- Holly Searle
- London, United Kingdom
- Holly Searle is a writer and an artist who was made in Soho and thereafter born in the heart of London. She has been blessed with two quite remarkable children and grandchildren whom she adores. She enjoys the company of her friends and the circus that is life, has a degree in Film and Television, and has exhibited her artwork in several exhibition.
Monday, 27 July 2015
The Lying Game By Holly Searle
If there is one thing that I find abhorrent, it's lying. I can't do it as it doesn't sit well with me. Oh okay there was that time on the bus (please see Please Forgive Me, I just couldn't Help Myself) when I told that awful woman that I was sitting in the seat set aside for those less able to stand due to the fact that I had a prosthetic leg. But that's another story, and a lie I told to illustrate her ignorance of the situation and therefore on balance an acceptable lie. A social imperative and an educational lie, that sprang to life out of necessity.
But lying on a daily basis, is not something I adhere too. If anything, I would say I am far too honest for my own good. And as a consequence this often backfires on me by giving others the impression that I am quite gullible when in fact I am not. This assumption of me, makes me feel both sad and angry in equal measure.
I can't win.
It's a no win situation.
Recently I repressed a smouldering foot stamping arms crossed pouting stance with my other half via the rather unnerving, but never the less free app that is FaceTime. Whilst he has been based in India for the past few months on a business trip, and I have been in London, we have kept in contact via this method based upon the availability of and access to a free wifi connection.
One day I was out of range and thus situated between where I had been tuned in and ready, to where I was heading to be tuned in and ready for our daily catch-up, when my phone began to ring in an out of reach pocket of my backpack. I was queuing at the time, in of all the romantic places a Tesco. Initially I let the phone ring out, as one I couldn't reach it. And two I wasn't in a free wifi area. I was happy to do this, until the man standing behind me started to mimic my ring tone. I laughed, and retrieved my phone instantly from the hard to reach pocket and answered the call. There he was my man all tiny on the screen, four and half hours ahead, but never the less, very much present in a queue in Tesco with me and the ring tone mimic standing behind me. I am out and about I say. I will call you in an hour when I arrive home, safe and economically sound in the free wifi of my home.
Okay he says. Ten four rubber duck (he didn't say that last bit).
I pay the cashier and return the phone to the hard to reach pocket. Leave Tesco and carry on towards the Holy Grail that is free domestic wifi.
I don't lie. I am a truth speaker. I get home, spring the phone from confides of the hard to reach pocket, and call my true love. There is no answer. I frown. I work out what time it now is in India and draw the conclusion that he must be sleeping. He works so hard, that I am not surprised by the possibility of this. So whilst I am sad, I think that this must be the reason. So I go for a bath and plan my evening ahead. There is always tomorrow.
But then a few hours later he calls. I am NOT in a glamorous repose. I have washed my hair whilst in the bath and it has remained wrapped in a towel on the top of my head. I am fresh and clean and make up free and having a wee when the call sounds. Child Two picks it up, and departs this information to my lover.
I appear fresh from my wee, looking hot in the crumpled damp towel that is resting on the top of my head with skin scrubbed clear of any smoke and mirror tricks that I have grown used to making me look presentable.
Oh how attractive he says on seeing my image appear as I relieve Child Two of the mobile.
I am instantly defensive, embarrassed and quite frankly stripped of any remaining Jane Austen sensibilities.
Once I have recovered from my momentary image panic attack (bloody ego), we chat.
He questions me as to why I haven't called him. I inform him that I did. No he says, you didn't. I did I say. Well I have no missed calls on my phone he replies. Well, I say, what can I tell you, as I did.
The mood of this conversation has been tainted. I did call, but he is claiming that I didn't. As I do not lie, my heckles are up. As I can't think of a good reason why I wouldn't call, and start to wonder if I have in fact called someone else instead. No, my brain yells, that is impossible as the callee is fixed in a position on my phone, which means that I cannot mistaken the action I have carried out. Plus, like I said, I don't lie.
The conversation is blighted like a potato. It ends.
I then receive a text from my friend. Do I fancy a chat? I always do with him. He is bright, witty and wise. And a story teller supreme. And considering this last telephonic exchange, a welcomed interlude of solace.
This friend has a husband who travels the world, and as I am still hung up on the accusation of not calling (when I had), I ask him if he ever had encountered similar issues with his other half when they are globally separated. Yes he says, lots of times. Phew I think. I have sought absolution, and have been given it.
I am so relieved to hear this, that I email this information to my lover. Then bingo, I look at the call history and see quite clearly that I did. My i-Phone, like George Washington cannot tell a lie. So I screen shot the image and email that as well.
I get no response to my heartfelt discovery, and a rather tepid attempt at humour in respect of the photographic evidence I have submitted.
I am disappointed that there is no recourse other than this. What a let down. I am an innocent women I tell you. But obviously this is old news. Get over it and move on.
So I do.
Although if I am honest, and as that is the main point of this, it has left a nasty trail of mistrust in its wake.
And let's face it, trust is right up there with lying in my book. If that goes, what have you got?
Then just last week, I found myself having make use of a made up persona in order to obtain some covert information. I was doing this over the phone. I lured the person I was talking to into a false sense of security. I feel terrible. When I end the call, a colleague says to me "Wow. I didn't know you could lie so smoothly." I laugh in a hesitant way, and began to develop an instant paranoia that the rest of my co workers will now start to develop a mistrust of me as I am obviously such an accomplished liar.
I feel sick, so I go to make a cup of tea and think to myself that I only have myself to blame for lying to that old lady on the bus that day about my leg. My Verbal Kint fiasco is finally redressing the imbalance in my karmer.
Still, that was funny. And in my defence, I was provoked into it.
Je né regrette rien.
A week or so later having defaulted back to my initial truthfulness. My other half is again unreachable on the phone. I have called twice. I am disappointed but look forward to the following day when I shall no doubt be informed of why he didn't answer.
However, on the following day, I am confounded by the lack of free wifi and therefore unavailable to speak to him. The day after will be same. I inform him of this via email. My rationale being that some communication is better than none. He is not happy about this current but temporary break down in communicae. I have no idea why this causes so much upset. But it does like the distant rumblings of an expected storm. Then like a dormant UXB, it all explodes and I am shocked by the voracity of the fallout which in turn ends the relationship.
Maybe, I think, I should have walked with another Kint limp. But then I realise how much lighter I feel without having to do so. And in all honesty, that feels much better.