The Liar’s Chair

by Rebecca Whitney

  He turns and walks to the house, leaving the car door open.

  ‘David!’ I shout to him.

  He stops. ‘What?’

  ‘This isn’t over.’

  He calls over his shoulder, ‘Nothing you do or say can touch me any more, Rachel.’ And he walks away.

  Two figures stride from the shadows, one round to the passenger door to block my escape and the other man to where I’m sitting. One of them opens my door and hauls me out by my elbow. Smell of his breath. Face close. I know him. It’s Will. I open my mouth but already his fist sling-shots forward and cracks my cheekbone, slamming me to the ground.

  ‘For Christ’s sake!’ I hear David’s voice. ‘You idiots. Not here. Do it somewhere else. And make sure you clean up afterwards.’

  Gravel sticks to my face, and from where I lie my blurred eyes see underneath the car to the house. David opens the front door and turns on the hallway light. Three amber rectangles stretch across the driveway: one shape is the light through the open front door and the other two are from the glass panels at either side. The middle oblong narrows to black.

  I am lifted up. One of the men holds me across my chest and the other grabs my feet, but I can’t tell which is Will any more. I try to speak but there’s a hand over my mouth. Blood washes my face and eyes. Head like soup. The boot opens and the men fumble with something inside, then they slide me in and shut the hatch. I lie on plastic; I am a thing to be tidied away, bleached clean like a germ. The plastic is cool and crinkles under my body. Pieces of gravel have stuck to my clothes and they jab into my skin. I try to brush them from under my legs but there’s no room to move. Then the engine rumbles. I roll forward on to my face with a crunch of bone. Backwards, forwards, lolling onwards. A hot liquid spreads between my legs.

  My thoughts flicker on and off, frames of time stutter and break, and then I wake again to carbon-black, my body rocking, and I think for a while I’m in a bunk on a train. There’s a dog in here with me, its dirty paws are on my school skirt. I try to shout but it’s a whisper. Then I’m at Mum’s house in a cupboard and it’s locked. I’ve been in here for a long time and I don’t want to come out. There’s a sharp pain in my thigh, and I remember when I came home earlier, Mike’s motorbike was in our driveway, parked where Peter used to leave his car before he stopped coming to visit. I walked round to the back of the house and found Mike in the kitchen, bending down by the open fridge. When he saw me he stood up, but he wasn’t surprised or embarrassed even though he was in my house without being invited. His chest was bare and his jeans were undone showing the top of his Y-fronts, and he was holding a pint of milk. I opened my mouth to talk but no words came. Instead I half smiled, thinking that in a minute he’d let me in on the joke. He pressed the foil lid into the bottle and dug his middle finger into the cream, then put the creamy plug of his finger in his mouth and sucked. After that he swigged the whole pint from the bottle. Little streams of white ran down his chin and spotted the floor. When he finished he left the bottle on the side. A fly buzzed round the top. Mike walked from the kitchen and up the stairs. I followed. Mum’s bedroom door was open. He went into her room and sat on her bed with his back to me. Mum was facing the door and lay naked on her stomach on top of the sheets. On her windowsill was a pot of yellow chrysanthemums, smelling hot and syrupy in the sunshine. She held the bald stem of one of the flowers in her hand, then chucked it to one side on top of all the petals she’d already pulled off, like a game of ‘He loves me, he loves me not’. She said, ‘What’s the matter, Rachel?’ lifting herself up on to her elbows to light a cigarette. ‘Cat got your tongue?’ The ends of her fingers were stained blue and her breasts stretched down so that her nipples brushed the covers. I ran to my room, hid in the cupboard and put the padlock on. Mum had thrown my schoolbooks inside and all of Dad’s letters and pens, plus some toys I’d kept from when I was younger. There were splodges of ink all over my stuff and on the carpet where Mum must have squeezed out the cartridges. I tried not to think about what she was doing with Mike in the other room, and I knew if I told anyone they’d never believe me. There’d be more lies to tell, one heaped on top of the other until I couldn’t remember what was at the bottom any more. I didn’t know if Mike would still expect me to ride home with him after school, or if he’d try to kiss me still. I picked up one of Dad’s fountain pens. The nib curved into a sleek point as if it had been sharpened with a Stanley knife. I pressed the metal tip on my thigh. It sunk like a slippery fish deep into my leg.

  The car passes over bumps in the road and the pain jolts me awake. I open and shut my eyes several times but it’s as dark both ways. From somewhere near there’s a red glow from the tail lights, and I try to kick them out but I’ve no strength in my legs.

  Again sleep comes, no choice, less like rest, more of a black hole, as if I’m sliding down a mountainside of scree.

  Blank it out, turn off my thoughts, bury them.

  23

  A FRAGMENT OF TIME

  Voices wake me – Will and the other man – bartering.

  Will says, ‘Let me do it. You can keep your share but I want to finish the job.’

  The other man says, ‘I don’t care, do what you want. Easier for me this way. What you got against her anyway?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Just like it, eh?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Please yourself.’

  ‘I will.’

  The other man laughs and I hear a door shut and a car drive away.

  The boot is cold and my wet trousers cling-film to my legs. Underneath me the plastic sheet puckers as I feel around the space for something to use as a weapon, something I can swing at Will when he opens the boot. At his head or balls? I try to remember which is more effective, but I’ll make it worse if I miss. My freezing fingers find nothing hard or long or heavy. Only fluff and bags. A pair of walking shoes. Dry mud crumbles under my nails.

  I wait for Will to come, for the boot to lift open and his hands to pounce. My teeth and nails are ready. Fear bends seconds into eternity. And then the car starts again and we are driving. Disappointment. That I have to wait longer, that it’s not yet over. Waiting for the inevitable.

  The journey stretches across continents of time, only the noise of the engine and exhaust fumes, cold, some shivers of sleep, then a dawn of sorts; edges of light fingering the gaps through which my body can’t pass. Gulls screeching. The car stops. Footsteps pace round the car. Silence. Click of the boot. Open, and Will’s head bursting through an electric sky. I beetle into the farthest crevice but it’s not far enough, and there’s nowhere else to go.

  God, let it happen. Be done with it.

  His hands stretch in. ‘Shh,’ he says, ‘it’s OK.’ My body is rigid, flesh and muscles nearly dead. Will’s fingers are strong and warm, but he can’t grasp the rock of my body.

  ‘I’m not going to hurt you again,’ he says. ‘I promise.’

  He grips my clothes, pulls, and I slide across the plastic, my broken face bumping objects hidden underneath. Nerve endings sense pain but it’s distant, then Will’s arms grab round me and he heaves me out and sits me on the ground next to the car.

  I am solid. Then I shake and shake like I’ll shatter.

  Will takes off his coat and wraps it over the top of my dad’s, the layers heavy. The material falls and he crouches at my side, picks it up and lays the coat once again over my back. His face is close to mine now. ‘I’m sorry I hit you,’ he says. ‘It was the only way they’d believe me. And I had to stop you from saying my name.’ He looks left and right, then back at me. ‘David doesn’t know about us, do you understand? Not everyone’s come out of this alive. Let’s not give them any more fuck-ups.’

  I can hear his words, but I don’t understand them. Will stands. I flinch and cover my head with my hands. He scans the countryside, then relaxes down beside me again. I shiver and he holds the tops of my arms to steady me.

  ‘Rachel,’ he says, turning my chin g
ently and forcing me to look into his face. A shard of pain shoots through my jaw and I wince. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry.’ He lets go and takes a breath. ‘Please understand, I’m trying to help you.’ My eyes dart in all directions, but in the end there’s nowhere else for them to rest apart from on Will. ‘You have to trust me,’ he says. ‘We haven’t got much time. This is it for you as far as David’s concerned. I’m only here because I move in the wrong circles.’ He sits next to me, but not so close that we touch, and he stares into the middle distance. ‘I was so angry with you, Rachel. But I’d never . . .’ He puts his head in his hands, and I can hear his heavy breathing behind his arms. Then he stands with a sudden energy and kicks the car. The door dents. He strides up the beach, taking a moment before coming back and standing in front of me. ‘Look, I never wanted you dead, all right? I wouldn’t go that far. I’m sorry I didn’t help you when you asked me. But you really fucked with my head.’

  Everything on my body shakes like it’s minus forty.

  ‘We haven’t got time for this. If I’m gone too long, they’ll know something’s up.’ He paces in front of me. ‘They’re waiting for me to get back with your car so they can get rid of it.’ He leans down and tries to pull me up by my arm. ‘Come on, Rachel, for God’s sake, you’ve got to help me. You need to pull yourself together.’

  He locks his arms round me to pull me up. His coat falls off my back, and his breath is damp and warm on my cheek. As soon as I’m standing he releases me again and looks away. His voice is small. ‘I’ve never hit a woman before.’ He sniffs and wipes his nose on the back of his hand. ‘Jesus, Rachel, when will you learn that it’s not all about you? How many more people have to get hurt before you get it together?’

  My legs buckle beneath me and Will lunges forward. As he grabs me, I fling my arms round him and hold on tight. Will lowers his arms and they swing loose at his sides. We stand like this for a minute and for the first time I look over his shoulder to see where we are. It’s the coast, a small bay. A few boats wobble on the water in the milky dawn. In the distance two spits of land curve round the water holding in the sea, and through the gap in the middle the horizon folds up into the sky: degrees of grey, ocean and ether one entity.

  Will sighs, puts his hands under my armpits and stands me apart from him, balancing me like a broken toy before he lets go and I’m standing on my own. He nods towards one of the boats: a small fishing vessel about thirty foot long, grubby, no sails, a cabin on top. A man stands on the deck and stares at us. Water fizzes at the back of the boat where the engine churns the water.

  ‘John will take you across the Channel to Ireland, Wexford, or a beach thereabouts, but as close as possible to a town without you being seen.’ Will looks back to me and stammers. ‘When you get to the coast you’ll have to lie low for a bit before you can get off, and when it’s safe John’ll take you to shore in the tender.’

  My eyebrows drag into a frown and Will understands my question without me asking.

  ‘It’s a dinghy. You can’t take a boat this big up to the shore. And you won’t need a passport, no one will be checking where you’re going, not that it’s much of an issue if it’s in a small port either, but just to be sure.’

  ‘I’m scared,’ I say, my voice rusty after such a long pause. ‘I don’t want to go.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got no choice. You can trust John, he’s family.’

  ‘How do I know he’ll get me there? He could do anything to me out on the sea and no one would know.’

  ‘Rachel,’ Will says, staring at me directly, ‘if I wanted to kill you I’d have done it by now.’

  A peep of sun rises over the horizon, and the man on the boat revs the engine. I wonder if John is the family Will has been looking for.

  ‘Come with me,’ I say.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Please.’

  Will’s face reddens. ‘Look,’ he raises his voice, ‘you’re taking the piss. If I don’t go back they’ll know something’s up, then they’ll really come looking for you, and I don’t know if I can protect you again. This is the best I can do. If you think what I did was bad, you wait to see what other psychos David’s got waiting in the wings. He can afford to do what he wants.’

  ‘We could disappear, like you always said.’

  ‘It’s too late, Rachel. You can’t keep playing me like this.’

  ‘I’m not playing you any more. And I’m sorry. For everything.’

  ‘No you’re not.’

  ‘Yes I am.’ I shake again, but this time it’s with anger, not fear, and I’m shouting. Will looks around and shushes me. My voice doesn’t sound like my own, but the words keep rolling out. ‘I didn’t want things to turn out like this, I had no choice in the matter. Everything was taken away from me, years ago. You have no idea. Since then, all my life I’ve been treading water.’

  ‘All right, all right. Keep your hair on.’ Will flaps his hands at me. ‘This isn’t the time or the place.’ His eyes are wide and they sparkle. ‘You have been such a bitch to me, Rachel, and still you think I owe you something. Like I said before, I am done. This is as good as it gets, my parting gift to you. You have to go now or you’re putting us both in danger.’

  ‘Well, this is my choice now,’ I say, my voice quieter, ‘the first I’ve ever had, and I want you to come with me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘As long as you understand, that what I want is you.’

  Will scuffs at the dusty pebbles but won’t look at me. ‘It’s time,’ he says, and walks to the boat, stopping halfway when I don’t follow.

  The sun lifts higher and bleaches through the mist. I look directly at the light and my eyes go water blind until they hurt and I shut them. Bright memory spots of sun morph like hot oil under my eyelids then disappear. Yesterday was the shortest day of the year. From now on each day will accrue a fraction more light. As I open my eyes my vision clears and I step forward, then stride past Will to the shoreline. The man has left the fishing boat and is rowing a small dinghy towards us.

  ‘You’ll need this,’ Will says, catching me up and stuffing an envelope in my pocket. ‘It won’t last for ever, but it’ll keep you going for a while. Get you set up.’

  I look down at the wedge of notes inside the envelope, all used fifties and twenties. The package sits in my pocket on top of the few small bones I’d picked up outside Seamus’s caravan, and to one side is the crumpled flower from Peter’s room. All the petals have come off. The stalk is mushed to brown with only the old seed head left on top.

  Gulls circle and screech overhead.

  ‘You can’t come back, Rachel,’ Will says as he tucks my coat pocket shut. ‘Do you understand? David thinks you’re dead. If he knows you’re still alive, he will find you and kill you. He’ll come for me too.’

  I look directly at him: the whites of his eyes are stained red, and the features of a gentle boy are almost lost underneath his worn complexion. How different it could have been for him if he’d had a better start, if he’d had the safety nets he needed along the way.

  ‘I’m sorry it has to be this way,’ he says.

  ‘It’s not your fault. And it’s not mine either.’

  I have a sense of falling as the scaffolding drops away. My constructs crumble. Without the poisonous repetition of lies and blame, all that’s left is a small point, dense with sweet and painful memory. I step inside my bones. I fill them, and I rise.

  Will opens his mouth to say something, but no words come. He closes his lips tight. I move to him and lean my body on to his chest with my eyes shut. Rain dusts my face, the drops fresh and light. I reach a circle round his back and pull in tight. He pauses for a moment, then folds me in his arms. The warmth of him seeps into my skin.

  No conditions in this moment, nothing hinged that will break off and cause an avalanche. Only this fragment of time exists. Pure. Like no other I have had. Time will move forward, but these seconds will always have been.

  A scraping noise. I l
ift my head to see John pulling the small boat on to the shingle. Waves lap the rubber sides of the dinghy and the man stands in the water with rolled-up trousers jammed at his fat calves.

  Will and I pull apart. From his pocket he takes a small pair of scissors. I flinch. ‘For your hair,’ he says. ‘I need something to give to David. I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to take.’

  I grab the scissors and cut tiny clumps of hair, some of it matted with blood, but the scissors are small and blunt so I give up after a while.

  ‘How do I look?’ I smile, knowing it must be bad.

  He holds me in his gaze before answering. ‘You look fine. You look like you.’

  I hand the tufts to Will and he stuffs them in his pocket, then I give him Seamus’s broken watch.

  ‘David knows I’d never part with this.’ I close Will’s fingers over the pieces of metal and glass.

  As soon as I climb into the dinghy, John pushes us out into the small waves. He leaps on board leaving Will on the shore with inches of water sloshing round his trousers and shoes. The beach recedes.

  ‘I need your phone, throw it to me,’ Will calls. ‘He can trace you through your phone.’

  I dip my hand into my pocket and throw the phone to Will, watching him bend into the shallow waves to retrieve it.

  ‘Sorry,’ I shout.

  He laughs, dripping wet. ‘It’s OK, I forgive you.’

  It takes less than a minute to get to the fishing boat, and John helps me on board before securing the smaller vessel to the back. He gives me a blanket and pours me coffee from a flask. Hot sweet liquid spreads through the sponge of my chest, and the pain that’s travelled round my body for months begins a slow trickle away from my gut. A radio in the cockpit crackles a carol, then a monotone voice echoes a prayer.

  ‘There’s a bit of room down there,’ John says, signalling to a space through a hatch. It looks cosy, and I imagine lying down and rocking with the waves into a deep sleep with the hatch shut, like a cat who’s found a safe place. ‘There’s a bowl and a couple of bottles of water if you want to get cleaned up.’ He lifts the furred anchor and makes his way to the wheel, revving the boat with a judder. I stand. The boat moves out into the sea. I lurch and sit again, watching the shoreline drift and bob.