Where the Truth Lies

by Julie Corbin

  When I reach the house, I go straight through the hallway and into the kitchen. Sezen is standing at the island in the middle of the kitchen using a spatula to move biscuits from a baking tray on to a wire rack.

  ‘You have been shopping!’

  ‘Thought I might as well. Miso, bulgur wheat and I even managed to get a daikon.’ I dump the bags on the kitchen table. ‘I could murder a cup of tea. And those biscuits.’ I breathe in the smell. ‘Can I steal one?’

  ‘Of course!’ She laughs. She is small and neat with dark hair tied in a plait that hangs halfway down her back. ‘They are sweetened with malt syrup.’ She watches me while I bite into one. ‘I thought you could take some to Lisa when you visit her at lunch, and I have made some soup.’ She lifts the lid and I place my head over the rising steam.

  ‘Wonderful!’ I say appreciatively. ‘It smells of cinnamon.’

  ‘It is warming,’ she says. ‘And the biscuit?’

  I savour the taste in my mouth. Raisins and oaty crunch. ‘Delicious.’ I switch the kettle on. ‘Tea?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  She never says yes, but I always ask her anyway. I know she takes working for me just as seriously as if she was employed in a hotel or somewhere similar where breaks were regulated.

  ‘Charlie has gone out. He told me to let you know he will collect Bea at one o’clock.’

  ‘Great.’ I make a cup of tea for myself, take another biscuit and sit down on the sofa by the window. ‘So it’s the big day tomorrow, Sezen.’

  ‘Our move down from London? Yes. Lara and I are both looking forward to living in Brighton. The air here is fresher. Being close to the sea will be a joy. And it will make coming to work so much easier. There are my hours for you and also I start maternity cover for a café in Hove next month.’

  ‘Are you all packed?’

  ‘Our suitcases are ready.’

  ‘Do you have a lot of stuff?’

  ‘Not so much. Lara wanted to bring absolutely everything, but I told her to select only her favourite things. The rest we have given away to some of the other children who live close by.’

  ‘How are you travelling?’

  ‘We will manage on the train.’

  ‘On the train?’ I can’t hide my surprise. ‘But Lara’s only four and you will have all your belongings with you.’

  ‘Yes.’ Her amber eyes look into mine. ‘We will need to move slowly, but we will manage.’

  I shake my head. ‘I can easily come to collect you. I’m sorry I didn’t think to offer sooner.’

  ‘No, no, no.’ She shakes her right index finger at me. ‘You must not do that.’

  All her worldly goods, plus her young daughter, on a train? The mind boggles. ‘Really, Sezen. I want to come for you. Please let me. Bea will be at nursery. I have the time.’

  She pushes out her bottom lip, half thinking, half doubtful. I reassure her that it’s the least I can do after all she has done for me. She gives in then, but I can see that she’s still reluctant. ‘It’s absolutely no trouble.’ I look at my watch, then stand up. ‘I should get going to the hospital.’

  ‘Here is Lisa’s lunch.’ Sezen hands me the bag she has prepared. ‘I put some of Bea’s birthday cake in there too. I know it is not macrobiotic, but treats every now and then do not do any harm.’

  We arrange a time and place to meet tomorrow and I go out to my car. The hospital is only a ten-minute drive away, and while parking is never easy, I’ve sussed out a side street close by where there is invariably a space. The ward is particularly quiet today. Often there are nurses bustling in and out of Lisa’s side room, but not at the moment. I stand at the door and watch her through the glass. She is fast asleep, her cheeks the colour of the bed sheets, in stark contrast to the blood that’s running from a bag on a drip-stand into a vein in her left arm.

  ‘She’s washed out today.’ One of the nurses has stopped beside me. ‘Her haemoglobin is low – that’s why she has the blood up.’

  ‘And the rest of the test results?’ I turn to face her, apprehension filling the space in my throat.

  ‘The scans, well . . .’ She looks behind her to where the ward sister has just come out of the treatment room. ‘Lynn can give you the details.’

  ‘Claire.’ Lynn puts an arm round my shoulder and guides me into the relatives’ room, closing the door behind her. My heart sinks. I know that if the news was good, she’d have told me in the corridor. They do that. Good news is worth sharing, spreading to others who might be listening, hoping their own relative will be spared. ‘We have the results back now.’

  ‘The cancer?’ My mouth is dry. I try to work some saliva into it but fail. ‘It isn’t gone, is it?’

  She shakes her head. ‘Unfortunately not.’

  ‘Right. I see.’ I take a couple of steps backwards. I want to be sick. I feel disappointment, heavy as concrete, lodge in my chest. No miracles, then. The cancer is still in her liver, and could still be travelling in her bloodstream, making up its mind where to settle next. The bowel or the bones? Eenie, meanie, miney, mo. ‘Does Lisa know?’

  ‘Yes. Dr Doyle told her this afternoon.’ Lynn comes towards me, as always maintaining eye contact, and it strikes me afresh how very good she is at this. Very good at being there for patients and relatives. It’s the stuff of her working life, delivering bad news while showing herself willing to pick up the pieces.

  ‘How did she take it?’

  ‘She took it well.’ Lynn strokes my hands. ‘She was more worried about you.’

  ‘Right.’ At once I feel ashamed. My sister, age forty-seven, is facing the prospect of premature death and she is more concerned with my reaction than her own.

  ‘All is not lost, Claire.’

  I nod. I know she’s right but I need time to come to terms with the worry and the fear. I look down at a patch of linoleum and allow my eyes to seek out each of the scratches. I want to cry but know that if I do, Lisa will notice the tell-tale signs – red eyes, blotchy cheeks – and then she will worry about me. So instead I grit my teeth and spend ten minutes with Lynn discussing taking Lisa home on Saturday and what community support staff will visit. When I go into Lisa’s room, she is just beginning to wake, but she looks far from rested. She’s painfully thin, her skeleton barely covered by anything more than a layer of skin.

  ‘How are you today?’ I kiss her cheek. She feels cold, so I pull her blanket up over her shoulders.

  ‘Hello, Claire.’ She gives me a tired smile. ‘This is a nuisance.’ She points to the line going into her arm. ‘It’s been stopping and starting all morning. They’ve changed the site twice already.’

  I stroke her arm near where the cannula slides under her skin. Purple bruises bloom in three separate places on the soft skin of her inner forearm. ‘The blood will perk you up a bit, though. Put some colour back in your cheeks.’

  ‘For a little while,’ she acknowledges.

  ‘I spoke to Lynn about your results.’

  She frowns. ‘Let’s not talk about that now. But tell me’ – she widens her eyes – ‘how was the birthday party?’

  ‘Great fun.’ I tell her about the clown not turning up and how Julian stepped in to organise party games. ‘Charlie was a big help.’

  ‘He’s such a good brother.’ She shifts her head on the pillow. ‘Did Amy come too?’

  ‘She did.’ I busy myself at the end of the bed.

  ‘Romance still happening there, then?’

  ‘With bells on.’

  She sighs. ‘It was great being young and in love, wasn’t it?’

  ‘All that intensity, though!’ I bring the soup, homemade spelt bread, biscuits and cake out of my bag. ‘All that aching and wondering . . . Will he call? Does he fancy someone else? What if he thinks I’m boring or his parents hate me?’

  Lisa gives a gentle smile.

  ‘Am I sounding old and jaded?’

  ‘Just a bit.’

  We both laugh.

  ‘Now here!
’ I hold out the flask. ‘I have some butternut-squash soup to tempt you with.’

  ‘How wonderful.’ She starts to haul herself up into a sitting position and immediately I help her. Her arms feel like spindles; each vertebra in her back is a raised knuckle of bone. ‘I’ll start with half a cup.’ I pour some out for her and she takes a sip, smiles. ‘It’s good. Tasty.’

  ‘Sezen’s recipe,’ I say. ‘Mealtimes have improved no end since she came to work for us.’

  ‘I can’t wait to meet her.’

  ‘She’s lovely.’ I sit on the edge of Lisa’s bed. ‘She’s a real find. And in just a few more days you can come home to us and experience her cooking first hand.’

  ‘Do you think?’ She throws a weak arm outward to take in the clutter of medical equipment, dressing packs and creams. ‘I don’t travel light any more.’

  ‘I’ve already discussed it with Lynn. The nurse will come in to administer your drugs and check on your general state of health. The rest we can work out between us.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Sure?’ I give a short laugh. ‘You’re my sister. I want to look after you. And we’re all set up for it. Jem’s almost finished decorating the room. Wendy will come round every day to help out with Bea. Sezen will take care of the cooking. She’ll make anything you fancy, but her expertise is macrobiotics.’ I pause. ‘This isn’t the first time she’s cooked for someone with cancer,’ I add quietly.

  ‘You’ve thought of everything.’

  I doff an imaginary cap. ‘I aim to please.’

  ‘Then I accept.’ She leans forward to hug me. ‘I’m so tired of these four walls. I can’t wait to come home with you.’

  My heart lifts.

  ‘I don’t want any special concessions, though,’ she says. ‘No keeping the children quiet or worrying about them tiring me out.’ She breathes in deeply and then places her hand over her ribs as she tries to hide a grimace of pain.

  ‘Are you hurting? Shall I call someone?’

  She waves aside my concern. ‘Lively family is just what I need. I might not be able to join in, but I’d still love to be a part of it.’ She takes hold of my hand. ‘So did Julian get away OK?’

  ‘Yes.’ I hesitate as memories of yesterday’s drama come flooding back. ‘After a bit of a do.’

  ‘What happened?’

  I tell her about Jack phoning and me going to look for Bea and Julian’s reaction when I told him I couldn’t find her. ‘I’ve never seen him react so strongly. He went from perfectly normal to distraught.’ I shake my head. ‘We found out she was with Amy, but still . . . It was like he really believed Bea was in danger.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well . . . that Amy might somehow be a threat to Bea. I have no idea what was going on in his head.’ I shiver as I remember those few interminable minutes when Julian was completely unlike himself, gripped by an irrational fear that made no sense to me. ‘He was really freaked out.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Lisa says.

  ‘Neither do I.’ I shrug. ‘I mean, you know Amy isn’t our favourite person?’

  She nods.

  ‘But Julian seemed to think that Amy might have disappeared with her or something.’ I shrug again. ‘It was completely irrational.’

  ‘Julian’s never irrational.’

  ‘I know!’ I laugh. ‘Charlie was saying that too, but the only thing I can think of is that he’s under a lot of stress. The trial date’s approaching and—’

  ‘Still,’ Lisa interrupts, ‘it’s not like Julian to be alarmed without good reason.’

  As she says this, I have a sudden, clear picture of the expression that crossed his face when we were in the hallway, just before he left. It was a shadowy look. A secretive look. A significant look. Shit. There is something wrong. I’ve been dismissing his panic as nothing more than a reaction to stress, but Julian’s as steady as a rock. His feet are firmly planted in reality. He would never panic without good reason.

  ‘You’re right,’ I say to Lisa, then stand up and walk a few paces, thinking. My heart begins to pound, and bubbles of anxiety spawn in the pit of my stomach. ‘The taxi arrived before we had the chance to talk.’ I rub my forehead and look across at my sister. ‘What do you think I should do?’

  ‘He calls every evening when he’s away, doesn’t he?’

  I nod. ‘He didn’t call last night because he’d only just left, but he’ll call this evening.’

  ‘Talk to him about it.’ She gives me a reassuring smile. ‘There’s probably a simple explanation.’

  ‘Yes, probably.’ I take a big breath. ‘I’m sure it’s fine.’

  ‘Now, here.’ She pats the space next to her. ‘I was promised party photos.’

  I take my digital camera out of my bag and plug the cable into Lisa’s laptop. A happy hour passes as we look at the photographs, many of them viewed twice as Lisa exclaims over something Charlie or Bea is doing. Lisa has had several long-term relationships but never married nor had children of her own. She is a doting aunt who loves my children almost as much as I do. I can sing their praises without feeling like I’m overdoing it because, of course, I am completely biased. As far as I’m concerned, my children are extra special, the love I feel for them manifesting in a mixture of protection and pride and absolute loyalty.

  When it’s time for me to go, she walks with me as far as the main corridor, pushing her drip-stand ahead of her. As I hug her goodbye, I’m careful not to hold her for too long. Since she was diagnosed, I’ve promised myself that I won’t be a burden to her, so although I feel a crushing disappointment over the scan results, I keep my grief to myself.

  On the drive home, Lisa’s words about Julian nag away at me. More so because she was only voicing what in my heart of hearts I already knew – Julian would never go off at the deep end without good reason. Pre-trial stress makes him quieter and often short-tempered; it doesn’t make him over-react. He believed Bea was in danger. He believed it.

  I shift in my seat and force my hands to relax their grip on the steering wheel, hoping to dissolve the bubbles of anxiety that have clumped together and are now lodged like a fist in the hollow of my stomach. I drive home faster than I should, parking haphazardly outside the house, running up the steps and bursting in through the front door. Holding my breath, I stop at the bottom of the stairs and listen. I hear Bea’s laughter coming from her room, Wendy and Charlie’s voices as they talk to her. All is well. I gulp in some air and call up the stairs, ‘I’m home!’

  ‘Come and see me, Mummy!’ Bea shouts, and then Wendy appears on the landing above me.

  ‘How’s Lisa?’ She comes down the stairs towards me. ‘And her scan results?’

  I tell her the news and watch tears gather at the corners of her eyes. I hug her to me and we stand like that for a moment until she pulls away and becomes her practical self again. We talk for a bit about arrangements and then she heads off home.

  Bea calls for me again, but first I go into the kitchen and use the house phone. I’m itching to speak to Julian. I don’t want to wait until this evening, so I call his mobile number. It rings twice, then goes through to the answering service. I don’t leave a message. Instead, I stand in front of the pinboard. Whenever he goes abroad, he leaves the hotel address and telephone number here for me to find, should I need it. My eyes scan the board, seeing takeaway menus, school and university phone numbers, postcards and more, but no sign of where Julian’s staying. I search next to the telephone, go through the piles of papers on the Welsh dresser, but don’t find the details there either. I even look under the table and behind the cushions on the window seat. Nothing. And yet just before he left, he made a point of reminding me that the contact numbers were on the board. And they’re not. If they’d fallen off, they’d be on the floor and they’re not there either.

  I go upstairs and find Charlie reading a story to Bea. ‘Where’s Amy?’ I say.

  ‘In my room, finishing off an essay.’


  ‘Did either of you see Dad’s hotel details? He usually puts them on the pinboard in the kitchen.’

  ‘I haven’t seen them,’ Charlie says. ‘I’ll ask Amy.’

  He goes next door and Bea slithers off the bed. ‘Look, Mummy, I have all my toys here.’ She points to the floor, where she’s arranged her birthday presents in a straight line against the wall. She holds up the soft toy Jack gave her. ‘I’m going to call him Douglas because he’s the same as Miss Percival’s dog.’

  ‘He is,’ I say, sitting down on the bed. ‘He’s a little West Highland terrier just like the real Douglas.’ Charlie comes back. I look up at him. ‘Has Amy seen the details?’

  ‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘Not really. Dad will call soon anyway.’

  ‘Feel his fur, Mummy!’ Bea has climbed on to my knee and is holding the dog against my cheek. ‘It’s soft.’

  ‘It is,’ I say. ‘Softer than a cushion.’

  ‘But I still love Bertie best.’ To prove it, she reaches under the duvet, pulls Bertie out and hugs him tight.

  ‘Charlie!’ Amy’s voice shouts from the bedroom and he goes at once, pulled by an invisible thread.

  ‘She wants him again,’ Bea says with a sigh. ‘She always wants him.’

  I hide my smile – Bea isn’t happy with Amy’s power over Charlie.

  ‘I had a good party,’ Bea says, settling herself on my knee. ‘Daddy made everyone laugh.’

  ‘Yes, he did.’ I smile as I think about Julian playing musical chairs and balloon football with over a dozen three- and four-year-olds. ‘We didn’t need the entertainer after all.’