Read Online Telling Lies to Alice by Laura Wilson - Free Book Online Page A

He let go and blew on his fingertips as if they were on fire. “Whoa! You’ve been on your own too long, I can see that.”
    “Sorry. It’s just—”
    “You never used to react like that. Rather the reverse, from what I remember.”
    I took a deep breath. “Jack, please don’t.”
    “All right.” He gestured towards the loaf. “What’s that, a dog biscuit?”
    “Bread. I made it.”
    “Made it? What do you think shops are for?”
    He looked at the oozing slab I’d prepared. “Not exactly gourmet fare, is it?”
    “Sorry. The bread falls apart if I cut it any thinner.”
    Jack pulled a piece off the top slice, chewed it, and looked surprised. “Not bad. It certainly tastes brown, anyway.”
    “ Does Val know you’re here?” I continued, ignoring him.
    “In a manner of speaking.”
    “Which manner would that be?”
    “Well, she knows I’m not at home, so I must be somewhere else, but she’s not too bothered where.”
    “I bet she is bothered. Did you have an argument?”
    He shook his head. “Not really . . . The thing is, she’s a bit preoccupied at the moment. It’s Rosalie, she’s doing another degree—art, this time. She and her boyfriend have cooked up this so-called project where they have to buy one thing from every page of one issue of the Exchange & Mart and take photographs of them and the places they came from and the people who sold them . . . there’s stuff all over the place, prams and bedsteads and ski boots and all sorts of junk. We might as well be living on the set of Steptoe & Son . . . . There’s a car, too. Filthy old rust bucket, broken down in the middle of the drive. Val’s livid. Not with Rosalie, mind you—she says it’s my fault for lending her the money.”
    “Why did you?”
    “I thought it was for paints and things. I said to Rosie, this isn’t art, it’s shopping, and she said, yes, that’s the point. At the end they’re going to put all this crap on a conveyor belt somewhere and film it so it looks like prizes on a game show. I said to Val, who’s going to want to see that? I’d rather look at the test pattern . . . I only lent Rosalie the money in the first place because I wanted her home for the summer, not hitchhiking to Christ knows where with her revolting boyfriend. Covered in pustules, you’ve never seen anything like it. And he dresses like a raving poof.”
    “She’s old enough to know her own mind, surely?”
    “Yes, but she’s my daughter and I’m not letting that . . . troll . . . maul her about.”
    “All women are somebody’s daughter, Jack. Even me. Believe it or not. Why don’t you sit down?”
    “In a minute.”
    I began stripping the bottom leaves off the roses and arranging them in a vase. Jack moved behind me—too close. I could feel his breath. I bent over the flowers and tried to ignore him. He kissed my neck. This time, I was prepared. I didn’t jump or move away, just stood there and let him do it. I didn’t mind—in fact, it was rather nice to have someone touch me again, and I’d always been fond of Jack—it was good, reassuring, to have someone around, even if I wasn’t sure why he was here yet . . . “It’s good to see you again,” he murmured, “so good to see you . . .” He put his hands on my shoulders. I put my head back and closed my eyes and suddenly, I saw Lenny’s face in my mind, his eyes looking down into mine, as if he was on top of me, about to—
    “Don’t tense up, Alice.”
    “I’m not, it’s just—”
    Before I could stop him Jack’s hands shot down my arms and he grabbed my hands in his and yanked them behind my back. “Are you ever going to relax?”
    “Jack, you’re hurting me.”
    “You’re resisting.” He sounded as if he was enjoying himself.
    “Of course I’m bloody resisting,” I said through gritted teeth.
    “Aren’t you pleased to see me?”
    “Jack, don’t. ”
    “Say you’re pleased to see me.”
    “I’m pleased to see you,” I gasped. “Now