A Suitable Lie (9 page)

I shook off the feeling. I was tired. Stressed from work. It was no more than that.

Like the perfect hosts, Anna and I shook hands or kissed the pair goodbye. As I kissed Paula’s soft cheek I was sure I felt Anna’s focus on me. But then, drawing back, I saw she was in a warm hug with Jim. My mind was playing tricks with me again.

We stood, Anna’s head leaning against me, her arm around my waist, my arm over her shoulder, and waved to Jim and Paula as their car drove down the road. But while one of Anna’s hands waved extravagantly, the other was nipping at the flesh above my belt. My
smile never wavered. But I was now certain that I hadn’t been imagining things. There was trouble coming; and it was approaching fast.

As soon as they were out of sight Anna headed for the living room.

‘I’m just going out for a wee walk. I need to clear my head after all that wine,’ I said and quickly hopped out of the door. If I stayed out for a while, hopefully she would have either calmed down or even better fallen off to sleep by the time I got back.

I plucked a jacket off the coat-stand and closed the door firmly behind me. Reaching the gate, I paused, my fingers rubbing the metal catch. What was I doing? I was running away from a woman half my size. I was being chased out of my own home by my wife. A home that I had spent a lot of hours and effort in making. Avoidance was the easy option. The only way to resolve this was to face up to it.

Walking back to the door I fumbled in my jacket pocket, hoping that I had left a set of keys in their when I last wore it. I was in luck. Filling my lungs and gritting my teeth I slid the key into the lock. The hall light was out, but enough light filtered in from the street for me to see a round object speeding towards me. My arm lifted up in reflex. The sound of metal filled the room. I grunted in pain and with my other hand caught Anna’s wrist as she aimed a blow at my head.

‘You’re useless, I hate you. I hate you,’ she screamed. ‘Don’t know why I married you, you tosser.’ She dropped the frying pan and began to flail at me with her arms and legs.

Unsure of what I could do, I wrapped her in a bear hug and held on, hoping that she would tire. Her feet aimed at my shins and she aimed her face at mine. Her teeth flashed past my nose.

‘Anna, calm down. For fuck’s sake, calm down.’ I would not hit her, I would not.

‘You’re a bastard, you don’t love me. Couldn’t take your eyes off her. You make me hit you, you make me … it’s all your own fault … your fault.’ Her voice faltered with exhaustion. Her eyes cleared, she went limp as a rag in my arms, tears replacing the fog of rage in her eyes.

Her limp body slipped out of my grip, until she knelt on the floor, her head resting against the wall.

‘Oh Andy, what have I done? What am I doing?’ she sobbed. ‘I’m so sorry, so sorry.’ Her tightly wound features had melted into a puddle of guilt.

The sudden switch in mood caught me off guard. I found myself wanting to help her.

‘Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.’ I was on my knees before her now. Pushing back her hair from her face. But somehow also standing above myself, as if watching from afar, confused by my own behaviour. ‘You were just stressed about having visitors,’ I said. I scooped her up and carried her like a child through to the living room couch, where I laid her down. I was as if she were in a faint. ‘Can I get you a glass of water?’

‘No, don’t leave me.’ She looked into my eyes. ‘Please, don’t ever leave me…’

‘Okay, okay,’ I soothed her clammy brow with my hand. ‘I’ll never leave you.’

‘But I’m terrible. I’m a terrible woman. How could I attack you like that? What gets into my head?’ She reached out for my hand, her eyes imploring me to understand.

‘You’re not terrible,’ I was keen to calm her down. ‘It was all my fault anyway, I was talking to Paula too much. You were bound to get jealous.’

The tears stopped, but her eyes translated the anguish in her mind.

‘Make love to me, Andy. Show me you can still love me.’ She kissed me deep and hard, hungry with need. While my mind reeled, my body responded.

‘In the morning … we need to talk …. in the morning.’

‘Yes … in the morning … yes.’

W
e didn’t talk over that fight the next morning though. Anna woke up as if it hadn’t occurred at all. And for my part, I had accepted her instant apology, and decided that should be the end of the matter.

The ensuing months spun past in happy equilibrium. Harsh words were distinctly absent, and caresses and kisses constituted all our physical contact.

There were no more outbursts, Anna was consistently the woman I fell in love with and we were able to relax into our marriage. It seemed that Anna had gotten over that moment of fury. She was my beautiful, angel of a wife, and an easy-going, attentive stepmother, who Pat adored almost as much as I did. It niggled that we never talked over that episode, but I was grateful that there were no more signs that she might need some form of anger management. I was as happy as she was that it was over and thought that it might be better to consign that early part of our marriage to the memory bin.

It did take some time to relax fully, however. In the days that followed her attack, I found myself taking care about how I spoke, who I spoke to or where I went in case it provoked her. But we managed to have Jim and Paula over again several times without incident. And, to my pleasure, Paula and Anna seemed to hit it off. Since I had known Anna, I was the only person in her life, so I was concerned that she would focus all of her energies onto me. I encouraged her to go out with her ex-colleagues, to take up a hobby, to make more friends, but she stated that she was happy with our little family and didn’t need anyone else. If only we could add to it, she added with a small smile.

We were now eight months into our marriage. We had stopped using contraception almost as soon as we’d returned from our honeymoon, when Anna had first expressed her hope that we would give Pat a brother or sister. Yet, in those months we failed to conceive. The doctor said that we should give it a little more time. We were both young and healthy, if we continued to have a loving relationship, then he was sure that nature would take its course.

Pat continued to be a joy with only the odd demonstration of petulance. His energy was boundless, his sense of fun growing daily, as did his affection for Anna. A smile never failed to materialise on my face as I watched them together. The married life that I had hoped
and prayed for – the family life for Pat that I’d dreamed of – all of it was happening and I couldn’t have been happier.

Even work had settled down. I was growing in confidence and competence in the job. Roy Campbell stayed out of my way and the problems with the cash shortages had gone. All in all life was good. Yet a faint voice itched its way into my consciousness, a voice that warned me not to be too self-congratulatory, a voice that I placed on a shelf in the darkest recesses of my mind and ignored.

T
he first real test of our new-found domestic content came just a few weeks before our first wedding anniversary. I was asked to work in Campbeltown for a week. The previous manager was off work with a stress-related illness and they needed someone to oversee the place while her replacement took a well-earned break.

Some Head Office wallah probably looked at the map of Scotland, read that Ayr and Campbeltown looked relatively close and decided I would be the right man for the job. They didn’t take into their calculation a large body of water called the Firth of Clyde and the five-hour drive it took to negotiate.

My home for that week was the Ardsheil Hotel. The room was compact and cosy, the food was filling and tasty, and the hotel bar had as good a selection of fine malt whisky as I had seen anywhere. I phoned home every night and spent at least an hour talking to Anna and Pat.

Sitting at a table for one after work the first night, it occurred to me that eating alone in a restaurant must be the loneliest occupation that anyone could have. There were four other diners in the hotel restaurant. All men. We each nodded and grunted at the other, then fixed our attention on our place settings. Food was barely given enough time to cool by a single degree before it vanished from the plate. It occurred to me that if we’d been a group of women, we’d have known each other’s life stories by the time the main course arrived.

After eating, my regime became a quick glass of whisky at the bar followed by a phone call home and an evening with one eye on some bank reports and the other on the TV.

Eventually my work was done and I was able to go home. We’d
had a week of brilliant sunshine while I was over in Campbeltown, but on the way home the weather broke, giving me a familiar taste of the wetter aspect of the Scottish climate.

I debated whether to drive up the length of the Kintyre Peninsula to Tarbert and from there to take the wee ferry across to Portavadie, drive across to Dunoon, where I could take the ferry across to Gourock, and then the drive down the Clyde coast to Ayrshire.

Instead, I drove home the long way. It would take over five hours, but the journey up to Inveraray, past the four turrets of the fairytale castle and on to Arrochar and down past Loch Lomond was its own reward. A series of views that would warm the heart of any broody Scottish émigré and one that no doubt colours the tin of a lifetime’s worth of shortbread. Mean, moody and magnificent is the best way to describe the hills that roll down to a full concrete stop at the side of the A80, before resuming their climb into the clouds on the other side. Draped in a lush cloth of green, accessorized with heather, pine and granite, the hills borrowed their disposition from the weather, but never failed to stir even the weariest, most jaded traveller. Snaking around sea lochs, ascending rocks and tumbling down the other side, the road eventually brought me to a gentler countryside, a greater concentration of houses, and home.

I expected Pat to jump on me as soon as the car entered the drive, but nothing. Car parked and locked; luggage in my hand, I walked past the living-room window towards the door. Movement in the room caught my eye and I paused to watch my son and wife in an unguarded moment.

Pat was holding a miniature rugby ball over his head as if he had just scored a try. Anna was mimicking his pose and they were both wearing a huge smile of triumph. I laughed at the sheer pleasure of it all, delighted they were so clearly having a great time, while a small part of me was envious. Looked like they didn’t need me.

A second after I opened the door, Pat was at my feet.

‘Daddy, Daddy, what have you got me?’

‘Let me in the door first, son.’ I picked him up. ‘How’s about a
hug for your old man?’ He rested his small head on my shoulder and patted my back.

‘There, there,’ he said. I kissed his head and looked over at Anna, who was standing watching us with a huge smile. She joined in the hug, wrapping her arms around us both.

‘Family hug,’ we all chanted as one.

‘What do you want for your tea?’ Anna broke the spell.

‘Oh, anything, honey, I’m starving. But make it plain and simple, I’ve been having hotel food all week.’

‘Omelette and chips?’

‘Sounds wonderful.’ I kissed her. ‘It’s great to see you. I really missed you both.’

‘Me too, I mean, I missed you too,’ Anna replied. ‘Right omelette it is.’ She ran her fingers down the front of my trousers while making sure that Pat couldn’t see. ‘And wait till you see what’s for dessert.’

We tucked into the food, bathed and put Pat to bed in record time. With a record number of whinges.

‘But, Dad, I don’t want to go to bed. Anna let me stay up late every night.’ I hoped that eventually he would add the word ‘Mum’ to his vocabulary. Anna ruffled his hair.

‘Oh, you rotter,’ she smiled. ‘I thought that was to be our little secret.’

‘Sorry,’ said Pat, head low but wearing a smile that would liquefy a stone goblin’s heart.

‘Bed,’ I said, injecting my voice with a stern quality I didn’t feel.

‘Okay,’ he dragged those two syllables out like a piece of gum from his mouth. The first one twice as long as the second. He trudged up to bed carrying his favourite bear, a small toy that fitted neatly under his arm and was covered with brown, matted fur. He was called Sam and Pat never went to bed without him. Pat turned at the top of the stairs and looked at Anna and I gazing fondly up at him.

‘Tuck me in, Dad?’

‘Of course, pal,’ I bounded up the stairs, swept him under my arm and raced through to his bedroom, to the sound of his delighted squeals.

‘Don’t wind him up, Andy,’ Anna shouted from the bottom of the stairs. ‘He’ll never go to sleep.’

The ritual was that I tuck the quilt tightly down Pat’s sides and then place Sam beside him with the same service being performed for the bear. This I did with an expression that said this was my most important duty of the day.

Regarding those large, bright eyes, I smoothed his soft fringe to the side.

‘Well? Have you been a good boy?’

‘Yes, Dad. Have you been a good Dad?’

Yes, son.’ I bent forward and kissed his forehead. ‘Love you.’

He reached up and mimicking my movement, pushed my fringe to the side, somewhat less smoothly than I had managed.

‘Love you, Dad. Night, night.’ He turned round onto his stomach, folded his arms under his body and went up on his knees, sticking his bum into the air. Since he had first gone into his own bed, Pat had adopted this position to sleep and it never failed to warm me.

Anna was waiting for me in our bedroom.

‘Are you going to tuck me up in bed?’ Her face was demure, her body quite naked.

‘There is the small matter of this first.’ I pointed down at the bulge in my trousers, amazed at the speed of my reaction.

‘My god, that was quick.’

‘It’s been a long, lonely week.’ I pulled at my clothes and then swept Anna onto the bed.

Our lovemaking was by turns, tender and heated, languorous and spirited, hungry and sated. After who knows how long, I lay back on the bed, flushed, covered in a fine film of sweat and feeling like I was floating on a cushion of air. The smell of sex coated the room with a sweet musk.

‘That … was … wonderful,’ I managed to say, while my body sought sleep. Anna leaned over to kiss me and then sat up. She hunched forward on the bed, opened her legs and pulled up the flesh under her pubic hair.

‘What are you doing?’ I sat up slowly, feeling as if I had no strength left.

‘I’m looking. There isn’t very much.’ Her voice sounded strangled.

‘Much what? Gold nuggets?’

‘Sperm, you useless git. There isn’t very much, is there?’ She rounded on me, her eyes tight with anger, ‘What have you been up to?’

I was astonished at how rapidly the temperature in the room dropped. Sweat chilled on my back.

‘How can you ask me that? Have I given you any idea that I have been unfaithful?’

‘Yes.’ she spat. ‘There’s not very much sperm here.’ Her head ducked down again. She pulled at her vagina. ‘Where is it all? You’ve been with some woman, haven’t you,’ she pushed me down on to the bed.

‘No, absolutely not.’ I sat back up again, ‘I didn’t even have a wank while I was away.’ I put my arm round her and pulled her tight. My tone was conciliatory. ‘Honey, how could you think I would betray you? I love you. I neither need or want another woman.’ I’m sure that my eyes must have shone with sincerity for this was the absolute truth.

Anna looked up at me, and the anger in her expression dissolved swiftly into desire.

‘Okay, if that’s the case then make love to me again.’ Her fingers cupped my half-flaccid penis.

‘Give me five minutes, a man need time to recover you know,’ I said.

But she ignored my words and stroked me, almost roughly.

‘No, I don’t want to wait. I want you again. Now,’ she barked, her fingers tightening.

‘Aww, come on, honey. Don’t get so uptight.’

‘Uptight, I’ll give you uptight!’ she pushed me back down onto the bed and sat astride me. ‘I want your hard cock inside me know.’ At the right moment this last sentence would have worked beautifully, but now the words were laced with threat.

‘Anna, Anna, please.’

With her right hand she was trying to stuff my lifeless penis into her vagina.

‘Are you a poof or something? I want you hard!’ Her voice rose in pitch, its edge, her expression, and wildness anaesthetising me to desire.

‘Useless.’ She cursed, raising herself above me.

And then it came. What I had been secretly fearing for months. Her fists rained down on my stomach, her eyes blazing from behind a torn curtain of hair. I tried ineffectively to deflect the blows. As her arms moved in a blur insults were spat at me, ‘You useless bastard, I hate you.’

‘Quiet,’ I urged. ‘Don’t wake up Pat.’

Suddenly her shoulders dropped, she tugged at her hair, pulling it behind her ears. A strained smile pulled at her face.

‘I’m sorry, Andy. I just want you inside me,’ she wheedled. ‘Please, just stick it inside me. Prove that you love me.’

‘Not like this, Anna. Please. Not like this.’ I whispered and softly placed my hands on either side of her hips.

‘Why the hell not?’ She had barely rested enough to catch her breath. Her hands reached down again and pulled at me. Her nails raked at the tender flesh.

I fought to keep control while pulling her hands off me. If I treated her too harshly I might hurt her, or even make her hurt me even more.

‘Anna, stop it.’ Despite my best efforts anger flooded my voice. Pushing her off me I stood up. ‘Anna, you need help. This is crazy.’

She came at me now, launching herself from the bed, her teeth bare in a rictus of rage. She aimed a kick at my groin. I deflected it with my hand and backed away, all the time speaking to her, begging her to calm down, trying to keep my voice low, Pat always in my mind. But my words had no effect. She was rabid. Options raced through my mind. I could run downstairs, but she would only follow me. There were knives down there and I was afraid the raging, spitting monster in front of me was capable of anything.

Should I just stand and let her hit me until she cooled down? If I protected my head and my groin, the damage wouldn’t be too bad. Neither of these options were realistic or bearable, I had to calm her down.

I rushed at her and caught her up in a bear grip. Her knees and feet once again aimed for my groin. Overbalancing, we fell onto the bed. Taking advantage of this I pinned her down with my knees jamming her arms to her sides. Her teeth flashed dangerously close to my genitals and her knees thumped up at my back. The teeth were clearly the worst threat so I placed my palm on her head and forced it down onto the pillow, with the other hand I tried to deflect the blows to my back.

For what seemed like hours Anna managed to maintain this effort. I was showered with her sweat and saliva, but I was determined to hold her like this until she calmed down.

Eventually she weakened, her knees barely reached my back. Judging that the dangerous part of the storm was over, I loosened my grip but stayed ready, in case she should erupt again.

When Anna eventually quietened, I heard a suppressed cry, sniff and a shuffle of feet from the door.

I turned and looked over my shoulder.

‘Pat?’

Shit. How long had been there?

He wheeled to the side and ran out of view back to his bedroom. I grabbed at my boxer shorts, pulled them on and followed him. When I got to his bedroom, he was burrowing under the covers, his small body heaving with tears: trembling with fright. I tried to imagine what he might have seen.

Anna and I naked. Her eyes distant with anger. Me holding on, trying to save myself from injury.

No child should ever experience something like that. What would it do to his growing mind? How would he make sense of it? He’d bury it. That’s what kids do. Until it comes back like some kind of mental acid reflux. And causes what?

I tried to pull the cover down so I could see his face. He resisted.

‘Pat. Pat,’ I said. ‘We’re fine. You’ve nothing to be afraid of, son.’

He turned away from me. I placed my hand on what I guessed might be his shoulder. He had stopped crying, but even through the thickness of the quilt I could feel him vibrate with fear.

I pulled the cover from him. Lifted him from his position on the bed and pressed him against my chest. Then I lay down with him on top of me, his head tucked into my neck.

‘I’m so sorry, buddy.’ I stroked the silk of his hair. ‘I’m so sorry.’ And in the slow motion of my fingertips on his head I searched for a peace I was sure I would never find again.

W
hen Pat’s breathing slowed into sleep, I turned onto my side, allowing him to fall onto his bed. Then I placed the cover over him and with one last kiss on his forehead I returned to my wife.

Anna was sitting up against the headboard, still naked, her knees pulled up to her chest. Her hair was stuck to her forehead and sticking out at crazy angles from the side of her head. She looked tiny. Lost.