Telling Lies to Alice (9 page)

“What did you do?”

“Ate it, of course.”

“What, all of it?”

“No, just the
Bastard
bit, so the girls wouldn’t see. Very nice it was, too.”

“When was this?”

“Oh, years ago. When Val still had a sense of humour. Mind you, I’m not sure she’s ever found me very funny. She’s always preferred Max Bygraves.”

“You’ll be telling me she doesn’t understand you next.”

“She doesn’t.”

“Well, I don’t understand you, either. Why did you really come here?”

“Haven’t you missed me at all, Alice?”

“I told you . . .” I shook my head, confused.

Jack nodded in the direction of Pablo and Nelson. “Your horses are queer.”

“What?”

“Look, it’s nibbling the other one’s neck.”

“Lots of horses do that. It’s a sign of friendship, that’s all.”

“Officer.”

“Talking of sex . . . last time I was in London I saw your name on the poster for a blue film. Candy Knight. What was that all about?”

“Hardly a blue film—it was one of those mucky comedies she does. They’re practically the only British films making money at the moment. To be honest, I didn’t really know what I was getting into. I thought it was going to be like a
Carry On
.”

“Didn’t you read the script first?”

“Never saw a whole one—I didn’t have a clue what was going on most of the time and they kept asking me to spank all these girls wearing frilly knickers. Not me, them. But it was pretty tame. Alfie Bass was in it, for God’s sake. And Irene Handl. And Queenie Watts. Not amongst the spankees, obviously . . . The whole thing was done on a shoestring—they’d print it even if you cocked up your lines because they couldn’t afford to redo anything.” He chuckled. “I don’t know why you’re being so prim about it, darling, you’ve done stuff for men’s magazines before now.”

“How did you know that? No, don’t tell me—Lenny.”

Jack grinned.

“That was only once. God, it was weird. But that was different, I was just a body. You’ve got talent.”

“You’re about the only one who thinks so. And this isn’t
just
a body.” We walked back to the kitchen. “Reminded me of when we used to do the shows at The Windmill, donkey’s years ago. Can’t imagine anyone paying to see it now, lot of birds standing around in the buff.” Jack shook his head. “Half the time the punters didn’t know we were there—all they wanted to see was the girls. Everyone worked there, though—Jimmy Edwards, Hancock, Peter Sellers, even Morecambe and Wise, except they were called something else in those days. . . . Anyway, what about breakfast? I couldn’t find any bacon.”

“That’s because there isn’t any. I’m vegetarian.”

“Well, I’m not. And I can’t learn lines on rabbit food.” Jack plonked himself down at the table and sighed. “Haven’t you got
anything
decent to eat?”

“We usually have toast.”

“That stuff you make, you’d never fit it inside the toaster.”

“Under the grill.”

“Well, if that’s all there is, you’d better get on with it.”

I started the toast and went back out to pick up the milk before it went off in the heat. It was unsettling to realise quite how much seeing Jack brought it all back. And how much I still fancied him—in spite of everything telling me I shouldn’t, shouldn’t,
shouldn’t
. I’d thought I might feel different in the daylight, but I didn’t. I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to clear my head.

There was a yelp and a crash behind me. I dashed back into the kitchen. Jack was standing at the open door of the cooker, flailing at the smoke with a smouldering oven glove. “It’s
burnt
. This is fucking ridiculous. We might as well be living in a fucking
cave
.”

“I’ll do some more.”

“We’ve got to get proper bread. I’m out of cigarettes, as well. You must have a village shop, for God’s sake.”

I nodded. “After breakfast. Eustace could do with a walk.”

“How far is it?”

“Half a mile each way. Do you good. Why didn’t you come by car, anyway?”

“Lost my licence.”

“Oh.” My heart sank. I
hadn’t
imagined it. “The village shop doesn’t sell booze.”

“For Christ’s sake, Alice, it was just bad luck, that’s all. Could have happened to anyone. You’re starting to sound like Val.”

“So you
did
have an argument.”

“Not really. She had a bit of a go at me, but . . .” He shrugged. “I’ve been away for a couple of weeks. Working. Val’s not bothered. She knows I’ll be in touch.”

“So what was all that about your daughter’s project?”

“Nothing but truth. You couldn’t make it up, could you? Now, if you’ve finished interrogating me, why don’t you have another go at the toast? I want to fetch something.”

I got cracking with the bread knife. After a couple of minutes, Jack returned and plonked a cookery book down on the draining board. “I brought this for you. One of Val’s. It’s okay,” he added, seeing the look on my face, “she doesn’t use it anymore. I remembered you weren’t much good, but it’s all right, I can supervise.”

“Charming. How long are you planning on staying, anyway?” I looked at Jack, then at the dog, who was slumped at my feet. They were wearing the same abject expression. I wanted to laugh. “All right,” I said to Jack. “Find something you like and I’ll have a go at it this evening, but remember we’ve only got a village shop, not Fortnum and Mason.”

Halfway through breakfast, a thought struck me. “
Hang on
. . . How come you’ve got that book with you, anyway? You said you haven’t been home for two weeks. Were you planning on coming here all the time?”

Jack looked nonplussed, then said, “Oh, I see what you mean. I nipped back for a few things, that’s all. Val was out.” He looked irritated. “I left her a note, for Christ’s sake.”

“That was sweet of you. Saying what?”

“Saying I was sick of not being able to turn round without some bloody woman bombarding me with questions!”

“Keep your hair on. I only asked.”

“Yeah, well . . .” Jack sighed and went back to the recipe book. Eustace, having demolished his breakfast, was looking hopefully at the table. I fed him Jack’s toast crusts.

“Did the postman come?”

“Mmm?”

“While I was out.”

Jack looked up and shook his head. “Didn’t see him.”

“You’d know. Eustace goes mad.”

“How about coq au vin?”

“I suppose so. At least I’ve got the veg.” I didn’t fancy cooking meat, but Jack obviously felt he couldn’t exist without it. I left him making a shopping list and went upstairs to change out of my jeans.

I was hunting for a pair of shorts when I noticed something odd about my room. I’ve got this big wooden box where I keep hand cream and stuff, and it’s usually on the floor by the bed, but for some reason, it was on top of the chest of drawers. My first thought was that I must have put it there this morning, but then I thought, I can’t remember doing it—I mean, I
really
can’t remember, so that was a bit odd. . . . My bedroom isn’t the tidiest place in the universe, but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have left the box up there because it looked so
strange
. You know how some things just don’t go together? Well, it was like that. Weird. I mean, Eustace attacks it, sometimes, when it’s on the floor, but I’d know if it was him because he pulls out the cotton wool and rips it up so it looks like there’s been a snowstorm. When I went to put it back, I saw that everything inside was jumbled up—it hasn’t got a lid—and there were all these disgusting things on the top like gooey old lipsticks that I never got round to throwing away. The box looked like somebody’d dropped it and just tipped everything back inside any-old-how.
But it wasn’t me.

Jack’s been in here, I thought. When I was out on Pablo. Going through my things. Looking for what, though? There was nothing to find. I looked round. Now the box was back in its usual place, the room looked right again. Opening drawers didn’t tell me anything. I’m not much of a clothes-folder at the best of times—I just lob it all in together, so if Jack had been ferreting through my knickers I’m not sure I’d have even noticed.

Him saying he missed me and wanted to see me was all very nice, but I didn’t believe he’d just come up here out of the blue. Or that he’d spent the last two weeks working away from home. Perhaps Val had finally chucked him out. In which case, why not go and stay with his latest girlfriend? I’d never known Jack not to have a bit on the side. Several bits, sometimes. But if he was planning on staying for a while why was he winding me up by going through my bedroom? What the hell is he playing at? I thought.

I pulled on a pair of shorts and went downstairs.

Walking down the lane towards the village, I said, “You’ve been in my room, haven’t you?”

“What?”

“While I was out on Pablo. You were in there.”

“No I wasn’t.”

I looked at him. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, and the rest of his face wasn’t giving anything away. “Weren’t you?” I persisted. “My things were all jumbled up.”

“Must have been him.” Jack nodded down at Eustace, who was trotting along beside me.

“No.”

“You, then. Admit it, sweetheart, you’re hardly the world’s best housekeeper.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“You’re being paranoid. You’ve been on your own for too long.”

“All right, it wasn’t you. But . . . Look, did you send me something in the post? A newspaper cutting?”

“Nope.” Jack shook his head. “That wasn’t me, either.”

“I got one a couple of days ago. About finding a skeleton in a lake. Inside a car.”

“Oh?”

“In Wiltshire. It reminded me of that party.” I paused, but Jack didn’t say anything. “I thought perhaps it was you. . . . It was weird, that’s all.”

“Which party was that?”

“Ages ago. At Ivar Park.”

“I shouldn’t worry about it. Some of the things I’ve had through the post, you’d be amazed . . . there’s a lot of strange people out there.”

“This strange person knows where I live.”

“Well, it’s hardly a secret, is it? You’re in the book. Stop looking so worried. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“But what?”

“I don’t know. It’s just peculiar . . . I mean, if they—whoever sent it—thought I had something to do with it, or—”

“But you didn’t, did you?”

“Course not! I wouldn’t kill anyone. And even if I wanted to, I’d hardly be likely to drown them in the middle of—”

“Is that what it said? She’d drowned?”

“No, just that they’d found a skeleton. I don’t suppose they can tell. . . . It didn’t say it was a
she,
either.”

“Didn’t it?”

“You
do
remember, don’t you? The girl who went missing. Kitty. Lenny knew her.”

“Did he?”

“Yes! That’s why I left him, remember?”

“Vaguely. There was a lot going on . . . Lenny was a basket case, I remember that. Who sent you this thing, anyway?”

“I don’t know, do I? That’s why I asked you.”

“Keep your hair on. Anyone would think you had a persecution complex.”

“I didn’t
imagine
it, Jack. The newspaper cutting or the mess in my bedroom.”

“Well, it’s not worth worrying about. I wouldn’t give it another thought if I were you. Did Lenny ever tell you about the time he fell down a lift shaft?”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Did he? It’s a great story.”

“Mmmm . . . don’t think so.”

“Well, we’d gone to the East End to see this drag act—
Dockyard Doris,
been going for years—and we wound up in an Indian restaurant in Brick Lane. We were upstairs, and they’d got this dumbwaiter for the food to come up, only it was broken, so they’d got this kid standing on a chair in the kitchen, and we kept seeing this little brown hand with a plate of curry rising out of this hole like Excalibur. . . . Lenny went to have a look and of course he’d had a few—the next thing I saw was his bum in the air . . . he’d fallen right in—nearly killed the poor little fucker underneath. We found him spread-eagled on the floor, bits of chair everywhere, and all the waiters muttering incantations and sprinkling him with rose water. . . . Jesus, it was funny . . .”

It just didn’t ring true. I was sure Jack had been through my room, and sure, too, that he remembered more about Kitty than he was letting on. Seven years is a long time, but he was too vague, too dismissive—he hadn’t really wanted to talk about Lenny, he’d just used the funny story to change the subject. Lenny used to do the same—it was a way of keeping people at arm’s length. Jack told another story about Lenny, then another. I listened and nodded and smiled and thought: I don’t believe you.

When we got to the shop I waited outside with Eustace while he went in. I picked the
Mirror
off the stand for something to do, and flicked through it—
PRAYING FOR RAIN, DENNIS LEADS DROUGHT BATTLE; SCORPION-BY-POST TERROR FOR WIFE
—but I couldn’t see anything about bodies in lakes. Jack stuck his head out of the door. “Why are you reading that comic?” He snatched the paper away and shoved it back on the rack. “Have you got any mushrooms?”

“No.”

“I’ll get some.” He went back inside the shop. I waited a second before taking the paper down again.
RAPIST IN NEW BEAUTY-QUEEN SEX SHOCKER; THE FOUR-LETTER WORD EVERY WOMAN DREADS, BY MARJE PROOPS; SAVE A FIVER AT FINE FARE
. . . nothing at all.

Jack emerged with a plastic carrier bag full of stuff. “That was quick.” He grabbed the paper out of my hand again. “Do you mind, I was reading that.”

“Well, you shouldn’t. It’ll rot your brain and you’ll die and then where will you be?” It was meant to be a nanny impression but it sounded wrong—forced—and his hands shook when he tried to fold the paper. After a moment, he bundled it up and threw it into the bin. I made out the words
BODY FOUND IN PORNO FLAT
across the top of a page.

“Now look what you’ve done.” I gave him Eustace’s lead.