The Lies Within

by Jane Isaac

  “You’re joking! It’s going to be hard enough as it is.”

  “Her dad died earlier this year. I didn’t like the thought of her on her own.”

  “So send her to the soup kitchen, she can feed the homeless.”

  “That’s mean, Lydia.”

  “No, what’s mean is that we have to bear our first Christmas without Jo, and now we have to pretend, and be polite because there’s a stranger here.”

  “Faye’s not a stranger.”

  “She is to me.”

  “She’s been a good friend these past weeks.” She rounded on her daughter, her irritation instantly melting at the sight of the tears brimming in her eyes. At that moment the front door banged back on its hinges and Meggy ran in wearing a pair of felt reindeer antlers.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Jackman picked up a stick and hurled it into the sea, watching Erik as he splashed through the shallows to retrieve it. The beach was empty today, the wind churning up the waves.

  Celia slipped her arm through his. “Mum loved it here.”

  Jackman gave her arm a gentle squeeze. The past weeks had been full of hospital visits and bedside vigils. The stroke had overwhelmed Alice’s already weakened body. They sat and watched for what seemed like days, until doctors eventually reported that there was some brain function.

  He’d never forget making that phone call to Celia. Her voice was controlled, stilted, but he knew her, could tell she was only trying for his benefit. She’d arrived early the following morning, travelled to Broom Hills and packed a bag so that her mother was dressed in her own clothes, rather than the dreary hospital attire. Later, she’d sat beside her bed, chatted away, brushed her hair. They’d had their quiet moments, where they’d shared a tear, but Celia was like her mother, practical in every sense of the word, and she dealt with the situation so much better than he did.

  Celia untangled her arm and ran up the beach towards Erik who was busy digging in the sand.

  Little over a month ago, he’d been sitting in the consultant’s office, asking for Alice to be scheduled for more intensive tests, holding on to a ray of hope of some kind of recovery. He’d completed the forms and they were waiting for dates. Now everything was put on hold. They were told the stroke had left a shadow on Alice’s brain. It was difficult to assess the extent of the damage, any usual tests for paralysis confounded by the locked-in syndrome. But what continued to haunt Jackman was that she was shut away in that shrinking body, not able to tell them if she was in pain or how she felt.

  The waves folded forward. Celia was bent over a stick, writing something in the sand: To Mum. With all our love, always. The enlarged letters were messy and disjointed, like a child learning to write. She finished it was a big kiss at the bottom. By the time he reached her the waves were already licking the edge, ready to wash them away.

  “Come on,” Jackman said. “I’ll race you.”

  “Hey, you’ve had a head start,” Celia squealed behind him as he clambered over the sand and back towards the pathway that led to Brean Down. Erik caught them up as they passed the café, keen to be a part of the new adventure.

  Christmas Day had been a sober affair. Alice loved Christmas, decorated every room in the house with fir tree branches, placed candles in the windows and always insisted on a real tree decorated with simple handmade decorations from years gone by, a throw-back from her Danish roots. Celia vowed to continue with her mother’s traditions. But, after a visit to see Alice in the morning, they’d shared a quiet dinner and Celia had spent the best part of the afternoon on the phone to her boyfriend in Southampton. Erik was the only one up for a party, blissfully unaware of the sadness that encircled them both.

  It took a while to make the climb. Celia was panting by the time they reached the top and stood in silence, admiring the vista over the Bristol Channel. The emptiness was calming.

  “Do you remember what Mum used to say about the view here?” Celia said.

  Jackman smiled. Alice loved this route. She begged him to travel across to this spot on the west coast every Boxing Day. One year it was wet, the rain coming down in sheets, yet she still insisted they make the climb. “It made her feel on top of the world!” Celia joined in the last few words and they both laughed.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Celia asked as their laughter petered out. “I could stay a bit longer.”

  “I’ll be fine. You’ve got finals to prepare for.”

  “Make sure you keep your phone on then.” She moved away and ran with Erik across the grass.

  Jackman tugged his phone out of his pocket. He switched it on, and waited for a sign of life, half expecting it to be dead. The battery flashed up 10 percent. He spent a few sober minutes, scrolling through personal messages of support from friends and colleagues, then switched to email and moved down the screen, hovering beside a message from Wilson. He hadn’t been at work or back in touch with Leicestershire since the day he received the call about Alice’s stroke.

  The message was sent on the 23rd of December, just a few days earlier:

  Hope you are doing okay. I’ve got some news. Get in touch when you are ready. No rush.

  Chapter Fifty

  Grace wrestled to fasten the top button of her coat. It was one of those murky January days with a sprinkling of rain in the air that doesn’t ever get properly light. The weather had done nothing to put off the sale shoppers though, and the centre of Market Harborough teemed with families, couples and groups of teenagers, almost as if an army of ants had invaded. She’d agreed to meet Faye in Harborough town, but was now wishing that she’d invited her around to the house as normal.

  She turned up her collar, checked her phone again. No messages. She was just considering leaving when she caught sight of a red coat bustling towards her. Faye’s face looked grim. “Sorry, I’m late,” she said. “Boiler’s broken at home. I’ve spent all morning trying to get hold of a plumber.”

  They moved into a café. “Are you sure you don’t want to be home?” Grace asked. “We don’t have to do this now.”

  “He’s not coming until four o’clock. I’ll be glad to warm up for an hour.”

  They made their way through the tables to the one beside the counter. Grace ordered drinks and cakes. It was a difficult seat, their shoulders constantly jostled by people approaching the counter to order, but there weren’t any others free so they made the best of it.

  “When did you find it wasn’t working?” Grace said as she removed her coat and sat.

  “It was cold in the house yesterday. I thought it was me and put on another jumper. But I didn’t hear it this morning. The tank’s quite noisy. Usually wakes me up when it kicks into action. When I got out of bed it was freezing and I realised the radiators weren’t working.”

  “What did the plumber say?”

  “Not much on the phone. He was the sixth one I called. The others were either on holiday or too busy. He says he can’t do anything until he comes out and takes a look at it.”

  “Oh, I hope it’s something small, something he can fix quickly.”

  “Me too, and cheaply.”

  ***

  Jackman heaved Celia’s bags into the back of her car and piled the supermarket carrier bags around them. “Sure you’ve got enough there?”

  “I’m fine, Dad. Really. They do have supermarkets in Southampton too.”

  He closed the boot. Celia enveloped him in a big hug. “You sure you are going to be okay?”

  “I should be asking you that question. I could have driven you back.”

  “Dad, stop fussing. I’ve driven that route so many times I could do it with my eyes closed.” She stuck out her elbow and he ducked back, just in time for it to miss his stomach. The action dissolved the atmosphere, restoring the jovial spirit they were both more comfortable with. “I’ll call soon. Look after Mum.”

  Jackman’s shoulders drooped as he watched her drive down the road. Celia was returning to university and, with her finals loomin
g, it would be several months before they would see each other again. The house was quiet as he walked back inside. Celia had barely left his side since her mother’s stroke, a fact that was set to make her absence all the more difficult to bear. Even Erik seemed aware of the impending change and didn’t move from his place on the sofa.

  He switched on his music, waiting for the sounds of Bach to fill the room, and sat down beside the dog. Everywhere he looked there were pieces of Alice. Above the fireplace sat an oversized mirror, edged in driftwood that she’d hauled back from Portobello Market. Beside the window was an oil painting of Erik she’d commissioned on his first birthday. On the far wall hung a caricature of Alice, Celia and him on holiday in France when Celia was small. Alice hadn’t lived there for over a year now, yet their home still whispered of her presence. The music crashed into a crescendo, filling the room. The house suddenly seemed overwhelming. He needed a diversion.

  He re-read Dee Wilson’s message and automatically pressed to call her, more in hope than expectation, and was surprised when she answered.

  “Hello, sir. Good to hear from you.”

  He turned down the music. “You too. I hear you’ve got some news?”

  “Ah. You got my text. Yes, it’s about Grace Daniels. I think you’ll be interested in the findings.”

  ***

  Later that evening Grace put another log on the wood burner and snuggled on the sofa beside Lucky. The wind was picking up outside, whistling as it swished down the side of the house. Faye’s boiler problem slipped into her mind. She grabbed her phone, typed out a text to her friend: All sorted?

  It was a while before her phone buzzed with a reply: Afraid not. Looks like it’s broken. Might need a new one.

  Grace called her. “You okay?”

  “Just cold.”

  “Why don’t you come and stay here overnight? I can spare…” she hesitated a moment. The only spare room she had was Jo’s and that didn’t seem appropriate. “… the sofa. It’s quite comfy.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to intrude.”

  “Don’t be silly. It’s only for one evening.”

  “Well, it would be nice to be warm.”

  “That’s settled then. I’ll send Phil over to pick you up.”

  “No, that’s not necessary.”

  “I insist. You can’t get the bus at this time of night.”

  Grace took down Faye’s address, ended the call and wandered through to the kitchen. Phil was leant down beside the door, undoing his running shoes. A new hobby he’d only recently taken up. “Looks like we have a guest for the night,” she said, grabbing the dishcloth and wiping down the sides.

  He sat back on his heels and wheezed.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Just getting my breath back. What did you say?”

  “Faye’s boiler’s broken. She’s hasn’t got any heating.”

  Phil gave a sympathetic grimace.

  “Okay if you pick her up in half an hour? That’ll give you a chance to get changed and her time to gather her stuff together.”

  “Pick who up?” Lucky rushed to greet Lydia who was now standing at the doorway.

  Grace chucked the dishcloth back in the bowl. “Faye.”

  Lydia groaned.

  “Oh, don’t be like that. She’s got no heating.”

  “Where will she sleep?”

  “I’m going to make up the sofa for her.”

  Lydia huffed. “I’m going back upstairs.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Time crawled by. Snow arrived, almost without warning, and disappeared the same day. Faye’s boiler was a bigger problem than expected. She was told it would take a week or so to resolve, so Grace invited her to stay on a while longer. The days passed easily with Faye in the house and the two women spent many an hour walking the dog, watching television, chatting over coffee.

  Lydia spent even more time in her bedroom, and it was almost a relief when the day of her school trip arrived. Perhaps the break would do them all good.

  Grace knocked on the door of Lydia’s bedroom, waited until she was invited in and stepped over an empty water bottle that lay just inside the door. She tried to ignore the crisp packets, books and piles of clothes on the floor that merged together to cover the carpet beneath, and watched Lydia battle with the zip on her suitcase. “Got everything?”

  “Think so. I’m still not sure I should be going.”

  “We talked about this,” Grace said. “This ski trip will do you the world of good. Give you a complete change, and you’ll be with your school friends. It’s the perfect time to go, before you have to knuckle down and study for those exams.”

  “But after everything that’s happened…”

  “Jo wouldn’t want you to sit here and miss your trip, would she? Scotland’s beautiful this time of year.”

  “Still doesn’t seem right.” She stepped back and looked her mother up and down, her face contorting. “I’m really not sure about that dress, Mum.”

  Grace smoothed the denim dress over her hips. “You don’t like it?”

  Lydia scrunched her nose. “Honestly? It looks like something Faye would wear.”

  Grace snorted. She’d long ago given up the possibility of seeking approval from her teenage daughter, but Lydia was right about one thing… Faye had chosen the dress. In fact, Grace had been so pleased with it, she’d bought them both one, a little treat, from one of the boutiques on Harborough’s High Street.

  At that moment the sound of Faye singing as she left the bathroom filled the house. They glanced at one another. Lydia pulled a face. “How much longer is she staying for?”

  “Only a few more days. While her new boiler is installed.”

  Lydia grabbed her hairbrush and tucked it into a side pocket of the bag.

  “What don’t you like about her?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. She only talks to you. It’s like you’re in some kind of little club together. It’s weird.” She grabbed a tie from the bedside table and secured her hair in a ponytail. “And she’s always here.”

  When she’d invited Faye to stay, Grace hadn’t asked the others or given any thought as to how it might affect them. But it was their home too and suddenly she felt a sting of selfishness. Was she inadvertently contributing to the wedge that had formed between them, pushing her family aside? “She’ll be gone when you get back, I promise.”

  Lydia grabbed hold of the bag and moved out onto the landing. “I saw her coming out of Jo’s room yesterday.”

  “What?”

  Faye’s voice was louder out here, her tune filling the house.

  Grace grabbed her shoulder. “Are you sure?”

  Lydia nodded. “I thought maybe you were clearing it out.”

  “Are you sure you’re not making this up?”

  Lydia ignored her mother’s question, instead thumping the holdall down the stairs, bumping every step, before resting it in the hallway.

  Faye smiled as they both entered the kitchen. “Anyone for coffee?” she breezed.

  “Why don’t you ask her yourself if you don’t believe me?” Lydia said.

  “Is everything okay?” Faye asked.

  Grace watched Lydia roll her eyes and move into the front room. “Of course. Lydia was just a bit upset. Thought she saw you coming out of Jo’s room yesterday.”

  “Oh, I was. Phil was working on the car and you were out front talking to him. I couldn’t find Lucky. So I went upstairs and checked the bedrooms. When I came down she was back in the kitchen. I’d forgotten she uses the old cat flap in the door. Sorry, I meant to mention it. Must have forgot when you came in.” She pulled some mugs out of the cupboard.

  “No problem. Lydia just gets a bit overprotective about Jo’s room.”

  “Quite right too. Now, how about that coffee?”

  ***

  “It’s strangely quiet with no children in the house,” Grace said later. Since Jo’s death she’d been hyperaware of her youngest daught
er’s movements, making sure she wasn’t out alone, offering lifts when possible. She’d even taken her to the coach and waited until it left the car park for its journey to Scotland that morning, much to Lydia’s annoyance. Deep down she knew that Lydia needed to go on this trip, spread her wings and breathe. Outwardly she’d encouraged it, but the prospect of losing that control over her, even for a short time, was unnerving.

  Faye mustered an empathetic smile. “It’s only a few days.”

  They were stood in Grace’s back garden, coats pulled close against the sharp wind. It was a beautifully clear winter’s day. Grace watched Faye take a long drag of her cigarette. She’d grown to look forward to these trips into the garden, giving her the opportunity to monitor its slow change during the winter months. A blackbird landed on the bird table and fluttered about, pecking at some crusts Grace had put out that morning.

  Faye took another drag and she watched her longingly. “Want some?” Faye said.

  Grace shook her head.

  “You sure?”

  Grace looked at the cigarette in Faye’s hand. “Oh, go on then.” She took it, closed her eyes and sucked, long and hard. She’d given up smoking when she was pregnant with Jo, but Jamie had been a heavy smoker all his adult life and the doctors made it quite clear that it was a contributing factor to the lung cancer that killed him. Grace responded by banning cigarettes from the house, warned her girls about the dangers associated with smoking. She blanked that out of her mind today though, and embraced the feel of the nicotine as it infused her lungs. When she opened her eyes, Faye was staring at her intently. “Mind if I finish it?” Grace said, holding it out at an angle.

  “Of course not.” Faye lit another and they stood there for a while. Time passed easily. By the time they had popped one of Faye’s mints and gone back inside, Grace felt more relaxed than she had done in months.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Wilson greeted Jackman with a wide grin as he pulled up at the curb in Arden Way and climbed out of his car. “It’s good to see you,” he said.