Believing the Lie

She turned and faced Niamh. The other woman was watching her but, oddly, her glance shifted several times from Manette to the doorway leading into the kitchen. It was as if someone was hiding in there, which hardly made sense considering Niamh’s previous look of expectation. So Manette said, “I could do with a coffee. Mind if I…” and strode in that direction.

Niamh said, “Manette, what do you want? I would have appreciated a phone call to tell me — ”

But Manette was in the kitchen at that point, putting on the kettle as if she lived here. On the worktop she saw the reason for Niamh’s shifty eyes. A bright red tin bucket stood upon it, filled with a variety of items. A black sticker with white letters formed a flag on the bucket and Bucket of Love was printed across this. That this intriguing object had just arrived by post was indicated by an open box on the worktop as well. It took no advanced degree in human sexuality to understand that the bucket’s contents constituted a variety of suggestive toys meant to be used by a couple looking for spice to add to their sex life. Very interesting, Manette thought.

Niamh pushed past her, snatched up the Bucket of Love, and replaced it in the box. She said, “Fine. Now what do you want? And I’ll make the coffee if it’s quite all right with you.” She fetched a cafetiere, which she slammed onto the worktop. She did the same with a small bag of coffee and a mug with I’ve been to Blackpool! fading round its middle.

“I’ve come about the children,” Manette said. There was no point in preliminaries that she could see. “Why aren’t they back with you yet, Niamh?”

“I don’t see that it’s any of your business. Did Timothy tell you something yesterday?”

“Tim attacked me yesterday. I think you and I can agree that’s hardly normal behaviour for a fourteen-year- old boy.”

“Ah. So that’s what this is about. Well, you wanted to fetch him from school. It didn’t work out? How awful for you.” Niamh said this last in a tone that indicated Tim’s attack upon Manette had been nothing of the sort. She spooned coffee into the cafetiere and fetched milk from the fridge. She said, “But you can’t be that surprised, Manette. He’s in Margaret Fox School for a reason.”

“And we both know what that reason is,” Manette replied. “What the hell is going on?”

“What’s going on, as you put it, is the fact that Timothy’s behaviour hasn’t been normal, as you also put it, for quite some time. I expect you can work out why.”

God, Manette thought, it was going to be the same song and dance as it always was with Niamh: Tim’s birthday and the surprise guest showing up. Wonderful moment to learn one’s father has a lover of the same sex or of any sex. Manette wanted to strangle Niamh. How much more mileage was the bloody woman intending to get from what Ian and Kaveh had done? Manette said, “It wasn’t Tim’s fault, Niamh.” To which she added, “And do not attempt to derail this conversation in your usual fashion, all right? That may have worked with Ian, but I assure you it’s not going to work with me.”

“Frankly, I don’t wish to talk about Ian. You’ve no worry on that score.”

What a laugh, Manette thought. This would be an exciting change in her cousin’s wife since Ian and his outrage against her had been the sole subject of Niamh’s conversation for the last year. Well, she was going to take Niamh at her word. She was here to talk about Tim, anyway. She said, “Excellent. I’ve no wish to talk about Ian either.”

“Really?” Niamh examined her fingernails, which were perfectly groomed like the rest of her. “Now that’s a change. I thought Ian was one of your favourite topics.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Please. You may have been trying to hide it all these years, but it was never a secret to me that you wanted him.”

“Ian?”

“If he left me, you assumed it would be for you. Really, Manette, by all accounts, you should be as enraged as I am that he chose Kaveh as his next life’s partner.”

God, God, God, Manette thought. Niamh had actually managed to slither away from the subject of Tim as smoothly as if she’d been oiled. She said, “Oh stop it. I can see what you’re doing. It’s not going to work. I’m not leaving till we talk about Tim. Now you can have that conversation with me or we can play cat and mouse for the rest of the day. But something” — with a meaningful glance at the box containing the Bucket of Love — “tells me you’d like me to make myself scarce. And that’s not going to happen simply because you manage to raise my ire.”

Niamh said nothing to this. She was saved by the bell of coffee making. The electric kettle clicked off and she busied herself with filling the cafetiere and stirring the grounds.

Manette said, “Tim’s a day pupil at Margaret Fox School. He’s not a boarder. He’s meant to come home at night to his parents. But he’s still going home to Kaveh Mehran, not to you. What’s that supposed to be doing for his mental state?”

“What’s what doing to his mental state, Manette?” Niamh turned from the coffee. “The fact that he’s going home to Ian’s precious Kaveh or going home at all instead of staying there in lockdown like a criminal?”

“Home is here, not in Bryanbarrow. You know that very well. If you could have seen the state he was in yesterday… God in heaven, what’s wrong with you? This is your son. Why haven’t you moved him home? Why haven’t you moved Gracie home? Are you punishing them for some reason? Is this some sort of game you’re playing with their lives?”

“What do you know about their lives? What have you ever known? You’ve only been involved with them — when you’ve been involved at all — because of Ian. Dear beloved sainted Ian who can do no wrong to any bloody Fairclough. Even your father took his side when he left me. Your father. Ian with a halo on his head walks out of that door hand-in-hand — or should I say hand-on-arse — with some … some… some Arab barely out of nappies and your father does nothing. None of you do. And now he’s working for your mother as if he did absolutely nothing at all to destroy my life. And you accuse me of playing games? You question what I’m doing when the lot of you did nothing at all to make Ian come home where he belonged, where his duty was, where his children were, where I… I…” She grabbed a kitchen towel because the tears that had come to her eyes were threatening to spill over. She caught them before they damaged her eyeliner or made a streak through her makeup. This done, she threw the kitchen towel in the rubbish and drove the palm of her hand down upon the cafetiere, separating the coffee from its grounds and putting a full stop to her own remarks.

Manette watched her. For the first time things were becoming clear. She said, “You’re not bringing them home, are you? You’re intending Kaveh to keep them. Why?”

“Drink your bloody coffee and leave,” Niamh replied.

“Not till we get things perfectly clear. Not till I understand every nuance of what you have in mind. Ian’s dead, so that’s ticked off your list. Now it’s Kaveh. Kaveh’s not too likely to die, though, unless you kill him — ” Manette’s words halted of their own accord. She and Niamh were left staring at each other.

Niamh turned away first. “Leave,” she said. “Just go. Leave.”

“What about Tim? What about Gracie? What happens to them?”

“Nothing.”

“Which means you leave them with Kaveh. Until someone forces your hand legally or otherwise, you leave them in Bryanbarrow. Permanently. So Kaveh gets the full experience of what he destroyed. Those two children — who are, by the way, perfectly innocent in this entire matter — ”

“Don’t be so certain of that.”

“What? Are you claiming now that Tim… My God. You get worse and worse.”

There was, Manette knew, no further point in their conversation. Coffee be damned, she began to head towards the front door and she was nearly there when footsteps came up the two exterior steps and someone called out, “Nee? Pet? Where’s my girl?”

A man stood at the door, a pot of chrysanthemums in his hands and on his face a look of such eagerness that Manette knew she was looking at the sender of the Bucket of Love. He was there to play with its contents, she reckoned. A slight sheen of anticipation glistened on his pudgy face.

He said, “Oh!” and looked over his shoulder as if thinking he’d come to the wrong house.