A Suitable Lie

by Michael J Malone

  She looked over at me. Read the pale of my skin and reached for my hand. Thoughts of the last time I was present at a birth rushed to fill my mind. Please, God, let everything be ok.

  ‘It will be fine, Andy. Relax.’

  ‘Shouldn’t I be the one reassuring you?’ I somehow managed a smile.

  Patricia died. The same thing couldn’t happen to Anna.

  Two nurses then bustled into the room and while one took Anna’s details the other attached her to a blood-pressure monitor. They applied a gel to her abdomen and took a scan. Due to work commitments and the fact that Anna hadn’t wanted me there I had not been present during the previous scans and I was fascinated by the black-and-white screen and the life pulsing within its lines. So much so that I almost missed the ensuing conversation.

  ‘So, you’re about two weeks early?’ one of the nurses said.

  ‘No,’ Anna said with a firmness that was at odds with the question. ‘I’m late, I’m bloody late.’

  ‘Anna, calm down, love,’ I held her hand, making every attempt to hide my surprise at her outburst.

  ‘It was always the same when I went for the scans. Bloody NHS doesn’t know what’s going on.’

  The two nurses looked at one another and shrugged. The shorter one smiled at me and smoothed down the front of her uniform.

  ‘Whatever it is, it’s about to be born,’ she said.

  ‘Fine,’ Anna said. ‘But I’m not early, I’m late.’ I turned away determinedly from any thought that the tone she used was anything like that which had preceded her rages.

  Things then happened in a blur. Without me noticing, the room was suddenly full of people. A midwife was introduced to us. Names thrown at us in an effort to suggest normality, which I’m sure felt anything but to Anna, whose legs were thrust apart and her feet placed on stirrups.

  Hospital staff bustled. Anna screamed and panted and sweated and squeezed every cell of blood from my hand. The next two hours passed in a haze and were only brought into sharp focus by the sweetest sound. A baby crying in protest at being torn from the warmth and relative dark of its mother’s womb. The pressure on my hand eased as Anna finally relaxed and I sat down. While waving my hand about in an attempt to restore the circulation, I craned my neck for a glimpse of our new baby, who was being cleaned up, and fingers and toes counted.

  ‘You okay?’ The midwife asked me.

  Emotion robbed me of speech and I could only nod.

  ‘So, what are you guys going to call your son?’ she asked.

  BOOK TWO

  1

  Several voices were tunelessly, but happily raised in song.

  ‘Happy Birthday, dear Ryan,

  Happy Birthday to you,

  Hip, hip, hooray,

  Hip, hip, hooray.’

  The Birthday Boy himself, perched in my arms, looked around at the smiling faces. The light in his eyes danced with pleasure at being the centre of attention, although he didn’t quite understand why.

  ‘Presents, presents,’ he chirped in my ear.

  ‘That’s right, son. You’ve got lots of presents,’ I parroted.

  ‘Cake, cake.’ A chubby finger pointed.

  ‘Yes, that’s right, son. And what’s that on top of it?’ I asked while stretching out my smile for the benefit of the video camera that was hanging only feet from my face.

  ‘’s a candle,’ Ryan said proudly. I mouthed ‘Piss off’ at Jim, who had been walking around with the camera all afternoon. Looking for a moment that could earn him some cash if sold to a TV programme, he informed me with a mercenary smile.

  ‘And what number does the candle say?’ I asked Ryan, colluding with Jim but with a different aim in mind. I wanted to be able to show this video to Ryan when he was a teenager and have a laugh with him.

  ‘Two,’ he said after some prompting from his brother.

  When I say prompting, Pat was actually standing on a chair, his face inches from Ryan’s, shouting at the top of his voice. ‘Two, two,’ he was roaring. Then he looked at Anna and me. ‘Ryan’s stupid,’ he said.

  Everyone laughed.

  ‘Time to blow out the candle, sweetheart,’ said Anna.

  ‘Fire, fire,’ chanted Ryan.

  ‘You were never this cute, Andy,’ said Jim. At last he had the camera down and was holding Pat’s head under his arm in a wrestling grip. Pat was helpless with giggles.

  ‘You go and jump on the bouncy castle with Pat, Jim. See if you can get rid of some of his energy.’ I suggested.

  We were in Kidz Play and had commandeered a row of tables for Ryan’s party. We had invited some of the children from Ryan’s mothers and toddlers group or there would have been more adults that kids.

  An assortment of parents hung around the tables and tried to get to know everyone else. A little girl caught my eye. She had very fine, shoulder-length hair and an expression of constant surprise, her eyebrows almost meeting her hairline. Dressed in head-to-toe pink, she charged after a boy who had dared to jump in her plastic car when she wasn’t looking. Anna noticed the direction of my eyes.

  ‘Wee cutie,’ she said.

  ‘That’s a bonny wee thing,’ agreed my mother.

  ‘Would you do me a favour, Mum, and make sure that everyone has a piece of cake?’

  One of the mothers homed in on the offering. ‘Was on a diet,’ she said. ‘But I always end up fatter at the end than I was at the beginning.’

  ‘Been there,’ I admitted. Weight had piled itself on my midriff in the last couple of years. It never seemed to shift. I patted my belly. ‘Oh well,’ I said. ‘Doesn’t make you a bad person.’

  ‘Have you been in the wars?’ the man at her side asked, motioning towards my eye. He was the first of our guests to mention it.

  ‘Kind of,’ I smiled while pretending to look around for my sons. ‘Slipped coming out of the shower.’

  I turned and made my way over to another couple. While doing so I noted that Anna had taken over Jim’s job with the camera, Mum was having a quiet moment with a cup of coffee and Jim, Pat and Ryan were nowhere to be seen.

  Our two hours were soon up. People started gathering their children and making to leave.

  ‘You okay, son?’ Mum was behind me as I walked to the car laden with presents.

  ‘Aye, fine.’

  ‘You’re getting clumsy in your old age.’ She looked at my bruised eye.

  ‘I know, felt so stupid when I did it. Some of the bank’s customers have been giving me some odd looks through the week.’

  ‘You’d tell me if there was something wrong, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Course I would. Anyway what’s all this about? I’m fine.’ I struggled to contain the irritation in my voice.

  ‘Okay, okay. You’re fine,’ Mum said. ‘Just letting you know that you can come to me.’ She walked away. Anna joined me.

  ‘What was all that about?’

  ‘Mum just wanted to make sure that I was okay.’

  ‘It’s your son’s birthday party. Why wouldn’t you be okay?’ Anna screwed her eyes up.

  I shrugged and pulled her into a hug. She rested her head on my shoulder and then stretched up to kiss my cheek.

  ‘My big handsome man,’ she said. ‘Love you, baby.’

  ‘Happy with how it’s turned out?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, touching my arm and looking around the place with a smile. ‘Pat’s having a great time and Ryan’s done nothing but smile all afternoon.’ She slipped one palm off the other. ‘Job’s a good ’un.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, pleased with how much fun the boys were having. I smiled and as my cheek bunched up I felt the swelling and ache under my right eye. ‘Let’s scrape Pat and Ryan off the ceiling before Jim completely wears them out.’ I said.

  A boot full of presents and with Ryan fast asleep in his chair, we drove the short journey home.

  After all the excitement Ryan was changed into his pyjamas. His head lolled against my chest. Try as he might he could
not keep his eyes open. Pat, on the other hand, was wide awake.

  ‘Do I always have to go to bed at the same time as a two year old?’ he protested. His forehead furrowed with resentment. ‘I don’t want to go to bed yet.’

  ‘Now, Pat, don’t…’ I began, trying to reason with him.

  ‘Tough!’ Anna held the collar of his pyjamas and started to march towards the stairs. ‘Bed.’

  Pat knew not to argue with her when she was in this sort of mood and with his head hanging like a cow’s as it moved towards the abattoir, he dragged his feet up the stairs.

  Anna followed him, ‘I’ll just tuck you up.’

  ‘Night, Dad,’ his flat voice floated down to me.

  ‘Night, son,’ I replied and walked into the kitchen to see what I could have to eat. My stomach was protesting that all I had eaten all day was sandwiches, sausage rolls and birthday cake. A bowl of cornflakes would go down a treat, I decided, and, placing a bowl on the worktop, I reached up to a cupboard and pulled out the box. A rush of air cooled my ear and a cup crashed the cupboard door shut. Pieces of crockery fell to the worktop. I spun round.

  ‘Who the fuck do you think you are?’ Anna stood at the kitchen door with her fists planted on her hips.

  ‘Anna. What the…?’

  ‘Don’t you ever contradict me again.’ Her eyes were huge and the muscles in her jaws pulsed dangerously.

  She reached for another cup. I ducked. A shard from the cup bounced off the door and just missed my nose.

  ‘If I say we are not going, then we are not going.’ Her voice was all the more chilling when she spoke this quietly. I preferred when her rage was loud.

  ‘Okay,’ I answered, not sure what she was talking about.

  ‘That fat couple asking us to the party for their fat son. Not happening.’

  ‘Fine,’ I said. I was struggling to place this conversation. Couldn’t recall anyone inviting us to a party. As I did this my feet were wide apart and I was on my toes trying to judge where I should move next. ‘Fine,’ I repeated. Noticing that the lay of her jaw had softened, I straightened my back from the protective half-crouch I had adopted.

  ‘Just ask me about these things first,’ said Anna, her mouth now spreading into a smile, ‘You know how shy I am. All I ask is that you consult me before making any arrangements. Okay honey?’ She turned and walked out of the room as if we had just cheerfully discussed what to give Pat in his lunchbox.

  Sweeping the shattered cups into the bin, I reflected on the events of the last two years. Other than the first month after Ryan was born, despite all the promises, the tears, the protestations of love, Anna still hadn’t managed to control her rages. Now, however, leaving her or throwing her out were so far out of the question, they weren’t even in the quiz book. The Marriage Guidance Counsellor had never even merited a second mention.

  Trying to second guess what would set her off was difficult in the extreme. Interpreting what she wanted was nigh on impossible. To say that her mood swings were erratic would be like saying hyenas have a tendency to scavenge. From one hour to the next I never knew what to expect. Something that would spark that dangerous light in her eye one day would raise a smile the next. No longer hungry, I put the cereal bowl back in its place and the cornflakes back in the cupboard. With elbows on the cool surface of the worktop, I placed my head in my hands. I was so tired. Moving my head up and down, I rubbed at my forehead with my fingers. What choices did I have? I couldn’t see any. I would just have to make my life as easy as possible amidst the difficulty. Try to keep Anna sweet, while making sure that the boys were okay.

  As long as they were not being ill-treated I could put up with anything.

  About a week later I received a call from Jim. Before Anna and I reconciled Jim and I spoke every other day. These days, we were lucky if it was once a month. And I had no idea how we had fallen out of that habit.

  Yes I did. Anna’s look of displeasure when the phone rang. The huffs and sighs. The nips and punches that followed. It became easier just to let the phone ring out. Eventually Jim got the message and tried less and less often.

  ‘Fancy going out for a pint, big guy?’ he asked. His voice was bright.

  ‘Eh…’I stalled, looking over at Anna.

  ‘Don’t knock me back again, Andy. I’ve phoned you regularly over the last I don’t know how many months. Say yes. You must need a night out.’

  Guilt sat heavily in my stomach. I knew I was neglecting my family. Mum was kind enough never to mention it, but I didn’t want them even to detect a hint of what my life was really like. He was right, I thought, desperately trying to ignore the surge of acid in my stomach, I did need a night out. I would just have to deal with Anna’s mood later.

  ‘Right, you’re on. Where and when?’ I quickly asked before I could change my mind.

  ‘Yeah?’ asked Jim, surprise heightening the pitch of his voice. ‘I don’t know, you tell me.’

  ‘How about tomorrow, lunchtime?’ My resolve was weakening and I was trying to think of a way of seeing Jim without annoying Anna.

  ‘Lunchtime? Naw, we’re male, Scottish and I would like to have a good chat with you. Alcohol is therefore a prerequisite, big man. Tomorrow night. I’ll see you at seven-thirty in Bridges.’ He hung up before I could say anything.

  I put the phone down and looked over at Anna. She was sitting on the settee with her feet curled under her, watching one of the soaps on TV.

  ‘What was Jim wanting?’ Her eyes didn’t move from the flickering screen.

  ‘Nothing,’ I answered, wondering what I was going to tell her. Don’t be pathetic, I told myself. She’s your wife, you shouldn’t be this afraid of her.

  ‘Actually, he wants to have a word with me. Sounded like something important.’ I pretended to watch events unfold on the screen, thinking that a lie might help the situation.

  ‘Yeah?’ Anna asked casually, her tone requesting further information.

  ‘Yeah, no idea what it was. He wouldn’t say. Only that he wanted to tell me over a pint. Tomorrow night.’ I leaned back and waited for a reaction.

  ‘Good,’ she said as the character on screen walked away from his tearful wife. ‘You guys should see more of each other. Be sure and tell him I was asking for him.’

  The remainder of that night passed by without incident, we even made love before going to sleep.

  Work the next day, however, was not quite so calm. Three separate customers came into the branch to complain that unauthorised withdrawals had been made from their accounts. Each of them was for ten pounds. Sheila Hunter – who had done so well since her rehabilitation from her abusive husband, she was now Head of Personal Accounts – presented me with the facts.

  ‘It’s weird,’ she said, looking down at me as I sat behind my desk. Paper was piled before me. ‘Three unrelated people come in on the same day and complain about the same thing.’ She stopped speaking. ‘Are you okay, Andy?’ Her eyes creased with concern.

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Why do you ask?’ I smiled. Realising my smile was too big, I adjusted it, somewhat self-consciously.

  ‘Don’t know. You just reminded me … oh it’s nothing. You just look tired.’ She held her folder up against her chest and looked as if she was suppressing a shiver.

  ‘So…’ I needed to draw the conversation away from me, ‘… have you checked the paper entries that relate to the complaints?’

  ‘Not yet, thought I should let you know first. I’ll get Malcolm to look into it.’

  ‘Fine, tell him to let me know what he comes up with.’

  As she left the room my eyes followed her out. She was one lovely woman. Roy Campbell was sitting across from me.

  ‘No fraternising with the staff, Boyd,’ he pointed his pen at me.

  ‘What?’ I asked all innocence.

  ‘I saw the way you looked at her.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with window shopping. Besides, I’m a married man. A quick knee-trembler wouldn’t be worth the risks.’r />
  ‘Hasn’t stopped me,’ Roy said with a smirk.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ I said under my breath. ‘In your dreams.’

  ‘What was that, Andy?’ he asked. I jumped, wary of a confrontation.

  ‘I was just complaining,’ I said just a little louder. ‘I have reams and reams of paperwork here.’

  ‘Oh.’ Not quite hearing what I said, but too proud to admit it, Roy went back to his work. Staring into the screen of my computer I wondered when I had become so mousy. I used to love getting a rise out of Roy, and here I was frightened in case he heard what I was saying.

  Late in the afternoon, Sheila popped her head back in the door.

  ‘Andy, you’d better come and see this customer.’

  ‘What is it?’ I asked, mentally cursing all customers. I had too much to do without this.

  ‘It’s Mrs More.’

  ‘Oh.’ Mrs More was one of our high net worth customers. To make matters worse she was the widow of a former bank manager. When she barked, and bark she did, we jumped, through paraffin-sodden hoops if need be.

  She stood at the reception desk, feet planted shoulder-width apart, ready for battle. Close up, powder gathered in the creases of her skin and lipstick outgrew the seared, thin line of her lips.

  ‘Mr Boyd,’ her voice soared in the banking hall. ‘I have a complaint.’

  At the magic words every other customer and quite a few of the staff stopped what they were doing and looked over. I was amazed to feel heat rise in my face.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ I tried to ignore the flush in my skin and to appear calm under the approaching onslaught. Mrs More and I had had several ‘discussions’ over the years and I liked to think that she respected me because I didn’t immediately back down, as everyone else she came across undoubtedly did.

  ‘You can tell me what the blazes is going on!’ She banged the steel pin at the end of her umbrella on the floor for emphasis and with the other hand waved a bank statement under my nose. ‘There is an entry in my statement for ten pounds, one that I have not authorised. My husband told me that banks often make mistakes. And he was right.’