Sometimes I Lie(48)

‘Not lying, I just don’t think they’re listening. It did seem like she was trying to communicate and they don’t know her like we do.’

‘Then why hasn’t she done it again?’

‘Have you even asked her to? What if she’s lying there hearing every word of this?’

Claire takes my hand; her fingers are icy cold.

‘Amber, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand.’

‘This is stupid.’

‘Maybe that’s too difficult.’ She lets go of my hand and puts it back down on the bed. ‘OK, Amber, we’re watching your right hand. If you can hear me, move your finger, just a tiny bit.’ I want to, I try so hard to, but he’s done something to me, I know he has. I focus all of myself on my right hand, I feel as though I must be panting with the effort, but nothing happens.

‘I’m sorry,’ says Claire.

‘Don’t be,’ says Paul. ‘I know you’re just trying to help. You’re probably right about getting some rest too, we should go soon.’

Please don’t.

‘Five minutes, then we’ll go.’

The three of us sit in silence for a while. I wish they would talk, I can feel myself slipping away to somewhere else and I could really do with something to hold on to. Claire speaks first.

‘We’re going to need to get some help if this is going to be a long-term situation.’

‘It isn’t.’

‘I hope it isn’t too, but if it is, we can’t do this on our own.’

‘Yes, we can, we’ll just take it in turns to watch her.’

‘For a few more days maybe, but then what? David is going nuts looking after the twins, it’s not like when my parents were around to help out. Are there any of her friends we can call?’

Paul doesn’t reply.

‘She still has friends, doesn’t she?’ Claire persists.

‘She talks about Jo at work, they go out sometimes.’

Their conversation stumbles and I feel sick. Claire recovers her composure before I do.

‘A friend called Jo?’

‘Yes, a woman.’

I can almost hear her thinking.

‘Have you ever met her?’ she asks.

‘No. Why?’

‘No reason. Well, maybe she can help.’

‘I don’t have her number.’

‘Well, it will be in her phone, won’t it?’

I hear Paul open something and then picture him going through my handbag, the room starts to spin one way and my bed turns in the other direction. I can hear her singing in the distance, the little girl in pink, but I have to stay here, I have to stop this from happening. Paul cannot go through my phone, there are things he must not see. I think I remember something bad. Something I shouldn’t have done that would make any husband angry if they found out. The memory feels real and is joined by another. Strong hands tightening around my throat again, fighting for breath, for the first time I think I remember why. The fears brick themselves up inside my head so that nothing else can get in or out.

‘The battery is dead,’ he says. The room slows down again but doesn’t stop spinning completely. ‘I’ll take it home tonight and charge it.’





Then

Friday, 23rd December 2016 – Late Afternoon


‘I can’t believe I just did that,’ I say.

‘Neither can I but I’m glad you did,’ Edward replies.

‘They’ll all be talking about me now, running off with a stranger halfway through the Christmas lunch.’

‘I’m hardly a stranger.’

We walk into the bar and sit at the same table I sat at with Jo a few days earlier. I like this place, it feels safe, familiar, like nothing bad could ever happen here.

‘Things have been a bit difficult at work recently. I’d rather have a quick drink with an old friend instead of making polite conversation over warm Prosecco.’ I pause for a moment, knowing I need to say more. ‘That’s all this is though, two friends having a drink to clear the air.’

‘Understood,’ Edward replies. ‘What can I get you?’

‘I’ll get them,’ I insist, taking my purse out of my handbag and leaving it on the chair. It’s heavy with all the things I didn’t want to leave behind at the office, things I might need. ‘A pint of whatever pale beer they’ve got on draught in that case.’

‘A pint it is, I’ll be back in a bit.’

The bar is busy and I find myself staring at the black and white photos on the walls while I wait. My eyes find the date on the frame nearest to me: 1926. The place looks exactly the same. The world keeps on spinning, repeating itself over and over until something changes, which it doesn’t because we can’t. I do the maths and realise that the faces of the dead are smiling back at me. I look away. When I’m finally served, my feet seem to stick to the ugly patterned carpet, holding me back. I negotiate my way through the crowds towards the table, a pint of beer in one hand, a pint of lemonade in the other and two packets of cheese and onion crisps between my teeth. Edward’s expression alters slightly as I sit down. I can’t interpret the look so I ignore it.

‘Cheers,’ I say, raising my glass.

‘Cheers.’