Lies Lies Lies

by Adele Parks

  ‘Carter?’ Simon asked, faking innocence, although he had already guessed. The dopehead he’s visited with the weed was Carter. He imagined he was the man who caused the middle of the night commotion, too.

  The screw rolled his eyes. ‘We traced the book back to you and unluckily for you, your man Carter pulled through. We asked him if he knew you and he was quick to confirm that he did. You’re the main man for this stuff, he tells us.’ The guard eyed Simon with something like surprise. He didn’t look like a main man, not in any sense of the word. He looked tired, weary. The guard roughly led Simon out of the cell. ‘Solitary and then a chat with the governor for you, my friend. You can forget any chance of getting out on-licence. This little game has cost you.’

  ‘Wait. Carter actually fingered him?’ Leon asked.

  ‘Yeah.’ The guard nodded, shrugged. It was unusual. Most dealings inside were swallowed in a cloak of secrecy but Carter had readily grabbed at Simon Barnes’ name when it was suggested. ‘For the avoidance of doubt, pointed him out when we showed him some mugshots.’

  ‘Yeah, well, he’s a liar because that stuff isn’t Simon’s, it’s mine. And he didn’t give any to Carter. I did.’

  ‘Really?’ The guards exchanged sceptical looks.

  ‘No, that’s not true,’ said Simon.

  ‘I did it,’ repeated Leon firmly. ‘You can’t blame him if I’m confessing.’

  The guards were exhausted. It had been a long night. There would be an enquiry. A stink. How did the stuff get inside in the first place? The guard made a quick calculation. If the alkie, with days left on his prison sentence, just about to be released on-licence, had handled the drugs, there would be questions. A time-consuming enquiry. Maybe an external body would have to be involved. Man-hours they could ill afford would be swallowed up. If it was this other guy, they could put him in solitary. Give him some hard duties when he got out. Maybe fine him or stop his visiting rights for a while. It could all be sorted quietly.

  The guard released Simon and put the cuffs on Leon.

  ‘No, no mate,’ Simon objected. He tried to push himself between the guard and Leon.

  Leon shook his head. ‘Just sort yourself out, right? Now you’re the one who is better on the outside. You understand that, right? You believe it?’

  51

  Chapter 51, Daisy

  Friday, 12th July 2019

  I thought Lucy would continue to push hard for me to go to the police. I didn’t imagine that her promise, or even the fact she’d sworn on her daughter’s life, would hold. However, so far, she is respecting my wishes, albeit reluctantly. She has concentrated on making me safe. On Saturday night she insisted on staying with me and she hung about all the next day too. It was awkward. I’ve resented and avoided her for so long that it was overwhelming to have so much of her company. She wanted us to go out and kept suggesting we shop or go to an art gallery, but Millie was reluctant to leave Eric. I wonder if that was something else Daryll thought of. Planned. He’s made me more housebound for weeks until the cat has had his injections and been neutered. A clever way to clip my wings this summer or, as Lucy puts it, turn me into a sitting duck. Because we wouldn’t go out, Lucy was left with no alternative but to mooch around my house making coffee and smoking cigarettes.

  Now it seems she has organised some sort of rota, to provide me with company, protection, without telling the participants that’s what they are doing exactly. I’m still at work, although this is the last week of term and so I’m only vulnerable in the evenings. On Monday, Peter came around to look at a leak under the kitchen sink. He seemed as perplexed as I was by his wife’s request that he did so. ‘I’m not really a handyman sort,’ he said to me apologetically, when he confessed he couldn’t find the cause. ‘I could call you a plumber and maybe, since I’m here, we could order pizza?’

  On Tuesday, the plumber came. On Wednesday, Connie and her girls suggested we went to Westfield shopping, again Millie demurred about leaving Eric, so they all came to us instead. The girls stayed inside with the kitten but Connie and I sat in the garden, reading books, watching the sun go down, chatting about whatever drifted in and out of our heads – the name of an insect, the neighbour’s noisy dogs, how lucky she is to be self-employed and therefore have flexitime and how lucky I am to be a teacher and therefore have a long summer holiday to look forward to. We have been quietly reading together over many years. Some people shop or go to fancy restaurants, others debate politics or go to the theatre. We’ve done all those things together at some point or other too but reading quietly is our thing. It was peaceful. I felt content, loved, and yet sad too because I won’t be able to do that again. I have to leave it all behind.

  On Thursday, after work, Luke popped by. Sophie was with him again, as the kitten is a magnet for her too. He brought me some colour charts and material swatches. ‘I wasn’t aware you were planning on doing any decorating,’ he said, obviously a bit bemused. ‘But Lucy said you were, and she was pretty insistent that you needed these, right now, tonight.’ I don’t need colour charts, I am not planning on decorating the house in the short time I have left here. I’m sure Lucy knows this, she’s just scheming to make sure I am not alone. Each night, late, after she’s finished a long day at the office she calls me. She talks about her workload, the weather, her irritating boss, and which sunglasses style suits which face shapes. She just keeps talking, sometimes for two, or three, or four hours. When I tell her I really need to sleep, she asks me if the chains are across the door.

  This rota puts me in mind of when Millie was in hospital and my friends rallied. I have glorious friends. True, sometimes they irritate me or disagree with me. I guess I do the same to them. But they are loyal, reliable. I realise now, too late maybe, that Lucy is a good friend to me. She fell in love inconveniently, yes, but I should not have hung onto that resentment for as long as I have. I’m not sure why I did, especially as Rose didn’t. I guess I wanted the world to be black and white, fair and simple. Goodies and baddies. I guess it was easier to resent the things that Rose had to deal with, than admit to how many grey areas I was dealing with. Or perhaps not dealing with. I suppose I might have been deflecting. It was easier to focus on Peter’s infidelity, Lucy’s betrayal, Rose’s hurt, rather than trying to understand Simon’s drinking or accept how I had conceived. Truthfully, I’ve always been a little wary of Lucy, a little jealous. Maybe it was comforting to find something wrong with her. After all, she’s beautiful, clever, wealthy, confident, it was easier for me if I could tell myself she wasn’t a very nice person.

  By sending my friends to watch over me, Lucy has – perhaps intentionally, perhaps inadvertently – not only protected me from Daryll but also given me the space to do what I must do. The chance to say goodbye. They don’t know that it’s the last time I’ll see them, but every time I’ve closed the front door this week, I’ve known that is exactly what it is. I think Lucy is beginning to accept my idea of running. It’s a relief not to be fighting her on this issue, but it’s also depressing that even the irrepressible Lucy can’t see any other way out of this.

  Simon is to be released on Saturday. Connie told me. Knowing Simon’s release is imminent, I’d like to have left sooner, but I need to see my sister one last time. Rose and Craig are home from their holidays on Saturday too. Millie and I are going to theirs for lunch. The boys and Craig will be there as well. I’ll get to hug them all, leave them with happy memories. We fly to Hamburg that evening. I studied German at A Level and whilst I’m not sure that’s where we’ll settle for ever, it’s my first bolthole. Most likely, we’ll move about a bit for a while, in case anyone tries to find us: Daryll or Simon.

  It is the last day of term. I stumble home under the weight of chocolate oranges, bottles of cava and thank you cards from my pupils. The last day of term is always an emotional one; it’s never easy saying goodbye to a class after spending a year with them, day in, day out. This year I know I’m also saying goodbye to Newfield Primary for go
od. As it’s Friday, Lucy assumes Millie and I are heading off to Connie’s. However, tonight they’re visiting Luke’s parents. Connie was very apologetic about skipping our usual Friday get-together, but Luke’s father has been in hospital for an operation on his knee, he was discharged today and Luke’s mother can’t manage him on her own at home. Besides leaving me, the other reason she’s concerned about having to visit Luke’s parents is that she wanted to be here for Simon’s release. But Luke put his foot down, he said she had to put their family first. I don’t ask where Simon is going to be living. I don’t ask anything about him, which I know bothers Connie.

  ‘So you are going ahead with this divorce?’ she asks tentatively.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, we can talk about that more when I get back,’ she says, clearly convinced she can persuade me to do differently. ‘We’ve the whole summer holidays stretching out in front of us.’ I can hear the optimism in her voice. Connie is still hopeful for a happy ending. Ignorance truly is bliss. ‘We’ll be back in a couple of days. Pick up as usual next Friday, yes?’

  ‘Right,’ I hope she can’t hear the lie. This time next week, I don’t even know where we will be living.

  I haven’t drawn Lucy’s attention to the fact I’m on my own tonight, because if she thinks I’m alone, she’s bound to come around and I want to spend some time reading the thank you cards that I’ve received before I pack our suitcases and put everything in place. I haven’t heard from Daryll all week. Each day that he doesn’t turn up at my door is a blessing, and yet it’s like being stretched on a rack, torture. The longer he is away, the more likely it is that he’ll reappear.

  I pack one medium and one small sized pull-along suitcase, plus two backpacks. Millie and I should be able to manage those between us. I’ve told Millie we are going on holiday, which she isn’t happy about.

  ‘But what about Eric?’

  ‘I thought we’d take him to Rose’s and ask her to look after him whilst we are away.’

  Millie is, as usual, holding the kitten. He’s nestled into her chest and she’s stroking his back. He’s a sweet and placid thing, quite accepting of her constant handling.

  ‘Oh, look at this, what a scene. The absolute epitome of cute.’ I jolt as I hear Daryll’s voice, so close. ‘I let myself in the back door,’ he explains. ‘It was unlocked. You ought to be more security conscious, Daisy.’

  Is he tormenting me? He must know the only person I really need to keep out is him. It is only 6 p.m. on a summer evening, Millie and I are always popping out to our small garden; it hadn’t crossed my mind to lock the door yet. Now I’m furious with myself.

  Daryll walks towards Millie and strokes the kitten she’s holding. ‘So, Millie, how are you and Eric getting along?’

  ‘I love him,’ she gushes, with no reserve.

  ‘Did I get you the best present ever?’ Daryll asks, fishing.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Millie beams.

  ‘Can I hold him for a bit?’ Daryll holds out his hands.

  Millie relinquishes her pet even though I can see she’d rather not; she’s extremely polite. She gets that from me and I worry what it will cost her in the future. Do we still live in a world where being polite keeps order, or does it just leave you vulnerable? Daryll sits down in the armchair with the tiny kitten on his lap. He’s tickling the cat behind his ears. Eric is only about seven weeks old and looks small enough in Millie’s hands; in Daryll’s he looks like a toy.

  ‘Fix me a drink, will you, Daisy?’ It’s not really a question. I prepare Daryll a gin and tonic and present it to him like a 1950s housewife. Millie is sat at his feet, looking longingly at Eric, but Daryll seems oblivious to her desire and continues to pet the kitten himself. I don’t like her being in the same room as Daryll. Although, so far, her presence has meant I’m safer, I feel she is not.

  ‘Haven’t you got something you need to be getting on with?’ I say to Millie. It’s a pretty useless comment as she’s too young to understand the hint and needs me to give her a specific instruction. As it’s the end of term I can’t suggest homework and as Daryll’s holding the kitten, I can’t imagine she’ll want to leave the room. I’m not thinking carefully.

  She replies, ‘I thought you’d done all the packing.’

  I freeze; how stupid of me! I should have told her that our going away was a secret. Daryll keeps caressing the cat, seemingly unperturbed, unconcerned. But then he asks, ‘Why are you packing, Millie?’ His voice is calm but sends a splinter of ice through me.

  ‘We’re going on holiday,’ she replies.

  ‘Really, where?’

  ‘Hamburger. No, Hamburg. I just remember its name because I think of burgers,’ she says innocently. Oh no, why did I tell her where we were going? Now he will have a lead once he discovers we’ve migrated. I’d only revealed our destination because she kept picking out bikinis and sparkly tops, insisting I put those in the case. I told her it wasn’t necessarily going to be hot where we were going. Of course she was curious.

  ‘And what’s in Hamburg?’ Daryll asks, this time he stares directly at me.

  ‘Churches and art galleries,’ replies Millie, rolling her eyes. ‘I don’t know why we can’t go somewhere sunny with a beach, like Spain or California. That’s where India is going. Cal. I. Forn. I. A. That’s how she says it.’ As Millie prattles, Daryll continues to glare at me.

  ‘You never mentioned you were going on holiday.’

  ‘Just for a few days, we’ll be back before you know it.’ His eyes drift towards the suitcases that I’ve stored near the table. Why did I bring them downstairs? I should have hidden them. There was always a risk he’d appear, but I’d been hoping he wouldn’t.

  ‘You seem to have packed a lot for just a few days. I don’t like you making decisions without consulting me, Daisy,’ he snaps. ‘I have plans for us this weekend. We’re a family now. We should go on a family holiday.’

  Millie looks from Daryll to me. He is not family and she knows it. He isn’t making sense to her. She senses the tension, his anger and maybe the threat of him. She sees I am speechless and so, adorable girl that she is, she tries to fill in the gap, say something that pleases him.

  ‘I didn’t really want to go. I was worried about what we should do with Eric.’

  It happens in a flash. I hear it before I understand or even see it. The kitten smashes against the wall. A thud and then a yelp. He slides down the wall and drops to the floor, leaving a heartbreaking trail of blood smeared from where he made impact all the way to where he dropped. Millie screams.

  ‘Run, Millie!’ I yell. But Daryll is already on his feet. He leapt up to fling the kitten. He heads for the back door and locks it, pockets the key. He grins at me. Cold. The front door is locked and has a chain on; we’d never get out. ‘Upstairs bathroom. Lock the door,’ I yell. Millie charges out of the room, sobbing, casting a quick disbelieving look at Eric, who is lying broken and still. ‘Run!’ I scream again. Daryll lunges at us. I throw myself between him and her. She lumbers up the stairs, with all the speed her limp allows. His fingers grab at the ends of her hair but with me acting as a barrier, she gets away. He turns to me and punches me in the face. The pain of the impact is excruciating; hurt and fright invade my mind. He then shoves me backwards with such violence that I can’t control my limbs. I crumple on the floor.

  ‘You are going to have a black eye on all your holiday photos. Shame,’ he sneers, grasping my hair and pulling me towards the sofa.

  52

  Chapter 52, Simon

  Saturday, 13th July 2019

  He was released at eight in the morning. It seemed unnecessarily early, the entire day stretched out in front of him, taunting him. Shouldn’t he just be delighted? He took a deep breath, took in the damp air, the traffic fumes. This was what his freedom smelt like. It was raining. In his mind he’d imagined the sun would be shining the day he was released. It had been hot all week. The men inside had smelt worse than usual. He knew that Dais
y and Millie had broken up from school yesterday, he imagined her making wry jokes about it being typical that the weather had broken now the kids were on holiday. She had made the same observation over many years.

  He stood outside the prison, hands in his pockets. Not carrying a cardboard box. There was nothing he wanted to bring with him. The few, meagre possessions he had collected over the years he had left for Leon. Some writing paper, some stamps, a couple of books, it wasn’t much but it was all he had. Simon had not been able to say goodbye to Leon, who had another two days to endure in solitary. He wouldn’t be able to visit him either, it was a condition of his licence. He would write. He would send money orders so that Leon could buy newspapers and chocolate, it was the least he could do.

  Lucy tooted her horn and waved at him. Gratefully he ran towards her car. Lucy had always had nice things, impressive cars with smart interiors, he remembered that, but as he slipped into the leather seat he felt overwhelmed by the luxury, the cleanliness. He felt grubby, inadequate and judged. He pulled on his seatbelt. It caught, jarred. It was embarrassing. He wanted things to go smoothly. He repeatedly tugged at the belt.

  ‘Hello, long time no see,’ Lucy said with a grin.

  Simon tried to smile back. The seatbelt finally cooperated. It was a relief. Something. Lucy started the engine. Initially he’d been disappointed to hear that Connie couldn’t pick him up, although not surprised when she also revealed that Luke had vetoed her idea about him staying with them. He hadn’t imagined Lucy would come forward and provide not only the lift, but also an offer of a home, an address he could have approved by the authorities. He hadn’t imagined anyone would. He was grateful, he just didn’t know how to show it. For three years he’d been careful to supress all emotions: gratitude, fear, happiness, hope – they all just left you vulnerable inside. Anywhere really, he thought grimly.

  ‘It’s very kind of you to do this,’ he muttered. An understatement. He was awash with appreciation and embarrassment. He didn’t want to feel the ignominy of being beholden but feared he would for a long time, if he was lucky enough that kindness came his way. And if it didn’t? Then he’d feel livid, disappointed. He couldn’t win. He was doomed to a life of shame or anger. Was that the truth of coming out of prison? Was it now impossible to win at life?