Double Deceit

by Julienne Brouwers

  The brother continued his narrative about what Sandra had been like as a teenager. I turned my head away and closed my eyes. I couldn’t bear the sadness that was hanging almost tangibly in the air. The scab of my own wound was too fresh and vulnerable. I felt a wave of nausea washing over me.

  I decided to leave. A few more people had arrived after I did and I had no choice but to shuffle past them in order to exit the building, stammering my apologies. When I’d finally managed to get myself outside, I took a deep breath of fresh air. Birds were chirping cheerfully from up high in the stately row of oak trees flanking the long driveway and I felt myself slowly relax.

  I got on my bike and took a detour to clear my mind, before heading for the city centre where I was going to meet Lindsey for lunch.

  When I opened the door of our favourite lunch spot, which was just around the corner from Lindsey’s work, the pleasant warmth greeted me. It was a few minutes shy of noon and there was still plenty of space. After choosing a comfortable couch in the corner, I looked outside and saw tram number fourteen draw to a stop for a red light. When it pulled off again and trundled on, I saw Lindsey popping up behind it.

  She held her woollen, pink pea coat closed with one hand, glanced left and right, and then scurried across the street in my direction. After entering the establishment, she kissed me once on the cheek, and I caught a hint of her floral perfume. Her gaze remained on me. “My goodness Jen, you’re as pale as a sheet.”

  I made a silly face. “How many drinks did we get through yesterday? I knew we shouldn’t have left you in charge of the kitty,” I said laughing.

  She looked at me with concern. “We didn’t even drink that much. I don’t feel a thing. Is everything okay?”

  “Sure,” I answered, dismissing her worry with a wave of my hand. “I’m probably coming down with a cold,” I said, playing it down, and started sniffing demonstratively. “That must be it.”

  Lindsey let the subject rest, peeled off her coat and draped it over a chair. She was wearing a tight, leather, burgundy coloured skirt, combined with a green blouse. Her pumps in a matching colour completed the outfit. Even on this workday she looked arresting.

  She took a seat opposite me. “I need to finish an important report this afternoon, otherwise my boss will have my guts for garters, so I can’t stay terribly long.”

  “No problem,” I said. “I’m happy you could free up your schedule for me.”

  “Are you off today?” Lindsey asked, glancing at the menu, although she’d probably order the baguette with tuna salad, knowing her.

  “I won’t have to work until later. I’ve got the evening shift at the out-of-hours clinic,” I said, and, as usual, felt a tad apprehensive about it. Those kind of shifts always had a sense of unpredictability and volatility in them. An average Friday evening usually meant tourists out of their minds on drugs or teenagers who had had one drink too many. “Tim’s staying with my parents for another night.”

  Lindsey smiled. “You’ve lucked out to have such parents. If I had a child, I’d probably get no help whatsoever,” she said matter-of-factly, but a double-edged pain resounded in her statement. She didn’t have a child and had a strained relationship with her parents. She never confided in me about a possible desire for children and I didn’t dare ask about it either. I touched her arm and squeezed it gently.

  The waitress came to take our orders.

  Lindsey frowned. “Didn’t you attend the funeral, this morning? For er …?”

  I nodded. “Sandra, yes I did.” I wrinkled my nose.

  Lindsey ran a hand through her shiny, blond hair that was beautifully styled as usual. “How was the service?”

  “Nice,” I answered automatically. “Or actually, terrible. Someone that young shouldn’t die, especially not in such a horrific way.” I shook my head. “I didn’t take it well and left early.”

  Lindsey reached out her hand, grabbed mine and squeezed it tightly. “Oh poor you.”

  I smiled briefly, patted her hand resolutely in response, and pulled away. I wanted to keep the atmosphere light, even though the funeral still weighed on my mind. “Let’s talk about something else,” I said jauntily. “How’s work going?”

  Lindsey brought me up to speed on her most recent advertising project. She’d been awarded an assignment for one of their most important clients and was happy with the promotion.

  In the meantime, the waitress brought the sandwiches and tea.

  I pecked at the bread, but it didn’t go down well. I laid my hand on my stomach and chewed slowly.

  Lindsey looked up from her tuna sandwich. “Are you okay?”

  I pressed my fist to my mouth and looked anxiously towards the bathroom. I jumped up, causing a wave of tea from my tea to spill over the table. Thankfully the nausea subsided just as suddenly as it had come up. I lowered myself slowly.

  Lindsey lifted her head and propped her chin in her palm. “Gosh, Jen. Something’s not right. Have you been experiencing this a lot lately?”

  I wiped up the puddle of tea with my napkin and pondered it for a while. “Come to think of it, I have been feeling nauseous more often lately. But isn’t that to be expected with everything that’s been going on in my life?” And with all the alcohol I’ve recently been consuming, I added in silence.

  She shrugged and looked confused. “I guess.”

  “My stomach has always played up in times of stress or hardship. It seems to be some kind of personal weakness.”

  Lindsey suddenly sat up, her eyes bulging. “Oh my god, Jen. You’re pregnant!” she exclaimed.

  I laid a hand on my stomach as I spoke with a mock solemn expression on my face. “Yes, I am expecting.”

  She slammed her hands on the table, her long hair flying around. “No way,” she shrieked.

  “I’m kidding. Me, pregnant? You’re cracking me up,” I said and started laughing at the ridiculous suggestion. “From whom for heaven’s sake?”

  She raised her eyebrows suggestively. “You probably know the answer to this better than I do. Since Oliver died, have you not had …?” Her voice trailed off.

  I wasn’t sure whether to be shocked or offended by her suggestion. “Of course not,” I cried. “What do you take me for?”

  She wrapped her hands around her cup of tea. “These things happen. The grieving process is different for everyone, sometimes you just have to act on how you feel,” she stated, as if she were reading advice from a women’s magazine. “Can’t the baby be Oliver’s?”

  “There is no baby!” I exclaimed and rolled my eyes. My dear friend seemed to have lost sight of the laws of nature. “Oliver passed away more than three months ago – you do the maths,” I said, feeling positive of my case. I emitted a mocking noise. “Seems to me I’d have noticed by now.”

  She held onto the subject. “I didn’t want to say anything to you before, but er … you look as if you’ve filled out a bit lately.” She blew in her tea and prudently took a sip.

  This was getting better by the minute. “Thanks a lot Lin,” I said, raising my eyebrows. Then I thought of something. “I’ve got an explanation for it. It’s because of my affair with Ben. We’re together every night on the couch,” I quipped.

  Lindsey practically choked on her tea. “Ben?”

  “Ben & Jerry’s,” I said with a cheeky grin and threw my head back.

  “Ha, ha, ha,” Lindsey said sarcastically and started smiling. “Well, I guess I’m wrong then.”

  “I guess so too,” I said kindly but firmly and took another nibble of my sandwich. “Give me a good night’s sleep and I’ll be back on my feet.”

  An hour later I had returned home and stood by the mantelpiece in the living room. I ran my thumb over the photo of Oliver, which I’d put into a silver frame after he died. Lindsey’s words earlier had refuelled a deeply cherished desire. More than half a year ago, Oliver and I had decided to try for a second child. Even though I’d had misgivings about whether it was wise in view of our r
elationship struggles, emotion had won over reason and we’d agreed to try. Since Oliver’s death there’d only been room for sorrow and confusion, but now suddenly that strong longing for another child had resurfaced, just as ardently and fiercely as it had been when Oliver was still alive. The agony over dissipated possibilities almost took my breath away.

  I gave myself a stern talking to – I should consider myself lucky to have Tim. “I love you, darling,” I said to Oliver’s photo and headed for the hallway to turn on the washing machine on the first floor before leaving the house to work the evening shift. I noticed that, despite Alejandra’s weekly help, I kept falling behind regarding household matters. I considered asking her to up her hours, although I was reluctant to increase my spending. It wasn’t clear to me yet what the financial consequences of Oliver’s death exactly were, and – although I obviously wasn’t living on the breadline – as long as that was the case, I preferred to stay frugal.

  As I opened the door to the hallway, I noticed there was a stack of mail lying on the doormat that I had overlooked when I’d arrived home from lunch. I bent down to pick up the envelopes and was tempted to toss them unopened under the coat rack, onto the heap that had been growing over recent weeks, when my eye fell on a loose A4 paper that slipped out of the pile and was floating down to the ground.

  The colourful letters in a decorative font danced over the page. ‘Don’t stick your nose into other people’s affairs.’

  My heart was racing.

  What in heaven’s sake was this?

  I reached out to pick up the piece of paper that was entirely blank except for those alarming words. It seemed to be a threat addressed to me. Was this serious and if so, who had sent it? Or was this just a sick joke and I shouldn’t read too much into it?

  I tried to calm myself down and took a few deep breaths, the note shaking with my trembling fingers.

  I straightened my back and lifted my chin. Whatever it was, I had no intention of letting this message defeat me. I stormed back into the living room, crumpled the paper and chucked it in the bin.

  18

  “Tim, get off that at once! Mummy said no climbing on the frame,” I yelled, but he wasn’t listening to me, as usual. I’d had little energy to discipline him over recent months. I wasn’t sure whether he was acting out because he missed his father, which made it harder to be firm with him.

  Ever since Sandra’s funeral, I’d promised myself not to brood about the circumstances regarding Oliver’s death anymore. Dwelling on it wouldn’t get me anywhere – Oliver was no longer here and sadly would never return to this earth. I’d resolved to start a new chapter. I tried to blank out the note I’d received so unexpectedly through the post and instead, focused on Tim and my work. So far this approach was working out quite well.

  I walked towards Tim in a don’t-mess-with-mummy way and directed him back to the blue, plastic sandpit, which contained enough toys to keep him entertained for a while. To my relief, he accepted my authority, which made me resolve to be strict more often. I walked back to the sun-drenched bench where I had a good view of Tim, and sat down. The first crocuses were poking through the ground, which was still cold and hard from winter, suggesting spring had started earlier than usual this year.

  A man of a similar age to me on the adjacent bench gave a friendly smile. “Children,” he said knowingly.

  I shrugged my shoulders in a gesture common to all parents and mustered up a faint smile in return. Then I leaned back and tilted my head towards the sun, closing my eyes and feeling the delightful rays warm up my face – I could do with a bit more colour on my cheeks after the long winter, I thought to myself.

  “What’s your son’s name?” the man asked, eager to strike up a conversation.

  I opened my eyes and replied curtly. “Tim.” I had little interest in small talk.

  He nodded. “I’ve got a three-year old,” he carried on. “A girl. Toddlers are wonderful, but they have a mind of their own,” he chuckled.

  I made a half-hearted attempt to see which child in the playground he was referring to, but then decided that I wasn’t bothered and merely nodded.

  He didn’t take the hint. “She’s not here, actually. Bella goes to her mother from Tuesday to Saturday afternoon. We’re divorced,” he added, shrugging apologetically.

  I stared at him in astonishment. Why was he sharing all of this with me? I glanced at Tim who was building a sandcastle with a bucket and a spade.

  The man continued his story. “We split up just six months ago. It’s hard, you know. Really tough. You think it’ll last forever, but it transpired that I was the only one who’d made that assumption.”

  I moaned internally and muttered something incomprehensible. What did this guy want from me?

  He needed little encouragement to carry on expressing his melancholy. “I’m only off work on Wednesday afternoons, so I hardly have time to come to the playground. That’s why I sometimes sit here at the weekends, just by myself, and reminisce about the times when all three of us came here together.”

  Holy cow – was this man for real? He wouldn’t stop blabbering on about his life. “Right,” I responded politely, and then immediately closed my eyes, hoping he would end his lengthy monologue. As far as I was concerned, this conversation was over.

  The man wasn’t in the slightest bit thrown off though. “You must think I’m being pathetic.” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his muscular thighs, hands clasped together, and grinned. To my annoyance, it was an attractive, boyish smile. “Alright, I admit, I can be a sentimental fool,” he said disarmingly.

  I rolled my eyes when he wasn’t looking. “Oh no, not at all,” I said, gritting my teeth. Why couldn’t this man just leave me alone? I considered taking Tim home early, but the fear of a tantrum made me decide otherwise.

  “So what about you? Happily married, I presume?”

  The ball was in my court now. I raised my chin. “Not quite. I’m a widow.” Perversely enough, it felt satisfying to be able to take advantage of my unusual status. Surely that would silence the man. He was visibly shocked. “How … How awful. I’m truly sorry for your loss.” My message had obviously taken him by surprise, as it always did when I informed people. “I had no idea that …” His voice trailed off. Just when I thought he was going to remain quiet, he asked me an unexpected question. “Do you mind if I sit next to you?”

  He didn’t even have the courtesy to wait for an answer but stood up and lowered himself next to me, whereupon I jumped up and moved to the far end of the bench. This wasn’t part of my plan, I thought, while my heart started pounding wildly.

  As he chatted about how sorry he was for me, I noticed the wrinkles surrounding his intense brown eyes, that revealed themselves every time he smiled. A five-o’clock shadow gave him an edgy, dishevelled flair that enhanced his strong features. His gaze was attentive and formed a refreshing contrast to the way most people looked at me with pity when they heard my sorrowful life event.

  He somehow seemed familiar and I remembered reading somewhere that if you feel like you’ve met someone before it means that you find them attractive. To my dismay, a fierce wave of desire passed through me and I felt completely overwhelmed by it.

  “Was it sudden, or had he been sick for some time?” came the man’s voice.

  I tried to focus my attention on his question. “He died as a result of a tragic accident. So it was all very sudden,” I said, gazing ahead. I considered giving more details as I knew my brief summary of events would presumably raise questions, but then decided to refrain. “He just had terrible luck.”

  He ran a hand through his shiny, curly hair. “Blimey, that’s awful. When did this all happen?”

  A cloud slid across the sun, sending a chill through me. I pulled my hands inside the sleeves of my jacket. “He died last year.” Something caught my attention and I jumped up. “Tim. Stop that! Don’t throw the sand.” I waited to see if he carried on, but my resolute response from
earlier must have made an impact and shouting directions from a distance was sufficient to correct him. I sat down again.

  “At work there was also a guy who died at a young age, leaving his wife and child behind. I guess I shouldn’t be complaining then, at least Bella still has her mother.”

  A shiver went down my spine. “Where do you work?”

  He directed his gaze towards me. “You probably wouldn’t know it. It’s an American law firm called Mason & McGant.”

  I could feel the blood rushing to my head, making my temples throb. Had I just heard right? “You’re kidding,” I mumbled. “My husband worked there.”

  It took a moment for him to comprehend what I’d said, but then I saw the bafflement in his eyes. “Was your husband Oliver? Oliver Smits?”

  Was this a joke? Coincidences like this made me very nervous and suspicious. “That’s him,” I whispered and felt my mouth drop. “I can’t believe it.”

  A look appeared in his eyes that I couldn’t quite read. “I met Oliver a few times during meetings.” The man was wearing fashionable heavy-framed glasses and pressed them onto his nose. “I didn’t know him well though. He worked in a different department to mine and started out as a paralegal, right? I joined Mason & McGant later than him, but directly as a lawyer. I did my years of paralegal work at a different firm.”

  Suddenly the letters written with a black marker on the DVD appeared in front of my eyes again. Would this man also have been recorded on camera or did he beat the rap because he entered the firm with experience, rather than being a paralegal?

  I shook my head, struggling to repress the image. “You look familiar to me – I must have seen you before at one of the firm’s parties.”

  “Might well have.” He leaned back and rested an arm on top of the bench, opening out his chest towards me, and raised his eyebrows. “Although I highly doubt I would forget an attractive woman like you.”