A Suitable Lie (17 page)

‘Ganny, ganny,’ was Ryan’s response.

‘Leave him, son,’ I said wearily. ‘We’ll just have to hope for the best.’

‘Wee brothers are stupid,’ Pat said, folding his arms in disgust.

Feeling drained, I didn’t have the energy to correct him and we drove the rest of the way home in silence.

A
nna was waiting at the open door as I parked the car. My stomach lurched as I noted the set of her arms, folded tight against her body, and her legs, shoulder-width apart. Even from the car I could see the rage simmering in her expression. The acid content in my stomach raised another pH as I realised that she must have gone to the farm park to meet us.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ She waded down the path, her elbows punching the air behind her as she walked.

‘It was raining, so we went to Kidz Play. Why? Did you go to the farm park?’

‘Rain? What rain? And yes, I went to the bloody farm park. No bloody husband, no bloody sons.’

‘Relax will you, we’re fine.’

‘What bloody rain?’ She tilted her head back to peer at the cloudless sky.

‘Honey, this is Scotland. We are talking about two or three hours ago. Plenty of time for the sky to dump its load and then clear.’

‘Oh, so you’re a bloody weather man now?’ Her voice was barely audible. I was sure I could see some of the neighbour’s net curtains twitching on the periphery of my vision.

‘Let’s go inside and carry on this discussion.’ I herded the two boys up the path towards the front door. Anna followed.

‘What have you been up to, Boyd?’ she demanded. Once we were inside, I closed the front door and answered her.

‘Nothing, Boyd. I took our sons to the soft play because it looked like rain at the farm park.

‘Oh, so it
looked
like rain. A moment ago the sky dumped its load.’

‘What’s with the third degree? The boys were at a different place than I told you. You weren’t even meant to be out there. You were supposed to be having the morning off. Last time I try and do you a favour.’

‘And it’ll be the last time that I let you have the boys on your own. You can’t be trusted to do what you say you will.’

As Anna spoke, Ryan was tugging at her trousers still chanting, ‘Ganny, ganny.’

Pat was leaning against the far edge of the settee, staring at the silent TV. He looked as if he was trying to fold in on himself.

‘Let’s not argue in front of the boys, love.’ My tone was conciliatory.

‘Why the hell not?’ Anna was winding herself up even further,
‘Let them see what an arse their father is and how he can’t be trusted to take his sons out for the day. Can’t be trusted to tell the truth.’ Her saliva sprayed my face. She moved closer to me. So far she had never struck me in front of the boys and I was confident that she wouldn’t start today, so I stood my ground.

‘Liar,’ she hissed. ‘You men are all the same, fucking liars.’ Her hand snaked out and struck my cheek.

Pat stood facing us with his eyes as large as his open mouth. Ryan ran to him, crying.

‘Anna, control yourself,’ I shouted. ‘Can’t you see that you’re frightening the boys?’

‘The boys, the boys,’ she mocked. ‘All you fucking care about is the boys. What about your fucking wife?’ Another slap. This time on the other side. ‘What about me? I’m the one you tell lies to. I’m the one who goes looking for you and thinks that you’re all dead in a car crash.’

‘I’m sorry, Anna.’ My head hung in shame. ‘I’m sorry, I should have phoned you.’

‘Too late for sorry now, you lying scumbag.’ Her knuckles connected with the side of my chin, a foot missed my kneecap and collided with the meaty flesh of my thigh.

‘Stop it! Stop it!’ Pat’s small body was between us. His face was twisted with fear, yet he stood his ground. ‘Dad took us to Kidz Play and we met my gran. He didn’t want to tell you because they were planning a surprise for you.’

‘Oh.’ Anna’s eyes bored into mine. ‘And what surprise is that, Andy. Do tell.’

Inwardly, I groaned. Now I was really going to suffer. ‘Pat take your brother up to your room and watch a video,’ I said. The boys had to get out of the room before it got too nasty.

‘No,’ screamed Anna, ‘Stay here, both of you and I’ll show you what I do to liars.’

‘Pat, take Ryan upstairs now.’ Any authority I had was in my voice.

I watched gratefully as Pat quickly grabbed his brother’s arm and pulled him up the stairs. Ryan was screaming.

‘Look what you’ve done,’ Anna said. ‘My son is traumatised and part of your lies, all because you wanted to see your precious cunt of a mother.’

‘You’re twisting things. And don’t call my mother that.’

‘Aye, you’re right. My apologies.’ She bowed mockingly, ‘A cunt’s a useful thing.’

‘How can such a beautiful woman be so ugly?’ The words were out before I could stop them. I backed away from her. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.’

‘I’ll make you sorry you piece of scum.’ That dark light was in her eyes. The light that signalled there was no way to stop her. All I could do was curl into a ball and take my punishment. Like a man.

After what seemed hours, the blows ceased. With caution I looked up. I had to protect my eyes. Anna’s fury had dissipated. The tide of her rage had gone out, leaving her as limp as piece of seaweed on the beach. She hunched forward, fighting to catch her breath.

‘See … see … what you make me do?’

‘I’m sorry.’ I shouldn’t have driven her to this.

‘You … lie. You … meet people behind my back. Am I such an ogre that you don’t want your mother to be in my company?’ Her face was twisted with anguish.

‘It’s all my fault. I’m sorry.’

‘Am I so awful, Andy? Do you really hate me?’ A tear began its silent trail down her pale cheek.

‘I don’t hate you…’ I began to try and reassure her and stopped myself. What the hell was I doing? Just a moment ago she was bent on breaking a few of my bones and now she was making me feel sorry for her.

‘Don’t hate me, Andy. I need you. If I didn’t have you…’ Her voice tailed off as she let me imagine what she was capable of doing if I wasn’t with her.

‘Don’t … don’t,’ I said and stepped forward. Then paused. A stew
of conflicting emotions swirling in my mind. She needed me, but she couldn’t stop herself from hurting me. Despite myself I stepped forward and took her into my arms. I just couldn’t stand by and watch her pain. Not when I was the cause of it.

‘This is too much, Anna.’ I stroked her hair, trying not to wince as pain flared in my side with each movement. She was tiny. Vulnerable. Her head bent forward, hair falling to either side of her face. I could see the row of vertebrae on the back of her neck.

I could break her like a twig. I imagined my hands round her throat. Squeezing for all I was worth. In my mind I saw her face go red and her eyes bulge with the agony and the desperate need to suck in some air.

Then it would all be over. All of this misery.

The image was so vivid, I brought my hands to my sides, as if part of my mind was worried I would actually carry it out.

Fingernails digging into the palms of my hands, I took a deep breath. And another. Enough about her pain. What about mine? Did I deserve this? Was I worth more?

I wasn’t sure I was.

Finally I managed to speak. ‘I need to go and see to the boys.’

Upstairs I knocked on Pat’s door. I was pretty sure they’d be in there together.

‘Can I come in?’

‘Yes,’ was the soft reply. They were on the bed and Pat was propped up against some pillows while Ryan was curled into his side. The TV screen was black and silent.

‘Thought you were coming up to watch a video.’ At the sound of my voice in the room Ryan jumped up. Fresh tears flowed down his face.

‘Dad.’ He ran to me, arms wide. I pulled him to me and studied his brother. Pat stayed on the bed, pulling his knees up to his chin. He had the air of an octogenarian.

‘Didn’t want to watch a video,’ Pat said, his face as blank as the TV screen.

‘Do you want to come back downstairs? I’ll make us some lunch.’

‘No, I’m not hungry.’ Something imposed itself on his face, then disappeared as quickly as it arrived.

As I trudged wearily down the stairs with Ryan tight against my chest, I tried to decipher Pat’s expression. Was it disappointment? Was it pity?

F
ollowing the ‘Ganny’ incident, we had a couple of weeks of calm. Anna apologised several times for ‘punishing’ me in front of the boys, and I vowed not to drive her to such an extreme ever again. In fact I steeled myself to do whatever I could to placate Anna. Whatever it took to help her keep control of her temper, I would do. My motivation was not fear of the pain that she could and would inflict, but the mental image of me with my hands round her neck. That and the look on Pat’s face after the fighting had died down.

The following evening, I shouted through to Pat in the bedroom to bring me a towel while I bathed Ryan. He ignored me and continued to watch
Scooby Doo
.

‘Pat. Will you bring me a towel, please.’ I wasn’t the most patient person that day. Still he ignored me. Bundling Ryan, dripping wet, into my arms, I walked through to the bedroom, stood in front of Pat’s eyeline and switched off the TV.

‘Daaaad.’

‘Will you go and get me a clean towel?’ I couldn’t control my wife but I there was no way I was going to let my son walk all over me.

‘I was watching Scooby,’ he protested.

‘And I asked you to help me. Now go and get me a towel or the TV stays off for the rest of the day.’

When he brought me the towel, he threw it at my feet.

‘Can I put
Scooby Doo
back on?’ he asked, his eyebrows drawn tightly together. Without waiting for my reply, he walked back into his bedroom and the cartoon noises filled my ears.

For the remainder of that evening and over the course of the next few days, this behaviour was repeated each time our purposes crossed.

He would defer to Anna but completely ignore any requests I
made of him. Friendly queries became shouted demands, became lost causes. My son seemed to have lost all respect for me.

Talking to him won nothing but silent reproval. He quickly became articulate with face and body language: crossed arms, a glance to the floor, and other signals became his mode of contact with me. Words were used only with Ryan and Anna. At a loss as to how I could win back his affection, I did nothing, hoping that time would return the real Pat to me. A fight with his younger brother, however, made me act.

The boys were in the back garden playing. Anna had popped out to the shop to buy dessert for our dinner, and I was in the kitchen peeling potatoes. Any parent can quickly recognise the message loud in their child’s cries: hunger, boredom, I want attention, can eventually all be recognised by their pitch and intensity. The cry Ryan issued that afternoon was about pain and lots of it. Dropping the knife, I was out the kitchen and in the garden as fast as I could move.

‘What the…’ was all I managed to say before Ryan flew into my arms. His small face was purple and dripping with tears. Teeth and tonsils were exposed as he fought to show me just how upset he was.

Pat stood defiantly over Ryan’s bike.

‘He wouldn’t let me sit on it,’ Pat said.

‘It is his.’ I was bewildered at the change in him. Normally where Ryan was concerned, he displayed the patience of a she-lion as its cubs trampled all over it.

‘I just wanted to sit on his stupid bike…’

‘Go to your room, Pat.’ I controlled my anger.

‘All he kept saying was ‘mine, mine’.

‘Go to your room, Pat.’ Ryan was still screaming in my ear.

‘I don’t want his stupid bike…’

I lost it. ‘Pat, go to your fucking room.’

Stunned, he was silent for a moment. I had never spoken to him like that before. Then tears swamped him as he ran into the house and up to his bedroom. This display of tears from Pat quietened Ryan.
His screams were now quiet sobs. Just then Anna’s face appeared at the door. Her expression one big question mark.

‘Honestly, I’m out of the house five minutes and World War Three breaks out. What’s going on?’ she asked.

Ryan heard her and freshened his sobs. More sympathy from Mum was what was required obviously. I handed him to her and feeling like a spare pair of underpants at a wedding where all the men wore kilts, I stood and watched as Anna rocked Ryan, his face returning to a healthy pink.

What had happened to my adorable eldest son? I couldn’t just let this go on any longer, I needed to speak with him.

He was in the foetal position on his bed when I entered his room.

‘Can I speak to you, son?’

‘Go away.’ His voice was muffled by a pillow, but his meaning was clear enough.

‘We need to talk, son. You know that it’s not fair to hit your wee brother.’

‘He hit me first.’ He sat bolt upright, like an exclamation mark.

‘Was it sore?’

‘Yes.’

‘Pat, Pat.’ I sat beside him. ‘Look at the size of him compared to you. You’re twice as big as him.’

‘It was still sore. Look…’ He rolled up his trouser leg. His shin was an angry red and looked badly swollen.

‘How did that happen?’

‘Ryan hit me with a stick.’

‘It does look sore,’ I thought aloud.

‘So I was right to hit him back.’ Pat seized on my words.

‘No, no, no. You could do him some real damage if you hit him hard. He’s only small.’

His eyes met mine for the first time. He said nothing, but his expression betrayed that he was processing my argument. He looked as if he was about to speak. Changed his mind.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘Is that why you don’t hit Mum back?’

‘Yes.’ My heart was a lump of stone. ‘Compared to me she is only small.’

‘And you could really hurt her if you hit her back.’

‘Yes.’

‘But, was it sore when she hit you?’ I saw this as one last attempt at vindication of his own actions.

‘Yes, it was sore, really sore.’ I rubbed the side of my face as remembered pain echoed there.

‘But you didn’t hit her back because you could hurt her more than she could hurt you.’ He affirmed and crawled onto my lap, where he curled up, thumb in his mouth.