I Can No Longer Live a Lie – My Friend Confessed Over Dinner

I cant keep living a lie, whispered Valerie, her voice trembling over the clinking of cutlery.

Lucy stared at the menu, her hand trembling as she read the dessert prices. How much is that? Are you out of your mind? she blurted, nearly dropping the card.

Valerie waved a hand, tucked the scarf tighter around her neck and gave the smile she always wore when unexpected guests arrived to a house in disarray.

Come on, Lucy. Once a year you deserve a little indulgence, she said, trying to sound carefree even as her voice quivered. Waiter! Two tiramisus and two coffees, please. Two Americanos.

The waitera young man with his hair slicked backnodded and slipped away like a ghost. Lucy followed him with a puzzled gaze before turning back to her friend.

Val, youre retired. Where do you get the money for this? We could have sat in a regular café for a fraction of the price, she muttered, taking in the marble floors, the crystal chandeliers, the immaculate white linen.

Even the air seemed richer here, scented with foreign perfume and fresh flowers in tall vases.

Its because I need to, Valerie said, clenching the napkin until the skin on her fingers turned white. She always tended to her hands, applying cream each night and wearing gloves in winter. Lucy remembered how, as girls, theyd dreamed of having hands as beautiful as a dancers. Valeries hands were now immaculate, nails painted a soft pink, but now they trembled.

Valerie Whitmore, whats wrong? Lucy leaned over the table, lowering her voice. Are you ill?

A terrible picture flashed through Lucys mindcancer, diabetes, a heart condition. At their age, anything could happen. Their neighbour, Mrs. Clarke, had passed away just last month, seemingly healthy.

No. I mean I dont know, Valerie removed her glasses, wiping them with the edge of her scarf before putting them back. Her eyes were red, still wet. Im just exhausted, Lucy. So exhausted

The coffee and pastries arrived. The tiramisu was a work of art, dusted with cocoa and garnished with a sprig of mint. Lucy automatically picked up a spoon but didnt taste it, twirling it between her fingers.

What are you exhausted from? Life? Lucy asked. Were all tired. The pension is a joke, prices are soaring, the kids call once a month, the grandchildren only show up for birthdays. Youre not alone.

No, Valerie shook her head, and Lucy noted how her hair had lost its usual sheen despite always visiting the best hairdresser. Im tired of lying. Every day, every minutelying to the children, to you, to the neighbours, to myself.

Lucy set the spoon down. Her heart sank, a knot forming beneath her ribs.

What lie, Val? What are you talking about?

Valerie slumped back, closed her eyes. Her lashes, still coated with mascara, fluttered. Even at sixtyeight, she had kept her poise, her slender frame, something Lucy envied. Lucys own figure had long ago softened, while Valerie remained as delicate as ever.

Theres no Gerry, Valerie whispered, opening her eyes. Hes been gone a year and a half.

The taste of the tiramisu turned sour in Lucys mouth, though she hadnt even taken a bite. Her throat went dry.

How can that be? You just said last week he was going fishing with Mr. Peters.

He died. Heart attack. Right at the cottage, while he was digging a new flower bed. I found him that evening, face down in the soil, still clutching the spade, Valerie said, as if recounting a neighbours tragedy. I called an ambulance. They confirmed it. Then the funeral. I buried him in the churchyard on Troe Farm, where his parents lie.

Lucy felt a cold shiver run down her spine. She opened her mouth, but the words lodged in her throat.

I called an ambulance, Valerie continued, her hands shaking even more, they arrived, confirmed the death. Then the morgue, the burial. But I never told anyone. Not even you. We see each other every week. I could have helped, supported you but I didnt.

I dont know why, Valerie finally lifted a spoon, scooped a bit of tiramisu, brought it to her lips, then set it down untouched. At first I thought Id tell you after the funeral. Then Sophie called from Manchester, asking how Dad was doing. I said he was tinkering in the garage. I was standing by the window, looking at the cemeteryright there from the balconyand I kept lying.

God, Valerie

She gave a crooked, joyless smile. It got easier. Once you start, its just fabricating. Sophie asked about Dadso I said he was out fishing, fixing a car, playing dominoes with his mates. Simon from London visited for my birthday in March and asked about him I told him he was ill, bedridden, couldnt get up. He didnt press further, fearing hed catch something.

Lucy listened, unable to believe. GerryGerry Hargreaveshad been their schoolyard friend, a man theyd known for decades, sharing holidays and Sunday lunches. And now he was gone, and Valerie hadnt told a soul.

Why didnt you tell Mike? Lucy asked, her voice cracking. He was his best mate.

Because Mike would have called Simon or Sophie straight away. Everything would have collapsed.

Why do all this? Why keep it hidden? Lucy grabbed Valeries hand; it was cold as ice. Are you mad?

Probably, Valerie muttered, pulling her hand under the table. When I buried him, the flat went silent. His shoes were still by the door, his coat on the rack. I sat on the sofa and realized I was terrifiednot of his death, but of what to do next.

She spoke, and Lucy remembered how theyd met as university students. Valerie had once dated a tall, handsome fellow, then broke down in tears when he left her. A month later shed met Gerry at a union danceshort, bespectacled, unremarkable, but kind. He courted her, brought flowers, recited poems. She never meant to fall in love, but she did.

We spent fortysix years together, Valeries voice broke, tears finally spilling despite her effort. Fortysix years, Lucy! I cant live without him. I wake up, set the kettle for two mugs, pour tea, and then I realise theres no one to hand me the mug. I turn on the telly and call out, but theres nobody. At night I wake, reach for his hand, and the bed is empty.

Val, love

Dont pity me, Valerie wiped a tear, smearing mascara on her cheek. Its my fault. I should have told you straight away, but I was scared. As long as I lie, hes still alive somewheremaybe fixing a car, fishing, laughing with friends. Admit the truth and it feels like the end. I have to accept it.

Lucy rose, walked around the table, and embraced Valeries shoulders. Valeries frame trembled faintly. The waiter lingered nearby, unsure whether to intervene.

Thats why I brought you here, Valerie said, pulling a handkerchief from her bag, dabbing her eyes. I wanted to say it in a proper place, so you wouldnt shout at me, so it would be beautiful. Gerry loved beauty, remember? He always said lifes hard enough; we should still make it pretty.

I remember, Lucy replied, wiping her own tears with the sleeve of her coat. He brought you flowers every Friday.

Every Friday, Valerie confirmed. Now I buy them myself. I go to the florist by the tube, pick chrysanthemums, set them in a vase, thank them out loud. The neighbour downstairs probably thinks Ive gone off my rocker.

Silence settled. The coffee cooled, the tiramisu lost its shape. Outside, dusk deepened, street lamps flickered to life. People hurried by, laughing, on the phone, living their lives. In that corner by the window, a small, selfmade world was crumbling.

What will you do now? Lucy asked.

I dont know. I wanted advice. Calling the children feels terrifyingwhat will they think? Sophie will be angry for a lifetime. She adored Gerry; Ive been feeding her lies for a year and a half.

Shell be angry, Lucy agreed, but shell forgive. Kids forgive. Sooner or later.

And you? Will you forgive?

Lucy hesitated. Of course it hurt. Theyd been friends since school, sharing everything. Yet, had she ever been completely honest? Had she hidden the fact that Mike sometimes knocked on her door when hed had a few too many? Had she pretended a bruise came from a door, not a fist? Everyone lives in lies; some are small, some are huge.

Ill forgive, she said. I already have. I just wish you hadnt carried this alone. I should have called; I would have come.

I know, Valerie whispered. But every time I picked up the phone, words fled. It was easier to invent another story about Gerry than to speak the truth.

She sipped the cold coffee, grimaced.

Its cold now.

Should we order more?

No, thats enough. I must go home, take my pills for the blood pressure.

She fumbled in her bag for a wallet. Lucy tried to stop her, offering to pay, but Valerie waved it off.

I invited you, Ill pay. Gerry left a small insurance policyenough for this and the Friday flowers.

They stepped outside. An October wind whipped at their coats, biting through the thin layers. Valerie shivered, inhaled the chill.

Thank you for listening, she said. Now at least one person knows the truth. Maybe it will lift some weight.

It will, Lucy promised, though she wasnt sure. What about the children?

In a few days. Simon is coming this weekend; thats when Ill tell them. Ill call Sophie too, ask her to come. Itll be easier together.

Do you want me to stay? For support?

Valerie shook her head. No, I have to do this alone. I tangled myself up, I have to untangle it. Just be there later, when they leave and Im alone again. Come over for tea, or just sit in silence. I dont mind, as long as Im not alone.

Lucy hugged her tightly, truly. Valerie clung back, and they stood on the street, two elderly women wrapped in each others arms as they once had in youth, when the world seemed kind and troubles small enough to be shrugged off.

Ill come, Lucy vowed. I promise. Ill even bring Mike, let him say goodbye to Gerry at the grave.

Alright, Valerie said, wiping her eyes. I should be off, Im fading.

She walked toward the bus stop, a slight, fragile figure in a grey coat. Lucy watched her go, thinking how fragile human life is, how easily it shatters, and how hard it is to piece the fragments back together.

A few days later Valerie called, her voice hoarse.

Did they?

Sophie screamed for three hours straight. Simon sat there, thumping the table with his fists. He asked why I did it, why I lied. I tried to explain. I dont know if he understood.

Theyll understand. Time heals.

I hope so. They went to the cemetery today. I cant go any longer; I see it from the balcony every day. Lucy, will you come?

Im on my way.

Lucy arrived half an hour later. Valerie opened the door, pale, eyes still red, but somehow lighter, as if a burden had lifted.

Come in, Ive made tea, she said.

They sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea with scones. Valerie recounted how Simon yelled that she was mad, how Sophie promised to move in next month, how they all embraced and wept together, each with their own sorrow.

You know, Valerie said, biting into a scone, it really does feel lighter. No more inventing where Gerry is, what hes doing. Hes dead, and thats awful. I miss him so much my heart hurts. But its the truth. My truth.

Living in a lie is always heavy, Lucy replied. I havent told you everything either. About Mike, for instance.

I know, Valerie whispered. I saw the bruises, heard the excuses you made.

Why keep it hidden?

Because everyone chooses what to hide and what to say. You hid Mike, I hid Gerry. Now weve both spoken.

Mikes been sober for six months, Lucy admitted. Hes got a new job, brings flowers out of the blue now.

People do change, Valerie said, smiling genuinely for the first time in ages.

They finished their tea. Valerie walked Lucy to the door, hugging her goodbye.

Thank you, she said. For not judging, for being here.

No thanks needed. Were friends.

Friends, Valerie agreed, her smile finally reaching her eyes.

Lucy stepped onto the street, thinking of the lies each of us carries, the truths we finally set free, and how vital it is to have someone who simply listens without condemnation. Life is hard enough; theres no need to make it harder by facing it alone.

Valerie stood at her window, looking out at the distant cemetery, and whispered:

Forgive me, Gerry. I tried my best, and Ive failed as always. But now it ends. Ill live honestly from here on. I promise.

That promise, made to herself and to the man she loved, warmed her heart more than any fire could.