Under Lying

by Janelle Harris

  ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, not this bullshit again,’ I groan.

  ‘Well, how else do you explain your weird behaviour since I got here? You’re so jumpy and stressed out. You clearly don’t want me anywhere near Paul in case I open my big mouth and expose you.’

  Jenny has misconstrued the situation so badly it’s laughable. And to think I was actually worried that she had me figured out. I guess that’s laughable too.

  ‘Just tell me, Susan.’ Tears stream down her cheeks and I realise she’s never got over Deacon. She’s still in love with him. If only he knew.

  I smirk. I don’t mean to, it just sort of happens when I remember how easy it is to manipulate Jenny. She might dress better nowadays and appear a little more reserved and less boisterous but she’s still the same insecure girl I met at the bereavement group all those years ago.

  ‘Oh God.’ Her hand covers her mouth. ‘You’re not even going to deny it any more, are you? I swear, Susan, if you tell me you’ve slept with him, I’ll never forgive you. You’ll never see me again. Missing child or no missing child, I can’t be a part of this.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say firmly. ‘I am sleeping with Deacon.’

  Jenny gulps and I can almost see the vicious lie slice her heart in half.

  ‘I knew it.’ She begins to cry. ‘I always knew it, really. I tried to tell myself I was crazy, but I could see the hold you had over Deacon. You could ask him to do anything for you and he would do it. Anything.’

  ‘What can I say, Jenny?’ I throw my hands in the air in mock surrender.

  She can’t bring herself to look at me and I watch with bated breath as her fingers reach for the door handle again. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this simple solution to get rid of her sooner.

  ‘All these years,’ she cries, her grip on the handle tightening. ‘Have you been together all this time?’

  I don’t know what to say. She’s obviously built up this story in her head and I don’t want to deviate from whatever she’s convinced herself of and set her off asking more questions. She might never get out of the damn car.

  ‘Susan, answer me,’ she snaps, her voice much too loud for the confines of Paul’s compact car.

  ‘Jenny, you really need to go home now,’ I say. ‘And take the memories of the person I was with you. I’m not that girl any more, and I never will be again. You need to go home and never come back. Do you understand?’

  ‘Is that a threat?’

  ‘No.’ I glare at her through impatient eyes. ‘That’s me asking nicely.’

  ‘I can’t believe you,’ she sniffs as she wipes her teary eyes with the back of her hand. ‘You’re not even going to try to defend yourself.’

  I pull a face.

  ‘Or apologise,’ she shouts.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘Now will you please get out?’

  ‘Don’t.’ Jenny points a finger at me. ‘Don’t you dare bloody say that unless you mean it.’

  I groan inwardly. I don’t have time for this drama.

  ‘You know what?’ Jenny says. ‘It’s Paul I feel sorry for. He has no idea who he’s married to, does he?’

  My mind is racing. Jenny is scratching at the surface of the truth but her judgement is so clouded by her failed marriage.

  ‘I can see your suitcase in the back of the car, Susan,’ Jenny says.

  I glance over my shoulder at the suitcase with a huge tear in the side. One of Amelia’s bright dresses is poking out. My heart races.

  ‘I’m not stupid, I know you’re leaving Paul,’ she says. ‘What I don’t understand is why you married him in the first place. But I’m going to find out, Susan. Mark my words.’

  A growl forms somewhere in the back of my throat and explodes past my lips. It’s animalistic and scrapes my throat as it passes. ‘Jenny. No. Please, please. I’m begging you. Go home. Please go home.’

  ‘No, Susan,’ she says confidently. ‘You can’t get rid of me this time.’

  ‘Oh Jenny,’ I say, a tear finding its way to the corner of my eye. ‘I really wish you hadn’t said that.’

  Chapter Thirty-five

  NOW

  The smell of greasy chip oil and battered fish is repulsive as I hurry up the concrete steps leading to the dingy flat.

  ‘Deacon,’ I shout from the corridor, not caring if the guy in the flat across the way hears me. ‘We have to go. We have to get out of here.’

  My voice carries across the corridor and bounces off the wall and comes back to hit me like a slap across the face.

  ‘Open the door. Open the door,’ I say, breathless as I reach the top step.

  I pound my fist against the door. It rattles and a shard of timber flakes free and drills into the fleshy part at the base of my palm. The pain is sharp and sudden and makes me angrier. I pound harder.

  ‘Open the fucking door, Deacon,’ I shout.

  Finally, the door creaks open and Deacon’s head appears in the gap.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he asks.

  ‘Dealing with your ex-wife,’ I snap, barging inside and almost knocking him over.

  ‘Jenny?’ he gasps, closing the door behind me. ‘Where is she? Is she here? Oh God, that’s all we need. I told you this was too risky. I knew we’d never get away with it. What does she know?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I say.

  Deacon clasps his hands on top of his head as he exhales sharply. ‘You know she’ll just keep digging until she finds something. Fuck, this is a mess. I knew we should have left sooner. I told you. I bloody told you, didn’t I?’

  ‘Deacon,’ I snap. ‘Get a grip. I’ve taken care of everything.’

  ‘Everything except Amelia.’ He drops his hands by his sides and his worried eyes glance towards the bedroom. ‘She’s sick.’

  ‘Okay, we’ll get her some ibuprofen on the way to the ferry,’ I say. ‘But we need to get going now. Paul is going to come looking for us soon.’

  ‘What?’ Deacon shakes his head. ‘We can’t take her on a boat now. She’s burning up. She needs a doctor. I’ve been trying to call you all day, but you wouldn’t answer.’

  ‘I know,’ I say. ‘Jenny recognised your number on my phone. I told you not to call.’

  ‘I didn’t know what else to do.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have called,’ I say, cracking under the pressure.

  ‘Deeeeecccaaaan,’ Amelia begins to cry. ‘Deeeeeecccccaaaaan.’

  I try to ignore the sting in my gut hearing my little girl cry out to Deacon the way she would usually call to me when she’s feeling unwell. I barge past him and hurry into the bedroom.

  The curtains are drawn on the poky window, but daylight still brightens the room. Amelia is lying in the centre of the mattress. She’s barely moving. Her fair skin is tinged greyish blue and her eyes are closed. Her angelic face is flushed and beads of perspiration gather on her forehead like morning dew on the grass. And her long, curly hair is damp and matted against her head.

  ‘Christ,’ I say, hurrying over to her. ‘Oh Amelia.’

  I scoop her into my arms and her tiny body rests against my chest like a furnace.

  ‘What happened?’ I ask, whipping my neck around to glare at Deacon. ‘How did you let her get so sick? I trusted you.’

  Amelia groans and cries.

  ‘It’s all right, sweetheart,’ I say. ‘Mammy’s here now. It’s all right.’

  I hurry into the lounge and lay her on the couch. Her eyes remain closed and her crying is faint and whisper-like.

  ‘We need to call an ambulance,’ Deacon says, holding his phone in his hand.

  ‘Don’t you dare,’ I growl.

  ‘But, Susan, look at her,’ Deacon says. ‘Aren’t you worried?’

  ‘Worried?’ I repeat, instantly taking offence at his question. ‘Of course I’m bloody worried. I’m exhausted and scared, and Jenny showing up out of the blue has thrown me completely. But we can’t lose our nerve now. Not after coming this far.’

  Amelia whimpers again and
Deacon rushes into the kitchen, runs a cloth under the tap and hurries back.

  ‘Here, place this on her forehead,’ he says.

  I press the cool, damp cloth against Amelia’s clammy skin. I recognise the pattern on the cloth. It’s the sleeve of the T-shirt Deacon was wearing yesterday. He must have ripped it up to make cloths.

  Amelia flinches under the coolness of the fabric but she settles quickly.

  ‘It should cool her,’ Deacon says. ‘I’ve been trying to bring her fever down as best I can all night, but she’s just getting sicker and sicker.’

  Deacon’s phone is still in his hand and I know his fingers are hovering over 999.

  ‘I want to go home,’ Amelia murmurs, and the five simple words leave her exhausted and drained.

  ‘It’s not too late,’ Deacon says. ‘We can take her to the hospital. I’ll take full responsibility. I’ll say I snatched her or something.’

  ‘Will you listen to yourself?’ I snap. ‘It doesn’t work like that and you know it. As soon as you walk through those hospital doors you’d be arrested. Paul would get Amelia back and live happily ever after and all of this would have been for nothing. For nothing, Deacon. Are you listening to me?’

  Deacon shakes his head and he’s scaring me. I can usually control him with carefully selected words and firm logic, but fear has a much stronger grip on him now than I do. I see the way he looks at Amelia. He never looked at Jenny that way. Or me. I imagine this is the way he looked at his daughter. It’s a look of unconditional love, and I slowly realise that Jenny and I never even came close to the way he loves Kerri-Ann or Amelia.

  Amelia twists ever so slightly and I catch a glimpse of her foot out of the corner of my eye. Her heel is red and swollen and greenish-yellow pus is building up around the cut I inflicted. Guilt washes over me.

  Oh my God, what have I done?

  ‘It’s an infection,’ I say. ‘Look.’ I point to Amelia’s foot.

  Deacon moves closer. He touches her ankle and tries to turn her heel towards him for a better look, but she screams and pulls away.

  ‘Oh Jesus.’ He jumps back. ‘What happened? I don’t understand. She was fine. How could she have hurt herself that badly?’

  Deacon straightens and a sudden cloud of darkness gathers in his expression. His eyes narrow and he glares at me.

  ‘What did you do?’ he hisses.

  ‘Nothing,’ I lie. ‘She must have taken a fall. Kids fall all the time, don’t they?’

  ‘She hasn’t fallen.’ Deacon’s expression grows darker. ‘I haven’t let her out of my sight . . .’ He pauses and stares me down. ‘Except when she was with you.’

  I’ve never seen him so assertive. It’s really rather attractive.

  ‘Calm down,’ I say. ‘Panicking isn’t going to help anyone. Least of all Amelia. Stay here and keep cooling her with damp cloths. I’m going to go and get something from the pharmacy to bring her fever down. She’ll be right as rain in a couple of hours. Trust me. Kids bounce back so quickly, it’s nothing to worry about.’

  Deacon doesn’t reply but his glare burns into me.

  ‘Be packed and ready to leave as soon as I get back,’ I say. ‘We are catching that ferry.’

  Chapter Thirty-six

  NOW

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Someone’s at the door of the flat. I physically jump.

  ‘Who the hell is that?’ I whip my neck round, hoping to find a clue in Deacon’s face, as if he can see through the door any better than me.

  Deacon shakes his head, his eyes wide and unsure.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  A shiver trickles down my spine.

  ‘Susan, I know you’re in there.’ Jenny’s voice carries through the flat door.

  Fuck!

  Deacon scoops Amelia into his arms, already a step ahead of me.

  ‘Get her out of here,’ I whisper.

  He hurries to the bedroom.

  ‘Susan, I’m not kidding around,’ Jenny shouts. ‘Open this door right now or so help me God . . .’

  I take a deep breath, count backwards from three and open the door just as Jenny is about to knock again.

  ‘You followed me,’ I say.

  I’m seething that she didn’t get on the train, but I’m even more disappointed with myself for not being more careful and noticing that she was following me.

  ‘Taxis are a lot easier to come by in the city,’ she says, clicking her fingers for effect. ‘I know when you have something to hide, Susan.’

  Oh Jenny.

  ‘I told you the truth,’ I say. ‘What more do you want?’

  ‘I want to know why.’

  ‘Why what?’ My heart begins to race as I hear Deacon or Amelia move about in the bedroom behind me.

  I shake my head. Jenny is making this difficult. I knew she would have questions, but I really thought she would piss off back to Dublin to think about everything I said outside the train station and stew over it for a few days at least. Like a normal person. And Deacon, Amelia and I would be long gone by the time she came back looking for answers. I should have known better. I should have known Jenny better. Her overzealous personality was never going to allow time for reason or calm thinking. I made a huge mistake letting her get out of the car.

  ‘Where is he?’ Jenny shouts, her expression ignited with temper.

  ‘Who?’ My pulse races. Paul?

  ‘Who?’ Jenny mimics. ‘Don’t give me that “I don’t know what you’re talking about” bullshit.’

  I fold my arms as I look her up and down. She’s practically my mirror image. Slender jeans, a tailored blouse and she’s even cut her hair into a sensible long bob that really doesn’t suit her. We were so similar in our younger years too. We liked the same bands, wore the same oversized baggy T-shirts and slouchy jeans that hung off our hips and made us look like we hadn’t washed in weeks. I can’t believe I never noticed before how Jenny copies me. She really should have picked a better role model. And I wonder if I ever really knew Jenny at all – was she just some desperate, lonely girl so needy and alone that she became my clone?

  ‘I think you’ve made a mistake,’ I say, beginning to close the door, but she sticks her foot in the gap and glares at me with her hands on her hips.

  ‘Oh no, Susan,’ she says. ‘You’re the one who’s made mistakes. Several, in fact. I was prepared to let all the other crazy shit slide.’

  I throw an expression her way that asks ‘what crazy shit?’, though I’m certain she is going to tell me anyway.

  ‘Marrying the man who killed your brother is madness. Having a kid with him is batshit crazy. But sleeping with my husband is just too fucking much, Susan. It’s too much. You’ve gone too far this time. You really, really have.’

  ‘Ex-husband,’ I snap.

  Of all the things I could have said in that moment, I wish I had come up with anything other than that knee-jerk comment. Jenny screams so loudly it rings in my ears and she charges forward, pushing the door back all the way until the handle slams against the wall behind with a loud thump.

  ‘Deacon,’ she shouts. ‘Come out, you bastard, I know you’re in here somewhere.’

  I don’t dare glance towards Amelia’s bedroom.

  ‘Jenny, calm down, please. You’re scaring me,’ I lie.

  Jenny paces the lounge.

  ‘Deacon, you can’t ignore me forever,’ she shouts. ‘I’m going to find you. The least you can do is come out and make this less embarrassing for all of us.’

  I take a deep breath as Deacon appears from the bedroom, pulling the door closed behind him before Jenny has a chance to see inside.

  ‘Jenny, it’s not what you think,’ he says.

  She grunts. ‘You’re running away.’

  ‘No one is running anywhere,’ I say.

  ‘Susan, don’t patronise me.’ She squares up to me as Deacon remains statue-like, guarding the bedroom door. ‘I saw your suitcase in the car. You’re hardly going on holiday now
, are you?’

  ‘Jenny, please. Calm down,’ he says, taking a couple of steps forward. I twitch nervously as the bedroom door creaks open ever so slightly.

  ‘Are you going to tell me you’re having an affair?’ Jenny asks.

  Deacon glares at me and I know he’s wondering what the hell I’ve said.

  ‘You know . . .’ Jenny starts pacing again and I breathe a sigh of relief as she creates some distance between us. ‘. . . I almost believed Susan’s bullshit. I’d spent years convincing myself there was something between you two.’

  ‘Jenny . . .’ Deacon begins.

  ‘Shut up and listen,’ she shouts, coming to an abrupt stop as she folds her arms furiously across her chest. ‘I was prepared to accept you and Susan had something that we just never did.’ Jenny points at Deacon and then slices her finger through the air to drill her nail into her chest. ‘She always had this weird, controlling hold over you that I just never had. And I let it drive me mad. For years I let it eat away at me and I always thought Susan was a better, prettier, more interesting person than me.’

  ‘Jenny . . .’ Deacon tries again.

  ‘Shut up,’ she shouts. ‘I’m not finished.’

  ‘Say what you have to say, Jenny,’ I finally say. ‘It’s the least you deserve.’

  ‘Well, aren’t you gracious,’ Jenny sighs. ‘But, you see, Susan, gracious isn’t really you, is it? Your confession that you were sleeping with my husband . . . sorry, ex-husband, as you so kindly reminded me, didn’t ring true. It’s just too simple. Too neat a bow to tie up all the loose ends of your life.’

  ‘So, what are you saying?’ I snort. ‘You’re annoyed now because I’m not sleeping with Deacon?’

  ‘Oh Susan, stop it,’ Jenny snorts. ‘You’re not as smart as you think you are.’

  ‘Jenny, Susan and I are not sleeping together,’ Deacon says calmly. ‘We never were. Ever.’

  ‘That’s not what Susan says,’ Jenny smirks.

  Deacon glances my way and shakes his head.

  ‘Deacon.’ I swallow, his name feeling cumbersome in my mouth. ‘I can explain.’

  ‘No need,’ he says, raising his hand and warning me to stop. ‘Jenny is doing a perfectly good job.’