Lemonade and Lies (7 page)

The restaurant stood on a sandbar. Over the years it had become famous for the live music and atmosphere, and the fact that you have to trek across the beach to get to it.

You could sit outside and enjoy a long cool drink, eat barbequed king prawns (like us) under colourful beach umbrellas and watch the ocean. Or move inside to escape the heat of the sun, and lounge in deep wickerwork chairs in front of the huge mahogany bar. We stayed outside, for it was pleasantly warm. Not sub-Saharan Africa. But enough to encourage the more hardy of us to reveal our white bodies in the hope of a tan.

By day the atmosphere in the restaurant was relaxed and casual, with people carrying sand in on flip-flops. At night the ambience became sophisticated, the food extraordinary, the music chilled. (Bill had taken me there once when I’d moaned that we never went out). Today it was crowded, bustling with activity. The air crackled with people talking, people laughing, people drinking, throwing off the shackles of their everyday lives for a short visit to paradise. The place was called The Paradise Café.

But it wasn’t working for me. I tried to relax, shrug off the guilty feeling that I should be doing something. Just veg, like Alice, I told myself. But she was knackered from all that exercise, and the remains of the alcohol in her system. That would be why she’d recruited George for the overnight drive, for even Alice wouldn’t drive when she was hammered.

I was edgy. I needed to be on the move, doing something. Obviously not swimming, or surfing, but some kind of physical activity. I looked up at the cliff path and dug Alice in the ribs.

“I’m off for a walk. Fancy it?”

“You’re joking. After all that food?” she said. “Why don’t you just read a book?” She smirked, hoisting me with my own petard (which can never be good).

“Yeah, okay - touché. Sure you won’t come? The view’s insane from up there.”

“Count me out,” she said, “but I might go for a swim later.”

“Please Alice, don’t. At least not for an hour, you’ve just eaten.” I could hear the unreasonable panic in my voice, but couldn’t help it.

“I said later. God’s sake Jill, what’s with you today? Ease up.”

“Sorry.”

“Just sod off and stop being such a bloody misery guts.”

*

You can hike along the cliff tops all the way to the next bay on the coastal path, and the scenery in this part of the North Coast is stunning. They call it Poldark Country, after the TV series, I suppose. I never saw it. But I’d read the books.

It was low tide so I walked along the sand, past Flat Rock and towards the dunes that take you up to the cliff path. It had been a spontaneous, spur of the moment thing to do the outdoorsy, hikers’ bit. Apart from the less than ideal footwear - scruffy, ancient trainers that weren’t designed for yomping - it felt right.

The nervous tension that had dogged me vanished, leaving in its place a sudden bubbly feeling of optimism. The view was glorious, the day was warm, the kids were being looked after, and I was free to go wherever I wanted. At last, it felt like I was master of my own fate. I sang out loud; a spirited version of Let your Love Flow, though maybe not one the Bellamy Brothers would have recognised.

“What the hell?”

It happened so quickly there was no time to react. One minute I was walking happily along the coast path, the next I was gasping for air with massive hands attached to my windpipe.

Whoever was trying to choke the life out of me had come up from behind, so I couldn’t see his face. The powerful, vice-like grip on my neck meant it was impossible to move my head, and made me feel faint.

My head swam dizzily and flecks of coloured light floated in front of my eyes. “Why me?” I screamed, inside my skull. I had kids. I could die up here on these cliffs before anyone could help me.

“Help yourself!” an accusing voice said, a voice that sounded like my brother, Brian – only deeper, a grown up version of my kid brother. “Want your children to be orphans?” the voice insisted. It was insane. My brother was dead. But that desperate thought focused my mind.

It was difficult because I wasn’t facing my attacker, but I brought my heel up and lashed out backwards with the strength that came from desperation. I could tell by the groan though, that I’d been lucky. Had given the bastard a souvenir to remember. It would be some time before he’d be able to enjoy sex again, and even peeing might not be a barrel of fun. He staggered backwards but didn’t release his hold.

Instead, he changed his grip, grabbing me roughly by the wrists, dragging me violently backwards over the rough ground. The pain was intense as parts of my body connected with small, sharp stones. And my arms felt like they were being yanked from their sockets. But the most excruciating pain was centred in my throat and I fought fiercely with my own body, trying to ignore the reflex to pass out.

We changed direction and I knew I was being dragged off the path, towards the edge of the cliff. I tried to scream the word help, but my throat had been so tightly squeezed that it was impossible to form a sound.

I squinted up at the sun. This might be the last time I saw it. The thought gave me strength and I made a massive effort to turn myself over. The unexpected move threw him off balance; the rough, uneven ground did the rest. He stumbled. Only for a second, but it was enough. The man was large and ungainly, someone whose steroid consumption would be a comfort to the pharmaceutical industry. And I was betting that he relied on brute force, rather than finely tuned mental skills or athletic grace.

I squirmed onto my front, bringing me face to face with him and tried to scratch his eyes but only managed to gouge a thin, red line in his already ugly face. The blood trickled down towards thick fleshy lips and he licked it. Too little, too late.

The manoeuvre exhausted me, but at least it gave me a look at his face. It also upset him. The immense dough-like features arranged themselves into an even more unattractive, snarling expression and he let go a terrifying growl.

Viciously, he jerked my head up by the hair, sending a jarring pain, like a gigantic toothache rolling through my skull. But at least I had the satisfaction of throwing up all over his boots. Cowboy boots.

Small feet for such a monster, I thought, inanely, when I should have been thinking of other, more useful stuff. And the boots had tassels dangling from them, like he was about to go line-dancing. Effeminate was a word that came to mind. Maybe it was true that overuse of steroids shrunk certain things and stripped away the very masculinity these great hulks of bodybuilders were searching for.

Shit!
Why does my brain do that?
I tried to concentrate on the job in hand, getting back to my kids undamaged. But my head wouldn’t listen. It hurt so much that I figured I might have concussion or something worse. And I threw up again. Same target. He wouldn’t get much for those boots on Ebay now.

The guy became very angry and swore in a language I didn’t recognise. He started yanking me by the hair, bumping me even harder over the rough ground like I was a rag doll. Sand and grit worked its way into my mouth and I coughed and gagged on it. In one final attempt to break free, I flailed out weakly with my arms and legs. But my struggles were puny, for I had little strength left.

Desperately, I tried to halt my progress towards the cliff edge by digging my trainers into the ground, but it didn’t work. He just pulled harder and I couldn’t get a foothold. Nothing, it seemed, could stop the inevitable.

I felt the breeze rippling along my body, and knew now I would never feel it again. Images of my children bounced around inside my head and I could hear myself sobbing, but was detached from it. A sudden, sharp pain invaded my skull. Then somebody mercifully turned the lights out and put an end to my misery.

“What the fuck were you playing at? You were meant to stick to her like glue.”

I heard the angry words, but they made little sense. My eyes were gummed together with some sort of sticky substance that only let me look through the filigree of my lashes.

As I moved my head towards the voice, I could just make out the vague outlines of the room’s sparse furnishings and the decoration. Bland and clean. Very clean. Not my place then.

My eyelids were heavy, they must have weighed at least a pound apiece, but with perseverance I managed to prise them open.

I tried to pull myself upright in the bed, and though I willed my body to do it, it refused to budge. For one panic-riddled moment I thought I was paralysed. Then logic rescued me. Of course I wasn’t paralysed, I’d already moved my head and most of my body was feeling some kind of pain.

They say pain can be exquisite. That’s bullshit. This made me want to fill my lungs with venom and scream curses until somebody pumped me full of drugs to take it away.

Another voice joined the first.

“I think she’s coming out of it.”

I tried again and the result was remarkable. At least
I
was proud of it. I must have shifted at least an inch. And the grunt that escaped my lips was gratifying, for it meant I could make sounds as well. Not bad. Especially when my throat felt like I’d been chewing razor blades.

I did a stock taking of the small group. There was Alice, Jamie (did I call him Jamie? Well, that proves I’m not my normal self) and someone whose face I vaguely recalled and whose whole manner screamed copper louder than a neon sign.

Alice’s new conquest was there as well, David something or other, though I’d no idea what he was doing in my bedroom. Then I remembered it wasn’t my bedroom. It must be a hospital ward. A small one, for there was only me in it. I struggled for his name. He was a surfer, I remembered. Then I recalled something else. He’d been kissing me. Maybe it was a dream. Still, better not tell Alice.

“God, Jill. You’re awake. You’re okay.” My friend screamed with joy and launched herself at the bed.

“Okay’s a relative term.”
Wow! How brilliant was I? I could form sentences as well.
The knowledge made me ambitious and I tried a smile in Alice’s direction. But the facial aerobics were a step too far, and one of the things I’d need to work on. My face felt stiff and swollen and I was glad I couldn’t see what it looked like.

Alice patted my hand in a motherly fashion. Anyone less motherly you couldn’t find, and I wondered at the change. She kept repeating to herself that I was okay and marvelling at the fact. Personally, I wouldn’t have described how I felt as okay, but what did I know? Maybe I was picky.

I thought about the kiss. A long, lingering one that seemed to go on forever. And I remembered throwing up. And my head hurting. And my throat burning. But then nothing. Tiny fragments of scenes came back to me: walking the cliffs, enjoying the view, a pair of boots. I prodded my rebellious brain into action, but it refused to play. Like a traitor, it blocked any memory of what had happened with stabs of pain that washed over me in hot, sickening waves. Had I been in an accident? A rock-fall maybe?

The two men came over to my bed, but seemed reluctant to speak. Jamie’s face was pinched and dark shadows under his eyes gave him a fragile, vulnerable look. As if he hadn’t slept for days.

“Glad you’re back,” his lopsided smile held a trace of embarrassment. His whole manner seemed awkward, not at all like the other Jamie McDonald, the confident man
who was a Detective Inspector, I reminded myself, and not an accountant.
The guy who always seemed in control.

“You look good,” he said, when I didn’t answer. He spoke the way embarrassed people do, when they try to fill the silence. He was probably one of those people who don’t like hospitals. He could join the club.

“Liar!” I said. “I feel like shite.” I had a go at the smiley thing again, trying to help him out. But my face was still painful and wooden.

He exchanged a glance with Alice and they both looked ill at ease. What did they want me to say? That I felt great? Maybe I should have been more stoic. Showed a bit more backbone. No, it wasn’t that. They knew something.

“All right, let’s have it,” I said. I wasn’t stupid; I only had a head injury.

No one rushed to speak, but I could sense there was something to say; something that nobody relished. It was Jamie who finally broke the silence.

“We thought we’d lost you. You’ve been out for a week.”

“A week? Don’t be wet. That’s impossible.”

“What do you remember?” He was all business now, the investigator once more, trying to keep the professional and personal separate. But it didn’t work. He looked concerned and his brow folded into neat, even furrows as if a dressmaker had meticulously ruched it.

Somebody cared for me! Was upset that I’d ended up in hospital. So, just for him, I tried to concentrate on the question.

“Remember . . . what can I remember?” My head throbbed insanely while I scoured it for clues. I wanted to give up and just sink down into a blissful oblivion, but their expectant faces wouldn’t let me. They wanted answers when I was just as ignorant as they were. “About the accident, you mean?”

“Accident?” David’s puzzled expression matched his voice.

Okay, I was more ignorant than they were.

“Didn’t I have an accident? I thought that was why I was here.” They were scaring me now with their serious, pitying faces.

“It wasn’t an accident,” said Jamie. “Someone attacked you. Lucky that Dave here saw the guy follow you up the cliff path. Although you should have had your own protection unit.” He paused and gave the policeman hovering on the outside of the group another scathing look. I felt sorry for the man. It must be difficult - being a unit all by yourself. And if he was trying to protect the lot of us maybe he’d been off looking out for the kids. He could hardly be in two places at once. Then again, maybe the guy was fond of pasties and had skived off for one. His belly said he was fond of beer.

I nodded at the man. Tried to convey a look that said
no hard feelings
. And attempted to pick up the thread. I sometimes lose the thread (even when I haven’t got a head injury). It doesn’t mean I’m stupid, just better at right-brained stuff.

“You said David was there?”

“Sure. He noticed a heavy following you.”

“Hard to miss him.” David jumped in. “Acting real suspicious and dressed like a Rhinestone Cowboy. Not exactly beachwear.”

“Quite. Well, good job somebody was on the ball.” Jamie fired another look at the policeman - who by now had edged closer to the door ready for a convenient getaway - and carried on with his bring-the-patient-up-to-date explanation. “Dave then gave pursuit.”

Gave pursuit? What the hell was that? And why did coppers have to talk in stilted police-speak that came straight from some manual (there was always a manual).

“You really don’t remember?” Jamie looked disappointed.

“I threw up. But the rest is a blank.”

“You’ve had concussion. That could account for the memory loss.”

“Ah.”

“If Dave hadn’t given you mouth to mouth you’d be a goner.”

Got it now. It hadn’t been a dream. I smiled my thanks at Alice’s surf dude. It was getting easier - the facial acrobatics - so I must be improving. He nodded. A self-conscious gesture. Sweet and sort of innocent, considering he’d been on intimate terms with my anatomy from my lips to my infranasal depression. That’s the bit between your nose and lip. And I know it’s called that because my stepfather always insisted that my childhood habit of wiggling my nose would leave grooves in my infranasal depression as deep as the Grand Canyon. You see my problem - with my parents at least.

Alice and David shared a knowing smile, like they were already planning their honeymoon in Jamaica. I must have missed a lot. And maybe it really had been a week that I’d been vegging in a hospital bed.

My kids! Where were they? Had anyone looked after them? They were already traumatised without worrying about me being ill. Surely no one had been stupid enough to tell them I’d been attacked.

“Millie and Tom,” I said.

“They’re fine. Gone off to the cinema with friends,” said Alice.

“But they can’t stay in the house on their own.”

“They’re not.” Alice grinned. “Aunty Alice has been looking after them.”

“What?”

“Don’t look so shocked. I’m not incapable. And we’ve been enjoying ourselves.”

“God, Alice. Has anyone told you how terrific you are?”

My friend looked over at her surf dude and winked. “Sure, but once more wouldn’t hurt.”

“Alice, you’re wonderful!”

“I know. Now get yourself better, before we run out of takeaway joints and the kids start hating me.”

She laughed and her laughter was the catalyst. I began to cry. Great wracking sobs. I hadn’t cried for a long time, but I guess that’s allowed when every part of your body hurts and your infranasal depression is in danger of collapsing. But they weren’t tears of sadness; they were tears of relief. My friend was a gem. I had survived. And my kids were safe.

Now I had to keep them that way. Detective Inspector Jamie McDonald was right. I had to get them to safety. I remembered what I’d told Jamie when he’d suggested we leave and go to my parents. Well, I wasn’t going to run away to some God-forsaken piece of remote Scottish real estate. But that didn’t mean that I wouldn’t take my kids there.

The time had come and as soon as I could leave hospital, I’d make a start. Explain to the kids that it was just a temporary change of scene, and they hadn’t been abandoned. There were good schools in South Ayrshire and castles to explore, and with any luck my mother could keep that husband of hers under control for a short time. He wasn’t exactly child-friendly.

Yes. If I tackled the finer details properly, it might even be a good thing for Millie and Tom. But, as life has proved time and again to its unsuspecting victims – the devil is in the detail.