Her Perfect Lies Page 11

  ‘What was I like before the accident?’ asked Claire, absentmindedly sipping her juice, watching the swans floating on the water surface.

  ‘You were the heart and soul of every party. Lively and fun and always up to mischief.’

  Claire wanted to know what kind of mischief but didn’t dare ask. She couldn’t imagine being the heart and soul of anything. She definitely didn’t feel lively or fun. ‘It doesn’t sound like me at all.’

  ‘You threw the best parties. Everyone was invited. We would dance, drink, play truth or dare. Your partner Jason would play the guitar.’

  ‘My partner?’

  ‘Dance partner. I always suspected something was going on between you two but never knew for sure.’ Gaby glanced at Claire as if expecting her to deny or confirm it.

  ‘What made you think that?’

  ‘I once asked you if he was seeing anyone. I wanted to ask him out. He’s gorgeous and I thought, why not. But you got so upset. You tried to hide it but I could tell. And then you told me he was gay.’

  ‘Maybe he is.’

  ‘I was quite drunk that night, so I asked him directly. He said he’s not gay but he’s dating someone special. And yet, I’ve never seen him with a girlfriend.’

  ‘Do you have a photo of him?’

  ‘I don’t but you do. Just check your Facebook.’

  Gaby pointed out a photo of a gorgeous dancer wearing a tight leotard. The camera had captured him mid-pirouette, showing off his athletic body, black hair, black eyelashes and dark eyes, the type that made women go weak in the knees. But there was something odd about him. As if his hair was too glossy, his teeth too white, his lips too smiley, like he didn’t just play the part of a fairy-tale prince but fancied himself one in real life.

  ‘Do you remember him?’ asked Gaby.

  ‘I feel like I’ve never seen him before in my life.’ Claire waited until her friend looked happy and relaxed, like a cat on a sunny roof, before she asked, ‘Has Paul always been controlling? Is that what you meant when you said we had issues? Was he …’ She hesitated. ‘Abusive towards me?’

  Gaby became visibly less relaxed. She took a few sips of her wine. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I keep having this nightmare. Like someone is threatening me.’

  ‘It’s just a dream. You’ve been through a lot.’

  ‘It feels like more than just a dream. You are the only one I can ask. The only one who will tell me the truth.’

  Gaby turned away from Claire, as if she could avoid this conversation by looking the other way. She didn’t say anything.

  ‘Please, Gaby. What is Paul really like? I need to know. I live under the same roof with him and don’t know what to expect. Am I in danger? Should I be afraid of him?’

  ‘I don’t want to be the one to tell you,’ Gaby said finally.

  ‘There’s no one else I can ask,’ repeated Claire.

  ‘When Paul gets angry, he can’t control himself. For years he refused to see a counsellor.’

  ‘What makes him angry?’

  ‘Anything, really. The most innocent things. If you forgot to tell Nina not to put fabric softener in his laundry. Or left your clothes lying around the living room. Or said something in public he didn’t like. It happened in front of me once. One minute he was the most pleasant host, the next he turned into a monster.’

  ‘Why? What happened?’

  ‘You said he had fallen asleep during a ballet performance. You were teasing, of course. But he took it as a criticism. I left quickly. I didn’t want to interfere in your argument. But then you came to my house in tears. It was the look on your face that scared me. You looked so afraid, and at the same time embarrassed, like it was you who had done something wrong. I told you to leave him immediately.’

  ‘Why didn’t I?’

  ‘You always made excuses for him. Blamed yourself. I think until the last moment you were hoping things would get better. But they only got worse. Men like Paul don’t change.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘A couple of months ago.’

  ‘Just before I filed for divorce.’ She wished she could curl up in bed and sleep for a thousand years. And maybe when she woke up, she wouldn’t have to deal with the disaster of her marriage.

  ‘I’m so sorry, darling. I didn’t want to be the one to tell you.’

  ‘It’s okay. You didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.’

  That night, Claire tried to imagine her old self, trapped in an abusive marriage, hoping each incident would be the last and having her heart and her trust broken time and time again. She imagined walking on eggshells every day of her life, of trying to please him, of watching her every word from fear of provoking him. Of wondering if what was happening was her fault.

  The old Claire might have lived like this for years, making excuses for an angry man who enjoyed hurting her, but the new Claire couldn’t stay with him another day. She couldn’t sit across the dining table from her husband and smile as if nothing was wrong. Every time her nightmare returned, she would know that the person she was so afraid of was only a thin wall away. If she cried out, he would come. He would put his arms around her, like he had done the first time she had had the dream, and he would hold her and tell her he would protect her from anything. And she would have to pretend that she believed him, when in reality he would have to protect her from himself. What if she upset him one day? Now that her father was here, she wasn’t alone in the house with Paul. But Tony was bedridden and couldn’t come to her rescue. If anything happened, it would be just Claire, frightened and alone, against Paul’s terrifying anger.

  She said to her father that evening, ‘We have to leave. I can’t stay here another day.’

  ‘We don’t have to leave. This is your house. Your mother bought it for you. But you can ask him to leave.’

  * * *

  Claire expected to feel devastated by her friend’s revelations but the truth was, all she felt was fear, not heartbreak, perhaps because Paul was like a stranger to her, who hadn’t been particularly kind to her or loving. Their relationship was a sham and now she knew why. Besides, she had already suspected the truth. Ever since her first nightmare, she had a feeling something terrible had happened to her. There was an ominous presence in her dreams, a threat from someone close to her. What Gaby had told her didn’t come as a surprise.

  In the car on the way to see her doctor one morning, Claire fought nausea and unease at finding herself in such close proximity to her husband. Paul looked relaxed but he didn’t fool her now that she knew what he was.

  The cars spilled out of the hospital’s carpark, stretching down the road like a livid snake, horns hooting. Claire wondered what Paul would do. Whether he would lose his temper, swear under his breath or open his window and shout abuse at someone. But he didn’t do any of that. He waited, his hands motionless on the steering wheel, his face betraying no sign of impatience. Even when a woman in a four-wheel drive cut him off, stealing the parking spot he’d been waiting for, he remained calm, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  This zen serenity went against everything Claire believed about Paul. In her imagination, he was a raving maniac who couldn’t control himself, someone who derived great pleasure from other people’s fear. If Paul and the shadow from her nightmare were one and the same, it wouldn’t take much to provoke him. Suddenly, that was all she wanted to do. She needed him to reveal his true face. If he got angry, surely he wouldn’t hurt her too much, not here, in a public place? And even if he did, so what? He couldn’t possibly make her feel any worse than she already did. What did she have to lose?

  ‘Don’t tell the doctor but I’ve decided not to take my meds anymore,’ she said slowly.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Paul took his eyes off the cars in front of him and squinted at Claire. His eyes fixed on her, he looked sinister and unkind.

  ‘They make me feel like a zombie wading through life. I will never get better if
I’m medicated out of my mind. I need to think clearly. I need to feel human.’

  ‘Maybe you should discuss it with your doctor first.’ Paul turned back towards the road.

  This wasn’t the reaction Claire was hoping for. ‘What do the doctors know?’ she exclaimed, her voice trembling. ‘They give me pills to make themselves feel better. To pretend they are doing something when they aren’t. Am I making any progress?’

  ‘I will not allow—’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ She squared her shoulders like a boxer in the ring, prepared to take a punch but also willing to hit as hard as she could. ‘Force the pills down my throat?’

  ‘I just don’t want you to go against your doctor’s orders.’

  ‘I don’t care about my doctor’s orders. And I don’t care what you want. It’s not about you.’

  Paul didn’t look angry. He looked concerned. ‘What’s gotten into you? I don’t understand. I’ve never seen you like this before.’

  ‘I’m just sick of everyone telling me how to live my life. Tomorrow I’m going to the ballet studio. I want to get back to work. How can I remember who I am if I don’t dance?’

  ‘So dance at home. Your doctor …’

  ‘Stop telling me about the stupid doctor. I can make my own decisions. I am not a prisoner you can lock up in the house. I will call the police. I will complain.’

  ‘You are not a prisoner. You can go anywhere you like. I just don’t think you are ready to go to work, that’s all.’

  ‘It’s not up to you!’ Claire screamed, the volume of her voice startling her and, by the look on his face, taking Paul by surprise.

  ‘It is clear to me that you are not in the best state of mind to make decisions for yourself. Look at yourself. You’re hysterical.’

  ‘I’m not hysterical!’ she shouted, punching the glove compartment in front of her. It felt good to express her anger, to not care what he thought or did. It chipped away at her despair a little bit. Suddenly she felt more in control. Her car window was open and she could sense strangers’ eyes on her. An elderly couple stopped pushing their overloaded trolley and stared straight at her, their mouths open. A woman holding a toddler’s hand was adjusting her glasses, as if in anticipation of the latest episode of EastEnders. A teenage girl walking a bulldog paused in the middle of the pathway, oblivious to the dog’s attempts to pull her towards the nearest bush. Claire felt the colour rush to her cheeks. ‘I am not hysterical,’ she repeated quieter. ‘You have no right to keep me in the house. I’m my own person. I will go to the studio whenever I want to. I will go tonight, just as soon as I don’t take my meds.’

  ‘Fine. Go to the studio. If you can remember where it is.’

  Not a muscle moved on his face, while she was shaking with rage. Maybe it wasn’t him who had a problem with anger at all. Maybe it was her. Or maybe he was a good actor. She wanted to hurt him, to dig her nails into his flesh and draw blood, to hit him over the head with a blunt object. Instead, she sat quietly while he parked the car, while on the inside she was screaming.

  * * *

  In the hospital, Paul insisted on staying in the room with Claire while the doctor checked her progress, making her uncomfortable and tongue-tied. The drive back was just as awkward. Neither of them said more than two words to each other. Back home, she hid first in her father’s room and then in her studio. She couldn’t bear the thought of running into Paul.

  As she stood at the barre and practised pirouettes to take her mind of everything that had happened, she thought she heard a doorbell but didn’t come out to see who it was. She needed to be alone.

  The more Claire thought about it, the less she understood it. It was hard to imagine anyone living with violence for ten years and not doing anything about it. She felt angry at her husband for putting her through it. But most of all, she felt angry at herself for allowing it to happen. Why hadn’t she packed her things the first time he hurt her? Gaby was right, violent men never changed. Everyone knew that. So why did she stay for more? And why didn’t her mother sit her down and talk some sense into her? Why didn’t she protect her, take her by the hand and force her to leave?

  Nina had said Angela didn’t like Paul. Now Claire knew why. What kind of mother would be okay with someone hurting her little girl?

  The ballet moves, so natural to her, brought the relief she craved, transporting her to another place and another time, the time she couldn’t remember but could experience anew. Losing herself in the movement, she didn’t hear her phone ringing. Only when it rang the second time, she rushed to answer, her heart beating at the sight of the familiar overseas number.

  As soon as she heard her mother’s voice, she asked the question that had been keeping her awake all those nights since she had learnt about Paul

  ‘Claire, my darling girl, I’m so sorry you had to find out this way,’ exclaimed Angela with tears in her voice. ‘I didn’t want you to know, so I didn’t say anything.’

  ‘You should have told me.’

  ‘It breaks my heart that you would stay with a man like that. So many times I tried to persuade you to leave. I cried, I shouted, I begged. You wouldn’t hear of it.’

  ‘But why? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Love works in mysterious ways, darling. It makes us blind. It forgives the unforgiveable. You refused to hear what anyone had to say. You said you couldn’t live without him.’

  Claire found it hard to reconcile the passionate picture of love her mother was painting with her cold and unemotional marriage. ‘But I did come to my senses eventually. I found divorce papers in my drawer. Clearly, I wanted a divorce and Paul didn’t. When I asked him, he pretended we were happy.’

  ‘Of course he did. Violent men can’t live without their victim nearby. They feed off fear and heartbreak. But don’t worry. I’m coming home soon. I already booked my ticket. And when I’m back, I will take care of you. You can come and stay with me and Daddy. You can forget all about Paul.’

  Claire burst into tears. For a moment she couldn’t speak.

  ‘Darling, are you there? Are you okay? Why are you crying?’

  ‘I’m here, Mum. I’m just so happy.’

  They spoke about all the things they would do when Claire’s mother was home. Angela told her about a shop and a little café at Piccadilly Circus where they used to meet every Sunday for tea. It was a tradition they’d had for many years. ‘Their ice cream is to die for. Even the queen shops there. We’ll have all the time in the world to catch up. You can tell me everything.’

  ‘No, Mum. You can tell me everything. When are you coming back?’

  ‘Next week.’

  Claire was trembling when she hung up but this time from excitement. One more week and she would see her mother. Even though she couldn’t remember anything about her, in her heart she knew Angela would be her best friend and confidante, just like Tony. Now that she was coming back, nothing else mattered. Not her missing memories, not her nightmares and not even her abusive husband. Her mother was the light that would guide her to safety. When she was back, her family would be complete.

  Chapter 10

  Claire rushed to her father’s room, eager to give him the news, no longer caring if she ran into Paul. She couldn’t wait to see Tony’s reaction when he heard Angela was coming home. She knew how much he’d missed her. He often had a faraway expression on his face, as if he was a million miles away. Helpless and bedridden, he had found it difficult to adjust. Sometimes it took all of Claire’s imagination to conjure a smile on his face, if only for a moment. But now everything would be different. Angela would take care of him. She would take care of both of them and make everything alright.

  The door to her father’s room was firmly shut, which wasn’t unusual. He often asked Claire to close the door if he wanted to sleep or read or be alone. But Claire could hear muffled voices. And something else too, the pitiful sound a cat might make when it was in pain. Had something happened to Tony? Fear like ice paral
ysed her and it took her a few moments to push the door open.

  What seemed like a crowd of people gathered around Tony. Claire saw Paul, Nina, the familiar police officers and a woman in a business suit she didn’t recognise. They were all talking at once but fell quiet immediately when Claire walked through the door. Now only the soft whimpering could be heard. With trepidation she realised it was her father sobbing quietly in his bed. His eyes stared into space and his face looked grey. He didn’t seem to notice her.

  Paul jumped to her side and put his arm around her as if to support her. It was so unexpected that Claire sprung away from him and hit the wall with her elbow, yelping in pain. ‘Is everything okay?’ she asked.

  ‘You’d better sit down,’ said Paul.

  ‘I’m okay, I don’t need to sit down,’ she said but her legs gave out and she sank into the armchair. ‘Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?’

  The woman in a business suit stepped forward and raised her hand, as if she was at school and needed permission to talk. ‘Hi Claire. My name is Kelly. I’m a social worker assigned to your case.’

  ‘My case?’ Claire repeated, feeling like she was trapped in one of her nightmares and unable to wake up.

  ‘I’m afraid we have some bad news.’

  Claire didn’t like the idea of bad news delivered by perfect strangers. Nothing good had ever come from it. She waited but Kelly stopped talking. It was PC Kamenski who told her what had happened. Your mother … body … stabbed … Disjointed words that made no sense reached her through the buzzing in her head. It felt surreal, like a bad movie. ‘Sorry, what?’ she asked dumbly, her mind refusing to understand.

  ‘It’s your mother. We have found a body we believe could be her,’ Kelly said. The two police officers withered into the background like chastised children, as if this was all their fault.

  ‘No,’ whispered Claire. ‘No, no, no,’ she repeated. Paul put his arms around her and this time she didn’t move away. She barely noticed.