Under Lying

by Janelle Harris

  Paul flicks the book open, and I make a dash for it. But I don’t get far. He grabs a fistful of my hair and throws me against the wall.

  He turns the open colouring book around for me to see. ‘Look,’ he says, pointing. ‘Yellow. Nearly everything is yellow.’

  I drop my eyes to the ground. I can imagine the realisation hitting him, and I can’t bear to see it in his face.

  ‘What have you done, Susan?’

  ‘Paul, listen, you don’t understand—’

  His hand is suddenly around my neck, his long, slender fingers crushing my efforts to catch my breath. The cold wall behind my back grates against my spine.

  I look up. My eyes are wide and bulging, just like Paul’s as he stares back at me.

  ‘What have you done, Susan?’ he repeats, shaking me. ‘Tell me.’

  I can’t answer. I’m silently pleading with him to release his grip before I pass out.

  Paul loosens his fingers, but he doesn’t let go. An animalistic grunt bursts out of my open mouth as I desperately gather air into my lungs. Breathing is uncomfortable and minimal but I’m not dying. For that, I’m grateful.

  The repulsive smell of batter and frying oil that I’ve become familiar with rushes in with each laboured breath.

  ‘Chips,’ I say, my voice raspy.

  ‘What?’ Paul’s fingers twitch.

  ‘I smell them.’ I drag more reluctant air in – it rattles in my restricted throat.

  ‘And?’ Paul grunts, losing patience.

  ‘I was worried that she wasn’t eating properly,’ I say. ‘But they could have gotten takeaway anytime. And she loves chips, doesn’t she? Especially with ketchup.’

  ‘Amelia?’ Paul exhales our daughter’s name as if the syllables are the air he breathes. His heart is breaking as he adds up the clues, not really believing what he’s realising.

  ‘He wanted me to think I was a bad mother, you see?’ I say, adding my own clues. ‘He tried to say I was neglecting her. Don’t you see? Oh God, he was playing me at my own game all along.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Paul’s grip tightens again. ‘Where is Amelia? If you’ve hurt her, so help me God,’ Paul warns.

  I raise my knee and try to kick him in the groin, but I’m dizzy and light-headed and I miss. Paul snorts and shakes his head.

  ‘Don’t do that again,’ he hisses.

  I wave my arms to surrender. Paul doesn’t take his eyes off me, they twitch from side to side, searching mine for answers.

  ‘Tell me,’ he shouts.

  He smacks the back of my skull against the wall, warning me to give him my full attention.

  I move my lips but I can’t tell if sound comes out because the ringing in my ears is too loud after the bang.

  Like before, Paul’s hand slackens, and I gulp, desperate to breathe. I don’t care that I sound repulsive or greedy as I guzzle oxygen.

  Paul is physically shaking. I can feel it in his hand around my throat and I can see it as stray strands of his floppy hair sway as they dangle into his fiery eyes. I wonder if this is how Helen and Jenny felt shortly before they died. I wonder what they saw in my eyes. Rage, fear, desperation. Maybe all of it. I certainly see all of it in Paul’s.

  Paul reduces his question to a single guttural word. ‘Where?’

  Breathless, I can’t manage a sound but I flick my eyes upwards. He follows the hint and quickly shifts his gaze to the flat door at the top of the stairs. He releases me and charges, ready to take the stairs two at a time.

  I scream and grab the back of his jacket, tugging as hard as I can. I let go and watch as he falls down the stairs. But he only stumbles back a couple of steps and quickly regains his balance.

  ‘You won’t find her,’ I gasp. ‘She’s not there.’

  ‘She’s not here?’ Paul points towards the flat door, pinning me against the wall with his other hand. This time his strength is against my chest, crushing me until I feel as if my ribs will snap and puncture my heart. ‘Oh, I forgot, she’s in the bottom of the lake, not hidden away in this vile shithole colouring pictures.’

  The pain in my chest is intense, and I can’t manage any words. But it doesn’t matter, there’s nothing I can say to appease him now. We’ve reached the crux of this thing and all I can do is see it through for as long as he lets me live. He’s stronger than I ever realised.

  ‘She’s been here, in the city . . . all along.’ His eyes glass over and for a second I think he’ll let me go as he breaks down and cries.

  I’m wrong.

  His free hand curls into a fist and I close my eyes and hold my breath. I open them again when I hear him pound the wall next to my face. He punches the wall over and over.

  ‘Paul, please,’ I beg, certain the next punch will be in my face.

  ‘My office is just a couple of streets away,’ he says. ‘Is that why you chose this place? To taunt me. To have Amelia so close all this time but I didn’t know it?’

  No. I chose the dingy flat above the chipper because it was cheap, available at short notice and the landlord asked no questions. Street names in Cork city mean nothing to me. I had no idea Paul’s office was nearby. If anything, had I known the location was so close to Paul’s office I’d have chosen differently. The last thing I needed was bumping into my husband.

  ‘At least tell me you didn’t leave her alone? She’s just a baby, for Christ’s sake. No. No, you wouldn’t,’ Paul says, shaking his head as he answers his own question. ‘Even you wouldn’t do that.’

  My eyes cloud over. It’s hard to see. I would never hurt Amelia – I mean, not intentionally. I think of her little foot and how she yelped when I cut it. I think of her chubby arms around my neck and her pleading with me to take her home. I think of her whimpers as she cried herself to sleep the last time I saw her. But mostly I think of where she might be now.

  Paul’s face reddens and he gasps. ‘Him. You left her with him, didn’t you?’

  Hot, salty tears that I can’t hold back any longer trickle down my cheeks.

  ‘Deacon?’ Paul spits.

  I nod.

  ‘I knew it,’ Paul shouts. ‘I fucking knew it.’

  ‘Paul, stop,’ I shout back. ‘You knew nothing.’

  ‘You all right there, love?’ a man’s voice interrupts us.

  I recognise him as his head appears in the doorway. It’s the tattooed man from the chipper. He’s noticeably drunk now, swaying on the footpath as he tries to navigate his way through the door but his shoulder collides with the frame. He has a six-pack of cheap beer tucked under his arm and his toddler son is holding his hand as he stands listlessly beside him. The child is silent now and desperately in need of sleep.

  ‘The missus can’t decide if she wants burger or nuggets,’ Paul yells in an accent I’ve never heard him use before.

  ‘Good luck, mate,’ the drunk man shouts back, his accent matching Paul’s. ‘Rather you than me. That’s the beauty of divorce, I say.’

  Paul leans in and places his lips next to my ear. I can feel the heat of his breath against my skin.

  ‘Nah,’ Paul says. ‘Marriage is way too much fun, eh, Sue?’

  Chapter Forty-two

  NOW

  ‘Sue?’ I swallow, the air slow and cumbersome as it scratches its way down my aching throat.

  ‘Well, that is what your friends call you, isn’t it?’ Paul says.

  I don’t reply.

  ‘Sue, Sue, Sue. It has a nice ring to it. It suits you,’ Paul continues.

  ‘Please stop,’ I say. ‘Don’t call me that.’

  Paul finally releases the pressure against my chest and pushes me to the side as if he’s discarding rubbish. My hip collides with the edge of a step, shooting pain up my spine. My knees follow, scraping against the cold concrete stairs as my hands instinctively stretch out to hit the ground before my face. Paul steps forward and I look up at the face of a man who so obviously hates me as much as I despise him.

  ‘I’ve called Connell
y and Langton,’ he says. ‘Did I ever tell you how much I like Langton? She’s fantastic, isn’t she? She can read people so well. Sniff out bullshit at a hundred paces.’ Paul watches me, waiting for a reaction. I won’t give him one. He’s made his thoughts on Langton and Connelly expressly clear. He’s not going to intimidate me by making out they’re suddenly best buddies.

  ‘They’re coming here? To this exact address that you had no idea existed until you followed me?’ I snort, struggling to my feet while rubbing my stinging palms.

  Paul laughs. ‘You know, next time you want to leave me and disappear without a trace you should probably turn off the GPS on your phone.’

  I never have my location on; it eats the battery. But Paul is watching me with such unwavering confidence I second-guess myself. My fingers slip into my pocket. I’m desperate to pull out my phone and check if he turned it on at some point.

  ‘Check it, if you don’t believe me,’ he says. Beads of perspiration gather on my hairline and I drag my hand across my brow to catch them. I hate that Paul notices me flinch with uncertainty. I wonder when he could have turned it on. Certainly before I was at the docks with Jenny. Maybe even before I was at the lake with Helen. I imagine Google recording my every fucking move for the last few days. Christ!

  ‘Everything okay, Sue?’ Paul says. ‘You’re a little pale.’

  ‘What is it you think Langton and Connelly are going to find, Paul?’ I ask, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice that would let him know I’m afraid of his answer.

  ‘You,’ he says confidently.

  ‘Me.’ I tap my chest, feeling the bruising starting already where Paul’s hand crushed me. ‘Langton and Connelly are going to find me doing what exactly?’

  ‘Wasting police time. Kidnapping. Conspiring to fuck over your husband.’

  That’s all you’ve got? I think as a smile settles across my lips and the frustration in Paul’s eyes pulls it even wider.

  ‘I won’t be made a fool of, Susan,’ Paul says. ‘You’ve no idea what I’m capable of if I’m pushed too far. And I don’t think you want to find out.’

  ‘Touché, my love,’ I smirk. ‘Touché.’

  Sudden pain explodes across my cheek as the punch I expected earlier knocks me off my feet and sends me tumbling down the stairs. Winded, I lie in a crumbled heap on the cold floor just inside the door. I can feel something warm and wet behind my head and I know I’m bleeding again. My vision is blurry but I can still see Paul charge up the stairs, and I know I need to be on my feet and far away when he discovers the flat really is empty.

  Chapter Forty-three

  NOW

  On the street the daylight seems brighter than usual and there’s ringing in my ears. I’m unsteady on my feet as I take one final look at the window of the flat. It’s ambiguous and dull, like the one Adam and I shared in college. I doubt anyone would imagine that for the last few days the poky flat hid a beautiful little girl from the world. I try to run but my legs can barely move. My whole body begs me to curl into a ball and cry.

  I duck into the doorway of the nearest shop. ‘Value Fruit and Veg’ or something like that it says overhead. There’s an elderly man behind the counter and a middle-aged woman at the far side. They chat as he weighs her potatoes. Paul can’t hurt me in here, I think. Not in front of these people.

  I take my phone out of my jeans pocket. A hairline crack runs across the screen. It must have happened when Paul pushed me. I check my GPS. On! I gasp. The bastard tracked me. I’m shaking as I plead with myself to calm down and prioritise. Nothing matters now except calling Deacon and getting the hell out of here. I dial his number and wait.

  His phone rings out. I swear loudly and hit redial.

  ‘Deacon, for fuck’s sake answer your phone!’ I grunt when I reach voicemail.

  I dial again. A light smattering of traffic passes by and I find myself glaring in the window of each passing car, wondering if my daughter is inside one. I know she’s not.

  Hello. You’ve reached Deacon O’Reilly. I’m sorry I missed your call, but if you’d like to leave a message I’ll get back to you shortly. Beep!

  ‘Deacon.’ I exhale. ‘Please. Please answer. You’re not at the flat and Paul knows what’s going on. He followed me. He’s called the cops. It’s all such a mess. I need you. I know I said never to call but it’s different now. I need you. Answer the damn phone. Please, Deacon. Please.’

  I hang up and stare at my screen. My wallpaper is a photo of Amelia taken on her second birthday. Her hair was shorter then, and curlier too. Her smile is as bright as her eyes and I stare at her beautiful face as the realisation of what I’ve done sinks in.

  Amelia is missing. The police are looking for her. The papers are printing her photo. Locals are searching for her. Because Amelia is missing. She’s really, truly missing now and it’s all my fault.

  I reach into my bra and pull out her picture. Tears swell in the corner of my eyes. The sun rounds a building across the street and shines down a narrow laneway to warm my face. I’m about to close my eyes, savouring the warmth, when I notice the sunlight shining through Amelia’s picture to reveal words written on the back that I hadn’t noticed before.

  I flip the page over quickly. There’s a number. ‘Call this’ is scribbled in almost illegible handwriting. My heart skips a beat.

  The man behind the counter laughs and the woman cackles as I make my way to the back of the shop. I slide between a shelf of bananas and a staff door as I punch the number into my phone.

  Deacon’s voice croaks against my ear after a single ring. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Oh God, Deacon. It’s you. Thank God.’

  ‘You called.’ He sounds surprised. Maybe he thought I wouldn’t find his note.

  ‘You took her,’ I say.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Without telling me.’ I can feel my voice become clipped and loud. The laughter at the front of the shop has stopped and they’re back to talking quietly. I lower my voice. ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’

  Deacon doesn’t reply.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Where are you?’ he echoes.

  ‘The fruit and veg shop beside the chipper. I went to the flat, but you weren’t there.’

  ‘You came back?’ And there’s no hiding the surprise in his voice this time. Maybe he really wasn’t expecting me to call. What the fuck?

  ‘Of course I came back. You have my daughter.’

  Deacon falls silent again.

  ‘We have a plan, don’t we?’ I say, my palms growing sweaty.

  ‘Do we?’

  ‘Yes,’ I snap, forgetting to be quiet.

  The woman at the front of the shop turns round. I press my back against the wall and hold my breath until she turns away. I think she’s getting ready to leave. It’ll just be me and the man behind the counter then, and he’ll no doubt try to serve me.

  ‘Deacon, please? I don’t have much time. Paul will be finished searching the flat soon.’

  ‘Paul is there?’ he asks, concerned.

  ‘He followed me. I don’t know how. I was careful, I swear. But he knows.’

  ‘Fuck, this is a mess.’ Deacon’s voice cracks.

  ‘No. We can still fix this. There’s time. Everything will be okay if you just tell me where you are.’

  ‘I can’t,’ he says.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me. I said no.’

  ‘Deacon, what are you doing? I trusted you.’

  ‘You trusted me to take care of Amelia, Susan, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.’

  ‘She’s my child. You can’t replace Kerri-Ann with Amelia.’

  ‘Where’s Jenny?’ Deacon asks, and I can hear the tears that stick in his throat because he already knows the answer.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I lie.

  ‘Oh Susan,’ he sighs, and I’m certain he’s crying. ‘I tried so hard to help you.’

  ‘You did help me,’ I say, trying to get inside his
head the way I usually can. ‘I would never have been able to do this without you.’

  ‘Don’t say that . . . Jenny and your neighbour. Don’t say I helped you.’

  ‘No,’ I back-pedal, ‘that’s not what I mean. Deacon, please, you’re scaring me.’

  ‘I always knew you would stop at nothing to hurt Paul. I knew that you would walk all over me or Jenny or anyone who got in your way. But I thought you’d draw the line at Amelia. I never thought you’d hurt her.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to. You have to believe me. It was just supposed to be a little nip.’

  ‘I lost one little girl, Susan. I won’t lose another.’

  ‘No one is asking you to, Deacon,’ I say, feeling his walls break down. I’m getting through to him. ‘You’re coming with us, remember? Just the three of us.’

  ‘It’s just the two of us now, Susan,’ Deacon says before the line goes dead.

  I hit redial and wait. No answer. I try again. Nothing.

  ‘You bastard,’ I cry. ‘You can’t do this. You can’t fucking do this.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ the lady at the counter says, turning to glare at me with disapproving eyes for a second time in as many minutes.

  ‘Oh fuck off,’ I shout back, marching past the aisle of vegetables and back out on to the street.

  My phone beeps and I stop in the middle of the footpath to read it. Suddenly, I don’t care who sees me.

  My old fone in top drawer in kitchen.

  If u left msgs. Delete em.

  Get sum help Sue. U need it!

  D x

  I read the text again, but my hands are trembling so much the words are shaking and it’s hard to make sense of them. My eyes scramble to the last part. Help? I don’t need help. I need Paul to go to hell. This is all his fault. I lost Adam because of him, and now he’s cost me Amelia too.

  Chapter Forty-four

  NOW

  I march up the stairs to the flat with an energy I didn’t have moments ago. Anger and heartbreak battle for a space inside me. I’m not afraid when I find Paul sitting on the grubby couch in the lounge. His elbows are resting on his knees and his back is arched like a question mark as he holds his head in his hands. I can’t believe he’s the same man who pinned me to the wall a few minutes ago.