by Laura Elliot
‘You think I’m a possessive bitch who’s demanding far more than you’re willing to give,’ she continued as if he had not spoken. ‘Even when you’re fucking me you’re thinking of her.’
‘Stop saying that.’ His fingers pressed harder, kneaded the knobbles of tension under her smooth skin.
‘Isn’t that why you want to hurt me?’
‘I said stop – ’
‘You try to hide it but I know it’s there.’
She was waiting for him to overwhelm her, he thought. To drag her back to bed and make love until they were both exhausted. He released the pressure on her shoulders and rubbed his hands together, shocked by the ferocity of his thoughts. The room felt airless. He opened the window. The city was on the move, a slow snail of traffic along the quays but the early morning noises could not reach them. He inhaled and exhaled deeply before turning around.
She had taken a facecloth from the ensuite and soaked it in cold water.
‘I’m sorry I lost my temper, Jake.’ She stretched upwards and pressed the cloth against his forehead. He winced against its coldness. Her anger seemed to have abated but he was unable to gauge her mood.
‘I always seem to be apologising to you.’ She smiled, wryly. ‘Let me make it up to you tonight. I’ll pick up something in the supermarket and call over to Sea Aster after work. What would you like? Fish would be nice for a change.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Gosh! Is that the time? I’d better shower. I’ve an appointment in an hour with a client.’
‘I can’t see you tonight,’ he said. ‘You know I always have band practice on Wednesdays.’
‘Can’t you cancel?’
‘No, I can’t.’
‘Okay. I’ll drive over around ten. You should be finished by then.’
Her resentment of Shard had been growing in recent weeks. They were now gigging two nights a week and on Sunday afternoons in Julia’s Tavern, a pub fronting the Liffey boardwalk. Then there was band practice on Wednesday nights and Saturday afternoons. All too much, she said.
He listened to the gush of the power shower from the ensuite. Was she waiting for him to join her, as he usually did, the two of them slip-sliding together in the soapy wash? This possibility increased his lethargy. He had sought oblivion in her arms but she no longer deadened his sense of loss. The sounds from the ensuite grew brisker. The clink of jars and bottles, potions and lotions, familiar yet always mysterious. She emerged, wrapped in a white towel, her head turbaned in a smaller one. She dressed swiftly, each move deliberately choreographed to be noticed.
‘I’ll ring you later,’ she said. ‘Make sure to set the burglar alarm before you leave. Don’t use all your energy at rehearsal.’ She fluttered her eyelashes, a teasing promise as she opened the door. ‘You’ll need some for later.’
After she left, he entered the bathroom, still steamy and scented. He rasped his hand over dark stubble and looked closer. Was there grey among the black, a faint frosting? The longing to hear Nadine’s voice rushed over him. Marital tics, phantom pains, he no longer cared.
She would not be returning to Sea Aster. She intended settling in London in the New Year but, until then, she was staying on in Alaska to see the aurora borealis. Stuart was dead. Ashes to ashes, scattered from the deck of Eyebright. Jake imagined her and Daveth Carew, the two of them freed from the spectre of death and all alone in the icy reaches. There was only one place they would go to keep warm and rejoice at being alive.
He turned on the shower. The pressure of the water needled against his skin. The bathroom filled with steam. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the marble tiles. The urge to scream came and went. Finally, unable any longer to endure the pressure of the water he stumbled from the shower. Pain shot through his foot when he stubbed his big toe against the edge of the tray. Blood spurted from the gash. He limped on his heel towards the medicine cabinet. Nothing there except pill bottles, lined neatly in a row. He grabbed toilet tissue and twisted it around the wound then hobbled into the kitchen to search in the presses for bandages. The tissue was soaked with blood by the time he found a box with a red cross on one of the high shelves. After bandaging his foot he stretched upwards to replace the medicine chest. It jammed against something inside the press and he was unable to close the door. He shoved a serving dish to one side and noticed a ceramic box. He drew it forward into the light. The lid curved in two sections. A heart split in two, the Willow Passion glaze unmistakable. He carried it to the breakfast counter and stared at the pale green willow fronds, the hidden lovers.
He laid the two sections of the lid carefully on the counter. The first thing he lifted out was a menu from Lucientes, the tapas bar where Ali worked. Last week Karin had been in London for two days on business. That must be when she dined there. His chest tightened as he imagined his daughter serving patatas bravas or tortilla, unaware, as she must have been, that she was speaking to the woman who spent most nights in her father’s bed. He removed a publicity brochure from Silver Ridge University, newspaper features about First Affiliation, a flyer from Brian’s pottery. Inside a small plastic bag he found shoelaces from a discarded pair of runners, a lock of his hair, a button from his shirt and a comb that he recognised as his own. At the bottom of the box he found the photographs. The first one had been cut from a magazine called Families Matter. The magazine had published an interview with Eleanor prior to her conference. She had allowed the editor to use a family photograph that had been taken shortly before Rosanna’s death. Rosanna was in her wheelchair, flanked by himself and Nadine, her four great-grandchildren seated on the floor in front of her. Eleanor stood behind the wheelchair, her hands resting on her mother’s thin shoulders. Eight people formed the configuration but it was Eleanor with her imperious sweep of blonde hair and autocratic eyebrows who dominated the group. Nadine was faceless, recognisable only by her clothes, her long hands and red hair. Karin had used a cutting knife with skill and the circle that once featured Nadine’s face was as exact as a bullet hole. The photographs underneath had been taken from Sea Aster. Six photographs, all celebrating different family occasions. Nadine had been defaced with the same precision in each one.
Chilled and sickened by his discovery Jake shoved everything back into the box and replaced it. In the bathroom he removed the sodden tissue from around his foot and flushed it down the toilet. He poured a glass of water and gulped it down, swallowed hard. The pressure in his chest intensified, as if Karin was drawing her nails gently yet insistently over the membrane of his heart. He had to end this relationship before it destroyed him. He left his key to her apartment on the kitchen table and set the alarm code. He took the elevator to the car park and drove away.
CHAPTER 39
Jake crossed from the barn to his apartment as soon as band practice ended. The few leaves still clinging to the trees were as withered as old skin. He shivered when he entered the apartment but decided against lighting a fire. The leap of flames suggested warmth, intimacy. He turned on the central heating instead and the living-room was warm when Karin arrived. She removed her coat and draped it across the back of a chair, unwound her scarf and flung it on the sofa, kicked off her boots. Within moments she had stamped her personality on the room.
Anger curdled his stomach. His reflection in the window reminded him of an X-ray, a translucent shadow on black glass. Behind him he could see her shaking her hair loose, lifting the collar of her blouse so that it framed her chin.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked. ‘Was it a difficult rehearsal?’
‘No worse than usual,’ he replied.
She slipped her arms around his waist, rested her head against his back. ‘Then why are you so tense?’ Her body was no longer visible as she ran the fingers of one hand along his spine. He turned around and held her shoulders, walked her backwards and away from him. She took tiny steps. Why did he always think about her in miniature? How had he been so turned on by those delicate wrists and ankles? Seduced by a fragility that had never
existed?
‘You told me once I was the most married man you knew,’ he said.
‘At the time, yes,’ she nodded. ‘But not now. You’ve changed.’
‘That’s the problem, Karin. I haven’t.’
She was silent for an instant, absorbing his words. ‘Are you dumping me?’ she finally asked.
‘You can use that word if you like,’ he said. ‘I’m ending our relationship.’
‘Because of this morning?’ She sounded puzzled. ‘I apologised. I was way out of line – ’
‘Way out of line doesn’t even begin to explain what you’ve been doing.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I found that box after you left.’
‘What box?’
‘The one you bought from Brian.’
‘You were snooping in my apartment.’ The irises of her eyes darkened, as if a shutter had descended.
‘I was looking for bandages – ’
‘How dare you!’
‘I found it by accident but I can’t ignore what was inside it.’
‘A few mementoes of your life.’ She could have been discussing the contents of her fridge. ‘What’s so awful about that?’
‘The fact that you don’t find it awful. The fact that you don’t find it sickening.’ He released her shoulders and stepped back from her. ‘Those photographs of Nadine… I’d no idea your hatred of her was so malign.’
‘She’s gone from your life, Jake. The same way she went from mine after that summer in Monsheelagh. Defacing her was a symbolic gesture. Ridiculous behaviour, I’m prepared to admit that. I drank too much wine one evening and couldn’t handle the memories.’
‘What memories?’
‘She destroyed my family. Did she ever tell you that?’
‘She was fifteen that summer. A child.’
She rolled up the sleeve of her blouse and held the pale underside of her arm towards him. ‘Do you remember what you wrote there? I’ve never forgotten. You drew a heart and wrote Always Together inside it.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Oh, yes, it’s true.’ Her gaze was unflinching. ‘And here’s another truth. Nadine doesn’t understand love. Not then, not now. You chose her above me but I loved you that summer as fiercely as I love you now. I’m ashamed of what I’ve done but you keep me at arm’s length. All those excuses about not wanting to hurt your family with never a thought about how much that hurts me. So I took what small possessions I found and treasured them. That’s what love does, Jake. It fills us with the need to possess and cherish those dearest to us. Don’t let something so trivial destroy what we’ve built together.’
‘Trivial?’ He was unable to control his fury. ‘You deface those photographs of Nadine and you call it trivial. You’ve taken possession of my life and you call it trivial. You seek out my family –’
She stretched upwards and pressed her fingers against his mouth. ‘Shush… shush…’ she whispered. ‘You can punish me, Jake. I deserve to be beaten… beat me hard… I deserve to be punished… I’ve been so bad… such a bold, wicked girl… I know you want to punish me...’
‘I’ve no intention of hurting you’ His suspicions had turned to cold certainty. Their lovemaking had never been anything other than a performance staged for his benefit.
‘Intention is not the same as need,’ she said. ‘I understand violence. It’s unmistakable. But this… what you’ve been doing is worse. You’ve been playing with my mind.’
‘You can talk about mind games?’ He shoved her backwards. ‘I used the feel sorry for you. All those whacko boyfriends who messed with your head. Now I just feel sorry for them. Give me back the key to my apartment.’
‘Don’t do this, Jake.’
‘Give it to me,’ he shouted.
‘You’re making a big mistake.’ The sleeves of her blouse billowed as she delved into her handbag. An inset of blue on the cuffs, a trim of blue on the collar. He detested the flamboyant touches of colour that had once charmed him. She was not a person, he decided, but an object designed to stand on a plinth and be admired. She handed the key to him and buttoned her coat, wound her scarf around her neck. When she reached the door she turned, as if waiting for him to call her back. No tears this time.
‘Nothing can change how I feel about you,’ she said. ‘Ring me when you can no longer lie alone in that empty bed.’
He stood outside after she had driven away and breathed in the chilly night air. The wind from the estuary was harsh and icy. He had joined the ranks of Cody, Jason, Malcolm, Carl and the others who had been possessed by her. But it was over now. Like a snapped string, a broken spell, a last shuddering sigh.
CHAPTER 40
Snow united them all on Christmas Day. An unprecedented snowfall had frozen runways and made many roads impassable. Ali was marooned in London, her flight cancelled. Brian was unable to drive from Dingle and Mallard Cove was impassable for traffic. Eleanor, who had also planned to spend the day with Jake, was unable to reach him and had made alternative plans to dine with her neighbours. Jake would spend the day alone. No need to pretend. To be merry and festive, wear jolly hats and answer daft riddles. He would not have to eat turkey.
Frozen swathes of ice glistened on the estuary as he crunched his way through the snow to feed the huddled, bewildered swans. Back indoors, he fried rashers and sausages, toasted bread, simmered a pot of strong tea. The fire blazed and the hiss of burning logs was the only sound to break the silence. He had stocked up on food before the unseasonably heavy snowfall paralysed the country and could sit it out for at least another week.
By noon his phone was ringing constantly. Ali and Brian first, his friends from Shard and then Eleanor. Everyone seemed convinced that he would deflate with misery by having to spend Christmas Day alone.
He made pancakes for dinner. A stack of them drenched in maple syrup and brandy, delicious with a chilled, white wine. He switched on the television and opened a bottle of whiskey. Darkness fell early. A flicker at the window distracted him and the outside security light automatically switched on. He opened the door but only the curlicues of bird claws and the deeper indentation of cat paws marred the crystalline whiteness. Nothing to see except his snowbound van and a seagull flying above it. He shook off his uneasiness and returned indoors. The bird had flown too close to the light and triggered it. Nothing to worry about.
Eight o’clock. Still too early to ring Alaska or California. The flow of water was worryingly slow when he turned on the kitchen tap. After eight days of freezing temperatures the possibility of a burst pipe was very real. He switched off his water supply but the tank was in the attic in Nadine’s apartment.
The air smelled musty and the oppressive silence of an unoccupied space bore down on him as he crossed the landing. Could it still be called her apartment? It was obvious she was never going to return. Resisting the urge to enter her rooms, he pulled down the wooden staircase and pushed open the attic trap door. His hand tingled with a faint electric charge when he switched on the light. The whole place probably needed rewiring. The sight of the muddle on the floor added to his dejection. Nadine’s efforts to clear out the attic had only removed a fraction of what they had taken with them from Bartizan Downs. Sorting through everything would have to be his next project. He stepped over crates of Christmas decorations that he had not bothered opening. He recognised a box of dressing-up clothes from Ali’s fantasy childhood world and lifted out a dress dotted with diamantes. She used to wear it to bed at night, along with the matching tiara, which he would remove when she was sleeping. He hunkered down to examine Brian’s lopsided early creations. Wisps of memory escaping. They were stored in the frontal lobes of his brain – he had read that somewhere – awaiting the right trigger to free them. Today they needed no prompting. Nadine must be feeling the same way. Something so strong had to have a magnetic pull. But the time difference… he stepped around two broken computers, a treadmill and exercise bike, broken musical instruments.
He found the stopcock on the tank and closed it off. He inspected all the pipes and the boiler. Everything seemed in order and well insulated. The slow flow must be due to an outside problem. Relieved he reopened the stopcock. He sneezed, dust clogging his nostrils, cobwebs quivering. Nadine’s half-finished paintings were stacked under the eaves. This was where she had hoped to establish her studio but the sheer volume of her family’s possessions had defeated her.
The twins’ trophies clanged sharply when he accidently kicked against a black, plastic sack. They were tarnished, long neglected. He carried the bag from the attic and climbed backwards down the folding stairs. The front door of his apartment had blown open. He had obviously not closed it properly yet his fear that someone was waiting inside was palpable.
He shook off his disquiet. Karin Moylan was gone from his life and he was safe within frozen banks of snow.
He googled how to polish silver and made a paste of baking soda, which he found at the back of a press. The trophies were cleaned and lined up in front of him when the twins rang from Alpine Meadows. Breathless from the rush of snow in their nostrils they wished him a merry Christmas then rushed off to meet their friends on the snowboarding slopes.
At midnight Nadine answered her phone.
‘Happy Christmas.’ He enunciated each word with the precise concentration of the very drunk.
‘Happy Christmas, Jake,’ she replied.
‘Where are you?’ He could hear voices in the background, music, laughter.
‘Daveth’s house,’ she said. ‘He invited some friends to Christmas dinner.’
‘That’s nice.’ He batted away the image of Daveth Carew basting the turkey and wearing a ridiculously festive apron. ‘I’d better not keep you from your host.’
‘I’m okay for the moment. Is the snow bad?’
‘It’s brought the country to a standstill. I was in the attic earlier checking for burst pipes.’