A Few Little Lies

by Sue Welfare

  Jon pointed into the gloom. ‘Sitting room here on the left. Dining room, next door. Down the bottom is the kitchen. Loo out through the back. Shall we go and dump the shopping?’

  Carrier bags in hand, Dora followed him into the shadows. The kitchen seemed pleasantly familiar: battered pine units, a row of crockery, washed but not dried, standing on the draining board. A kitchen table with an ashtray, letters, newspapers – all of which looked as if they had been quickly shuffled into tidiness before Dora had arrived. The room had a sense of being made up of mismatched oddments. And Jon was right, Dora felt totally at home. She pulled out a chair near the kitchen table while Jon packed away the odds and ends of shopping.

  ‘Do you want me to help you cook whatever it is we’re going to eat?’

  Jon grinned. ‘Er, no, I don’t think I do. I’m not sure how I’m going to get on with someone watching me.’

  ‘I could close my eyes if you like.’

  Jon shook the kettle experimentally. ‘Would you like some more coffee?’

  Dora nodded then shook her head. ‘No, not really, but we have to keep this conversation going somehow.’ She stood up and thrust her hands into her trouser pockets, looking out of the dusty windows into the little courtyard beyond.

  ‘We’re supposed to make small talk now, aren’t we. I’m supposed to say what a nice place you’ve got here, and you are supposed to make humble but happy noises, and offer to show me the rest of the house and –’ She turned. ‘Would you mind very much if we cut that out and went hammer and tongs at a few real conversations? And the other thing is, would you mind very much if I had a cuddle?’

  Jon stood the carrier bag back on the unit and stepped towards her. He slid his arms around her and she lay her head on his chest. She could hear his heart beating and smell the soft masculine smell of his body under the aftershave he was wearing. He felt warm and strong and she shivered as he held her tight against him.

  Dora realised, with an intense wave of pain, that it had been far too long since she had held anyone in her arms. The thought solidified into a lump in the back of her throat. While her mind was full of excuses and anxieties and random thoughts, her body moved instinctively against Jon’s and she struggled to hold back the tears.

  Desire mingled with tenderness; she took a deep breath as the feeling grabbed hold. Surely this was supposed to happen far more slowly, when she felt calmer, and had thought it all through. She couldn’t let herself free fall into something she wasn’t ready for – whatever her body said it wanted.

  She looked up into Jon’s eyes. ‘That feels so much better,’ she murmured, in an undertone and pulled away quickly.

  Jon grinned. ‘Do you know, you’re absolutely terrifying?’

  Dora pulled a face. ‘Really?’

  He nodded and then kissed her, softly, mouth working against hers, sliding his tongue between her lips in an exquisite electrifying enquiry.

  Dora felt her stomach back flip and every cell, every molecule, seemed to be alight and tingling. She struggled to breathe. It felt as though her whole consciousness centred on the places where their bodies touched. Returning his kiss with equal fervour, she thought she might just drown.

  The phone rang as Dora slid her hand up under Jon’s tee shirt. Touching his muscular warm back made her mouth water. It rang just as his kiss had become more insistent and she felt his hands sliding to caress her spine, tugging gently at her shirt. It rang just as she felt that there was nothing that could stop them – and it kept on ringing.

  Jon stepped back, gasping. ‘I really ought to get that.’

  Dora nodded, afraid to speak. She turned away as he hurried out into the hall, and stared out of the windows. Outside was a little sunlit courtyard built with soft golden bricks around urns and a wooden bench and table. Her mind drank in the details instantly, almost like ballast, as if taking in the greens and gold of the variegated ivy would help her regain her equilibrium.

  She swallowed hard and clutched at the edge of the kitchen sink. Wasn’t the strong voice of reason and morality supposed to make itself heard about now? Didn’t she ought to be asking herself what the hell she was doing? Dora plugged the kettle in and took two mugs off the rack. Morality and reason seemed to be remarkably quiet; perhaps they had Saturdays off.

  Out in the hall, Jon tucked the phone under his chin.

  ‘Hello, Jon Melrose?’

  He expected to hear Rhodes, his detective sergeant, or someone from the station.

  ‘Hello, Jon, it’s me.’ His ex-wife Nita’s voice hit him in the solar plexus like a clenched fist.

  ‘Nita?’ he said, struggling to sound normal.

  ‘I’m really sorry to ring, Jon. I tried to ring you at the station, they told me you were at home.’

  He’d felt his gut contract. ‘What is it? Is anything wrong?’ He knew by the tone of her voice there was.

  Nita had taken a deep unsteady breath. ‘It’s Joe, he’s been knocked off his bike and broken his arm. We’re over at the hospital. I thought you would want to know.’

  ‘Is he all right?’ Jon tried hard to swallow down the dizzy coppery taste of fear as he waited for more information about his son.

  Nita’s voice cracked. ‘Yes, yes, just broken his arm and got a lot of cuts and bruises.’ Her fear had started to gain momentum. ‘Oh, Jon, he frightened the life out of me. We’re at the General in Keelside. They’re going to set his arm under anaesthetic. He’s in theatre at the moment.’ The tears bubbled up behind the words. ‘Oh, Jon. Please come –’

  Jon made soft comforting noises, trying very hard to be the strong one. As he spoke, all he could imagine was Joe’s small muscular body lying on a stretcher. ‘Where’s Sam?’

  Nita groaned. ‘It’s so crazy,’ she snuffled miserably. ‘For the first time since we’ve been together he’s had to go in to work this afternoon. They had a breakdown at the factory. I’ve been trying to ring him, but there’s no-one on the switchboard at weekends.’

  Jon nodded. ‘It’s all right, don’t worry. I can get someone from the station to go over there and pick him up for you. Where’s Anna?’ An image of his daughter, a bright shiny clone of Nita, flashed momentarily in front of his eyes.

  ‘I left her with the people next door. I thought you ought to know, Jon –’

  He spoke gently. ‘You’re right. I can be there in a few minutes. Is that okay?’

  Nita’s voice finally gave way under the emotion. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she sobbed.

  When he finally laid the phone down, he glanced back into the kitchen. Dora Hall was making coffee, her small frame neatly arranged in a soft cream shirt and corn-coloured cords. She looked incredibly desirable. He moaned softly, with a head full of paradox.

  When Jon came back through the door he looked distracted and, Dora thought, almost surprised that she was still there. He was clutching his jacket in one hand.

  Dora stared at him. “What is it?’

  Jon seemed to struggle to find any words. ‘It’s my son, Joe, he’s been in a car accident. I’ve got to get over to the hospital and meet Nita there. She couldn’t get hold of Sam, he’s at work. She came over in the ambulance –’

  He looked at her, and then the remnants of the shopping still in bags on the table. ‘I … what about?’

  Dora held up her hands. ‘You just go. Will you be all right to drive?’

  Jon nodded, patting his pockets to find the car keys.

  Dora smiled. ‘Right, you go. I can pack the rest of these things away.’

  Jon returned the smile gratefully. ‘I’ve got no idea how long I’ll be.’

  But Dora was already guiding him out of the door. ‘It really doesn’t matter. Ring me when you get back, it doesn’t matter what time it is.’

  At the front door he turned towards her. ‘I’m really sorry about this –’

  Dora waved him away. ‘Don’t be so daft. I’ll drop the catch when I leave. Have you got your house keys?’

  He nodded and the
n stroked her cheek. Dora felt her heart soft-shoe a couple of beats. He leant closer and brushed her lips again.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said softly, and hurried across the road to his car. Dora watched until the car had turned out of the end of the road before she went back inside again.

  She packed away the cheese, and the wine, and the grapes, and stacked the salad in the crisper box in the bottom of the fridge, then picked up her bag, and her jacket, and walked back to the bus station. Who needed the voice of reason and morality when you had fate on hand to protect you from yourself?

  Jon was relieved that the traffic was in its early-evening lull. He drew into the police parking bay by the main door of Keelside General and hurried inside. He saw Nita sitting, cradling a plastic cup, in the waiting area. In the same instant she looked up and saw him. Her face was bleached white by anxiety, eyes framed raw red. He felt something lurch inside him, and hurried towards her.

  ‘Jon?’

  He opened his arms instinctively.

  ‘Oh, Jon. I’m so glad you could come.’ She sounded breathless and he felt her tears through his shirt. As she held him tight, he tried to convince himself that the immediate gut-wrenching pain of seeing her, and knowing that she was sleeping with someone else, had long since faded to a silvery scar that only ached in wet weather.

  ‘I’ve sent a car to pick Sam up. How’s Joe doing?’

  She looked up at him, still smelling of her favourite perfume that he remembered the name of. Jon bit his lip – sometimes the scar gave him a twinge even when it was dry.

  ‘He’s doing really well, considering what he’s been through. He’s still in theatre. They told me he’ll be a while yet. The nurse said I ought to get a cup of something.’

  ‘Right,’ said Jon, guiding her back towards the tables. ‘How did it happen?’

  Nita sniffed, and managed a grin. ‘Always on duty?’

  Jon felt a stab of annoyance. ‘No,’ he said quietly.

  ‘There was a whole gang of them out for a bike ride. Joe didn’t look what he was doing and went out between two parked cars. The chap driving didn’t stand a chance. Fortunately he was looking for a house along the avenue and was going really slowly.’ She stopped and pushed a strand of blonde hair back behind her ears. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  Jon nodded, and watched as the woman whose body he knew nearly as well as his own hurried across to the serving area. When she came back she looked more composed.

  ‘We’ll go back up in a minute if you like.’

  Jon thanked her for the drink. He felt awkward. ‘How are things, then?’

  Nita smiled, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

  ‘Not so bad until today.’ She paused. ‘I’m not sure whether this is quite the place to tell you, but I suppose it’s as good as anywhere.’ She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. ‘Sam has asked me to marry him. I was going to ring to tell you myself, before you heard it on the grapevine.’ She paused for a split second, her face flushing with excitement in the way he remembered.

  Jon nodded dumbly. What was there to say? He glanced down at the table and then across at her. Her face was still unfortunately familiar.

  ‘Congratulations,’ he said, as warmly as he could manage. ‘Tell Sam from me that he’s a very lucky man.’

  Nita suddenly smiled and grabbed hold of his hand. ‘Thank you, thank you. I knew you’d be pleased for us.’

  The expression of delight and happiness was short-lived. As it faded, she ran her fingers back through her hair. He knew she was itching for a cigarette, and almost suggested they went out into the crisp spring air to share one, then remembered she’d given up because Sam didn’t smoke.

  ‘Oh, Jon,’ she cried abruptly, in a thick, tear-soaked voice. ‘It’s been the most terrible day. I am really glad you’re here.’

  Jon Melrose coughed uncomfortably, pushing himself away from the table.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he blustered, trying to hide the mixed bag of emotions that threatened to drive away the veneer of reasonableness he had cultivated. He was surprised how hard it was to take his eyes off her, trying to fight the shadow images of taking her in his arms, trying to forget the way her body smelt when she was warm and soft and his.

  ‘Shall we go up to the ward?’ he asked in a carefully controlled voice.

  Nita glanced at the table. ‘You haven’t touched your drink.’

  Jon shrugged.

  Dora Hall wasn’t the only one who felt that their life had run away from them.

  They were wheeling Joe back from the operating room at the same moment as Sam arrived. Jon felt awkward, but no more awkward than Sam, who bustled in frantically, still dressed in his dirty overalls. He smiled at Jon and thanked him profusely. His hands dropped to Nita’s shoulders. Their easy familiarity made Jon flinch. Beside them, Joe lay asleep, an angel with freckles amongst the pure white bed linen.

  Jon wanted to be there for Joe and yet be gone. The conflict made him uncomfortable. He finally compromised by making a great show of promising to be back when Joe woke up and finished with unsteady congratulations to Sam and Nita.

  Backing away from the bed, feeling like an idiot, he suddenly wanted to say something about Dora. He felt a need to show them that love wasn’t their unique experience, but now wasn’t the time, and he knew he would be saying it spitefully, tit for tat. As he looked back from the ward door, Sam had his arms around Nita. His ex-wife was hunched over the bed, stroking Joe’s curls back from his pallid face. Jon was touched and at the same time annoyed and couldn’t reconcile either emotion.

  Downstairs, he bought another drink in the café and then glanced at the phone, wondering whether he should ring Dora. Jon pressed his fingers to his aching temples and then dialled his home number first, just in case she had decided to stay and wait for him.

  After twenty rings he tapped in the Fairbeach number. The answering machine took him by surprise, and he was half way through his first warm hello before the metallic recorded voice announced that no-one was at home, and if he’d like to leave a message he knew what to do after the tone.

  Jon wasn’t sure what it was he wanted to say so he stammered another shaky hello, before adding, ‘Joe is okay. I’ll ring you soon.’ He wanted to add that he needed to hear the sound of her voice but it sounded so idiotic he stopped himself and hung up.

  He was about to leave when Sam came over to the table.

  ‘I’m really glad you’re still here, Jon. I’m just nipping home to see that Anna is okay.’ Sam spoke flatly and then extended his hand. ‘Thanks for coming so quickly and getting the message to me, mate. We’re both really grateful.’

  Jon forced a smile. The ‘we’ Sam used so casually brushed another tiny splinter of pain. It wouldn’t do to tell someone as nice as Sam that his welfare had had nothing to do with it. Jon had wanted to make sure Joe was okay, and Joe needed Nita to be okay too.

  Sam smiled. ‘Joe’s awake now if you’d like to go up and see him.’

  Jon nodded his thanks, and waited until Sam disappeared through the double doors before he headed back upstairs to the ward.

  He watched Nita from the door. He was relieved to see her looking relieved. She glanced up as he made his way to the bed. Joe grinned at him, eyes unfocused from the effects of the anaesthetic.

  Coyly, Nita dropped her gaze. ‘I think I’ll just nip downstairs for a little while, Joe. It’ll give you a chance to talk to your dad,’ she said, rootling for her purse in her handbag.

  Jon pulled up another chair alongside the bed of his only son and grinned.

  ‘So, how’s it going, Joe? How are you feeling?’

  The boy reached up unsteadily to take Jon’s hands with his unplastered fingers, and then sighed. ‘I didn’t mean to do it, Dad,’ he said, watching Nita’s retreating form. ‘It was an accident. Mum said I can’t ride my bike any more.’

  Jon was about to say he would have a word with her, but Joe was still talking, sounding slightly drun
k. ‘Sam said he’d speak to her about it. He said women are like that, they worry a lot. You know they’re getting married, don’t you? Sam said accidents are just part of growing up. Sam said …’

  Jon tucked his chair in tighter to the bedside and listened while his son demolished the last remaining fragments of his life with Nita.

  9

  By the time Dora got back to Gunners Terrace her feet ached, she was tired, and it was dark. The bus had stopped at every single bus stop on the way from Keelside to Fairbeach and taken in every back lane, backwater and back of beyond village en route.

  Grimly fantasising about soaking in a long, hot bath, Dora hurried past the dry cleaners and the corner shop, slowing under the street light to get her keys out of her jacket pocket before crossing into the terrace.

  As she rounded the corner and stepped into the road, the sensation that someone was watching her progress crept over her like a chilling mist. She resisted the temptation to look round and instead swallowed down the bubble of panic, slid the key into the door and stepped in the lobby, locking the door behind her and sliding the bolt across.

  It had been so long since the bolt had been moved it groaned unhappily as she struggled to push it into place. In the darkness out beyond the street light was a shiver of movement. Dora pressed herself up against the far wall in the deepest shadow and stared into the gloom.

  Jon had asked the local police to keep an eye on the flat; perhaps it was them. She kept looking, willing herself to see into the shadows. Whoever it was stayed tucked back against a wall where one of the houses stepped forward to form a niche.

  After a few seconds Dora took a deep breath and felt the tension begin to ease. She must have been mistaken – there was no-one there. Turning and about to climb the stairs, there was a tiny flash of light on the periphery of her vision. She swung round, staring down its origins. Across the street, in the angle of the wall, she could just make out the glow of a cigarette tip. She watched for a few seconds, hypnotised by the way the tiny devil’s eye of red light grew more intense as the watcher watched, taking deep pulls on his cigarette.