Fearless

by Jessie Keane

  He steeled himself and walked further, going in among the Flynn graves. Granny Flynn was there, and Grandpa, and their parents too; all his own kin – or jeal, in the old language of Cant. There was Dad, the old bugger. And there . . . oh Christ, there was his mother’s grave. The stone he’d paid for was up. Josh looked at it and his eyes filled with tears as he thought of her miserable life and sorry end.

  HERE LIES MONICA DELILAH FLYNN

  MUCH LOVED WIFE AND MOTHER

  He couldn’t read any more, he couldn’t even see. He stood there before his mother’s fabulously carved headstone, with two rearing horses carved into the granite. Both the magnificent headstone and the big cluster of emerald-green fake carnations in the urn went out of focus as he cried. He cried for her and for his own life too, irretrievably ruined when he’d lost the girl he loved.

  Then he became aware of someone standing right behind him.

  He turned, half-blinded by tears and the low, stabbing sunlight, and squinted at them. Couldn’t see them. It was the truth: he’d lost the girl he’d loved best in the world. Shauna would never compare with Claire. Much as he tried with her, and respected her because she was the mother of his child, he knew that she would never compare. Never.

  ‘Fuck it,’ said a sharp female voice. ‘It’s you.’

  Josh blinked. And then he realized the person standing there was Trace Milo, Claire’s sister.

  56

  ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ said Josh, swiping at his tears with embarrassment.

  Blinking, he looked at Trace. Her mid-brown hair was tinted an unflattering pinky-auburn. Trace’s expression had always been hard, and her eyes right now were blank of anything but hatred. She was wearing flared stonewash jeans and a black anorak trimmed with grey fur around the hood. She stood there and stared angrily at him, arms folded around herself for warmth as a biting wind whistled through the graveyard.

  ‘You got some fucking balls, asking me what I’m doing here.’ Her lips curved in a bitter smile. ‘What about you, arsehole? What you doing here?’

  ‘Visiting Mum,’ said Josh.

  ‘You left that a bit late.’ Trace’s voice was harsh. ‘You didn’t even attend her bloody funeral, did you? I come here every week. Every fucking week. And I’ve never once seen you here before. Couldn’t be bothered, I suppose. Moved up in the world, aintcha.’

  Josh couldn’t say a thing to that. He hadn’t come here as he should. He knew he should have visited, paid his respects. But the fact was, he had no respect for his mother. She should have protected him from his father, but instead she had stood by and watched. Only today had he been able to face coming to her grave. Now he felt wrecked and was wishing he hadn’t.

  ‘You visiting your folks then?’ Josh nodded to where the Milo plots were.

  ‘Yeah. That’s what decent people do,’ she said. Her eyes held his. ‘She never came back, our Claire. Never got in touch, either.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Oh, you care, do you?’ she sniffed.

  ‘I looked for her. Went to Ireland. You know I did. I searched. But she wasn’t there. You haven’t had a letter? Nothing?’

  ‘Not a fucking thing. Mum’s never got over it, you know. She still clutches on to that fucking great wedding dress that Claire should have worn. Won’t get rid of it. Shouts at Dad that they should have gone on with the search, they should have kept the muskras involved.’

  Josh shook his head. ‘Wherever she is, she don’t want to be found. She’s cut all ties, that much is clear.’

  ‘Pretty damned clear you have too. Dad told me about finding you with that bitch Shauna Everett.’

  Josh sighed. ‘She ain’t Shauna Everett no more. She’s my wife. We’ve got a son.’

  Trace was silent for a long moment. ‘You poor bastard,’ she said at last. ‘I wouldn’t wish that cow on anyone. But maybe you deserve her. Dad reckons it was that made Claire run off. You and that fucking Everett bitch.’

  ‘Shut up, Trace.’

  ‘What, truth hurts, does it?’

  ‘It’s not the truth. Me and Shauna happened after me and Claire split up, not before.’

  ‘Yeah? Bollocks!’ She stared at him with contempt. ‘The pair of you? You fucking well deserve one another.’

  As she moved away from his mum’s graveside and stalked, her words echoed in his head and he couldn’t shake them out of it.

  57

  Josh went on with his life, doing more and more lucrative fights, throwing challenges down and having them accepted, pulverizing every opponent who came at him. He won and won and won, but . . .

  Claire was still missing. She’d never gone home.

  As Shauna slept peacefully beside him, sometimes he would lie there in the dark and churn it all over. That fight with Matty O’Connor, and his insane insistence that Claire – gentle, caring Claire – should be there to see it. A night that should have been a triumph, and it was a total disaster. And then denying her the big wedding she wanted.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  God, he’d loved her so much, and losing her had been like losing a part of himself.

  He loved her still.

  Shit, wasn’t that the truth? He might have taken off with Shauna, he might be married to Shauna. As if she would ever let him forget it with all the anniversary bullcrap she insisted on. But he was still in love with Claire and that was his tragedy. Because she was gone and it was over. And he had a kid, now: he couldn’t let his boy down.

  He was too far along with this life to ever try to go back again and pick up the threads of that one.

  Sometimes he dreamed of Claire running ahead of him through meadows buzzing with bees and thick with wild flowers. Her blonde hair was bouncing like a beautiful banner of gold silk behind her. Her face was turning back toward him, a smile on her lips, her blue eyes alight with mischief, her laughter drifting to him on a warm summer breeze.

  Catch me, Josh. Come on! Catch me.

  But he never did.

  And now he knew he never would.

  58

  Shauna opened the door one lunchtime, expecting the woman who would fit the blinds in her and Josh’s bedroom, and found Jeb Cleaver standing there again. She thought maybe he’d got the message at last. But he bloody hadn’t.

  ‘What the fuck?’ she asked, hand to her chest. ‘Damn, you startled me.’

  ‘Did I?’ He was watching her with those dark steady eyes, lounging against her porch wall like he had all day for this.

  ‘I’m expecting someone,’ she said, hoping he’d clear off. ‘Look, Jeb . . .’ Shauna was looking past him. His shabby mud-spattered pickup was there, parked on her pristine driveway. She looked at his grimy old mac and workman’s boots and suppressed a shudder.

  ‘Yeah? Something you want to say to me, Shauna?’

  She swallowed and said: ‘Jeb, this ain’t working. You coming here. We’ve had fun in our time, but now it’s over. Truth is, I don’t want to see you or the other boys around here.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t?’ He was staring at her, holding her gaze. Shauna dropped her eyes first.

  ‘No, I don’t.’ She felt a surge of anger. They’d served their purpose, the Cleavers. Now all she wanted was to cut loose.

  ‘Suppose I want different?’ Jeb said, and stepped forward and pinned Shauna against the wall. She couldn’t move.

  ‘Let go of me,’ she said, her heart racing in her chest.

  ‘Let go?’ Jeb stared down into her face. ‘You don’t usually say that, gal. You’re usually up for all sorts.’

  ‘Well I’m not any more,’ snapped Shauna. ‘Look. I’ve got a husband now, a child. And I’ve . . . I’ve got a position to think of around here.’

  ‘A position?’ He let her go and grinned at that. ‘Yeah, I know what position you like.’

  ‘Look,’ said Shauna, stung by his mirth. She was a member of the tennis club now, and active in local charities. She was doing stuff that counted, and people loo
ked up to her for it. ‘We’re respectable people these days, me and Josh. And you? You fucking Cleavers? You’re just like dogs after a bitch in heat, the lot of you.’

  Jeb’s grin dropped away. ‘You think that, do you?’

  Shauna nodded, holding his gaze with an effort. ‘Yeah. I do. So leave me alone, will you? Just piss off.’

  59

  ‘The girls have invited me over,’ said Shauna one morning at breakfast.

  Josh looked up dully. Here he was with this stunning woman, his wife, and still he was dreaming night after night about a girl he’d lost, his first love. He straightened, poured more coffee. He’d wanted to tell her about visiting Mum’s grave back in February and his talk with Trace, but he knew she’d get prune-faced and angry about it. She hated any mention of their old life. Baby Connor was sitting there, sprinkling the tablecloth and the floor with food. Then Connor bashed himself in the eye with a piece of toast and he let out a wail.

  ‘What you done, you little jotter?’ said Josh, not thinking, using the Romany word for ‘monkey’. He scooped his son up in his arms.

  ‘Don’t be filling his head with all that old bollocks,’ said Shauna.

  ‘Ah, it don’t hurt,’ said Josh, smiling at the baby, rocking him.

  ‘Yes it fucking does. I’ve told you.’ She glared at him and then turned her head and yelled: ‘Marta! Where the fuck is she . . . ?’ Shauna leapt to her feet. ‘Marta!’ she bellowed again.

  Now they had an au pair. A fucking au pair, thought Josh, and not two or three years since they’d been living in trailers. Marta came clomping down the stairs. She was a big hearty Nordic blonde – not his type at all. Claire had been slight, dainty.

  Fuck it! Got to stop thinking about her. This is my life now. This is the woman I chose.

  He watched Shauna offload Connor on to Marta, who took him down into the play room and shut the door behind the howling noise of him.

  ‘What girls?’ he asked her when they were alone.

  ‘The girls.’ Shauna’s dark eyes danced with excitement. ‘You know Tanya, she asked if I’d be interested in doing the round-robin dinner parties? Well, her, and Chloe next door, and Philippa. These are the people we should be mixing with, Josh, and Tanya’s invited me over for lunch with the girls tomorrow.’

  His gypsy wife was becoming a lady who lunched. She was putting on an affected voice – when she remembered – and sounding her Hs. He found it false, stupid and wearing. Well, if it kept her happy. But one of those names had given him a jolt.

  ‘Philippa? Not the same Philippa who’s Dave Houghton’s missus? But you hated her guts.’

  ‘If she’s willing to forget all that, then so am I.’

  Josh looked at her sceptically. Shauna never forgot anything. And he didn’t like Shauna getting up close and personal with Phil again. He’d actually been pleased they’d clashed when they first met, because it meant they wouldn’t meet up, wouldn’t talk. Now Shauna was going to be sitting across the lunch table from Philippa, and Shauna knew all about Dave and his little problem with the late Andrew Meredith, and that Josh had supplied the solution.

  ‘Shaun, you know you’ve got to keep your gob shut, don’t you? About . . .’

  ‘About that?’ Shauna lowered her voice. ‘I know. You don’t have to tell me. I’m not stupid.’

  ‘All right then.’ He wasn’t happy, but then what else was new? Shit, he’d forgotten what happiness was. So what the hell. Who cared what she got up to? He’d be in Oxford tomorrow anyway, knocking the crap out of his latest opponent.

  Shauna dressed very carefully for her lunch date. It was still warm so no doubt the girls would be eating outside on Tanya’s patio. She selected her most expensive couture day dress, a beautiful short-sleeved shift in brilliant pillar-box red silk that suited her tanned skin and dark hair and eyes. She added strappy high-heeled sandals, red lipstick and lots of black mascara.

  Then she looked at herself in the full-length cheval mirror in the master bedroom, turning, assessing. Yes, she was a bloody good-looking woman still, even if she was a mother. Men still showed an interest in her, but she didn’t want anyone but Josh. This was the life she wanted now – prosperous, decent. Mixing with people with a bit of class about them. She loved it.

  She frowned, thinking of her last encounter with Jeb. She had spelled it out for him this time, made her feelings completely plain. All that she’d been through growing up in the camp, and her doings with the Cleavers – she didn’t want to think about that any more. And now Jeb had accepted that – it was weeks since he’d come sniffing around for the second time – life was going the way she wanted it.

  But does Josh really want you? asked that tiny, niggly voice in her brain.

  Yes. He wanted her. Sometimes. Not so often now. In the blackness of night, he wanted her and had her. There was wanting, the physical stuff, and there was needing, though. Did Josh need her? Did he crave her when they were apart? Did he truly, deeply, crazily love her?

  Sometimes she caught him looking at her as if at a stranger. So did he love her? She lied to herself, told herself that of course he did, she’d given him a son; they were a family now.

  60

  Dressed and ready, Shauna kissed Connor goodbye and told Marta to take good care of him. She’d passed her test first time, so now she had a cute pale-blue BMW sports job to ride around in. She drove over to Tanya’s, which was just down the end of the road but she wanted to make an entrance, to arrive in style in case any of the other girls should be at the front just parking up.

  Disappointingly, they weren’t, but there was a raft of other expensive sports numbers out on the drive. Shauna rang the bell and it was answered not by Tanya but by an unknown young white woman dressed in black.

  ‘Hi,’ said Shauna brightly. ‘I’m Shauna Flynn. Tanya’s expecting me.’

  The maid opened the door wide and ushered her through the vast sprawling house.

  ‘Mrs Prescott and her friends are on the terrace,’ said the maid as she walked.

  Terrace, thought Shauna. Not patio.

  Another lesson learned. And why the fuck, if Josh was making so much dough these days, didn’t they have a maid? Not that she’d entirely trust a maid to do the cleaning properly, of course.

  Shauna fastened a broad smile on her face as she was shown out to where Tanya, Philippa and Chloe were seated around a marble table beneath the shade of a vast cream parasol. The patio – the terrace – overlooked the lawn, just like hers and Josh’s did, just like Philippa and Dave’s too, just like Chloe and Mike’s. It ran on down to the river, which today glittered calmly, like a jewel in the hot sunlight. Last weekend the rain had come and the river had run fast. It had darkened and swollen and swished up over the lawns. Ten feet, then twenty. But then the sun had come out and the waters had receded again.

  Now, the setting was idyllic. Perfect. But as she walked in, Shauna saw Philippa’s lips tighten into a thin line. They hadn’t met in quite a while, but straight away Shauna felt her hackles rise at the sight of the woman.

  ‘Mrs Flynn,’ said the maid, and pulled out a chair for her.

  Shauna sat down directly opposite Philippa, Tanya on her left, Chloe on her right.

  ‘You know Philippa?’ Tanya asked her. She was a chirpy little brunette.

  ‘Yes. We’ve met,’ said Shauna, exchanging fake smiles with her beautiful blonde arch enemy.

  ‘And of course you know Chloe, don’t you,’ said Tanya, pointing out the woman with the auburn bob.

  ‘Hi, Shauna,’ said Chloe with the languid drawling delivery of the comfortably wealthy.

  ‘Of course I know Chloe, we’re right next door to each other,’ said Shauna, smiling even though Chloe never seemed that friendly. She never waved back when Shauna saw her out on the drive and waved to her. No borrowing cups of sugar off this lady.

  The maid brought a starter – Caesar salad – and the girls started to eat as Tanya chattered on. Philippa was silent, sipping her win
e, sending spiked looks across the table at Shauna.

  ‘What we do is this,’ said Tanya as the maid cleared away the plates and brought out the main course – thin slices of beef in a watery sauce, with minuscule portions of undercooked greasy carrots and broccoli. ‘We go to, say, Phil’s house, and she does the starter, then to Chloe’s for the main, and, say, to yours for pudding. The husbands come too, of course. It makes a lovely evening.’

  Shauna could just picture Josh in with this lot, he’d be like a roaring lion among a herd of timid gazelles. Spoiled, over-privileged women and their husbands, a bunch of air-conditioned arseholes who sat behind a desk all day, pushing pens on paper or shouting buy buy buy. Those men weren’t physical, like Josh. They couldn’t lift hay bales or lay a ton of tarmac in the burning heat of summer, or bench-press their own body weight down the gym like he could. You might as well cut their hands off, because they only ever used them to get their dicks out.

  ‘It sounds great,’ she lied. It was hot out here in the late Indian summer, and despite the parasol’s shade she felt a bit sick, a bit queasy.

  ‘Of course, Shauna’s pretty new to all this,’ said Philippa. ‘Aren’t you, Shauna?’

  Shauna looked directly into Philippa’s enormous blue eyes. Oh really? You starting this again?

  ‘Meaning?’ said Shauna, as the maid cleared away the remnants of their meal. No pudding this time; all the girls were watching their weight, particularly Chloe, who had pushed her food around the plate while drinking a bit too much.