Behind the Lie

by Amanda James

  Ruan is asleep ten minutes into our journey and I look at his little hand holding my finger, look at every centimetre of his face, his body, and try to push away the feelings of anger that his first few months of life were spent with another mother. Anger has no place in my heart today. Only love. Huge, all-encompassing feelings of love. I bring his hand to my lips and kiss it and that’s when the tears come.

  Instead of taking the road to the beach house, I ask Jowan to drive down the left fork to the beach. Before we take Ruan in to meet his sister, Demi and Alex, I want to introduce him to the ocean. Not too long ago I thought I’d sent his last earthly remains into it, to be carried away on the tide. I want to show the ocean that he’s not dead, not ashes; that he’s alive. Ruan is the boy who lived.

  Perhaps I knew he was alive deep down all the time. That’s why I pictured him on the sands playing with his sister, why I didn’t breastfeed because it wouldn’t have been right, why I imagined him lying next to Iona, kicking his feet at the blue-legged, green-bodied spider on the play mat, and why I couldn’t shake the feelings of utter despair. Because, from the darkness of utter despair, burned a faint little light of hope.

  The little light wasn’t always acknowledged. In fact it was often snuffed out by me, because to let it burn would be evidence I might be edging towards the happy pills. That couldn’t be allowed because I needed to be there for Iona. But there were times that the light shone so bright it couldn’t be ignored, like the night I woke covered in sweat and shaking, convinced he was still alive.

  At the water’s edge now, he lifts his head from my chest and his smile makes a mockery of the sunlight. Jowan smiles too and slips his arm around me. ‘Good to be back, eh?’ he says.

  ‘Can’t quite take it in,’ I say and bob down next to the gentle waves, dangle Ruan from my knee. As the water rushes in, I scoop a handful and let it trickle through my fingers across his little feet. At first he makes a square of his mouth and I think he’s going to cry, but he doesn’t. He just gurgles and kicks the air.

  ‘Next year he’ll be paddling. A proper local lad,’ Jowan says, swishing the water with his hand.

  The thought of next year presents an image of two toddlers. The boy is wearing a white sunhat and dungarees, his sister dressed the same, apart from a yellow hat, and they are laughing and digging in the sand. Angela was right about my not wanting to know the whole story of what Mark did. It sounds unspeakable… and right now I only have room for positive thoughts. My chest swells with so much love and hope I can hardly breathe. ‘Oh, Jowan. I’m so happy… please tell me it isn’t a dream.’ I stand and hold my boy tight against my thumping heart.

  ‘It isn’t a dream, love.’ He holds my gaze and his hand out for mine, and together we walk towards the dunes and the beach house.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Simon ended the call and knew immediately that there was something wrong with Holly. Something more than the fact that they had parted on bad terms after he had been a little forceful with her. Something that sent prickles of apprehension down his spine. He could sense a fake cheerfulness in her voice, her silly comments, her loving words. It was as if she were delivering lines from a badly written play. It wasn’t like her to be so nice to him. Not nowadays anyway, especially after the way they had parted.

  Since she’d left for Cornwall he’d been mulling the situation over. Simon had decided he wouldn’t call her; she needed time to be with her mum and to calm down, but in his heart he’d expected her to call him. She would have done normally. It wasn’t as if he’d had any notion they could carry on together, not after the way she’d behaved, but it rankled that she’d not called. Lauren wouldn’t have done that to him. Lauren was grateful for every moment he gave her, and soon he would give her all of his time. She was his future and Holly was his past. But his wife wasn’t herself, wasn’t herself at all.

  She’d said she’d be up to London in the next few days to pick up some stuff as she was staying longer with her mum. Her back was on the mend but she still couldn’t do much for herself. Holly had said she was looking forward to seeing him and hoped they could get back to normal once she was home for good. Very odd. Home was not a word she’d ever used when referring to their apartment. He’d told her he’d check his operating schedule and let her know when he’d be home. He needed to hold her, tell her he was sorry. Simon had calculated she’d backtrack on this, that there was no way she’d want to be intimate, but no. No, she’d told him she couldn’t wait. She was lying through her teeth, but why? She must have found out about Lauren somehow? But how?

  The only person he’d told about the affair was Mark. There was no way he’d have told Holly. Why would he? There had to be another explanation… Mark would know what to do. He had to speak to him. It was just past seven at night, and though Mark was very protective of his private space, he couldn’t complain about him ringing at that time that, could he? He eyed the vodka bottle but shook his head at his reflection in the glass doors. That would be a mistake. Coffee instead.

  Simon watched his hands calmly making coffee while his thoughts were anything but. Okay, think. He needed to be casual with Mark, just ask after him, and suggest they meet for a drink, something like that. It would be best face-to-face anyway. He was hopeless on the phone when he was worried about anything. Yes, he was going to leave Holly, but it had to be planned – on his terms. Simon couldn’t be doing with Holly going off her rocker, cooking up some revenge plot or something. She must be cooking something up, mustn’t she, if she was being all nicey-nicey with him?

  An unpleasant thought thumped him in the gut. What if she’d found out where his girlfriend lived? What if she planned to hurt Lauren? No. No, she wouldn’t do that, would she? It was possible. Holly was hardly what you’d call the calmest of people, especially if she’d found out he’d been with Lauren while she had been grieving over Ruan…Shit… he needed to ask Mark. His old friend could always make molehills from his mountains with a few well-chosen words. He was very good at reasoned, logical conclusions. Simon needed some of those, because the jitters were making a tumble dryer of his stomach.

  An automated voice told him that Mark’s number had not been recognised. Simon frowned at the phone and punched the redial button again. The voice started again, so he cut the call and physically entered the number again from his old notebook. The voice again. Simon roared and chucked the phone at the sofa cushion. What the hell? He paced and scrubbed his fists at the sides of his head. Why would his old friend change his number and not inform him? His skin itched, his eyes ached. He needed to see MARK!

  In the car heading across London, Simon’s rage reduced to a simmer and he wondered if he was making a mistake. Perhaps he was overreacting; perhaps Mark would be furious at his showing up unannounced. There had to be a pretext of some sort. He could say he’d tried ringing, but there was something wrong with Mark’s phone (yeah, he’d ditched the number without telling him) and he just had to see him about… about what? Business might be an answer. At a red light, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and wracked his brains… and then smiled. Of course. He had money that needed to be invested wisely. Mark knew all about money and making it. An excellent idea. Simon would praise his expertise, chat about investments, and then casually mention Holly, talk to him about his concerns.

  Simon pulled up just short of the grand house in Hampstead and cut the engine. The sunset had set the sky on fire and Mark’s house sat dark and quiet against it. No lights on. Shit! He’d expected that Angela would be home even if Mark wasn’t. In this instance he’d still planned to go in, chat to Angela and try to find out Mark’s new phone number. Now he’d come all this way for nothing. Simon drew his hand across the stubble on his chin and forced some optimism. Perhaps they were in their huge conservatory at the back having a few drinks on such a lovely evening. Yes, that would be it. Another flash of anxiety. The thought again that Mark might be angry with him, showing up at his home out of t
he blue like this… But never mind. Needs must.

  The flash of anxiety became a flare as he walked up the steps to the front door. Mark might be furious if he was in the bath or something, or possibly being intimate with his wife. A sigh. No going back now. He pressed the bell and waited. Nothing. He pressed the bell again and looked up at the windows.

  No lights. Silence. Fuck.

  As he was preparing to go down the side entrance to the back garden he saw a head pop round the door in the next house. Oh great. Not bloody Isadora sodding Duncan. She was all he needed – he’d never get away from her. Simon pretended not to see her and set off down the path.

  ‘Hello! Simon, isn’t it?’

  The reedy voice snaked round, hooked him back. He couldn’t ignore her – she’d only follow him anyway, knowing her. He retraced his steps and dredged up a smile. ‘Hello. Isadora; yes, it’s Simon. Thought I’d pop over and visit my chums. It’s been a while.’

  Isadora popped back inside momentarily, then shrugged on a cardigan as she closed the short gap between them, her face full of news. ‘You’ll be lucky,’ she said, folding her arms and scanning his face with her intelligent eyes. ‘I think they’ve “done one”, as the youngsters say.’

  ‘Done one?’ Simon said, though he knew full well what that meant. He refused to believe it. Couldn’t.

  ‘Yes. Mark came today and seemed to be in an awful hurry. He kept going in and out with bags, suitcases.’

  ‘Bags and suitcases?’

  Isadora put her head on one side and looked at him. ‘Yes, dear. Are you quite all right? You seem to be repeating the last few words of my sentences.’

  Simon wanted to slap the twinkle from her eyes and put his hands around her scrawny neck. This wasn’t funny. Wasn’t fucking funny at all. He gathered his senses. ‘I’m just a bit shocked. I had no idea they were going anywhere.’

  She pulled her chin to her neck and snorted. ‘You and me both. You’d think that after nearly ten years of being neighbours he’d have come to tell me, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘But how do you know they’ve gone? They might have just gone on holiday… they have a new baby and might just need a break.’

  ‘I know because Mark said he was. After I’d watched him hurrying in and out a few times I decided to stick my beak in – I don’t normally, but curiosity got the better of me.’ Isadora stopped and gave him a cheeky smile. Simon’s hands itched to throttle her. Why didn’t she just get on with it?

  ‘Really?’ he said through clenched teeth.

  ‘Yes, really. I stood almost where I’m standing now and he was near his car.’ she waved her arm towards the pavement. ‘I asked where he was going and he said “away”, just like that.’ Isadora pursed her lips. ‘Curt, clipped, dismissive.’

  Simon’s thoughts stopped their downward spiral and grabbed at her words. ‘Away could mean just that. Away on holiday.’

  ‘No, I checked. I said, “Oh, away on holiday with Angela and the baby?”’

  Again she did that infuriating pause and Simon folded his arms. ‘So what did he say?’

  ‘He slammed the boot down and said, “No.” Just, no. Nothing else. It sounded very final. Then he got in his car and left without so much as a backward glance. Very rude and not like him at all. I think he is an extremely troubled man.’

  Simon felt a bit better. The old trout had probably just irritated Mark once too often. He knew he couldn’t have lived next door to her for ten minutes, let alone ten years. He said, ‘Well, he might just have been having a bad day. Who knows?’

  Isadora turned up one side of her mouth and fixed him with a keen stare. ‘I do actually; you see, I didn’t tell Mark, but I know full well he wasn’t going away with Angela and the baby. Naughty of me, I know, but I was trying to do a bit of digging.’

  The pause again. ‘How did you know?’ Simon heard a tremor in his voice.

  ‘Because Angela had come the day before and done the same thing as him. I’d come out and asked her if I could meet the baby. I knew she didn’t have a baby with her though, as I’d watched her from my window going in and out with suitcases and bags even quicker than Mark. No baby to be seen.’

  Simon found that he was leaning against the wall of Mark’s house. He felt queasy and it took all his strength to be polite. ‘Oh, that is odd.’

  ‘Very. Particularly when you hear the next bit.’ Isadora sighed and shook her head. ‘I asked Angela if she was going away on holiday and someone was looking after the baby. You’ll never guess what she said.’

  Isadora’s face was full of expectation. at the thought of delivering There had to be a punchline that Simon didn’t think he wanted to hear. He swallowed hard. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She said she wasn’t going on holiday, she was going for good, and that the baby was back where he belonged.’ Simon’s world shifted. ‘Now what do you make of that?’

  Queasy turned to nauseous and Simon could hear the thump of his heartbeat in his ears. This couldn’t be happening. No. No. God, no! He pushed himself from the wall and stumbled down the path to the street. Isadora called after him but he ignored her, ran to his car.

  *

  At times of crisis he always reached for the bottle, but this was a crisis to end all others. This time he needed a clear mind. Simon closed the apartment door behind him, strode to the sofa and pulled his phone from his jacket.

  ‘Simon? How nice to hear from you, love. I was only saying to Demi the other day how it’s been ages since I saw you.’

  ‘It is, Wendy. We must make time to see each other soon. Can I speak to Holly?’ Simon was relieved his voice sounded normal, even though the phone was shaking in his hand.

  ‘Holly?’

  At the question in her voice Simon’s heart began free fall. His fears were starting to come horribly true. ‘Yes, you know, your daughter, my wife.’

  ‘Well, she’s at the beach house, love…’

  Simon hurled a cushion at the door but tried to make his voice calm. ‘Right… not there looking after you then?’

  ‘Oh. Um… well, she was but… er…’

  Damn it, she was lying. She’d twigged something was wrong. He cursed under his breath. Why hadn’t he just started the conversation by asking how her back was? Fuck. She was on her guard now.

  ‘So is your back improving?’

  ‘My back… is, er… getting better, thank you.’

  He wanted to say, well, that’s not what your lying cow of a daughter said. In fact she said you still couldn’t do much for yourself, and that’s why she was extending her stay. But instead he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘Well, that’s a relief. Speak to you soon, Wendy. Bye now.’

  He ended the call and put his head in his hands. What the bloody hell was going on? If Holly suspected anything, why the hell hadn’t she blown it all apart, gone crazy at him down the phone, anything but say she was coming home, was dying to see him? It didn’t make sense at all. And how the FUCK did she know in the first place?

  Simon raised his head and the first thing he saw was the vodka bottle. One wouldn’t hurt. He needed to stop this bloody shaking. Then he couldn’t find a glass quick enough, so the top came off and he raised the bottle to his lips. As the fiery liquid burned a path down his throat he felt immediately calmer. He turned off the lights and, through the windows, watched the activity on the moonlit Thames below. Two pleasure boats passed close by, broadsiding each other with flashing lights, music and a gabble of revellers intent on boozing and cruising.

  People strolled along the walkways enjoying the warm spring evening, perhaps talking about the show they were going to, or the restaurant they’d booked. And as he watched them, watched the whole scene, he allowed his mind to pick a clear path, to step out of all the blind alleys it had been running down.

  Simon sipped from the bottle and closed his eyes. It was obvious that dear little Holly was playing a game. He didn’t know what game, or any
of the rules, but he was a fast learner. There was the option of flying down to her little rathole in Cornwall, all guns blazing, catching her out, but that wasn’t his style. The gun could backfire too – land him in all sorts of shit. No. Holly would come to him. If she thought she was his match, she’d be sadly mistaken, because whatever game she was playing, he’d win. And when he did, by God she would pay a heavy price for crossing him. Simon felt a tickle of excitement in his belly. He put the top on the bottle and reached for his phone. Oh yes, he was so going to enjoy this game.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  My twins are lying on the play mat together, gurgling and kicking their legs. Already inseparable, it’s as if each has always known the other existed. When Iona first saw Ruan, her whole face lit up, her chubby little hands reaching for his, and his for hers. Womb buddies reunited.

  My twins.

  I will never tire of saying those words, hearing them in my mind or out loud. Last night they slept in bed with me. Well, they slept and I stared at them adoringly for hours, until exhaustion eventually closed my eyes. There was just about room still in the Moses basket for one of them, the other in the cot, but I couldn’t bear to have them out of my grasp.

  Demi and Alex stayed over and I’m cooking us all a wonderful breakfast. I hope full bellies will pave the way for the huge favour I have to ask them. Jowan too, though I don’t think he will be too hard to persuade. While we haven’t talked about what the future holds for us, my heart will never forgive me if I don’t forgive him. Any future without him in it looks less than rounded, rough around the edges… incomplete. Though I can’t allow any serious discussion of all that at the moment. There are loose ends to be tied and the sooner the better.