I’ll tell you no lies Page 16

  Sally-Anne wasn’t too bothered. That amount of jealousy showed just how well Lucy was respected by the people whose opinion really counted. She couldn’t help but laugh though the first time she heard the Immaculate Conception comment. It just went to show how people were so ill-informed; she wondered how the religious authorities got away with some of the crap they spouted at times. Immaculate Conception! Surely everybody should realise that Mary had been well and truly caught out in that age-old fashion. And when a woman is cornered like that she says the first thing to come into her head.

  Let’s face it, if Mary was your daughter and she said she was pregnant and still a virgin would you really believe her?

  …I didn’t think so.

  And what if she said she’d been screwed by the very Devil himself?

  …

  Whenever their busy schedules allowed it Lucy and Jayne would baby sit Rosie, even if it was just to give John and Steph a quiet night in to themselves. Shitty nappies and baby sick on her shoulder, it was all worth it to be with her niece. She really was a beautiful baby, even though it hadn’t looked too promising for the first couple of weeks.

  Twenty

  Some of the things that life throws your way can sometimes be pleasant; you accept them and with a smile and carry on. These things don’t necessarily change the course of your life. They’re just the good things that sometimes happen. They are sometimes a good marker as to whether you’re generally lucky in life or not.

  Some of the things that life throws your way can be really shitty, but even these, for the most part, you can accept and carry on with life, waiting for the good things to come along again.

  Lucy had had lots of good and bad in her life. For the greater part the people that mattered the most to her loved her unconditionally. Her father had supposedly killed himself, but then he was the bastard who wrenched her away from her previously happy life. In the overall scheme of things he’d been no real loss to her. Her mother had died in unpleasant circumstances, but they’d said at the time she didn’t suffer too much and it was purely accidental. Not a thing easy to accept but then at the same time there was a lot of good happening at that point in her life too, Jayne for one thing along with John and Steph and Stein. She came to accept it, after all Simon couldn’t have known what was about to happen; he had no real choice in the outcome.

  She’d been witness to two murders, Terry Sandford and Georgie Dunston. Terry had to die according to Sally-Anne. She’d said she was only protecting her that time, ensuring that life with Jayne could continue. Sally-Anne had convinced her that the world was no worse a place for Terry’s loss, convinced her he’d been no great loss to mankind. Georgie was a different matter altogether, he hadn’t needed to die but then again Sally-Anne was only protecting Lucy from the sort of shit life had to throw in her direction; nothing too specific with Georgie, just life’s shit, and she was very good at that. Sally-Anne could deflect most things that came Lucy’s way if she needed to, the shit that originated from men especially, and Lucy thought Sally-Anne was right about most things; she was after all her ‘guardian angel.’

  Sometimes though, usually just as life gives you the impression that everything is just fine and dandy things happen which make the whole of your world shake to its very core; these things can have no benefit to your life; they have the destructive effect of an earthquake and begin to tear at what, for some, can already be an unsteady grip on reality.

  Unless you’re the one being affected you won’t feel the earth shaking, you won’t necessarily see a life tearing itself apart. At such times the people affected sometimes pray to god, any god, for a guiding hand to help them through, maybe a guardian angel to see them safely to the other side. Luckily for Lucy she didn’t need to ask any god for assistance, she had the benefit of Sally-Anne her very own guardian angel. Sally-Anne wouldn’t let her down, she trusted Sally-Anne.

  The first of Lucy’s ‘earthquakes’ struck in the late summer of 2009, just when things were fine and dandy, and everything in the garden was rosy.

  …

  One thing Stein could be sure of after four years of inactivity was that the Triumph engine wouldn’t be inactive for much longer, not once he’d pulled on his overalls and got to work. The faithful 2.1 litre Vanguard based four-cylinder engine that sat under the sculpted bonnet of his TR4 might not have the finesse of a modern engine but it had been built in an era when things were built to last, a time when tinkering with your car was an hobby that had lately been negated by engine management systems. In Stein’s mind engine management systems should come as an option, like air conditioning or alloy wheels, it was a case of technology gone crazy, a modern day disease. Stein was no technophobe; he just didn’t like losing the ability to choose, something that was happening all too often for him as time went on.

  The engine was never going to let him down; he knew he just needed to stroke it back into life. It was the bodywork that had forced this car off the road and Stein’s experience told him only too well that when the body starts letting you down you don’t look as good as you used to. It’s very easy to become a disgruntled motorist, especially when you’re as fastidious as Stein.

  Stein’s mind had started to let him down. He’d seen what brain cancer could do to him. He’d wanted to know what he could expect from life when he’d been discussing his future with his consultant. He had a good idea of what to look out for. When he looked at a car he had a good idea of whether a particular problem was going to be terminal or not, whether or not he’d get another year out of it. In Stein’s eyes you could only go on driving a car for so long before it fell apart in front of your eyes unless you treated it with care, gave it the respect it deserved.

  Stein had a real sense of history, an unflappable desire to do things right, to do things in style. That was why the TR4 had to run, he wasn’t taking it for a last drive, a relived thrill on the roads of his younger days, but it had to run, he was absolutely certain of that.

  After an hour tinkering under the bonnet he was pleased with how she sounded, he’d had no doubt that when he’d bought the car he’d been living the best days of his life. The sound of the engine when he pulled on the throttle cable having just cleaned out the carbs and set them up to his liking reopened a memory bank he hadn’t taken a withdrawal from in many a year.

  Those memories were good but the feelings they stirred were ones of sadness, and the feelings were complete and unshakable. He’d tried many times in the recent past to convince himself of his immortality, the thing people always feel about themselves when they’re still in the prime of life. But the feeling of inevitability was too strong now.

  He’d been finding it harder to stay focussed on life of late. He knew what the next month or two would entail. He’d seen it before in one or two friends not to know what was happening. His body was letting him down, and no amount of drugs, drugs which had thus far worked so well at coping, could work forever against a disease which would ultimately claim him if he allowed it.

  For Stein this really was a living nightmare, he felt like he was now on death row but the phone could ring all it wanted, he knew there was no Governors reprieve coming his way, it was far too late for anything like that.

  The car was washed and polished and looked good enough to go out in for a spin along some country lanes. Stein knew though that most of the rotten metal was out of sight, a rotten chassis you could poke your finger through in places and bodywork fixings that would never make it past even the shoddiest of MOT inspectors.

  Stein could see the irony of working on his beloved car; he was just a person rotting away working on his rotting car. Stein also looked well enough on the outside, he even scrubbed up fairly well, for now, all of his cancer was out of sight but if someone were to give him a close inspection, started poking in the wrong places, he knew he’d be condemned to the scrap heap in an instant. A car could be left to rot for several years and still be brought back to production line condition; unfortunatel
y mankind begins the process of dying as soon as they emerge from the comfort of the womb and there really is no going back.

  With only a few more adjustments and alterations to Stein’s precise specifications the ignition key was hung on the hook and the garage light switched off. Stein went to shower and change, happy with what he’d achieved in just one afternoon’s tinkering; the young men of today’s world just didn’t know what they were missing, driving their ultra-safe, ultra-boring ‘euro boxes.’

  Stein entered the garage again after his personal tinkering time. He looked like a man with tickets to the opera, a man who could afford his very own personal box. He was carrying a book that he intended spending some time with, escaping from the realities of life, if only for a short time at least, remembering the freedom he’d once had earlier in life.

  Taking the keys to the TR4 he got himself seated in the familiar leather surroundings of his old friend. Turning the keys the engine caught first time and a smile of satisfaction settled on his face, he’d known his old friend wouldn’t let him down; there were at least some things in life you could count on.

  He’d managed only half of the first page of the book when the fumes made it difficult for him to carry on. At least he’d made the effort, closing the book he settled down to let the carbon monoxide do its job. It was very efficient; taking full advantage of the fact that haemoglobin is over two hundred times more likely to attract carbon monoxide than oxygen when given a choice between the two.

  Strange is the unlikely attraction between one thing and anything that has a natural capacity to ensure that thing its ultimate destruction. But then again, looking around maybe it’s not so strange; it’s just like the need to shoot a drug into your vein for the temporary high it affords or maybe even as simple as smoking a cigarette to help calm the nerves. Both have the capacity for death yet some people can’t live without them.

  Stein went out in style. The double exhaust pipes, one on each side of the car, had caused him an initial problem, but once he’d overcome that it was a single entry insulated pipe via the plastic rear screen of the soft-top car, sealing any gaps with a mastic gun. The car could have had articles written about it in the motoring press, it was such an ‘effective conversion of a classic two seater in British racing green.’

  The engine had died after barely fifteen minutes; Stein had made sure there was the barest minimum of fuel in the tank, just enough. He wasn’t discovered until mid-afternoon of the following day, looking healthier than he’d looked in a good while, but then Stein had wanted to look good. Just like Cleopatra prior to her own death Stein had put a lot of thought into how he was going to look in death. He’d known that the colour of his blood would be much brighter because of the carbon monoxide resulting in him looking in the pink; some would even say the best he’d looked in years. Stein was very particular, even in death.

  Reading a signed first edition copy of Arthur Ransome’s classic novel, ‘Swallows and Amazons’ was also Steins idea of style. His parents had presented him with it on his tenth birthday and it was still one of his most treasured possessions. He’d had a real sense of history; he’d wanted to do what was only right and befitting. When he was found the next day the book was open at Chapter 1, ‘The Peak In Darien’, as if he’d put it there to read during his next journey. The book had been carefully placed on the passenger seat next to the note explaining why he’d done what he’d felt was necessary to maintain some semblance of dignity, and his last will and testament. A neat little adventure story finally brought to a close, motive, opportunity, and evidence.

  If he’d had the foresight to understand what a devastating effect his actions would have on Lucy he would have probably taken the slow, lingering, painful way out and bugger the expense. But then foresight is a truly wonderful thing, a thing few of us if any are blessed with.

  Stein’s will was a simple enough matter considering the wealth he’d been able to accumulate during the long years at the top of his profession. June, his younger sister, was his only family and as such she inherited the greater part of his wealth and his home. He had however made provision for Stein studios to continue under the hands of his ‘capable assistant and worthy successor’ John.

  John had ceased being Stein’s assistant many months before and was now the real heart and soul of the business, the building was leased and still had a good few years to run before the company would need to renew it but all the equipment was bought and paid for.

  The will made provision for John to inherit all the stock and take over the business and ‘do with it as he sees fitting.’ This gave John complete control of a successful business in which he himself now had his own celebrity status. He’d believed this would happen one day; he had after all been groomed for it from a very early age, he just hadn’t wanted it to happen so soon. John also inherited the Silver Cloud with the proviso that Stein’s ashes be stowed in the voluminous boot and taken for a drive at least twice a month. Stein knew his man well enough to know that John wouldn’t have a problem with this request. It was typical of Stein, and John did after all love the Cloud, Stein had taught him well.

  Stein stipulated that Lucy would have the apartment rent-free for as long as John could ensure the building was in his control. Stein knew John would do anything he could for Lucy, and if a little proviso such as Lucy’s comfort were to help ensure the future of Stein Studios then so be it. Lucy was to also become owner of his much-cherished 1959 Jaguar XK150. As Stein explained in his will, the XK150 was a thing of exceptional beauty; it deserved an owner with an equally exceptional beauty. Lucy had earned her right to drive the car only three months earlier, but she didn’t think she’d ever be able to drive one of Stein’s cars; she felt he’d let her down, in the worst possible way.

  I told you he’d let you down, Lucy. All men let you down eventually. They can never be trusted to do things correctly in the end.

  I thought he was a good friend, Sally-Anne. More like a dad than the real thing ever was. I thought he was somebody I could trust, who’d be there when I needed him, I thought he understood me, really understood me and I thought I understood him. Apparently I was wrong, again.

  There aren’t too many people who really understand you, Lucy. Otherwise they wouldn’t keep letting you down. I’ll never let you down, Lucy. You know that don’t you?

  It’s people that disappoint me most in life, when you think you know someone, really know them; they just disappoint you, no ‘sorry Lucy’. Who cares a fuck about Lucy? Nobody, that’s who cares about Lucy!

  That’s overstating it a bit, Lucy. I care, you can always trust me, and I won’t ever let you down. Men, Lucy, it’s always men who really let you down. Your dad for one, Simon for another and now the biggest taker, steals your trust and abandons you when the going gets tough. Oh he leaves you with ‘possessions’ but that’s not what you need. You can trust Jayne, you can trust me, and now you have to start trusting yourself, do what your head tells you, not just your heart.

  Stein’s funeral had been a grand affair; all instructions even down to the flowers he wanted on his coffin and the hymns to be sung were as per Stein’s instructions. The whole of the industry turned out or so it seemed, some people would never baulk at the opportunity of making it onto the ten o’clock news, no matter what the circumstances. Along with these lower level creatures Stein would have been pleased to see some faces from the past, faces John had believed would never want to make it onto that evening’s news broadcast, along with a couple of what people would call ‘minor’ royals.

  Stein’s circle of friends had been large and far-reaching, and to John, in many cases, most surprising. The worlds of fashion, photography, gangsters, politicians and royalty all turned out to mourn Stein’s death under the one roof. Maybe not in the least bit surprising when you knew Stein, but then there were few people who got close enough to Stein to really know him.

  There was however one person missing from his wish list, and that would have made St
ein weep into his bloody Mary if he’d been watching from his hallowed perch on high. Lucy wasn’t there. She’d been unable to forgive him for his last living act, an act Lucy saw as one of pure selfishness. She’d thought she’d known him. Now she’d come to realise that whoever she knew, in one way or another, would probably let her down at some stage in her life. Trust was something to treasure, it was in short supply as far as Lucy was concerned.

  Men had let her down since she was eleven years old, men who were supposedly close to her. Stein had died because of a disease in his head, not directly the disease but because of what the disease had made him do. Eventually the diseased mind had been all powerful. If Lucy had thought about this too much she may have seen the irony in his situation compared to hers. She didn’t think about it at all though.

  It seemed that the only man in her life who hadn’t let her down so far was John; in her mind this was now just another fuck up waiting to happen. Lucy had the world at her feet; she was becoming a household name at just eighteen years of age but what people couldn’t see was how bitter she was inside. With a lifestyle like hers what could she possibly be bitter about?

  Sally-Anne knew the answer. Sally-Anne was after all inside Lucy’s head, advising and making suggestions as to how she should live her life. Lucy trusted Sally-Anne; she’d never let her down before.

  Twenty-One

  The mind, it could be said, is like a corridor, a long corridor with many doors off it. No two corridors are ever the same. Some people are destined to have more doors in their corridor than others. Some, such as Terence Sandford are born with few doors and have even fewer opportunities in life to build any more. Behind each door is one of life’s opportunities, maybe a desire, a dream maybe a particularly good memory or a particularly bad one.