A Suitable Lie Read Online Free PDF Page B

wall and let the water massage my shoulders. Excellent. On and on the water poured, cleansing, soothing. I almost felt ready to phone Anna. I opened my eyes. Anna. Shit, what will she say?
    Something registered in my brain. A colour. The water pooling at my feet was stained pink. My eyes were then drawn to my groin.
    ‘Bastards,’ I yelled. While I was comatose someone had shaved my balls and painted them bright red. I prayed no one had taken a photo for the wall of shame behind the bar at the rugby club. It was then I heard the sniggers. Jumping from the shower I ran into the bedroom. Twenty barrel-chested men were in various stages of apoplectic laughter. When they spotted the dye running down the inside of my thighs like some bizarre menses, their guffaws reached new heights.
    ‘Who … how … what the?’ I could barely speak and they more they laughed, the angrier I got. The angrier I got, the more they laughed. Weak with impotent rage all I could do was stamp my feet and storm back into the bathroom. Well, as much of a storm as a naked man with fluorescent-pink balls could manage.
    Back under the shower I examined my scrotum for razor cuts and then soaped off the last of the dye. Bastards. I managed a chuckle.
    By the time I got out of the shower, my bedroom was empty. Drying and dressing quickly, I phoned Patricia’s mother.
    ‘You all right, Andy? The idiots haven’t damaged you in anyway, have they?’ She asked. We’d barely spoken since Pat died andunexpressed emotions lingered in the space between words. Assuring her I was fine, I asked to speak to Pat.
    ‘Daddy, I’m a good boy,’ his sweet soprano filled my ear.
    ‘Hey, buddy. Daddy misses you.’
    ‘Ganny got me a toy, Daddy.’ You’re not missing me too much then, my doting smile bounced off the mirror opposite me.
    ‘Remember you’re Daddy’s best boy, ok?’
    ‘Okay,’ he replied.
    ‘Right, I’ll have to go. You be a good boy, son.’
    ‘You be a good dad, Dad.’
    I had less success with Anna. The answer machine came on straight away and I spoke to the recording, told it I was fine. In Edinburgh, but still in one piece.
     
    T he weekend quickly assumed the pattern of many previous trips, minus the usual rugby match. There was Guinness, Guinness and more Guinness. Throw in plenty of food, some women to chat up and you had your ideal stag weekend.
    Thankfully the visit had been arranged with only two nights stay and soon we were on the train on the way back across to the west of the country. The sorry sight of once-healthy, strapping men, reduced by too much alcohol and not enough sleep, assaulted our fellow passengers. Vomit, beer, bad breath and BO vied for their nasal attentions. I doubted that anyone had used up any valuable drinking time to attend to such a chore as personal hygiene.
    ‘What a weekend.’ I said to Jim. We were propping each other up, shoulders and heads touching.
    ‘You’re welcome, brother.’ Jim sipped at a hair-of-the-dog, last can of beer.
    ‘You’re still a bastard.’ I sat up. Looked at him for the first time that morning. Properly looked. The right side of his face was a mess. Swollen and black and blue. ‘What the hell happened to your eye?’
    ‘Yeah,’ he tapped the side of his eye with care. ‘You should see the other guys.’
    Plural? ‘Guys?’
    ‘My brother the lightweight was in his scratcher, snoring. A few of us found one of those titty bars. The bouncers thought I was paying too much attention.’ He shrugged. ‘Nobody talks to me like that, mate.’
    ‘Oh for fucksake, Jim.’ I could see it all play out. It wasn’t like it was a rarity. Jim gets challenged. Jim takes offence. Jim goes in swinging. ‘Its guys like you that give testosterone a bad name.’
    ‘You’re just worried about the wedding photos.’
    ‘I am not.’
    ‘Yeah you are.’
    I had another, closer look. ‘To be fair, worse could happen in a rugby match.’
    Mum and Anna would be worried. They wouldn’t