Living a Lie Page 13

  “Still, he’s not really harming anyone, is he?”

  Patricia sighed.

  “I dare say in a few years when he’s out in the wide world, I’ll wish he was here, playing his music and all.” She dreaded the day.

  Kitty made no comment. If she had, it would have been to say Patricia should be wishing he would go tomorrow and never come back.

  Soon the table was laid ready. The aroma of crackly pork roast, baked potatoes and green cabbage filled the kitchen; there was a luscious sherry trifle to follow, and after Kitty had filled the pretty floral jug with pouring cream, she was told, “You can go and change, and tell the others dinner will be on the table in five minutes.” Patricia was in charge again, and in her element.

  While Kitty was upstairs, Adam took the opportunity to have a quiet word with his mother.

  “I didn’t want to worry you before,” he said, “but I think you should know Kitty was very difficult while you were in hospital.” Sitting on the stool by the breakfast bar, he sipped a glass of water, watching her with sly eyes.

  Patricia could not hide her disappointment. Wiping her hands on a tea-towel, she came to sit beside him.

  “What do you mean, ‘difficult’?”

  “Spiteful.” Leaning down, he rolled back his sock and let her see the yellowing bruise on his shin.

  “That’s what I mean, Mother.” Gingerly touching it he winced, though the discomfort had long gone.

  “Are you telling me Kitty did that?”

  He nodded.

  “I was trying to pass her on the stairs, and she just lashed out.”

  Patricia would never doubt her son’s word.

  “Why would she do such a thing?”

  Shrugging his shoulders, he answered.

  “Who knows? Perhaps she was missing you. Perhaps she has a nasty streak we don’t know about yet. Then again, maybe she just felt like kicking me. After all, Mother…it’s no secret she doesn’t like me, is it?”

  “Did you tell your father?”

  “No. He was worried about you. I didn’t want to add to his troubles.”

  She hugged him.

  “You’re such a thoughtful young man,” she said, delighting him.

  “But you really should have told your father. He could have dealt with it there and then. Kitty has to learn she cannot behave like that. I won’t have it!”

  “I hope you’re not going to cause a fuss?” He appeared suitably reluctant.

  Patting him lovingly on the back, she said, “You leave that to me. Now go and get washed. Dinner’s ready.”

  The atmosphere round the dinner table was fraught. Adam pretended he was intent on enjoying the meal when really he was secretly hoping Kitty was about to get her comeuppance; Raymond was still overwhelmed with guilt, wondering how he could face his wife after what he had done; and like every evening since the shock of seeing Raymond and that woman writhing together in the kitchen, Kitty was afraid to look him in the eye. Patricia constantly glanced from one to the other, making them afraid she could look into their minds and see what they were thinking.

  They were into the sherry trifle when Patricia addressed Kitty in a solemn voice.

  “Adam tells me you two have been fighting. Is that right. Kitty?”

  She gulped. What had Adam told his mother? Had he betrayed his father?

  No! If he had, Patricia would be at Raymond’s throat. So what had he told her? And why?

  Before she could answer, Adam piped up, “We weren’t exactly fighting. Mother. In fact, when Kitty caught me on the shin it might well have been an accident. After all, I was running up the stairs two at a time.”

  Patricia gave him a loving smile.

  “It’s very commendable of you…but I was asking Kitty for her explanation.” Turning to her once more, she urged, “Is that what happened, Kitty? Was it an accident? I do hope so. I would hate to think you kicked Adam on purpose, dear.”

  Aware that all eyes were on her, including Raymond’s, she looked across the table to meet Adam’s cunning gaze. She couldn’t help wondering why he had done this. What did he hope to gain? She saw no real reason why he should have told Patricia that she’d kicked him.

  Unless it was a bit of mischief, just to make her feel uncomfortable.

  If that was the case, then he had certainly succeeded. Just for the briefest moment Kitty was tempted to tell Patricia the truth…that they had seen her husband with a woman…that Adam had threatened her. That she had kicked him because he was holding her against her will, with his hand across her mouth so she couldn’t call out. All of that flashed through her mind. But when she looked at Raymond, at his sad eyes and bent shoulders, she couldn’t do it.

  “He’s right,” she confirmed.

  “It was an accident. Adam was running up the stairs and as I turned at the top he tripped over my leg.” God forgive her for lying.

  “That’s all right then.” Patricia beamed from ear to ear.

  “I was sure you would not have done it on purpose.” All the same the seed had been sown, and she couldn’t help but wonder whether Adam was covering up for Kitty. It gave her a deal to think about.

  For the first time throughout dinner, Raymond spoke out. Addressing Adam, he asked, “When was this?”

  Grinning, Adam rammed another spoonful of trifle into his mouth. For what seemed an age he kept his father waiting, before answering with a devious smile, “Last Friday…I came in late. Kitty was in the hallway.” He grinned at her.

  “I think she came down to investigate a noise or something…isn’t that so?”

  Kitty hated him so much she wanted to kill him.

  “It was nothing,” she said.

  “Nothing at all.”

  Adam laughed.

  “There you are. Father.” Seeing how the colour had drained from Raymond’s face, he remarked, “Kitty says it was nothing. So you needn’t worry.” His voice fell almost to a whisper as he said meaningfully, “If you know what I mean?”

  After that, Patricia chatted on but Raymond was broodingly silent. The next day he arranged to take Patricia out to dinner.

  “I owe it to you,” he said, and she agreed.

  It was eight o’clock when they left.

  “We should be back before midnight,” Patricia told Kitty.

  “Don’t make a mess in the house, and don’t annoy Adam.” With that she gave Kitty a very odd look.

  “You do have a way of getting under his skin.”

  Kitty watched through the window as they got into the car; Raymond in a black dinner-suit and silk waistcoat, and Patricia done up like a film star in a long white gown and silver wrap with matching shoes. In a frustrating way Kitty both pitied and envied her.

  All evening long, she kept out of Adam’s way. If she heard him in the lounge she sat in the kitchen. If he came into the kitchen she went out through the other door into the hallway and up the stairs to her room. Once she thought she heard him outside her bedroom door; there had been the unmistakable sound of his footsteps coming up the stairs, then along the landing towards her room.

  The footsteps stopped, lingered, then went away again in the same direction.

  “Come in here and I’ll scream blue murder,” Kitty swore under her breath. She knew however, that no amount of screaming would bring the neighbours. They were too far away.

  After a while it grew quiet, the television set was switched off downstairs, and when she recognised Adam’s familiar footsteps going along the landing, she waited for the sound of his bedroom door closing.

  When she was sure he must be asleep, she collected her nightgown and toiletries. On tiptoe she went to her bathroom and ran a bath full of piping hot water. Soon she was immersed in the frothy perfumed water, thinking about Harry and wondering what he was doing. When that became too painful she began softly to sing, her voice uplifted in a Buddy Holly song. Closing her eyes, she let the warm waters lap over her.

  This was sheer luxury. In the home, you had to wai
t your turn for the bathroom and sometimes you were lucky if you got a bath at all. More often than not it was a quick run under the shower, with a chorus of voices calling you to: “Get a move on!”

  Bathed and sleepy, Kitty returned to her bedroom. Here she sat before the mirror, brushing her thick dark hair and dreaming of Harry.

  Afterwards she took a moment to examine herself.

  “You’re thinner,” she told the face staring back at her.

  “And there are shadows under your eyes.” She felt much older than her years.

  Nightmares still haunted her; vivid pictures of her mother leaping in front of the train…the train-driver’s wild horrified eyes. And her father…the house burning around him, that weird smile…his mouth moving, speaking yet not speaking. What was he saying? What made them do such terrible things? The pictures never went away, nor the questions, nor the consequences which she alone had to live with now.

  And, oh how she missed them. Missed her mother’s beautiful smile and missed her father’s black moods. Missed Harry.

  “Harry.” The name fell from her lips and her heart ached all the more.

  “Harry.” Just a word, a name, but everything to her. Yet in her sadness Kitty was glad for him, glad that he had the freedom she would never have again.

  “One day you’ll realise I did it for you,” she murmured. The thought gave her a rush of pleasure.

  Climbing into bed, she enjoyed the silence. After the hustle and bustle of the home it was a wondrous thing, so quiet she could almost hear her own heart beating. Tiredness crept up on her. She fought it for a while, until the long lashes closed over her dark eyes and she gave herself up to it. She waited for the dreams to start. She knew they would.

  It seemed no time at all before she was awake again, a raging thirst on her. She lay there a while, her face turned to the window. The curtains were half open and, apart from a halo of moonlight, the night was black. She wondered if the Connors had returned.

  Out of bed, she peered through the window into the darkness. The light over the garage doors showed they were still open.

  “Not back yet,” she muttered. A quick glance at the bedside clock told her it was almost eleven-thirty. Her thirst was intense.

  Putting on her robe she went softly out of the room and down to the kitchen. She didn’t put the hallway light on in case it woke Adam. Instead she felt her way along the banister, only putting a light on when she was inside the kitchen with the door closed behind her.

  “Don’t want that big ox down here,” she whispered. Looking up to the ceiling she pulled a face.

  “Let him sleep. Let him die. Who cares?” She realised then how devastated Patricia would be if anything happened to her precious son, and was mortified.

  It took only minutes to heat some milk. When it was cooler she poured it into a glass and sat at the big table, slowly relishing it, letting the smooth liquid trickle down her throat.

  “That’s better,” she murmured. The house was so quiet. Her thoughts turned to Georgie.

  Where was she now? What was she up to? Kitty prayed she would stay out of trouble.

  She didn’t hear him come in. Creeping up on her, he gripped her throat from behind, like a falcon might do when it swoops on a rabbit. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

  “You were wise not to tell,” he murmured hoarsely.

  “Do you know how much I loathe your being here, in this house, at my table?” He squeezed his fingers and the pain was excruciating.

  “I want you out, and I’ll do anything^.”

  Kitty put up her hands and tried desperately to pull him away. The more she tugged, the tighter his grip became. He peered into her face, forcing her head up and back. His eyes were wild, burning with hatred.

  In that moment she believed he would kill her.

  “I’ve always liked your name though.” And he laughed.

  “Kitty…kitten. Suits you.” Reaching over her, he poured a saucer of milk.

  Taking the saucer in one hand and still holding her in a vice-like grip, he jerked her from the stool and threw her to her knees. Putting the saucer in front of her he urged in an insane voice, “Lap it up, kitten!” Pressing her down, he forced her face into the milk. When she closed her mouth and turned her head, he knelt on her back, pushing her down until she had no choice but to let the milk flow over her nose and mouth.

  “Lap it up!” he ordered. Again and again he pressed her down, until she realised he would only let her go if she did as she was told.

  Choking on every mouthful, she lapped it up. When it was all gone, he released her and fell about laughing.

  “That was worth watching,” he cried, pointing at her with a trembling finger.

  Catching her breath, Kitty leaped at him. With a strength she didn’t know she had, she wrestled him to the floor and punched at him with clenched fists. His nose burst open like a fountain when she grabbed the flex of the toaster and pulled it down on his head. When her rage was satisfied, she ran up the stairs to her bedroom and locked the door. She could hear his laughter and it turned her heart over. For a full hour she stood behind the door with a paperweight in her fist. He didn’t follow her. He had other plans.

  When his parents arrived home, Adam was waiting, bloodied and broken.

  “She did this,” he said.

  “She’s gone mad.”

  Raymond believed there was more to it than that, Patricia was beside herself, and Kitty was brought to account for what she had done. She could have told the truth. She could have said it was Adam who’d attacked her. She might have revealed how it all really began last Friday, when Raymond was entertaining his lover. But he silently pleaded with his eyes and she could not bring herself to betray him.

  Early on Sunday morning. Kitty was returned to the home in disgrace.

  Miss Davis gave her a lecture, saying how fortunate she was that charges of assault had not been brought against her. She remarked on the charity of the Connor family, and sent her away to think about what she had done. When Kitty went out of the room. Miss Davis opened the official ledger. She was angry and confused, reluctant to believe Kitty was capable of what they had described. But in her job you must never allow your heart to rule your head. The entry was made: “KITTY MARSH. Must be watched. A danger to others.”

  Later everyone attended church. Kitty was made to stand at the back.

  She looked up at the crucifix with tears in her eyes.

  “You know the truth,” she whispered. Just now, it was all that mattered.

  Georgie was coming to the end of her journey.

  “All right! All right! You don’t have to push.” Clutching her belongings, she stumbled out of the van and into the yard. There was fencing all around, with tall iron gates to keep intruders out and the inmates in.

  The officer in charge of the new arrivals sighed. Georgie was only two years older than her own wayward daughter. She had only just discovered the girl was into drugs, and thieving, and mixing with a bad lot. Nothing she said or did made any difference. Now, after too many sleepless nights, her work was suffering. She was touchy, short-tempered, and couldn’t bring herself to confide in her colleagues. They wouldn’t understand. They had husbands while she had no one, and now she was at the end of her tether. Georgie only reminded her how easy it would be for her daughter to end up being put in a borstal institution, like this one at Aylesbury.

  “I’m not pushing,” she said, doing her best to be patient.

  “If you moved a bit quicker we could all get on with what we have to do.” In fact, during the journey from Bedford court, she had taken a liking to Georgie.

  “Do as you’re told in here,” she advised in a whisper as they walked into the reception area.

  “And you’ll come to no harm.”

  “And if I don’t do as I’m told?” Impatient with everyone and angry with herself for getting involved in a burglary, Georgie was already missing Mac. He had been on the run for two days before the polic
e finally caught him. Now he too was on his way to prison.

  A burly warden stared up from her desk. She asked the usual questions and entered the replies meticulously in a ledger. Then she snapped it shut and escorted Georgie into the inner cubicles. There stood another officer, tall and elegant in her uniform but with a hard resigned look on her face that came from years of dealing with offenders.

  Acknowledging the other officer with a nod of the head, she then looked at Georgie.

  “Strip off.” She had a surprisingly soft voice.

  Looking from one to the other, Georgie drew away.

  “Not bloody likely!” she cried. “I’m not stripping.” She gave a little nervous chuckle. “Not for you lot anyway.”

  The voice remained gentle but the threat was harsh.

  “You either do it yourself, or I’m afraid we’ll have to do it for you.”

  “Like hell!”

  It took only two minutes for the wardens to strip her. Another ten minutes to examine her all over, and another five minutes to run her under the shower. After that she was issued with a clean set of clothes and given a sheet containing the rules of the institution.

  “You’re here to do as you’re told,” she was informed. Then she was marched into the office, where it was explained how she would be put to work for the duration of her two-year sentence.

  “We’re not monsters here,” she was told.

  “Behave yourself, work hard, and we’ll get along just fine.”

  Georgie remained sullen and silent. She thought about Kitty, and felt ashamed at having gone away and lost touch.

  “When can I have pen and paper?” she demanded.

  “When you’ve earned it,” she was told. The interview was ended and she was sent on her way to learn a new set of rules.

  “Serves you right, Georgie gal!” she muttered.

  “You never learn.”

  She looked forward to writing to Mac, and to Kitty. It had been many months since Kitty had gone to live with the Connors, and no doubt she was doing fine.

  One thing was for certain: that bugger Mac might let her rot here but not Kitty. She would never turn her back on an old friend.