Lies Like Love

by Louisa Reid

  ‘Lorraine said something about bipolar again. That would explain it, wouldn’t it? The highs, the lows.’ Sue took her glasses off, rubbed them on her jumper and put them back on. She put her hand on Leo’s shoulder. He looked up at her with eyes that were dropping tears.

  ‘I don’t know. What the fuck do I know? She was fine. I’m telling you. She was.’ His fists curled. He couldn’t swallow.

  Sue held him. Leo was shaking now. It was fury and fear; he knew those feelings, and the sickness in his stomach, the dizziness, the floor spinning and dipping like he’d been thrown high in the air; no safety net to catch him. He didn’t mean to cry like a baby. He couldn’t help it. He wanted someone to make this better and no one could. Sue’s arms, squeezing him tight, didn’t help.

  ‘Lorraine’ll be here soon with Pete. I said of course we’d help. I mean, what else could I say?’ she said.

  ‘I’m going to see Audrey,’ Leo told her, pulling away, wiping his face and walking to the door. Nothing Sue could say could make this any better; she didn’t understand. Grabbing Sue’s car keys, he said, ‘She’ll want to see me.’ It was the only thing he was sure of.

  ‘Hold on.’ His aunt pulled him back. ‘Maybe that’s not such a good idea, not just yet. Let’s check with Lorraine.’

  ‘I don’t want to check with Lorraine. I want to see Audrey.’ His finger stabbed the air. He imagined Lorraine’s face. Imagined jabbing at her like that. Tried to breathe.

  ‘Calm down.’ Sue grabbed his hand and tried to hold him.

  ‘No.’ He pulled away again. Why had Audrey done this? He didn’t understand. And then he did. Leo stopped. He looked at Sue, the realization sinking in.

  ‘Leo, what is it?’

  ‘Fuck,’ he whispered. It was clear. Audrey hadn’t wanted to come with him to London at all; she’d been worried and uncertain, but he’d promised it would all be OK. He’d dragged her round London and back to his parents’ house and then they’d had sex and maybe she hadn’t really wanted to; maybe she’d felt she had to, that he expected it, that that’s why they were there. No. It was all his fault. Leo wasn’t going to calm down. Not now. His heart raced; he had to get there. He had to explain. That he had expected nothing, that he loved her whatever.

  A car came hurtling up the drive and pulled up outside the gates, barring them. Lorraine jumped out, opened the back door, produced Peter like a rabbit from a hat and marched through the gate towards them, taking long, purposeful strides, Peter trailing behind.

  ‘Here’s Pete,’ she called out to Sue, ignoring Leo. ‘I’m so thankful to you for helping us out like this. I’ll be back for him as soon as I can, but I need to be with Audrey.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ Leo asked. Lorraine turned to him.

  ‘That’s not a question you’ve got the right to ask,’ she snarled.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Leo said, ‘about New Year. I didn’t mean –’

  She didn’t let him finish.

  ‘Too late now,’ Lorraine said. ‘Audrey’s very sick, that’s all I can say. And it’s breaking my heart.’ Sue stepped forward, reaching out to pull him inside, but Leo moved fast, following Lorraine back down the drive.

  ‘I want to see her. Lorraine, I have to talk to her.’

  ‘No chance,’ Lorraine said, and Sue caught up.

  ‘Come inside, Leo. Give Audrey some space. Come on – let’s go and help Peter settle in. OK?’

  He stared at Lorraine and she stared back at him, then strode away and jumped back into her car. He felt the imprint of her accusation on his skin for the entire day.

  Audrey

  I heard Mum talking outside the curtains, then a man’s voice replying; it must have been the doctor whose name I had already forgotten. I’d forgotten a lot. My dad, my past, my life. How the Thing got me, how to escape. They kept giving me pills and were watching me swallow. But I’d already been here two days and that was long enough.

  ‘I want her detained under section three,’ Mum was saying; words I didn’t understand, but guessed the meaning of. ‘I can’t cope at home and I’m scared she’ll try again. There’s no way she can come out, not without proper treatment. She needs to be looked after; we need proper help. Doctor McGuiness, I want my daughter sorted.’

  ‘The team is still assessing Audrey, Mrs Morgan.’

  ‘Lorraine.’

  ‘Lorraine, but, as you may know, such a decision isn’t taken lightly. Audrey still isn’t talking to us. We need to take care here, make sure we make the right choices. We all want Audrey on the road to recovery and will do absolutely what we think is best. Sectioning her may not be in her best interest at this point.’

  ‘What if I want a second opinion?’

  ‘That is your absolute right. But you’ll find we need –’

  Mum broke in, interrupting, ‘Yes, I know. Two separate doctors, and an AMHP. I’m a nurse. I know the procedure, doctor.’

  ‘Right. Well, it will take us a little while to find the best plan of care for Audrey, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate.’ I listened for annoyance, for agitation, but the doctor was perfectly calm. It sounded like he was talking with a smile, trying to placate her.

  ‘She still hasn’t been examined,’ Mum said, changing tack. My stomach twisted and I balled the sheets in my hands.

  ‘No. She refuses to be examined. We won’t force her against her will. Audrey says she hasn’t been raped.’

  I could almost hear Mum’s eyes rolling. ‘Of course she does. She’s ashamed. And terrified. Don’t you know anything about the psychology of rape victims?’

  ‘As I said, we are taking absolute care to ensure Audrey gets everything she needs.’

  ‘The longer you leave it, the less likely you’ll find evidence.’

  ‘Has Audrey told you she’s been assaulted, Mrs Morgan?’

  There was silence. I gripped the sheets and screwed my eyes tight again. Oh, God. No, she can’t do this.

  When they pulled back the curtains at last and saw me lying there, I sat up and stared the doctor in the face.

  ‘Mr McGuiness, I haven’t been raped,’ I said in the kind of voice I thought a determined, sane, certain person would use, although there was very little evidence I would ever be any of those things again. I coughed, briefly. ‘I swear to you, I haven’t been assaulted. And I don’t want to be examined.’

  Mum came over. ‘Shhh, love, don’t get upset.’ She tried to hold me, tried to find a way to pull me towards her, smother me. I wriggled free, pushing her with my bandaged hands.

  ‘Mum, I mean it. Leo did nothing to me. Nothing like that.’ My face flared and I looked down at the sheets. ‘He didn’t hurt me,’ I repeated, because that was the truth. ‘We had sex, but I wanted to. I asked him to.’

  Mum made a noise as if someone was strangling her. I couldn’t look her way.

  ‘OK, Audrey, thank you,’ the doctor said, and he sat down beside me. ‘I want to spend some time with you. Talking. This is one of the things I’d like to discuss. Is that going to be all right?’

  ‘Yes.’ Cooperating was the only way out; I saw that now. It would be hard though; I was so tired.

  ‘I’m sixteen,’ I told him. ‘I don’t need my mother with me, do I?’

  ‘No. If you’d rather talk to me by yourself, that will be fine.’

  I tried to look together, folding my hands neatly on the covers, sitting up nice and straight. Mum hovered, but I sent a message with my eyes. Back off, it said. Leave Leo out of this. I turned back to the doctor.

  ‘Thank you,’ I told him.

  Leo

  Leo wanted to visit more than anything. Remembering being in hospital, all that time spent lying down, staring at television screens, walls, ceilings. Hearing nothing, seeing nothing, lost in a grey vacuum, his thoughts like scrambled pieces of paper, ripped, shredded, churning. How the only thing he’d needed was someone who cared to sit by his bed, not to talk or tell jokes or ask questions, but just to be there. He knew Audrey would want h
im nearby. He remembered the loneliness, the cold horror of it, of feeling utterly abandoned, hopeless and lost. But Sue said no. That Audrey wasn’t taking visitors. Just direct family.

  ‘What about Peter, then? He should go, shouldn’t he?’

  They both stared out of the window at the little boy playing on the lawn with Mary. He threw the ball and the dog fetched, dropped it at his feet. He picked it up, repeated the action. No smile. No jump or run or laugh. It had taken Sue all morning to persuade him just to do this.

  ‘Lorraine thinks it’ll upset him.’

  ‘He misses her.’

  Sue sighed. Clattered the dishes into the sink.

  ‘I don’t know what else to do, Leo. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I can’t stand this.’

  ‘It must be bringing back horrible memories for you.’

  ‘No, it’s not that; I don’t care about that. It’s her. I can’t stand the thought of her being on her own.’

  ‘Lorraine’s there.’

  Leo walked away from his aunt, slammed out of the back door, jogging over to Peter. He grabbed the football.

  ‘Come on, Pete. Let’s play.’ And they spent another desperate hour pretending nothing was wrong.

  Peter hadn’t mentioned Audrey, not once since he’d arrived. That night Leo read him a story and tucked him up in bed. He remembered his own mum doing the same thing, smiled at the thought, then laughed quietly to himself. She’d been reading him Robinson Crusoe when he was five, not Horrid Henry. Still, he’d loved it. Even the vocab tests the next morning.

  ‘You all right, mate?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Peter had pulled the covers up to his nose. His big eyes stared at Leo, unblinking.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yes. I’m OK.’

  As Leo turned to go, Peter sat up and lunged, grabbed him round his legs, almost toppling him on to the bed in a clumsy, desperate hug. Leo crouched and held him in his arms for a long time.

  The next morning he and Peter got their coats and set out for the bus. He told Sue he was taking him to the library and she gave him a pile of books to return, so it looked like they’d have to do that too. First, though, they were going to see Audrey.

  Peter was quiet on the journey.

  ‘You OK, Pete?’ Leo said.

  Peter nodded, his thumb in his mouth.

  ‘Look.’ Leo drew a silly face in the condensation on the window. ‘You draw one.’

  Peter didn’t look; he stared at his stones, kicking his feet back and forth.

  When they got to the hospital Leo asked at reception for the ward. They took the lift, up to the fourth floor.

  ‘This hospital looks like the other one,’ Peter said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The other one Aud was in before.’

  ‘When? Why was she in hospital before, Pete?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Peter said, running ahead.

  They didn’t need to press the button to gain admittance on to the ward; another visitor was coming out and they slipped through and faced yet another impersonal corridor.

  ‘Where’s Audrey?’ Peter asked.

  ‘I’m not sure. Come on – let’s see if we can find her.’

  The nurses’ station seemed the obvious place to ask. Leo cleared his throat and in his best thoroughly well-brought-up voice asked if they might see Audrey.

  The nurse, Kitty her badge said, smiled. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. She’s with the doctor. But you could come back later? Leo, is it? And Peter?’ She came round to speak to them, crouching to say hello to Peter and giving him a big smile.

  ‘Yes, all right – when?’

  Kitty straightened up and checked her watch.

  ‘She should be done in half an hour or so. Why don’t you wait in the family room? Or tell you what, her mum’s just up there, sitting with one of our other patients. I’ll grab her for you; she’ll be delighted to see you, I’m sure.’

  ‘No,’ Leo said, stepping back. ‘No that’s OK.’

  ‘It’s no bother.’ And Kitty was off, striding down the ward. Leo hesitated, took a step to follow Kitty, and then a step back, grabbed Peter’s hand and pulled him after her.

  Lorraine’s face said it all. Her smile strained like the buttons on her shirt, her skin pulled into a grimace that held no welcome. With blank eyes, she escorted them back down the ward, through the doors and into the elevator.

  ‘She can’t see you, Leo. Or, well, she doesn’t want to see you. She told me to say. She’d rather you didn’t see her, the state she’s in. She’s in a mess, you know. So, best leave it.’

  ‘I don’t mind. I just want her to know I care.’

  ‘Oh, she knows that, she does. Don’t you worry.’

  ‘OK.’

  Lorraine walked them out of the building and down the road, back to the bus stop. Leo was still carrying Sue’s bag of library books. It was unutterably heavy.

  Audrey

  Mr McGuiness kept on coming back. He wanted to know a lot of things: what I thought about, dreamed about, ate and drank. If I was sleeping, if I was anxious, if I had suicidal thoughts. He asked me what I hated, what I loved.

  ‘Peter,’ I said straight away; it was the first easy question, ‘my little brother.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Only five. He’ll be six in the summer.’ I looked up and smiled at the psychiatrist. He smiled back, like we were pals, chatting over a coffee. ‘I have a little boy,’ he said, ‘similar age. Great fun.’

  ‘Pete’s really into wildlife; we built this den, but it collapsed. We’re going to make another though, soon; Leo’s going to help. We’ve been writing it all up in a book, all the things we’ve spotted. We’ve seen a muntjac. Hares. And we’re waiting for a badger. And then there’s the kestrel.’ It seemed so long ago, that perfect day. Impossible it had happened now.

  ‘I can tell you really care about Peter, Audrey.’

  I nodded. He waited.

  ‘I do. I really do.’ I shut my eyes. Imagined his bright face. The innocence in his big eyes. He’d lost a tooth before Christmas and there was a gap now in his smile.

  ‘Anything else?’ The doctor waited and I knew I had to dig deeper, present more of my heart on a plate.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will you tell me?’

  ‘I love my boyfriend, Leo.’

  ‘Um, hmm?’

  ‘And …’ There had to be more. I still hadn’t said it. If I left it out, then there’d be questions asked. He’d dig and dig at me until he got the right answer.

  ‘And?’

  ‘I suppose I love my mum.’

  ‘Only “suppose”?’

  ‘No. I love my mum.’ Saying it was hard, like coughing up a bone; it hurt my throat, scratched at my eyes. It wasn’t a lie, not really.

  ‘Audrey?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why are you crying?’

  I shook my head. That was all.

  Later Mum dropped in on me. I knew she was around the ward, all day, every day, but she’d found other things to do. Patients to talk to, or their parents, the nurses to laugh with. She brought them cake and coffees from the shop downstairs, she told me. They were a great bunch.

  ‘So, love.’ She settled herself. ‘I was thinking, how about we do some of your blog?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, it’s the perfect chance. I’ve been keeping it up and running, but, you know, you could take some of the work off me, couldn’t you?’

  ‘I don’t want to. I don’t know what to put.’

  ‘Not this again. You are a lazy bugger, Aud. There’s loads happening. I’ll get a couple of pics and upload them too.’

  ‘No. Not of me like this. Please.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be daft. You look great; just lovely, like always. It’s like a little holiday this, isn’t it? You getting waited on hand and foot and fussed over all day long. You’re a lucky old girl.’

  She handed me the laptop. Plugged it in. Loaded the page. />
  I began to read. She wasn’t lying when she said she’d been keeping it up to date. There was a picture of me I hadn’t known she’d taken, lying asleep, my arms on top of the covers, so you could see the bandages nice and clear, masses of text underneath. I didn’t need to read it and pushed the laptop at Mum.

  ‘Take that picture off.’

  ‘What? Why? It’s a nice one.’ She scrutinized it again, looking from different angles.

  ‘I’m asleep. You took it while I was asleep; you didn’t tell me.’

  It felt weird, like she’d stolen something. A kidney, a limb. Another piece of my heart.

  ‘Come on, Aud, get cracking. I’ll leave you to it – back in ten, see how you’re getting on,’ Mum said.

  I had to do it. I had to find that other girl, the one I’d imagined – the one who lived in this blog and made Mum happy; the sad, desperate girl who was going mad and was trying to die. How to create her out of the sticks and bones of my heart? How to build her out of the rubbish dump of my life? She felt things that girl, and we didn’t share the same pain. Her pain was particular. That girl wanted to die. And I didn’t. I wanted to live. I took a deep breath and started to type very slowly with one finger. I stabbed each key and made the lies come alive.

  THE PAIN PLACES: ME AND MY DEPRESSION

  BY AUDREY MORGAN, AGED SIXTEEN

  AND FOUR MONTHS

  There’s not much I can do right.

  That much we had in common, I thought, pulling a face and stabbing delete as hard as I could. OK. Try this.

  Can’t even die properly, can I? Guess I screwed up again, but I shouldn’t be surprised. My whole life’s a screw-up, a nasty sick mess.

  That was more like it. It wasn’t me talking now; it was her. Because I had Leo and Peter. I had lots to live for. OK, carry on.

  The doctor says I’m very lucky Mum found me when she did. Lucky. That wasn’t the first thought that entered my head when I woke up and found myself stuck in hospital again. No. I was angry, because they wouldn’t even leave me in peace to do what I want with my own life. Now I’ve got to get better, because there’s no point being in hospital, and I need to get out of here. It’s swapping one prison for another. The prison of my mind and the prison of my life and this prison here. Walls and ceilings and doors hemming me in. They watch me all the time, checking I’m not up to anything, like I’m a criminal.