The Scorched Earth

by Rachael Blok

  ‘I just wondered if you could tell me about it. Whatever you like.’

  ‘Well.’ She takes another crisp. Its crunch is loud. She looks out of the window, past Maarten. ‘He will say he was being attentive. I felt suffocated. There are different ways to look at it.’

  Saying nothing, refusing to fill the void, he waits.

  ‘I was overawed by him. To start with. Presents, dates, dinner out at fancy restaurants I couldn’t afford. He knew my favourite band quickly. Got me tickets. Couldn’t do enough.’ She waves as someone walks past the window, nodding and smiling.

  ‘I thought it was the dream,’ she says. ‘But it was overpowering, and twisted. He started to comment on my meals – if I ordered a dessert, or if I ordered a salad. Nothing went without comment. It got worse, gradually. Almost without me noticing. One day it was good, then next I was flailing, wondering what I’d done wrong, how I’d upset him. Then all of a sudden, I was in freefall. Panicking about his mood. Thinking about calming him. Trying to please him. I kept thinking about leaving but something would come up. There’s very little you could prosecute him for. Nothing that sticks. Nothing that’s anything more than an exaggeration of a million fights that a million couples have. Every day.’

  Still Maarten sits in silence. Takes another crisp.

  ‘For a while I wondered if this was it. If this was what it was like.’

  The sun slants in the window. The glare of the evening is fading. The light catches her but doesn’t obliterate her.

  ‘For a while, I felt… I felt safe with it. Even grateful. He had still picked me. And he knew me. I knew him. Since…’

  She doesn’t finish. The window has her full attention. She looks through it. She looks past it.

  ‘We don’t always know what we’re capable of,’ she says. She shrugs. ‘What we deserve.’

  Glancing over her shoulder, he sees few more people enter the bar. Her sister is busy and Maarten presses for more time.

  ‘When did it stop?’ he asks.

  ‘When he broke in. I woke in the night once to find him asleep on my floor.’ She pauses, fiddles with the crisp packet. ‘He grabbed me, held me up against a wall. I was so frightened. You could prosecute him for that, I suppose. Even I could see how bad it had got.’

  She recrosses her legs, shifts her weight. ‘After that, I couldn’t even go home. I would see him on the same train. Sometimes he’d come into the pub. He’d be walking to his parents’ house – and it’s a pub, for goodness’ sake. He had every right to come here. But I was… I was ensnared.’ She lingers over the vowels, draws them out. ‘I had to leave. I moved flats in London, and that’s when Ben and I really got to know each other. I’d always had a crush on him, ever since school, but as I spent more time in London, we became close. And after Fabian, he was so kind. So…’ She hunts for the word. ‘…calm.’

  Maarten sips his drink. The sun is falling further. He’s been here about fifteen minutes. Jane will be looking for him.

  ‘And now? Now Fabian’s back?’ Maarten asks. The end of the soda is sweet, lying with a dose of the lime that hasn’t mixed. The sweet and the salt make him hungry. He thinks of the last time he ate, but he can’t place it.

  ‘I’m frightened of him, a little, but not like I was. And I’m not sure…’ She pauses. ‘I no longer think it’s him I’m frightened of. There was someone by the graveyard, and again in the car park, and I thought I was being followed. He wore a cap. I couldn’t see his face but he was somehow familiar. I thought perhaps it was Fabian, but now I’m sure it wasn’t him. When I’m scared, at the moment, most of the thing that I’m scared about is…’

  He nods.

  Leaning forward, this time whispering, glancing over her shoulder, the shadows from her face darker. ‘I’m mostly scared because I don’t know what to fear.’

  ‘Do you think it’s him? The one who buried the body? The one who buried the pills and the knife? Do you think he’s behind all of it? Any of it?’ Maarten leans back slightly. He pushes the stool back, ready to rise. She looks tired. He sees his food order disappear through the pub, out to Jane.

  ‘I don’t think so. I’ve thought about it. But why would he? Why would he have killed Leo? He’s capable of violence – I believed it when I was with him. He would raise his arm—’ She raises her arm, like a gavel, ready to fall. ‘But he never hit me. There was never anything exact.’

  Maarten holds his breath, trying not to infringe.

  ‘And I doubt he would fight another man. He’s just not made that way. He loved me and despised me all at the same time. But murder another man? No. I don’t think it’s him. I think that there’s something…’ She shudders. Her arm has been raised throughout, and finally she drops it. Her shoulders sag.

  ‘Thank you,’ he says.

  She smiles at him, her eyes warm, frightened. ‘I feel like I’ve been looking over my shoulder since I was a teenager. There’s always been something to fear.’

  She reaches out, places her hand on the table next to his, taps with the flat of her fingers as she speaks. ‘Please, find him. Whoever it is. Find him.’

  Maarten nods. He leans in. ‘Is there something else?’ he asks. His voice is soft. ‘My team said you had received something on your phone when you were talking to them. If it’s related, you should tell me. Come in and get it on record.’ It’s instinct. Harper was convinced of her innocence and right now, he is too. One push. None of this is admissible, but if he can get her on side, find out what to push, it will help in untangling the knots.

  She is all hollows and shade. The light is falling, and the colours under her eyes are purple dark. She holds her head still, leaning forward, and as when she had detailed her fear of Fabian Irvine, he sees the traces of fear from elsewhere skitting like clouds across her expression.

  ‘I wonder if he’s…’

  Almost without moving his head, he nods; just a flicker of the eyes to encourage.

  She tries again. ‘I wonder if Leo. I wonder if Leo is…’ She closes her eyes and sinks back against the chair, its dark wood stain curving its grooves and chiselled shapes behind her, holding her upright.

  He doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe.

  Without opening her eyes, her lips part, and he can lip-read the last word, out in a rush of exhalation, the sound as light as the darkening air.

  ‘I think Leo could be alive.’

  30

  Tuesday 19th June

  ANA

  The research facility is cool. She sighs as she enters, pausing briefly under the vents that pump out air so cold it’s almost medicinal.

  ‘I know, right!’ Jack says, walking towards her with a smile. ‘Every morning I do the same. I waver between cycling to work or taking the Tube. Still haven’t figured out which is hotter.’

  ‘Hi,’ she says, smiling. She can feel the sticky shirt clinging to her back slowly begin to unpeel, to cool. ‘I’m following up on the trial today.’

  ‘Yes, right in here. You’ve just come from head office?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes.’ Ana’s head is still swirling. The deal is taking shape. It isn’t proving too complicated. Leith hadn’t been there. The grunt work is over to her for the next two weeks.

  ‘Leith Kirwan is meeting me here, I think,’ she says, glancing round.

  ‘He’s already here.’ Jack starts walking her down the corridor. ‘Your secret’s out, by the way.’

  Her heartbeat speeds. Ben?

  ‘Don’t look so worried,’ he laughs. ‘I had a date with Fran on Friday. She told me you worked with her. We had a lot of fun.’

  ‘Oh, brilliant!’ Ana laughs. ‘I didn’t want to say when we last met. Did you think I was a stalker?’

  ‘A prospective date, maybe,’ he says, smiling. ‘It’s amazing how frequently people don’t look like themselves. You see a photo and expect to see that person. But… catfish.’

  ‘How do they expect you to meet them, if you don’t know what they look like?’


  ‘Sometimes the photo is of the person, but they’ve taken the one of their best self – make-up, a wig even!’ Jack shakes his head. ‘They’re just as difficult to recognise. I think if I bumped into someone from school on one of these things I’d never recognise them. If you really want to change your appearance, it doesn’t take plastic surgery, just a few key details.’

  Ana reflects on her teenage podge, her acne. The fringe that had definitely been a mistake. ‘I had a perm once, I think I was fourteen,’ she whispers, miming talking behind her hand. ‘Don’t tell a soul.’

  He is laughing as they enter a large room with yellow sofas laid out around pale coffee tables, like a Danish spa.

  Leith looks up as they enter. He raises an eyebrow. ‘Something funny? Do tell me the joke.’

  ‘We’re laughing about teenage mistakes,’ Jack says.

  A shadow passes over Leith’s face. He glances at Ana. She curses that he has seen her again laughing with Jack. That he might think her unprofessional.

  Jack walks over to the coffee machine in the corner.

  ‘The meeting went well this morning,’ she says, spilling the words out quickly to cover any stain.

  He nods, stands quickly, gesturing for her to sit. He sits as she does, and lifts the iPad he’s been holding. ‘Yes, thanks for sending through the figures. It’s looking quite promising. Fingers crossed. The next meeting will be the big one. Looking at staff outcomes is always tricky.’ He looks up at her. ‘You won’t speak about this to Jack?’

  She can feel herself blushing. The red heat rising quickly. ‘No, of course not! We were only joking on the way in. It wasn’t anything—’’

  ‘It’s fine. Just remember that some of these people might be on the list.’

  ‘Ready?’ Jack says, returning and putting down a tray of coffee and biscuits. ‘It will be about five minutes now.’

  *

  Stepping out onto the road, visit finished and almost back to her office, crossing between St Pancras and King’s Cross, she doesn’t see the motorcyclist.

  The bike runs close; her bag is whacked and falls into the road. Her lipstick, her keys spill out, part crushing beneath the wheels of a car.

  There’s a shout and just before the lipstick dies, Leith pulls her off the road, onto the pavement. The traffic had been beeping, swerving. She had stood, blinded by shock, in the road.

  ‘Ana!’ His voice is tight. He holds her wrist for a second, and the pressure reminds her she is safe. She trembles.

  After a second, he waits until there is a break in the traffic, and then picks up her keys and her bag. ‘Are you OK?’

  The shock of it, the suddenness, swamps her. She feels the tears coming before they hit. She shakes as she dusts off her handbag. Scuffed and wheel-marked, the leather is war-torn.

  ‘Ana, are you OK? Did the bike hit you?’ Leith says. He stands, arm out for her to take if she wants – a fraction from putting his arm around her.

  She doesn’t fall on his chest crying, but manages a ‘Could we sit down?’

  He leads, walking to a plaza. Fountains burst upwards in the centre, small vans dot around, painted in cobalt blue, granite grey; one has retro metro tiles running along the side. All selling gourmet coffee, pizza and wraps. One with artisan beer. A pop-up eatery. Pop-up drinkery.

  ‘Here.’ Gesturing to a concrete seat that looks out on the fountains, he vanishes for a second. She takes a breath. Looks at the blue sky.

  He returns holding coffee. ‘Americano, white, right?’

  Nodding, she can’t even sound a thank you, swallowing sobs, choking on them. It’s harder than it should be. And from nowhere, the image of Jam’s face springs up, and the cries come louder.

  Finally, it slows. They sit in the sun. People stretch everywhere, like a sea of cats, spread long and wide under the sky. Ana still doesn’t trust herself to speak: the speed of the motorbike, the handle had skimmed her arm.

  ‘I brought ice creams, too. How much does “industrial chocolate” appeal to you? Sounds more like a floor cleaner to me. But let’s give it a whirl.’ As well as coffee, he carries two waffle cones and scoops of almost black chocolate ice cream, which spill over the sides.

  ‘It might kill us, but no better way to go,’ Leith says, smiling, but looking out at the fountains, where a small dog yaps crazily.

  The chocolate is bitter and rich. The sun behind them, Ana closes her eyes as the ice melts in her mouth. She feels herself calm. The sun unfurls the tension, dries the tears.

  ‘So,’ Leith says after a minute. ‘You’re sure the bike hasn’t hurt you? It was going at quite a speed. I didn’t see it either, until it was on us. Here are your things, by the way.’ He fishes them out of his pocket, and she opens her bag with trembling fingers.

  She shakes her head. ‘My dog died at the weekend.’ She gulps back a sob. It’s so much more than that. All her energy is focused on staying calm. Not on grief, and she has tried not to think about Jam. The bottomless pit of daily grief that is living without Ben. She misses cleaning her teeth with him shaving over her shoulder; the toast he would leave out for her as he left the house; the touch of his fingers on her neck at the end of the day; his breath up against her cheek. They’d locked him in a cage and they’d locked her up too.

  ‘Oh no!’ Leith says. ‘I’m not surprised you’re upset.’

  ‘We’ve had her since I was a teenager,’ Ana says, desperate not to cry again, but wanting to talk about it to someone who is outside of it all.

  ‘I was worried that Jack has been bothering you. I’m pleased it’s nothing to do with that.’

  Ana rushes out a ‘No! God, no. He’s…’ But she doesn’t want to say he’s dating Fran, because that’s Fran’s news to tell. She peters out. Then finishes with, ‘He’s friendly. That’s all. Nothing else.’

  Leith nods.

  As they finish their ice creams, a small boy on a skateboard skims close to their toes, and Leith says, ‘Nice moves!’

  The surprise of being spoken to makes him look up, and he loses his balance, falling, turning a somersault. His wail is loud, and his mother runs over.

  ‘Shit,’ Leith says. ‘I might be in trouble here. Let’s scarper.’

  They stand and walk away quickly, laughing once out of earshot.

  ‘I don’t think he was too badly hurt,’ Leith says, grimacing. ‘Only trying to pay the little dude a compliment.’

  ‘Seems fine to me,’ Ana says. She peeps over Leith’s shoulder, back at the boy, who is headed towards the same ice cream van. ‘Looks like the healing power of frozen milk is going to work its wonder on him, too.’ She smiles at him. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No worries,’ he says. His eyes bright blue under his blond hair, his skin tanned. If he were not in a suit, she could see him on a surfboard. For a second, she wonders what he would look like on a surfboard, and realises the thought is appealing.

  ‘Tell you what,’ he says.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘How about I buy you a drink, then you go and take the afternoon off. When I say off, I obviously mean write up the report from home, and don’t stop until midnight.’ He winks. ‘Seriously. This is your station. And there are no meetings planned for the day. You can go home, sit in the garden, think about your dog. Think about the deal…’ He grins. ‘Aperol Spritz first? There’s a lot of vitamin C in all that orange…’

  31

  Tuesday 19th June

  MAARTEN

  The flowers are huge and they make him sneeze as he carries them into the room.

  ‘Happy birthday,’ he says.

  ‘Oh, Maart, they’re lovely! Lilies as well.’

  ‘Your favourites, and chocolates. You need to keep your sugar levels up in here.’ He produces a box of Belgian truffles. Kissing her, he finds she smells more like herself. The tan from the early hot summer has faded, but so have some of the bruises.

  ‘I’ve not got long. I’ll bring the girls in later. They’ve made a cake.’ He smiles. Nic and San
ne had decorated the cake, casting handfuls of sweets like seed to a hungry earth. Dolly Mixtures were what Liv had craved when she’d been pregnant, and he’d ordered a huge box of them to be delivered. It was a Dolly Mixture spectacular.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘OK. Not a great night. Poor Aggie was upset. They’ve taken her outside for a walk. She’s still calling me Katie, but now she’s distraught – keeps telling me she couldn’t save it, she’s so sorry, she knew I loved it. I think she must be confusing me with one of her patients. Perhaps someone who lost her baby? She seems so sad.’

  There are shouts from the hall. ‘I’m fine, fine, I tell you! Get your hands off me! I can walk on my own, so I can…’

  The voice stops as Aggie comes into the room, and she freezes as she sees Liv. ‘Katie. It’s you. I’m so sorry.’ She seems distressed, and her head shakes involuntarily. ‘I haven’t told anyone, no one at all. You must take care. You need to rest.’ Tears leak at the corners of her eyes. She wrings her hands. ‘Katie, I’m so sorry. I wish I’d done more. I could’ve done more if... It’s over now, though. The worst is over.’

  She begins to cry, and her tears are like a child’s. They fall from her eyes in a steady stream and she makes no move to brush them away. Great gulps come and the nurse with her mouths, ‘Sorry’, in their direction and helps her into bed, pulling the curtain around the cubicle, Aggie gradually quietening.

  Maarten drops his voice. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to try to get you a private room? I can pay if you like.’ He grins. ‘Call it a birthday present.’

  Liv shakes her head. ‘Much as I’d love a few nights in a fancy room, save the cash for the summer holiday. She’s quiet most of the time and sleeps a lot. I’ll be out soon. My temperature has steadied. I can’t wait, Maart. I honestly can’t wait to get home. They never really turn the lights off in here. I just need sleep.’