The Lies We Tell

by The Lies We Tell (retail) (epub)

  No, she couldn’t leave him. Shouldn’t. This was all so very wrong, damn it. What she had done with Dave. What they had both done to Siobhan. At the thought of her mum, the only one who could understand the predicament she was now in, tears poked Jude’s eyes and she rubbed her face on the back of her hand.

  Her heart lurches at the thought of how the woman had taken it when she admitted she was pregnant. She’d expected anger and I-told-you-so recrimination but, Siobhan had been strong and practical instead. Resolute in her pledge to back her daughter in whatever course of action she chose. Determined, too, in her decision to approach Andrew’s parents for more money. For though Jude had refused to divulge to her mum the identity of the baby’s father, Siobhan had insisted whatever the truth they pretend it was his. That way Charles and Diane would be persuaded to give them what was needed to move away and start again.

  Damn Kat, of course, over and above everything – for killing her mum’s hopes by killing Dave.

  Glancing towards a gap in the bushes ahead Jude could see the tinderbox heath across which she would soon have to return. Parched and livid beneath the sun’s glare, its face looked brutally exposed. And on it, now clearly visible between the trees, was something moving. A figure. Too far away to make out very clearly, but someone was coming, making their way along the pitted path between the gorse and brambles towards the shaded refuge in which she now stood. Almost there, but not quite. Five minutes away – maybe a little more, probably a bit less.

  Her first thought was that it must be Kat. But as she stared once more she could make out that the figure wore a sun hat, broad-rimmed and conical, Chinese coolie-style, and carried a small rectangular box. Not Kat, someone else.

  Jude shot an anxious glance back towards the spot where Dave lay. She must hide it, she thought: any evidence that they’d been here, anything that might link them together. Darting back, she snatched the whisky bottle from the ground then deftly lobbed it into the bushes. Then she noticed the bag. It was still leaning against the trunk of a tree a short distance away. She dove towards it, almost tripping, and grabbed it. But the thing slipped from her grasp and upended, scattering its contents across the ground.

  Dropping onto the dusty earth, Jude quickly gathered up an Ordnance Survey map of the local area, a dog-eared copy of The Dice Man, an unopened packet of plain digestives. There was a ten pound note which she slipped into the front pouch of her own bag, and also a small yellow can with conical nozzle lying on its side on the tarpaulin by Dave’s leg. This made her pause.

  Scanning the ground, Jude quickly spotted the Zippo lying on its side on the straw-like grass a few paces away. Her stomach clenched. Andrews’s Zippo. She’d kept it after their last night together. But Dave had found it when it fell from her jacket pocket and taken a fancy to it – even claimed it as his own. Andrew would be in Sydney soon. The thought of this made her almost cry. How different it could have been if everything hadn’t gone wrong. If they hadn’t argued. If Diane hadn’t turned him against her. If her mum and his dad hadn’t …

  What the hell was she going to do?

  Bending down, Jude picked up the lighter and flicked its lid. Intoxicated by the smell of it, she held the flame ignited before her and stared transfixed by how the world around her now shimmered and danced in the halo of fumes. Light-headed, now, she knew of course that she must leave. Whoever it was out there on the heath was surely coming her way. If she hid herself to one side of the bushes by the path she could wait unseen for them to pass before making her own way back across the heath. Yes, that’s what she would do.

  But then, before she could stop it, the hot metal was scorching her fingers. Her hand was burning. And the Zippo was in the air.

  She watched it soar upwards, charted its glittering trajectory towards the tarpaulin, plotted its likely point of impact. Realised, too late, that it would fall short onto – no, not a shadow, but a dark patch of something wet on the ground sheet. Spilled lighter fluid from the yellow can beside Dave’s body. Then, as the fire caught, she heard him groan. And though they remained shut, his eyes flickered as he tried to move.

  Powerless to move, Jude was conscious only of how the air now smelled like ash. How tiny fragments of dust had begun to dance around Dave’s leg. How the barely perceptible gasp of a breeze softly fanned the budding flame. If she moved quickly she could kick it out; smother the smoking fabric with its flickering flame. Quell the building heat. But instead she looked away, her attention snagged by the frenzy of ants now zig-zagging away from the inert bulk of him in all directions like cartoon lightning bolts. Then she remembered those words.

  Did you think we were having an exclusive relationship?

  Because he’d been fucking her and her mum, hadn’t he? Both at the same time. A thought which makes her think of that Patti Smith track she loved so much. The one that kept her sane, almost. It went: I don’t fuck much with the past but I fuck plenty with the future. Well she’d fuck with all their futures now, wouldn’t she? And he’d deserve it, too, she thinks, tightening the straps on her bag. Turning her back on the figure lying at her feet.

  Moving away from the path along which the walker she’d spotted approaching across the heath would soon come. Throwing herself into the bushes. Her single thought: to run away. To lose herself in darkness.

  Chapter 32

  Kew – July 2013

  With hands clamped to the steering wheel of Michael’s car Katy sits, rigid and shaking. Uncertain how long she’s been here on this street a few minutes walk from Ruth’s house, willing herself to once more forget; to re-bury the dreadful memory. Wishing it wasn’t true. But it is done. The lock is broken. And she can no longer deny the truth of what she did. That she killed a man. An admission of guilt that makes her eyes dart anxiously up and down the empty street, fearful of exposure.

  Of course it had been a decision made the instant she saw her friend being hurt, a voice inside her offers in her defence. In a way, hadn’t what she’d done been brave?

  But there was more, wasn’t there? More to why she did what she did than courage, that’s for sure. Because at that very moment she’d been overwhelmed by a very different kind of emotion, hadn’t she? Her total and utter hatred of Jude. How she’d treated her. The way she’d made her feel. All those nasty things she’d said about her parents. Even fucking Andrew. Though of course she’d not known that back then.

  Katy slumps forward, slamming her forehead onto the steering wheel. Cursing herself for being so stupid. So self-deluded. Because of course she’d known, hadn’t she? It was why she’d told on Andrew to her dad. To split them up. Because of how much her parents disapproved of Jude. To punish, certainly. But also, in a way, to have control for once. To make Jude hers.

  Not true, the voice inside her cries as she bangs her forehead on the wheel once more. And then, again. It’s just not true. You’re not the one to blame. The bad one. You’re just, as Jude said the other day, the girl who ran away. But then, in that instant, Katy sees herself back on that canalside years ago, staring down at the leather strawberries on her sandals. Green and red, she thinks, slamming back down her head. The colours of freedom and deceit.

  ‘Why did I say that, daddy?’ she mumbles, her body still now as tears of self-loathing cascade down each cheek. ‘If only I could tell you now how sorry I am for that lie.’

  At the sudden and unexpected sound of a sharp rap-rap on the passenger window, Katy’s eyes snap open and she finds herself face to face with the anxious face of a stooped man wearing a DayGlo tabard. One hand grips the handlebar of a racing bike while with the other he flaps his palm up and down in indication she should open the window.

  ‘Are you OK?’ the stranger mouths.

  No, she wants to scream. I most certainly am not OK. As her hand hovers for a moment over the window release button on the inside panel of the driver’s door, she thinks. I am about to lose everything. I am in hell. And then it is gone. The voice inside her. Her panic. The fear. To be r
eplaced, instead, by a curious sensation that she is floating. Upwards, at last; free, now, of the leaden weight that has kept her cowed and bound to the past for so many years. Because it was not her fault, not really.

  The stranger was attacking Jude. How was she to know they were together? For Christ’s sake, he was hurting her. It was rape.

  Frigid lezzer, Jude called her. And jealous, too. Of her and of him. The one person who could take me away from all this. And perhaps she was right – back then, at least. Which is surely why Jude’s come back into her life after all these years: to get even. How far will she go to spoil things for me, she wonders with a shudder. Mum. Michael … the baby?

  But Jude is wrong, Katy can now see, her hand now turning the ignition. Because she does not deserve this, none of them do. Though she lied to mum about her father down by the canal, it didn’t change anything. Not really. The problem between them was their problem, not hers. As for Jude, well, the woman is being totally unreasonable – unbalanced, even – and so is her son.

  The car jumps forward making the man with the bike hastily back away.

  ‘Sorry,’ she mouths, not bothering to wind down the window.

  For all she can think of now is Michael and the sudden craving she feels to be by his side. The way being with him makes her feel protected and secure. How now’s not the time to push him away but to explain and do so, fast. How if she is to get through this – if they are all to, unhurt – she must confront Jude, first.

  *

  It’s almost nine when Katy finally turns back into Linden Gardens. The evening is close and a distant thud of music fills the air. As she slips through the front gate she notices he’s thrown open every upstairs window. But the realisation that Michael is in serves only to rekindle her fear. She’s neither called nor texted since abandoning him at Spike’s without any explanation. Hardly a positive place from which to try to make her feelings and intentions clear.

  Standing on the doorstep, Katy fumbles in her bag for her house keys but cannot find them. Which is ridiculous, she thinks, because she’s sure she had them earlier. Though maybe when they left for Spike’s it was Michael who’d locked up. Which meant she must have left them upstairs. Though she cannot recall seeing them since she went into Phil’s place to help Kevin with the French windows. When was that – only yesterday? Reluctantly, she rings the buzzer. Without a word she is let in. A beat later she is hovering on the landing.

  Watching him through the open kitchen doorway she is transfixed by the fluid movement of his hand as he chops an onion chef-style with rapid wrists and fingers clawed. Dressed only in a pair of shorts, Michael’s body gently rocks in time to a Red Hot Chili Peppers track. Carefully positioned on the top of the microwave to his side is an electric fan on full pulse and set to rotate to counteract the room’s shimmering heat. To his right, on the centre ring of the five hob steel cooker, a cast iron pan lightly dressed with extra virgin is just starting to spit.

  With a brisk sideways movement, Michael slides the onion into the oil then sets about gathering up his other ingredients. Only when he glances up to check the clock above the fridge does he register her presence with a tiny flicker of his eye. Carefully, he puts down the knife then wipes his face on the back of his hand. Only then does he turn towards her. Only then does she notice the jagged cut above his left eye.

  ‘Michael, what happened – ’

  ‘Katy!’ he interrupts. ‘So tell me, where the hell have you been?’

  ‘Sorry,’ she smiles, weakly. ‘The car … I mean, the traffic coming back in … it was awful.’

  ‘What, from the wine and flowers run to the supermarket?’ Though his voice is measured and his tone even, his eyes narrow.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Katy mumbles, her face burning. ‘I should have rung – ’

  He nods but says nothing, waiting for her to fill the void.

  ‘– it was an emergency. The hospital … they decided to discharge mum early but there was no-one else available to meet her.’ Damn it, she thinks, silently cursing her reflex response to lie. Why is concealment her default position? ‘I know I could have left a message – should have – but somehow there just wasn’t the time. And besides, the battery on my phone went flat. It must have been both worrying and embarrassing,’ she adds, contritely. Miserably. ‘And I can only apologise.’

  ‘OK,’ Michael replies, coolly. ‘Apology accepted. So, how is she?’

  ‘Mum?’ Katy mumbles, uncertain how she’s just managed to get off so lightly. ‘A lot better – and all the more so, now, for being back home.’

  ‘Well that’s alright then,’ he murmurs. Turning his attention back to the sizzling pan for a moment he gives it a stir then holds out his free hand towards Katy. ‘Plug it in here, then.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Your mobile – you said it was flat.’

  Reluctantly, she hands over the phone, holding her breath for a beat as he checks the screen then exhaling slowly as he finds it dead and connects it to the kitchen charger. ‘That smells good,’ she offers, tentatively.

  ‘Onions and garlic – they always do.’

  ‘Enough for two?’

  ‘If you’re hungry.’

  ‘I am, though first I could really do with a bath.’

  ‘Be my guest. Oh, and you’d better take these.’ Michael extracts her house keys from his jeans back pocket.

  ‘Oh,’ Katy exclaims. ‘I thought I’d lost them. Where did you – ’

  ‘You left them at Kevin’s,’ he answers tightly. ‘He dropped them off earlier.’

  ‘That’s good,’ she offers.

  He frowns. ‘What?’

  Her smile fades. ‘Only, I thought I might have locked him out.’

  ‘He said the same, you know.’ As Michael runs a hand through his hair he winces, briefly, as his fingers brush the cut above his eye. ‘Then we had a little … chat. He’s moved on, so you know. Kevin. Gone to north London to stay with some friends.’

  ‘That’s funny, I thought he said he worked not far from here …’

  But Michael is no longer listening, his attention focused back on the saucepan. ‘You go and sort yourself out Kat,’ he murmurs. ‘This will be another twenty minutes, at best.’

  In the bathroom Katy adjusts the taps then places a freshly-laundered towel over the radiator before rinsing her face in the sink. How can he be so calm, she wonders, patting her cheeks dry. It’s not the time to question, though, but to be grateful. Because she needs him now more than ever. But before he can help she needs to come clean.

  Sliding into the bath, Katy thinks of the many times since she found out she was pregnant he has talked about them being a team. She has to give him a chance to prove he really means it. Yet does she really dare test his love by revealing her true self? How typically Parker, she smiles, grimly. For she has never been at ease sharing confidences that really matter. Previous relationships eventually ran aground on her inability to provide the emotional intimacy expected the longer each affair went on. But maybe it’s not too late to change.

  Maybe Michael is the one, the right man in the right place at the right time. She must at least try: he is her only hope.

  Hope stirs and with it comes the realisation of how hungry she is. When did she last eat? She can’t recall as she slips into the kitchen a short time later to find him seated at the kitchen counter with his back to the door. As she steps towards him Katy does not notice at first what he holds in his hand. Only as she enters his peripheral vision and his body tenses does she register her mobile phone in his hand. How he excavates its contents. Scanning contacts. Searching diary details, emails, texts.

  Private things.

  ‘Maybe I can help you find what you are looking for,’ she says, only just managing to control her anger at this betrayal.

  Michael’s laugh as his body snaps towards hers is almost as lame as the excuse that follows. ‘Sorry. I thought it rang and picked it up … but what with the noise of the fan … it
must have been a phone ringing outside.’

  Taking another step towards him, Katy holds out her hand. Reluctant to meet her gaze, he passes her the mobile then scoops up her bag, through which he’s also been sifting, and jams the contents back inside.

  ‘And there’s this new app I thought you’d be interested in,’ he continues, rising from his seat to take up his position once more at the stove. ‘Just trying to be helpful, OK?’

  Katy stares at the hunch of his back, fumbling for words to say. What’s he been searching for? Doesn’t he trust her? Is it any wonder? But anger stops her from voicing any of this.

  ‘Space,’ she snaps, briskly making her way towards the door. Desperate now to be away from him. She needs time now to work out how best to play this. To get her head straight. ‘All I need’s a little space, Michael. Why can’t you just understand and let me be? You’re always trying to butt in – upgrading this, downloading that. But you know what? You can’t always fix everything and sometimes you’ve just got to accept that. Sometimes it’s best just to hold me, to tell me you love me and that everything will be OK.’

  Michael’s face hardens. The tension in his body, all too evident from the angular set of his shoulders and the clenching and unclenching of his hands, tells her all she needs to know about his hurt and anger. Slowly, he shakes his head. And when at last he speaks his voice is low.

  ‘Listen to yourself, Katy,’ he begins, reaching across the kitchen counter for his wallet and keys. ‘Then imagine, just for a moment, how it feels to be me. Held at arm’s length. Locked out. Pushed away. And all because deep down inside you don’t really trust me. Well I don’t trust you very much any more, either, Katy. And it’s tearing me apart. You’ve never been so distant and if you want to know the truth I feel sorry for our baby – ’