The Actuary

by K T Bowes

  Chapter 4

  “I’m gutted about my car,” Rohan whispered into the darkness. Emma rolled her eyes and sighed loudly.

  “It’ll be fine for tonight. But Sunday’s not a great day to leave town. Everyone gets drunk after tea. Brian will be rat-faced and probably forget who you are if you turn up wanting your car. Last weekend his wife clouted him round the head with a frying pan and he was senseless until Tuesday.”

  “I’m astounded you noticed!” Rohan breathed and Emma giggled.

  “You sound so stuck up. I don’t remember you being like this.”

  Rohan turned on his stomach on the sleeping mat, grunting in annoyance as Emma’s fleece and coat slipped off his body and left him uncovered in the freezing cold room.

  “You’re such a baby!” she complained. She opened out her sleeping bag and shuffled her sleeping mat next to his. The draught was unbearable as Emma flapped the bag into a wide rectangle and draped it over the two of them. Rohan lifted his head off the foam mat and scooted over, groaning as he buried his face in Emma’s pillow.

  “It smells of you,” he whispered, sounding pleased.

  “In what way?” Emma’s voice betrayed her nervousness. It was her greatest fear that her living conditions made her and Nicky smell, but nobody had the courage to tell her.

  Rohan inhaled loudly. “Shampoo and perfume. I’ve missed you so much.”

  Emma smiled in the darkness and felt wistful. She wanted to thank him for the compliment but couldn’t face the idea of where it might take them. “Just get some sleep,” she whispered. “Sometimes they kick off breaking windows and stuff after midnight and then you’ll be awake until morning. The cops and the council won’t come out here at night so we’re on our own.” Emma turned on her side facing away from him, stunned when Rohan moved across behind her. He fitted his long body into hers, perfectly placed and snugly tight against Emma’s back. She inhaled slowly and tried to stop the intense feeling in her stomach from blossoming into full blown attraction. She couldn’t be with this man, not ever.

  “I didn’t know it was possible to be so creative with such a tiny amount of food,” Rohan whispered and Emma heard the smile in his voice. “It was like the feeding of the five thousand. Jesus couldn’t have done better with a few slices of a bread and tin of tuna.” She chose to ignore it and the silence poured in between them. “Night,” he breathed finally into the back of her neck. Rohan planted a single, tender kiss on her hair and inhaled deeply. Emma bit her lip, not sure what to do. She remembered every single inch of his beautiful body, ingrained on her mind from their stolen moments in the Gretna Green motel and then at his mother’s house. She writhed inwardly and tried to detach from his crushing embrace. Fully dressed, Rohan slipped his left hand around her waist and separated her pyjama top from the trousers. Emma breathed in as his fingers settled gently over her stomach. She waited for his hand to rove further but it didn’t. Rohan sighed in satisfaction and rested his cheek against the top of her head.

  Emma swallowed as the memory reluctantly surfaced, the same hand resting on her bare stomach. She was sixteen and in love, her stomach still childishly flat and her pregnancy not yet evident. Emma felt suddenly embarrassed by the ridged silver stretch marks on her flesh and tried to push Rohan’s hand away. He sighed into her hair and clamped his fingers over her hand, making it part of his strange embrace. He was strong and Emma gave up eventually, succumbing to the feeling of safety, Rohan’s body cupping hers in a comforting encirclement.

  Emma woke when night was at its darkest, her body tense and instantly alert. She stopped and listened, taking her bearings and readying herself to defend her son. She groped above her for the cricket bat, panicking when it wasn’t in its usual spot behind her pillow. The street sounded silent, no wandering troublemaker calling out in drunken shouts, no sound of distant breaking glass. Emma lay and listened, noticing the clammy warmth at her back and remembering her guest. She shifted slightly on the mat, realising the back of her pyjamas were soaked and uncomfortable. Then Rohan shuddered and she heard him make a choking sound which sounded incongruous in the silence of the night.

  “Ro?” Emma whispered, managing to turn herself in the small space he allowed her. His body felt slumped over hers and he tightened his grip. Then he whimpered and gripped her even harder.

  “He’s dead,” he hissed.

  “Who?” Panic lit a fire underneath her and she pushed at Rohan’s body. “Who’s dead, Rohan, who?”

  He muttered a name she didn’t know and Emma relaxed. “Not Nicky?”

  Rohan’s grip constricted so her body was pressed hard into his rigid frame. Her back arched and it felt painful. His hand slid up to the back of her neck and he mashed her face into his chest. Emma felt the coarse hair against her cheek and began to struggle. Something cold with a sharp edge cut into her shin and she moved her leg away. Rohan’s hand slid over her hair and he gasped, “Where’s your helmet?” There was panic in his voice. “Don’t move, there’s shrapnel everywhere.”

  Emma knew then. Rohan was trapped in some hideous nightmare filled with the monsters of unreasonable men and destructive weapons manned by sons, brothers and fathers. She stilled in his arms and heard him whimper, his chin wedged painfully on the top of her head. “My legs,” he let out a tiny wail. “I can’t feel my legs.”

  “Ssshh, Rohan. It’s ok, babe.” Emma worked her arms free from the vice around her and used her weight to tip him onto his back so she was half on top. She rubbed at his left thigh and tried to soothe him. “Your legs are fine.” She reached under herself and rubbed at his other leg, managing to reach only his hip. “It’s just a dream, see?”

  Rohan felt soaked, sweat dripping down the sides of his face and underneath his hair. He groaned and Emma knew she needed to wake him up and release him from the nightmare. Her heart flickered with fear of what the trained killer might do if left in his war scenario. “Ro! Wake up, babe. Ro!” Emma stroked his face, feeling his taut, frightened body underneath her. Nothing. He inhaled as though there wasn’t enough oxygen in his nightmare and as Emma heard the sharp intake of breath, she kissed him.

  She wasn’t sure why. As soon as her lips contacted his, she knew it was a huge mistake because she wanted it so badly. It was like putting on a familiar, comfortable pair of favourite shoes and Emma was instantly sunk.

  Rohan jumped from hell to heaven with breathtaking speed. There were no soft kisses in the terrifying dream places which sleep forced him back to and Emma felt his body jerk awake. He was stronger than she remembered and as he kissed her in a frenzy of instant need, she doubted she could make him stop. His strong arms crossed over her back and pressed her into him and Emma felt every part of him wake up fully. She cursed her own body which responded with practiced haste and tried desperately to halt this new road to destruction.

  Rohan’s lips caressed hers and they struggled for breath between them. One hand released her but made its way to the bottom of her pyjama top and began the journey under the hem and up the inside. Emma’s brain played hideous games with her. Yes. No. Yes. No. No.

  “Stop!” she cried, breaking her lips from Rohan’s and his sensuous activity ceased. His body felt like a furnace and he panted under her. Emma felt his heart through their combined chest walls as he plummeted back to earth after visiting dizzying extremes of emotion.

  “Em?” He sounded tearful and confused, driving a stab of sorrow into her heart. The material from his trousers felt rough against Emma’s stomach and his belt buckle dug into her flesh.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “You were having a nightmare about something and I couldn’t wake you. Everything’s fine now.”

  Rohan exhaled and Emma felt him under her, struggling to control his breathing and gain control. “Did I hurt you?” he asked and his voice was numb. His fingers shifted against her soft back, ticklish and guilty.

  “No,” she whispered. “I think we both just defaulted to...what we were.”

  Rohan sighe
d and the hand against Emma’s silky skin moved slowly across her back, stroking and sampling before being ordered to leave the comfort of her pyjama top. Emma felt the electricity between them and resisted. It was a bitter road and she couldn’t go back. For Nicky’s sake.

  She slid off Rohan’s body and slumped to the side of him, tumbling into the gap between the two sleeping mats and contacting the cold floorboards. Rohan’s palm slid with her, lingering on Emma’s side and sweeping across her stomach as she pulled away and lay on her back. The clink of metal attracted her attention and Emma reached up, feeling around Rohan’s shoulder until she found what she wanted. She seized the dog tags in her fingers, rubbing the familiar surface and reciting what was written there in her head. The chain felt just the same, tiny links made of metal balls, strong and unbreakable until snapped a certain way by the hand of another soldier, collecting a dead man’s identity for his family.

  Emma sighed and let it drop down the side of Rohan’s neck, hearing the clink of the two metal rectangles. “You’re still serving?” she asked with interest and waited for him to answer.

  “No.”

  “Oh. When did you come out?”

  “Six years ago.”

  Emma leaned up on her elbow and looked at the space where she knew his face should be. Her hip fitted uncomfortably in the gap between the mats and tipped her so her breasts touched Rohan’s side through her clothing. “Why don’t you take them off then?” She knew as she asked it, the question was a dumb one. Who knew the inner workings and complications of a soldier’s mind? In the absence of her pillow, Emma balanced her head in the crook of her arm. “It’s ok. It’s none of my business.”

  “It’s fine.” Rohan stretched his arm out and laid the back of his hand on Emma’s hip. “I keep it on because it reminds me I’m alive. In a practical way, it identifies my body for the authorities if something happens. Mum’s not reliable and...Anton’s...well, it feels like part of me, I suppose.”

  Emma nodded slowly, not really understanding, pushing her nose close to Rohan’s shoulder. She sniffed quietly and smelled his familiar scent, breathing it in and trying to satiate more than six years of craving. He snuffed and gave a small laugh. “That’s ticklish, Em.”

  “Sorry.” She got up and shifted the mats together again, making Rohan lift his head off the pillow so she could turn it over and move some onto her side. Dragging her coat and fleece over them and the damp sleeping bag, Emma finally settled down after a trip to the dilapidated bathroom, shifting around to get comfortable.

  “Here.” Rohan lifted his arm and put it around Emma, pulling her into him in the darkness. She scooted across with surprising speed, pressing her nose into the downy fluff of his armpit. “I don’t know why you always did that,” he chuckled, his voice light.

  “Mmmnnn,” Emma sighed and felt Rohan’s chest jerk as he laughed again.

  In the silence as she drifted off to sleep, she sensed the veil of sadness drape itself over her head. “I missed you too much, Em,” Rohan whispered, so softly it was almost inaudible. She tried to rouse herself again, wondering in her sleep fuddled state what it was about his brother, Anton that was unreliable. Or did he say it was his mother, who wouldn’t be able to identify his corpse.

  They woke at six in the morning with the sound of the dawn chorus. Emma loved how the birds didn’t distinguish between the Greyfriars housing estate and Buckingham Palace, trilling for them all with equal enthusiasm. Rohan’s arm felt heavy over her left side, pinning her to the floor. As he stirred and yawned, his fingers flexed against her skin, invoking an erotic tickling sensation. Emma gasped.

  “Morning,” Rohan whispered and kissed the side of her head. “I haven’t slept on the floor since the army. I actually feel ok.” He sounded surprised, withdrawing his hand from Emma’s back and rolling over. He swore. “Forget that last comment. My body disagrees.”

  “Welcome to my world,” Emma smiled. “Mine feels like that every morning.” She shifted onto her back and sat up, hugging her knees. Rohan touched the bare spot between the pieces of her pyjamas, caressing the soft skin at the bottom of her back and Emma closed her eyes, deliberately staying silent. She felt strangely disappointed when he withdrew his hand.

  “How long have you been here?” he asked, his voice tightening as he used his stomach muscles to sit up.

  “Almost two years,” Emma replied, glancing back at Rohan. Her hair was a tangle of black curls and he pulled them away from her face and tucked them behind her ear.

  “Why?”

  Emma bit her lip and shrugged. “Nowhere else to go really. I got the job at the school and this was the only thing on offer. I can’t really afford anything else and because the school’s on the estate, you kinda have to live here to be accepted. It just made sense.”

  “I get that.” Rohan rested his chin on her shoulder and Emma felt his stubble through her sleeve. It caused a plunging sensation to start in the pit of her stomach and she fought it valiantly. It was as though Rohan sensed it and he grazed the side of her face with his, seeing her close her eyes in defiance and exhale slowly through full, pink lips. “Em,” he whispered, kissing the space under her ear which used to drive her mad for him. Emma shivered.

  Rohan carefully moved her long curls out of the way, placing them gently down her spine. Emma was like a scorpion, tail coiled in threat and body rigid. Rohan willingly diced with death, waiting for her to strike as he snuffed sensuously in her ear and nibbled the soft skin of her neck. When she attacked, she saw he still felt stunned, even though her rejection hung over him like a cudgel. “I’m not doing this!” Emma pushed herself away from him, sitting at the end of her thin sleeping mat and running her hands down her face. “Why are you here, Ro? What do you want?”

  “You.” His face was straight and full of determination. There was no edge to it. He spoke the truth.

  “For a divorce?” Emma asked, dreading the answer. Her body tensed as she waited for the defining blow.

  “No, Em. Never,” Rohan answered, his face more confident than he felt. “I told you all those years ago when we married, I’m Russian Orthodox; I won’t divorce you. You agreed to it so you’re stuck with me. You might want to live like this...” he cast his hand around him, taking in the peeling wallpaper and the damp patch in the corner of the room from a roof leak. “But we’ll stay married until one of us dies.” He smiled pensively at her. “And hopefully that won’t be any time soon, unless one of us catches pneumonia in this shit hole. It’s always funny until someone croaks.”

  Emma closed her mouth with a snap and looked offended. “Nicky caught pneumonia last winter and spent a week in hospital.” Emma was allowed to stay on the children’s ward with him and they ate well and slept warmly. But when they returned home, there were squatters in the downstairs rooms and Emma stood on the front lawn and cried through sheer exhaustion. Fat Brian sorted it out for her, ejecting the uninvited guests from the dining room window face first. Then he boarded up their unfortunate exit point with graffitied chip board.

  “Sorry, that was tactless.” Rohan looked down and bit his lip.

  “It’s fine. Chto sdelano, to sdelano.”

  Rohan’s jaw dropped and he looked at Emma with sudden alertness. His blue eyes narrowed. “My father used to say that. What’s done is done.”

  “Did he?” Emma smiled brightly and brushed the moment aside as inconsequential. Damn!

  Rohan watched her with a soldier’s intensity as Emma fluffed around the empty bedroom, grabbing clean clothes from her suitcase and fleeing to the bathroom. She showered without peace, the sound of the pipe-clanking orchestra dulling her pain until the boiler chucked a fit and she was doused with freezing water.