Under Lying

by Janelle Harris

  She unfolds her arms and I stiffen, thinking she’s going to lunge forward and hug me.

  ‘It’s been all over the news about Amelia,’ Jenny says, and I can see sympathetic tears gathering in her eyes. ‘Susan, I’m so sorry.’

  I swallow hard and stare over her shoulder into my garden. It’s a beautiful day. A cloudless sky seems to make the summer flowers bloom brighter than usual.

  ‘I would have come sooner,’ Jenny continues, ‘but I’m ashamed to say I didn’t realise Amelia was your little girl, until—’ Jenny cuts herself off suddenly.

  ‘Until what?’ I say, dragging my eyes reluctantly to meet hers.

  ‘Nothing.’ Jenny shrugs, and smiles cautiously. ‘I just mean . . .’ She takes a deep breath and I’ve never known her to have to search for words before. She seems such a different person now compared to the overzealous friend I once had. ‘All I mean is, I didn’t know you’d had a baby. I’m embarrassed it took me so long to realise Amelia was your daughter.’

  ‘Is,’ I correct stubbornly.

  ‘Yes. Absolutely.’ Jenny blushes, and I can see in her eyes that she thinks I’m mad clinging to the hope that Amelia is still alive.

  Perfect.

  If someone who once knew me better than I know myself is so convinced Amelia is gone, the rest of the country must be damn well certain. Maybe Deacon and I have really done it. Maybe we’ve got away with this already.

  ‘I didn’t know you’d got married either,’ Jenny adds. ‘Or moved away from Dublin.’

  ‘We’re not living here long,’ I say, not sure why I felt the need to add that.

  ‘I guess that’s what happens when friends lose touch. They stop knowing what’s going on in each other’s lives,’ Jenny says, craning her neck to see past me into my home.

  I’m sure she’s looking for an invite inside. That absolutely won’t be happening. There’s a photograph of Paul and me on our wedding day perched on the hall table. I can’t possibly let Jenny see it.

  ‘I must say I was most surprised of all to discover you’d moved to County Cork,’ she continues, becoming increasingly chattier and bouncy, and I’m seeing traits of the old Jenny buried beneath the subtle new clothes and hairstyle. ‘You were always such a city girl. Is your husband from Cork, is that why you’re here?’

  ‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘He’s from Dublin too.’

  ‘Oh really? I thought he might be a farmer or something. I actually went to that big house over there first, thinking that’s where you lived.’ Jenny turns ninety degrees and points towards Larry and Helen’s farmhouse a couple of fields down.

  ‘Why would you go there?’ I say.

  My pulse is racing. I can feel the pressure of the blood coursing through my veins and pounding in my temples.

  ‘I never imagined you living in a little cottage like this.’ Jenny turns back. ‘But it’s very cute. Different, but cute.’

  ‘Were you talking to anyone at the farmhouse?’ I ask, trying to disguise the sudden tremor that’s creeping its way into my voice.

  ‘No one answered,’ Jenny puffs out. ‘A huge house like that and I’m not sure anyone even lives there.’

  I don’t reply.

  ‘Do you know them?’ she asks. ‘The people who live there?’

  ‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘I think you’re right. It’s abandoned.’

  ‘What a pity.’ Jenny sighs as if she’s disappointed. ‘I bet it’s fabulous inside. Or haunted. Maybe it’s haunted. Wouldn’t that be cool?’

  ‘Jenny, this really isn’t a good time,’ I say, beginning to close the door.

  ‘Oh God, what am I like?’ she says. ‘I’ve come here to support you. To see if there’s anything I can do, any way I can help, and all I’ve done is talk nonsense and upset you. Old habits, I guess. I’ll never learn when to shut my mouth, will I?’

  ‘Jenny.’ I cut across her as her voice slices through my brain like a hot knife through butter. ‘We haven’t been friends in a long time. And much as I appreciate you coming all this way, I really would like to be alone. I think maybe you should go.’

  The hurt on Jenny’s face is intense and for a second I think she’s going to cry.

  Are you kidding me?

  ‘Susan, I’m sorry,’ she says, shoving her foot against the door to stop me from closing it. ‘I never should have accused you of sleeping with Deacon.’

  ‘Jenny, this is really not the time . . .’

  ‘Please, Susan. Just listen?’ She takes a deep breath. ‘I was insecure, as you know. I thought I was losing him to you. And in the end I lost both of you, didn’t I? I just need you to know there’s not a day goes by that I don’t regret it. I miss you. I miss both of you. I just wanted you to know that.’

  ‘Now? You wanted me to know that now?’

  ‘Susan . . .’

  I raise my hand to warn my old friend not to take a step further. ‘My two-year-old daughter is missing. And right now, I don’t care about anything or anyone else. I appreciate your apology, but as I said, I really think you should leave.’

  ‘Okay,’ Jenny sighs. ‘Okay.’

  ‘And stay gone,’ I add firmly. ‘We’re not friends any more!’

  ‘Susan. Susan!’ Paul’s voice carries towards me, racing through the distance and up the winding laneway to find my ears, but I don’t see him.

  Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Not now. Please not now!

  ‘They’ve found a body,’ he shouts, coming into view as he rounds the corner before our cottage. ‘Turn on the news, Susan. Turn it on now. Quick.’

  Paul is out of breath and visibly shaking as he reaches the gate. He rests his hands on his hips and bends in the middle, sucking in huge gulps of air and panting them back out. His bright green shorts expose his long, slender legs and his neon-pink running top has turned cerise from sweat. I know his choice of bold-coloured running gear will pique Jenny’s interest, and my chest tightens as I wait for the carnage. I stare at my husband as he slowly pulls himself upright again. I’m properly looking at him for the first time in days, and it takes my breath away to discover he’s disturbingly emaciated. I don’t understand where he finds the energy to run any more.

  ‘You’re back early,’ I say, thinking of my suitcase under the bed and how if Jenny hadn’t turned up I’d be gone by now. ‘Did you not do a full 10k today?’

  ‘They’ve closed off everywhere around the lake. You can’t get near the place.’ Paul opens the gate and it squeaks, as always. ‘There’s cops everywhere. News crew too. And, of course, the usual nosy so-and-sos from the village. I had to turn back.’

  ‘What are they saying?’ I ask, shoving my hands into my pockets so Paul and Jenny won’t notice them trembling.

  ‘Is this about that body they found this morning?’ Jenny says. ‘Shocking news. Just shocking. What is wrong with some people?’

  ‘I’m sorry, who are you?’ Paul says, and I think he’s so shaken he’s only just noticed Jenny standing on our doorstep. I can see from his expression that he’s assumed she’s a reporter. I wish that’s all she was.

  ‘This is Jenny,’ I say, before she has a chance to speak. ‘We were friends in college.’

  ‘Oh.’ Paul nods. ‘Have we met before?’

  ‘No,’ I snap. ‘Never.’

  My eyes seek out Jenny’s and I plead with her to keep silent, something I know she’ll struggle to do. Now is not the time to tell Paul she recognises him.

  ‘Well, it’s nice to meet you,’ he says, extending his hand.

  ‘Yes. You too,’ Jenny says, stretching her hand out.

  ‘The body,’ I gasp, diving between Jenny and Paul before they have a chance to shake hands. ‘Is it Amelia?’ I ask, beginning to cry. ‘Are they saying it’s Amelia?’

  Tears come easy. It must be the stress.

  Paul shakes his head and gathers me in his arms. ‘Oh baby.’

  His body is wet and sticky and the feeling of his sweat against my clothes makes my skin crawl, but I cuddle into
him as if I need him desperately.

  ‘I think it might be Helen,’ he whispers. ‘The police say it’s a woman. And the rumours have already started, as you can imagine. People are saying Larry killed her.’

  ‘Larry?’ I gasp again.

  ‘I know, baby.’ Paul reaches his hand up to my hair and presses my face into the crook of his salty neck.

  I think I’m going to be sick.

  ‘I’m sorry, Susan,’ he says. ‘I’m so sorry. I know you and Helen had become friends.’

  ‘I . . . I . . .’ I don’t know what to say.

  ‘I mean, I know I didn’t particularly like the woman,’ Paul says, and I hear guilt in his tone for all the terrible things he said about Helen. ‘But, Christ. Murdered. I just can’t believe it.’

  ‘Who’s Larry?’ Jenny asks.

  Paul lets go of me and turns to face Jenny. I know he’s thinking it’s an inappropriate question to ask, but I also know he won’t be rude and ignore the stranger on his doorstep. He must be wondering how I could be friends with someone so blunt. I often asked myself the same question.

  ‘Our neighbour,’ I answer, leaving it at that.

  ‘God, that’s terrible,’ Jenny says, her eyes on me. ‘You think you know people . . .’

  I swallow hard.

  ‘Larry seemed like a nice guy,’ Paul says, suddenly taking a U-turn on his dislike of our neighbours, obviously for Jenny’s benefit. ‘A farmer,’ he explains. ‘He keeps to himself. You know, the quiet type? A bit fond of the drink, mind you. But, then again, so was she. It was just the two of them living in that big old house.’

  ‘Really?’ Jenny shakes her head, casting her eyes over her shoulder to stare at Larry and Helen’s house. ‘It’s always the quiet ones you need to keep an eye on, isn’t it?’

  When she turns back her eyes are narrow and dark, and I realise that she didn’t just know me better than anyone else ten years ago . . . she still does.

  Oh God. What have I done?

  ‘Excuse me,’ Paul says, brushing past Jenny. ‘Susan, I’m grabbing a quick shower.’

  ‘Sure,’ I nod.

  ‘Jenny, you’ll come in, won’t you?’ he adds.

  ‘I’d love to,’ Jenny says.

  ‘Oh good,’ I choke.

  ‘I think the cops will be around soon,’ Paul continues. ‘I’d like to be out of my running gear for once. Save me a ton of bloody questions. Anyone would think going for a jog was a crime.’

  ‘Do you think the police will think the two are connected?’ I ask, as Paul steps on to the stairs. ‘Helen and Amelia, I mean.’

  ‘Of course,’ he smiles. ‘Don’t you? This could be our first real lead . . .’

  ‘Yeah.’ I swallow as an image of my suitcase under my bed flashes before my eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  THEN

  ‘Hey,’ I say, sliding on to the park bench beside Deacon. ‘I bought you a coffee. Two sugars, yeah?’

  ‘God, yes,’ Deacon smiles. ‘Jenny won’t let me have sugar. She’s on a health buzz.’

  ‘Oh.’ I frown and sip my tall Americano. ‘How is Jenny?’ I ask, and I wonder if the sense of sadness and longing is in my voice or if I just sound pissed off.

  ‘Good. Good,’ Deacon nods. ‘As I say, she’s trying to get really healthy. She’s gone from vegetarian to vegan.’

  ‘Well,’ I snort, ‘that’s no surprise.’

  ‘I guess,’ he sighs.

  ‘Are you vegan too, Deacon?’

  ‘I like to be supportive,’ he smiles.

  ‘You also like eggs. And cheese. Jesus. Vegetarian was a big step for you. Now you’re vegan. Really?’

  ‘Jenny wants a baby,’ Deacon blurts. ‘And she wants to be in the best shape.’

  ‘And you want . . .’ I say.

  ‘She wants to start trying as soon as we’re married.’

  ‘And what do you want?’

  He doesn’t reply.

  ‘Drink your coffee,’ I smile.

  Deacon and I don’t talk for a while. We sit and people-watch. It’s nice. But I find myself getting twitchy as I finish my coffee. I have to ask . . .

  ‘Do you want a baby, Deacon?’

  He stands up and walks to a nearby bin. He throws his cup in. He comes back, stretches his arm out to me without a word and I hand him my empty cup. He walks back to the bin. I think that’s my answer. Deacon doesn’t want a baby.

  ‘Have you told her?’ I ask.

  ‘No,’ Deacon says, sitting down. ‘I don’t know how to.’

  ‘What happened to Kerri-Ann?’ I ask.

  Deacon flinches. The mere mention of his daughter’s name rattles him and he begins to fidget.

  ‘Haven’t I told you?’ He looks at me with such sadness in his eyes my heart aches.

  ‘No. You told me your daughter’s name and then changed the subject. You do that every time Kerri-Ann comes up.’

  ‘I do, don’t I?’ He nods and stares vacantly ahead.

  ‘Deacon?’ I say, demanding his attention.

  ‘That coffee was lovely,’ he says. ‘Just what I needed.’

  ‘You’re doing it again,’ I scowl. ‘Changing the subject.’

  His piercing-blue eyes find their way back to me, glistening with tears.

  ‘Don’t you want to talk about her?’ I ask. ‘Don’t you want to remember? Tell me about her. Let me in.’

  Deacon turns towards me. His eyes drop to the ground and a tangible wave of sadness washes over him and engulfs me too. I really wish we had more coffee because I have a feeling this is finally going to be a long story.

  ‘The sun was shining, not a cloud in the sky,’ he says with a pensive smile. ‘Kerri-Ann was wearing little pink shorts and a yellow T-shirt. Yellow was her favourite colour. I can see them on her now as clear as day. We took her to the park, Nancy and me. We didn’t have much money, you see. We were really just two kids ourselves. But the park is free, you know?’

  I nod. I don’t chance words and disrupt him, but I do place my hand on his knee.

  ‘It was great. Kerri-Ann was having the time of her life. Flying high on the swing. Crossing the rope bridge. Sliding down the big slide that was really for older kids . . . but Kerri-Ann was such a rebel. There was no stopping her. She got that from Nancy. And Nancy was smiling. All day she was smiling, like it was the best day ever. But then Kerri-Ann fell. She was climbing the ladder to the big slide. I said she was too little but Nancy shot me down. She was halfway up when she lost her grip. She came down on her back. She didn’t cry, not for a while anyway. It didn’t seem too bad. She didn’t even have any cuts or bruises, she was just a bit winded. She even had another go on the swing after. The next morning I heard Nancy screaming from Kerri-Ann’s room. She couldn’t wake her. At the hospital they said it was a bleed to the brain. Head trauma. Maybe if we’d brought her in sooner they could have helped her. Saved her. But we didn’t. We didn’t know. Like I said, we were just kids ourselves, really. Six weeks later Nancy killed herself. She took some sleeping pills the doctor had given her.’

  ‘Jesus,’ I say. ‘Jesus.’

  I wish other more comforting words would come out. But they don’t.

  ‘And that was it,’ Deacon adds. ‘I was on my own. No Nancy. No Kerri-Ann. No one.’ My heart aches for him. I can’t imagine anything more unbearable than losing your wife and child and being completely alone. Deacon doesn’t deserve that. No one deserves that.

  ‘Have you told Jenny?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah.’ Deacon nods. ‘Not the gory details. But she knows.’

  ‘And she still wants a baby?’ I say. ‘Isn’t that a bit selfish?’

  ‘Jenny isn’t selfish,’ he says, defending his fiancée. ‘She’s just, well, she’s just Jenny.’

  ‘Where does she think you are now?’ I ask. ‘Certainly not with me.’

  ‘Well, no,’ he admits. ‘She thinks I’m seeing my counsellor.’

  I laugh. ‘So does she still think we’re having a
n affair?’

  ‘No.’ Deacon blushes.

  ‘Good,’ I say. ‘Because if I’m going to seduce a nearly married man, I’d like to think it’s with more than just my words.’

  ‘Jenny is a really good person,’ he says. ‘I’m lucky. I mean, I’m really lucky. I didn’t think I’d ever be happy again. But I am.’

  ‘Good,’ I say again. ‘I’m glad. And when you realise that you can talk to whoever you want, maybe you’ll be even happier.’

  ‘Susan, I have to go.’ He stands up.

  ‘I’ve my final exams next week,’ I say, tugging his arm. ‘I’ll be qualified then.’

  He smiles. ‘I’m happy for you, Sue.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I smile back. ‘I’ll be a real counsellor then. You won’t have to lie to Jenny any more about us talking. It’ll all be official.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Deacon exhales. ‘Maybe.’

  I watch him uncertainly as he walks away.

  ‘Bye, Sue,’ he says, glancing back over his shoulder.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  NOW

  I close the door behind Jenny and wait for her to say something about Paul, but she doesn’t open her mouth. She stands by the door with her hands clasped in front of her and her head held high. Her eyes are all over my home. Sweeping the tiles. Dusting the countertops. Washing over the kitchen. She shakes her head and I wonder when she will realise that she shouldn’t be here. The messy college student she was once friends with is nowhere to be found in my flawless cottage.

  ‘Beautiful photos,’ Jenny finally says, her eyes settling on the lightning strikes hanging on the wall next to her.

  ‘Yes, they are,’ I say unashamedly.

  ‘Are these Adam’s work?’ she asks, running her fingers across the glass.

  I don’t answer. I don’t need to. She knows.

  ‘The colours are incredibly beautiful,’ Jenny adds. ‘The white frames really bring out the mood of the sky. Especially this one.’ She points to my favourite, an angry purple-red sky with a single fork of lightning caught in the dead centre of the shot.

  ‘The chances of snapping the lightning at the exact moment it strikes are something like a million to one,’ I explain.