Never Tell A Lie

by Gail Schimmel

  ‘I don’t think she would call in the middle of the night for nothing,’ I say.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ says Joshua. He’s already up and getting dressed, so it’s not like he isn’t taking it seriously. I can’t accuse him of that. But at the same time, I’m not sure that he really thinks she’s in danger. I open my mouth, but then close it. Joshua is about to get in his car in the middle of the night to go and rescue my friend. That should be enough for me.

  ‘You’re amazing, thank you,’ I say, and am rewarded with a kiss.

  I message April: Joshua on way.

  Then I add: You okay?

  April reads the messages, but she doesn’t answer.

  When Joshua comes back an hour later, April is not with him. He looks exhausted.

  I have been drinking tea and staring at my phone, willing either of them to message me, but too scared to call them myself, because I don’t know what’s happening and what effect a phone call might have.

  ‘What happened?’ I ask Joshua, as soon as I let him in.

  ‘I got there, and I didn’t know whether to just go and ring the doorbell, or what, so I messaged her,’ he says, walking to the bedroom and sitting down on the side of the bed. ‘And she didn’t answer, so I rang the bell, and they buzzed me in.’ He rubs his forehead, remembering.

  ‘They were both standing at the door, framed by the light behind them, fully dressed. And Leo had his arm around her shoulders. They looked like they were posing for a magazine shoot.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘God, it was so awkward,’ says Joshua. ‘I asked if everything was okay, like I was the security guard doing the rounds or something.’ He does an empty-sounding laugh and starts undressing.

  I’m relieved. Travis would have been livid, on the off-chance he would have actually done something like this, if it turned out to be nothing.

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘Leo said, “Just a misunderstanding, nothing to worry about.”’

  ‘A misunderstanding?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Joshua. ‘But obviously I didn’t leave it there. I looked at April and asked her if she wanted to come with me.’ He sighs. ‘Leo will probably never speak to me again.’

  ‘And what did she say?’

  ‘She wouldn’t quite make eye contact, but she looked okay. And she said, “Sorry, I overreacted. Thanks for coming out.” I didn’t know what more to do. I couldn’t force her to leave. But I also didn’t like just leaving it. Like, she phoned you in the middle of the night saying he was going to kill her, and now I must just walk away?’

  I try to imagine what I would have done. What could one do?

  ‘So, I asked her if she was sure, and she nodded. And then Leo thanked me for being a good friend. And then I left.’

  ‘There wasn’t anything else you could have done.’ I can imagine the situation clearly. Joshua has done his best.

  ‘I guess,’ he says. ‘I just don’t know what to think.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘I think you better call her in the morning. Find out what the hell was going on. We can’t be running around town all night because April misunderstands things.’

  ‘Or because Leo talked her out of leaving. Or worse.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Joshua. ‘Or that.’ He pauses, climbing into bed and slipping his cold feet between my legs. ‘I just can’t get my head around that version, though, you know?’ he says. ‘I can’t see Leo as an abuser.’

  I start to talk, to explain that anyone can be an abuser, but he interrupts me.

  ‘I know,’ he says. ‘I know that’s what they all say. I know. But still. Leo Goldstein? I just don’t get it.’

  We’re quiet for bit, and I think he might have fallen asleep. But then he speaks again.

  ‘And April’s pretty flaky, you know,’ he says. ‘And she’s never actually said that he hurts her. In fact, the opposite. She said she fell up the stairs over the tiles or whatever it was.’

  ‘It’s like that Chris van Wyk poem about the apartheid so-called suicides,’ I say, not sure he will get the reference. I only vaguely remember the poem I mean, with references to slipping in showers and falling out of windows. ‘The contradicting excuses are the suspicious part,’ I clarify.

  ‘I get that,’ says Joshua, pulling me closer to him. ‘I just don’t know what to think.’

  I want to defend April, but I have to say, I basically agree with Joshua. I don’t know what to think either. About anything.

  Chapter 35

  I phone April first thing in the morning.

  ‘Can you talk?’ I say, although the truth is that I know her routine as well as I know my own these days, and I know that the kids are at school and Leo is at work, and she can talk.

  ‘Yes,’ she says. I don’t know if I am imagining the reluctance in her voice. She sounds almost like a sulky child. But I may be projecting that.

  ‘So,’ I say, ‘I don’t want to seem mean or unkind or like I don’t understand, but I kind of think that you owe me an explanation for last night.’

  ‘I misunderstood,’ she says. Her voice is flat, and this is exactly the word that Joshua says they used last night.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘That’s not good enough. You called me for help, and Joshua got out of bed and came. And then felt awkward and embarrassed. You owe us more than that you misunderstood.’ I pause for a moment. ‘Let me make it easier for you,’ I say. ‘Is Leo hitting you?’

  ‘We had a good talk last night,’ says April. ‘I think he’s going to change. Get help. You know, he’s had a really hard life. His—’

  I interrupt before I can once again hear about Leo’s bloody hard life. ‘You are avoiding the question,’ I say. ‘Does he hurt you?’

  ‘You know,’ she says, ‘it’s not so black and white.’

  ‘No really, it is,’ I answer. ‘This is a yes/no situation. Either he does or he doesn’t. And if he does, you need to get out. It’s really that simple.’

  ‘I know it looks that way from the outside,’ says April. ‘But it’s really more complicated than that. I love him. And also, I have no money. And he’s got reasons for how he is.’

  ‘So you’re saying he hits you?’

  ‘I never said that. You’re putting words in my mouth.’ She sounds angry.

  ‘So he doesn’t hit you?’ I know that I’m like a dog with a bone, but after last night I’m not letting go.

  ‘Listen,’ says April, ‘Leo is a complicated man. You can’t explain him in yeses and noes. We’re working things out.’

  I sigh. ‘You know what,’ I say. ‘I’m done here. If you want to admit there is a problem and you need my help, then I’m here for you. But I can’t just sit here and listen to this . . . this rubbish . . . and act like it’s normal.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I’m done here, April,’ I say, again. ‘Call me when you want proper help. I’m here for you. But don’t call me in the middle of the night and then act like nothing happened.’

  ‘Mary . . .’ says April, but she doesn’t say anything more. Just ‘Mary.’

  ‘Goodbye, April,’ I say, and I put down the phone.

  I’m shaking. I can’t believe I just did that. And I don’t know where it came from. Surely I should be supporting her, a woman in distress, a friend in distress? But I’m angry about her messing Joshua around in the middle of the night and I’m angry that she can’t just tell the truth. I suppose, mostly, I keep thinking that I’ve been there. Well, maybe not been there, but somewhere quite similar. And I took a stand. I sorted it out. Okay, fate intervened and made it easier than it might have been. But I left him. I’m not used to thinking of myself as a strong person, but I guess what it boils down to is that I am angry with April because she’s not as strong as I am. And I’m not sure if that’s fair.

  I try to phone Joshua, but his phone goes to voicemail. I want to phone Stacey, but despite everything, I don’t think it is for me to tell her about April’s situation. I dial my f
ather’s number, but I somehow don’t want to burden him with this. I hope I ended the call before it registered on his phone. I don’t know what to do, who to call. And then I think of my mother.

  An hour later, she’s sitting on my couch, her legs tucked under her, a cup of tea in her hand, listening to my story. It’s weird how it’s exactly how I imagined having a mom would be. She listens and nods and makes quite funny comments. It feels like I have known her for a long time; like she’s an old friend. It makes my anger with my father build up again; he has kept this from me. He didn’t need to have done that.

  ‘Are you going to leave it?’ asks my mother. ‘Or will you message her or phone and try to keep the lines open?’

  ‘You think that’s what I should do?’

  ‘I know that abused women need somewhere to go. But I can also hear that she is giving you very mixed messages. Being on the edge of the situation and not being able to help would be very hard for you.’

  ‘She hasn’t ever said that he is hurting her.’

  My mother raises her eyebrows. ‘What else could possibly be going on?’ she says. ‘There’s literally no other explanation.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘Maybe I’ll just give it a few days, and when I’m calmer, I’ll make contact.’

  My mother smiles. ‘That sounds sensible,’ she says. ‘Sean taught you well, I’m pleased to see.’

  I’m unwilling to give my father credit for anything at the moment. ‘Maybe it’s genetic,’ I say. ‘From you,’ I add, to be clear.

  ‘Sean’s not a bad man, Mary,’ says my mother. ‘He told one lie, because he thought it would protect you. But fundamentally, he also did good by you.’

  ‘You have no idea what it was like,’ I tell her. ‘What not having a mother felt like and meant, and the stupid choices I have made as a result.’

  I think I’m expecting her to defend herself, or my father, or the system. Instead, she says, ‘Well, I have nothing but time. Tell me. Tell me every single thing I missed. I would love that.’

  And so I start to tell her.

  Two days later, I still haven’t contacted April. I’ve thought of her almost constantly, and picked up my phone a few times, but I just don’t know how we can go back to normal, unless she tells me the truth and we come up with a plan. Not being able to talk to her is harder than I imagined; she has so quickly become an ingrained part of my life. I want to tell her little things, and I realise that she still doesn’t know about me seeing my mother. I want to tell her about that. But I can’t with the elephant in the room, and she has to be the one to make the first move.

  I’m working at my usual table at Exclusive Books with a coffee by my side. I guess part of me is almost hoping that she’ll come along and join me, and we’ll somehow just be back where we were before she bruised her face. Eventually, I manage to push April out of my head and absorb myself in my work. It’s a new gig, one that I am so happy to have, because it’s writing book reviews, which means that I get free books as well as the pay. So I want to do it perfectly, and I submerge myself in finding the best words to describe the newest Lionel Shriver.

  ‘Mary?’

  It’s what I’ve been expecting in one way since I sat down. But the voice doesn’t belong to April. It’s Leo, looming over my table. He indicates the chair across from me.

  ‘May I sit down?’

  I don’t know what to do. Leo is probably the last person on earth that I want sitting across from me. My palms immediately start sweating and my mouth goes dry.

  ‘Sure,’ I say, hoping that I am betraying none of my nervousness. ‘Just doing my work,’ I say, in the hope that might make him leave.

  He sits down with a contented sigh. ‘What a morning,’ he says. ‘I just thought I’d pop in and pick up the latest Economist and have a coffee. And here you are. What luck.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say.

  I wonder if April has ever mentioned to him that I work here often. I wonder, actually, what April says about me to him generally. Mostly, I wonder about the other night.

  ‘So, I owe you and Joshua an apology,’ says Leo, reading my mind. He sighs. ‘I don’t know what to tell you really.’

  I close my laptop, accepting that he’s here to stay for a bit, and I look at him properly. He has bags under his eyes, and what looks like a scratch going down his face. Somehow, this makes him better-looking than usual, which shouldn’t be humanly possible.

  I’m silent. I don’t know what to say to him.

  Leo rubs his face. ‘I don’t know what she was trying to do by calling you,’ he says. ‘I’ve played it over and over again in my head, from different angles, and I don’t know what she wanted to achieve.’

  ‘Maybe she wanted to get away from you,’ I say. ‘Maybe she was scared.’ Suddenly I am gaining momentum. ‘Maybe she was worried that she would once again slip on the tiles up the steps.’

  Leo looks at me. Like, really looks at me.

  ‘I can see how it must look to you,’ he says. ‘I hate that you could even think that of me for one minute.’

  ‘Well, how else could it possibly look?’ I say. ‘What other explanation is there?’

  ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Mary,’ he says. ‘Let me just say that April is a more complicated woman than she appears at first. You must know that, having been to school with her.’

  I can’t really tell him that I hardly remember April from school. That boat has sailed.

  ‘She doesn’t seem very complicated to me,’ I say. ‘I’d go so far as to say that she is the epitome of what you see is what you get.’

  ‘You’ve seen how drunk she gets,’ he counters. He leans forward, putting his hands on the table, the fingers interlocking. ‘You’ve seen that she can be awful when she’s drunk.’

  I focus on his hands. I don’t want to agree, because April is my dear friend, despite the fact that I am not talking to her. But at the same time, he does have a point. Drunk, April has been really quite horrible to me. I focus on a small scar on Leo’s hand and try to imagine these hands hurting April.

  ‘No matter how awful she is when she’s drunk,’ I say, ‘that’s not an excuse.’

  ‘Mary,’ he says, and I look up and meet his eyes. ‘Mary, I don’t hit April.’

  ‘Then what is going on? Why did she have a bruised eye? Why did she phone me, panicking? Why does she act like the bottom will fall out of the world if you get upset?’

  ‘I can’t explain it,’ says Leo. ‘I’m not even sure I understand, and I’m a psychologist.’ He runs his hands over his hair. ‘Hell,’ he says. ‘I often wonder how I ended up here, you know.’

  ‘Apparently you came for a magazine and coffee,’ I say.

  He smiles, but it’s weak, as befits my weak joke.

  ‘You’re funny, Mary,’ he says. ‘Funny and beautiful. An unusual combination.’

  I don’t know how to react, especially as he says this in an almost funereal tone.

  ‘April is funny and beautiful too,’ I say, after an awkward pause. ‘She doesn’t deserve to be calling for help in the middle of the night.’

  ‘What she doesn’t deserve is the sort of friend who actually comes to help her,’ says Leo.

  ‘It must have given you a shock, when Joshua came.’ I’m back to my anger with him, and his stupid scarred hands that hurt my friend.

  ‘It was a shock,’ he says. ‘Especially as I had no idea she’d called you.’

  I try to picture April, quaking in a cupboard or locked bathroom, desperately dialling my number. I try to picture Leo finding her, those hands hauling her up, asking her what she thinks she’s doing. I try to picture Joshua arriving, and Leo manhandling her to the door, demanding that she lie. But honestly, I can’t.

  ‘I just wish I knew why she did,’ he says. ‘I wish I knew what she’s trying to show me.’

  He unclasps his hands, and now they are face up on the table. I know this trick – it’s supposed to make him appear vulnerable so th
at I will believe him. There’s another scar across his palm – this one like a long cut.

  ‘Leo,’ I say, and I know it’s a non sequitur, but I can’t help it. ‘Leo, why are your hands so scarred? You’d think you were a builder or something.’

  Leo looks down at his hands, and then closes them into fists. I flinch.

  ‘I guess I’m accident-prone,’ he says, putting his hands out of sight. He doesn’t seem to have found my question strange. ‘Mary,’ he says. ‘Please try to believe that I don’t hurt April. I don’t know why, but it matters to me what you think.’ He stands up. ‘And please don’t tell April you saw me. She won’t be pleased.’

  He turns away, glancing at his hands, and then putting them in his pockets. He walks away, glancing back only once. I can’t read the look on his face.

  What the hell just happened?

  Chapter 36

  ‘Do you think he was warning you off?’ says Joshua when I tell him about the encounter the next day on the phone.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘It was all so weird. He was pretty adamant that he doesn’t hit her, but he would say that.’

  ‘Most times I would agree with you,’ says Joshua. ‘But with Leo and April, I don’t know. I just can’t see it. Like, I literally can’t put a picture in my head that has him hurt her.’

  If I’m honest with myself, I agree with Joshua. Something about this doesn’t sit right, and it’s hard to imagine Leo hurting anyone. But at the same time, if I know one thing, it’s that abusers come in all shapes and forms, and that we need to believe women who report them. Not that April has exactly reported him or said anything concrete for us to believe. But still. I don’t like any conversation that doubts that anyone can abuse. That’s what’s happened all through history, all across the world. The women who speak up are silenced and doubted. That’s exactly why women like April don’t tell. If the current dialogue around gender should have taught us anything, it’s that it’s hard to speak out about abuse – when women speak it’s true. It makes me feel uncomfortable that I am doubting her for a second; I know it’s not what I am supposed to think.