He lay back on the bed, his arms under his head and stared at the ceiling. He was in no rush to go downstairs. The chatter and laughter from the party downstairs filtered through the door, and he was about to drift off when there was a tap on the door. It had to be his mother. She walked straight in. He sat up and with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, said, ‘Do come in.’
‘Seb, your father saw you skulk upstairs. Why didn’t you stop to say hello?’
She had a little girl’s voice which didn’t quite match how she looked; a slim, middle-aged, stylish woman. She was wearing a black straight dress with very high heels, holding a drink in one hand. She was elegant and classy, but she’d always drunk too much and as a child he’d found that an embarrassment.
‘You’re drunk.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because you are and I should know. You sound petulant, you’re swaying and I can smell the alcohol from here, plus the fact your eyes are glassy.’
‘It’s a party, Seb. Don’t you have anything nice to say?’
‘Happy anniversary.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘What’s it look like I’m doing?’
‘I can tell you’re in a bad mood. I’m going.’
‘Please do. Where’s the old man?’
‘Downstairs. Talking business.’
‘Surprise, surprise.’ His mother continued staring at him as if she couldn’t quite focus.
‘Please go, Mother. I’ll be down later. By the way, did you invite Carole?’
‘Carole? Of course I did. She knows you’re coming. I’ll tell her you’re here. She was asking after you, and she wanted to know when you’d arrive. She… ’ Her voice dropped conspiratorially.
‘Mother, spare me.’
‘I was going to say… ’
He lay back on the bed, turned away, waited for her to leave the room and the door to close, then he got up, turned the key in the lock and fell asleep.
Ten minutes later, he was woken again. Someone was standing outside the door and softly calling his name. Through the blur of sleep, he recognised the voice: Carole, his mother’s best friend and his first lover.
‘Yes?’
‘Seb, it’s me, open the door. I have some bubbly for you.’
He got up, walked across and pulled open the door. ‘Christ, can’t I be left in peace!’ He stood looking at her. Fifteen years older, she was a dark blonde with sleepy green eyes and a permanently fixed mocking smile. Aged fifteen, he’d been crazy about her and he couldn’t get enough of her, but those times had gone. Now he reserved his infatuations for younger women. She was holding two glasses of champagne. She placed one of them on the floor and looked at him from under her long lashes.
‘I’ve brought this for you.’ He didn’t reply. ‘Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?’ He shrugged, turned and walked back to his bed. ‘I’ll take that as a yes. Let me get your drink.’ She retrieved the glass from where she’d left it on the floor and tottered into his room, placing the drink on his bedside table.
He leaned against the headboard. She was wearing a bright blue dress with a full skirt, a halter neck and very high heels. The dress suited her. She wasn’t bad for her age. He picked up the glass she’d brought him, took a sip, and watched her as she walked across to the window. She pulled the curtains across, put on the side lamp and sat down. She carefully hitched up her skirt, crossed her legs and sat, slipping her shoe on and off the one foot. It drew attention to her legs.
‘How are you Seb? How’s life treating you?’
‘Fine, and you?’
‘I’m fine too.’
‘Your husband?’
‘Just the same, fornicating around, but basically fine.’
‘The horse? No, don’t answer, let me guess. He’s fine too.’
‘He’s a she.’
‘Who cares. A horse is a horse.’
‘Why did you come tonight?’
‘For their anniversary, no other reason. It’s the right thing to do.’ He paused. ‘Not to see you, if that’s what you wanted me to say.’
She put her hands behind her head, lifted her hair away from her neck, and let it down again. ‘Flattery’s never been your bag, has it, Seb? But that’s your attraction. No sweet talk. Straight. You tell it like it is.’ Seb raised his eyebrows.
She stood up, walked over to him. ‘It’s two years since… ’
‘Yes, I can count too. You’re standing too close. Back off.’
‘You didn’t used to say that to me.’
‘Probably not. Times change.’
‘You’ve changed.’
‘You think so?’
She looked coy. ‘Come on, Seb. How about it? It’s been a while. They’re all downstairs. No one will know.’
Seb sighed and looked away. ‘What’s with your husband?’
‘He’s screwing a new girl at the stables. No time for me.’ She came across the room, sat on his bed, undid his shirt and ran one finger down his chest. ‘Come on, Seb. No one will know.’
He paused. ‘Okay. If that’s what you want. Go down and choose a bottle or two of whatever, and lock the door behind you.’
She smiled. ‘Then what? ‘
‘You know what. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it.’ He eyeballed her, unsmiling.
‘You’re a cynic.’
He stared intensely at her, ‘Do you know the definition of a cynic?’ He paused. ‘Probably not and furthermore, you couldn’t care less.’
She made no reply, shrugging in response. ‘You still like older women then?’
‘They make fewer demands. Usually.’
‘I taught you everything you know.’
‘You’re boring me and I’m about to fall asleep. Take the key, get some more drink, and like I said, lock the door behind you.’
She walked out. He got up, stripped off, lay back on the bed and promptly fell asleep. When he woke, she was sitting reading, and drinking champagne. She wore a skimpy white lace bra and pants, which showed off her tan. She was slim with a taut, toned body, not because she went to a gym but because she regularly rode. She wasn’t particularly desirable, but she knew how to work him, and they shared a history, and she could keep her mouth shut.
She looked up, saw he was awake, ‘I didn’t know you were interested in politics.’
‘What are you reading?’
’A leaflet, it’s about the anti-globalisation movements.’
‘They were scattered around Canary Wharf. I’m not interested. I picked one up, read it, and stuck it in my pocket, end of story. Are you planning to spend the night sitting in that chair?’
‘Don’t you want another drink?’
‘I was waiting for you to bring me one.’
She got up, filled his glass, put the glass on his bedside table and stood looking down at him. She smiled. He knew the routine. He sat up and pulled her pants off. She turned round. He undid her bra. She got onto his bed and against the background of music, laughter, and shouting, they had sex. It didn’t take long. Afterwards, she got dressed and turned to speak to him before she left, but he was already asleep.
— 2 —
He woke early, in his line of business, early starts were compulsory. At eight the markets opened and the bidding started. The house was quiet except for the muffled sound of a vacuum cleaner in the living room. He went downstairs, put his head round the door and glancing at the litter of empty glasses, introduced himself to the cleaner, before walking into the breakfast room. It hadn’t been his intention to miss the party. After Carole, he’d fallen into a deep sleep and consequently failed to wake and give the anniversary presents to his parents. He felt bad about that. His father was sure to have something to say. He let himself out of the house and walked down the drive towards his car, intending to r
etrieve their presents before starting his breakfast.
He’d chosen the presents with care, and as part of the store’s service, he’d asked for them to be wrapped. Each was a small work of art. For his mother, her favourite perfume, Gucci Premiere; for his father, a range of six single-malt whiskies; and for them both, tickets to the Royal Opera House. He placed the perfume and the tickets on the table, the whisky on the floor by his father’s usual chair, and began his breakfast – freshly squeezed orange juice, sugar and salt-free muesli, two slices of toast, thickly buttered, finished off with strong coffee. He stood up and stretched, reflecting as he did, that their dining room was like an upmarket boutique hotel.
He glanced at his watch, it was still only nine and predictably, there was no sign of his parents. Hanging around and waiting for them had always made him feel edgy. He had no idea when the party had finished last night, but it could be hours before they put in an appearance and they were sure to be hung over.
He walked across to the window and looked out over the lawns. The trees were on the turn, leaves were already falling and until the sun was higher, the air would feel cold. A familiar feeling of impatience, irritability, and argumentativeness swept over him. Seeing his parents had that effect on him. Invariably the atmosphere was oppressive and reminded him of his childhood and every time he visited, he’d vowed he’d never come again. But he always did.
He had to do something. Drive some place until lunchtime, so with luck, by the time he got back, his parents would be up and their hangovers would partially have worked through their system. His father with a hangover was even nastier than usual. He picked up his car keys, walked outside and climbed into his car. He put the keys in the ignition but didn’t drive off. Maybe he’d ring Ben and suggest an early game of squash.
He decided against it. He wasn’t in the right mood. He had to be in the right state of mind to play squash. He felt in a limbo, hovering between two worlds, each with a very different set of values and rules of engagement. He sat for a moment with the engine running, aware his life was about to change, and that he needed time and space to think through what he was about to get into. He wanted to drive away, go somewhere he wasn’t known.
Aldeburgh was near enough, he’d been taken there as a child and he’d liked it. At the very least, it would pass the time. He pulled out of the drive, put his foot down and taking the A12, drove his car hard until he reached the coast. He parked the car as near to the sea as he could get.
The weather was good that morning, the air warm, with only the faint stirring of wind. He took a deep breath. The smell of the sea had always evoked freedom and space. Lying ahead was the vast expanse of the North Sea, the water flat calm under a pale blue sky, streaked with long wisps of clouds. An empty beach, devoid of people, stretched out across the horizon. He began walking, his feet crunching in the shingle. He was conscious only of the sound of the ocean. It seemed to sigh, rhythmically, hypnotically, slowly, as it moved back and forth across the pebbles. Raising a hand as protection from the daylight’s glare, he walked along the shoreline, until he came to a halt in front of a sculpture.
It was incongruous. It stood alone, as if in opposition to the destructive force of the elements. Shaped like an open scallop shell, it seemed to hold strength, resistance and resilience; its presence demanding attention. Beaten by the waves, the wind and the sea, and made of steel, it was taller and wider than him Deep, uneven, indentations like irregular, rough scars had formed along its edges and written along the jagged edge were the words, ‘I hear those voices that will not be drowned.’ He read them twice. He closed his eyes, and running his hands along the surface, felt the hard contours of the metal holding the warmth of the sun. He leant his back against it and, closing his eyes, imagined he could absorb its power.
‘Do you like it?’
The voice of a child − disconcerted, he opened his eyes.
A young girl stood watching him. A couple of metres away, she was brown in the way children go brown, evenly and naturally. Eleven or twelve years of age, dressed in jeans, with a striped orange and navy tee shirt, serious, unsmiling, strands of hair straggling round her face from an untidy pony tail.
He smiled. ‘I didn’t see you.’
‘I was following you.’
‘Well, I didn’t see you… You’re up early.’
‘It’s not that early. I come earlier than this sometimes.’ She continued gazing at him.
‘Are you on your own?’
‘Yes. I come here when I’m fed up. The shell makes me feel better. It’s always here.’
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘You can sit on it, if you like. Would you like to sit on it?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Well, you have to go round to the other side to do that.’
‘Is that what you do?’
‘Yes, then I look at the sea and think. Is that what you were doing? Your eyes were closed. Were you thinking?’ He smiled. She continued, ‘I know the person who made it. Her name’s Maggie. She went to art school and that’s where I want to go. But it costs too much money. That’s what my mum said.’
‘So you like art?’
‘Yes, I’m good at it. My mum told me that. We used to colour in together. That was before… what’s your name?’
‘Seb, short for Sebastian. What’s yours?’
‘Imogen. I haven’t seen you before. You don’t live round here, do you?’
‘No.’
‘I can tell that. You don’t talk like people round here. You sound posh.’
‘Really?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I don’t mind. But I can see you like the shell. Some people don’t. If we walk along the beach, and look back at it, then it’s different.’
‘You seem to have studied it.’
‘Yes, I have studied it. That’s because it’s nice. Do you want to see what I mean?’ She stood waiting. He didn’t move. She said, ‘Are you coming?’
‘Where to?’
‘Along there, where you’ll see it’s different.’ She pointed her finger along the shoreline.
‘Okay.’
‘Come on then.’
He paused, disconcerted by her friendliness, but he had nothing better to do. They walked in silence. Every now and again she looked up at him as if to make sure he was still with her. Eventually, she came to a stop. She said, ‘Now look round. See what I mean? It’s different.’ She waited for his response.
He paused. ‘It looks different, but it’s still the same. It’s a different angle. It’s the same and different. You know, like people can be. Sometimes they’re sad, sometimes they’re angry and they seem different, but inside they’re the still the same person.’
She stared at him. ‘That’s like my dad. Sometimes he changes into someone different.’
‘Is that bad?’
‘I don’t like it and my mum didn’t either. But why does he do that?’
‘Well, I’m not sure. Maybe… maybe it’s the stresses of life, wearing away what they were like when they were first born. Look at this shell. Once it was new and shiny, but now the weather, the winds, rain, salt water have changed it.’
‘Oh. But I still like it, because it is the same, to me it is.’ She looked away and over towards the sea and seemed to drift away, before she turned her attention back to him. ‘What shall we do now?’
‘I have to go back.’
‘But I don’t want you to go back. I thought you’d stay longer.’
There was a slight tone of peevishness in her voice. ‘I have to. I don’t live here.’
He looked intently at her. She was old beyond her years. He found her curious, even strange. He looked at his watch, caught between two minds; he wasn’t sure what to do.
‘Are you hungry?’
‘I am. Shall we have some breakfast? I know somewhere goo
d.’
‘I’ve had breakfast.’
‘I’d like fish and chips. I can show you where we can buy some.’
‘Fish and chips… they’re not breakfast.’
‘My dad lets me have fish and chips. I can have them whenever I want.’ She stared at him. She looked serious. ‘Come on then. Shall we go? I know where your car is.’
‘Do you now?’
‘Yes, I do. It’s black and it looks new.’
‘What else do you know?’
She tilted her head back defiantly. ‘Lots.’
Seb laughed.
‘What are you laughing at?’
‘You. You’re funny.’ She looked so determined, he said, ‘Okay. Show me where to go and I’ll buy you some fish and chips.’
She laughed, and spinning round, she held her arms away from her body, and ran ahead, calling over her shoulder, ‘Follow me. I’m thistledown, and the wind blows me all over the place.’
He followed, puzzled. She behaved as if she’d known him for years. When they reached the car park, she ran to his car and standing by it, waited for him, then she said, ‘This is yours, isn’t it? Come on, slow coach, be quick, open it and drive to the fish and chips. I’m starving.’
Seb hesitated. He felt deeply uneasy. What must it look like? A young man with a girl he didn’t know aged about eleven or twelve, taking her into his car. He tentatively opened the door, was about to say he hadn’t the time after all, but wasn’t quick enough. She’d jumped into the front passenger seat. Reluctantly he got in. The situation was strange. He glanced again at her. Why did she have no qualms about sitting in a car with a total stranger? It didn’t feel right. Maybe he shouldn’t have talked to her, but he’d gone so far, to withdraw at this point would feel as if he was rejecting her. He glanced at her. He had to go through with it.
Oblivious to his thoughts, she said, ‘Can you drive really fast?’
He hesitated. Her face was lit up with a childlike excitement. He smiled, and said, ‘Okay, I’ll show you how fast I can go, if that’s what you really want. Let’s check the safety belt.’
Truth and Lies Page 2
