Telling Lies to Alice (30 page)

“Did you think he was going to kill himself?” I asked.

Val hesitated.

“You did think that, didn’t you?”

“Didn’t
you
?”

“Val, the last time I saw him I was terrified. He was so . . . abusive—violent. I had to get away from him. I didn’t think he’d . . . I was too scared, too mixed up. But if you thought—if you
knew
—he was going to do it, why did you leave? Why didn’t you help him?”

“Why didn’t
you
?”

“I didn’t know! I went back because I was angry, not because I thought he was going to kill himself. You knew about the film, I didn’t. All I knew was, I was engaged to him and he hadn’t even asked me. A friend rang up and told me she’d seen it in the paper. And he’d hit me, Val, banged my face into a door—how was I supposed to feel? Why didn’t you get help—a doctor—or . . . you could have told someone . . . You just let it happen. You let him
die
.”

“I was frightened, too,” said Val. “Not like you, but . . . what he might say.”

“About Kitty?”

“Yes. Because of Jack.”

“But Jack hadn’t . . . I mean, it was Lenny, wasn’t it?” I glanced at Jack, then Val. Neither of them looked at me. “It was Lenny’s car, he’d taken her to the party, everyone saw them together—”

Val interrupted. “Danny Watts had the film, remember?”

“Yes, but you didn’t know that
then
—you didn’t even know Danny Watts existed until . . . Wait. You did know, didn’t you? Lenny told you, didn’t he? That day?”

Val’s eyes flicked towards Jack, and she hesitated for a moment and then said quietly, “Yes.”

“And two years later, when Susie got ill and Jack abandoned you, you started following him, didn’t you? And you found out where Danny lived. It wasn’t some . . . private investigator.”

“I did have to employ someone to find out the address, but . . . yes. I followed Jack.”

“Why didn’t you tell me all this?” Jack shouted.

“There was no point,” said Val calmly.

“Of course there was a fucking point! I could have gone to see Lenny, talked him round, I don’t know—
something
.”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference.” Val’s voice was flat. “He was going to do it anyway. Besides,” she added dismissively, “
we
weren’t exactly communicating, were we? You didn’t tell me about Danny Watts.”

“I told you about Kitty.”

“Only because you needed my help.” She gave a breathy, bitter laugh. “That was why I didn’t say anything, because I was thinking about
you
. Lenny’d have done it anyway, sooner or later. I thought it was better—safer—for all of us if I just let things take their course.”

“But you’re not
God
—you can’t just—” I started, but she cut me off.

“I found this.” She put a hand in the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a cassette.

“Lenny had a tape recorder by his bed. It’s a confession. For you.” She nodded at me.

For me. I looked at the cassette in her hand. Inside was Lenny’s voice. Talking to me. What had his note said?
Don’t blame the camels. I have tried
. . . and then that last, illegible line. I’d been wrong. Lenny hadn’t been telling me he’d tried to blame the camels, he’d meant he’d tried to explain, and it was on the tape. . . .

“Why didn’t you give it to me?” I said.

“What, so you could take it to the police?”

“I wouldn’t . . .” I stopped. I didn’t know what I would have done.

“I took his tape recorder,” said Val. “I stopped on the way home and listened to the tape.”

I stared at her, appalled. “Then why didn’t you go back?”

Val looked at me for a moment and then said wearily, “If you had any idea of what my life’s been like, you wouldn’t need to ask.”

“Of course I need to ask! All that stuff you came out with about helping Jack and Lenny when you just calmly sat there and listened to a tape of him saying he was going to kill himself and then drove home and went on holiday and . . . and . . . I’m just . . . I don’t know what to say. How could you just leave him like that?” I jumped up, shaking. “Even if you didn’t care about Lenny, what about Jack? What did you think it would do to him?”

“I did it for him.”

Jack lurched to his feet beside me. “You did it for yourself, you selfish bitch.”

Val looked up at him and said calmly, “I’m not the one who’s selfish. Everything I’ve ever done has been for you and for the girls. Every single thing.”

Jack banged his glass down on the table and swayed towards her, clutching the back of a chair for support. “Saint Valerie the martyr,” he snarled. “Do you want me to pray at your shrine, is that it?” She shrank back against the cushions as he tottered towards the sofa, slumped on his knees in front of her, and fell forwards. One hand was clamped round her thigh, the other held the gun in her lap, pointing at her crotch.

“You didn’t go to Ivar to keep us together. You wanted us apart.”

“That isn’t true, Jack.”

“Yes it is.”

“I wanted to persuade him—I couldn’t bear to see you so unhappy. The whole time, when I was driving down there, it was the only thought I had, to get you together again. But when I saw the state he was in, I
knew,
Jack. I had to think what was best for everybody.”

“It wasn’t best . . . not for Lenny.”

“Yes, it was. Believe me. You didn’t see him.” Val looked at me. “You know. You saw him.”

I remembered Lenny’s glazed, empty eyes. “Yes . . .”

“Don’t blame me,” Val said to Jack. “What about
her
?”

“But you had the tape,” I said. “I didn’t know—”

Jack raised his head. “Both of you!” he shouted. “You left him. You just fucking left him! She did it because she’s all cunt and no brain, and you”—I saw Val wince as he jabbed her with the gun—“because you’ve always been jealous. You wanted Lenny out of my life for years and it was very fucking convenient, wasn’t it? You could say you were doing it for me.”

“I went back,” I whispered. “I did go back.”

Jack pulled himself round to face me, using Val’s legs for support. “When it was too fucking late.”

“Don’t, Jack.”

“ ‘Don’t, Jack,’ ” he mimicked me. “You’re nothing, Alice,” he said viciously. “We had women like you crawling out of the woodwork.” The gun swung away from me as he turned back to Val. “And as for you—like some vicious old bitch at the guillotine with your fucking knitting . . . saying what was best for everybody, like . . . organising some fucking . . . gymkhana . . . Lenny was my friend . . . the only . . .”

“You haven’t heard the tape,” said Val. She held it up. “Lenny’s last words. Don’t you want to hear them?”

“No!”

“Alice does.” She looked at me over Jack’s head. “Don’t you?”

I shook my head.

“Why not?” asked Val.

“Not here,” I said. “Not now.”

“Afraid of what you’ll hear? Jack is, aren’t you? You’re afraid of what she’ll hear. Or did you tell her the truth?”

“Give me that.” Jack made a lunge for the tape, slipped, and collapsed across Val’s lap. As she bucked her hips and tried to stand up, unbalancing him, I saw the gun hit the arm of the sofa, bounce, and fall out of his hand. I leant forward to grab it, saw his body jackknife as he scrabbled across Val’s legs and crashed against me, knocking me backwards into the table. I got myself onto my hands and knees, reached the gun just before he did, and felt it under my palm for a second before Val stamped on the back of my hand. I screamed and tried to pull away and then her knee smacked into the side of my face. As I fell sideways I saw Jack’s hand shoot forward and pick up the gun, and as he straightened up Val flew at him. Her weight caught him off balance and he fell onto his back with her on top in a frenzy of flailing arms. As I scrambled to my feet I caught a glimpse of his face over her shoulder—his eyes round with astonishment and fear—then as he put his hands up to protect his face Val knocked his arm, hard, and the gun shot out of his hand, hit the floor, and skidded under the table towards the back door.

I went after it—got there as it fetched up against the chest we’d put in front of the back door—bent down for it and felt my fingertips brush against the metal before Val cannoned into me like a rugby player, knocking me sideways. We rolled over, kicking and clawing, and then I was on my front, stretching for the gun with her on top of me. I felt her knee in the small of my back and then she had it and we were both dazed and panting on the floor. I lunged forward and closed my fingers over hers and for a second I thought I had it but she flung herself forward and my arm was being twisted round and I couldn’t hold it and I felt my head crack against the sharp wooden corner of the chest and found myself sprawled on the floor. When I opened my eyes the first thing I saw was the lino—a threshing pattern of waves and spots underneath me like a sea—and when I looked up, there were two fuzzy, flesh-coloured columns in front of my eyes. Legs, I thought. Val’s legs.

I felt the back of my head—wetness in my hair, sticky, then saw blood on my fingers, and through them, the moving floor. I shook my head dizzily and looked up at Val. At first her head seemed terribly far away and small, but then her body folded over and slid down towards me and suddenly her face was a foot away and all I could see was flesh—tiny hairs in the nostrils and on either side a sweep of pores like little pocks, sharp for a moment and then blurred as she leaned closer and all I could see was eyes, two blurring into one, no lashes, no colour, just a big, soft, black dot, and then the face receded and the dot wasn’t an eye anymore, it was the gun, a dark, round O. She’s got it, I thought, she’s the one with the gun, she took it away from me—pushed me—but that was better than Jack . . . better than if Jack . . . and we could go, but I had to get off the floor, get away from it, it wouldn’t keep still, waves of lino coming up to meet me . . .

I heaved myself into a sitting position. Beyond Val, I could see a weaving thicket of wooden table legs and Jack, kneeling, slumped over the seat of a chair behind them. It crashed to the floor as he pushed himself away from it and began crawling towards us on his knees and elbows, head down, clutching the cassette. “It’s mine.” I held out my hand. “Please, Jack . . .”

He stopped a few feet away and looked up at me. “You’re not having it,” he said. “No one’s having it.”

“Jack . . .” I leant over to reach it but Val grabbed my arm and held me back.

“Let him.”

Jack examined the cassette with drunken, squinting concentration, turning it over in his hands, then stuck a finger in the base and hooked out length after length of tape.

“No,” I whispered. “Please. It was Lenny’s . . . for me . . .”

Jack smiled with childish triumph before he reeled out the last of the tape, stretched it taut, and jerked it viciously until it broke. “That’s it.” With a flip of his hand, he sent the empty cassette skidding along the floor to me. “Had to consider what’s best for everybody,” he said in a shrill, high voice. “That’s what you said, isn’t it?” he asked Val. “The best thing. Now everybody’s happy.” He started to laugh.

“What did he tell you?” Val asked me. “An accident?”

“For Christ’s sake,” said Jack. “Lenny was fucked. He’d had it. You said so yourself. Better for all of us . . .” He looked down at the snarl of tape in his fist. “Don’t tell me you believed this.”

Val got to her feet and stood over him, the gun by her side. “I believed it.”

“No you didn’t. You kept it as a hold over me . . . thought I’d do whatever you wanted. Do you know what Val wants, Alice?
Do you?
”

I shook my head.

“Shall I show you?” He raised himself to a kneeling position, held up his hands like paws, made an eager, panting noise like a begging dog, and buried his face in her crotch. “That’s what Val wants,” he said, shaking his head from side to side, his voice muffled by her skirt. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Not anymore.” Val raised the gun and clouted him, hard, over the ear. He sprawled on the floor, clutching his head. “Christ, that hurt . . .” She bent down and caught hold of the collar of his jacket, tugging him towards me. He shuffled beside her on his knees and slumped down next to me, his back to the chest of drawers.

“Hello, Alice.” He peered at me blearily. “Poor bunny, you’ve lost your ears. Never mind.” His head drooped against my shoulder. “I’ve got a present for you,” he said. “Make it better.” He dropped the mess of tape into my lap. “Here you are. All better now.”

Val stood over us. “We can go,” I said to her. She looked down at me, her face unreadable.

“All better,” mumbled Jack, stroking my leg. “Make everything better . . .”

There was a sudden, volcanic growl from Eustace at the front of the house, followed by footsteps, and the sound of something being scraped along the gravel, then more growling and a burst of frenzied barks. Not police, I thought, we’d have heard the cars . . . Fred. He hadn’t gone with Mr. Anderson. He was coming to find Lee.

I pushed Jack away from me and started to get up. “The other door,” I said to Val. “The front way. Through the hall.”

Val pointed the gun at me. “No,” she said.

“But we—”

“No.”

Jack slumped against my shoulder. “Best,” he muttered. “All for the best . . .”

Was that why you killed a child, Jack?” asked Val. “For the best?”

I sat like a rag doll, arms at my sides, not moving, Jack’s head a deadweight against my chest. I shouldn’t be here, I thought dully. This has nothing to do with me now. It’s about them. I shouldn’t be here at all. I’m just a body in a room, taking up space.

“Alice told me.”

“Alice . . .” Jack gave a snuffling laugh. “Alice doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about.”

“Yes, she does.” Val bent down and nudged his cheek with the gun. “Look at me.”

“I told you,” Jack mumbled into my cleavage, “she doesn’t know—”

“Look at me!” Val’s voice was shrill and urgent. “Look at this.” She poked the gun in his face. “You said I wanted Lenny out of your life—you were right. I knew the only way I could get him out was if he died. That’s why I didn’t go back to the cottage. That’s why I went round and gathered up all the pills and booze I could find and dumped them by his bed, and God knows he had enough to kill an elephant—
I did it because I wanted him to die.
” The gun quivered in her hand, an inch away from Jack’s temple. “I always thought you’d be better off without him—always drunk, always letting you down, but you couldn’t see it, could you? And even when he gave you the chance, when he said he didn’t want to work with you anymore, you wouldn’t let him go—don’t tell me you weren’t relieved when he died. I was with you, remember? I saw your face. I’m sure you had a great time telling Bunny Rabbit here how sad it was and how much you miss him, but I know how terrified you were that he’d blow the gaff, get drunk and tell someone, say it on television—that
Close Up
show was bad enough, and I remember what you said afterwards, ‘I don’t know how long I can go on with this,’ that’s what you said. I
know,
Jack. You’re just lucky I picked up that tape instead of Danny Watts—or
her
”—Val gestured at me with the gun—“Don’t you understand, Jack? I made you free of him. Oh, he’d have done it anyway, it was just a matter of time—but there wasn’t time, was there? Because he’d have told
someone
. I was the only one you could trust, Jack. Not Lenny, not her,
me.
And you couldn’t see it. I did everything to make it work between us, and I thought, without Lenny . . . I thought there might be a chance, because you might as well have been married to him for all the time you ever spent at home. God knows why, because right from the first you made it blindingly obvious you’d rather be with him than me—do you know, at one point I thought you must be a queer? In spite of all the evidence to the contrary, and Christ knows there was enough of it, I even wondered about that. And then after I saw your little home movie I thought, perhaps I was right. Was I, Jack? Was that what it was all along? A bit of both?” She turned to me. “There’s a thought for you—your wonderful Lenny was a nancy boy. What about that?”