A Suitable Lie (10 page)

I sat on the edge of the bed, my back to her.

‘Andy,’ she said in a croak. ‘Andy.’ There was pain there. In only two syllables, a world of apology and shame.

Clenching my teeth, I hardened myself to her distress. This was my wife, this was the woman I loved, yet who knew what she was capable of? I’d thought the attacks months before were one-offs. But now … was I at risk? But of what?

Was Pat safe?

‘I’m so sorry, Andy. I’m so sorry.’ I could barely hear her, but in any case her apologies were weak-winged and floundering against the worry of what this would all do to Pat. I loved her, but I couldn’t compete with the demons I had now seen take her over for a third time.

I stood up, pulled on my dressing gown and turned to face her. She looked as if a strong wind could lift her up and carry her away
with as much ease as if she were a dandelion seed. I hardened myself to her vulnerability.

‘I’m going to spend the night on the couch.’

I steeled myself and stood up, feeling the tremble in my thighs. Everyone tells you that an abuser will never change. Get out. And I knew that’s what needed to happen. This would be the most difficult thing I ever had to do, but I had no choice.

I loved her. But in that moment, I knew I had to protect my son. I couldn’t risk him seeing his dad attacked again. Couldn’t risk him losing me, perhaps. I had to do this. For everyone’s sake. For Pat’s sake.

‘Tomorrow I’ll help you pack. This … this marriage is over.’ Ignoring the plea in her face, the anguish that distorted her beautiful features into a mask of self-loathing, I walked out of the room.

M
y mother was incredulous, Jim said nothing and Pat withdrew into the world of cartoons. He only spoke to me when I spoke first or when he needed food. He had a TV, a video recorder and a tower of trusty cartoons that never let him down, what did he need his father for? I tried to talk to him about Anna, to let him know why it wouldn’t work, but how do you tell an almost five-year-old that your wife and his new stepmother has such potential for violence? I told him that we were arguing too much and that we didn’t love each other anymore. He asked for a packet of crisps.

‘I don’t mean to judge, son,’ said Mum. ‘But you youngsters don’t know how to work at a marriage. You’re not even married a year and you’re splitting up? Crazy. I blame this whirlwind lifestyle you all lead. A quick fix and then move on. Things that are worthwhile don’t come to you as easy as that.’

‘Yes, Mum.’

‘Still, at least I’ll get to see more of you now.’ This was the first time that my mother alluded to the fact that she had seen less of me since Anna came on to the scene. A lot less. ‘Where has Anna gone to stay?’ she asked

‘I found a bedsit for her. I’ll look for something more substantial, a flat or something.’ We were talking in her kitchen. A place that we had often sat and talked over the years. We always sat on the same bone-hard seats, facing each other, cradling cups of strong tea in our hands, talking for hours. Even though my mother didn’t bake much anymore, the scent of scones, pancakes, fresh bread and jams still hung in the air like a sweet cloud. These four walls had listened to the growth of our family, its joys and its torments. I used to swear that my mother dropped something into my tea whenever we sat here,
because I could never hide anything from her while we talked in this room. It became my confessional. My hopes, my desires, my sins were all disclosed to my mother while sipping tea and eating cake.

Mum would just sit and listen. Sip and chew. She would only speak to ask questions, draw a little more out from me.

This time, however, I couldn’t confide in her. I couldn’t tell her that my wife was violent, that my penis was bruised and lined with lacerations from Anna’s nails. What would she think of me? I was a man, a big man. Anna was a dainty woman, how could I have let her do this to me. This was one situation I would never be able to discuss. Shame stoked the furnace of my face. I buried my head in my hands to hide the deep flush on my skin.

Mum misread my actions.

‘Don’t worry, son,’ she offered. ‘It obviously just wasn’t meant to be. You’ll get over it. In time you’ll be able to put it down to just one of those things and you’ll move on, meet someone else.’

‘No thanks,’ I said vehemently. ‘I’ve learned my lesson. No more women for me. Widowed once, almost divorced once and I’m just in my early thirties. Married life obviously isn’t for me. Someone up there is trying to tell me something and I’ve heard them. Loud and clear.’

‘Never say never, son.’ Mum topped up my cup of tea. ‘You’re a young man yet. You’ve just not met the right woman.’

‘Yes I have, Mum.’ I said with finality. Patricia’s ghost hung silently in the air between us.

Mum sipped at her cup her eyes looking at me apologetically over the rim. Her obvious sorrow at my troubles touched me. Emotion tightened my throat. I smoothed my forehead with my fingers and waited until the threatened tears subsided.

‘Besides, Mum. I have Pat.’

We both smiled fondly at the mention of his name.

‘Yes,’ Mum agreed, ‘He’s a wee joy, isn’t he?’

‘And I can’t keep putting him through the process of meeting a new mum every so often. That wouldn’t help him. I’ll just have to
live like a monk.’ I grinned, trying to inject some humour into the sombre room. ‘I’ll have to tie a knot in it.’

Mum laughed, ‘If you’re anything like your father then that’ll be impossible.’

‘Mum.’ I made a face. ‘Too much information.’

A
t work, the rumour mill swung quickly into action. My fellow employees loved nothing more than a good gossip and that doesn’t come much better than a marriage that has floundered within the first year. Reaction ranged from quietly spoken sympathy to people completely ignoring the subject.

Not keen on anyone knowing my business at work, I preferred the silent approach. With Roy Campbell, however, this was not possible.

‘Ah, Andy, Andy.’ He bounced into the room as if delighted to hear of another’s misfortune. ‘Sorry to hear about you and the Mrs. Still, better to realise you’ve made a mistake early on than spend twenty years in absolute misery.’

‘How long have you been married like?’ I asked

‘Twenty … ah, you cheeky monkey. You won’t catch me out like that. So what went wrong? Not giving her enough? She spending too much of your money?’

‘Roy,’ I groaned. ‘Do you have any idea what the word “sensitivity” means?’

‘Aye,’ he looked at me quizzically, ‘It means…’

‘It means that I’m telling you nothing and I’d rather be left on my own.’

‘Fine, fine.’ He looked wounded. ‘Miserable sod,’ he announced to no one in particular as he walked back out of the room. At least with Roy there were no surprises. You knew what to expect and he never let you down. I heard a brief conversation in the corridor and then another face popped in the door.

‘Hey, how are you?’ It was Malcolm.

‘Oh, you know. Bloody wonderful.’

‘Fancy going out for a pint tonight? Let it all hang out? Get it off your chest?’

‘Nah, no thanks Malcolm.’ This miserable sod didn’t want company. ‘Too raw just yet. Soon though, eh?’

‘Aye,’ he said retreating back out the door. ‘Soon.’

The truth was that I just wanted to be left alone. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t even want to think about it, but it was in my thoughts all of the time. It was sitting right on my shoulder, a boulder crushing bone, muscle and sinew. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat.

I wanted her back.

F
our weeks passed while I lived in this purgatory. No one could reach me, I was living in my own little world of misery. I couldn’t escape the fact that I still loved Anna and that I would take her back in an instant. But every time I thought of phoning her a picture of a bowed, quiet woman would impose itself on my mind.

Sheila Hunter.

I recalled how that shrunken emaciated figure had talked to me in her house about putting up with a violent partner. I thought of all the films, books and articles that preached as soon as the violence starts, get out. It will only escalate.

Easy for them to say.

Get out.

What if you can’t? What if you are certain it will stop, despite all evidence to the contrary? You love the person, you don’t want to give up on them despite everything. You just tell yourself a suitable lie, and carry on. I had given Anna some time, convinced that her first attacks had been an aberration, something born of stress, her new situation, everything conspiring to get on top of her. But, just as all the experts might have predicted, the violence had returned.

And returned again.

I had to be strong. I would just have to make do without her in my life, no matter how much it hurt.

Work became my solace from confusion. The minute I walked into the office at eight o’clock my mind closed the door to thoughts of Anna. Behind the thick doors they stayed until six in the evening when I would go to pick up Pat from my mother’s.

He had now started school and seemed to be enjoying every minute of it. All the way home in the car he would chatter non-stop about what his teacher said that day and what his friends got up to. He talked of painting, of letters and of numbers, and his sweet soprano was a balm to the muddle in my mind all the way through to his eight-thirty bedtime.

I
t was one such night, however, that my world was thrown into more chaos. I picked Pat up from my mother’s, who had herself picked him up from school and fed him. That night his chatter was about a giraffe that he had drawn. His teacher, Miss Talbot thought that it was very good. He held it up so that I could peruse it in the car mirror, then, not waiting for my words of praise, folded it back up again. Obviously the fact that Miss Talbot thought it was excellent meant that my opinion on the subject was redundant.

Once home, he played with some toys while I heated and ate a microwave meal and then it was bath time. Occasionally I would join him in the water and that night I decided to do just that. We splashed each other, pretended to make his little rubber bath toys fly before diving into the soapy depths. We laughed a lot. There is something magical about father and son playing naked in a bath. Divested of clothes and of society’s mores we were simply two humans having fun. As we splashed I considered how sad it was that people would often feel too uneasy about playing with their child in such a way.

‘You’re really hairy, Dad.’ Pat interrupted my reverie. ‘Will I be as hairy as that when I grow up?’

‘Who knows, son. For your sake I hope not. Girls seem to prefer hairless chests these days.’

Dried and dressed, him in pyjamas, me in joggers and a t-shirt, we sat down to an animal programme on the Discovery Channel.
Animals, the larger and fiercer the better, were Pat’s passion. He could sit and watch them all day. And if Disney caricatured and animated them, even better. Soon it was time for bed.

‘Aw, Dad. Can I not stay up for a wee while longer? There’s grizzly bears coming up.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s bed time. You can watch the grizzlies another night. Come on, bed.’

‘Okay, okay. Will you read to me?’ He brightened at the thought.

‘Five minutes, okay?’ He raced up the stairs almost before the words were out of my mouth.

I had been reading for around fifteen minutes when I heard the doorbell.

‘Right. I’ll go and answer that. You get to sleep, young man.’ I tucked in his quilt, kissed his forehead and put on his nightlight.

‘Goodnight, son,’ I said from the door.

‘Night, Dad,’ Pat said and closed his eyes tight as if trying to convince me he was suddenly asleep.

Wondering who could be at the door at this time of night, I walked down the stairs. It would probably be Jim on the cadge for a couple of cans. Paula must have given him the night off, I thought as I pulled open the door.

And there she was.

‘Anna! What the … what …?’

‘Can I come in, Andy? We need to talk.’ She seemed swamped by her coat, her head bowed as if too heavy for her neck.

‘I thought we’d said all that needed to be said.’

‘Andy, please. I’ll just take five minutes and then you can fling me back out again.’

Intrigued by her tone and quiet demeanour I stood aside and let her in. She reached the living room and, as she walked, she looked around herself as if memories of happier times were filling her mind.

She faced me. Her eyes were circled in shadow. She looked thinner. She looked like she needed a hug. And at the thought I crossed my arms, as if that might curb the impulse once and for all.

‘How’s Pat?’ she asked.

‘He’s … he’s fine. What do you want, Anna?’ I wanted her out of my house quick. I also wanted to hold her and never let go.

She looked up at me. Her eyes large and moist. ‘I’m pregnant.’

A
s I drove into work the next day, I pushed down the visor to lessen the effect of the sunshine on my eyes. Ten minutes later, as I waited in a queue of traffic heading up Ayr’s Sandgate, I was surprised when

I had to switch on the wipers to wash away the rain. My mind was just as confused as the weather. Anna pregnant. Unbelievable. A yawn ruptured my smile. I didn’t get much sleep after hearing that piece of news. I had breakfasted, dressed Pat, got him off to school, this being still only his first week, and then driven into work in a daze. Anna’s voice reverberated in my head.

‘I’m pregnant.’

I’ve often watched TV programmes and prayed that the man displayed the right reaction to this sort of news. A reaction that would bring reassurance to their partner. I was usually embarrassed to be male when they inevitably acted like the Neanderthal the scriptwriters intended. But now I knew why. Pat was planned for, prayed for. He was the product of respect, devotion. My reaction then was of exhilaration, joy and tenderness. With Anna my reaction was a classic caveman ‘Ugh!’ and I sat down.

So did she.

‘Say something,’ she had twisted her fingers. ‘I didn’t know how to tell you or even if I should. I mean, I wasn’t the best wife. I know I screwed up. But … this is your baby and I thought you should know.’

‘Are you sure?’ My voice sounded as if it came from the end of a long tunnel.

‘Am I sure of what?’ Anna demanded. She looked stung by my question.

‘Sure that you are pregnant?’ The question of parentage never entered my head.

‘Yes,’ she said wearily. ‘I bought three testers, one a day for three days. I couldn’t believe it … I’m still struggling to believe it.’

Silence widened the distance between us.

‘Say something … please,’ Anna begged me at last. She was leaning forward, elbows on her thighs, hands before her as if clasped in prayer. Hands that had before now bruised my flesh. Hands that would soon care for my child.

‘What are you going to do?’ I asked her, my voice soft, frightened of the answer.

‘That depends.’ She examined her fingers.

‘On what?’ I asked, voice raised.

‘I don’t know, Andy. I don’t know. I’m scared. I’m on my own. A child’s a huge responsibility…’

I forced out the question, ‘Have you thought of termination?’

‘No, absolutely not,’ She looked up at me. ‘Is that what you want?’

‘No, but there’s no way I could stop you, if you really wanted to.’ I paused. ‘I’m sorry I asked you. I just needed to know.’

‘I was thinking more of adoption.’ Her nails now came under close scrutiny.

‘Adoption?’ I fought to keep control. I needed to show as little emotion as I could. I didn’t want Anna to think she had the upper hand. But the thought was clear in my mind: no child of mine would be brought up by strangers.

‘Yes, but I’d rather keep her.’

‘Her? You know it’s a girl?’ The thought that she might have had a scan and I didn’t share in the experience filled me with jealousy.

Anna didn’t reply at first. She stuck her hand in her bag and pulled out an envelope.

‘Here.’ She handed it to me. ‘They can’t tell the sex at this stage. Way too early … I would love a girl though.’

I opened the envelope and pulled out a small, glossy piece of paper. I had held one before, so I knew instantly what it was.

‘Is that it? Him or her?’ I pointed at a tiny white dot in a forest of black-and-white lines. Anna nodded.

‘Wow.’

More silence. We were both lost in the small, shiny piece of paper.

‘How far gone are you?’

‘Four weeks.’

‘That means it was that night…?’

Anna nodded but I carried on with my question anyway.

‘…The night that I came back from Campbeltown?’

While Anna was pulling and tearing at my genitals, my seed was battling through her body with only one purpose. It had succeeded despite everything.

‘My God.’ I stared out of the window for moment, then turned back to Anna. ‘A child conceived in less than perfect circumstances.’ My laugh held little humour. ‘You hear couples saying they remember when they conceived their child. It’s usually, oh I don’t know … after a party, a romantic meal, that weekend they spent sheltering from an April shower in Paris.’ I breathed deeply. Keep calm, I told myself. No point in shouting.

‘I know, Andy, and I’m so sorry. I just can’t apologise enough. My behaviour was shocking. But this is our child. Ours.’

She dropped onto her knees, moving forward. She reached me and held my hands tight in hers. I wanted to pull them away, but I couldn’t move. I was immobilised by a bruise of emotions. Hurt, joy, fear and frustration were only the ones that I could articulate and they were painting my mind purple.

The one feeling that I didn’t want to admit to was relief. But it was there, however much I tried to deny it. The baby gave me a valid reason to take her back.

‘I love you, Andy. As soon as I realised I had to tell you about the baby, I knew that we had to get back together.’ Her eyes were soft, the rim of her irises blurred with tears. ‘This is our baby.’ She gripped my hand tighter for emphasis. ‘We can make it work, for her sake.’

I managed to pull my hands free. Anna took this as a negative sign, stood up, head bowed and went back to her seat.

‘I need … I need to think. I need to let this soak in,’ I told her. Hope sparked fresh in her expression.

‘Of course.’ She stood up. ‘I’d better go. Let you think. Say hello to Pat for me.’ She was out of the door before I could say goodbye.

T
he noise of a horn tore me from my thoughts. I was sitting on the approach to a roundabout with a growing line of angry drivers behind me. I waved an apology and drove off.

What should I do? The question was rooted in my mind and shoots of questions and thoughts were spreading in every direction. As I negotiated the final stretch of my drive to work I tried to make sense of the commotion in my mind. Let Anna go but keep the baby? Let them both go? Hold on to them both? Which was the decision that would provide the most security for Pat and myself? Could I even make such a decision?

A knock on the car window pushed these thoughts and questions temporarily from my mind. I was sitting in the bank car park, elbows on the steering wheel, head buried in my palms. Sheila Hunter was standing beside the car, peering in the window.

‘You okay?’ she mouthed.

I motioned that I was fine and, taking care that I wouldn’t hit her with the door, I got out of the car.

‘You alright?’ she asked again.

‘Yes, yes … fine thanks,’ I answered. ‘You?’ I looked at her. ‘Hey, you’re looking great.’ She had put on a little weight, her hair was cut stylishly and her already fine features embellished with make-up. She looked a lifetime away from the mouse of a beaten woman I had visited only weeks ago.

‘Thanks.’ Somewhat self-consciously she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I’m doing a lot better thanks, Andy. Sorting my life out once and for all.’

‘Is that man of yours giving you any more trouble?’

‘No,’ she answered. ‘Haven’t seen or heard from him for ages. Letters from my lawyers are keeping him occupied. How’s things with you?’

I took my briefcase from the car and we began walking to the staff entrance. ‘Oh, you know…’ I avoided eye contact. ‘… The usual.’

When we reached the door I rang the bell. While we waited for it to be opened I felt driven to ask her something.

‘Do you mind if I ask a personal question?’ I turned to face her.

‘That depends,’ she answered with a smile on her lips and curiosity in her eyes.

‘If it’s too personal you don’t have to answer.’ I tried to reassure her.

‘Well? Big build-up, what’s the question?’ She smiled.

‘If you were to give advice to another person … another woman…’ the lie soured my tongue, ‘… in a violent relationship, what would it be?’

‘Simple. Get out.’ She spoke quietly. Her eyes gave no hint if she wanted to know my reason for asking.

‘What if the domestic situation is complicated? Kids etc? Things are never simple are they?’

‘You’re right, things are never simple. But violent people rarely change and if someone wants to hold on to their self-esteem, their confidence, their … self-worth, then they have to get out. And if there are kids, especially boys, then consider what messages they are getting. It’s okay to be a bully? A slap, or worse, now and again works wonders to keep the little lady under control?’ She paused as if to moderate the edge in her voice. ‘No, violence doesn’t belong in any home and whatever your reasons are for asking…’

I began to speak, to make up a story.

‘Don’t tell me. I don’t need to know,’ continued Sheila, having said the last thing I wanted to hear, but the first thing I needed to. ‘But, if you are asking on someone’s behalf, tell them to get out, go to the police, social services, a woman’s refuge. There are lots of places that a woman can go for advice nowadays. The situation’s far from perfect, but there is help out there for women in that position.’

But, what about a man? I wanted to say, but couldn’t. There was no way that I was about to admit to this. What a laugh everyone would have. I could just hear them. A big bloke like him and he can’t handle a delicate wee woman. Telling them that size was deceptive or that I would rather face a wall of New Zealand rugby players than my wife would probably only result in louder derision.

The one thing Sheila said that I couldn’t believe, didn’t want to believe, was that people don’t change. I refused to accept this. Beneath Anna’s carapace of anger was a soft centre that needed to be shown a way out. I loved her, and she could see that. I could help her chip away at her brittle shell and reach the real woman beneath. I would have to. The alternative was just too frightening to contemplate.