A Suitable Lie Page 5

  It was strange that even now I could remember every detail of that young woman’s face, yet I had to examine photographs to remind me how Patricia looked.

  I shook my head as if to throw off these thoughts and instantly regretted it. Pain that had been reduced to a trophy of love exploded once again in my face.

  Anna’s hand tightened on mine and I resolved to keep my head still for the next ten years if need be and to keep my thoughts on something a little more cheery. Pat’s face imposed itself on my mind and a smile seeped through onto my lips. My son, Patrick. He liked being called Pat. That was what his gran called his real mummy. What a boy. He had been delighted to be a pageboy and to be wearing a kilt. He didn’t sit still throughout the entire ceremony and once out of the church ran from me to Anna to his Gran and to Jim, hands waving and eyes flashing.

  ‘I have a new mummy,’ he told everyone that would listen.

  I didn’t have to worry about him for the next few weeks, Granny was taking care of him for me. She only had a two-bedroom flat, one of which was being used as a store room from her previous, much larger house, but she would gladly sleep on her sofa if that meant a visit from Pat.

  My mother would be upset she didn’t get a chance to see if I was all right, but would she be convinced by the story of the trip and the bedpost?

  7

  The new Mr and Mrs Boyd left for their honeymoon ten days after the wedding, which thankfully gave my nose a little more time to heal and the bruising to fade. Neither of us spoke again about our wedding night, preferring to remember two days later when our next act of love-making as husband and wife ended with untroubled sleep. We lay in each other’s arms afterwards and spoke late into the night, our words punctuated with caresses, sentences hyphenated with laughter and paragraphs bridged with slow, deep thrusting and soft orgasms.

  I was like an addict, I couldn’t get enough of Anna and she never once turned me down whenever she noticed that spark in my eyes.

  Before leaving for holiday, I made sure I spoke with Pat to explain why Anna and I were going away on our own. Prior to this, the longest periods I had been away from him were two nights on a rugby trip, and then the stag weekend. Now I had not only presented him with a new mother, but I was taking her away from him for a week.

  ‘Anna and I will be back soon, buddy. We just need to go away for a few days. And before you know it we’ll be back and you’ll be the most important person in the world for both of us.’

  His green eyes looked deep into mine.

  ‘Is Anna my family now?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, son.’

  ‘Are you still my family, Daddy?’

  ‘Of course I am, son.’ I hugged him tight. ‘Of course I am. I’ll always be your family. You’re the most precious thing in the world to me.’ I had spent a lot of time with Anna that week; he must have noticed my distraction. I kissed his forehead while searching for the right words. Words that a child might understand.

  ‘All of your friends at nursery have daddies and mummies don’t they?’

  He moved his small head back and forward in an earnest nod.

  ‘Well, I needed to find a mummy for you to help me to show you how to grow up and become a good man. And I need someone to talk to late at night when you’re tucked up in bed.’

  He nodded again as if he understood every word. My chest tightened with the pressure of my feelings for him and I wondered if I could ever love another human being as I loved this child.

  Life aboard the cruise ship settled quickly into a pattern of lovemaking, sleeping, eating and sight-seeing. We were waited on by an army of diligent waiters who seemed to anticipate our every whim. The food was dangerously abundant.

  ‘Did you know that the average person on a cruise puts on two pounds a day?’ Anna asked me as I piled my plate high at the midnight buffet. Her own plate was a sea of white china with a solitary strawberry, dipped in a chocolate fondue, in the centre.

  ‘I need my strength,’ I winked, ‘for later.’

  The cruise itinerary was an architectural heaven, allowing us to sample some of Europe’s finest moments. The place names glided off the guide’s tongue like a series of honeyed sunsets: Florence, Pisa, Rome, Nice, Monaco, Monte Carlo and Barcelona. A new port every day and each city worthy of every word of praise heaped upon them. We strolled through the living art museum that is Florence hardly daring to speak above a whisper, so awed were we by the churches, paintings and sculptures. We revelled in the contrasts of Rome: the modern apartment blocks right next to an excavation that reached back into a time before Christ; the roar of the traffic and the hush in St Peter’s Basilica.

  Anna’s favourite was the Trevi Fountain. We approached this through a maze of tall apartments and narrow streets barely wide enough to let a car pass through. The sheer scale and beauty of the fountain hit you by complete surprise as you turned yet another corner, expecting another street. I held Anna close by my side as I immersed myself in the glory of the site. We stood like this for minutes, doing nothing but holding each other and staring. Then we snapped photograph after photograph.

  Surveying the crowd, I watched a Roman teenager nuzzle into his girlfriend’s neck and then turn his back on the fountain. He threw a coin over his shoulder and then kissed her. Do our teenagers in Scotland have such a romantic view of their heritage, I wondered, or is the romance of this city so strong, even its inhabitants cannot escape it?

  In Nice we ambled along the Baie Des Anges and then found an explosion of colour and blooms in the flower market. Anna looked as if she had stumbled on heaven as she wandered along the stalls soaking up the scents and tracing petals with a light touch. And so the week went on, view after glorious view massaging out the kinks in our souls, soaking our spirit in calm.

  The cruise ship provided a counterpoint to this grandeur with its on board entertainment. By day we had all the sights that our eyes could manage, by night, back on the boat, it was time to exercise our taste buds in the restaurant and our ears in the theatre as we listened to the ship’s cabaret.

  Seats were quickly taken in the lounge that hosted the main show and on one occasion we were lucky to get a seat at all. A middle-aged woman and her teenage daughter squeezed together to allow us some room. The daughter almost shone with youth and wore the flush of early womanhood with an acceptance that would have every middle-aged woman on the ship give a quiet groan of envy. Her mother was an older version; the firm line of her jaw and her trim physique evidence of how she took care of herself. The line, you could be sisters almost tripped from my mouth, but I successfully edited it before I looked a fool.

  The mother began speaking to us about the cruise, telling us how much she and her daughter were enjoying it. Her daughter meanwhile, sat side on to us and rolled her eyes as her mother spoke, probably wishing that she was back home in a nightclub in England.

  As the woman talked, clearly pleased to have someone listen to her, she addressed most of her comments at me, only occasionally looking at Anna. Sensing Anna’s boredom, I attempted to draw her into the conversation but each time Anna simply smiled and deferred to me. Not a moment too soon the curtain rose and the young crew, as eager as a litter of pups, set about entertaining us.

  Their energy was amazing, their talent impressive, and after what seemed only moments, the show was over. Anna stood up straight away, before we could get drawn into another conversation, and walked briskly to the door. I followed her, aiming a smile at my new friend over my shoulder.

  ‘God, who does that woman think she is?’ Anna turned to me as soon as we were out of the door.

  ‘She was just lonely,’ I answered, surprised by the irritation that flared in Anna’s eyes. ‘She probably just wants someone to talk to.’

  ‘Well, she needn’t think she can have you,’ she emphasised this last word by stabbing a finger into my chest. She paused as if she regretted her response. ‘Sorry, honey. Think I’m just a wee bit tired. I’m going to bed,’ she said and with a
wave walked towards the stairs. When she got there she turned and offered me a wicked grin. ‘Coming? Or do you want to go and chat up your new best pal?’

  This was the first night of the holiday that we went to bed on anything like a disagreement. Once we were inside our narrow cabin, Anna stripped wordlessly, jumped under the covers and turned to face the wall.

  ‘We’re ok?’ I asked, surprised not to be welcomed into the bed by her open arms.

  She turned, gave me a small smile. ‘Just worn-out, honey.’

  ‘That woman’s just lonely, babe. And I’m probably the only male on board with all his own teeth.’

  She snorted. ‘Aye, you’re a catch, right enough.’ She yawned. ‘Stop worrying, Andy. It’s nothing. She’s nothing.’ She lifted a hand out from under the covers, found mine and gave it a squeeze. ‘Now sleep.’

  But I lay awake for what seemed like hours, going over Anna’s reaction to the woman in the ship’s theatre. She didn’t think for a moment I was interested, did she? This was as close as we’d come so far to a cross word during a holiday that I’d determined would be perfect. Sleep eventually won me over and I knew nothing till I was woken by a pressing need to pee. Eyes still closed, I moved from my side of the bed and walked towards the toilet, which was only four steps away.

  After two steps I fell over something large. My elbow hit a seat and the side of my head the dressing table. Holding my forehead, I righted myself and sent a silent prayer skyward in thanks for not bashing my nose again. Anna’s tousled head rose from the pillow and she reached for the light.

  ‘What the…’ she murmured, wiping sleep from her eyes.

  ‘Bloody cabin boy. Left a bloody suitcase right where I could trip over it.’

  8

  My mother’s face was the first that I saw on arrival back at Prestwick Airport. It was quickly followed by Pat’s as he ran at full speed and jumped into my arms.

  ‘Whoa, cowboy. You nearly knocked me over. Don’t know your own strength.’ I hugged him fiercely then covered his face with kisses.

  ‘Dad, Dad, don’t,’ he laughed, loving every second.

  I ran my eyes over him as he radiated a smile. He seemed bigger than I remembered and we were only gone a week. Mum and Anna kissed politely, like the strangers they were. Time would be my ally here. I was certain that once Mum got to know Anna she would grow to love her almost as much as I did.

  On the way home in the car Pat chattered non-stop, one sentence rushing into the next and knocking it out of his mouth. He told us of the nice time that he had staying with Gran. They had gone to Kidz Play every day, a soft-play area down at Prestwick Beach. They’d gone to MacDonalds, Burger King and KFC lots of times as well. At this news I gave my mother a reproving look: an eloquent shrug was her reply.

  It was this look from my mother that gave me a lightning flash of insight. That look said to me she was worried that, with Anna on the scene, she might not get to see as much of Pat and that she was making the most of it while she could. I made a mental note to make sure this didn’t happen.

  ‘Did you have a nice time, son?’ my mother asked in an attempt to change the subject, lest Pat say anything else incriminating. I watched her as she drove with care and practised ease through the traffic and noticed again the effect that the years had had on her. Lines as deep as her laughter was warm and unforced, spread from her eyes.

  As was usual, my mother was perfectly turned out. She rarely left the house without her mascara and lippy. Jim and I used to complain about the lipstick on our cheeks and the foundation on our collars, which earned us lots of teasing from our mates. The lines, however, I saw as a badge of her fortitude, her determination to bring up two boys without a father. My mother was one of those women that Scotland seemed to excel in. Women who face life’s downpours with a raincoat of stoicism and an umbrella fashioned from humour.

  My father had died at the age of thirty-five. He was an assistant bank manager who worked hard at his profession to provide for his wife and children. It was as he poured over his ledgers that he suffered a massive heart attack and died. I was five.

  My memories of my father are faint. If I concentrate I can see a tall, slim man with large hands and broad shoulders. My mother tells me that I most resemble him and old photographs seem to bear this out. A photograph of him in his swimming trunks, posing beside a car, holding Jim and I down at Troon beach was always my favourite as a child.

  Mum was father and mother during those early years. From wiping away our tears and cleaning the cuts on our knees to playing football. She brought herself whole heartedly to each task and with such vigour that we hardly noticed our little family unit was missing anything.

  At the age of seven my mother encouraged me to become an altar boy. I don’t remember having much choice in the matter. We were Catholic and it was every mother’s wish to see her son assist in the Holy Mass. Now, as an adult, I can see that what she was really attempting to give us was a male role model; a priest called Father David filled this post admirably.

  He seemed to take a shine to Jim and I and would go well out of his way to say hello. A ruffle of the hair, his hand on our shoulder, was often enough for us to know of his comforting presence. Once we were more used to him, he began to call round at the house and take us swimming, fishing or would even just kick around a football in our back garden.

  For the first time I felt able to talk to an adult on equal terms and this I believe to have been his great strength. He used to assure us that there were no stupid questions, only stupid answers, and he would let us prattle on for hours, never correcting, never judging.

  On one occasion, he had just dropped us at the house after a trip to the beach. Jim was delighted with the number of whelks he had collected and charged into the house to show them off to Mum. Father David sensed that I wanted to talk.

  ‘Did you have a nice day, Andrew?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, Father, thanks.’

  We sat in silence for a few minutes.

  ‘Father?’ I asked at last.

  ‘Yes, son.’

  ‘Is it a sin to hate someone for dying?’ I blurted out, staring at my fingers.

  ‘Do you hate your Dad?’ It was amazing, I remember thinking at the time – he knew who I was talking about.

  ‘Yes.’ I said with as much energy as my small frame could muster.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he left us.’

  ‘Did you cry when he died?’

  ‘No,’ my voice was barely audible.

  He paused before speaking. ‘In answer to your question, no, it’s not a sin. Do you think your Dad wanted to die?’

  ‘No.’ That was a stupid question.

  ‘Do you think that he would really rather be here with his wife and two bonny boys?’

  ‘Probably.’ That made sense.

  ‘Why do you think you didn’t cry?’

  ‘Because I was angry?’ I asked.

  ‘You know, it is all right to cry. Big boys do cry. I cried when my Dad died.’

  ‘You did?’ I looked up at him, I couldn’t have been more amazed if he had said ‘fuck’.

  ‘Yes, of course. I was terribly sad. I loved my father … You know when I cried it was not for my father, it was for me. He was a good man and so would have gone to heaven. I cried for me because I knew I would miss him every day for the rest of my life.’

  These words spoken quietly but confidently by this compassionate man broke down the flood walls of my resentment. They collapsed under the storm of my grief. I have no recollection whatsoever of how long I sat in that car crying. I only remember Father David’s shoulder and noticing how wet it was from my tears.

  When we arrived home after the ten-minute drive from the airport, Mum and Anna made straight for the kitchen to put the kettle on, one to try and help and the other to assert her place as the new woman in my life. Pat, oblivious to the politics, made straight for the TV and put on a Disney movie. I carried in the suitcases, dumped th
em on the bedroom floor and went downstairs to drink my tea.

  Anna was standing proprietarily by the kettle holding a huge bouquet of flowers.

  ‘Look at these sweetheart, aren’t they gorgeous. Your mother bought them for us to welcome us home.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. They’re lovely,’ I leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  At that moment, Jim walked in the door, Pat following him like a puppy. ‘Did you guys have a nice time then? Or were you too busy to enjoy the sights?’

  ‘Jim,’ Mum scolded, ‘Not in front of the boy.’

  ‘I know, Mum. I’m far too young for this kind of talk,’ I jumped in.

  ‘Sorry, Mother.’ Jim dropped before her feet and pretended to kiss them. Pat, thinking that this was hilarious, jumped on his back. This resulted in the two of them running into the living room, round the couch, Pat saddled on Jim’s back. From there and back to the kitchen, to the dining room and back to the lounge, with Pat barely able to hold on for giggling. Jim hollered like a cowboy on ecstasy.

  I looked over at Anna to check if she was enjoying the show. She was modelling a smile the Mona Lisa would have done well to emulate. During our courtship it was only on rare occasions that we were all together at the same time. Perhaps, not coming from a rowdy family, she found all of the carry-on a bit strange. Or she was simply tired after our holiday.

  ‘Right, Jim, sit on your bum and stop winding up my son. Pat you come over here and watch the film that you asked to get put on.’ The two of them walked over and did as I asked, but Jim couldn’t resist one final raspberry blown on Pat’s neck, which elicited a fresh gale of giggles.

  ‘Jim,’ Mum said. ‘Can’t you see that Anna’s tired? Leave Pat alone and let him calm down.’

  The talk seemed to go a little flat after that with Anna offering little by way of conversation. She’s tired, I thought. The poor soul was just getting an idea of what it really meant to marry into our family. I was sure that, given time, she would learn to love the strong male sense of fun that inhabited all of our get-togethers.