Little Liar

by Lisa Ballantyne

  Donna watched her daughter’s eyes carefully. There was still no glimmer of recognition.

  ‘Who was it … that hurt you?’ Angela spoke carefully, her face still closed.

  ‘It was someone I trusted. At the time I thought I had to obey him. He was as old as my father. I worked with him. He was in a position of power …’

  Angela’s hair was dry. Donna drew the brush through it a few more times, and Angela closed her eyes to each stroke.

  ‘That’s horrible,’ said Angela, opening her eyes and smiling at Donna in the mirror.

  She smiled back.

  ‘You were … raped?’

  Donna held her breath, and nodded.

  Angela lowered her gaze and Donna couldn’t resist any longer. She bent down and hugged her daughter, folding her arms in front of her chest. She opened her eyes and looked at their reflection, tears streaming down Donna’s face. Angela was passive in her arms, neither welcoming nor spurning the embrace.

  ‘I wish we had something else in common,’ Donna half-laughed, knuckling tears from her cheeks.

  ‘We don’t have that in common,’ Angela said plainly, her face suddenly frozen.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Donna took time to react to the tone, tasting tears in her throat. She let her hands rest on her daughter’s arms.

  ‘What about Mr Dean?’

  ‘He didn’t rape me.’

  ‘But he sexually assaulted you?’

  Angela shrugged, her face at once angry and full of pain.

  ‘Who made you pregnant? You must know, darling.’

  She nodded, but only once, so that it was less a confirmation than an acknowledgement. Their eyes locked in the mirror.

  ‘Who, then? That boy from school? Adam?’

  Angela shook her head. ‘Jasmine said I was a skank, because I went with him, and because of the thing with Mr Dean. No one believes me. Jas didn’t believe I was pregnant. Everyone just hates me.’

  ‘Well, I don’t hate you,’ said Donna, sinking to her knees and taking Angela by the shoulders. ‘I believe you. I love you, and I’m sorry if I wasn’t there for you, but I want to make things better. You can’t go on like this anymore.’

  Angela reached out and touched her thumb to the scar on Donna’s cheekbone where the pen had cut. ‘I made a mark.’

  ‘It’ll go away in time – but this business will not go away. I need you to talk to me, Angela. I need you to tell me the truth.’

  She sighed, chubby hands in her lap. ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I promised I wouldn’t say.’

  ‘That promise doesn’t count. You’re just a little girl – you’re not supposed to be pregnant.’

  ‘I’m not a little girl,’ Angela flashed, recoiling from her touch suddenly, half-turning back to the mirror and picking up the brush. There was a deep flush on her throat and cheek and Donna knew she was close to talking. If gentleness didn’t work, then provoking her might.

  ‘I know. I know that. It’s not what I meant. I mean you’re young and you should be enjoying life, enjoying school and your friends, not going through all this. You don’t owe this person that hurt you anything at all. He has no right to ask you to keep it secret. Tell me who it is, and I promise I won’t let him hurt you ever again.’

  ‘You can’t.’

  Donna took her by the shoulders. ‘Of course I can, darling. I’m your mother and I’ll protect you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.’

  Angela smiled, a strange bitter smile that was soaked in sadness. ‘No one else can tell what he’s really like. He’s a good actor. Everyone always believes him. They would never believe me.’

  ‘I would believe you. Are you talking about Dean?’

  Angela said nothing, looking down into her hands. ‘Can I stay here then?’

  ‘Of course. You mean, go back to the old arrangement?’

  ‘Yes. I just want to stay with you.’

  Donna was still on her knees before her daughter. Angela leaned forward and put her arms around her mother. Donna pressed her close. ‘This isn’t finished, darling. You need to tell me what happened. Whenever you are ready, I will listen, okay?’

  Angela nodded and turned towards the mirror, teasing her styled hair over her forehead with its ugly green bruise.

  31

  Marina

  She could have done without a big family dinner today.

  Marina ran towards the barriers at Waterloo with only two minutes to catch the Farnham train. Her head was aching from smog, the rush-hour crowds and a day of work that had left her neck and shoulders tight with tension. She scanned her Oyster card and then stepped onto the train, just before the doors closed. Scanning the carriage for a seat she felt a wave of fatigue. She had had an argument with Theresa just before she left work and now felt ill.

  ‘Don’t take this personally,’ Theresa had said, with her ubiquitous wincing smile.

  ‘Of course it’s personal; how else am I supposed to take it?’

  ‘It was a purely pragmatic decision. Things are crucial right now, with the political arena the way it is. We can’t expose ourselves to potential scandal …’

  *

  Marina managed to get a seat wedged in the corner of the carriage. She put her briefcase on her lap. There was no time to go home and change; she would need to go straight to Betty and Tom’s. The whole family would be there, and Nick had texted earlier to say that his sister, Melissa, would collect Marina from the train.

  Marina sighed and closed her eyes as the train lurched into movement. The carriage was a febrile chamber of body odour and heady cologne, making her headache worse. She just wanted to be home and in her sweats, cooking and drinking wine while Nick bathed the children and put them to bed. She loved her family and she was almost as close to Nick’s parents as she was to her own, but there was still that requirement to be polite, to help out, and to be happy despite everything that was wrong in their lives.

  What had happened today wasn’t Nick’s fault, but after his arrest somehow they had both stood accused. Somehow the crime he had been accused of had also become her culpability.

  She opened her eyes in case she fell asleep and missed her stop. The guard was passing and Marina flashed her travel pass. She was trying not to think about it, but nevertheless, the conversation with Theresa returned to her.

  Marina had been dealing with some last-minute emails when the Chair of the Board of Trustees called her into the small meeting room. As usual, the cut of Theresa’s clothes was expensive, her make-up exact and her jewellery heavy. She was at least twenty years older than Marina. Nothing about Theresa was ever out of place, not a hair or a smudge or a colour mismatched.

  ‘Would you like a coffee?’ Theresa asked and Marina sensed something in her tone, a placating eagerness that immediately unnerved her.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

  Theresa clasped her long thin fingers on the table. ‘I wanted to speak to you about this in person. I think official news of the appointment will go out some time tomorrow, but I wanted to make sure you heard it from me first.’

  Marina had raised an eyebrow, unable to think what Theresa was hinting at.

  ‘We’ve appointed Martin Chalmers to manage the day-today operations of Care, and I hope he’ll join us next month. I think he’s fairly well known in the sector; you might know him. He’ll report to me directly and we’re hoping for the time being that he’ll take the helm here.’

  Theresa smiled and Marina tried to respond but felt the strain on her face. ‘Are you … am I being fired?’

  ‘Good God, no, Marina.’ Theresa reached out to her, bony hand flat on the table. ‘You do a sterling job, but in the current climate I think that Martin will be a … steadier figurehead.’

  ‘So you’re bringing him in above me? He has less experience than me. I’m expected to report to him?’

  ‘No, of course not, that would get too complicated. You can continue to report to me, but Mart
in will take on some of your strategic role and, as I said, will be our new figurehead.’

  Marina felt her lungs losing air. ‘Why?’ her voice was almost inaudible.

  Theresa’s eyes narrowed. ‘I thought you might have seen it coming with the DfiD bid – we’ve not had government investment at this level before – it is a significant endorsement but we are at that tricky stage; trying to grow from a middlesized to a bigger charity involves greater scrutiny, greater accountability …’

  ‘I know that.’ Marina felt anger and hurt swirling inside her. ‘I worked for that funding. I won that—’ She fought to keep her voice level and to purge the emotion from her tone.

  ‘I know, but you also know what goes hand in hand with accepting the funding. The director will need to undergo full security clearance. This requires you to reveal all your personal finances, relationships and past relationships. It really is intrusive and makes many people uncomfortable.’

  ‘I am fully aware of that, but I can withstand scrutiny.’

  ‘Well,’ Theresa cocked her head to one side, like a bird on a lawn sensing a predator, ‘it has the potential to bring things out into the open in …’ she licked her lips as she struggled to find the word, ‘an uncomfortable way.’

  Heat rose in Marina’s cheeks. Suddenly she sensed the truth that Theresa had been circling around. ‘Bring what out in the open?’

  ‘If it had been anything else … if he had been accused of robbing a bank …’ Theresa’s eyes crinkled up – an attempt at humour, which fell flat.

  ‘But … it’s over,’ Marina said, hearing her breath in her throat. ‘The investigation is no longer to be pursued. They’ve dropped everything. He’s innocent. No charges. It’s finished.’

  Now Theresa’s face was placating, patronising – a thin-lipped smile below her sparkling granite eyes. ‘I know, but the press and the uproar in the community, the parents’ forum … not to mention the fact that someone obviously specifically connected Child International with this debacle of yours …’

  ‘It’s all over now.’ Marina’s cheeks were burning.

  ‘It might actually have been better if he had been charged, but this way … insufficient evidence, the parents still having no answers … it leaves us open to attack, or even to having the funding withdrawn. I came up with this solution and I was sure that you would support it. Your role has only been altered very slightly – it’s a sideways move in reality, and I want to take this chance again to say what an asset you are to us.’

  The train shuddered and Marina had to take a deep breath to stop angry tears from spilling. She cleared her throat and flicked through her phone in a desperate attempt to distract herself from her thoughts. There were no new texts from Nick. She took another long, deep breath, mouthing the words, not his fault. But then whose fault was it? Her career had been hobbled, through no fault of her own. She blinked quickly, and then kept her eyes closed, remembering again the images she had seen on the computer. There was no evidence that he sexually assaulted or raped Angela Furness, but he may well have fantasised about it.

  Marina opened her eyes.

  A text arrived from Melissa saying she was already waiting at Farnham station.

  Melissa hooted her horn as soon as Marina left the platform. She waved and began to walk towards her sister-in-law’s red Audi.

  ‘Hey sis,’ said Melissa, leaning over and planting a kiss on her cheek as Marina put on her seatbelt. ‘Good day?’

  ‘Not bad,’ Marina lied. ‘How was yours? Thanks for coming to get me.’

  ‘No bother. It made sense,’ said Melissa, straining to the right before pulling out onto the Approach Road. ‘I texted Nick to say I’d be passing. I had a client cancel on me.’ After a lucrative career in finance, Melissa was now a personal trainer. ‘It means Nick doesn’t need to leave the kids with Mum and Dad again.’

  Marina pressed her teeth together in annoyance. It was only a fifteen-minute drive to the station so Nick would only have left the children with them for half an hour. She knew Betty and Tom had felt obligated while Nick was still being investigated, and probably Melissa was protective and indignant on their behalf. ‘I’m starved,’ she said, choosing not to rise to the bait.

  ‘Well, you’re in luck. I heard there’s enough to feed an army as usual.’

  The children launched themselves at Marina as soon as she walked in the door, Luca with his arms around her waist and Ava encircling her thigh. She let her briefcase fall to the floor and did her best to smile at Betty, who was standing at the kitchen door. The house smelled of roast lamb. Nick had been helping his mother in the kitchen and came out with a glass of wine in his hand, all smiles and blond hair.

  He helped her off with her jacket, plucked Ava from her leg and kissed her cheek. Again, Marina restrained herself. Anger swelled in her, but she stopped herself for snapping at Nick for beginning to drink before they had even discussed who would drive home.

  ‘Give your mum a chance to get in the door,’ Nick said. The children tore back along the hall and into the living room with their cousins.

  Nick took her face in his hands. She lowered her eyes, knowing that if she looked at him, all her hurt and anger would be visible.

  ‘Guess what?’ he said.

  She looked up. His eyes were sparkling with excitement.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Guess …’

  ‘Darling, I’m not in the mood,’ Marina said, taking his hands from her face but holding them. ‘What?’

  ‘Not only did I get a new contact for media training that’s likely to bring in eight grand, but … wait for it … I have an audition on Friday for …’ he held her arms, ‘the lead role in a new West End version of The Great Gatsby.’

  ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ said Marina, hugging him despite the conflicting emotions pitching inside her, ‘that’s wonderful.’ In his arms, she thought how she was genuinely happy for him, and needed his comfort, yet loathed the parts of him that had now been laid bare. Loathed. It was how she felt.

  He hugged her back, running a hand over her shoulder blades.

  ‘You all right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, releasing him, ‘just a bad day.’

  He raised his eyebrows. She still loved his face and the way he looked at her, moving his brown eyes over her features, as if trying to read her.

  ‘I’ll tell you later.’

  ‘No,’ he put his arms around her waist, ‘tell me now.’

  She groaned and rested her head on his chest for second and then looked up into his face. ‘Theresa’s putting someone in above me.’

  ‘What? How can she do that? You’re at the top.’

  ‘Not anymore. That big government grant – apparently I won’t withstand the scrutiny.’

  His face immediately darkened. ‘Because of me.’

  ‘No, no,’ she tugged his hands from her hips, hung up her jacket and put her briefcase and keys by the coat rack. She kicked off her shoes. ‘It was my own fault. I probably said too much, too soon.’

  ‘But you had to, right? You were only being honest – declaring a potential conflict of interest and Theresa was the one that said it was insignificant.’

  ‘Yeah, well, she’s changed her mind. Honesty, it seems, is not always the best policy.’ She offered a wry smile.

  Nick picked up his glass of wine, which he had placed on the hallstand. ‘Here.’

  ‘No, I’ll need to drive us home.’

  ‘I’ll do it. I’ve only had a sip. You win the wine prize tonight.’ He kissed her and for a second she almost felt better.

  She took a sip from his glass. The wine was warm, but she didn’t care.

  Dinner was roast lamb, cauliflower cheese, new potatoes and baby peas. As soon as the food hit the table, the whole family began to talk and load their plates. Betty had given Ava, Luca, Jennifer and Jack dinner slightly earlier, and they were now in the den with Jack in charge. Rebecca was at the dinner table, however, her long red hair loose and h
anging over one shoulder as she ate slowly, giggling at the ritual teasing from her Uncle Mark.

  Betty was seated next to Marina and smelled of cigarette smoke and hairspray. She ate little, but coaxed everyone else to fill their plates. Tom was drinking red wine, his cheeks and nose turning red as beets. Nick was happy and almost miraculously returned to his old self, Marina mused, as she put a forkful of cauliflower into her mouth. He was young again, boyish, mischievous, the family clown, the little boy they all loved.

  What would his family think if they knew what she knew about him?

  Marina smiled and drank wine and replied when she was spoken to, but she felt as if she were underwater. She was still so heavy from her day, and found the interaction an effort. Her throat ached, as if she could lose control at any moment, and so she had little appetite. It reminded her of the very early days when she had come to England as a student: sitting at dinner tables and at bars feeling tired from the effort of translating everything that was said to her.

  She no longer felt that fatigue; she dreamed in English now, but the sense of alienation was familiar.

  This was her family – her English family – the grandparents, uncles and aunts of her children, yet she felt alone tonight.

  Reading her, Nick put his hand at the small of her back, but kept on talking to Rebecca, who was telling a breathless story about her performance in her school production of Beauty and the Beast.

  ‘ … and I totally forgot my words … and I felt, like, my face getting really, really red, and the light from the stage was so bright I couldn’t see anyone.’

  ‘That’s the thing,’ Nick interrupted, ‘it’s so bright, it makes you feel as if you’re alone up there, when in fact in the darkness there are hundreds of people watching you.’

  ‘ … but then, all of a sudden I remembered my words. And it, like, felt, like, it had been the longest time, but when I spoke to my friends afterwards they said it was just, like … a dramatic pause or something and I’m like, yay, I got away with it.’