The Book of Lies (19 page)

‘Very funny. Please can I talk to Nic?'

‘There's no one by that name here. You must have the wrong number. Go and get a life!'

The line went dead before I could argue. I stared angrily at the mouthpiece and thought about smashing it as per a hooligan. Then I tried to imagine what was happening at Lisa's. Had Nic been listening in on my call? Probably. Maybe. I bet it was a big joke to them. H-I-L-A-R-I-O-U-S. Lisa was poisoning everyone against me. I was so angry I cycled straight over to Lisa's to see exactly what was going on behind my (stabbed-inthe) back. I also needed to know for sure that Nic was even there. Maybe she was sick. Maybe something else had happened. I mean, we'd made plans, the two of us. She wouldn't just change them without telling me. She couldn't. Could she?

Yes.

I got to Lisa's house just after
3
o'clock and there was Nic, in the garden, gyrating to what I think was Jesus and Mary Chain (because it sounded like someone killing themselves and then a cat). As per usual she was flirting with the nearest boy to Pete who wasn't Pete, which was greasy Caz Mitchell. Pete was sitting a little way off, clutching a six-pack of lagers and resembling unaccompanied luggage at an airport, the kind that might just explode.

I walked in through the garden gate and tried to act casual and not trip up, then I tapped Nic lightly on the shoulder.

‘Hi. You look like you've been at it for a while. Did you forget we were meeting?'

Nic wasn't surprised to see me. She shrugged just like she always did. ‘Shit, yeah. Sorry. I thought I could get away but, you know, things got a bit mental here. It's a cool party.'

‘I can see that. You could've told me, though.'

Nic wrinkled up her nose. ‘How could I? I didn't want to hurt your feelings and it was all a bit embarrassing. Pete wanted to come here and I did
ask
Lisa if I could tell you, but you know what she's like.' She shrugged again, like she was embarrassed for me. ‘What could I do?'

I was staring at Nic, arms folded, and I think I was tapping my foot.

She sighed. ‘It's only one party!'

But it wasn't just that. Half of Guernsey was in Lisa's garden and they were all giving me funny looks. Guernsey's so small and everyone knows everyone, and when someone doesn't like you, well, it'll easily make the pages of the
Guernsey Evening Press
.

I remember Pete's ugly sneer.

‘Couldn't keep away, eh? I told Nic you'd turn up.
Desperado
.'

Nic was pretending not to hear.

‘I can't believe you're letting this happen,' I told her. ‘You're supposed to be my friend. What right has Lisa got to make me feel like I've done something wrong? I'm getting the blame for what happened to Michael, but it had nothing to do with me!'

Pete stood up, waving his beer can at me. ‘No one's interested in your opinion. I heard what you said to Nic about me. You think
I'd
go after Michael and push him off the tower? Jes-sus!'

‘I never said that!'

The veins on Pete's thick neck were pulsing like a disco beat.

‘We all know Michael Priaulx jumped off Pleinmont because he was a nutjob. P'raps you should do the same.'

Lisa was suddenly standing beside me. (Her sharp, pointy ears meant she had good hearing.)

‘Who's the nutjob?'

I turned to her ferret/weasel snout.

‘Nothing. This has nothing to do with you.'

‘Yes, it has!' Pete snarled, nodding to Lisa. ‘Cat here is really looking forward to your cousin coming out of hospital. She reckons if he's brain-damaged she might finally stand a chance with him.'

That was just about the meanest thing anyone's ever said to me.

‘At least I care about Michael,' I replied. ‘The rest of you obviously couldn't give a shit what happens to him.' I turned back to Lisa. ‘You don't. All you want to do is have a party!'

Lisa scrunched up her mean ferrety eyes. ‘I can have parties whenever I want, and you're just jealous because you're not invited. You'd better leave now or I'll get Pete to throw you out.'

She then said some really mean things to me (which I shan't repeat) along the lines of everyone was bored of me, I wore terrible clothes and I was a big, fat cow. Of course I answered back and told her she should stop butting in and trying to take Nic away from me.

That's when Nic burst out laughing.

‘I'm not your personal property. You're totally overreacting.' I thought that was unfair, and told her so.

‘Come on!' I said. ‘We're friends. You don't mess friends around.'

Nic glared at me. Her eyes were hard as glass (but also twinkling). ‘Is that right? Well, we're obviously not friends then. A good friend wouldn't turn up here and embarrass me like this. Snap out of it, Cat. You want things all your own way and if you don't get what you want you sulk and try to make us all feel guilty. But guilty for what? Christ! You're stuck in your own little world! No wonder Lisa didn't invite you. She's not the only one who thinks you're weird.'

I should've expected that, really. I was becoming the weirdo everyone said I was. And why did Nic matter so much? She didn't care about me, so why did I let her hurt me? It's a question I still can't answer.

Maybe I need THE WISDOM OF HINDSIGHT.

As I cycled away from Lisa's my heart was in my mouth. I wasn't crying but I felt so rotten and I didn't want to go home in case Mum caught me crying. I dumped my bike at the Vale Castle and went for a long walk instead. I climbed onto the low wall that borders the beach and followed it as far as I could. It's strange, because it wasn't a route I could remember taking before, but it felt weirdly familiar.

Bordeaux Harbour isn't really much of a harbour anymore since most people now keep their boats in Town. I counted the yachts bobbing in the water and listened to the ‘chink-chink' sound of the rocking masts in the wind. That's still the most soothing sound I know. I sat down and hugged my knees in tightly, feeling nearly hypnotised. I could've stayed like that all night. I don't know. I'm the first to admit that I hated sailing, and I hated Dad for making me do it. It was boring, and it took for ever, and I never tied the sails up right. But as I sat at Bordeaux and watched the sunset all I wanted was to be back in my sleeping bag, curled up at the bow of our boat, looking through the hatch at the big, darkening sky.

I never thought you could miss the things you didn't like, and miss them so badly, but it turns out that you can.

18
th December
1965

Tape:
3
(B side) ‘The testimony of C.A. Rozier'
[Transcribed by E.P. Rozier]

I was in the shit, all right, if you pardon me. I was on my way to Bordeaux when it happened. Ray had suggested I check the times of the night patrol once more, and that meant staying up all night. It was cold, I remember, and I was walking quickly along the coast road by Vale Castle when I met crazy Esme Le Messurier. D'you remember her, Emile? She's the one who was dead in her bed a whole week afore anyone noticed, and I can never forget the pickled smirk on her face as she waved me over.

‘Wharro! Kique tu fais ichin?' she says to me. ‘I just heard from your neighbours that the Germans have turned up at your place. Hé bian, I always knew your lot were friendly with old Fritz but I didn't know they were giving them a party!'

I looked at her like she was mad. ‘What in Hell are you talking about?' I asked.

Then she pushed out those once-cherished bosoms and simpered: ‘Lie down with the enemy but you won't get no sleep, 'tis what I reckon! You'd better get home, boy.'

Sapré conaons! My blood ran cold if it ran at all. The Germans were at the house! It couldn't be! Quaï terriblle nouvelles! I thought of my notebook.

There is only wisdom with hindsight, and that's no wisdom at all. I was running as fast as my legs would carry me, and my heart was hammering in my chest as I asked myself the questions that would haunt me all my life. What had happened? Who'd informed on us? Was this my doing? I burst through the open door of our house, well near to exploding. I don't know what time it was, but I was too, too late.

There was maybe five of them, four or five filthy green Slugs in our tiny home. Ma and Pop were standing closer than I'd seen in many months. I've no idea what they were thinking or if they was scared, and I'll give her her due, La Duchesse, she was good at putting on a face. You could never tell when she was scared or when she was lying or when she felt guilty and I believe she must've felt all those things at one time in her life. As for Pop, well, I still can't tell you what was behind them haunted eyes.

What I do know is this: by the time I was marched into our front room the Germans had found what they'd been looking for. Happened Esme was right, and there had been some little party I'd missed out on. Vern was there, but talking German so I couldn't get a word of it.

That was no, no good. Then I saw my scrapbook lying flat down on the table next to Pop's strongbox. My heart stopped. I moved forward to grab it – or I tried to – only there was a jab right between my shoulder blades.

‘Stand still!'

That was the first time Pop even noticed I was there. He blinked and said something to the officer in front of him. This chap was obviously senior to Vern. He turned, tapping his hand lightly on his gun holster. In that moment I wasn't sure what was happening.

‘You must be the son,' says the officer. ‘We are arresting your father on suspicion of espionage and we will want you for questioning also.'

I felt sick to my stomach. It was all my worst nightmares come true.

La Duchesse rested a hand on my shoulder.

‘Keep him out of this, he's only fifteen, you can't be taking him!'

Vern muttered something to one of his chaps.

The other officer shook his head.

‘These are serious allegations and we'll have to question all of you.'

I heard a gasp from our mother. ‘With a baby in the house! You cannot be serious.'

‘What are these allegations?' I asked.

Vern cleared his throat. ‘We have
evidence
.' Then he gestured to my notebook.

‘That's mine!' I said.

Au yous, Emile, I wasn't ever going to let Hubert take a bullet for me. I was the real culprit, the one they wanted, and I needed them to know it. The senior officer, a cold fish if ever there was one, keeps staring and staring at me.

‘Whatever you've heard is lies,' I tells the senior officer. ‘My father's no spy.' And then I glanced to Vern. ‘You must know it,' I says to him. ‘I'm the one you want. What I said, I said only once, just as a joke. I said that my father was a spy, but I lied. I made it up!'

The chief Kraut blinked in disbelief. ‘Why would you do such a thing?'

Pop gave me the smallest shake of his head. I took no heed.

‘Because people were saying he was a collabo, because of what you made him do! I lied to people so I wouldn't, so he wouldn't.'

I was going to say ‘so I wouldn't feel ashamed' but I'm glad I shut myself up.

The big German officer stared at me for a minute. His cold eyes twinkled and I thought he believed me, but then he smiled widely and nodded.

‘A good performance if only your father had not already confessed. If you wish to confess also, be my guest.'

I called him filthy low-life Hun and plenty more things I won't repeat, and as a result I felt the full force of a rifle butt. It split my lip and I fell to the ground, but I wasn't down for long. I jumped up and lunged at Vern. Got a nice bit of blood on his shoulder.

‘This does you no good!' he says. ‘Stay calm.'

‘It's stupid talk!' I shouted back. ‘It's all lies! Are you so blinkered you cannot see that?'

What a sight that must've been: my fifteen-year-old self squaring up to them Nazis! The thug behind me smacked me down.

‘Enough,' says Pop, spreading his thin hands wide. ‘It's only me you want. My son talks big but he's a child. You know what I've done and I'd do it again. Heil Churchill, I say, and Hitler go to Hell.'

I looked up into Pop's eyes and it was like they'd come alive again, but all too soon the spark was gone. We were bundled into the back of a black Citroën and I tried to whisper to him.

‘Keep quiet,' he replied, staring straight ahead as we drove into the darkness. ‘They're taking us to Paradis.'

That's right, Emile, that's where they took us: the big house with a view out to sea. It was called Paradis, which almost seems funny and I suppose it was the place plenty of folk met their Maker. You've heard the stories from others, eh? I can still remember the smell of it and how the floorboards creaked. There was men flogged from the banisters, left to starve, beaten to pulp. Who knows where all the bodies went.

They might've torn the old house down, but you cannot escape them ghosts. New bricks and mortar won't make a difference. Whoever lives there now won't last – they never do – since they'll never get no peace.

19TH DECEMBER 1985
,
12
p.m.

[On the patio, almost dancing]

Freak out! I've just been on the cliffs with Michael again. I saw him head out earlier this morning and pretended it was a big coincidence. I think he was pleased, though. This could become our new routine! I could be his personal assistant, physical therapist and stalker rolled into one.

Malheureusement
he's still going on about how there's nothing to keep him on the island. I think he's upset because Donnie's gone AWOL. The White House is all locked up and there's a big firm that now looks after the garden. We were walking through Bluebell Woods when Michael told me. From the path we could just glimpse the side of the house through the trees. It was sitting there, all gleaming and empty.