Sometimes I Lie(61)

There was lots of my hair on the bathroom floor when I was finished. Cutting it into a bob was Jo’s idea. When I squinted my eyes in the mirror, I could pretend it was Taylor looking back at me and that made me feel happy. I smiled and she smiled too. I asked Jo what she thought and she said I’d done something very clever because it means that so long as they have mirrors in Wales, I can take Taylor with me.





Now

New Year’s Eve, 2016


I wake up to the sound of a cork popping in the distance. Someone somewhere is celebrating. A flash of something comes back, Champagne at Christmas, the clinking of glasses, the twins crying upstairs. I struggle to retrieve more, but the rest of the file is blank. I don’t think I was drunk but I honestly can’t remember and the mere possibility feeds the shame that has been growing inside me. Our parents used to drink and the alcohol changed who they were. I never wanted to be like them, but history has a way of repeating itself whether you like it or not. I hear laughter down the corridor and wonder what there can be to laugh about in a place like this.

Paul takes my hand in his. He’s here, he hasn’t given up on me yet.

‘Happy New Year,’ he says and kisses me ever so gently on the forehead.

New Year.

So I’ve been here a week. Time here seems to stretch like an accordion: sometimes it’s all squashed together, sometimes it feels as though my folded-up existence is infinite, tucked away between the creases of life-shaped cloth and cardboard. I’m a little confused and a lot lost.

I think back through the New Year celebrations of my past. I can’t think of a single good one, not really, although I suppose they must all have been better than this.

‘Just move your finger, if you can hear me,’ says Paul. ‘Please.’

I picture him staring intently at my fingers, willing them to move. I wish that I could do this one small thing for him.

‘It’s OK, I know you would if you could. They said I could stay until midnight, so long as it was just me. It’s 12.03, so . . .’ I hear him zipping up his jacket and I panic.

Please don’t go.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll still be watching over you. Just between us, I’ve set up a little camera in your room, the one I was going to put up at the back of the house. I’m going to put it right here, where nobody will notice. It’s activated by movement, so if you get up and start dancing in the night, I’ll be able to see you on the laptop at home. I know that you’re in there, Amber. They don’t believe me, but I know. You just have to hold on; I’ll find a way to get you out.’ He kisses me again, then switches off the light before quietly closing the door behind him, like a parent putting their child to bed. I’m alone. Again.

So this is 2017. It sounds so futuristic in my head. When we were little we thought that there would be flying cars and holidays to the moon by now. Things have changed since we were children, perhaps not as much as we might have liked, but the world is a different place. Faster, louder, lonelier. Unlike the world around us, we haven’t changed at all, not really. History is a mirror and we’re all just older versions of ourselves; children disguised as adults.





Then

Christmas Eve, 2016


‘What are you doing here? How did you get into my house?’

Edward sits calmly on my sofa, smiling up at me. As though this is normal, as though any of this makes sense. He’s even more tanned than before and I remember the ancient-looking sunbed in his flat.

‘Calm down, Amber. Everything is fine, why don’t you have a glass of wine? Unwind, tell me about your day?’ he says. I spot the bottle of red on the coffee table and two glasses. Our glasses, mine and Paul’s. Our wine.

‘I’m calling the police,’ I say.

‘No you’re not. Unless this is how you want your husband to find out that you’ve been seeing another man?’ He picks up the bottle and pours two glasses. I try to stay calm, to think, to understand what is happening. ‘You wanted me to come here, that’s why you left your keys at my flat.’ He puts them on the coffee table and I feel a brief moment of relief. I need those keys, not all of them belong to me. And then the penny drops.

‘You took the keys from my bag last night . . .’

‘Now why would I do a thing like that? By the way, it was very rude of you to leave my flat like that without saying goodbye.’

‘You put something… in m-my drink,’ I stammer.

‘What are you talking about?’ he asks. His perfect white smile still fixed on his bronzed face.

‘You must have. It’s the only thing that makes sense.’

His smile fades. ‘Don’t play games, Amber. We’re too old for that now. You wanted to come to my flat. You wanted me to take your clothes off. You wanted all of it.’

I feel myself start to crumble.

‘I didn’t.’ My words seem to be coming from someone else, someone small and far away. He stands up and I take a step backwards. His eyes darken before the smile returns to his face.

‘May I?’ Without waiting for an answer, he reaches down and picks my phone up from the coffee table. He unlocks it without needing to ask for the code, then holds the phone up to my face so I can see what he’s looking at. ‘Does it look like I’m making you do something you didn’t want to?’