Lies Like Love

by Louisa Reid

  I paused. Thought about it. Was this right? Was this going to help? No, I needed more.

  Well, there’s no point being sorry for myself. The only person I should be sorry for is my mum. She’s the greatest. She’s helped me all these years, looked out for me, and what do I do? I get it wrong every time. I wish I could make her happy. Mental illness is terrible for families, I know that. But Mum’s never complained, even when I’ve been a total nightmare, like now. She’s one in a million, my mum, and when I say I owe her big time, I really mean it. I’m planning something for her, a massive surprise, and one day I’m going to pay her back for everything. Make her see how grateful I truly am. I swear, there’s no other mother alive like mine.

  I can’t help thinking though, it’d be better for her, for everyone, if I’d have died.

  That was better. Mum would like that. She would love it. I lay back, exhausted from the effort, my wrists aching again. The cuts had been deep, Mr McGuiness said, but I didn’t remember them putting in the stitches and sewing me back together like a broken doll. He asked how I knew where to cut, how I was brave enough to cut so deep. I just shrugged and didn’t mention the Thing who drifted up out of the waters and into my room. How it had known. How it was the Thing’s hands who’d worked upon my own.

  Leo

  His mum answered the call on the first ring; she usually did.

  ‘Leo, darling, how are you?’

  It was good to hear her voice. He smiled and it felt strange.

  ‘I’m fine, Mum.’

  ‘So, what’s happening? It’s what, two in the morning UK time – why aren’t you sleeping?’

  ‘I missed you, couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘Missed me? Hmmm. Girl trouble?’ Leo lay back against his pillows. His mum was in a good mood, not fretting about his insomnia at least.

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘You always were hopeless. And I mean that in a good way.’

  He couldn’t take offence and laughed at her insult, remembering the little Valentine’s cards he’d made as a kid; his mother taking him to post them every year through the letter box of the little girl with bright blonde hair who lived across the square and sometimes sat with him on the see-saw. She’d thought it sweet. She could be sentimental when she chose.

  ‘I suppose so. Remember Suki?’

  ‘I do. You were devoted. But seriously, Leo –’ her voice lost the smile – ‘remember what Graham said. No stress. Hopeful things. Your Audrey isn’t being difficult?’

  ‘No. She’s not. She’s lovely, Mum. Really.’ Lovely but in hospital. Lovely but in trouble. And he still didn’t know how to help.

  ‘Yes, Sue says so too. But I hope you have other friends, my darling. And lots of interests. What have you been up to?’

  He told her about New Year’s Eve. About the piano. Playing again; how good it had felt.

  ‘I’ll get a piano sent to you. Sue will love it.’

  ‘No, no, you don’t have to do that.’ It was too much; she always went too far. Never saved his presents for his birthday, handed over everything the second she bought it; too excited to hide, wanting his smiles.

  ‘No arguments. You said it made you feel good. Well, that’s all I care about. The only thing that matters is your happiness, you know; that’s all I’ve ever wanted.’ There was no point trying to stop her now. Leo didn’t want to.

  ‘Thank you. That would be brilliant.’

  ‘Yes.’ He could hear how pleased she was. ‘Yes, I agree. Now get some sleep. And call again soon.’

  ‘Love you, Mum,’ he said, and for a while he felt a little better.

  Audrey

  The night was another long one. I sat up, watched the clock and listened to the ward. When the nurses passed by and checked on me, I pretended to sleep. Mum was around somewhere, I guessed, and sometimes the breath I felt on my cheek was hers. I knew its bitter ripeness: chewing gum and tobacco. Unwashed teeth.

  If I fell asleep, I knew the Thing would come. It was time. It was creeping closer. For a while it had been sated by the blood, pleased with all the attention. Now it craved more. I’d heard the thudding, just faintly, at the back of my brain. But the Thing wasn’t going to get me again. It wouldn’t take much for them to lock me up for good, so I had to watch. Given half a chance, It would pick apart the stitches in my wrists and undo me all over again and then I would be lost. No.

  Better to be on my guard. Keep watch and ward, I thought, remembering a line of poetry from somewhere. A line from the mouth of a madman. But it was my line now. And I wasn’t mad. Only I knew the truth.

  Leo

  He decided that he would have to send something, get a message through; whatever it took. He remembered Audrey suggesting pigeon post and thought now that she’d been right. They were divided as if by an ocean or a war, but it was only really Lorraine who kept them apart, and he hated how powerful she’d become; he wished he could fight through the waves that churned around Audrey and sail her away.

  He didn’t have a pigeon, but he had paper. He sat in his room tearing page after page from the copy of the complete works of Shakespeare his mother had bought him for his eleventh birthday, choosing lovers’ speeches both old and young. He folded fast, made flower after flower. Soon he had a bouquet. He started another.

  Later, after Sue had made Peter have another bath and she’d brushed out his thick mop of hair, she sat reading to him before the fire and Leo joined them.

  ‘What’s that?’ Peter asked, staring at Leo’s hands, which were full of paper flowers, fragile and glowing like stars. They held messages and a heart, a story torn and refashioned. Love’s labour, not yet lost, not yet.

  ‘It’s flowers for Audrey. They’re perfect, Pete, because they’re paper. They’ll never die. We can drop them at the hospital. Do you think she’ll like them?’

  He crouched down and Peter nodded, solemn and frowning as he reached out to touch very gently.

  ‘I didn’t make her anything,’ he said. ‘Can I make some?’

  Sue found an old book of maps, long out of date, and Leo crouched beside Peter and began to tear and to fold. First he showed the little boy how to make a heart.

  ‘I want to do a bird. A bird to perch on your flowers,’ Peter said. ‘Audrey likes birds.’

  Leo frowned. It was tricky. ‘OK.’ He took a breath. ‘Here’s how, then. Look.’ He began to show Peter, his fingers working slowly, very patient.

  ‘Wait,’ Peter said, and grabbed a pen and the paper from Leo’s hands, opening it out again.

  ‘First I have to draw us. Me and Aud, I need to put us on the map.’ He began to scratch out two stick figures. One tall with long hair, the other little, almost insignificant, beside it.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said, smiling, handing the paper back to Leo, and they lay sprawled on the rug making a bird, which Leo hoped one day would fly.

  Audrey

  Mum said I shouldn’t get up.

  ‘Why? I want to.’

  Truly I was tired. How lovely it would be to sleep for a hundred years or more. But that was the road to disaster: my body would give up; my brain switch off, my eyes turn dull and glassy. I would be Madison.

  ‘You’ll tire yourself out. And the doctor will be here soon on his rounds. I want you in bed for that.’

  ‘I’m bored.’

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up, a little shaky on my feet but better than I thought.

  ‘This isn’t a good idea.’ Mum hovered, I waved her away. I was sixteen, old enough to go for a walk.

  ‘It’s fine.’ I gritted my teeth. ‘Get off.’ I shrugged her hand off my arm. The Thing hadn’t got me and I had to make sure it stayed that way.

  ‘I’ll get you a chair.’

  ‘I don’t need a wheelchair. Leave me alone.’

  I walked the length of the ward, pushing myself to stride and stamp. The other kids stared at me. Someone shouted. Mum said I should make friends, but I was used to ignoring their call
s and sped up a little. But still it took too long. I wanted to run. To fly. If I had one wish it would be for wings.

  When the doctor came I was standing by the bed, Mum trying to lever me back in.

  ‘She’s worn herself out,’ Mum told him, exasperated.

  ‘Exercise is a good idea,’ Mr McGuiness told us.

  ‘The pills make me tired,’ I told him. ‘I don’t want them any more. I don’t want to be on medication. I don’t need it.’

  ‘The medication is to help you, Audrey.’ I hated that patient tone and hated being spoken to as if I were stupid. I wasn’t going to take it any more.

  ‘Yes, but – it doesn’t work. It doesn’t stop it –’

  ‘No buts, Aud. Listen to the doctor.’

  ‘But, Audrey,’ he continued, as if Mum hadn’t spoken, ‘we’ve decided you’re ready to go home. We’ll continue to see you as an outpatient, of course, but a transfer to the local inpatient unit isn’t going to be in your best interests at present.’

  ‘You mean they’ve got no beds,’ Mum spat. ‘This is a joke. Audrey’s ill. Seriously ill.’

  The doctor listened to Mum for a while longer, nodding, but he didn’t appear to hear her and nor did I. I could only hear his words, on a loop, that in the morning I would be free. My heart began to gallop. This was definitely a chance. I had to get away from her. She’d lied about Leo and I couldn’t forgive that. Mum had to know she wasn’t going to get away with it and that I had my own plans. My brain worked fast: what could I do? Where could I go? The farm; to Peter and Leo and Sue.

  The doctor was talking still, about my next appointment, about the medication, about how to contact him or the team. Mum seethed and I smiled, my legs jiggling and jumping, my pulse thudding in my ears.

  I slept well enough and by the afternoon I was finally ready to go. Smiling and waving at the nurses, I let Mum push me out of the ward in a chair. She thought I would sit there like Madison; she thought she could pull a string in my back, make me say the words she’d decided a good girl would utter. She thought she could say Leo was a rapist. She thought lots of things and all of them were wrong.

  Part Two

  Audrey

  ‘Get in the car, Aud,’ Mum said, sat in the car, poised to go.

  It was getting dark. It was cold. But it was time.

  ‘No. I’m not going with you back to the Grange. I can’t trust you, Mum. You’re a liar.’

  Her head whipped round. ‘You what?’

  ‘I’m not going back there,’ I said.

  ‘Get in the car now. This is ridiculous. Where else do you think you’re going to go?’

  ‘Somewhere else. On my own.’ I took a step back. The first step away.

  ‘There is nowhere else. It’s the only option available. So, tough luck, lady. Get in and let’s get going. You’ve wasted enough of my time as it is.’

  ‘No.’

  I turned and walked, taking the route she couldn’t follow by car, across the flower beds, through the pedestrian walkways. She yelled, her voice flying out, like a line thrown into the water, baited, hooked.

  ‘Audrey, don’t be stupid – come back.’

  I put my head down and tucked in my arms, concentrating on putting my feet one in front of another, forging a straight line out of there. I knew I was strong enough. I could do this.

  When Mum didn’t follow, I picked up speed, my heart clattering in my chest as I turned a corner. And another. Found the road. Saw a sign. Picked up my feet again, counted the steps as I walked along the main road, cars speeding past, headlights on full beam.

  ‘One, two, three, four,’ I chanted, ‘five, six, seven, eight. One two three four five six seven eight.’ As long as I counted I would be free, as long as my feet moved me forward I would break away. The wind was cold, but it pushed me on. The evening was dark, but in the shadows I could hide. Mum would not catch me. Another car rushed past. Another. And then –

  ‘Audrey!’

  Mum was there, slowing to drive beside me as I walked, the window down, hanging out and yelling.

  ‘Get in this car now,’ she called.

  I pretended I couldn’t see her, couldn’t hear her. I shifted into another gear, higher, faster, and counted. Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneight. I had to get the energy from somewhere; I had to find the strength. I was a machine: hard, metal, strong. Arms like pistons, I pushed on.

  ‘Audrey, I mean it. You’re digging yourself a big hole here. You think this behaviour is normal? You need help – get in the car.’

  My legs scissored and my breath came in sharp bursts, but it wasn’t enough. The traffic was backing up behind Mum: horns were blaring, cars dangerously overtaking, their drivers shouting. I needed another way to get away from her.

  ‘Get in the car,’ she repeated, coaxing now. ‘Come on, we’ll talk about this. We can sort it out together, like always. Come on, love, you’ll catch your death. You need me to help you. You need me.’

  I kept walking, turned off the High Street and on to the country lane that wove out of town and towards the villages. If I could keep going, if I didn’t give in, then things would change. Hurting Leo, lying about Leo; that was something I wouldn’t take. She couldn’t have her lies and she couldn’t have me, so it was time to make it happen. Time to show her I meant it. She didn’t get to destroy everything. She didn’t have that power.

  ‘Audrey.’ Mum leant on the horn. I put my hands over my ears and walked. Faster and faster.

  A gate. A field, frozen mud. I didn’t pause, didn’t think, hauled myself over and began to run. If she chased me? Who would win? It had to be me. The cold bit and scored at my skin and I ran until my lungs burst, leaving her calls behind, stumbling to a walk – my legs not so strong, not yet, not pounding like they should – like they ought to. I was young, but I was old, and the thought stopped me. It wasn’t right. The horizon was full of nothing; there was no point searching there. A thin line of trees, barely visible in the darkness, stood sentinel over the scene. Move, I thought, just move, and I jogged forward. That was the way. Keep going; don’t stop.

  The darkness swallowed me. I wondered if I was turning in circles. I wondered about the sinking sand. About mud and falling and drowning and dying and no one finding me ever. I stopped again and turned round. Looked back. Which way? Why weren’t there signs? Why wasn’t there a guide, someone to hold my hand and lead me on. ‘Dad, where are you?’ I whispered. ‘Dad, come and get me. Find me, please.’ But no one answered. No one came. The air was as dry as bone. I trudged on, counting my steps again, just to keep going.

  I found the embankment by accident; followed the path, still looking over my shoulder, staggering and tripping over roots, guessing my way to the farm, wishing I could read the stars.

  It stood there waiting, warm. Still too distant, but I saw lights burning in the windows, smoke curling from the chimney, and I moved forward, through the field, onwards, certain that once I arrived, then I’d be home.

  But Mum’s car was in the drive. I hadn’t been fast enough; I could never outrun her.

  What did I do now? Creep to the barn and hide there, like a rat skulking in the straw, or tell her straight that I’d finished with the Grange? The Thing wasn’t going to stop. It wanted to win. It was so big now, fully grown, and hungry. And Mum: Mum was a liar. She wouldn’t protect me.

  The barn. Hide. Yes, keep safe.

  Before I could move, the door swung open and a figure stood in the doorway: a silhouette, searching, staring out into the night. I stood back against the wall, out of view, holding my breath tight, my chest bursting. The figure moved. It was Leo. My heart jumped, hurt again. And then a smaller form joined him, took his hand, tilted his head, a small voice piercing the dark.

  ‘Is it Audrey? Can you see her?’

  Peter, my brother. He needed me. He was waiting for me to come home to him. To look after him. There was no choice now. I stepped forward as they turned away. I had to follow them inside.

  Whe
n I pushed open the door they were gathered at the table drinking tea, chatting in low voices. I watched for a second. No one had heard me; perhaps I was shrinking, vanishing, too small to be seen. Then Leo turned.

  ‘Audrey!’ My name bounced around the room, echoing, strange and disembodied. They were laughing at me, staring, pointing. I put my hands up to my face, wanting to hide again. Wishing I’d stayed in the shadows.

  ‘Here she is,’ Mum said, and held out her arms. Her face split, divided. One mother, two. The Thing at her shoulder. Its ragged hair grey and long. Its eyes dark and grinning. Ah, here you are, it said, at last. I froze. No. Not here. Not at the farm. It couldn’t have found us here.

  ‘Aud, are you all right, love? Audrey? You must be freezing.’

  And it hit me. The cold, the exhaustion. I felt sick. My legs gave way. Their faces dissolved. Someone’s arms caught me before I hit the stone floor, and a voice, close.

  ‘Audrey, you’re safe, you’re all right. It’s me, Leo.’

  Leo

  She was there and not there, shaking in his arms as if she’d seen something that had frightened her out of her wits. Her body was freezing, her shoes muddy and ruined, her tracksuit bottoms thick with mud and water.

  ‘Audrey? It’s OK; are you all right?’

  He picked her up and carried her to the sofa, Sue brought a blanket. Lorraine bustled around.

  ‘I’d better call an ambulance,’ she said, her mobile already in her hand.

  ‘No, it’s all right; she just fainted.’ The last thing he wanted was Audrey gone again as soon as she’d arrived. If they gave it a moment, she’d open her eyes and tell them what was up.