The Lies We Tell

  ‘Look after yourself, then,’ the other woman smiles. ‘If I were you I’d let it lie.’ Her mouth curls into a knowing smile. ‘There comes a time, you know, when you’ve got to realise that life’s just too short to get hung up on what happened in the past,’ she calls as with mechanical wave and a forced grin Katy makes her stumbling retreat through the front gate.

  ‘Like I said to Jude when she stopped by here just the other day: just let it go.’

  Chapter 30

  It was you who made me do it – you and your stupid misunderstanding of what was going on. It was how he was, you know. We both liked it rough, sometimes. I never needed rescuing, just in case I’m not making myself clear.

  Chapter 31

  Devil’s Punch Bowl – July 1989

  ‘Run, Jude! Run!’

  Jude dropped her bag and span around on her heels, every sense in her body straining to locate the direction from which the shout had come. A movement in the bushes at the far end of the clearing opposite where she stood held her attention. But the contrast between light and shade was too stark for her eyes to decode.

  Struggling to see, she raised her hand to shade her eyes and saw two figures standing in the shaded end of the clearing. Kat and Dave. Both were facing each other. He behind her, his arm locked around her neck, pulling her backwards. She in front, her body twisted at a broken angle, her hands tearing blindly at the figure behind her as she struggled to get away.

  What was happening? Incensed, Jude stumbled forward across the dusty ground, the distance between them closing. How dare he! Then she faltered.

  How often had she heard Siobhan complain about his wandering eye? She could still recall the stab of satisfaction she’d feel as he stared just a little too long at the girls in the playground at the end of the school day. Girls in A-line navy skirts they’d taken in by hand so the fabric clung taut across their hips and up, too, so their hem hung well above the knee. Girls in regulation blouses consciously worn a size too small. Girls in pleated PE skirts that barely skimmed their pants.

  And it had been OK. Because back then this simply meant he was growing bored of her mum.

  But that was before she and Dave got together. Afterwards it was different. Once she was sleeping with him not only did she notice it more, he seemed to do it more often. Those glances towards the Saturday shop girls sharing a ciggie at the bus stop. The furtive smiles slipped across the bar when he ordered drinks from Cherie. And once, when Kat dropped to her knees on the drive to gather up the spilled contents of her schoolbag, how he watched her through the kitchen window. Appreciatively.

  The sudden recollection of this made Jude’s face knot into a scowl. Because she needed him more than anything now. She hadn’t told him yet, of course, but knew she must – and would do, soon. For who else was there? She couldn’t tell her mother about the tiny life now unfurling inside her. And Andrew was off limits. Even if he wasn’t her brother, he couldn’t have made it any more clear he didn’t want to know. Which left the man before her her only salvation.

  Dave. He had a job, money, and still couldn’t keep his hands off her. One way or the other, he’d help her do what she had to do. But what did she want? She wished she knew. She was too young for a baby. What about all the things she wanted to do? Get a place at drama college. Move away, to London. But then again … No. The future was bleak if she ended up like Siobhan. Which wouldn’t happen.

  Because Dave loved her, she was sure. He’d grown tired of older meat as her mum had grown irascible and grumpy. Why, she’d even started to put on weight.

  Jude rubbed her eyes, refocusing on the scene unfolding before her. And then, a beat later, with legs pounding and arms pumping, she was speeding towards them. Rearing across the final metres of dusty ground; screaming as loud as she could. Stretching out her arms before her and bracing her palms. Barging her way between them and throwing both off balance.

  ‘Stop it!’ she yelled.

  Dave slipped, ricking his ankle, then cursed. Seizing the moment, Kat slid from his grasp. Falling to the ground, she sat there for a moment like a winded foal. Then she was springing upwards onto her feet. She charged towards the bushes where she dove into the greenery, careless of the spring-loaded branches. Without a backward glance, Jude noted, as the rasp of Katy’s breath, her sporadic sobs, quickly faded.

  Which left just the two of them, standing side by side, staring in silence in the direction she’d just gone.

  Until Jude noticed how her own body was shaking, the tumult of resentment and anger now raging inside.

  ‘What the fuck was that about?’ she spat, clumsily mis-aiming a slap towards his face which he had more than enough time to deflect.

  ‘Easy, now,’ he soothed, clamping a firm hand around her wrist.

  ‘Let go of me!’ she snarled, twisting her arm left then right in a vain attempt to force him to release his grip. She tried to kick him, too, but he was too quick.

  He laughed. ‘No, not until you promise not to hurt me.’

  ‘You shit.’

  ‘Jude – ’ he began, softening his tone.

  She smelled something on his breath. Whisky. ‘Stop it’.

  ‘No, you stop it. It was just a bit of fun.’

  ‘A laugh? Just a bit of a joke. Come with me – my stuff’s over there. Come and sit down.’

  Though unconvinced, she made no further objection as, still holding her wrist but gently now, he led her to the far side of the clearing. Through a gap in the bushes there was a moss-covered patch of open ground beneath a tree where a tarpaulin was spread. To one side of this stood a small hiker’s sack. Its mouth gaped open revealing an assortment of paraphernalia inside.

  ‘Come on,’ he repeated, releasing her arm. He took a seat beside the bag and patted the space beside him. ‘Sit.’ He pulled free a half-drunk bottle of scotch from the bag, uncapped it then held the bottle out towards her. ‘Oh Jude,’ he sighed. ‘Don’t be cross.’

  She stepped onto the tarpaulin then sat cross-legged facing him, just out of reach. Leaning forward, she took the bottle. She swallowed. The liquid burned the back of her throat but quickly calmed her. Maybe he was right. Perhaps she had got the wrong end of the stick. He patted the space beside him again. Slowly, she slipped towards him.

  ‘Cigarette?’ She nodded. He lit one and passed it to her. ‘Hey,’ he said, reaching an arm around her waist to tug her more closely to him. ‘I’m sorry, OK?’

  ‘Me too,’ she nodded once more, taking a drag.

  Lying back onto the ground, Jude slid her free arm beneath her head and stared up at the flickering fragments of sky. Tiny explosions of light burst every now and then through the canopy of leaves above her head. The wrong end of the stick! What did he take her for? But no, she must not get angry.

  Stretching out his legs, he lay back on the tarpaulin then rolled onto his side to face her. He watched as she exhaled, slowly. Then he reached out his hand to rest it softly on her stomach. He let slip a quick laugh as he began to stroke the gradual dome of it. ‘Better watch it, Jude,’ he murmured. ‘What you eat – you’re starting to get a bit of a belly.’

  Angrily, she grabbed his wrist to halt his hand then pulled herself upright.

  ‘Hey, Jude – ’

  ‘Fuck you,’ she snapped, hugging her knees towards her. Tears welled in her eyes which she tried in vain to blink away.

  Dave sat up, too, and took another drink from the bottle. ‘I didn’t mean that you were getting – ’

  ‘Fat?’ Jude interjected. ‘No, of course not. And for your information I’m not. Only it’s … it’s just … I’m …’ But the words wouldn’t come as, instead, she started to cry. Huge, deep sobs that made her body judder. Like a nerve once pressed that would never stop.

  He slid towards her, reaching an arm around her shoulders and holding her to him. ‘Christ, Jude,’ he soothed. ‘Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad. I mean, exam results aren’t everything – ’

  ‘What?’ sh
e demanded, pulling away. ‘One minute you tell me I’m fat, the next I’m stupid? For fuck’s sake I’m pregnant, Dave. And yes, before you ask, it is yours.’

  He blew a low whistle as he exhaled, slowly; shook his head from side to side as he played for time. With a sideways glance, she tried to gauge his expression. But she didn’t have enough confidence to look at him directly.

  ‘Pregnant.’

  ‘Yes.’ Stay calm, she told herself. Don’t blow it. But as she closed her eyes she saw herself standing on a wooden jetty watching the only boat for miles drifting away, the end of the rope tied to it floating in the water just out of reach.

  ‘Christ.’

  Just one word, but the way he said it was enough. It stung, like a slap to the face. Her eyes snapped open. ‘What, haven’t you ever fancied a kid?’

  ‘One, perhaps. But I couldn’t eat two.’ Then his face closed in on itself. He laughed – a humourless sound, rubbed his face, then sighed. ‘Like mother, like daughter.’

  ’What?’ she demanded, unsure what he meant.

  ‘You heard me.’

  ‘But what did you mean?’

  ‘Should we, shouldn’t we? As if there was ever any choice. Of course we couldn’t, so I drove her down to the clinic myself. Gave her the money for it, too. Which I suppose is what you want me to do?’

  ‘Clinic?’ said Jude, fumbling for the meaning of his words. Trying not to decode the true implication of the capsules of folic acid she’d seen in her mum’s bedside drawer. The conception leaflet. The pregnancy testing kit.

  ‘The week before Easter. When she told you she was going to stay with your Nan. Oh, sorry luv,’ he added, noticing her surprise. ‘Did you think we were having an exclusive relationship?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she insisted. ‘Only …’ Of course she had. Why wouldn’t she? Because of course she’d never imagined they’d still be doing it, given the breakdown of her own relationship with her mum. Given the blind naivety of her faith in her own youth. The supreme arrogance of it. She bit her lip and tasted blood.

  ‘Hey,’ he said suddenly, looping an arm once more around her shoulders and gently tugging her towards him. ‘Don’t. There’s no point thinking about the what ifs. Come on, Jude. It can be sorted, OK?’ With his free hand he passed her the whisky.

  ‘Sorted?’ she echoed, raising the bottle to her lips and kissing the glass. The strap of her sundress had slid down off one shoulder. Never mind, she thought as she swallowed and a wave of heat ignited her chest, she’d adjust it in a minute.

  ‘Sorted.’

  He touched her bottom lip with his forefinger then softly traced the contours – of her chin, the soft skin beneath, her throat, her collarbone – to rest his hand on the silky spot just above the beginning of the dip between her breasts. ‘Together, you and me, all of this can be sorted. Really, there’s no need to cry.’

  With a sniff, she nodded.

  ‘That’s it. Good girl,’ he murmured, putting an arm around her waist then tilting her onto all fours. With one hand he pulled her upwards towards him and as his other rubbed her breasts through the thin cotton of her dress, she realised for the first time in weeks they no longer felt like they were about to explode. But the relief was only fleeting because by then he was thrusting her dress up above her thighs and tearing her pants sideways. She tried to wriggle free but his grip was too tight.

  ‘Wait –’ she began as, with his free hand, he unbuckled his belt and undid his flies.

  As something hard poked the small of her back. As he pushed her legs apart with his knee then entered her firmly from behind. This wasn’t how it had been before. Back at home he’d been playful when they’d done it on her mother’s bed. Insistent, certainly, and definitely the one in control – but never cruel. ‘No, Dave, please – you know I don’t like it this way.’

  Crouched on all fours, Jude arched her back against him as he bore down on her. But his determination, the sheer weight of him, was more than she could resist. So with head bowed and jaws clenched, all she could do was brace as the pumping inside her began to build. ‘Really, I mean it,’ she gasped. Pleaded. ‘You’re hurting me, please.’

  ‘Oh Jude,’ he groaned. ‘You’re such a little prick tease.’

  As tears filled her eyes, the gathering swell of him felt fit to burst. But then, without warning, it stopped abruptly as something else happened. Her face hit the ground. There was dirt and grit in her mouth. And as she was flattened by the dead weight of him, her rib cage crushed as her lungs flailed for breath, she felt the spent force of him trickle wetly between her legs.

  Jude knew she must try to move, to push the heavy thing from on top of her, to wriggle her body free. So with immense effort, she drew her knees towards her belly, ignoring the pain as the concrete ground grated the fronts of her legs. Then, after a few more seconds struggling, she was on her side. Sobbing with relief, she hugged herself back to life. Waited for the strength to come.

  Gradually, as the tearing pulse inside her began to subside and when, at last, her breathing was even she opened her eyes, she saw him. Dave. Lying on his front beside her with his face flat into the ground spread-eagled. His trousers half mast. A different place a different time it might have been comical, but not now.

  Jude scanned his body, struggling to make sense of it, until her gaze settled on his head. His face was into the ground, his nose crushed, his mouth slightly open – as hers had been just a few seconds before – but it wasn’t this that held her attention, but his head. The back of it. Clotted with bloodied bits of bark and shreds of skin. His matted hair.

  Confused, she rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palms. But no, when she refocused he was still there. And then she heard it – part sob, part gasp of pain. The sound came from close by.

  Springing into a runner’s starting position, on her knees once more but this time ready for flight, Jude turned her head. Someone was standing behind them a few paces out into the clearing. A slight figure, pinioned by the sun’s accusing glare. With shoulders slumped and head bowed. Her body trembled as her left hand balled into a fist, unclenched, then balled into a fist again.

  ‘Kat?’

  As Jude spoke, the stout shaft of a broken branch the figure before her clutched in her right hand, clattered onto the ground. Both girls stared at the make-shift cudgel for a moment as if deciphering what it could possibly mean. Then Jude was charging towards the other girl, fuelled by shock. Resentment. Fury.

  ‘What the fuck have you done?’ As Jude drew level she grasped Kat firmly by the arm. Leaned her face into hers. Shook her, hard. ‘What were you thinking?’ she began, then laughed. ‘Oh, but of course! You were jealous, weren’t you? Not of me, mind, but him, right? How dare you, you frigid lezzer. Because I’ve seen how you look at me, you dysfunctional bitch. No, don’t turn away. Look at it – look at him …’

  Unperturbed by a sudden sob that erupts like a hiccup, Jude pressed on.

  ‘Do you know what you’ve done – do you? Taken away the one person who – ’ Her body shook, and for a moment she feared she was about to be sick, but then it passed and she was raising her arm upwards. Flattening her palm. Swinging with all her force towards Kat’s face. Slapping it – hard enough to draw blood, she noticed with a stab of satisfaction as she pulled her hand away.

  ‘– the one person who was going to take me away from all this.’

  Whether it was the verbal or physical hurt that did it, Jude couldn’t tell. But at that moment the broken figure before her raised her head, met her gaze and held it briefly. Then, without any warning, Kat span around. She twisted her body away from Jude’s to face back across the open clearing. Setting her sights on something uncertain in the middle distance, she once more broke into a run and darted swiftly across the dusty clearing before, with a quick side-step, disappearing behind a ragged rhododendron.

  Too stunned to react, Jude stared at the ground a few paces ahead where the branch Kat had been holding still lay. It was s
nub-nosed and shoulder-shaped – an ideal make-shift weapon, she noted, grimly. Then without knowing quite why, she stepped forwards, crouched down and picked it up. After weighing it in her hand for a few moments, she tossed it into the bushes.

  A few feet from where she now stood was a crumpled packet of Marlboros. Jude picked it up and looked inside. There were two left and a half-used book of matches. Quickly, she lit up then slid the pack into the front pocket of her dress. The taste of the tobacco soothed her. Her pulse began to calm. Only then did she turn back to look at Dave.

  Tentatively, she took a step towards him. Nudged his leg with the toe of her plimsoll. But his lack of any response, the undeniable, irrevocable dull weight of him, made the blood inside her head once more pound.

  What should she do?

  It was too late to help him, she should leave. But if she did that, left him here like this, someone would find him and then what might happen? It would all come out, wouldn’t it? That they’d been together. How he’d chosen her over her mum. How hurt and humiliated the woman would feel. How bitterly she’d feel her daughter had let her down. Would Siobhan stick by her after that? Jude wasn’t sure.

  What she did know was that she couldn’t deal with the baby growing inside her alone. That only her mum would know what to do. That they could get through this, together. She let slip a weak smile because of how long she’d yearned for just that. The two of them united against the rest of the world! But she must hide true feeling to make this work.

  The time had passed to want it to be Andrew’s, or to convince herself it was Dave’s. She’d need a new story. To bury the truth deep as best she can.

  He would be too heavy to move, of course. Besides, the thought of touching him was awful. So she grabbed her bag which lay in the dust a short distance from where she now stood and darted away from him, across the clearing to where the bushes resumed on its far side, then hesitated. Partially covered by shade, she straddled lightness and dark. Decided yet uncertain, she stared ahead into the shaded of foliage, her mind still wrestling with what best to do.