The Fault

by Kitty Sewell

  ‘But, I am,’ Mohammed exclaimed. ‘I’m doing my best.’

  ‘Your best…with what?’

  ‘Looking out for Imogen.’

  ‘You are?’ Sebastian looked at him, perplexed. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I must go now. Excuse me, Mr. Luna. It is time for Magrib Salah.’

  The call to prayer had stopped while they were talking, and a few worshippers had slipped past. Mohammed turned and walked rapidly towards the imposing doors of the temple, his djellaba flapping wildly in the gusts of the Levante.

  *

  When he got home, the apartment seemed deserted. It had an eerie empty feel. He went straight to Mimi’s room and knocked on her door. There was no answer so he peeked inside. No Mimi, and the place was in chaos. He could not recall Mimi being so messy. In her childhood years she’d been highly organised, as if realising she was the only female in the household and thus had a particular role to play. Perhaps Dad and he, both, had subconsciously put this burden on her.

  He’d not spoken to her for a couple days – their paths hadn’t crossed – and he felt terrible about his neglect of her. If anything, her vulnerability was his fault. According to Eva, she’d been holed up inside her room getting down to some serious writing. So where was she now? It was no good carping about Montegriffo when he himself was not there for her, supporting her and making sure she was safe.

  He would change. They would eat meals together, like a family, and go for outings. He would take her shopping, go to the beach, play scrabble. Her birthday was approaching and he would make a huge fuss of her then, get her some amazing presents.

  Just as he was closing the door to her room, he heard the front door open. Thank God, there she was. No need to panic.

  ‘Hey Mimi! You’re home!’ he called out. ‘How about a game of scrabble?’ He felt foolish, knowing how contrived it sounded. It had probably been four years since they’d sat down to one of their ferocious games. She’d been a mean opponent, even at thirteen.

  But it was Eva who appeared in the hallway, carrying her wetsuit in a bag. She looked at him in consternation. ‘Scrabble? Do we even have a set?’

  His shoulders slumped. ‘I don’t know. We always used to.’

  She looked him up and down. ‘You’ve really lost weight, honey,’ she said. ‘Let me make us something to eat?’

  ‘Why don’t we wait for Mimi?’

  ‘We could get very hungry indeed, waiting for Mimi. I’ve just had a full day’s wreck diving and I’m ravenous.’

  He went up to her and, taking her face in his hands, kissed her tenderly. ‘Listen, Eva. I know I’ve been a neglectful partner and brother, and I’ve made a resolution to try and be more present. I want us to be more like a family. I think it would be a nice idea if we could sit down in the evenings and have a meal together, all three of us.’

  She smiled back at him, her expression unconvinced. ‘Yes, Sebastian. In principle it’s a wonderful idea. If you and Mimi both commit to showing up at a given hour, I’ll take it upon myself to have food on the table.’

  She made her way to the kitchen to rinse out her wetsuit in the Belfast sink. Sebastian followed.

  ‘We need more continuity around here,’ he went on, ‘for Mimi’s sake. And in the last couple of weeks even you and I have been like ships passing in the night. I miss you.’

  She spoke over her shoulder. ‘Yeah, I’ve missed you too. But don’t forget, that’s what you warned me life with you would be like. You cannot have restraints put upon you, be expected to settle to routines. Your work is always going to be a priority. Those were your very words, and I abide by them.’

  ‘Christ, Eva, I didn’t mean you aren’t a priority. Anyway…can’t a man change his mind?’

  ‘Of course he can. And I suppose I should abide by your change of mind?’

  He was taken aback by the bitterness in her voice. Then he got angry about the way she’d made him sound.

  ‘Oh, Christ, no,’ he said. ‘I forget you don’t want that for yourself. You’re a free spirit. No shackles or ties for you either. You certainly let me know where I stood when you refused to marry me.’

  ‘Because you flung it on me in the middle of a public place – the embassy, for Pete’s sake, wanting me to sign up on the spot.’

  ‘Oh, well,’ he said in a falsetto voice. ‘There I was, thinking the gesture was quite romantic.’

  She had her hands in the tub, furiously squeezing her wetsuit. ‘I felt tricked, Sebastian, like I wasn’t given a choice, or time to think about it.’

  ‘Water under the bridge,’ he growled. ‘We agreed to forget the damned incident.’

  She turned abruptly and looked him in the eye. ‘You know I love you. I admire you and respect you. I adore you… isn’t that good enough? A marriage ceremony means nothing really, it’s what’s behind—’

  ‘It means something to me, Eva,’ he exclaimed. He grabbed her wet hands out of the sink. ‘Marry me, please. Let’s be a family. A real family. Marry me tomorrow.’

  ‘Stop it, Sebastian. I can’t.’ Her expression had changed into one of agony, and she tried to pull her hands away. He held them fast and fell to his knees before her.

  ‘Of course you can. I want you to be my wife forever and ever. Don’t you understand? Marry me, Eva! Make me the happiest man on earth.’

  She began crying. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Why not, damn it?’

  ‘I’m already married,’ she wailed. ‘That’s why!’

  Eva

  There had been times when she’d planned to leave him, but Adrian always seemed to be a step ahead of her, almost as though he could read her mind or sniff out the anxious buildup of an escape. He always said that if she ever left him, he’d find her, put her in a dog collar and only give her water to drink.

  As a federal special agent, and older than her by ten years, he’d been a glamorous boyfriend to begin with. She liked his air of authority: it made her feel secure. When he proposed, in grand style, she didn’t have the wherewithal to say no. Besides, she thought she loved him, and he quite clearly was fixated on her. He was interested in everything she did, her diving, her work, the people she met. He always knew where she was and what she was doing. It felt oppressive at times – hard work – but she thought his vigilance was a symptom of his love. Because of his profession, she assumed an upright decency in him that, month by month, proved false. Right after their wedding, he deliberately swerved his car to run over a cat. Not long after, he slashed a neighbour’s car tyres in the dead of night because of a parking dispute. It was not a good idea to protest; less so when he raged about the filth – African-Americans, Jews and homosexuals – that should be cleansed from America. He had a staunch belief in the order of things. Women occupied a low rung on his particular ladder and she soon learned to choose her words carefully.

  A couple of months after the wedding, he declared there was no need for her to work, and it did not take long before he said that diving was too dangerous for a woman. He discouraged her from seeing friends, and later, forbade it.

  When she witnessed him strike his own mother across the face, she began to fear what her own future with him would hold. He had her firmly in mind as the mother of his children, but he knew nothing of her stealthy trips to the clinic every three months for contraceptive injections. She was terrified of getting pregnant because studies on adopted children had proved conclusively that nature was stronger than nurture where evil was concerned. An aberrant gene could and did pass from generation to generation. A murderer could breed a murderer, and there was nothing a loving mother could do to change it. Adrian had killed men in the line of duty and he thought nothing of taking a human life. He was proud of it. And then there was Remus. Starving a dog to death, in order to punish your wife, said enough about a man. It was all you really needed to know.

  When Kurt, Adrian’s colleague and best friend suggested a camping holiday in France together with their wives, she knew why she had hid
den Eva Eriksson’s passport. In preparation for the trip, she’d mailed it, and all her diplomas and certificates to Poste Restante in Marseille.

  They got a fly-drive deal, renting two camper vans from Paris. The girls had no say in where they went in France, but Eva kept reminding Adrian how much she’d like to see the Riviera. As they headed towards the south-east she found her appetite vanished and her knees were shaking all the time. She went running in the early mornings and tried to stay away from alcohol. Being a fitness-fanatic himself, and liking the fact that she took care of her figure, Adrian didn’t object to her early morning sprints.

  At dawn, on an overcast day in a wooded campsite near Avignon, she’d lain awake listening to Adrian’s rumbling snores. Adrian and Kurt had stayed up till the early hours around the campfire, polishing off a crate of beer and half a bottle of cognac between them. She’d been in bed, wide awake listening to the men getting increasingly drunk, and when they finally staggered back to their respective beds, she knew the moment had come; It was the right time, perhaps the only time.

  With her heart racing wildly, she got up and slipped on her tracksuit and trainers, then pulled out the little bag she’d hidden under the passenger seat. She found Adrian’s folder on a shelf and from it grabbed Chantelle’s passport and a stash of euros, then slid the door open and got out of the van.

  Kurt and Mona’s van was in darkness. It was a cool morning and everything was still. As the door clicked shut Adrian’s snores ceased abruptly. ‘Chantelle?’ his voice was low and raspy.

  ‘I’m just going for my run,’ she said through the half open window.

  ‘Get your ass back in here,’ he said. She knew what he wanted. A blowjob was always on the cards when he was hungover.

  Panic stricken she called out, ’Just going to the toilet. I’ll be right back.’

  She hoped he would go back to sleep, but if he didn’t, she would only have a five- to ten-minute start. It was too late to change her mind. Her courage was only good for one attempt. She forced herself to walk towards the toilet block, bag clamped to her chest, then – fuelled by terror and pure adrenaline – she glanced behind her and began to run. There were many paths through the woods, and she chose blindly at each intersection, looking behind her at every turn.

  She got away, but the act of fleeing is a pitiful solution, riddled with terror and forever leaving one open to capture. And how to shed the woman she had become?

  So she ran and ran until she thought Chantelle Hepping was no more.

  *

  Two days had passed since Sebastian stormed out of the apartment, having asked no question about Eva’s marriage. He stayed at the site all day, or so she assumed. Late in the evening he would come in and ensconce himself in the living room. She heard him in the kitchen during the night, working. In the mornings he was gone, drafts strewn all over the table, balled-up papers littering the floor. His phone was either turned off or out of range.

  His reaction to her duplicity made it seem not only morally outrageous, but criminally negligent, and he was probably right. She felt a coward and a fraud through and through. Yet she’d never actually lied to him about anything. At any time, had he asked outright why she wouldn’t or couldn’t marry him, she would have told him the reason, but he had never posed the question that called for an honest answer. It was a pathetic excuse, nevertheless, motivated by her yearning to be loved, to belong, to feel safe. She should have bared the whole of her past before agreeing to come to Gibraltar.

  Contacting Adrian for a divorce had seemed out of the question. If she could only make Sebastian understand that, in all the ways that mattered, her marriage was well and truly dead. At least from her perspective. But she knew that few men wanted to tie themselves to a woman still married to another man, a man who refused to let go.

  ‘The sun is shining, Mimi,’ she said through the door. ‘Come out and sit with me on the terrace. I’ve made some cheese and lime-pickle sandwiches. And I’ve downloaded some new music I think you’ll like.’

  After a few seconds, the door opened a little and Mimi peered through the crack. She looked tired.

  ‘My God, kid. I insist you eat something.’

  ‘Okay, yes all right,’ Mimi said. She was wearing black knickers and a little black tee shirt. Almost everything Mimi owned was black. ‘You go ahead. I’ll just throw some clothes on.’

  Mimi was an odd girl at the best of times, but her behaviour over the last few days had been peculiar. She hid in her room, saying she was making good progress with her novel. The three of them seemed like lonely islands in a small lake, so close yet unable to reach out to each other.

  Mimi appeared on the terrace ten minutes later, in cutoffs and a baggy top. She sat down and wolfed her sandwich. When she’d finished she inhaled a big glass of milk. Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand she burped, then looked at Eva for a long while, as if researching a character in a novel.

  ‘What are those phone calls you’re getting?’

  Eva stopped chewing. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You got a secret lover or something?’

  ‘Yeah, like, really!’

  ‘Are things going tits-up between you and Sebastian?’

  Was it that obvious? ‘If you must know…things aren’t great at the moment.’

  Mimi was quiet for a few moments staring into the distance. ‘You’re not going to fuck off or anything like that, are you?’

  Despite the accusatory delivery, it sounded like a plea. Eva thought about the question, not having really considered what it might mean if Sebastian, or she herself, felt there was little to salvage. They’d been so besotted with each other and it had been easy while reality was held at bay. Ultimately, the past had a way of sneaking in through the back door, unravelling the illusion of happiness.

  ‘No,’ said Eva resolutely. ‘I’m hanging on. It’s my fault and I’m going to put it right.’

  Mimi shook her head. ‘Hey, it takes two to tango. I’m sure it’s not all your fault.’ After a pause she said, ‘Has Sebastian said anything to you about the medication he’s on?’

  ‘Do you mean for his migraines?’

  ‘No, the other stuff.’

  ‘What other stuff?’

  Mimi’s eyes fixed on a spot on the back of her hand. ‘Why don’t you ask him about it? It’ll probably make you see him more clearly.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell me about it?’ Eva asked. ‘He’s not talking to me right now.’

  ‘It’s better if you hear it from him. I’ve been on at him to tell you. It’s not my business to do it.’

  A police siren screeched in the alleys below, a dog barked, and Raven, the cat, flew up on the balustrade from thin air. His appearance startled them and both gave a little shriek. Instinctively, as though to join forces against peril, Eva reached out and grabbed Mimi’s hand. To her surprise, she met neither rejection nor resistance.

  *

  It was well after midnight when she heard the click of a door closing. After a while there was the telltale squeak of the living-room floorboards. Despite the heat of the summer night, Eva pulled a dressing gown around her and tiptoed down the hall. Without knocking, she opened the living-room door and slipped in.

  He was standing at the window looking up at the summit of the Rock. The moon had risen and threw a pale glow on the craggy ridges above. He must have heard her come in but he stood mesmerised by the unearthly panorama, his hands deep in the pockets of his shorts. He looked a forlorn figure, desolate even. Approaching him from behind, she put her arms around his torso and held him. He did not react, neither for nor against her.

  ‘I know I should say sorry,’ she said, ‘but neither of us have been honest with each other, have we? We could change that.’

  He said nothing for a while, but then turned around and wrapped his arms around her. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he murmured. ‘I missed you terribly, my love.’

  ‘Can we talk?’ she said. ‘I want to tell you ev
erything.’

  He took his time answering. ‘It’s okay, Eva, there’s no need. I accept what you sprung on me. I’ve thought about it and logic tells me you are with me because you want to be. You’re with me, not with him. I don’t need to know anything else.’

  ‘Yes, but there are things…’

  ‘No. Please. Don’t talk. Just be with me, darling Eva.’

  His warm hands raised her face to his. They kissed tentatively and she felt herself go limp with wanting him. After a while he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the sofa.

  Mimi

  August the second. Finally, after all those tedious years of adolescence, she entered the domain of the real people. Her eighteenth birthday dawned. She opened her eyes, turned and looked at the floorboard. Wakefulness flooded her instantly. Not only was she eighteen, she could drink in bars, go travelling, self-publish, buy a car. Age plus money equalled freedom.

  She pulled the sheet up to her chin. A church bell began clanging and she counted ten clangs. She heard a soft swishing sound and lifted her head from the pillow. A pink envelope was being pushed under the door. She ignored it until, a minute later, she heard the front door close. Disentangling her legs from the sheet she got up. She knew what kind of envelope it was. But pink, for heaven’s sakes! Did she look like a pink person?