Where There's Smoke (1997)

by Simon Beckett

  Kate grimaced. "It's a bit gruesome, when you think about it, isn't it," she said. "Pretending to burn someone. Even if he did try to blow up Parliament. Not much reason to call it a 'good' fire, is it?"

  Alex was watching the guy. It seemed to take a second for what she said to register. He looked at her with a quizzical expression.

  "Bonfire," she explained, feeling stupid, "At school they said it meant 'good fire'. You know, as in bon, French for 'good'."

  A smile touched his face. "That isn't where it gets its name from. It's derived from 'bone fire'. Because they used to burn bones."

  Kate gave a horrified laugh. "God, it gets worse! I thought it was bad enough celebrating someone being executed!"

  Alex shook his head, turning back to the flames. "That wasn't what it was about originally. To start with it was a Celtic fire festival called Samhain, when people used to build fires to mark the beginning of winter. It wasn't even on November the fifth, it was on the first. But after the Gunpowder Plot people were encouraged to burn effigies of Guy Fawkes on the fires, and the whole idea was hijacked."

  "You sound like you don't approve."

  He didn't answer at first. His face was jaundiced with reflected flame. "It was something pure to start with," he said. "People celebrating fire as a counter to winter. Then it was turned into a political sham, a warning from the government to any other malcontents. Fawkes was a scapegoat. He was just a mercenary, an explosives expert hired to handle the gunpowder. Robert Catesby was the real leader, but no one hears about him. He was killed when they arrested the actual plotters, so they played up Fawkes's role instead. And the real reason for lighting the bonfires became lost."

  He stopped, giving her a chagrined grin. "Sorry. Lecture over."

  "You sound like you've read a lot about it," Kate said. It was rare to hear him speak at such length.

  Alex seemed about to say something else when a detonation above them lit the sky with a stuttering crack! Kate looked up and felt the pressure of the rocket's percussion on her face as the display began.

  They were forced closer together as people pushed forward for a better view. Kate was conscious of him standing slightly behind and to one side as the firebursts boomed and flowered overhead. She swayed back, involuntarily, but in the moment before her shoulders brushed against him, a sudden waft of hot smoke stung her eyes. She turned away, blinking, and as she wiped them there was a commotion at the opposite side of the fire.

  Through streaming eyes she saw a man duck under the rope cordon. A steward made a grab for him, but the man jinked around his outstretched hands like a rugby forward. He ran straight at the blazing stack of wood, and as Kate watched, still not believing what he was going to do, the man launched himself into it.

  The steward's cry was drowned in the bang of another explosion overhead. He dodged back, throwing up his arm to shield himself as the bonfire collapsed in a frenzy of sparks.

  Behind him, the horrified, pale faces of the people standing by the ropes began to turn away, like lights blinking out. She heard one or two screams above the clatter of the fireworks, but most of the crowd were unaware of what had happened.

  A cooing ahh went up at another extravagant rocket-burst as stewards ran towards the fire.

  Kate quickly turned away as two of them pawed with long poles at a smouldering shape in the edge of the flames. She clutched hold of Alex's arm. "Let's go."

  Now more people were turning to look. A low murmur, almost a moan, went up from the crowd at some further movement from around the bonfire.

  "Alex…"

  He was still staring at the cluster of stewards. She tugged at him. He didn't move.

  "Come on, Alex."

  His face was blank with shock as he let her lead him away. They pushed against the flow of a crowd that was now moving towards the fire to see what had happened.

  She almost lost her grip on Alex's arm, but then the crush thinned and they could move freely.

  Kate gagged at the smell of cooked meat as they passed the hot dog and burger stalls. She held her breath until they had left them behind, and glanced at Alex. His eyes were unfocused. He walked loosely, as though he were concussed.

  "Are you all right?" Kate had to repeat the question before he responded. For a moment he looked at her without recognition, then he nodded.

  "Yes, sorry, I…" His voice tailed off.

  "Do you want to go for a drink?" Kate asked. They had reached the park exit. In the light from the street lamps she could see how pale his face was.

  "No…no, I think I…I'd just like to go home."

  Kate flagged down a taxi. They rode in silence. Alex seemed to have withdrawn into himself. He sat in a corner of the cab, staring out of the window. Lights from the street played over his face like a slow-motion strobe.

  "Why would someone do that?" Kate said, unable to keep quiet any longer.

  Alex shook his head.

  Kate saw the figure leap into the flames, the fire collapse again. She gave an involuntary flinch. "Even if he wanted to kill himself, why pick such a—a horrible way?"

  She found that her teeth were chattering a little as she spoke, although it wasn't cold in the cab. Alex continued to stare out of the window.

  "Perhaps it didn't seem horrible to him."

  His face was in shadow. Kate couldn't see his expression.

  She knew she was beginning to sound ghoulish, but couldn't stop herself. "But why do it like that? In front of all those people?"

  She felt rather than saw Alex stir. "It was a way of getting attention. Showing everyone he was there. Perhaps he wanted to hit out at them. Or at someone in particular. Like saying, 'Look what I'm doing, this is your fault. You made me do this'." He was silent for a moment. "Or perhaps he wanted to punish himself."

  Kate tried to shut out the memory of the steward's face, paralysed with horror and disbelief as he was forced to watch. She knew that no matter how bad her nightmares might be, his would be worse.

  "It seems…I don't know. Selfish, somehow."

  "Selfish?" Alex had turned to look at her.

  "Doing something like that in front of so many complete strangers. Not caring what it would do to them afterwards."

  "Would they have cared about him if he hadn't done it?"

  "No, probably not, but -"

  "So why should he care about them?"

  The bitterness in his tone was like a rebuke. She didn't answer.

  Alex sighed. "I'm sorry."

  "It's all right."

  "No, I…" He gestured, helplessly. "It just got to me a bit, that's all."

  Kate was already regretting what she'd said. Alex rarely talked about his work, but she felt clumsy and insensitive for not anticipating how this might have affected him. Tentatively, she asked, "Have you known someone like that?"

  "Once," he said, looking back out of the window.

  Lucy and Jack asked Kate over for Christmas Day, as they usually did. "Ask Alex, too," Lucy added. "Unless you've both got other plans?"

  Kate tried not to sound too evasive. "I haven't. I'm not sure what Alex is doing, though."

  "Is he thinking about going to his parents'?"

  "He might be, I don't know."

  "You don't know? Haven't you asked him?"

  "Uh…No, not yet."

  "Not yet? Don't you think you're leaving it a bit late?"

  Kate wouldn't meet Lucy's eye. "I just haven't got round to it. Anyway, I expect he's already got his own plans."

  "And I expect he's thinking exactly the same about you. God, you're as bad as each other!" Lucy went to the phone, looking exasperated. "All right, what's his number? If you're not going to ask him, I will!"

  "Don't you dare!"

  Lucy smiled, the receiver held ready.

  Kate threw up her hands. "All right, all right! I'll ask him."

  "Now?" Lucy offered her the phone.

  "Tomorrow," Kate said, firmly.

  She told herself it was ridiculous to
feel nervous, but that didn't make her feel any less so as she waited to broach the subject the next night. The theatre bar they were in was festooned with gaudy green and red baubles and tinsel. Christmas was inescapable, no matter how much you tried.

  "Are you going to Cornwall for Christmas?" Kate asked finally, giving up any attempt at subtlety.

  "Cornwall?"

  "To your parents."

  "Oh! Oh…yes, probably, I expect." He gave an unenthusiastic smile. "Have to carve the turkey and listen to the Queen's speech, and everything." He paused. "What about you?"

  Kate tried to sound unconcerned. "Lucy and Jack have invited me over. They wondered if you wanted to go as well, if you hadn't already got something lined up. But I said you probably would have."

  "For Christmas Day?" He sounded surprised.

  "Yes, but it's all right. We thought you'd be spending it with your family."

  The chime sounded for the start of the next act. Kate finished her drink. "We'd better go back in," she said, and blamed the flatness she felt on the poorness of the play.

  It was two days later when Alex phoned. "Looks like I've been ditched at Christmas," he told her. "My mother rang last night and asked if I minded if they went away instead. A last-minute offer from friends in Spain."

  Kate kept her voice neutral. "So what will you do now?"

  "Oh, I don't know. Probably just spend a quiet one on my own."

  Kate could almost hear Lucy's prompting, Oh, for God's sake, just ask him. "You can still come over to Lucy and Jack's," she said, trying to sound off-hand. "I know they'd be pleased to see you."

  Christmas morning was bright with a crisp winter sun that struggled to melt the white frost garnishing the pavements. The big house smelled of cooking and mulled wine. Nat King Cole vied for precedence with the TV as Jack took their coats and gave them both a steaming glass. Alex had taken a carrier bag full of presents, and Emily and Angus delightedly shredded the garish paper from theirs, carried away more by the orgy of opening rather than the gifts themselves, which were an expensive but unimaginative doll and a toy car that Angus was too young to appreciate.

  There was a bottle of whisky for Jack, Chanel perfume for Lucy. Her eyes widened when she saw it.

  "Oh, my God, now that's what I call a present!"

  She kissed Alex on the mouth. Kate felt a quick jab of something that could almost have been jealousy, and then Alex came over to her. "Happy Christmas."

  Almost shyly, he handed her a small parcel, and she suddenly wished she had bought him more than the bottle of Irish whiskey.

  She took the parcel from him and unwrapped it, aware of the others watching her. Inside was a long box. Kate opened it and took out the plain gold chain and locket.

  "I didn't know what size socks you took," Alex said. The quip sounded rehearsed.

  "It's beautiful," Kate said. "Thank you."

  She stepped forward and kissed him. The kiss was no longer than the one Lucy had given him moments before, but it was their first, and Kate felt acutely aware that Lucy and Jack were watching. When they moved apart she made a show of fastening the chain around her neck to hide her confusion.

  They drank a dry Spanish sparkling wine with the enormous turkey Lucy had cooked, and then various bottles of whatever Jack produced during the afternoon. By early evening Kate was pleasantly light-headed, and the pressure of anticipation that had been building in her all day finally found a focus.

  She and Alex were in the kitchen, washing the stack of congealed dishes. She handed him a wet glass to dry, and as their hands touched, the thought came without warning.

  Tonight.

  Flustered, Kate turned away, briskly scrubbing at a greasy plate to conceal her sudden tumult.

  She pushed all thought of the decision to one side, but the awareness remained on a subliminal level for the rest of the evening; a faint breathlessness, a tensing in her lower stomach. And then she and Alex were saying goodnight to Lucy and Jack and climbing into the taxi, and all at once it confronted her with the suddenness of a slamming door.

  Alex seemed to sense her tension. The atmosphere in the cab became strained. Familiar landmarks went past the windows like a countdown, and then the taxi was pulling into Kate's road. It stopped outside her flat.

  Her heart thudded. The words felt clumsy in her mouth. "Would you like to come in?"

  She saw understanding dawn on his face. He looked away quickly.

  "I'd, er…I'd better not. It's late."

  The rejection was so unexpected she felt nothing. "Oh. Okay," she heard herself say, and then she was climbing out of the cab. The cold night air didn't penetrate any deeper than her skin. "Goodnight, then."

  Alex didn't look at her. "Goodnight."

  The taxi pulled away, leaving behind a fading blueness of exhaust. The street was deserted. Kate walked up her path.

  Her keys were in her hand, although she had no memory of taking them out. She reached up to unlock the front door, and then it hit her.

  She squeezed her eyes tight against the pain of it, hand still outstretched towards the lock. For a long moment she stood, rigid, unable to make herself move. There was a miaow at her feet. She looked down as Dougal twined himself around her ankles. The cat stared up at her, wide-eyed and indifferent. "Happy Christmas, Dougal," she said, and let them both into the empty flat.

  CHAPTER 12

  The letter from the clinic arrived on a February morning when the rain lashed against the windows and daylight was a grudging, sepia non-event. Kate knew what it would be, but that didn't make her any less nervous as she slit open the envelope, crested with the hospital's logo, and took out the letter.

  Alex's final blood test, taken six months after his last donation, was clear. The clinic asked her to contact them so that they could make arrangements for her first treatment.

  Kate set down the letter on the breakfast bar. She didn't realise she was staring into space until the toast popped up, making her jump. Ignoring it, she went to her bag in the hallway and took out her diary. She had been keeping a temperature chart and testing her urine every day to time her menstrual cycle. It was so regular that she didn't really need to check when she was next due to ovulate, but she did all the same. It was just over two weeks.

  Kate went back into the kitchen and absently spread sunflower margarine on the toast. It had gone cold, and the first bite clogged in her mouth. She washed it down with tea and dropped the rest of her breakfast into the bin.

  Although she wasn't supposed to make her appointment for the first treatment until her period had actually started, she couldn't wait. She called the clinic as soon as she arrived at work. The receptionist, polite, with only the barest trace of Birmingham in her voice, booked her in for a little over a fortnight's time and told Kate to telephone the day before to confirm. It was curiously undramatic, almost like making a dental appointment. The excitement was there, a taut anticipation, like sitting in a plane as it gathered speed to take off. But the knowledge of what she had to do first overlay any pleasure she felt.

  She had continued to see Alex after Christmas, accepting the apology he had made on Boxing Day, a stammered account of over-indulgence and indigestion. She had even managed to convince herself that she had narrowly avoided a stupid mistake. But she had deliberately begun to tail off the number of times they met, preparing herself for the moment she now faced. It didn't make it any easier.

  Kate didn't phone him until that evening, feeling a sneaking relief that he had asked her not to ring him at work. His phone rang on, monotonously, and she was about to hang up when he answered.

  "Yes?" He sounded breathless, as though he had run to get to it.

  "It's Kate, Alex."

  "Oh, hi! I wasn't expecting you to call tonight."

  She steeled herself against the pleasure in his voice. "I've heard from the clinic. Your final blood tests are okay."

  "That's great! I knew they would be, but…well, you know." He laughed, happy. "So you can go a
head now?"

  "Yes. The thing is…" She shut her eyes. "I don't think we should see each other any more."

  There was a pause. "Oh."

  "It isn't anything personal. But we always knew this was going to happen some time, and—and I think now's the time to do it. It's only going to complicate things if we don't, and I don't think that'll do either of us any good. Or the baby."

  The words sounded false. "It's for the best…You can see that, can't you?"

  It was almost a plea. "Uh…yeah, yes, I…" She heard him clear his throat. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

  "I don't want you to think I'm not grateful for what you've done," she said, knowing she was only making things worse, but unable to stop. "I'll send you a cheque for the rest of the money I owe you, and -"

  "No!"

  The word was spat out. Kate recoiled from the heat in it.

  "No," he repeated, more calmly. "I told you I didn't want paying."

  The conversation was over, but Kate couldn't bring herself to end it. She said the one thing she had determined not to say. "I'm sorry."

  "Yeah."

  Kate kept the receiver to her ear, waiting for him to say something else or break the connection. But the line remained silent. She hung up.

  * * *

  Her meal lay untouched on the coffee table. The CD had finished playing, but she didn't get up to put on another. She sat on the settee, her legs curled under her, idly stroking Dougal who was slumped asleep on her lap. She told herself she had no reason to feel miserable. The whole point of what she was doing was because she didn't want a relationship. Alex had known from the start what the situation was. This would be her pregnancy; her baby. It would be cruel to let their relationship—or non-relationship, she thought, remembering Christmas—go on any longer. With a sigh she slid Dougal onto the cushion and stood up. She picked up the plate of cold pasta and took it into the kitchen. As she was scraping it into the bin, the phone rang. Expecting it to be Lucy, she went to answer it. "Hello?"