Lies Lies Lies. Adele Parks

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ she burst through the hall doors and ran into our arms. I presented her with the bouquet, which she was giddy about.

      ‘Did you see me? Did you, Daddy?’ She asks, her face shining with hope and, if you look carefully enough, a tiny bit of concern.

      ‘Yes,’ replies Simon.

      She looks doubtful. ‘Really.’

      ‘Too right.’ Simon lies easily. I don’t think he should have lied and lies should never come easily. They should be hard and painful. I’d have preferred it if he’d told her he was a little late. She’d have been disappointed, but she’d have known it was the truth. ‘You were the star of the show,’ he adds. She was, but he sounds glib.

      We get home, just in time for the supermarket delivery. I have it delivered without plastic bags as this is kinder on the environment, but it does mean there’s a little more waiting around for the delivery guy as I unpack the crates, so it’s not especially kind to him. Simon heads straight upstairs. ‘Are you going to run her bath?’ I ask.

      He doesn’t reply.

      ‘I can do it,’ Millie says, excitedly. She’s still dancing on air. Triumphant, having delivered a terrific performance. She’s very independent and likes to be as grown up and self-sufficient as possible.

      ‘OK, but be careful with the hot tap. You know it comes out really hot.’ She scampers off. I drop my backpack; it’s heavy. There are thirty-plus school books in it. I have a lot of marking to do tonight. I need to buy one of those pull-along shopping trolleys that are the domain of old ladies. I know I’ll look frumpy, but it’ll save my back aching. I ask the delivery guy to hold on one second. He hovers in the kitchen with the plastic crates. They look heavy too. ‘Just put them anywhere,’ I say.

      I yell up the stairs, ‘Simon can you oversee Millie’s bath? I’m dealing with the shopping.’ I wait. I don’t get a response. I cast an apologetic glance at the delivery guy. He’s still holding the crates. There really isn’t an obvious space to put them. ‘Erm, just put them down there on the floor. That’s fine.’ But he can’t leave until I’ve unpacked. ‘Just one moment.’ I dash up the stairs and call, ‘Simon, hey Simon, where are you? Can you watch out while Millie baths?’

      I pop my head into the bathroom. She’s not there. Probably changing in her room but she’s already started to run the bath. I check that the plug is in properly and I turn down the hot tap, add a little more cold water. Better she has a tepid bath than scalds herself. As I do so Millie explodes into the room. She reaches for the bubble bath and carefully pours a very generous amount into the water. A smell that’s manufactured to approximate strawberries immediately fills the air. She squeals excited to see the bubbles multiply. I start to help her undress, but she moves away from me, ‘I can do it.’ She’s growing up far too quickly.

      Where is Simon? We don’t live in a big house. He must have heard me call him. He can only be on the loo or in our bedroom. I leave Millie to the task of undressing and stride into our bedroom. As I enter the room I sense movement, Simon was perhaps lying down and has sat up suddenly. Or, maybe… I stride over to the bed and duck to look under it. I immediately spot a small bottle of whisky. Simon has obviously just stashed it there.

      ‘What the heck is this, Simon?’

      ‘Nothing,’ he says sulkily. His tone is defensive and defiant at once. ‘Can’t a man have a drink after a long day in the office?’

      He has had a drink. With Mick from work. That’s why he missed the recital. Or so he said. I don’t point this out. I haven’t got time. I’m conscious that I’m holding up the delivery guy. ‘Yes, he can, but usually people drink in their kitchens or sitting rooms, usually with their partners.’

      ‘It was just a sniff. Just a bit of fun.’

      Then why did he try to hide it? I can hear the water gushing into the bath. I’ll pick up this matter later. ‘Can you go and help Millie get bathed? I need to unpack the shopping.’ I take the bottle downstairs with me. It’s about two thirds empty. I sigh. I hate it when he has a sneaky snifter in the bedroom. There’s no need. He can always open a bottle of wine at dinner. We do so whenever he asks. Personally, I try and not drink through the week. A hangover and a classroom of thirty eleven-year-olds is not a great combination. Sometimes I have half a glass just to keep him company. It’s different at a weekend. But even then, I rarely drink more than a glass or two. Millie has no idea about the concept of lying-in, so I like to keep a clear head.

      I hear the grocery delivery guy cough loudly. It’s not subtle but it is fair. I dash into the kitchen and apologise. I throw my groceries onto any available surface in order to be as fast as possible with the unloading, I accept all substitutes and then bundle him out of the door. I start to clear out the food in the fridge that is out of date and past its best. I consider washing the plastic vegetable drawer because a tomato has been squashed in to the back corner and already looks like a science experiment. I pull out the bulky drawer and look around with faint desperation because the sink is full of breakfast pots that should be in the dishwasher, but the pots in the dishwasher are clean, so they should be in the cupboard. Right. I need to set this place straight. I start to move about the kitchen. First I unload the dishwasher, then refill it with the dirty pots that are scattered about. Then I wash the vegetable drawer and only at this point am I ready to find homes for all the new groceries. I am just beginning to enjoy the sense of order I’m restoring to the room when I suddenly hear Millie scream. It’s loud and convincing, not a playful shriek but a scream that’s full of pain and panic. I launch myself upstairs, dashing two at a time and explode into the bathroom.

      My first thought is that she’s crying so not drowned, not dead. Relief. Then I notice the blood. There’s a lot of it. Panic. It’s smeared on the back bathroom wall and all over her hands and face. I pull her out of the bath, she’s wet and slippery but I hold her tight. Examine her quickly. ‘What happened? Where did you get hurt?’

      ‘I slipped. I banged my head.’ She points to the back of her head. My stomach lurches. There’s a nasty cut, and she’s losing a lot of blood. I grab a towel and put it over the wound, trying to stem the flow of the bleeding. I realise that the blood on her face comes from her hands, where she’s touched her own wound. I can smell iron in the air. I want to be sick, but I must stay focused, useful. I wrap another towel around her and pick her up. She sobs into my shoulder. I can feel her entire body hiccup with stress and pain. ‘We need to go to A&E,’ I tell her. ‘The doctor will take a look but don’t worry. It’s going to be OK.’

      I call to Simon, but he doesn’t reply. I haven’t got time to look for him. I swiftly dress Millie in pants and a long T-shirt then carry her to the car and drive her to the hospital.

      When we get back from the hospital, the house is in darkness. Millie’s head is glued, and she has a sticker declaring her bravery. She’s fallen asleep in the back of the car. Usually when she sleeps I’m relieved. She has a lot of energy and by the time she is ready for bed I’m begging her to go. However her sleep makes me slightly uneasy now. It’s deep and terrifying. I have been given a leaflet that tells me what to look out for: drowsiness, dizziness, forgetfulness, headaches. I feel queasy just reading it. A close call. The friendly young doctor called it a ‘nasty bump’. I was asked a lot of questions. ‘Who was supervising her when she slipped?’ ‘Her father,’ I lied. I couldn’t bring myself to admit she was on her own. We’d failed her. It isn’t a concussion, but you can never be too careful with head injuries. I will wake her every couple of hours tonight. She’ll be grumpy, but I don’t care.

      I lift her from the car and carry her into the house. Her feet trail low, СКАЧАТЬ