A Suitable Lie (11 page)

W
e met in a restaurant in the centre of town. I thought a neutral venue would encourage a calmer discussion. Anxious to begin talking, I arrived early to find that Anna was already there.

My heart thumped when I saw her. I wanted nothing more than to take her in my arms and hold her. Instead I took a seat, leaned back in the chair and crossed my legs.

‘Hi.’ Her voice was quiet, unsure, even in that one syllable. Her arms and legs were crossed and a cup of coffee sat on the table in front of her like a large, brown full stop.

This display of uncertainty pleased me. It let me see that she wasn’t taking me or my decision for granted.

‘Hello,’ I replied, trying to get a view of her stomach, which was of course a waste of time as it was far too early for her to be showing. But the future of the child floating in that amniotic sea could depend on the course of the next hour or so, and I needed a quick reminder of the reason that had opened up this opportunity to talk.

Anna was looking her usual beautiful self. Hair sleek and groomed; clothes, fashionable and freshly laundered; make-up, precise and flattering. The only sign that pregnancy might be having any effect on her was a slightly darker pink under her eyes.

‘How are you feeling?’ I picked up a menu and held it between us as if to prevent my affection for her leaping across the table.

‘Okay … Mind you I could do without this morning sickness malarkey.’

‘Have you told anyone else yet?’

‘No, no. I need to know what you … what
we
are going to do.’

‘I think I’ll just have a coffee, I’m not hungry.’ I avoided a direct answer until there was no way a waitress would interrupt.

We were silent as if by mutual consent while I attempted to attract the attention of the waitress who was much too interested in a magazine that was spread out on the counter in front of her. Tired of waiting, I walked over to her.

‘Could I have a coffee, please? White.’

‘Sure.’ She didn’t take her eye off the latest himbo that was draped over a sun lounger.

I returned to our table and we waited in silence until my drink arrived.

‘So.’ I dropped a teaspoon of brown sugar into the coffee. ‘Let’s talk.’

‘What’s your decision?’ Her face was inscrutable, but she fidgeted with her wedding band, twisting it round her finger. For a moment I wondered if it was a deliberate action.

‘I don’t want a child of mine to be brought up by strangers. I want to be a large part of their lives, and if we have to get together to make it happen then that’s the way it has to be.’

‘Not because you love me?’ Anna pulled at an ear lobe.

‘Let’s not be mistaken, Anna. I do love you. But the only thing that’s brought me here is the tiny clump of cells growing in your womb. I’d force myself to live without you otherwise. I have too much respect for myself to allow you to hit me again.’ I took a token sip from my cup. ‘For the sake of the baby I want us to give it another go.’

Anna’s face revealed nothing of how she was taking this news.

I made sure she was looking into my eyes. ‘But I have one condition.’

‘What?’

‘That you go to your doctor and you get help.’

‘Already done that.’

‘When?’ This was encouraging.

‘Just after we got married, after the time … you know.’ It was too difficult for her to continue, but I knew she was referring to the time she repeatedly banged my head with the door.

‘And what did he say?’

‘Oh, he said that I was probably still uptight from the stresses of the wedding and not to take it too seriously.’

‘What? That was it? Years of medical training for that?’ I was incredulous. ‘Right, in that case I think we should go and see a marriage guidance counsellor.’

‘Fine, that might help.’ She bowed her head as if willing to accept any conditions I might impose.

‘You’re happy with that?’ I asked.

She nodded.

I needed to know why she had reacted the way she had. What made her turn violent? A flash of memory and there was a taste of blood in my mouth: a dull heavy feeling on the side of my head.

‘Why did you do it, Anna? Where did all of that anger come from?’

She shrugged in response. ‘Don’t know.’

‘That’s a cop-out. Of course you know, you just don’t want to admit it.’

‘I love you, Andy. Believe me I’ll make this marriage work, but there are things that you don’t need to know.’

‘Of course I need to know them. I want to help you. I want to understand.’

‘Are you finished with that coffee?’ Anna was looking over at the waitress.

‘Eh?’

‘Let’s go somewhere more private. The waitress has decided eavesdropping is much more interesting than her magazine.’

Dodging the rain, we were soon in my car. The windows fogged quickly, giving me the impression that we were alone in the world within the confines of the small metal box. I wished I had thought of this earlier. The confessional of a car is something I have experienced often. Put two people in such close proximity for any length of time and they have to communicate. Silence in such a small space begs to be filled.

I turned off the radio and facing Anna, repeated myself.

‘I need to know why you get so angry. In fact, I know so little about you. You’ve never talked about your family, your friends, any of your life before you met me. Wouldn’t that strike you as being a little odd if you were me?’

Now that I had asked this question out loud the strangeness of my own behaviour struck me anew; I wondered why I hadn’t asked before. Perhaps I had sensed that this was a no-go area, that this was hazardous ground. But with a new air of openness surrounding us, I thought that Anna would find it difficult to fudge an answer.

‘S’pose.’

‘I’ve often thought of asking you, but never did because I thought you’d open up to me in your own good time.’

The windows were completely fogged up now. Anna breathed deeply. A long, slow breath that seemed to seep right down to her toes. She exhaled slowly and loudly.

‘You’re right … as usual. I should talk about it, about my past, but I … I … can’t.’ A tear slid gracefully down her pale cheek, leaving a shiny trail. ‘I’m afraid that if I start speaking … I won’t be able to stop screaming.’ She finished in a whisper.

‘Look, I’m no expert but even I know that if something is causing you so much upset then you need to talk about it, get it in the open. Only then can you deal with it. Better out than in, my pal’s Dad used to say. But that was his excuse when he farted.’ We both smiled weakly at my poor attempt at humour.

‘I don’t know. I’m afraid that if I say it out loud then it must have happened. I can’t pretend any more that it’s all a horrible dream.’

What on earth could she have been through to say something like that?

‘Talk to me, please. Tell me what happened.’

Until now I had been holding in my love for her, like it was stale breath. Now, seeing her so upset I couldn’t stop a little leaking out. I leaned over and gripped her hands.

‘My childhood was a war zone,’ she began, holding onto my
hands tightly. ‘Everybody fought. Nobody won. I was the youngest.’ She stared at the misted window as if looking at a replay of her past, a stately procession of tears flowing down her cheeks. ‘I had … I
have
two brothers and one sister. My parents had us all in the space of six years. There were another two pregnancies that ended in miscarriages. At least that was the official excuse.’ She looked at me. ‘Both my parents were alcoholics. I come from a long line of alcoholics. How’s that for a pedigree?’ The window reclaimed her stare. ‘My parents fought like … not like ordinary parents – they fought like animals. They were both about the same height, five feet two. Sometimes it was a slugging match. They would stand there swaying with the drink, only feet apart, fists aimed at the other’s head. Often in total silence. They would run out of insults. Either that or their brains were so pickled that they couldn’t think of anything else to say. We … the kids … we’d hide behind a couch.’ The words were becoming difficult to decipher now as great heaves convulsed in her chest.

‘Here.’ Rather ineptly I handed her a hanky. ‘Give yourself a minute to calm down.’ Emotion thickened my voice. I didn’t know if I could listen to any more without my tears spilling over hers. ‘Do you want to stop? We can carry on some other time. You could wait and speak to a…’ Somebody else but me, was what I wanted to say. I didn’t know how to help with such pain. ‘… A professional.’

‘No, I’d like to carry on. I’ve started…’ She straightened her shoulders. ‘More often than not Mum would start it, calling him names, flinging things at him. Oh, they would get tanked up first, as if getting ready for the main event. But he never backed down, he always rose to the bait. It became so that we almost saw their behaviour as normal. I rarely brought friends home because I knew what would happen. One time I brought a wee pal home. She lived just round the corner. Mary … Mary something. Anyway, Dad came in the door having forgotten to bring home the
Ayrshire Post
for the second time of asking, and Mum just launched herself at him. She jumped on his back and pummelled the back of his head. He fell
forward onto the floor. Mary just stood there, frozen. She couldn’t believe it. I’ll never forget the expression on her face. For the first time, I saw their behaviour through someone else’s eyes and I realised just how crazy it all was.’

‘Did they ever hit you?’

‘What do you think?’ She turned her gaze to me. ‘Me and my sister, Angie didn’t get it as bad as the boys did though. We were … we were girls. We were sugar and spice and all that crap. But the boys got leathered regularly. Then they would take it out on us, give us a battering, pull out clumps of our hair. Mind you, when we were younger we could give as good as we got. The boys, to their credit, were apt to hold a little bit back. We didn’t. We just went crazy. Then, when the boys reached puberty, they got stronger than us so we had to use different tactics. We’d wait until they were sleeping, or defenceless in some way before attacking them.’ She smoothed the damp hankie between thumb and forefinger. ‘I remember one time I caught my oldest brother masturbating over a Page 3 girl. He nearly broke my nose and threatened to give me some more if I told anyone that I had caught him. I vowed that I would stop him from ever hurting me like that again. I waited until he was asleep that night … and stabbed him in the ear with the steel handle of my comb. He’s deaf to this day on that side. I’ll never forget his screams.’ She paused, mind replaying a film from the past. She laughed briefly, mirthlessly. ‘He never came near me again. We told Mum it was an accident, he had fallen out of bed in the middle of the night. She was the more sober of the two on that occasion. Dad was unconscious, in the kitchen. We used to come down in the morning and find them in the weirdest places. Angie and I used to help them to bed once in a while. We didn’t want them to hurt themselves. Then we gave up. As soon as I could, I got out. Married my neighbour’s son at sixteen.’

What the hell?

‘You’ve already been married?’ Why didn’t I know this? Then, absurdly, a worm of jealousy curled in my gut. Who was this guy?
Where was he? After all I had heard, Anna still had the capacity to surprise me.

‘Oh yes.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘Lasted four years. It ended the day he kicked me so hard I lost … my baby.’ Her fingers were in a row before her mouth as if she wanted to push the words back in. ‘I lost my baby,’ she began to rock. ‘My baby.’

Open mouthed, I could only stare at her. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the amount of hurt and anguish she had suffered over the years. I took her in my arms and rocked with her.

‘Anna, Anna,’ I intoned like a mantra.

‘It’s the only way I know to love, Andy, and it terrifies me,’ she said, her voice muffled by my shoulder. ‘I don’t know what I’m capable of. When I go into one, I just can’t control it. I barely even know what I’m doing.’ She stopped rocking and looked up at me. ‘And I do love you, Andy. You’ve got to believe it.’ She looked desperate for my reassurance.

‘I believe you.’ I gave it willingly.

‘I’m terrified to love you and I’m terrified to lose you. It’s just … when I feel even a little bit like I’m not in control, I lash out. I know you’re a good man and you won’t hurt me. I know that in a way I’m safe, so I suppose I just try to push you. See if I really am as safe as it seems.’

In that damp warm little space, it all made so much sense. I held her again, regretting I’d ever pushed her away.

‘And what about the baby?’ she asked through sobs. ‘I don’t know what I might do to her?’ She stopped speaking and then started again as if she was being crushed by the weight of the silence.

‘The funny thing is, the worst of it wasn’t the physical violence, the cuts and bruises all healed. But the things that my mother said to me all of those years ago still hurt. What if I turn out like her? She used to call me and Angie sluts, laugh at everything we tried to do, call us stupid and ugly. She said that she was just preparing us for life, trying to make us tough.’ She shifted in her seat. ‘I don’t want to be that kind of mum, Andy.’

‘You won’t be, love. I won’t let you. Between us we’ll get you through this.’

I don’t know how long we sat in the car hugging, but it was dark by the time that I dropped her off at her flat to pick up her belongings.

I was confident that we could work out our problems. Anna needed me. She needed my patience, my broad shoulders, she needed the love of a good man. One who wouldn’t hurt her with words or fists. A man who could teach her the true warmth of affection. Whatever it would take, I was determined to do it. She looked so vulnerable cradled in my arms that I couldn’t resist the plea in those eyes.

This confidence was, however, tainted with fear. In eight months Anna would have my baby. The last woman I loved died while giving birth to my child. If the same thing happened again, I didn’t think that I could take it. The logical side of my brain protested that the chances of such an event happening again must be remote, but in the deep recesses of my mind, atavistic fears crouched like hungry griffins, growling dire words. You weren’t meant to be happy, they rumbled. Death and unhappiness will haunt you for the rest of your life.