The Liar's Chair by Rebecca Whitney

Author:Rebecca Whitney [Whitney, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Thrillers, Suspense
ISBN: 9781447265818
Google: T-TroQEACAAJ
Amazon: 1447265815
Publisher: Pan Macmillan
Published: 2015-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

12

STYROFOAM COFFEE CUPS

Bessie’s been sick on the bed. Will’s flat is equipped with an ancient washing machine into which he stuffs the duvet cover and sheet, but the quilt itself is too big.

‘Have to take a trip to the launderette,’ he says, bagging the grey material into a bin liner.

I gather my things and search for my car keys. My bag is empty compared to how full it’s been this past week, stuffed with Seamus’s letters and the newspaper articles I found at his caravan. It’s been a challenge keeping everything hidden from David, and I’ve had to seek out new and obscure hiding places, the best one being the box in the garage where my dad’s old clothes used to be, which now holds the spare tyre from my car. I’ve realized that David would never look in there; old things are dirty, they are infected with a past that existed before I met him and in which he has no interest.

On one occasion when I knew I wasn’t going to be disturbed, I shut the garage door and used a torch to flick through Seamus’s documents. Even though the newspaper articles were difficult to read, it was possible to glean that Seamus spent some time in hospital after an on-site accident on the old Richard development, and there was a battle for compensation, although it’s not clear if he received any money. Perhaps Alex’s family didn’t pay Seamus off, and Seamus decided to get the unions involved, which in a roundabout way led to him staying on the land he’d grown to love. I put these articles back in the box and took out the drawings of the trees – Olden Head and Greenscale. Up close the penmanship revealed intricate details of bark and leaves.

Last night when Will was asleep I stashed all the papers at the bottom of a trunk of his gran’s old keepsakes – he never looks in there, he says it makes him sad. If ever Will does find them they’ll mean nothing to him.

I keep the little girl’s – Claire’s – photo in my back pocket, the watch zipped in my bag until I get home, and all that’s left in my handbag apart from my keys, phone and medication is a small brown envelope. The packet has a rudimentary graph printed on the front. It’s the type of envelope in which I used to receive my wages when I worked part-time as a teenager. This time though it’s been put there by David. Inside are two five-pound notes and some change. He’s called the money ‘housekeeping’ and he wants me to fill out the totals on the front, then transfer the expenses to our notebook at home. So far I’ve spent a little over £40 of this week’s money, some on petrol but mostly in the pub last night – I’ll need to find dummy receipts to cover the deficit.

‘Give us a lift will you?’ Will’s eyes follow my hand movements. ‘My van’s up the creek.

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