The Liar’s Chair

by Rebecca Whitney

  I wish I could take Claire by the hand and lead her through the quiet woods to her dad’s caravan, and show her where his finger drew letters on the glass. ‘Look’. I picture her focusing on the landscape beyond the window as I point out the trees and animals Seamus studied with such care. She’d understand something of how her father lived. He would have wanted her to see. If I went to the police, Claire would only ever have half the story.

  When I am ready, I’ll find a way to give up Seamus, but for now each shameful tryst in a car park and every hostile interaction with David decreases my debt, and I grow closer to the man I killed. No court or prison can give me the same.

  PART THREE

  18

  BEER CAN

  I’ve been stuck at home for most of the week having lost all appetite for the car parks, and without the routine of the office it surprised me to find that the thing I missed the most was noise; the background burble of life rolling forward. I envy others the even keel of their days, but somewhere inside me I know I wouldn’t be able to settle for the worn-slippered evenings in front of the TV. The silence in our house soaks up my energy so I have to fill the space somehow, but music is too affecting, and I wouldn’t trust myself not to play the sad songs over and over. The TV and radio are a good replacement for human contact though, and as our in-house sound system is wired into every room, I can beam through the chirruping discontent of international crises to wherever I may be. It helps. I pay special attention to the local bulletins. There’s been no more about the fire at the camp, but South East Today reported a body found in a skip near to where Will lives. The man was in his forties and was known to be involved in the local drugs scene. My stomach lurched, and I gripped the back of the sofa to stop my legs from giving way. I stayed holding on until they flashed up his picture on the TV and I saw it wasn’t Will. His name was Darren Spencer. He looked familiar, very possibly the man who Will had a fight with in the pub the night I was with him, though I can’t be sure. I check again, and ‘Darren S’ is in David’s secret ledger. I want to believe that David wouldn’t go that far, but every toxic thing that happens now circles me back to my husband and the strong possibility that his flirtation with the underworld has become a marriage.

  Since Alex’s visit a little over a week ago, I’ve met with him twice in the daytime when David’s been at work. These have been my only excursions from the house. David, clearly frustrated by the amount of time he believes I spend in pubs, has taken my car keys and left me very little money. Inadvertently the deprivation is a gift; there’s freedom in this poverty. Without my car it’s easier to disappear. I shrug on my dad’s old coat, take the bus, then duck into a shopping centre, use the Ladies, find a different exit, take an elevator. After that I walk the rest of the way, and the weight and size of the coat steadies my footfalls and moors me to the ground. I doubt there has ever been any one day completely the same as another, and I witness each new combination of cloud and light, each swoop of a bird, as my own personal treasure, a safety hatch through which I can leap to forget about the real purpose of my journey.

  Alex’s rendezvous has been a hotel in Brighton; not the Grand, but a cheap and miserable B & B, a fitting addition to the sleaze. The first time we met, the sex was wordless and painful. On the second occasion, Alex laughed out loud as he fucked me. I blushed, and because there was nowhere to hide, the red spread down my neck. My embarrassment seemed to spur him on. Afterwards as he dressed he pulled his plaid socks to midway up his calves where the elastic pinched a circle of loose skin round his white furry legs. He put on his trousers and tossed me money: crumpled fivers and tenners, enough to keep my booze and transport fund going for a small while. ‘I need more than that,’ I said last time. He reached into his pocket for another note and some loose change sprinkled on to the bedside table. The coins bounced to the floor. He stooped to collect them but stopped himself, watching instead as I stretched from the bed to pick them up, then he said quietly, ‘We’ll keep these little meetings regular, shall we? Otherwise I’m not afraid to tell David about the car park, you know.’ His face was close to mine and his breath smelt of last night’s red wine, the taste of it still in my mouth from his tongue. ‘You being there was nothing to do with me. And there’ll be no coming back for you from that little revelation.’ He straightened up into the room and shuffled his tie closer to his neck. ‘I shall enjoy telling David about it almost as much as I enjoy doing what I do to you.’

  After he’d gone, I took a big hit of vodka then threw up in the wastepaper basket next to the bed. Still naked, I lay back and looked up at the swirls of Artex on the ceiling, yellowed to points like a baked meringue. The nylon sheets crackled with static and stuck to my legs. I drew out the time, sliding in and out of sleep, and had a dream where I sat with Seamus in his caravan sharing a beer. As I sipped from the can, my lips touched where his had been, and I drank down the lager with his saliva. The alcohol was warm and sweet, the fizz all gone, and it tasted like pineapples. Across the table between us marched the tiny skeletons of all the animals he’d collected. I couldn’t work out how they were held together. One by one they dropped off the edge, and each time a collection of bones fell, Seamus caught the pieces as one whole in his hand and placed the creature back in its starting position. When the last one fell, I tried to catch it too, but my hand touched Seamus’s with a spark of electricity and I jolted awake. When I was a child my mother used to say that if you fell and hit the ground in your sleep, then you’d die in real life too.

  The ancient plumbing choked in the hotel bathroom, and the smell of the drain mixed with Shake n’ Vac to create a third odour of fruity vomit. I went over to the window and pushed my cheek flat against the glass. From this position my own personal chink of sea came into view. Waves foaming and renewing. A windsurfer tracked through my frame of ocean, his board moving fast and strong.

  As long as David was fighting to bring me back I would be safe, but my usefulness as a wife and business partner was all but gone. He would tire of trying to bring me in line, and I can only go on accumulating errors so long before he finds out. Either way, when his fixation with control and ownership switches off, he’ll walk away from me as he would any other business deal that’s stopped making a profit. Then there’ll be no telling what he’s capable of. It’s been a long time coming.

  I went home this one last occasion and packed a small bag with pants, a T-shirt, deodorant, the picture of Claire, Seamus’s watch, plus the money from Alex. There were a few foil strips of pain medication left over, which I stuffed in my bag, but I didn’t want the sedatives anymore, so put them back in the drawer of my bedside table. With so few belongings, I am weightless. The less I have, the less that David can take away, and I wished I could take nothing at all so that when he came home it would be as if I’d evaporated. I hid the bag overnight in the freezer along with David’s book of expenses sealed inside a large brown envelope, and after David left for work in the morning, I took the bus into Brighton and did my usual shop-hopping until I was sure I wasn’t being followed. Then I walked to the beach in Hove, where I now sit on a bench and wait. Hours have passed into the afternoon. My phone tings with a third message from Alex: ‘I’m at the hotel. This is your very last chance. 5 mins before I tell David.’

  This time I don’t think he’s faking.

  My problem is I don’t know how to get far enough away. It needs to be more than the distance of a drive, but plane tickets are expensive and can be traced. A boat could work, something small and local, the type that Will has spoken of in the past, if he wasn’t making it up. Yesterday, I rang and rang until Will picked up, and I begged him to meet me one more time. At the sound of his voice something dead inside me drew breath, and I had to keep pausing while I spoke to swallow the tears. Now as I prepare what to say, I tuck back inside myself any belief that he could want to come too. After all I’ve put him through. But it’s good to hope.

  This stretch of beach in Hove is quieter than Bright
on. It’s off the tourist track with fewer cafes and amenities. Scrubby hedges line the north side of the walkway and the promenade parallels the sea to the south. In a big storm, waves throw stones over this path, and the following day tractors have to push the debris back to where it belongs. If anyone ever braved the waves when the weather was that bad, it would be the last thing they’d do. Today the sea is a rippled aquamarine, enticing me to believe it’s warmer than the ice pool I know it to be. I fidget with my bag and coat, wondering if Will will turn up. I pace, then sit again on a bench and listen to the small waves hidden behind the breakwater. Pebbles clatter back and forth.

  I check my watch – it’s twenty minutes past the time we arranged – so I stand and dust my jeans, turning to walk back to the road, but Will is standing at the end of the path that reaches the promenade. He leans on a wall with his hair in its floppy mess. He tries to look angry, and I remember how badly we split last time and how I had to plead with him to come today, but his expression quickly changes to a smile. His teeth are set small and neat in his gums, like a child’s. I want to kiss him.

  ‘How long have you been there?’ I say.

  ‘Not long.’ He shuffles his feet and kicks at the dust on the ground. ‘Only a couple of minutes. Just got here really.’ His head is bowed but he squints up at me through his long fringe, still smiling. ‘You looked so thoughtful.’

  A gust of wind sweeps up from the sea and flaps my coat. The light is failing and the cold makes me wish I’d packed my scarf. Will comes forward and puts his arms round my waist and kisses my neck. The action is a surprise, it’s so long since I’ve been touched with care, and I flinch and pull away.

  ‘What the fuck!’ he says and stands back from me, throwing his arms open at his sides. ‘What is wrong with you?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I tuck my hands in my armpits. In the distance behind Will, Worthing Pier is a finger of mist along the horizon. The jetty points at a ship, probably a tanker, but the vessel is the size of a dot. On board there are men far from home, and the boat tips over the edge of the world. ‘I’m not myself.’ I can’t look at Will’s face. ‘This is really hard.’

  Will paces the small piece of ground directly in front of me. He stops to speak, pauses, then carries on pacing. He stops again.

  ‘Let me tell you something.’ He points his finger at me with little skewer jabs. ‘I don’t find this easy either. None of it. Nothing makes sense. First you hate me then you beg me to meet you. Make up your bloody mind. What is it you want from me?’

  I hug myself tighter and look up at him. ‘I’m in trouble.’

  He crosses his arms. ‘Well, of course you are, with a husband like yours. You should have listened to me when I said and left him.’

  Words fall out like pepper. ‘There’s something else.’ Eyes down. ‘Something bad. Lots of things, actually.’

  Will pauses. ‘What?’ His voice drops. ‘What’s happened?’ My legs start to shake and Will comes closer. ‘I need to know what’s going on if you want me to help you.’ On the ground between us a crisp packet scratches across the path. ‘I don’t know where to start.’

  ‘Try at the beginning.’

  I breathe into my belly. ‘I’m not what you think. I mean, I’m not the person . . . I’ve done bad things.’

  ‘No shit.’

  Gulls swirl and screech overhead. A last segment of the day’s sun breaks through the clouds and lights the birds’ bellies a postcard-orange.

  ‘It’s complicated,’ I say. ‘There’s too much to explain now. You won’t understand. I have to get away from here, that’s all, but I don’t know how. I need your help.’

  ‘Great. Talk about shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted.’ Will refolds his arms high across his body. ‘It’s OK for you, you’re not the one that takes the brunt of your husband’s psycho behaviour.’ He snorts air through his nose.

  A jogger and cyclist cut through our path and we separate on either side of the promenade. They chat as they pass. They look happy. Fit. Their voices fade and Will and I come back together, a little closer this time. I want Will to put his arms round me. I need him close, but I can’t ask.

  ‘It’s not only David,’ I say. My teeth chatter. ‘There’s more. It’s worse than you think.’

  Will grips my upper arms a little too tight and dips his neck to look at my face. He frowns. ‘OK, I’m sorry. I’m listening now,’ he says. ‘What’s going on?’

  I look into the sky and inhale salty air, then drop my eyes to the ground. ‘It all started . . . it was some time . . . oh God.’

  Will’s grip tightens. ‘C’mon, Rachel. It’s time. Please.’

  I lift my eyes to meet Will’s. ‘I killed someone.’

  ‘What?’ He lets go and steps back as if he’s been pushed. ‘Who, for God’s sake?’

  It’s out now, a relief, and the words spill from my mouth. ‘It was an accident. I was scared. It was a homeless man. Nobody saw but I panicked and hid the body.’

  ‘You? Don’t be stupid. When? I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Some weeks back. It was raining. I’d just left your place and was still drunk. I didn’t see him. He was on the road and I was going too fast. Things have got out of control with me since then, and I’m frightened. It’s only a matter of time before David finds out.’

  ‘Finds out what? About the accident?’

  ‘No, he’s known about that all along.’

  ‘Then what are you worried about? Is he threatening you with the police?’

  ‘I wouldn’t care any more if he did.’

  ‘Rachel, I don’t understand. Are you scared he’ll find out about you and me? Because I can tell you, that’s all been dealt with, as long as you’re not seen with me again.’

  ‘No, it’s not us, it’s worse. There’s much more. I’ve done bad things.’

  ‘You’re going round in circles. What the hell are you talking about?’

  I move closer to Will. We stand together with the proximity of conspirators.

  Will whispers. ‘Tell me. If you want me to help you, I need to know what you’ve done.’

  A breath. ‘I went somewhere. I did something.’

  ‘Enough of this. Out with it.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Will. You don’t deserve this but there’s no one else I can turn to.’ I bend my neck forward and curl my head into my chest. My breath dampens the fibres of my jumper.

  Will strokes my head. ‘Shh, it’s OK.’

  ‘Please try not to hate me.’ I twist my neck to one side as a great sheet of starlings swoop low in the dusk and fly towards the dead pier. ‘There’ve been others, other men. It was the worst thing, but it was nothing to do with you. I never meant for you or anyone to find out, but one of David’s friends saw me, and he’s going to tell David.’

  ‘Saw you? Where?’

  ‘In a car.’

  ‘What’s wrong with being in a car?’

  ‘I was . . . you know. With a man. In a car park where people come to watch.’

  Will’s mouth opens a crack. ‘You . . . ?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You mean you’ve been . . . ?’

  ‘Yes. This will be it for David. He’ll put up with a lot if I keep my side of the bargain, but not this. I’m scared.’ Through the tiny gap in Will’s lips comes a grumble of words. None form into shapes. Again, he holds me by the shoulders but this time he shakes me, hard. ‘What are you telling me?’ he says. ‘What tiny piece of your brain thinks that it’s OK to fuck with my head like this? After all I’ve done for you, all the risks I’ve taken. And you want me to help you after you’ve been doing this with God knows who?’ His fingers dig deep into my arms. ‘Why would I help someone like you?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ My speech judders until Will stops the shaking. ‘It was nothing to do with you. I hated it, it was the worst thing I could do to myself, that was the point . . . those men meant nothing to me.’

  ‘You are fucked in the head
, Rachel.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So enough of you and your shit.’ He gestures at the sky as if calling on the heavens for sanity. ‘I cannot believe I got taken in by you again.’ And he turns fast to walk away.

  ‘Please don’t go.’ I catch the edge of his jacket before he’s out of reach. He pulls away but I grab more of the material and he stops with his back to me. ‘Don’t leave me.’ My voice is a whisper through the tears. ‘There’s no one else who can help. I’m sorry for everything, for all those times I was such a bitch. I didn’t mean to be like that, I just don’t know how to be anything else.’

  He spins to face me. ‘It’s a bit bloody late for that. You can’t be bothered with me, then suddenly when everything hits the fan, and with this utter shit, you come to me and you need me? Is that all I’m good for? As a last resort? Is it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ve put myself on the line for you one too many times. And now other people are taking the flak for your stupidity.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Will’s teeth scissor together. ‘That guy in the pub, remember? The one I had a fight with that night.’

  I look to the ground and my legs shake. ‘I saw something on the news. I thought it was him but I wasn’t sure.’

  ‘That poor fucker, I never thought they’d . . . Jesus, I feel so bad. He was supposed to be out of town, for a long time. He’d had enough bloody warnings. If I’d known he was that stupid I’d never have fitted him up as your dealer. Even if they did catch up with him I thought a beating was the worst he’d get. That’s all he deserved anyway, not this. What a fucking mess.’