Kissing Through a Pane of Glass (22 page)

‘When was the last time Robyn saw her?’

‘She said that Liana was living here up until three months ago. That’s all I know.’

Robyn returned with three steaming hot mugs of coffee. ‘Hope you drink it black; we’re out of milk and sugar,’ she said apologetically.

‘This is fine, thank you,’ I said.

‘So, what do you want to know?’

I looked at Lee. Now that we were here, I wasn’t sure where to start. I was so worried about what sort of answers might come my way that I was reluctant to ask the questions. Again, Lee must have sensed this, as she took up the conversation easily.

‘How long was Liana living here?’

‘About two years I think; she actually moved in some time before me, so it’s a bit difhcult to say. Keith and John were already here, and there was another girl, but she left shortly after I arrived. For most of the time it was just the four of us.’

‘And now it’s just you, Keith and John?’

‘Yeah, although I suspect someone else’ll move in soon enough. Can I have one of these?’ She pointed to the packet of cigarettes I’d left on the table.

‘Of course.’

‘Ta. That’s another thing we’ve run out of.’

I lit the cigarette for her while Lee continued with the questions.

‘Where’s Keith now?’

Robyn raised her eyebrows and gave a rather deliberate little sniff. ‘God knows. Getting pissed, probably.’

‘Did you know Liana was going to leave?’

Robyn drew heavily on the cigarette, and allowed the smoke to curl slowly out of the side of her mouth, savouring every last wisp. ‘The only thing that surprised me was that she waited so long, what with the way Keith used to treat her. To be honest, she should have moved out ages ago.’

This was exactly the sort of thing I didn’t want to hear. I grabbed a cigarette and lit up swiftly. I could feel my pulse rate starting to rise, and the first traces of adrenaline beginning to course through me in preparation for fight or flight.

‘Did they not get on then?’

‘Depends what you call “getting on”. They used to argue like fuck, day and night. He really treated her like shit. I mean, none of us had any money, and Liana would do everything she could to bring in a bit extra so we all could eat better. Keith would just take whatever he could and use it to go down the pub and get tanked up. Then he’d come back, completely arseholed, and start abusing the shit out of the rest of us. I wouldn’t take his shit, ever, so I’d just ignore him. Liana however used to rise to the bait every time, and like a fool she’d end up making him even more angry. It was asking for trouble.’ She took another deep drag on the cigarette. ‘He could be pretty violent sometimes.’

‘He used to hit her?’

‘Oh yeah. He used to rough her up sometimes. We had to get the doctor in once, her lip was bleeding so badly. Keith could be a right bastard.’

‘Why did she put up with it?’

‘Why else? She was crazy for him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so devoted to another person. Not that this is a sufficiently good reason to allow yourself to get beaten up every other night, but I guess that’s how it goes sometimes. Isn’t there that line in
Streetcar Named Desire
, something about the things that go on between a man and a woman... are you okay?’ Robyn leaned over towards me, touched my forearm.

‘I’m fine,’ I said, the bile rising in my throat. ‘Really... it’s just a bit upsetting.’ Lee reached across and took my hand.

‘Do you want to go?’

‘No, I’ll be okay. Carry on; let’s find out all we can.’

‘I’m sorry; did I say something...?’

Lee shook her head. ‘No, honestly Robyn, we have to know this stuff. Like Michael says, it’s just a bit upsetting.’

‘Yes, of course... I’ve probably been a bit blunt, made it sound much worse than it really was. You see, the thing was, in his own way, Keith really did care for Liana. They really did seem to be in love. But I guess in the end it just got too much for her. I don’t think he ever meant to hurt her; he had his own problems - as we all did - it’s just that he used to take it out on her. And you know what they say about these sort of things... she must have, well, not wanted it exactly, but it must have met some need in her, or else she’d never have put up with it that long. Oh shit, have I said the wrong thing again?’

I was on my feet and through the front door before Robyn had finished the sentence. I made it as far as the pavement before the suffocating need to throw up brought me to my knees. I was still retching pathetically when I felt Lee’s hand on the back of my neck. There was nothing she could have said that would have helped me then. All I could see was a vision of Liana’s tortured expression the night she pleaded with me not to hit her, and all I could think was: I am a child, lost in an adult’s world too frightening to contemplate. Poor Liana.

Poor me.

What are you going to say? That I should have guessed? That I shouldn’t have been so upset, that anyone could see it coming? That’s easy for you to say, with the benefit of hindsight, with all the relevant details neatly sifted out for you and put out in tidy piles for your inspection. Yes, I know; you could see it coming. Well done. Aren’t you the clever one. Well, I’m sorry to say that, as must be evident from my reaction at the time, I was not fully prepared for what I had to listen to.

I had my suspicions, certainly; a beautiful woman knows every sexual trick in the book and claims to be a virgin, screams “don’t hit me” every time I make love to her, and can down half a bottle of brandy without flinching, yes, yes, yes...
of
course
I had my suspicions. But I didn’t dare give voice to them. Who wants to hear that sort of stuff? Who wants to believe it? Would you?

I know what we all say; honesty is what we want. We demand it. “Don’t lie to me, don’t deceive me,” we say; “I’d rather hear it from your lips than... ” oh for fucksake, what a load of old bollocks. Who wants to hear the truth? I didn’t want the truth; I didn’t want to hear that Liana had been living with - was in love with - a mad bastard, an alcoholic who beat her up three times a week, that she was, by implication, an alcoholic herself... I didn’t want that. I wanted the lie, the lie that Liana told me, about her happy childhood and the devoted school friend and the loving parents and the degree and... and... and...
yes
, I wanted to believe I had been the first, of course I did. What would you rather have had, the beautiful lie or the tawdry reality?

There are times when honesty, like reality, is vastly overrated. I’m not even sure where we get this desire for honesty from, especially when you look at the lives we lead. We must spend ninety per cent of our free time indulging in activities that have nothing to do with reality or honesty. When was the last time you went to the movies to see real life, to see an honest portrayal of reality? Is there such a thing? Of course not. I’d bet good money you went to the movies to be entertained, whisked into a fantasy, to escape the reality of your everyday existence. Not a great deal of honesty in that activity if you ask me.

Do you enjoy the soaps on TV? Are they honest? Are they real? Are they, hell. Listened to any good songs recently? Is your life like the lyrics? What about the last decent novel you read. What about that sparkling, crackling dialogue? Do people really talk like that? Does it matter? And what would you rather have, an honest word-for-word verbatim slice of everyday life, or a piece of clever fiction, an elegant conceit?

And at night, when you crawl into your dreams, what would you rather have; a view of life in the living room, or visions of Elysium?

Given our propensity to dwell in the fictitious, it’s a wonder we make such a fuss about honesty. Why, exactly, is the truth good while lies are evil? It strikes me that there is nothing reasonable about this piece of moral dogmatism, but I doubt there’s a person out walking the earth who believes differently.

And yet, there must be some moral ambivalence about this; why else would we have invented the white lie, which is nothing more than a morally sanctioned slice of evil, a justifiable sin. Wonderful things, white lies; a bit like that confection you could buy once upon a time, you know, the one you could eat between meals without ruining your appetite.

We accept that there are degrees of lying, but only one order of truth. Lies come in all sizes and colours, from whopping great to teeny weeny, but truths are all the same. This strikes me as discrimination on a grand scale. It’s about time that black truths and white lies were accorded equivalent status. Besides, if something is absolute, then its opposite cannot be variable. Hot and cold are merely extremes of a temperature scale, dependent upon localised conditions. One is not exclusively good, the other bad; that would be nonsense. The same applies to up and down, big and small, hard and soft... why not truth and lies? There are as many bad truths as there are good lies, in the same way that there are as likely to be black truths which are morally dubious as there are white lies which may be sanctioned. Which is why we are perfectly happy to allow writers, film directors and politicians to lie to us; we actually prefer the lie to the truth.

So, if we have given our law makers and dream makers a mandate to lie to us, why is the same privilege not extended to our families, friends and loved ones? It would be so much easier, so much less stressful. More to the point, it would be a damn sight more consistent. We could all stop pretending. The truth of the matter is, if we hadn’t been told otherwise, we would rather they lied to us too. And, I would suggest, that makes it a very black truth indeed.

Robyn showed me to the bathroom where I cleaned myself up as best I could, but no matter how many times I rinsed out my mouth, I could not get rid of that terrible taste. Robyn offered us both more coffee, but all I wanted was to get out of the house and away. Lee thanked Robyn for her time, while I apologised once again. Robyn was terribly concerned, and I did my best to assure her that I was all right - just a bit shaken, nothing to worry about - before we left. She promised to contact us as soon as she heard anything.

As we walked back down Eldon Road I considered the new information we had gleaned. Robyn hadn’t gone into too many details about how Liana had made enough money for her and Keith to survive on, but the fact that they did indeed survive and that she had also somehow managed to save enough to go to India suggested all manner of illicit activity. And while Robyn did not go so far as to suggest that Liana had been on the game, it remained an open question. One thing was for sure; she must have been saving secretly for some time, and this would account for why she stayed with Keith so long, especially once he started to beat her up.

I think it was this information that particularly upset Lee. She blamed herself for not having given her sister more money when she had asked for it. It was left to me to remind her that Liana could have gone home anytime and asked her parents for help, but had chosen not to.

Why I should suddenly have become the fount of reason is beyond me. Perhaps I had found the revelations at the squat so distressing that the only way I could handle them was to assume the wise-old-man position and hope that Lee would be so impressed by my stoicism that she would see my emotional reaction as nothing more than stress or tension and not, as was the case even then, a manifestation of this obsessive mania that was beginning to take over my life.

In such circumstances as these, having been thrust into a nightmare world where nothing is as it appears, I suppose I might have chosen just to throw in the towel. Love may indeed conquer all, but let’s face it, by the time I left the squat, any illusions I might have had about a pure, wonderful, loving girl called Liana who loved and adored me had all but disappeared and, more to the point, I was still no closer to finding out where she was. As Richard had said, if she had wanted to see me, she would have contacted me; I was beginning to see why she had not bothered. Back in England, the life she had constructed for my benefit would have been shown up for what it was; a fable.

Perhaps it was this knowledge - that inevitably I would find out the truth - that had convinced her to leave India (and me) so suddenly. And not being able to tell me the truth herself, she had left me her old address, knowing full well I would come face to face with her family and by extension the rest of the details of her true life, without her ever having to be a witness to the process. Weighing up all the evidence, the sensible thing would have been to admit defeat then and there, resign myself to the fact that my love affair with Liana was over, go off quietly to grieve the loss, and then get back to living a normal life.