Half-truths & White Lies

by Jane Davis

  A picture of my father looking pale outside the church, suited and booted, a cigarette in hand. A picture of him frowning at his watch. A picture of him leaning on a wall for support. Leaning on Uncle Pete for support.

  A picture of an Austin-Healey 3000 with tin cans attached to the back, the significance of his final choice of car made clear.

  Nineteen eighty. I had to check that a photo of a toddler shown with my mother, obviously pregnant, was me.

  'She had a stillborn child,' Uncle Pete explained, clearly distraught. 'It broke her heart. I meant to take that photo out of the album, but it must have slipped my mind.' I could tell that he wanted the photograph back, so I gently removed it from the photo corners. Immediately, he covered it protectively with both hands and, as soon as he thought that I wasn't looking, he stowed it in the inside pocket of his suit.

  I looked at him, frowning, for an explanation.

  'She wouldn't talk about it. Never. Not to anyone.' I could tell that he was uncomfortable with the subject, turning his face away. 'Couldn't talk about it. It was just too painful.'

  I might have had a brother or a sister. My thoughts were racing.

  'He would have been your brother. The son that your father was so desperate for.' He sighed heavily. 'Didn't you ever wonder why you had to spend your Saturdays polishing his car and learning the basics of mechanics?'

  'Keep me quiet?' I tried to contribute through a mouth that would not yet move.

  'He could have taken you to play on the swings and slides like the other dads. But then you wouldn't know when you are getting ripped off by a garage. Or the year that the Austin-Healey 3000 was launched.'

  I flicked backwards through the pages to the photograph of the wedding car.

  'I know what you're going to ask.' He almost allowed himself a laugh. In retrospect I should have noticed that it was tinged with bitterness. 'And yes. It was the very same car. He managed to track down the one they hired on their wedding day.'

  'Romantic.' I struggled with the three syllables.

  'Well, it turns out it wasn't one of Tom's better ideas!' he blurted out, his face turning red, taking me by surprise. 'The two people I loved the most in this world wiped out in an instant.'

  As my eyes filled, he pawed for my hand. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking.'

  Chapter Five

  The hospital gave me a protective atmosphere to view my new predicament from. Staff fussed round me kindly. A steady stream of cautious visitors approached my bed with their offers of 'If there's anything I can do' and updates of what was happening in the outside world. Not my world, which was somehow out of bounds, but the larger world of celebrity gossip, soaps, weather conditions and local scandals.

  There were the neighbours.

  'Have they given you a television, love? No! Well, you won't have seen "Corrie" for two weeks! I'd better bring you up to date.'

  'Well, you may as well be in here. It's done nothing but rain.' As if the weather would have been my greatest concern.

  'Now, you know that one who was on Friends . . . what's her name?'

  'I've brought you a copy of OK! I know what it's like when you're in hospital. You don't have any idea what's going on.' Ah, yes! The bible for the modern world. How could I have managed without it?

  'I ran into Mrs B. in the post office and she said . . .' As if I should know who Mrs B. was or prize her opinion highly.

  'Anyway, I brought you some homemade cake,' one said with a wink and a glance over her shoulder, as if smuggling contraband. 'I know you won't be eating right.' Well, that's all the main food categories covered, then.

  'I brought you some decent shampoo,' one well-wisher whispered, obviously concerned that I might be letting myself go to rack and ruin. 'I don't know what they have you using here.' Under my bandages, my hair hadn't seen so much as a comb for a fortnight.

  There were friends who came in pairs, relying on safety in numbers.

  'So when you get out we'll have to get that on DVD.'

  'You missed a great party at Diane's.' What a shame. I'm sure I would have been the life and soul.

  'We're all thinking of going for a spa day at Annabelle's in April.' Fantastic. I'd been losing sleep over the state of my cellulite.

  There was my boss from Evans Textiles. That was one thing I inherited from my mother: her love of dressmaking and clothes. She didn't think that she was good enough to make a living out of it but, with only a fraction of her talent, I had made a start designing dress patterns.

  'We've only just found out what happened. Nobody thought to let us know.' She looked momentarily embarrassed. Normally my parents would have phoned if I was going to be off. 'Now, there's no pressure but we'd love to see you back as soon as you feel you're ready. It can be good to have something to focus on at a time like this and to get back into some sort of routine.'

  I should have been grateful. Believe it or not, some close friends seemed unable – or unwilling – to track me down. And there was a bloke I had been on a few dates with. Quite promising too. Unfortunately he thought that I wasn't returning his calls. He had moved on by the time I finally caught up with him. He was gutted, or so he said, but obviously not enough to have left a suitable mourning period, if you'll pardon the expression.

  Then, just when I thought I couldn't face any more small talk, there was my mother's sister, Aunty Faye, in all her grief and grim reality. Two years younger than my mother, she had managed to avoid much in the way of family responsibility and now it had all landed squarely on her plate. She hadn't been able to sleep since seeing the bodies. Every time she closed her eyes. Shocking. Thank God I could remember them as they were. She had taken Nana in, although it really wasn't very convenient and she couldn't see any way of keeping her in the long term.

  I had always admired Aunty Faye's independence and impulsiveness, even though my mother said she couldn't make the smallest decision on her own. She had married a man she met on a trekking holiday in Peru and divorced him when he turned into a couch potato, as if that was a breach of contract. She kept a small, untidy flat with a minuscule kitchen because she was never in anyway. She was the sort of woman who owned a fridge magnet that said 'A tidy house is the sign of a wasted life' and used it as a mantra. She went to yoga, Pilates, reflexology, drumming and chanting to get rid of her demons, but they invariably caught up with her at the weekends when she succumbed to a few gin and tonics and a shopping habit that propped up the national economy. She also had a penchant for outrageous flirting with waiters who were young enough to be the sons that she didn't have.

  She did contract work in IT because she didn't want to feel that anyone owned her or that she owed anyone anything. She always said her soul was not for sale. And now she was saddled with her ageing mother, who had always preferred Laura, the pretty one, and who never approved of anything she did.

  As a teenager, Faye had developed a policy of deliberately making choices that her mother disapproved of because, even if she tried really hard, the end result was exactly the same. She was a punk when my mother looked like a fifties film star. She was artistic while my mother was practical. She borrowed money while my mother contributed to the household bills. In fact, I would learn, the only things that my mother ever did to register on my grandmother's grand scale of disapproval stemmed from her bringing home Tom Fellows, a long-haired, leather-clad would-be rock star.

  'Mark my words,' Nana had declared, denting his confidence, 'you'll never support a family on money earned with that guitar.'

  While my mother was a listener, Aunty Faye was the sort of woman who would look you in the eye and ask meaningfully, 'And how are you?' before instantly launching into a monologue on all of her latest escapades. My father described her as a clockwork toy. 'Wind her up and she can entertain herself for hours.'

  'So, don't wind her up then!' my mother would scold.

  But he found Faye highly amusing and recognized that, despite their many differences, the sisters loved ea
ch other dearly and were fiercely loyal. Plus, he never stopped thanking his lucky stars that he got the sane one.

  'It's bizarre, how two people who were brought up together can be so different,' he would confide in me. 'And neither of them is like their mother, thank the Lord. How can that be?'

  But I had no experience of having sisters or brothers, alike or not. I could only enjoy his amusement.

  'So, they're taking care of you?' Aunty Faye asked me. 'You know, I can't stand hospitals. Something about the smell of them. Do they clean this place properly? I mean, have you actually seen them polish the floors? You hear such dreadful things about people coming in for a routine procedure and going home with a super-bug.' She paused momentarily to sneeze, three precise sneezes, without covering her face or using a tissue. 'See what I mean? I think I'm coming down with something already. I'll have to grab some echinacea on the way home and dose myself up. It's not like I can afford to be ill at the moment. There's just too much to do. Everyone is relying on me. Not that I want Mum to get too settled in the spare room. I've explained to her that her social worker is trying to find her a permanent place, but she doesn't understand that she can't go home on her own. And it's so difficult when she can't remember where she is or what has happened when she wakes up in the morning. I don't think she's been to my place more than half a dozen times before. She can't remember where the bathroom is in the night so she's been wetting herself, and she's so embarrassed that she tries to hide the evidence in the most peculiar places. It's very difficult for me to come to terms with everything myself when she wakes up in the night and calls out for Laura. Can you imagine? And the look of disappointment she gives me when I go in and say, "It's me, Mum. I'm here now. It's Faye." It's like she resents me for being alive. But you know how difficult she can be. Where are the tissues?' And she blew her nose noisily, leaving the tissue on the side table for the hospital cleaners, with their well-known lack of regard for hygiene, to dispose of.

  Actually, I had no idea how difficult Nana could be. I was the treasured only child of her much-loved elder daughter, spoilt from the moment I was born. There had been occasional undercurrents at family get-togethers, in the same way that my father and Nana didn't always see eye to eye. But who could expect people living under the same roof to get on all of the time? It just wasn't possible.

  'Now that her mind is wandering, I really think she needs proper medical care. And with the best will in the world, even if I had the room, I can't afford to give up work to look after her. Actually, I don't know if we can afford it without selling her house.'

  'I thought Nana sold her house years ago,' I said naively.

  'Oh, my parents' house. Yes, Andrea' – Aunty Faye patted my arm – 'but you must know that she owns the lion's share of yours. You don't think your parents could have afforded it otherwise! It was on the understanding that Mum would live with your parents, so she was investing in her own future. That was how she explained it to me at the time. I think it's only right that if money is needed to look after her, it comes from the proceeds of the house. We can't let her down now.'

  'I didn't know . . .' I mumbled pathetically. I had not contemplated the prospect of being homeless on top of everything else, but there was so much that I had to learn.

  'Oh, but you hadn't thought of staying there?' My aunt registered surprise when she saw my face. 'You can't possibly want to be there on your own. Knocking round in a big place like that? I've no idea how much you earn, but the bills alone would cost an arm and a leg. One person wouldn't be able to keep it. No, a fresh start is what you're going to need.'

  I felt completely out of my depth. 'I haven't been able to face thinking about it yet.'

  'Of course.' She patted my arm absently again. 'It's far too early yet. That was tactless of me. It's just that I feel that I have to think of everything at the moment. Your grandmother. Funeral arrangements. The police. Statements. Solicitors. That dreadful man.' She brought her forehead to rest on one hand. I waited for her to elaborate, but her eyes came to rest on the photo album.

  'What's this?' She helped herself without waiting to be asked.

  'It's Uncle Pete's photo album. He gave it to me.'

  'That dreadful man,' she repeated absently, opening the covers.

  'Uncle Pete?' I asked.

  'My God!' She was turning pages more rapidly now, her search becoming more frantic.

  'Is anything wrong?' I was worried at the damage she was causing as I watched photos trying to escape from their mountings.

  'It's like he's edited me out.' She was wide-eyed with disbelief. 'It's as if I was never there!'

  It was true that although it was clear there had been more people present at several of the occasions, the photos chosen for the album had centred entirely on the three of them.

  'Well, you tell me!' She thrust the album in my direction before folding her arms. 'Where am I?'

  'I'm not sure where I should be looking.' I was confused. I had studied the album carefully and was almost certain that I would have recognized a photo of my aunt if there had been one.

  She gathered her possessions together, snatching at her handbag and holding on to it with both hands. 'It's like he's completely erased my memory. As if I wasn't part of it at all.'

  'I'm sure it's not deliberate,' I foolishly tried to suggest.

  'Don't try to pretend that he's put this together for you now as a keepsake or something!' She was buttoning her coat. 'I can even guess at the pictures that he's removed. It's like he's rewritten our history! What right does he think he has?'

  She turned and left with the eyes of the entire ward following her, turning back to add, 'You'd better try and keep him out of my way at the funeral!' They all pretended to be minding their own business.

  'Can you try to keep it down in here?' One of the sisters quietly tried to take my aunt's arm and direct her to the door. 'There are patients trying to rest . . .'

  She was elbowed away for her efforts. 'God help him if I come face to face with him, Andrea,' was Aunty Faye's parting shot.

  'He'll need it,' an elderly lady added after the door had swung shut, and there was laughter of polite relief as calm was restored.

  'Family!' my neighbour joked. 'You can't choose 'em. Is that your mother?'

  I shook my head and made the effort to smile. 'No.'

  'Just as well, eh? That'd do your head in, non-stop like that. Does she ever stop to draw breath? You're closely related, though. I can see the likeness.'

  Chapter Six

  When it was time to leave the sanctuary of the hospital, I did so with the minimum of fuss. I didn't want to alienate Aunty Faye by asking Uncle Pete for a lift, even though he had been my most frequent visitor. I caught the 164 to the top of my road and approached the house from the opposite pavement, ready to walk past and round the block if I couldn't face it. I almost walked past by mistake and had to double back.

  Half a dozen wilted bunches of flowers were propped up against the wall, the wording of the carefully written cards smudged by tears and rain. Laura and Tom. Miss you. Words cannot express. Always valued your friendship. Not just a sister. Faded rose petals looked as fragile as tissue paper. The front garden was overgrown and the glass of the door was clumsily boarded. No one had thought to tell me that there had been no option but to break in to rescue Nana, and I presumed there had been a burglary. I suppose that they didn't want me to feel guilty about having left her on her own. I half expected that my keys wouldn't work in the lock, but I didn't have trouble opening the door the first half-inch. It was only then that it became wedged against something on the inside. I launched an unsuccessful attack with my shoulder, my frustration growing by the minute, before bending down to try and reach under the door to move whatever was blocking the way.

  I became aware of onlookers, neighbours who had appeared to see who was breaking the door down this time. Neighbours who were a little afraid to approach when they saw it was me.

  'Out of the way,' bu
stled Lydia from next door but one. 'Coming through! You're no good to her just gawping. Andrea, love, you're home.' She held my hands in hers momentarily, this brassy woman I only knew in passing but had a reputation for being the local busybody. I could have buried my face in her jacket with gratitude. 'I wanted to come and see you, but I'm afraid I don't do hospitals. They give me the willies. And now this is all my fault. I've spent the last couple of weeks pushing post through the letter box so it didn't look like the house was empty. You can't be too careful, can you? There's been sacks full of the stuff. I'll get my Kevin to give you a hand. I'll just go and prise him off the sofa. You wait there. Won't be a mo.' And she took charge, nudging the bystanders away in the process and tutting, 'Haven't you lot got anything better to do than stand there catching flies?'

  Returning with her reluctant son, I could see that she'd had to push him all the way. He didn't like crowds and was obviously ill at ease.

  'Aren't you going to say something, Kevin?' She nudged him encouragingly.

  'Andrea.' He nodded at me, keeping his eyes on the path. I was grateful that he kept it short and returned his nod, my eyes similarly averted, knowing that he would have been embarrassed by anything more.

  'That's it, love,' Lydia approved, smiling and nodding.

  I couldn't remember the last time I had seen Kevin. He was not keen to exchange his natural habitat for the great outdoors, although he had been known to wander as far as our house on occasion to see what my dad was up to under one of his cars. That he called 'goin' for a walk'.