Tell Me No Lies. Lisa Hall

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СКАЧАТЬ interview, blaming my hormones and the pregnancy (and Mark), and I am thankful I never told her what happened between Mark and Melissa. He says it was a one-off, a reaction to how I was after Henry was born, that it was a mistake and that it is only me he loves. She, on the other hand, didn’t say much at all, only to beg me not to tell the papers, as it would destroy her career – she was concerned about being seen as a homewrecker (as well she should), although it’s just unfortunate that that didn’t cross her mind before the affair began. I’ve told no one, apart from my best friend, Tessa, about what happened between them, shame and humiliation making me keep silent. I told no one about how I found messages from her on his phone, messages that were anything but the innocent texts he said they were. I stomp angrily home, her name beating a tattoo in my head, the rage and hurt still as white-hot and fresh in my mind as it was the day I found out.

      Lila is in her front garden as I make my way down our street towards my own front path. She raises a hand to me as I pass, pulling off a pink gardening glove as she straightens up.

      ‘Steph! How are you feeling?’ She smiles at me, a perfect row of white teeth gleaming, and for some reason I feel even crappier than I did before, imagining my teeth slicked with the vile taste of vomit.

      ‘Hey, Lila. Not great, I’m afraid. Morning sickness still kicking in at the moment. I’m just going to go and have a lie-down before my mum brings Henry back.’ I barely look at her as I fumble in my bag for my door key, juggling my phone in the other hand.

      ‘Oh, bless you, you don’t look too well. Go and rest up. I’ll be home if you need anything, just give me a shout. In fact …’ She pulls out her mobile and holds her hand out for mine, before inputting her number into my phone. ‘You just call me if you need anything, OK?’

      I nod wearily, half raising a hand to her as I cross the street and let myself in. I need a hot bath, pyjamas and my little boy snuggled on the couch next to me.

      Two hours later, when I go to the front door to let my mum in, Henry jabbering away nineteen to the dozen about the Christmas fair she took him to, I notice a tiny bunch of winter flowers tied together with a piece of raffia tucked into the corner of the porch. A small slip of white paper attached to the raffia reads, ‘Just a little something from my garden to cheer you up’. A smile touches the corners of my mouth. Even though I was so rude to her earlier, practically ignoring her in my haste to get indoors, to get away from everyone, she still thought about me. She still cared enough to leave me a gift to cheer me up. The thought of it is warming, and I resolve to fight against my instinct to push her away, to make more of an effort to let Lila in properly, as a new friend.

CHAPTER FIVE

      Mark calls later that evening to tell me not to wait up. It’s always like this the few hectic weeks before he and his crew go off on location to start shooting – meetings that start after hours and go on long into the night as they plan what equipment they need to take, which routes they’ll travel along and which flights they need to catch. For once, he calls early, just as I am about to put Henry to bed, so he says goodnight to our son and waits patiently as I finish tucking Henry into bed.

      ‘Hello? I’m back,’ I say, as I fold my legs beneath me and get comfortable on the couch. Despite not managing to eat any lunch, I’m not hungry yet and decide not to eat until later. ‘What time do you think you’ll be back? I haven’t eaten – I can wait for you.’ I say this in the hope he’ll tell me he’s leaving soon.

      ‘No, no. Don’t wait. I think it’s going to be a very late one. That’s why I’m ringing; they’ve decided to pull the whole thing forward.’ Mark’s voice is low, barely above a whisper and I realise there must be other people nearby.

      ‘Pull the whole thing forward? What do you mean? You’re not supposed to be leaving for another two weeks!’ My voice is shrill, and I take a deep breath to try to calm myself. I should have known that the ‘fresh start’ wouldn’t last for long – Mark is a workaholic, the lure of the camera and all the excitement that goes with it pulling him away from Henry and me time and time again, no matter how many times I beg him not to go.

      ‘I’m sorry, Steph. I know I said a fresh start, and that I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. But it is necessary. I have to go, and the sooner we leave the sooner we come back.’ He carries on, making his excuses to me about how this is a once in a lifetime opportunity (it always is), and how if they leave now they’ll miss the worst of the rainy season, blah, blah, blah. Always the same old reasons.

      ‘So, when do you go?’ I ask, biting down hard on my tongue. He knows I’m upset – of course he does; you can’t spend six years with someone without knowing them inside and out, can you? I refuse to lose my temper, refuse to shout and beg him not to go. I used to. I used to get cross and shout and tell him he loved his job more than he loved me and Henry, but after the affair with Melissa Davenport I don’t feel like I can. That maybe the reason he did what he did was partly my fault – my fault for being a nagging old shrew.

      ‘Please don’t be upset, Steph,’ he says, his voice breaking a little, and I melt a tiny bit inside. ‘We leave in two days. I’m sorry, you have no idea how sorry, but this way we can be back in plenty of time for Christmas. I’m gutted that I have to leave so early. You know I didn’t want to leave you alone, but at least this way I won’t miss it. I’ll be there on Christmas morning when Henry wakes up.’

      This does go some way towards softening the blow, as Mark knows I want him home for Christmas. Of the five Christmases that Henry has celebrated, Mark has missed all but two of them, and one of those was his first Christmas, when he was just two months old and didn’t really take part in any of the festivities at all. I reassure Mark that it’s all OK, that we will be fine without him, and when, with a sigh of relief in his voice, he asks if I have had a good day I decide not to mention lunch with Belinda, or the fact that she wants me to interview Melissa Davenport. If he is going to be leaving me, the last thing I want on his mind is her. He says goodbye and assures me he’ll be home as soon as he can, promising to take Henry and I out for dinner tomorrow night as it’s his last night before he leaves. I agree, and hang up, knowing in my heart that there’s little chance of his making it home before midnight tonight, and probably little chance of us seeing him properly at all before he leaves us again.

      I am just making myself a bowl of scrambled eggs when there is a light tapping at the front door. Nervously pulling my dressing gown tightly around my middle, I go to answer it and am relieved when it is just Lila standing on the doorstep, bundled up like a snowman. The temperature has risen a couple of degrees since the arctic weather this afternoon, but it is still bitterly cold outside and the inky night sky is full of clouds, pregnant and heavy with the first snowfall of the season.

      ‘Lila! God, you must be freezing. Come in.’ I stand to one side of the front door to let her squeeze in, her bulky winter coat making her face seem like that of a petite china doll, peering out from underneath her fur hood.

      ‘It is freezing out there; there’s definitely snow on the way.’ She grins at me, pushing back her hood with one hand, her other hand clutching on to what appears to be a black sack filled with something oddly shaped.

      ‘How are you feeling now?’ Lila follows me through into the cosy living room, hanging her coat on the stair banister as she passes. I have lit the open fire that sits in the centre of the room, and Lila stands to warm her hands in front of it, the smell of coal and the pine cones I chucked onto the open flames filling the room.

      ‘Oh, better.’ I smile. I shed a few – OK, a lot – of tears after my phone call with Mark, the thought of the next few weeks alone almost too much to bear, what with finding work, although I know СКАЧАТЬ