Lies Like Love (2 page)

‘So.’ Graham looked at Leo. ‘How’ve you been?’

Leo rubbed his hands through his hair then grinned. He picked up his glass of water and drank it down in a long gulp. Graham watched, waiting.

‘I’m OK, I think. No, actually, better than that. I’m fine,’ Leo said, clearing his throat and nodding as if to assert the truth of his words. Graham sat forward, pleased. He liked this lad.

‘Yeah? Good, that’s what we want to hear. You’re sleeping all right?’

‘Yes. Fine. It’s all the running.’ Graham laughed and Leo smiled, a small grudging smile. You had to when Graham guffawed like that; the noise was so large it demanded acknowledgement.

‘Ah, yes, the power of fresh air and exercise. It’s underestimated, you know, Leo. You’ll be joining me, then, for the marathon, this year?’

‘No. I’m not a fanatic, unlike some.’ Leo met Graham’s eye. His therapist had a rosy face, blunt nose and a wide laughing mouth. He could say anything to him.

‘All right, well, we’ll see. You’ll be a convert yet.’

Leo shrugged.

‘What about friends? Found any of them yet?’ Leo wasn’t really interested in any of the kids round here or
their lives. But Graham said that wasn’t a healthy attitude, that he needed to interact and make an effort. It was a theme.

‘Yeah, sure, I have friends.’

‘I don’t mean kids you pass the time of day with, Leo.’ Graham leant forward again. ‘I mean people you talk to, open up to.’

‘I know what you mean. And I have you for that, don’t I?’

‘No. Not all the time.’

Leo thought about it. Since he’d come to live in the sticks, he had his aunt, and Graham, and that was about it. The guys at school were all right; he’d been out to a few parties and so on and there were plenty of invitations and some girls who’d been friendly too. Too friendly, some of them. Like Lizzy Carr. But mostly he had lost touch with his past and that meant there wasn’t really anybody to text or call, or just sit and talk about nothing with for a while.

‘All right,’ he told Graham, ‘point taken. I will make an effort.’ He saluted, made a serious and determined face and Graham nodded and the consultation time was up. Leo wandered out to find his aunt, who’d been browsing in the small art gallery in town while he’d had his therapy. The word made him feel ridiculous, but Graham didn’t; Leo always came out feeling just a little bit more certain that the days were going to get brighter and better and the past was just that. Past.

They drove home to the farm through the rich, thick brightness of the afternoon, the sun shining on turning leaves that tunnelled the lanes back into the country. The
feeling that summer wasn’t quite done with, not yet, that he could snatch a bit of that time back, hold the green for a while longer, made Leo itch to get home and out into the last of the day. He’d spent July and August outside, in the woods, the fields; cycled the miles to the sea, throwing himself into the rising waves, hot and tired after the ride. And now, in mid September, he was thinking of what lay ahead, not behind.

He thought about school. Friends. It was an easy way out, to say you didn’t like something therefore you didn’t need to bother. Leo decided he would have to try.

The day after we moved in, Mum let me and Peter loose in the supermarket. We could have whatever we wanted for our rooms: new covers for the beds and sheets, lampshades, rugs, toys for Peter. Mum filled up the trolley, piling it with mugs and throws, a toaster, saucepans, doormats, curtains. I grabbed essentials: toothbrushes, soap, towels. And then there was my school uniform and brightly coloured files and felt-tip pens and paper. She even got me a Parker pen, like I’d always wanted, not to mention tons of other stuff we definitely didn’t need – a coffee machine, electronic scales, a huge print of Marilyn Monroe in a thick black frame, which I guessed would never get hung. The till bleeped and Mum packed, the numbers flickered and I winced. It was too much, but Mum handed over the credit card like it didn’t matter. She caught me staring.

‘Don’t worry, love. We got the insurance money, remember?’

I smiled back and nodded, following her out and into the car park; the trolley rattled over the concrete.

‘We’ll do the place up nice, won’t we, Aud?’ Mum yelled over the racket.

‘Yup.’ I walked quicker to keep up, the bags were heavy and cutting into my fingers. Mum’s strides were long, determined.

‘And we’ll be happy here. I’m going to look up some old friends.’

‘OK.’

‘You’ll do well, won’t you, you and Peter?’ she decided, and my brother jumped ahead in excitement, waving his new box of Lego like it was maracas and this was carnival season.

‘Good. Right, let’s get to the doctor.’

The surgery was quiet, ticking over, warm and snug. Mum smiled at the receptionist, who smiled back. Her name badge read Elizabeth. She set us up appointments, sorted it all.

Peter and I waited while she and Mum chatted. I didn’t want to hear what Mum was saying and looked at my brother and took his hand. Peter was my best friend; it sounds stupid to say that – he’s a little boy. But he was the one who was always there, looking up to me, following where I led. Listening. I loved him: his butter-yellow hair, his eyes two trusting brown beads, his high, sweet voice. Now his face was anxious, frowning, thumb dangling from his mouth. I had to make all this all right for him. It was what I did.

‘Don’t worry, Pete.’ I squeezed his fingers gently and pulled him on to my knee. He was getting a bit big for that and squirmed away, looking down at the carpet, kicking at the leg of the chair. ‘Are you OK now, Aud?’ he said.

‘Yeah, course I am. You know that, don’t you? You know we’ll be fine.’

His eyes were big and round, and the stones in his pocket rattled as he turned them over. He looked up for a
minute and gazed at me, then sat closer and I held his hand that was still so soft and small that it reminded me what a baby he was and I whispered that we’d be OK.

‘I promise, mate. I swear.’

Later Mum stood in the door of my room, her eyes bright in the dark.

‘What do you think, then? Happy?’

I nodded slowly.

‘Good. And you’ll like the school; it’s small. You know I wouldn’t send you anywhere I didn’t think was right for you. And, like I said, I have a good feeling about this place. Like we’re home here.’

Home here. What did that mean? My home was miles away in the future. I didn’t think I’d been there yet, I was still searching. Wherever it was, my dad would have to be there too.

‘I’ll do my best, Mum,’ I said. And I meant it; it was a chance. I needed those.

I lay back on the pillow and closed my eyes.

‘Audrey, are you all right?’ Mum stepped into the room and picked up a bag I’d not bothered to unpack. It was only teddies, hospital souvenirs every one, somehow saved and now here, reminding me. She began to arrange them on the shelf.

‘Aud?’ she asked again, turning to look at me when I didn’t answer.

‘Yeah. Bit of a headache.’ It was nothing new, just something to say.

‘I’ll get you something for that,’ she said. ‘But, you
know what? We can’t go on like this. I’d like you to see someone here about your depression.’ Mum sat on the bed and I shuffled up, leaving a space. ‘You want to get better, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I whispered, screwing my eyes tighter.

‘That’s the main thing, then. So let me help you, please? We’ll do it together?’

‘OK.’

‘Anyway, we’ve got the appointment with the GP next week. We’ll get a referral. Get you sorted, love.’

‘OK, Mum. All right.’

‘Right, then, good.’ She placed my hand back on the covers and patted my cheek. ‘You know I’m here, don’t you, whatever you need? So don’t worry. Have a sleep now. You’ll feel better in the morning. It’s the weekend so you can lie in. And I’ll grab you those pills; they’ll help with the head. Poor sausage.’

She closed the door softly behind her and I lay in the glowing dark, listening to the house breathing around me. It wheezed and groaned and I listened closer, listened through the walls, beyond the bricks, to the world outside and how it grew and shifted, the grass creeping higher, squeaking and whistling as it pushed its way through the soil, the trees shuffling towards us, their heavy tread shaking the earth, the very air expanding and shrinking, pulsing like blood.

The next morning Mum went out early and Peter and I raced out of the flat, down the stairs and out towards the woods.

My brother pelted ahead, and I followed, branches cracking underfoot, wood pigeons calling on the breeze. Here and there the trees opened out into clearings and under a towering larch we paused.

‘Let’s make a den,’ said Peter, ‘with a camp and a fort and everything. Can we, Aud?’

‘Course,’ I said, and, handing my brother branches, we began to build. Sharp ends were jammed into soft soil and he ran to find more wood, good tall pieces.

‘Here, Aud, this’ll be a good one, won’t it?’ Peter dragged a heavy branch, still covered in dark green leaves, towards us. I took it, slotted it in, patting the wood with the palm of my hand, enjoying how dry and strong it felt.

‘From here we’ll see all the birds, won’t we?’ he said.

I nodded. ‘Yup. And maybe if we’re really still and really quiet, we could see rabbits or badgers. Mice. I don’t know. There could be all kinds of animals around.’

I ought to know more – Peter was looking at me in wonder and then gazing everywhere, his cheeks rosier than they’d been in a long time, his whole face sparkling.

‘What else?’

‘Shrews,’ I said in desperation, casting about for something more exciting, ‘maybe deer or a hare.’ I wouldn’t say that if he looked really carefully, he’d see hearts beating inside the trees, hear their inhalations, the steady rumble of life. All was calm today though, nothing jumping out of time: the woods were sleeping.

Our fort was a messy bunch of spindly twigs tangled
with the odd sturdy branch and somehow remaining upright – not too bad for a pair of city kids.

‘What do you think?’ I asked.

‘Awesome.’ Peter dropped to his knees and crawled inside. ‘It’s really cool in here, Aud, come in with me.’ He patted the ground. We sat, snug, quiet, taking care not to touch the sides and send the whole thing toppling. It might last the afternoon if we were lucky.

‘You’re right. This isn’t bad, Pete.’

‘Shhh. If you talk, the animals won’t come. We’re supposed to be quiet.’ He set out his stones in a row and talked to them for a bit, but after a while his head drooped against my side and we waited, Peter with a short stick clutched in one hand, grass stains on his knees and elbows. Leaves in his hair. He sighed and shifted, wriggled, kicked out a leg and I held his foot, reminded him to be careful.

‘Sorry, Aud,’ he whispered.

‘It’s OK, mate,’ I said, squeezing him tighter. ‘You’re doing well, being really patient.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. Like a proper woodsman.’

‘Knight you mean.’ I smiled.

‘Can we come here every day and do this?’

‘Well, maybe. At the weekends or after school.’

‘Shh,’ Peter told me and we stared together at the deep thickness of trees, watched for the faintest stirring, for a miracle or magic. And then as the sun broke through the thick canopy of leaves and caught a patch of earth,
lighting it like fire, a tiny rabbit hopped into the circle of light – its ears pricked, its nose twitching – and we froze, our breath held, skin prickling.

‘Can I catch it?’ my brother whispered. ‘Keep it for a pet?’ He shifted, tensed, aching to hurl himself out towards the bunny, but the creature darted away and Peter charged after it too late.

‘Come back,’ he yelled into the undergrowth. ‘I won’t hurt you, come back.’

‘It’s gone, Pete,’ I said, following, reaching for him. ‘But don’t worry, there’ll be others. Hundreds of rabbits and mice and birds. We’ll come back tomorrow, check our den, but now let’s go. Time for tea.’

‘But I want that bunny! Did you see it, Aud? It could be our pet. I want a pet. I want Nibbles.’ I didn’t want to remember. The fire. Nibbles trapped inside. Peter had cried himself to sleep thinking about it and I didn’t want to start that again. I squeezed his hand. He was still looking at me, hopeful.

‘I’ll train it and look after it. I promise I’ll clean out its hutch and everything, give it its food. In the wild it’ll probably die.’

‘It won’t. It’s gone back to its burrow to its mum.’ I swallowed and smiled. ‘So she’ll look after it. Won’t she?’

‘Do you promise?’

‘Yeah. I promise.’

We walked back slowly and, when we neared home, I saw Mum’s car was back; she was busy with more bags of shopping and we ran to help her unload, and the idea came to me that maybe she was right. I was thinking again
about high hopes and fresh starts. Mum hadn’t lied when she’d told us about this place and here we were at last, with all this air and sky and trees to climb and fields to run in. We could be new. We could be well. My heart relaxed, unclenched, and I grabbed Peter’s hand and we ran to meet her.

The new kids from the Grange moved in a line across the horizon. Leo had watched them take the path out of the woods and followed at a distance. They hadn’t seen him, were unaware of anything else, just focused on walking their own line, treading it like tightrope walkers. It was the girl that caught his eye though, holding her little brother’s hand and tugging him along so he didn’t fall too far behind. She was different-looking: all sharp angles. Her T-shirt stuck to her body, her long hair scorching out behind her, a pale flame. Every now and then it looked as though she might take off, as if the wind would pick her up and throw her into the sky. And then Leo caught the jut of her chin, something defiant in it, saw the strength of the arm and the hand that held on to her brother, and thought no, she was definitely earthbound.

He could have caught up with them then and introduced himself but Sue had plans for that later. There weren’t any other families at the Grange – no one local would live there, not with the stories that came out after the place had shut down – and Sue thought they must be lonely, moving in and discovering the building deserted. His aunt was making them a casserole; he could smell it from out in the yard.

‘Leo, where’ve you been?’ Her face was rosy with the
heat from the oven. Sue still had her wellies on and Mary was sniffing round the floor, looking for a treat. ‘I thought you’d got lost.’

‘No. Just out for a wander.’

‘Good. That’s what weekends are for. Doing nothing. Kids these days don’t do enough of it.’

Leo threw his coat off and narrowly avoided being thrashed by Mary’s tail as he sank into the sofa to pull off his boots.

‘Don’t get comfy. We’re going to the Grange. That new family I told you about? They’re in.’

‘I know. I just saw the kids.’

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘Verdict?’

‘Looked nice, I guess. I mean, I don’t know. It was from a distance.’

‘So why the blush?’ His aunt was looking at him with a big grin on her face and Leo laughed.

‘Sue, you’re ridiculous. Quit it. I don’t need a girlfriend.’

‘Who said anything about girlfriend?’ she teased. ‘I just thought you might be lucky, find a kindred spirit. I didn’t even know there was a girl involved, how could I?’

‘Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s go. And stop stirring.’

‘Never.’ She handed him the basket and they set off over the fields towards the Grange, which loomed darker than ever, Leo thought; only one small light in one small window promised a welcome.