Graham sat on his verandah in the warm evening air, watching as the sky darkened. His daughter Jess, ten months old now, was asleep in his arms.

“Would you like a beer, Hon?”

Graham looked up at his pretty wife at the door, love in her eyes. He replied with a smile and a nod. He had known Lucy for five years and, by his reckoning, he had told her six lies.

They had met in a park one autumn day when their respective dogs bounded off together, forming an instant friendship.

“Hi, I’m Graham, Graham Brown.” His first lie. His next came three weeks later when over their first meal together (which Lucy had suggested when it became obvious he never would), he informed her that he had been born and educated in Oxford. The lies came easily.

Lucy arrived with the beer which he accepted gratefully. She ruffled his hair, then sat in her chair next to him and picked up her latest novel.

Lie number three came the same evening when he told her he was just eighteen months older than she was. He could not even begin to imagine how she would react if she knew the truth. But he supposed even that lie might be eclipsed by the fact that they were not married. They had of course been through the ceremony, a grand affair in Lucy’s home village with all her friends and family there watching proudly. Even without his bogus details though, Graham knew that the vicar would have declared the marriage void had he known the truth.

Jess stirred, opened her eyes and looked up at her father. She had not said her first word yet, but Graham could see her lips moving as she practiced making vowel sounds while he cooed back with encouragement. Looking up he saw that Lucy was watching them both. She giggled at being noticed and went back to her book still grinning.

His final two lies had perhaps been the most difficult to conceal. He had not financed their comfortable lifestyle from working in the anthropology department at the local university and, while it was certainly an interest, maintaining the charade did not come easily. But perhaps the most audacious untruth was the ‘rare endocrine disorder’ which, three times a year, meant a month-long trip to Germany to a private specialist. In reality, Graham had never been to Germany, using the time instead to return to visit his parents and old life, of which Lucy knew nothing.

Graham glanced at Lucy whose eyes had closed. He decided that tonight he would do it, before time ran out. Silently he stood, Jess in his arms, and, walking quickly, he left his garden and was soon standing in the field at the rear of his house.

“Hey Jess, I’ve something to show you.” He pointed into the pitch black sky, unpolluted by street lighting, at a group of stars barely visible to the naked eye. “I love your mum with all my heart, but can never let her know what I’m about to tell you. And I can never tell you again after today, but I must at least once. I am from one of those stars in that faint group. They are called The Pleiades.” He hoped that her young developing brain would register the information at some subconscious level because his love for her overwhelmed him in a way he could never have imagined, and deceiving her too would break his heart.

Behind him was a noise.

“Graham, what are you up to out here?” There was no concern in Lucy's voice, just curiosity.

“Just showing Jess the stars. Look, there’s The Pleiades.”

A tiny frown formed on Lucy’s brow, as if trying to recall a forgotten memory.

“No, you’ve got that wrong love. They are called The Seven Sisters. I learned that at school.”

“Oh yes,” replied Graham, a small smile forming. “I mean, what would I know about such things?”