The Book of Lies

by Mary Horlock

  18th December 1965

  Tape: 3 (B side) ‘The testimony of C.A. Rozier’

  [Transcribed by E.P. Rozier]

  I was in the shit, all right, if you pardon me. I was on my way to Bordeaux when it happened. Ray had suggested I check the times of the night patrol once more, and that meant staying up all night. It was cold, I remember, and I was walking quickly along the coast road by Vale Castle when I met crazy Esme Le Messurier. D’you remember her, Emile? She’s the one who was dead in her bed a whole week afore anyone noticed, and I can never forget the pickled smirk on her face as she waved me over.

  ‘Wharro! Kique tu fais ichin?’ she says to me. ‘I just heard from your neighbours that the Germans have turned up at your place. Hé bian, I always knew your lot were friendly with old Fritz but I didn’t know they were giving them a party!’

  I looked at her like she was mad. ‘What in Hell are you talking about?’ I asked.

  Then she pushed out those once-cherished bosoms and simpered: ‘Lie down with the enemy but you won’t get no sleep, ’tis what I reckon! You’d better get home, boy.’

  Sapré conaons! My blood ran cold if it ran at all. The Germans were at the house! It couldn’t be! Quaï terriblle nouvelles! I thought of my notebook.

  There is only wisdom with hindsight, and that’s no wisdom at all. I was running as fast as my legs would carry me, and my heart was hammering in my chest as I asked myself the questions that would haunt me all my life. What had happened? Who’d informed on us? Was this my doing? I burst through the open door of our house, well near to exploding. I don’t know what time it was, but I was too, too late.

  There was maybe five of them, four or five filthy green Slugs in our tiny home. Ma and Pop were standing closer than I’d seen in many months. I’ve no idea what they were thinking or if they was scared, and I’ll give her her due, La Duchesse, she was good at putting on a face. You could never tell when she was scared or when she was lying or when she felt guilty and I believe she must’ve felt all those things at one time in her life. As for Pop, well, I still can’t tell you what was behind them haunted eyes.

  What I do know is this: by the time I was marched into our front room the Germans had found what they’d been looking for. Happened Esme was right, and there had been some little party I’d missed out on. Vern was there, but talking German so I couldn’t get a word of it.

  That was no, no good. Then I saw my scrapbook lying flat down on the table next to Pop’s strongbox. My heart stopped. I moved forward to grab it – or I tried to – only there was a jab right between my shoulder blades.

  ‘Stand still!’

  That was the first time Pop even noticed I was there. He blinked and said something to the officer in front of him. This chap was obviously senior to Vern. He turned, tapping his hand lightly on his gun holster. In that moment I wasn’t sure what was happening.

  ‘You must be the son,’ says the officer. ‘We are arresting your father on suspicion of espionage and we will want you for questioning also.’

  I felt sick to my stomach. It was all my worst nightmares come true.

  La Duchesse rested a hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Keep him out of this, he’s only fifteen, you can’t be taking him!’

  Vern muttered something to one of his chaps.

  The other officer shook his head.

  ‘These are serious allegations and we’ll have to question all of you.’

  I heard a gasp from our mother. ‘With a baby in the house! You cannot be serious.’

  ‘What are these allegations?’ I asked.

  Vern cleared his throat. ‘We have evidence.’ Then he gestured to my notebook.

  ‘That’s mine!’ I said.

  Au yous, Emile, I wasn’t ever going to let Hubert take a bullet for me. I was the real culprit, the one they wanted, and I needed them to know it. The senior officer, a cold fish if ever there was one, keeps staring and staring at me.

  ‘Whatever you’ve heard is lies,’ I tells the senior officer. ‘My father’s no spy.’ And then I glanced to Vern. ‘You must know it,’ I says to him. ‘I’m the one you want. What I said, I said only once, just as a joke. I said that my father was a spy, but I lied. I made it up!’

  The chief Kraut blinked in disbelief. ‘Why would you do such a thing?’

  Pop gave me the smallest shake of his head. I took no heed.

  ‘Because people were saying he was a collabo, because of what you made him do! I lied to people so I wouldn’t, so he wouldn’t.’

  I was going to say ‘so I wouldn’t feel ashamed’ but I’m glad I shut myself up.

  The big German officer stared at me for a minute. His cold eyes twinkled and I thought he believed me, but then he smiled widely and nodded.

  ‘A good performance if only your father had not already confessed. If you wish to confess also, be my guest.’

  I called him filthy low-life Hun and plenty more things I won’t repeat, and as a result I felt the full force of a rifle butt. It split my lip and I fell to the ground, but I wasn’t down for long. I jumped up and lunged at Vern. Got a nice bit of blood on his shoulder.

  ‘This does you no good!’ he says. ‘Stay calm.’

  ‘It’s stupid talk!’ I shouted back. ‘It’s all lies! Are you so blinkered you cannot see that?’

  What a sight that must’ve been: my fifteen-year-old self squaring up to them Nazis! The thug behind me smacked me down.

  ‘Enough,’ says Pop, spreading his thin hands wide. ‘It’s only me you want. My son talks big but he’s a child. You know what I’ve done and I’d do it again. Heil Churchill, I say, and Hitler go to Hell.’

  I looked up into Pop’s eyes and it was like they’d come alive again, but all too soon the spark was gone. We were bundled into the back of a black Citroën and I tried to whisper to him.

  ‘Keep quiet,’ he replied, staring straight ahead as we drove into the darkness. ‘They’re taking us to Paradis.’

  That’s right, Emile, that’s where they took us: the big house with a view out to sea. It was called Paradis, which almost seems funny and I suppose it was the place plenty of folk met their Maker. You’ve heard the stories from others, eh? I can still remember the smell of it and how the floorboards creaked. There was men flogged from the banisters, left to starve, beaten to pulp. Who knows where all the bodies went.

  They might’ve torn the old house down, but you cannot escape them ghosts. New bricks and mortar won’t make a difference. Whoever lives there now won’t last – they never do – since they’ll never get no peace.

  19TH DECEMBER 1985, 12 p.m.

  [On the patio, almost dancing]

  Freak out! I’ve just been on the cliffs with Michael again. I saw him head out earlier this morning and pretended it was a big coincidence. I think he was pleased, though. This could become our new routine! I could be his personal assistant, physical therapist and stalker rolled into one.

  Malheureusement he’s still going on about how there’s nothing to keep him on the island. I think he’s upset because Donnie’s gone AWOL. The White House is all locked up and there’s a big firm that now looks after the garden. We were walking through Bluebell Woods when Michael told me. From the path we could just glimpse the side of the house through the trees. It was sitting there, all gleaming and empty.

  ‘Bloody typical,’ Michael mumbled. ‘They buy a house, spend a fortune doing it up and then bugger off to Monaco. Half the houses on Fort George are empty. Tax status, my arse.’

  I told Michael it was probably about time Donnie got his tan more realistic. I mean, if he has houses all over the world why should he stay here for winter?

  ‘He won’t be back.’

  I felt a bit let down, and then a bit itchy. It had just stopped drizzling and there were midges all over us. Michael grabbed at one, then pulled his fist into his chest to take a closer look.

  ‘I was meant to go with him.’

  I watched as he rubbed his fingers together.
r />   ‘That’s what he promised. He said he had a job for me. I was going to help him manage his properties.’

  I tried to work out if I should be happy or sad – I couldn’t.

  ‘That’s amazing!’

  Michael stared up at the trees.

  ‘It won’t happen now. Get a chance and I blow it. There’s a fucking self-destruct button hardwired into my brain. I’ll never get away. I’m a liability, a fucking waste of space like everyone says.’

  I felt really sorry for him and gave him a nudge. Perhaps too hard because he staggered forward.

  ‘You could still find Donnie if you wanted to. He’s not been gone long and he could’ve left a forwarding address at the Guernsey Post Office.’

  Michael shrugged. ‘I’m not going to break my neck.’ Then he grinned like that was a joke.

  I smiled back and he shoved his hands in his pockets and carried on squelching up the path. I tried to loop my arm through his, but that made his limp more obvious.

  We’d walked a short way before I realised Michael was watching me out of the corner of his eye.

  ‘You didn’t know he was going?’

  ‘No,’ I said quickly, shivering in the cold. ‘Why would I?’ Then I remembered a few things. ‘But . . .’

  Michael faltered. ‘But what?’

  We were now moving slower than two snails on crutches. I wasn’t sure if he was doing it on purpose or if he was getting stuck in the mud.

  I stopped and turned to face him. ‘I did see Donnie quite a bit.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  I nodded. ‘When things were getting tricky between me and Nic I’d go there on the weekends. He needed help with the garden.’

  Michael raised his luscious eyebrow(s).

  ‘Course he did.’

  ‘He talked about you all the time. He knew you’d pull through. He said you reminded him of how he used to be as a teenager.’

  Michael made a little snorting noise.

  ‘He likes teenagers, or hadn’t you noticed?’

  I thought this was a stupid thing to say. Of course I’d noticed. Headline News: I Am Not An Idiot! But I’d always felt sorry for Donnie: he was lonely and no proper adults would talk to him. He told me often enough that he had no family of his own. He regretted this, most definitely, and having young people around made him feel young. Personally, I never really noticed the age difference. Mum was fifteen years younger than Dad, and nobody ever said anything bad about that (within my earshot).

  But Michael was looking so sly/smug, like he knew something I didn’t.

  ‘Did Donnie tell you anything else?’

  I was totally stuck in those pools-of-treacle eyes.

  ‘Is this an official interrogation or am I allowed a phone call?’

  For the (police) record, my friendship with Donnie was always totally innocent. I liked spending time with him. He made fresh lemonade and had big deckchairs to sit on. That’s it, I swear. Well, that’s not entirely it. Nic was always with Lisa and I needed somewhere/one to escape to. I was tired of competing with Lisa or Pete or whoever else came along. Plus, Nic had gone and got herself a part-time job at Etam. Mum said I was too young to work so Donnie gave me a bit of money to help him with the weeding. Most of the time I’d just sit in the kitchen and watch him clean. He had a house-keeper but he still loved to clean. He’d dismantle his yogurt-maker or Magimix or SodaStream and line up all its parts under the window and check how it gleamed in the sunlight. Then he’d sit me on one of his high stools and tidy his fridge and say things like ‘Fat is a State of Mind’ and ‘The Universe has an Order’. We’d talk about Fate and Karma and Life-after-Death, and have all sorts of intellectual-style debates.

  It was a very meaningful time for me. We talked a lot about Michael but we also talked about Dad. Donnie had never met Dad so he was interested to hear about his wide-ranging achievements/obsessions. I even showed him my press-cuttings file, which included the article about Dad’s (Un)Official Occupation Memorial. Of course the photo’s no good because Dad’s hiding his bad hand and squinting. Donnie joked that Dad looked like a war veteran himself, but Dad was just a baby in the War and, like Mum said, age didn’t matter.

  Nic knew I went to see Donnie because I didn’t try to keep it a secret. I also wanted to show her that I had other friends. I told her about his wine cellar and video library, and fitness studio with its instruments of torture. I wasn’t trying to make her jealous but I (sort of) hoped she was. I thought it was funny that she’d be stuck in a shop all summer whereas I was going to get paid for having fun.

  But I need to make it clear that I never invited Nic over. I’m sure I never did. And if I did, well, I didn’t mean to. Honestly and truthfully, it was the last thing I expected when she came barging through the door. It was a Saturday afternoon so she should’ve been working.

  ‘Hope I’m not interrupting,’ she smiled.

  I was gob-smacked, as was Donnie, who eyed her rah-rah skirt and said nothing.

  ‘So! What are you two up to? Got anything good open? Come on, Golden Boy. You going to get us drunk?’

  I felt so embarrassed. I didn’t want Donnie to think I’d been telling tales about him.

  I asked Nic what she was doing here.

  ‘I missed you, that’s all. Can’t I stay?’ She turned back to Donnie. ‘You wouldn’t mind, would you?’

  Donnie shook his head. ‘Of course I wouldn’t. It’s nice to see you again.’

  His tone was very clipped and formal.

  Nic wandered around the kitchen, picking up various utensils and putting them down in all the wrong places. ‘It’s a great pad. Perfect for a party.’ She parked herself on a bar stool and started swivelling round. ‘I really enjoyed the last one. When was that?’

  Donnie smiled. ‘If I have another you’ll be the first to know about it.’

  ‘We could have one now!’ Nic stopped spinning and stared at him. ‘We could have cocktails.’

  He nodded. ‘Help yourself. I’m sure you remember where everything is.’ His voice tailed off, and Nic lowered herself onto his lino and sauntered towards the door.

  Once she was in the hall I told Donnie how sorry I was and crossed-my-heart that I’d never invited her over.

  ‘Don’t fret.’ He tilted his head back and rolled his eyes skywards. ‘Nicolette is hardly a girl one needs to ask.’

  Before we could say anything else Nic had waltzed back in, twirling a little paper parasol between her fingers. She pointed the parasol at Donnie and speared him in the chest.

  ‘I need you to come and help. I can’t decide what to have and you’re much better at mixing things than me.’

  Donnie looked at me. ‘Would you like that?’

  I shrugged but also nodded.

  Pretty soon we were back in the kitchen with various coloured potions and three types of rum. Donnie started chopping up strawberries and Nic and I sat there, eyeing each other. But after the first cocktail we relaxed, and after the second we were laughing. I suppose half of me was glad she was there. I thought it meant she cared. Then we started playing this game where Donnie would invent a cocktail that we’d have to name. I’ll admit it was a lot of fun. Nic told Donnie that he made the best cocktails ever and he was really pleased.

  ‘You know,’ he said, ‘this is better than a party because I haven’t had to invite my tedious neighbours when I know they’ll never ask me anywhere!’

  Nic knocked back her drink. ‘It’s nice for us to have some grown-up company, too. I can see why Cat likes you so much, but you probably know she’s got a thing for older men.’

  That sobered me up a bit.

  ‘Don’t be shy,’ Nic giggled. ‘Donnie approves, don’t you, Donnie? It’s like you once said to me, girls mature quicker than boys so it’s only right we don’t waste time on them.’

  Donnie was crushing ice for our Fruity-Booty-Transgender-Sex-Fiend.

  ‘You are both very mature for your age. Did I really say that about boys and
girls? I’m no expert. All I know is everyone’s different and they should take their time doing whatever it is they choose to do.’

  Nic stood up and leaned over the breakfast bar.

  ‘You’re so wise. We could learn a lot from you, couldn’t we?’

  Donnie stopped.

  ‘I don’t think you two girls need any help from me.

  I’m past it, wouldn’t you say?’ He winked at me. ‘Trust me, that ship has sailed.’

  I focused on the polished lino floor and waited for it to swallow me. Nic told Donnie he wasn’t that old but he promised her he was.

  ‘You wait till you hear my taste in music. I’ll put on some music, shall I?’ He headed for the sitting room. ‘I’ve got this new stereo from De Gruchy’s and they fixed speakers in every room. The whole house vibrates!’

  Whilst he was out of the room I told Nic not to be such an embarrassment.

  She laughed as per usual. ‘What? You afraid I’ll tell Donnie your dirty secrets? Don’t tell me you’ve got a crush on him as well!’

  I didn’t have any kind of crush on Donnie but I was worried Nic would go and mention Mr McCracken. That was the last thing I needed. My grades were back on track and I was trying really hard again, and because I’d dented the front wheel of my bicycle I was relying on Mr McCracken to give me lifts home from school. Of course, whenever Nic saw us together she pushed her tongue against her cheek, which was really quite revolting. I kept hoping Mr McCracken would give her a proper telling-off. At least now I know why he couldn’t. It turns out no one is quite who you think they are.

  Even Donnie. I can still see him trying to set the volume on his remote control with Nic wiggling her hips all around him. He was obviously distracted – he preferred sitting down and listening to music properly. We’d already done alternate weekends of Jazz and Blues music, and I had enjoyed sitting in Donnie’s greenhouse and discussing the difference between ‘form’ and ‘content’. It’s a fascinating fact that even though the Blues consists of old men singing about dead dogs or wives, it can still sound remarkably upbeat.