Intimate Strangers

by Susan Lewis

  In the end she turned off the lights and went to bed. It would all, she told herself as she gazed into the moonlight, look quite different in the morning, from the small mistake with the wild flowers, to the inconsistency of their memories, to the shock of Elaine Sabarito. So instead of wondering if she’d just been rejected, down there at the door, she should relax and fall asleep thinking about nothing more than how truly wonderful it had been to see him again.

  Chapter Eleven

  BARRY DAVIDSON HAD no doubt, as he worked to repair the damage to his mother’s two-up two-down terraced home, what it was all about. His mum thought it was a random break-in, kids who had nothing better to do than rob and terrorize old ladies, but it wasn’t as simple as that. It was probably better for her to think it, though. Less complicated, and less frightening than knowing someone was putting the squeeze on her boy.

  Bastards! He’d kill ’em if he could get his hands on ’em. She was seventy-four years old, for God’s sake! What chance did she stand against two thugs in leather jackets, with crow-bars and steel-capped boots? She’d been terrified out of her tiny. They’d just burst in, taking the front door right off its hinges, and started smashing the place up. Chairs, the sofa, the table where she’d been filling out her lottery ticket, the sideboard where she kept her best china, her ornament cabinet – it was all over the place. The kitchen cupboards had been ransacked, the bin upended.

  The place was a bloody mess, and all the time it had been happening she’d cowered in a corner behind the telly, trembling for her life. They didn’t care that she had a dodgy heart, and even if she didn’t she was too old and too frail to fight back. She wasn’t even steady enough on her legs to go down the corner shop without her Zimmer, which, as it happened, they’d smashed up along with everything else. Fucking bastards! They were too fucking cowardly to come and do his place over. They had to pick on a defenceless old lady, who’d suffered an asthma attack after they’d gone and had ended up being rushed to hospital.

  Just thank God for Nosy Nance who lived opposite, otherwise the police wouldn’t have turned up when they did, and then the ambulance might not have got there in time. Nance had seen the thugs breaking in, and had dialled 999 straight away. She could be a pain in the arse, could Nance, but it wasn’t the only time she’d been on the ball for an emergency in the street.

  His mum was still in hospital, but he should be able to pick her up later today. She was insisting on coming back to her own home, which was why he was here with his mates, doing his best to fix it up. She could be a stubborn old cow at times, because, God knew, he’d practically begged her to come and stay with him. Not her, though. This was her home, where she’d lived since she got married, and no thieving little villains were going to drive her out now. She’d get her pension again next week, so the money they’d taken would be replaced, it just meant she’d go short for a bit, but it wouldn’t be the first time. She’d survive.

  As he picked up an old photo of her and his dad he looked down at their smiling faces and wanted to weep. What the hell was it all about? These were decent, honest people, who’d give you the clothes off their back if they thought you were worse off than them. They’d never done anyone any harm, but his dad had been killed by a drunk driver ten years ago while on his way to pick up a neighbour whose car had broken down, and now his mum was being turned into a victim again because of the help her son was trying to give to those who needed it. Yeah, God. What the hell was it all about? You tried to do some good in the world, and this was what you got.

  ‘Not as bad as it looks,’ one of his mates said, coming in from the kitchen. ‘Not much breakage, more chucking stuff about really. We should have it all back together by the time you bring her home.’

  As it turned out his mate was more or less right. The place was patched up as best they could in a couple of hours, the front door was repaired and they’d managed to glue at least some of her ornaments back together. With any luck she wouldn’t need the video tonight, because he hadn’t been able to afford a replacement for that. He’d talk to his boss, see if he could get an advance on his wages. Presumably the thugs had taken it, and the cash in her purse, to make it look like a robbery, which meant he should probably be thankful they’d left the TV. She didn’t like to be without her TV. Her friend, Mrs Haskins, was going to come and stay tonight. She was happier with that, she’d said, than putting him out when he was so busy. That was typical of her, trying not to make a fuss. Things happened, she always said, and they just had to get on with their lives the best they could.

  So that was what he would do. Carry on, the way she wanted. She could stay in Bethnal Green tonight with her friend keeping an eye on her, while he went home to Romford to face whatever was waiting for him there. It hadn’t come in the last two nights, since her place had been done over, but a clearer message was on its way, he knew that, just as surely as he knew what answer he was going to give when it came.

  Neela didn’t know where they were now, but she hadn’t known before. She’d just done as she was told the night they’d left the other place, run quickly and quietly down the stairs to a lorry whose big back doors were open ready for them to get in. They’d been told to take their mattresses and other belongings, but no-one had anything more than the clothes they wore.

  This place wasn’t very different from the last, just hotter and with nowhere to wash. Trains thundered past and made the walls shake. The machines had arrived earlier, so they could work again now. For three days they’d been unable to do anything but sit around and be afraid. Even Bhanu, who hated everyone and was always nice to Mota Ben, had become quiet. Ekta had stopped singing songs to cheer them all up, because now the songs made them cry.

  There had been no chance yet for Neela to go to the men who hurt them. Since coming here no-one had been taken outside at all. In her heart she was glad, for she was terrified of what they would do to her. She wanted the time never to come, even though she knew it would. She’d told Ekta what she meant to do, and Ekta had said she was very brave. Ekta would keep the secret, and try to steer Mota Ben Neela’s way when she next came to take someone to the men. Ekta would look after Shaila too, while Neela was gone.

  Getting chosen wouldn’t be easy when she wasn’t beautiful like some of the others, but Ekta said that the men liked them to be young and sometimes fear pleased them too. Neela was just sixteen and she was very afraid.

  It was still daylight outside. They could see through the cracks in the boards at the windows, and everything sounded fast. Traffic, trains, footsteps, voices. Some of the women were working on the machines, but there wasn’t much to do, so the others were just lying on their beds staring at nothing. Neela was building a house of coloured cotton reels with Shaila. On the bed next to them Ekta was chanting under her breath. They tried hard not to make a noise, because they’d been told if they did very bad things would happen to them.

  Suddenly Ekta stopped chanting. Neela turned to look at her, and noticed that the other women were alert now too. Then she realized why. Someone was unlocking the door.

  Neela’s heart began thudding. When Mota Ben walked in with the man they called the driver Neela knew more fear than could fill the world. When the driver came it was to take them to the men.

  Neela’s big brown eyes met Ekta’s, then watched the older woman as she got up to speak to Mota Ben. Their voices were low so no-one could hear what Ekta was saying, but Neela knew she would be telling Mota Ben that the ugly girl with the marked face was the only virgin left.

  Mota Ben glanced in Neela’s direction. Neela lowered her head and pulled the soiled folds of her shawl up around her. Sensing something was wrong, Shaila tucked herself in close to Neela’s body. Neela’s hand covered the top of Shaila’s head. She kept her eyes down. She could hear Mota Ben and Ekta still talking. They started walking towards her. Neela was terrified and wanted to be dead. Her heart was tearing through her chest. Big rushes of fear were washing over her, as if she was drowning in
a river. Mota Ben and Ekta stopped at the end of her bed.

  Neela didn’t look up.

  Mota Ben reached forward and jerked Neela’s face up.

  Neela’s eyes met Mota Ben’s but she lowered them quickly. She wanted to disappear so that Mota Ben could no longer see her. She was not brave. She wanted to die here, in this place, not out there where men were going to hurt her.

  She swayed as Mota Ben let her go.

  ‘Bring her!’ Mota Ben snapped.

  Ekta leaned over and took Neela’s hand.

  ‘Not her. Her!’ Mota Ben snarled. She was pointing at Shaila.

  Neela’s head came up. The other women began muttering. Mota Ben told them to stop.

  They fell silent.

  Mota Ben turned back and snatched Shaila by the arm.

  Neela clung to the child.

  Shaila was screaming. So was Neela.

  Mota Ben slapped them, and called to the driver.

  He came quickly, picked up Shaila’s flailing body and put a hand over her mouth.

  ‘Shut up!’ Mota Ben hissed at Neela. ‘Shut up or you’ll never see her again.’

  It was early in the evening and gloriously sunny as Laurie passed the flower stall on Bond Street. The huge buckets of lilies made her think of Sherry and how Sherry compared her to the flowers, and then of Sherry’s date with Nick. She’d spoken to her earlier, but couldn’t remember much about the call now. Actually, she probably could, were she able to make her mind focus, but right now she couldn’t.

  As she turned off Bond Street into one of the side roads that was home to an exclusive jeweller and several art galleries, she thought fleetingly of Rhona, and Hydra. Though Rhona had called several times this past week, and practically begged her to go, she wasn’t going to. She couldn’t even bear to think of it now. She needed to be here, close to Elliot, doing something, anything, to get the two of them back together.

  Approaching Chris’s gallery, she felt her hands clench and wondered if she’d ever been so nervous in her life. She hadn’t told Elliot she was coming. She was afraid he’d tell her not to, or make sure he was out when she got there. It was horrible, unthinkable that either would be a possibility – she could barely grasp the fact that it might be. It was as though they’d suddenly taken opposing sides in a battle that she had no idea how to fight. The very thought of him being the enemy closed around her heart like a fist, pressing in the pain, squeezing so hard she had to stop breathing.

  Why, she was asking herself, as she stared at the doorbell, unable to push, was she standing here like this? What had happened to her courage? An hour ago, before she’d got on the train, it had seemed a good idea to do it this way, but now it didn’t. She didn’t feel right – either about herself and the mental state she was in, or about what she was doing, and why she was doing it.

  She took a step back from the doorway and walked a few paces on down the street. It wasn’t that she was backing out, it was just that she needed a few minutes to pull herself together. She knew Elliot was in there because Rachel had called to make sure. She’d used the pretext of looking for Chris, who she’d known was at the BBC with Andraya. Had Elliot guessed what the call was really about? He was nobody’s fool, so he might have.

  Though she was staring at the examples of Andraya’s work in the gallery window, she wasn’t seeing them at all. She was thinking of the craziness of being too afraid to go and talk to the man she loved, the man she had lived with for two years. She had shared so much of herself with him that she still couldn’t make herself believe this was happening. They belonged together. Everything about their relationship was right. They were so attuned to each other that they often knew what the other was thinking. There had been no fight, no misunderstanding, no decline of their sex life. Nothing had been going wrong. So what was all this really about?

  Giving herself no more time to think, she quickly turned back to the door and pressed the bell. After what felt like an eternity his voice came over the intercom.

  ‘Elliot. It’s me,’ she said, hearing a surprising sharpness in her voice. ‘Please let me in.’

  Seconds ticked by.

  She couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t be shutting her out like this. It didn’t make any sense. Angrily she pushed the bell again, just as the buzzer sounded to release the door.

  Entering, it was as though she was stepping into a dream, climbing a staircase she didn’t recognize, yet knew and was afraid of. Ever since he’d gone her mind had been playing these kinds of tricks. She didn’t seem to think the same way any more, or feel, or act. But it was OK. She knew what she wanted to say. Something was going on that he wasn’t telling her about, and she’d come here now determined to find out what it was.

  He was waiting at the front door as she reached the top of the stairs. Seeing his face, the concern in his eyes, the sadness that shaped his mouth, she almost started to break down. As though sensing it, he reached for her and pulled her into his arms.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered into her hair. ‘You shouldn’t have had to come here like this. I know it can’t have been easy.’

  She was overwhelmed by the familiar smell of him, the closeness of his embrace, the sense of his comfort. This was where she should be. It was where she belonged. ‘I don’t understand why you won’t speak to me,’ she said, when she finally had control of her voice. ‘What have I done?’ As soon as the question was out she regretted it. It was self-pitying and irrelevant, for she knew very well she’d done nothing.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, drawing her inside.

  The sitting room at the end of the hall was large with high ceilings, sash windows facing the Victorian buildings opposite, and full of paintings either hanging or stacked against the walls. Two elegant sofas flanked the hearth, with an expensive glass coffee table in between. There were several newspapers scattered around, which was typical of any place Elliot was, as was the low-volume TV news coming from a portable set on one of the bookshelves. His laptop was open on a table by a door that appeared to lead into a kitchen, making it look as though he’d been working before she came in; his mobile was next to it, but she couldn’t tell whether it was on or off.

  ‘Can I get you something?’ he offered, still holding her hand. ‘I’ve got vodka. Or tea.’

  ‘Nothing, thank you,’ she said.

  It was disorienting her, being here, with him, in a place she didn’t know, but he did. She was his guest and a voice inside her was screaming out in protest. They should be in their own home discussing their wedding, or doing the things they normally did with their lives.

  Sitting down on one of the sofas, she tried not to be distracted by thoughts of what should or shouldn’t be. This was how it was, and this was what she must deal with.

  She waited until he was sitting on the sofa opposite, and not allowing herself to be hurt, or read anything into the distance he’d put between them, she said, ‘I need to know why you’re doing this. I know you’re hiding something, so I want you to tell me what it is.’

  His eyes remained on hers, showing almost nothing of what he was feeling, as he took some time to think about his answer. In the end he spoke very gently. ‘I understand how hard this is, and I know why you’re telling yourself there’s more to it, but there isn’t. I care for you, Laurie. You mean more to me than just about anyone, but …’ He swallowed. ‘I told you the truth the night we broke up. I just don’t love you the way you should be loved.’

  As pain and denial washed through her, everything she wanted to say, had rehearsed all the way here, was swept clean away. All she knew now was the mounting desperation that was starting to work its way towards panic. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she said shakily. ‘I know you love me. I know something else is going on.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not lying to you,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t do that over something that means this much.’

  She only looked at him, the expression in her eyes telling him that she still wasn’t accepting what he wa
s saying.

  ‘Laurie, if I felt the right way about you, believe me, there’s nothing in the world that would make me do this. I swear, there’s no story, no undercover operation, nothing at all of that nature that I’m holding back from you.’

  Still she said nothing.

  ‘I almost wish there were,’ he said, ‘because God knows I don’t want to be doing this.’

  ‘Then don’t,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to. We can go back to the way we were.’ Her voice was starting to shake again. ‘Oh God, please, Elliot, don’t do this. I love you. Nothing feels right without you. You just can’t do this.’

  ‘If I married you …’ he said, then stopped and shook his head.

  She waited, hope quickly blossoming in her heart at just those four words, for in the state she was now he could set almost any condition and she’d accept.

  ‘You need to be loved the way you should be loved,’ he told her. ‘As a woman, not as a friend, or a sister.’

  Her face froze in shock. ‘Is that how you see me?’ she said.

  ‘Maybe not quite like that,’ he confessed, ‘but the way I feel … It isn’t what you deserve, Laurie.’

  Her eyes showed so much hurt and confusion that he had to look away.

  She continued just to stare at him, seeing the man she loved, but hearing a stranger. She lifted a hand to her head, then let it drop again. She didn’t know what to say, or do. ‘What about you?’ she said finally, in barely more than a whisper. ‘What do you deserve?’

  He shook his head and let his eyes fall away.

  ‘Then what do you want?’

  ‘I don’t know. My freedom, I guess. To continue as I am.’ His eyes came back to hers. ‘I don’t want to be married. I thought I did, but certain things have happened to make me realize I don’t.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Yes it does.’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s not something I want to get into. I just want you to understand that if I thought it was right for us to marry, I wouldn’t be doing this.’