Her Perfect Lies

The common room at the hospital was filled with flowers and balloons, wall to wall, as if it was decorated for someone’s birthday. As if at any time, a cake would arrive, followed by a clown. But there was not a smile in sight, and not a happy face. Just the opposite: the patients sitting on either side of Claire as she waited for her father to appear looked conquered by life and done with the struggle of it all. They looked just like she felt – tired and hopeless and deflated.

Matt from neurology shook and stared. He couldn’t talk and couldn’t walk unassisted. He introduced himself to Claire, kissing her hand like she was the queen.

Steve was missing a leg. He spent ten minutes lamenting the fact it was his right leg and not his left. How will I go back to work? How will I earn a living? Steve drove a taxi in the West End, something he’d done for forty odd years, he told Claire. He could imagine a life without a leg but not without his taxi.

A man from the psychiatric ward, who didn’t introduce himself and didn’t even glance at Claire, talked loudly to no one in particular. He was convinced he was a Russian prince, kidnapped after the Revolution. He couldn’t recall his name or speak Russian but Claire thought he looked old enough to remember the Russian Revolution. Claire tried to focus on his voice, which was loud enough to drown all the other noises in the room but not loud enough to drown the thoughts in her head. She was thinking about her husband looming over her last night, his voice loud and threatening. When he was in the room with her, she felt tense, like he posed a danger to her that she couldn’t remember but was aware of on some subconscious level. When she was with him, she didn’t want to say or do the wrong thing in case he disapproved of her. But was it really his approval she wanted? Or was it more than that? Was it possible that she was afraid of him?

Finally, after she’d waited for ten minutes, a nurse wheeled Tony in. Matt, Steve and the old Russian prince had long returned to their rooms. Claire and her father had the common area to themselves.

She hugged him hello, wanting to give him comfort, but it was she who felt comforted when he held her close. ‘You won’t believe the treats I have for you,’ she said, placing her large backpack on the table and undoing the straps. Her face lit up in anticipation, as if the treats were for her and not for him, and she showed him boxes of food prepared by Nina and half a dozen books.

‘You need Vitamin C, so I brought a kilo of oranges.’

‘Will Vitamin C help me walk again?’

‘A pomelo. I found it in the kitchen at home. It’s supposed to be good for you.’

‘What in the world is a pomelo?’

‘I had to ask Nina. Apparently, it’s a citrus fruit from Southeast Asia. Tastes a bit like a grapefruit.’

‘Nasty and sour? No, thank you. Next time bring me some good old apples instead. Granny Smiths, my favourite.’

‘I’m glad you asked,’ she said, pulling out a bag of apples. He nodded with approval. She reached inside her bag one more time. ‘And here I have something truly wonderful.’

‘As wonderful as the pomelo? Impossible.’

‘Mock all you want. But this is Nina’s special Napoleon cake. It’s like heaven on a plate. You’ve never tried anything like it.’

‘It must be heaven if it’s named after the short French Emperor.’

‘Apparently it takes two days to make one Napoleon cake. And Nina baked one just for you.’

‘If she baked it for me, why do I only get one slice? Where is the rest of the cake?’ He smiled, winking. After Claire placed the stickers with his name on every box and placed the food in the fridge at the end of the corridor, she got comfortable in a plastic chair next to him. There was a spark in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, as if a little bit of his vitality had returned.

‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ she said wistfully. ‘That covers just about everything, doesn’t it?’

Gently he covered her hand with his. ‘You’ll remember. It’ll happen before you know it. And in the meantime, I’m here for you. We can build new memories together.’

Claire watched the man in front of her with wonder and affection. Here he was, smiling at her, giving her hope, when it was him who needed support. Her chest swelled with feeling as she squeezed his hand. After a moment of silence, she said, ‘I wanted to talk to you about the accident.’ His smile vanished and his eyes narrowed. Without a word he waited for her to continue. She cleared her throat. ‘I spoke to the police and …’ How did she bring it up without accusing him of lying? ‘You’ve been through a lot. It’s understandable that you are still confused about what happened that day.’

‘I’m not confused. I remember everything perfectly.’

‘The woman …’ Claire tried to remember her name and couldn’t. ‘She told me she pulled me out of the car herself.’

‘She’s lying.’ Tony closed his eyes and turned away from her. For a moment he looked like he was about to fall asleep in his wheelchair. Claire wanted to shake him awake, to force him to look at her and answer her questions. Why would the police lie about something like that? And if they were telling the truth, did that mean her father was the one lying?

If, as she suspected, he was suffering from partial memory loss, she knew from experience he would feel disoriented and confused. But here was the thing that bothered Claire. Her father didn’t seem disoriented or confused. He seemed absolutely, 100 per cent, certain of what he was saying.

* * *

Claire sleepwalked through the rest of her morning, staring at books and the television screen. But if someone asked her what she had been reading or watching, she wouldn’t be able to say. The window was open, trickling pale late-autumn sunlight all over the room. In the park, children were chasing one another, joyous and carefree.

Finally, she pushed the books away and turned the TV off, jumping to her feet. She couldn’t stay here all day, aimless and unsure of herself. Hour after hour passed, day after day, and still she wasn’t any closer to finding the answers. She needed to do something that would shed light on who she was.

‘Nina, do you have a moment?’ she called out. When the housekeeper appeared, Claire asked if she could take her to the ballet studio.

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