Page 41 of None of This is True

‘You mean, everything she’s been telling me about herself, about her life, is untrue?’

‘Well. No. I wouldn’t go that far. But you can’t believe everything she says. Just keep your wits about you.’

Alix narrows her eyes at Walter, assessing how much he is trying to manipulate her. She says, ‘Ah. OK. I’ll bear that in mind.’

‘Probably best not to say anything to Jojo. About this conversation. You know?’

‘Why not say anything to Josie?’

‘Just …’ He pauses. ‘Josie just likes to control things. You know? If she knew that I’d been talking to you, she would feel like she was losing control of you.’

‘Of me?’

‘Yes. Of you and the whole situation.’ He sighs. ‘Believe me, I know Josie better than anyone, and she’s a control freak. And you don’t even realise you’re being controlled until it’s too late.’

Alix stares at Walter for a moment. Once again, she is struck by the sheer blandness of him, the impenetrable wall of nothingness between his physical being and the rest of the world. Yet he is clearly a master gaslighter. Behind the dead eyes lies the soul of a groomer and a liar and an abuser. She feels a bolt of ice shoot through her core and shivers slightly.

She serves the pasta half an hour later at the kitchen table. Nathan has still not returned. The conversation limps on. They discuss the primary school that they have in common, working out which teachers are still there, and which have left. They discuss the state of the world, in a stolid, one-dimensional way. Leon walks in at one point, and Alix is able to leave the table for a couple of minutes to get him a snack and a drink, and to locate a charging cable for him. They discuss how delicious the food is and Alix manages to stretch out the description of the recipe into a five-minute spiel.

‘Anyway,’ says Josie, after a somewhat painful silence. ‘Where’s that husband of yours? Maybe you should give him another call?’

‘Yes,’ says Alix. ‘Maybe. I’ll give him another ten minutes.’

‘Hardly worth him coming back now,’ Josie says. ‘I mean, dinner’s over.’ Josie shakes her head sadly and tuts under her breath. ‘Terrible,’ she says. ‘I’m so sorry, Alix. You poor thing.’

Alix feels herself tense up with a weird, defensive anger. ‘I’m not a poor thing,’ she replies tersely. ‘I really am not.’ She gets to her feet, the chair scraping noisily against the floor tiles, then collects the plates together loudly. She drops them on the counter above the dishwasher with a clatter and then goes into the hallway and yells, ‘Bedtime! Now!’ to a startled-looking Leon.

When she comes back to the kitchen, Josie and Walter are collecting themselves together and the atmosphere between them is horrendous.

‘Well,’ says Josie. ‘Thank you so much for a lovely evening. The food was delicious. But I think we’d best let you get on now.’

Alix drops her head into her chest. She sighs loudly and says, ‘I am so sorry. So, so sorry. But yes. And thank you for coming.’

Walter brings his empty beer bottle and places it gently on the counter. He looks like he’s about to say something, but then the moment passes, and he turns to leave. She sees them to the door and Josie pats her arm and gives her a strange hug.

‘Men,’ she whispers into Alix’s ear. ‘Fucking men .’

Alix cleans the kitchen after they leave. Then she sits and finishes the third of a bottle of wine that was left of the one she’d been sharing with Josie. When the kitchen is dark and the dishwasher is running and she feels drunk enough, she gets to her feet and goes to the living room where Leon is still sitting in the dark, curled into the big sofa, the cat at his side, staring at the TV screen with wide, exhausted eyes.

She sits down next to him and gently pulls his headphones away from his head. ‘It’s late, baby. We both need to go to bed now.’

‘Can I have five more minutes?’ he asks sweetly.

The sofa feels nice. The cat is purring. She nods and says, ‘OK. I’ll put my timer on.’ She sets the timer on her phone to go off in five minutes and leans back into the sofa, pulling her son’s feet on to her lap.

‘Why were those people here?’ Leon asks after a moment.

‘Oh,’ she replies, rubbing his toes absent-mindedly. ‘I’m interviewing them. For a podcast.’

He nods. Then he turns to look at her and says, ‘Why was the lady standing outside your studio?’

‘The lady who was here?’

‘Yes. The lady who was here. She was standing outside your studio, when you were in there with that old man, like she was listening. I saw her. Through those doors. She looked really cross. Really, really cross.’

10 p.m.

Josie and Walter walk home in silence. Josie feels sick. All the rich food (she’d expected something more sophisticated from Alix than stodgy pasta and can’t help feeling a bit short-changed) and all the wine. She’s cross that her expensive champagne never made it out of the fridge, and cross with the way that Alix just dumped her roses in a cheap-looking vase and didn’t trim the stems or fluff them out at all. They weren’t the cheap ones; they cost twelve pounds. They deserved better.

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