Into the Fire

by Rachael Blok

  At the same time, she says, ‘What do you think of the champagne cocktail?’

  They both smile and then wait for the other to answer, and Filip can’t think of anything else to say. He blinks and thinks of Sophie, naked, with Stefan. He rubs again at the stain on his glass, looks at the floorboards.

  ‘Lois!’ Ebba calls across the room.

  ‘More guests,’ Lois says. ‘Back in a minute.’ Smiling, she looks relieved, and he feels his shoulders sagging. He stares out of the window, wondering if the rain is coming.

  Going to get a refill, Ebba smiles at him from across the room and his cheeks flood red. She and Sophie are friends. The last time they all met, they had drunk wine and laughed together on the other side of the room. He’d wondered what they’d been saying. Whether Sophie had told her about him. Had they been laughing about him? His inadequacies? Would Sophie have told her how he can’t…

  He shakes his head, wondering if he should just go to his room. He has drunk so much.

  Intelligence in others he finds calming, but beauty throws him. People often think that because he has a beautiful wife, he must be comfortable with beautiful women, but it’s not the case. Sophie can still throw him off balance with a sudden change of expression, and ever since the honeymoon, they’re competitive, combative. But recently, as though she’s planned a game change, there’s a new nakedness in her eyes. She seems to momentarily see him, want him.

  And he forgets who they are now. The other day: her hair piled up and her body shining, like it had been sprayed in gold. He’d been lost to her, fumbling in his eagerness, embarrassed by his wanting.

  Their marriage has become a points board. She is way out in the lead and he’s not sure of the rules.

  Only yesterday, on the balcony outside their bedroom, she’d called to him. Rotterdam had lain beneath the balcony wall and she’d worn nothing as she’d leaned over it, legs slouched and eyes bored. The October sun had been hot behind her and he was sure the cleaners were in somewhere, that they could be watching – had that made it better?

  He’d stared down at the heads on the streets far below. She’d called his name…

  He still didn’t get it right. He hadn’t been able. The air had felt chilled. He’d frozen, unable to say a word. He’d looked away from her, down at the heads of those below.

  It had been so unexpected – she’s taken to ignoring him over the last few months. But he had fallen into her. And he’d been quiet, embarrassed afterwards. When she’d risen and walked away, he’d lain on a lounger, spent, empty. Inadequate.

  He is such a disappointment, he reflects, as he stares out of the wide French doors over the Hertfordshire fields. So successful in work, he has allowed himself to fade into the image he has created for himself.

  Lois returns, bringing with her Iqbal to say hello and another drink for Filip. Iqbal is talking: ‘…the helicopter will be amazing…’

  Sipping, Filip smiles and throws in a laugh quickly, guilty that his mind is wandering back to Sophie and the feel of her skin. Desire rises and falls, and he swallows the champagne quickly, sharp to his tongue. Once again, he thinks that this will be his last big deal. That his company and the investments are sound and he can take himself out of this society; move to a farm somewhere, with only fields to plough. Maybe.

  A shift in the room; a laugh, loud and confident. Every pair of eyes swivel to the door. The mood changes.

  Bubbles catch at the back of Filip’s throat and he coughs, liquid shooting down his nose as he feels the stab a second before seeing the Norway investor enter.

  His heart races.

  Aksel.

  Of course it’s fucking him – who else makes a room vibrate?

  Every sense prickles. Fight or flight. Filip’s fingers flex.

  8

  LOIS

  There is some pleasure in seeing everyone arrive and settle in. Some pleasure and some trepidation. Lois believes in the tech, in the game. It’s not doubting herself, but doubting that these dreams are real. They have wanted it for so long. It feels as though a disproportionate amount of luck has come their way and they will pay for it in the end.

  Ebba moves quickly between the guests, introducing them.

  ‘Filip, such a long time. Have you been busy in the gym?’ Aksel holds out his hand, a smile on his lips, and Lois watches Filip bristle like a hedgehog, quickly retreating beneath his prickles. What is going on?

  Aksel, as usual, arrived with fanfare. He had brandished a bottle of vintage champagne, which Lois knows must be worth over five hundred pounds. He had handed it to Iqbal to take to the kitchen, and Lois and Iqbal had looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Aksel’s habit of treating anyone who didn’t own a company like staff always rankles.

  ‘What a beautiful home!’ Aksel gestures round the room. ‘These flowers! The candles! The wisteria! It’s stunning. And you grew up here?’

  ‘Yes.’ Ebba glances round with pride. ‘It keeps our secrets, doesn’t it, Lois?’

  Lois taps her nose. ‘We know all the hiding places.’

  ‘Yes! Even a secret panel. Where we used to steal chocolate from the kitchen and hide it for midnight feasts.’ Ebba laughs.

  Lois thinks of midnight feasts, and their father finding them at night, his mock shock. He’d been a gentle bear. She’d not been there when he’d died, when stress had bitten hard. She will always regret that. She didn’t get to say goodbye. The blow of betrayal that killed him had been quick and decisive; his company had dived fast. But she trusts that Ebba said goodbye for both of them. Ebba had held his hand as he’d slipped away, and it had broken her.

  Watching Ebba fall apart after his death had lain as heavy on Lois as grief for her father. She hadn’t been there when they had both needed her. She’d been at a gaming conference in LA. And if she had been in London, been able to race to Ebba, then maybe she could have helped? Saved Ebba from the onset of sleeplessness, weight loss, the physical deterioration that showcased her pain.

  Maybe that’s why being alone scares Lois so much. She’d been alone when she’d lost her father and almost lost Ebba. Now, being alone makes her nervous.

  Filip is still scowling, staring at his drink. Refusing to look at Aksel as Ebba tries to spark conversation. There’s definitely something up with these two investors. Filip’s wife isn’t really ill; he had blushed scarlet when he’d spoken, announcing the lie, and his breath smells of spirits. But Lois doesn’t care if Sophie Atwood comes or not. They didn’t necessarily need a film star in the group, soaking up attention and detracting from the focus. Sophie never has any time for Lois. She veers straight to Ebba. They have the demonstration tomorrow afternoon, when everyone gets to play with the product, and it will blow all of their minds – there’s nothing out there to touch it. Lois has never felt so completely elsewhere as she does when she’s playing.

  ‘Lois!’ A liquid voice sounds behind her, like melted chocolate, and she is kissed on both cheeks by Marieke, her hands warm on her arms.

  ‘Marieke, I didn’t see you arrive,’ Lois says, noting that Marieke travels well; she looks as though she has spent hours dressing rather than the morning on the Eurostar.

  ‘I brought these.’ Marieke waves a bag of masks coloured with all the shades of Halloween. ‘I bought one for everyone! I stopped at your local costume shop – the driver took me.’

  She looks as though she wants to say something else, but instead shrugs. ‘I think we will look très chic, no?’ Her eyes already look past Lois, scanning the room.

  ‘Come,’ Lois says, nervous as she always is with Marieke, her words tumbling out quickly. ‘Let me get you a glass of champagne. And has Ebba told you there are police here?’

  Marieke smiles at her quickly, saying, ‘Thank you. I’m not worried about a few jealous, spiteful letters.’ She rolls her eyes; but Lois thinks she looks paler than the last time she saw her, and thinner. She might talk as though she has nothing to fear, but relief had skimmed her face when Lois
mentioned the police.

  While Lois struggles to think of something else to speak to Marieke about, Marieke looks around her for Ebba, and raises her hand, stepping away from Lois.

  Clumsy in Marieke’s presence, Lois thinks again that clumsiness is not something Marieke has time for.

  Ebba approaches, quickly embracing Marieke, talking easily, as though she’d only seen her an hour before. She walks her over to Filip, saying she will get him a refill.

  ‘Filip’s just asked me if there is any difference in the partnership agreements, between his and Aksel’s,’ Ebba whispers to Lois, filling the glass with champagne. ‘I don’t know what he’s heard, but do you know anything? He wants to meet tomorrow, before we release the signatures.’

  Lois shakes her head. ‘They’re both putting the same money in?’

  ‘Yes.’ Ebba takes a sip of her drink. ‘But I don’t want anything to derail us, which could happen if there are rumours – could be dangerous. He’s no fool, he won’t go ahead if there’s any suspicion. I wonder what’s causing it?’ Lois watches her lift a nail to her teeth and not quite bite it, before lowering it again.

  Lois’s anxiety steps up; her arms start to itch and she blinks repeatedly, breathing and trying to remember the mantra she’s practised. She needs Ebba to be OK this weekend; it’s the only way she’ll get through it. Lois looks at Filip: a tall man with thick dark-framed glasses on a pale thin face. Usually when he talks, he glances towards the ground mid-conversation, looking uncomfortable. He’s talking with Marieke now and seems to manage to hold her eye. He’s attractive in a geek-chic kind of way. He hunches slightly and his brown eyes are intent when he talks. He moves his hands when he describes things. He gives the impression of being worth the time, if you’re prepared to invest it. Marieke smiles at him, touching his arm, and he laughs. For the first time since he arrived, he seems to be unwinding.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ Lois says. There are sharks swimming around this deal: nasty letters, Twitter storms. She thinks of the house: they had borrowed over and above their means to buy it back, betting on the promise of the deal. It is inconceivable it will not go ahead. Incomprehensible that they could lose the deal, and with it, their house. It would be like losing their father, all over again.

  She scans the room and for a moment doesn’t see the huge bright works of art on the walls, the lime rugs, pale stripped-back wooden chairs, the bright velvet of the curtains. Instead, she see two girls, riding their bikes around the room on a rainy Sunday. Their father timing their races after he’d cleared furniture out of the way, pushing the old dark furniture to the side. Wistful, she remembers the smell of the varnished mahogany; they’d sold all of it when they’d lost the house.

  ‘Ebba,’ she whispers. ‘What can I do?’

  Ebba shakes her head slightly. ‘Not here. We’ll talk later. Let’s find out what the rumours are first.’ She steps towards new guests, but Lois’s hands are clammy and the butterflies in her stomach are worse.

  Richard and Sarah have arrived. As the original angel investors, they deserve a red-carpet hello. Ebba does not disappoint, smiling and laughing, paving their way in.

  The room softens as the drink flows. Rain starts rattling the old windows, and the top of the amphitheatre disappears in the mist that settles over the Roman city. It’s not too long.

  Not too long to keep everyone smiling and to prevent any cage-rattling.

  Lois bites her fingernails, as Ebba had almost done earlier. The rattling scares her.

  9

  FILIP

  Looking out over the fields from his room, there’s an old ruin in the distance and what looks like the remains of an outdoor Roman theatre; there’d been a mention of that in the invite.

  Filip thinks of a run before dinner, but his blood is full of alcohol and his head is fuzzy.

  Tiredness engulfs him. He kicks off his shoes and socks, untucks his shirt and unfastens the top few buttons. The thick carpet is soft and the room is warm.

  There is a knock at his door.

  ‘Hello,’ he says, hoping it’s coffee, wondering if it would be rude to call down for some.

  ‘Filip? It’s Marieke.’ Her voice is familiar from the other side of the door.

  ‘Marieke,’ he says, smiling, and he opens the door, gesturing into his room. He can see the English couple further up in the long corridor and he waves a hand awkwardly.

  ‘Come in. Can I pour you a drink?’ He gestures at a silver tray on the side, which holds glass bottles of water and a decanter with a dark, expensive whisky.

  Marieke sinks into the large plum velvet chair by the window. ‘How are you feeling? You didn’t seem too happy downstairs. Is it Aksel?’

  He falls into the sofa opposite, immediately feeling better. This is why he likes Marieke so much. No matter how uncomfortable he is feeling, she is able to sweep it aside and pinpoint exactly what is bothering him. She’s become such a good friend.

  ‘Yes.’ He shrugs. ‘He comes into the room like he’s already won.’

  ‘You’re investors in the same company now – it’s not a competition,’ Marieke says, smiling. She stands, reaching for the water and whisky, pouring them both a glass of each. A large vase of Sophie’s favourite flowers sits on the table, yellow roses and wolfsbane. The sisters have thought of everything.

  As she sits, Filip thinks again that she is so different to his wife. Whereas Sophie is tanned, hair in long waves like she’s stepped from the beach, Marieke is tall, pale, with cropped dark hair and fierce eyes. Elegant and eloquent, she is intimidating, and the room becomes hers slowly when she speaks; she earns it gradually, by seeming to listen to others without simply waiting for it to be her time to talk. But he’s always thought it a ruse. Marieke can be ruthless – crowds part for her. They’d not dare not to.

  Sophie has said many times that his nerves around women are all because his mother was distant with him; she has declared loudly on a number of occasions, when the staff have been around, that he should seek therapy. But he has no problems when he’s at work. He’s just no good at small talk. He returns quickly to the structure of the investment that is bothering him.

  ‘No, it’s not a competition, but I’m sure there’s something going on. He’s so… smug. I can tell, from the other side of the room. He’s got something over on me.’ He drinks his whisky, thinking he should have made a point of getting coffee instead, but Marieke has obviously come for a reason and she is more likely to tell him if he matches her.

  She says nothing.

  ‘And the threats?’ he asks. ‘I’ve heard they’ve increased.’

  ‘The police are here for the weekend, the house has been checked.’ She shakes her head and drinks the whisky, but she drinks quickly, and her hand clenches the glass with white knuckles. ‘They’re personal. Like someone hates me. The Twitter stuff I’m used to. These are…’ She waves her hand. ‘I believe in Archipelago. Change works fastest from the top down. Lois and Ebba are leading the field, as are you: signing up to the Visser principles on modern slavery, leading the charge. But I’m tired. I’m no whore, Filip, and I’m sick of being called one.’ She drops her head, and Filip leans forward.

  ‘Marieke, you’re an incredible friend. You’ve made these past few months bearable for me. If I can find the courage to leave Sophie, to build myself back up…’ He shakes his head. ‘Well, it will be because of your support. I hate this. I hate watching you feel like this.’

  ‘Filip! Stop! I’m receiving death threats – you’re married to someone who you think is cheating on you. Our situations are not the same! How many times have you said you need to leave her? She plays games with you. She’s rude! I have to wait it out; you have to act. It’s time to act!’ She stops, glancing out of the window. ‘We’ve spoken of this so often. I’m guessing she’s not here this weekend because you have begun the process? You have told her it’s over?’

  The whisky sits warm in his stomach; the October sun frames Marieke like
a halo. Filip thinks of Sophie, of how he’s always known it would be absolutely impossible to tell her it is over, despite how much he hates the person he has become as her husband. He’s tied to her, in a thousand ways. It will be Sophie who cuts those threads. It will never be him.

  ‘Marieke…’ he begins, and the phone on the table to his left rings loudly. The vibrate is on and it rattles against the glass of the table.

  ‘Please,’ Marieke says, leaning back, sipping her drink.

  He glances at the screen and Sophie’s name flashes up. He feels caught out. He almost dismisses the call.

  ‘Filip, darling, I miss you.’ Her voice comes loudly through the phone. Marieke can hear every word.

  He’s nervous, uncomfortable. Their parting had been so angry. Is she coming? Is she with Stefan?

  All this he thinks of as he opens his mouth to reply, aware that Marieke is sitting nearby.

  ‘Sophie, how…’ He wants to say how are you, because he really means it. They’ve gone wrong. He’s gone wrong. He’s made all sorts of promises… but it sounds so formal, and he switches mid-sentence. ‘How are things?’

  ‘How are things, Filip?’ Her mocking sails down the line, into the room. He glances at Marieke, who looks out of the window.

  ‘Look, can I call you back in a minute? I’ve got someone here.’ He walks quickly to the other side of the room. He wants to ask about Amsterdam, but he doesn’t want Marieke to hear him pleading.

  ‘Who?’ she asks, her tone sharp.

  ‘Someone from the deal. We’re discussing the deal.’

  ‘Who, Filip?’

  ‘Marieke Visser,’ he says, cursing himself for saying her name, bringing her into it. Glancing at Marieke, he thanks her silently that she doesn’t look up. He steps to the side of the room. Tries to lower his voice; hopes Marieke can’t hear.

  ‘Can I call you back in a minute?’

  ‘Filip, I have phoned to make up. I might be able to come after all.’