The Girl Who Lied(75)

Two pints later and Kerry was still brooding. He had tried to make all the right responses to Joe’s chatter, nod in the appropriate places, look happy, look sad, laugh as necessary, but he wasn’t actually listening. All the time his thoughts were recalling the conversations he and Erin had shared, her upset at the barbecue, her confession about having a baby, the intimacy they had shared on his sofa and now his own reaction to seeing her with Ed.

On the one hand she came across as troubled and fragile and yet, on the other, she was cold-hearted and arrogant. She had played him, that was for sure. But he was also sure that sooner, rather than later, every lie she had built up around her was going to come crashing down.

‘You’ve not listened to a word I’ve been saying, have you?’ said Joe pushing his empty pint glass to the centre of the table.

‘Sorry,’ said Kerry, supping his pint.

‘Seems to me you have two options, cuz. Either get over it, or more like get over Erin.’ He raised an eyebrow at Kerry.

‘And the other option?’

‘Do something about it. Because you’re one miserable fecker like this.’ He stood up. ‘I’d better get back. There is a limit to Bex’s understanding. You coming?’

Kerry drummed his fingers on the table, pursing his lips then, coming to a decision, looked up at his cousin. ‘You go on home, Joe. I’m going to take your advice and do something about it.’ He took his phone from his pocket. ‘Need to sort something out.’

‘Okay, I’m all for you taking my advice, just nothing stupid, eh?’

Kerry gave a mock salute. ‘Nothing stupid.’

The meal is probably good, after all it is a nice restaurant, a top restaurant. Ed wouldn’t bring me to a run-of-the-mill one, that’s not his style. And the food is, no doubt, of the highest standard, but I could be eating cardboard for all I notice. My palate is tasteless, each mouthful dries in my throat and I have to force myself to swallow the food down.

Ed is very attentive. Overly so. There’s a distance between us, a tension as we play out niceties.

The talk we have both been avoiding finally comes as dessert is placed in front of us. I toy with the cheesecake, usually one of my favourites, but like the main course, this too is tasteless.

‘I’m sure your dad will be okay,’ says Ed, taking my disinterest in my food as a sign I’m worrying about my dad. ‘The doctors know what they are doing. He’s in the best-possible place.’

Platitudes, but I nod and thank him all the same. ‘That’s what we keep telling Mum,’ I say, avoiding any reference to my own emotions. The truth is there’s still a blank space, for the most part. Every time I visit Dad, tiny edges around that space erode and break away. At first I thought it was for Mum, but my visit today summoned up a thread of compassion, which I realised was for Dad. Perhaps only now am I really appreciating the seriousness of his condition and how thin the line between recovery, and not, is. Some deeply buried trace of feeling for him is beginning to surface. I’m not quite sure how to deal with it, so long has it been since it was out in the open, certainly before I was a teenager.

Ed’s hand reaches across the table. ‘You know I’m here if you need me,’ he says.

I look up and meet his eyes. I can’t read them. I’ve never been able to. I thought I knew him. I thought I knew he loved me, but did he just love the notion of rescuing me? He saved me then, did he want to save me now? Was he saving me or serving his ego?

I slip my hand away. ‘Thank you.’ I don’t know what else to say.

‘The other week, when we had our row,’ says Ed. ‘I know I stormed off, but I must admit, I was quite shocked by what you said. I realise now how much pressure you must have been under, are still under. Anyway, I thought I’d give you a bit of space.’

‘I meant what I said.’

‘I’m sure you did,’ says Ed. He gives me a patronising smile. ‘But now you’ve had time to think, how about we get things back on track? You should also think about work. I could still take you back.’

I can’t believe his attitude. ‘I’m not a child. I do know my own mind. I meant what I said,’ I repeat the last sentence to make my point.

‘Everything?’ He has that supercilious look on his face. The one he uses when someone has told him something totally ridiculous.

I put my spoon down and push the cheesecake away. I rest my arms on the table. My fingers pinch the stem of the wine glass. I think of Kerry and what he means to me. What he could mean. How can it ever compare to what I had, or can have, with Ed?