A Few Little Lies

by Sue Welfare

  Dora closed her eyes, breaking the spell, and walked slowly up the stairs, not looking back again, trying hard not to think about anything except for getting the flat door open, and stepping safely inside.

  She called out as she unlocked the door.

  ‘Hello? Lillian?’

  There was no reply, just the slightest smell of cigar smoke and from the kitchen an unhappy mewling. Dora slipped off her jacket and called again.

  ‘Lillian, are you there?’

  She opened the kitchen door first. Oscar shot out like a furry bullet, complaining bitterly, furious at having been shut in.

  Dora felt the hairs on her neck lifting. From the hall stand she picked up an umbrella and opened the office door. Inside, nothing stirred except the flashing light on the answering machine, announcing a message. From outside, the glow of the street light peered in through the tiny window.

  She resisted the temptation to look down into the terrace below or press the playback button, and stepped out into the hall.

  Walking with calm, deliberate steps she opened the sitting-room door, backing away so that she was prepared for whatever might be inside.

  On the sofa, looking angelic and sound asleep, Lillian Bliss lay curled up under a duvet, her red-blonde hair spun into a halo around her face. Dora sighed, feeling the tension dropping away.

  In the corner of the sitting room the TV was on, with the volume turned down, colours like lightning flashes illuminating the sleeping girl’s perfect features.

  Dora scooped Oscar up into her arms. The smell of cigar smoke was more intense in the sitting room. Dora picked up the ashtray on the coffee table. There was only one person she knew who regularly smoked cigars and from the number of butts in the ashtray, Calvin Roberts had stayed some time.

  The door opening must have disturbed Lillian. She sat up slowly, stretching, blinking. She painted on a beautiful smile and looked at Dora.

  ‘Hello, did you bring something nice home too?’

  Dora stared at her, wondering if Lillian had been dreaming. ‘Sorry?’

  Lillian stretched again. She looked like an erotic Goldilocks. ‘A lady came round this afternoon and left some home-made cakes, then Calvin came round and brought fish and chips.’ She looked expectantly at Dora.

  ‘I’ve got some fudge.’

  Lillian’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh, I love fudge.’

  Dora lifted an eyebrow. ‘What a surprise. Would you like a cup of tea?’

  Lillian smiled her reply.

  Dora was relieved to be in the kitchen, bossed around by Oscar. She opened a can of cat food and switched on the little black-and-white TV for company. Its flickering images might just take her mind off the man watching her in the street, the messages on the answer machine and Lillian Bliss – a known prostitute – dozing in the sitting room. She plugged in the kettle and then stretched across to turn up the volume on the TV.

  ‘Good evening,’ said the presenter. ‘Tonight we have a really exciting programme lined up for you.’

  Dora yawned. She doubted it was anywhere near as exciting as her life.

  ‘In our studio with Gary Ellis we’ve got Fairbeach by-election candidates Freda Haleworthy, Guy Phelps and Tom Fielding lined up for a debate, and from our outside broadcast team …’

  Dora looked away, interest fading. On the kitchen table was the cold greasy corpse of a fish supper and several cellophane and paper bags with remains of cakes in them. Sheila – Dora didn’t even want to think about it. She cut herself a slice of pineapple upside-down cake and pulled out a chair. She needed a chance to catch her breath.

  On the little screen they were showing a close-up of Guy Phelps’ boyish features. ‘I firmly believe in a return to old-fashioned morality,’ he said, with great emphasis.

  Across the debating table one of the other candidates, the Lib Dem man, Tom Fielding, tried to interrupt. Guy Phelps held up his hand and pressed on. ‘No, no, let me finish, Tom, I know it’s not a fashionable stance, and I’m certain there will be people at home who say …’

  Tom Fielding managed to interrupt him with a rumble of good-natured laughter.

  ‘There’ll be a lot of people, Guy, who’ll rightly say it’s all been done before. It’s an old tub to thump. Surely the Tories have to be very careful about standing on a morality platform. Remember Back to Basics? That was a complete farce. Look what happened when …’

  Before he had a chance to finish his sentence the woman candidate leapt in. ‘Do we have to rake through the past yet again? Surely we ought to be considering the issues. I want to talk about the things that genuinely concern the rural electorate of Fairbeach. New Labour …’

  Bored, Dora made the tea and went into the office to listen to her messages while it brewed.

  Jon’s message asking her to call him was first.

  Kate, her daughter, was next. ‘Hello, Mum? I was a bit worried that we hadn’t heard from you. I rang Dad. I know you said not to, but I thought …’ Dora groaned.

  Her ex-husband, Ray, was next. He sounded crisp and uneasy, as if she might just reach down the line and grab him.

  ‘Ray here. Kate said you were having a few problems. Er, if you want to ring me …’ Dora rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘I just rang to say that if you want anything, well, you know.’

  She did, and fought the temptation to turn the machine off. It had been such a long time since she had heard Ray’s voice that it was almost like hearing the dead speak. She hadn’t seen him since Kate’s wedding, but by that time, Dora had moved on so far that when she first saw Ray, standing outside the church, she hadn’t recognised him for a few seconds.

  It had shocked her so much that she couldn’t concentrate on the service. Instead she had stared fixedly at the pulpit, trying to visualise the time when every curl, every line of his face had been etched on her retina like a bad case of arc eye.

  She had sat in the front pew, watching the congregation from one corner of her eye as Ray had slid in beside her, assuming that he would have brought someone to emphasise their separation, and play step-mother of the bride. To her surprise he had arrived alone, very stiff, very upright in a dreadful checked suit. He’d told her at the reception – when he’d had several scotches – that he had never found anyone quite like her. She had smiled and sipped her orange juice.

  When her daughter, Kate, was small, she had played a game, ‘You are my most favourite little Kate in the whole wide world,’ until the time Kate got the joke, and realised that as there was only one, she could only ever be the best and the most favourite. Ray’s stilted drunken speech had sounded incredibly reminiscent of their game.

  Kate would never tell Dora if Ray was seeing someone else, which made Dora think he was (and that Kate was trying to hide it from her) or that he wasn’t (and that Kate didn’t want Dora to feel sorry for him) by turns. Now she realised, hearing his voice, she didn’t really care. He’d bought a house near Kate, but last time she’d heard he was working in Dubai. Rich now, no doubt, she thought treacherously.

  Sheila’s message was preceded by an imperious sniff.

  ‘I left the cakes. You owe me two pounds sixty. The girl there didn’t offer to give me the money, so I didn’t ask –’ There was a weighty pause. ‘I didn’t know you’d got a lodger. Student, is she? I didn’t like to come in.’

  Dora’s stomach tightened. She couldn’t believe that Sheila hadn’t recognised Lillian Bliss as Catiana Moran, it was completely out of character. Sheila didn’t usually miss a trick. Dora considered it a very lucky break, and then a miracle, and then a total impossibility. Something was wrong.

  Sheila’s message was followed by Jon again. He sounded tense and very alone.

  Calvin next, abrupt and to the point. ‘Dora, sorry I missed you. Will you remind Lillian that she’s due in Peterborough tomorrow morning. I’ve arranged for a car to pick her up at eight thirty.’ His was the last message.

  Dora picked up the receiver to ring Jon back when she remembered the tea. N
o harm in making her lodger sing for her supper. ‘Lillian?’

  A few seconds later, a pale wide-eyed face appeared around the door. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Would you mind pouring the tea? Oh, and Calvin rang to say you’re being picked up at eight thirty tomorrow.’ As Dora was speaking the phone clicked once, twice and then burred. Dora glanced at the receiver and then tapped it against the desk.

  ‘I’ve been asked to open a mucky book shop,’ Lillian said, with a cherubic grin.

  Dora stared at her. ‘On a Sunday morning?’ she said incredulously.

  Lillian nodded. ‘Yeah, apparently they do a lot of trade when people go to get their papers.’ She pointed to the phone. ‘Is it still making a funny sort of humming noise?’ As she spoke, she tied the belt of her silk dressing gown a little tighter.

  Dora was about to nod, when she realised that Lillian was wearing blood-red stilettos and black silk stockings. The robe was so sheer that the outline of her suspenders was clearly visible through the silk. Dora had a fleeting and very intense vision of Sheila’s face. Sheila’s voice and a pineapple upside-down sponge …

  ‘Were you dressed like that when the lady with the cakes arrived?’ Dora asked, as lightly as she could.

  Lillian pouted and pulled her features into a thoughtful expression. Dora wondered if every thought she had was accompanied by such effort. ‘No, I’d just had a bath and washed my hair. I’d got that robe on you lent me, you know, the fluffy one? And my hair up in a topknot. I wondered who it was kept ringing like that.’

  Dora nodded. Sheila saw every closed door as a personal challenge. ‘And what did you say to her?’

  ‘I didn’t get a chance to say anything.’

  It had been a miracle after all.

  Lillian twisted a tendril of blonde hair into a corkscrew. ‘Did you say the tea was made?’

  Dora nodded. ‘Would you mind pouring it? I’ve just got to make a phone call.’

  Lillian agreed happily. ‘Do you take sugar?’

  Dora closed the office door after Lillian brought in the tea and tapped in Jon’s home number. As she waited for Jon to answer she wondered why Calvin was ringing her to arrange for Lillian to be picked up? Hadn’t he been there during the afternoon – and anyway, didn’t Lillian’s forty-eight hour deadline expire on Sunday?

  Jon answered on the fourth ring.

  ‘Hiya. How are you?’ she said.

  ‘Dora?’

  She heard the pleasure in his voice and felt a little flurry of delight. ‘I’ve just listened to your messages. How’s your little boy getting on?’

  Jon sighed. ‘Fine, they’ve set his arm and other than that he’s just got a few cuts and bruises. Amazing really, and incredibly lucky. Mind you, Joe’s like that. The hospital are keeping him in overnight for observation but they think he’s going to be fine.’

  There was very little relief in Jon’s voice; if anything, he sounded as if he was in great pain.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked in a soft voice. ‘You don’t sound too good.’

  Jon snorted. ‘No, you’re right. It’s been a rough afternoon.’ He paused, his tone lifting a little. ‘I was hoping you might still be here when I got back.’

  Dora glanced up at the clock on her office wall. ‘I did think about staying, but I thought you might feel pressured if you knew I was hanging around. Would you like to come over –’ She hesitated, suddenly remembering Lillian in the sitting room.

  Jon was ahead of her. ‘No, that’s really kind, but I’d better stay here in case Nita phones.’

  Dora wondered if she ought to suggest driving over to see him instead. Her car was in a lock-up five minutes’ walk away, but the idea of going back out into the dark was more than she could bear. She had a sudden image of the single glowing red eye in the street below.

  She bit her lip. ‘You ought to get an early night. You sound incredibly tired.’ She didn’t like to add that he also sounded really sad.

  ‘Maybe you’re right.’ He stopped. Dora could imagine his face and almost read his expression as he added in a soft voice, ‘Thanks for ringing. It was great to see you today.’

  Dora smiled. ‘Nice to see you too. Dare we risk arranging to meet up again?’

  There was a wry laugh at the other end of the line.

  ‘Why not, what do you suggest?’

  Dora glanced towards the hall door. Lillian should have left by Monday at the latest. ‘Why don’t you come over for a meal at my place?’

  ‘Sounds like a great idea. When?’

  Dora pulled a face. ‘How about Monday night? Let me just see when Lillian’s leaving. Would it be all right if I rang you?’

  ‘Great. I’m on duty in the afternoon but you can always leave a message for me at the station or on the answer machine at home.’

  When he had gone, Dora sat for a while, cradling the phone. It still clicked and hummed almost as if it was alive. She wondered whether she ought to ring Kate or, come to that, Ray. After a few minutes she laid the phone back in its cradle. The day had been all together too complicated already.

  Across the hallway, in the sitting room, Lillian Bliss was curled on the sofa watching TV with the sound down. In front of her was a tray arranged with the remains of Dora’s cakes, a bowl of Turkish delight and another of cornflakes. Oscar lay beside her, curled into the arc of her body, purring contentedly.

  Dora smiled and sat down in the armchair by the fire.

  ‘What have you arranged with Calvin about moving back into your flat?’

  Lillian stared at her. Her expression didn’t change, almost as if Dora hadn’t spoken.

  Dora took a deep breath. ‘It can’t be that tricky, Lillian. I’ve already asked Calvin to have your new flat cleaned and tidied up –’ Still Lillian didn’t move.

  Dora sighed. ‘I’ve told him that you’ll have to move back in tomorrow.’

  Lillian smiled and offered her the bowl of Turkish delight.

  ‘I really like it here with you,’ she said. ‘I mean, you’ve got a cat and all that. And Calvin lives quite near. It’s really handy for the shops too.’

  Dora stared at her with a growing sense of unease. ‘Just wait here a minute,’ she said, and went back into the office. Calvin answered on the eleventh ring.

  ‘Hellooo?’ he said, cheerfully.

  ‘Calvin, it’s Dora.’ She tried hard to sound brisk and businesslike. ‘What’s happening about Lillian’s flat?’

  There was a slight pause. Calvin coughed. ‘Very hard to get cleaners in over the weekend, Dora. The company said they could be there first thing Monday morning.’

  ‘Which means?’ Dora snapped.

  ‘That Lillian can be out of your place by Monday tea time.’

  Dora doodled a small intense knot on her telephone pad. ‘That’s nearly seventy-two hours. I did say forty-eight.’

  Calvin laughed. ‘Come on, Dora, be reasonable.’

  Dora was struggling to find a reply when she heard Lillian scream.

  ‘Quick, Dora, quick!’

  Dora threw the receiver down, and ran into the sitting room, not knowing what on earth she would find. Lillian, crouched on the end of the sofa, was pointing at the mute TV screen. Dora swung round in time to catch a pouting studio portrait of Lillian flashing across the screen. ‘Look, it’s me, it’s me,’ shrieked Lillian.

  Dora pushed the volume button to catch the voice-over.

  ‘And finally tonight, students at the Fairbeach College of Further Education have awarded local writer and celebrity Catiana Moran an honorary award, as part of their Festival Week celebrations. A spokesman for the union said they will be inviting Miss Moran to collect her award, for outstanding services to English Literature, at a charity ball to be held on Saturday evening. And now for the local weather …’

  Dora stared at Lillian, who was totally transfixed. She threw the remote control onto the sofa and headed back into the office. ‘Calvin?’

  ‘Uh huh.’ He sounded as if he might be drop
ping off to sleep.

  ‘Monday tea time.’

  ‘Right,’ said Calvin and hung up.

  Alicia Markham, chair of the local Conservative Association, pressed fast forward on the video recorder until she reached the debate segment of the ‘Anglia Live Tonight’ programme, when she slowed the tape down to normal speed.

  The studio set of pale ochre and mauve did nothing for the Labour candidate Freda Haleworthy’s rather liverish complexion. She had a moustache and a very mannish haircut, neither of which endeared her to Alicia, who firmly believed that an uneducated electorate could easily be swayed by personal appearance.

  Tom Fielding, the Liberal Democrat candidate, was a very different kettle of fish. She had known his family for years – the Fieldings were local agricultural merchants. What she hadn’t realised was what a natural political animal Tom was. Fellow members of the committee had warned her he was the man to watch and they were right.

  Alicia leant forward to gauge his performance. He was comfortable, understated, with an easy manner. He laughed a lot. Worse still, his unforced good humour detracted from Guy’s very polished performance. He made Guy look pompous. Alicia sucked her teeth. If he was this good on TV, he would be unstoppable on the hustings.

  Tom Fielding was credible, warm, and above all, he had the kind of face which people trusted – slightly weather-beaten with crinkly lines round the eyes. She had to get rid of Tom Fielding if Guy was to have any hope of retaining the seat.

  Alicia glanced at the open cake boxes on the coffee table. On her lap was Calvin Roberts’ filofax. Folded neatly beside the boxes was a photocopy of Lillian Bliss’ contract from Calvin’s agency. Sensible of her man to get that and the rest of the Catiana Moran file all carefully photocopied on Calvin’s own machine, before the papers were slipped back into the filing cabinet. Alicia sighed. Lillian’s old address was there too. There was bound to be something there, surely? What Alicia really needed were the photographs that would assure Guy’s success – they had to be somewhere. He had told her they offered them the perfect winning ticket, but had been guarded about how he knew they existed. It might be interesting to ask him.