One More Lie

by Amy Lloyd

I go back inside, shivering, and plug my phone in.

  I’m waiting for a call, I text him, can I talk to you tomorrow?

  Have a think about where you want me to take you for our date!! he says. Then: Thinking bout you. Send a pic???

  Goodnight, I text.

  Harsh!!! he says. Thankfully he doesn’t text again.

  I wait and wait for Sean to call. I fight sleep, I play the radio and try hard to focus on the words. Worry and fear start to creep in, wondering if he’s been arrested, if the police know we’ve been talking, if they are coming for me next. Eventually I tell myself I can rest my eyes. I turn the volume up high on my phone so it will wake me if he calls. When he calls. He will call. I pull the covers over me, staying in my clothes in case I need to go out on to the fire escape later. I start to fall asleep, thinking of Sean, missing him, wondering if he is thinking of me.

  28

  Him: Now

  Lately I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I watch the time I’m supposed to call her come and go. I light another joint, hoping this will be the one that chills me out like it used to, but ever since I hit that bong at Slimy’s with the new guy’s weed it just makes my heart race. Mad paranoia – it’s like someone flipped a fucking switch. I had figured it was just the bad atmosphere over at Slimy’s flat, the skeezy new guy and his staring and his thin-lipped fucking smile. But the dread has followed me home.

  I spent all day inside with the curtains drawn, jumpy and agitated. Every time my phone buzzed it felt like a physical attack, so I turned it on to silent, but even the light from the screen felt sinister.

  And now I feel dirty, filthy. Hell has started to seem real and I feel like I belong there. What was I thinking, fucking with her life like that? Fucking with Isherwood? I try to tell myself that I hadn’t expected it to be that easy. Who the fuck leaves Find My iPhone on when they lend it to a fucking patient? But deep down I knew Isherwood was a mess right now. Baby brain, she calls it in her emails. Baby Iris is up all night, not settling well. Isherwood worries that the baby isn’t bonding. She’s also constantly sick, back and forth to the doctor, rashes, coughs, temperatures, sickness, diarrhoea. By the time I finish reading the emails I feel knackered enough myself. No wonder she’s not thinking straight.

  The thing that gets me about Isherwood is this fucking martyr act. Like she’s the Patron Saint of Lost Children. Iris is a handful but she’s worth it, she says in one of her long, whining emails where she eventually pats herself on the back for being so kind. Well, what about me? I was a lost child. The exact fucking same as her number-one patient. Somehow it was OK to sacrifice me for the sake of the pretty little girl with the wet eyelashes and the plaits tied with pink bands. It was obviously the boy, too big for his age, the one with the angry stare and the bad attitude. It must have been all his fault. Look, he doesn’t even cry, a monster.

  Not that Isherwood’s testimony would have made a difference to my sentence; the damage was already done. But the picture it painted in the fucking papers will outlive me. The painting stays vivid and present and I am the one left to twist and deform in the fucking attic.

  The joint fails to calm me down. Instead I hear the headlines again, the chanting and the shouting outside the court. I feel eleven again; I remember how when they spoke to me I didn’t understand half the shit they said.

  I turn on the television but the voices coming from the screen just make it worse. I’m hungry but the fridge is empty, I’m too paranoid to go out, and there’s not enough in my bank account to order in. I remember something I read after my last sentencing: ‘He’s had his chance,’ someone said in the comments under the article about my arrest. ‘Give them his real identity in prison and let them deal with it. Dead in a week, job done. Fucking sicko.’

  Most people don’t know what it’s like to be hated like that, by people you can’t see, people you’ve never met. People who look fucking normal, like teachers and single mums and brickies and admin staff. They could be anyone and anywhere and they hate you so much they wish you were dead. It’s like they stored up everything unfair that ever happened to them, everything that ever made them miserable and angry and scared, and they saw in you a target to take it out on. All of that shit pointed in laser-beam, red-hot hatred right at your chest and it makes it OK for them to be that full of bad energy, to feel all this murderous anger, because you are hated by everyone.

  Almost no one knows what it’s like to be the target, to feel like someone just looked at you a bit too long, like they’ve seen inside you and they know who you are, what you are. It’s the way the new guy looked at me, at Slimy’s. Only one other person would understand what I mean but I’m so fucked up I can’t even call her. I want to tell her to ignore what I said, to forget about Find My Phone and getting her tag removed. We only have each other and I shouldn’t have ruined it. I am not me, I want to tell her. Not right now.

  Soon the dread is so totally overwhelming that I find myself reaching for the pills that I sell. I hate the dead-eyed people I sell to but I need to restore some fucking equilibrium as soon as possible. I take two and swallow them with lukewarm water, curl up on the sofa and watch the muted television.

  Tomorrow, I think, drifting off. I will call her tomorrow, and everything will be better then.

  29

  Her: Then

  Sean takes off his royal blue school jumper and drags it on the floor behind him.

  ‘Won’t you get in trouble for making it dirty?’ I ask. Auntie Fay bought me brand-new school uniform when I turned eight and said it had to last me until I was at least ten so I would have to be careful not to grow too much or to ruin it. It still has to last me another year and a half.

  ‘Nah, he doesn’t give a shit,’ Sean says.

  ‘You shouldn’t swear all the time,’ I tell him.

  ‘So-rry,’ he says. He turns and walks backwards so I can see him make a face. ‘Didn’t mean to upset you, princess.’

  ‘I’m not a princess,’ I say.

  ‘You’re a delicate little flower,’ he says in a silly voice. I laugh. ‘I won’t swear, little Petal!’

  ‘Can we watch anything we want?’ I ask. I’ve already asked this but I can’t believe it so I ask again.

  ‘Yes!’ he says. ‘Anything in the whole shop.’

  My heart is going faster because I haven’t even been to the video shop since Mum died. Auntie Fay never rents anything and all my videos melted when the house burned down.

  ‘Is it amazing living in a video shop?’ I ask.

  Sean shrugs. ‘We don’t live in the video shop,’ he says, putting his tongue in his lower lip and making a noise. ‘We live upstairs, in the flat.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say.

  ‘But my dad runs it, so we can just get any video from downstairs whenever we want.’

  We get to the precinct and Sean pushes open the door of the video shop. The door makes a bleep-blop noise whenever it opens and the sound makes me remember Mum and the chips going soggy in the newspaper and I feel dizzy.

  ‘I’ll let you choose the video,’ he says, and he grabs my wrist and takes me into the video shop.

  Bleep-blop. It makes my hair feel funny and my throat goes dry.

  ‘Seany,’ the man behind the counter says.

  ‘Dad, can we watch a film?’ Sean says.

  Sean’s dad looks at me like he’s only just noticed me. Sean still has my wrist in his hand and I move behind him. His dad is big, with dark hair that looks like it needs a good brush and lines in his face that make him look angry.

  ‘She’s a bit young, isn’t she, mate?’ he says, looking back at Sean.

  ‘No, because she’s only in the year below me.’

  ‘Does your mum know you’re here?’ Sean’s dad asks me.

  ‘She doesn’t have a mum,’ Sean says.

  ‘Where do you live then, sweetheart?’ he says. I shrink a little bit more behind Sean. ‘Does she talk?’

  ‘She lives down the nice end,’ Sean say
s. ‘With her aunt.’

  ‘And who’s your aunt?’ Sean’s dad asks me. Sean starts to answer but his dad shushes him.

  ‘Um. Fay,’ I say.

  ‘Fay who?’ his dad asks.

  ‘Fay Patterson.’

  ‘Oh Christ. I hope you’re allowed out here because I’m not getting on Fay Patterson’s bad side. I’ve got enough bloody problems without any of that. Does she know you’re here?’

  Sean squeezes my wrist and I nod.

  ‘She has to go back for tea but can she just stay until then?’ Sean asks.

  His dad rubs his face with his hands and sighs.

  ‘If your aunt Fay is happy, I’m happy. Just don’t get me into any trouble,’ his dad says. ‘Go on then, get something quick and bugger off upstairs.’

  Sean pulls me to the back of the shop and tells me to choose something. I look around but we’re in the wrong bit and none of the good films are here. I try not to look at the horror shelves as I walk past but I peek because I can’t help it and I see a face with no skin, the mouth open like it’s screaming at me, and have to put my hand up to block it out.

  On the good shelves all the videos are colourful and people don’t scream from them, they smile. I choose the film and hold it out to Sean.

  ‘That’s for babies!’ he says. I’ve already seen An American Tail but I love it. I didn’t know it was for babies. I pick up E.T. instead but Sean puts it back. ‘Everything here is for babies!’ he says. He runs off and comes back with a film called First Blood. ‘This,’ he says.

  ‘You said I could choose this time,’ I say, and I feel my lip wobbling. ‘I don’t want to watch a scary film.’

  ‘But it’s not scary!’

  ‘It says blood on it,’ I say. I have to wipe my eyes because I’m crying.

  ‘But it isn’t scary!’ he says.

  ‘Oi,’ his dad shouts from the back of the shop. ‘What are you whining about? Come here, the pair of you.’

  We go to the till and I cry more because I don’t want to be told off.

  ‘What have you done to her?’ Sean’s dad says.

  ‘Nothing!’ Sean says.

  ‘Don’t shout at me,’ his dad shouts.

  ‘I wasn’t!’ Sean shouts back. I cry harder.

  ‘You’ve brought her here and she’s your guest so let her choose whatever she wants to watch, or she can go home and you won’t have friends over again.’

  Sean screws up his face to stop the tears.

  ‘Oh no,’ his dad says. ‘Is he going to start crying now?’

  ‘No!’ Sean says. He balls his fists.

  ‘Did the precious little man not get his own way?’ Sean’s dad does a silly voice I’ve never heard a grown-up do before. ‘Princess Seany didn’t get his own way and now he’s going to start crying.’

  Sean’s dad comes around the counter and Sean tries to run away but his dad catches him before he can and puts him in a headlock and rubs his head.

  ‘Stop it!’ Sean says, his face turning bright red.

  ‘Fight back then, little man, fight back,’ his dad says. Sean wriggles free and slaps his dad on the arm. I cover my eyes. ‘Is that all you’ve got?’ His dad laughs. ‘Let the girl watch her film,’ he says, returning to his seat behind the counter. ‘You shouldn’t be watching that shit anyway.’

  ‘Well, I’ve already seen it a hundred times,’ Sean says. He swipes at his eyes, trying to get rid of the tears.

  ‘There we are then,’ his dad says. ‘No need to watch it again. Now bugger off upstairs and out the way.’

  Sean snatches the video box from my hands and goes into the back room behind the beaded curtain, which clicks and clacks behind him. I’m scared of Sean’s dad but he doesn’t even look at me when I go past him, as if he’s forgotten I’m here at all.

  The back room is full of videos without proper cases, shelves and shelves of them. Sean moves like he knows it all off by heart. I go to each section and look at the titles.

  ‘I found it!’ I say, pulling out one of the copies of An American Tail.

  ‘We’re not watching it,’ Sean says.

  ‘But your dad told you—’

  ‘Shut up!’ Sean hisses. ‘If you don’t like it you can go home.’

  I look at the video in my hand and it goes blurry behind my tears.

  ‘If you cry then you’re definitely going home,’ Sean says.

  I sniff and put the video back. I don’t want to go home, I want to stay with Sean. So I follow him upstairs and into his house. It isn’t a proper house because it doesn’t have stairs to go to bed or the bathroom and most of it is all one big room. There is a kitchen inside the living room and the only way you can tell where the kitchen starts and the living room ends is because the carpet stops and turns into lino.

  There is an ashtray on the table in front of the television and it smells bad. There’s a plate with a fork and knife sticking out of leftover food, like the person eating it just vanished into thin air in the middle of their dinner. The sink is full of dishes and there are stains everywhere on the carpet.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ I say. Suddenly I feel nervous, my tummy flutters, and I want to go back to Auntie Fay’s. ‘I think I need to go home for tea now.’

  ‘You only just got here,’ Sean says. ‘Here.’ He pulls a chair to the kitchen counter and climbs up to reach the higher shelves. From the top he pulls down a big Tupperware box full of biscuits: Pink Wafers, chocolate Bourbons, Hobnobs, KitKats, Caramel Wafers, Trios, Gold bars. Sean holds the box out to me. My hand floats over the top while I try to choose. ‘Take it!’ he snaps.

  ‘All of them?’ I ask.

  ‘Have as many as you want,’ he says, climbing down. From a lower cupboard he brings out crisps. I take a packet of Quavers. Then he takes a whole bottle of cherry pop out of the fridge and two mugs. I peer into the bottom of my mug when he passes it to me and it is stained all brown but he is already poking the bottle of cherry pop into my face and pouring it, the bubbles dancing on my wrist like the tiniest drops of rain.

  We take everything back into his bedroom, which is really messy, and when I see a pair of pants on the floor Sean goes bright red and kicks them under the bed.

  ‘I can’t believe you have a TV in your room!’ I say.

  Sean pushes the video into the bottom of the TV and the grey snow screen rolls into black. ‘I’ve always had it,’ he says.

  There are stickers on everything and writing and drawings all over the walls where the paper is peeling off.

  ‘Are you allowed to draw on the walls?’ I ask. ‘Auntie Fay would kill me.’

  ‘My dad doesn’t give a shit,’ Sean says.

  I eat three biscuits and my crisps and drink all of my cherry pop in one go. I burp. Sean laughs. I laugh. Sean pours me more.

  ‘You look like you’re wearing lipstick,’ I say. Sean makes a kissy face at me. I shriek. When he smiles the pink at the corners of his mouth curves up like the Joker in Batman.

  The film is boring; it’s all talking.

  ‘It gets good!’ Sean says. He crawls across the bed to fast-forward it. When he presses play it is too loud and I cover my ears. There is screaming and blood but it isn’t scary, just noisy and boring. Sean fast-forwards again and then rewinds the same bit twice.

  ‘You don’t watch things properly,’ I say. My stomach hurts and I feel sick. I put the chocolate bar I’m eating down because I can’t finish it.

  It’s even darker in the room now so I know the sun is going down and I will be in trouble if I’m not home before it’s dark.

  ‘I should go home now,’ I say.

  ‘No,’ Sean says, sitting up. ‘If you stay we can watch whatever you want. Honest!’ His face looks all twisted up with worry.

  ‘I can’t,’ I say. I feel bad, like I am being stretched like a tug-of-war.

  ‘Fine,’ he says. He slumps back and hits his head hard against the wall. ‘Ow!’ He curls up into a ball and holds his head.

  ‘Are you
OK?’ I ask. I feel confused. ‘Are you crying?’

  He springs up. ‘No, I’m not crying! Just fuck off if you want to go home so much! Go on!’

  ‘I’ll get in trouble,’ I say. ‘I have to go. I don’t want to …’

  I’m kind of lying because Sean’s house is weird and I don’t really want to stay but I don’t want to be rude and hurt his feelings.

  ‘I can come back tomorrow?’ I say.

  ‘Really?’ he says. He won’t look at me, instead he picks at the edge of a football sticker on the side of his chest of drawers.

  ‘I need to ask Auntie Fay,’ I say, ‘but maybe you could come to mine for tea?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he mumbles. ‘OK. Maybe.’

  ‘So will I see you in school?’ I ask.

  Sean nods.

  ‘See you tomorrow,’ I say, leaving Sean leaning against the messy walls of his room, peeling the stickers and flicking the bits of paper into the clutter on the carpet. On my way out his dad doesn’t look up from his newspaper at the counter. I used to think that living in the video shop would be the best thing ever but now I don’t know any more. Even though I know Auntie Fay will go mad with me when I get in I feel glad I’m not there any more.

  30

  Her: Now

  It’s cold in my room because I slept with the window open, ready to climb out when Sean called. He didn’t call. Still, I lie in bed with the covers pulled tightly around me, wondering if I will miss the call if I go to take a shower. Eventually I can wait no more and get up. I keep the phone resting on the edge of the sink in the bathroom and a few times I think I hear it ring and step out, cold and wet and naked, feeling embarrassed even though no one can see me. He doesn’t call.

  I dress and sneak out of the building, avoiding the other women because I don’t have the energy to pretend I am OK. Dr Isherwood’s dot is at the office and I think about calling her and asking to talk but I don’t know what I would say. Then I think I don’t want to be a burden, not if she is sick.