Lies Like Love (18 page)

You don’t get a night like that without paying for it. That’s what I was thinking as we drove home, but I didn’t say it aloud; I didn’t want Leo to worry. We’d slept late and I’d woken up with my heart in a panic, grabbed my clothes and insisted we leave at once. No breakfast, no nothing. The spell was broken. And all I felt now was sore. In my head, in my heart, in my arms and thighs and between my legs. We shouldn’t have done it. Mum would know, the second she set eyes on me, she’d read it. I might as well have it stitched into my skin, scarlet and bleeding: I am not a virgin.

‘You’re quiet,’ he said. Leo kept looking at me out of the corner of his eye. I tried to smile at him.

‘Mmm. Just a bit tired.’ I took the hand he held out and our fingers locked. It wasn’t his fault; Leo hadn’t hurt me, of course not. I reddened, remembering, how I’d been the one to say,
Yes, I want to
. How I’d closed my eyes and then opened them and not been afraid; how I’d loved being with him. Loved him. Even though it was awkward at first. It wasn’t like we were experts. I bit my knuckle, my heart racing, remembering: skin hot, slippery with sweat. The mess of the bedclothes, rumpled and ruined, Leo’s body with mine. His tongue in my mouth, on my skin. My stomach rolled. Oh, my God. Mum would definitely
know. I shifted on the seat and cleared my throat. He blinked, looking at me again.

‘Well, catch up on some sleep when you get home. Then let’s meet up tonight.’

‘No way will Mum be up for letting me out two nights in a row. In fact I think she’s going to be really pissed off with me.’ I swallowed. This was serious. I was in serious trouble and saw it coming, belting towards me, out of control.

‘Look, it’s ridiculous. Seriously, what’s she got against us?’

‘It’s not you. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her. All right?’

‘You’ve got to think positive, Aud. The more we prove that we’re serious, not mucking about, the more she’ll see that there’s no point being all Victorian about this.’

‘I know, I know. But it would be the same with anyone. You could be Jesus and she’d still think you were out to give me STDs before running off with my best friend. I don’t know the word for someone who hates men, but she’s it.’

‘Misandrist,’ he said.

‘Oh. Nice.’

‘It’s OK, Aud. I can take it.’ Leo’s smile almost broke my heart. It was brave and bold and I knew he meant it. That he’d stand up for me, whatever.

‘Thanks, Leo,’ I said, ‘for everything.’

We were almost home. I stared out of the window and watched the fields rush past, dank and netted with the New Year mist.

Mum and Sue were waiting outside the Grange. They
weren’t speaking, but Sue was wearing the snowflake jumper and a thick matching scarf. Mum had her arms round Peter, pressing him into her side. Leo grabbed my hand as we climbed out of the Land Rover and walked towards them.

‘It’ll be OK,’ he said for the millionth time as he squeezed tight, but I dropped his hand, folded my arms and stared straight ahead into the first cold sun of the year as it broke through the clouds, so harsh it was knives in my eyes.

‘Get in the house,’ Mum said, that was all, and we trooped inside, no time to even say goodbye.

‘See you soon, Lorraine,’ Sue called, but Mum didn’t turn back.

I thought about stopping on the steps. I could turn round and run, get back in the car and go to the farm with Leo. But Peter caught my eye and twisted his fingers into mine, so I followed Mum upstairs and the sound of her feet pounding the concrete, echoing like slaps, rang in my ears.

‘All right, Pete?’ I said. Of course he wasn’t. There was no way this was normal.

‘Audrey.’ Mum pointed at the kitchen. I did as I was told.

‘What?’ I smiled at my brother, trying to pretend this was a game. He wasn’t stupid. He was going to cry.

The table was set. Bowls of crisps, sausage rolls, sandwiches curling at the edges, a bottle of pop and little plastic jewel-coloured glasses. A trifle, dusted with hundreds and thousands and beginning to curdle, sat centre
stage. A slab of cheese, surrounded by crackers and grapes, looked too soft, a little green; a thick foul smell rose and pulsed in the air. There were party poppers dotted among the food. Tatty Christmas crackers. A packet of sparklers.

‘What’s this?’ I whispered.

‘Where’ve you been, Audrey? I’ve been sat waiting here, waiting for you,’ Mum said.

‘Mum set it up,’ Peter whispered. A trail of snot ran from his nose, I wiped it clean. ‘It’s a party,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry,’ I told him. He looked smaller than ever, as if he’d shrunk overnight. I wanted to gather him up and hug it all better.

‘You didn’t come home,’ Mum went on. She’d scraped her hair back and her forehead glared, white and high. ‘You were out all night.’

I sat down opposite her. Mum’s eyes followed a line from my forehead to my lips to my chest and my groin, where they rested, and my cheeks burned hot. She could see it; she could smell it. I should have showered and changed my clothes. Peter hovered beside her, his hand stroking Mum’s sleeve, but she didn’t move, as if she were made of marble.

‘It’s OK, Pete,’ I whispered, crossing my legs tight, wrapping myself small, and he sidled over to me, standing close.

‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ I said, but that wasn’t going to be enough.

She picked up a sandwich. A white triangle, curling at the edges. Put it on my plate.

‘Eat it,’ she said. I took a tiny bite. Dust.

‘Here.’ She began to pile my plate with crisps, a Scotch egg, a fat spoonful of leaking trifle.

‘Eat it up. You too, Peter.’

Peter spooned up cream, gagged on the first mouthful and spat it out all over the plate.

‘It’s OK,’ I soothed him. ‘Don’t worry.’ I poured his drink and he gulped the fizzy liquid, rubbing his cheeks with his knuckles, his tears leaving grimy trails.

‘Mum. I could make us some fresh,’ I said, but she looked at me as if she hadn’t heard, cramming a cigarette into her mouth.

‘The note said I’d gone with Leo. That Peter was fine at Sue’s, waiting for you. I’m really sorry, Mum. I know it was out of order; I know I shouldn’t have.’ Her silence was hell; I didn’t understand it and I almost opened my mouth and told her everything, confessed then and there, just to get it over with, just to make her scream and shout, so this bomb could explode.

‘Eat your food, Audrey.’

I picked up a sausage roll. The pastry crumbled, ashy in my fingers.

‘I can’t.’

‘What?’

‘It’s not nice, Mum. It’s old, gone off.’

‘I made it for you,’ she said. ‘So you eat it.’ I took a deep breath. I had to stop this.

‘No. We can’t eat this, Mum. Don’t you get it?’ She stared. I thought she would slap me and waited for the screaming, the shouting and swearing. For her to tell me I
was grounded for life and could never see Leo again. But she just stared at me, stubbed out one cigarette and lit another, her mouth closing round it, puckering and thin.

‘Are you going out tonight?’ Peter asked later when I was sitting with him, holding his hand as he drifted off to sleep. He was wearing his pirate pyjamas; Mum had got them for Christmas. He loved them.

‘No,’ I said, ‘not tonight. Some other night maybe. Tonight I’m going to stay in with you. I missed you last night, I kept thinking,
Oh, Peter’d like this
. But I’ll take you next year maybe. There were all these crazy dancers in masks, lots of strange music – some of it really good. And we walked along the Thames, saw the most amazing fireworks. Then ate yummy Chinese food. You’ll love Leo’s place; it’s amazing. His telly’s the size of a football pitch, but it’s all hidden behind some special doors which open when you press a button. But you have to take your shoes off when you go in; the carpets are all white, like snow. So thick your feet sink. Can you imagine?’

His eyes widened. ‘I want to go. Can we go there?’

‘Sure, some time soon. Leo would love to take you. I know he would.’

Back in my own room I didn’t think I’d sleep, but it came on fast, sinking me deep. The pounding began in my ears; it throbbed at the back of my head, a nightmare remembered, a dream of drowning.

Lurching through the window, dripping with sludge dredged up from the bottom of the moat, the Thing was stronger than ever before. It placed its weight on mine, held me by the arms: pinned.
No
, I cried, my voice lost in
the turn and tumble of sheets and mattress, swallowed by the thickening mire. We wrestled and I wrenched an arm free, pulled its hair, strands of it tangling round my fingers like wire. The Thing had grown so solid, and I bit into it, surprised at the sink of my teeth into flesh, gagging on blood as it wrenched and grappled, dragging me out of my bed, towards the window, holding me there.

See
, it hissed, and I stared out. The moat glittered darkly, a warning. And, as the moon slunk behind a cloud, the water’s surface blackened and dulled.

See
, the Thing sang again, its fingers tightening on my wrists, squeezing and slicing with hard, bright nails. I stared at the blood dripping into the night, drops of it falling like rain. It was coming from me, I realized, and I screamed and howled for mercy as I saw my life gushing from me, the jagged edges of the broken mirror on the floor, the holes in the window where the Thing had punched through the glass.

‘What on earth were you thinking, Leo?’ He’d never seen Sue quite so angry. Even last year when she’d stood up in the planning meeting and shouted at their MP about the wind farms, she’d not been so cross. He really hadn’t meant to make her mad.

‘I’m sorry, it was stupid. We should have called.’ Leo paced the kitchen, picking up mail and putting it down again, drumming his fingers on the worktop, avoiding Sue’s gaze.

‘Too right. You didn’t even answer my texts. And you should have said from the outset that you were taking off for the night. For the entire night, Leo!’

‘I know, I know.’ There was no getting out of it; he’d screwed up and there was going to be a lot of grovelling to do. He started by bringing in more wood for the fire, taking Mary for a walk, tidying up his books and records from where they were scattered around the living room – Sue had been asking him for weeks. Then he helped in the kitchen too, wondering if he’d done enough yet, if it was ever going to be enough. Sue’s back was still tense.

‘So, what did Lorraine say to you when she came and picked up Peter?’ Leo asked later, when they’d finished supper and Leo couldn’t withhold the questions any
longer. The fire was burning itself out; he stood up and added another log. Sue sipped her coffee.

‘Not much. But she wasn’t pleased, Leo. Why couldn’t you have just phoned and told her your plans? That’s her daughter you spirited away, her not-very-well daughter at that. She wanted to call the police. I had to talk her out of it.’

‘Oh, bloody hell. I didn’t think she’d be that bad.’

Sue eyed him and he blushed at the lie.

‘I think Lorraine thought I was in on it. It made me look bad, Leo; you put me in an awkward spot too.’ His aunt was still frowning.

‘I guess so. I’m sorry. I cocked up. But we had a great night.’ He grinned for a second, remembering. Audrey’s face, alight, shining, her dancing on the tube, singing in the streets. He remembered later, in bed, her body, her skin and her smile. That had been wilder and brighter than any firework.

‘It was worth upsetting Lorraine for, was it?’

He pushed the images out of his head.

‘Oh, come on. She’ll get over it,’ Leo protested. But he wasn’t so sure, and repeated the words as if that might make them true.

Sue tutted and cleaned her glasses, and they stared at the television for a while. Leo drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair.

‘Maybe I should go over? Apologize?’

‘A bit late for that. But yes, maybe tomorrow. Not tonight; it’s too late now. They’ll be in bed, I bet. Lorraine
said she didn’t sleep all night for the worry. I should think some serious grovelling is in order.’

‘All right. In the morning.’

Leo wondered if he’d sleep. He sat up late, watching a film with Sue, a soppy rom com that they both laughed at but which made him worry about Aud. He pulled his jumper up around his nose, breathed in, smelled Audrey’s skin and hair on his clothes and wished she was with him.

Mum wouldn’t stop talking. To me, the doctor, the nurses, to anyone who would listen.

‘Can you help us?’ Mum begged. ‘This is an emergency,’ she hollered. ‘Help us, please.’

Her hand was stroking my face, her voice softening, like goo, like mushy peas. I wanted to be sick, felt it rise, fall from me, everywhere. If I could be sick enough, then there would be nothing left, I would be empty. Like an egg cracked in two, only sharp jagged edges remaining.

‘Oh, God.’ Mum held my hair, my face, holding me up. ‘Someone, please.’

They whisked us into a little room; someone was cleaning my face, wiping, quick and deft. Mum was still talking.

‘Audrey, love? Don’t worry, we’re at the hospital. Everything’s all right.’

Her voice came from far away, like she was talking to me from another continent over a dodgy line. I opened my eyes long enough to see that this hospital looked just like all the others: white walls, curtains, people who glared and stared, antiseptic smells like the inside of Mum’s cupboard. And doctors who never knew what to do. I wondered if I was still bleeding. About the trail of it, spots and smears on the walls of the flat, down the steps of the
Grange, dotting the gravel, all over the car. Would anyone see? Follow? Find me?

There were fingers pulling up my lids, a bright light in my eyes, hands holding my wrists too tightly round thick bandages.

‘I got her here as soon as I found her.’ Mum was holding me on the examination table. My body moved under her hands, as if she were settling one of her dolls, pulling its arms and legs into position.

‘I’m a nurse,’ Mum kept on, ‘so I shouldn’t have panicked. But when it’s your daughter it’s different. My God, I was terrified. Why would she do this?’

Why couldn’t I go to sleep? Why couldn’t I still be safe with Leo in that big double bed, lying on fresh cold white sheets smelling of blossom.

‘She self-harms. I thought it wouldn’t come to this. Never thought it was more than a cry for help. I don’t keep anything sharp in the house, so she must have planned this. Been thinking about it. How she’d do it. We were supposed to see the doctor, I made the appointments, but she refused to come. I never dreamed something like this would happen. If we’d just been to that appointment –’ Mum’s voice broke. It sounded like she was swallowing a sob.

‘She watched TV with me earlier and then she went up to bed. It was the first time she’d slept up there in weeks, so I thought it was a good sign. She says there’s voices up there, ghosts. That she’s hearing things. Next thing I know, I’m up for the loo, and there’s Audrey on the floor, cut to pieces. I think it’s this boy she’s been seeing. I think that’s what’s done it; she ran off with him, over New Year. I
think something must have happened. I can’t bear to think about it.’

‘OK.’ The doctor sounded calm. ‘Mrs Morgan, thank you. We’ll get Audrey cleaned up. Try to keep calm; I think she’ll be fine.’

‘Do you? I don’t know if this is what I’d call fine.’ She lifted my arm, showed him my wrists.

‘Perhaps you could get a cup of tea, talk to one of the nurses. Try and calm down; explain what’s happened. We’ll talk in a while.’

‘I can’t leave Audrey.’ She clutched at me. I felt her hanging, clinging.

‘She won’t be alone. We’ll monitor her. And of course get in touch with children’s psychiatric services. They’ll want to talk to you both. All right. Audrey? You’re all right. Look, she’s opening her eyes. Hello, Audrey.’

I held my hand out; I wanted to hold on to Mum and for the doctor to leave me alone. The lights were too bright and I screwed my eyes tight shut again. Mum picked up my hand, rubbed my skin; trying to make me warm, I thought.

When the doctor disappeared, pulling the curtains behind him with a quick swish, she sat beside me and held my hand, kissing my knuckles, breathing in.

‘He’s a kid, that one,’ Mum whispered. I looked at her, saw how she rolled her eyes. ‘I mean, fancy giving us a kid. It’s a good job I’m here, Aud.’

She sighed, rested her head on our joined hands for a moment before standing and leaving me with another brief kiss on my forehead. My wrists were beginning to throb. The ache was unbearable. I heard her out in the
corridor, asking someone what was happening; how long before they’d get me moved up to the ward, how long we’d have to wait for the psychiatrist.
If you don’t ask, you don’t get
. That was Mum’s mantra.

And I couldn’t remember doing it. Couldn’t remember at all. Just the Thing coming for me, and the water and then the pain. And that was more frightening than anything.

‘When can I go home?’ I asked the nurse who said she’d be looking after me that day. This year was supposed to be my fresh start; I’d promised myself, made resolutions.

‘I don’t think it’ll be yet, not for a little while, Audrey,’ she said in her gentle voice. She treated me like a princess, this nurse, bringing me things, drinks and food and magazines, before rushing off to one of the others. The ward was loud and all I wanted to do was sleep, but I didn’t dare. Not after last time.

‘Where’s my mum?’

‘She’s gone downstairs for a bit. To ring your brother.’

‘Oh.’

I stared down at the bandages on my wrists. Thick. White. Under there somewhere was the blood. The thought of it made me sick again, and I lay back on the pillows clutching the cardboard bowl the nurse gave me, thinking about Peter and how I had to get home for him. He’d be needing breakfast, a bath. Something fun to do today.

‘Are you all right, Audrey?’ The nurse straightened my sheets and offered me a drink of water.

‘Yes. I’m OK. I want to go though, I want to go home.’ Even as I said it I knew I didn’t want to go back there, not
to my room, never again. I couldn’t go in there, where the Thing was waiting. It would finish me next time, once and for all. We’d have to move again; Mum would have to find a new place.

‘Well, just rest for now, all right? The doctor will be here shortly and I’m sure Mum’ll be back soon.’

I didn’t watch her go, didn’t look round; I didn’t want to see the others, the ones in the beds next to me. Instead I stared out of the window at the sky. The heavy rain had stopped and the afternoon had lightened to a pale, fragile pink; the naked arms of trees reached and pointed to something far beyond this bed and I dreamed for a while into the dusk of pigeons and statues and a tiny Cupid, heavy in my hands.

Mum was back before the doctor came on his evening rounds. A strange violet light gathered behind her as she blocked my view of the last of the day.

‘Where’s Pete?’ I asked as she leant over me, all smiles, holding balloons, a giant Pooh Bear, a box of sweets.

‘He’s all right; don’t worry about him.’ She bent and kissed my cheek, placed the teddy in my arms.

‘But, Mum –’

She talked over me, kissing my fingers, the back of my palm. The sun was setting behind her and I strained to see the last glimpse of the sky as it streamed sails of purple and blue and gold. Mum dropped my hand and snapped the curtains closed and I knew that even if I could jump up and run out of here, run hard, that moment was lost forever. I couldn’t catch the sun. And now it was dark.

‘Right, then, where’s that doctor? We’ve got a proper
psychiatrist at last, Aud.’ Mum checked her lipstick in her little compact mirror. I watched from under my eyelashes. ‘They’re going to have to take this seriously now, love. I mean, look at the state of you.’

I didn’t answer. The throbbing in my wrists was building, a drumbeat that pounded; shaking my head, I lifted my hands and covered my ears. My arms ached as I held them there and I think I moaned.

‘Come on, Aud – that’s right,’ Mum whispered, and then the curtains were pulled back and the doctor was with us.

‘So, you must be Audrey. Good afternoon. I’m Mr McGuiness, one of the doctors here. Will you open your eyes, please?’ he said, gently taking one of my hands and lifting it from my ear.

‘I’d like to talk to you, if that’s all right.’

I didn’t need a shrink. I turned away from his voice, screwing my eyes tighter, my whole face, until it ached.

‘Well, you know the sooner you talk to me, the sooner we can help you. What happened is very serious. We want to help you get better, and we don’t want this to happen again. Can we talk a little bit about the events leading up to last night?’

I didn’t answer. There was no point. Mum grabbed her chance.

‘She went off on New Year’s Eve with this lad she’s been seeing. He’s a bad influence; Audrey wouldn’t normally do something like that without telling me. And then when she got back she was in a terrible state. Wouldn’t talk to me about it. Anyway, I was worried, but she went
off to bed. The next thing I know she’s cut her wrists to pieces.’ Mum lost it then. I heard her smothering her sobs.

‘OK.’ The doctor’s voice was still calm. I imagined his face: kind, a strong jaw, intelligent eyes. My dad had kind eyes, bright eyes.
No worries
, Aud, he said somewhere very far away,
no worries
. ‘Audrey,’ the doctor spoke again, insisting on an answer, ‘did something happen? Did something trigger you cutting yourself?’

The air was very still. Everyone waited. I heard my own breathing, coming too fast. But there was no way I was mentioning the Thing. They’d throw away the key.

‘I’d like her to be examined,’ Mum said. ‘Really as a matter of urgency. I think the police should be involved.’

‘I’m sorry?’ The doctor sounded confused. Mum lifted my left hand, uncurled the fingers, held it between both her own. When she spoke again her voice was very quiet. Utterly controlled.

‘I think my daughter was raped. I think that’s what’s happened, why she’s tried to kill herself, why she’s not speaking now. She hasn’t said a word to me; she’s silent like this, just staring, crying. I want Audrey examined, checked, for bleeding, bruising. There will be physical evidence and we need to collect it fast.’ I wrenched my hands free, sat up and looked at Mum. What had she just said? What were those words? She was staring at the doctor, her eyes fixed and sharp.

‘Mrs Morgan, has Audrey said or done anything to suggest she was raped by her boyfriend?’

Raped? Raped by her boyfriend? What were they talking about?

‘Only try and top herself, doctor,’ my mother replied, staring him down, her voice deadly, booming in the back of my head, between my ears. ‘As I said, she got back from her trip. She was in a state. Then this happens. For God’s sake, doctor, this is my daughter and she needs help. I can’t keep quiet about something like this. Sit back and wait for someone to help her. She’s got no one else to fight for her, just me; I’m the only one who cares.’

‘Audrey?’ The doctor turned to me and I looked at him for the first time, but he didn’t understand the fear in my face and read it as something quite other. Mum knew we’d had sex. And she thought Leo had forced me. No. Oh, God, no. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t make this up about Leo. It was the Thing.

‘Has anyone hurt you, Audrey? Is there anything you need to tell me?’ His voice was very careful, his eyes deep, questioning.

‘No,’ I said. ‘No, he didn’t do that, he would never; no, no.’ I repeated it over and over and the words hurt my throat and my mouth and my heart.

Mum’s arms were round me all of a sudden, cradling, holding me to her chest; she was weeping over me and my stomach curdled, sickening again.

‘Oh, Aud, I’m so sorry,’ she wept as I vomited and the nurse hurried to clean me. ‘My poor love, my poor little Audrey.’

When they’d all gone away again and I’d taken the pills the psychiatrist had prescribed, I managed to speak, dredging up words from the swamp of my mind.

‘You can’t say that.’

‘Hmm?’ She was bustling about, unpacking some things, straightening the curtains.

‘Why did you say it?’

Mum didn’t answer. My head was full of worry, of confusion, of fear.

‘Where’s Peter, Mum?’

‘He’s at home.’

‘He shouldn’t be on his own. He’s five. He’ll be scared.’

‘I left the telly on. There’s something for him to eat.’

‘He needs looking after; you can’t leave him. I’ll tell them.’

‘But I have to be here, with you.’

‘I don’t want you here.’

‘You won’t get better without me. If I don’t tell them what’s wrong with you, who will?’

‘Get someone to look after Peter,’ I told her, sitting up with my last bit of strength, determined to make this happen at least. ‘And don’t you dare say those things about Leo again. Don’t you dare.’

Mum stood over me, shaking her head.

‘I can say what I want, Audrey. I’m your mother and I’m responsible for you. There’s no point trying to pretend, Aud. I can see what’s happened to you. You could be hurt; you could need treatment. I want you to let the doctor examine you. And what about STDs, pregnancy? You’ll need tests.’

‘Mum, no.’

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘It’s all right, Audrey. I’ll sort this. You just lie back; you just concentrate on getting better. Leave everything to me.’