The Lies We Tell

  Andrew hesitated, then turned back towards her. ‘I was really starting to think we might have something going there, Jude, you know?’ he shouted. ‘But then you had to go and spoil it. I don’t like people who play games.’

  ‘Sorry?’ she gasped, drawing to a halt by his side.

  ‘Come on, don’t play dumb. I mean, it’s not like I thought we’d get serious, or anything. But when your mates start talking behind your back – ’

  ‘Who? Which mates? What did they say?’ Jude cried, cursing the tell-tale flush she could now feel scorching her cheeks.

  Dave? No-one could know about Dave, could they? Unless maybe he’d said something. Boasted down the pub to some friends, maybe. But if he had, then wouldn’t it have got back to Siobhan and if that had happened she’d have known as there would have been hell to pay. No, not Dave. In which case it was lies. Vindictive lies spun by someone who had it in for her.

  ‘You’ve been seen, Jude, and I don’t want to know who he is or hear some lame explanation that actually you’re just good friends, you’ve been seen. Everyone’s talking about it, even friends of my parents.’

  Dave. It had to be.

  Panic clenched her stomach. What would her mum …? Unless, of course, it was something else. Some kind of fabrication conceived by Andrew’s parents to keep them apart, she wouldn’t put it past them. Especially Diane. If true it was a hand played well. A malicious embroidering of what her son already knew about Jude’s restless character and colourful reputation. Nothing too extreme, but just enough to poison him against her.

  How could he? She hated Andrew for his readiness to believe their lies, yet her heart and body still yearned for him. How could she stop him slipping away? What could she do to make him see the truth about her? But then she said it. Words that lashed out wildly, like a severed hawser, forged in the heat of anger then fired at the peak of the emotional storm.

  ‘Mummy’s boy,’ she spat too loudly to take back, too firmly to ignore.

  Andrew stared at her, coolly. ‘You’re getting a bit of a reputation around college – did you know that, Jude?’ he said in a low monotone. ‘You should really learn to cover your tracks a bit better next time.’ Now, however, she said nothing. Felt nothing. Just shock at his harshness; his readiness to believe what others might say. Finding himself vindicated by her silence, Andrew bent down to pick up his guitar. ‘Look, forget it, OK?’

  ‘But Andrew, I don’t – ‘ Jude began. Having finally discovered her voice, she was desperate not to let this moment – her chance with Andrew – just trickle away without a fight. But he was already walking away.

  ‘I said, forget it,’ he shouted over his shoulder, without turning round.

  Too proud to beg, Jude stood and watched Andrew walk towards the next junction, take a left, then disappear from view. She would have cried but her eyes felt dusty and bruised. Anger and humiliation had scorched away her tears.

  Chapter 24

  Richmond – July 2013

  Katy arrives at Parkview just before three to find a number of visitors’ parking spaces empty. She picks the one closest to the communal front door then checks herself in the rear view mirror before climbing from the car. Her eyes are skirted by dark shadows, her lips tightly pursed. Pale but determined, she thinks as she with a flick of her wrist she waves her fob to lock the door.

  The bay opposite, the one Joyce usually uses, is empty. Glancing up, Katy shades her eyes with a hand to scan the apartment block’s meticulous facade. She scrutinises the corner of the building on the fourth floor where her mum’s flat is located for an open window or any other indication of life within, but there is none.

  Hurrying through the main doors into the communal hallway, she finds the lift lodged stubbornly on the sixth floor so takes the stairs. Half-way up, Joyce rings to confirm she is with Diane waiting for her to be officially released by the on-call doctor who’s running late.

  ‘We shouldn’t be much longer, though,’ the woman reassures. ‘I’ve told your mother if the young man doesn’t make an appearance in another fifteen minutes we’re leaving anyway and damn the consequences, just like Thelma and Louise!’

  Slipping the mobile back into her pocket Katy can’t help but smile, tickled for a moment by the image Joyce’s words have conjured. Distracted, briefly, from the tightness in her chest that’s been building all day. Her mouth is dust-dry and tastes like metal. Eager for a sip of water, she fumbles in her bag for the spare set of mum’s keys as she crosses the landing. Only once she’s found this does she notice the cardboard box sitting on the floor outside the front door.

  It’s the size of a large shoebox – the kind in which a pair of mid-calf boots might fit. But it carries no branding or logo. Instead, the outside is a uniform buff colour with just one thing hand-written on it, in careful capitals: her mother’s name. Curious, she picks it up and wonders who might have left it. Not a delivery service – wouldn’t it have some kind of printed label? A bar-code, certainly. One of her neighbours, probably.

  Katy picks up the box and as she reaches up to unlock the door it tilts in her arms towards her chest making the contents inside shift position. Whatever it is seems solid, leaden, and has a curious smell half-past full-blown.

  Unable to turn the key while holding onto the package, Katy puts down the box and sees the flaps at its top are inter-folded, not stuck down. Leaving the keys in the door, she drops to her knees and parts the folds to peek inside then swiftly recoils, glad it’s no longer in her arms or it would otherwise have crashed onto the floor spewing its sorry contents.

  Choking back a gasp of revulsion, Katy stares down at the lifeless body of her mum’s treasured cat, Monty. Who would have left this? she wonders, bleakly. Why?

  He was a lovely cat, she’d helped Mum choose him as a kitten. Perhaps someone had found him in the street after being hit by a car and thought it best to bring him home … But as she peers once more at the lumpen form she can see no evidence of blood or any external wound. Just the curious angle of his head. Like his neck is broken. She stares for a moment at the silver disc attached to his collar – space too small to carry details of where her mother lives, just a phone number.

  Who could they have known where to bring him? No-one who knows her mum would have left him here, like this, for her to find.

  Dropping to her knees, Katy fumbles for a moment with the flaps of the box as she battles to obscure the contents from further view. But then, when it is done, as she starts to straighten up she a feels a gentle yet determined prod inside her belly. Bracing one arm against the door jamb to keep her balance she strokes her stomach with the other, tracing with her fingertips the outline of her bump.

  ‘Easy now, little man,’ she murmurs, eager to soothe him with a gentle voice. ‘Everything’s OK. Because we’re alright, you and me. All of this – everything – is going to be OK.’ She waits for a minute or two for any further sign of movement and then, when there is none, cautiously pulls herself back upright.

  Katy checks her watch. If Joyce is true to her word, she and mum will be back soon but they cannot – must not – see this. No point taking it inside, she decides. Perhaps she can find somewhere discreet towards the building’s rear. Inside one of the communal refuse bins. A poor send off, but she can’t think what else to do.

  Bursting back out into the sunlight, Katy pauses only long enough to see Joyce’s spot in the car park is still empty before turning sharply left and hurrying around the corner to the building’s rear. Hastily, she selects the closest general waste bin, lifts the lid then pauses as her eyes unexpectedly film with tears. Maybe she should stow him elsewhere, out of view but easier to retrieve. She and Joyce could come back later and bury him in the bushes. Only it seems so awful to dispose of him like a piece of old junk.

  The sound of a car bumping over the security ramp and into the car park by the front of the building forces her to make a decision. Quickly, she places the box on the ground then nudges it with her foo
t between the first bin and its neighbour, partially obscuring it from view. Then, rubbing the sweat from her eyes with the back of her hand, she darts back towards the building’s front entrance to see Joyce helping her mum from the car.

  Forcing her face into what she hopes resembles a welcoming smile, she hurries towards them.

  ‘Hey, Mum,’ she calls out, brightly. ‘Let me take your bag.’

  *

  Joyce pours Katy a second cup of tea. They are standing in the kitchen by the oak-topped island. ‘Sorry about earlier,’ she says in a low voice calculated not to be overheard by Diane, who’s in the sitting room next door. ‘But I thought you should know … you know, about the envelope.’

  Katy takes a sip from her cup. And Joyce should know about the cat, too, but not now, she decides, for fear of creating a scene. ‘How do you think she’s doing?’ she asks, softly.

  ‘Your mum? Why, perkier by the hour!’ Joyce declares, as much for Diane’s benefit as her daughter’s.

  ‘I just wanted to pop in to check all’s well.’ Katy backs out of the kitchen to hover in the sitting room doorway, waving her free hand towards the sofa where her mum now sits cross-legged, flicking through a magazine. Dressed in a white, linen shirt and baggy, charcoal-coloured trousers, she looks pale but, when she smiles, is almost back to her old self. ‘Feeling better, mum?’

  ‘Not bad, considering.’ Diane pats the empty seat beside her. ‘And all the better for seeing you. Come on, sit down and tell me all about your day.’

  Joyce, who’s followed Katy into the sitting room, flits back into the kitchen to busy herself with washing up and wiping down.

  ‘In a minute,’ Katy smiles, patting her mum’s knee. ‘But first, how are you, really? Go on, tell me the truth.’

  Diane’s face clouds. ‘Really? Sore.’ She drops her voice. ‘Embarrassed. And angry – that this could happen to me on a busy shopping street at four o’clock in the afternoon.’ She frowns. ‘It’s not just the money. The bag was nothing special. But I hate the idea that someone got away with my keys. It just makes you feel so, well, powerless.’

  ‘With new locks on the door you really mustn’t worry about that,’ Katy briskly lies.

  She can’t bear for the woman who looked out for her for so long to be vulnerable. Exposed. Yet she doesn’t know what else to do. She can hardly mention the break in: what good will that do? Besides, the police know all about it, and the doors and windows are now secure. On the mantelpiece before her stands the old Polaroid she put in the frame to replace the one that was defaced. Of course the mugging and the break in must be related, but something else is bothering her.

  Can it really be a coincidence that the hospital called just as Jude was on hand to offer her a lift?

  ‘It was your purse he was after, I’m sure,’ Katy adds with more confidence than she feels. ‘I bet whatever else you had in there was dumped somewhere soon after so if he was caught he’d have nothing on him to incriminate himself …’ As her voice trails away there’s a lull in the conversation during which both listen for a moment to the sound of Joyce in the kitchen. Then somewhere outside, a dog begins to bark.

  Diane moves her hand onto Katy’s and gives it a squeeze. ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she whispers. ‘I’ll get over it.’ But before Katy can reply the phone begins to ring. ‘Be a love and see who it is, I’m still a bit slow getting up.’

  Katy crosses the room, picks up the phone and says her mother’s number. ‘How was the seaside?’ the caller gruffly demands.

  Chapter 25

  I was gutted when your darling brother dumped me, Kat. I knew it was wrong, but by the time I found out it was too late. You know what really hurt, though? The way he looked at me that last time we met. Like he deserved better. And in that instant I understood how Siobhan must have felt … To think for a while there I thought we had something, that he was different. Like someone who cared. It wasn’t fair, but what in life is? I didn’t deserve any of it, just like I never asked to be born. Then I got trapped – by circumstances beyond my control.

  Chapter 26

  Guildford – June 1989

  ‘You’re back early,’ said Dave, glancing up from his copy of the Daily Mirror. He was drinking a mug of tea. A half-eaten cheese and pickle sandwich sat on a plate by its side. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he then rubbed his hand on the thigh of his trousers. ‘I thought you had lacrosse practice on a Wednesday.’

  Jude scowled. ‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’ All she wanted was to be upstairs, in her own room with the door closed, alone.

  Dave folded the newspaper then leaned back in his chair. He was wearing a pair of dark jeans and a black T-shirt which accentuated an unseasonal tan – the by-product of a motorbike obsession which saw him out riding, racing or simply watching biking events around the country in all weathers whatever the season.

  ‘I had to see a man about a dog in town and finished early so thought I’d give myself the afternoon off. How about you?’ Though he patted the chair next to him, Jude stubbornly refused to take the bait choosing instead to stay where she was, poised in the kitchen doorway. ‘Come on,’ he added, softly, rising to his feet. ‘Talk to me. Tell uncle Dave all about it.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ snapped Jude, walking back into the hall. But before she’d reached the stairs he was at her side.

  ‘Hey, don’t be like that. I was only joking.’ As a conciliatory hand reached out to clasp her arm the touch of his skin on hers made Jude hesitate. She turned toward him, her anger momentarily cauterised, although she said nothing. ‘Jude, have you been crying?’

  ‘No.’ With a sniff she looked away.

  ‘Yes,’ Dave corrected.

  Reaching out with his free hand his fingers skimmed the side of her cheek and before she could think she found herself rubbing her face cat-like against his hand. Despite herself, deep down inside, something stirred.

  ‘Forget it, it’s nothing,’ she said, willing herself to believe that that was true. That Andrew’s words had meant nothing. That later with Dave, upstairs in the double bed before her mum got home from work, would be enough. ‘I’ve just been feeling a bit under the weather, that’s all, so I came home early, OK?’ She smiled and realised she meant it. ‘I’ll be fine when I’ve had a bath.’

  Dave left his hand on her arm a moment or two longer than necessary before stepping back to let her go. ‘Catch you later, then,’ he said.

  She smiled. ‘Not unless I catch you first.’

  Once inside the bathroom Jude closed the lid of the toilet and sat down. The storm had passed, now, but so too had the glimmer of sun between the clouds and she was starting to feel sick. Bent double, as if bracing herself for a crash landing, she cradled her head on her knees. It had been coming in waves like this for a few weeks, now; bouts of nausea and occasional vomiting. She’d been more irritable, too, and then there was the soreness.

  Inside the bathroom cabinet, she could find nothing for indigestion so she crept into her mother’s room. Apart from a man-sized box of tissues and a large tub of Vaseline, the bedside cabinet where Siobhan usually kept headache pills and cough sweets was empty. There was some Anadin and three sachets of Beechams Powders in the drawer below, but no Alka Seltzer or Rennies. What she found in the bottom of the drawer, however, made her forget her nausea.

  Beneath a packet of folic acid capsules, already half-consumed, was a brown paper bag containing a folded printed sheet entitled Boosting Your Chances and a slim rectangular box. Jude picked up the leaflet in surprise and turned it over, before registering the writing on the end packet by its side. A pregnancy testing kit.

  The thought that she might be pregnant had never entered Jude’s mind. Because she’d been taking the pill. And besides, her periods had always been irregular – something to do with not eating enough, Siobhan had once said. But what if something had gone wrong? It did happen. To other people, at least. Unless … In that instant Jude knew exactly what had to be done.

&nbs
p; Stuffing the box in her pocket, she briskly shut the drawer then crept back into the bathroom. Locking the door behind her, she took a seat once more on the edge of the toilet. What if she was? Well, she could forget any hope of life in London and a clean break from Siobhan. It would be the end of all that. The end of everything, she thought. As she tried to read the instructions the words before her slid into a dizzying kaleidoscope of letters. But she forced herself to concentrate. To try again. She had just the one chance so she had better do it right if she was to be sure.

  As she waited she sat crossed legged on the floor trying not to look, trying not to think of Andrew. Four and a half minutes from start to finish – not long. But long enough to think of each of the dozen or more times they’d made love. The how, the when, the where. His cruelty made no sense. What had she done to deserve his hatred? What happened with Graeme had ended the night she and Andrew had begun. And they’d always been so careful. The one time she’d missed her pill he’d worn a condom which would have meant they were safe, wouldn’t it?

  But then, before she could follow this thought through, before she could prepare for the worst, the chemical proof signifying the end of life as she knew it was there to see.

  The next morning, on her way to school, Jude took a detour. Rather than turn right outside the gate she took a left and headed down to the narrow cut-through that led to the pedestrian footbridge over the railway line. She stood with her back to the mainline station on the south side of town and stared northwards into a cluster of tattered trees fizzing with green. She could just make out the flat roofline of the low blocks of flats that lay behind where the railway track arced northwards towards London.