The Perfect Lie

by Karen Osman

  Claire’s whole body had trembled as she listened to his stories of violence and how he and his mother did everything they could to avoid it. Paul told her that she, Claire, was his lighthouse in the storm and whenever his home or school life got really bad, he would think of her and it would make him feel better. She’d fallen silent then, determined that she would show him how he deserved to be loved, and as they continued sharing their dreams and talking about a future, she knew she could see him in it.

  *

  Claire lifted the gate and walked up the pathway to Paul’s. She’d been thinking about her birthday party, which the Queen Bees had held the previous weekend. It had been incredible – the best party she’d ever been to. The only person missing though was Paul and she was eager to see him. It was four o’clock on a Monday afternoon and she’d come straight from school. He’d skipped the last class of the day and told her to meet him at his house.

  She rang the bell and heard someone coming down the stairs and within seconds Paul had opened the door and let her in. She wondered if Mrs Jones was home and her question was answered when she came, apron-clad, into the hallway.

  ‘Claire, how nice to see you again. How are you? How are your parents?’

  ‘They’re good, thank you, Mrs Jones. How are you?’

  ‘Please, call me Maureen.’

  ‘Okay… Maureen,’ she replied with a smile. Claire knew she was good with parents – she always had been. She didn’t really know why – maybe because she had good manners. Her own mother had drilled them into her from what felt like the minute she was born, but she would only become aware later in life that it was her wholesome image that made all parents secretly wish they had a child like Claire.

  ‘Come through. I’ve been baking,’ invited Maureen, walking through to the kitchen. ‘I hear someone celebrated a special birthday at the weekend.’

  Claire smiled. ‘Yes, it was on Saturday.’

  Just then she heard Paul thunder down the stairs to come and meet her, his face lit up in anticipation until he saw his mum had beaten him to it.

  ‘There you are. I was just about to offer Claire some birthday cake. Would you like some?’

  Paul was clearly embarrassed. ‘No thanks, Mum, we’ve got lots of homework to do,’ responded Paul. Claire watched as his mother tried to hide her disappointment.

  ‘Paul, I’m sure we can spare a few minutes,’ interjected Claire, gently leading him by the arm. ‘Besides, I love cake.’

  *

  Claire quickly buttoned up her shirt, trying to bring her breathing back to normal. It had been a mistake to come to Paul’s room. There was a part of her that was desperate to be alone with him but a part of her that was also very much aware that her relationship with Paul was racing ahead and leaving parts of her behind. So far, she’d managed to keep it a secret from the Queen Bees but for how long would she be able to manage that? She could tell even Paul was starting to doubt her story about her parents not liking her having a boyfriend.

  The truth was Claire really, really liked him. Could she work it out with the girls and still stay in the club? She didn’t think so. She thought about what would happen if the Queen Bees found out – how she would be publicly ousted. No one would want to be her friend after that – Charlotte’s influence stretched far and wide. She wondered what Anne would do. She had a horrible feeling Anne would choose the club over their years of friendship. And in a way, she could understand because if she chose Paul over the Queen Bees, she knew she would have a very lonely existence.

  ‘I’m just going to the bathroom,’ she said to Paul, before hurrying out of his bedroom. Everything felt like it was getting too intense and she needed a few minutes alone. Locking the bathroom door behind her, she splashed her face with cold water. Taking a few deep breaths, she felt better. She would sort it all out once she got home and was alone; it was just when she was with Paul, she found she couldn’t think straight – her body seemed to take over. But then her eye caught the beautiful bangle on her arm. It was a thick gold and cream bangle with ornate butterflies etched on to it. Paul had given it to her as soon as they’d got into his bedroom.

  ‘Happy birthday!’ he’d whispered, handing over the gift in its small black box with silver foiling.

  She’d opened it slowly savouring the moment and when she’d seen it, she’d gasped. It was way more than she’d expected.

  ‘Thank you,’ Claire had whispered back, slipping it on and kissing him and then one thing had led to another.

  After drying her face, she unlocked the door and walked straight into Maureen who was carrying a huge pile of bedding

  ‘Hello, pet, you okay?’

  ‘Yes, thank you Mrs— Maureen,’ Claire corrected herself. ‘Can I help you with that?’

  ‘Oh, thank you, that would be very kind. If you could just help me fold them… these sheets, ever so tricky with just one person.’

  Claire listened as Maureen chatted away and she wondered if Paul’s mum was lonely all day in the house. She was clearly proud of Paul and his intelligence though, telling her all the things he could do when he was a baby.

  ‘Reading by the age of three!’ exclaimed Maureen. ‘I couldn’t get enough books from the library to keep up with him!’

  ‘He’s still the same now – always in the school library with all the books,’ confided Claire and she saw Maureen cling on to the little piece of knowledge that usually would be forbidden to her.

  And that’s where Paul found them on the stair landing, chatting and laughing and folding laundry.

  ‘Mum,’ said Paul and Claire thought his voice sounded strange. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Just folding laundry – Claire kindly offered to help me.’

  ‘I can help you with that later,’ replied Paul. His voice was terse and his mother paused to look at him mid-fold.

  ‘It’s no problem, we’re almost done,’ said Claire but before she could finish the sentence, Paul had stormed off, his back rigid.

  Claire looked at Maureen, wondering if she’d noticed anything strange. Maureen’s face was closed but as she took the last of the folded laundry from Claire’s arms, she said, ‘Don’t mind him, he’s always been very moody – even when he was a young child,’ clearly trying to keep the same upbeat tone they had both just been enjoying. But it fell flat, and Claire didn’t know what to say. For a second, Claire thought his mum was about to say something else but then the moment passed, and Maureen turned away, her arms full of laundry, her lips pressed firmly together.

  25

  Stupid fucking cow!

  What the hell was his mum thinking asking Claire to help her with the washing? Was she trying to make him look even more pathetic than he already was? Paul paced his bedroom floor, the dimensions of the room too small to diffuse his energy. Claire had left soon after and he didn’t blame her. What had his mum said to her? His anger intensified, and Paul felt his room was like a prison rather than a sanctuary.

  Gavin and his mates had driven him into hiding and he couldn’t bear it any longer. He turned and ran out of the room, down the stairs, stopping only to put on his trainers, and out into the darkness. He didn’t tell his parents where he was going, and he knew he would pay for it later, but for now he just needed to get out, to be anywhere but home. He jumped on his bike and pedalled.

  The cold night air bit into him without his coat but he didn’t care. He didn’t even put on his bike lights. He cycled for twenty minutes, feeling the wind on his chest and face, cleansing his thoughts and when he finally stopped, he found himself outside Claire’s house, a figure hidden amongst the darkness. He looked up at it in awe – it was far grander than he had imagined.

  Through the elaborate bars of the wrought-iron gates, Paul saw a three-storey detached home where the golden lights from some of the windows allowed him a peek into Claire’s world. Downstairs, he could see what he guessed to be the living room and her parents and Claire sat watching television. Paul slipped through
the gates and crept up the driveway to get a closer look. Hiding behind a bush, he could see her mum was sat in a chair while her dad and Claire were stretched out on the sofa.

  The sheer normality of it made him ache. His family were rarely in the same room together, even at mealtimes. Paul and his mum ate their evening meal together around five o’clock while his dad ate when he came home from work around half past six and, for as long as Paul could remember, his father didn’t like to be disturbed during that time. His mum hovered around her husband, eager to anticipate anything he might need, before she, too, was banished to go and do something useful.

  It was only when his dad sat down in his chair with his cigarette and the remote control that the whole house seemed to heave a sigh of relief. This was the least dangerous time when his dad was unlikely to erupt, and Paul and his mum could quietly go about their business. His mum often sat at the kitchen table reading her magazines, old copies that she quietly slipped into her handbag when in the doctors’ waiting room or from the hair salon where she got her ends trimmed every two months. Paul would sometimes sit at the table with her doing his homework but usually he would go up to his room and splay himself and his books across the bed, lost in a world of calculations and revisions.

  He couldn’t ever remember being sat together as a family, not even when he was little. In fact, he didn’t really remember much of his dad at all from when he was younger, only his mum. When he mentioned this to his mother, she told him it was because his dad used to work away a lot. Paul never questioned it but the older he got, the more he wondered about it. He knew his relationship with his father was different to other boys. It was Gavin’s dad who’d taught him to ride a bike one Saturday afternoon and it had been Gavin’s dad who’d driven them to various outings such as the sports field, the summer camp with YMCA, and the trips to the park. Paul’s mother was ever present in his life but mainly from her usual spot in the doorway to wave him off or welcome him back.

  Now as he watched Claire’s dad get up from the sofa and ruffle her hair, the small gesture emphasised the void even further, repelling Paul from his crouched watching position to scrabble back down the driveway, through the gate and back to his bike. He held the handlebars tightly, pedalling his way back home, knowing all the while that once he arrived at his own house, the drabness would be even more apparent.

  Now he knew what he must do; he had to work even harder to make sure he succeeded in his dream of becoming a doctor. Then he could provide for her, buy her a big house like the one she lived in and together they would create their own family.

  *

  Paul slipped through the back door quietly, hoping no one had noticed his absence. The house was silent and he was just about to leg it up the stairs when he heard the clattering of broken crockery as it smashed against the wall. Paul jumped and quickly ran upstairs to his bedroom. His heart pounded as he heard his dad shouting.

  What had happened? What slight had his mother made? For God’s sake, all she had to do was sit and read her magazines, keep quiet and not set him off. But deep down, he knew it was an almost impossible challenge. His father was sensitive even to someone breathing. The anger rose in Paul sharp and fast, and he felt the bite of pain as he slammed his fist into the wall. It was the only way to release everything inside of him.

  He couldn’t help his mum – he’d tried it before and it had made everything worse. Afterwards, when his dad had slammed out of the house, his mum had begged him never to intervene again on the basis that it just made him angrier. As Paul had sat hunched over on the kitchen floor surrounded by the shards of glass from the picture frame his father had thrown, his impotence had been as glaring as the purple bruising across his ribs, and he had reluctantly agreed. But now as he held his fist in one hand and flung himself on the bed, he wished to God he had never made such a promise.

  *

  Paul kept his eyes straight ahead, his only focus being to get to his classroom without incident.

  ‘Knobhead!’

  The insult ricocheted down the school corridor arousing the other students’ curiosity. Paul hadn’t needed to look up to know it was directed at him and as Gavin gathered pace in his verbal outpouring, Paul was relieved to see his maths teacher, Mr Addington, barrel down the corridor towards the classroom, his arms full of exercise books. With one last step, Paul reached the sanctity of the classroom, Mr Addington a few steps behind him, closing the classroom door with a satisfying thud.

  Immediately, the noise from the corridor was gone and Paul felt himself breathe. He sat down at his desk pulling out his books while discreetly trying to look for Claire. She was usually towards the back of the room with some of the girls and Paul pretended to drop his pencil, so he could look behind and check. When he saw her, she caught his eye, and she gave him her secret smile that she reserved just for him. Paul could barely contain his joy. He might be a knobhead but he was going out with the prettiest, smartest girl he had ever met.

  *

  ‘So, what did he say?’ quizzed Paul, impatiently.

  ‘Nice to see you too, mate!’ joked Brian.

  They were sat down in their usual spot in the woods, having biked over. Usually, they would be doing a few ramps and tricks, but Paul was eager to hear what Brian had to say. Brian had promised that he would ask his brother his advice on getting a girl to base three and hopefully base four. Paul had turned sixteen at the beginning of September and with Claire’s recent birthday, he was hoping they could both cement their relationship.

  ‘Come on, tell me!’ pleaded Paul, ignoring Brian’s sarcasm.

  ‘Whoa… easy,’ replied Brian, putting his hands up in mock protest.

  ‘Oh shit. You didn’t ask him, did you? What happened?’

  ‘I did, sort of,’ protested Brian. ‘Well, no not really.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He was being a twat, that’s why. I tried to ask him but then he started taking the piss, and then he got me in a headlock, and then he went off out with his mates.’

  Paul felt his shoulders sag in disappointment. ‘What am I going to do?’

  ‘Who says you need to do anything? Just go with the flow,’ encouraged Brian.

  Paul paused for a minute, thinking about Claire. The last time he’d tried to take things further she’d gently removed his hand. He’d been too nervous to try again but he knew soon he wasn’t going to be able to stop himself.

  He looked up at Brian. ‘Can you ask him again tonight?’

  ‘I dunno, Paul, he just takes the piss… I can’t get an answer out of him.’

  ‘Please?’

  Brian looked at him for a few seconds longer than was comfortable.

  ‘You really like this girl, eh?’ said Brian, quietly.

  ‘Yep. She’s the one.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll try again but no promises,’ relented Brian.

  Paul’s relief was instant, and he looked at his friend gratefully before adding, ‘You? In a headlock? Really?’

  ‘Really,’ replied Brian, grimly. ‘Bastard.’

  ‘Thanks, Brian – I owe you,’ said Paul, knowing his friend would most likely end up tussling again with his brother on his behalf. But once he and Claire had reached fourth base, he knew nothing would keep them apart and Gavin and his mates could go and jump.

  December 1989

  26

  The school had been deserted, staff and students leaving as quickly as they could to avoid the torrential downpour. Sports practices had been cancelled and Charlotte had postponed the Queen Bee meeting to the weekend. Drama room three had seemed such a good idea at the time. Afterwards, Claire wondered how she could have been so stupid, so reckless. She’d thought it would be safe, where nothing bad would happen.

  As Paul lay on top of her, she wasn’t thinking straight. It was like when she was in the pool, the water filling her ears, blocking out everything and anything. But then a shriek had pierced the film of water that was Paul, his body covering every inch of hers, and th
en suddenly she was weightless, her skirt shoved up and her knickers around her ankles like the elastic game she used to play at primary school. England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Inside, Outside, Puppy Dog Tails.

  *

  Everything had happened so quickly; the hands that grabbed Paul and pulled him off her, her speechless shock, his pleading cries. Her shame lay open for everyone to see, raw and exposed. The singular voice that had interrupted them had grown into several and amongst them, Claire could hear Mrs Harrington, her usual confident baritone laced with panic as she instructed one of the girls to go and get the head teacher.

  Claire felt like she was drowning. Her voice was submerged amongst the ever-growing noise in drama room three. She could hear the whispers amongst the girls. Poor Claire. Attack. Got here just in time. And then more adults arrived, and Paul was led away, still calling out her name beseechingly. It was only when she felt a blanket being put tenderly around her shoulders, that she started to sob but not even her tears could soften the cold hard accusation of attempted rape.

  October 2017

  27

  Claire closed her office door gratefully, drawn to her desk as if the huge solid slab of wood could act as a barrier against the memories. The desk was meticulously organised, with files and documents all neatly laid out in order of priority. A single photo sat on it, a close-up landscape shot taken the year before of her, Chris and the boys on a skiing holiday. Claire was the only one in the photo wearing her skiing goggles. Joshua and Jamie stood next to each other laughing, delighted to be out in the snow. Chris looked happy as well. He’d always loved skiing and she’d only got into it after she met him.