Thorn in the Flesh

by Anne Brooke

  Outside, the air was chill and smelled of rain. The unfamiliar Barbour creaked and rustled as she walked but, by the time she’d reached the end of Nicky’s road and turned left, she no longer heard it.

  The walk past Busbridge Lakes and down the hill to Godalming didn’t take long, not that Kate would have been able to mark the time anyway. She hurried along the places on the road where it had no pavement, but didn’t pass many people. It was too early for that. Even the church was dark and still. Those few people she did pass, she turned away from, refusing to make any eye contact at all. It was the first time she’d been out by herself since the attack. It felt as if she’d been branded, as if everyone knew, though it was impossible for that to be true.

  The High Street, she decided, was too public so she hurried along until she reached the calmer ambience of Church Street. There, the sandwich shop, the old DIY store, the local newspaper office and the scattering of boutiques were the same as they had always been, and she wondered why she thought they might have changed. It had always been her favourite area of the town and she was glad it was still the gentler side of commerce. She loved the old-style buildings, with their black and white frames, and the shadowed patterns of the semi-paved roadway. It was something from a former age, keeping the sense of elegance and charm it must once have possessed in full. From the sandwich shop, she could smell the welcoming aroma of baking bread and hear the sound of a woman’s voice. The low rumble of her stomach reminded her she hadn’t yet eaten and, on impulse, she turned towards the window, stocked with cakes and assortments of breads. Glancing inside, she could see a young, fair-haired woman behind the counter talking to an older woman clutching a small white box.

  No men here then.

  Inside, the muggy warmth and a more overpowering wave of fresh bread smells swept over her senses. Two women glanced towards her, gave polite but friendly smiles and turned back to their own transaction. While she waited, Kate took in her surroundings. Long, clean counter, a scattering of brown plastic chairs and Formica tables, with two or three Rembrandt prints adding a splash of sun. It wasn’t somewhere she’d ever been before, although she knew its popularity. Nicky often visited on Friday lunchtimes for a weekend treat for the family. According to her, anything she bought always did the trick.

  Kate hoped that would be true now.

  A sudden ‘see you later, then’ from the older woman, a quick smile and a punch of fresh air as the door opened and closed, and the girl serving was turning towards Kate.

  ‘Good morning, madam. Is there anything I can get you?’

  She had no idea. Her hunger had brought her here but, when faced with the question, she was unable to think of an appropriate response.

  ‘Yes, but I’m afraid I don’t know what. The smell brought me inside. There’s so much choice. What do you have?’

  Even to herself, Kate thought she sounded afraid. On edge. But the girl simply nodded and Kate felt the muscles in her arms relax. She was unknown then.

  ‘We-ell,’ the girl said. ‘There are all sorts. Cakes, or sandwiches, with any filling you choose, hot and cold drinks. Do you want to have a look and see if anything takes your fancy?’

  As she spoke, the girl waved one stocky arm over the display along the counter.

  Kate shook her head. ‘No, something lighter, I think. I haven’t had breakfast yet.’

  ‘Okay. We do brioches, if you’d like.’

  ‘Yes. That would be good, thank you.’

  ‘Coffee as well?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  The girl began a long litany of Italian and American types of coffee, but Kate cut across her. ‘No, please, just a normal white coffee. No sugar. If that’s possible.’

  ‘Of course, madam.’

  She watched as the girl began to wrap the brioche and set the coffee machine to work. After a heartbeat or two, she glanced across at Kate a couple of times. On the second occasion, Kate noticed a flicker of recognition in her eyes.

  She inwardly cursed the tabloid that had somehow found a hazy picture of her to print while she was still in hospital. She swallowed and looked away, her body poised to run, her blood beating loud in her ears.

  No. She had to stay. If she didn’t stay now, then she’d never be able to. This girl was a stranger. There was no need to run, she’d done nothing wrong. She had nothing to be ashamed of. So why couldn’t she feel that way? All the things she knew in her head which her body couldn’t acknowledge. She hadn’t thought it would be this hard.

  The space between the girl’s recognition and paying for her purchases seemed to last a lifetime but it couldn’t have taken more than a few moments.

  At last Kate stumbled out onto the cobbled street again, trying to ignore the shake of her legs and the queasy feeling in her stomach. It was over. She’d been out, been recognised – yes, she knew she had, she wasn’t a fool – and she was still here. Where the road joined the end of the High Street, she paused. For the first time she realised how wet the drizzle was making her and shook the hair out of her eyes. In front, she could see the rounded pink oddity of the Pepperpot, the old town hall with its open-plan ground level and archway entrances. Sometimes, Nicky exhibited her work there.

  On one of the sheltered benches beneath it, she laid her brioche and coffee next to her and, for a long moment, stared out from her vantage point along the slight curve of the High Street. Next, she picked up the coffee beaker, holding it between her hands and feeling the warmth of it easing the shiver in her skin. She took a cautious sip.

  Finally, she retrieved the letter from the depths of her coat pocket and read it for a fourth time.

  Are you hurting much? I could do it again if you like, it said.

  Chapter Six

  It was gone 11pm. David and the twins were in bed asleep, but she and Nicky were in the garden, in her friend’s studio. No more than a large shed, really, but with good lighting, and enough cabinets and drawers to store papers, brushes and paints. Kate had always been the only person her friend allowed to be present when she was working. It had been a habit since before either of them could remember for sure; Nicky would paint in the middle of the room, and Kate would read, sitting on an old armchair next to the wall. Sometimes she looked at what was being produced on the easel or board, or wherever her friend was painting that day, but she never commented. When she did look, Nicky somehow seemed to know and would wait, unmoving, undemanding, until Kate turned her attention elsewhere. It had always been like this. Since forever.

  ‘It’s time for me to go home,’ Kate said.

  Nicky put down her paintbrush and laid the picture she was currently working on to one side. ‘Are you sure?’

  Kate closed her eyes and in the darkness streaks of yellow, red and orange fired their way across her vision.

  ‘Yes,’ Kate said. ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

  ‘No, that’s all right. You’ve got your life here. I have to get mine back.’

  ‘You don’t have to do it now, Kate. It’s early days, you know. It’s only been two weeks since you were attacked. And besides, we enjoy having you with us. You know we do.’

  ‘I know, but I can’t stay here always.’

  Nicky was silent. Kate watched as her friend stood up, came towards her and knelt in front of the chair where she was sitting. She had a streak of green paint across her forehead and Kate had to resist the urge to wipe it away.

  ‘Look,’ Nicky said, taking both of her friend’s hands in hers. ‘I don’t like saying this but it’s something you have to consider. Have you thought of the danger if you’re on your own? You don’t have a mobile. This man – the police haven’t found him yet and there’ve been no leads to speak of. What about if he comes back? Have you thought about that?’

  Eyes shut, Kate managed to nod. She was aware of a burning sensation at the back of her throat and she didn’t trust herself to speak. For days, she had thought of nothing else. She’d woken at least
two or three times a night, sure that the young man was there again, watching her. She was certain just before she woke for real, before her eyes focused, that his hands were reaching out for her, trapping her and leaving her nowhere to run. Four times, she’d dreamt she’d been at her own home on the night of the attack and would have to relive it all over again, this time knowing how it would end.

  It was that, beyond all things, which she couldn’t bear. It was that knowledge thrust away into her mind’s dark shadows that made her open her eyes in the here and now, and try to make Nicky understand.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, wondering at the steadiness of her own voice. ‘Yes, I’ve thought about that.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Nicky hugged her once and quickly before letting go. ‘Yes, of course. I shouldn’t have said that, it was stupid. I’m sorry, Kate.’

  ‘No, don’t worry. It’s fine. I have thought about what to do.’ To her embarrassment, Kate found herself wiping away a few tears and rocking side to side in the chair. Without a word, Nicky reached for a handful of tissues and gave them to her. While Kate fought to bring herself under control, she felt her friend’s hand resting lightly just above her knee. Like an anchor or a known promise.

  A few minutes later and the moment was gone. Nicky gathered up the damp tissues and dropped them into the bin.

  ‘You know you can talk to me if you want to,’ she said, ‘and whenever you want to. But with all that’s happened, I think you should consider seeing a counsellor.’

  ‘No.’ The strength of her own refusal to this suggestion lurched through Kate like a wild storm. She breathed in and repeated herself more calmly. ‘No. I don’t want to do that. I know it’s a good idea in principle, but it’s not for me. You know that.’

  ‘Yes, of course I do. I’ve known you for such a long time, Kate, I know how private you are. But this is different.’

  ‘But I’m still who I am, that hasn’t changed. Why should everyone think it has? Why can’t I just go on being myself? No, I’m sorry, I don’t mean that. I understand you’re being helpful and the police suggested the same, before they stopped questioning me. And the hospital. I was grateful to them for their help and, believe me, I’m grateful to you, but I simply can’t do it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Kate paused, searching for the answer and how to say it. Finally the words came. A half-truth.

  ‘It would be like being attacked again,’ she said.

  ***

  Sunday 15 May, 9.30am. Early enough for nobody to be about and late enough not to face the possibility that she might be sneaking back into her house like a thief. Kate stood in front of the place she had once called “home” and knew that one day she would have to learn to call it home again. She couldn’t imagine how long that might take.

  Behind her, the car door clicked shut and she heard the slight swoosh of Nicky’s skirt as her friend came to stand beside her.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay with this?’ Nicky asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Kate said, putting her hand in the pocket of her jacket and feeling the coolness of the keys in her fingers. In the two weeks since she’d talked to Nicky about going home, the two of them, with David’s help, and aided and abetted by the twins, had added locks to all the windows and installed a burglar alarm in Kate’s house. Not only that, but she’d finally purchased a mobile phone, though she couldn’t see herself using it. David and Nicky had done all this. She herself had been unable to. She didn’t know if the activity and extra security made her feel safer, but it had given her a purpose, something to fill the days. The fact that she was here, now, was a tribute to the generosity and determination of both her friends. This she would not forget.

  Nicky’s calm voice broke into her thoughts.

  ‘In that case,’ she said, ‘if you’re all set, shall we go in?’

  All Kate could do was nod.

  In the doorway, she stood on the threshold and breathed in the scent of heather.

  ‘Has it been cleaned?’ The question had escaped her before she could even think of holding it back.

  ‘Yes,’ Nicky answered. ‘I did it. I thought you wouldn’t mind that.’

  Kate turned and hugged her. The thought of David stepping into the kitchen or the bedroom, seeing what had happened there, knowing it, was unimaginable.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  Grasping the keys in the palm of her right hand, Kate stepped into the hallway. The muffled beeps of the alarm made her jump, but Nicky slipped past her with a slight smile, to the alcove and keyed in the numbers. Just as on that evening when everything had changed, something in the air became more silent, all outside noise, what little there was, more muted. She had used to treasure this experience, revel in the peace of where she lived, but now it felt like a threat, as if something was waiting for her behind the closed doors leading off from the hall.

  She faced her friend. ‘I’m sorry, would you mind going first?’

  ‘Of course I will. Shall I make us a drink?’

  Kate felt the sweat break out on her forehead. ‘No, not for me, thank you. Unless you want one?’

  Nicky shook her head and Kate felt the muscles in her shoulders relax, though she hadn’t been aware she’d been tensing them. The kitchen, they wouldn’t have to go into the kitchen yet then. No drinks meant no kitchen. She would have to learn to live one moment after another, second by strained second, and not look ahead to the things she needed to do today.

  She swallowed.

  ‘I’d like …’ she began. ‘I’d like …’

  ‘Yes?’ Nicky was closer now, the reassurance of her like a shoreline rolling into sight on a long ocean journey.

  ‘I think I should go round the house,’ Kate said. ‘I need to look in the rooms, be in them. With you here. If that doesn’t sound too odd?’

  ‘No,’ Nicky said, her fingers warm on Kate’s bare arm. ‘That doesn’t sound odd at all.’

  It took longer than Kate had anticipated. She walked down the hallway, touching the table, the telephone, tidying the pile of post that she knew she could not open while her friend was there. She didn’t stop at the kitchen, but instead took the five further steps needed to reach the living-cum-dining room. She pushed open the door and walked inside.

  Everything was as it should be, and almost as she had left it, although she could see that her magazine rack had been thinned out. Nicky knew she kept her newspapers no longer than a week; in the past it was something they had laughed about together. The candelabra on the mahogany table had been moved too, from one side to the other, and the tulips she had placed there, so many weeks ago, must have been thrown away. She was glad they were gone. Today was not a time for flowers.

  As if she could read her thoughts, Nicky said, ‘I wondered about replacing the flowers, but I know you like to choose them yourself. So I didn’t. I hope that was right.’

  ‘That was lovely, thank you. I’ll do it later.’ Even as she spoke, Kate wondered if in fact it was true. Would she pick or buy more flowers for the table, choosing the best from her garden or chatting to the local florist about what might last longest for this week, and hum to herself as she arranged them in the vase as she always did? The whole activity seemed so everyday that she could no longer imagine herself doing it. Neither could she imagine herself wanting to.

  Beside her, Nicky spoke. ‘Do you remember the last time we were all here, Kate? A couple of months ago, wasn’t it? David fell asleep on the sofa and Charlotte climbed onto his lap and started dropping biscuit crumbs all down his shirt. He didn’t even notice.’

  ‘No, that’s right. I remember.’ Kate moved further into the room, Nicky acting as her constant shadow. ‘We were cruel too, weren’t we? We didn’t tell him.’

  ‘Or stop her, the little minx.’

  The two women laughed and Kate felt an easing in her stomach, as if laughter wasn’t something she’d done for a while. Perhaps she hadn’t. The feeling was welcome.

  For a while she drifted round
as she had done in the hallway, touching the table, the tan-coloured sofa, the soft matching chairs, rearranging one or two books on the shelves and staring for a long time at Nicky’s picture of a young woman gazing upwards through summer trees. At last she sat down in her usual seat on the left-hand side of the sofa, the light from the window glinting across the glass-topped coffee table. Nicky came and sat next to her and held her hand. It was as if Kate was seeing her house from the eyes of a stranger, one who was unsure how to respond.

  ‘I didn’t think it would be like this,’ she said at last.

  Nicky’s hold on her hand became warmer, closer. ‘In what way?’

  ‘In a way which isn’t real,’ she explained. ‘I feel as if I don’t exist. As if all this is happening to someone else, not me. Sitting here now with you, everything I can see is something familiar. The books, the furniture, the pictures, the way the room is. It should mean something to me, but it doesn’t.’

  Kate wanted to go on, to say more, but didn’t know what the words might be. Nicky was silent for a moment, as if waiting, and then she said, ‘You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. It’s going to take time.’

  ‘I know, but I hadn’t realised it, that’s all. I hate him for it, you see.’

  Her last words seemed to ricochet from her mouth like small, sharp bullets and, as if she was outside herself looking down on the scene, she noted her hand in Nicky’s was clenched, fingernails indenting her flesh, and her legs were shaking. She couldn’t stop them; she couldn’t stop any of it. Tearing herself away from her friend, she sprang to her feet and began pacing two steps to the right and two to the left over and over again, arms folded tight against her body.

  ‘I hate him,’ she said again. ‘I didn’t think I did, but I do. Not simply for what he did, but for how it made me feel. Not so much then, but now when it matters more. I want to be who I used to be, Nicky, but because of him, I can’t, I can’t.’

  By the time Kate finished, she was crying, great gulps of tears too fierce to contain and Nicky was hugging her, holding her, stroking her hair until the crisis was over. But still, it wasn’t enough. How could it ever be?