Page 52 of Lie For Me

‘Drink it,’ he said. ‘You need it.’

He draped his arm along the back of the sofa, and Lucy tipped her head back.

She sniffed.

‘Very glad my fake boyfriend was there to step in.’

Jack smiled.

‘Yes, you looked like you might launch across the table at her. Poor Heather.’

‘Poor Heather?!’ Lucy’s voice reached a pitch only dogs could hear, and Jack winced. ‘Tuh, don’t you worry about Heather. Heather always comes up roses.’

She took a ragged sip of whiskey.

‘By now,’ she gestured with her glass at the clock, ‘Heather will have told Mum and Dad that I am being unreasonable, even though she does nothing but belittle me.’ She took another sip. ‘She’ll shake her head and sigh and make it seem that she’s the bigger person, putting up with me.’

Her voice trailed off, and she suddenly looked very small and tired. Jack wished he could hold her, but he was suddenly acutely aware that he was her fake boyfriend, not her real one. He sipped his whisky and listened.

‘She always does this,’ Lucy said, rolling the glass in her hand. ‘She’s always the one who works the hardest, sleeps the least, is the most stressed.’

Lucy looked around, searching for inspiration in the vintage prints on the snug walls.

‘And then,’ she put the glass down a little heavily onto the table, ‘when it all gets to be too much, it’s everyone else’s fault. She loves being a martyr—no one suffers like Heather. No one else is ever as stressed by work, or worried, or….’

He smiled in the dim light cast by the sconces on the walls.

‘I know Heather gets to you—’

Lucy snorted. ‘That’s an understatement.’

‘I also remember that a few years ago, when you had that landlord who kept harassing you and tried to force you to move out without due notice, she contacted him the same week, and he backed down faster than you could say, I’ll see you in court.’

Lucy rolled the glass in her hands.

‘And I bet,’ Jack said, shifting to look directly at her, ‘she’d defend you to the hilt if she thought anyone—anyone other than her, of course—was going to hurt you in any way.’

Lucy sat still and stared across the room at a portrait of a man astride a horse taking aim at a peaceful-looking stag.

‘Please don’t try to make me like her,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I don’t want to at the moment. I have finally,’ Lucy raised watery eyes to meet his, ‘stood up for myself.’

She was quiet for a moment, and Jack saw her gaze flick back to the hunting portrait. They sat in silence for a few moments, and then Lucy’s hand fluttered to her mouth.

‘Oh god, Jack….’ she whispered. ‘I think I was pretty awful. Wasn’t I? Was I? But I still,’ she said a little more loudly, ‘think I was right, and I only defended myself, but…I said things I didn’t need to say.’

Jack stayed quiet and sipped his whisky, welcoming the distraction of the burn of the alcohol as it slipped down. Lucy moved her glass back and forth, from hand to hand, watching the liquid sway. She wiped at her eyes and took a large swig of whisky that made her splutter and choke.

Jack rubbed her back.

‘Christ, Lucy. It’s one thing after another tonight.’

She coughed, then looked at him and giggled, wiping her eyes.

‘I’m glad you’re here.’

He squeezed her shoulder and stroked her hair away from her face, feeling the softness of her skin under his fingertips. He swallowed and forced himself to hold her gaze.

‘Me too. Feeling better?’

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