Liar Liar

47

Callum Roberts stared straight ahead as he walked along the gloomy, forbidding corridor. He refused to look at the police officer – DS Sanderson – who kept pace with him. He knew that if he did so, she would start to work on him again, trying to dissuade him from doing this. This was hard enough as it was without her chipping away at him, eroding his determination and preying on his fears. And he knew that if he allowed himself to falter, then he wouldn’t take another step.

They had all urged him not to view his mother’s body. They had identified her from DNA and dental records, so there was no need for him to be here in this sterile, lifeless place. Callum had seen police mortuaries on TV crime shows but he now realized how fake those versions were. The real deal was washed out, soulless and just… dead.

Sanderson seemed to have given up trying to talk him down now and walked mutely beside him. Which was fine by him. He had been irritated by her presence at first, but as they approached the doors to the body storage area, he was suddenly glad to have her with him. He had no idea how he would react once he was in there.

Why was he here? Did he really believe that it wasn’t his mum in there? The DNA tests had proved it was her and yet he still had to see. He couldn’t logically say why, but he did.

They had euphemistically hinted at the state of his mother’s body, then when he’d refused to play ball, the gloves had come off and they’d described in concise but graphic detail what remained of his mother. Even so he’d refused to be put off. He knew instinctively that refusing to see her now would be the grossest betrayal of all.

Why had he been such an idiot? So ungrateful? So hostile? Sure his mum had messed up plenty of times and was a doormat, with terrible taste in men. But she had raised him single-handedly when other lesser women might have abandoned him to his fate, fobbing him off on a relative or putting him into care. And in the early years they had got on well. She was a relaxed parent, happy to have a laugh and a joke. And she doted on him, often going without so that he could go on school trips, have birthday parties, even the odd holiday. He had never missed having a dad, which had to mean something, didn’t it? She even came with him when he got his first tattoo, advising him on where to have it and what to go for. She looked after him afterwards, making sure that the tattoo didn’t get infected, giving him hot Ribena and powdered paracetamol to dull the pain in his throbbing arm. She wasn’t the best of mums, but she was very far from being the worst.

‘This is Jim Grieves. He’s our Senior Pathologist.’

Callum suddenly found himself shaking hands with yet another stranger. He never shook hands – who the fuck did? – and yet he seemed to have been doing nothing else for the past few hours. Shaking hands with medics, police officers, fire investigators and now the pathologist who’d been prodding and probing his mother’s body.

‘I’m very sorry for your loss,’ the man was saying. He was a big guy with a gruff manner but kind eyes. Callum couldn’t think of what to say in reply, so nodded briefly. He wasn’t here to chat.

They walked on to the body storage area. ‘Body storage area’ – how the hell had he ended up here? It was a nightmare, a living bloody nightmare. The man was talking again, but he couldn’t hear a single word, his conversation drowned out by the clamouring panic within him. Suddenly he wanted to be anywhere but here. He wanted to turn and run, run, run…

‘Are you ready?’ the pathologist said, sounding like he was repeating the question for a second time. Callum snapped out of it, nodding and smiling at his interrogator. Why had he smiled? What was there to smile about?

They were standing by a long metal table – he knew they called them ‘slabs’ but couldn’t bear to think of them like that. With one last look at him, the pathologist leant forward and lifted the sheet.

Immediately, Callum’s arm shot out, grabbing at the sleeve of the policewoman who still flanked him. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but not this. This wasn’t his mum. She didn’t even look human. This was an abomination.

Letting go his grip, he turned and ran to a nearby sink, vomiting hard into it. Once, twice, three times as the horror of what he’d just seen forced its way out. Afterwards, gripping the cold metal rim, he hung his head, trying to steady his breathing, to calm his thundering heart. Up until now it had seemed horrific but unreal. Now the full devastation of last night was making itself felt. And he knew in that moment, with piercing clarity, that his whole life had been reduced to ashes.