A Suitable Lie (3 page)

‘She could still help out. Let you go shopping or for coffee with your pals.’

With a squeal she jumped into my arms. ‘Andy Boyd, you are a saint. I hate that bloody job and it would be fab to look after Pat and the house.’ She got to her feet and did a daft wee dance. Squealed again. ‘I’ve always dreamed of having my own house and family.’ She stopped dancing, grew still and gave herself a hug, looking into the distance as if a bad memory crouched there.

But then she brightened and fell into my arms again. ‘Andy, thank you. You have just made me the happiest woman in the world.’ She kissed my nose, my forehead, my right ear, my lips. ‘Thank you, honey. I’ll be the best wife you could ever wish for.’

Just then a voice sounded from the door.

‘Do I need a shoe horn to separate you two? ‘Jim’s voice filled the room, ‘… or will a bucket of cold water do the trick?’

‘Hey, Jim.’ Anna pushed off me, sat up in the sofa, smiled at my brother and smoothed the creases in her trousers.

‘Do you not believe in knocking?’ I said. Even to my ears my tone sounded too stern, but I didn‘t want Jim to think that nothing was going to change. I was getting married and he would have to learn to respect our privacy. But at the same time I felt bad at being so abrupt with him, he’d been coming and going as he pleased for years.

‘Right, big guy.’ Jim clapped his hands. ‘Taxi’s waiting.’ He then looked around the room as if waiting to be ambushed by a miniature cowboy. ‘Where’s the wee man?’

‘He’s with his Nan and Papa Morrison,’ I answered.

‘Yes,’ added Anna. ‘I’ve got the night off. I have my box of chocolates, my nail varnish and a nice romantic movie.’ She pulled her feet under her.

I leaned down to give her another kiss. ‘Love you,’ I whispered.

‘Love you too,’ she replied.

Jim made a gagging sound.

‘Let’s go,’ I said. ‘Wish me luck, sweetheart.’

‘Anything happens to him, Jim Boyd you’ll have me to contend with.’ Then she looked at me, smiling. ‘Bye honey,’ she folded her arms, stuck her tongue out and then fixed her vision on the TV set. ‘Don’t have too good a time.’

I
n the backseat of the cab Jim turned to me, eyebrows raised in question.

‘Nan and Papa Morrison?’ he asked. ‘You aiming for a sainthood or something?’

‘Leave it, Jim. I have my reasons.’

During the first days of Pat’s life I walked, talked and defecated on some strange system of remote control. My breakdown was a cause for concern for the Morrisons. They worried that their grandson; the only flesh and blood they had on earth, would be neglected.

My mother cared for the baby while my mind struggled to free itself from its fog of grief. She fed him, changed him and nursed him to sleep. Far too often for my liking, she would place him in my arms as I sat and stared and asked questions of the sky, of the trees, of the trail of a raindrop as it slid down the window.

I knew now that this attempt to keep my distance from Pat was borne of fear. Fear that I would love him – and then lose him.

Three weeks after the funeral a letter was dumped through my letterbox. It was from the Morrison’s solicitor. They were suing me for custody of the baby. They didn’t think that I would be a good parent. The not too subtle subtext was that they blamed me for Patricia’s death.

Their arrogance galvanized me. How dare they, I raved? Who the hell did they think they were? Patrick was
my
son.

That morning, exhausted after an hour-long rant, I sat in my usual position by the window. My mother placed Pat in my arms after his feed. Full of anger at the Morrisons I was even less inclined to take any notice of him, until a burp laced with milk floated up to my nose, and his tiny hand gripped on to one of my fingers. I looked down into his crumpled face and for the first time into his eyes. They looked back at me without fear; without judgement.

I moved my hand to cradle his head and neck, feeling the heat of his skin and the silk of his bleached-gold hair. Tracing his fontanelle with my thumb I wondered at how vulnerable he was and at the strength with which he gripped my other hand.

The first physical sign of emotion was the cool wet of a tear as it slid down my right cheek. Then there was no stopping them. I cried for what seemed hours, my shoulders shaking and my head falling forward towards Pat’s. Still he continued his stare, as if trying to
make sense of the being holding him, while his face melted under the force of my tears.

Even now, I can still remember that first kiss, the first time I placed my lips on the soft warmth of his forehead. That moment when I began the unfaltering process of falling in love with my son.

Perhaps the Morrisons should have received my thanks for bringing me to my senses, but the thought that they would try and take Pat incensed me. Let’s see how they feel at the thought of never seeing him. Let’s see how they suffer. And for four years, I made sure they did just that. Though somehow their names entered Pat’s conversation.

‘So why did you decide to let Pat go with the Morrisons?’ asked Jim

‘Anna talked me into it.’ I answered. ‘She made me understand how it must have been for them. Besides, I’ve known for a wee while that Mum has been taking him over to see them…’

‘How…?’

‘I’m no daft and four-year-olds are not very discreet.’ I looked over at my brother, pleased and not at all surprised that he didn’t try to deny it. He was wearing one of his many suits – three piece, with a shirt and silk tie that matched perfectly – and I was reminded of where we were going. This was a good sign. The fact my brother had dressed with his usual attention calmed me. The planned pranks wouldn’t be too messy then.

‘So, what’s on the cards?’ I asked, not expecting a truthful answer.

‘Oh, you know,’ he grinned. ‘A few jars at the rugby club and then the minibus is coming to take a few of us across to Edinburgh.’

‘Edinburgh?’ I was worried by the weasel thought that entered my head: Anna might be annoyed. Then I dismissed it. If she was, too bad. Just because she had refused to have a hen party, didn’t mean I should stint on my own evening of fun.

‘I’ll send her a text in the morning. From the hotel, just before we hit the bar again.’

A
t the door to the club, Jim paid the driver and we walked in. From the entrance I could see around twenty guys in suits at the bar, the deep hum of their voices audible above the jukebox.

Malcolm Kay, one of my oldest friends and a colleague from the bank, was the first to turn round. Judging by the flush on his cheeks the pint glass in his hand wasn’t his first.

‘There he is, guys,’ he announced.

‘Strip him,’ the roar rushed at my ears. I turned towards the door I’d just entered as if to leave and Jim gripped my arm.

‘Best just to give in, Andy.’ He smiled and nodded slowly.

‘Aye. Right enough.’

I pulled at my tie. There was absolutely no point in fighting them, the end result would just be the same; me with no clothes on. In seconds I was naked, apart from my feet. No one would go near my socks.

‘Hey, steady on, guys.’ The sixty-year-old club secretary was the lone voice of sanity. ‘What about the barmaid? Poor Senga’ll have to stare at that thing all night.’

‘Hold on, Dave Heaney,’ said the aforementioned Senga as she placed a perfect pint on the bar. She ran stubby fingers through her cropped brown hair, stuck out her breasts, placed her hands on her expansive hips and leered. ‘Is this an expression of complaint you see on this here dish? No? Well shut up and let an old girl have her fun. It’s no very often I get to see any of these well-stacked young men in the skuddy.’

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of booze and banter. I eventually came to the next morning, wearing nothing but my boxers, lying on top of a bed in a strange hotel room.

T
he shower in my hotel room was like some form of magic. Hot water just a few degrees from being able to melt flesh battered my head and neck like aqueous rivets. Just what the doctor ordered to banish the last of my hangover. I turned my back to the wall and let the water massage my shoulders. Excellent. On and on the water poured, cleansing, soothing. I almost felt ready to phone Anna. I opened my eyes. Anna. Shit, what will she say?

Something registered in my brain. A colour. The water pooling at my feet was stained pink. My eyes were then drawn to my groin.

‘Bastards,’ I yelled. While I was comatose someone had shaved my balls and painted them bright red. I prayed no one had taken a photo for the wall of shame behind the bar at the rugby club. It was then I heard the sniggers. Jumping from the shower I ran into the bedroom. Twenty barrel-chested men were in various stages of apoplectic laughter. When they spotted the dye running down the inside of my thighs like some bizarre menses, their guffaws reached new heights.

‘Who … how … what the?’ I could barely speak and they more they laughed, the angrier I got. The angrier I got, the more they laughed. Weak with impotent rage all I could do was stamp my feet and storm back into the bathroom. Well, as much of a storm as a naked man with fluorescent-pink balls could manage.

Back under the shower I examined my scrotum for razor cuts and then soaped off the last of the dye. Bastards. I managed a chuckle.

By the time I got out of the shower, my bedroom was empty. Drying and dressing quickly, I phoned Patricia’s mother.

‘You all right, Andy? The idiots haven’t damaged you in anyway, have they?’ She asked. We’d barely spoken since Pat died and
unexpressed emotions lingered in the space between words. Assuring her I was fine, I asked to speak to Pat.

‘Daddy, I’m a good boy,’ his sweet soprano filled my ear.

‘Hey, buddy. Daddy misses you.’

‘Ganny got me a toy, Daddy.’ You’re not missing me too much then, my doting smile bounced off the mirror opposite me.

‘Remember you’re Daddy’s best boy, ok?’

‘Okay,’ he replied.

‘Right, I’ll have to go. You be a good boy, son.’

‘You be a good dad, Dad.’

I had less success with Anna. The answer machine came on straight away and I spoke to the recording, told it I was fine. In Edinburgh, but still in one piece.

T
he weekend quickly assumed the pattern of many previous trips, minus the usual rugby match. There was Guinness, Guinness and more Guinness. Throw in plenty of food, some women to chat up and you had your ideal stag weekend.

Thankfully the visit had been arranged with only two nights stay and soon we were on the train on the way back across to the west of the country. The sorry sight of once-healthy, strapping men, reduced by too much alcohol and not enough sleep, assaulted our fellow passengers. Vomit, beer, bad breath and BO vied for their nasal attentions. I doubted that anyone had used up any valuable drinking time to attend to such a chore as personal hygiene.

‘What a weekend.’ I said to Jim. We were propping each other up, shoulders and heads touching.

‘You’re welcome, brother.’ Jim sipped at a hair-of-the-dog, last can of beer.

‘You’re still a bastard.’ I sat up. Looked at him for the first time that morning. Properly looked. The right side of his face was a mess. Swollen and black and blue. ‘What the hell happened to your eye?’

‘Yeah,’ he tapped the side of his eye with care. ‘You should see the other guys.’

Plural? ‘Guys?’

‘My brother the lightweight was in his scratcher, snoring. A few of us found one of those titty bars. The bouncers thought I was paying too much attention.’ He shrugged. ‘Nobody talks to me like that, mate.’

‘Oh for fucksake, Jim.’ I could see it all play out. It wasn’t like it was a rarity. Jim gets challenged. Jim takes offence. Jim goes in swinging. ‘Its guys like you that give testosterone a bad name.’

‘You’re just worried about the wedding photos.’

‘I am not.’

‘Yeah you are.’

I had another, closer look. ‘To be fair, worse could happen in a rugby match.’

Mum and Anna would be worried. They wouldn’t want the best man sporting a shiner in perpetuity in our photo album.

‘Wanker,’ I said and returned to my earlier position. My head was too sore to argue with him.

I could sense his answering grin. Then we slipped into silence, listening to the small group of guys on the benches across from us who were still going strong. Malcolm was right in the middle of it due to his unfeasible capacity for alcohol and an endless stream of jokes.

‘Andy?’ Jim spoke quietly. ‘I know you’re fond of the guy and all that, but…’

‘But what?’ I knew he was speaking about Malcolm.

‘Have you ever known him to have a girlfriend?’

I shrugged. ‘Can’t say I’ve given it much thought. He puts in a shift out on the rugby pitch. Gets his round in. That’s enough for me.’

‘Just wondered,’ Jim said as he looked across at Malcolm as if the thought had just occurred to him. ‘Quite camp, isn’t he?’

‘Doesn’t make him a bad person.’

‘Aye. Right enough. Just so long as he’s not trying to get near my arse.’

‘Conceited prick. What makes you think any self-respecting gay man would fancy you?’ I laughed and he grinned in response.

All energy used up, we were silent again, enjoying the jokes and laughter that wafted over on a fog of halitosis. Thoughts of Anna popped into my head. Anna and the wedding. Anna in a wedding dress.

Couldn’t come soon enough.

F
rom the foot of the stairs I watched her stepping up towards the bridal suite, swinging her stilettoes in one hand and holding her white satin train in the other. While my eyes followed, my heart thumped each time the forward thrust of a knee pulled the white sheath dress tight across the perfect swelling of her rear. I once again thanked God, my lucky stars and my fairy godmother for sending me the perfect wife.

Number two.

‘Anna,’ I said, her name sounding like a prayer. Her long hair swung in a dark arc as she turned to face me.

‘Andy,’ she shone a smile.

‘What are you up to, Mrs Boyd?’

‘Just going up to the room, honey. To touch up my make-up.’

‘Don’t be daft. You’re gorgeous enough.’ She looked as if she’d just stepped from the front cover of a magazine. I looked back along the red-carpeted corridor and through the open doors of the reception suite to the throng beyond. No one appeared to notice we were both missing. Isn’t it amazing what some free booze will do? Turning my back on the babble and thrum of voices, I caught up with Anna in six easy bounds. Standing on the step below her, I was still a full head taller than her.

I heard the rapid beat of small feet and a happy, high-pitched shout: ‘Daddy.’

Followed by my mother’s remonstration: ‘Come on, Pat. Leave your dad alone for now.’

So much for escaping the crowd.

I looked back down the stairs to see my mother had my son by the hand. Mum and I exchanged glances and I was taken back to the
conversation we had at the house just before the car came to take me to the church for the ceremony.

I was standing at the front window, scanning the street for the limo, terrified I would be late.

‘Relax,’ she said and walked over to me. She smiled when she reached me, looked up and brushed an imaginary piece of lint from my lapel. Then she smoothed out the shape of my tie.

‘Mum,’ I said, noting that even in her high heels she was still a good deal shorter than me. ‘You shrinking?’

She snorted. ‘You’re still not too big to go over my knee.’

‘Good luck with that.’

‘Look at you,’ she said, her expression soft with love. ‘My handsome big son.’

‘Got your waterproof mascara on?’ I asked.

‘I’m so happy for you, son.’ My tie again became the focus of her mothering. ‘You’re happy aren’t you?’

‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’ My tone was sharper than I intended, but I had an excuse: my emotions were heightened. Wedding day nerves. Besides, although she was too classy to say something, I knew she had reservations about my wife-to-be.

She swallowed. Stepped back. Ran her hands down the front of her dress.

‘I made myself a wee rule. Never comment on the women my boys choose…’

‘But you’re about to break that rule.’ I trained my eyes down the street. When Mum decided she was to be heard there was little I could do about it. And this I was certain I didn’t want to listen to.

‘She’s a lovely-looking girl…’

‘Her name is Anna.’

‘Pat loves her…’

‘So do I.’

‘But she’s the first woman you’ve been with since Patricia died.’

‘That you know of.’

She snorted. Gave me a look. She knew me too well. I was never the prolific dater in the family. That role went to Jim.

‘I’ve been a single parent, son. I know what it’s like.’ She looked away from me and out of the window as if she was looking for the strength to say what she wanted. Then her eyes searched mine. ‘Don’t marry her out of gratitude, Andy. You both deserve better than that.’

I reached down and grabbed her hands. ‘Mum, don’t do this. Not when I’m waiting to go to the church.’

She looked as if she was steeling herself to say something that went beyond her self-imposed behaviour. ‘I should have said something earlier. I’m sorry, son. I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Andy. Sorry, love … I just…’

‘Mum. Don’t.’

I heard a short, sharp beep of a car horn. Then Jim thundering down the stairs. His shout. ‘Taxi’s here, bro.’

A
nna poked me on the shoulder and I was back on the hotel staircase.

I sent my son a wink and turned to face my new wife. ‘I think I may have to keep the new Mrs Boyd company to make sure she’s safe.’ We reached the top stair. ‘In fact I may have to just sweep her off her feet…’

‘… again,’ laughed Anna.

‘And throw her onto the huge four poster in the bridal suite and have my wicked way.’

‘If you make a mess of my hair, Andy Boyd, I’ll…’ Ignoring her squeals, I picked her up and marched towards the room. In front of the door, I stopped. Something occurred to me. I put her back on her feet.

‘Eh, do you by any chance have the key?’

‘Some hero you are.’ Anna threw back her head and laughed, exposing an expanse of soft pink flesh at her throat. Which I just had to kiss. She stopped me by knocking the large key fob off the side of my head.

‘Ow. That hurt.’ I resisted the pain long enough to let her down gently, then rubbed at my temple.

‘Serves you right,’ Anna opened the door and marched in. She threw her shoes down and sat before a huge mirrored dressing table. I made sure the door had closed behind us and walked over to her. Kissed the top of her head while breathing in her perfume.

‘You had a nice day so far, sweetheart?’ I asked.

‘Yes.’ The single syllable was drawn out and pitched with a note of indecision.

I looked into the reflection of her sad brown eyes and plump bottom lip.

‘What’s wrong?’ I knelt down at her side feeling a stab of uncertainty. I was not sure whether she was being playful or if she was serious.

‘You didn’t turn round and look at me when I was walking down the aisle.’ She picked up a brush and slid it down the silk of her hair.

Didn’t I? ‘Yes I did.’

‘No you didn’t.’ Lips tight and eyes focused on my face. Accusing.

‘Hey,’ I grabbed at her hands. ‘Maybe I didn’t. I really can’t remember … I was so nervous … all I could do was stare at the altar and thank God you’d actually turned up.’

Her expression softened. ‘You were nervous?’ She reached out and stroked my face.

‘As a kitten. Never been so nervous in my life.’

‘Even more than the first time you got married?’

‘Absolutely.’ I resisted the temptation to look up at the ceiling. We had talked the first wedding to death. Or so I thought. Time to change the subject.

‘Give us a kiss.’ I stretched forward, lips puckered.

She laughed, held a hand up in front of my face, a small smile of victory on her lips. ‘Don’t you be getting any ideas, Andy Boyd. You’ve a room full of guests down the stairs, including your son. Cool your jets.’

I kissed her neck. Then moved up closer to her ear. Kiss. ‘Oh
come on.’ Kiss. ‘Pat’ll be fine. My mother has been dying to get him to herself all day. And I’ve been dying to make love to you with your wedding dress on all week. So on the Andy Boyd scale of anticipation, I win.’

She pushed me back and tilted her head to the side. ‘You know, I’ve always wanted to have sex with a man in a kilt.’

I stood. Held out my hand. ‘If madam would be so kind…’

‘Why, sir…’ she stood and took my hand. I guided her over to the oak-framed, four-poster bed. She sat down on the foot and smiled up at me.

‘I do declare,’ she fanned her face. ‘The temperature in this room has suddenly increased.’

I knelt before her as if in devotion. Soaking up the view.

She smiled. ‘You can touch as well as look, you know.’ Grin. ‘We are married.’

I didn’t need to hear any more and, leaning forward, I pressed my lips against hers, savouring the delicious swell of soft warm skin. I nibbled at her bottom lip, then the top one and then slid my tongue into her mouth. Her tongue glided across mine and slowly circled it. I could feel the rough tip and then the soft under-side. Pleasure rumbled deep in my throat as her touch sparked darts of pleasure in my groin. I pressed against her.

‘Don’t mess my hair,’ she muttered.

‘Your hair’s perfect. There’s so much hairspray there I couldn’t mess it up with a pitchfork.’

‘You cheeky…’ she punched my shoulder.

Laughing, I ignored her, picked her up and placed her seven-stone frame on the bed. I kneeled before her. At the sight of her, my breath momentarily stuck in my throat.

‘God, I love you.’

‘You do?’ She made a face.

‘Even now you question me?’ I asked leaning back on my heels.

‘You’ll always love me?’

I nodded.

‘For ever and ever?’ She made a mock sad face.

‘Till
Coronation Street
do us part.’

‘Who you kidding, mate? You love
Corrie
as much as I do.’

I grinned. ‘Okay, I watch the catch-up shows now and again.’

She giggled. Grew serious. ‘Anyway, what about your mum and Jim. You think they’ll ever fall in love with me?’

I leaned forward and grabbed her hands. Anna had never been this needy. I put it down to wedding-day nerves.

‘They’ll just have to deal with it, honey. If anybody’s got a problem with you, they’ve got a problem with me.’

I reached for her again, but a panicked knocking at the door disturbed my movement.

‘Andy. Andy.’ It was Jim.

‘Oh for…’ I stood up and pushing down on my sporran, I went to the door and opened it slightly. Jim’s smiling face appeared in the space.

‘You’ll need to keep it under your kilt for a wee while longer, bro. The band’s signalling that it’s time for the first dance.’

W
e danced plenty that night. In fact Anna and I were pleased that not only were we the first people on the dance floor, we were also the last to leave it.

‘Why spend all this money for a party and leave early?’ Anna asked as she sipped at a vodka and coke, just as Jim held out his hand and invited her on to the dance floor when the band picked their way into a Bon Jovi tune.

I watched them dance, pleased that Jim was making an effort. At one point Anna threw her head back in laughter at something Jim said. I sent him a silent, ‘good work, brother’.

Too soon, the band were going through the last bars of ‘Three Times a Lady’ and our evening was over. Anna and I herded those guests that were left to their taxis and then wearily made our way up to the bridal suite.

Once inside, Anna climbed out of her wedding dress and wearing only her white lacy underwear, turned to me and gave me that look.

A look that sent blood surging to my groin.

‘Anyway. Where were we?’ she asked with a grin. ‘It’s about time we consummated this marriage, Mr Boyd.’

‘Don’t mind if I do, Mrs Boyd.’ I replied and pushed my sporran to the side.

A
ll the dancing, booze and lovemaking took its toll, and when we finished I rolled over on to my back, exhausted but feeling happier than any man has a right to be.

‘I’m done in,’ I said. ‘Not sure I can keep my eyes open a second longer.’

Anna turned away from me on to her side. Gave a little snort of laughter. ‘How’s that for romance? Hope you’re not needing cuddles after, Mr Boyd?’ She reached for the lamp on the bedside cabinet. Flicked it off. ‘Night, honey.’

‘Night.’ I mumbled, giving in to my body’s demand that I shut my eyes. ‘Best day ever.’

‘Best day ever,’ Anna repeated and reached back with her right hand. Patted me on the hip. ‘Now, ssh, Andy. I’m totally done in. Sleep.’

I
t may have been minutes or perhaps hours later when something woke me.

I was on my back in the same position as when I closed my eyes. Which was unusual for me, I usually adopted the foetal position for sleep. I must have just conked out, I thought with a smile.

The room was still in darkness, so I judged it was still the middle of the night.

Anna shifted in the bed at my side and I felt another surge of joy that this beautiful woman had chosen me. She mumbled in her sleep. I couldn’t make out the words.

She twitched and spoke louder, her voice like a low growl, but her words still difficult to decipher. I turned and placed my hand on the naked curve of her shoulder. Her skin felt hot and clammy.

‘Anna,’ I said just above a whisper.

She twitched and spoke louder. It was almost a growl. I still couldn’t work out what she said.

I turned and lightly touched the curve of her shoulder. ‘Anna?’

She made an animalistic noise – something like a bark. She sounded distressed; almost feverish. Her feet kicked at the quilt.

I propped myself up on my elbows. ‘Anna, honey. You’re talking in your sleep. You okay?’

‘Didn’t turn to look, you bastard.’

She turned. Brought her arm up and around.

Hard and fast.

Her elbow smashed against the bridge of my nose.

I screamed.