Please Don’t Be Pinocchio

Trust. Such a simple word, yet a word so loaded with meaning. Take off the first T and you have Rust, something that breaks down hard metals, or a disease of plants. Or take out the S and add an H and you have Truth.

And that’s the problem. Because without Truth, there can be no Trust.

It’s something I’ve always been able to do, sniff out a lie. At first I wasn’t sure what was happening, why sometimes people’s noses would grow. I just thought it was something that happened to everyone once in a while. It wasn’t until I was about five and saw the film Pinocchio that I twigged that people’s noses growing meant they were lying. It wasn’t until much later that I realised that I was the only one who could see it.

But lying is something that everyone does, right? Everyone. My parents lied to me, they lied about Santa Claus, they lied about the tooth fairy. It’s what parents do. “Hey, tooth fairy’s coming to visit tonight.” And Whoop. The nose showed the lie.

At school it became even more confusing, but over the years I learned to play the system. “Well done Jennifer,” Mrs Turnbull would say to one of the girls in class. That’s a lovely piece of work.” And despite the length of Mrs Turnbull’s nose, Jennifer preened at her 10/10 at the bottom of the half-filled page. But then again, Jennifer’s parents were rich, Jennifer’s parents donated a lot to the school.

Once I tested Mrs Turnbull when I scraped a 6/10 – again – for a piece that stretched to two sides. I asked “Did you read it all Mrs Turnbull? It must be very difficult reading so many essays.”

“Of course I read them all child. That’s what I’m here to do.” Whoop. 

For my next essay, I decided to include a rude word. I was writing about Bagger’s Bridge, except I wrote Bugger’s Bridge. It was towards the bottom of the page, so I suspect words that low down didn’t get much notice, especially when written by those who went by the name of ‘child’. After all, with more than 30 in each class, it must be difficult to remember the names of those who had less than extraordinary parents. 

For the rest of the year I kept putting in the odd swear word, just because I could. What would happen if she caught me? Would she tell the headmaster? What would he say if I said that I’d been doing it for weeks because I wanted to see if she’d been reading my essays properly? And I had the proof on every page.

Friendships were difficult at first. I became friends with Katy, someone else Mrs Turnbull called child. But eventually she lied to me as well. She said that she couldn’t come over one evening because her mum was taking her to the dentist. And even though her nose was small and cute, it popped out. Funny, I thought to myself, even the freckles got bigger.

The following day I challenged Katy, asking where she’d gone, saying I knew she’d been lying. She cried, saying she’d been asked to join Petra’s gang, and to keep quiet about it. Petra was the school bully, the sort who took pleasure in making other kids lives miserable, the sort who made teachers question their career choice. With Petra you were either with her or against her, and you didn’t want to be the latter. Some escaped her notice, and thankfully I was one of those. But Katy with her bright red hair and freckles had caught her notice and so was recruited, though reluctantly. Thankfully Petra realised that the red hair made Katy too noticeable and recognisable, so she was asked to leave the gang.

At home, things changed.

“What’s your new assistant like?” mum asked dad one evening. 

“Who, Emma? Okay I suppose. Need to see how she shape’s up before I can comment really. Though she is well qualified and seems keen enough.” Whoop.

What was the lie, I wondered.

“Pretty is she?” mum asked, a smile on her face.

“Not especially. Okay I suppose, but nothing to write home about.” Whoop.

I thought I ought to keep an eye on this situation. Dad started working harder, working late.  “Big project,” he told mum. Whoop. Then one Thursday evening he told mum he’d have to go in the office over the weekend. “There’s so much to do,” he said. Whoop. “I’ll probably be in all day Saturday and most of Sunday.”

“Oh Pete, you know we were going to mum’s for her birthday.”

“Sorry Sarah, can’t be helped.” Whoop. “You know I’d prefer to go to your mum’s than work.” Whoop. “I’d get out of it if I could.” Whoop. Whoop.

Mum went into the kitchen, clattering the dishes, clearly upset by dad’s sudden change of plan, leaving dad and I alone.

“Will Emma be in this weekend as well?” I asked.

“Well, yes, she’s part of the team.”

“And who else?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Whoop.

“Will anyone else be there?”

“Yes of course.” Whoop.

I sat back and looked at the man who’d lied to me in the past, those small white lies told to all kids, the ones that don’t really matter. Now I was wondering who he really was. I sat back and crossed my arms.

“Dad, are you having an affair with Emma?”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous.” Whoop. Whoop. Whoop. I ducked at that last one as his nose went past my right ear.

“You’re lying dad, I know you are. You’ve been seeing Emma behind mum’s back. You see dad, I always know when you’re lying. I know every time you tell the smallest of lies, when you don’t bring something back from the shops, and you tell mum it’s because they’d run out when in fact you’d forgotten. And like when you buy her flowers and they’ve got lilies in them, when you know they make her sneeze. And you say it’s because that was all they had rather than admit you forgot about the lilies. And when you said you were ill that time you didn’t want to put up those shelves.

“Now I’ll ask you one question, and you’d better tell the truth. Do you love mum?”

Dad just looked at me, a mountain of hurt and confusion in his eyes. As he began to speak, I got ready to duck. “Of course I love your mum. She means the world to me.” I watched his nose, and as the tears came to his eyes, it began to shrink.

“Then you better rearrange your work for this weekend and tell Emma it’s over. I’m sure you’re just a distraction for her as well.” I turned to leave. “Oh, and buy mum some flowers on the way home tomorrow. No lilies.”

The following evening dad came home and told mum he’d rearranged his work schedule, saying the project had been put back two weeks so he wouldn’t need to work that weekend. Small lie there. Whatever project he’d been working on had not been pushed back two weeks, but then again it had never been that big or urgent anyway. Besides he’d gotten the flowers, and not a lily in sight. Emma moved to another branch shortly afterwards and dad’s new assistant is a nice guy called Patrick who is of no interest to dad, other than professionally.

I finished school and joined the police force. After all, I was good at spotting a lie. Might as well make some use of it. Now don’t get me wrong, I can’t tell what the truth is, can’t read people’s minds, but if they say something, I can tell if it’s a lie. 

My boss wondered why I was so confident, so I told him to tell me a number of statements, either truth or lie, and I would tell him which was which. He thought he’d caught me out. He said the address of a suspect was 24 Grange Road, when in fact it was 14 High Street. I knew both addresses, so I told him he thought he’d told me the truth when in fact it was incorrect as the suspect had since moved. I didn’t tell him about the nose thing. But I’m present at a lot of interviews, and as long as the answers amount to more than ‘No comment’, I can let them know what part of the information they should concentrate on in their investigations.

Then I met James. I’d had a few boyfriends, but I always knew when things were cooling off, always knew when they were looking for the exit, always got out before I could get hurt. But James, he was different. He was open, honest, and I thought he was the one. And he didn’t lie. True, he made excuses sometimes, who doesn’t, but I knew they weren’t lies. He’d always help if I needed anything doing, looked after me if I was ill. He even organised a pet cremation when my old cat Barney died. Most boyfriends had just seen him as a smelly old inconvenience. Yes, James was different, and I was beginning to think he was the one. 

Until last night.

“I’ll be around a bit later tomorrow night,” he said just before he left.

“Working late?”

“Err, yeah.” Whoop. That was a shock as he’d never lied to me before.

“Not seeing another woman then?” I asked, already dreading what he might say.

“Course not.” Whoop. “See you about eightish. Bye.” I was too stunned to say anything more, as he left hurriedly. I kept thinking back to when dad had cheated on mum. Mum had never known, and I knew that dad had never repeated his mistake. But mum and dad had other things to think about, other things to keep them together. The years they had shared, the fact they had a house, a child. James and I were good together, but we didn’t have that.

So now here I am, pacing in my flat, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as I wait for him to arrive. If he arrives. It’s already 8.15 and still there’s no sign. I keep checking out the window, must be every minute, though I tell myself it’s every five. And then I pace to the other side of the room and back before I check again.

At last there he is, there’s his old VW Golf, pulling into the spot under the tree opposite. Quickly I sit down and pretend to be reading a magazine. He mustn’t see what a state I’m in.

He rings, and I brace myself as I prepare to confront him. I buzz him up before moving to the kitchen, unable to remain calm with my magazine.

He comes in, a sheepish grin on his face. Yes, I thought, you can look guilty.

“Jess, hope you don’t mind, and I know it’s not your birthday for a few weeks yet, but I’ve got you a present. Come and look.”

He leads me over to the sofa, where I sit, and then he goes out into the hallway and brings in a box. It squeaks.

“What’s this?”

“Open it and find out.” The box squeaked again. Carefully I opened it to reveal a kitten. “I knew you missed Barney, so I thought I’d get you another one.” I picked it out, this small bundle of fluff that wondered where it’s mum was, who these strangers were and it squeaked again, that wonderful attempt at a miaow as a kitten finds it voice. “It’s not too soon, is it?” he asked, suddenly concerned.

“Too soon?”

“Too soon after Barney.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s been a few months. Besides, Barney was an old cat, he’d had his time.”

“Oh good. I’ve got some food outside. I’ll just go and get it.” And he left me with the kitten as he fetched a bag of food plus a new blanket. I put it down and watched as it started to explore its new home.

“Just one thing,” I said as I put food and water down.

“Yes?”

“Who’s the woman?”

“Woman?”

“Yes, last night when you said you were going to be late, I asked if you were going to see a woman, and you lied. You said no.”

“Oh, that would be Dorothy, the breeder. Nice lady. Fifties. Her cats are her life. I didn’t want to tell you before I got to see her,” he added. “I wanted to check her out before I said yes to the kitten, make sure she was reputable.”

We spent the rest of the evening watching the kitten as it grew in confidence, exploring its new home. “What shall we call him?” James said later.

We? Did he just say we? Like this was gong to be our cat, not just mine? 

“I mean, I know he’s got a good name, Chadburn Fire And Ice, but we can hardly call that if we want him to come can we?”

I looked at the cat, a ginger and white main coon, with a long white stripe down its nose. There was only one answer. “We’ll call him Pinocchio.”