A Suitable Lie (18 page)

F
riday morning and there was a memo on my desk. Anna wasn’t going to like this. My presence was requested in the Campbeltown branch. It was from the Regional Manager’s office; I could no more disobey it than I could choose Pat over Ryan.

Anna would not be happy.

There had been an emergency, the staff couldn’t cope, it was a flagship branch for the area, it couldn’t be allowed to get any worse and I had performed so well on my last visit … Some emergency, I thought. A phone call was the usual method of communication in this event. The memo filled the page with inanities and corporate clichés that were supposed to motivate and impress. A curling lip was my response.

Who wrote this drivel? The word ‘clearly’ prefixed every statement and the phrase ‘going forward’ indicated, several times, that I was needed to help build a branch for the future. A snort erupted from my pursed lips at ‘show the staff there what good looks like’. I would have to do all this in three weeks.

I was to be accompanied by Sheila Hunter. Flight tickets were included. The shrill ring of the phone interrupted my reading. Sheila’s voice filled my ear.

‘I take it you’ve spoken with Roy about Campbeltown?’ she asked.

‘No, was he supposed to call me? I’ve received a memo about it though. What the hell’s going on? And why did I have to find out about it in a bloody memo.’

‘I’m sorry, Andy. Roy was supposed to phone you at the beginning of the week. Probably too busy.’

‘Probably couldn’t be arsed.’

‘You were over there a couple of years ago, weren’t you?’ Sheila asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Well, the guy that you helped get organised…’

‘Sandy?’

‘Yeah, him. Well apparently, he’s had some sort of a brainstorm. He’s informed the local press that he’s setting up on his own; some sort of consultancy for business customers to help them get the most out of the financial market place. He told the local rag that the bank were happy for their customers to shop about and that he was the right man to help them do it.’

‘What?’ I was astounded. What a strange thing to say. And to hope that the bank would hear nothing about it. ‘I didn’t think Campbeltown was known for its wacky baccy.’

‘Well, he’s certainly been taking something. Mushrooms maybe.’

‘And you and I have to clear up his mess.’

‘Looks like it.’

‘Why the memo?’ I thought aloud.

‘Dunno,’ said Sheila. ‘A phone call’s the way we usually do things.’ She paused; something had just occurred to her. ‘Anna won’t be too happy.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked – too quickly.

‘Well,’ Sheila answered, ‘she’ll be on her own with two boys. That’s a lot of work.’

‘I know.’ I groaned inwardly at my defensive response. What must Sheila think?

‘Anyway, I’ve booked us in at The Ardsheil. Is that okay with you?’

‘Aye, that’s fine. It’s a nice wee hotel. Has one of the best selections of whisky you’re likely to find.’

Knowing how negatively Anna would react, I waited until the boys were asleep that night before telling her.

‘Bloody bank,’ she said. ‘Why you? Is there no one else in that shit organisation?’

She was standing facing me wearing one of my t-shirts. I was
sitting up in bed. I shrugged in response to her question. When I saw her standing there, anger tight in her jaw, the idea of going away for a few weeks was quite appealing. She folded her arms.

‘You didn’t ask for this did you?’ Suspicion filled her hard stare.

‘No. No of course I didn’t.’ I’d better make this convincing, I thought. ‘Why the fuck would I want to go to that shit hole?’ The lies dripped easily from my tongue. ‘It has one pub, the hotel’s a dump, and the folk there are the unfriendliest bunch you’re ever likely to meet.’

She was on the bed quickly and tugged at some of my chest hair until she elicited a response. ‘If I ever find out that you volunteered for this…’ The threat was stark in her tone and all the more frightening for going unsaid. How would she react, I wondered, if she knew that I was going over with a female member of staff – an attractive one at that?

T
he flight to Campbeltown was at the ridiculously early time of 6.55 a.m. Sheila admitted her unease at the first sight of our aircraft.

‘God, it’s tiny. I hope you’re not frightened of flying.’

As I climbed the half-dozen stairs into the plane, I answered, ‘No, not at all.’

Bending over to avoid bouncing my head off the roof and noticing that it looked even smaller inside, I considered that I may have to review this opinion. The craft had two seats lining one side and one seat on the other. When I sat down on a two-seater, it was obvious that only a two-year-old could accompany me with any degree of comfort.

Sheila and I were the only passengers and we received the full attentions of the flight crew, who were equal in number.

‘First time flying to Campbeltown?’ asked the pilot. He was sitting at the wheel, looking over his shoulder at us. The knot of his tie was all but concealed by the right wing of his collar and his hair obeyed its own set of rules as it skewered the air around it.

‘Yes,’ I answered, confidence falling as the door was shut. The last
time I went there I drove and at this point the pleasures of the road were definitely calling.

‘Don’t worry, old son. These wee planes have a great safety record.’ He beamed at me. ‘Right.’ The pilot clapped his hands. ‘We’ll soon be in the air. There’s the exit.’ He pointed over our heads at the way we had just come in. ‘And your lifejacket is under the seat. Any questions? No, good. Enjoy the flight.’ He turned around and strapped himself in.

‘This should be fun.’ Sheila smiled. She had chosen the seat in front of me. We could both see every move the pilot made.

We were quickly airborne and I looked around me, trying to get my bearings. Wings cutting through the crisp early-morning sky, we followed the River Clyde through Glasgow’s urban sprawl, out to the Firth of Clyde and the sea. From there our flight path was Bute, Arran and down the length of Kintyre to Campbeltown.

W
hen we arrived at the branch, the staff were almost pathetically grateful that someone with authority was there to help out. The erstwhile manager had obviously been planning his escape for some time; it looked like he had done nothing for months. Some borrowing propositions were dangerously late, cheques had been paid that were piling some customers deeper and deeper into debt, and his customer files were a disgrace.

There was a lot of work to be done and I, apparently, was the man to do it. The bonus was that I was free from the distractions of home and able to get a full night’s sleep, and subsequently do a full day’s work.

There was one distraction from home, however. Every evening at around nine o’clock, once the boys were in bed, Anna would phone. She insisted that she phone me as it would save on my hotel bill. I didn’t have the energy to point out that the bank would be picking up the tab for the telephone. Besides knowing how jealous Anna could be, I was fairly certain that she wanted to phone me to make sure that I was where I said I was.

‘Is the pub shut, then?’ was her typical greeting.

‘Been chatting up the local slappers?’ was another.

The first weekend at home flew past and we were back in Campbeltown for week two. While at home my thoughts were often drawn back to the previous week: Sheila and I poring over printouts; Sheila and I discussing the day ahead over breakfast; Sheila and I … Several times I had to mentally rattle my brain as if to dislodge the growing affection I had for her. At odd times my thoughts would stray to her. While bathing Ryan, her laugh would play its song in my ears; while reading the newspaper she walked across the page; and while making love with Anna, Sheila’s smile radiated from the pillow.

Stop it, Boyd. You’re a married man, with two boys, I told myself. I would have to fight to maintain a professional distance. But, with a thrill that surprised me, I found myself looking forward more and more to sharing the flight back to Campbeltown with her.

The next week back in Kintyre flew by. We worked from eight in the morning till eight at night, grabbed a quick meal at the hotel and then went off to our respective rooms to pore over some more files and then grab some well-deserved sleep – and for me to anticipate Anna’s call. On the Tuesday her call was a little later than usual.

‘Hi, honey,’ she said. Her pleasant tone took me by surprise.

‘Hi. You’re a wee bit later tonight,’ I said without thinking.

‘What are you trying to say?’ I could almost see her shouting at the mouthpiece. ‘I’ve had enough of your accusations.’

‘Anna. I just commented on the fact that you’re phoning a wee bit later than you normally do.’ I heard a deep voice in the background. ‘What’s that? You got the telly on too loud?’

Anna cleared her throat. I was too busy thinking how I could calm her down to notice the way she did so. If I had been as paranoid as she was, I may have thought it sounded like she was warning someone.

‘Aye, some documentary…’ a strange noise, like a stifled giggle ‘… about dinosaurs.’

‘Since when did you watch documentaries?’

Anna’s TV habits were soaps and movies.

‘Since tonight. Is that alright with you?’ she snapped.

‘How are the boys?’ I thought it best to change the subject.

‘They’re fine. A handful. They miss their Dad. Christ knows why.’ She laughed, and I forced a smile into my voice.

‘Ha, ha. Give them a kiss for me.’

Placing the phone on the receiver, I gave no more thought to Anna’s weird behaviour. I had more pressing matters to consider: Sheila. Having recognised my attraction for her, I forced myself to speak to her only when she spoke first, and then I would only be drawn on work matters. Several times I caught a glance, a partially opened mouth, as if she was about to say something. At this I would feel awful, but steeled myself with the thought that it was for the best. I just couldn’t afford to let my attraction grow.

One evening as I ate in silence, Sheila decided to say what was on her mind.

‘Andy, what the hell is wrong with you?’

‘Uh?’ I looked over at her while drawing a string of spaghetti up into my mouth.

‘You’ve been off-hand with me all week.’

‘I haven’t,’ I said when I had swallowed my mouthful.

‘You have, and I want to know what I’ve done.’ Her beautiful eyes drilled into mine. ‘Have I said something? What?’

‘Nothing, nothing.’ I felt uncomfortable. I couldn’t admit my feelings and I couldn’t just leave her feeling like she’d somehow offended me. ‘It’s me…’ I finally answered. ‘Things at home…’

‘Oh.’ Silence. ‘I don’t want to pry. Just thought I’d … never mind…’ More silence. ‘Have you finished with the Borthwick report yet?’ Sheila moved onto safer ground.

‘Yes. Do you need it? I left it in my room last night. I can go and get it for you if you want.’

‘No, no,’ she answered. She had finished her light meal by this point. ‘Give me your room key and I’ll go and get it while you’re still eating.’

I passed the key to her. ‘It’s on the dressing table.’ As she reached the door, I jumped up. It was almost time for Anna’s phone call. I looked at my watch. 8.45. Calm down, Boyd I told myself. It’s still a wee bit early.

Just as I was wiping at the bolognaise sauce with a slice of crusty bread, Sheila returned with the file under her arm. She ordered some coffee and sat down sliding my key over the table.

‘Did you ring for me just there?’ she asked.

‘No.’

‘Oh.’ She looked puzzled. ‘Your phone rang while I was in the room and I answered, thinking it might be you. There was no one there. Odd, isn’t it?’

I gripped the fork in my hand and fought the urge to groan. Anna. Shit. She couldn’t have phoned at a worse possible time. No reasonable explanation would please her; her only thought would be that a woman was in my bedroom and I was surely sleeping with her.

‘Is something wrong?’ Sheila asked, ‘You’ve gone all pale.’

‘Must be something I’ve just eaten.’ Nausea pulled at the food I’d just swallowed. I was in serious shit. I stumbled to my feet. ‘See you in the morning, I’ll just go and lie down.’

Safely in my room, I paced the floor. Should I phone home? No – better let her calm down first. But if I didn’t phone I would be damned for sure. She would know that I knew she had called. In the end I settled for doing nothing. Whatever reaction Anna planned would happen regardless of any assertions I made. I would just end up digging myself a larger grave.

Sleep evaded me that night and I was able to plead sickness the next day when Sheila showed some concern. All the while thoughts of Anna’s retribution filled my mind. Muscle tightened at imaginary blows and my self-esteem curled up at the thought of the slurs to come. The truth of what happened that evening would simply not be believed, so I had to think of some story that would appease Anna, but none came. Her reaction was too large in my imagination.

T
hat night, back home, while the boys jumped all over me in competition to out-do the other, Anna maintained a chill distance. She kept this up until the Sunday night.

‘What’s wrong, honey?’ I dared to ask. Like a convict whose execution had been postponed by an hour, then another hour, then another hour, I needed to know what was going on. I couldn’t stand her silence any longer.

She was in the kitchen, I was standing in view of her in the living room, my hands deep in my pockets, my shoulders almost level with my ears. She stopped what she was doing and walked towards me, her hands behind her back.

‘Who was she?’ Each word was spoken crisply, quietly.

‘Who was who?’ I moved back.

‘I’m not an idiot, Andy.’

Silence can be a very effective way of forcing someone else to speak and Anna’s lips were sealed tight. She would not speak again until after I had spoken. My nerves drew tighter and tighter. Sweat popped out on my forehead like an admission of guilt.

‘Okay, okay,’ I burst. ‘I know you called. My colleague went to my room for a file that we were working on.’