never been convinced about
that
. Before that bloody strange Easter Friday in Sarasota, I don’t know if I was more or less honest than anyone else, but I
never had much of a problem saying whatever made life easier. For me or whoever I was talking to. Even so, I was seriously
impressed with how easily it came to me when it needed to.
The degree of it, I mean.
It’s funny, isn’t it, how you can just throw that switch when you have to, and become whoever you need to be for however long
and get the things done that need doing? The normal things. How you can talk or eat or whatever it is, without slipping up,
not even for a second.
You don’t look at your watch.
You don’t sweat more than you should, or scream suddenly or glaze over.
You don’t say, ‘She’s in the boot,’ when you mean to say, ‘Can you pass the salt?’
I’m joking, obviously … exaggerating to make the point, but hopefully you can see what I’m talking about. I can never get
over it, that’s all I’m saying.
The things we’re capable of.
Like I said, all the time this was happening, the everyday stuff and the ordinary conversations about this and that, I was
amazed at how well I could look after myself. It just kicked in immediately, to tell you the truth, because even while I was
busy in that car – while that girl bucked and kicked and tried to slap my arms away – I’d known I wasn’t going to drive straight
to the nearest police station and tell them what had happened. I knew 100 per cent that I was going to say and do whatever
was needed to avoid getting caught. I’d started to think about exactly what those things might be.
I’ve never really bought into this idea that, deep down, some offenders want to get caught. Everyone wants to stay out of
prison surely, it’s a natural instinct, isn’t it? It certainly felt natural to me. I felt – I
still
feel – that punishing me for what I’d done would be wrong. That seemed blindingly obvious, even then. I was positive that
if I
was
ever caught, the powers-that-be would see sense pretty quickly. Once I’d explained, as soon as they’d been made to understand
about … fairness, then any kind of punishment wouldn’t really be an issue.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m definitely not
planning
on being caught. I just don’t think it would be the end of the world. That, worst-case scenario, I could talk my way out
of it.
Ironically enough, just by telling the truth.
That smile, what it did, and why.
Meanwhile, let’s not forget about all those lies being trotted out every day. Husband to wife, colleague to colleague, doctor
to patient; snow-white, pitch-black or somewhere in between. A good many of these liars do what they do for very good reasons.
Some of them have the best of intentions. Now, I’m certainly not claiming to be one ofthem and I know there’s no way you can measure these things, but I do wonder if those twenty-five small lies every day would
equal one big one.
My big one.
I heard a vicar or someone on the radio once, saying that being able to lie is what ‘perverts’ us. It’s because we find it
easy, so he said … that’s what makes us all corrupt and spoils what might otherwise be perfect. That’s rubbish, come on, you
know
it is.
Even then, before any of this happened, I never believed that.
Lying is what makes us human.
FIFTEEN
‘Are we the first here?’ Marina asked.
‘It doesn’t matter, so long as you’re here. How was the journey?’ Angie beckoned Marina and Dave in from the porch. She took
the proffered wine and chocolates, said there was really no need, then pointed towards the kitchen and invited them to ‘go
through’.
‘Somebody’s got to be first,’ Dave said.
While Marina and Dave stood hand in hand, making all the right noises about the kitchen, Angie deposited jackets and bags
in the utility room and Barry took orders for drinks. Marina said that red wine was great if there
that
. Before that bloody strange Easter Friday in Sarasota, I don’t know if I was more or less honest than anyone else, but I
never had much of a problem saying whatever made life easier. For me or whoever I was talking to. Even so, I was seriously
impressed with how easily it came to me when it needed to.
The degree of it, I mean.
It’s funny, isn’t it, how you can just throw that switch when you have to, and become whoever you need to be for however long
and get the things done that need doing? The normal things. How you can talk or eat or whatever it is, without slipping up,
not even for a second.
You don’t look at your watch.
You don’t sweat more than you should, or scream suddenly or glaze over.
You don’t say, ‘She’s in the boot,’ when you mean to say, ‘Can you pass the salt?’
I’m joking, obviously … exaggerating to make the point, but hopefully you can see what I’m talking about. I can never get
over it, that’s all I’m saying.
The things we’re capable of.
Like I said, all the time this was happening, the everyday stuff and the ordinary conversations about this and that, I was
amazed at how well I could look after myself. It just kicked in immediately, to tell you the truth, because even while I was
busy in that car – while that girl bucked and kicked and tried to slap my arms away – I’d known I wasn’t going to drive straight
to the nearest police station and tell them what had happened. I knew 100 per cent that I was going to say and do whatever
was needed to avoid getting caught. I’d started to think about exactly what those things might be.
I’ve never really bought into this idea that, deep down, some offenders want to get caught. Everyone wants to stay out of
prison surely, it’s a natural instinct, isn’t it? It certainly felt natural to me. I felt – I
still
feel – that punishing me for what I’d done would be wrong. That seemed blindingly obvious, even then. I was positive that
if I
was
ever caught, the powers-that-be would see sense pretty quickly. Once I’d explained, as soon as they’d been made to understand
about … fairness, then any kind of punishment wouldn’t really be an issue.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m definitely not
planning
on being caught. I just don’t think it would be the end of the world. That, worst-case scenario, I could talk my way out
of it.
Ironically enough, just by telling the truth.
That smile, what it did, and why.
Meanwhile, let’s not forget about all those lies being trotted out every day. Husband to wife, colleague to colleague, doctor
to patient; snow-white, pitch-black or somewhere in between. A good many of these liars do what they do for very good reasons.
Some of them have the best of intentions. Now, I’m certainly not claiming to be one ofthem and I know there’s no way you can measure these things, but I do wonder if those twenty-five small lies every day would
equal one big one.
My big one.
I heard a vicar or someone on the radio once, saying that being able to lie is what ‘perverts’ us. It’s because we find it
easy, so he said … that’s what makes us all corrupt and spoils what might otherwise be perfect. That’s rubbish, come on, you
know
it is.
Even then, before any of this happened, I never believed that.
Lying is what makes us human.
FIFTEEN
‘Are we the first here?’ Marina asked.
‘It doesn’t matter, so long as you’re here. How was the journey?’ Angie beckoned Marina and Dave in from the porch. She took
the proffered wine and chocolates, said there was really no need, then pointed towards the kitchen and invited them to ‘go
through’.
‘Somebody’s got to be first,’ Dave said.
While Marina and Dave stood hand in hand, making all the right noises about the kitchen, Angie deposited jackets and bags
in the utility room and Barry took orders for drinks. Marina said that red wine was great if there
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