Where the Truth Lies

by Julie Corbin

  She gives my shoulder a friendly nudge. ‘That’s more like it.’ And then her face becomes serious as she asks me, ‘How was Lisa today?’

  ‘Good. The thought of leaving hospital has perked her up no end.’

  ‘Talking of which . . .’ She takes a last drag of her cigarette, stamps it out underfoot, then puts the stub in her pocket. ‘Do you want to see the room?’

  I follow her inside and we stand for a moment admiring her work. Under the picture rail, the walls are now as yellow as the yolk of a corn-fed chicken’s egg, while above the rail the colour is creamy, like country butter, freshly churned. She’s put the curtain pole and pale blue velvet curtains back up, the ends just skimming the floor.

  ‘It’s perfect, Jem,’ I tell her. ‘It’s just as I hoped – sunny, fresh and upbeat.’

  ‘The paint smell will be gone by the morning.’ She picks some dustsheets up off the floor. ‘What time’s she coming home?’

  ‘I’ll probably collect her around eleven.’ I drag my eyes away from the black-and-white photograph of my mother that’s on the cabinet beside the bed. It’s the only one we have of her. She is standing on Brighton Pier, her hand shielding her eyes from the sun. ‘Thank you for all your hard work.’

  ‘And Julian’s home, I see?’

  ‘He came back yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘All geared up for the trial?’

  ‘Yes . . . and no.’ I want to say more but know that I shouldn’t. Jem is a good friend, but she doesn’t need to be involved in this.

  ‘There’s something else I want to show you.’ She takes me back out on to the step. ‘Don’t make it obvious, but behind you, about thirty yards away, this side of the pavement, there are two men sitting in a Ford Mondeo. I noticed them when I was passing by yesterday too.’

  I look along the street and see Baker and Faraway parked in what’s becoming their usual spot.

  ‘You’re making it obvious,’ Jem says, swinging me back round to face her. ‘Weird, eh?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I nod.

  ‘You know what I think?’ says Jem. ‘I think they’re policemen.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘They give off a certain aroma.’

  ‘You speaking from experience?’

  ‘Not really.’ She shrugs, her face turned away from me. ‘Misspent youth. You know how it is.’

  ‘You don’t have cause to worry, Jem.’ I smile. ‘The car isn’t expensive enough for them to be from the Inland Revenue.’

  She gives me a weak smile and we go back inside. Bea and Lara come rushing up from the basement. They are both in pink dresses with angel wings on the back. They are flushed and screaming. The sound is high-pitched and shrill. Jack is chasing them, holding a battered wooden sword and wearing a pirate hat that is far too small for him and is attached to his hair with paperclips.

  ‘Mummy! Mummy!’ Bea hangs on to my leg and jumps up and down at the same time. ‘Jack is a bad sparrow and he wants to kill us.’

  ‘Woops!’ I say, trying to hold her still. ‘Careful with your wings! They have a jagged edge poking out.’

  Too late – as she swings round to try and look behind her, the lower edge catches on the hem of my skirt. Before I can stop her, she pulls hard and the thread stretches the hem, then breaks. She frowns and catches hold of the hem, which is now hanging down at one side. ‘Look, Mummy! Look what happened.’

  Lara bends her head to have a look too. ‘You can sew it,’ she says. ‘My mummy will sew it for you.’

  I smile and put a hand on their heads. ‘Not to worry. Have you girls eaten yet?’

  Before either of them can answer, the kitchen door opens and Wendy comes out. ‘What’s all the commotion? I thought you girls were washing your hands for tea.’ She shoos them towards the bathroom, then glances at me. ‘How was Lisa?’

  ‘Good.’ I nod vigorously. ‘She’s having a good day.’

  ‘Jack has been doing a sterling job,’ Wendy says, smiling in his direction. ‘How anyone at that school can ever complain about him I really don’t know.’

  Jack treats us all to one of his butter-wouldn’t-melt grins. ‘Can I go off duty now?’ He gives a dramatic sigh. ‘I’m exhausted.’

  ‘Tea first, my dear.’ Wendy unclips the pirate’s hat from his hair. ‘You’re a growing boy. You don’t want to skimp on meals. We’ve cooked you some spicy chicken.’ She looks at Jem. ‘I hope you’re staying too, Jem. There’s plenty of food. Sezen and I have been swapping recipes and cooking up a storm.’

  ‘Well, I should be going.’ She points her thumb in the direction of the door. ‘Pete will have something at home for me.’

  ‘Lucky you, having a man who cooks,’ Wendy says. ‘But still, take some goodies away with you! We can make you up a doggy bag.’ She marches off towards the kitchen. ‘Follow me.’

  Jem gives me an apologetic smile and mouths, ‘Is it OK?’

  ‘Of course.’ I check on the girls in the bathroom. They’re both standing on the stool, leaning forwards into the sink to reach the taps. They’re talking and giggling and I soak up the merriment. When their hands are washed, I hand them the towel and then they rush ahead of me into the kitchen.

  Sezen and Wendy have prepared more food than we could eat in a week. There are at least a hundred jam tarts with decorated pastry tops, coconut creams, chocolate-chip cookies, star-shaped lemon biscuits, two fruit cakes and a treacle tart, not to mention the savoury dishes.

  ‘Once we got started, we just couldn’t stop!’ Wendy says, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘I know we went a bit over the top, but most of it can go in the freezer.’

  ‘And I have not forgotten macrobiotic treats,’ Sezen says, pointing to one of the trays, where over two dozen small chocolate-coloured balls are lined up in neat, glistening rows. ‘These are made with carob and amazake, brown rice syrup.’ She takes an audible breath. ‘I hope Lisa will enjoy them, and if there’s anything else . . .’ She trails off and I realise she is waiting for my approval.

  ‘It all looks fantastic.’ I’m holding Bea too tightly. She wriggles out of my arms. ‘A veritable feast!’ I say loudly. ‘Is it all right if I try something?’

  ‘Of course.’

  I choose one of the macrobiotic sweets and bite into it. The taste is unusual but not unpleasant. It’s neither particularly sweet nor particularly savoury. It tastes homely and comforting, like creamy porridge or rice pudding. ‘It’s good,’ I say, putting the last piece in my mouth. ‘Lisa’s going to be so impressed. I can’t wait to bring her home.’

  Sezen’s smile is wide and I feel a pang of sympathy for her and how difficult her life must be sometimes: no home to call her own, no father for Lara, her livelihood depending upon whatever work she can find. I watch her as she persuades Bea out of her angel’s wings so that she can sit at the table. Then she helps her into her seat, kissing the top of her head as she pushes her chair in towards the food.

  The doorbell rings and I go to answer it. It’s Miss Percival.

  ‘Good evening, Mrs Miller. I’m sorry to disturb you, but Bea left this at nursery on Wednesday. And as she didn’t come yesterday or today . . .’ She trails off and hands me a small knitted gnome with pointed hat and bushy beard. ‘I didn’t want her to miss him over the weekend.’

  ‘That’s kind,’ I say, knowing full well that the only toy Bea is ever likely to miss is Bertie and I’m sure Miss Percival knows this too.

  ‘Is everything OK with Bea?’

  ‘She’s just been tired, that’s all,’ I say. ‘Come in and join us. We’re having a bit of a tea party.’ I throw the door wide, acting with a bonhomie that I don’t feel, but there’s something about her that doesn’t add up and I wonder whether, if we spend more time in each other’s company, I’ll be able to put my finger on it. ‘Wendy and Sezen have been cooking.’

  Her face passes through a range of emotions: discomfort, anxiety and then a tentative hope. ‘I don’t want to interrupt . . .’

 
; ‘The more the merrier,’ I say. If she’s acting, then she’s making a convincing job of it. ‘There’s enough food in there to feed an army and Bea would love to see you.’

  ‘And your sister.’ She bites her bottom lip. ‘How is Lisa?’

  ‘Soldiering on,’ I say, hanging her light summer jacket on a peg by the door. ‘She’s coming home to stay with us tomorrow.’

  ‘The chemotherapy was a success?’

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Her eyes fill up and I wonder who she’s thinking of, whether she’s been through something similar herself or watched it happen to someone she loves. As far as I’m aware, she lives alone. She’s never mentioned children or a husband, but there is a shadow that hangs around her – grief, loneliness, regret, I’m not sure.

  We go into the kitchen and everyone says hello. Miss Percival sits between a delighted Bea and Lara, and then Jack comes up from the basement and we gather around the table. Wendy has called up the stairs to Charlie, but he’s yet to appear.

  Jem is trying the tempura: pieces of vegetables and fish covered in a light batter and then deep-fried. Small bowls of tamari and Japanese sweet-chilli sauce are placed on the table. She dips some tempura into it, then puts it in her mouth. ‘Wow!’ She smacks her lips. ‘If this is macrobiotic food, then I’m sold.’

  ‘Fried food is reserved for special occasions,’ Sezen says. ‘Macrobiotic cooking originated in Japan, so some of the ingredients are common to both cuisines.’

  We’re all quiet for a few minutes as we sample the dishes. The batter is crispy and melts in the mouth, the vegetables are crunchy, and the sauce is savoury and packs a punch.

  Bea clutches her nose and giggles. ‘It tingles,’ she says.

  ‘It’s the chilli,’ I tell her. ‘Jack, aren’t you having any?’

  ‘In a minute,’ he calls through from the pantry.

  ‘Wendy and Sezen have cooked chicken especially for you.’

  ‘Here you are!’ Wendy says as Charlie walks into the kitchen. ‘Amy not with you?’

  Charlie helps himself to two pieces of tempura. ‘A certain person asked her to leave.’ He throws a sullen look my way.

  ‘Oh.’ Wendy pats his hand. ‘Well, never mind. A couple of days apart won’t do you any harm. Now, why don’t you try some of this chilli sauce?’

  ‘But is it only a couple of days?’ He glares at me across the table.

  ‘Let’s talk about this later, love, shall we?’ I say.

  ‘Why not now?’ He throws his fork down. It lands with a loud clatter on his plate.

  ‘Because we’re eating now.’ I smile. ‘Please, Charlie, I know you’re upset, but—’

  ‘Oh, do you?’ He pushes his chair back and stands up. ‘Do you know I’m upset?’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Jack has finally arrived at the table carrying a jar of peanut butter and some pickles.

  ‘Mum has thrown Amy out,’ he shouts, so loudly that Lara and Bea both look round at the adults, their small faces fearful.

  ‘Charlie, please.’ I move to the other side of the table and take his elbow. He allows me to pull him into the hallway.

  ‘You can’t stop me seeing her.’

  ‘Charlie, stop shouting,’ I say as quietly as I can, mindful that in the kitchen behind us you could hear a pin drop.

  ‘I’m nineteen.’ He presses his chest. ‘You can’t control me. You can’t tell me what to do.’

  ‘I’m not saying you shouldn’t see her.’

  ‘I’ll go behind your back.’

  ‘I’m asking you to trust me.’

  ‘Trust you how? Trust you why?’ He takes several steps away from me, quickly, on his toes, then walks towards me again. ‘Amy means a lot to me.’ I see tears well up in his eyes.

  ‘I know.’ He allows me to touch his shoulder. ‘And I’m not saying she isn’t welcome back.’ He relaxes a little. ‘Her room in halls isn’t so bad, is it?’

  ‘Surrounded by first-years?’

  I don’t mention the obvious – he’s a first-year and Amy seems content to have him all over her. ‘Anyway, she’s going to stay with her parents in Cyprus soon, isn’t she?’

  ‘Next week.’

  ‘Maybe she could go a bit earlier.’

  ‘And change her ticket?’ He glares at me as if I’m an idiot. ‘It’s way too expensive.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think of that.’

  ‘Yeah, well, welcome to the real world.’

  ‘In the real world—’ your sister’s life is being threatened.

  ‘What? What?’ His head shakes from side to side and he throws his arms out. ‘What?’

  ‘Somebody is sending threatening emails to your dad.’

  ‘Eh?’ He gives a perfunctory laugh.

  ‘It’s serious, Charlie.’

  ‘What sort of emails?’

  ‘Nasty ones.’

  ‘And you think it’s Amy?’

  ‘I think we have to consider every possibility, no matter how unlikely.’

  ‘Jesus! What is this?’ He takes a few more steps backwards and then forwards, rocking on the balls of his feet. ‘Have you completely lost it?’

  ‘You started going out with her soon after Dad accepted the case against Georgiev.’

  ‘You base throwing her out on that?’

  ‘I’ve caught her in Dad’s study twice now.’

  ‘Oh, let that go, will you? It wasn’t the way it looked.’

  ‘She’s two years older than you and you said yourself that she was the one who made a play for you.’

  ‘She can’t have just fancied me, then?’ He gives a bitter laugh. ‘Gee, thanks, Mum.’ He turns away and heads towards the stairs.

  ‘Charlie!’ I stand at the bottom and shout up after him, ‘When Dad comes home, we’ll all have a chat, OK?’

  No answer.

  I return to the kitchen and find the mood is subdued. Miss Percival is telling Bea and Lara a story. She has her arms round their backs and they are looking up into her face with rapt expressions. Sezen, head down, is busy clearing plates. Jack is spreading peanut butter on to bread, while Wendy tries to tempt him with something more substantial. Jem is staring into the distance, her thoughts miles away.

  ‘I’m so sorry about that,’ I say. ‘Charlie and I had a disagreement earlier and it’s been festering a bit.’

  ‘What about? Is Amy gone, then? Did you ask her to leave?’ Jack fires these questions in between bites of bread.

  ‘Should I go and have a word with Charlie?’ Wendy gives me a rueful smile.

  ‘Would you, Wendy?’

  ‘Of course.’ She stands up and goes out of the room. Wendy has a way with all of my children. I hope she’ll be able to win him round.

  Jack is leaning back on his chair. ‘Well, you certainly pissed Charlie off.’ He doesn’t say it with any degree of accusation, more with a sense of awe. ‘Don’t you like Amy, then?’

  ‘Don’t use that word in front of the little girls,’ I say.

  ‘What word?’

  ‘You know what word!’

  ‘Glass of wine, Claire?’ Jem is in the fridge and holds out the bottle of white towards me. ‘Knock the edge off things?’

  I nod and she pours me some. I excuse myself and take my wine into the sitting room, silently wishing that I’d just kept my mouth shut. Bloody hell. That’s twice I’ve handled Charlie badly. It will be much easier after Mac visits on Monday, but I don’t know whether we’ll make it that far without Charlie storming out.

  I finish the glass of wine, stand by the window and look out across the park. Half a dozen children are playing tag, some of them shouting and laughing their way across the grass, others deadly serious as they sprint from one spot to another.

  Jem comes in, refills my glass and then stands beside me.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ I say. ‘You not having any?’

  ‘Not much of a drinker.’

  ‘No, of course not. I always forget that
you don’t drink.’ I watch a boy of about eight fall down on the grass and laugh as his friend lands on top of him. ‘It’s so easy when they’re young,’ I say. ‘Teenage boys are such a challenge.’

  ‘Charlie will come round.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘You have a lot on your plate with Lisa being so ill.’ She nods in the direction of the street. ‘And that one.’ Megan and Julian have just walked down from the station and are approaching the bottom of the steps leading up to our house.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I say.

  ‘I’m sure it can’t be easy when Julian spends so much time with another woman.’

  I don’t know whether it’s the rush of wine affecting my perception or whether she’s driving at something. ‘I’m not with you.’

  She shrugs. ‘It’s that thing, isn’t it?’

  ‘What thing?’

  ‘Attractive woman, working together . . .’ She trails off.

  I start back. ‘You think Julian’s having an affair?’

  ‘Well, no, but . . . I saw you watching them and I thought . . . Well, isn’t that what you were thinking?’

  ‘I wasn’t watching them!’ I spin round to face her. ‘I was watching the children in the park.’

  ‘Shit.’ She shakes her head. ‘Pete warns me about this.’ She gives me one of her perfunctory hugs. ‘Please, Claire. I meant nothing by it. It was the expression on your face. I thought you were looking at Julian and Megan and thinking they were closer than they should be.’

  ‘I wasn’t,’ I say. ‘I was watching the little boys in the park and thinking about Jack and Charlie at that age.’

  Her face flushes. ‘I need to keep my big mouth shut.’ She looks genuinely remorseful, her eyes dipped, her head to one side. ‘Shoot me now.’

  ‘Apology accepted.’ I lean my head against her shoulder. ‘But really, Jem, Julian and Megan are colleagues, nothing more.’

  ‘Of course.’ Her smile is relieved. ‘And now I’m going to love you and leave you.’

  Before I have the chance to reply she’s off. I hear the door slam and watch her say a quick hello to Megan and Julian, before she climbs into her van and drives away. I expect Julian to come straight inside, but he doesn’t. Megan is still talking to him. He listens, every now and then making a comment himself. This goes on for almost five minutes. And after what Jem has just said, I find myself looking at Megan with new eyes. I’ve always seen her as a woman with no obvious sex appeal. Yes, she’s tall and slim and has an easy smile, but she doesn’t draw a second glance. Or at least I’ve never thought so. But now I’m watching her and Julian, searching for signs that they are intimate. Their bodies are close but not quite touching, and neither are their hands. There is no awkwardness between them, but nor is there any sign of the familiarity that exists between lovers: no lingering eye contact, no leaning against each other or hanging on to every word.