Little Liar

by Lisa Ballantyne

  ‘Sounds like you got talent, baby,’ Nick said, eyes smiling, pointing his fork at her.

  Marina looked at her food. Don’t call her baby, she thought, then admonished herself for being so critical of his every word.

  ‘Finish that, love,’ said Betty, holding the dish of cauliflower out to Nick, who obediently emptied the last of the vegetable onto his plate.

  ‘So, how was Katy Perry?’ Nick asked, but Rebecca’s face fell.

  ‘It’s next week, but I might not be able to go. Olivia’s mum can’t take us now.’ Rebecca looked nervously at her mother.

  Nick looked at his sister for explanation. Melissa talked to the table, forking a piece of lamb and taking another potato. ‘It’s not a problem. I’ll find someone else to take you both.’

  ‘Why, what’s wrong with Olivia’s mum?’ Nick asked.

  ‘She sprained her ankle really badly and she’s not supposed to put weight on it, so, I guess, standing for all that time … and also she’s kind of on a crutch, so it would be pretty difficult for her to be, like, in a crowd …’ Rebecca visibly sighed, then began to eat her peas, one at a time.

  ‘We’ll work something out if we can,’ said Melissa, stiffly. ‘If not, I’m sure Katy Perry’ll be back again soon.’

  ‘Or we could go by ourselves?’ said Rebecca so quietly that Marina thought she was the only one who heard it.

  ‘You’re not old enough,’ said Melissa, quickly, curtly.

  ‘We look it.’ Rebecca raised a rebellious eyebrow at her mother, but coloured immediately as Melissa’s stern gaze fixed on her.

  ‘You’ve got the race, right?’ Nick said, wiping his mouth with a napkin as he met his sister’s eyes.

  Melissa nodded.

  ‘I’ll take you, Becks. We shall roar at Katy Perry.’

  Rebecca dropped her cutlery with a clatter. ‘No way? Really? Oh my God, I’ve got to tell Olivia. That would be so great. Seriously … that would be so great.’

  ‘We’re on, then. I’d love it.’

  Everyone was smiling apart from Melissa.

  Mark began to organise a collection of the plates, leftovers and cutlery.

  Nick began to jive in his seat. ‘I am the tiger and I’m gonna hear …’

  Rebecca rolled her eyes. ‘Still wrong.’

  ‘Will you two calm down?’ Betty joked as Mark handed her the plates.

  ‘Was that the Rocky theme tune?’ Tom offered.

  ‘Oh Dad, please, that was a very dated reference,’ Graham joked. ‘I shall begin your re-education next week.’

  ‘It’s quite all right,’ Melissa said suddenly, over the clamour and chatter, her face visibly colouring with what seemed to Marina like anger, ‘my race isn’t that important. I’ll take her.’

  ‘But Mum?’ Rebecca whispered before she was silenced by another caustic glance.

  ‘It’s fine. I don’t want you to miss out on your concert.’ Melissa was sitting erect in her chair.

  Nick grinned, palms up on the table. ‘But … I can take her. You don’t need to miss your race. I’d love to do it, honest. We’ll have fun, eh, Becks?’

  Rebecca raised her shoulders in silent delight.

  Melissa shook her head, but it was more of a shudder that shook her whole body. ‘No, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. We have it covered, but thank you anyway for volunteering.’

  Marina watched Nick’s Adam’s apple bob on his throat. His palms were still turned upwards on the table.

  ‘What?’ Nick looked at his sister.

  Silence fell on the table and the hairs raised on Marina’s arms. She wondered if her morose mood was skewing her perception, but then Melissa said, in a voice that was almost clinical in its coldness, ‘Rebecca, can you leave us to talk? Go and see what your brother and sister are doing.’

  Without another word, face red to the roots of her hair, Rebecca did as she was told and left the table.

  ‘What is it?’ Nick said, quietly, and Marina watched the confusion on his face.

  Unaware of the seconds of communication that had passed, Betty proudly placed an enormous trifle in the middle of the table and Mark stacked bowls and spoons beside it.

  ‘I was just offering to help,’ said Nick. ‘What’s wrong? Why can’t I just take her? You go to your race, Olivia’s mum stays home with her feet up – everybody’s happy – including, it would seem, Rebecca.’

  ‘It’s just not necessary,’ Melissa said coldly.

  ‘Oh for God’s sake,’ said Tom, picking up a serving spoon. ‘Let’s have some pudding.’ He smiled and nudged Graham, who was in a confusion of wanting to maintain the beneficent equilibrium, his normal role, and support his wife. ‘They’re trifling over nothing, eh?’

  No one laughed, but Graham humoured him, putting on a posh voice and echoing, ‘A mere trifle, sir,’ as he spooned a portion of the dessert into his bowl.

  Melissa was undeterred. ‘All right, I’ll say it, if you want me to.’

  ‘Say what?’

  All the energy in the room was pitched between Nick and his sister. Marina was aware of the tug, an almost tangible force between the two.

  ‘I don’t think it’s appropriate for you of all people to be taking two thirteen-year-old girls to a concert.’

  ‘Me of all people? What does that mean? I’m her uncle.’ His voice was now a whisper, as if it might crack.

  ‘Yeah, well, I just don’t think it’s right.’

  ‘You don’t think what’s right? Me?’ Nick said, visibly shrinking in his chair. Silence mottled the room. His eyes fell to the table, hands in his lap.

  Marina swallowed and then got to her feet, putting a hand on Betty’s shoulder in apology for what she was about to say.

  ‘Listen, we’re gonna go. I’ve had a tough day at work and the kids are tired …’ Marina turned to Melissa. ‘But you should say what you mean, you know, sis?’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘Not appropriate? Of course it’s appropriate, but what you mean is that you do not trust your brother, your own blood.’ Marina pushed her chair into the table. ‘It’s good to know, finally, whose side you are on. This man is your brother; you have loved him all your life. He is my husband, and this year has been a test for us, a struggle, but I tell you something …’ Her heart was pounding so hard she could hardly hear her words. ‘I love him better than you do. I know him better than you do. You almost do not know him at all.’

  Nick was open-mouthed beside her. Everyone was still for a moment, as if after an explosion. The words settled in each of their hearts, like dust.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  Nick nodded, followed her into the living room, where she picked up Ava. He took Luca by the hand. In the hall, his parents were both standing, faces blanched with sadness. Nick hugged them both, but Marina could not bring herself to – not that she blamed Betty and Tom, but she could not be a part of this. She could not condone this spectacle any longer. It was like the matanza – and now she saw that Nick, and herself, their whole family, was the pig roped to a board screaming its lungs out.

  Marina strapped the kids into the car, and then got into the front seat and put on her seatbelt.

  They sat in the drive for a few moments, watching the house with the light in the doorway, Nick with the key in the ignition. Marina flipped down the vanity mirror and ran her thumb underneath her lids, sweeping away eyeliner that had smudged when her eyes teared. In the mirror, she caught Luca’s eyes, watchful, concerned, all-seeing.

  ‘Thank you,’ Nick said to the windscreen, turning the ignition and switching on the headlights. ‘How could she even think that about me? I just didn’t know what to say, and then you said it for me. Thank you, bonita …’

  She turned to him. ‘Don’t call me that. Take us home right now.’ The anger that had waited inside her for so long was now rising. Her heart thudded as she waited for the car to start.

  ‘What’s the matter? Why are you angry? You were amazing in there.’

  ‘You’re what
’s the matter. Take us home.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Take us home.’

  Not saying another word, Nick reversed out of the drive and then drove in silence to Firgrove Hill. She kept her face angled away, glancing at him only when she turned into the back to check on the children. The muscle in his cheek twitched and she knew he was clenching his teeth.

  In the back, Ava and Luca were serious and silent, sensing a row.

  As Nick turned onto Long Bridge, they were nearly home. Marina unbuckled her seatbelt before he had even turned into their drive. She was shaking now, at the end of her tether – knowing that there was no other option than to let the children see it.

  The bloodied pig, screaming for life and freedom, flashed in her mind.

  He pulled on the handbrake and reached for her hands.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, pacifying, but she slid her hands from his and left the car, taking Ava out of her seat and setting her down and then ushering Luca out.

  It had rained heavily while they were having dinner and now the gravel drive and the pavements smelled of the thrashing: wet earth and flint, dampened stone. The humid air felt too thick in her lungs.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he started, hands at his sides, palms turned towards her, at once asking for a fight and attempting to defuse the tension. ‘You back me up, and I’m grateful and now you’re like this. I know you’ve had a bad day but—’

  ‘Is nothing to do with bad day. Is you.’ Her grammar always left her in extreme emotional states.

  She pulled Ava and Luca towards her, one on each side. Palms of her hands on their warm heads. Luca resisted her slightly but she was only just aware of it, anger and grief and a sickening despair making her body rigid with tension.

  ‘Yes, I took your side. I am your wife. I love you.’ Her voice broke now, tears burning then chilling on her cheeks. ‘But I cannot love what you did. I hate it and it’s making me … hate you.’

  His face blurred and she blinked the tears away. His whole body seemed to sag. ‘Marina, you can’t believe that I did that.’

  ‘What am I to think?’ She almost had no breath. It came to her in spasms. ‘What you look at disgusts me. You disgust me.’ She was aware of the crown of Ava’s head in her palm and her young son by her side. She gulped, struggling to contain herself. ‘I found another video on my laptop. You can’t control yourself, can you?’

  His lips pinched in what she imagined must be shame.

  ‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ he shouted, loud enough that she flinched. ‘It’s just p—’ He stopped, heel of his hand to his forehead, turning away from them in frustration.

  Porn. Just pornography. It was what he meant but wouldn’t say in front of the children.

  ‘If it doesn’t mean anything, why do you need it? Why, after all we have been through, you still want to watch those things? And why that, only that? Just that video. I saw you watched it twelve times. I couldn’t watch it once.’

  His shoulders sagged, the anger gone and his face sad now, tired out.

  ‘Yeah, well, you’re perfect, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m not perfect, but you’re my husband and their father so why must you look at it … does it excite you?’

  Arms heavy at his side. ‘Yes, it excites me, all right. That’s all. But it has nothing to do with us. I want you to understand that—’

  ‘I don’t understand it and I don’t want to. I don’t want you in the house with us. I don’t want you here.’

  ‘What?’ He took a step towards her, but she backed away, taking Ava with her. Luca stood alone between them.

  The words had been said and now Marina was calm, waves of pain travelling through her muscles as her lungs heaved. She sniffed and wiped her face with one hand, not taking her arm from her daughter.

  ‘You can’t be serious.’

  ‘Go back to your parents, your brother’s, I don’t care. I don’t want you in the house with us tonight.’

  She turned to go inside, but Luca was still rooted to the spot in the centre of the driveway.

  ‘Ven aquí. Ahora,’ she called to him and finally he turned and followed them in.

  Inside, at the window, Marina watched as Nick stood rocking with his head in his hands and then got into the car and drove away.

  32

  Nick

  ‘Melissa didn’t mean that,’ Betty said.

  Nick sat at the kitchen table, head in his hands over a mug of lukewarm, milky tea. He didn’t want to talk about it. He hadn’t been home to Firgrove Hill for two days and was staying with his parents, but Marina had said he could go over later and pick up some clothes and see the children.

  He heard the snap of his mother’s cigarette case and then felt a light breeze as the back door opened.

  ‘I dunno,’ he said, looking up, ‘I think she probably did.’

  ‘No, she didn’t. Your sister supports you. She just gets a bee in her bonnet sometimes. I don’t want you getting down. You’ll probably sort it all out this afternoon. Marina said she loved you … twice … once in front of us and again when she was annoyed with you.’ Reluctant smoke drifted into the room on a stray wind. ‘That’s not what you say when you want to end a marriage.’

  Nick rubbed his eyes with forefinger and thumb. End and marriage echoed in his chest, and caused a stark fear to grip him. And Marina hadn’t been annoyed; she had used the words hate and disgust. He had told his mum something of what had passed between him and Marina. He’d had to – he was in their house with nowhere else to go – but there was no way to explain to his mother what Marina had really meant –why she found him disgusting.

  The children were at nursery and school and Marina was at work. He had arranged to pick up the children and walk Rusty and then pick up some clothes while he was there. As soon as I get home, you have to leave, she had said, no dinner, no talking. I need time to think. I don’t want you there.

  Just the thought of losing Marina ruptured something inside him. It was like bursting a blood vessel, haemorrhaging. He wouldn’t survive the loss of her – he was certain of that.

  He sat up and gulped back the tea, which was now cold and tasted awful. His mother smiled at him from the doorway.

  ‘That’s it. Be positive. I bet she’s had second thoughts already, two nights without you.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, Mum,’ he shouted, standing up and thrusting his mug into the sink. ‘Will you just leave it? It’s none of your bloody business.’

  The strained, saddened expression on her face blanched him.

  ‘Look … I’m sorry.’

  She stubbed out her cigarette. ‘It’s fine, don’t worry about it.’ He could tell he had shaken her. He went to her and took the bones of her into his arms, simultaneously seeking forgiveness and resenting his need for it. He was sick of being sorry. He rubbed her back, her top sliding under the palm of his hand so that he could feel each of her vertebrae.

  At Firgrove Hill, Nick nudged open the front door. His home was at once relief and reproach. Rusty woke from a sleep and scampered towards him, nails tic-tacking on the wooden floor of the hall.

  ‘Hello, boy. We’ll go out soon, okay?’ Nick said, bending to tickle behind the little dog’s ears.

  He kicked off his shoes and walked around the living room and then the kitchen, opening the fridge and inspecting its contents, as if to find his absence in evidence somewhere. He opened the dishwasher. Marina had forgotten to turn it on when she left for work and stacked it with her usual haphazard lack of interest. The dishwasher had always been his job. With distracted pleasure, he took time to reorganise it and then switch it on.

  He went upstairs. He had to do a video audition – a second call-back – over Skype for a small part in an American TV show, and decided that he would do that in the office before he took Rusty out, and picked up the children.

  In their bedroom, he stood looking at the double bed, then walked to the chair by the window over which Marina had hung a worn T-shir
t and a pair of tights. He touched the foot of her stockings and drew it to his face.

  Feeling shorn, he took a holdall from the top of the wardrobe and placed it on the bed. Marina had asked him to pack a few things, but he couldn’t muster the will. He loved her. This was his home. He walked out of the room with the bag still empty on top of the bed.

  In the office, Rusty settled at his side as normal. Nick drank a cup of coffee looking out of the kitchen window, remembering the first visit by Brookes and Weston all those months ago. He was no longer the same man that had opened the door to them, relaxed and happy and thinking of making love to his wife. He was wary now, wounded. Trust was no longer implicit.

  Nick sipped the bitter black coffee. He narrowed his eyes as he watched the branches of the tree swaying in the yard. He was the victim. He was the one justice had let down.

  He put his palms over his face, feeling fatigued. He had barely slept, missing his wife and his children.

  Glancing at his watch, he saw it was two hours until it was time to collect Ava from nursery. He refreshed the browser on his brand new laptop. The police had kept his phone and laptop, and Nick had been so relieved not to be charged, that he had not even queried it and bought new ones.

  He opened up a Word document that was the script for The Great Gatsby with his own part highlighted. The audition was next week. He typed some notes on emotion but then became distracted again. He opened his browser and checked the news and then the weather for the next few days. It was an hour until his Skype interview but he didn’t want to prepare too much – often that put him off, caused the performance to be forced.

  An itch of desire crept over him in the boredom but he wanted to keep this new computer clean. He hesitated, as the itch grew stronger. He thought about doing something else: vacuuming the stairs, putting weed killer on the path. Instead, he let his hands rest on the keyboard and typed: pornhub. With his left hand he unbuttoned his jeans as his right hand navigated to sites that he knew from experience had the best free videos. Penitent, even on the threshold of longing, he chose something lightweight, soft-core, normal.