Lies Between Us

by Ronnie Turner

  Jules closes her eyes and presses her fingers into her temples. ‘I need her back, John. I need her back now.’

  He holds her hand and nods. He can’t offer any words of comfort because that well has dried up. The first few days, they took turns reassuring one another that Bonnie would be OK, they’d find her, they really would. But now she has been missing for fifteen days, and hope is just a pile of scattered glass under their feet, each new cut reminding them of her absence.

  Jules looks up as Don walks into the dining room. ‘Hi, guys. Any more news?’ He deposits a bag of groceries on the table and smiles weakly.

  ‘No.’

  Don sighs. ‘Right. OK. Erm, so, I… I brought some food round with me because I didn’t see much in the cupboards last time I was here. I know you don’t want to – God knows, I don’t feel like it – but you need to eat, OK?’

  ‘Are you making yourself eat?’ Jules challenges him.

  ‘Love, I can afford to starve a little bit. Have you seen me?’ He prods his belly, grinning.

  A smile flickers onto Jules’s face. A sad smile but a smile all the same. John could kiss Don. He’s been popping by constantly, keeping them fed, chivvying them along.

  ‘OK. So I’ll go make us some lunch.’ He grabs the bag and marches into the kitchen, kicking his heels as he goes. Jules laughs. Bonnie used to beg him to do that all the time.

  As soon as the smell of eggs wafts over to them, their stomachs begin to rumble. Don dishes out plates heaped with greasy food, then sits opposite Jules and smiles, chirpy, trying to keep the atmosphere light. ‘Bon appetit.’

  John pushes his food around the plate. The thought of eating even a morsel of it makes him feel sick to his stomach. He doesn’t tell Don this.

  ‘Do you remember that time we had chicken chow mein and Bonnie said it was tremendous?’ Jules’s fork pauses halfway to her mouth. She drops it with a clatter, tears springing to her haunted eyes.

  Don leans forward, resting his hand on her cheek, forefinger by her right eye, little finger by the corner of her lip. ‘Jules, we’re going to find her. And you know what, she’ll probably still be wearing those red shoes.’

  ‘Probably…’

  Don runs his nail across her eyelashes, slowly, tenderly, as if he is memorising the web of perfect lines in her skin.

  And for some reason, John cannot pull his eyes away.

  Chapter 30

  Maisie

  Saturday 23 January, 2016

  ‘I feel like I’ve known you for years. That probably sounds really strange, doesn’t it? It’s just like I’m chatting to a friend right now.’ Maisie straightens his bedsheet, wondering if perhaps they met in a past life. She isn’t averse to unusual beliefs. Her mother encouraged her to have her own mind growing up, especially as she lived above a holistic shop. ‘You probably think I’m daft saying that, but you know, I’ve worked on this ward for a while now and, aside from Lailah, the nurses don’t know a thing about me. You know more. I’ve always found that talking is the best thing to do in these situations so I’ll just talk about my life, like it’s a story. It’s not an adventurous one, not even a particularly exciting one, but it’s better than nothing. And it’s the story I know best.’

  She begins the process of giving him a bedbath, peeling back his sheets and removing his patient gown before running her gloved hands through a bowl of water to check its temperature. She automatically assesses Tim’s appearance, behaviour and condition as soon as she enters the room. A sort of spot check. When she started work in the ICU, it took her a while to become accustomed to this procedure but now it is as easy and simple as taking a breath.

  ‘I was born Maisie Prae Green. My mother runs a holistic shop in Penzance and my father was a mechanic when he was around. He left after my little brother was born – apparently he just couldn’t cope. Funny, though, because later he started a family with a woman half his age, so he obviously could cope, just not with us. My brother, Danny, died when he was five and I was seven. He hit his head when he was riding his bike, suffered terrible bleeding on his brain. He was eventually transferred to an ICU much like this to be cared for. He was in a persistent vegetative state. A few months later he died, had a seizure. Mum and I were heartbroken. For a long time we were like ghosts, shuffling through life. My father wasn’t bothered, said it was a shame. That was it. “A shame.” Nothing else. You can imagine how angry Mum and I were with him. He didn’t care, though. We’d just lost one of the people we loved most in the world and he got to carry on with his new family.’

  She pauses. As a child, she’d spent hours pondering her father. Why didn’t he love her and her mother? Why wasn’t he upset about Danny dying? Why weren’t they good enough? When she asked her mother, she was met with a blank expression.

  ‘While my brother was in the ICU, we had a nurse – Jennie – who supported us through it all. She was amazing. And in the rare moments I thought about my future, I decided I wanted to do what she did. I wanted to help other people. A little clichéd maybe, but that was that.

  ‘When I was eighteen I started by studying healthcare. And a lot of tests and a few sleazy boyfriends later, I moved here and began work as an ICU nurse. Then I met Ben, my partner. We’ve been together ever since.’ She doesn’t mention the fact that they might not be for much longer. The last few days with Ben have been agony. An uncomfortable few moments in the morning before he left for work and a few in the evening before he went to sleep on the sofa. He doesn’t ignore her but she can see he needs some space to get his thoughts in order and she hasn’t interfered with that. She reminded him she was sorry, sorrier than she had ever been in her life, and that she loved him, but other than that, she feels she needs to leave him be.

  ‘We’re having a few problems at the moment. I haven’t told anyone this before but whenever the weather is forecast to get cold overnight, he always makes me two hot-water bottles. One for the top, one for the bottom. I can’t sleep when I’m cold.’ She rubs the tiredness from her eyes and sighs. ‘The forecast says it’s going to be a chilly one tonight. And I’m worried when I go to bed it will be empty. I know then we’ll be done. Our relationship will be over.’

  She looks at Tim, eyes vacantly scanning the room, face twitching. ‘Sorry. I’m blathering on about all the bad things. Er… I promise this little story has a happy ending but bear with me. OK, when I was about eight, four girls came into our shop. They threw my mother’s bottles of essential oils on the floor, even threw them at me, said I was weird, my mother was weird. Of course, I understand now they were probably just insecure but at the time I was gutted. My mother, when she came downstairs, was furious as she cleaned up the mess. It’s funny really. When my mother gets angry, she looks like a cartoon character. Her face goes all red, her eyes get big. We’ve had a few laughs over the years about that. Ben says I’m the same.’ She smiles. ‘Anyway, later on, my mother printed out a school photograph of the four girls posing together. She drew moustaches on their faces and pinned it to the door of the shop. That stopped them coming in next time. It’s a little bit childish but it worked. And it made me feel better. She’s always been good at doing that. I went to see her recently – in Cornwall – and she hasn’t changed a bit. Neither has the shop. It’s like walking back into my childhood.’

  Maisie tentatively puts her hand in Tim’s. She imagines he would hold it if he was able. She bathes Tim’s body gently, brushing warm water over his skin. It is a lengthy process and, when she is finished, she rolls surgical stockings up his feet and ankles to keep the circulation moving. ‘It’s strange, isn’t it? Heidi not being here, talking to us. She had to take your daughter for a check-up but she’s coming in tomorrow.’

  Maisie wishes Al – the eighty-year-old husband of her second patient – had family who would support him. His children haven’t visited their mother once since she was transferred to the ICU. It is only ever Al who comes to see her and that is every day without fail. With no signs of Agnes recoveri
ng, Maisie suspects he will be doing so for a long time. She sees him hobbling down the corridor every morning, walking stick in either hand, back hunched over in a permanent stare at the floor, making his way to Agnes’s room. She can’t help but wish she could do more for him.

  ‘Anyway, Tim. That’s a little bit about me. Can’t be very interesting but it’s got to be better than listening to the equipment hum and beep. It gets on my pip sometimes.’

  She pulls off her gloves with a soft clap of noise and gathers up her equipment. ‘I’ll be back to check on you soon.’

  *

  She thrusts open the door and heads straight to the fridge, pulling out the jar of mini gherkins and popping the lid off. She tips her head back and drops one into her mouth; Danny used to love it when she did this. She often wonders if perhaps Billy might have looked like him. If they might have shared the same freckled skin or the same dark-blond hair. She keeps those thoughts to herself, though.

  She fishes out another and closes her eyes, savouring the taste of it in her mouth – she’s been craving them all day. Maisie turns and stops in her tracks. Ben is splayed out on the sofa, mouth partially open, eyes flickering behind closed lids. She smiles, wishing she could curl up beside him. Instead, she takes the jar into their bedroom and changes into her pyjamas. Just before she rolls into bed, she pulls back the duvet.

  One at the top, one at the bottom.

  She sighs, the relief audible, then walks into the lounge and tucks one of the hot-water bottles underneath Ben’s arm. It is going to be a cold night, after all.

  Chapter 31

  Miller

  Thursday 13 September, 1990

  Rock.

  Paper.

  Scissors.

  We play this game as if our lives depend on it. I have studied your face so much that, just by the way your lips sit, I can tell which you will pick: pursed lips for rock, flat for paper, lips parted for scissors. I let you win, time and again. You smile like you have achieved something monumental, high-fiving Chubby, but in actual fact it is me who has achieved something great. I get to watch the emotions slide like a reel across your face, the pure, devastatingly beautiful happiness shining like a torch in your eyes. Chubby looks on, trying to pre-empt what you will do. But he does not know you like I do. He has the advantage of years but I have the depth of feeling for you. I can see what makes you tick.

  *

  Your cropped hair falls into your eyes and you brush it away with a flick of your wrist. Your arm shoots out and you smack the white ball back to your father. Chubby and I watch from the sidelines. Chubby’s eyes are watching the ball ping back and forth, applauding, cheering you both on. You are not as skilled at table tennis as your father but I can see you are trying with all your might to keep up with him. It is sweet, how you have him on a pedestal, how you look at him in awe, how you stick your chest out to make yourself taller.

  I follow at a distance as you take your father-son trip to the river to play Poohsticks. You chatter about your bike, and Chubby, and even me sometimes. I must admit how my heart flutters when you say my name. Taking my camera from my pocket I point it at you and your father from behind the bushes and press record. When you say it again, I stop recording and clutch the camera to my chest, imagining your body is pressed against me instead. And oh, how good it feels, John.

  Saturday 15 September, 1990

  I don’t think you realise how sweet you sound when you are lying on your bed, passing a ball from hand to hand, singing along to the music blasting from the radio. When you come across a lyric you’ve forgotten, you fill in the blank with the first word that comes to mind.

  Or when, in the middle of the night, you go into the kitchen, push a chair over to the sink and stick a hand in the jar your mother keeps high up on the cupboard. You look at the clutch of yellow wrappers in your hand and giggle like a toddler. Acid drops. Your favourite. After you’ve pushed back the chair, covered all the evidence and slipped beneath the covers again, you dig into the sweets, fingers fumbling over the wrappers. But you always save one, don’t you, John? You always save one to give to Bessie in the morning as you walk to school, asking about the dream she had last night. You slip it into her hand, put a finger to your lips. Bessie chuckles and pushes the sweet into her mouth. And when you smile at her with adoration, I want to kiss your hand and tell you how much I love you. But that would ruin my ‘act’.

  Or even when you invite Chubby and me round for dinner and you shovel the lasagne into your mouth, leaving the pieces of carrot on the plate. I tell you I heard a man say he ate five carrots every day for a month and it made him grow another five inches. That does the trick. You stuff them into your mouth three at a time. I see a look of pleasure flit across your mother’s face; but I did not do it for her, I did it for you. I want to see you grow big and strong, into a healthy young man.

  Once Mother has shuffled off to bed, moving sideways like a crab, keeping one eye on me as she goes, I pull out my camera and play the video to myself for what seems like hours. To the sound of your musical voice saying my name, I pull over a sheet of paper, cut it into the shape I want, colour it in red pen and write John across the middle. Then I hold your heart pressed against mine, bring it back and forth and mumble, ba boom ba boom ba boom. Our rhythms matching. Connected. Bonded. Like we are family, like brothers. Like we are one.

  Chapter 32

  John

  Monday 14 December, 2015

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘What is what?’

  ‘That sound. Didn’t you hear it?’

  John puts his cup of tea down and walks into Don’s lounge. A muffled bang fills the room.

  ‘Oh, that.’ Don smiles. ‘Kim’s down in the basement – she’s on this fitness regime thing. She’s trying out those weights I got when I was on that diet. I said, “Kimmy, they don’t work. I went down there every Sunday, pumped some lead, and look at me. Nothing. Nothing to show for it.” She laughed and said she bet I had a bag of chocolate bars down there. Can you believe that? The cheek of it.’

  John smiles, sitting on the plush sofa. He slips into the impression Don’s rear end has made in the cushion. ‘How is she?’

  ‘Good, good. She’s decided to do a course in creative writing. I think she’s feeling a bit useless and wanting to branch out a bit. Her sister’s just got this fancy shmancy job at this law firm. Er… it’s the really posh one. You know it? Anyway, so, yeah, she’s trying to lose some weight and add another bow to her quiver or however the saying goes. I said to her, I said, “Kimmy, you’re as thin as a twig, you don’t need to lose weight.” She just looked at me with that funny look she ha—’

  Another bang rumbles through the house.

  ‘I hope she’s not dropped the dumbbell on her foot again.’ Don frowns, biting his lip, looking at the floor as if he can see through to the basement. ‘She blasts out music when she’s down there – can’t hear a thing I say when I bring her a cuppa. The singer who’s wanting a guy to put a ring on her finger. You know her.’

  ‘Beyonce.’

  He snaps his fingers. ‘That’s the one!’

  ‘I didn’t know she liked her.’

  ‘Yeah. She’s a big fan. I’m getting her the new album for Christmas. Anyway, I’m banging on again. How’s Jules?’

  John feels a fluttering of surprise at the mention of Christmas. He and Jules will not be celebrating this year. ‘As well as can be expected. Actually it’s nice to chat about other things. Our brains have gone to mush. We keep going over the same things again and again. Sometimes, I drive round for no reason, hoping I’m going to spot Bonnie’s red shoes. The Dorothy ones. Sometimes I even think I see her.’

  Don pats him on the back. ‘I know. When a little girl comes into the waiting room, for a split second I think it’s her and we’re about to start chatting about those cartoons. We’ll see her soon, John. We will. We’ll find her. I promise.’

  John smiles to show he appreciates the optimism but all h
e wants to say is ‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep’. He stands up, hugs Don, then makes his way to the door. ‘I’d better get back. Mum’s with Jules at the minute.’

  ‘OK, mate. I’ll come over tomorrow.’

  John dons his jacket and laughs as another bang makes the floor quiver under his feet. Don shakes his head. ‘Honestly, she’s not going to have any toes left by the end of the day.’

  John smiles, hearing Bonnie’s strident voice in his ears. As he turns down the street he sees her being carried away in the crowd, hand turned up in a final farewell.

  Chapter 33

  Maisie

  Sunday 24 January, 2016

  ‘Hello, Heidi.’

  She turns to face him, lips parting to form an ‘O’ shape, eyebrows rising like crescent moons into the curls of her fringe. Words tumble haphazardly out of her mouth and her hand seeks out her lips in a bid to stem the words, before dropping back down to her chest, then her stomach, then starting the cycle again. Maisie organises two chairs for them to sit in and gently turns Tim in his bed, shifting his arms and legs with as much care as a mother would a newborn.

  ‘I… I… I can’t believe you’re really here. Maisie said you visited but I just… I don’t know what I thought.’ She lassoes her words into order and tentatively wraps her arms around his shoulders, fingers making small pockets in his Armani suit. Maisie wonders how much a suit like that costs and promises to Google it later. Ben will need to have the smelling salts on hand, though.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me coming. I wanted to see him again.’

  ‘Oh God, of course I don’t mind!’ She squeezes his hands, kissing him on the cheek. ‘Tim would be over the moon right now!’ She laughs, a thin, gasping sound that curls his lips into a smile. They pull each other into another hug, this one lasting a few seconds longer.