Lies Like Love (9 page)

I sat up waiting for Mum to get in from work, thinking about Leo at the party and how I could have gone too. It might have been fun. Jen would have been there. It would have been a chance to try again with the kids at school, to show that I was all right and knew how to have a laugh. I wanted to talk about it, but Mum was tired again; she banged into the kitchen, slammed the door and I knew it was my fault. There was no point trying to talk to her when she was like this, and I went in the opposite direction, up the little flight of stairs to my room. Mum was angry at the school, after the thing with Lizzy. And then this morning she’d said, ‘What I don’t get is why it’s always you, Aud. Why can’t you just keep yourself out of trouble? Have you been messing about with your medicine again?’

And then she stood over me as I swallowed my pills, checking and counting and making me feel like a criminal. Mum was right, when I didn’t take the pills then the Thing came, worse than ever.

I sat cross-legged on my bed, my skin prickling. It had to be my fault somehow, my fault that they always chose me to pick on. My fault that I was odd and different. But how did I change? Shivering, I lay down and pulled the covers up and over me but the pillow was wet and
clammy under my cheek and I reached for a jumper to bunch under my head. Downstairs Mum was still crashing around; the smell of her cigarette leaked into the room, lighting it with the burning stub of her anger. And she wasn’t the only one who was mad. My brain began to ache. The Thing was here. Throbbing, beating, gathering speed, pulsing into the walls and the window, making them rattle and the room shake. I pulled the sheets tighter round my chin and curled smaller.

‘Go away,’ I whispered, putting my hands over my ears, trying to stop the rumbling threat. ‘Leave me alone,’ I told it. ‘You can’t get me – I’ve been taking my pills. You don’t exist, so just go away.’ Muttering, I lay in bed, my body beginning to shudder. It didn’t matter what I said; it could do whatever it liked. It had been at it for years, visiting me and hurting me, and even when I tried to recreate the Thing as a girl like me and push it away its face ripped and peeled, shedding skin like a snake, crumbling to dust in my fingers.

Leo
, I wrote, once, twice, three times, with a fingertip on my skin. Leo liked me. I scratched a pattern of flowers around his name before I gritted my teeth and tried to steady myself.

Night gathered. I listened, alert, on guard.

The floor creaked, the sheets shivered. It was coming, coming now. My heartbeat quickened, in time to its march. You couldn’t resist the Thing. I tried and held on to the bed.
No, please, no
, whispered someone, very far away.

It led me. Out of the house, down the stairs and into the freezing night we went, my hair flying and winding
away from my head, the cold breathing ice into my bones. I let it pull me forward, forward towards water that sung and summoned, and the Thing opened my skin, scoring with a blade, put its lips to my flesh and sucked up the blood.

Mum was standing over me when I woke up. She grabbed my arm and pulled up the sleeve before I could stop her.

‘What’s this, Audrey?’

‘I didn’t do it,’ I whispered, staring and cradling my arm against my chest. Crusts of blood. Pain stabbed at my eyes, my stomach, my thighs.

‘So explain it to me, then.’

‘I don’t know, Mum, I don’t know what happened.’

‘Come off it. You think I’m going to buy that after what I found in the bathroom, Audrey? Where did you get the blades?’

‘I didn’t do it,’ I told her. I knew where this was leading.

‘Rubbish,’ Mum said. Peter appeared in the door, pale, still wearing his pyjamas. He was watching us, so I tried to keep my voice calm and swung my legs out of bed.

‘Come on, Pete. Come on – let’s go and put the TV on or something.’

He nodded and let me lead him away and I heard Mum pick up the phone, asking for an emergency appointment. ‘Pinch, punch, first day of the month,’ I whispered, so no one would hear, especially my skin.

Why did the days have to get so dark? The doctor’s surgery. Mum at my side, staring at a magazine without
turning the pages. She’d been reading the same article about some woman’s gastric band for forty minutes.

‘I don’t know why these bloody doctors don’t work weekends,’ she muttered. ‘We should have gone to A and E, Aud, yesterday. But I thought it was better if we saw Dr Caldwell. Don’t you think?’

I plucked at the wool on my jumper, twisting the threads into a tight knot. When my name was called, Mum stood first and led the way and I trailed in her wake, a little tug boat, bobbing on a line.

‘Hello, doctor,’ Mum said, sitting forward on her chair, legs folded, voice all pretend business-like. ‘Us again.’ The doctor smiled like she didn’t mind and nodded. ‘As I explained when we saw you before, Aud’s not doing well. She’s been battling depression since she was about thirteen; that’s three years now. God. Three years.’ Mum’s eyes were wide, like she couldn’t believe it. ‘Anyway, last year she began self-harming. We worked on it and she stopped, or at least I thought she had, but now it’s happening again. That’s why we’re here, doctor.’

The doctor looked at me. Her expression interested, intelligent.

‘Anything else you can tell me, Audrey? How do you feel generally at the moment? How are you sleeping?’

I yawned.

‘I’m not,’ I said, and stared out of the window. Bit at the insides of my cheeks. Mum chimed in, filling in the gaps.

‘That’s been a pretty constant thing. I mean, going back years, this insomnia. I don’t know, doctor, I’m no expert, but it’s obvious the treatment isn’t working.’

‘Yes?’ The doctor looked at me again. She took my hand. Very kind. Gentle. And my heart stopped for a moment as I looked at her and wondered. Mum was still talking.

‘Audrey started school very introverted, very shy. Never made friends, fell behind. There were times when she was off for months at a time. Lots of chest infections, breathing problems. I did my best to make things as normal as I could, but she got too used to being on her own, I think. And now we’ve got this depression, as if she’s internalized all her problems. Well, I’m no psychiatrist, like I said. That’s my interpretation. And the bullying at school doesn’t help. But now she’s lashing out, violent. She was in trouble at school last week and now she won’t go back.’

Mum looked at the doctor for confirmation, biting her lip. Dr Caldwell indicated with a little nod that she should go on.

‘I wonder if maybe Aud gets like this because she’s not like other girls. Not as bright. Maybe the cutting and the anger, maybe it’s her way of asking for help? I don’t know – I’m just looking for answers really. You’re the experts. But I think this is serious; I think she’s verging on psychosis, doctor.’

‘OK, thank you, Mrs Morgan.’ Dr Caldwell turned to me again. ‘Audrey, how do you feel about all this? Would you agree with the way your mum’s described how you’re feeling? Or is there something else, anything else you’d like to tell me?’

Mum looked at me; they both did. The air in the room was very still. I could hear them breathing, hear my own heartbeat, the scream on my skin.

‘I’m fine.’ And there was my voice. So pathetic. So small. I wasn’t a mouse. I tried again.

‘I just want to be left alone. I’ll be all right if everyone leaves me alone.’ And now tears welling. That wouldn’t help. I wrapped my arms round my knees, folding myself into the chair and stared at the floor. I didn’t want to hear Mum’s tears.

‘As I said, she’s difficult. I try and get her help and she won’t cooperate. Messes about with her medication.’

The doctor held out her hands, her voice gentle.

‘Your mum says you’ve been self-harming, Audrey. Can I see?’

‘Look at the state of her – I mean –’ Mum threw her arms up in despair.

I let the doctor touch me, pull up my sleeves and inspect the wounds. I didn’t want this. Didn’t want anyone to see. It was my body and it was ruined. Hurting. The pain was private, not Mum’s to give to the rest of the world.

‘Yes, these are deep. Quite nasty. I’ll clean and dress them. Although by the looks of things someone else has done a good job.’ She glanced up at Mum.

‘That was me. I’m a nurse.’ Mum smiled. ‘It’s the least I can do for her. I just want to help Audrey; I’m desperate for her to be happy. To have the things other girls her age have. Friends, some fun.’

Mum
, I cried in my head.
Mum, please. Don’t you see that I want that too?
Mum didn’t see. She was wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

‘Of course,’ Dr Caldwell murmured. Calm. Serene. How could she be like that? Didn’t she get it, that my life
was a sheet of black ice, that I was slithering, sliding, out of control?

The doctor worked quickly. I watched her light-brown glossy hair catching the sun, wished I smelled of summer and had soft clear skin like hers, sharp clever eyes. Her touch was light. She smiled at me as she dealt with the mess on my arms and chatted about nothing much.

‘So you don’t like school, Audrey?’

‘Not really,’ I said, and Mum sighed but I ignored her. I wasn’t speaking to her now, or for the rest of the day. Forever.

‘And why’s that?’ the doctor pressed on.

There was no point moaning about Lizzy.

‘She’s being bullied. I’ve had the teachers on the phone already,’ Mum said. The doctor murmured something about talking to the school, sorting out my medication, referring me to some AMHT.

‘And how about friends? Is there anyone else you can lean on for support, Mrs Morgan? Is Dad around?’

‘Oh, no.’ Mum coughed out an angry laugh. ‘He opted out pretty sharpish. Aud was, what, six, seven? I have a son too to worry about. God knows the impact all this is having on him. I just feel so guilty, like I’m letting everyone down. Audrey included.’

‘You mustn’t feel like that. From where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re doing a pretty incredible job. But we’re here to help. Both of you. As I said, anything I can do, let me know.’

The doctor started printing off prescriptions. She talked over the sound of the printer.

‘You should hear from the hospital soon, I’ll try and ensure things happen sooner rather than later.’

‘Thank you. You’ve been absolutely wonderful, Dr Caldwell.’

‘As I said, anytime. Pop back if you need me. I’m writing a paper on adolescent mental health, so I’m glad to be here for you. I’ll take an interest in Audrey’s progress. We’ll get on top of things – it may take a little time, but we’ll get there.’

I turned back to look at Dr Caldwell as we left the surgery with the new prescription, but her back was turned, her fingers busy on the keyboard typing up the notes. I wondered what she was writing, wished I could see, put it right.

Everything slipped over half-term. We didn’t really get up; if we did, then we didn’t get dressed. I was glad there was no school so I didn’t have to face Lizzy, but I missed Leo and Jen. Peter stared at the TV in the gloomy living room, his hand diving in and out of the sweet bag, eyes fixed, red-rimmed. Mum sat there too. The mould smell was back. When I pulled the curtains open, she told me to shut them, saying she had a bad head.

Mum bought a new nail-varnish set. It arrived in the post on Wednesday. She sat in front of me, her fingers in bowls of water, softening her cuticles. She liked playing beauty parlour and it had been a while.

I filed her nails, and Peter’s cartoons squealed in the background. Mum closed her eyes; a small smile lifted her face when I rubbed in the hand cream. I stared over her
shoulder and out of the window, but couldn’t see much from here. Just sky. And clouds that looked like nothing today.

‘Audrey –’ Mum’s voice snapped me back; she shook a wrist – ‘come on.’

I paid more attention. Dried off her skin with paper towels. Started with the base coat. Mum had all the paraphernalia. She’d want to do the pedicure next, I thought, and my hands felt tired.

I thought about Leo, wondered what he was doing, if we should go over to the farm.

Peter jumped up, wired on sugar.

‘I’m bored. I want to go somewhere.’

‘Off you go, then,’ Mum said. ‘Bugger off.’ She laughed, winked at me.

‘Where? Can we go somewhere, Mum?’ Peter asked, climbing on to the arm of the sofa before jumping off, then clambering up to do it all over again.

‘No. Get down. I’m busy.’ She nodded at her hands. I was just beginning to apply the first coat of the bold red she’d chosen.

‘I’m sick of watching TV.’ Peter aimed a kick at the wall.

‘Go outside, play with your football,’ she told him.

‘You said you’d get me a bike.’ Peter was really fed up. Like he needed to punch something.

‘Yes, well. There’s no money for a bike right now. Wait for your birthday, like I said, and go and do something else for now.’

The door slammed behind him.

‘How are you getting on?’ Mum said.

‘Nearly done.’

She sat up, spread out her fingers. Nodded.

‘Nice job, that, love. You could go into this sort of thing, Aud – there’s a lot of money in it.’

‘I think I want to do something outdoors,’ I told her, staring out again. ‘Like, archaeology or something.’ She pulled a face. ‘Maybe explore the world. Go to loads of hot places, find really interesting stuff. Or maybe study different people, cultures – anthropology that’s called.’

‘You what?’

‘It’d be fun.’

‘Forget it. I can’t think of anything worse. You’d be filthy all the time. Forever off and on planes, picking up God knows what. And think of all those awful men, foreigners, waiting to trap girls like you. I’ve read about them.’ She gestured at an old newspaper on the floor.

‘I don’t think it’s that bad.’

‘It is. And with your problems, well, it’s too risky. You stay at home, love, with me. I don’t want you disappearing off halfway round the world. What’d I do without you?’

‘You’d be OK.’ I started packing away, trying not to hear her.

‘You should be glad I care.’ She looked hard at me. ‘My mother didn’t give a toss what I did, the old bag.’

I tried to remember Grandma, but my memory was like a page ripped from a paperback book, folded and then torn in random places, all the important words missing. Open the paper and the holes made no shape at all. Words started and stopped. Jagged rips gaped. I’d tried to find
the missing letters, lying in bed at night and scratching at my memories like a nail at a scab. But I couldn’t decide what fitted where.

I stared at Mum. Thought about it a bit more. Of course I’d met my grandparents, but it had been way before I broke my ankle; Peter hadn’t even been born and Dad still lived with us. Mum’s family seemed to seep out of the walls, although their faces were blanks, masks wearing bright lipstick, just like Mum’s, and dull smiles. It was Christmas or someone’s birthday, not mine. My head reached Mum’s waist and I held her hand, trying to listen to the conversation and work it out, watching Mum, seeing her fingers twisting in her necklace, then scratching, probing at something on her neck, squeezing, worrying. When she opened her mouth to speak I don’t think anyone heard, because they didn’t laugh when she did and her face fell like she’d dropped something, lost it forever.

We were watching TV and I was squeezed between Mum and my grandma, whose hands were cold and clammy when she took mine and stared at the chipped nail polish Mum had put on the week before. Grandma tutted, examined her own hands, heavy with rings and freckled with age.

My grandpa didn’t notice us at all. He pushed his glasses up his nose and turned up the volume – the programme was something noisy and fast. He smoked cigarettes, one after another, and drank coffee. His breath smelled when he said goodbye later, peering at me as if only just noticing I was there.

I kept waiting for us to go, but Mum fell asleep beside
me. Snoring, loud, through her mouth. Grandpa kept looking at her in this way that made me want to cover her up. Hide.

No one really noticed when Dad finally arrived to take us home; no one stood on the step and waved goodbye or even came to usher us out. I remembered sitting in the back and the car was so quiet it felt like no one was even breathing or would ever breathe again.

I finished the top coat and said, ‘Right, I’m done.’

Mum held her fingers high, wiggled them. I turned on the heat lamp, stood and stretched.

‘I’m going to find Peter, OK?’

‘Yeah, get me a tea first though; I’m parched. And pass me the remote, would you?’

I got her set up with everything she could possibly need for the next hour or so – tea, her cigarettes, a half-eaten pack of sweets, her bag in case she needed her phone – and dashed away. My stomach twisted as I went, but I ignored it and her voice, calling. It echoed down the stairs, following me, like a beating angry heart, but I couldn’t hear. I wouldn’t.

My mother was the moon. Waxing and waning. Sometimes bursting, glowing and full. And then so thin and mean, needle sharp. And I could only move as she permitted, my body like the tide, tied still to her strings. I broke away now, but soon I’d go back to her; she’d call me, as only she could.