One Secret Summer

by Lesley Lokko

  The first call to prayer woke them both just before dawn. Josh stirred, mumbled something into her hair, then sat up. In the growing light, Niela watched him put away his strong, lovely body; it disappeared in front of her into his jeans and crumpled T-shirt. She picked up her own underwear, fastened her bra with her back turned to him and slipped her dirac over her head. Dressed, she turned back to him. He looked at her and laid the back of his hand across her cheek, letting his fingers trail across her mouth, parting her lips. She was frozen with a mixture of desire and embarrassment – after all, it was the taste of her own body that was still on his hands. She sat very still, her whole body attuned to his touch. He stood up suddenly and walked to the door. He pulled the rice sacks away from it and opened it cautiously. There was a welcome rush of air. He beckoned to her and she stood up. They hadn’t said a word to each other, but the sense of his withdrawal was strong. Something else had been buttoned up alongside his clothes. She stood waiting in the doorway, her own confusion mirrored in the confusion of his face.

  42

  Someone had procured a carton of tangerines, a rare luxury. ‘Satsumas,’ Nancy corrected smugly. She held out a couple to Niela. ‘Go on, have some. When was the last time we had fruit that didn’t come in a tin? Here, why’nt you take him a few?’ She jerked her head in Josh’s direction. It was no secret that Josh had little time or patience for the three other members of the team. ‘Go on. You’re the only one he talks to, anyhow.’ She looked meaningfully at Niela. Niela could feel the heat spreading across her face.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, balancing half a dozen satsumas in the scoop of her T-shirt. She walked over to where Josh was squatting on the ground, arguing mildly with one of the masons as he pointed out mistakes in the low wall. He broke off as she approached, squinting up at her. ‘Here,’ she said, holding out a couple. ‘The others thought you might like some.’ She offered one to the wizened old mason, who wrinkled his brow up at her, then took the fruit, holding it delicately between earth-coarsened hands. ‘Shukran,’ he said, slipping it into the folds of his robe.

  ‘Shukran,’ Josh repeated with a quick grin. His face lit up. She held her breath. He stood up and tore off the rind with his teeth, releasing the pungent acidity into the air. She caught it on the back of her throat and to avoid her confusion, picked one up and bit into it herself. The old mason stood up and wandered off, sensing there was a break to be had. Niela sat down on the wall, facing Josh, suddenly conscious of the curve of her legs in her jeans.

  ‘Thanks for yesterday,’ Josh said after a moment. He’d asked for her help in making the electricians rip out one of the circuits they’d installed. He wanted them to redo it until he was satisfied. He was forever getting people to do things a second or third time, the head electrician had grumbled, though not without humour.

  She smiled. ‘I’m sure I got some of the terms wrong. They’re probably installing beakers, not breakers.’

  ‘I doubt it. Hamzeh knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s just trying to make a little on the side, that’s all. Christ, I would.’

  ‘Would you really?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘Of course. D’you know how many dependants he has?’

  She shook her head. ‘A couple of wives?’ She hazarded a guess.

  ‘Thirteen. His wives, their relatives, distant family.’ It was his turn to shake his head. He looked out across the rocky landscape to the north. ‘He had nine children. Imagine. In a place like this. How the hell d’you get enough from the earth to feed nine children?’

  ‘It’s not about numbers, it’s about insurance,’ Niela said simply. ‘One of those nine will look after him and his wives in their old age. At least one.’

  ‘But they don’t, that’s the problem. They all leave. He doesn’t have a single child left here, did you know that? They’re all gone. To the city, abroad, God knows where.’

  Niela looked at him uncertainly. ‘But that’s how it’s always been,’ she said. ‘You can’t expect them to change things overnight.’

  ‘No, not overnight. But if they don’t, what’s the alternative? Hamzeh’s one of the lucky ones. He’s found work. How many of the others who live around here can say the same? That’s the tragedy of these wars, Niela. Not the camps or the loss of life or the pointless work we do.’

  She gave a start at the sound of her name. ‘So why do it if it’s so pointless?’ she asked, sensing there was something else he wanted to say but wouldn’t.

  ‘Why not? Someone’s got to.’

  ‘Doesn’t have to be you.’

  ‘Then who?’ He looked at her squarely. To her surprise, she felt her temper begin to rise.

  ‘We’re quite capable of looking after ourselves,’ she said tartly. ‘We’ve been doing it for a while.’

  ‘Oh, come off it. You lot? You know as well as I do … hey, where are you going? Hey!’

  Without even thinking, she’d got to her feet. A sudden rage had blown up inside her, bewildering in its intensity. Exactly as it had been the first day she met him, he’d annoyed her so much that she couldn’t think straight. She walked off.

  But this time, he followed her. ‘Niela! Come on, I didn’t mean it like that …’

  ‘Leave me alone,’ she muttered, too angry to speak.

  ‘No.’ He caught up with her and grabbed hold of her hand. Out of the corner of her eye she was aware of her colleagues watching them, avidly speculating, no doubt. He forced her to a halt, turning her round to face him. ‘I’m sorry. It came out the wrong way.’

  ‘How else was it supposed to come out? Pityingly? Is that any better?’

  ‘I just meant …’

  ‘I know exactly what you meant. D’you think me stupid as well?’

  ‘No, of course I don’t. That’s not what I’m saying …’

  ‘Then what are you saying?’ There was an angry silence as they glared at each other. His face was dark with some emotion she couldn’t follow – not anger, though there was that too. Something else … Her eyes widened. His hand was still holding her forearm. He released it suddenly, but before she could do or say anything further, he pulled her to him and kissed her, hard. She tried to wrench herself free but he held her fast. The smell of him flooded her senses – it was the soap-and-aftershave scent she remembered from her father as he came to the breakfast table. Her face was pressed against his chest; the hand holding her arm slowly released its grip. She felt his other hand push its way through her hair until it touched the nape of her neck. All resistance in her faded; there was only the urgency of needing him left.

  ‘Come,’ he said against her ear. They began to walk, his hand still buried under the thick tangle of her hair. Behind them, the excited chatter of her colleagues began.

  It was cool and dark in his room; the shutters were drawn protectively against the sun. He kicked the door shut with the back of his heel and led her to the edge of his bed. He sat down, pulling her towards him, but she continued to stand, her whole being poised and trembling before his touch. He lifted the T-shirt and pushed his face into the hollow of her stomach. He kissed the small, hard protrusion of her navel, his tongue sliding skilfully into the crevice. He looked up at her. She understood the gesture as he intended it and felt her knees buckle underneath her. She wanted to speak but couldn’t. The wetness of tears that swelled underneath her lashes was the same wetness building up inside her, down there where his fingers touched and caressed her. There was the same wild surge of pleasure as his hand reached underneath the thin cotton of her T-shirt, barely grazing the tips of her breasts, one after the other. He entered her slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. She lost herself completely, falling, falling … a sensation like drowning, like suffocating, but in pleasure, not pain.

  He smoked after lovemaking, drawing it deep down into his lungs and expelling it slowly, watching her through half-closed eyes, his hand lying on her stomach, stroking the spot where his tongue had trailed every now and then. She lay still, all feeling con
centrated in the lower half of her abdomen, the tautly held muscles still shuddering lightly under his touch. Finally, he stubbed out the cigarette. He propped himself up on one elbow to look at her, his body hidden in the bed sheet. She felt the gentle pressure of his arms around her waist. He held her like that for a moment, loosely. And then he put the palm of his hand on her hip with just the right touch, the sort of gesture that says, stay. Wait there. She lay there next to him, not knowing what to say, do or feel. In a fortnight’s time she would be gone and they would never see each other again. A fling. That was what everyone would call it. A fling – nothing more. In exactly the same way he’d put away his body, he would put this away from him too. But she couldn’t, wouldn’t ever be able to. For a brief, giddy moment when she’d held him in her arms, he’d yielded completely and she had the sense that she’d been allowed into that place in him that in every other circumstance he kept hidden, guarded against. It dazzled her, but it also left her famished for more.

  43

  JULIA

  London, January 1997

  ‘Well, well, well. If it isn’t Little Miss Julia Burrows. Heard you were here.’ The disembodied voice came from behind her. Julia stopped dead in her tracks. The sound of his voice sent a tremor of dislike rippling up her spine. Little Miss Julia Burrows! Aaron Keeler. Who else?

  She turned carefully, holding on to her armful of books. ‘Oh, it’s you. Yes, I heard your mother had got you a job.’ She saw from the way he flinched that she’d scored a point. ‘Now, if you don’t mind,’ she said icily, ‘I’ve got a lot to do.’ She tried to step around him but her pile obscured her view.

  ‘Oh, don’t let me stop you.’ His voice was equally icy.

  ‘Don’t worry, you won’t,’ Julia tossed out over her shoulder as she walked off down the corridor, resisting the temptation to turn around and fling a book at his head. Urgh! She clenched her jaw as she punched the lift button. Time had done nothing to diminish the tension between them. She prayed she would have next to nothing to do with him. She jabbed the lift button again impatiently, wishing it was his head. Or his eye. Either one, she wasn’t fussy.

  For the next few days it seemed as though her prayer had actually come true. Aside from catching the odd glimpse of him at the end of a corridor, they didn’t run into each other again. Julia was relieved. By the end of the week, she was able to push open the front door without thinking about whether or not he’d be on the other side.

  She was just beginning to relax when one Monday morning, Harriet Peters dropped a bombshell on her. She’d stopped by Julia’s office to discuss their upcoming case review, which was scheduled to take place on Wednesday. Even though it was still technically Harriet’s case, it would be the very first time Julia would present her own research and arguments. Aaron Keeler had been invited, Harriet informed her, along with Gerald Starkey and a couple of other senior partners. It would be a good opportunity for her to impress them.

  ‘Aaron Keeler? What the hell for?’ Julia asked, uncomfortably aware that her voice had risen to a squeak.

  Harriet looked at her, surprised. ‘It’s perfectly routine,’ she said, frowning. ‘You’ll be asked to do the same at some point in the next few months. We ask all the junior barristers to sit in on each other’s cases. Besides, Keeler’s a qualified solicitor … he’ll bring a certain perspective to the case.’

  Julia was silent. The thought of sitting opposite Aaron Keeler whilst she outlined her arguments was enough to make her ill. ‘It’s fine,’ she muttered, as graciously as she possibly could. Harriet’s brows lifted again but she said nothing. Julia bent her head back to her notes, cheeks flaming with outrage.

  As soon as she entered the boardroom and saw him sitting there, a look of smug, self-satisfied boredom on his face, she knew the meeting wouldn’t go well. She took her place at the end of the table, her heart thumping and her palms clammy with sweat. She hadn’t been this nervous since Balliol. Harriet briefly outlined the case and then opened the floor to Julia. She tried not to look at Aaron as she spoke, but it was difficult. It struck her again just how much of a game it all was. Keeler looked the part; he sounded the part and therefore he was the part. He had all the right attributes: handsome, reasonably bright, or at least bright enough, and exceedingly well connected. It was enough; it was all he needed. The biggest difference between her and Aaron Keeler was confidence. He had too much of it; she too little.

  ‘Julia?’ Harriet was looking expectantly at her. She gave a little start. She felt her face go hot. ‘Th … that’s it,’ she said lamely, losing her train of thought. She sat down abruptly, cursing herself. Now it was time for the others to speak.

  ‘Thanks for that, Aaron. Very interesting. Well? What do you think, Julia?’ Gerald Starkey leaned back in his chair as soon as Aaron had finished.

  Julia had to bite down on her tongue. She was aware that her voice when she was angry had the tendency to turn shrill, and the last thing she wanted was to sound like a disgruntled housewife. She took a deep breath. Aaron was completely wrong. So what if their client’s oldest daughter was emotionally involved? It was the mother who was on trial for the killing of her husband, not the daughter. It had absolutely no relevance here. From all accounts, he’d made the daughter’s life hell – she would be the perfect witness. ‘I think,’ she said carefully, ‘that Aaron is wrong. Mandy Taylor is emotional, it’s true, but think of what she’s been through. Gary Manning’s abuse wasn’t confined to his wife. Mandy’s been through hell. I think she’ll make a very strong witness.’

  ‘Actually, I must say I think you’re right, Julia.’ One of the other barristers spoke up. ‘I think it’s a risk we can afford to take.’ He looked at his colleagues.

  Aaron shrugged. He smirked at Julia. ‘Res ipsa loquitum.’ The case speaks for itself.

  Julia’s hackles rose. ‘Qui habet aures, audiendi audiat.’ She delivered her rejoinder without batting an eyelid. He who has ears, learn to listen.

  ‘Right, is there any other business?’ Michael Parks broke in hurriedly. ‘No? Good. Then I think that’s it for this week’s round-up.’

  Julia left the room without looking at Aaron once. Arsehole. Just who did he think he was?

  44

  Her heels echoed loudly as she crossed the Great Hall on her way to the courtroom. Her stomach was churning with nerves. It would be her first audience in front of a judge. She’d spent the previous three days going over her argument, time and again. She’d practised in front of the mirror, in front of her flatmates, in front of her colleagues and friends – everyone was bored sick. She was ready. She paused just before entering the court and glanced up at the frieze above her head. The Law of the Wise is the Fountain of Life. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the doors and walked in.

  It began well enough. By the time Julia was ready to call Amanda Taylor as her primary witness, she was confident enough to risk a smile at the jury. But as soon as she saw Amanda’s face, she began to have doubts. The girl entered the courtroom staring impassively ahead of her, as though she were afraid to look left or right. Julia glanced at her nervously. She ought to have made eye contact with her mother or with her two lawyers, surely? There was an obstinate set to Amanda’s mouth that Julia hadn’t noticed before. She tried to catch her eye but failed.

  ‘Ms Taylor, if you please?’ Judge Holmes looked down gravely from his position high above the proceedings. He began the familiar routine. ‘Do you swear …’

  Amanda’s voice was flat and emotionless; she looked straight ahead, avoiding her mother’s worried stare. Julia felt the beginnings of panic stir in her stomach. ‘What’s wrong with her?’ whispered Chris Barnes, one of the other barristers on the case.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Julia whispered back, glancing around the room. ‘But something’s not right.’

  ‘She looks as though she’s on drugs.’

  ‘Shit, that’s all I need,’ Julia said grimly. She looked across the bench at the prosecution. Doug Ratter
y, her opposite number, appeared remarkably content. A slow burn of panic began to spread through her veins. Something was about to happen – she could feel it. She gathered her notes and approached the stand. As she did so, Amanda threw her mother a glance. Within minutes of beginning her questioning, Julia realised just what had happened. Amanda Taylor had conned her. She’d conned them all. Her expression as she looked across at her mother was one of triumph, not despair.

  ‘I don’t understand it,’ Julia said when it was all over, grabbing her bag and her files and running for the doors. The press would be waiting outside – the last people in the world she felt like seeing. ‘I just don’t understand it!’

  ‘When did you last speak to her?’ Chris ran alongside, already out of breath.