The Truth About Lies

by Tracy Darnton

  “I don’t want you to go tonight,” I say, before I can stop myself. “I want you to stay.” And I do. More than anything.

  Dan scrunches over beside me on the bed and kisses me, his hands moving up and down my back. “I don’t want to go either,” he says. “Let’s hope there’s not a room inspection. I’m not going to fit in your cupboard.”

  I slot so easily into the crook of his arm with my head on his chest. I enjoy the warmth of him against my cheek, and the rise and fall of his breathing. I’ve had all these terrible feelings of hate and jealousy and regret and fear and guilt bouncing around in me for so long, it’s hard to give in to intimacy and caring about someone and letting them care about me. Being vulnerable. I take his hand and knot my fingers through his and he strokes my palm with his thumb.

  He pulls at my top and we fumble with my skinny jeans. Whoever thought they were a good idea? I feel my way through his layers, littering the floor with cast-off clothing, until I find warm skin. We’ve stopped laughing, become quieter, more intense. I can finally let go.

  I’ve been living inside my head too long, thinking too much about the dead. Time to join the living.

  *

  I wake. I see the glowing light of a phone. Dan’s sitting up in the chair by the window scrolling away, checking Facebook or something lame like that. Or is he sexting? He’s never come clean on the ‘someone special’ who gave him the fancy watch. I sigh and yawn to make him realize I can see what he’s doing. I stretch out in what I think is an irresistible way so he’ll come back to bed. But he looks up guiltily and ruins everything. Mystery solved – sexting not texting. Keira? Why else would he be doing it at four in the morning?

  “Sorry. I was, er.” He hastily taps at it. “I’ll switch it off.” But not before I clock the colour. Bright orange. He was on my phone, not his.

  I sit up and reach over for it. “What are you doing with my phone?” I look at the screen. No calls made, no texts sent. I look at the browser but he’s cleared the history. I can’t tell what he was looking at. He squeezes back beside me, his feet like ice. He kisses my bare shoulder, travels his hands over my thighs. “Shush, come and play with me.” He pulls the duvet up over our heads and kisses me.

  “But why were you…” I say weakly.

  “I was checking the news app, that’s all. Chill. Mine’s completely out of charge. I should’ve asked but I didn’t want to wake you.” He holds my face in his hands and kisses it inch by inch. “You were lying there so bewitchingly, snuffling like a hedgehog, hogging the duvet, arms splayed out like you own this single bed.” He kisses me again on the lips but his words have already diffused my anger. I must learn to trust more, not to think the worst.

  And then I spot over his shoulder that his phone is still blinking away, plugged in on the bedside table. It’s charged.

  He lied.

  And my heart goes cold.

  38

  Remember, remember the fifth of November.

  Traditional rhyme

  I dive from the side in a flurry of bubbles and hold my breath. I glide, skimming over the mosaic below. My lungs are screaming for air as I finally break the surface. My mind’s racing. All the bad stuff’s back. What an idiot I was – thinking that Dan was actually interested in me, falling for him. Falling in love with him.

  As soon as he fell back asleep, I grabbed his room key. Felix was crashed out snoring heavily, the duvet pulled over his head, as I tiptoed around their room. It didn’t take me long to find out what I needed to know.

  Dan knew Hanna.

  He has a photo of her tucked inside his bedside drawer. Hanna on a beach, blowing a kiss at the camera, her chunky jumper hanging loose, her white-blond hair streaming behind her. Looking like a soft-focus shampoo advert. On the back she’d written: ‘Best day! Hannie xxx.’ And on her wrist – it’s Dan’s watch. The one he said was from ‘someone special’.

  I count the lengths until I get to fifty and my body’s crying out for a rest. The physical exhaustion gives me something else to feel. I do a whole length underwater until my lungs are bursting again.

  I pull myself on to the side and lie spread-eagled on the cold, tiled floor while goose pimples slowly cover my skin. There’s no one in the world who actually cares whether I catch pneumonia and die. In fact, that seems a good option at the moment. I don’t even care whether I catch pneumonia and die. Tears roll down my cheeks, pooling in my ears, and soon they give way to sobs. No one can hear me. I can remember all the other times I’ve cried, colliding in a mess of terrible memories. Once you open up and replay those scenes, it’s a flood of raw emotion. I’ve been keeping a tight, tight lid on it for so long. The feelings are overwhelming. Why am I cursed with this memory? Why does it have to spoil my every waking moment with the weight of all that’s passed? I thought Dan was someone I could share it with, but I’m wrong again. He’s made a fool of me. Like Hanna and Ed did. Unrequited love is a bad emotion to have on endless repeat.

  I’m not even any good at freezing to death. I’m too cold and shivery. I wrap myself in the towel and dry my eyes. I imagine Mum telling me to pull myself together, that I’m her daughter so act like it. No point crying over things you cannot change.

  I get dressed and, in a clear, logical way, review my time with Dan, slotting in each scene. He was always asking questions about Hanna; he knew her pet name was Hannie; he knew her jumper though I’d never told him it was hers; he completely lost it when he realized he was in Hanna’s bedroom at the seance. I could go on. I’ve been so busy looking for clues to something else, thinking he was helping me. All the time, he wanted to know what happened to Hanna. ‘You can always talk to me’, trips to the shrine, the vigil. All that pretending. All that lying through his teeth. And checking though my phone. Looking for what? Photos of Hanna? A confession?

  Dan was playing me. I was an idiot to think he cared. Why would he? Why would someone as good-looking as Dan, with so much going for him, be attracted to me? Jess the sulky one, the introvert, the weirdo. Especially when he could have Keira, beautiful Barbie doll Keira who’s been throwing herself at him for weeks now. Who would resist that unless he had a bigger plan to execute?

  Maya said it was all moving too quickly. Of course it was. I should have listened to her. She was trying to be a friend and warn me. Dan couldn’t hook up with me fast enough. And I let him.

  And I shared things with him. Not only the physical intimacy, though my flesh crawls now at the thought of it, but I told him personal things about Mum, the Programme. I sliced open my brain and heart and laid them bare for him to stamp on. All that time he was pretending to help me, he was only interested in Hanna.

  The college community’s beginning to come to life. The groundsmen are fighting a losing battle, trying to clear the paths with the leaf-blower. Others are piling branches on to the bonfire down on the terraced lawn, ready for tonight. Dr Harrison raises a hand in greeting. He’s in his marshal’s kit already and checking equipment off on his clipboard. He looks better today, like he finally has a purpose on his last day at Dartmeet.

  I head back to my room and cautiously open the door. Dan’s gone. Thank goodness. He’s left a note on the pillow:

  Hope swim was refreshing. See you after breakfast, ready to rock Dartmoor.

  Dan xxx

  I scrunch it into a tiny ball. I take the earrings he gave me from my jewellery box. They seem sinister now when days ago I thought them quirkily romantic. What a fool. I get the symbolism now of giving me a memento mori. He was showing he hadn’t forgotten Hanna, and I shouldn’t either. The tiny skulls are laughing at me. I close my fist around them and throw them against the wall. The glass cracks and one of the tiny hourglasses falls, skidding across the floor. I pick up the broken pieces and throw them in the bin where they belong, along with my so-called relationship with Dan.

  But then I notice more correspondence.

  A new postcard with the familiar view of Gara Stone Circle is caught on the rug, as tho
ugh it’s been posted under the door. The fifth card from the pack. The final one. It says:

  REMEMBER, REMEMBER THE FIFTH OF

  NOVEMBER

  GARA STONES, NOON

  Ramesh Desai just can’t resist his last gasp of drama.

  I look at the laminated map Dr Harrison handed round, with its neat arrows showing directions and distances. The timing’s possible. I commit the map to memory and work out where I need to diverge from the hike route to get to the stone circle.

  The only thing holding me here was Dan and now that relationship is shattered into pieces like the earrings. As the card says, it’s the fifth of November. A day for treason and plot. Betrayal. And for fireworks.

  39

  O, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive.

  ‘Marmion’ – Sir Walter Scott

  Once I’m dressed in all my walking layers, I pull on the neon Hanna’s Hike T-shirt. As I lace up my boots, memories of the trip to Ashburton flood in: dancing around the charity shop, Dan’s arm round my waist. All false. That day has changed forever.

  Are my memories real or imagined, genuine or doctored? How can I sort the truth from the lies, honesty from deceit?

  *

  Dan’s with the other walkers outside doing the final checks on his rucksack, as though all is normal, joking with Keira. Of course she would be there, waiting to pounce on any unattended boyfriend. He sees me standing across the terrace and waves. His face lights up as our eyes lock. His warm and twinkling, and mine – not so much. Before he can react, Maya grabs me and pulls me to the podium. She looks like she’s joined the army, in full camo gear with a stripe of paint on each cheek. The camouflage look is slightly ruined by the neon T-shirt.

  Principal Barker takes the loudhailer and welcomes us all in a crackle of feedback. “Today, we meet in a spirit of remembrance, friendship and love of the great outdoors. We’re here at the suggestion of our own students.” She turns towards me and Maya. Maya squeezes my hand. Keira looks happier to stay at Dan’s side rather than push through the crowd to join us. “And of course,” continues Barker, “thanks are due to our own resident Bear Grylls, Dr Harrison.”

  He does an awkward bow to a smattering of applause. Has he handed in his letter of resignation yet, or will he just disappear during the day?

  Barker continues: “As you know, one of our community died tragically: Hanna Carlsen.” Hanna’s name echoes round the grounds, travelling across the gardens out and on to the moor. “So as you’re walking together to remember Hanna, also remember the need to look after each other, to be kind, to speak up when we’re worried about one of our community. That’s the best kind of legacy for Hanna.” She pauses for a solemn moment of reflection, head bowed. Maya wipes away a tear.

  “We wish all our walkers well and look forward to welcoming you back here for a bonfire supper and fireworks,” says Barker, raising her arms as though she’s blessing us in some hippy-dippy way, her rainbow-coloured scarf waving in the breeze.

  The mist shows no sign of lifting with no sunshine to break it up. There’s not much time before our departure slot and I need to make it to Gara Stones for noon. I didn’t get much sleep, so I stoke up on caffeine at the catering tent. I wait for Dan to join me. He greets me like nothing bad has happened. Like he hasn’t betrayed me. I can’t stand the hypocrisy of it all.

  At first he’s smiling but then he sees me glaring back at him, my ill-hidden anger.

  “Let’s not pretend any more,” I say.

  Confusion’s written all over his face. He’s very good at lying, at pretending. “What? I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

  “Did you find what you wanted on my phone, Dan?”

  “I, er.” He shifts his weight from foot to foot.

  He’s so busted. He hasn’t even got a poxy excuse to throw back at me. I force my hands into fists to stop them shaking.

  “OK. Here goes.” He licks his lips nervously and clears his throat. “I wanted to see if you had any photos.”

  “Of Hannie?”

  He blushes.

  I’ve caught him out. Too easy. “Because they wouldn’t be of me, would they?” I say. “I don’t do photos, you know that. Those ones Maya took at Halloween when you can barely tell it’s me, they’re my first photos for ages.”

  “Yes, OK. I woke up. You were fast asleep. I thought I’d have a quick look to see if you have any photos of Hanna and Ed.”

  “To perv over them, or what?”

  For the first time, he laughs. “Definitely not. Ed’s my cousin.”

  My mouth literally drops open. “What?”

  “Ed’s my cousin. My aunt’s son.”

  “I know what a cousin is even though I don’t have any, thank you.” I sound petulant, like an angry eight-year-old. His aunt’s son, so they have different surnames. I look at the shape of Dan’s face. He’d looked slightly familiar to me when we first spoke and now I get why.

  “Ed and Hanna were inseparable in the summer holidays so I saw a lot of her too,” he says.

  “Stop with the lies,” I say. “I found the photo. The one you keep hidden next to your bed. “Best day! Hannie. Kiss, kiss, kiss.”

  “You’ve searched my room? Unbelievable. That day on the beach in the photo, Ed was there, all the family was there. We played beach cricket and had a barbecue. Ed took a photo of Hanna in that Danish jumper and she sent it to us. It was a thank-you for a good day out, welcoming her.” He sighs. “I was always due to start at Dartmeet but I was ill at the beginning of term and joined later, after … Hanna. Ed had already left, too shaken up to stay. I promised him that I’d see if I could shed any light on why, if, Hanna would do something like that, kill herself. Ed felt guilty because he’d broken up with her. Guilty that he hadn’t stopped it somehow. He thought people felt it was his fault.”

  I was part of that impression.

  “I didn’t exactly lie about being his cousin – nobody asked me,” he says. “And I thought people would be more likely to tell me about the real Hanna if they didn’t know my connection to Ed.”

  I kick at the gravel with my clumpy walking boots. “Or you could sneak around like Hercule Poirot poking your nose into our lives and getting information under false pretences.”

  “You’ve been snooping in my room to find the photo, remember.”

  “After you went through my phone,” I say. “No way does that make us quits.”

  “But once you and I happened, it was too late to say anything about knowing Ed,” he says. “I knew you’d hate it. The lie grew and grew.”

  “All the more reason to tell me, to come clean.”

  “And you tell me everything, do you?” He frowns. “Because I think you’re holding back on quite a lot.”

  I definitely haven’t told him everything. Not my real name, not about the postcards, or Desai, or Callum. It’s a long list.

  And definitely not what I did to Hanna. How can I tell him now about how I hated Hanna for going out with Ed? How disappointed I was that her plan to invite me back to Denmark for the summer was dropped in a heartbeat for her to spend time making sandcastles with him. Can I tell him that I don’t even think she liked Ed that much at the beginning, that it was just another game for her of picking people up and dropping them? She did it with Keira all the time. Best friend/not best friend. Linking arms with her and paying her compliments one day, then blanking her the next. The friendship game. She did it with everyone, especially me.

  “What about the watch in the photo?” I say. “Your watch from ‘someone special’?”

  “The watch was a birthday present from Granny Mel. Hanna was wearing it to keep it safe while I was surfing. She was the only one not in and out of the sea. That’s all.” Dan chuckles, which makes me even madder. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of my granny!”

  “How convenient,” I say sarcastically. “Roll out the little old lady story.”

  “For goodness’ sake. Have you heard y
ourself? I’d thought Ed must be wrong about you. He thought you’d said something mean to Hanna about her weight, her looks.”

  Ed’s right. I made sure she felt terrible about herself.

  “Have a good briefing session on me, did you?” I say. “Are you phoning him regularly with updates?”

  “No. Not at all,” says Dan. “Look, you can believe me or not about the photo. And the watch. Phone Ed. He’ll tell you.”

  “He hates me apparently. Why would he talk to me?”

  “No, I didn’t mean… Oh, you are the most infuriating person I have ever met. I’ve been helping you, remember.”

  “Yes. So, so helpful,” I say. “Making yourself so indispensable, when all the time you were snooping. Maybe you’re even working for the Programme.”

  He shakes his head. “You’re so paranoid.”

  “Stop acting like you’re the victim here. It’s you who’s been spying on me, lying and pretending that you like me.”

  “I do like you. More than like you. Last night we…” He tries to touch me but I pull away.

  “You have a weird way of showing it. You’ve manipulated me into falling in…” The words catch in my throat. “…into having feelings for you. So if anyone has the moral high ground, it’s me, not you.” My voice has got louder. People are staring. The catering assistant serving the teas and coffees is transfixed, holding a milk jug, like we’re the entertainment for the day. A full soap-opera performance. But I don’t care. I can’t stay around here anyway if Coleman’s so close to working out where I am. I don’t know what I was thinking, indulging in some stupid fantasy life where I could carry on here, with Dan. I’m best back on my own, relying on myself alone.

  He looks crushed, hurt. “If you still want to be on a team with me as planned, we’re due to leave in ten minutes. It’s up to you.” He slings his rucksack over his shoulder and walks off, not looking back.