Human Remains

it’s too early to be thinking about a whisky chaser. Meanwhile Vaughn chunters on about whether his girlfriend is having an affair. I want to point out that she can hardly be in the first flush of youth – surely it’s unlikely? But he’s convinced that she is lying to him about something. He sits with his head bent low over his pint, pondering whether taking her to Weston-super-Mare in the caravan is a good idea.
    My mother took me to Weston-super-Mare on holiday the summer after my father died. We stayed in a guest house three streets back from the seafront; close enough to hear the gulls, not close enough to hear the sea. I was almost thirteen years old and already I didn’t fit into my own skull. I read Eliot and Kafka and watched documentaries on BBC2. Stayed up late and got up early to watch the Open University programmes, back when it was all beards and flared trousers. My mother wanted me to build sandcastles and run in the sea, laughing. I don’t think I laughed once the whole time I was there. I sat in the shade and read until she took my books away. After that I sat in the shade and tried not to look at the girls on the beach.
    ‘Weston-super-Mare’s probably a bad idea,’ I say.
    In the end I take pity on poor old Vaughn and tell him about cortico-limbic responses and non-verbal cues, poor bugger.
    ‘What the hell’s a limbic response?’ he asks me. And then, before I can respond, ‘Oh, don’t tell me. It’s that bloody course you’ve been doing, isn’t it?’
    Poor Vaughn: he likes to think he’s intellectual because he reads the
Guardian
and drinks a Java blend at weekends.
    ‘It’s how you can tell if someone’s lying to you,’ I explain. ‘You look at body language, visual cues, autonomic responses, that kind of thing. And you may scoff, but the course has been fascinating, in fact.’
    He looks blank.
    ‘Alright,’ I say, ‘let’s try a little experiment. I’m going to ask you three questions, and I want you to deliberately lie in one of your answers. I’ll see if I can tell when you’re lying. If I’m right, you can buy me another pint. If I’m wrong, I’ll buy your drinks for the next month. Want to have a go?’
    ‘Oh, yes, alright, then,’ he says. I get the impression he’s cheering up a bit. He’s smiling, but I don’t always trust my instincts with Vaughn. He might be suicidal for all I know. I have been known to get it wrong. Eleanor smiled at me that night, after all, didn’t she? And look how that turned out.
    ‘Right, then,’ I say, ‘let’s see. Have a think back to the bedroom you had when you were a teenager. Picture what it was like. Now I want you to describe it to me, just as if you’re standing in the doorway looking in. What can you see?’
    ‘Well, goodness. I guess it’s the dorm I shared with Roger Hotchkiss at St Stephen’s. There are two beds, one on each side of the room – mine is neatly made, Hotchkiss hasn’t made his, of course – a wardrobe at the foot of each bed, nearest to the door… Then the window straight in front of me which looks out over the kitchens. And a large desk underneath the window. Bookshelves above the beds. We weren’t allowed posters.’
    He pauses for a moment, tapping his chin thoughtfully, his gaze up and to his left. This is going to be too easy.
    ‘That it?’
    ‘I can’t think of anything else.’
    ‘OK, then, next question. What does your mobile phone ringtone sound like?’
    ‘It’s just the standard ring, I’m afraid. I can never be bothered with anything more elaborate.’
    That one was a bit quicker, but I still pick up on the cue that tells me he is telling the truth. In fact, I know it’s the truth because his answer reminds me that I’ve heard his phone go off in the pub before now. Maybe I’m subconsciously trying to cheat? In any case, the next question is going to be the one.
    ‘Right, final question. Tell me about your journey home last night. Did you go straight home? What time did you get there?’
    It’s only a small hesitation, a brief flick of his gaze up and to the right, but it’s plenty. When he speaks, he even raises his pitch – too easy, way too easy.
    ‘I didn’t go straight home, no. I stopped off at the Co-op and bought some sausages and potatoes for supper. I probably got home – ooh, at about a quarter past six.’
    I sit back and polish off the last of my pint. I press my fingertips into my temples and close my eyes, taking a deep, noisy breath in