Sometimes I Lie(80)

The hot sun warms my skin and lights our new life. Our own little corner of paradise for a couple of weeks, a stopover before Paul needs to be in America. I turn back towards the hotel, wondering where he is. We booked a room on the ground floor, right on the beach so that we could just step out into the sun during the day and sit beneath the stars at night. It’s enormous, more of a suite than a room really and we hardly ever see anyone. There aren’t many other guests due to it being rainy season, not that it’s rained once since we arrived.

The shutters are all open and I can see the shape of Paul inside, sitting on the bed. He’s on the phone. Again. He hasn’t adjusted to our new life as quickly as I hoped he might, but he adores the children, loves them as though they are his own. I have finally given him the family he wanted and nobody can take that away from us now. I glance over at the children once more. They’re fine. I peel myself up and off the sunlounger to check on Paul, I keep reminding myself that he needs watching over too.

Paul hangs up the phone on the bedside table as soon as I step inside the room. He doesn’t look up and I feel like I have interrupted something.

‘Who was that?’ I ask.

‘No one,’ he says, still avoiding eye contact. The bed is buried by a patchwork of white A4 paper, covered in black type and red ink. The never-ending edit has taken over again.

‘Well, it must have been someone.’ I struggle to hide the irritation in my voice, this is supposed to be a holiday. A chance to spend time together as a family, not hide away in here staring at words and speaking to his agent. I look back out at the children, they’re fine, so I turn back to Paul. He’s looking at me now, the corners of his mouth turned upwards.

‘It was supposed to be a surprise,’ he says, standing up and coming over to kiss me. ‘Your shoulders are red, do you need some more cream on?’

‘What was?’

‘I’ve ordered a little something from room service.’ I still don’t believe him.

‘What? Why? It’s only a couple of hours until dinner.’

‘That’s true, but we normally have champagne on our anniversary.’

‘It’s not our anniversary . . .’

‘I didn’t say wedding.’ He smiles. I know the anniversary he means and I smile too.

‘I thought you were speaking to your agent again.’

‘Not guilty this time,’ he says holding up his hands. ‘But you have just reminded me of something. I might Skype her, just for a quick chat before the drinks come, then I’m all yours.’ I roll my eyes. ‘Just five minutes, surely you can forgive me that?’

‘Fine, five minutes,’ I say and kiss him on the cheek.

I want to freshen up but I look out and check on the twins first, they’ve become my latest routine, something I must check three times. They’re exactly as I left them, building castles of sand, squashing them and starting again. They are so content in each other’s company. I wonder if that is unusual. I wonder if they will always be that way.

‘Look at this,’ says Paul. He’s already moved to the small desk in the corner of the room, his laptop open in front of him. I notice that the label is sticking up from the neck of his t-shirt. I walk over and reach to tuck it in, then change my mind. I’m not sure why. I peer at the screen over his shoulder instead. ‘The dog sitter sent it, looks like Digby is having a nice holiday too.’ I smile at the photo. The dog is panting but it looks like he’s smiling at the camera.

‘I know you miss him, we’ll see him soon enough,’ I say. Paul loves that dog, hates leaving him behind. We all have to have something or someone to love, otherwise the love inside us has nowhere to go. ‘Will you keep one eye on them while I have a quick shower,’ I say, looking back out at the twins.

‘Of course.’

On my way to the bathroom I notice that Paul has left the TV on again. It’s on silent but a familiar image catches my eye and I stop, unable to look away. I see a news correspondent I used to know standing outside a court house, TV crews and more reporters jostling for space on the pavement around her. The picture changes to the image of a police van driving through a gate to get inside the building. Then I see the shots of Claire’s house, the house we grew up in, blackened and burnt. I read the words scrolling at the bottom of the screen, a string of capitals silently screaming at me:

MADELINE FROST’S MURDER TRIAL BEGINS.

Even with the mute button switched on, the TV is far too loud. I don’t know why he insists on having it on in the background all the time, it’s like an obsession. I switch it off and turn back to say something to Paul, but he’s already started the Skype call. The sound of it dialling up that has become so familiar stops and he starts speaking at his laptop before I get a chance to say anything. I leave him to it and step into the bathroom. I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. I look good. I look like the me I am supposed to be, living the life I was supposed to live. The life that was stolen from me.

I close the door and turn on the shower. I’ll be quick. Just want to get the sand and cream off my body, wash my hair and change into something else. I take off my bikini and step inside, letting the jets of cool water slap my face. I hear the knock on the hotel room door and curse their timing.

‘Come in,’ says Paul. I can hear that he is still on the call to London but I’m relieved he is dealing with it, five minutes on my own has become a rare indulgence that I no longer take for granted. ‘That’s great, thank you, just leave it over there,’ he says. His words are muffled by the shower, but he sounds distracted, borderline rude and I hope he’s remembered to give them a tip.