A Good Liar

by Ruth Sutton

  John lay back and let his mind wander to a place where the mist lay below him and he could see the bright outline of the high peaks above the cloud that lay in folds and drifts in the valley. He remembered the symmetrical peak of Great Gable, the Napes just showing above the blanket of cloud. Further over he could make out the ridges of Swirl How and the western slopes of the Old Man of Coniston. That day, alone on the silent hillside, he had turned with his back to the strong low sun for a moment and caught sight of a shadow, a figure, dark grey on the wall of mist below him and framed by a round rainbow. It gave him a shock, until he realised it was his own shadow. He raised his arms and the figure did the same, as if in greeting. That evening, snug in the pub he told someone what he’d seen. It was called a ‘Brocken spectre’, apparently, light refracting through the tiny droplets of moisture in the cloud.

  He smiled as he remembered. How he longed to be out of here, away from the snoring men, the bustling town, back at the head of the beloved valley, with the people who seemed to be more like parents than his parents had ever been. And none of them were his real parent, the one who gave him away. He turned onto his front and buried his face in the lumpy pillow.

  Next day was brighter, and sun poured through the great windows, catching pinpricks of dust in its rays. The young nurse appeared at his bedside just after breakfast.

  ‘Well, it’s all sorted out,’ she said, pulling the covers on John’s bed straight as she spoke. ‘The lady, Miss Plane, is coming to pick you up tomorrow afternoon, when she’s free. She’s giving a message to the postman who goes up to – Boot, is it? – to tell the people you lodge with. So you’ll be going home in style, and they’ll be expecting you. Couldn’t be better. I’m not sure you’re really well enough, but if there’s someone prepared to look after you, it should be alright. Don’t suppose you’re keen to stay with us much longer?’

  ‘You’re right there, nurse,’ he replied quickly. ‘Can’t wait to get out.’

  ‘I could be hurt by that, of course, but I’m sure you don’t hate us that much.’

  ‘No, of course … I mean –’

  ‘I know.’ She lowered her voice, as she eyed the two beds under the window. ‘I’d be keen to get away from those two as well. They snore summat fierce.’ She squeezed John’s arm again, and smiled at him. ‘I’ll miss you, though. Not often we have such handsome young men in here.’

  John felt his cheeks redden.

  ‘Well,’ she went on, looking around to make sure that no one saw her sitting on his bed. ‘If I wasn’t busy here I’d volunteer to come and look after you meself,’ and with that she was off, walking a little faster than normal and without looking back.

  John closed his eyes. He couldn’t fathom women out, especially the young ones. They all seemed to tease him. One minute it was all business, the next she was squeezing him and smiling and whispering. He didn’t know where to put himself. That girl at Hill House, she’d laughed in his face. And this one, throwing herself at him. Andrew would understand, he thought. Andrew understood women. He didn’t say much, but John guessed he had something going on. Who was it, he wondered? Young probably, and pretty. Maybe more than one. Andrew would know what to say to the nurse, while he just stammered and blushed. Pathetic. ‘Grow up John, for God’s sake,’ he said to himself. ‘You’re twenty years old, not a boy. Grow up!’

  Once the end of his hospital sentence was close, waiting for release seemed to take forever. That night the hours dragged and snagged at his patience. Jacob’s snoring woke him every hour or two until he got out of bed and walked unsteadily to the desk at the far end of the ward where a nurse was reading in the small circle of lamplight. He startled her, and apologised as she retrieved her book from the floor. ‘Can’t sleep,’ he said, simply, jerking his thumb in the direction of the sound that seemed to echo round the old walls. ‘Jacob, snoring.’

  ‘Can’t be helped,’ she hissed. ‘You must be used to it by now. I’ll give him a poke and try to get him off his back, but you’ll have to get back to bed.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  She peered down at the watch hanging by a pin on her breast.

  ‘Too early. Ten to four. You can get a couple more hours before we come and wake you up.’

  It was just twelve hours later, and John had been dressed and sitting by his bed since lunch, when he heard voices and a smartly dressed woman appeared with the nurse at the door. They walked down the ward towards him. The lady was wearing a grey coat, belted at the waist, a bright blue scarf hung loosely round her neck, and she was carrying blue gloves in one hand. He didn’t like to look at her face, not while she seemed to be looking at him so intently. He stood up, steadying himself with one hand on the end of the bed.

  ‘Mr Pharaoh?’ she said, putting out her hand towards him. He shook it. The hand was dry and warm. ‘I’m Agnes Plane, from Newton. I’ve come to take you home, back to Boot I believe.’ The nurse stood beside the newcomer, smiling and nodding at John, as if wanting him to do something. He felt himself blushing again, and looked down.

  ‘Yes,’ he managed in reply. ‘Very good of you.’

  ‘Happy to help,’ she said brightly. ‘Do you have a bag or something, with your things?’ She looked around.

  ‘Just this,’ said John, picking up the small bag he’d been carrying when he was taken ill, a lifetime ago. ‘I was out walking … and they brought me straight here.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Agnes, taking the bag from him, and slipping her arm through this. ‘Sounds like you’ve had quite an adventure. You can tell me about it as we drive home. It’s only a little car, but it goes well. Good day for driving actually, now that the mist’s cleared.’

  She turned to the young nurse. ‘We’ll be fine now, thank you. Come along, then, Mr Pharaoh.’

  ‘Call me John please.’

  ‘And you may call me Agnes,’ she replied. ‘Miss Plane sounds so formal, don’t you think?’

  And so they walked slowly down the curving staircase, across the tiled floor of the hall, out through the great door and down the steps, the smart woman and the shy young man, into the pale sunshine.

  Agnes’s car, a Morris, the same colour as her scarf and gloves, was parked up a side street and she opened the door for him, establishing that he was the patient and that she was in charge. She put his bag on the back seat, and slid behind the wheel beside him. As she busied herself with starting and manoeuvring down the cobbled street, he turned his head to get a proper view of her for the first time. She had a lively face framed by short golden brown hair, like pictures he’d seen in some of the magazines that were all he had to read in the hospital. Her mouth was quite full, and dark red. She sensed him looking at her and turned her head quickly towards him, just for a moment, before turning back to focus on the road ahead.

  ‘Thanks again for doing this’, he said. ‘Definitely ready to get out of there. The noise at night, hard to sleep.’

  ‘Yes, I understand,’ Agnes agreed. ‘We’ll have you home in no time. Tell me again where it is.’

  ‘Mill Cottage, opposite the old mill in Boot, up on the left.’

  Agnes turned to look at him again. ‘Hannah? Is that your landlady? They said you had someone to look after you but I didn’t know it was Hannah. How lucky for you, you couldn’t be in better hands.’

  ‘You know her then?’

  ‘Of course, who doesn’t in the valley? Knew her father too, God rest him. I was so glad she found herself a husband, and such a fine man. He has an injury from the war, doesn’t he? Came from Broughton, have I got that right?’

  ‘That’s him,’ said John. ‘Fred lived in Broughton and met Hannah there. Don’t think her dad was keen on them marrying but they waited and they seem very happy together. He’s got one foot, lost the other in the fighting. Couldn’t run the mill, but they’ve rigged it up to a generator and we have electric in the house.’

  ‘Goodness,’ said Agnes, ‘How clever of them. And what a bonus for you, John.
’

  ‘Couldn’t be better really,’ he agreed.

  They drove on in silence for a while, finding their way through the south side of the town towards Egremont. Agnes seemed quite at ease. John liked her confidence.

  Away from the bustle of the town there was little traffic and Agnes took another sideways glance at her young passenger. A good-looking young man, dark, quite pale skin, long eyelashes clearly visible against the light through the car window. Faintest line of a moustache on his upper lip. He seemed very shy.

  ‘Tell me a bit about yourself, John,’ she said. ‘What’s a young man doing so far from his family?’

  ‘Don’t have a family, not close anyway,’ said John, looking at the road ahead as they came down the long hill into Egremont. My dad died a while ago, and then my mam, in May. But she wasn’t my real mam.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Agnes, while her mind digested this information. Not his real mother? What was that about? She looked across at John but he was staring ahead. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, John. That must have been dreadful for you. Was there no one to help you with it all?’

  ‘Oh, aye, my mam’s sister and her husband lived close. They helped with the funeral of course, but when it was all over I wanted to get away.’

  ‘Where did you live?’

  ‘Ulverston. I worked at Hartleys, in the office.’

  ‘The brewery, yes, everyone knows Hartleys don’t they? Have a drop myself occasionally.’ She smiled across at him. ‘So how did you end up in this part of the world? Ulverston’s not far as the crow flies, but it’s quite a trek from here.’

  ‘Saw it in the paper, a notice for someone to work at the quarry, same kind of job as before, but a step up for me. And there’s the railway, too.’

  ‘You mean the Ratty?’

  ‘Aye. A bit daft mebbe, but I love trains, always have. Knew about the Ratty from the railway magazines.’

  ‘It’s seen better days, I think,’ said Agnes. ‘Before the post bus it was the only way for people to get around up there.’

  ‘Needs some money spending on it,’ said John. ‘They’re talking about it being sold, someone in Keswick. Just a rumour.’

  Agnes slowed down as they went through Egremont. ‘We could stop here if you need anything,’ she said. ‘The Co-op’s still open. Once you get back you may need to rest up for a while.’

  At the Co-op. John bought socks and a little ornament for Hannah’s mantelshelf. It was good to be outside, away from the heat and smells of the hospital. He felt as if he was waking from a dream. Back in the car, he leaned back and breathed deeply, and the coughing didn’t last too long this time. He ran his hand over his face. Not sweating, or only a bit.

  ‘Right-oh,’ said Agnes, easing the car back into the main road. ‘Won’t be long now. Oh, by the way,’ she continued, as the car gathered speed again, ‘I’m going to stop in Newton on our way through, if that’s all right with you. I have to check something with Miss Whelan at the school. Do you know her?’

  ‘Miss Whelan?’

  ‘The schoolmistress,’ said Agnes. ‘Just a bit of WI business. Won’t take a minute, I’m sure. Don’t want to be too late getting you back. We’ve a committee meeting tonight I have to get back for.’

  ‘Fine with me,’ said John, settling back into his seat.

  A little later, as they waited behind a flock of sheep and watched three dogs expertly herding them through a gate, Agnes continued her gentle interrogation of this young man who had dropped into her world.

  ‘The doctor said they brought you in from Wasdale Head. What were you doing over there?’

  ‘I walked over from Boot. Didn’t feel great when I started but I didn’t know I was really ill. It was probably the ducking in the sea that started it off.’

  ‘In the sea?’ Agnes looked across at him and then had to brake sharply as a dog leapt over the wall ahead of them in search of a stray sheep.

  ‘When that steamer ran aground, last month down the coast. I was on the beach and tried to help but I got stuck in the water and someone had to haul me out. I was in a bad way for a while.’

  ‘Good heavens,’ said Agnes. ‘That was you! I heard there was someone nearly drowned that day.’

  John laughed. ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘Just got knocked down by a big ’un and couldn’t get up properly. Left me feeling pretty rough for a while. Then I got a cold but it got worse and worse. Thought I was over it, so I set off to walk over, but … well, you know the rest.’

  ‘You have been in the wars,’ said Agnes. ‘That’s a lot for anyone to cope with. You must be very strong to have got through it. Your mother, moving up here, that awful experience and now getting ill. It would have finished some people off completely.’

  John said nothing. She said he was strong. Not strong like Andrew, a different kind of strong. He liked that. And she was old enough to be his mother. Maybe it was just young women who made him feel so foolish. Mrs Barker, Hannah, this woman: he felt all right with them. Then he remembered the telling off Mrs Barker had given him after the funeral and looked away from Agnes, out at the fells ahead of them now that they’d turned up the valley. There was cloud on the top. It was growing dark already.

  As they drove into Newton, Agnes slowed down. ‘There’s the school, straight ahead of us,’ she said, ‘and there’s Miss Whelan. What good timing.’

  Agnes began to pull over to the side of the road. John looked ahead. He saw a tall woman, dark hair blowing round her head. She put up one hand to brush it away from her face. Then the woman turned, back towards the open door and another figure emerged, ducking his head as he did so. John recognised him at once. It was the vicar, the one in the pub the night Andrew pulled him out of the sea. John hadn’t seen him since, but the memory was sharp.

  ‘Oh there’s the vicar,’ said Agnes. ‘They’re probably busy with something. And it’s a bit late, so let’s leave them to it. I’ll see Miss Whelan tonight anyway. It’ll keep till then.’

  Agnes drove slowly past the school. Jessie Whelan bent her head to look into the car, and waved to Agnes. Lionel Leadbetter raised a hand too. John turned and watched them as they pulled away and out of sight.

  ‘You really must meet Miss Whelan,’ said Agnes. ‘A delightful woman. Are you a churchgoer, John?’

  ‘I used to be,’ he said. ‘My mother was very keen, Methodist.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Agnes. ‘It’s mostly Church of England round here.’

  ‘That’s all right. Since Mam died I’ve been going climbing at the weekends whenever I can. That’s one of the reasons I moved up here. Church isn’t for me, really.’

  ‘We’ll have to see if we can tempt you back,’ said Agnes, smiling at him. ‘We need young people like you. Did you get to the harvest supper? I wasn’t there myself, but Miss Whelan was I think.’

  ‘Didn’t go,’ said John. ‘Didn’t feel like meeting lots of new folk. Too soon. Andrew said I could go with him, but I didn’t.’

  ‘Andrew? Of course, you work at the quarry. It’s a small world isn’t it? That was the Reverend Leadbetter we saw back there. Andrew Leadbetter’s in charge at the quarry for a while isn’t he?’

  ‘Aye, he is. I stayed with Andrew before I got this place with Hannah.’

  ‘Well, well,’ said Agnes, as they drove on up the valley in the gathering gloom. ‘How the pieces of our lives fit together.’

  Chapter 16

  Andrew drew on his cigarette. The tip glowed, echoing the glow of the fire that Jessie had lit in the small grate in her bedroom. She had guessed that Andrew would come to her that night, late, and she wanted them to be warm. Beside him in the bed Jessie lay on her front. She had covered herself with the blankets, but with his spare hand Andrew pushed back the covers, exposing her lower back and the top of her buttocks. He stroked her skin, loving its warmth and solidity.

  ‘Look at you,’ he said. ‘Lying there like a wanton woman.’

  She stirred, raising her bottom a little against his tou
ch.

  ‘I am a wanton woman,’ she said, her voice muffled into the pillow. ‘And it’s all your fault. Before you came along I hadn’t thought about sex for years. I was perfectly content, and now this. Shocking.’

  ‘The only shocking thing is why it took me so long to get you into bed,’ he said, stubbing out his cigarette in the little brass ashtray on the bedside table. ‘Why did I waste my time with anyone else when I could’ve had you?’

  He slid further down in the bed and turned towards her, pushing the covers away as he did so.

  ‘Turn over,’ he said. ‘Let me look at you.’

  She did so, holding a hand over her breasts.

  He pushed her hand away.

  ‘Don’t cover yourself,’ he said. ‘Let me see.’

  He looked at her body, rounded and plump below the waist, and then lay across her, taking her nipple in his mouth. She stroked the back of his head, still damp from the rain.

  ‘You’re sure no one saw you?’

  He raised his head and lay back beside her, looking up at the ceiling. ‘No one. God, woman, what you afraid of? I’m not used to creeping about, looking over my shoulder the whole time. I don’t care what people say, even if they find out about us. I’m single, you’re single, where’s the problem?’

  ‘That’s not it, Andrew. You know that. I’ve got a lot to lose here. Things I care about.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ he said, ‘your job and your reputation. But there’s more to life than a job and a reputation in this place. It’s a dump. Backward. Half the people here don’t even have running water in the house, never mind a proper toilet. Still on oil lamps, no electric. You’ve been running that school for God knows how many years, answering to a bunch of old buggers who don’t like you anyway.’