Everone Lies

By Glenn Kershaw

In part one, Everyone Lies, we are introduced to Clare Benton, who was leading a quiet life ... struggling to survive, really, as an architect in the small ‘city’ of Kopperburg in Queensland, Australia’s hinterland. A city with little development work going on. But Kopperburg was where she was born and where she wanted to live.
Besides, in her life was Martin Poole. He’s, well, he’s her boyfriend and probably the man she would marry.
Anyway, life was trundling along till one day, the phone rang. Early. That never happened. She found, after a strong conversation with the caller, Martin, that she’d lost a day. Tuesday. Couldn’t remember a thing. That was ok. Everyone loses a day here and there. Didn’t they?
So life trundled ... but then it happened again. Clare started to investigate. And her inquires took her up to the old garage in the hills. The one surrounded by rainforest and where John Roe eked out a living. The most recent of a long line of misguided mechanics who thought they could make a living up there.
And there Clare found the truth, and the truth started with what was in the coffee!
In part two, All the Wrong Days, Clare and John live together. And it turns out John is not what he says or what he seems. His ‘past’ catches up with him, and together they run from those hunting John. But in a cave in the forest, Clare presses John for the truth about who he is. John didn’t really love her. She was a convenient person to live with till the time came he could chase after his real love. She leaves him, returning to Kopperburg. But upon seeing Mel, her friend from Mel’s café, with her ‘Magic Man’, Clare returns to the forest, in the rain, to the cave to confront John. But he’s gone.
Returning home, she meets the hunters and finds the whole truth about John. These hunters, these two men, are strange to her, but one, Joshu Glibe, she trusts, and, strangely, perhaps under different circumstances, could maybe even love. They leave promising to ‘fix’ things.
In the final part, Matryoshka, we find that Clare’s life has been destroyed. Without John’s skills at battling the developers who would destroy the city she loves for money, she’s taken through the courts and taken to the cleaners. She’s lost everything, her reputation, business, and house and now lives like a waif in that cave in the forest.
Joshu Glibe comes back. Asked why he couldn’t fix things by Clare, he says that it’s harder than you’d think. He’s sorry and will keep trying. Clare runs away back to her cave. He tracks her there, takes her back to the city, books her into a motel, buys her a new dress, and takes her out for a meal. She runs away, but a few days later, Joshu catches up with her, they talk, but in the end, she leaves.
As the story reaches its end, we see that Joshu does indeed fix things, and she, Joshu, Malin Drav’une – John’s real name – and now forgiven, and Helen, the navy lieutenant Malin had fallen in love, go off to a secluded place to live out their lives. Clare finds happiness at last.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Glenn Kershaw
• Release date: May 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215165577

Glenn Kershaw

I was born in England, and my family emigrated to Australia when I was ten. I’ve been an electrician, a para-professional Engineering Officer and a Manager. For the last seven years, I’ve volunteered with the Rural Fire Service and have the rank of deputy captain.I have a wonderful wife, three great kids and two grandsons who are my world.At heart, I am and have always been a writer, and to improve my skills, I have studied creative writing at Technical and Further Education College (TAFE) and at the university level acquiring statements of attainment from TAFE, certificate, undergraduate and Master’s degrees from the University of Technology Sydney and Macquarie University.I’ve enjoyed seeing my short stories published in the England Review, the University of Technology Sydney Writers’ Anthology and Macquarie University’s literary journal, The Quarry (twice), and the student magazine, Grapeshot. In addition, online journals such as StylusLit, Australian Reader, and AntipodeanSF.One of my short stories was previously longlisted for the Lane Cove Literary Award here in Australia.I self-published two novels on Amazon and Smashwords, The Flower Woman’s Child and The Winning of the Woman, with a new SF Novel, For the Journey is Long, and Our Lonely World is Lost, recently published on Smashwords

Book preview

Everyone Lies

By

Glenn A Kershaw

Copyright 2023 Glenn A Kershaw

Published by Glenn A Kershaw at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favourite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Glenn A. Kershaw asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Published by Glenn A. Kershaw.

All characters are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely accidental.

Photo by supplied curtesy of www.PxHere.com.

Artwork by Glenn A. Kershaw using GIMP Software.

https://www.gimp.org

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Part One: Everyone Lies

Part Two: All the Wrong Days

Part Three: Matryoshka

A Little About the Development of Everyone Lies

About the Author

Other Works

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my long-suffering wife, Trish, and my daughters, Bronwyn, Amber, my son Ryan and my wonderful grandsons, Arlo and Toby, for bringing such joy into my life. Carlo Vitali for coffee and a friendly ear to listen to my crazy ideas, and to the late Frank Malkoun, a dear friend. And in particular, Associate Professor Robert L Compton for his support and patient reading of my works.

Part One: Everyone Lies

I realised something was wrong about two weeks ago. The incessant ringing of the phone woke me. A glance at the clock radio said the time was 8 am. That was unusual. The phone didn’t usually ring before 10 am. Even before I put the handset to my ear, I heard a voice yelling down the line. It was Martin. Martin Poole, the guy who hopes to marry me someday.

‘Where the hell were you last night!’ His voice said it all. He was so angry, really angry.

I was confused. He’d rung me Sunday night, wanting to meet for dinner Wednesday evening. I guessed he planned to put THE question to me.

Anyway, I took some time to answer him. I didn’t like his tone. I wasn’t his just yet.

‘Dinner is tonight,’ I replied in that tone that said I was talking to a two-year-old. ‘Last night, I was at yoga. I go to yoga every Tuesday night!’ I had done for years.

‘Last night,’ he said in that patient, condescending way that irritated me to the bone, ‘was Wednesday night. We were to meet at the Blue Duck at 8 pm. I called you on Sunday. I booked a table on Monday.’

He let out an exasperated hiss like a steam engine.

‘Today is Wednesday, and tonight is …’ I started to say, but Martin jumped in, ‘… Today is Thursday. And you’ve got your pottery class.’

I was out most nights. Guess why? I was about to correct him. He’d clearly lost it, but I could see this would simply lead to a pointless argument. There was another way.

‘Look,’ I said calmly, being the reasonable one. ‘Today's newspaper will be on the doorstep. I’ll get it, check the date, and everyone will be happy.’

‘If you must,’ he said, and I thought, a little tartly.

Danny, the newspaper guy, had been as punctual as anything over all the years I’d known him. In summer, when the early heat drove me out of my bed, I’d watch him casually flip the rolled newspaper into the air. With expert precision, the paper described a perfect arc on its way to my doorstep. An artist.

On the way back to the phone, I prepared a few sharp words, well-chosen phrases to let Martin know what I thought of someone who rang me so early in the morning to tell me I was pretty much losing my mind. But then I stopped cold in my tracks like I’d hit a brick wall. Because I was losing my mind. I stared at the unwrapped newspaper. There in the banner was the date. And it shouted that Martin Poole was right.

His breathing was loud in the earpiece when I picked it up.

‘Martin,’ I said, feeling all kinds of guilt gushing around inside of me. ‘I don’t understand …?’

‘I’m right!’ he said, and I could hear the acrimoniousness in his voice.

‘But where the hell was I yesterday?’ I asked him as if this was some prank played on me, and he should know the answer. I thought for a bit, thought really hard, then said,’ I remember Tuesday clearly enough, but I don’t remember yesterday at all. What’s going on?’

It was nice to hear some concern coming into his voice.

‘You ‘ve been drinking again!’ he said.

My friends down at the Grand Duke, my favourite watering hole, would probably admit that I’m known from