Little Liar

by Lisa Ballantyne

  ‘I need you to talk to me, Angela.’ Brookes pitched forward, elbows on her knees and hands stretched out, mirroring Angela’s body language. ‘I saw you shake your head to that question I asked you about Mr Dean. Can you answer yes or no? I want to make sure I understand what you’re saying.’

  ‘Don’t know. Leave me alone. I don’t want to talk about it. I want to go home.’

  ‘Angela?’ Brookes pressed her lips together.

  Boom!

  A fist at the window.

  ‘Dad!’

  Angela jumped up and opened the door. Brookes whispered into her recording device that the interview was paused.

  Angela threw herself into Stephen’s arms and he kissed the top of her head. He wore a checked shirt with sharp, ironed creases down the sleeve, and immaculate jeans and trainers. Donna braced herself for his reproach.

  ‘I came as soon as I could,’ he said, smiling, reaching out a hand to Brookes.

  Brookes smiled at him and Angela, who was still pressed into her father, arms around his waist. ‘We’re in the middle of taking a statement from Angela just now. I wonder if you would mind waiting outside until we finish?’

  Donna opened her eyes wide, knowing that Stephen would not relish being excluded.

  ‘Surely we can both be with her.’

  ‘We only need one parent or guardian present and we have already begun with Donna.’

  Stephen put his hands in his pockets – matching Brookes’ smile. ‘I am Angela’s father, and she’s living with me full time. I’m also on the police force and—’

  ‘I understand that you are a police officer, but right now you are a parent, that’s all, and a parent that I need to stay outside, while I continue with Angela and her mother. We’ve already started and so I’d be grateful if you could just wait here until we’re finished.’

  Stephen gave Brookes a closed-lipped smile. Perhaps to Brookes and the passing nurses he seemed agreeable, consenting, but Donna knew he was seething. He patted Angela’s shoulder to release her.

  Stephen sat just outside on a chair opposite the window and Donna watched him through the glass, waiting with folded arms, his gunmetal eyes glinting with subdued anger.

  Angela was sullen now, sliding down in her chair as Brookes glanced over her notes.

  ‘I know you’re tired but it won’t take much longer. We were talking about Mr Dean. Do you think he could have made you pregnant?’

  Angela looked through the window at her father, then down at her small, bitten nails. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Maybe. Can you tell me what you mean by that?’

  Angela shrugged, her mouth pinched. Donna reached out and took her hand, hoping to urge her to speak, but Angela withdrew from her mother’s touch.

  ‘It’s hard to remember. He hurt me and I couldn’t see what he did because his hand was over my face.’ Suddenly Angela opened her palm and placed it over her face. She kept it there for ten long seconds, looking at Brookes and her mother through the gaps in her fingers.

  ‘Was this behind the stage at school, or another time?’

  ‘Behind the stage.’

  ‘Can you describe what happened for me?’

  ‘I told you already.’

  Brookes smiled. ‘Do you want me to read back to you the statement you gave us a few months ago?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You just said that Mr Dean hurt you. Do you think that he might have put his penis inside you, or his fingers?’

  ‘I think so,’ her voice was faint.

  Brookes leaned forward and clasped her hands on her lap, so that she was looking up into Angela’s face. ‘Remember you’ve done nothing wrong. My job is to protect you and make sure that no one hurts you.’

  Angela’s pale face nodded.

  ‘Have you had sex with anyone else, either because you wanted to, or because they forced you?’

  Angela shook her head vigorously and took a fist of her hair into her hand. ‘I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I want to go home.’

  Brookes inhaled and sat up in her chair, nodding at Donna. ‘All right. Let’s leave it there. We can speak again.’

  Angela burst out of the chair, opened the door and threw herself into her father’s arms. Donna looked into Brookes’ tired face. ‘Well then?’

  ‘We might need to try again in a day or so. I’ll speak to her father. Should I speak to Stephen about scheduling another visit?’

  ‘That’s probably best.’

  In the corridor, Brookes put one hand in her pocket. ‘Thanks for waiting,’ she said to Stephen, who seemed inflated with impatience. Addressing them both, she said, ‘You will make an appointment for Angela with your GP, for prenatal care and … discuss your options?’

  Stephen and Donna nodded.

  ‘Very well, good evening.’

  As they watched Brookes make her way to the end of the ward, Stephen rubbed Angela’s back. ‘Give me a minute with your mum, sweetheart?’

  Stephen took Donna’s elbow and led her a few feet away. The action felt controlling, dominant, and she eased her arm from his grasp. ‘Pregnant? There has to be some mistake, surely.’

  ‘I wish there was, believe me.’

  ‘I mean … we knew she’d been assaulted but … she’s still a child … it isn’t possible … she’s barely even got her first period.’

  Donna blinked. ‘It’s been about a year. It’s possible.’ She wiped a hand over her mouth. ‘More than possible. It’s real.’

  ‘God help her.’

  Donna looked up into his face, forgetting her own self-consciousness and feeling a rare flush of tenderness for him. ‘Take care of her tonight,’ she said, as she picked up her handbag.

  ‘I’ll see you soon, love,’ Donna said to Angela, who was still sitting on a plastic chair in the corridor, picking at a stain on her leggings.

  Angela didn’t look up or acknowledge her mother in any way, so Donna bent and kissed her cheek, which was clammy and cold, like clay. ‘Call me if you need me.’

  Donna left before them both, getting a cigarette ready in the lift as she descended.

  24

  Marina

  ‘Shall we go to bed?’ Nick asked.

  He had been watching television while she had been doing work emails on her phone. ‘You go ahead. I’m going to have to look at this on the laptop. Theresa just forwarded me something.’

  In the study, Marina opened up her laptop and turned on the desk light. She heard him in the kitchen cleaning up, and then brushing his teeth. It was nearly eleven. In truth, she didn’t need to look at the report that Theresa had sent: there would be time in the morning. She had been stalling; no energy tonight for the wordless embraces and kissing of shoulders that were meant to show that everything was all right; each of them always facing the same way so that there was no danger of eye contact. They weren’t communicating well, but touch meant they were still together. If they stopped making love they were in trouble, but tonight Marina couldn’t face it.

  Now, in the study, waiting for the laptop to power up, Marina put two hands over her face. It was a relief to be alone, away from him. As soon as the children were in bed, she and Nick loomed in the house and she had to deal with him and what had happened.

  The laptop chimed its readiness.

  In her email, she opened the report and then looked at it in her browser. She was too tired to read, rubbing her eyes. Along the corridor, Nick switched off the bedside light and the far end of the hall darkened.

  Marina blinked, distracted from the report by another email from Theresa about a promotional video. Child International had recently paid for the video, and this was the first rough edit.

  She heard the soft purr of Nick snoring, which meant he was on his back. When she was in bed, he slept on his side, holding her. Often he would wake himself up snoring when she was not by his side.

  Marina downloaded the file for the promotional video, then scrolled to the downloads menu to view it. A video op
ened in a window of the screen. It was a woman with a belt around her throat, and black mascara tears running down her cheeks.

  Marina sat back in her chair, a hand clasped fast over her mouth. There was a counter on the video that showed Nick had watched it twelve times. Shaking, she closed everything down then stood up, the back of her hand to her mouth, breathing onto her knuckles.

  After everything, this was still what he needed to do every day. This was not clicking and being led somewhere – this was addictively seeking out videos of sexual violence. When? While Ava was napping? When he dropped them off in the morning? He was under investigation and but still he seemed to need it. Marina had not wanted to know what he watched when she was pregnant, but now she wondered if that had been wilful ignorance. Had there long been a side to Nick that she had known but not been willing to confront?

  And Angela – could it be that Nick had hurt her? Were children easier because they couldn’t fight back? What else was he hiding from her?

  Trembling, Marina went into the bathroom and closed the door. She washed and then looked at her dripping face in the mirror. Just wondering if he was capable of hurting Angela felt like a betrayal. She washed her face again, washed her hands and scrubbed her nails, the image of the crying woman still dark in her mind. It was a betrayal of her – it made their marriage, their love, wrong somehow.

  She dried her face. Her head hurt – she needed to cry but was unable to. She had to talk to him again but felt so fatigued by explanations and her own relentless quest to understand him. She brushed her teeth, disgust thick in her mouth. She brushed until her gums bled, spitting red into the sink.

  Still asleep, he turned and his arm fell over her waist as soon as she got into bed. The heat from him blazed at her back. In the darkness, she waited for sleep, hearing only her heart and the sound of his breathing, the weight of his arm pinning her to the bed.

  The next day, Marina had the afternoon off and they collected the children together and then went to Brickfields Country Park for a picnic. Marina carried a bag of egg sandwiches and homemade brownies that Ava and Luca had helped to bake at the weekend. The brownies contained Smarties, at Luca’s behest. It was cold but dry and the air smelled of new pine and fox. As they walked along the woodland path, the children charged ahead, stomping on the wet leaves.

  It had been Nick’s idea to have a picnic and Marina had jumped at it, instead of being trapped in the house with their fears and suspicions. She had not spoken to him about the internet history but it was all she could think about. He had woken up depressed and now was sullen at her side, walking with his hands in his pockets.

  He had called Faldane first thing but the lawyer had still not returned his call. Nick had hung up, his face reddening with emotion. ‘I know what’s going to happen. I’m going to be charged and then found guilty. It’s a farce. Every day walking around with a fucking noose around my neck.’

  The children had been in the next room. ‘Nick, watch your language.’

  He had walked away from her.

  The trees were stark; stripped of their leaves they looked like lungs bared against the sky. Marina was grateful to be walking, following the children who were running towards the pond, screaming with laughter. She was trembling so hard it felt as if she was shivering, although it was nothing to do with the cold.

  There were ducks at the pond and Ava and Luca were running straight towards them. Marina trotted after them to make sure they were safe, picnic bag whacking against her calf. It would have been easier for Nick to run, but he was lost in his thoughts.

  At the pond, Marina opened the bag and gave the children a slice of bread each, which they broke up and threw into the water for the ducks. In summer, the pond was framed by a beautiful, bright green weeping willow. Now the bare branches seemed to skulk over the children, a giant witch’s hand.

  ‘Daddy, do you want to feed the ducks?’ said Ava, eyes bright as she held out her slice of bread towards her father.

  Nick kicked at a patch of mud with his toe and did not look up.

  ‘Nick?’ Marina said, trying not to sound cross.

  He looked at her blankly.

  ‘Ava’s talking to you.’

  ‘What, bonita?’

  ‘Do you want to feed the ducks? I can give you some of my bread, if you want.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll be all right – you feed them.’ He turned away, thumbing his phone.

  Marina rolled her eyes and squatted between the children, watching the ripples in the water as the ducks swam for the sodden bread. Nick’s phone rang and she turned to watch him answer it with a frown, one hand pressed against his ear. She felt a complex flush of emotion for him: a blur of anger and love. She gave Ava an overly enthusiastic smile as a duck gobbled the bread she had thrown.

  The duck climbed out of the water and flapped towards Ava, eager for more. Marina wrapped her arms around her daughter, tucking her safe in the space between her legs. Ava huddled there, not usually one for cuddles but startled by the duck. Marina kissed her, smelling the cold park in her hair.

  Squatting like that on the edge of the pond, Marina heard Luca say, ‘Daddy, why are you crying?’

  Nick stood just out of reach of the willow’s claw, hand on his forehead. Marina stood up quickly and moved Ava from the water’s edge. Nick suddenly slumped down against the base of a tree. He was completely breaking down, phone on the grass beside him. Luca stood straight-backed before him, a hand on each of his father’s knees.

  ‘Daddy? Why are you crying?’

  Nick reached out and pulled Luca into him, wetting his hair with his tears.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ said Marina. ‘Who was on the phone?’

  ‘I can’t take this anymore,’ Nick whispered, tears coursing down his cheeks. Luca was nestled into him, young face anxious against his father’s chest.

  Ava began to cry.

  Nick stood up and lifted Luca into his arms, breathing into the little boy’s shoulder for a moment before setting him down.

  ‘Nick, talk to me.’

  Marina ran a hand through Ava’s hair as she looked up into his eyes. She had never seen him like this.

  ‘It was Faldane,’ Nick breathed, wiping his eyes with thumb and forefinger.

  ‘Oh God, what?’

  ‘They say Angela’s pregnant.’ He looked up at the sky, hands on his hips. He wiped the tears from his cheeks yet still they came. ‘If she has an abortion, they can check my DNA against the foetal matter to see if I’m the father of Angela’s child. There you go …’ he smiled at her, an awful contortion of grief, ‘happy?’

  Marina reached out for him, caught between needing to comfort him and the children.

  ‘DNA is on genes,’ Luca said authoritatively.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Nick said, searching his pockets until he found the car keys. He tossed them towards her and they landed in the grass at her feet. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Nick …?’

  He turned and ran away from them – back the way they had come. Luca ran after him but was unable to catch his father. Marina watched her son’s pace slow, and then his defeated slump as he turned back.

  ‘Nick!’ Marina shouted, watching his figure decrease in size and then disappear into the woods.

  Ava was crying against Marina’s knees. She beckoned Luca back, letting a hand rest on the crown of her daughter’s head. Now Marina felt like crying, but it wouldn’t do to have the whole family in tears.

  ‘What did Daddy mean?’ said Luca, out of breath, unzipping his jacket and throwing it to the ground. ‘About not being Angela’s father?’

  ‘That’s not what he said, darling,’ Marina said to him in Spanish, not looking at him, but opening the picnic bag and thrusting a roll into his hand. Luca looked down at the roll.

  ‘It is what he said,’ Luca replied, in English, his face obstinate, looking at his roll with suspicion. ‘I heard him.’

  Marina tore a roll in half and gave it to Ava, setti
ng her against the tree to eat it. She turned to Luca in exasperation. ‘You didn’t hear him correctly,’ she said in Spanish.

  ‘He said, “I’m not Angela’s father”.’ Luca stood with his arms at his sides, stubbornly speaking English. He had heard the words in English and so he reported them in English. Marina turned to him. He was unwilling to change languages because translation would alter the truth of what he had heard.

  Marina sighed in defeat and ran her fingers through his hair. She was angry at Nick for being so unguarded but she knew from her own childhood that children had a way of understanding their parents’ worries whether you told them or not. In English Marina said, ‘He didn’t say that. You misheard. He said “the father of Angela’s child”. It is different to being the father of Angela.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Luca, taking a small bite of his roll.

  Marina bent and kissed him.

  Another child would forget such a remark in an instant, but she knew her son would now be committing what she had said to memory, realising his mistake and unpicking it – finding another question.

  As the children finished their rolls, Marina called Nick three times but he didn’t answer. She left no message.

  When they walked back to the car, she saw him at the far side of the car park, tossing stones into the trees. She put the children into their car seats and then walked towards him.

  ‘Are you coming home with us?’ She put her hands into the hip pockets of her jeans, raising up her shoulders.

  It was pine cones he was throwing, not stones. He came to her, holding one in his hand, tan and spiky. She glanced back at the car.

  He leaned down and put his forehead on the top of her head. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked, looking into his brown eyes, which were conflicted, flints of guilt and fear.

  He tossed the pine cone away and sighed. ‘I dunno. I shouldn’t have lost it in front of the kids.’

  ‘I’ve never seen you like that.’

  He wrapped his arms around her, squeezed her so tight that she smiled, despite herself. ‘Now you have three babies, huh?’

  They both tried to laugh.