Behind the Facade

by Rebecca Heap

  The marquee was a melee of people, sounds and smells. Kate was initially taken aback by the unaccustomed noise and confusion of it all. She was used to quiet, sophisticated dinners in private settings. However, she soon adjusted to it, helped by the fact Michael was so clearly unfazed.

  She felt a new level of respect and attraction for him, as he forged a way through the throngs gripping her hand tightly and quickly garnering the attention of the bar staff. It was not long before he had secured one of the high round tables for them, in one of the quieter corners of the tent, and was handing her a mug of mulled wine and a bratwurst sausage, snuggled in a bun and smothered in onions and ketchup. Perched on a high stool, Kate looked around her in some amazement and bewilderment. She was surrounded by chatter, laughter and the delicious scent of frying onions, yeasty beer and sweet spices.

  “Not what you’re used to, huh?” Michael asked, as he joined her on the stool opposite.

  “Not what I expected, either,” she said. “You know just how to surprise a girl, don’t you?”

  “A good or a bad surprise?”

  “Good,” she affirmed and bit into her sausage with relish. Michael followed her lead and tucked into his hot dog equally enthusiastically. They shared a companionable moment simply savouring the food and the atmosphere, without the need for talk.

  Having finished their simple repast, the silence suddenly became pregnant with expectation. Kate gulped at her wine with anticipatory nerves, wondering quite how to broach the subject of her past again. It had seemed entirely natural to want to talk about it next to the ice, when she was cold and melancholy, but now the atmosphere was distinctly different. She was reluctant to spoil it with talk of sadder times. Michael seemed to sense this.

  “You don’t have to bare your soul to me right now, you know,” he said. “You hardly know me after all.”

  Her face creased in vexation at this. “Maybe not, but I know you well enough to know I can trust you.”

  “Do you though?” challenged Michael. “I could be a monster for all you know.”

  She scrutinised his face. His tone was serious but she suspected he was just trying to get a rise out of her. He quirked his eyebrow, in a playful gesture of enquiry when she failed to respond. At this she was sure he was joking but, matching his pretence at seriousness, she observed soberly, “Ah! I should have seen it before. Those golden eyes of yours change to black when you’re hungry for blood. You’re a vampire!”

  She laughed but her laugh petered out as she detected he did not share in her amusement. He appeared to have been strangely unsettled by her remark and his face had gone very still. He quickly broke this brief moment of awkwardness with a smile. Reassured, she suggested “Why don’t you tell me about yourself then?”

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Well,” she pondered, debating what she’d most like to ask. Then it came to her. “Have you ever been married?” He shook his head, his smile growing.

  “Engaged?”

  “No.” His smile remained and his eyes remained steadily on hers.

  She pursued her lips. He raised his eyebrows, as if mocking the wisdom of her questions which had elicited very little from him, but she was not going to be defeated.

  She pressed on with, “In love then? Have you ever been in love?” Though this question followed naturally enough from its predecessors, it seemed to disconcert him. His smile disappeared and his eyes dropped to his glass of beer. I have you there, she thought. “You have.”

  He looked up again and she thought she caught a hint of sorrow in his eyes. He quickly covered this up with a shrug and admitted, “Yes. I was in love. Once, when I was very young. Young and very green.” His staccato words belied his nonchalance. She could sense a hidden pain.

  “Tell me,” she encouraged.

  He exhaled, as if he was seeking to dispel a heaviness within him. “You really want to know?”

  “Yes,” she confirmed.

  His eyes took on an inverted glaze. He began to talk again, in the same manner as before, “She was amazingly beautiful. Raven hair. Violet eyes. Took my breath away. Older. Married.” He paused and his eyes re-focused on her again, to gauge her reaction to this admission.

  She didn’t flinch and just said quietly, “Go, on.”

  He took a sip of his beer and continued. “Completely off limits, of course. I was flattered at first by her interest in me, then blown away when I realised she genuinely wanted to sleep with me. God! You don’t really want to hear this do you?”

  “Yes,” she insisted.

  He rubbed at his forehead. “Well surely you can guess the rest?”

  She shook her head, frustrating his desire to end the account there.

  “I fell in love with her. I was mad for her. Begged her to run away with me. She pretended she was waiting for the right time.”

  He paused again and closed his eyes. “I was a fool. She wanted me as a lover. Nothing more. Her marriage, and the money and status it brought her, meant more to her than me, more than anything or anyone. I found that out the hard way.”

  “What happened?”

  He abruptly turned away from her at this question, as if to hide feelings that were too painful. When he turned back, his face was neutral. “Want another drink? Something for dessert?” He half-rose from his seat.

  Kate saw this was his way of ending the topic and that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to bring him back to it later. She reached out and touched his face, “What happened?” she repeated, gently.

  He sat back down, defeated by her gentle persistence. He’d never discussed this with anyone, but having opened up this episode of his life he felt unable to resist the force of the hurt and anger it aroused. This compelled him to speak.

  “I discovered she’d been pregnant.” Kate audibly drew in a breath at this.

  He shook his head in visible distress and remembered disbelief. “She hadn’t told me. Just got rid of it! Didn’t even give me a say. When I confronted her about it, she just laughed.”

  “Why.......?” Kate began.

  Michael looked up and answered her question before she could finish it. “Her husband was infertile. He’d have known it wasn’t his. She’d have lost everything. Anyway, I wasn’t the one who’d have had to carry the bastard and become bloated and ugly as a result.”

  Kate knew that these must have been his lover’s vulgar words, not his.

  He now fully rose from the table, clearly struggling to keep a hold on his emotions. “I’ll get us another drink,” he said in a gruff, strangled voice, and disappeared into the now thinning crowd.

  Michael made immediately for the men’s room where his stomach, unbalanced by the rawness of his feelings, instantly disposed of its contents. What a waste, he thought, as he ran the tap, but what bothered him more was the ability the past still had to wound him. He spat and drank some water to clear his mouth and rid himself of the sour taste of regurgitated food. He then repeatedly splashed water on his face, trying to clear his mind and rid himself of the even sourer taste of his memories. Towelling himself off, he attempted to regain his composure and rediscover the imperturbable man he had been.

  Left to stare worryingly after him, Kate pondered on the strange turn of the tables. Michael had ended up revealing a painful part of his past rather than vice versa. What did this mean? To her, it meant they shared more than just a mutual attraction. She had been right about a connection. They had both suffered. They had been meant to find each other, she was sure of it. She just hoped he did not feel embarrassed by his revelations. She was simply glad he had shared them with her. She now knew she could trust him. He was a man of sensitivity and depth beneath his seemingly self-assured exterior. She felt tears rising in sympathy for him as she recalled again what he had related and the anguish he had clearly relived.

  Meanwhile, as Michael made his way back to the table, he was troubled by less positive thoughts of their burgeoning relationship. He’d decided he
wasn’t prepared to give a woman the power to hurt him in that way again. He was determined to keep Kate at arm’s length from now on. History was a teacher. If you didn’t heed the lessons it taught, then you only had yourself to blame. He wasn’t going to make the same mistakes.

  As Michael approached, Kate couldn’t fail to notice the stoniness of his face. Her heart plummeted. He didn’t pause to say anything to her but took her firmly by the arm, proclaiming, “Let’s go.”

  “Hang on!” she exclaimed, as he barely gave her time to retrieve her bag, “What about our drinks?”

  He didn’t reply and she scurried to keep up with him, almost dragging over the table. As they came out into the open air, there was a sudden flash of fireworks over the lake and they both stopped short in surprise. The ice show had started. She heard what she thought was a soft groan from Michael but was determined to ignore it.

  She fixed a smile on her face and forcibly put her arm through his. “Is this what you brought me out in such a rush for?” she asked with feigned cheerfulness.

  Michael looked at the ground as if reluctant to reveal his eyes to her, where she might read something unwelcome. When he looked up, his face was shuttered. “Well, since it’s started, we may as well enjoy it,” he said, unconcerned that this clearly demonstrated he had not realised the show was about to begin.

  So, not even for the sake of politeness, had he been prepared to make use of the excuse for his behaviour she had supplied. Kate took her arm from his. This evoked no reaction from him and he certainly made no attempt to recover it. She stood and watched the show, with her arms crossed and a coldness seeping into her bones that had nothing to do with the temperature. He obviously regretted his disclosure and, for whatever reason, felt he had revealed too much to her.

  They had a good vantage point, despite having missed the opportunity to acquire a spot closer to the entertainment. There was, in any case, a big screen at the opposite end of the ice to ensure not a moment was missed. The first group of dazzling performers leapt and frolicked on the ice, followed by a sensationally talented couple who amazed with their on-off ice acrobatics. The orchestra exhibited their talents by playing a range of up-beat pop and evocative ballads complimenting the choreography.

  Kate attempted to re-engage with Michael. She enthused, “Captivating, isn’t it?” Looking up to catch his response, she found Michael’s eyes fastened on her, as if they’d always been there. He quickly looked away, without answering. Kate felt a burning in her veins and a tear escaped without warning and slid unhappily down her face. Why was he being so contrary?

  There was a break in the performance and applause broke out as the couple left the ice to be replaced by a troupe of ebullient fire-eaters, who elicited further gasps of astonishment from the onlookers with their daring flame-throwing antics. Kate purposefully turned her back, wishing to make it clear she couldn’t be content whilst there were unspoken thoughts between them. She moved off to one side. Michael politely followed, drawing next to her.

  She said, “It’s getting late. I think I should be getting home.”

  His only response was “OK,” and he carefully took her elbow, leading her away from the spectators and back in the direction of the car park.

  Michael was nothing but deferential in his manner towards her, as they regained the comfort of the car and began the journey home. Nevertheless, there was an awkwardness between them. Michael’s eyes never left the road and he refused to utter a word. Huddled in her seat, Kate only felt horribly hollow. Any attempt to make conversation only elicited monosyllabic replies and she soon abandoned this tack. Despite this she was determined not to allow the evening that had begun so well to end this way.

  Michael drew up to her address and still yet said nothing. Kate remained motionless in her seat.

  “Your stop, I believe,” he said once he noticed her inaction, leaning across to open her door and then quickly withdrawing. Kate bit back an angry retort. She instinctively knew this was not the approach that would gain her the response she wanted and draw out the man that lay buried.

  She took a deep breath and looked down at her hands. “I don’t intend to leave this car until you tell me what’s wrong,” she said.

  He stubbornly refused to say anything. Equally stubborn, Kate remained fixed in her seat. There were several seconds of tense silence. Then he suddenly thumped the steering wheel and burst out with, “Don’t think I won’t manhandle you from this car if I have to!”

  Her eyes flared and, deliberately staring him down, she retorted, “Do it! You think you can lay a finger on me, think again!”

  Kate maybe knowingly, maybe not, had happened upon the one reply that was a dare too far. He grabbed her face with one hand, clenching her hair with the other, and wrenched her mouth towards his. He did this with a possessiveness so fierce and so sudden that Kate only had time to gasp. This was inopportune, as the opening of her lips led inevitably to a deeper onslaught. His mouth found hers unimpeded and he simply took until she could not breathe, asserting his mastery of her. She tried to fight back but, by the time she’d recovered from the unexpectedness of his assault, she’d been seduced by the taste of him and the cleverness of his tongue.

  As soon as he felt her resistance fall away, he abruptly broke off the kiss. He did not pull away completely, keeping his hand in her hair. “Don’t tell me I can’t touch you. You know that’s a damn lie.” His hand then dropped and he fell back into his seat, breathing hard.

  Kate felt shamed but at the same time exhilarated. He couldn’t pretend he felt nothing for her. That was a lie too. She was tempted to launch herself out of the car, slamming the door like some histrionic heroine in a soap opera, but this would be giving him what he wanted –which was to be rid of her.

  Instead, she turned to him and said, “You’re right. I….” He looked at her then when she paused daring her to carry on. “I want you,” she admitted. “But you want me too.”

  He grunted at this, surprised at her boldness. He then closed his eyes as if adjusting his thoughts. When he turned back to her he said, “Look, there’s something you should know.”

  “Yes?”

  “I use women. I use them terribly. I have done, ever since…..” his voice trailed away.

  Kate, rather than being upset by this remark, was encouraged. He was letting her in again. Being honest with her. “And what’s that got to do with us?” she asked.

  “Everything!” he exclaimed. “You should have nothing to do with me. I can’t give you what you want.”

  “How do you know what I want?” she countered.

  “Goddamn it!” he shouted. “I’m trying to break things off. Can’t you see that!? Before you want more than I can give.”

  “I want you, I think that bears repeating, and whatever you can give is enough for me.”

  Michael sighed. “I’ll only damage you. That’s all I’m good for.”

  “I’m already damaged. We both are. Don’t you think there’s a chance we might heal each other?” At this, he didn’t respond, only shook his head in repudiation.

  She touched his face. “Stop fighting this, Michael. Please. I’m a big girl. Respect me enough to let me make my own decisions.”

  Kissing him lightly on the cheek, she left him then.

  Michael laid his head on the steering wheel. How had he mismanaged everything so badly? It was her. She didn’t react the way he predicted she should. She simply didn’t know what was good for her. He sat back and drew in a deep breath but this only served to accentuate her lingering scent. Maybe he was a vampire, he thought; even her scent tempted him beyond reason, but she would probably be the death of him rather than the reverse.

  Kate anticipated difficulty getting off to sleep, after all that had occurred, but her physical and mental exertions served to put her under as soon as her head met the much needed comfort of her pillow. Nevertheless, her unconscious mind continued to grapple with the emotions and memories that had been roused, translati
ng into a restless sleep.

  CHAPTER 18

  In the early hours of the morning, Kate sat bolt upright in her bed, staring into the semi-gloom but still seeing the blinding sunlight of her dream. She blinked but despite having woken was unable to dispel the image of a dark figure against the pale landscape of a desert. She shook her head but this failed to dislodge the echo of the nightmare.

  Raising her hands to rub at her face she felt wetness there, as if she had been crying. She shivered, drawing her cover to her chin. She had not experienced nightmares like this for some years, and even then, none quite like this. It had left her filled with dread, as always, but also vexation, as if there was something she knew her subconscious was trying to show her but she was unable to see it. Vague fragments of the dream were still floating about in her head. She focused on bringing them to the fore to try and make some sense of it.

  Something had been closing in behind her. She had been terrified, crying and running for her life- this was a common theme in the nightmares after her accident- but her run had not been the usual mindless rush. She had been striving towards some disremembered goal. She recalled stumbling through a forest of malevolent black trees that increased in density the further she ran impeding her progress. Then, without warning, the environment had shifted, the trees melting away into a very different setting. She was in a desert. She’d no longer felt afraid, as if her pursuer could not reach her here, but had still felt agitated.

  A human silhouette stood on the edge of the horizon, like a beckoning beacon. Convinced the figure was Michael she’d started running towards him, calling his name, but he was too far away to notice. She’d been impelled by a sense of urgency, as if he was about to disappear. Fumbling her phone from her pocket she’d attempted to call him but all her efforts to key in the numbers failed. The digits stubbornly refused to register correctly. Ditching the phone, she’d struggled onwards through the obstructive sand.

  Finally, she’d been close enough to know he must hear her. She’d called to him again. His back was turned to her. He didn’t respond. Then at her approach he’d half-turned but his face had remained in shadow. She’d woken from the dream at that point, left with the uneasy feeling twisting her insides that she’d been mistaken. It wasn’t Michael. And the threat to her was much greater than it had ever been in the forest.