The Mute and the Liar (2 page)

To
be
honest,
life
would
be
much
easier
if
there
were
no
words.
If
no one
could
speak,
there
would
be
no
questions
or
mysteries.
No
such
things
as
lies.
Everything
would
be
simple.
Words
hurt.
Without
them,
we
are
safe.

Feeling
truly
safe,
as
though
no
problem
in
the
world
could
hit
you...
It’s
been
a
long time
since
I
felt
like that.

15
th
February
2011

“T
hose
bloody
kids
are
here
again.
”
That’s
father.
I
refuse
to
call
him
‘Dad’
because
that
sounds
like
I
actually
care
about
him.
He’s
talking about
some
teenagers
that
recently
decided
to
plague
the
park
opposite
our
house.

There
is
a
large
park
that
separates
our
street
from
the
rest
of
the
town.
I live
in
a
Victorian
terraced
house,
meaning
my
house
is
squashed
in
a
long
row
of
houses.
It’s
quite
a
big
house,
four
floors;
skinny,
but
very
tall,
with
extremely high
ceilings
in
every
room.
It’s
much
too
big
for
just
the two
of
us.
Neither
of
us
ever
have
any
guests.
The only contact our house
has
with
other
people
is
with
a
cleaner
who
comes
in
every
Saturday
and
a
window
cleaner
who
shows
his
face
behind
the
window
and
his
wallet
behind
the
door
every
month. But
both of
us
are
fine
with
being
alone.

So
these
‘riffraff’
just
sat
themselves
in the
park
opposite
and
claimed
it
as
theirs
a
couple
of
weeks
ago.
It’s
half
term
now,
meaning
we
have
a
week
off
school,
which
explains
why
there
are
so
many
of
them
loitering
around
today.
It
doesn’t bother
me,
but
it certainly
bothers
Father,
who
is
constantly
complaining
about
them
.
He
says
all
sorts
of
things
about
them
-
even
stupid
things
like
how he is sure one of them peed on number 2’s door.

There’s
this
gangly
boy
in
particular
who
really
gets
on
Father’s
nerves.
They
glare
every
time
they
see
each
other.
That
may
or
may
not
be
because
the guy
smashed
the
windows
of
our
car
with
a
rock.
Twice.

The
police
couldn’t
find
any
evidence
that
he
did
it
though,
so
they
dropped
the
charges.
It
seems
like
he
is
the
ringleader
of
the
group;
the
others
always
crowd
around
him
and
all
stop
and
listen
intently
whenever
he
speaks
and
all
laugh
hysterically
at
anything
he
says.
That’s
all
true;
I’m
very
observant,
honestly.
Detectives
have
to
be.

I
can’t
see
why
they
all
worship
him.
I’ll
admit
that
he
could
be
good
looking;
he’s
quite
tall
and
he’s
thin,
but
he
just
seems
arrogant.
He
wears
vest
tops
no
matter
how
freezing
it
is,
so
you
get
the
impression
he
does
it
deliberately
to
constantly
show
off
his
muscles.
Clearly
no
one
has
told
him
that
his
muscles
are
actually
non-existent,
so
there
is
no
point
really.
His
hair
is
a
hybrid
colour,
some
strange
mix
of
blonde
and
light
brown,
and
he
must
be
spiking
it
everywhere
with
gel,
because
it
stands
up
on
all
ends,
so
it permanently
looks
like
he
is
being
electrocuted.
I
haven’t
been
close
enough
to
see
properly,
but
his
eyes appear
to
be
a
very
sharp,
piercing
green.

I
only
know
that
because
of
this
one
time
when
I
was
walking
home after
school.
I
had
reached
the
path
leading
to
my
house,
an
d
I
tu
rned around
absent-mindedly,
when
I
caught
him
staring.
I’m
not
ly
ing
. He was
staring
right
at
me.
I
thought
he
was
looking
at
something
else
at
first,
but
I
walked
forwards,
and
his
eyes
followed
me.
It
was
a
shock
to
me,
really.
I
didn’t
know
whether
to
look
away
or
not.
For
a
moment
I
felt
stunned,
no,
paralysed
-
trapped
under
his
gaze,
like
he
was
a
frog and
I
was
a
fly,
and
he
had
jabbed
out
his
tongue
and
snapped
me,
but
didn’t
give
me
the
mercy of
eating
me
straight away, instead just kept
me
hanging
there.

Father
and
I
just
came
back
from
an
appointment
with
my
psychologist.
My
psychologist
is
called
Trisha.
She’s
quite
nice
actually.
She’s
one
of
these
people
who
never
shuts
up.
It’s
not
too
bad
though,
because
it’s
got
to
the
point
where
she
just
expects
that
I
won’t
reply.
I
do
reply
sometimes
(in
sign
language)
if
by some
miracle
I
actually
have
something
to
say
to
her.
She
talks
about
random
things,
about
the
weather,
about
her
family.
It’s
nice
just
listening
sometimes.
Under
different
circumstances
I
might
like
her.
But
then
again,
that’s
unlikely. I’m
not
one
to
like people.