by Cathy Glass
Tall and slim, Christine exuded elegance and confidence, and Aisha could see only too clearly what Mark had seen in her. Time had obviously been kind to Christine, time and success, for there were none of the signs of the alcohol abuse that Mark had described – the coarse red features and heavily lined skin from years of heavy drinking. Christine must be older than Aisha, yet looked much younger. But what struck Aisha more than anything was that Christine didn’t seem to be grieving for the death of her lover, but appeared incredibly composed and was actually getting ready to go out.
Aisha followed Christine down the short hall and into the very spacious lounge-cum-dining room. It was white, pure white, all of it, even the leather four-seater sofa was white.
‘Do sit down,’ Christine said lightly, waving to the sofa. ‘I thought you might pay me a visit.’
‘You did?’ Aisha stayed where she was and stared at her, shocked. ‘Why?’
Christine shrugged. ‘It’s what I would have done. Though I didn’t think it would be now. It must be the funeral soon.’
Aisha held her gaze, flustered and uncertain. ‘Yes, Friday, I think.’
‘Don’t you know?’ she gave a little laugh. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ Aisha shook her head.
‘Well, sit down then and make yourself at home. You look like you could do with a rest. I’m just going to get a glass of water. I haven’t been in long from work.’
Work – a career and a life, Aisha thought bitterly as Christine disappeared into the hall. She went to the sofa and perched at one end and looked at the room. How Mark must have loved it here, with its calm and uncluttered sophistication, a world away from what she could offer, with two children and no money.
‘So, how did you find me?’ Christine asked, returning with the glass of water and placing it on the marble mantelpiece. ‘Mark surely didn’t tell you?’
Taken aback by her directness, Aisha faltered. It was she who should be asking the questions and demanding answers, not Christine. ‘I found it in his address book,’ she said at last.
‘I see. Before or after his death?’
‘After, when I was clearing out. Why?’
Christine shrugged. ‘Just curious.’
Aisha watched as Christine turned to the huge gilt-framed mirror over the mantelpiece, and unwinding the towel from her head, shook out her blonde shoulder-length hair. Taking a comb from the pocket of her bathrobe, she began running it through the professionally styled layers.
‘So why didn’t you come and see me before he died?’ Christine asked after a moment.
Aisha stared at Christine’s reflection in the mirror, confused. ‘Why should I? There was no need until I found your address and realized he’d been seeing you.’
‘No? Really?’ Christine returned her gaze in the mirror and gave a small tight laugh. ‘So the leopard has changed his spots? I don’t think so. Not in my experience at least.’ She picked up the glass of water and walked nonchalantly to the armchair opposite Aisha. She sat down, draping one long leg over the other. Aisha stared at her, and her anger flared – this woman who should have been apologizing but seemed one step ahead of her.
‘Why couldn’t you just leave us alone?’ Aisha blurted angrily. ‘You have so much. It could have worked without you. He might have tried harder if he hadn’t had you to run to. You are to blame as much as he was!’
Christine tucked the comb into her robe and, unfazed, rested one arm along the chair. ‘If that is what you really believe, Aisha, then you’re a bigger fool than I thought. But you’re not, are you? You know it’s not that convenient. Mark came here yes, more than once, full of sob stories about how you didn’t understand him and refused to have sex. He even thought you were having an affair.’ Aisha gasped and opened her mouth to defend herself, but Christine raised her hand. ‘Don’t worry, I didn’t believe him. Remember, I had lived with Mark too, and as I said a leopard doesn’t change its spots. But I was curious, I wanted to hear how life was treating him. So I let him in, listened to him, gave him a drink, then sent him on his way, possibly back to you, or not – it wasn’t any of my business.’
Their eyes met and locked. ‘I don’t believe you,’ Aisha said.
‘Suit yourself. I’ve learnt a lot, Aisha, and one of the things I’ve learned is that some men are dangerous – so dangerous they should carry a government health warning. I expect some women are too, but that’s not the point. Here, let me show you something that might help you to understand.’
Christine stood and crossed to a bureau at the far end of the room. Aisha saw that the bureau was almost the same as the one she had at home – it had been Mark’s before he had met her. Picking up a framed photograph, she carried it back and placed it squarely in Aisha’s lap.
‘Familiar?’ Christine said. ‘My guess is you have an identical picture. Angela has. You know about her, I assume?’
Aisha stared at the photograph in her lap, and heard the name of Mark’s first wife. She looked at the ten-by-eight photograph, unable to believe or understand what she was seeing. The couple sitting side by side on the bench beneath the oak tree – a couple so obviously in love; they had taken their eyes from each other just long enough to smile into the lens. Christine was right, it was a replica of the one she had on the bureau at home: the photograph Mark had asked a passer-by to take, then given to her framed as a token of his undying love. Only, instead of Mark and her it was a younger version of Christine and Mark. Aisha looked up, not knowing what to say, or think.
‘Each of us has one,’ Christine said matter-of-factly. ‘First Angela, then me, and you too. We all had the life that went with it too. History repeated itself. True, I didn’t have children, but it didn’t make it any easier, believe me.’ She stopped and sitting at the other end of the sofa lightly rested her head back.
Aisha looked at her. ‘So are you going to tell me?’
She gave a faint nod. ‘I thought I was pretty smart,’ she said in a low, even voice. ‘I thought I was streetwise when it came to men. I was in my late twenties, not a lovesick teenager, I thought I could read men like a book. And of course everything was perfect to begin with, I had a man who was the answer to every woman’s prayers. Mark wooed me with his incredible charm and good manners just like he did Angela, and then later, you. I was completely won over and yearned to make him happy, to make up for the way his first wife had treated him. But by the end of our first year together I was a wreck and unrecognizable from the person I had once been. Yet still I tried to make it work because I was convinced it was my fault and I was to blame. So I tried harder and each time I got a harder beating for my efforts. I could never get it right. Then I turned to the bottle and tried to block out the pain by drinking. As a result, I lost my job and eventually, with no further to fall, got out.’ Christine gave a small dry laugh. ‘Ironically, it was Mark who allowed me the means to escape in the end. He gave me such a beating one night that I landed in hospital. It was while I was there, away from him and his control, and surrounded by so much kindness and attention from the nurses and doctors, that I was able to see what I had become. I left him with what I stood up in and didn’t go back. No one can understand unless they have been in the same position. Abuse strips you of everything, bleeds you dry, so that you end up believing that you couldn’t survive without the very person who is doing it to you.’
Christine stopped. Her words hung in the air and Aisha heard the truth in what she’d said. The account Christine had just given her – with all its detail – like the photograph, was an exact replica of her life with Mark.
‘But if you knew,’ Aisha said after some moments, her voice rising, ‘why didn’t you tell me? You could have said something, warned me. Why let me go through all that if you knew, and you knew it could happen again. You should have warned me!’
Christine turned to look at her, her delicate features sincere. ‘Would it have made any difference if I had? Aisha, would you have believed me with all that was on offer? No, of course y
ou wouldn’t. I couldn’t prove it and Mark was so charming when he wanted to be. You’d have dismissed me as the embittered ex, which is what I did with Angela, when she tried to tell me. And there was always the chance it could have worked out for you two. There was only Angela and me then, there wasn’t an ex-wives club. I always thought that if you needed to know – if you were in trouble and history was repeating itself – then you would find me. I would have done what I could.’
Aisha looked from Christine to the photograph and had to admit she was right. Like Christine had done with Angela, she too would have rejected any suggestion that Mark was less than the person he appeared to be – she’d been too much in love and there’d been too much at stake.
‘That tree is still there,’ Christine said more lightly after a moment. ‘I pass it on the way to work. It’s seen a lot, that tree. It might have seen more, had you not stopped him. I admire what you did, Aisha. You’ve certainly got more guts than me.’
Aisha looked at her sharply. ‘What do you mean?’
Christine met her gaze. ‘I read the report of the accident in the paper. Didn’t you see it?’ Aisha shook her head. ‘It was quite a large piece based on the cruel irony of a wife being responsible for the death of her husband. But I also read the unwritten story behind it, Aisha. Some men are dangerous, but not as dangerous as a desperate wife who’s been beaten for years. And for you, coming from your background, there was probably no other way out. I guessed it was either kill him or yourself. Am I right?’
Aisha looked into the clear blue eyes which now echoed empathy and concern. The woman whom she’d come here to blame and vilify, now transformed into an ally with a common past. Aisha rested her head back and closed her eyes. The life drained from her, and the photograph trembled in her hand. ‘Yes, I killed him,’ she said softly, ‘but I’m paying the price. I might just as well have killed myself for what I have left. You escaped, but I am still trapped. This will haunt me forever.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Dark. So very dark. It was impossible to see. The dark was packed tight around her, forming a wall as impenetrable as stone. No air, no light, no sound, just a thick black cowl. And hot, hotter than the raging fires of hell that melted her skin and turned her eyes to liquid so she couldn’t see or feel. Aisha tossed and turned in delirium, fought against the constraints that seemed to bind her and held her in a torment of endless nights. Then on the edge, trying to break in, was a noise, a series of notes resonating down through the layers of darkness to the edge of her consciousness. ‘A-ish-sha. A-ish-sha. A-ish-sha.’
She shied away, withdrew back into the darkness, for although the black was crushing, it was also safe. But the sound continued, louder, clearer, more insistent. ‘Aisha. Aisha. Can you hear me?’ It was familiar now, reminding her of a time a long while ago that was safe.
Her mind and body began to rise, soaring up through the layers of darkness into a small void of gloomy light. Her eyes flickered and then opened. Shadows and images swirled in a moving pool of grey and she tried to focus. A room, dimly lit, a bedroom that had never held the dark. ‘Aisha, love. Can you hear me? Are you awake?’
She turned her head towards the voice and saw the outline of her father sitting close beside her. He leaned towards her, his face bathed in the soft glow of the lamp. ‘It’s all right. You’re at our house. In your old bed. It’s nearly midnight.’
She started, tried to pull herself up. ‘Sarah? James?’ The room tilted and swayed. He eased her back onto the pillow.
‘Don’t worry. They’re safe. They’re asleep in the spare room. Try to relax. There’s nothing for you to worry about.’ And this was enough for now – the knowledge that the children were safe, close by, and being looked after. Her eyes closed again, and she felt her father’s cool hand on her forehead, soothing her as he had done when she was unwell as a child. Then other thoughts began to surface and she opened her eyes and looked at him again. ‘Christine? I was at Christine’s. How did I get here?’
‘She phoned us, and then brought you here in her car.’
‘And the funeral? Isn’t the funeral today?’
‘Yesterday. Today is Saturday. Your mother took the children. Don’t worry. Everything went as it should, and I have settled the bill.’
She allowed her head to relax back again onto the pillow and moved her gaze from him, to look around the room. The contents were exactly as she had left them on the morning of her marriage all those years ago: the wardrobe, the chest of drawers, her desk and chair in the alcove as though expecting her at any moment to return and resume studying. She could smell the familiar scent of her mother’s homemade potpourri, a combination of pine and jasmine. She looked at her father’s tired, worn face, even older now, and her heart went out to him. ‘I’m sorry, Father. I’m sorry I’ve caused you so much trouble. I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you and brought you so much shame. Will you ever be able to forgive me?’
His brow furrowed in pain and he took her hand from the duvet and enfolded it in his. ‘Aisha, please don’t. There is nothing to forgive. Not on your part, at least.’
She looked at him questioningly and he shook his head sadly. He had something to say, but Aisha could see it was difficult for him. He squeezed her hand and then gently returned it to the duvet and stood. She watched as he slowly crossed to the window and looked out through the parted curtains. She heard his intake of breath.
‘Aisha, while the children have been staying with us they have been talking. They speak wisely, with voices far older than their years. They have told us many things, sad things, about their father, and the life you had together. It causes me much pain, Aisha, and I am very sorry you have suffered.’
‘Father, there’s nothing for you to be sorry for,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I have failed your expectations miserably. I didn’t mean to. I so wanted you to be proud of me. You could never be to blame.’
‘Exactly, Aisha. My expectations.’ He straightened and looked up towards the night sky. ‘Aisha, I brought you up as I would have done in my own country, strictly, compared to Western standards. I instilled in you a sense of obedience and duty – you were an obedient and dutiful daughter. Yes, I was proud of you, what father wouldn’t have been? You took that sense of duty and honour into your marriage and became an obedient and dutiful wife. I can see now that it was that sense of duty that kept you in a marriage far longer than it should have done. I now know it was a bitter and cruel marriage, Aisha, and I think you stayed to protect me. That is why I am sorry.’
She looked at his profile, stooped and humbled by his admission. She wanted to cry out, tell him it wasn’t his fault, that it could never ever be his fault, that she loved him dearly and she was solely to blame. But she had to admit there was a truth in what he said, that he had inadvertently made her what she was.
‘You did what you thought was right,’ she said quietly. ‘Please don’t blame yourself. I should have known you and Mother were always here for me. But I was so far down I couldn’t see, I still can’t. I wonder if I ever will.’
He was silent for some moments, his frame silhouetted between the curtains against the night sky. She heard the clock ticking as it had done when she was a child and had to get up early for school. Then he moved slightly, straightened his shoulders, and looked up again towards the heavens.
‘While you have been sleeping these two days, Aisha, I have spent a lot of time standing here, thinking. I remembered the time we watched the eclipse together. I don’t suppose you remember it, you were only three or four. You were very scared as the birds stopped singing and the day turned to night. I tried to explain that the sun hadn’t gone forever and it would return. But you didn’t believe me, not until it happened. Then as the sun slowly slid into view again and the light gradually returned, your little face was a picture. You were so happy. “We are alive,” you cried. “There is a tomorrow.” I will never forget it, Aisha.’
He turned and l
ooked at her, sad and vulnerable from sharing his feelings. He crossed to the bed and sat again beside her. ‘Aisha, my darling, an eclipse doesn’t last forever. Although it may not seem so now, it will pass, I promise you. The light will return to your life and it will be brighter because of the darkness. And until it does we will be here to care for you.’
She held his gaze, saw the hope, the expectation that she could succeed in this as she had done in other things. To disappoint him again was too much. She turned her head away from him and closed her eyes. A single spotlamp on full beam flashed across her vision, and with it came the sound of breaking glass and shattering metal.
‘Father,’ she said without opening her eyes, ‘sometimes we do things that change us forever. An eclipse passes, but what I have done will blot out the light for good.’
‘No, Aisha, you’re wrong. Trust me. I know what happened and I know it was not your fault. In time you will recover from this and I know I am right.’
Chapter Thirty
‘Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady.’ He grinned roguishly as he placed the bouquet on top of the papers on which she was working.
Aisha touched the delicate array of pink blooms and moved them to one side. ‘Thank you, David, but I wish you wouldn’t. They must have cost a fortune in the middle of winter.’
He grinned again. ‘You’re worth it, as I keep telling you. Any chance of dinner tonight?’
She smiled apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, but I have a pile of work to take home, and my daughter is bringing a friend to tea.’
David laughed good-humouredly. ‘And what about this friend? When do I get a look in? I won’t give up you know, Aisha. I’ll pester you until you give in, or sack me on the spot.’
‘I’d never sack you,’ she laughed. ‘I need you too much in the department. In fact, I couldn’t manage without you.’ Aisha threw him a smile and then returned to the letter, picking up her pen ready to sign.