One Thing Leads to Another

My name is Peter Corringham. I’m forty-one and I’m in trouble. Deep trouble. Serious trouble. Like-my-world-is-caving-in trouble. I know it’s all my fault, but I honestly didn’t mean any of it to happen. It started as a joke, really. You see where a sense of humour lands you?

My mum never did understand when I was joking. Even when I was a little boy. I’d say something like, “Where shall I put the food when I’ve finished eating it?” And she’d say, “Don’t you want it all, dear?” – probably worrying that I was sickening for something. Then I’d have to leave a bit on my plate just to prove that I didn’t want it. Otherwise she’d have said, “There you are. You did eat it all,” in her smug way.

As I got older, my jokes became more sophisticated. Aged fourteen, I told my geography teacher I’d been doing my homework in the public library when the fire alarm went off and we had to evacuate the building. While outside, I told her, a blind woman was crying because she thought her guide dog had set off the alarm. I comforted the woman, saying that probably wasn’t true, and we talked for a long time and then I accompanied her home. By the time I got back, the library had closed and my work was locked inside. I never expected the teacher to believe me, but she did. She even praised me for helping the woman. Another advantage to this story was that I had an excuse for not being able to go shopping for Mum the next day; I had to return to the library to retrieve my work and finish it off. Needless to say, it was never found.

It was great to be able to escape the nest for a while and go off to uni. I had a whale of a time from morning to night – well, mostly night and hardly any mornings. I missed most of my lectures and flunked my exams. They made me take the first year again. I fully intended to tell Mum and Dad about that. It was just that I wanted to do it in my own time and not when they came to take me home for the vacs, and in front of my mates – even though my mates knew.

“How did your exams go?” Mum asked as I heaved my case into the car boot.

“I passed with flying colours,” I said, laughing.

The mates who’d gathered round laughed, too. Heartily. I thought even Mum would understand the joke.

When we arrived home, I took the case upstairs and unpacked. And I decided I’d better let her know the worst. As I came downstairs, I realised I was too late. Mum was on the phone. I heard her say, “Oh yes. He passed with flying colours. He told me so today.”

I knew who was on the other end of the line. Mum always reserved that voice of assumed nonchalance for her sister, Auntie Jane, whose daughter, Dina, could never put a foot wrong. Dina always got top marks for everything, got a first in her degree and worked for the Foreign Office. Jane made sure that Mum knew about all Dina’s achievements, causing Mum to feel that she had to counter Jane’s remarks with her own. Unfortunately for Mum, she could draw only from my achievements for this purpose.

How could I tell Mum the truth and shatter her notion that now she finally had something to boast about to her sister?

So, when I went back to uni to redo the first year, I pretended I was in the second year, and when I failed again and they threw me out, I went back anyway. By that time, I had a driving license and a car, and Mum and Dad were pleased that they didn’t have to accompany me any more.

Those were the days. I enjoyed that year immensely, partying with my mates, laughing at them when they had to work. They had the last laugh, of course, in the form of a piece of parchment paper that opened doors for them but not for me.

I discovered that, once you begin with a little untruth – oh, all right, call it a lie if you must – it grows continuously, exponentially even. I wasn’t allowed to laze around with my “degree”. I was made to get a job. So I went and got a job. As the general factotum ... dogsbody ... errand runner for Bigsoft, the large software firm. You see, at Bigsoft, they believe that their technical employees are too important to do such menial tasks. So they employed me for this purpose. I did the bank round, went to the Post Office, bought equipment, took the company cars to be fixed and serviced, and did anything else they told me to do. Still do, actually.

Naturally, I didn’t tell my parents my real job definition, especially after Mum had managed to elicit a tone of actual jealousy from Aunty Jane over the highly-recommended first I “received” for my degree. Mum didn’t examine the certificate too closely; she had no reason to suspect anything.

Everything went swimmingly for a few years. Until I met Leanne, and all swimming was transferred to my vision. I was in love. Leanne was perfect. The perfect height with the perfect weight, the perfect face with the perfect character, and the perfect scientist. Scientist! Yes, she worked at the university and espoused words like nuclear fusion and supernovas and what did I do for a living?

I was a software engineer, of course. I bandied around words like bauds, bytes and bandwidth, and she believed me.

We bonded. We knew this was it. And all our friends and family knew this was it. And as soon as I knew, I also knew that I had to tell her the truth. And I fully intended to do so. Really, I did.

But then, one day, we were talking about honesty. I don’t remember how the subject came up. In her beautiful, innocent and honest voice, Leanne said, “I don’t think I could marry you if I thought you’d been lying to me. I wouldn’t be sure about anything else you said after that.”

How could I tell her? If I did, I’d lose her. She said so. And I was in love. When you’re in love, you do anything to keep your love alive.

We settled down to married life. At first, Leanne was surprised that I didn’t earn more than I did. So I got an evening job – as the dogsbody in a sports club, and I told Leanne that I’d joined the club. She was surprised that I missed the birth of our first child because I was at the sports club, but understood when I explained that the squash team was taking part in an important tournament and they were relying on me to be there. I didn’t even need to pretend that I was on the team. She just assumed I was.

There were a few near misses over the years. Like that time Leanne and I and the kids were all in the supermarket together and I spotted Liz, the secretary from work coming towards us. I hurriedly picked up little Charlene and hugged her tightly, burying my face in her jumper. “Daddy, what are you doing?” Charlene screamed.

“I love you,” came a muffled reply from her middle.

“But why are you doing this now?”

“Sorry,” I said, putting her down and hoping that the coast was clear. It was.

Leanne eyed me with that you’re-strange-but-sweet-and-I-love-you look. When I saw Liz again, queuing at one of the checkout counters, I insisted we go to the one at the other end and donned my sunglasses. Of course, Alan wanted to know why.

“So that I won’t have to look for them when I go out carrying heavy bags.”

“But you take the trolley to the car. And anyway, the sun isn’t shining.” My son has a very logical mind. He should go far.

“You’re right,” I said, reaching for bottles in the semi-darkness. “Oh well. I might as well leave them on.”

“Who’s that?” Leanne asked, before closing the car door.

“Who’s who?” I asked, hurriedly starting the engine.

“Some woman called out ‘Peter.’”

I shrugged my shoulders, quickly backing out of the parking space. “Must be some other Peter.”

Leanne’s face assumed her you’d-better-not-be-cheating-on-me look.

I smiled and shook my head. Of course not.

Those near misses were nothing compared to the disaster now looming just round the corner. Nothing at all. And the source of this disaster was rather unexpected. Something that developed so quickly that I didn’t have time to worry about it.

You see, over the years, things became a bit more complex than what I’ve described up to now. Because I had to deceive other people in other ways. People at work obviously knew what I did there, but I didn’t like to tell them I was doing the same thing at the sports club. It would have made me look like a complete loser. And I decided I’d be treated with more dignity at the sports club if they thought I was a software engineer who’d suffered financial ruin. I didn’t go into details, but might have let slip the words: Monte Carlo.

The only people who know the truth are my old uni mates – the ones I kept in touch with. Only they know that I flunked uni and what I’ve had to do ever since. But I’ve sworn them to secrecy and my current calamity hasn’t been caused by one of them.

Due to the complexity that developed over the years, I drew up this table of who thinks what:

	Work	Sports Club
Work people	Factotum	Squash player
Sports club people	Software engineer	Factotum
Leanne, kids, family, friends, neighbours	Software engineer	Squash player
Old uni mates	Factotum (but software engineer with Leanne and the kids)	Factotum (but squash player with Leanne and the kids)

I carry the table around with me wherever I go. So, even if I have a couple of drinks, I can still look at it, remember who I’m with and talk accordingly. This hasn’t been the cause of my troubles either. I’ve always managed to keep it well hidden.

No. My world was crushed by a bulldozer called Social Media.

Leanne was the first to nag me. In fact, she’d been nagging me for some time to look for a new job. “Someone with your knowledge and experience,” she said, “should be earning much more that you do. If those meanies at Bigsoft won’t give it to you, then you have to go elsewhere.

As soon as social media became a hit, she was adamant. “Get yourself on there, get known, and you’ll soon find a decent job.”

My complaints had no effect and, in the end, I gave in. I created a user – created a person – called Peter Corringham. This person was a software engineer for Bigsoft, whose hobbies included taking part in a squash team.

Then, at work, they made us all create Facebook accounts. To keep in touch with each other and updated on developments, they said. In an attempt to keep this simple, I created an account for Peter W. Corringham, factotum and squash team member.

“I didn’t know you had a middle name,” the boss said one day.

“Oh, didn’t you?” I raised my eyebrows. “It’s William, but I don’t use it very often.

And, inevitably, the sports club also required us to open accounts. I created an account for the sports club factotum, who was also a software engineer: Peter S. Corringham. Simon, of course.

“Put your photo up,” said Leanne.

“What for?”

“So that potential employers can see what a smart, well-built, good-looking guy you are.”

“Am I?”

Leanne smiled. After all these years, love still flowed from her eyes. “I love your modesty. But this is time to show off.”

I put my photo on the Peter Corringham account.

Bigsoft is a big firm, and not all the employees know all the other employees. That’s why management decided that we should all have nice, identifiable avatars. They even sent round a photographer to take a photo of each of us. I added it to the Peter W. Corringham account.

And the sports club decided on something similar. I added their photo to the Peter S. Corringham account.

Children shouldn’t be allowed near computers. They’re far too smart. Today is Sunday – the only day I can sleep in. I was just on my way downstairs when I heard Alan talking to Leanne.

“Mum....”

“Yes, Alan.”

“I was on Facebook just now and I decided to search for you and Dad.”

“Yes....”

“So I looked up Peter Corringham and found quite a lot of people.”

“I expect there are a lot of Peter Corringhams.”

“But three of them had a picture of Dad.”

“Really?”

“And do you know what they say that he does?”

I made a hasty retreat to the bedroom and locked the door. I’ve attached a rope to a leg of the bed and hung it out of the window.

I can hear her calling me. Quick! Is there anything I should take with me? My driving license? No. No identification. I’ll choose a brand new name this time.

Born and raised in the UK, Miriam Drori lives in Jerusalem with her husband, three children, a cat who walked in one day and a novel that’s straining to get out into the world. She blogs at http://andewallscametumblindown.wordpress.com.

© 2009, Metazen. All rights reserved.

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This entry was posted on Tuesday, October 20th, 2009 at 9:28 am