Sometimes I Lie

I’ve always delighted in the free fall between sleep and wakefulness. Those precious few semi-conscious seconds before you open your eyes, when you catch yourself believing that your dreams might just be your reality. For now, for just a second longer, I’m enjoying the self-medicated delusion that permits me to imagine that I could be anyone, I could be anywhere, I could be loved.

I sense a shadow cast itself over my eyelids and they immediately flick open. The light is so bright that at first I don’t remember where I am. For a moment I think I’m back in the hospital room, but then I hear the sound of the sea, calm waves gently lapping at the edge of the white sand in the distance. I hold my hand up to shelter my eyes from the sun. I find myself staring at the branches of lines etched into my palm and the fingerprints my skin has remembered for all these years. It knows who I am, my skin, no matter how uncomfortable it has been to wear.

I sit up when I hear the children, their infectious laughter dancing inside my ears until a smile spreads itself across my face. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t give birth to them, they are mine now and I know that water can be thicker than blood if you let it. I scold myself for falling asleep when I should have been watching them, but I relax a little once I’ve looked around the beach. Apart from a couple of palm trees, we have the place to ourselves. There is nobody else here. Nobody to be afraid of. I try to relax. I lean back in the chair and knit my hands together, resting them in my lap. When I look down, it’s my mother’s hands that I see. I look back over at my niece and nephew and decide that I will always love these children the same, no matter what they do, no matter how they change, no matter who or what they grow into.

The hot sun warms my skin and lights our new life. Our own little corner of paradise for a couple of weeks, a stopover before Paul needs to be in America. I turn back towards the hotel, wondering where he is. We booked a room on the ground floor, right on the beach so that we could just step out into the sun during the day and sit beneath the stars at night. It’s enormous, more of a suite than a room really and we hardly ever see anyone. There aren’t many other guests due to it being rainy season, not that it’s rained once since we arrived.

The shutters are all open and I can see the shape of Paul inside, sitting on the bed. He’s on the phone. Again. He hasn’t adjusted to our new life as quickly as I hoped he might, but he adores the children, loves them as though they are his own. I have finally given him the family he wanted and nobody can take that away from us now. I glance over at the children once more. They’re fine. I peel myself up and off the sunlounger to check on Paul, I keep reminding myself that he needs watching over too.

Paul hangs up the phone on the bedside table as soon as I step inside the room. He doesn’t look up and I feel like I have interrupted something.

‘Who was that?’ I ask.

‘No one,’ he says, still avoiding eye contact. The bed is buried by a patchwork of white A4 paper, covered in black type and red ink. The never-ending edit has taken over again.

‘Well, it must have been someone.’ I struggle to hide the irritation in my voice, this is supposed to be a holiday. A chance to spend time together as a family, not hide away in here staring at words and speaking to his agent. I look back out at the children, they’re fine, so I turn back to Paul. He’s looking at me now, the corners of his mouth turned upwards.

‘It was supposed to be a surprise,’ he says, standing up and coming over to kiss me. ‘Your shoulders are red, do you need some more cream on?’

‘What was?’

‘I’ve ordered a little something from room service.’ I still don’t believe him.

‘What? Why? It’s only a couple of hours until dinner.’

‘That’s true, but we normally have champagne on our anniversary.’

‘It’s not our anniversary . . .’

‘I didn’t say wedding.’ He smiles. I know the anniversary he means and I smile too.

‘I thought you were speaking to your agent again.’

‘Not guilty this time,’ he says holding up his hands. ‘But you have just reminded me of something. I might Skype her, just for a quick chat before the drinks come, then I’m all yours.’ I roll my eyes. ‘Just five minutes, surely you can forgive me that?’

‘Fine, five minutes,’ I say and kiss him on the cheek.

I want to freshen up but I look out and check on the twins first, they’ve become my latest routine, something I must check three times. They’re exactly as I left them, building castles of sand, squashing them and starting again. They are so content in each other’s company. I wonder if that is unusual. I wonder if they will always be that way.

‘Look at this,’ says Paul. He’s already moved to the small desk in the corner of the room, his laptop open in front of him. I notice that the label is sticking up from the neck of his t-shirt. I walk over and reach to tuck it in, then change my mind. I’m not sure why. I peer at the screen over his shoulder instead. ‘The dog sitter sent it, looks like Digby is having a nice holiday too.’ I smile at the photo. The dog is panting but it looks like he’s smiling at the camera.

‘I know you miss him, we’ll see him soon enough,’ I say. Paul loves that dog, hates leaving him behind. We all have to have something or someone to love, otherwise the love inside us has nowhere to go. ‘Will you keep one eye on them while I have a quick shower,’ I say, looking back out at the twins.

‘Of course.’

On my way to the bathroom I notice that Paul has left the TV on again. It’s on silent but a familiar image catches my eye and I stop, unable to look away. I see a news correspondent I used to know standing outside a court house, TV crews and more reporters jostling for space on the pavement around her. The picture changes to the image of a police van driving through a gate to get inside the building. Then I see the shots of Claire’s house, the house we grew up in, blackened and burnt. I read the words scrolling at the bottom of the screen, a string of capitals silently screaming at me:

MADELINE FROST’S MURDER TRIAL BEGINS.

Even with the mute button switched on, the TV is far too loud. I don’t know why he insists on having it on in the background all the time, it’s like an obsession. I switch it off and turn back to say something to Paul, but he’s already started the Skype call. The sound of it dialling up that has become so familiar stops and he starts speaking at his laptop before I get a chance to say anything. I leave him to it and step into the bathroom. I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. I look good. I look like the me I am supposed to be, living the life I was supposed to live. The life that was stolen from me.