Sometimes I Lie(20)

‘Hello, Amber. Thanks for waking the twins,’ he says, without even the hint of a smile. He doesn’t invite me in. My brother-in-law is a big man with small amounts of time and patience. He’s still wearing his overalls.

‘I’m so sorry, David, I wasn’t thinking. This might sound a bit strange but is Paul here?’

‘No,’ he says. ‘Should he be?’ He looks tired, dark circles under his eyes. Being married to my sister has aged him. She calls him David so we do too, but everyone else calls him Dave.

‘His car is here,’ I say. David peers past me at the car on the garage forecourt.

‘Yes, it is.’ He doesn’t elaborate, and when I don’t say anything in response his frown deepens, as though it might break his face. He looks down at my feet and I follow his stare. I’m still wearing my slippers. Two grubby felt pug faces look up at me, their stitched eyes seem full of equal amounts of wonder and pity. They were in the kids’ section at the supermarket, but they fitted and I liked them.

‘Are you all right?’ he asks.

I think about his question and give him the most honest answer I can come up with. ‘No, not really. I don’t think I am. I need to talk to Claire. Is she home?’ He stands up a bit straighter and looks confused, then something ugly spreads across his features.

‘Claire hasn’t been here all day. I thought she was with you.’





Before

Wednesday, 13th November 1991


Dear Diary,

I’ve been ten for a whole month now and I’m not sure double figures feels any different really, even though Mum said it would. There’s still loads of stuff I’m not allowed to do, I’m still quite short and I still miss Nana every day. I’m so angry with Mum for lots of reasons, but especially because of what she did at parents’ evening tonight. She went on her own because Dad had to work late. Mum said he might sleep there again; he’s been working really hard lately. Because she didn’t have Dad to talk to, she got chatting to some of the other parents at school. When she got home, she was all excited, not because of my brilliant grades like a normal human being, but because she’d met Taylor’s mum and was so pleased to find out I’d made such a good friend. She went on and on about it, asking why I hadn’t mentioned Taylor. I said I didn’t want to talk about it and we sat in silence for a while.

Once Mum understood that I was in a not-talking mood, she got up from the table and made herself a Mojito. I don’t know what’s in it, but she calls it her ‘happy drink’. She made me a lemonade with lots of ice and a bit of mint on top so that my drink looked like hers. I took the mint out when she wasn’t looking. Then she got some chicken in breadcrumbs and crinkle-cut chips out of the freezer, which is my absolute favourite dinner that she makes. She got the ketchup from the cupboard and turned it upside down, then set just two places, using Nana’s best plates. Because Dad wasn’t there, she carried the little TV into the kitchen from his study and we watched Coronation Street while we ate, rather than having to try to think of things to say to each other. We were sort of having a nice time but then, just after her third Mojito (I was only counting how many in case it’s the Mojitos that are making her fat), she ruined everything.

‘So I’ve got a surprise for you, because you’re doing so well at your new school,’ she said. Her eyes were a little bit closed, the way they are when she drinks, so that she looks really sleepy even if it’s the middle of the day. I asked if it was dessert and she said no and looked all serious, asking if I had forgotten what the dentist had said about my teeth and sugar. I hadn’t forgotten, but I didn’t really care. Nana always made something for dessert; and not from a packet, she actually made things. Chocolate cake, Victoria sponge, sticky toffee pudding, apple crumble with custard. They all tasted amazing. Now that I think about it, Nana didn’t have any teeth left at all, she had fake ones that she kept in a glass by the bed when she slept. I’d still rather eat cake, even if my teeth do fall out like Nana’s. Mum asked if I was listening, which she does when I’m thinking so hard about something that I don’t hear what she says any more. I nodded, but didn’t reply out loud as I was still a bit cross that we weren’t having afters of any description. Then she smiled, with her eyes still half closed.

‘I asked Taylor’s mum if Taylor could come here to play one night next week. And she said: “Yes.” Won’t that be nice?’ She finished her drink and put the glass back down on the table, then looked at me with a big, stupid smile on her fat face. ‘We’ll do it on a night when your dad is at work, so it’ll be just us girls. It’ll be fun, you’ll see!’ I was so mad, I couldn’t think of anything at all to say to her. I stood up from the table, without being excused, then ran up the stairs to my room, picked up the doorstop and closed the door. I even left some of my crinkle-cut chips. I thought I was going to cry, but nothing happened.

Taylor cannot come here. I haven’t decided whether we should even be proper friends yet. I’m so angry with Mum. There are so many things I hate about her but these are the three biggest reasons I can think of at the moment:



1. She drinks too much.

2. She lies all the time, like when she says we won’t have to move again.

3. She wishes I was like the other kids.