Lies Like Love

by Louisa Reid

  ‘And we’ll be happy here. I’m going to look up some old friends.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘You’ll do well, won’t you, you and Peter?’ she decided, and my brother jumped ahead in excitement, waving his new box of Lego like it was maracas and this was carnival season.

  ‘Good. Right, let’s get to the doctor.’

  The surgery was quiet, ticking over, warm and snug. Mum smiled at the receptionist, who smiled back. Her name badge read Elizabeth. She set us up appointments, sorted it all.

  Peter and I waited while she and Mum chatted. I didn’t want to hear what Mum was saying and looked at my brother and took his hand. Peter was my best friend; it sounds stupid to say that – he’s a little boy. But he was the one who was always there, looking up to me, following where I led. Listening. I loved him: his butter-yellow hair, his eyes two trusting brown beads, his high, sweet voice. Now his face was anxious, frowning, thumb dangling from his mouth. I had to make all this all right for him. It was what I did.

  ‘Don’t worry, Pete.’ I squeezed his fingers gently and pulled him on to my knee. He was getting a bit big for that and squirmed away, looking down at the carpet, kicking at the leg of the chair. ‘Are you OK now, Aud?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, course I am. You know that, don’t you? You know we’ll be fine.’

  His eyes were big and round, and the stones in his pocket rattled as he turned them over. He looked up for a minute and gazed at me, then sat closer and I held his hand that was still so soft and small that it reminded me what a baby he was and I whispered that we’d be OK.

  ‘I promise, mate. I swear.’

  Later Mum stood in the door of my room, her eyes bright in the dark.

  ‘What do you think, then? Happy?’

  I nodded slowly.

  ‘Good. And you’ll like the school; it’s small. You know I wouldn’t send you anywhere I didn’t think was right for you. And, like I said, I have a good feeling about this place. Like we’re home here.’

  Home here. What did that mean? My home was miles away in the future. I didn’t think I’d been there yet, I was still searching. Wherever it was, my dad would have to be there too.

  ‘I’ll do my best, Mum,’ I said. And I meant it; it was a chance. I needed those.

  I lay back on the pillow and closed my eyes.

  ‘Audrey, are you all right?’ Mum stepped into the room and picked up a bag I’d not bothered to unpack. It was only teddies, hospital souvenirs every one, somehow saved and now here, reminding me. She began to arrange them on the shelf.

  ‘Aud?’ she asked again, turning to look at me when I didn’t answer.

  ‘Yeah. Bit of a headache.’ It was nothing new, just something to say.

  ‘I’ll get you something for that,’ she said. ‘But, you know what? We can’t go on like this. I’d like you to see someone here about your depression.’ Mum sat on the bed and I shuffled up, leaving a space. ‘You want to get better, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered, screwing my eyes tighter.

  ‘That’s the main thing, then. So let me help you, please? We’ll do it together?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Anyway, we’ve got the appointment with the GP next week. We’ll get a referral. Get you sorted, love.’

  ‘OK, Mum. All right.’

  ‘Right, then, good.’ She placed my hand back on the covers and patted my cheek. ‘You know I’m here, don’t you, whatever you need? So don’t worry. Have a sleep now. You’ll feel better in the morning. It’s the weekend so you can lie in. And I’ll grab you those pills; they’ll help with the head. Poor sausage.’

  She closed the door softly behind her and I lay in the glowing dark, listening to the house breathing around me. It wheezed and groaned and I listened closer, listened through the walls, beyond the bricks, to the world outside and how it grew and shifted, the grass creeping higher, squeaking and whistling as it pushed its way through the soil, the trees shuffling towards us, their heavy tread shaking the earth, the very air expanding and shrinking, pulsing like blood.

  The next morning Mum went out early and Peter and I raced out of the flat, down the stairs and out towards the woods.

  My brother pelted ahead, and I followed, branches cracking underfoot, wood pigeons calling on the breeze. Here and there the trees opened out into clearings and under a towering larch we paused.

  ‘Let’s make a den,’ said Peter, ‘with a camp and a fort and everything. Can we, Aud?’

  ‘Course,’ I said, and, handing my brother branches, we began to build. Sharp ends were jammed into soft soil and he ran to find more wood, good tall pieces.

  ‘Here, Aud, this’ll be a good one, won’t it?’ Peter dragged a heavy branch, still covered in dark green leaves, towards us. I took it, slotted it in, patting the wood with the palm of my hand, enjoying how dry and strong it felt.

  ‘From here we’ll see all the birds, won’t we?’ he said.

  I nodded. ‘Yup. And maybe if we’re really still and really quiet, we could see rabbits or badgers. Mice. I don’t know. There could be all kinds of animals around.’

  I ought to know more – Peter was looking at me in wonder and then gazing everywhere, his cheeks rosier than they’d been in a long time, his whole face sparkling.

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Shrews,’ I said in desperation, casting about for something more exciting, ‘maybe deer or a hare.’ I wouldn’t say that if he looked really carefully, he’d see hearts beating inside the trees, hear their inhalations, the steady rumble of life. All was calm today though, nothing jumping out of time: the woods were sleeping.

  Our fort was a messy bunch of spindly twigs tangled with the odd sturdy branch and somehow remaining upright – not too bad for a pair of city kids.

  ‘What do you think?’ I asked.

  ‘Awesome.’ Peter dropped to his knees and crawled inside. ‘It’s really cool in here, Aud, come in with me.’ He patted the ground. We sat, snug, quiet, taking care not to touch the sides and send the whole thing toppling. It might last the afternoon if we were lucky.

  ‘You’re right. This isn’t bad, Pete.’

  ‘Shhh. If you talk, the animals won’t come. We’re supposed to be quiet.’ He set out his stones in a row and talked to them for a bit, but after a while his head drooped against my side and we waited, Peter with a short stick clutched in one hand, grass stains on his knees and elbows. Leaves in his hair. He sighed and shifted, wriggled, kicked out a leg and I held his foot, reminded him to be careful.

  ‘Sorry, Aud,’ he whispered.

  ‘It’s OK, mate,’ I said, squeezing him tighter. ‘You’re doing well, being really patient.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. Like a proper woodsman.’

  ‘Knight you mean.’ I smiled.

  ‘Can we come here every day and do this?’

  ‘Well, maybe. At the weekends or after school.’

  ‘Shh,’ Peter told me and we stared together at the deep thickness of trees, watched for the faintest stirring, for a miracle or magic. And then as the sun broke through the thick canopy of leaves and caught a patch of earth, lighting it like fire, a tiny rabbit hopped into the circle of light – its ears pricked, its nose twitching – and we froze, our breath held, skin prickling.

  ‘Can I catch it?’ my brother whispered. ‘Keep it for a pet?’ He shifted, tensed, aching to hurl himself out towards the bunny, but the creature darted away and Peter charged after it too late.

  ‘Come back,’ he yelled into the undergrowth. ‘I won’t hurt you, come back.’

  ‘It’s gone, Pete,’ I said, following, reaching for him. ‘But don’t worry, there’ll be others. Hundreds of rabbits and mice and birds. We’ll come back tomorrow, check our den, but now let’s go. Time for tea.’

  ‘But I want that bunny! Did you see it, Aud? It could be our pet. I want a pet. I want Nibbles.’ I didn’t want to remember. The fire. Nibbles trapped inside. Peter had cried himself to sleep thinking about it
and I didn’t want to start that again. I squeezed his hand. He was still looking at me, hopeful.

  ‘I’ll train it and look after it. I promise I’ll clean out its hutch and everything, give it its food. In the wild it’ll probably die.’

  ‘It won’t. It’s gone back to its burrow to its mum.’ I swallowed and smiled. ‘So she’ll look after it. Won’t she?’

  ‘Do you promise?’

  ‘Yeah. I promise.’

  We walked back slowly and, when we neared home, I saw Mum’s car was back; she was busy with more bags of shopping and we ran to help her unload, and the idea came to me that maybe she was right. I was thinking again about high hopes and fresh starts. Mum hadn’t lied when she’d told us about this place and here we were at last, with all this air and sky and trees to climb and fields to run in. We could be new. We could be well. My heart relaxed, unclenched, and I grabbed Peter’s hand and we ran to meet her.

  Leo

  The new kids from the Grange moved in a line across the horizon. Leo had watched them take the path out of the woods and followed at a distance. They hadn’t seen him, were unaware of anything else, just focused on walking their own line, treading it like tightrope walkers. It was the girl that caught his eye though, holding her little brother’s hand and tugging him along so he didn’t fall too far behind. She was different-looking: all sharp angles. Her T-shirt stuck to her body, her long hair scorching out behind her, a pale flame. Every now and then it looked as though she might take off, as if the wind would pick her up and throw her into the sky. And then Leo caught the jut of her chin, something defiant in it, saw the strength of the arm and the hand that held on to her brother, and thought no, she was definitely earthbound.

  He could have caught up with them then and introduced himself but Sue had plans for that later. There weren’t any other families at the Grange – no one local would live there, not with the stories that came out after the place had shut down – and Sue thought they must be lonely, moving in and discovering the building deserted. His aunt was making them a casserole; he could smell it from out in the yard.

  ‘Leo, where’ve you been?’ Her face was rosy with the heat from the oven. Sue still had her wellies on and Mary was sniffing round the floor, looking for a treat. ‘I thought you’d got lost.’

  ‘No. Just out for a wander.’

  ‘Good. That’s what weekends are for. Doing nothing. Kids these days don’t do enough of it.’

  Leo threw his coat off and narrowly avoided being thrashed by Mary’s tail as he sank into the sofa to pull off his boots.

  ‘Don’t get comfy. We’re going to the Grange. That new family I told you about? They’re in.’

  ‘I know. I just saw the kids.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘Verdict?’

  ‘Looked nice, I guess. I mean, I don’t know. It was from a distance.’

  ‘So why the blush?’ His aunt was looking at him with a big grin on her face and Leo laughed.

  ‘Sue, you’re ridiculous. Quit it. I don’t need a girlfriend.’

  ‘Who said anything about girlfriend?’ she teased. ‘I just thought you might be lucky, find a kindred spirit. I didn’t even know there was a girl involved, how could I?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s go. And stop stirring.’

  ‘Never.’ She handed him the basket and they set off over the fields towards the Grange, which loomed darker than ever, Leo thought; only one small light in one small window promised a welcome.

  Audrey

  The quiet in the flat that evening was thick, sort of humming and spooky, and even though Mum kept the radio on as she cleared up after tea, filling the cupboards and whistling along, I sat on the sofa with my hands over my ears and nearly didn’t hear the banging that sent Peter charging to open the door.

  By the time I caught up with him, a woman was standing in the hallway and smiling at my brother. She was tanned, like she spent her whole life in the sun. Her skin was a bit like leather, all wrinkles round her eyes. She looked comfy. Soft round the middle, her arms strong.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, spotting me, raising an eyebrow. ‘Sorry to drop by unannounced; we’re your neighbours. I live across the field. I heard on the grapevine there was a new family in the Grange so I wanted to come over and give you this. Housewarming.’ She proffered a basket.

  ‘Thanks.’ I took it and my arm dropped with the weight and a delicious smell drifted into the flat. Mum appeared then, touching her hair, straightening her top, and I passed it to her.

  ‘Hello,’ the woman said again, looking at Mum this time. ‘Sue Bright. I’m your nearest neighbour, I was just explaining to your daughter here.’

  ‘Oh. Hello. Yes, I’m Lorraine,’ Mum said. ‘And this is Audrey.’

  And then another figure appeared and I turned fire red, my cheeks blaring like the sirens on the top of police cars that used to race round our old estate.

  ‘This is Leo,’ the Sue woman said, ‘my nephew.’ They didn’t look a bit alike. For a start, this woman wasn’t Chinese or even half Chinese. And Leo definitely was. And he was slouching outside my door. And I was in my horrible jeans and ratty T-shirt and Mum had ketchup on her chin and Peter was pulling on my arm and Sue was pulling Leo inside.

  ‘My brother’s son. He’s living with me for a while; we’re at the farm, just over the fields,’ Sue explained again. She rooted in her bag, producing a pack of Smarties and holding them out to Peter.

  ‘Oh, lovely,’ Mum said, and I knew she was being polite. She’s big on manners; not so much on neighbours.

  ‘So, if there’s anything you need, just ask.’ Sue was still smiling but it was getting awkward now.

  ‘Do you want to come in?’ I said in a rush because I couldn’t help it. These people looked nice, like they weren’t afraid of anything. The more people in the flat, the better it would be.

  ‘Oh, well, if you’re not busy, just for a minute.’ She took a step forward, and started admiring the décor, commenting on everything, exclaiming at the renovations.

  ‘You know this place was half falling down,’ I heard her say as they headed down the hallway. Leo followed and I didn’t look, kept my eyes trained straight ahead, on Sue’s back. Mum was giving her a potted history.

  ‘We’ve moved down here from up north. I got a job at Pond Street. You know, the kids’ hospice? I’m a nurse, Sue, so it’s not too hard to find work, and back home, well, there were other reasons, family reasons, for us to make a fresh start.’ There was a long gap and Sue didn’t ask and for once Mum didn’t elaborate. She’d be saving it up for the next time, building up the tension. My mum knows how to tell a good story.

  They drifted off into the kitchen. Water splashed and ran, the kettle began to boil. Peter sidled round the back of the sofa with his Smarties, shy again.

  The boy, Leo or whatever his name was, had to have noticed I looked rank. No make-up. Greasy hair. And he was in a duffle coat and dark green wellington boots, like he’d stepped straight out of one of those horsey magazines there were piles of at the GP surgery here. Plus he wasn’t actually a boy at all. He was practically a grown-up and he didn’t belong in this flat, with its dark smell and horrible bare walls and all Mum’s stuff scattered about. I sat on the sofa and that left him the chair – nasty grey velour and saggy in the middle. I should have offered to take his coat. Got him a drink. But I didn’t want to get up now so I put a cushion on my knee and hid behind it, remembering my arms too late – he’d already seen.

  ‘So,’ he said, his eyes moving quickly up to my face before he cleared his throat and directed his next question at Peter: ‘What’s this you’ve been doing?’

  He looked at our notebook open on the floor, the brand-new coloured pens scattered around it. Peter peeped at him, thumb back in his mouth.

  ‘Aud says it’s for keeping track,’ Peter mumbled, and Leo turned to me as if I should explain. I leant down, picked up the book and closed it tight. My drawing of
the bunny was useless. Plus it wasn’t his business.

  ‘It’s just a journal,’ I said, ‘like a nature diary or something. Peter likes nature.’

  ‘Yeah? Me too.’ Leo’s smile was kind. He didn’t sigh or roll his eyes or drum his fingers on the arm of the chair; he leant forward, forearms on his knees and spoke softly to my brother.

  ‘I saw a badger the other day. It was huge. This big.’ He opened his arms wide. ‘Tell you the truth, I was pretty scared. Massive teeth.’ He pulled a face.

  ‘I never saw one,’ Peter said, then paused. ‘Do you have pets?’ he asked, and I smiled at my brother. He’d emerged and sidled over to stand beside Leo. ‘I had a hamster but it’s dead now.’

  ‘Oh. That’s a shame. Yes, well, Sue has a dog. And a pony, but she’s rather old and slow, I’m afraid. In fact they both are. What I’d really like,’ he said, holding Peter’s gaze, ‘is a snake, but I don’t think Sue’s too keen.’

  ‘A snake?’ I laughed a little behind my hands. Peter’s face was a picture.

  ‘Yes. I wouldn’t be surprised if you spot one in the woods out there. But don’t worry – they’re not poisonous. At least, I don’t think so.’ Listen to him. It was like chatting with a prince. Not that I knew how princes talked. But he sounded like he’d been brought up dining on peacock, sipping water from crystal glasses, hobnobbing with Lord and Lady Posh Pants. I remembered to shut my mouth again.

  Peter turned to me.

  ‘Can we get a snake too, Aud?’

  ‘No, Pete. I doubt it. But we’ll watch for one. OK? And do a picture.’

  Leo grinned at me and I smiled back, careful. It was all right if he talked to Peter, but I didn’t want him talking to me. I pulled the cushion tighter against me.

  ‘So, how are you settling in?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s OK, I guess.’ That was code for badly. For all the nature I was still trapped. Trapped by the house and the past and the water. The water was everywhere. He seemed to get it; his eyes were sympathetic.

  ‘It’s hard, coming to a new place. Will you be starting at the college?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘I’m in Year Thirteen – last year, thank God.’