The Mute and the Liar (70 page)

“
Euthanasia.
You
got
me
interested
in
the
case
and
I
did
some
digging
around
.
 
Found
 
out
 
he’d
 
been
 
seeing
 
a 
counsellor
 
for
 
ten
 
years
.
Schizophrenic.
I
reckon
he’d
been
asking
for
death
for
a
long
time.
”

His
words
settle
for
a
moment.
I
don’t
want
to
believe him
.
It
sounds
ridiculous,
impossible.
How
could
I
have
missed
all
of
that?
And
not
only
has
he
worked
out
my
case,
he’s
also
worked
out
the
mystery
of
my
mind. Maybe he’s right. Maybe
I
really don’t know
anything
about
people
.

But
why
would
the
woman
admit
she’d
done
it?
Why
not
just
make
it out to
be
a
suicide
or
something?

“
Because not
everyone
in the world is
a
liar.
”

There
is
a
pause,
a
shift
in
time,
a
rhythmic
parallel
of
thoughts
and
breathing
and
understanding.
It’s
nearly
over.
He’s
already
stitched
the
fabric
together
and
there
are
no
more
threads
left.
But
I
don’t
want
my
case
to
be
solved.
I
don't feel ready to start
a
new one yet.

Finally,
I
put
my
mind
to
paper
and
voice
the
one
question
haunting
me
from
the
very
beginning.

And why
are
you committing
a
crime,
Jayce?

He smiles
and
strokes
my cheek.

“
Because there are
two
ways
of
looking
at
everything.

W
e wa
tch
the
river.
Right
in
the
distance
there
is
a
silver
pool
of
light
where
the
moon
is
reflected.
It
would
be
a
peaceful,
serene
image,
if
it
weren’t
shattered
by
the
sudden
sounds
of
sirens.

“
They’re
here
already.
I
hoped
I
would
have
more
time.
”
What’s
he
talking about?

Alicia.

I
must
be going
mad.
I
could
have sworn
someone
just
called
my
name.
It’s all
this alcohol.
All
this spinning.
All
this
not
knowing.

“
I
wish
you
could
understand.
”

He
suddenly
puts
his
head
in
his
hands
and
begins
breathing
deep
and
fast,
exactly
like
yesterday.
I
lean
in
closer
to
him
instinctively.

He
softens
for
a
moment,
rakes
in
a
breath
and
speaks
again,
this
time
keeping
his
voice
steady.
“
I’ll
be
fine.
It’s
just…
it’s
just
another
p-panic
attack.
”
He
rests
his
palms
on
his
knees,
steadying
himself,
but
his
fast
breathing
continues.
He
tries
his
breathing
mantra:
inhaling
four
breaths,
holding
for
two,
and
then
exhaling
for
another
four,
but
just
ends
up
out
of
breath again
and gives up.

I
want
to
tell
him
everything
will
be
okay.
Put
my
arms
around
him.
Do
something.

Alicia.

There
it
is
again!
Someone’s
definitely
calling
my
name
.

“
You
must
be
so
special.
They’ve
come
to
rescue
you,
”
he
breathes,
looking out
into
the
distance.
I
keep
shaking
my
head.
It’s
all
I
can
do.

What’s
going
on?

He ignores
my
message and
keeps
looking in the
distance.

“
What
makes
you
so
special,
Alicia?
”
his
voice
leaves
his
mouth
quiet
and
broken.
I
notice his breathing has
steadied now and almost back to normal.
“
They
didn’t
come for
Becky. Not when
she
needed
help.
”

I
finally
write
the
one
sentence
that
has
been
screaming
at
the
top
of
my
thoughts
since the beginning.

Tell
me
the truth!

“
The
truth?
You’re
asking
me
to
tell
the
truth?
It
was
telling
the
bloody
truth
that
got
me
here
in
the
first
place.
You
want
the
truth?
Fine.
But
don’t
come crying to me when you don’t like what you hear.
”

*****

“
My
Dad
dealt
drugs.
There
you
go,
there’s
the
big
Cobalt
Family
secret,
cue
the
Eastenders’
theme
tune.
He
didn’t
do
it
because
we
needed
the
money;
we were loaded. He just
got mixed up with the wrong people.

I
was
about
nine
when
I
worked
out
something
was
going
on.
His
late
night
outings,
the
constant
secrecy,
this
strange
stuff
I’d
see
left
around
the
house
sometimes.

Mum
pretended
not
to
know.
You
saw
her,
the
definition
of
Bourgeois,
walking
around
like
she
eats
caviar
for
breakfast.
Would
do
her
and
her
reputation
no
good
if
anyone
found
out.
She
couldn’t
even
stand
looking
at
him
and
instead
she
busies
herself
with
me,
fussing
over
me,
tutoring
me,
making
me
the
person
she
missed
out
on
being.
Her
best
friend
Elaine
tells
her
that
her
daughter’s
just
come
back
from
university
and
needs
some
teaching
experience
and
would
I
like
to
have
some
piano
lessons?
Well
of
course
I
would
apparently,
and
next
thing
I
know
I’m
being
carted
off
to
Kit’s
house
three
times
a
week
to
play that
damned
piano.

A
few
months
later,
this
guy
turns
up
at
our
house.
He’s
yelling
and
swearing
and
Dad
goes
to
him
and
Mum
takes
me
upstairs.
I
don’t
know
what’s
going
on.
All
I
can
hear
are
thuds
and
yelling.
You
don’t
know
what
that’s like, to know something
bad
is happening
but you
can’t
do
anything.

I’m off
to
Kit’s
house
again
that
afternoon. She
knows
something’s
wrong
straight
away.
She
asks
me
what
happened.
Mum
told
me
I
can’t
tell
anyone.
What
Dad
does
is
a
secret.
But
Kit
tells
me
to
tell
her
the
truth.
So
I
do.

All
I
remember
after
that
are
police
cars
outside
our
house,
and
then
Dad’s
gone
and
Mum’s
crying
on
the
stairs
and
I’m
still
playing
that
damned
piano, but
it
sounds
different
now. More
hollow.