The Liar's Promise

by Mark Tilbury

  King smiled. This time, the smile sparkled in his blue eyes like sunshine glinting on an ocean. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

  ‘But how will I introduce you to Mel?’

  ‘You won’t have to. I’ll stay out of the way until she’s put under. Anyway, stop fussing. By the time school rings the bell for the new term, they’ll both be dead.’

  Honeywell looked about to object.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  King watched him walk out the room. Charles was letting emotion and sentimentality stand in the way of good reason.

  ‘“Though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod,”’ King said. ‘Though in this case, I fear she plods straight to the knacker’s yard.’

  21

  Chloe was in her room having a nap when Honeywell turned up unannounced two days before New Year’s Eve. Chloe seemed to be tiring so much more easily than she used to, almost regressing back to when she was a toddler, but Mel put it down to the trauma of the last couple of weeks. The last thing she wanted to do was force her to stay awake and cause another problem.

  Mel was pleased to see him. She’d had a long argument on the phone with Tony about what he’d described as his ‘forced exile’. A ridiculous term for what amounted to self-pity on his behalf, justice on Mel’s. She’d disconnected the call, unplugged the phone and switched off her mobile.

  Having allowed Chloe to speak to her father before the ill-fated attempt at civil conversation, Mel had spent half an hour answering questions and pretending to miss Daddy, too, when all she really wanted to do was stick pins in the bastard’s eyes.

  She invited Honeywell in and made them both coffee. She’d made a vow that morning to lay off the booze. Its healing power lasted for about two hours after climbing into bed. Weighed against thumping headaches and half the night spent at the kitchen table smoking far too many cigarettes, Mel had sought solace in chocolate for the foreseeable future. She’d rather be fat than turn into her booze-addled mother.

  Charles Honeywell sipped his coffee and drummed his fingers on his knee.

  ‘Are you all right, Charles?’

  ‘Me? Yes. Fine. Worried about you, that’s all.’

  ‘I’ll survive.’

  ‘I’m sure you will. That’s not the same as living, though, is it?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘Any news on the husband front?’

  ‘No. And good riddance.’

  ‘That bad?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Beyond repair?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘From my experience, nothing is ever truly extinguished. A spark can sometimes be found in the deepest pile of ashes.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘I have a proposition for you, Mel. Don’t feel obliged to accept.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I have a friend who’s interested in trying to help Chloe.’

  Mel’s eyes widened. ‘Who?’

  ‘He’s a hypnotherapist.’

  ‘How’s a hypnotherapist going to help her?’

  Honeywell took a deep breath. ‘He specialises in regressive hypnotherapy. It’s perfectly safe. He’s highly reputable. He could take her back, Mel. Back beyond this life. See if her outbursts really are linked to a past life.’

  ‘Isn’t that dangerous?’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of suggesting anything that might harm Chloe.’

  Mel shook her head. ‘She’s far too young.’

  ‘He assures me it’s better that she is a child. She hasn’t got so far to go back.’

  ‘What if something terrible happens to her?’

  ‘Such as?’

  Mel gnawed her index finger. ‘She died a terrible death if the picture of the guillotine is anything to go by. What if this hypnotist takes her back and she dies again? What then?’

  ‘He’s extremely experienced.’

  ‘That’s not an answer, Charles.’

  ‘Gavin’s regressed lots of children. He’ll be in complete control at all times. First sign of any trouble, he’ll bring Chloe straight out of the hypnotic state.’

  ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What would you do if it was your child, Charles?’

  Honeywell looked hesitant.

  ‘All you had left in the world?’

  ‘I’d want to help her.’

  ‘By putting her in the hands of a stranger?’

  ‘Gavin Westwood’s not a stranger, Mel. He’s a friend.’

  ‘He’s a stranger to me.’

  ‘I’m sorry. It was only a suggestion. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  Mel lit a cigarette. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just at my wits end. We have two days where nothing happens, and I think everything’s gone back to normal, then, BAM! It’s as if Chloe is two different people, switching from one to the other in the blink of an eye.’

  ‘It must be awful for you. Beyond awful. I’ve never had children, but I’ve been lucky enough to nurture young talent in my capacity as both a teacher and a headmaster. I care deeply about children, Mel. My job allows me to fulfil a wish that my personal life does not. I understand how frightened you must be, with the added responsibility of being Chloe’s parent, but you can’t afford to sit back and hope this will all go away.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You’re an intelligent woman, Mel. A great teacher. Blessed with a gift. I’m just trying to help you.’

  Mel almost told him she thought Chloe would die if someone didn’t help her. But a hypnotist? How on earth was taking Chloe back to the most traumatic situation imaginable going to help her? It might end up doing the exact opposite.

  ‘Would it help to sway you if Gavin regressed you first? Let you experience it for yourself.’

  Mel shrugged and put out her cigarette. ‘I’ve never been murdered before – as far as I know.’

  ‘It might help you to see the procedure is harmless before you allow Chloe to go ahead.’

  ‘I need time to think about it. It’s too much to take in.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Mummy?’ Chloe shuffled down the stairs, one hand clutching the bannister, the other holding Ruby Rag Doll.

  ‘Hey, Pumpkin.’

  Chloe sat on the sofa next to her mother. ‘You woke me up.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Mummy was just talking to the headmaster from school.’

  Charles Honeywell smiled. ‘Hello, Chloe.’

  Chloe stuck her thumb in her mouth.

  Mel wrapped an arm around her daughter. ‘Say hello to Mr. Honeywell.’

  Chloe pulled Ruby Rag Doll close to her.

  Mel rolled her eyes. ‘She’s tired.’

  ‘I’ll get off. Leave you two lovely ladies to it. Give me a ring and let me know what you decide.’ He took a card from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘That’s got my mobile number on it.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I don’t like him, Mummy.’

  ‘Chloe! Don’t be so rude.’

  Honeywell walked to the porch and put his coat on. ‘It’s all right. I’d be grumpy if someone had just woken me up.’

  Chloe lifted her head and turned to face Honeywell. ‘“Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow.”’

  Honeywell’s mouth hung open. He stared at Chloe Hollis as if she’d just sprouted two heads.

  Chloe buried her head in her mother’s chest.

  Mel looked at Honeywell, stunned. ‘Isn’t that Macbeth?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘But she doesn’t know any Shakespeare.’

  ‘I don’t suppose she does… please, consider my offer, Mel. I fear inaction might lead to something neither of us want.’ He let himself out the front door.

  Mel shivered as a gust of icy wind blew through the house. She held Chloe tighter. ‘Why were you rude to Mr. Honeywell?’

  ‘I don’t like him.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘H
e’s bad.’

  ‘He only wants to help.’

  ‘And you believe the liar’s promise, do you?’

  Mel’s brain started spinning like a centrifuge. Where the hell had that just come from? Not from the mind of a child. ‘He’s the headmaster at Mummy’s school.’

  Chloe buried her head deeper into Mel’s chest. When she spoke, her words seemed to pass right through Mel’s body and into her heart. ‘Then I pity the children.’

  And with that, she was asleep again.

  22

  Charles Honeywell found his lover, after a frantic search of the house, including the wine cellar, garden, and several outbuildings had failed to locate him, secreted in the bowels of Feelham Theatre dressed as Shakespeare, in padded Elizabethan attire, strutting about in the centre of the painted game board squares like the hammiest actor ever known to man.

  ‘“Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”’

  ‘It’s all true,’ Honeywell babbled. ‘All of it.’

  King jumped and spun around as if Macbeth had transcended both time and possibility and joined him on his imaginary stage. ‘Good God, you stupid man, you almost gave me a heart attack.’

  Honeywell didn’t seem perturbed by this news. In fact, his natural nervous state seemed to thrive on it. ‘“Out, out, brief candle.”’

  ‘Are you mocking me?’

  Honeywell’s eyes snapped to attention in their sockets. ‘That’s what she said.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The girl.’

  ‘What girl?’

  ‘Chloe.’

  ‘She quoted Macbeth?’

  Honeywell bobbed his head like one of those silly nodding dogs that once adorned parcel shelves across the land to satisfy a need for cheap novelty.

  ‘Why in heaven’s name would she do that?’

  Honeywell looked as if he’d just been asked to explain deep space. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘She must have learned it from the mother. People like to teach their offspring tricks to impress.’

  ‘Mel’s not like that.’

  ‘How do you know? Have you had an intimate relationship with her?’

  ‘On a professional level, yes. But that’s beside the point. She wasn’t just quoting Shakespeare.’

  ‘Don’t tell me; she was dressed as one of the Three Witches.’

  ‘She was quoting from the exact passage you were when I walked in.’

  King was about to dismiss this latest drivel with the contempt it deserved when Honeywell repeated the text. ‘“Out, out, brief candle.”’

  ‘She actually said that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Word for word?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How peculiar.’

  ‘It’s bloody well scary, Peter. It’s as if she knows things. And…’

  King waited, confidence dented by the spooky relationship between the child’s words and his own. When nothing was forthcoming, he said, ‘And, what?’

  ‘She told her mother she didn’t like me.’

  King sighed. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘It’s enough,’ Honeywell squawked. ‘For God’s sake, it’s as if she remembers me.’

  ‘How could she? Even if I were to buy this ridiculous notion that the child was once Purple-five, how in all that’s sane would she remember you? You always dress as Christopher Marlowe when we play One False Move.’

  ‘She just knows.’

  ‘Don’t be ludicrous. She simply doesn’t like you. Children don’t possess a filter for expressing what’s on their minds. They are all narcissistic brats.’

  ‘I don’t agree.’

  ‘Perhaps her honesty sits unwell with your vanity?’

  ‘I’m not vain,’ Honeywell protested.

  ‘You’re the headmaster of a primary school. You’re vain. Stop sulking and tell me what the mother said regarding hypnotherapy.’

  ‘She’ll think about it.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘What do you expect? She’s hardly going to surrender her child to an unknown entity just like that. I told her to phone me and let me know.’

  King raised his eyebrows. ‘And in the meantime?’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘We simply wait and see what else the child lets slip?’

  ‘I thought you said this was all stuff and nonsense?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Why the urgency, then?’

  King walked to within a foot of his lover. The fake moustache was tickling the bottom of his nose, inciting an urge to sneeze. The clip-on gold hooped earring was also pinching his lobe. ‘Because Gavin Westwood is a busy man.’

  ‘A man with secrets can always make time.’

  ‘Don’t play with words, Charles. Gavin Westwood and favours are difficult to come by. And we have a new game of One False Move waiting.’

  ‘I can’t force her to bring the child.’

  ‘Are you aware of the word, coercion?’

  ‘Yes. But I didn’t want to push too hard in case she got all defensive and dismissed the idea out of hand. You’ve got to understand, Peter, she’s emotionally wrecked by all this. Her husband has walked out on her.’

  ‘Are you my partner or the woman’s defence barrister?’

  ‘I’m just saying we need to tread lightly.’

  ‘The husband’s leaving is a blessing.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Did you tell her Gavin would regress her first? Put her mind at rest?’

  ‘Yes. But what if something goes wrong?’

  ‘It won’t. Gavin can put her in a deep trance whilst we go about our business with the child. He can program the mother’s mind to forget the whole thing once she gets home.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘If it turns out the child was Purple-five, we’ll simply work out the best way to eliminate the pair of them.’

  ‘I’m not comfortable with killing them.’

  ‘I’m not concerned with your comfort, Charles. If you want to play with wolves, you must also be prepared to howl at the moon.’

  Honeywell’s good eye adopted a sly confused look King didn’t care for. ‘If she hasn’t phoned by tonight, I want you to go back and put on your best salesman’s head.’

  ‘My career has been in teaching.’

  ‘What is teaching if it’s not selling the myth of education?’

  ‘It’s—’

  ‘If you want my opinion, most of the stuff scratched onto blackboards is a lie. The classroom is the greatest propaganda tool known to man. The establishment have just seized upon the perfect opportunity to brainwash the masses.’

  ‘I must object.’

  ‘Mind control, Charles.’

  ‘Without education, no one would be able to read and write.’

  King adjusted the woollen padding in his black, laced doublet. He’d not been able to dress properly because the drawstrings were at the back. He’d just wanted to connect with Shakespeare’s character for an hour before returning to the murky business in hand. First the rent boy, now the child. It was as if fate was conspiring against him.

  ‘You might not have encountered Shakespeare’s works without an education.’

  ‘I have my mother to thank for my affinity with Shakespeare.’

  ‘Education is a gift.’

  ‘It’s a curse. And so is your irritating manner. Stop defending the indefensible. I want you to arrange a meeting. Tomorrow at noon. You can pick them up and take them to Gavin’s office.’

  ‘His office? Where?’

  ‘It’s in Oxford. I’ll give you the postcode for the satnav.’

  ‘I don’t even know the man.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to form a meaningful relationship with him.’

  ‘Have
you?’

  King pursed his lips. ‘Have I what?’

  ‘Formed a relationship with him?’

  ‘He’s merely an acquaintance from way back. Long before I met you.’

  ‘Was he a lover?’

  ‘He’s not my type.’

  ‘What is your type?’

  ‘I’m with you, am I not?’

  ‘I sometimes wonder.’

  ‘Take charge of your emotions, Charles. Envy is so off-putting.’

  ‘I’m—’

  ‘“O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; it is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on.”’

  King watched his lover turn around and stomp up the basement steps like a child refused its supper. He waited for him to close the door, took a deep breath, and exclaimed to the empty basement, ‘“Good night, sweet friend: thy love ne’er alter, till thy sweet life end.”’

  23

  When Honeywell turned up at the house just after breakfast, Mel was in acute danger of losing her sanity. She’d spent half the night comforting Chloe after another screaming fit, and the rest of it lying awake watching shadows on the ceiling, waiting for another outburst, hand tracing the space beside her that Tony had occupied before infidelity had got the better of his weak and useless mind.

  Chloe was watching a Little Mermaid DVD, giggling every time Sebastian the crab appeared. She seemed oblivious to last night’s events, and Mel was in no mood to remind her. The poor kid was traumatised enough already.

  She invited Honeywell into the kitchen and made him a strong black coffee. She opened the back door and lit a cigarette.

  ‘Are you all right, Mel? You look as if you didn’t get much sleep.’

  ‘I didn’t get any.’

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘There’s not much to say. Chloe woke up screaming. It took me ages to get her back to sleep. Then I couldn’t shut off my mind.’

  ‘It must be hard for you, on your own with no one to talk to.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘I’ve had a word with Gavin Westwood. He’s free today.’

  Mel hesitated. Too many unanswered questions were still running around inside her head regarding hypnotism. It was virtually impossible to know which way to turn. Finally, she said, ‘I’m scared it will do more harm than good.’