The Liar's Handbook Read online

  First published in 2017 in Great Britain by

  Barrington Stoke Ltd

  18 Walker Street, Edinburgh, EH3 7LP

  This ebook edition first published in 2019

  www.barringtonstoke.co.uk

  Text © 2017 Keren David

  The moral right of Keren David to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in any part in any form without the written permission of the publisher

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library upon request

  ISBN: 978-1-78112-891-6

  For Eliana

  CONTENTS

  1: Don't get addicted to lying

  2: Don't tell pointless lies. Don't tell lies that are obviously false

  3: Tell too many lies and no one believes it when you tell the truth

  4: Everyone tells lies

  5: You can't tell lies to people who aren't there

  6: Football is a breeding ground for lies

  7: Liars need good friends

  8: People lie to be liked

  9: Real liars fake everything

  10: Sometimes the truth is easier

  11: Lies can't get you out of trouble all the time

  12: Think through your lies beforehand if possible

  13: The truth hurts as much as some lies

  14: Sometimes things that sound like lies are true

  15: Some truths are as hard to swallow as lies

  16: Some lies are evil

  17: If you're a known liar, no one believes you when you tell the truth

  18: You can't run away from your lies

  19: You need to know who you can trust

  20: Lies can trap you. Lies can make you do stupid stuff

  21: Sometimes the truth feels like a film. Like a story

  22: Sometimes you have to lie . To protect the innocent

  23: You know it's true when it makes sense

  24: I'm telling the truth, but I'm also telling stories

  About The Liar's Handbook

  About Keren David

  1: DON'T GET ADDICTED TO LYING

  My name is River and I am a liar.

  Well, that’s what everyone else says, anyway.

  I don’t think that I do lie most of the time. I just think of interesting stuff to say to fill the gaps in what I know.

  Here’s an example. Last week Miss Shah, my Science teacher, asked where my homework was. I had no idea that she’d even set us any homework. So there was no actual true answer to that question, as my homework had never existed. So technically it wasn’t a lie when I told Miss Shah that I’d had a doctor’s appointment, but as my doctor is a specialist based off-shore I had to go by helicopter.

  And the helicopter pilot had a Doberman puppy and my mum trod on its tail and it nipped her ankle and I used my homework to staunch the flow of blood.

  It’s not my fault if the rest of the class started laughing and it took Miss Shah ten minutes to calm them down again.

  The same rule applies if someone asks where I’ve been on holiday. We never go anywhere on holiday except to Cornwall and to festivals. So it’s not a lie to make something up.

  Half of my year still believes that I was a champion snow-boarder at the age of six, and my career was ruined by an encounter with a polar bear during the world junior snow-boarding championships. It was later proved that the bear had been planted on the course by the crazed manager of the Danish team, but by then I’d given up snow-boarding and had a small but vital role in the latest James Bond film, playing an Alsatian. It took hours in costume and make-up.

  The other half of my year doesn’t believe me even when I do tell the truth. Somehow the truth is never quite enough. No one believed me when I told them I’d learned to surf in Newquay in the summer holidays, even though I’d got really good at it.

  But perhaps that was because I also told them that a massive mutant octopus had wrapped its tentacles around my surfboard, but I was lucky and I had a knife on me. (I’d saved an old lady from being mugged earlier that day and hadn’t had a chance to hand the thief’s blade in to the police.) So I hacked off the tentacles one by one, until the sea churned with blood and bits of octopus and then …

  My stories didn’t hurt anyone and I liked how they made me super popular. People called me a legend. I was King of Bants. Even the teachers seemed to look forward to my answer when they asked, “River? What happened this time?”

  River is my real name, by the way. No lies there, even though a few years ago I told everyone that my name was actually Egbert Swordhand and I was last in a line descended from the ancient Saxon kings, and my lawyers were preparing a case against the Royal Family for gazillions of pounds.

  Four years later, some of the kids at school still call me Eggs.

  Anyway, those lies are just one sort of lie. Flights of fancy, my mum calls them. But now I have a mission to complete, and I’m up against someone who tells proper lies all the time. Who’s a total fake. And that means I might have to start telling real lies too.

  Lies about where I’ve been and who with. Lies about what I’ve been up to. Lies about how I feel and what I think. Lies to protect my privacy. Lies to undermine and expose the Enemy.

  The Enemy is called Jason. He claims to be in love with my mum. But that’s a lie and so is everything else about him.

  2: DON'T TELL POINTLESS LIES. DON'T TELL LIES THAT ARE OBVIOUSLY FALSE

  Mr Zakouri is our Pastoral Head of Year. He doesn’t call your parents in to see him unless you’re in real trouble or he thinks you need help. Like when my friend Kai got obsessed with looking at stuff online and started being on his phone all the time at school and home. He only escaped total surveillance by joining my football club, so he could prove he was “cutting back on screen time and taking outdoor exercise”. Which is great, except the rest of the team sort of blamed me cause Kai is the world’s most useless defender (along with the current back line at Arsenal, ha ha). Kai supports Arsenal and I support Spurs, but we can both live with that.

  Anyway, I’m sitting in Mr Zakouri’s office, waiting for Mum to turn up. Which means I am in deep, deep trouble.

  Or I need help. Whatever. I haven’t done anything, except tell my Art teacher that Jason is a thief, and he used my sketch book as part of his disguise when he tried to steal the Mona Lisa, and that’s why it looked like I’d forgotten it.

  I mean, it could have been true. Jason says he’s a journalist, but he never seems to do any work. And he’s never short of money. Maybe he is an international art thief.

  While we’re waiting for Mum, I try and explain to Mr Zakouri where my real dad is.

  “He’s incredibly busy,” I say. “He’s in Nigeria.”

  “Nigeria?” Mr Zakouri says. “Is he from Nigeria?”

  “No, he’s from Wales,” I say.

  It might be true. Loads of environmentalists seem to live in Wales – Kai’s dad, for example – and one of the only things I know about my dad is that he really cared about the environment.

  “There’s a crisis in Lagos,” I carry on. “He’s a trouble-shooter for MI5. He’s trying to get some hostages freed. He’s, like, an international counter-terrorism expert.”

  Mr Zakouri sighs and pushes his glasses up his nose. I don’t know why he bothers. They slide down again right away.

  “Your father works for MI5,” he says. “As an agent?”

  “Yup.”

  “River, if that were true, do you think you’d be allowed to tell me about it?”

  I think about this. “It could be a sort of double bluff, sir.” />
  “A double bluff?” he says.

  “Yup.” I nod. “Like, because I tell you about it, you think it can’t be true, but actually it is.”

  “So that’s why your father’s not been to a single parents’ evening since you joined the school?” Mr Zakouri says.

  “He’s way too busy, sir.”

  Mr Zakouri shakes his head. “Oh, dear,” he says, then the door opens and Mum comes in.

  My mum always looks amazing. She makes all her own clothes from stuff she gets from charity shops. She likes bright colours, so today she’s got on a sunshine yellow top, with sleeves covered in pink roses. Her shoes are a green shiny material which looks like silk but isn’t, because it’s cruel to exploit silkworms. Her orange skirt puffs out at the sides. Her silver hoop earrings are the size of saucers, standing out against her dark skin and black hair. Her eyelids shine and her lips glitter with gloss. I look at her and I know that she’s dressed for a fight. And my mum tends to win fights.

  “Mrs Jones,” Mr Zakouri says.

  “Ms Jones,” she replies. “But you can call me Tanya.”

  Mr Zakouri nods. “Ms Jones – Tanya – River has just informed me that his father is in Nigeria to resolve a hostage crisis. Is that true?”

  Mum’s mouth twitches. “No,” she says. “River, why would you say that?”

  I shrug. “He might be,” I say.

  “Ms Jones.” Mr Zakaouri sounds like he means business. “I’ve asked you here today because we’re worried about River’s behaviour. His imagination seems to be out of control. He tells lie after lie after lie.”

  “Oh, River,” Mum says. “Not again.”

  “I don’t think it’s a problem,” I tell her.

  “We’re worried that River can’t tell fact from fiction,” Mr Zakouri says. “He’s turning into a Walter Mitty.”

  “A what?” Mum says.

  “Walter Mitty,” Mr Zakouri says. “Famous fictional character who lived in a fantasy world. Invented by James Thurber, played by Danny Kaye in the 1940s film and in a 2013 remake by Ben Stiller. But it wasn’t a patch on the original.”

  Mum glowers at Mr Zakouri. “You’re comparing my son to a made-up character? And you say he can’t tell fact from fiction?”

  I sneak Mum a little thank you smile. She gives me a wait till we get home glare.

  But Mr Zakouri glowers straight back at Mum. “Ms Jones,” he says. “I think you know as well as I do that River’s got a problem. He’s more than old enough to know what’s true and what’s not.”

  Mum sighs. “I’m sorry, Mr Zakouri. I thought River had grown out of telling stories. But does it matter so much? There’s so much more in the world to worry about.”

  “Such as?” Mr Zakouri asks.

  Mum doesn’t miss a beat. “The environment. Politics. War. Poverty. Refugees. I mean, is it surprising that some people retreat into fantasy?”

  “You think River’s lies are a reaction to global events?” Mr Zakouri says. “Is that true, River?”

  I shake my head.

  “Well,” Mr Zakouri says. “We’ve got a plan. River, your English teacher thinks you’ve got a fantastic flair for story-telling. Here’s an exercise book. Why don’t you write down all the tall tales you can think of? Write them down instead of trying to convince people that they’re true.”

  I open my mouth and then close it again.

  “Lying is a fine art, River,” Mr Zakouri says. “At the moment you’re not very good at it. Consider yourself warned.”

  Mum ignores the warning. “That’s a good idea, Mr Zakouri,” she says. “You can write about our holiday in Costa Rica, can’t you, River?”

  “Costa Rica?” Mr Zakouri parrots. He looks like he thinks Mum is the one telling stories now.

  But Mum’s on a roll, telling Mr Zakouri all about our ‘special holiday’. All the bio-diversity and special conservation stuff. All the people Jason is going to interview for National Geographic. Allegedly.

  All the stuff I don’t believe and don’t want to know about.

  So I shut my ears and close my eyes. And I think about this stupid book. It’s not going to be stories I tell instead of lies. It’s going to be a guidebook – a book of instructions for telling lies.

  It’s going to be called The Liar’s Handbook.

  3: TELL TOO MANY LIES AND NO ONE BELIEVES IT WHEN YOU TELL THE TRUTH

  It’s 5.05 a.m. and we’re at the airport. Jason’s gone off to buy coffees and I’m arguing with Mum.

  “I just said that if Jason really cared about the environment then we wouldn’t be getting a plane all the way to Costa Rica.”

  “You called him a fake,” Mum says for the second time.

  “He is a fake.”

  “So am I a fake too?” Mum demands. “Because I’m getting on this plane too, River.”

  “Can I stay at home?” I say. “I could go to Kai’s house.”

  “No! No you cannot!” Mum almost shouts. “Why do you have to be like this?”

  “Why do you have to be like this?”

  She tries a different tack, her voice soft now. Too soft. “I know it’s scary, River, flying for the first time.”

  “I’m not scared! At least not for me. I’m thinking about the planet! What about our carbon footprint?”

  “River,” she sighs. “I haven’t been on a plane for years. Not since I left New Zealand. And this is a very special trip, darling.”

  I don’t need her special. “I could stay at home,” I say. “You and Jason would have a better time by yourselves.”

  “But I want you there,” she says, not giving up. “And for you to get to know Jason. Believe me, River, he’s someone you can trust.”

  “Yeah, right. You’re really good at finding the ones to trust, aren’t you?”

  Mum blinks. She looks hurt. I feel mean and bad and angry that I’ve been forced into a position where I say things like that to her. It’s all Jason’s fault. But she doesn’t think so.

  “There’s no need for that, River,” she says. “That’s not fair.”

  It’s not fair that you’ve decided to import Jason into our tiny house, I want to say. It’s not fair that you made that decision on your own. It’s not fair that you and he have secrets, so you shut up when I come into the room. It’s not fair that sometimes he makes you cry and you won’t tell me why.

  “Nothing’s fair,” I say. “Life’s not fair.”

  “I just wish we could …” Her voice trails off. “Trust me, River. Jason’s a nice guy. More than nice.”

  Jason comes back then with the coffees so I don’t have to answer. I take my drink, turn my back, plug myself into my headphones and lose myself in music.

  There’s no way I could ever trust Jason. He isn’t “nice”. The word for him is smooth. From his smooth, posh voice to his smooth, shiny hair. (I know he uses conditioner! Probably not even organic!) His smooth, pale skin. His smart, ironed jeans. His crisp polo shirts.

  And the smooth way he ignores my insults, and pretends to be interested in me, and asks me about school and football and friends and all that stuff that is actually none of his business.

  And the smooth way he persuaded Mum to get engaged – to marry him one day. I’ve sworn that will never, ever happen.

  4: EVERYONE TELLS LIES

  Costa Rica. Day 2.

  Yesterday we toured a rain forest conservation project. It would have been very interesting if I hadn’t been on high alert the whole time watching Jason and Mum to monitor their relationship.

  It’s difficult to find any proof that Jason is a liar, a con man, a big, fat fake. He asks the tour guide clever questions. He looks concerned about rare reptiles that are about to become extinct.

  I was beginning to think it was all OK. They’d come to their senses.

  But now it’s Day 2, I’ve just come down for breakfast and I’m looking at someone who might be, who could be …

  Kai!

  He’s just standing in the middle
of the hotel lobby, looking shifty.

  I can’t believe my eyes! Does Kai have some sort of Costa Rican lookalike? The real Kai told me he was going to Liverpool to see his nan.

  “Hey, Kai,” I say, all casual, just in case I’ve totally forgotten a conversation in which he said, “By the way, we’re coming to Costa Rica too.”

  “Hey, bro.”

  We stand there trying to think of what to say next. It’s all a bit awkward, then Kai says, “See the fixtures for next season?” and I say, “Yeah, Finchley Barbarians Under 16s first week.” Then we both shake our heads and make “I’m in pain” faces, because the Barbarians are complete monsters and last season they beat us into second place in the North London U15 Sunday League (division 6). Now we’re both in division 5, so it’s a whole new ball game.

  That is, it’s the same ball game but with bigger opponents, a bigger pitch, a bigger goal and 40 minutes each half.

  Then Kai’s mum Lorna finishes talking to the guy at the hotel desk, and she comes over and says, “Surprise! I bet we’re the last people you expected to see! Talk about romantic!”

  And I shrug and say, “Yeah?” I have no idea what she’s on about.

  And Kai says, “It would be really cool if we didn’t have to go to this stupid wedding.”

  “Oh, Kai!” Lorna tuts. “Don’t be like that. It’s River’s mum’s big day!”

  “Big day? You what?” I manage.

  “A wedding on the beach!” Lorna cries. “So dreamy! So romantic!”

  Right up to this point I’ve always thought that Lorna was a sensible sort of person. Dental nurses have to have their wits about them, just in case someone randomly bites them. (I may have done this when I was five. I can’t remember if it was just a story or not. I think I did it, but the gushing blood and the life-threatening infection that the dentist got probably weren’t true.)

  But it soon turns out Lorna isn’t very sensible at all.

  She goes on and on ... the flowers, the dress, the top secret invite from Jason, along with plane tickets and the hotel all paid for.