A Suitable Lie

by Michael J Malone

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I wanted something painful, something that would punish me for taking the coward’s way out. Each time I walked to work, I thought of jumping in front of a lorry. Every time I walked over the railway bridge, I thought of jumping on to the power lines. But I couldn’t do it. I was such a coward, I couldn’t even do that.’

  ‘Don’t you think you’re being a bit hard on yourself?’

  ‘I do now. But at the time … Anyway, I phoned the Samaritans. Spoke to some woman for hours. She was brilliant, should have got a medal. She gave me a number of a gay helpline. I phoned them. That was even more difficult than phoning the Samaritans, it was tantamount to an admission of guilt.

  ‘So some guy at the end of the line arranged to meet me in Glasgow and take me to a gay club.’

  ‘What was that like?’

  ‘An eye-opener. It was like … you know those horror movies where the stupid victim walks down into the cellar when you know they shouldn’t. Well, I could almost hear the violins screech as I walked in the door of that club. I was nervous as hell. Anyway, this guy was really nice. Told me there was nothing to be ashamed about, that he knew exactly what I was going through and there was loads of people like me. So there I was, knees knocking, ordering a pint at this bar, with all these people around me. Some were normal looking, some were outrageously camp, but they all disgusted me. I disgusted me. I ran straight out the place and threw up all over the pavement outside. Came home on the train.’ He laughed. ‘I tried to pick a fight with this big bruiser on the same carriage, hoping that he would kick the shit out of me. He just ignored me. And I was back the next night and the next.’

  ‘Did you meet someone?’

  ‘Aye, I met loads of someones. There was one guy in particular. He was so good-looking, so confident. I wanted to be him. Other guys warned me about him, said he was dangerous, slept with everything with a pulse. But I was like a love-struck teenager.’

  ‘Was this the guy that was blackmailing you?’

  ‘Yup. But first he had to corrupt me, and boy was I up for a spot of corruption. Once I got started I was obsessed. Couldn’t get enough cock.’ Ineffectually, I tried to conceal my grimace at his words. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. It was so alien to me to hear those words being said by another man.

  ‘Sorry.’ Malcolm looked over at me. ‘Am I making you uncomfortable?’

  ‘No, well … yes.’ I felt that I should at least be as honest as Malcolm. ‘It takes some getting used to. Don’t worry. I want to hear your story. I want to understand what it was like for you.’ I could see the parallels between us. We were both fighting with our own images of masculinity, we were both trying to overcome our self-pity and shame. In this fight I was able to put to rest my old version of masculinity. I was able to see that its true definition is in any act, gesture or quality that ennobles the state of being male. Perhaps hearing how Malcolm faced up to his personal monster would help me face mine.

  ‘The younger guy in the photo?’

  Malcolm read my expression. ‘Don’t worry. He’s seventeen. Looks a lot younger, to be fair. The rest you know about. He talked me into the scenario you saw in the photographs, then he manipulated the situation to get some money from me.’ His laugh was basted in irony. ‘The bastard must have seen me coming. He must have rubbed his over-moisturised hands with glee when he saw me walking in that club.’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘Now, I try to get on with my life. Hope that my friend will forgive me.’ He smiled at me. ‘Hope my mother can live with a gay son. Try to be happy with who and what I am. And no I’m not going to burst into a Gloria Gaynor song.’ His laughter this time was unadulterated good humour. ‘And what about you?’ he asked.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you. You know how us gays are noted for our sensitivity, as well as a fascination with all things Streisand,’ he added sotto voce. ‘But I wasn’t drowning so deep in my own shit that I couldn’t see you struggling in yours.’

  Taking a deep breath, I told him everything.

  By the time I finished talking, the sun had all but disappeared below the horizon and the distant clouds were painted an optimistic red.

  Malcolm listened without interrupting. Without judgement. Without laughing at me.

  ‘So what now?’ he asked.

  I offered him a smile in reply, impressed by the change in him. A simple acceptance can be a huge help. I felt a boost from his courage.

  ‘Well, if my poofy pal can do it…’ I laughed.

  ‘Hey.’ Malcolm swiped at my arm, pretending to be offended. His grin showed otherwise.

  ‘Seriously, if you can get through what you have, then I can give it a go. No more bowing down to that bitch. And there’s no way she’s going to keep my sons. I’ve no idea what I’m going to do or how I’m going to get them back. But I’ve got to do something.’

  15

  Sheila had prescribed action. Concentrate on a solution, not the problem, she said. My feelings for Anna had changed, irrevocably. My mind raced over the events of the last few years, reading the manipulation, the beatings and the verbal abuse and seeing them for what they really were. The text in my mind was clear. No more self-delusion.

  I had to find a solution. I struggled to believe that at one point I had considered murder. Would I, or even could I, find myself returning to that as a possibility? Bile rose from my gut at the thought. I’d have to keep a tight rein on my emotions when dealing with Anna. Ultimately, if that were to happen, she would win. I would end up in jail and the boys would be taken into care, knowing their father was a killer.

  So what about separation, divorce? From watching men I knew who had separated from their wives, I witnessed two things. First, I didn’t know any men who successfully fought for custody of their children. Second, their relationships with those children, without exception and for whatever reason, suffered. Neither of these outcomes were acceptable to me.

  Life without my boys would be as meaningless to me as a scroll written in a lost language. A life in which Anna got custody of them would be unbearable, she would make sure of it. However, Pat was not even her child. I could not conceive of a court ruling that she keep him. Ryan would be another case entirely. I might be able to argue that the brothers should not be split up. But, if I could, then so might she.

  All this supposition was getting me nowhere. I had to speak to someone who knew. I would contact a lawyer in the morning. First, another night on Sheila’s couch.

  Driving up her street, I recognised a car at the end of her drive: it was Jim’s.

  He was leaning against a tall breakfast chair in the kitchen when I walked in. The dog stared up at him with a look of adoration.

  He must have just arrived. A disc of brown liquid steamed at the lip of his mug. Sheila was standing by the kettle. A mixture of trepidation and apology tightened her features.

  ‘What are you doing here, Jim?’ I tried for jollity in my voice and failed. I was irritated by his presence, but at the same time relieved to see him.

  He obviously knew something was wrong or he wouldn’t be here. The time had come for me to tell him everything. I had wanted to keep Mum and Jim in the dark, but that wish was driven by my old version of what a man should be. The new Andy Boyd was gaining power and his ideas of how a man should act and react were radically different. Misery had tempered a new steel to my backbone; a new steel alloyed with the realisation that admission of weakness and acceptance of emotion made me a stronger person. Just like Malcolm, facing the reality of my life was, I hoped, making me a better man.

  But I was still at the early stages of my transformation. The old me struggled to mask my features with a ‘is this the face of concern?’ look, and ordered me to say nothing.

  ‘Sorry, Andy,’ said Sheila, ‘Jim phoned the bank looking for you. Just after you left this morning.’

  ‘Aye.’ He stood up. ‘You okay, bro?’ I smiled at what Jim considered to be a term of en
dearment.

  ‘Why did you phone the bank?’ I asked him.

  ‘Looking for you. I phoned Anna last night and asked to speak to you.’

  ‘Oh. What did she say?’

  ‘She said, why are you phoning here, then? That was a bit of a shock. I asked her where you were. She said, fucked if I know.’

  ‘Does Mum know any of this?’

  ‘Jesus, no. You mad? I don’t want to make her worry until it’s absolutely necessary.’

  ‘Good, let’s keep it that way. How much has Sheila told you?’

  ‘Just the bare minimum,’ Sheila answered. ‘Anna chucked you out because you got suspended from work.’

  ‘And about the bitch having another man.’ Jim shook his head with disgust. ‘What kind of woman is she? Two wee boys, a good man and the first sign of bother she’s got you out on the street and another man in her bed.’

  ‘The other man is just hearsay.’ I was still struggling with that one. Not because I was worried about being the cuckolded husband, but because the thought of another man dealing with my boys gave me chills.

  I stepped toward the door. Righteous anger surged to every extremity; I could feel it spark in my fingertips.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Sheila.

  ‘To get my boys. They’re not spending one more moment in that witch’s company.’ I stabbed the air in front of me with a forefinger. One stab for each word.

  ‘Andy, think about it first,’ said Jim. ‘You go round there all fired up. You frighten the boys, she phones the police … you get the jail.’

  ‘He’s right, Andy,’ agreed Sheila. ‘Especially now you’ve got a history.’

  ‘A history of what?’ Jim looked puzzled.

  ‘Violence,’ I answered, my energy weakening. ‘I’ve got to get my boys out of there.’ I could feel salt sting my eyes. I blinked back the tears, I couldn’t let them see this getting the better of me.

  ‘What violence?’ asked Jim.

  ‘You two go in to the living room and talk. I’ll make us a fresh pot of coffee,’ said Sheila. Passing her as I followed Jim out of the kitchen, I sent her a smile of appreciation. She smiled in reply.

  Jim sat down and leaned forward in an armchair. His arms rested across his lap, his face a large question mark. Quietly and without a trace of self-pity, I told him everything. Right from my broken nose on my wedding night, to the fights that followed any night out I had with him. I ended with the more recent events surrounding my time at Campbeltown – the thefts, my suspension and how I had ended up sleeping on Sheila’s couch.

  Once I finished, I was exhausted. Exhausted and relieved. Both Malcolm and I had discovered the true weight of deceit. A lie could slip out as easily as a feather from a torn duvet. But a ton of feathers was still a ton. All it would take is one last feather, one last lie, and you would collapse under the strain.

  The relief of casting this load aside was immense. Once I’d stopped speaking I flopped back into my seat.

  ‘My God,’ said Jim. ‘I had no idea. Absolutely none,’ He looked as if he’d picked up the weight I just dropped. ‘I mean, I knew you guys weren’t really suited. But this? What is she, deranged? Do women behave like that? I‘ve never heard anything like it.’

  ‘At least you didn’t laugh.’

  ‘Laugh? Why would I laugh?’ He looked horrified at the very suggestion.

  ‘Because that’s the usual reaction, isn’t it? Look at the size of him. Let’s a wee woman kick shit out of him. What kind of man is he?’

  ‘No. I admit it’s difficult to imagine, but laugh? No.’ He looked at me. ‘So that black eye at the wee man’s birthday?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Bloody hell. What a bitch.’ Jim stood up, fists clenched. If it was a man who’d hurt me like this he’d be straight round there with a baseball bat. But this was a woman and he clearly didn’t have a clue how to react. ‘This is fucking unreal.’ He paced back and forward, his face getting darker and darker. ‘I could just go round there. Tell her what I think of her…’

  ‘And how on earth would that help?’ I asked.

  ‘Don’t know,’ Jim replied and sat down. ‘It would make me feel better. God…’ he stared off into recent memory. ‘To look at her, butter wouldn’t melt.’

  I could only nod in agreement.

  ‘I’m going round there.’ Jim stood up so fast I thought his upward trajectory would continue until he hit the ceiling. ‘Bitch isn’t going to keep the boys for one more second…’

  ‘Best sit down, Jim,’ Sheila said as she came in with the coffee and sat a mug in front of each of us. ‘You going round there in a rage is only going to make things worse.’

  ‘But…’ Jim ran his right hand through his hair as if he wanted to pull a clump out. Took a step back. Then forward.

  ‘But nothing,’ I said. ‘Sit on your arse.’

  Jim sat, but he was wearing a determined look that had me worried. ‘Jim, you’ll only make things worse…’

  ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘I get it.’

  We sipped our drinks and sat in silence for a few minutes, each of us lost in thought.

  ‘Right, what are we going to do about you, big brother?’

  ‘We are going to do nothing. I am going to get my boys back.’

  ‘What about a place to sleep? You can’t go on pestering Sheila.’ Jim looked like he was getting control of himself, but there was a distant cast to his eyes that had me worried. It wasn’t beyond him to go round there and kick off some kind of shouting match.

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ said Sheila, a little too quickly.

  ‘You’re right, Jim. I need to find somewhere else to sleep. Mum has plenty of room, but I don’t really want to involve her yet.’

  ‘You can come to mine,’ said Jim.

  ‘What about Paula?’

  ‘Paula…’ he answered pointedly, ‘is no longer. We’ve been finished for months.’

  ‘You never said,’ I said and felt a quiet burn of shame that I had become so out of the loop that I didn’t know what my brother’s current situation was.

  ‘You never asked. Anyway, I’ve got a spare bed. You need to give Sheila her space back.’

  I looked at my watch. It was after eight p.m. ‘Why don’t you go back to yours, Jim. Freshen up the spare bed and I’ll go over to my place, grab a few things, give the boys a goodnight kiss and come over.’

  ‘Fine. Don’t do anything daft when you speak to Anna.’

  Jim revved his car up to the end of the street. The house seemed emptier with his departure. It was as if it had taken his presence to illustrate that Sheila and I had been here alone together. I didn’t need to go deep into my mind to find my attraction to her. It was there, like a new suit hanging on the front of a wardrobe of old clothes. But it was a suit I couldn’t afford to try on for size just yet.

  ‘Thank you, Sheila. For everything.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ her smile warmed me. ‘You take care of yourself.’ She walked towards me without a trace of awkwardness, her arms wide. ‘C’mere.’

  I stepped forward and gave in to her embrace. My cheek resting on her head, the perfume from her hair filling my nostrils. Despite my attraction to her, there was nothing sexual about that embrace, just two people sharing strength. My arms were around her shoulders, hers round my waist.

  ‘Andy,’ she said. The word was laden with meaning. Like a warning shot, heat raced into my groin. As if burned, I stepped back.

  ‘Andy?’ She looked offended.

  ‘Sheila, I…’ Should the new Andy Boyd be honest and declare every one of his emotions? Perhaps if I hadn’t been in such a mess. ‘… Maybe if this was a different time…’

  Her eyes shone, then the colour dipped with a mix of pleasure and confusion.

  ‘You’re right, Andy. Another time, another life maybe,’ she said quietly.

  Hope danced in my veins, I tried to hold it in check. Here was a woman I could love. I took a step forward. Arms wide. Paus
ed. Stepped back. Allowed my arms to drop to my sides.

  This couldn’t happen. Not yet. My heels were still dangling over a precipice, my toes stretching for a stronger hold. I wasn’t safe. Until I was, I couldn’t risk Sheila’s affections. The boys were my number-one priority. Nothing else could interfere until they were with me.

  Sheila’s goodbye kiss still warmed my cheek as I parked outside my house. Her words of caution sounded in my ear. Remembered pain tightened muscle as I walked up to the door. Every animal instinct I possessed urged me to turn and flee. Behind the wooden door I knocked on was a walking ball of fury and a mountain of pain. I felt like a frightened mutt, my tail curved up between my legs and reaching along the length of my stomach.

  No. Steel was in the set of my jaw now. I would allow no more of Anna’s abuse. The one thing that had held me in her thrall had died. She could no longer use my love for her as a weapon. But I would have to be careful. She was not stupid and would know that the one weapon remaining in her arsenal was the most potent of all. My love for my boys. She would have no problems in drawing that sword and skewering me with it.

  ‘What do you want?’ was her welcome as she opened the door.

  ‘Some clothes,’

  ‘Oh,’ she walked into the hall, looking smaller than I remembered. ‘I hope you don’t think you’re going to get much more.’ The warning was clear. She was going to fight to keep the boys.

  Acid roiled in my stomach. Fighting back was still new to me. I couldn’t let her smell any fear.

  ‘You’re all right. I’ll just fill up a bag with some clothes. I’ll be back for the boys some other time.’ Defiance sparked in every fibre.

  ‘You wish. You’ve no job, no permanent residence. I’ve already spoken to a lawyer. The boys will be mine and any request for access will be denied. Permanently.’

  16

  As Anna spoke, her face was contorted with hate. For the first time I wondered who the subject of that hate was. Was it me or was it actually herself? Words that once had the power to invoke my inadequacy, were now just sounds. Streams of sound that could no longer wound. The power I had given her to hurt me, I had now taken back. And this realisation was my shield.