Her Perfect Lies

by Lana Newton

  Today we helped Aunt Tegan move to her new house. She bought an old terrace behind the library.

  White-faced and shaking, Claire reached for her phone and loaded the map. There was a small street behind the Windsor library that wound its way towards the station. Meticulously she studied every house on the street, wondering which one had once belonged to her aunt and if she still lived there after all these years.

  The next morning, Claire persuaded Paul to take a day off and drive her to Windsor. In the car, she told him everything she had learnt about Nate. ‘In ten years that I’ve known you, you’ve never mentioned a brother. I always assumed you were an only child, like me,’ Paul said.

  ‘Don’t you find it strange that I had a brother and never told anyone? Why would I hide something like that from you?’

  ‘Maybe you weren’t hiding it from me as much as from yourself? Some things are too painful to talk about.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right.’ Claire thought of her father, whose face twisted in pain every time she mentioned her brother. She thought of his silence on the subject until she brought it up herself.

  Paul pressed her hand reassuringly, while his eyes remained on the road. ‘No matter what happens, I want you to know you are not alone. I’m here for you.’

  Claire asked Paul to wait in a nearby café. If she found her aunt, she wanted to talk to her alone. Something told her Tegan wouldn’t open up in front of a stranger. But as she walked alone past a row of houses on the small street immediately behind the library, she felt a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach, like she didn’t belong. Afraid of what she might discover, she wanted to run. She wished Paul was with her, so she wouldn’t feel so alone.

  Nervously clasping her purse to her chest, Claire approached the first house, which was also the largest.

  She stood with her finger on the buzzer, too afraid to press it. Finally, she rang.

  When there was no answer, she turned around and walked away. But a hundred meters down the road, she returned, found a pen and a piece of paper in her handbag and wrote a note to her aunt asking, if she did indeed live there, to call her. With trepidation she slipped the note under the front door, then wrote another note and another, leaving them at every house on the street.

  * * *

  Matilda’s office was quiet and dim as Claire reclined on the couch and closed her eyes. This was the only place where she didn’t feel afraid, hidden away from the world, like a small island lost in the ocean, alone and undisturbed, with nothing around but calm waters and blue skies. And that was what she longed for as she shared her deepest fears with the therapist – this illusion of safety, of being secluded from all things threatening and dark.

  ‘I thought the violence I experienced in my dreams was something to do with my husband. But now I’m convinced it’s connected to my childhood.’

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me. Childhood experiences often stay with us for life, haunting us even when we don’t remember them,’ said Matilda.

  ‘In my dream, I’m about to face the person threatening me. But I always wake up before I can see their face. If only I could stay asleep longer.’

  ‘Your mind is trying to protect you from something. We need to let your mind know you are strong enough to deal with it.’

  ‘Is my mind trying to protect me from my past or from what happened on the day my mother was murdered, the day of the accident? The police say I was there. A neighbour saw me at the time of the murder.’ Claire hesitated. She had never shared her fear of being involved in her mother’s murder with anyone. She didn’t want to acknowledge it was real by putting it into words. ‘I think they suspect me. They asked questions about my mother’s will, trying to establish a motive.’

  ‘Just because you benefitted from her will doesn’t make you a suspect. Does it seem like you needed your mother’s money?’

  ‘I don’t think so. We seem to have plenty. But what if there was a conflict between the two of us I know nothing about?’ Her hand on her heart, she paused, trying to get her breath back. ‘What if it was me? I can’t bear the thought of it. I wish I could remember what happened that day. No matter how terrible it is, I’d rather know for sure.’

  ‘You don’t strike me as someone capable of murder. You are not the type to lash out or lose your temper.’

  ‘If I was there, I would have seen who did it. I must have known …’ The thought made her tremble in terror. ‘Please, help me remember. I need to know what happened or I will go insane.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can help you remember. But I can try helping you calm down and get your thoughts straight. Why don’t you lie down and close your eyes?’

  Matilda’s voice was like a lullaby, soothing and calm, and Claire felt herself drifting till she was on the verge of sleep. She no longer feared her nightmare, so accustomed she had become to it. But she was afraid of what the nightmare represented. ‘Find yourself in your dream,’ said Matilda. ‘Experience it fully. Without fear or concern, see it in your mind as if it was happening right now.’

  But as hard as Claire tried, the nightmare wouldn’t come. She couldn’t conjure the terror, nor see the disturbing images. What she experienced instead was something completely different. An image came to her, of happiness and joy and laughter. Was it a dream or a memory? It was impossible to tell.

  The little girl was squealing in excitement, happy and safe in her father’s arms. ‘Faster, faster, Daddy!’ Her father was lifting her up in the air, twirling-twirling-twirling, until everything became a blur – the horses, the riders, the blue skies and the green hills. Even though she was getting more than a little dizzy, she didn’t want him to stop and he didn’t, spinning her faster and faster. Finally, he placed her on the ground gently and gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘You made your old man proud today, Teddy Bear. Did you enjoy your lesson?’

  ‘Of course, Daddy. I loved it.’ The truth was, she had been afraid of the horse, who seemed as tall as a mountain and as unpredictable as her dance teacher Miss Plum, who would often shout and storm off without the slightest provocation. But the girl couldn’t tell her father that because she didn’t want to disappoint him.

  ‘I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes and follow me. No peeking,’ said the man, taking her hand.

  ‘Can I open my eyes now?’ she asked impatiently after they had barely walked ten paces. Even though she couldn’t see where they were going, she could tell he was taking her back to the stables.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Tell me what it is.’

  ‘If I tell you, it will no longer be a surprise.’

  Another hundred paces. It felt strange walking with her eyes shut, like she was moving through a dark tunnel. But she knew she could trust her father. ‘Will I like it?’

  ‘You tell me. You can open your eyes now!’

  She did as she was told and found herself face to face with the tallest horse she’d ever seen. She hoped she wouldn’t have to ride him during her next lesson, which was only a week away. Her favourite horse at the stables was Dolly. She was old and docile and moved no faster than a snail, which suited Claire perfectly. But this horse looked young and energetic. He would be fast and she wouldn’t like that. Fast was dangerous, especially when it came to horses.

  ‘What do you think of Xander?’ asked the man.

  ‘He’s beautiful.’ It wasn’t a lie. The horse was magnificent. White like fresh snow, he was all muscle and nervous energy. The girl wanted to pat him on the nose but didn’t dare.

  ‘I’m glad you like him. He’s yours. Your birthday present!’ The man beamed, pleased with himself.

  Since she was little, the girl had dreamed of having a dog, a Golden Retriever she would call Poppy. In her imagination, Poppy and her were inseparable, going on long bicycle rides and learning how to steer a canal boat together. In the evenings, Poppy would curl up in the girl’s lap and give her an occasional lick on the hand, while they read and watched films. Could she share adven
tures with a horse? Xander definitely wouldn’t fit in her lap and would look out of place walking around town.

  Her father was watching her expectantly, an excited twinkle in his eyes. For his sake, she had to fake excitement to match his. ‘My own horse! I can’t believe it. Thank you so much, Daddy. Where will Xander live?’ She knew the horse couldn’t live inside the house but was their garden big enough?

  ‘We’ll keep him in the stables for now. You can visit and ride him any time you like.’

  ‘Wait till I tell my friends. I’ll be the envy of everyone at school.’

  ‘You can invite all your friends here if you like. But let’s not tell Nate about Xander just yet. You know how he gets.’

  * * *

  A week after she found out about her husband’s affair, Claire woke on the sofa, where she must have fallen asleep reading. When she opened her eyes, she saw Gaby sitting next to her. Only half-awake and confused, Claire watched her friend in silence. She had been dreaming of a dark-haired boy, his face distorted in anger – or was it fear? – his arms flailing. He was trying to tell her something but what? She could see his face clearly but couldn’t hear the words. And she desperately wanted to hear the words. Was he screaming at her? Or was he warning her? Was the boy Nate? Was she remembering him or was it another nightmare her tired brain had conjured? She wished she knew what her brother had looked like, so that she could tell her memories apart from her dreams.

  This dream scared Claire more than her old nightmares ever had.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind. I let myself in. I knocked but no one answered,’ said Gaby, smiling at Claire with affection, as if their last conversation had never happened. ‘I brought you something.’ She pointed at a basket by her feet. It was filled with muffins and cakes. It seemed the old Gaby was back, with her hair brushed to perfection and her makeup carefully applied. Claire could almost believe she had imagined the matted hair and tattered pyjamas of a week ago. But she could see through Gaby’s attempt to fake normality. There were dark circles under her eyes and her face looked thinner.

  Did Gaby think pastries would make up for an affair with Claire’s husband and for the web of lies she had woven? Because of her, Claire had thought her husband was a murderer. She was scared for her life living under the same roof with him. ‘I think you should leave,’ she said, pulling herself up on the couch, so she wouldn’t have to look up at Gaby.

  ‘I’ll understand if you never want to talk to me again. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting you to.’

  ‘If you weren’t expecting me to, then why are you here?’

  ‘I joined AA. Two days sober and proud of it.’

  ‘Good for you, Gaby. Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘The first step to recovery is taking responsibility for my actions and making amends. Or so my sponsor says. I’m here to apologise.’

  Claire didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.

  Gaby continued, ‘I don’t know if I can ever stop loving Paul. But he chose you and I respect that. The thing is, you and I have been friends for most of my adult life. I don’t want to lose that.’

  Gaby looked so sad, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the couch, tall and thin like an exotic bird and just as beautiful. Claire felt a pang of something resembling pity. But only for a moment. ‘I don’t remember the friendship you are talking about. But I do remember trusting you with all my heart and having that trust broken. I don’t think I can ever get over that.’

  Gaby’s eyes filled with tears and she looked pleadingly at Claire. ‘Every time something happens, I want to tell you about it. I reach for my phone to call you and then remember and … I miss you, Claire. I hope you can forgive me one day. Even if things are never the same between us, I still want you in my life.’

  Claire wanted to ask Gaby how it was possible that she truly cared about her friend and still plotted to turn her life upside down. How could she exploit a vulnerable situation Claire had found herself in for her own good? Gaby had sat in her living room, looked her in the eye and lied. And Claire, lost and confused and not knowing who she was, believed every word. ‘I don’t understand,’ she started to say and stopped. There was no point. If Gaby’s conscience had been asleep until now, nothing Claire could say could awaken it.

  Gaby didn’t seem to notice what was so apparent on Claire’s face. ‘That’s not all I wanted to tell you. After you left that day, I remembered something. It’s about your brother.’

  Suddenly, Claire forgot all about the affair and the lies. She gripped her seat so tightly, her fingers turned white.

  ‘A couple of years ago, you said something when you had a few too many drinks. I was drunk too, so I can’t be sure exactly what it was. But you said something like, my brother should have minded his own business. Everything would have been okay if only he minded his own business. And you cried, a lot. I remember wondering what you meant. But then I thought I must have misunderstood. Easy to do after a bottle of wine and half a dozen tequila shots. When I questioned you the next morning, you said you didn’t know what I was talking about.’

  Claire couldn’t see straight from the pounding in her head. ‘I think my nightmares might have something to do with Nate. In my diary I wrote repeatedly that I hate someone. What if this someone was Nate?’

  ‘Why would you hate your own brother?’

  ‘I don’t know. I wish I did. I wish I knew what he’d done.’

  * * *

  Claire didn’t want to be alone. Like a ghost she hovered over Nina, following her every move as the housekeeper mopped, polished and dusted. And when everything was spotless, Claire watched while Nina made spaghetti Bolognese, Tony’s favourite. The sauce simmered cheerfully on the stove, the little blue flame twirling and drawing Claire’s gaze. So small, and yet, so deadly. Capable of the greatest destruction, of burning houses and killing brothers.

  In the evening, she played cards with Tony, losing game after game because all she could think of was her vision and the face she had seen in Matilda’s office, her father’s young face smiling up at her as he threw her in the air. She told herself it was just another dream. She must have fallen asleep on her therapist’s couch and didn’t realise. What she thought was a memory was in fact a figment of her imagination. ‘Daddy, who is Xander?’

  ‘You remember Xander?’ Tony beamed. ‘You spent all your free time at the stables, looking after him. The adventures the two of you had shared! You had an unbreakable bond.’

  ‘Did you give him to me on my birthday?’

  ‘Your twelfth birthday. You looked uncertain at first, like you were afraid of him. But as you got to know him, you fell in love. It was hard not to. Xander was loyal and affectionate and when he loved someone, he gave his heart fully.’

  ‘I remember him.’ She was crying, tears of fear and relief, grateful for the darkness in the room because she didn’t want her father to see. ‘I can see him now. Snow-white and tall. Intimidating.’

  ‘Let me tell you, you weren’t intimidated for long. Once he let you pat him and accepted a carrot, the two of you became the best of friends.’

  It hadn’t been a dream after all. It was her first memory. She no longer felt like a blank canvas. Now that she remembered a part of her childhood, however small, other memories might follow. She could sense them at the edge of her mind, teasing her. Why did it fill her with dread instead of joy? ‘Something in my memory didn’t make sense. You asked me not to tell Nate about Xander. “You know how he gets,” you said to me. What did you mean by that?’

  Her father watched her in silence, as if wondering what answer he could give her. Whether she was ready to hear it. When he finally spoke, he seemed to weigh his every word. ‘Nate was a little overprotective. He hated the idea of you riding. He said it was too dangerous. Besides, for once I wanted you to have something to yourself. All your life you had to share everything with Nate.’

  Was it the truth? Half-truth or whole truth? Tony didn’t meet her gaze. Was h
e hiding something from her? ‘Did we tell him eventually?’

  ‘Of course we did. He wanted to know where you disappeared to every day after school.’

  ‘And did he approve?’

  ‘Once he saw how happy you were, he did.’

  Claire asked Tony to tell her everything he could remember about Nate. She wanted to know what he was like and what he enjoyed, what books he read and what sports he loved. Most of all, she wanted to hear stories that would make her brother seem real. But before her father had a chance to reply, her phone rang. It was a number she didn’t recognise. Was it the call she had been waiting for? Turning away from Tony, wishing she was alone, she answered.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘My name is Tegan. I found your note.’

  Claire’s hand flew up to her mouth as she glanced at her father. ‘I’m happy to hear from you,’ she said quietly into the phone.

  ‘Claire, is that really you? On the news I saw about Angela …’ The voice on the other side trembled. It was a few moments before the woman continued talking. ‘I’ve been going out of my mind but didn’t know how to contact you. Then I found your note … When can you come to see me?’

  Tegan sounded desperate to see her niece, and since Claire was desperate to see her aunt, she said, ‘I’ll be there first thing tomorrow. If that’s okay.’

  Tegan assured her that it was more than okay, that seeing her would make her the happiest person in the world.

  ‘Who was that?’ asked Tony when she hung up.

  ‘Just an old friend,’ she replied quickly. She hated lying to her father and yet, she had a feeling telling him the truth would be a mistake.

  Chapter 19

  Claire and Paul were in the car, about to drive to Windsor to meet Claire’s aunt, when a police van appeared out of nowhere and turned into the driveway, blocking their way. PC Kamenski stepped out of the driver’s seat, looking dishevelled, a forced smile plastered on her face. PC Stanley wasn’t with her.