My Biggest Lie Read Free Page A

clipped than I remembered and I couldimagine her playing hockey; she was a middle-class girl from the home counties, with a mother, a father, a brother and a sister; she owned and wore pyjamas; she thought her knees looked funny, her gorgeous knees pressed up against my jeans. It was fascinating to see her awkward, wondering if I should stay; she wanted me to, but she was a nice girl, a nice girl who shoplifted, and we decided we should take it slow.
    I already had everything I thought I could ever need from her. She liked me, and I was lost.
    Before I got up to go back to the sofa, I said something clichéd and untrue. ‘From the start, it was always meant to be you and me.’
    We lay there looking at each other, our bodies at right angles, our faces side-on, curious.
    â€˜I didn’t know you felt like that,’ she said.
    â€˜Really?’
    â€˜No, I knew!’ She laughed and we looked at each other some more.
    â€˜You’re not making any move to kiss me,’ she said.
    â€˜I’m keeping still. I’m scared I might startle you.’
    â€˜Just approach slowly. No sudden movements.’
    I stayed where I was and carried on looking.
    Her prominent ears. Her funny knees. Her hungry smile.
    My life together with Sarah finally ended with a long Tube ride to Heathrow that afternoon. We hugged each other through a pole in the packed carriage. We couldn’t get the right angle to kiss. She still wouldn’t meet my eyes. The day before I had borrowed a shopping trolley from a supermarket to haul boxes of my books to the nearest charity shop. I didn’t even approve of giving books tocharity – the publishing industry seemed in need of enough charity itself. But what was I supposed to do, bin them? I didn’t have such a strong stomach. The ones I couldn’t bear to give away I had placed, three boxes full, with my aunt. My friends had enough trouble finding space for their own books in their tiny London flats. Sarah’s parents were coming round the next day to collect her stuff and she was going to live with them for a couple of weeks while she decided what to do.
    We arrived at Heathrow and as we queued on the concourse to check in Sarah told me once again how much fun I was going to have. I put my hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. For once, she looked back at me. ‘Please, Sarah, I don’t want to go without you.’
    â€˜I’m moving home tomorrow,’ she said, looking away. ‘I’m twenty-nine and I’m moving home. I’ve got you to thank for that. If you don’t get on this plane, what are you going to do? Where will you go? My parents certainly don’t want to see you.’
    We didn’t talk about her confession to her mother that I had lied to her, or about her father’s reluctant proposition then to beat me up. Her father and I had always enjoyed talking to each other. I wanted to ring him up and offer to help him kick the crap out of me.
    â€˜Sarah, I love you. We’re supposed to be together.’
    â€˜It’s just words, Liam. You’re just words. And not even very original ones. I can’t believe in them any more.’
    â€˜I’m not a liar, I told you the –’
    â€˜If you begin that again I promise that I will scream.’
    â€˜Oh, please . We’re not simple people. We don’t have to obey a soap-opera’s sense of justice.’
    â€˜I will scream and I will walk away and any slender chance we have of staying together will be gone.’
    I was crying by now. Unless I specifically tell you otherwise, assume I’m always crying.
    â€˜And stop pronouncing those tears.’
    â€˜Is it that slender?’ I asked.
    â€˜Yes,’ she said.
    I turned back after I had my ticket and passport checked on my way to the departure gate. She was still there watching me. We reflected each other across five years. There aren’t many looks in a lifetime