Chapter Five
The Scale of Truth
Social networking sucks.
Alex was travelling in Mexico when he got my PM and he put his street Spanish to use in his reply. Growing up bilingual has its advantages; I was able to translate straight away.
“Jódete puta,” he wrote. Literally, “Fuck yourself, slut.”
Alex denied any responsibility for the baby and concocted a story for his fiancée Claire, who then had a major hissy fit. The irony is I hadn’t even threatened him with telling her. What the hell for? It wasn’t like it would help my situation any. All I asked was that he send me the money for an abortion. I never found out if I’d go through with it though, since he didn’t oblige. I got an insulting e-mail from Claire instead.
That was the beginning of a cyber hate campaign against me. At first, Claire contented herself with slagging me off. I’m a desperate slut who goes after other women’s men, blah blah. I took it on the chin. After all, I was kind of slutty and if you do the shit you gotta take the hit, right? But then men I didn’t even know boasted about shagging me, contributing stories of threesomes, foursomes and whatever else they could think of. I was the gold medalist in a massive fuckathon around Brighton.
Then came the gut kick. Claire announced that Paisley Benton, of 107 Darton Road, was a pregnant druggie who didn’t know who the father of her baby was. Soon enough, people I didn’t even know had heard about my pregnancy. The next time Caroline checked her Facebook page I’d be toast.
Miraculously, she didn’t.
Never underestimate the single-minded concentration of a bridezilla. Caroline was deliriously happy organising her wedding and said she was too busy to bother with what she called the “electronic trivia of mundanity.” Marcia was worried and Tarzan was angry. He said Alex was a prick and offered me his savings towards baby costs—all eighty-two pounds of it, which I thought was sweet. I wasn’t used to guys caring about anything beyond my cup size, but Tarzan read up, made me drink lots of orange juice and bought me folic acid. Instead of watching Great Sexpectations we watched Expecting a Baby, which I thought was pretty damn funny in light of our previous porn habit.
After a few people from church looked at me strangely I knew my time as a closet gestator was coming to an end. I was so strung out I nearly headed to 27B to take the edge off, but at the last minute I called Marcia. She baked me chocolate cupcakes and we watched Final Destination. Call me weird, but in moments of stress a slasher film can calm me down. I decided to stretch my luck until after the wedding and marked the date with a big red X on my wall calendar.
As soon as the excitement was over I would tell my parents about my pregnancy and hope for the best. With Caroline on her honeymoon, I hoped that they would find it in their hearts to help me. Having a grandchild might make them soften towards me and heal some of the scars in our relationship. I convinced myself that all I had to do was make it to Caroline’s big day and everything would be fine.
Unfortunately, Caroline had other ideas.
On the eve of the wedding I came home from Tarzan’s house and walked into the kitchen. My parents and Caroline were seated at the table in silence, their faces stone cold.
“How could you be so immoral?” Caroline asked.
Shit! James must have finally told her everything. “It wasn’t my fault!”
My mother stood up, her eyes red and her face blotchy from crying.
“How can getting pregnant not be your fault after everything I’ve told you?” she snarled.
Fuck! My mind did a quick switch to “They know I’m pregnant, now what?”
Total brain freeze as it happens. My father was so quiet it was scary, freaking me out more than any fist banging or shouting could have done. He stood up and came towards me, one small step at a time. I backed away, a protective hand over my belly but Caroline got up and blocked my exit. She pointed at the counter, her eyes gleaming.
There was the Find Out test and next to that, my half-empty bottle of Absolut. I hadn’t had a drink in weeks but I hadn’t thrown out the bottle either. I looked at my mother appealingly. After all, she’d understand my predicament better than anybody else, wouldn’t she?
She stared back at me with loathing. “Why are you shaking?”
My eyes cut to the vodka.
“Oh dear Lord Jesus,” she said. “My daughter’s a drug addict and an alcoholic!”
“Shut it, María,” my father said. He picked up the pregnancy test and pointed it at me. “What the fuck is this?”
I could feel a flippant answer coming on so I bit down on my tongue.
“Paisley’s an accomplished liar,” Caroline said snidely. “I can’t wait to hear what she comes up with this time. No doubt it’ll be another far-fetched story so we’ll feel sorry for her.”
My mother shook her finger at me. “How could you do this to us? What have we ever done to make you an ungrateful, fornicating liar?”
It was too much. Three months of hoarding my secrets and living on tenterhooks merged with years of angry hurt.
“How about not be there for me when I needed you most? When Manuel—”
My father took a menacing step towards me. “Don’t you dare repeat your filthy lies in my house.”
I managed to stifle my words. His temper would boil over if I wasn’t careful and then there would be no escape. But I was still angry. My parents would never believe me about Manuel because they didn’t want to, because if they did they’d have to acknowledge their own failings and that they would never do. To the end of their days they would sweep what had happened to me out the back door with all the other dirt.
“You are unbelievable,” Caroline said. “First we had your false accusations against poor Manuel, then the drama queen suicide attempt and the selfish running away to do God knows what. And when you came back we had a drug addict on our hands. But that wasn’t enough for you, was it? You had to get pregnant so we have something else to be ashamed about. Should we be on alert and hide the razors?”
I looked at my wrist reflexively, my vision so suffused in red I could still see the blood. “I slit my wrists because I wanted to die and that’s the truth,” I shouted. “Because nobody believed me. When I hitched that ride to London I was only fourteen, but nobody fucking cared or bothered to look for me. And as for what I did on the streets? Mainly beg and steal. Sleep in shop fronts and avoid rapists. You’d be surprised at how many psychos want to rape a homeless drunk. I might as well have stayed at home though, kept it all in the family and let Manuel—”
Bam! Pain exploded at the side of my face. My head snapped back and I staggered, both hands on my cheek. I guess I was lucky my father had backhanded me, even though his jagged ring had sliced into my skin. Had he used his fist my jaw would have been broken.
“I warned you,” he shouted.
He lifted his arm to do it again but didn’t advance. He was breathing hard, looking at me like he wanted to snap my neck. Nobody spoke or moved as he struggled for control. I stared at Caroline, tears of pain streaming down my face. Her pale skin was tinged with green. Now that she’d riled our parents she didn’t want to stick around to watch the fallout. She wanted to hide and not see how her words would make the pretty little world she inhabited downright wretched.
I saw my parents through a haze of desolation. How could I have ever thought they would be kind, that I could bring a baby into this family and repair the damage? Had they ever loved me? Maybe they had before my strange ability had freaked them out and Caroline had finished turning them against me. Before her lie had killed whatever love they had left.
“We have to deal with Paisley’s latest disgrace calmly,” Caroline said, her voice brisk and lawyerlike.
And just like that we sat and pretended to be civilised human beings and not shouting, fully paid-up members of the Dysfunctional Family Club. By mixing in circles my parents had never dreamed of, my sister had transcended the status of child and become their behaviour guru. It just goes to show how her fancy lawyer job and “old money” in-laws elevated her from saint to angel in John and María Benton’s eyes. I was grateful for her order to sit down though; my legs were shaking.
Caroline steepled her delicate hands, delivering her speech like a judge summarising in a court case. “I’m getting married tomorrow and we are going to have a wonderful day. Mum and Dad deserve to enjoy themselves, to see me marry the man I love and start a beautiful life with him. Nothing is going to ruin my wedding, not even you, Paisley.”
I couldn’t allow her to pronounce sentence on me.
“Mum,” I said, trying to keep the wobble from my voice. “I didn’t even realise what was going on until it was over.”
Caroline arched her delicate brows. “Oh, please. Soon you’ll be telling us you’re a pregnant virgin.”
My parents recoiled as though I was the serpent in their midst, and I couldn’t think of anything to say in my defence except that I was just as stupid as they were.
I wanted to shout at Caroline that I was a pregnant virgin but I couldn’t, not anymore. James had seen to that several times over and the joke was on me. My father cursed and grabbed the vodka. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as the liquid slid down his throat. Glug, glug, glug. It was torture to watch.
He banged the bottle on the table. “Answer the fucking question!”
“She can’t answer, Daddy, because she isn’t a virgin. Isn’t that right, Paisley?” Caroline said.
“No, I’m not a virgin,” I ground out. “Not anymore but I was until...”
Shit!
“Until you had sex?” she said derisively.
My mother was crying in earnest now, fingering her rosary and wailing about God’s judgment. I was a selfish liar, evil and perverse, heading on a fast train to hell and wanting to drag my family with me. The usual.
“Get up,” Caroline ordered.
I did as I was told without any back chat. Caroline walked a circle around me, surrounding me in a cage as surely as if she’d magicked up the bars and drilled them into the linoleum. Lips pursed, she came closer. Her rose-scented perfume made my stomach roil.
“How far gone are you?”
She made it sound like I had a terminal illness. My mother stopped crying, as if my answer would somehow make me less pregnant.
“Just over three months, I think,” I said.
“Too far gone for an abortion,” she murmured too softly for anybody else to hear but me.
My mouth fell open. Caroline says abortion is murder. In her view, it’s only acceptable if the baby is “damaged,” like a defective laptop or a wonky chair. Then it’s not abortion anymore; it’s mercy and God will understand. I guess abortion was also mercy when it prevented her new social standing from being tarnished.
“Who knocked you up?” Caroline said.
For an insane moment James’s face popped into my head. I shook the image away with an effort. I had to focus, stick to my plan no matter how bad it now seemed. If I told my parents the truth they would harass Alex and his family, and I didn’t want that.
My father would insist on marriage and when that didn’t happen he’d get violent, and not just with me. Don’t get me wrong—it’s not that I gave a toss about Alex, but going after him wouldn’t do me any good. The hate campaign would get worse and in the end nothing would be resolved.
When it came down to it, fantasising about happy endings while I made sketchy plans for the future didn’t compare to the harsh reality of telling my parents that I was pregnant. I had to buy myself some time to figure out what to do next.
“Well?” my father demanded. “Who is the father?”
I took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”
Three pairs of eyes widened, mouths opened and jaws dropped. Only saying that Father Martin was my lover would have trumped my declaration.
Caroline’s eyes narrowed. “How can you not know who the father is?”
“I didn’t look at their faces,” I blurted.
My mother’s voice climbed to a scream. “You didn’t look at their faces?”
Oh crap. I should have expressed myself better but between “I screwed a lot of guys” and “It could’ve been anybody,” I opted for what I thought would do less damage. It proved too much for my mother. She ran to the Virgin Mary altar and started praying, which I thought was pretty ironic.
My father spoke so quietly I hardly heard him. “Get out of my sight or you won’t live to regret telling me that you’re a whore.”
Caroline’s cajoling tones followed me all the way to my room. She said she wanted me at her wedding so tongues wouldn’t wag but I knew better. Having me witness her happiness while my life was in shambles would make her day much more enjoyable.
I lay on my bed conjuring up memories of sex with James to get me through the shakes, but it didn’t work. I was lying under a blanket of fear. Fear for my future and that of the tiny life current inside me.
No crying, my mind warned. Not yet.
Not until my visitor had left. My head fell forward and I shut my eyes, sighing deeply as I heard her footsteps grow closer. Caroline opened my bedroom door and stepped in. Her voice lost its habitual sweetness, leaving just the bitch part.
“You’re more stupid than I thought.”
There are times in life when it takes all your willpower just to shrug.
Caroline smiled slowly, relishing my despair. “You’re going to get everything you deserve—that’s what happens to vulgar little whores who kiss my fiancé.”
Every triumphant gloat she’d ever enjoyed at my expense came flooding back to me.
Every lie.
“Why did you do it?” I asked quietly.
She knew exactly what I was talking about. “Your dirty secret would’ve been exposed sooner or later.”
“Why have you always hated me?” I asked angrily. “What the fuck did I ever do to you?”
She turned her back. “I bought a dress for you. Something Mum approved of. It’s on a hanger behind my door. Wear it with the black ballerina flats in my wardrobe.”
I jumped off my bed. “I want you to answer me!”
She paused and turned around. “You don’t get what you want, Paisley. Not now, not ever. Haven’t you figured it out yet?”
“You knew what Manuel was doing,” I said, lowering my voice so it wouldn’t carry. “You watched us from the door and after he left that afternoon you were angry. You convinced me to come forward and tell the whole family, or don’t you remember?”
She looked at her nails with a bored expression. “No.”
“Mum and Dad were livid,” I said, my voice shaking as badly as my body. “Weeks of prayer and punishments, ice at the table and knuckle sandwiches everywhere else. I barely ate or slept and you... You treated me like dirt. I counted on you to help me during the meeting like you promised. Why didn’t you tell them what you’d seen?”
“I told the truth,” she said haughtily.
Liar! my mind screeched.
The memories didn’t race through me; they sauntered across my mind, taking their time to fill me with anguish. We’d sat at the kitchen table with our parents, Father Martin and Officer Williams. I could clearly see Caroline’s angelic face full of sorrow, her hands trembling as she clasped them together. Her voice was regretful as she divulged that in a moment of sisterly confidence I confessed to lying about Manuel’s visits to my bedroom.
I was malicious, Caroline said. I had lied in revenge for Aunt Isabel’s constant scolding and because I hated her. I was jealous of our aunt and wanted to destroy her marriage. It pained Caroline to expose my lies but she couldn’t bear the weight on her conscience any longer. Uncle Manuel and Aunt Isabel had suffered enough because of me.
Unfortunately, it was no secret that I hated my Aunt Isabel. When I was small she’d pinch me, hard, and she’d find reasons to punish me. When I got older she pointed fault at my appearance and made derogatory remarks about my schoolwork. I was openly obnoxious to her and our most recent altercation had been ugly.
Our parents, Father Martin and Officer Williams listened to Caroline, weighing her academic achievements against my truancy, her upstanding record against my history of misdemeanours. Her “honesty” against my lies. I had summoned the courage to speak out, so I tried to convince them I was telling the truth. I gave them the sordid details even down to the tiny mole on Manuel’s dick—God knows I’d seen it enough times—but the more I spoke, the angrier they got.
On the scale of Truth, Caroline’s virtues weighed more than my sins, and they found me guilty of everything she said.
Officer Williams was scathing. He said my parents could have been fined but since I was a minor he’d let me off with a warning for wasting police time. Father Martin lectured me for trying to ruin Manuel’s reputation and his marriage. He wondered if the household was descending into un-Christian practices and recommended strict punishment—a knockout kick to my stomach and a heavy praying regime as it turned out.
But my biggest reward for telling the truth came that weekend, when my extended family gathered in the sitting room to hear my formal apology to Manuel. He accepted my stilted words and embraced me, kissing me on the cheek. His dark face showed dignified hurt while his eyes told a story that nobody could read but me.
Shortly after, Manuel and Aunt Isabel moved to London, blaming me for the ugly rumours circulating in Trenmore. But it didn’t matter—my relationship with my parents and the rest of the family was destroyed.
Afterwards Caroline looked at me just like she was looking at me now: with the haughtiness of someone who’s been caught with their hands in the till but refuses to accept their guilt.
My sister tilted her head and a small smile curved her lips. Her face filled with the kind of pleasure people get when they drop all pretence and let it rip.
“You want to know why I lied?” she said softly.
I held my breath.
Her smile grew wider. “I did it because...it felt good.”
I gasped, searching her eyes for more but finding nothing but gloating satisfaction. She hadn’t given me the true reason for her lies but her words were true nonetheless. I dropped onto my bed, winded by her hatred.