The Lies We Tell

  ‘Oh you don’t mind, do you?’ The voice is cold with not even a hint of regret as she leans forward and casually flicks ash into the carved Indian candlestick Diane bought Katy the previous Christmas. Without a word, Katy reaches out to take the picture which she replaces on the mantelpiece.

  ‘So tell me about your man.’ Jude points towards a framed photograph of the two of them looking out to sea. Michael’s friend, Spike, took the picture when they visited the house near the coast he and his girlfriend were renovating for a long weekend the previous January. ‘He looks like quite a tasty catch.’

  ‘We met at work,’ says Katy, taking another sip of her drink. Though she doesn’t have to tell Jude anything about her personal life, she finds she can’t resist. As if she is trying to prove a point, though to whom she’s not quite sure. ‘He’s a photographer. We’ve been together five years.’

  ‘And is it l-o-v-e?’ Jude looks her straight in the eye as she slowly runs her forefinger around the rim of her glass.

  As she answers Katy notices how she hesitates, just for an instant. ‘As good as.’

  ‘Hardly a resounding yes.’ Jude chuckles, gazing thoughtfully at her wine which is, as yet, untouched. ‘So what’s the problem?’

  ‘Why does there have to be a problem?’ Katy snaps. ‘And even if there is, which there isn’t, it wouldn’t be any of your business.’ Angrily, she feels her cheeks flush. She hates herself for so readily taking the bait.

  ‘Oh dear. I didn’t mean to touch a nerve,’ Jude smiles, leaning forwards. ‘So let’s cut to the chase. As you put it so eloquently earlier: what do I want?’

  Bracing herself, Katy stares longingly at the cigarette butt still gently smouldering in the impromptu ashtray. She does not smoke, certainly not now she is pregnant, though she did for a number of years after leaving school. Now Jude holds out the packet and waves it at Katy. Then she flips open the lid to make it easier, revealing a silver lighter nestled inside.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ she mutters with a shake of her head.

  ‘Not now.’ Jude nods. Her tone makes it seem part statement, part question.

  ‘Not for a long time, actually,’ Katy corrects.

  ‘Well what I wanted was a chance to talk,’ Jude continues, reasonably. ‘To catch up. To clear the air.’

  Katy hesitates, distracted by a fleeting image of a younger face, one side of its mouth foamed with spittle. Its cheeks freckled with dirt. Eyes dulled by pleading. She knows the intensity of this picture comes from imagination, not memory. That it’s the fantasy fulfilment of a waking dream she had, for years. The one in which she, not Jude, was victim. In which she fought back rather than ran away.

  Stop it, Katy thinks, willing her hands to stop shaking. Don’t think of this. Not now.

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

  ‘Oh I think you do, Kat,’ says Jude. ‘About the first thing, at least. Why you did what you did – ’

  ‘That’s not fair –’ Katy objects. At last, she thinks, a chance to explain. But though she’s both feared and longed for this moment, her struggle to find the right words is hampered by sudden and unexpected echoes.

  Stop it! Someone had yelled. A girl’s voice.

  ‘– I tried, I really did – ’

  ‘You fucked up, that’s what you did. Big time.’

  ‘No, I only wanted to help,’ Katy mumbles. The room has darkened, like a cloud has obscured the sun, though beyond the sitting room window the world still seems sharp and clear. Then that voice, again. Less muffled, this time. Outraged. Accusing. You frigid lezzer, it taunts. What the fuck have you done? She raises a hand to her face to touch her cheek. The faint scar there, barely visible when she is wearing make-up, always seems whiter when she’s been out in the sun. ‘But then I got lost. Then there was an accident. I ended up in hospital.’

  ‘Don’t expect any sympathy from me,’ Jude snaps. ‘I’m not the one who ran away.’

  Katy braces herself against a sudden wave of panic that makes the room start to spin. Then she is reeling as, as fast as it has come, the sensation is gone. Not nausea this time but something less distinct. A sense of the world somehow slipping slightly out of kilter. A vague and intangible feeling of fear. She is cold suddenly, though her face is damp with sweat. ‘That’s not fair,’ she mumbles. Because it’s not, is it? Because Jude is as much to blame.

  ‘Is that really all you can say?’

  ‘Yes. I really am sorry, and what happened was awful …’ Katy replies, trying not to think of Jude’s earlier reference to her son. Wearily rubbing her eyes, she struggles to ignore the shadows now looming in her peripheral vision just beyond reach. Suddenly, she finds herself engulfed by the sensation that she’s forgotten something really important. ‘But – ’

  ‘It’s not your pity I want. I want you to understand that the things people like you, your brother, your thoughtless shit of a dad do ruin other people’s lives. How all of you in your own way took away the things that mattered, the people who could have made a real difference.‘ Jude seems distracted for a moment but whether by rage or regret it’s hard to tell. ‘Or if you want to put it another way: you owe me.’

  ‘What? I don’t understand – ’ Katy shoots an anxious glance towards the latest studio shot taken of Andrew, Dee and the kids which stands on the bookshelf behind the TV.

  Following her gaze, Jude’s jaw clenches. ‘Ah, the sainted brother. His fragrant wife and their precious little darlings. My, what a picture of happy families that simple portrait paints.’

  Katy glares at Jude, unable to speak. She isn’t about to challenge the trite summation of her brother’s life. To dismantle the snide suggestion that he has fallen on his feet. To counter the dig that he has it all with an account of how he and Dee had tried so hard for so long to have children. It had taken four rounds of IVF before she’d eventually conceived the twins and then she’d almost died for loss of blood during their complicated birth.

  Despite the distance that still separates Katy from her brother – a distance that was far more than just geographical – she suddenly feels fiercely protective of him. ‘And your point is?’ she retorts, coolly.

  ‘Don’t play the innocent with me,’ Jude snaps, rising from her chair. She takes three paces towards Katy and stands over her blocking any chance of escape. The closeness of her, the heat of her physical presence, makes Katy squirm like a worm on a pin. ‘You all knew what your dad was like, everyone did. What was it you dear old mum so coyly called him? A bit of a ladies’ man. And she should know, right? As she happily swept his dirty secrets under the carpet. Flashed her cash to make it go away. So I suppose the joke was on us, then, really. Wouldn’t you say?’

  Katy slides down the sofa, desperate to be on a level footing with Jude. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she says, carefully. ‘But I don’t know what –’

  As she speaks, however, a vague realisation begins to take shape. The unstoppable, upwards force of a dark shape slowly emerging from fathomless waters. Her brain screams with the effort of trying to put the pieces together as the thing continues its slow yet irresistible ascent. Her dad. What did he ever do to Jude? They had barely spoken, to her knowledge. In fact he had taken an instant dislike to her, even urging Katy on one occasion to break off the friendship. As if she could forget.

  Yet what if it wasn’t something he had done to Jude but to someone else? Katy stumbles to her feet. ‘Tell me what you mean.’

  But as Jude opens her mouth to speak the expectant silence is shattered by the sound of the phone. Desperate for her answer, Katy does not move so the pair stand, two statues barely breathing, listening to the phone’s insistent ring. One … Two … Three … Katy counts, willing time to accelerate as the answer phone would only click on after three more. And then it comes. A stranger’s voice, urgent and briskly efficient.

  ‘It’s Nurse Richards calling from the West Middlesex Hospital for Katherine Parker. Your mother, Mrs Diane Parker, has just been brought in with cra
cked ribs and concussion following an incident on Richmond High Street. She’s stable but asking for you. Could you please call us as soon as possible – ’

  ‘No,’ Katy cries out, diving towards the phone. ‘Hi, it’s me. Katherine. Sorry, I was just upstairs. Is she OK?’

  Gently, the nurse tells Katy to find a pencil and paper to take down a few details then helpfully advises her just what bits and pieces she can bring to make her mum more comfortable. A calm and soothing voice carefully honed to make upsetting news palatable and a bad situation almost bearable, she thinks, so totally immersed in her fear for her mum that she totally forgets Jude’s presence for the rest of the phone call.

  Replacing the phone in its cradle, Katy stares dumbly at the piece of paper in her hand. Then, a moment later, the urgency of the situation numbs her fear and shock. Quickly, she scans the room for her bag then frisks it briskly for her car keys. Only as she clutches them in her hand does she remember the youths from the night before and the attack on her car. How can she drive with a shattered windscreen?

  Frantically, she fumbles for her mobile then scrolls up and down the address book in search of a number of the local cab firm. With the phone wedged between her left shoulder and ear, she listens to the call dial then connect as she checks her purse for money. But the nearest cab company has no drivers available for an immediate pick up. ‘Damn it,’ she mutters, hanging up and scanning the room once more for the Yellow Pages. And then, at last, she sees Jude standing silently in the doorway, watching.

  ‘Oh dear, is there a problem with your car? How unfortunate. Why don’t I drive you to the hospital?’ Jude’s voice is even, her face serene.

  Looking up, Katy sees Jude has already picked up her bag and is holding her car keys. As if Jude being in the flat isn’t bad enough, she thinks. The thought of willingly incarcerating herself within an even smaller, more closely confined space with this unwelcome intruder makes her want to scream. But she has no choice – not if she wants to get there quickly. It is the obvious solution. ‘If you’re sure – ’

  ‘Of course,’ Jude answers, brightly. ‘You need to be there, by her side.’

  Reluctantly, Katy nods. ‘OK,’ she murmurs. ‘Thanks.’

  *

  Katy slaps the smeared glass with the palm of her hands, impatient to get inside. But her efforts only seem to make the revolving door turn more slowly as shuffling forwards, quadrant by quadrant, she waits for a gap to open just wide enough for her to wedge her shoulder then pushes her way through. Only once she is within the hospital’s reception area does she hesitate to orientate herself before hurrying towards a large desk laden with box files and computer screens.

  Behind the counters sits the gatekeeper – a grey-haired woman whose unnaturally deep sun tan makes her face look like an X-ray. As she hurriedly provides her details, Katy leans over the counter in an attempt to scan her mum’s admission details which are displayed on the woman’s computer screen. As soon as the gatekeeper notices, however, she tilts the monitor away. ‘Go to the back of the building and take the left-hand lift on the right to the fourth floor,’ the woman instructs, lifting a phone by her side to call upstairs to tell them Katy is on her way. ‘Ask for Maynard Ward.’

  A young man holding a baby carrier with the price tag still attached is rooting in his trouser pockets for spare change while the woman at his side cradles a newborn baby. A grey-faced man in too-short pyjamas is shuffling towards the main door wheeling a walking frame. An elderly woman clutching a balled tissue in her hand sits stony-faced on a bench outside the Ladies loo. But these figures and more are barely-glimpsed ghosts, a mere trick of the light played by her peripheral vision, as Katy urgently makes her way towards the ground floor lift that will take her to the fourth floor.

  ‘Room for two more,’ the hospital porter calls as the metal doors slide open. He is stationed behind an elderly man in a wheelchair attached to a drip.

  Though it’s the third lift to pass through the ground floor station while she has been waiting, it’s the first with enough room for Katy to squeeze in and it’s only as she does that she becomes aware of Jude’s presence; how she is still there, like a stubborn shadow. Yet in the adrenaline rush that propels her towards mum’s bedside, Katy doesn’t think to send her away.

  Exiting the lift on the fourth floor, she falters, nonplussed by identical corridors stretching away in four directions into a muted world in which sharp edges have been rounded, sounds dulled and every available surface is pale blue. But then a porter suddenly appears and she is directed to the ward through the last door on the left where she finds her mum lying like a broken bird in the bed by the window.

  From a distance, Diane’s skin looks whiter than the sheet on which she is stretched. Only as Katy draws closer does she see the explosion of colour across the far side of her face. The bruising is also visible around the neck and across one shoulder. But it is the alien tube puncturing the translucent skin on the back of her hand that makes Katy want to cry. ‘Mum?’ she whispers, hardly daring to speak for fear of hurting her further.

  A nurse appears at her side as if from nowhere and gives Katy an encouraging smile as Diane, despite her obvious discomfort, slowly turns her head. ‘Don’t worry,’ the patient croaks. ‘Everyone keeps telling me that it looks worse than it really is.’

  ‘What happened, mum?’ Katy cries, hurrying towards the bed. There is no chair to sit on so she perches gingerly on the bedside. Though desperate not to stare at those terrible bruises, she finds herself unable to resist.

  ‘I was coming out of Smiths when this boy stopped to ask me the time. But when I looked down at my watch he hit me in the face and grabbed my bag. The next thing I knew I was on the ground. Then a taxi driver helped me into the back of his cab and rang the police. He was ever so kind. Then someone brought me some tea while we waited for an ambulance. And I ended up here. Such a lot of fuss.’

  Katy puts her hand on her mum’s arm and gives it a gentle squeeze. She tries in vain to ignore the tell-tale signs of ageing her mother usually so deftly conceals beneath her favourite cosmetics. The budding liver spots. The filigree of broken veins beneath the skin’s translucent surface. The inward pull of the slate-grey eyes.

  ‘Did you get a good look at him?’

  ‘It’s all a bit hazy.’ Diane coughs, weakly. ‘But I’d say he was in his late teens or early twenties. With dark hair.’

  ‘She’s been very brave,’ the nurse soothes. ‘And extremely lucky. You wouldn’t believe how often this sort of thing happens in broad daylight nowadays, and your mother was extremely fortunate to get away without any broken bones.’

  ‘It just wasn’t my time to go, I suppose,’ Diane sighs, suddenly noticing Jude, who throughout this exchange has been standing back, hovering near the doorway. ‘My goodness, Estelle, how lovely to see you! But what on earth are you doing here?’

  Bewildered, Katy scans the otherwise empty ward then finally looks behind her, back towards the door. She stares at Jude in with a sense of confusion which only deepens as her friend begins to speak.

  ‘I was visiting a distant relation down the corridor, and I was just leaving when I recognised you and thought I’d pop in to see if you are OK. I do hope you don’t mind.’

  The voice is calm. Controlled. Which makes the lie all the more plausible, Katy notes as she struggles to speak. As her mind races to catch up with unfolding events she stare dumbfounded by the audacious figure now commanding the room’s attention. The woman hijacking the moment to divert her away from her mum, the person who really needs her. What bizarre game is this? Mum, it seems, has some passing acquaintance with this stranger who has exploded back into her own life with her carefully assembled armoury of half-revelations, veiled threats and innuendo. And for her sake, Katy thinks, she can’t afford to let this go.

  ‘That’s good of you,’ Diane replies before her daughter can respond. ‘Isn’t it, Katy? Estelle works at the theatre in Richmond – you know the one where
Joyce and I’ve taken groups to see various shows?’ She coughs again, but this time can’t stop. Katy quickly fills a glass with water from a jug on the cabinet beside her bed and holds the drink to her lips. ‘Estelle, I’m sorry,’ her mum says eventually. ‘This is my daughter, Katy.’

  ‘Ah, so you’re the famous Katherine Parker!’ says Jude, stepping forward and holding out her hand. ‘Diane’s told me so much about you. Nice to meet you.’

  Katy stares at Jude’s hand in disbelief. Although enraged by Jude’s lies she is more stunned by her nerve. Teetering on the brink of losing self-control, torn between anguish at what has happened to her mum and rage, she slowly replaces the glass on the table and turns toward Diane.

  ‘Mum,’ Her carefully modulated tone is a triumph of self-restraint. ‘I’m desperate for a cup of tea, can I get you anything?’ Katy turns towards the nurse with questioning eyes; the other woman nods. ‘You need to take it easy, rest a little before the doctor comes. I’ll just pop downstairs. Won’t be long.’

  ‘Tea would be lovely,’ murmurs Diane, closing her eyes.

  Katy kisses her mum gently on the forehead then walks towards the door, forcing Jude out into the empty corridor. As the door swings to behind them her hand closes around Jude’s upper arm and she briskly marches her a few paces along the corridor before firmly pressing her against the wall. ‘What are you doing?’ she hisses through clenched teeth. ‘And who the fuck is Estelle?’

  Jude pushes Katy’s arm away and straightens her dress. ‘Calm down dear, for God’s sake,’ she says in a low voice with a quick glance up and down the corridor. ‘Don’t go making a scene.’

  ‘Like the one you just did?’

  ‘Yes, well. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation – ’

  ‘I thought you said you were a bookkeeper,’ Katy snaps, suddenly aware of the rapid clenching and unclenching of her fists. Itching to hit something.

  ‘Let’s get a coffee, we can talk downstairs – ’