Lies Like Love

SEPTEMBER: AUDREY

The day after we moved in, Mum let me and Peter loose in the supermarket. We could have whatever we wanted for our rooms: new covers for the beds and sheets, lampshades, rugs, toys for Peter. Mum filled up the trolley, piling it with mugs and throws, a toaster, saucepans, doormats, curtains. I grabbed essentials: toothbrushes, soap, towels. And then there was my school uniform and brightly coloured files and felt-tip pens and paper. She even got me a Parker pen, like I’d always wanted, not to mention tons of other stuff we definitely didn’t need – a coffee machine, electronic scales, a huge print of Marilyn Monroe in a thick black frame, which I guessed would never get hung. The till bleeped and Mum packed, the numbers flickered and I winced. It was too much, but Mum handed over the credit card like it didn’t matter. She caught me staring.

‘Don’t worry, love. We got the insurance money, remember?’

I smiled back and nodded, following her out and into the car park; the trolley rattled over the concrete.

‘We’ll do the place up nice, won’t we, Aud?’ Mum yelled over the racket.

‘Yup.’ I walked quicker to keep up, the bags were heavy and cutting into my fingers. Mum’s strides were long, determined.

‘And we’ll be happy here. I’m going to look up some old friends.’

‘OK.’

‘You’ll do well, won’t you, you and Peter?’ she decided, and my brother jumped ahead in excitement, waving his new box of Lego like it was maracas and this was carnival season.

‘Good. Right, let’s get to the doctor.’

The surgery was quiet, ticking over, warm and snug. Mum smiled at the receptionist, who smiled back. Her name badge read Elizabeth. She set us up appointments, sorted it all.

Peter and I waited while she and Mum chatted. I didn’t want to hear what Mum was saying and looked at my brother and took his hand. Peter was my best friend; it sounds stupid to say that, he’s a little boy. But he was the one who was always there, looking up to me, following where I led. Listening. I loved him: his butter-yellow hair, his eyes two trusting brown beads, his high, sweet voice. Now his face was anxious, frowning, thumb dangling from his mouth. I had to make all this all right for him. It was what I did.

‘Don’t worry, Pete.’ I squeezed his fingers gently and pulled him on to my knee. He was getting a bit big for that and squirmed away, looking down at the carpet, kicking at the leg of the chair. ‘Are you OK now, Aud?’ he said.

‘Yeah, course I am. You know that, don’t you? You know we’ll be fine.’

His eyes were big and round, the stones in his pocket rattled as he turned them over. He looked up for a minute and gazed at me, then sat closer and I held his hand that was still so soft and small that it reminded me what a baby he was and I whispered that we’d be OK.

‘I promise, mate. I swear.’

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Later Mum stood in the door of my room, her eyes bright in the dark.

‘What do you think, then? Happy?’

I nodded slowly.

‘Good. And you’ll like the school, it’s small. You know I wouldn’t send you anywhere I didn’t think was right for you. And, like I said, I have a good feeling about this place. Like we’re home here.’

Home here. What did that mean? My home was miles away in the future. I didn’t think I’d been there yet, I was still searching. Wherever it was, my dad would have to be there too.