All the Little Lies

Thank goodness for Maggie, thundering up the stairs even faster than usual. Stella put down her brush as her bedroom door burst open. ‘Where’s the fire?’

Maggie ignored her and threw herself on Stella’s bed. ‘Got anything decent to wear?’ She laughed and before Stella could speak, ‘Don’t answer that. Come to my room and try something on.’

There was no point in arguing and anyway it would be too dark to carry on soon. ‘Where are we going?’ Since she’d come to live with Maggie – been taken under her wing was how Maggie described it – she’d had the kind of social life she’d only ever dreamed of.

Maggie’s room was even untidier than Stella’s and she flung open her bursting wardrobe and tossed a great pile of dresses onto the unmade bed. As Stella picked through them Maggie pulled off her own jeans and shirt and stood in her black bra and lacy knickers, one hand on her hip, studying Stella and shaking her head as she held dress after dress up to her shoulders. Stella knew her own figure wasn’t bad. She and Maggie were pretty much the same size but she would never have Maggie’s confidence. Came from always having had money she guessed. The best schools and all that. This house actually belonged to Maggie. Before coming to art school Stella had never known anyone who owned their own house and it was almost unbelievable that someone in her early twenties could do so.

‘I can’t choose until I know where we’re going, Margot.’ She grinned as she said it, knowing Maggie hated the name her parents had given her. Hated them too for that matter. She said her dad had only gifted her this house so he wouldn’t feel bad about moving to the States with his new young wife. At least that was more than she’d had from her mother who, according to Maggie, had deserted them when she was a toddler. The fact that neither Maggie nor Stella – now her nana no longer recognized her – had any real family had helped their friendship develop.

Maggie threw a shoe in Stella’s direction and plonked down among the pile of clothes, lighting a cigarette and talking through puffs. ‘My man has invited us to a gallery opening. So pick something tres glam.’

The gallery was beautiful. All pale walls with black leather sofas. Waiters circulated carrying trays of champagne. Stella had never had it and wasn’t sure she liked it, but Maggie swallowed hers in one gulp and grabbed another. Then Stella felt her stiffen beside her.

‘Damn it, the old bitch is here.’

Following her gaze across the room Stella saw a tall, blonde woman in a slender black dress. Her hair gleamed under the lights, and just looking at her made Stella feel like a scruffy midget. This must be the wife of Maggie’s current man, Ben. Maggie liked older men and was never bothered if they were married.

It had to be Ben who approached them. He took both Maggie’s hands in his and kissed her cheek and from the way Maggie stroked his jacket and gazed up at him Stella could tell he was more than one of her flings – a lot more.

He was probably at least forty, but very handsome in a dark Irish kind of way. ‘It’s Maggie, isn’t it?’ he said, his eyes twinkling.

With a quick glance around, Maggie punched his arm. ‘You never told me she would be here,’ she hissed.

‘Couldn’t be helped, I’m afraid, but I doubt you’ll be lonely.’ He turned to Stella. ‘And that goes for both of you.’ He took her hand, and she felt herself flush, wishing she’d had time to wipe it on her dress because it felt sticky. He looked from her to Maggie. A flash of white teeth. ‘Are you related?’

Maggie moved closer to him, touching his arm. Her voice turning gruff. ‘Stella is my flatmate.’

‘Ah, just alike in beauty then. So are you an artist too, Stella?’

‘An art student, yes.’

‘That’s wonderful. Did Maggie tell you we’re planning a small exhibition of young talented folk like yourselves? We’ve already snapped up a couple of Maggie’s collages.’

Before she could answer he beckoned to another man who had been talking to an elderly couple nearby.

‘You must meet my partner, David Ballantyne. He knows more about art than anyone in London.’

As the other man came over Ben said, ‘David, meet two of the young talents for our new show.’ Then he gave Maggie’s bottom a pat and headed away.

David was a bit younger than Ben. Mid-thirties Stella guessed. He was nice-looking where Ben was handsome, with fair hair and glasses, but still looked good in his dinner jacket and black specs. His smile was friendly, but he seemed embarrassed to be stranded with them, especially with Maggie rather obviously scowling after Ben’s retreating back.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your names,’ he said, and Stella thought she detected a hint of a Scottish burr.

Maggie gave him her brilliant smile and held out her hand. ‘Maggie de Santis.’ She always pronounced her surname with an almost comical Italian accent. Despite hating her first name, and the parents who gave it to her, Maggie was very proud of the fact that her ancestors had been Italian aristocracy. She tossed back her shining chestnut hair. ‘You and Ben chose two of my collages for the show.’

David’s eyes crinkled as he turned to Stella with a laugh. ‘Ah, that explains where I’ve seen you before. It’s a very amusing picture, although not a good likeness if I may say so.’

The collage he must be talking about had lots of photos of Maggie’s friends in the most bizarre poses and situations. Stella’s face was right in the middle; she was wearing a bathroom plunger as a hat, decorated with a huge feathery-topped carrot. Her laugh came out too loud. She had no idea Maggie had got the picture into an exhibition.

Maggie smacked David’s hand. ‘Naughty boy. That was supposed to be a surprise.’

Stella could never believe how confident Maggie was with men who were so much older and more sophisticated. But then looking at the way David’s face had flushed perhaps he wasn’t so sophisticated after all.

His eyes were still on Stella. ‘I don’t remember seeing any of your work.’

‘You haven’t.’ It sounded rude and she was very aware of her Geordie accent but he didn’t seem bothered.

‘Well why don’t you bring some stuff in tomorrow for me to see?’

Someone waved from across the room, and he smiled and told them to enjoy the evening and was gone. Stella’s heart was beating so fast she thought she might collapse. And when Maggie grabbed her arm she leaned in to her for support.

‘Oh my god! Thank you so much.’

Maggie tapped her glass with her own. ‘That’s what friends are for. He’ll love your stuff. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s taken a fancy to you, too.’

Stella told her not to be silly, but watching him smiling and chatting as he moved around the room she did think he looked rather lovely.

Eve

The doorbell to the flat shrilled into the silence. They all ignored it. Eve didn’t take her eyes off David. Could he be her real father? Surely not. She knew how much he loved Jill. But no marriage was perfect and she guessed her parents’ must have come under strain when they realized they couldn’t have children of their own.

As if he knew what she was thinking David met her eyes and shook his head. His voice was suddenly old and weary. ‘We were wrong to keep all this from you, but there never seemed to be a right time.’

The doorbell pierced the air again, a long ring, but Jill spoke over it. ‘But we were all so happy, weren’t we? How could that be wrong?’

Eve’s phone began to buzz on the table – Alex. She had to answer.

‘I’m outside. Got your message.’ He must have come straight from the train.

‘I thought we could drive home together. The light’s not good at this time of night.’

She bit down on a spasm of annoyance. She was a better driver than Alex even with her bump. Why did he insist on treating her like an invalid?

‘Stay there,’ she said, ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

Her father said, ‘Eve, my darling …’

She shook her head and held up her hand to keep him from going on. ‘It’s all right, just leave me to think about it.’ She shoved the article into her bag and turned to her mother. ‘But please try to find that letter for me.’

As she was buttoning her jacket, Jill said, ‘Why don’t I come round tomorrow morning and we can talk this through? You can ask me anything you want then.’

Eve nodded. ‘OK.’ She must have said it more coldly than she meant because Jill’s face crumpled.

‘Eve, you must believe we’ve always done our best by you,’ she said pulling at the curls on the nape of her neck.

It was a gesture so familiar that Eve felt a twist of pain deep inside. She said, ‘I know you have,’ and kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Alex talked about work on the drive home, but she was hardly listening. He was twenty years older than her and taught art history at University College London. It was how they had met. They hadn’t got together until just before she graduated, and he never actually taught her. Her parents weren’t too happy at the time. He’d been married before and Eve knew they were hoping she would come back to live with them for a while after she graduated, but there was never any chance of that. Although she couldn’t have hoped for a better childhood, her teenage years had been difficult as she began to find their love stifling.

They’d grown to like Alex when they realized how happy he made her, especially when he agreed with Eve that they would move to Hastings after her mother’s heart attack.

As they pulled up outside the house he said, ‘What’s wrong?’

She wasn’t ready to talk about it in the car, so she shook her head and, despite the baby bulk, got out quickly and had let herself in by the time he’d retrieved his briefcase from the back seat and locked the car.

Standing in the kitchen she could hear him take off his coat and walk in behind her. When she turned, his kiss was so warm and familiar she felt bad for shutting him out.

‘Come on, Eve, tell me,’ he said.

She took the scrunched-up article from her bag, then pulled him into the living room to make him sit on the sofa beside her. ‘I found out today that my parents have been lying to me all my life.’

He took the article and glanced at her, expecting her to explain, but she tapped the paper and he fumbled in his pocket for his reading glasses. ‘What is it?’

‘Just read it, please, Alex. I’ll go and dish the dinner up.’

She’d made a casserole in the slow cooker, so there was nothing much to do except to lay the table and put on some microwave rice. She expected Alex to come and talk to her when he’d finished reading, but he didn’t, so she ladled out the food and called him. When she handed him his plate he didn’t look at her.

‘Alex? You realize who she is, don’t you? And my parents lied to me about knowing her.’

He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, that must have come as a real shock. I can understand you being upset, but I suppose they thought it was for the best.’

She knew her voice sounded bitter. ‘Best for me or for them?’

‘Well I’m sure it would have upset you to know your mother was dead. And when would be the right time to come out with something like that? Did they tell you what she died of?’

‘Just that it was an accident.’ She shuddered. ‘She died in a fire – how awful.’

‘Oh, no. Well, that would have been a difficult thing to tell a child.’

‘And there’s the suggestion that it was mysterious. Whatever that means.’

They were both silent, thinking about it, until Eve felt a kick from the baby that was so hard it made her cry out.

Alex said, ‘All right?’

‘Yeah. Just a kick.’

‘All the same, you look exhausted. Maybe you should get an early night.’

She wanted to tell him to leave the worrying to her, but she knew how much this baby meant to him. It meant a lot to her too, of course. She was thirty-one and they’d tried for three years before she got pregnant. Although Alex looked wonderful for over fifty – his hair was still thick and there were no signs of grey – he’d been anxious that he might be too old for babies soon. And of course he’d already lost two children. His first wife had taken his son and daughter to Australia after the divorce and had apparently told them all sorts of lies about Alex, so they refused to see him. They were teenagers now, but he didn’t even know how to contact them.

She touched the article. ‘Have you noticed the date of the Houghton exhibition?’

‘Yes, the year before you were born.’

‘I looked it up. It was just over nine months before.’

Alex studied the report again, then put down his glasses. ‘You’re not thinking …?’

‘It makes sense. Young artist trying to make it and an influential older man.’

Alex shook his head. ‘No, I can’t believe that of David.’

‘He knew Stella at the time and if they did have an affair he could have been lying to Mum all these years as well as to me. Or maybe she decided to forgive and forget. Just glad to get a baby.’

‘Eve, this is ridiculous. It’s your parents we’re talking about.’

‘I wonder what he’ll say if I ask for a DNA test?’

‘You wouldn’t do that, would you?’

She suddenly felt enormously weary. ‘I don’t know.’ Alex was right that she needed to rest and she wanted to be alert when her mother came round tomorrow. She collected their dishes, tipped the remains in the bin and put the plates into the sink. ‘I think I will go up now.’ She kissed his hair, but stopped at the door. ‘You know, after what I’ve learned about my parents today I don’t feel I know them at all.’

She fell into a fitful sleep as soon as she was in bed. At one point, half-awake and not sure if she was dreaming, she thought she heard Alex talking to someone on the phone.

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