The Judas Scar

by Amanda Jennings

  He moved closer to her so that his lips brushed hers, sent electric pulses shooting though her body, and at that moment she knew it was too late, she knew she would sleep with him, and her head swam with anticipation. She turned in the seat, the skin of her thighs sticking to the hot leather, and wrapped her hand around his neck. Her fingers knotted into his hair and she pulled him to her. Their lips met and she was overwhelmed with desire. It erupted inside her as if she was taking her first breath of oxygen. He kissed differently to Will, harder, more insistent, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth, exploring her, tasting her.

  He drew back from her. His lips glistened with a sheen of saliva.

  ‘I am consumed by you.’

  She trembled with adrenalin, her hands quivered, her lips tingled. ‘You don’t even know me,’ she whispered.

  The ghost of a smile passed over his face. ‘I know all I need to know. I knew it the moment I first saw you.’

  Luke turned the engine on and pulled away from the curb.

  ‘You believe in love at first sight?’ she asked as he drove.

  He shook his head. ‘Love at first sight?’ he said with derision.

  ‘No. I never talk about love. It’s a fatuous, overused word that’s impossible to quantify. How long does it take to fall in love?

  Minutes? Years? Love means different things to different people. Love is a one-way street; one of the pair always loves more than the other. Love is cruel. What I’m talking about – attraction, desire, chemistry – these are the things that matter. You can love a car or a country or a food, but sexual desire is much more specific. Do I believe in desire at first sight? Yes, of course I do. True chemical desire is instantaneous.’

  She knew what he meant. She had felt it too. Outside the cloakroom at Emma’s party she’d felt the immediate attraction. Perhaps the future had been written out then. Perhaps it was inevitable she would sleep with him. Perhaps it had nothing to do with her faltering marriage or Will’s dishonesty or her lost baby, but everything to do with this man, this stranger.

  A sudden thought came into her head. She didn’t want to know more about this man. She had no desire to get to know him, to see his weaknesses, to have him anything other than this mysterious ghost from Will’s unspoken past. The thought of knowing him scared her.

  ‘Luke,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to go back to your flat.’

  ‘Why not?’

  She hesitated. ‘I can’t explain. I just don’t want to.’ She didn’t want to try and tell him that she didn’t want to see his home, she didn’t want to know anything more about him, she didn’t want to find out what books were on his shelf or which pictures decorated his walls. She needed him to stay a stranger.

  ‘Where, then? A hotel?’

  She imagined the judgmental frown of the lady on reception. A person who’d seen them all before, countless clandestine couples with false names grabbing a few hours of sordid sex. ‘No,’ she said, then glanced into the back seat of the car.

  He smiled briefly. ‘Don’t even think it.’ He paused. ‘What about the photography studio?’

  She did a double take and furrowed her brow. ‘How do you know about that?’

  ‘Will told me.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘The other night, we were talking about his business. How else would I know?’ he laughed. ‘Is it far? Do you have a key?’

  ‘There’s a padlock, a code. I know it.’

  Harmony thought about it. They couldn’t. Not in Will’s studio. But as she thought about it she wondered if it might be perfect. It was safe and anonymous, not somewhere she felt connected to in any significant way. It would hurt Will if he knew, but then he’d hurt her. He was part of the reason she was here, part of the reason she was doing this. Why should she feel guilty? This was just sex, this was nothing compared to what he’d done. Her anger spiralled and she smarted as his voice repeated in her head.

  When it died I felt relief.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We can go there. He’s at the wine shop today and never goes there after work. To be honest he hardly goes there at all anymore. Head down towards Battersea. It’s a few minutes from the power station.’

  She glanced at him, his face set, his eyes on the road. She looked down at his hand on the gear stick, saw his long fingers loosely gripping it and imagined them reaching for her. She felt for her wedding ring and began to turn it in precise quarter revolutions as she recalled the moment Will had slid it on to her finger. His eyes had sparkled and he’d laughed, standing there in his light blue seventies-style suit, flowery open-necked shirt, scuffed leather shoes and mismatched socks.

  ‘Who’s going to see my socks?’ he’d said, as they dressed together, bucking tradition and driving to the registry office in the same car. But his trousers were a couple of inches too short and when he sat down they rode up his legs, revealing the black sock on one foot and the striped one on the other. After they exchanged rings he leant forward and told her he loved her, three whispered words that had made her heart sing.

  ‘I love you too,’ she’d replied.

  Just meaningless words? Was Luke right? Was love just an immeasurable concept as unstable and ever-changing as a sand dune?

  ‘Take it off.’ Luke’s voice jolted her from her thoughts.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The ring. If it’s bothering you, take it off.’

  ‘It’s not the ring that’s bothering me,’ she said.

  ‘Well, if you’re having second thoughts, you need to tell me. I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to do. If this is too much for you, I’ll drive you home. Do you want me to do that?’ Harmony thought of the flat, dark and cramped, filled with sadness. She thought about Will and her moving around each other in their separate spheres, her avoiding being in the same room with him, those loaded, bitter silences.

  ‘No. I want to be with you. I want to be here.’

  Harmony directed Luke to turn into the small yard where Will’s photographic studio was. She told him where to park and then they got out of the car. The small, unevenly cobbled forecourt was full of weeds, patches of earth and potholes. There were four warehouse-like buildings, prefabricated and boxy, that bordered three sides of the yard. One was vacant and dilapidated; another was used as a private storage facility; the third belonged to a motorcycle mechanic; and then there was Will’s studio. It was smarter than the others. She and Will had spent a few weekends painting it – the walls in white emulsion, the window frames and door in a navy gloss. They’d painted the inside as well, pulled out the rotten carpets, replaced the broken panes of glass in the window, and cleared away the rubbish. She remembered Will eagerly screwing the stainless steel sign to the door then stepping back and reading it out.

  ‘Will English. Professional photographer,’ he’d said, as he’d wrapped his arms around her shoulders and kissed her.

  Harmony and Luke walked up to the door and with a shaking hand she turned the number dials on the lock that secured it.

  1209.

  Will’s birthday.

  She stalled as another wave of doubt passed through her. Luke bent down and lightly kissed her neck. She shivered and leant her face against his, closing her eyes, breathing him in. She pushed Will from her mind and slid the handle back to open the door. It was dark inside and they were hit by a wall of stale, cool air, heavy with the smell of the damp concrete floor. Harmony reached to the side to turn on the lights, and a moment or two later the fluorescent strip lights flickered into life. She stared at the large empty room, the sofa to her left, the white wall in front of her, lighting stands and spotlights to the right. Will’s space. She saw him then, tinkering with his camera, glancing up at her, smiling as he focused the lens on her.

  Luke opened his mouth to speak.

  ‘Don’t say anything,’ she said. ‘Just kiss me.’

  His eyes searched hers, flicking almost imperceptibly back and forth, then in one movement he grabbed hold of he
r shoulders and pushed his open mouth onto hers. One hand went to the back of her neck and the other moved over her breast, pushing hard against her. All hesitation vanished and she was filled with an all-consuming need for him. Everything she felt, all the confusion, the hurt, the betrayal and anger, was suddenly directed on this one thing. Every part of her ached for him. She moved her hand to the front of his trousers, took an intake of breath when she felt him hard. She grabbed at the waistband and fumbled with the button and zip. His fingers dug into her, his tongue forced its way into her mouth. He pushed her backwards against the painted brickwork of the studio as his hand went to the hem of her skirt and he pulled it up, over her hips. His fingers felt for her underwear. She broke away from kissing him to pull them down and step out of them. He dropped his head and buried his face in her chest, she pitched her head backwards, raking her fingers across his back as he lifted her against the wall and she wrapped her legs around him. He kissed her neck and chest, ran the flats of his hand up her sides and the insides of her arms, pushing them above her head and clenching her wrists against the wall. There was a roughness about him, a mounting aggression. She opened her eyes and was taken aback by the look on his face. Not lust or tenderness, but a reflected anger, his eyes glazed over, mouth twisted into a grimace. His fingers tightened their hold on her wrists as if she were trapped in a vice.

  ‘Be careful,’ she whispered. ‘You’re hurting me.’

  His fingers loosened immediately and he breathed into her neck.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to.’ His breath came in short, grasping bursts.

  She put her hand against his cheek to calm him. When she felt him relax she whispered into his ear: ‘Fuck me, Luke. I want you to fuck me now.’

  When he pushed himself inside her he cried out, then bit down on her lip and she winced, tasting the metallic tang of blood.

  ‘I’ve wanted this so much,’ he said hoarsely.

  As he drove into her he seemed to disappear into himself, become distant from her, as if he was somewhere else. It was over quickly and his head collapsed into the crook of her neck as her body slid down the wall. She loosely draped her arms around him and they both breathed heavily. She turned her head, her open mouth resting against his hair, soft and thick.

  It’s done now, she thought. It’s done.

  She pushed her skirt down and Luke pulled up his trousers, then ran his hands through his hair.

  ‘What do we do now?’ she asked. He smiled. ‘We do it again.’

  He took hold of her hand and led her to a side room off the main area. It was small and contained a tattered chaise longue that Harmony had fallen in love with at the Portobello Market, a coffee table, and an old chest filled with unusual items – a bowler hat, a silver-topped cane, beads, a plastic pot plant, a large Chinese fan and the like – that Will used as props in portrait shoots. His old camera and camera case and a long lens lay on the table. The camera was plugged into the socket in the wall, the green light showing it was fully charged.

  ‘He never puts anything away,’ she muttered. ‘It drives me mad—’

  ‘Don’t think about him.’

  She held her tongue, resisting the urge to tell Luke that it was impossible not to think about Will. He was there with her. This was as much about Will as it was about her.

  ‘Why were you angry just then?’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When we had sex.’

  ‘I wasn’t angry. It’s you who’s angry.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said after a hesitation. ‘I am angry.’

  ‘Why?’

  She contemplated telling him, but in the end she just shrugged.

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘For me too.’ She nodded.

  ‘I want to look at you.’

  She smiled. ‘You are looking at me.’

  ‘No, properly.’

  He reached out and began to undress her. His face was blank. He undid each button on her shirt methodically. Ran his hands down her shoulders to slide it off her. Undid her bra. Gently lowered the straps down her arms then leant forward and kissed each of her breasts. He bent to undo the zip of her skirt. He eased it down over her hips. He kissed her between her legs. She moaned softly.

  Luke stepped back and stared at her. His dark eyes took her in. Unease settled over her. Having him study her like this, naked and in full light, made her feel vulnerable, as if he was inspecting goods, looking for imperfections. She became aware of her body, of those bits of herself she didn’t like. Her bony hips, the appendix scar on her stomach, the large, dark mole on her hip, the broken veins on her thighs. For the first time since they’d kissed in the car she felt dirty, as if she was worthless and cheap, a husk of herself, her morals and self-worth sucked out of her. She lifted her arms to cover herself.

  ‘Don’t.’ His voice was firm; the sound of it made her heart skip a beat.

  ‘I don’t like how this makes me feel.’

  ‘How what makes you feel?’

  ‘The way you’re looking at me.’ Harmony was conscious of how quickly she was breathing, how shallow and hurried each breath was.

  ‘Being naked like this in front of you, with you dressed. I feel exposed.’

  He touched his fingers to her mouth to quieten her. Then he reached for his shirt buttons and started to take his own clothes off. They made love on a rug on the floor. This time there was no rushing or desperate snatching of each other’s bodies. He was gentle and soft. She should have enjoyed it but she didn’t. Without the rush of anger and passion she was left with the very real feeling that this wasn’t her husband. It was as if a curse had lifted off her. With every touch, with every moan of pleasure he made, she wanted him less. At one point she put her hand to her mouth to stop herself crying out. Guilt and shame overwhelmed her. As he kissed every part of her, as if he had all the time in the world, all she could think of was Will. Everything about this other man felt wrong now, alien. His smell, the feel of his skin, his hard, muscular body, and his unrelenting insistence, pushing himself against her in a way her husband never did. Luke whispered words she couldn’t hear into the curve of her neck. He kissed her breasts and her stomach, ran the tip of his tongue along the line of her throat, picked up each of her hands in turn and kissed the skin on the inside of her wrists. Afterwards she lay beside him, not quite touching. He turned on his side and lifted a hand to smooth her hair. As he did, she caught sight of the thin white scar that cut his palm in two.

  Blood brothers.

  ‘Are you thinking about him?’

  ‘No,’ she lied.

  ‘Good. You can’t think about him when you’re with me.’

  ‘It doesn’t work like that.’

  ‘It does. When you’re with me, I don’t want him anywhere near you.’ He sat up and his eyes burned into her.

  ‘I think we should go,’ she said.

  ‘Not yet. I want to stay with you like this for a while.’

  ‘I have to get back, Luke.’ She sat up, covering her chest with crossed arms. ‘I need to get back to Will.’

  He sat up too and grabbed his trousers angrily. Harmony knew she should say something, apologise maybe, but instead she watched him dress without speaking. She studied his body – not an inch of fat, toned, with clear muscle definition. She imagined he spent hours in the gym or maybe played football twice a week or ran every lunchtime. She was reminded how little she knew about him.

  Harmony was careful to leave the studio as they’d found it. Luke put the padlock on the door and spun the numbers to lock it. Harmony strapped herself into the car then reached into the back for her bag. She got out her phone and saw Will had texted her earlier that afternoon. She recoiled as a tremendous wave of guilt crashed over her.

  What time are you home?

  ‘Can you drop me at Fulham Broadway?’ she asked, chewing lightly on her lower lip.

  Luke nodded stiffly and turned the engine on as she typed a reply to Wil
l.

  Sorry phone been off. Home about six-thirty.

  She hesitated then added a kiss.

  They were quiet on the drive back through London. At one point he reached for her hand and stroked her. Her body tensed; she wanted to pull away from him. It was all wrong now, his touch, not exciting but duplicitous.

  ‘I’m away on business for a week from tomorrow,’ Luke said, as he pulled over to let her out just up from the tube station. ‘I’ll contact you when I’m back in the country.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said with hesitation.

  ‘That wasn’t the response I was hoping for.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’ll call you.’

  ‘Do you have my number? I don’t remember giving it to you.’

  ‘It was on the bottom of the email you sent me.’

  ‘Well, please don’t call me. And don’t text either. Use my work email address, the one you used this morning. It comes through to my phone, so I’ll pick it up.’ She slipped her bag onto her shoulder and reached for the door handle.

  His jaw clenched with displeasure and his eyes flicked away from her.

  ‘Luke,’ she said. ‘You can’t put any pressure on me. This is hard enough as it is.’ She opened the door and got out. She looked at him but he stared out of the windscreen as if fixed on something in the distance, his fingers tapping rapidly on the steering wheel. Finally he glanced at her and nodded. Then she closed the door.

  He shifted into gear and pulled away. She watched the car weaving through the traffic, and then turned in the direction of the tube station.

  She arrived home a little earlier than she’d said. She stood in the entrance hall of their building for a few minutes breathing deeply, trying to gather herself before opening the door. She fumbled with the key in the lock, images of her and Luke bombarding her, each of them sending a small pulse of heat through her body and a simultaneous stab of guilt.

  ‘Hi!’ called Will from the kitchen. ‘Good day?’

  His voice cut into her. Familiar, the most familiar voice in the world. He was excited about something. How could he be? What was there to be excited about?