Lies Like Love

by Louisa Reid

  ‘Where’s your boyfriend, then?’ Lizzy said, her breath too near. I could smell cheese and onion. Jen looked up, then back down at her magazine. I did as she’d suggested and smiled. These girls weren’t really a threat.

  Last year there’d been dog shit in my school bag; coins stinging my skin, flicked by boys from the back row; bile in my mouth and Aidy Parker standing, his crotch in my face, grabbing my head and pulling it against the rough scratch of his trousers, his fists in my hair. Laughter bouncing off the ceilings and walls. Lizzy was nothing, compared.

  I grabbed my bag, stood up and pushed into the little throng.

  ‘So, come on,’ said Lizzy. ‘You should go look in the sixth-form common room; maybe he’ll be in there. We’ll take you. Then we’ll see, won’t we?’ They closed in. No. If she touched me, I would freak. No one is allowed to touch me, no one except Peter and my mum.

  ‘No, it’s OK, thanks. I’m busy.’ My voice sounded smudged, wrong. Not as sure as it should. Help. Now.

  Jen stood up, slung her arm round my shoulders. That felt OK.

  ‘Actually, we’re on our way somewhere, Liz, so you know, sod off,’ she said, towing me out of there, past them. She looked at me when we were well away, considering.

  ‘You know what, Audrey, I reckon she’s got it in for you.’

  Mum’s voice drifted through the walls, from wherever she was – I saw her standing, legs akimbo, finger wagging: You’re a victim, Aud, she was saying, a born bloody victim, and underneath her concern I knew she thought I brought trouble on myself. But this school was supposed to be different. I was different here. I wasn’t going to take it.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I told Jen, ‘I can handle it.’

  ‘Good. Don’t let her think you’re weak. She’s like a cat chasing mice. You need to show her who’s boss. Right?’

  ‘Right.’ I nodded and followed Jen back inside. She strode, head high, her boots flashing like sunflowers, and I caught up, walked beside her, my insides turning over when she shoved her arm through mine, linked me like I belonged.

  Leo

  Chucking his apple high in the air, Leo caught it in one hand and made as if to bowl it over the fields, then stuffed it back into his pocket. It was sunny and it was lunchtime, at last, and the air smelled clean outside. He sat down on a bench, throwing his head back and shutting his eyes, basking, he thought, like a lizard. But when he opened them again, there she was, appearing out of the autumn mist like something from Arthurian legend. He jumped a bit. That was weird. A girl just standing there, staring at you; a bit intense.

  ‘Oh, hello.’ Leo smiled at her. It was his default position. No one could say he wasn’t trying.

  ‘Hi.’

  He’d not seen her for a week and had almost forgotten to wonder how she might be doing, but now he grinned.

  ‘You gave me a shock. I thought you were, I don’t know …’

  ‘What?’ She stepped closer.

  ‘Well, a ghost, a fairy, maybe.’

  ‘Ha.’ Audrey pulled a face that bore no resemblance to anything ethereal whatsoever and Leo grinned.

  ‘Here,’ he said, unpacking his lunch, ‘have a sandwich. I’ve got heaps.’

  ‘No, thanks,’ she said, but he could practically see the saliva pooling in her mouth when she saw what he had. Sue’s home-made bread. Loads of cheese and salad, pickle. They’d made it together, with fruit grown in Sue’s garden – it had gooseberries in it, of all things. He pointed them out. Audrey smiled. Her eyes were gooseberry green today. Her cheeks apple pink all of a sudden. He couldn’t say that though. This self-censorship was exhausting. But at least she sat down, gingerly, on the end of the bench.

  ‘Go on, I don’t need it all,’ Leo said. Maybe she was just too polite. Maybe she had an eating thing. That would explain how thin she was. He knew plenty of girls like that too. But he didn’t ask and usually they didn’t tell.

  ‘No, really. I’ve got loads of allergies and stuff. It’s why I look like I look.’ Her eyes challenged him to contradict her, so he didn’t. Maybe it explained things. Like the skin on her arms and hands, cracked, sore-looking, partly bandaged. He’d noticed it that first day at the Grange before she’d hidden behind that cushion. But he was pretty sure he hadn’t been looking at a rash. Hadn’t her mum said she was a nurse? Not that it was his business, and he wanted to look away, stop giving a damn. But it seemed as if he’d turned into a good Samaritan. More like a busybody, sticking his nose where it wasn’t wanted. He felt in his pocket.

  ‘Here, have my apple, then,’ Leo said. Audrey hesitated a moment, and he nearly chucked it at her, to force her to catch it, but in the end she took it, her face splitting open with a smile as she took the first bite. They didn’t talk. She ate like it was a serious business, requiring attention. Her eyes half closed.

  ‘So, are you feeling better?’ He remembered she’d been looking for the nurse last week. But, reaching out like this, it was like putting his hand into a bowl of ice-cold water.

  ‘I’m OK,’ she said eventually and moved away, just a fraction, sensing his scrutiny, and he kicked himself. This wasn’t how it had been before. Well. Actually it was.

  ‘It must be hard for you, coming here, after you lost everything,’ Leo said.

  ‘What?’ She looked up at him.

  ‘The fire, you know. Your mum mentioned it to Sue. They had coffee last week? I’d be gutted if I lost all my stuff.’

  Audrey looked down at the ground.

  ‘Yeah, that.’ Her voice was flat, her expression dead. Leo shifted on the bench.

  ‘Look, meet me later,’ he said. ‘Really, I’ll show you and Peter the shortcut home, like I said. And I’m not just being nice. I’m bored; I could do with the company, OK? We’ll find Peter a badger. Or a snake, even. How is he, anyway? Does he like his new school?’

  ‘He’s all right. Not that good.’

  He hated the sadness that he saw in her eyes; it hurt.

  ‘Well, come on – we need to cheer him up, right?’

  ‘Yeah, all right, then.’

  ‘It’s a date,’ he said, and then winced at his expression, but Audrey didn’t seem to have heard and let him walk her back into school.

  Audrey

  At the end of the day Peter and I stood waiting for Leo, getting drenched in rain that cut past the sun, sparkling and fierce.

  I looked at my watch again when Leo approached and he laughed.

  ‘God, I’m really sorry – I had to stay behind in English. My teacher, Mr Bruce – do you have him? No? Lucky you. Well, he didn’t like my essay, so we had a bit of a row. And all the time I was thinking, Damn, Audrey’s waiting. And here you are. And Peter. God, I feel bad.’ He reached out and ruffled Peter’s hair. Peter squirmed away and Leo grinned.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked. ‘Not too wet?’

  ‘No. We’re fine.’

  We fell into step and Peter held my hand.

  ‘How was it today, mate?’ I said.

  He hopped over a puddle, then said, ‘I played with Jim and Bad Hat and then a big boy stole them and threw them in the bushes.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, but I crawled in and got them. But I did get dirty.’ He showed me his palms, his face anxious.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I can wash your stuff. And you.’

  ‘Who’re Jim and Bad Hat?’ asked Leo, and I wished he hadn’t.

  ‘My friends,’ said Peter.

  I thought of things to say to change the subject and blurted something about the stew his aunt had given us, if she wanted her basket back, before I bit my lip. Boring.

  ‘So, I’ll show you my favourite route,’ Leo suggested. ‘It’s a good shortcut home for days when you don’t want to take the bus, days like this, when you should be outside.’

  ‘You should never be outside in the rain. Rain’s for ducks, not people,’ I said. For a second I saw my dad again: this vague outline, really tall and thin, in a white T-shirt, pale jeans. I almost smelled
the sweet bag of white bread, felt it claggy in my fingers. False memories, Mum said. Get over it; he left us. His choice.

  Leo pointed at the sky. ‘Look – it’s stopping.’

  We stood and stared for a bit and he was right. The last drops came in a sporadic patter and in the distance the sky was clearer. I didn’t really care whether there was thunder or lightning, snow or storm, a blinding apocalyptic sun. It felt free. It felt right, like I should have been doing this for years. Like Mum said, it was better here. I could wipe the past away for a while now, clean it up, breathe in a future with all this fresh air.

  ‘I run this way, most evenings,’ Leo told me, turning to look at me.

  ‘It’s nice,’ I said. ‘Peaceful.’ I looked right back into his face and he grinned, then put out his arm, touching me gently on the shoulder, to pull me to a halt.

  ‘Hang on, look up there,’ he said, and we all stopped and turned our faces to the sky.

  ‘It’s a dragon,’ Peter called, grabbing my hand, pulling me. ‘Is it a dragon, Aud?’

  ‘I think it’s just a bird, Pete.’ I laughed.

  ‘Yup, a kestrel,’ said Leo.

  ‘It’s still amazing,’ I whispered, holding Peter’s hand, crouching down to stare from his level, see his eyes widen and glow as Leo explained how it was seeking out prey and would feed on mice or voles hiding in the fields around us.

  ‘Let’s catch it,’ said Peter, his hands grabbing towards the sky, and Leo laughed.

  ‘I’d say it’s fairly unlikely you will ever catch that bird, Pete. It’s wild. And it’s hungry. Nature,’ he told him, ‘red in tooth and claw. Not a pet.’

  ‘But I still want it,’ Peter insisted, and I imagined it swooping down, grabbing us by the collar before wheeling and screeching back up into the sky, carrying Peter and me off to its lair. It would feed us in little pieces to its young. My skin would easily tear. A shiver like spiders crawled over my skin, up my neck into my hair.

  ‘So, how’s it all going?’ Leo asked as we walked on.

  ‘Oh, all right, I guess.’

  ‘I don’t envy you the Grange. You know it used to be a sort of institution. For people with problems.’

  ‘What sort of problems?’

  ‘There’s loads of stories. It got closed down in the end.’

  ‘What like?’ My stomach lurched. I didn’t want him to be talking about me. Spouting off about mental girls who needed locking up for their own good.

  ‘Not sure. Don’t worry, I’m sure all the ghosts are long gone.’ Leo was laughing and then stopped when he saw my face.

  ‘It’s all right. I’m joking.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it just creeps me out, that’s all.’ It was a dead house. All that water. And the Thing would like the Grange, I knew it would.

  ‘I don’t blame you. I’d be freaked out too. It’s way too haunted-house, that place. And you’re missing home. Right?’

  ‘Not really.’ I did miss the idea of it, although I couldn’t explain that. It was like my life was a puzzle with a huge piece missing. If my dad were around, maybe that would solve it, help things make sense. Leo was staring at me like he wasn’t sure he understood. I gave him a quick smile, shoved my hair out of my eyes and stuffed my glasses in my pocket. Sometimes it was easier to see without them.

  ‘You’re lucky, then. I miss my parents. They’re abroad. Hong Kong.’

  ‘Hong Kong!’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘So why aren’t you with them?’

  ‘I like it here, plus my mum and dad are busy. They’re go-getters. High-flyers. Over-achievers.’ His voice was a little bitter and he stopped for a minute, looking out at the horizon. ‘Still, it’s easier for me here. My aunt’s pretty cool. I don’t have to pretend to be something I’m not. I was at a boarding school for a while – lasted five years actually – but I hated it. So I came here.’

  He didn’t need to explain. Leo looked at me as if he wanted to be understood, so I looked away.

  We started to walk again and that was easier.

  ‘Careful,’ he said, as the ground turned boggy underfoot near a stile that led over a hedge and into a field. He reached out to take my elbow to steer me through the mud. That was twice he’d touched me.

  Sue was in the barn grooming a pony, who Peter instantly went over to pet. It was nice to see him like that, racing forward, not checking behind. Sue’s face radiated welcome; my shoulders dropped and I breathed.

  ‘Ah, home at last,’ she said, ‘Good. Leo, I’m going in for a cup of tea – bring Audrey and Peter.’

  ‘We should go,’ I said, edging backwards, not wanting to intrude.

  ‘Why?’ Peter interrupted. ‘I’m hungry. You made me walk miles and miles.’

  ‘Come in for just a minute?’ asked Leo. ‘We have cake. Anything you like.’ And, looking at my brother’s face, I couldn’t refuse.

  The minute grew into thirty, and then an hour. It was so warm in Sue’s kitchen that it was easy just to sink into the sofa and watch Leo filling the kettle, making tea, feeding the dog, singing along to the radio. Time washed over us and I looked down, my mug wrapped in my hands, taking tiny sips, making it last. This cup of tea was the nicest thing ever.

  Leo

  The fact that he’d asked her to come inside, drink tea, eat cake, didn’t actually mean he liked her any more than he liked anyone else. Leo walked back from seeing them home to the Grange, ready for Sue’s teasing; he knew exactly what she was going to say. That he’d never brought a girl home before, that he’d fussed over her like she was a delicate flower. Leo stopped, turned, looked behind him. That place. The smell of it came to him again: damp, cold. Like something had recently died there. They must have got the rent cheap, that’d be what it was.

  He would walk home with her. That would be fine. If he had to have a friend, well, why not her? And the fact that he liked watching her face and her eyes shift and change. He couldn’t help that, could he?

  His mum called when he got in and Sue passed the phone, turning back to her crossword.

  ‘Hey, Mum, how’s it going?’ Leo rested his legs on the table and Sue batted them with her paper.

  ‘Leo. We’re well. And you?’

  ‘Fine, all good here.’ He winked at Sue and she sighed: she’d berate him later, looking over the top of her half-moon specs, for being offhand. Then instantly forget it.

  ‘Excellent. I was thinking about you today – we went to a wonderful concert and it made me miss you. Miss your playing.’

  ‘Oh.’ And then she was off on one about the piano concerto, one he’d played when he was thirteen and what a talent he had and how sad she was that it was going unused. All the money that had been spent on lessons, the hours of practice, blah blah blah. Leo could see it now. In his dinner jacket, bum fluff on his upper lip, his Adam’s apple bobbing, stiff as a board, taking his applause; Mum in her black evening dress, elegant in the front row. Thank God he was out of it. Maybe he could interrupt, tell her about Audrey. See what she thought. But he stopped himself. He knew what she’d say. No. She could dismiss another human being in just one damning syllable, easy as that. Not our sort of people.

  ‘So, I’ll be back at half-term. And you’ll come up to London. All right, darling?’

  ‘Yeah, looking forward to it, Mum.’

  ‘Yes, not yeah.’ She spoke with a cut-glass accent. Used to swipe him one when he copied the children in the park near their London flat.

  Leo liked voices, sounds, the weirder the better and Audrey’s voice was rustling leaves. It scratched at something in him, made him feel like sitting down to listen, although she’d said almost nothing this afternoon, her eyes full stops.

  ‘Yes, Mother,’ Leo countered with a dramatic sigh.

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Lots of love then, darling.’

  ‘Love you too, Mum.’ Why would you say that, aged seventeen? Leo did though, always.

  ‘You too, darling. Now go and do something extremely useful. Right?’


  ‘Sure.’ Whatever, he thought when he put the phone down. His mum clearly hadn’t been listening when Graham said no pressure.

  Sue didn’t have a piano and she didn’t give a damn about his exams either; she seemed to forget he had his mocks coming up in January. The word homework didn’t even belong in her vocabulary. No doubt his mother would make up for that when he saw her next month. He’d have to take ear plugs.

  Maybe tomorrow he’d tell Audrey about the fair and see if she was up for it. And if not that, then something else. Graham was right – he did need friends.

  Audrey

  The next day after school I didn’t wait for Leo but pulled Peter off to the bus. The evening before had been too much. We couldn’t expect to go round there all the time, making a nuisance of ourselves. But when we got back to the Grange the flat was dark and I heard a hiss, something scurrying into the kitchen. I slammed the front door shut and leant against it, not ready to go inside.

  ‘Hide-and-seek?’ I said. Peter chucked down his bag and was off – running down two flights of stairs, dashing along the corridors.

  ‘Stop,’ I shouted. ‘Not down there.’ And I pulled my brother back and up to the top of the house. The fire escape – I’d seen it from the outside and now we’d found it. Good job, I thought.

  We were on top of the world. From here Peter’s kestrel might really be close enough to touch if it came swinging by.

  ‘Awesome,’ Peter agreed, reaching up into the late evening sky that seemed so near we could climb the clouds, the long white bands unfurling like sails. Suddenly the house was a pirate ship and I was the captain, Peter the first mate.

  ‘Ahoy there,’ I called, taking up position at the wheel. He climbed the rigging, jogging up and down the first flight of steps, making them rattle and clatter like snapping castanets – and we were in Spain, I told him, drawing into port, dropping off our cargo of ivory, apes and peacocks, sandalwood and cedarwood and sweet white wine. Peter paused, looked up at me, bored of me reciting poems at him. Wanting some facts.