The Girl Who Lied

by Sue Fortin

The next sense I become aware of is smell. The unmistakable aroma of petrol creeps up my nostrils and claws at the back of my throat.

  My natural instinct to survive takes over and I no longer feel the pain in my head and shoulder. I am overcome with the need to escape.

  The smell of petrol spurs me on.

  ‘Niall!’ I shout. I can’t see him. The seat next to me is empty and the door has come off.

  The smell of petrol is stronger. I realise I am chanting the first few lines of Hail Mary. Repeating the words that have been ingrained in me from early childhood. ‘Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with me. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with me.’ I push frantically at the clip of my seat belt and am rewarded with the sound of a click and immediately the pressure of the strap is gone.

  I grapple with the door handle but my head is throbbing and I can’t see properly. ‘Hail Mary, full of grace. Hail Mary, full of grace.’ My vision blurs and blackness comes at me from all directions.

  PART 2

  You never know how strong you are until being strong is your only choice.

  Chapter 20

  I feel flat. It’s been over a week since I called things off with Ed. I know I’ve made the right decision, but all the same, it isn’t a nice feeling. There is no sense of freedom I thought I might experience, no standing on an empty beach and throwing my arms wide open, embracing my new lease of life. No, there is definitely none of that; more a deep feeling of sadness, mixed with embarrassment that I had let myself become his project. Looking back, the signs were there, I just hadn’t seen them, or maybe I hadn’t wanted to see them.

  I find myself wandering along the road towards the seafront. The sea air, the sound of seagulls and the gentle lap of the incoming tide always have a calming effect. I often sought refuge at the beach when I was a teenager, hiding amongst the sand dunes, away from the teasing and name-calling. I could look out to sea and watch all my worries slip away on the outgoing tide.

  The day is drawing to an end and the sun is dipping low in the sky. A lone figure and dog come into view. The sun shines brightly behind them, silhouetting their outlines. The dog bounds around the owner dropping a ball on the sand, waiting for it to be thrown once more into the sea. The dog obviously delights in the game and keeps coming back time and time again.

  As they come closer, the figure stops and faces the sand dunes. Then changing direction, heads towards me. I groan. It’s Kerry. The sun has conspired against me, making early identification impossible. I rest my elbows on my knees, cupping my chin in my hands. Maybe he’ll get the hint I’m not in the mood for talking.

  ‘You look deep in thought there,’ says Kerry as he approaches.

  I continue to look out to sea. ‘I was.’

  ‘Ooh, tetchy. Someone got out the wrong side of the bed this morning, did they?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘I’m surprised you’re not running out your frustrations. Isn’t that what you usually do?’

  ‘You’re being very nosey today, aren’t you?’ I look up, squinting as the sun blinds me. Kerry moves position so his shadow shields my face.

  ‘Got out the wrong side and then some,’ he says. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ He whistles to Skip, who comes bounding out of the sand dunes with a tennis ball in his mouth. ‘Come on, boy.’ As he goes to leave, he bends down and squeezes my hand. ‘You know where I am.’

  I reply with a squeeze of his fingertips as they slip from mine. No words needed. Unspoken communication. It’s easy being around Kerry, despite my bad mood. He gets me, understands my need for space and time. A kindred spirit perhaps? I watch him plod through the deep sand of the dunes, encouraging Skip to follow.

  ‘Kerry!’ I call, getting to my feet. I call out again. He turns to look at me.

  He smiles and holds out a hand. ‘Coffee? Chez Wright?’ he says as I reach him.

  I slip my hand into his. ‘How could I resist?’

  He winks. ‘My thoughts exactly.’

  The coffee is rich and warming. I cup my hands around the mug as I sit back on the sofa. Kerry’s flat is so different to what I’m used to with Ed. There are no highly polished surfaces, no clean lines, sharp edges and monochrome furnishings.

  Kerry’s flat is full of life and excitement. There is a multi-coloured striped throw draped over one side of the sofa, with a royal-blue throw over the other half. Several cushions, none of them matching, are bunched up at one end as a makeshift pillow. Grey carpet tiles are hidden by a large rug in the middle of the room. The reds, golds and browns long since faded and worn in patches. A coffee table, which looks suspiciously liked white-painted pallets with stripped scaffold boards as a top, sits in the middle. The curtains are a plain beige colour, as are the walls and above the sofa a wall hanging depicts some sort of Buddhist deity.

  The lack of any other chair forces Kerry to sit beside me on the sofa. He looks around the room. ‘I know it’s not The Ritz, but it’s home.’

  ‘It lovely. I like it.’

  Kerry gives a laugh. ‘Lovely wasn’t what I was going for, but I’m glad you like it.’

  ‘It homely. Relaxing,’ I say.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ says Kerry. He places his cup on the coffee table. ‘You should try it more often.’

  ‘Not something I can turn on and off, but with the right company…’ I take a sip of my coffee and speak again. ‘I’ve broken up with Ed.’

  Kerry raises his eyebrows and nods his approval. ‘Good.’

  ‘You don’t seem surprised.’

  ‘After what happened, what do you expect? He’s a dick. Joe was spot on about him.’

  ‘Yeah, well, Joe should know.’ It’s an unfair remark, as I have to admit, apart from one comment at the barbecue, Joe has been fine.

  ‘Why have you got such an axe to grind with Joe?’

  ‘A personality clash,’ I say.

  ‘It’s more than that. What went on with you two in the past? You’ve obviously got some history with each other.’

  ‘Not that sort of history,’ I say.

  ‘What, then?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask your cousin?’ I let out a sigh. ‘Look, I’m sorry. Ignore me. My bad mood seems to want to hang around.’

  ‘Sometimes it helps to talk about stuff,’ says Kerry.

  ‘And sometimes it doesn’t,’ I say. I’m not sure what it is, but I feel compelled to expand. ‘It’s nothing, really. Joe and I, we didn’t get on very well at school. He used to like to take the piss out of me. You know, the red hair, the curls…’

  ‘And that’s it?’

  I tap my finger against the mug. ‘He used to wind me up about going out with Niall, Roisin’s brother. She hated me being her brother’s girlfriend and it wasn’t unusual for her to load the gun, as it were, and for Joe to fire it. Quite a team at times.’

  ‘He’s always been like that,’ says Kerry. ‘Roisin doesn’t sound like she was much of a friend.’

  I shrug. ‘A bit limited for friends in Rossway. Sometimes she could actually be really nice, but there was always a price to pay.’

  ‘Like what?’

  I think back, choosing which of the many occasions to cite. ‘Like the time she let me borrow one of her outfits for a disco because I couldn’t afford anything new. Then she went around telling everyone that she had lent it to me, but it was an awful dress and looked even more awful of me.’

  ‘Nasty.’

  ‘That’s a good word for her. I can remember the feeling of total humiliation. I went home. Said I didn’t feel well. I remember looking at myself in the mirror in my bedroom and that gorgeous emerald-green dress that made me feel beautiful now made me feel worthless and ugly. Stupid, I know, but I was fourteen and that sort of thing was pretty crushing.’

  Kerry takes the cup from me and places it on the coffee table alongside his own. He holds my hands. I look at him as he moves his head closer to mine. I feel transfixed, as if under a spell. ‘I don’t believe for one minut
e that you looked anything other than beautiful.’ He kisses me on the lips and then moves away, but only millimetres. I can feel his breath on my skin.

  ‘What was that for?’ My voice a mere whisper.

  ‘What do you want it to be for?’

  ‘I don’t like all these riddles,’ I say, still unmoving. I want more of him. Another small, teasing taste is too much to bear. I’ve been supressing all sorts of feelings for Kerry for some time now. I like the closeness of him, the intimacy. I don’t want to break the moment.

  ‘Let’s do some straight talking, then,’ says Kerry. He kisses me again, this time for longer, his lips encouraging mine to open and join in the rhythm. I relax, giving myself permission to respond, not just with my mind but with my body as well. The lure of the double bed through the open doorway isn’t an option, the softness of the sofa envelops my body as I lie back, my arms around Kerry’s neck, pulling him down into the nest of pillows and multi-coloured throws.

  I let out a small moan as his lips travel down my neck and meet with his fingers, which are unbuttoning my blouse. His hand scoops around my side and underneath me. I lift my body enough to allow him to release the catch on my bra. His fingertips are rough, hardworking manual hands, little rips of skin graze over my own soft flesh. The roughness is a contrast to those that usually grace my skin, but even so, there is more tenderness, more delicacy, more sensuality in those sandpaper fingers than there has ever been in the smooth, moisturised and manicured hands that have roamed my body in the past.

  The past. Such a loaded word, which holds so many dark secrets. Ed is now in the past. I am living in the here and now. The future – a dot on the horizon. All I know is I want Kerry with every part of my body and right at this very moment, with all my mind. The past banished; Ed tips into the abyss of my memory.

  Afterwards, Kerry pulls the throw around us, we squash alongside each other on the sagging cushions, holding onto each other with what I suspect is more than just physical reasons for both of us. There is an emotional dependency and unspoken understanding. We both have past demons, which are hot on our heels.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I ask, lifting my head from under his chin. He looks down at me.

  ‘Is that a serious question?’ The smile on his mouth and the look in his eyes tells me what I want to know.

  ‘Just checking,’ I say, snuggling back down.

  The tugging of the throw and whining of Skip breaks the moment.

  ‘Hello, boy,’ says Kerry, draping his arm over me to give the dog a pat on the head. Skip hops up on his hind legs, resting his front paws on my back. He whines with a sense of urgency. ‘I think he wants to go out,’ says Kerry. ‘Sorry.’

  We manage to untangle our limbs and Kerry hops over onto the floor. He pulls on his trousers and tugs his black t-shirt over his head. ‘I’ll take him out for a minute. Are you okay there?’

  I sit up, pulling my blouse front together and fastening the buttons. ‘I’ll make us a drink. I should give Fiona a call too at some point to see how my dad is today.’

  ‘How are things generally?’

  ‘Not great.’ I flick my hair out from the collar of my blouse. ‘I’ll just use the bathroom quickly to freshen up.’

  ‘Yeah, sure. It’s through there,’ says Kerry, pointing in the direction of the bedroom. ‘I won’t be long.’

  Padding through to the bedroom, I can see that the eclectic mix of old and new is a theme throughout. A striped duvet cover sprawls across the unmade double bed and a pair of red faded velvet curtains are pulled across the window. I wonder when they were last opened. Maybe when he had called out to me from the window that time I was jogging by. There is one bedside table, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe, all from different bedroom sets and eras. I smile. There’s something warming about it. Charming. Male shabby-chic. Totally the opposite to anything I have been used to in Ed’s sterile apartment.

  Coming out of the bathroom a few minutes later, I catch sight of a mirror propped up against the wall that I hadn’t noticed before. There are two photographs stuck to the glass. I bend down for a closer look. One is of a young couple crouching down with a toddler in front of them. The little boy has a shock of blond hair and is wearing denim dungarees. The man has the same colour hair, a beard and is wearing a cut-off black-leather jacket with jeans torn at the knees. The woman is smiling, her fair hair hangs loose on her shoulders. Her steel-blue-grey eyes shine with happiness. I’ve seen those eyes before. I know who the little family is.

  The other photo is of two boys. The older child is definitely Kerry. I can tell by the blond locks and sea-grey eyes, the same as those of the woman in the other photograph. Kerry looks to be about fourteen or fifteen, a few years before I first met him, I guess. The younger boy looks about five. His hair is darker, but he too has the same colour eyes as Kerry and the woman.

  ‘My younger brother.’ Kerry’s voice breaks through my thoughts. He’s leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets.

  ‘I didn’t know you had a younger brother,’ I say. ‘I’ve not heard you mention him before.’

  ‘I don’t get to see him much. He lives with his mum.’

  I frown, not understanding where the connection lies. ‘His mum?’

  ‘My mum,’ said Kerry. ‘She got married again. Ronan is the only good thing to come out of that.’

  ‘And this is your mum,’ I say, my finger rests on the edge of the family snap. Kerry doesn’t say anything. My voice is soft. ‘That’s you and your parents.’ It’s a statement not a question. ‘You have your mother’s eyes.’

  ‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?’ There’s a chill to his voice.

  ‘I think your eyes are beautiful,’ I say. I stand up and put my arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. ‘Do you think you’ll ever speak to your mum again? It’s a shame if it means you don’t get to see your brother.’

  Kerry pulls my arms away from his neck. ‘There’s no going back. Not after what happened. A real mother wouldn’t treat their child the way she treated me.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘Badly.’ He turns and walks back into the living room.

  ‘Time heals,’ I say. ‘Things get said in the heat of the moment. At the end of the day, she’s your mother and loves you.’

  Kerry spins on his heel and marches over to me. He swallows hard. For a moment I think he’s going to shout at me. I take a step back. He moves around to the side of the bed and, kneeling down, pulls out a shoe box. He upturns it, the lid falls off and the contents scatter across the bed cover. His voice is full of hurt when he speaks. ‘She fucked up and she knows it. That’s why she sends me a letter every year.’ He picks up one of the envelopes. ‘She may well be sorry now, but I don’t want to hear it.’ He tosses the envelope back onto the pile.

  I sit down on the bed and sift through the white envelopes. None of them have been opened.

  ‘Don’t you think she deserves the chance to say sorry? A chance to explain herself?’

  ‘Jesus, Erin, you’re such a hypocrite. You haven’t exactly got a great relationship with your own dad, have you?’

  It’s a cutting remark, despite the truth that laces it. ‘But I do still see him and speak to him,’ I say in my defence.

  ‘It’s not simply that,’ says Kerry. ‘She’s a mother. Mothers are supposed to love their child, no matter what. Mother’s aren’t supposed to reject their own flesh and blood. A child they’ve carried inside them for nine months and given birth to. Looked after for sixteen years and then when someone else comes along, she washes her hands?’ He shakes his head. ‘She turned her back on me. She can’t just pick up the pieces when it suits her.’

  There is real pain in his voice. A deep-rooted pain.

  ‘That was a long time ago,’ I say.

  ‘Why are you defending her? What would you know about any of this?’

  I jump to my feet. The remark cuts deep. ‘Don’t you dare judge me. You know nothing about me.’


  ‘Come on, Erin. You don’t get on with your dad that well. So what? It’s no big deal. Your dad hasn’t rejected you. He hasn’t turned his back on you. You weren’t kicked out of home at sixteen.’

  There’s so much I could say to that. Kerry doesn’t know the half of what I’ve been through. He has no right to judge me and make assumptions. I need to get away from him before I blurt anything out in temper. I choose to retreat rather than attack.

  ‘As I said, you know nothing about me.’ I march out of the room. I need to get out of here. I grab my shoes and shove my feet into them, treading the heels down as I do so. Once they’re on, I leave, pausing only in the doorway for a final word. ‘You really need to get over yourself. You think you’re the only one who’s had a tough childhood. Well, I’ve news for you. You need to lose that chip on your shoulder.’

  ‘And you think you don’t?’ His voice races after me as I slam the door and hurry down the outside staircase.

  Chapter 21

  Before I have even reached my parents’ flat across the road, I know I’ve overacted. A feeling of shame and embarrassment begins gnawing at my insides. I shouldn’t have snapped back at Kerry like that. I don’t know exactly what went on between him and his mum. In the same way as I don’t want him to judge me, I shouldn’t judge him. We are as bad as each other. We are both damaged goods.

  Reaching the flat, I let myself in and go into the living room. I’ve already decided that I’ll apologise to Kerry later. I’ll let the dust settle and when we are both calmer, I’ll go over and say sorry.

  I flop down on the sofa and switch on the TV. Nothing holds my attention. I feel restless. I make myself a cup of tea and bring it into the living room, placing it on the coffee table, next to the bunch of keys for the flat and shop. Idly I play with the keys, sliding them round the keyring itself, ticking them off in my mind like a school register. The key for the front door of the flat. The key for the back of the shop. The key for the front of the shop. The key for the till.

  The bunch of keys is familiar. It’s the same bunch my dad has used since I can remember. I know he always kept the safe key separate, for security reasons, but where in the flat he hid it, I don’t know. It’s odd that Mum can’t remember, and even more odd that the spare key’s whereabouts is just as much of a mystery.