Behind the Lie

by Amanda James

  A baby cries and I sit up, a scream in my throat. It takes a few seconds for reality to sink in and when it does I’m overcome with relief. I’m in bed. I was dreaming – a terrifyingly real nightmare. The third since I went to bed last night totally exhausted. The gauze curtains rise and fall, the waves roll in, my heart slows, and from the cot next to my bed, Iona yells for her breakfast. Ruan wakes too and joins in with his sister. Though I am still shattered from lack of sleep and the trauma of yesterday, I can’t remember hearing a sweeter sound.

  Getting out of bed I stand between the cots and stretch my hands to theirs. Immediately two pairs of eyes lock on mine and yells turn to smiles. I marvel at their little hands clasped around each of my fingers. How can these children have such sunny personalities given what they have been through. I smile and stroke their hair.

  Then I try to be objective. In actual fact they haven’t been through anything too terrible, have they? Yes, they have been separated, but thankfully Ruan had Angela, and I know beyond doubt that she adored him. He wasn’t harmed in any way and for that at least I am grateful. Iona might have suffered a little given my state of mind after I thought her brother was dead, but I don’t think so. And it’s not something she will ever remember.

  I pick them both up at the same time, something I won’t be able to do for much longer given their growth rate, and tell them that there is no place in our lives for gloomy thoughts. Our future will be full of sunshine and roses, and if anyone tries to give us dark clouds and weeds we’ll send them packing.

  Jowan appears in the doorway half asleep, his hair a mess of curls, a day’s growth of stubble on his chin. Wearing just boxers he stretches and yawns and I can’t help notice the pull of muscles across his toned stomach. My cheeks flame and I put the twins on my bed.

  ‘Morning,’ I say over my shoulder. ‘Sorry, did the babies wake you?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s a lovely sound. Two crying babies are always better than one, eh?’

  The smile I send him comes right back at me, big, bright and beautiful, then he stretches again and I look back at the twins. ‘Can you give me a hand to take them downstairs and get them ready? I need to ring Mum then and get the celebration lunch underway.’

  Jowan comes over and picks up Ruan. ‘I wish you’d rethink that one. You need a few days to recover from your ordeal first, love. And I still think you should get a doctor to check you over. You were out cold you know.’

  I wave away his frowny face and head downstairs with Iona. ‘I told you I’ll be fine. If there is any brain damage, nobody would know the difference, me being nuts and all.’

  ‘Oh, ha ha.’ He follows me into the kitchen and we put the children onto the play mat. ‘Well at least put the lunch off until later. You might laugh it off, but you’ve had a terrible ordeal and you need to rest.’

  ‘No. Mum needs to meet her grandson properly without all the upset that went with it yesterday, and besides, I want to celebrate! God knows we have had enough misery lately.’

  ‘Okay, if you insist,’ Jowan says and walks out onto the balcony.

  There was something about the look he just gave me and his stance now as he leans on the rail and gazes out over the early morning ocean. Against the competing hues of grey and blue he looks like a cardboard cut-out. As though he’s been stuck there by a careless hand. He hunches his shoulders and looks down to the beach. He’s gone all stiff and rigid, awkward, as if he doesn’t fit into the scene. Then it hits me what was behind the look he gave me.

  My hands stop making the twins’ bottles up and I stare at his back. He doesn’t fit into the scene because he wants to be elsewhere. There was a depth of sadness in his eyes… sadness and loss. Maybe he’s decided he doesn’t want this. Me. A ready-made family. Yes, I know it was him that made the running from the word go, but perhaps now he’s having second thoughts and who would blame him? He’s too nice to tell me, especially now, after what happened yesterday. No matter what happens today, we must have that talk before another goes by… be the outcome bad or good, no more delays.

  *

  ‘Holly, my love! My little girl. Thank God you’re safe!’ Mum’s chin wobbles and she flings her arms around me and sobs into my neck. I’m not sure how to take this uncharacteristic show of emotion. Her little girl? Even when I was a little girl I can’t remember her being so affectionate. Because she is beside herself, my emotions rise and swell and I know that if I don’t squash them down, I will be blubbering too.

  My hands do the back patting thing, and presently I say, ‘I’m okay, Mum. I’m okay. Me and the babies are together now and back here for good.’

  Mum breaks away gently and blows her nose on a tissue bigger than her head. ‘What a bloody nightmare you went through, what a terrible, terrible mess,’ she says, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table and slumping down into it as if she had jelly for legs. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you suspected Ruan was alive?’

  I join her opposite and put my hand on hers. ‘I did if you remember. Said I had a feeling that he hadn’t died, and you were bad enough then. Can you imagine how you would have reacted if I said I had a letter telling me he was still alive? You would have thought that I was becoming depressed again, imagining things. You might have told Simon and as things turned out that would have been far, far worse than I have ever imagined. As far as you were concerned, Simon was a wonderful man – a bloody good catch, I think you said, when I first told you that I was marrying him.’

  ‘Well, he did seem to be,’ she sniffs. He was from a posh background, a surgeon for goodness’ sake. I would never have thought one of our family would have married into those circles. I was just so glad that you’d never have to scrimp and save.’

  I sit back and fold my arms. ‘There’s more to happiness than money.’

  ‘Of course, there is. But me and your…’ Her eyes fill again. ‘Your dad wanted the best for you that’s all. And when Jowan left, you were so, so sad. I thought you’d never get over him. But you did.’ Mum blows her nose again and leans forward, curiosity narrowing her eyes. ‘How did you and Jowan get back together? You could have knocked me over with a feather when Demi told me. And then when he opened the door this morning to me I…’

  My mother’s voice is not the softest and I don’t want Jowan catching this. I put my index finger to my lips. ‘Let’s talk about that another time, Mum.’

  She pulls her chin back into her neck. ‘Oh I see,’ she says in a tone of disapproval.

  ‘I doubt that you do, but let’s talk about nice things.’

  Mum isn’t in the mood for nice things judging by her expression. ‘What I don’t understand is how Simon went from such a loving husband to doing something like… well… it isn’t like anything else, it’s nothing more than despicable. Unthinkable. To give his son to someone else, tell you that he was dead…’

  Wait until she finds out the reason he did it. Was telling her all about Simon a good idea? She might go on and on and on. But if I don’t, we’d have to keep returning to it. I want to tell her everything and then we never speak about him again. Then I check myself. Everything but the part where he tried to kill me… What good would that do? She’d just have nightmares about it. Demi was hysterical when she’d heard about it all upon our return last night, so God knows what it would do to Mum. No. It was over now and talking about it wouldn’t help anyone – least of all me.

  ‘The thing is, Mum. I don’t think he ever was the loving husband you think he was. He rescued me at a time I was most vulnerable, not for my sake, but for his. I never told you the whole truth… but I will now. I’ll put the kettle on.’

  Ten minutes later, Mum’s tea is still in front of her, untouched. Tears are streaming down her face and dripping off her chin and I think it might have been all too much. Then she says to the ceiling, ‘You were a drug addict? A drug addict and I never knew. Yes, you told me you had depression, had to when you came up to see your dad – it was obvious I su
ppose… but drugs…’

  Her red-rimmed eyes and bewildered expression are too much for me to take. She’s disappointed in me. That’s par for the course then. I say I have to check on the twins. They have been asleep a good while now, but she stops me with, ‘My poor love. What kind of a mother must I be that you couldn’t come to me. Your dad always said I was too hard on you, but that’s because I wanted the best for you… and…’ She throws her hands up. ‘What a bloody mess.’

  So… not disappointed in me? Disappointed in herself. My heart reaches out a bit and I say, ‘No use in blaming yourself, Mum. I felt bad that I couldn’t protect my boy from Simon – but how could I? You did nothing wrong.’

  Mum’s face sets into a glower. ‘That bloody man. If he wasn’t dead I’d kill him.’

  ‘Careful, Mum. That’s too “bloodys” in one afternoon.’ I try a smile.

  ‘That man would make a saint swear.’ She takes a sip of cold tea and pulls a face. ‘Did you ever find out why he did it?’

  A deep breath fills my lungs and I let it out slowly. It still takes a lot of believing. ‘Yes, it was money. He got up to his neck in gambling debt and so sold Ruan for two million pounds.’

  ‘No… No, Holly. Tell me that’s not true.’ When I don’t, she startles me by smashing the heel of her hand on the table with such force that the tea slops over her mug. ‘The fucking devil! The fucking evil bastard! Evil!’ she yells, her face contorted in rage.

  My God, I thought I’d never see the day when my mum used the F word. If the situation wasn’t so tragic I’d laugh. Just then Demi, Alex and Jowan come in weighed down with bags of goodies for the celebration lunch. Mum turns bright red and goes to the bathroom.

  ‘Was that Wendy swearing?’ Demi asks, incredulous.

  ‘Yes, but then I did just tell her why Simon gave Ruan away.’

  ‘Ah. That would make a saint swear,’ she says and begins unpacking the bags.

  Late afternoon finds us all on the beach in the shade of a sand dune. The spring weather is perfect for it. A gentle breeze tempers the sun’s heat and we’re all on our knees creating the biggest moat around a spectacular collection of sand castles. Our endeavours have produced three tiers, flags, drawbridges, shell patterns, you name it. Mum is on grandma duty and thoroughly enjoying peeping into the beach tent every few minutes to check the children are still sleeping, while the rest of us act like big kids. And oh my God, does it feel good. I really can’t remember the last time I just let go, let my hair down and had such uninhibited fun.

  Since I married Simon I haven’t been myself. Not really. There was always a bit of me that I kept in reserve. Maybe it was because I knew Simon wouldn’t approve. He’d say I was childish or something, ruin whatever I was doing anyway. Why had it taken me so long to realise what we had wasn’t right. Never had been? Still, that was over now – dead and buried just like he soon would be.

  The police had come round just after lunch to tell me about the accident. I had done a good job of being shocked, because I was. I hadn’t expected them just to show up so fast… not with the way he died. To be honest, I hadn’t even thought about the police properly for some reason. Stupid really. They said though the car had burned, the registration plate was still legible and led them to Simon. It didn’t necessarily mean that the body they found was Simon’s, but given that he wasn’t at home and his phone was dead, chances were that it was likely. The dental records should give them the answer, but that hadn’t been established yet. I should be prepared for the worst.

  Mum had talked for me, thank goodness. Asked lots of questions about where and how it had happened. They said the weather must have played a part – he’d been driving too fast in a storm, they thought, but that was all they knew at the moment. I just thanked them for telling me, and then they went.

  Later Demi and I talked about why Simon had told me everything he’d done. If he hadn’t, if he’d just kept quiet, he could have let me go. He could have gone to his woman and that would have been it. I would never have suspected his involvement. Yes, I know he said that he couldn’t trust me to keep quiet about Mark, and that might have eventually led the authorities to Simon, but to just tell me it all like that seemed incredible.

  Demi said that she’d done a bit of criminology and psychology at night school and that she thought he definitely had psychopathic tendencies. Simon wanted to tell me everything because he was proud of how he’d fooled us all. He also then needed to kill me because his main aim was winning, and then moving on to a new game. I was the old game – I had to go. He wouldn’t have liked the messy and unsavoury bits of his past clinging to his rosy future.

  Demi throws a bit of seaweed at my head and snaps my mind back to the sunny afternoon. I laugh and look round for Jowan. He’s been having fun today too, but I can tell he’s not been as carefree as the rest of us. Too often there’s been a faraway look in his eye and he’s been subdued from time to time. Jowan’s missing. I shield my eyes and look along the shoreline. He was there a while ago filling plastic buckets with seawater for the moat. I can’t see him now though. Alex says he went back to the beach house for the loo a while ago.

  Ten minutes later I decide to go and find him and collect some beers while I’m at it. Out of the shade and scrambling up dunes, I realise how unfit I am. Sweat trickles down my back and I’m puffing like an old goat. Once the dust has settled I must get back into some kind of healthy-eating routine and exercise plan. The fact that I’m planning to collect beers at the same time as having these thoughts isn’t lost on me.

  The cool of the kitchen is heavenly and I run the tap and drink straight from it. ‘Jowan? You want a beer?’ I call behind me as I dab my mouth with a towel. No answer. He might be in the shower washing sand from his feet. I smile to myself. He has a thing about sand getting between his toes and rubbing… I stop in my tracks. The cool of the kitchen feels warm next to the chill that runs the length of me. My gut twists and I have this unshakable fear that he’s gone. He’s not in the shower, the bedroom… anywhere in the house. He’s gone.

  On my bed there’s a bit of paper folded in half. I poke it with a fingernail and it falls open a bit; I glimpse Jowan’s handwriting before it closes again. I can’t pick it up, can’t read it because if I do… if I do my fears will become a reality. This morning when he was looking out to sea on the balcony I knew that it would come to this…but until I read the words on the paper, the note, there is still hope. In the spare room his bags have gone. The room looks like he was never there.

  I hear Demi come in, yelling that she’s dying for a pee and I go back to look at the note again. I’m still looking when she comes up behind me. ‘What’s up? We’re all dying of thirst on the beach.’ Her grin freezes when she sees my face. Then she follows my gaze. ‘What are you looking at that bit of paper for?’

  ‘It’s a note from Jowan. Please read it, Demi.’

  ‘Why don’t you?’ she says, but I can see by her face that she knows why. After a moment’s hesitation she grabs it and shakes her head. I see her swallow hard.

  ‘Please read it,’ I whisper.

  She nods and unfolds it. ‘“My darling Holly. I have decided that it’s best that we call it a day.”’ She stops and makes a thin line of her lips.’

  ‘Carry on,’ I say, though I don’t want to hear it.

  Demi shakes her head in bewilderment. ‘“I have the wanderlust again. I tried to kid myself that settling down in my hometown with you was what I wanted, but I don’t think it is… I will always wonder if I don’t follow my heart, see the world, won’t I? I don’t want to get to be an old man and wonder what if… That said, I will always love you. Love the twins too. Be happy, my love. From your Jo xxx”’

  Demi’s eyes mist over, but mine are dry. So there it is in black and white. He’s left me again, just like I always feared he might… the selfish, shallow bastard. My head told me to be sensible, protect myself, but I didn’t pay attention. How stupi
d was I to forgive him, let him back into my heart just to have him rip it up, stamp all over it?

  ‘Oh, bloody hell, Holly. I am so sorry. What are you going to do?’ Demi says taking a step towards me, the note fluttering in her fingers like a dying bird.

  I take the note, screw it into a ball and hurl it across the room. ‘I’m going to get some beers and go play on the beach. Coming?’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Eight weeks later…

  The shade of the garden at the back of the beach house is a little patch of heaven. Flaming June has run into boiling July and in two days time, according to the weather forecast, scorching August is waiting to carry the baton. Iona and Ruan are in the paddling pool and are sitting up, practically unaided. They both mastered this last week in the bath and my heart swelled with parental pride. They are only four months old and this seems early according to my baby books. Okay, so they are propped up by inflatable lobsters, but that’s unaided in my world.

  My world is so much happier without Simon in it. It took a while, but I no longer feel guilty in the slightest when I think of his death. Many would say he deserved it, and I think I would be amongst them. It wasn’t as if I killed him, was it? No. He did that all by himself, so hell-bent was he on getting revenge. Sometimes, when I sit alone on the balcony in the evening, I do worry about what I’ll tell the twins about their father when they are old enough to ask.

  It goes without saying that Ruan will never know where he spent his first few months or why, but how can I tell them the lie that Simon was a good husband and father who died tragically in a car accident? There’s plenty of time to think of the right words, of course. Then there’s the problem of the birth certificate that Angela left in the bag of his things. It had obviously been forged somehow; they were the named parents and Ruan’s name was Harry Nathaniel Jenson. Another headache for the future… still, if it comes to it, a DNA test would prove I am in fact his mother. I shut my mind to that for now. It’s all too much.