our seats on the near side of the table, next to each other. I’d like to take Karina’s hand, to gain some kind of cold comfort, but I’m afraid of drawing attention to myself. Perhaps if I sit still enough, am quiet enough, I will disappear.

  Nicholas looks from one to the other of us, the knife still hovering dangerously close to Olivia’s neck. Her eyes are bloodshot and she looks grey and tired, her breathing laboured.

  ‘What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here,’ he says, and there’s fear in his voice as if events are spiralling out of his control.

  I am silent, transfixed by the shining blade, desperate to give the right answer but with no idea of what that might be. It’s Karina that speaks.

  ‘We’re here to tell the truth,’ she says, very low. ‘I owe Olivia and Tony that.’

  ‘Well, for a start, Tony’s not here,’ says Nicholas. ‘He’s in the pub, as usual. Found some private members’ club where they let him drink till the early hours, hasn’t he, Mum? Where they don’t care if it’s killing him.’

  ‘Don’t speak about him like that.’ It’s the first time Olivia has spoken. ‘After what you’ve done, how dare you?’

  ‘What about her?’ Nicholas ignores Olivia and points the knife in my direction. ‘What’s she doing here? Poking her nose in again.’

  ‘Ellen doesn’t know anything.’ Karina speaks quickly. I can tell she’s trying to sound calm, reassuring, but she doesn’t have enough breath and her words end in a gasp. She swallows, hard. ‘I haven’t told her. I said I wouldn’t tell, and I meant it. Let her go. This has got nothing to do with her.’

  ‘She’s been asking questions, though.’ Nicholas sounds panicked. ‘Why did she have to go rummaging around? Why couldn’t she stay out of it?’

  ‘I just want to find Sasha,’ I say. ‘That’s all. I don’t care about… anything else.’ I don’t know what it is that he doesn’t want me to know. ‘I’m not interested in the past.’

  ‘Ha! Not interested in it! You’re fucking obsessed by it! Still living with Sasha, or living off her, I should say. Still hanging off her every word.’

  I daren’t speak, terrified of what he might do if I say the wrong thing, whatever that is. I have no idea what he wants, how to play this. Does Karina? I risk a glance at her, but she is looking at Nicholas, her eyes dark bruises in her white face.

  ‘And you,’ he says to Karina despairingly. ‘Going around, mouthing off about it. With Sasha gone and Daniel hanging around the place, stirring things up, it’s too dangerous.’

  ‘It’s over, Nicholas,’ says Karina. ‘I’ve had enough of lying. But let Ellen go, please.’

  ‘Karina’s right,’ Olivia croaks. ‘Ellen came to see me, asking about Sasha. That’s what she’s interested in: finding Sasha. She doesn’t care about you.’

  ‘I can’t. It’s too late.’ But the hand holding the knife drops to his side and he looks uncertain.

  ‘You can,’ urges Karina. ‘Just let her go.’

  ‘No. She’ll go to Daniel, she’ll tell him everything.’

  ‘She doesn’t know. I swear,’ says Karina, leaning forward in her chair.

  ‘Daniel doesn’t deserve the truth,’ he says, half to himself. ‘He’s been gone all this time, off doing God knows what. I’m the one who’s been here. I’ve been the real son.’

  Olivia goes to speak, but Karina shoots her a warning look and breaks in.

  ‘That’s right,’ she says. ‘You’ve been a good
son. Hasn’t he?’ She looks hard at Olivia.

  ‘Yes,’ she agrees weakly, closing her eyes.

  Nicholas sits down opposite us at the table, knife in hand, the patriarch about to carve the Sunday roast.

  ‘It was all Sasha’s fault,’ he says. ‘You two know, don’t you?’ he says to me and Karina. ‘You were in love with her too, in your own way. Who wouldn’t be? But she chose Daniel. Of course. Like everyone always chooses him. I saw them together, before anybody knew there was even anything to see. Mum tried to stop them once. Sasha ran off to France, didn’t she?’ He turns back to Olivia. ‘I bet you thought that was it. But they were soon back at it. So you tried again, that New Year’s Eve, didn’t you, Mum?’ Olivia is staring at him, horror-struck. Karina tenses beside me, as if her whole body is clenching in protest, but she says nothing.

  ‘I couldn’t hear exactly what you said to Daniel, Mum, but whatever it was, he was in the perfect mood for some meaningless sex with anyone desperate enough to shag him.’ He waves the knife in Karina’s direction. I flinch, but Karina is made of stone. ‘It seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up. Keep Daniel away from Sasha – and get him out of the picture once and for all.’

  My mind scrabbles around, trying to pick up the broken pieces of what I thought I knew. Olivia had known that Daniel and Sasha were in love. Daniel didn’t rape Karina. Nicholas was… I don’t know, I don’t know.

  ‘It was easy, in the end, just like you,’ he says to Karina. ‘So easy for you to lie, to let Daniel go to prison. Don’t tell me it was just to get me off your back,’ he says disgustedly. ‘You wanted to punish Sasha, didn’t you? That’s why you slept with Daniel in the first place. You knew she was in love with him. You were always jealous. And when I gave you the chance to make things even worse for her, you couldn’t resist.’

  ‘No,’ she says, the word bursting from her. ‘I did it because I was frightened of you, not to hurt Sasha. It was the only way I could get you to leave me alone, and you know it. That’s how bad it was, that’s how frightened of him I was.’ I realise she is talking to me and Olivia now, not to Nicholas but about him. ‘At first, I was flattered. I thought I was in love with him. But then he started to do things to me, things I didn’t like. He hurt me. I tried to stop it but he just hurt me more. He wouldn’t stop. I was so frightened of him. And he’d taken videos, said he’d show everyone. I was trapped. You have to understand.’

  Olivia looks at her, greyer than ever. ‘So you were lying?’ she whispers. ‘Daniel didn’t rape you?’

  Karina shakes her head, tears in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers. ‘My dad, and then Nicholas…’

  ‘Your father?’ says Olivia, horrified. ‘Not… what they said at the trial?’

  ‘Enough!’ Nicholas bangs the handle of the knife on the table. ‘Don’t start spinning a sob story, Karina. You’re as much to blame as I am.’

  ‘I know,’ she says, stronger now. ‘And I’ll never forgive myself. Never.’

  ‘Mum, I’m sorry you had to find that… stuff in the loft, but I didn’t have anywhere else to store it. I wish I hadn’t had to involve you, but you should be thanking me, really.’ His lack of self-awareness is chilling. ‘I was the only one who could put a stop to Daniel and Sasha, and that was what you wanted, wasn’t it?’ He looks proudly at Olivia, as if seeking approval.

  ‘Not like this,’ she says.

  I will her to play along, to keep him happy, and then maybe he will let us go, but I sense a gathering storm.

  ‘I never wanted this. How could you let me believe those terrible things about Daniel? It destroyed me.’

  ‘What, your perfect son?’ says Nicholas, his grip tightening on the knife handle. My heart sinks. ‘Your golden boy? The concert pianist, the Royal College of Music star, the boy destined for a glittering musical career? That last bit didn’t quite go to plan, did it? Oops.’ He gives a weird half-smile. ‘Even now, he’s worming his way back in, isn’t he? I can’t believe you’ve seen him, let him come here.’

  ‘I’m glad I did,’ says Olivia defiantly. ‘I was right, wasn’t I? Look what you’ve done.’

  ‘But you let him in before you found my stuff in the loft,’ says Nicholas. ‘You were letting him back in anyway, Mum. Why would you do that?’

  ‘Because I love him. He’s my son.’

  ‘Your favourite,’ Nicholas says dully. ‘Always your favourite.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Olivia, and I can tell she has gone beyond caring what happens to us, into a place where she can only tell the truth. ‘Yes, he was my favourite. He was so much easier to love than you. He had so much going for him. I had to accept the court’s judgement, but I knew in my heart that he could never have done what they said he had. I wish to God I had listened to my instincts.’

  ‘No!’ Nicholas pushes back his chair and it clatters to the floor. ‘Don’t say that! I’ve been here for you, I’ve visited, and helped you out, and looked after Dad. What has he done?’

  ‘He’s been in prison!’ shouts Olivia, getting to her feet too. ‘And it was your fault! He should never have been there; it should have been you. I wish it had been you.’

  For a terrible second, I think he is going to raise the knife and slash her, but instead he rushes from the room, slamming the kitchen door behind him. The three of us look at each other in panicked incomprehension, and then there is an almighty crash. We are suspended, motionless, for a second, and then Karina runs to the door and pushes against it. It opens a crack and then stops.

  ‘He’s pushed the bookcase over,’ she says. ‘Help me!’

  Olivia and I join her and the three of us push together, but it’s no good. We can’t shift the bookcase, which, as well as being full of books, is six-foot high and solid oak. There’s no sound from outside the door.

  ‘He’s not there,’ says Karina. ‘What’s he doing?’

  We stand behind the door, looking at each other helplessly. And then we hear it: liquid being sloshed around, the rasp of a match and the hiss as it flares into life.

  ‘The garage,’ says Olivia in horror. ‘There’s petrol in there.’

  There’s a bang as Nicholas closes the front door behind him. A crackle as the flames find something wooden and flammable. Karina puts a trembling hand to the door and then draws it back in terror, staring at the palm of her hand, transfixed. Smoke begins to seep under the door. It seems we are all going to stand here in a trance, and calmly let him burn us to death, when something jolts in me.

  ‘The window!’ I say, hurrying over to it.

  ‘It’s painted shut,’ says Olivia. ‘We’ve been meaning to do something about it, but…’

  ‘It’s been like that for years!’ I explode into anger. ‘For God’s sake, Olivia. Are there any tools in here?’

  She looks around vaguely and shakes her head. I run to the dresser and pull open the drawers, flinging the doors open, looking for something, anything. There are some rusty metal skewers and I grab one in hopeless desperation, running to the window and trying to prise it into the painted cracks between the window and the casing. It’s utterly futile, but I can’t stand here and wait to burn to death. Olivia sinks down at the table and starts to cough from the smoke.

  ‘Put this round your mouth and nose.’ Karina springs into life, shoving a tea towel into Olivia’s shaking hands. Olivia looks down at it as if she has no idea what it is. ‘To protect you from the smoke,’ Karina says more softly. ‘Here. Let me do it.’ She ties it as best she can over the bottom half of Olivia’s face.

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ Olivia says, her voice muffled, as I grab kitchen implements at random and try to force the window open.

  ‘No, Olivia, it’s not,’ says Karina distractedly. ‘It’s mine. Break the window. Shout,’ she says to me.

  I grab the heaviest pot I can see from inside the dresser and heave it up to shoulder level. The window has small panes of glass, each about six inches square. I slam the side of the casserole dish into one of them
but it doesn’t break. The smoke is getting thicker and the heat is rising. Sweat drenches me and every muscle is clenched.

  ‘Again,’ gasps Karina.

  ‘I lied to them. I told them Sasha was Tony’s daughter.’ Olivia speaks again from beneath her mask. ‘I told them they were half-brother and sister.’ Her eyes are streaming and she stares dully at the tabletop.

  Karina and I gape at her for a second, then Karina remembers herself. ‘Again!’ she shouts at me.

  I heave the pot up and smash it against the glass. This time a crack appears. I lift it again. The muscles in my arms are in screaming agony but I gather every bit of strength I have and launch it once more at the windowpane. This time there is a cracking and splintering, and a jagged hole appears in the pane. I grab a stone pestle from beside me, one of the previous implements I had tried, and smash out all the glass. I start shouting for help and Karina runs over to join me, our screams shrill and terrified. The kitchen is at the back of the house, so it’s unlikely we will be heard from the street, even if someone is passing by.