‘I have no idea,’ I repeated, although Travis was probably right. ‘But he knows you need it done today, so it’ll be done today.’ This was also true. My dad would never leave me to deal with the fallout of the car not being ready. We hadn’t ever spelled it out to each other, but my father saw Travis for what he was.
Travis reached into the fridge for a beer, getting in my way as I tried to make a sandwich for Django. As he brushed past me, I could smell that this wasn’t his first drink of the day.
‘I suppose you think I could have saved all this hassle by just letting you do the car?’ said Travis.
This hadn’t really crossed my mind, mostly because I had no idea what he meant by ‘hassle’. What hassle? Of course, I said none of this. I just remained silent, focused on the sandwich.
‘Are you not going to answer me?’ yelled Travis. ‘Just stand there judging me?’
I felt Django draw closer to me.
‘I’m sure that you did the right thing taking the car to my dad,’ I said.
‘Granpops is good at cars,’ said Django, nodding.
‘I should’ve taken it to a goddam professional and got professional service, that’s what I should’ve done,’ said Travis, stepping closer to me than was comfortable.
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ I said.
‘That’s a bloody stupid thing to say,’ said Travis. ‘Of course I’m not right. It would’ve cost a fortune. Your dad does it for free.’
Honest to God, sometimes he was so funny that it was hard to believe he wasn’t actually trying to make a joke. I couldn’t help it, I laughed.
Travis’s face became dark. ‘Am I funny?’ he said.
‘Travis,’ I said, trying a tactic that sometimes worked. ‘That actually was rather funny. You’re angry because I said you were right. That’s funny.’
Django nods. ‘You were funny,’ he says. ‘You’re mean to my mommy but that was funny.’
There was a moment when it hung in the balance. He might laugh and leave, I thought. He might leave. He might lose it. I held my breath. Django held his breath. The kitchen held its breath. Time, for a moment, stood still.
And then it happened.
Travis looked at Django and said, ‘You’re becoming as opinionated as your goddam mother’, and he swung his arm back, and then forward, back-handing Django hard across the face. Django fell with the force of it, hitting his head against the sharp edge of the counter before hitting the floor. Travis turned and walked out.
I gathered Django in my arms, and without even stopping to wipe the blood that was running down his face, I grabbed my car keys, and left.
I drove straight to my dad’s shop, telling Django everything would be okay, Mom would fix this. I just didn’t know how.
My father looked up as we walked in, then back down to what he was doing, and then his head sprang back, having taken in the blood running down Django’s face and the look on my face.
‘What happened?’ he said, wiping his oily hands on a rag and coming over. ‘What happened to Django?’
‘Travis,’ I said. ‘And if I don’t do something, this will not be the last time.’
My dad nodded, pulling Django towards him in a hug, his eyes meeting mine over my son’s head. ‘You have to leave him, Mary,’ he said. ‘We both know that you have to get away from him, and get Django away too.’
‘But how?’ I asked my father. ‘He’ll go mad if I leave him. He might hurt me. And he’ll convince the courts to let him have access to Django. I can’t let him have Django without me there. He’ll poison him and hurt him and eventually turn him into a small version of Travis.’ I shook my head. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I have to stay for Django.’ I’d played this out in my own head so many times.
‘Here’s what is going to happen, Mary,’ said my dad. ‘You are taking Django, and you are going to stay in Cape Town for two weeks. I will pay. And I will talk to Travis and get him to agree to your terms, and only then will you come back. I’ll tell him that I don’t know where you are, and that you’ll only come back when he agrees. Anyway, no court will give a man like Travis access.’
‘He’s not going to agree, Daddy. And you know how charming he can be if he really, really tries. He’ll fool the courts. They’ll side with him.’
‘Well, we have to try. You have to protect Django.’
I pulled myself up straight. ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘Only I don’t need to go to Cape Town. I can stay right here with you. You just tell Travis that I’m away. I’ll “come back” when he is calm and we can sort it out. I’ll convince him he can’t see Django. Somehow.’
My dad nodded. ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘I can tell him whatever you want me to.’
I looked down at Django, suddenly realising that he’d heard all this, and still had blood on his face.
‘Let’s take you and clean you up,’ I said. ‘And then you and me can go for an ice cream while Granpops fixes Dad’s car. And then, we’re going to stay here for a bit, okay.’
‘Because Daddy hit me,’ said Django. It wasn’t a question.
‘Because nobody gets to hit you,’ I said. ‘So we’re going to make sure that Daddy never does that again. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ said Django. ‘Can I have chocolate ice cream?’
It was four days later that I got a call in the middle of the night.
I took Travis to my dad’s place to collect his car. My dad delayed him while I pretended that I had to be somewhere, and quickly went home and grabbed a whole lot of things for Django and me. Then, when I returned to my father, I phoned Travis and told him that I was leaving him, and that I was taking Django away with me for a bit, and that he could speak to my father who would connect him to my lawyer. And then I turned off my phone for twenty-four hours.
I found a lawyer and told her that she must tell Travis that I wouldn’t ask for anything, but he couldn’t have unsupervised visits with Django. Both the lawyer and my father questioned me not asking for support, but I was adamant. I could live with my father and provide for Django. I didn’t need money if that would keep Django safe – and Travis was cheap and nasty enough that he might just go for that: sell his son for the maintenance payments.
While my phone was off, Travis turned up at my dad’s place. He was drunk and roaring and stood on the doorstep demanding to know where I was. I locked myself and Django in the room we were sharing, and when it seemed like Travis wouldn’t go away on his own, I called the police. Luckily, Travis wasn’t clever enough to realise that if my father had been talking to him the whole time, someone else must have called the police. Or maybe he thought it was a neighbour. Either way, he didn’t come back. And he phoned the lawyer and swore at her and told her that over his dead body would I get either Django or his money. It was like I always knew it would be.
But then came the phone call in the night.
Travis had been involved in a head-on collision on the highway. The autopsy showed that his blood alcohol was way over the limit. Witnesses said that he had been swerving all over the street, and that the other driver – who was, thank God, fine – had no way of avoiding him.
I went back to the house, and I never told anyone that I’d ever left him. And neither did my father. We both pretended that I was a grieving widow, devastated by my loss. We never told anyone that, actually, this was the best thing that could possibly have happened. I had the house, I had the life insurance, and most of all, I had Django.
So, it is not news that my dad can lie.
Chapter 32
I tell Stacey none of this. I agree that this is the first time that I have ever known my father to lie.
‘He’s sorry,’ I say. ‘He knows that he shouldn’t have let me believe that she was dead. But still. Basically my whole life has been based on a lie. And now she’s back, but I don’t know if I want to see her.’
‘You are the one who reached out,’ she says. ‘So somewhere inside you, I think that you wanted to see her. So I think you
know that that’s what you need to do.’
‘Stace,’ I say. ‘We’ve got kids. What sort of mom walks out on her child? Could you ever, ever have done that?’
‘No,’ says Stacey. ‘But you and me, Mary – we’re strong. We’re life’s survivors. We’re like cockroaches really – you can throw anything at us and we’ll survive it.’ Stacey says this in a matter-of-fact voice, and it should sound braggy – except that it’s true. We are both single moms who have just made things happen, made life work. We are tough.
‘And your mom was depressed,’ says Stacey. ‘They didn’t hand out Prozac at the GP so easily back then. It was a stigma. She probably suffered terribly before she gave up.’
I nod.
‘And Sean. Listen, I love your father like he’s my own. But he’s not a man who can cope with complexities. Like a depressed wife. I mean, look how he handled her leaving. He lied, because that was easier.’
‘It would be good to hear her side,’ I say. My voice sounds small to my ears, like that little girl without a mother is speaking.
‘You know there’s only one way that’s going to happen, right?’ Stacey looks at me, her perfectly plucked eyebrows arched.
‘Meet my mom,’ I say, and my eyes fill up with tears. ‘I’m going to meet my mom.’
At that moment, my phone beeps. Stacey and I look at each other and giggle; it’s like it might be my mom answering my call.
But it’s not.
It’s April: So I just thought I should clarify, I slipped on some tiles and that’s why I fell up the steps. That’s what happened. Xx
For a moment, I don’t know what the hell she’s talking about. Her message seems like some random senseless stream of words. Then I remember the bruise, and the conflicting stories that she and Leo told.
Is that why she didn’t respond to my earlier cry for help? Because she somehow knew that Leo told me another story, and she was trying to reconcile the versions? And why are there two versions? There’s only one explanation that makes sense, and the idea of it fills me with dread like concrete.
I’m about to put my phone aside when it beeps again. My father has sent me a mail. In my hand I am holding my mother’s contact details. Everything else leaves my head: April. Her bruises. Her marriage. I have my mother’s contact details, and I need to decide what to do with them. Nothing else matters.
My hands are shaking so much I can’t hold the phone, let alone decide what to do.
‘I think you need to sleep on all this,’ says Stacey.
‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘Today has been strange from the get-go.’ I flash back to April’s bruised face for a moment, and I think about telling Stacey, but I feel like it will be a sort of betrayal of April. Stacey’s never said anything, but I get the feeling that she doesn’t really like April, or like my friendship with April.
‘Thanks for listening, Stace,’ I say. ‘You’re always there when I need you.’
‘You’ve stuck by me through some pretty tough times,’ says Stacey. ‘Remember when you fetched me in the middle of the night from that terrible date?’
I laugh. I’d had to put a sleeping Django in the car, and Stacey had been too drunk to actually know where she was, so I’d had to try and find her by using her descriptions of the area.
‘And the time you pretended to be me and got them to pay back my deposit on that car,’ says Stacey, nudging me with her elbow.
‘They’d scammed you!’ I say. ‘That was easy.’
‘Either way, you’ve been a great friend to me, Mary. Anyone who has you as a friend is lucky.’
I give Stacey a hug. ‘That’s a lovely thing to say,’ I tell her. But in my mind’s eye I’m seeing April’s bruised face and wondering if I have what it takes to be a great friend to her.
When Joshua comes over that evening, I am more pulled together, and I tell him about the day. By now, I’ve decided that I will phone my mom when I am calm, and arrange to meet her, and I will write down all the questions that I have for her so that I can ask her everything I need to know. I’ll treat it like I would any story that I write, and record what she tells me, so that I can go back to check. Being practical about this is the only way that I know to hold the panic at bay. It’s how I handled the aftermath of Travis’s death, and it’s how I will handle this. I hear myself telling Joshua my plan in a calm voice, as if I haven’t spent most of the day crying.
‘You’re very calm about this,’ says Joshua.
‘I wasn’t earlier,’ I say. ‘I spent the afternoon crying on Stacey’s shoulder.’
‘I wish you’d learn that you can call me when you need help,’ says Joshua, a bit sadly.
‘I don’t want you to see me at my worst,’ I tell him.
‘I want to see you at your worst,’ he says, with a small smile. ‘I want you to trust me with that and know that I will still love you.’ He shrugs. ‘Time, I guess.’
‘I’ve spent the last ten years knowing that my dad and my girlfriends are the people who will help me,’ I say. ‘You can’t ask me to change overnight.’
‘I know,’ says Joshua. ‘Sometimes I hate Travis.’
I don’t say anything.
‘So,’ he says, after a few moments of silence. ‘Did you tell April your mom made contact?’
‘Oh God,’ I say, putting my head in my hands. ‘April is a whole other drama.’
I tell Joshua all about the bruise and the call from Leo and the conflicting stories.
‘Damn,’ says Joshua. ‘Maybe she did slip? She was very drunk.’
‘I know,’ I say. ‘I just don’t know what to think. She said she fell up the steps at the door. He said she slipped on the tiles in the kitchen. At least one of them is lying, and there are not a lot of reasons that would make sense.’
‘I’m going to be honest, Mary,’ says Joshua. ‘You know that I get these things. You know that I’m an ally.’
I nod. I love that Joshua says things like this. Travis wouldn’t have even known what an ally was. He would have thought it was some war reference, if he thought anything at all.
‘I know,’ I say. ‘That’s why I can talk to you about this.’
‘I just can’t believe that Leo would hit her,’ says Joshua, speaking slowly. ‘Leo is literally one of the best men in this country. The work he does. His compassion. His activism for women and children.’
‘I know,’ I say. ‘I also struggle to get my head around it. But why the stupid, contradictory stories?’
‘Maybe they were both actually so drunk that they don’t know what happened?’ says Joshua. ‘And they’re embarrassed?’
‘Leo wasn’t that drunk,’ I say. ‘And it’s not like it’s a small bruise.’
‘I know,’ says Joshua. ‘But I don’t know. I just can’t believe this.’
‘That’s the problem though, isn’t it?’ I say. ‘That we all believe that only certain types of men do this sort of thing. But actually, it can be anyone. And that’s why women don’t report. Because no one believes them.’
Joshua nods. ‘All this is true,’ he says. ‘But Leo?’
I know what he means. Leo doesn’t seem like a wife-beater. He’s funny, and clever, and charming, and sexy. I know that all these things don’t rule out being abusive, but it just doesn’t gel for me. Abusive men are insecure people like Travis.
‘I’ll try to talk to her,’ I say. ‘And obviously, keep my eyes open for other signs.’
‘Don’t make any accusations,’ says Joshua. ‘And don’t tell anyone else. Something like this can ruin a man’s life.’
‘If he’s hitting her, he deserves it,’ I say.
‘But we don’t know that he is,’ says Joshua. ‘I’d go further. I’d put my money on it that he isn’t. I think she fell. Up the stairs or on wet tiles or whatever.’ He pauses, thinking. ‘Maybe they were doing something really kinky when it happened,’ he suggests, ‘and that’s why they’re lying about it?’
I arch my eyebrows. ‘Like what exac
tly?’
‘Like . . . like . . . like Leo was dressed up as Superman and jumped off the top of the cupboard and his elbow hit her in the eye?’
I can’t help it. I laugh. ‘That’s your kinky scenario? Leo dressed up as Superman?’ I don’t want to say it, but there’s something about Leo that makes me think that his idea of kinky would be far more exciting, and darker, than dressing up as Superman. I don’t let my mind go there.
Joshua laughs too. ‘Okay, okay,’ he says. ‘I guess I’m a bit vanilla.’
‘Do you want to dress up as Superman?’ I ask, genuinely curious. ‘Like, would that turn you on?’
Joshua smiles. ‘I don’t think so,’ he says. ‘But if you wanted me to, I would. Or Batman. Or the Hulk? Maybe Catwoman?’
‘Catwoman?’ I start laughing again. ‘You’re going to dress up as Catwoman?’
‘If it turns you on, sure,’ says Joshua.
‘You would absolutely die if I said that I wanted that,’ I say. ‘You would die.’
Joshua smiles, but doesn’t deny it. ‘Just trying to show you that I’m up for anything you want.’
I smile.
‘Vanilla is fine for me,’ I say. ‘But I’ll think about Catwoman.’
We both laugh and lean in for a kiss.
April’s bruise is forgotten, for now.
Chapter 33
The next day, Friday, I am so caught up in worrying about whether to contact my mother, and how, that I don’t really feel up to dealing with April’s drama. But I know that is a cop-out as a friend. I decide that I need to just bite the bullet on all the difficult conversations in my life.
First, I try to phone my mother. I have a number, and I know that the brave thing to do is just speak to her. But somehow, every time I try to dial the number, I can’t. I’m not ready. Eventually, I send a WhatsApp. Even that takes about an hour to draft. I settle for this:
This is Mary. Dad/Sean gave me your number. I want to talk to you and meet, but this is a lot to take in. I don’t know how much he told you, but I didn’t know the full story of how you left until recently. I still don’t. Could we meet next week? Whenever suits you.
Never Tell A Lie Page 17
