Liar

by K. L. Slater

  There are still minuscule traces of him on this handle. It doesn’t matter that I can’t see them; I can feel them. I can feel them right now on the tips of my fingers and it comforts me.

  I step inside the room, and because the latch has a loud click, I push it to behind me rather than fully closing it. And then I smile and stretch my arms out to the sides, breathing freely.

  ‘Hello, son,’ I whisper out loud. ‘I miss you.’

  I have only ever lightly dusted in here, using a soft cloth with no cleaning products on it. I never open the window. I don’t want fresh, clean air sullying a magical space that still holds traces of David’s breath.

  I crouch down and reach under the bed and slide out the box. Perching on the edge of the bed, I open it, taking out one of the small cardboard boxes within.

  I take care to unfurl the tissue paper without tearing it, its crisp transparency gathering around my hands. I run my fingertips over the chalky flat plane of an outsized beige beach pebble. When I inspect my hands, I see they are patterned with traces of chalk.

  If I close my eyes, I can almost hear the seagulls, the way their distant screeches fractured the damp, salty air. The feel of the wind in my hair and the sound of the gushing waves as they hurled themselves against the rocky shoreline.

  A couple of times a year – usually, I’ve noticed, when his father is out – Ben comes up to David’s room to look over the Staithes stones. That’s what we’ve always called them, because the boys would both collect them diligently on Staithes beach. But they were really David’s stones; he was the true collector.

  Unlike Ben, who would hastily gather the first stones he spotted, David was very particular about which ones made his final collection, and would categorise each one in his notebook.

  Whenever I washed David’s shorts or jeans, more often than not I would have to remove a stone or two from his pockets before laundering them.

  The tension that has gripped my neck and shoulders all day has finally begun to ease. I sit, my fingers tracing the surface of the stone, and allow the happy memories to run free in my mind.

  ‘Judi?’ Henry stands in the doorway, his hair a bit wild from sleep.

  I jump up off the bed and David’s stones rattle in the box, whispering their secrets.

  ‘What on earth are you doing stuck up here on your own?’ His frown settles on the pebble box. ‘Ah, I see. Torturing yourself again.’

  ‘Not torturing myself, Henry.’ I push down the lid of the box. ‘Just remembering our son.’

  ‘Same thing.’ His eyes dart around the room. ‘It’s not right that part of our home is still a shrine, Judi. It’s not …’

  ‘Healthy.’ I finish the sentence for him and fix him with a gaze. ‘It’s not healthy to bury my feelings, to bite back the tears and push away David’s memory, either. But I do all that on a daily basis to please you.’

  His eyes widen, and for a moment he looks as if he might say something. But he doesn’t. Instead, his eyebrows knit together.

  ‘David died, Judi,’ he says softly, as if he’s speaking to a small child. ‘He died and it was a very sad thing for us all. Very sad.’ He takes a breath and I just know the smart lad speech is coming. I know all the speeches, word for word. ‘What happened that day, it was nobody’s fault. David was a smart lad, he was fourteen years old. He knew what he was doing. Am I right?’

  ‘I know, but I wish I’d taken more notice. I wish I could have just—’

  ‘Let’s not go there.’ He coughs. ‘It’s not worth the upset, love. You’re not … well, just lately, you’ve not seemed yourself.’

  I open my mouth to defend myself, but what can I say? To be perfectly honest, I’m astonished he’s noticed the change in me, but he is right.

  I’m not myself at all. There are times I feel like I don’t know who I am any more.

  8

  Amber

  Ben swung the car into a narrow road and pulled up outside a dull brick-built Victorian-style terraced house.

  ‘Well, this is it,’ he announced as he turned off the ignition. ‘This is home.’

  He wasn’t to know that Amber had seen the house many times before. She’d walked past in all weathers and at varying times of the day. At dusk, from across the road, she’d watched the boys diving around in the living room, climbing and bouncing on the furniture like caged monkeys, with the curtains open and the lights on.

  Hood pulled down and umbrella up, she had imagined, many times, the day she’d get to finally step inside.

  They had been dating a good while now. They’d been to the cinema, the bowling alley, out for a couple of meals and a few quiet drinks. She had cooked two meals for him at her own flat but he’d been unable to stay over because of his sons.

  She’d held out on sleeping with him for the first two weeks as a matter of principle. She wasn’t going to give up the candy right away for someone who seemed to be protecting his children from her; it had always been the plan to proceed cautiously in that area.

  Playing the damaged, wary character she had so carefully created didn’t fit well with jumping into bed with him on their first date.

  Finally, they had taken the boys swimming after school one evening. He’d told them Amber was a work colleague, but it was progress of sorts. And then he’d really surprised her when he announced that he’d finally told his parents of her existence.

  ‘Mum’s invited you for lunch this coming Sunday,’ he said, teasing her with a nudge. ‘You should feel honoured; it’s usually a strictly family-only invitation.’

  ‘That’s so nice of her,’ Amber said sweetly, kissing him on the cheek.

  She was looking forward to meeting the interfering old battleaxe around whom Ben constantly trod on eggshells. This was a woman who still insisted on doing her son’s cleaning and laundry, and who even filled his fridge once a week with home-cooked meals.

  He was thirty-three, not thirteen, for God’s sake. The fact that he had to consider his mother in everything he did was a source of irritation for her. It had got to the point where she had wondered if he was ever going to invite her back to his house at all. But now, here they were.

  ‘It looks … lovely,’ she said as she climbed out of the car.

  ‘Nothing to shout about, I know, but it’s home.’ He smiled, coming to stand next to her and staring at the house, a strange look on his face. ‘I’ve been thinking, actually, about maybe buying something a bit newer. There’s a new-build just completing at Lady Bay, close to where my parents live.’

  She’d seen his parents’ nice detached property in West Bridgford and it looked big enough to house Ben and the two boys as well as his parents. Judging by how he lived in their pockets already, it surprised her that he hadn’t moved in there after his wife died. Still, she was grateful that hadn’t happened; it would have made her plans a great deal more difficult to implement.

  ‘Come on.’ Ben draped his arm around her shoulders. ‘Let’s go inside and I’ll put the kettle on.’

  Inside, the house was predictably plain and lacking any real style.

  Seeing as his wife had only been dead two years, Amber decided the woman had either possessed zero taste, or Ben had managed to let things slip in a monumental way. This wasn’t a comfortable home, merely a functional shell.

  The plain cream-painted living room walls were a hotchpotch of family photographs, nearly all of them featuring the aforementioned dead wife: Louise, or Lou, as Ben sometimes annoyingly referred to her.

  Two God-awful oversized black leather couches had somehow been shoehorned into the small space, leaving no room for a dining table or chairs. Amber counted four pairs of assorted-sized trainers scattered about the place. Even worse, brightly coloured toys and boxed games spilled out from behind various pieces of furniture. She guessed this stuff had simply piled up over time, with nobody caring enough to tidy it away.

  ‘Sorry it’s a bit of a mess,’ Ben said behind her. ‘Mum doesn’t do her main clean until Fri
day.’

  ‘It’s homely.’ She turned round to face him. ‘And home should always feel comfortable.’

  ‘I agree.’ He grinned and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Has anyone ever told you, Amber Carr, that you’re perfect in every way?’

  ‘Oh, lots of people.’ She sighed theatrically. ‘But you get a bit fed up of hearing it after a while.’

  He laughed and squeezed her closer.

  ‘I mean it.’ His face was serious. ‘You’re perfect for me. Every day I thank God I met you.’

  ‘Fancy a great big fella like you having such a soft centre. How incredibly sweet.’

  He narrowed his eyes and began to tickle her midriff.

  ‘OK, I give in,’ she squealed, laughing wildly. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry!’

  He grabbed her and kissed her on the mouth, his soft lips lingering on hers.

  ‘I’ll let you off this time,’ he growled. ‘But next time, you might not be so lucky.’

  ‘Promises, promises,’ Amber murmured, and pressed in closer against him. She liked it when he played a little rough with her. If things were different, she might even fancy him.

  His body felt strong and hard. He wanted her so badly.

  In her wildest dreams, she wouldn’t have dared hope that things would go this well.

  9

  Judi

  Sunday comes around all too quickly. I leave Henry snoring in bed and slide out from the covers just before six a.m.

  The heating switches itself on at five for two hours, so at least it’s nice and warm downstairs in the kitchen. As always, my first job is to make a cup of tea and sit at the worn oak table, savouring the peace.

  I take my seat at what used to be David’s place. We had specific places for mealtimes when the boys were growing up. Henry was always a stickler for order at the table. David sat at this very place setting for his whole fourteen years. Even after so much time has elapsed, I think we all still think of it as his. I know I do.

  I put down my cup and run my finger over what looks like a thick black smear in front of me. My fingernail dips into the slight hollow I know so well. It’s a burn mark. David always seemed entranced by fire, and this particular day, before dinner, he was messing about with a candle at the table. He set a piece of paper alight to impress Ben, and when it burned down to his fingers, he let it fall. It scorched the table quite badly.

  I tried to stop Ben running out of the room, but he easily dodged my attempts to intercept him and went straight to his father. We were always a close family, but during arguments, we sometimes fell into two camps: myself and David, and Ben and Henry.

  This was one of those times, and there was no stopping Henry. Once he got something into his head, there was to be no reasoning with him. And that day, when Ben ratted on his brother, Henry decided that David must be punished.

  I inhale deeply, hold it there for a few seconds and then let it out slowly. Sipping my tea, I close my eyes against the steam. I need to loosen up a little, I can’t afford to get lost in the past today.

  The house is far from dirty, but I need to just spritz round with the duster and vacuum and then prepare the Sunday lunch of all lunches. Because today is the day we are to meet Ben’s new friend, Amber.

  The girl who has somehow managed to turn my grieving son’s head in record time.

  I’d always imagined Ben would wait until the boys were a little older before getting himself involved in another relationship. He’s never said as much; I suppose it’s just something I’ve grown to assume, even though I often encourage him to think about the future and making a new life for himself.

  When Louise died, he made a point of repeatedly saying, ‘Mum, the boys are my only priority. My job’s important, but losing Lou put everything into perspective, and that’s all my teaching will ever be now. A job.’

  Ben is a good, effective teacher. His school’s recent Ofsted inspection and the comments of the inspectors proved that. Every day he turns up, carries out his job to the best of his ability and then collects his pay cheque at the end of the month. But there is no ambition there any more, no striving to take on extra responsibilities at work nor setting his sights on a deputy head’s position as he once did.

  He works his contracted hours, including the planning and the marking, and the rest of his time goes to his sons.

  Despite Ben’s world being torn apart, leaving him with the almost insurmountable grief and trauma, I am so proud that my son has always showed a quiet dignity.

  So I really don’t mean to appear disapproving or churlish that he’s met someone.

  I’ve just been taken by surprise. That’s all it is.

  At twelve o’clock, I take the meat out of the oven to rest. All the veg are prepared and sitting in cold salted water ready for when I fire up the hob. The house has been polished and swept.

  Everything is almost ready. I’ve left the final half-hour to spruce myself up a bit ready for introductions. Then I hear the telltale sound of gravel shifting under wheels at the front of the house.

  ‘They’re here,’ Henry calls and appears at the kitchen door. ‘They’re quite early, I know, but don’t look so startled. I’ll put the kettle on and get the teapot warming while you …’ His eyes take in my appearance. ‘While you get yourself sorted.’

  I dash to the front room and stand behind the curtain, peeking through the nets. Ben gets out of the car first and walks around to the passenger side. He opens the door and holds out his hand to a tall, slim girl with short-cropped blonde hair and smooth tanned skin. I’m astonished at this previously hidden chivalry. I never saw him do such a thing for Louise.

  A wave of heat rolls up into my already ruddy face. I don’t know how time has run away with me like this. I’m usually so organised, and yet I have to admit that just lately I’ve often found myself ill-prepared and rushing out to work. Now I find myself clad in old leggings that have rips on the inside thighs and a baggy grey T-shirt that I rescued from Henry’s designated dustbin pile of clothes following his recent wardrobe clear-out.

  I rush back to the kitchen, ignoring Henry’s questioning look. As I hastily cover up the meat, I knock the roasting dish, causing hot fat to spatter my skin. I cry out, but I haven’t time to run my arm under the cold tap because I hear voices in the hall.

  It’s too late to redeem the situation. I’ve allowed myself too much time wallowing in thoughts instead of keeping a close eye on the clock.

  I can’t even escape upstairs. It would be so rude to just rush past them without stopping.

  ‘Judi? Come and say hello,’ Henry calls, and I catch the slight impatience in his voice.

  My heart thuds and I can feel the heat gathering inside me again.

  I have to face facts. I look a dreadful mess and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. This will be Amber’s first impression of her new boyfriend’s mother. Ridiculously, I feel my eyes prickling.

  ‘Coming,’ I call.

  I run my hands under the cold tap and pat them on to my burning face before dabbing it dry with a tea towel. Then I stride out of the kitchen trying my best to look confident.

  The hallway is a hive of activity. Henry slouches at the living room door clutching the newspaper at his side and watching proceedings with an amused look on his face.

  Ben and the chattering boys bustle near the door, taking off shoes and coats, and I catch sight of a figure moving behind Ben. She hangs a silver-grey mac on the coat stand and then bends down to unzip long boots from slender jean-clad legs.

  ‘Hello!’ I say brightly.

  The boys rush up, their hands full of monstrous-looking robots, eager to explain what each one morphs into.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’ A slight frown knits Ben’s brows as he takes in my dishevelled appearance. ‘This is Amber. Amber, meet my mum.’

  He stands aside and the young woman straightens herself up and turns to look at me.

  I’m struck again by how tall she is; nearly as tall as Ben, and boyishly slim.
She has elfin-short ash-blonde hair, which I can see has been expensively highlighted with three different shades.

  ‘Hello, I’m Judi.’ I stretch out a hand. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Amber. So sorry I’m a mess; I’m afraid the time quite ran away with me this morning.’

  Cool eyes sweep disapprovingly up from my feet to my face and hair and back down again. It happens so quickly, I wonder for a moment if I’ve imagined it.

  ‘Pleased to meet you too, Judi.’ She smiles, but her eyes remain cold. ‘Ben’s been telling me all about your legendary Sunday lunches for weeks now.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ I grin, waving away her compliment. ‘Don’t listen to him, Amber, he’s biased.’

  ‘Mum’s being modest.’ Ben laughs. ‘She’s always bragging she makes the best Yorkshire puddings in the whole of Nottinghamshire.’

  I tut and he dodges my jokey raised hand.

  ‘Would you excuse me, Amber, just for a few minutes?’ I run a hand through my hair. ‘As you can see, I’ve yet to get myself cleaned up.’

  ‘Oh don’t disappear now, Mum,’ Ben protests. ‘You look fine, and Amber’s been dying to meet you.’

  Amber looks at him and smiles. She slides her hand neatly into his and turns back to me, regarding me warmly. Me and my silly imagination; she seems perfectly friendly now.

  She has large, full lips and almond-shaped grey eyes. Her make-up is immaculate.

  ‘Honestly, I’ll only be a few minutes.’ I take a step away, filled with an urge to remedy my slovenly appearance.

  ‘No, no … you can’t just disappear now everyone’s here, dear,’ Henry says firmly. ‘You look perfectly fine. Let’s all have a drink and find out more about this delightful young lady.’

  Amber giggles coyly and they all move into the living room, and suddenly there I am, standing out in the hallway alone.