One Dirty Scot

by Donna Alam

  My breath and heart cease to exist for a beat. ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘You know me better than that, I think,’ he says, chuckling softly in the face of my horror. ‘Who shall it be—you or him?’

  ‘What do you want?’ My tone is flat, my head a mess. I can’t let these be seen by Kai, not after the conversation we had. We’ve had enough mistrust and hurt between us. I can’t go back on what I said—that I’d never had photos taken of me before. I wasn’t lying, not really, because with Kai, those moments—those photographs—were filled with intimacy and love. Not five minutes of cajoling and half-drunk, naked fumbling.

  Come on, Katie. No one else will ever know.

  With Shane, I was just trying to be someone I wasn’t.

  And I could kill him right now.

  Oh god. How will Kai ever trust me again? This will destroy him. Destroy us.

  ‘One night. A few hours. A taste of what he has.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You and I. In exchange for the hard drive. The photographs.’

  I almost burst into tears on the spot. ‘So you can tell him afterwards, tell him what we’d done?’

  ‘No,’ he answers so solemnly that, for a moment, I almost think he thinks he means it. He lowers his hand and the photo along with it. ‘Never. I want only something to feed the fire I have inside.’ For the first time since this conversation began, Essam’s language is fired. ‘We are the same, he and I, yet he behaves so superior. I want the knowledge, the secret admission, that he is not so superior after all.’

  The same. How can he believe that? He’s nuts. I’m having a conversation with a madman. Maybe he’s high? My eyes dart to his nose, but that’s as far as I’m willing to go with this line of enquiry. I won’t draw nearer. No chance.

  Cold shivers dance along the base of my skull.

  ‘Essam, please don’t ask me to do this to him. You don’t want me, not really.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to do anything, just giving you a choice. Better than sharing this on the internet.’ He shakes the picture in front of me again. Another threat. One that squeezes my heart.

  ‘Some fucking choice.’

  ‘Keep your secret, add one more. Or lose your husband’s trust and perhaps lose him as well. You know how he is, how this would make him. He’d punish you with more than words, punish beyond your body. He’d return to his whores.’

  Quickly, he steps towards me, not giving me a moment to react. His hand grasps my wrist and with one pull, I’m yanked to his chest, Batool frozen, not moving and squashed between us.

  ‘A memento.’

  He tucks the photograph into the open neck of my shirt. I shiver as his fingers graze between my breasts before he steps away just as quickly, pushing the cat against me as her tiny claws dig into my shirt.

  ‘Madam.’ Rashid speaks from somewhere behind me, his tone low. I almost stumble backwards to the safe side of the open gate.

  One glance over my shoulder at Rashid and guilt floods my chest.

  ‘It’s okay. He—he just caught the cat. The door was open. She ran out.’ But as I then glance back, Essam is already walking away.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Rashid closes the heavy door behind us with an audible click.

  I’m so screwed.

  The photo rustles against my skin as Batool pushes it closer when she burrows into my shirt. My fingers stroke her sun-warmed fur absently, not wanting her to move, wishing that between us we could hide the image forever. Leave it where it is, never bring it out. Leave it to burn a hole in my chest and let my undeserving heart fall out.

  Why did I do it? Why did I have to lie to him? Such a small, inconsequential utterance; the words leaving my mouth without much semblance of thought. I can join the dots now, of course. I can see Kai’s face as he held Shane up against the wall back at my old flat.

  I’ve seen it all before, have a few pictures of her somewhere.

  Kai’s expression spreading to his fist.

  And when he’d asked me . . . that night we’d taken pictures of our own. Have you done this before? The unspoken plea: please tell me what he said isn’t true.

  So I did.

  And now I want to leave this image hidden, never take off my shirt, or maybe stand under the shower, the image still within, and clean this malignancy, turn it to lint.

  Keep your secret, add one more.

  ‘That man. He is no good.’

  I realise Rashid is still behind me and that I haven’t moved.

  ‘I know.’

  Batool begins to squirm. With a sigh, I avoid Rashid’s gaze as I place her on the floor and fold my arms, watching as she pads out of the room. His gaze almost nudges my back, but if I don’t speak, maybe he’ll just leave.

  No such luck.

  I turn to face him, but those coffee coloured eyes give nothing away. How much did he hear? What should I say?

  Brows furrowed, his expression says it all. Knows it all.

  ‘No good.’ Then Rashid follows the cat from the room.

  Keep your secret, add one more.

  Screwed.

  If I looked up the definition in the dictionary, I wonder if there’d be a picture of me.

  Essam wants to screw Kai via me. I’m just the vassal; I’ve no illusion of that. He doesn’t want me. He just wants to hurt what Kai has.

  The screwage is, well, it’s a clusterfuck.

  I lied about Shane having no photos, and I either confess to Kai or I don’t. And if I don’t, I’m an adulterer. The worst kind of scum.

  As well as an idiot.

  But it’s more than just a lie; it’s the danger of those images being available on the internet. Yes, social media is heavily censored out here, but I’ve also been told that any fool can get around that. The chances of any marriage anywhere surviving one party participating in soft porn—however unwittingly—is slim. But here? The threat seems like a whole world of shit to the power of ten. Bad enough that I could be socially scorned—or worse—but what of Kai? How could this affect him?

  And how would he ever be able to look me in the eye again?

  My choices are untenable. All of them. But I can’t tell him, and those reasons are mostly purely selfish. Yes, I want to protect him; I so desperately want to keep him from being hurt. But selfish because I want to be one half of a fairy tale; our relationship one big success. I can’t bear the image of his face, the disappointment in his eyes as I tell.

  Keep your secret, add one more.

  How far would I be willing to go?

  The day passes quietly, my parents either too tired or too much into holiday mode to be their usual interfering selves. I don’t see Rashid again, and for some reason Martha is almost pleasant as we pass throughout the day. She prepares an early dinner, which I hadn’t asked for, or expected, but it’s both welcome and a comfort. This is one evening I can’t afford to be alone.

  It’s nice to see the olds letting their hair down; something I’ve not much encountered before. Must be the desert air or something. Anyway, it’s only nice until Mum drinks four glasses of cab-sav. That’d be three more than her usual.

  ‘Go on, darl. Help me finish the bottle.’ She lifts the red I’d chosen from the cellar, something not too ostentatious looking, and therefore not worth an arm and a leg, hopefully. Sometimes I think I could give her lollie water—or Ribena—and she’d get pissed. She’s such a lightweight and that’s saying something coming from me.

  ‘No, thanks,’ I tell her, covering the top of my glass. ‘I’m not in the mood.’

  ‘What’s that you’ve got there?’ Though to be fair, this comes out more like wash-cho-gor-there? The words slurred together becoming less of a sentence and more like one long word.

  ‘Just water.’

  ‘But thissis a loverly cabinet sorvingnon! You lovadropared! Schpeshlee when you’re on holiday.’

  ‘Usually,’ I agree. ‘I’m just not in the mood.’ I’m in lots of moods, and all of them will
be exacerbated, not alleviated, by wine. Tears. Tantrums. Despair. I’m also not on holiday, but I haven’t exactly explained that I no longer have a job from which to take vacation from.

  ‘Oh, I getcha,’ she says tapping her nose. ‘You gotta lecresh?’

  ‘I’ve got liquorice?’ I frown as she taps her nose again and then take a second guess. ‘A secret?’ Given today’s troubles, I think it’s only normal that my heart rate picks up as I ask that. I don’t recall her being that intuitive about my life before.

  Glassy eyed and smiley, she looks at me. Or through me. I can’t tell.

  ‘Darl, a mother nooos,’ she says, propping her head on her hand. Pity her elbow then slides across the smooth wood, her body following along with it. ‘Oops!’

  I love my drunken mum. She’s so undignified.

  ‘Here, let me fill up your glass.’

  ‘Steady, Katie. Don’t want her falling in the pool on the way back!’ Geoff is all jovial smiles and eau de whiskey breath. ‘When’s this man of yours back, then?’

  I open my mouth to answer, but Mum beats me to it.

  ‘A mother nooos!’

  ‘A mother knows not her limits,’ I mumble under my breath. Far out, she’s like some oracle foretelling doom. ‘He’s hoping to get back this week.’ Or so his text earlier today said. I nearly burst into tears as I read his words, and it wasn’t all happiness.

  ‘You’ve put weight on since you got back!’ Mum shakes her finger at me, and it’s funny how that was completely coherent, not to mention loud, as Martha enters the dining room with dessert and stops dead in her tracks.

  ‘Gee, thanks for that.’

  ‘Steady on, Cynth,’ Geoff says, doing a funny sort of head wobble.

  ‘Wassat?’ Mum says, squinting at him. ‘S’water in your ear from the pool? Shudda nused earplugs!’

  ‘Not in front of, you know.’ Cue the head wobble again as Martha leaves again. ‘Not in front of the staff, love.’

  Beam me up Downton Abbey! If only they knew Martha’s the boss of this house.

  ‘Was she got to do with it?’ Mum complains, indignant, quickly approaching drunken critical mass; we’ve all been there. One minute you’re a bit giggly and the next you’re completely shit-faced. ‘Am just saying Kathering probably can’t fit into her dress. Wines got empty calries. It’s the sugar, in it. Innit?’

  Yes, the empty calories in the wine I’m not actually drinking. Thanks, Mum.

  ‘Absolutely, darl.’ He pats Mum’s shoulder as he stands, clearly deciding discretion the better part of valour. ‘Maybe we should get you to bed.’

  ‘Ooo, bed! Take me to lose or bed me forever! No, thasnot right!’

  Geoff laughs uncomfortably, his gaze sliding to mine. Meanwhile, I’m in the market for some good eye bleach as she slides one arm around his neck, the other cupping one of his arse cheeks as he bends to help her up.

  ‘Bed-bed-bed-bed,’ Mum intones, her voice lowering with each word. ‘Take me to bed. Promaz I’ll be a good girl.’

  ‘Oh fuc—fudging hell!’ I get up from my seat, sweeping the door wide for an exit that can’t come quick enough.

  ‘She’s tired. Travelling’s taken it out of her, poor love,’ Geoff says, guiding her upright.

  ‘You’re a good man, Geoff. A good, good man,’ she says, patting his cheek. His arse cheek. ‘No who else iz a good man, darl?’

  ‘It’s either Elvis or the Pope,’ I say widening the door a bit more.

  ‘Him,’ Mum answers quite certainly. ‘Cowscomehome.’

  ‘Cows have come—Kai!’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ‘Kai.’ I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. ‘I’m so pleased you’re here.’ Early. Arriving without any word. Unspeaking, sending cool glances my way. Yep, I’m as happy as a bastard on Father’s Day.

  ‘Kai, man! It’s good t’see ya!’

  I’m thankful no one else senses the descent of a sudden and unseasonable frost. Geoff’s too busy shaking Kai’s hand and propping Mum up, and Mum’s too busy, well, being propped up. Pleasantries are exchanged, the how’s and when’s of travel, at least by the males in the room. Meanwhile, I realise I’m staring and that I have the door handle in a death grip. Uncurling my fingers, I force myself back to my seat at the head of the table, already feeling rejected. He hasn’t dragged me into his arms, unlike the whispered promises spoken over the distances, and his cool countenance prevents me from making it my move.

  Though cool is an understatement. It’s like saying the Arctic is a bit chilly sometimes.

  Someone’s squealed, and my money’s on Rashid.

  My parents make their goodnight wishes; the door closing with an air of finality that makes me jump in my seat. I slide my gaze to him, but can’t seem to make my eyes rise to his face.

  ‘Mum had too much wine.’ I release a nervous laugh, almost surprised hearing the noise.

  Kai doesn’t answer, doesn’t sit down, instead making his way to the table where he picks up my glass to take a sip. Placing it back, he notices the empty wine bottle that’s now somehow lying on its side. He studies the label though his eyes seem unfocussed, his whole demeanour sort of preoccupied.

  ‘At least it was a decent bottle,’ he murmurs, standing it on its base.

  Sliding his hands into his pockets, he turns back to the door. My heart stops as I anticipate him pulling it open and striding through. Instead he turns and leans back against the wood. How can a gaze that’s so cool, suddenly burn so hot. So hot that it feels as though it sears the skin from my bones, leaving me scorched and exposed.

  ‘I—I thought you were in Africa?’ I say, my fingers straightening the pale leather table mat.

  ‘And I thought I could trust you to tell me the truth.’

  Seems we’re going straight to the heart of the matter. I shake my head, feeling the blow of his words, wondering exactly what it is he knows.

  ‘Where did that come from?’ Not really a question; more like an evasion.

  ‘From the place of requiring explanations. From the place of wondering what the fuck has happened while I’ve been gone.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I counter lightly, cursing the tremor in my voice.

  Kai pushes away from the wall with the air of a sullen teen.

  ‘No, that’s not how this goes,’ he says, folding his arms once more, his long legs beginning to pace the room. ‘You’re going to tell me everything that happened this morning, right before you tell me why I haven’t yet heard it directly from you.’ He comes to a stop standing by my chair. I don’t look at him. Not until, that is, his fingers grasp my chin.

  ‘Let go.’ I’m surprised how cool my voice sounds, despite the blood pounding between my ears.

  ‘Then tell me.’ His fingers tighten and then release just as quickly. ‘In your own words.’

  Clarification and justification. But of what? Exactly what? How can he know when I haven’t even decided myself?

  I sit back in my chair, not sure which direction to expect a further attack. ‘Why are you behaving like this?’

  ‘Babe, you can be more original than that.’ Hurtful. The word hits like a barb.

  ‘Kai, don’t do this.’ Please don’t call me that.

  ‘No, you don’t get to be defensive,’ he growls. For the first time.

  ‘How about you stop attacking me, then?’ I thread my palms between my legs to stop them shaking; to stop myself from throwing them into the air.

  ‘Attack—you think this is an attack? How about subterfuge? On your part. What happened to “you shouldn’t hide things, ever”?’

  His words slash through the air like a knife as he throws back my own words. Subterfuge and denials. Attack and retreat. Why does this feel like a battle?

  ‘I’ve got no idea—’

  ‘Right. I see. So you haven’t done anything wrong.’

  ‘What do you want me to say?’ The look he wears is almost murderous, words barely concealing an anger f
it to overflow. ‘You want me to tell you I saw Essam? Fine. I did, but you already know that, or you wouldn’t be here having a go at me. I expect you hopped in your little plane the minute Rashid squealed.’ The words leave my mouth in a rush with a lack of either finesse or thought. ‘Oh, but guess what? I saw him last week, too. Quite the persistent caller he is.’

  ‘Twice.’ The word is short and explosive, akin to a spark; his voice simmering with barely suppressed emotion. ‘You’ve spoken to him twice, but didn’t think to tell me?’ Another lick of fire in his words, threatening to burst into flames. ‘The man who attacked you, the man responsible for you fucking off halfway around the world.’ With each word spoken, not only does his tone alter, but his volume increases until he’s yelling, his words ringing around the room. ‘You had . . . congress with my fucking cousin, but you didn’t think to mention it to me!’

  ‘Congress? You make it sound like I was screwing him on the front lawn!’ I bring myself up off the chair, my fingers grasping the table in an effort to hold on, hold back. ‘You said you’d take care of him. You said you’d . . .’ I begin to tremble at the shock of this encounter. At the fact that I’ve keep all this inside. Sinking back into my chair, I wonder where the words are spewing from. ‘You shouldn’t have left me alone for almost a month. Not while he was still here.’ My hands still hold the table’s edge and I spread my fingers wide as I continue to speak. ‘And now he’s gone and fucked it all up! I’ve fucked it all up.’ My hands contract into fists, my final words ending in sob.

  ‘He’s not supposed to be here.’ Kai’s words are strangled now, and though I don’t look up, I can sense him pushing both hands through his hair. I can see it in my mind’s eye, standing on end and I feel the urge in my fingers to brush it back again. ‘I didn’t expect to be gone so long.’

  ‘Gee, I wonder who could’ve managed to orchestrate that.’

  ‘You promised you’d take care.’

  His footsteps draw closer, the sound of something being laid quietly against the corner of the dining room table, though I don’t raise my head as he moves away again.