An Honest Deceit

by Guy Mankowski

  ‘I haven’t been able to sleep this week,’ she said.

  I moved her onto her the couch, where she lay on her back. ‘It’s my fault,’ she said. ‘Listen to me. I pushed you away. It’s my fault.’

  Her body fit into the groove in the couch, and as she drew the lounge blanket around her I closed the window to prevent the chill getting to her. By the time I had returned to the couch, Juliette had closed her eyes.

  ‘I keep having the same dream,’ she whispered.

  ‘Go on,’ I answered.

  She paused. ‘You remember that nursery rhyme I used to play her on the piano?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s how the dream begins. I’m too tired to even cry and then I hear those chords in my mind.’

  I closed my eyes.

  ‘I played that song to Marine, because it was a happy sound,’ she murmured. Her lips, pale and dry, kept moving. ‘The melody reminded me of my grandma, singing it to me when I was a girl. As soon as I hear it I picture Marine. The two of us sat at the stool at the front of the piano. She’s on my lap, and her fingers are mimicking mine as they move over the keys in time to the song. Her voice is one step behind the notes. And I slow down so that she can keep up but Marine slows down even further so that she is always behind the melody. And every time, I start to think that it is me that must be wrong, and so I concentrate on my hands even harder. And as I get more and more confused the keys start rising out of the piano. I can see the sides of them, and as they shift round they become steps. The steps to a giant slide. In the fairground.’

  Juliette opened her eyes. But she was not looking for my reaction, instead moving through her own internal ritual. I am part of an inner audience, I thought.

  ‘The fairground? Where I used to take her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you never came with us,’ I said.

  She closes her eyes and I see them flicker under the lids. The side of my hand grazes her face and her fluttering eyelashes settle. ‘I know,’ she says, her speech again taking on that slow, dreamlike cadence. ‘I couldn’t come. I was always busy in the house. And also … I was scared. I was scared of taking Marine onto one of those rides, and of something happening to her. But in my dream you’re always somewhere in the background. This time I’ve taken her onto the rides. I’ve taken her on the carousel, and I’m sure we’ve even gone on the dodgems. But that isn’t enough for Marine. She wants to go on this towering giant slide. Where children disappear into the top and only come down a long minute later. And it’s decorated so beautifully, this slide, that I think ‘what could go wrong?’ It even looks like a delicious stick of candy. And at the foot of it Marine is clutching the mat, and tugging at my hand. ‘Mum, I’m going on this one,’ she says. Deep down I know I can’t stop her. I curl some of her hair over her ear, but really I am touching her just in case it is the last time. Cherishing the feeling. ‘Don’t go,’ I whisper and I hold her in my arms. I gather her up with all my strength and I hold her. Wanting to absorb her. ‘But I want to go on the slide,’ she says. I beg her, and hold her as firmly as I can. I try to take in enough of her scent that I can remember it. And I say ‘please Marine, not today.’ And she says ‘please Mummy, I want to go.’ The next thing I know I can feel her breaking out of my arms.

  I see her small head go up the steps of the slide. Then she turns, and waves. Her head is just visible through the slats but as she gets higher I can barely see her. She is so far up that she is almost in the clouds. I try to spot her, to note the moment that she has disappeared into the slide so I can follow her invisible journey down. I wait at the opening, but she doesn’t come out. It is empty. I panic. I shake. I start to shout up at the slide. I wonder if she is waiting just inside for a joke. I hold onto this belief and I shout for her to get out.

  Then, I start to crawl inside the tunnel. As I shout her name it goes black. So dark that I can’t see a thing. The air tightens. I crawl and crawl and crawl. Until her name fills my ears, and it deafens me and then …’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Then I wake up.’

  She opens her eyes. Her gaze is completely impassive. I wrap my arms around her. Suddenly her body springs to life, the sickness leaves her, and a clean force surges through her, that I have not felt for a long time.

  She holds me so tight that I think I wonder if I will permanently carry the imprint of her grief.

  Somehow, I also begin to feel recharged. Juliette and I have connected again.

  I tuck her into bed. Making sure that the duvet ends at her chin, so no cold waves chill her in the night. As I leave the bedroom my foot knocks against a cardboard roll, leaning against the doorway. I bend down to pick it up. See that it is full of large thick sheets of white paper. Careful not to make a sound I move into the kitchen, pull out the rolls and lay them out on the work surface. They are pictures of Marine. But this time they are not pictures of her bright outline, blazing around the page. This time the reds that shape her have cooled to oranges, mixed in with heavy blues - and this time Marine is laying down. Asleep. Around her, black circles press her into her resting place. Something inside me splits wide open.

  Afterwards, I go into the bathroom and close the door carefully behind me. I think of the promise I made to Marine at the fair, and the one she made to me. How I knew, even at that age, that she would have grown into a woman who would have thought for her family as I would for her. The thought makes me start to shake, before my body collapses beneath me. My knees smash against the tiles and my head strikes the side of the sink. I fall into a clumsy, desperate prayer. I want to bury myself into the tiles of the bathroom floor and never feel this pain again. I realize how delusional I was to have any hope of building our family up again. With Marine gone, with Juliette lost and with my resolve weaker than ever I am sure there can be no way out of this.

  I try and follow the wild shapes of my limbs as they struggle on the floor. I fear that I have lost my mind. Questions stab my brain, each gouging at me before they draw out of the tissue. What is a family made of? What does a father even do? He works, he brings home money, he is the final sea wall. But what the hell does any of that mean?

  I look at myself in the mirror. My eyes are red, my skin is blotchy, and my belly is creeping over my belt. I am a joke. But as I pitifully study the reflection in the mirror an answer comes to me. I don’t know where it comes from, but all I know is that at that moment I need an answer more than ever. The realization is that everyone needs to believe one person in their life is insurmountable. Right now, I have to be that person for Juliette. More importantly, I see that I can be that person. I will struggle, I will lie, I will beg and I will scrape. But I will play that role as fully as I can.

  I understand then that a family is made up of small blocks-routine, intimacy, fun, and many other units. I now have to build up our idea of a home using those units. The mortar between the bricks is love, however difficult it might sometimes be to understand that. The blocks are stuck together by a heartfelt desire to make everyone happy and safe. I promise myself that tomorrow, I am going to start building our family up again. Brick by brick, unit by unit. Applying color where I can. Perhaps one day, Juliette will join me in doing this. But I know that the first step is to get justice for Marine.

  I look in the mirror and force a smile onto my face. I shake myself down and tread my way back to the bedroom. To the sleeping body of my partner.

  EIGHTEEN

  AT THE HEARING even the panel seemed to lack belief in my guilt. In a prefabricated first-floor room I sat in a chair, Bracewell on one side of me, nursing a surprisingly thin folder. I realized that I had no idea what we would have to pay him.

  Before being called in I had waited outside with Phillip, who smelt a little of booze. Even Juliette, usually immaculate, had thrown on too much makeup. She seemed overwhelmed; her voice was hoarse and dry. The whole set up had the feel of a poorly arranged role-play. The frantic movement of staff members in the corridor
, as we waited, revealed that they too were off-script. This in turn undermined their sense of authority. At the allotted time a wan receptionist ushered us into the room and I entered carefully.

  Kraver sat with two other staff members that I vaguely recognized on either side of him. They were awkwardly seated on one side of a table placed in the center of the room. A portly man at Kraver’s left exchanged a glance with the drawn, dark-haired woman at his right. I sat opposite them, Bracewell lowering himself down carefully next to me. I decided that Kraver represented the only ballast of intent between the three of the panel members. His features seemed hardened, as if he’d been carefully rehearsing every aspect of this in his mind. Even his silence seemed prepared. His waistcoat - a bright shade of plum - was half-unbuttoned.

  ‘My n-names Alistair Robertson,’ stuttered the larger man. He waved at the woman, ‘and this is Valerie O’Donnell,’ he said. He mopped his brow. ‘As you k-know, Ben,’ he began, his voice strangely sotto voce, ‘we are here th-this morning to discuss some c-concerns that have come up about your conduct at the school.’

  Anticipating my reaction, he raised a finger. ‘N-now you know about these concerns from the advance letter you were sent.’

  ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t,’ I answered. ‘The letter just mentions ‘my behavior on site’, but doesn’t specify exactly which behavior was a problem.’

  Robertson flashed a glance at Kraver, who appeared unmoved. Kraver passed a letter to Robertson, who briefly studied it. He flashed it at Bracewell and I. ‘Here we have the letter as evidence that we have given you fair warning of the case you will answer today.’

  Bracewell sat back. ‘I have to object,’ he said. ‘That rather vague letter, which we have read, does not lay out grounds for a case against my client. Therefore he has not been given the information to fairly prepare for this hearing.’

  ‘In my experience, the best way to sort this out,’ Kraver said, in a low voice, ‘is that we follow the process, so this doesn’t turn into a Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. So it’s best you listen first, speak second.’

  ‘You will have,’ O’ Donnell said, addressing Bracewell with a shrill voice, ‘the chance to speak. But I believe it only fair that we present the case towards your client before we progress further?’

  ‘There’s a few items on here,’ Robertson continued. ‘All of which I know Paul has raised during various meetings with you, Mr. Pendleton?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Many times,’ Kraver said.

  ‘Firstly, the charge that you misinformed a parent that their child was sick, on the 7th June last year, when they were not. Thereby causing undue stress and concern to a parent.’

  ‘I can barely remember,’ I said. ‘But if that is referring to Jordan Slade …’

  ‘Confidentiality, Ben,’ Kraver said, flashing a smile. ‘There is such a thing as confidentiality.’ He looked at the panel, garnering sympathy, before rubbing his chin. ‘But what I find strange here, is that you don’t even recall this incident. Do you often struggle with your memory?’

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Kraver said.

  ‘This brings us onto the second point,’ Robertson said, sliding glasses onto his nose. ‘It has been noted, by Mr. Kraver, that you made a number of errors in administration during the course of your record keeping?’

  ‘This has been a time of great stress. As you know,’ I said, looking hard at Kraver, ‘my daughter passed away not so long ago. When I get the chance to speak I will be very keen to talk about how all of this stems from that.’

  ‘So, for the record, you are claiming that the stress of your bereavement is an excuse for lapses in your professionalism?’

  ‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘I am saying that following her death, I tried to instigate an enquiry from this school, and all of a sudden …’

  ‘Mr. Pendleton,’ Robertson snapped, pulling off his glasses. ‘Now, we have agreed that in this meeting you will answer each point in turn. In the interests of clarity?’

  ‘I have no recollection of being told I was making errors in my administration. Beyond that which may be considered normal. I’d like to add, they are being brought up now -’

  ‘Thank you, Mr. Pendleton, that is the response which I required.’

  I shot a look at Bracewell.

  ‘We all know,’ Kraver said, leaning forward and balancing the tips of his fingers together, ‘that bereavement can be tough. But I have to mention to the panel, at this point, that since his bereavement, Mr. Pendleton has often been very argumentative.’

  ‘Argumentative?’

  ‘Okay, let’s say ‘aggressive,’’ Kraver said. I leant back. ‘Surely you’d concede, Mr. Pendleton, that being aggressive does not help us to get a positive energy flowing round here?’

  ‘I think if your daughter died, and you knew that you were being attacked, you would be more than -’

  ‘Mr. Pendleton,’ Robertson said. ‘The charges you are leveling at Mr. Kraver, who is merely following due process, are extremely contentious. Can I suggest that you just offer a balanced response to each point on this agenda, rather than giving us even more charges to level against you? Trust me, you’ve more than enough on your plate as it is.’

  Bracewell nodded. I put my head down.

  ‘Thank you. The next charge is that by not taking a sufficient number of breaks during your working hours you endangered the welfare of the pupils.’

  ‘I endangered the welfare of the students? I’m sorry, but that is preposterous.’

  Kraver touched his nose. ‘So you are saying you believe it’s preposterous for us to require that a teacher takes regular breaks? But how else can they stay at their best? In any walk of life, if you’re a bricklayer or a rocket scientist, you have to sometimes press pause to collect yourself. Then, you get on with your day, once your mind is fresh again.’

  I shook my head. ‘At times we are all over-stretched. We try to deal with the workload we have in front of us. If I have ever worked through breaks, it has only ever been in the interests of student welfare.’

  ‘Note that down,’ Kraver said. ‘Mr. Pendleton believes that these lapses in judgment are actually in the interests of the student welfare.’

  ‘Done?’ Robertson asked. ‘Now, the last charge is that you took unlicensed sick leave following your bereavement, which Mr. Kraver did not authorize.’

  + + + + +

  Without her saying anything, I knew Juliette well enough to know when she had been listening against a door. Judging by the strained, confused looks on their faces when Bracewell and I went outside her and Phillip had seemingly heard the entire hearing from the hallway. As Robertson and Kraver left the room behind us Phillip stood sharply up, pulling his sleeves over his elbow. The two of them cut quickly past him.

  We formed a conspiratorial semi-circle.

  ‘How do you think it went?’ Phillip asked, trying to nod his rage into a more thoughtful stance.

  ‘I heard every word,’ Juliette said, looking between us. ‘They barely let you speak, Ben. They promised at the beginning they would give you the chance, as well. They just said his ‘thoughts about these enquiries are already on record’. I think you should have protested at that point, Simon,’ she said.

  Bracewell ushered her back into her chair. ‘Let’s all just sit down and wait for their verdict,’ he said.

  Juliette banged the back of her head against the wall in frustration. ‘And what’s this about Ben being offered an assessment review prior to the hearing, to discuss his thoughts about all this? That isn’t true, is it Ben?’

  ‘Of course not. I would never have turned down that opportunity,’ I said, in a low voice.

  ‘I must admit, that one slipped through the net,’ Bracewell said. ‘By adding to the minutes of today’s meeting that they discussed offering you an assessment review, they are covering their backs. It stops them from looking like bad employers and makes this question about your Fitness To Practice se
em part of a long process they’ve been going through with you. They know full well that they offered you no such review.’

  ‘So they got you to sign the minutes at the end?’ Phillip asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘But they didn’t give you the chance to read them! I’m a bit worried that they might now say you’ve accepted some of those ridiculous accusations, as a result.’

  Juliette slumped back in her chair. ‘My concern is that Phillip should have gone in there instead of you,’ she said, eyeballing Bracewell.

  ‘Christ,’ Phillip said. ‘You must have done a shit job.’

  ‘He’d have torn them to shreds!’ she whispered.

  Bracewell pushed a hand through his slick hair. ‘The reason I didn’t push harder is because they take a dim view of solicitors being present in the first place. Believe me, it would have been worse if I wasn’t there.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Juliette whispered. ‘Ben was just railroaded into accepting a narrative about him that he knows isn’t true. I think you’ve made the situation worse.’

  Phillip leant over Juliette and put a hand on my knee. ‘You put up a decent fight at the end there though, mate. You even managed to mention Walker.’

  ‘But I bet that didn’t make the minutes,’ I said.

  Juliette hung her head in her hands. I could see, from the occasional spasm of her body, that she was having to expend all of her will to refrain from crying.

  I had never felt so neutered, but so enraged. I felt my fists squeezing together, blood blooming in my temples. Where was Marine in all this? Swamped by false paperwork, out of reach.

  Phillip put a hand on my shoulder. ‘With any luck, they’ll see you’re not going down without a fight, and they’ll let this blow over,’ he said.

  At that moment Robertson appeared at the top of the stairway.

  ‘What’s the news?’ Juliette croaked, getting to her feet.

  ‘This is most unprecedented,’ Robertson said. ‘And not the news you are perhaps hoping for. W-w-w-w.’