A Suitable Lie

by Michael J Malone

  ‘S’pose.’

  ‘I’ve often thought of asking you, but never did because I thought you’d open up to me in your own good time.’

  The windows were completely fogged up now. Anna breathed deeply. A long, slow breath that seemed to seep right down to her toes. She exhaled slowly and loudly.

  ‘You’re right … as usual. I should talk about it, about my past, but I … I … can’t.’ A tear slid gracefully down her pale cheek, leaving a shiny trail. ‘I’m afraid that if I start speaking … I won’t be able to stop screaming.’ She finished in a whisper.

  ‘Look, I’m no expert but even I know that if something is causing you so much upset then you need to talk about it, get it in the open. Only then can you deal with it. Better out than in, my pal’s Dad used to say. But that was his excuse when he farted.’ We both smiled weakly at my poor attempt at humour.

  ‘I don’t know. I’m afraid that if I say it out loud then it must have happened. I can’t pretend any more that it’s all a horrible dream.’

  What on earth could she have been through to say something like that?

  ‘Talk to me, please. Tell me what happened.’

  Until now I had been holding in my love for her, like it was stale breath. Now, seeing her so upset I couldn’t stop a little leaking out. I leaned over and gripped her hands.

  ‘My childhood was a war zone,’ she began, holding onto my hands tightly. ‘Everybody fought. Nobody won. I was the youngest.’ She stared at the misted window as if looking at a replay of her past, a stately procession of tears flowing down her cheeks. ‘I had … I have two brothers and one sister. My parents had us all in the space of six years. There were another two pregnancies that ended in miscarriages. At least that was the official excuse.’ She looked at me. ‘Both my parents were alcoholics. I come from a long line of alcoholics. How’s that for a pedigree?’ The window reclaimed her stare. ‘My parents fought like … not like ordinary parents – they fought like animals. They were both about the same height, five feet two. Sometimes it was a slugging match. They would stand there swaying with the drink, only feet apart, fists aimed at the other’s head. Often in total silence. They would run out of insults. Either that or their brains were so pickled that they couldn’t think of anything else to say. We … the kids … we’d hide behind a couch.’ The words were becoming difficult to decipher now as great heaves convulsed in her chest.

  ‘Here.’ Rather ineptly I handed her a hanky. ‘Give yourself a minute to calm down.’ Emotion thickened my voice. I didn’t know if I could listen to any more without my tears spilling over hers. ‘Do you want to stop? We can carry on some other time. You could wait and speak to a…’ Somebody else but me, was what I wanted to say. I didn’t know how to help with such pain. ‘… A professional.’

  ‘No, I’d like to carry on. I’ve started…’ She straightened her shoulders. ‘More often than not Mum would start it, calling him names, flinging things at him. Oh, they would get tanked up first, as if getting ready for the main event. But he never backed down, he always rose to the bait. It became so that we almost saw their behaviour as normal. I rarely brought friends home because I knew what would happen. One time I brought a wee pal home. She lived just round the corner. Mary … Mary something. Anyway, Dad came in the door having forgotten to bring home the Ayrshire Post for the second time of asking, and Mum just launched herself at him. She jumped on his back and pummelled the back of his head. He fell forward onto the floor. Mary just stood there, frozen. She couldn’t believe it. I’ll never forget the expression on her face. For the first time, I saw their behaviour through someone else’s eyes and I realised just how crazy it all was.’

  ‘Did they ever hit you?’

  ‘What do you think?’ She turned her gaze to me. ‘Me and my sister, Angie didn’t get it as bad as the boys did though. We were … we were girls. We were sugar and spice and all that crap. But the boys got leathered regularly. Then they would take it out on us, give us a battering, pull out clumps of our hair. Mind you, when we were younger we could give as good as we got. The boys, to their credit, were apt to hold a little bit back. We didn’t. We just went crazy. Then, when the boys reached puberty, they got stronger than us so we had to use different tactics. We’d wait until they were sleeping, or defenceless in some way before attacking them.’ She smoothed the damp hankie between thumb and forefinger. ‘I remember one time I caught my oldest brother masturbating over a Page 3 girl. He nearly broke my nose and threatened to give me some more if I told anyone that I had caught him. I vowed that I would stop him from ever hurting me like that again. I waited until he was asleep that night … and stabbed him in the ear with the steel handle of my comb. He’s deaf to this day on that side. I’ll never forget his screams.’ She paused, mind replaying a film from the past. She laughed briefly, mirthlessly. ‘He never came near me again. We told Mum it was an accident, he had fallen out of bed in the middle of the night. She was the more sober of the two on that occasion. Dad was unconscious, in the kitchen. We used to come down in the morning and find them in the weirdest places. Angie and I used to help them to bed once in a while. We didn’t want them to hurt themselves. Then we gave up. As soon as I could, I got out. Married my neighbour’s son at sixteen.’

  What the hell?

  ‘You’ve already been married?’ Why didn’t I know this? Then, absurdly, a worm of jealousy curled in my gut. Who was this guy? Where was he? After all I had heard, Anna still had the capacity to surprise me.

  ‘Oh yes.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘Lasted four years. It ended the day he kicked me so hard I lost … my baby.’ Her fingers were in a row before her mouth as if she wanted to push the words back in. ‘I lost my baby,’ she began to rock. ‘My baby.’

  Open mouthed, I could only stare at her. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the amount of hurt and anguish she had suffered over the years. I took her in my arms and rocked with her.

  ‘Anna, Anna,’ I intoned like a mantra.

  ‘It’s the only way I know to love, Andy, and it terrifies me,’ she said, her voice muffled by my shoulder. ‘I don’t know what I’m capable of. When I go into one, I just can’t control it. I barely even know what I’m doing.’ She stopped rocking and looked up at me. ‘And I do love you, Andy. You’ve got to believe it.’ She looked desperate for my reassurance.

  ‘I believe you.’ I gave it willingly.

  ‘I’m terrified to love you and I’m terrified to lose you. It’s just … when I feel even a little bit like I’m not in control, I lash out. I know you’re a good man and you won’t hurt me. I know that in a way I’m safe, so I suppose I just try to push you. See if I really am as safe as it seems.’

  In that damp warm little space, it all made so much sense. I held her again, regretting I’d ever pushed her away.

  ‘And what about the baby?’ she asked through sobs. ‘I don’t know what I might do to her?’ She stopped speaking and then started again as if she was being crushed by the weight of the silence.

  ‘The funny thing is, the worst of it wasn’t the physical violence, the cuts and bruises all healed. But the things that my mother said to me all of those years ago still hurt. What if I turn out like her? She used to call me and Angie sluts, laugh at everything we tried to do, call us stupid and ugly. She said that she was just preparing us for life, trying to make us tough.’ She shifted in her seat. ‘I don’t want to be that kind of mum, Andy.’

  ‘You won’t be, love. I won’t let you. Between us we’ll get you through this.’

  I don’t know how long we sat in the car hugging, but it was dark by the time that I dropped her off at her flat to pick up her belongings.

  I was confident that we could work out our problems. Anna needed me. She needed my patience, my broad shoulders, she needed the love of a good man. One who wouldn’t hurt her with words or fists. A man who could teach her the true warmth of affection. Whatever it would take, I was determined to do it. She looked so vulnerable cradled in my arms tha
t I couldn’t resist the plea in those eyes.

  This confidence was, however, tainted with fear. In eight months Anna would have my baby. The last woman I loved died while giving birth to my child. If the same thing happened again, I didn’t think that I could take it. The logical side of my brain protested that the chances of such an event happening again must be remote, but in the deep recesses of my mind, atavistic fears crouched like hungry griffins, growling dire words. You weren’t meant to be happy, they rumbled. Death and unhappiness will haunt you for the rest of your life.

  First, your father, then your wife, could it be your child next?

  18

  The first month or so of Anna’s pregnancy, was in her words ‘a dawdle’. Her eyes, hair and skin seemed to catch every spare mote of light and reflect it a thousand times over. She was more energetic than ever and had an even larger appetite than normal for sex. I managed to overcome my reluctance about sex while Anna was in this delicate stage, when she produced a book on pregnancy. The author maintained that when a woman became aroused the womb was moved in such a way that even the longest penis would be hard pushed to harm the foetus. The mechanics of this were a bit of a mystery, but it was there in black and white, and that was good enough for me. Pat was regularly packed off to his gran and uncle over these few weeks while Anna and I lost ourselves in a feast of corporeal delights.

  Then a period of sickness and fatigue followed. At the time I was amazed to see that Anna seemed almost relieved that this happened. On one occasion while her head was stuck down the loo, I held her hair out of the way as her stomach heaved, and each time she surfaced there was a small look of satisfaction overprinting the fatigue on her face.

  ‘How can you be happy when you’re heaving your guts up every morning?’ I asked.

  She leaned back on her heels and took a breath. Wiped some saliva from her lips with a sleeve and said, ‘I never thought I could have a baby after…’ A cloud of memory slipped over her expression. ‘… after what happened. So this…’ She pointed at the toilet bowl and grinned, ‘… reassures me that I am actually pregnant.’ She grabbed my hand and rested it over her still slim belly. ‘There’s really a baby in here, Mr Boyd.’

  I leaned forward and kissed her wet forehead. ‘There really, really is, Mrs Boyd.’ We exchanged grins.

  ‘Any more thought about names?’ I asked as I sat on the edge of the bath.

  ‘Theodore, if it’s a boy. Storm Puddleduck if it’s girl.’

  ‘Nice,’ I smiled. ‘I was thinking Biggus Dickus for a boy and Fanny Bigpants for a girl.’

  Anna laughed. Loud and throaty. Her shoulders moving up and down in an exaggerated fashion. Putting a hand on my knee she used it as leverage to stand up. I stood before her. She leaned into me and put her head on my shoulder. I could feel her head moving there as her laughter continued.

  She looked up at me. ‘Toss you for it.’

  ‘Race you for it,’ I replied. ‘First one down to the living room wins.’

  ‘That’s not fair, Boyd,’ she shouted at my retreating back.

  Down in the living room, she slumped onto the sofa beside me and rested her head on my shoulder.

  ‘I needed that,’ she said. ‘Can’t beat a good laugh.’

  I held her tight, feeling treasured and loved and wishing that this moment would stretch out for the rest of our lives.

  As Anna’s belly expanded she seemed to become mellower. Sickness aside, she was happy to loll around on the settee and watch the world go by. Her needs were minimal: warmth, shelter, affection and a towel to wipe her mouth after another bout of retching. Nothing bothered her. It was as if being part of something bigger than she could previously imagine meant now everything else was mere trivia.

  Pat was initially reluctant to be alone with Anna when she moved back in, but he was soon caught up in the happy atmosphere and the love that flowed between us. He was open-mouthed with awe when we told him that Anna had a baby in her belly.

  He sat back on his heels and pondered this for a few moments.

  ‘A baby what?’ he asked.

  ‘We’re not sure yet,’ I said. ‘We’ll find out in eight months’ time.’

  ‘I hope it’s a baby puppy,’ he said and went back to his toys.

  That night at bath-time the questions began in earnest.

  ‘What kind of baby is it?’ Pat asked as he brought two dinosaurs crashing together across a sea of bubbles.

  ‘A baby sister or a baby brother,’ I replied. Anna grinned from her perch on the toilet, relieved that the puppy was no longer in his thoughts.

  ‘How did it get in there?’

  Anna looked at me as if to say, over to you, pal.

  I explained about eggs and seeds, and how I had put my seed inside Anna’s belly and one of her eggs caught it. Pat nodded as if that made perfect sense. He looked over at Anna’s midriff and assessed.

  ‘How does it get out?’

  ‘You know how Anna doesn’t have a willy like we have? She has a vagina. The baby comes out there.’

  Pat mouthed the word vagina as if practising, looked down at his willy. Plopped some bubbles on top of it. Looked over at Anna. And went back to his dinosaurs.

  I looked over at Anna. She grinned as if to say, well that wasn’t too difficult.

  The next day was a Saturday and we were queuing up to get into the soft play area at ten o’clock. A young couple joined the queue behind us. The mother had a boy by the hand about the same height as Pat. The father had an infant strapped to his chest. It’s head was thick with dark spiky hair and it’s face almost folded in on itself as it dreamed.

  ‘Wow, beautiful,’ said Anna as she turned and noticed the baby. ‘How old?’

  ‘Four weeks,’ said the father with evident pride.

  ‘Beautiful,’ repeated Anna, her face bright with appreciation. She reached out and with care stroked the top of the baby’s head. ‘Look, Pat,’ she said. ‘A baby.’

  Pat had been craning his neck to see past the queue, past the doors and into the play space beyond. Anna’s voice tore him from his fun imaginings and he looked at the infant with interest.

  He looked at Anna. Then at me. Then his mind whirred back to the conversation we’d had the previous evening.

  ‘Wow. Your vagina must be huge,’ he said to the woman with evident admiration.

  It was a late spring morning when Anna uttered the immortal words. Strong sunlight framed the curtains and birds competed outside for the highest decibel count of the year so far. Anna was on her side, facing me. She prodded my shoulder. I turned to face her, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

  ‘Andy, I’m all wet.’ There was a glint in her eye. A look of suppressed excitement.

  ‘Wet? What do you mean wet?’ Sleep was pushed aside like a weightless quilt as I propped myself up on a pillow.

  ‘Wet, you know, wet. Down there.’

  ‘Is it your waters?’ I was now fully alert but keeping my voice calm and even.

  ‘Well people tend not to leak indiscriminately. So I’ve either peed myself or my waters have broken.’ She said ‘Could you phone the midwife for me?’

  ‘Sure,’ I jumped out of bed, paused and looked over my shoulder, ‘Mind you, the midwife did say that she’d rather speak to the mother, to save her having a three-way conversation.’ Anna struggled to push herself up from the bed.

  ‘I’ll get the phone, you lie there.’ I said.

  Instructions from the midwife were simple: go straight to hospital. Once the waters had broken there was a risk of infection, Anna reminded me, having momentarily forgotten herself.

  ‘Bring a glass of water and let’s make a detour into Mothercare,’ she grinned.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Any expectant mothers who break their waters in the shop get all sort of goodies.’

  ‘Aye, like a slap on the chops for ruining their good carpets,’ I said.

  We laughed, it sounded good, helped to stem the flight of nerves that were beginnin
g to build up momentum in my stomach.

  ‘My bag is already packed: nightie, breast pads, disposable knickers, extra-large sanitary towels, the lot.’

  ‘Extra-large what?’ I asked wondering how women seemed to automatically know about these things. I hadn’t missed any of the ante-natal classes and not once did they mention sanitary towels. Did the women hold a mini-conference in the loos? I strained in memory for similar details when Pat was born. Remembered the crash cart being brought into the maternity ward. Being thrown out into the corridor while the medical staff fought to save her life. I beat a hasty mental retreat. That was a place I did not want to go.

  ‘Don’t ask. Conjures up too many painful pictures. Let’s go. I’m desperate to get rid of this lump.’ Anna struggled straight-backed to push herself off the chair that she was sitting on. ‘Bet it’s a bloody boy, all the grief that it’s given me over the last nine months.’

  ‘Talking about boys, I’d better phone Mum, see if she can take Pat,’ I said. ‘I hope she’s not got something arranged.’

  I needn’t have worried, Mum was on stand-by.

  The drive to the hospital was relatively calm and I even managed to stay within the speed limit.

  ‘Any contractions yet?’ I asked as I drove.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yes I’m bloody sure.’

  ‘Fine, just asking, sweetheart.’

  ‘You’ve “just asked” about a dozen times.’ She looked over at me. ‘Just you concentrate on the road, Andy Boyd.’

  We were ushered into a small room with one bed and various implements dotted around the space. Implements that I imagined would not have looked out of place in a twenty-first century version of the Spanish Inquisition. Anna calmly lay on the bed and let her head sink into the pile of pillows.