The Running Lie

by Jennifer Young

  Max laughed. ‘No details.’ She wished she’d seen Vivian after the first time they’d slept together, when her usual low-level anxiety hadn’t been subsumed by seeing John with Catherine. By knowing what he did as a job, by seeing his gun.

  ‘Spoilsport. When do I get to meet him?’

  ‘He’s away on a work trip. When he’s back, assuming you aren’t in labour?’ Assuming he did come back.

  ‘I can’t believe you won’t tell me about it. Throw me a bone. I’m eight months pregnant; I can’t even remember…’

  Max smiled. ‘You got that way, didn’t you? John’s very… confident. Comfortable. Fun.’ Remembering laughing in bed with him felt far easier than imagining him in Berlin right now with Catherine.

  ‘Well, I should hope so. How did he ask?’

  Heat rose in Max’s cheeks again. ‘I asked.’

  ‘Max! Oh, I want to meet him. He must be gorgeous.’ Vivian grinned. ‘And you must be happy. It’s been what, four years?’

  ‘Thanks for the reminder.’

  Feet clattered and Bobby ran into the room, with his nanny behind. He wore navy pyjamas, and his blond hair had been parted on the side. Where it had begun to dry, curls disrupted the smooth tooth marks from the comb.

  ‘Mama!’ He threw his arms around Vivian’s waist, and she bent her head to kiss him.

  ‘Auntie Max is here.’

  Bobby hopped over to her, hands outstretched. She hoisted him onto her lap. ‘Do you want your present from Germany?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Max pulled a tin aeroplane out of her bag, and Bobby clutched it.

  ‘What do you say?’ Vivian asked.

  ‘Thank you.’ He started flying it around his head, nearly toppling off Max’s lap.

  ‘You didn’t have to, Max,’ Vivian said. ‘But thanks.’ The front door opened. ‘I suppose coming to Norfolk could work.’ She half rose from the sofa, but as Brian came into the room, he motioned for her to sit.

  ‘Hello, darling.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘How do you feel? Hello, Max. Where’s my little man?’

  Bobby scrambled off her lap and ran to Brian, who dropped his things to lift him high.

  Would marriage look like this? John coming home with a briefcase and furled umbrella to offer her a half-hearted kiss? Would she be enormously pregnant? Surely John would never roll up a newspaper—his newspaper would be crisply folded.

  ‘Look!’ Bobby waved his plane in front of Brian’s face, bashing his nose. ‘From Auntie Max.’

  ‘That’s super, sport. Is it bedtime already?’ Brian tickled Bobby’s tummy, and they laughed together. ‘Can we help pull Mama off the sofa?’ Together they held her hands, with Brian taking the weight.

  ‘Say goodnight to Auntie Max,’ Vivian said.

  Bobby raced over to Max and climbed into her lap. ‘Story?’ he asked.

  ‘Next time, darling,’ Max said. ‘Run upstairs with your mama and daddy.’

  Brian hoisted Bobby onto his back and they all trooped upstairs. Her parents had certainly never done that. Would John want to? Be willing to? Would… Max rubbed her arms. Emma said not to worry about what she couldn’t change. Instead, Max lifted a newspaper from the coffee table. Universal Dispatch. She’d done the crossword with John on the train, but she didn’t read that copy. Would John’s name be listed anywhere? She flicked through it. It seemed very normal. Did everyone who worked for it use it as a cover, or were there real journalists? Page four had a small picture of a group of people outside a cinema. The headline was ‘Wilder praises German films at Berlin Film Festival’. And underneath, the by-line… James Carter. Max numbly read the words. The writing was breezy, with lots of colour about the post-war city and analysis of the films. Quotes from Billy Wilder. Nothing about an investigation into two Americans, nothing about dancing with a dark-haired woman at a ball and then later climbing up a hotel’s facade to see his real girlfriend.

  ‘Max?’ Brian touched her shoulder. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Of course.’ She folded the newspaper, hiding the name James Carter. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ It fell back onto the table.

  ‘You didn’t answer me. I said your name about four times. What’s so exciting? I usually find that a terribly dull paper.’

  ‘Oh, it was just a bit about the Berlin film festival. I just got back from Berlin, you know.’ Would he remember she once asked about John? She looked around the room. ‘Where’s Vivian?’

  ‘Bobby wanted his mommy. Not me. Cocktail?’ He lifted a bottle of gin.

  ‘Sure. Thanks.’

  ‘Did you see any of them?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ She rose to stand next to him as he mixed a martini.

  ‘The films.’

  ‘Only one. We mostly went sight-seeing. I’d never been to Berlin before.’ Hopefully he wouldn’t ask her opinion on the film—she remembered very little of it.

  ‘Presumably better than when I last visited.’ He laughed. ‘How’s your work going?’

  She told him about the dig at St Bride’s. How had it gone since she left? Brian’s lip curled as she talked about skeletons. John hadn’t—but why would long dead bodies bother a spy? ‘I’ll stop there. You don’t have to get glassy-eyed. How’s your work?’

  ‘Busy. I just got back from a visit to the States. But good.’ He handed her a glass.

  ‘New Mexico again, I think Vivian said?’ Max had assumed that a US Embassy official would mostly travel to Washington, but for some reason Brian always went west. Mostly Vivian had raged about why Brian had to go abroad so close to the baby’s due date.

  ‘Did she?’ Brian lit a cigarette. ‘Do you think Vivian is okay?’

  ‘She seems fine. I mean, a bit fed up but happy overall. Why?’

  ‘I just worry that she’s distressed about something.’

  ‘Your mother visiting, perhaps.’

  Brian’s glass landed on the coffee table. ‘She never said that.’

  Max sipped her martini. Brian always added too much vermouth. ‘I mean, it’s a concern having people to stay at any time.’

  ‘But Mother will be able to help loads with the baby. You’ve met her.’

  ‘Yes. I remember her well.’ She couldn’t form the word fondly.

  Vivian came into the room. ‘Three stories, and he’s happy. Curled up with his new plane, and Nanny is…’

  ‘Do you not want my mother to come?’ Brian asked, standing up. ‘I mean, it’s too late, her ship sailed two days ago. But why didn’t you tell me…’

  Vivian looked at Max, and Max winced and mouthed ‘sorry’ behind Brian’s back.

  ‘Darling, of course. But I’m just worried—the pressure on Cook and well, Max had a good suggestion. She thought we could all go up to Norfolk and stay with them. Bobby would love to be able to run around and…’

  ‘I can’t possibly leave work. How long would you stay?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Vivian sat beside Max. ‘Would you make me a drink, please?’

  Brian walked stiffly to the drinks cabinet. ‘When were you going to tell me?’

  Vivian rubbed her stomach. ‘Do you remember how both of our mothers didn’t want me to nurse Bobby?’

  And Vivian’s mother had passed away since Bobby’s birth, so Vivian wouldn’t even have her own mother around to help.

  ‘Yes. And everything was easier when we swapped to formula, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was easier for the nanny. It wasn’t easier for me. I got mastitis and…’

  ‘Darling, not in front of Max. She isn’t even married.’

  ‘I heard it at the time,’ Max said. Vivian nudged her hand. ‘I’ll just go…’ Why didn’t she smoke? ‘I’m just going to powder my nose.’ She eased from the room as they kept talking. In the WC, she examined her face in the mirror. Would she and John turn into this? Not talking about issues? A mother in law? The woman in the photos looked much kinder than Mrs Gould, but somebody had raised John to be fiercely independent. Would she find herself having that sam
e guilty start as Vivian, when everything she wanted was perfectly valid?

  The water was cool against her hands. Would Vivian forgive her? And when had she planned on telling Brian?

  Vivian tapped on the door a few minutes later. ‘You can come out now. Can’t tell you how much I appreciated that, by the way. That wasn’t the way I planned that to go.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She touched Vivian’s arm. ‘I just assumed you had told him.’

  ‘I have to gauge my time. It’s tricky when it’s his mother. Just wait till you have a mother-in-law.’ She pushed open the door again. ‘Might as well go myself. What do you know about John’s mother? If you’re heading towards a proposal.’

  ‘I’ve seen her photo; she looks nice.’

  ‘Yes, but Brian’s mother looks sane too. And she isn’t.’

  Max twisted her bracelet. ‘John’s already proposed. I haven’t answered.’

  ‘What?’ Vivian came back out of the WC. ‘Why didn’t you call me immediately?’

  Max shrugged. ‘I haven’t decided what to do.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘That first night I went to his flat.’

  ‘Do you think it was just the sex then?’ She whispered ‘sex’.

  At least she hadn’t told Brian about that either, although it seemed unlikely to come up in the middle of a fight. ‘John’s proposed since. A couple times, in fact.’

  ‘Marry him! Don’t be silly. You said he’s good in bed, and you like him. What’s the ring like?’

  ‘He doesn’t have one, I guess.’

  ‘Oh. Well, that’s disappointing. Say you want a ring first.’

  Max laughed. ‘Vivian, I don’t care about the ring.’

  ‘You will when you see it. It changes things.’ She stuck out her tongue. ‘And no, it isn’t just materialistic. It feels very solid and real when you have a ring. Oh, I have to pee.’ She closed the door.

  Solid and real. Max would give anything to feel solid and real with John. But no jewellery could replace what she’d seen in Berlin.

  Dinner thankfully was simple. Brian didn’t ask about Berlin anymore, but Max chattered gaily to cover the silence between Vivian and Brian. Why in God’s name had she mentioned Mrs Gould?

  ‘Brian, darling, you said you know John Knox, right?’ Vivian asked. She pressed her hand to her back.

  ‘I’m not sure. Why? Who is he?’

  Max sipped her wine. ‘I’m…’ Seeing him? Nearly engaged to him? Wondering what she would say to him when he returned to London? ‘We’ve become acquainted. Quite well.’ If she counted sex in his flat and a marriage proposal. ‘He works for Universal Dispatch.’ Sort of.

  ‘Oh. Do you like him?’

  Max nodded. Brian sounded cautious.

  ‘So, you should check him out,’ Vivian said. ‘An American in London, surely you should be able to find out lots about him. I mean…’ She stopped. ‘It’s Max, after all, and…’

  ‘Are you all right, Vivian?’ Max asked.

  Vivian gave a long exhale. ‘I can’t tell if this is a false alarm or real.’

  Brian sprang up, and his chair clattered behind him to the floor. ‘Right. Let’s call the doctor.’ His arm went around her, all traces of his anger gone. He led her upstairs.

  Max called good night and good luck, and then she drove towards home. A baby. Emma so desperately wanted one. What would it be like to have a child with John? For a child to have a father who went off on business trips where he did God knew what type of things?

  Max let herself into the house. It should be quiet… but she heard the rise and fall of voices. She followed them to the den. Charlie sat in front of the television with an array of food.

  ‘Weren’t you supposed to be at a party?’

  Charlie didn’t take his eyes from the screen. ‘Thought you were at dinner.’

  ‘Vivian’s in labour.’ She sat down beside him and took a handful of popcorn.

  ‘Yuck.’

  The salt tang of the popcorn tasted better than any of the strained meal. ‘Wait till Mother sees the baby. She’ll give up on you not joining the RAF and be after me to procreate.’ She picked up more popcorn, and Charlie pushed her hand away.

  ‘Get your own. Although you’re welcome to take the heat off me.’ He grinned. ‘Does that mean you’re going to marry Mr Knox?’

  Max sighed. ‘I have no idea.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MAX CAME DOWNSTAIRS. Gloves, handbag, and her purse, as Victor had chided. Max could buy something for Mother’s birthday. And she’d just think about John’s wall later.

  ‘Max? Is that you?’

  She followed Charlie’s voice to the drawing room. Textbooks surrounded him on the sofa, and he had his leg stretched out in front of him.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ he asked. The pages of his book flicked swiftly through his fingers. ‘Wouldn’t you rather stay and teach me algebra?’

  Max leaned over to study the open page. ‘I suspect I might harm your understanding more than enhancing it. History or archaeology, I’m your woman. Seriously though, ask Mother. She’s amazing at maths. She’s the only reason George passed.’ She patted his shoulder. ‘When’s your doctor’s appointment again?’

  ‘Next week. Just before we leave for Norfolk.’

  ‘Will you still come with us if they take your cast off?’

  ‘I’m quite positive it’s too late in the term for me to go back. Even if they keep sending me coursework.’ He frowned.

  Mother came into the room. ‘Are you going out, darling? To see Vivian and the baby?’ Her smile lightened her face. Would Max giving her a grandchild ease the worried lines that had formed while George was overseas?

  ‘I’m meeting Emma and Victor.’ Max straightened her hat in the mirror. Tired circles shadowed her own eyes. ‘Important birthday errands.’ Charlie’s reflection mouthed something that looked suspiciously like a swear word.

  ‘Will you be late?’ Mother asked.

  ‘I’ll be back for dinner. Can you help him? It’s algebra, and I’m fairly certain I’ve forgotten all you ever taught me.’ Max bent over and ruffled Charlie’s hair. ‘I’ll buy you a present for her,’ she whispered before he could push her away.

  He grinned. ‘Have fun.’

  Victor and Max walked from Victor’s house to the Artists’ Council on Hampstead Hill Gardens. Max chatted about the weather and the flowers they passed, and Victor played along, not mentioning John at all. He opened the door of the Council for Max. ‘They were all here late setting up.’

  ‘Did you help?’

  ‘Offered, and was politely refused. It’s all women artists, and they wanted to do it themselves.’ He led the way to the exhibition space, and the colours from the paintings overwhelmed the white room. Women stood near their artwork, and Max recognised the smiles on their faces from her own pride when her articles had been published.

  ‘How lovely,’ she said.

  ‘There’s some great work,’ Victor said.

  Max didn’t mean the individual paintings or sculptures, but she didn’t correct him. They wandered around, until Max stopped by a painting of the Heath. Kites danced against a cloudy sky above Parliament Hill. The kite strings led to blurred figures, although they were adults, not the children Max expected.

  ‘I really like this one,’ Max said.

  Victor smiled. ‘Me too. It’s my favourite of these.’

  Emma turned towards them.

  ‘How’s it going?’ Victor asked.

  ‘Busy so far.’ Emma slid her arm around Victor’s waist. ‘Enjoying yourselves?’

  Max nodded. She imagined the Heath painting over John’s sofa, whatever the state of their reunion. He liked being close to the Heath, he’d said. Maybe he walked across to Parliament Hill. ‘I might try to buy this one.’

  ‘It’s not for sale,’ Emma said. ‘Not for you.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘You can have it.’

  Victor shoved his hands in
his pockets. ‘Remember how you were going to try to make money on this?’

  ‘This is yours?’ Max peered at the corner and saw a ‘EW’ beside 1952. ‘You didn’t think about mentioning you were showing your work today?’

  Emma laughed. ‘I thought I had. I’m sure I did.’

  ‘Definitely not. Unless I’ve been a lot more drunk than I remember.’

  ‘Or distracted…’ Victor murmured.

  ‘Shush.’ Emma squeezed his arm.

  ‘Is this all yours?’ Max looked at the next one and took a deep breath. Mull. Emma clearly had stood at the end of their path, looking out towards the sea. Sunlight shone on the waves, waves that had hidden a Russian submarine. Max looked back at the Heath painting. ‘Was I so oblivious in Mull that I missed you painting?’

  Emma touched her shoulder. ‘I sketched a lot while you two were off diving.’

  Another painting was of a man’s back, clearly Victor from the blond curls. Max didn’t recognise the sofa he slept on.

  ‘I was really bored in Paris, so I decided to actually knuckle down and do my own stuff. I don’t want to do only restorations forever.’

  ‘They’re amazing.’ One small one was of the apple tree in their garden. ‘I want to buy this one and the Heath one. And I’m definitely paying.’

  ‘You don’t want one of me?’ Victor said. ‘I’m crushed.’

  ‘That one really isn’t for sale.’ Emma kissed Victor’s cheek.

  ‘I feel like such a bad friend,’ Max said. ‘Why didn’t I know this?’

  ‘I did all of these—except the Mull one—in Paris. And I had to ship them back. I wasn’t even sure how I felt about them in Mull. I did them mostly at night.’

  ‘And you’ve been pretty busy since we’ve been back,’ Victor said.

  Emma fixed sale notices under both of the paintings. ‘Thank you. It means a lot. I can give you a discount.’

  ‘Absolutely not. Do I pay now?’

  ‘Whenever you like. Do you mind collecting them after the show ends?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Someone else approached Emma’s display, so Victor and Max walked on.