Believing the Lie

Deborah said, “I find it odd that something so simple for some women is a complete impossibility for others.”

Deborah kept expecting the other woman to respond in some way other than with tears, to admit to a fellow feeling somehow. But Alatea did not, and the only thing left was for Deborah to admit the why behind her intense desire to have a child, which had to do in part with the fact that her husband was disabled — a cripple, he called himself — and in part with what that disabling had done to his sense of himself as a man. But she had no intention of going to that place in conversation with Alatea Fairclough. It was difficult enough admitting it to herself.

So she settled on another course altogether. She said, “I think this room has better possibilities for a filmed interview than what I saw outside. And actually, where you’re sitting is a wonderful location, because of the light. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to take a quick photo of you there to illustrate — ”

“No!” Alatea leaped to her feet.

Deborah took a step backwards. “It’s for — ”

“No! No! Tell me who you are!” Alatea cried. “Tell me why you’re really here! Tell me, tell me!”

7 NOVEMBER

BRYANBARROW CUMBRIA

Tim hoped it was Toy4You when his mobile chimed because he was sick with the waiting. But it was bloody stupid Manette. She acted as if he’d done nothing to her. She said she was ringing to talk about their camping adventure. That was what she called it — an adventure — as if they were going to Africa or something and not where they would probably end up, which was in someone’s bloody paddock, where they’d be cheek by jowl with sodding tourists from Manchester. She said cheerfully, “Let’s get the date into our diaries, shall we? We’ll want to go before it gets much later in the year. We can cope with the rain, but if it snows, we’re done for. What d’you say?”

What he said was, “Why don’t you leave me alone?”

She said, “Tim…,” in that patient voice adults tended to use when they thought he was barking, which was most of the time.

He said, “Look. Drop it. All this bollocks about you ‘care about’ me.”

“I do care about you. We all care about you. Good grief, Tim, you’re — ”

“Don’t give me that shit. All you ever cared about was my father and don’t you think I know that? All anyone cared about was that filthy bastard and he’s dead and I’m glad so leave me alone.”

“You don’t mean any of that.”

“I bloody well do.”

“No. You don’t. You loved your father. He hurt you badly, but it wasn’t really about you, dearest, what he did.” She waited, as if for a reply from him, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of hearing anything in his voice. She said, “Tim, I’m sorry it happened. But he wouldn’t have done it if he could have seen any other way to live with himself. You don’t understand that now, but you will. Truly. You will someday.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“I know this is difficult for you, Tim. How could it be otherwise? But your father adored you. We all love you. Your family — all of us — want you to be — ”

“Shut up!” he screamed. “Leave me alone!”

He ended the call with his insides raging. It was her tone, that bloody soothing, motherly tone of hers. It was what she said. It was everything in his life.

He threw his mobile onto his bed. His body felt strung as tight as part of a high-wire act. He needed air. He went to the window of his bedroom and forced it open. It was cold outside but who bloody cared?

Outside across the farmyard, George Cowley and Dan came out of their cottage. They were talking, heads bent as if what they were saying to each other was of deadly importance. Then they approached George’s wreck of a car: a Land Rover thoroughly crusted with mud, not to mention sheep shit, which was thick in its tyre treads.

George opened the driver’s door and hauled himself inside, but Daniel didn’t go round and get in as well. Instead, he squatted next to the door and fixed his attention on the pedals and his father’s feet. George spoke and gestured and worked the pedals. Up, down, in, out, whatever. He climbed out of the wreck and Dan got in, in his place. Dan worked the pedals in a similar fashion while George nodded, gestured, and nodded some more.

Dan started the ignition then, as his father continued to talk to him. George closed the door and Dan rolled down the window. The vehicle was parked in such a way that he didn’t need to reverse it to set it going, and George gestured round the triangular green. Dan set off. First time with the clutch, the accelerator, and the brakes, he went in fits, starts, and lurches. George ran alongside the vehicle like a third-rate carjacker, shouting and waving his arms. The Land Rover got ahead of him, lurched, and stalled.

George dashed over, said a few words into the driver’s window, and reached inside. Watching this, Tim reckoned the farmer was going to give Dan a smack on the head, but what George did was ruffle his hair and laugh and Dan laughed as well. He started the Land Rover again. They went through the process a second time, this time with George remaining behind and shouting encouragement. Dan did a better job and George punched the air.

Tim turned from the window. Stupid gits, he thought. Two lame bastards. Like father like son. Dan’d end up just like his dad, walking in sheep shit somewhere. Loser, he was. Double loser. Triple. He was such a loser that he needed to be wiped from the face of the earth and Tim wanted to do it. Now. At once. Without a pause. Storming from the house with a gun or a knife or a club, only he had none of these and he needed them so badly, the worst, how he wanted…

Tim strode from his room. He heard Gracie’s voice and Kaveh’s answer, and he went in that direction. He found them in the picture room at the top of the stairs, an alcove that Kaveh used for his office. The bugger was sitting at a drafting table working on something and Gracie — dumb old stupid Gracie — was at his feet with that bloody stupid doll in her arms and wasn’t she even rocking it and crooning to it and didn’t she need to be brought to her senses and wasn’t it time she just grew up anyway and what better way to do it-

Gracie screamed like he’d stuck her in the arse with a pole when he grabbed the doll. He said, “Fucking bloody idiot, for God’s sake,” and he slammed the doll against the edge of the drafting table before he pulled off her arms and her legs and threw her down. He snarled, “Grow up and get a life, you freak,” and he spun and made for the stairs.

He stormed down them and out of the door and behind him he heard Gracie’s cries, which should have felt good to him but didn’t. And then there was Kaveh’s voice calling his name and the sound of Kaveh coming after him, Kaveh of all people, Kaveh who’d created this whole pile of shit that was his life.

He thudded past George Cowley and Daniel, who were standing by the Land Rover, and while he didn’t need even to go near them, he did anyway, just so he could shove that limp-wrist Daniel out of the way. George yelled, “Just you bloody — ”

“Fuck you!” Tim cut in. He needed, he wanted, he had to find something because everything was cresting inside of him, his very blood was cresting and he knew if he didn’t find something, his head would explode and the blood and the brains would surge out of him and while that didn’t matter a whit he didn’t want it to be this way and there was Kaveh calling his name, telling him to stop telling him to wait only that was the last thing he’d ever do: wait for Kaveh Mehran.

Around the side of the pub and through a garden and there was Bryan Beck. On the stream the village ducks