by Lesley Lokko
The expression on Josh’s face was one of such pain and anger that she instinctively took a step backwards. ‘Leave it alone, Niela,’ he said in a low, tight voice. ‘Don’t go any further with this.’
‘Wh … what d’you mean?’
‘This is none of your business,’ Josh said angrily. ‘Just leave it alone.’
‘But—’
‘Listen to me.’ Josh grabbed hold of her arm, his fingers digging painfully into her skin. ‘I’m warning you, Niela. Stay out of this. Stay the hell out of things that don’t concern you.’
‘But this does concern me,’ Niela burst out, shocked at his reaction. ‘Of course it concerns me. I’m your wife!’
‘I’m warning you, Niela. Drop it, d’you hear me?’ he snarled, his fingers still tightly embedded in her arm.
She tried to shake it loose. ‘You’re hurting me,’ she protested. ‘Let go.’
‘Not until you promise me you’ll drop whatever the hell it is you’re doing. This is my life, Niela. Not yours.’
‘I know it’s your life! I’m just trying to help—’
‘I don’t need your fucking help! Did I ask you for help?’ His voice was tight with anger. ‘Just stay the hell out of my life!’ He let go of her arm abruptly. She stumbled backwards, catching her heel on a stone and almost falling to the ground. She put out a hand to stop herself; by the time she’d regained her balance and straightened up, Josh was already gone. She started to shout something after him, but the rigid set of his back and shoulders told her what she already knew – he was past hearing or caring. Her fingers went automatically to where his own had dug into her arm, rubbing the tender skin. She looked around her to see if anyone had seen what had just passed between them. There was no one. The country lane that led to the main road was empty. A bird flew overhead, uttering a cry – the only witness to the scene. She pulled her hair into a knot with shaking fingers. Thank God no one else had seen them. What on earth had she just touched upon?
Josh strode up the hill towards the village, his breath coming in fast, angry spurts. He was trembling; he couldn’t stop himself. He hadn’t intended to shout at Niela, but the sense of betrayal that swept through him as soon as she opened her mouth about where she’d been all morning had blotted everything else out. She’d gone snooping into the past – why? What would she do with the information she found? The resentment and fear in his throat rose up as if it would choke him. He had to get away.
He pushed open the doors to the brasserie that stood at one end of the place, opposite the Mairie. He walked straight to the bar and ordered a cognac. He took the glass and tipped the entire contents down his throat. If the proprietaire thought there was anything unusual about it, he said nothing, simply poured him a second measure. It was one thing Josh liked about the French – discreet to a fault. If he’d been in London, there’d have been some sort of conversation to strike up and follow, remarks to be made and answered, questions asked … Here, no one seemed to feel the need to pretend. If a man wanted to drink himself to oblivion, so be it. It was his choice, his business. He picked up the glass, muttered his thanks and proceeded to drink a little more slowly this time. He fished a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one. Another thing he liked about France. He could smoke wherever he pleased. He took his drink and his cigarette and found himself an empty booth towards the rear of the room. He needed to be alone, and to think.
L’Aubrevoir de Mougins. Julia looked up at the sign, hesitant to go in. Should she … ? Dare she … ? She’d been coming up the hill towards the village, a few hundred yards behind Josh, when she saw him stop, saw Niela coming down the lane towards him. She too stopped; she overheard the beginning of the conversation, which made it difficult for her to continue up the path. She’d looked around for somewhere to hide and had moved behind one of the oak trees that lined the path. After a few minutes, she’d seen him storm off up the hill. Niela walked past her without even noticing, tears running down her face. She’d waited a good ten minutes before continuing up the hill, not even sure what she was doing.
She put out a hand; the door opened suddenly. ‘Merde, pardon, excusez-moi …’ A man almost fell on top of her as he came out. ‘Excusez-moi,’ he apologised again, straightening up. He hurried off across the square. She looked around her. The bar was dim and smoky; there was a handful of men standing by the counter, but no Josh. She scanned the bar – she saw him, sitting alone towards the rear of the room. She swallowed nervously. What the hell was she doing? She walked over, ignoring the voice in her head.
‘Hi.’ She stood in front of him. He looked up. Neither spoke for a moment. ‘I … I saw you come in,’ she said finally. ‘I just wondered …’
‘What?’ His voice was calm.
She couldn’t stop herself. ‘Just wondered if you wanted a bit of company,’ she said, sliding uninvited into the seat opposite him.
He shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. I’m not really in the mood to chat.’
‘Well, I don’t recall you ever being chatty,’ she said, surprising even herself. Where on earth had this breezy manner suddenly come from? ‘I’ve spent an evening in a bar with you before, remember?’
‘Yeah. So you have.’
‘So what’re you drinking?’
‘Cognac. It’s my third.’
‘I’ll join you. Want another one?’
‘Sure. Why the hell not?’
The cognac was strong and fiery. It burned a pleasurable trail down her throat, settling and spreading its warmth throughout her belly. She hadn’t eaten; it was almost noon and the events of the morning were beginning to feel like a dream. They sat facing one another. Julia was trying unsuccessfully not to stare at him; at the dark brown skin of his forearm, toughened and touched by the sun. He wore a silver bracelet – a simple, plain band – and no wedding ring, she noticed. Come to think of it, neither did Niela. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Once again the image of Niela’s bare back rising and falling slid into her head and she couldn’t shake it. She’d seen him, too … just glimpses … slivers of images she’d rather not remember. She took another sip of her drink, wondering if and when he would deign to speak. There was some emotion burning inside him but she didn’t dare ask herself what it might be. They went on sipping their drinks quietly, not speaking. It came to her slowly that that in itself was communication of a kind, just not the kind she wanted.
What the hell was she doing there? Josh sat opposite Julia, watching her through half-lowered lids. The anger that had blown up so bewilderingly inside him earlier was slowly trickling through his veins, mingling with the fiery cognac. He’d never been much of a talker; he preferred the safety of his own thoughts. Niela had changed all that – her own silences were stronger and more profound than his, and as a result, he’d felt himself drawn to express what he’d always kept hidden, almost against his will. That, he thought to himself, taking another fiery sip, was what angered him the most. He’d trusted her with something he barely trusted in himself. His anger rose and fell, like his breathing, until he couldn’t stand it any more.
‘Come,’ he said abruptly. He got up, only dimly aware of what he was doing. Julia looked up at him. He’d never thought of her as beautiful – far too cold and aloof for that – but facing her now, watching the expression of wary confidence on her face, he could feel his opinion change, some old form of behaviour surfacing in him, leading him on. ‘Come,’ he repeated, draining his glass and setting it down carefully on the table. She got up without saying a word and followed suit.
He walked out into the bright sunlight, his eyes rapidly adjusting to the change. He said nothing to her, just started down the hill away from the place. At the bottom, he turned left instead of right, plunging into a lane overgrown with bushes and thick weeds; she simply followed. It was the back route to the farmhouse; the track petered out after a few minutes before opening on to the back wall of the property. He pushed his way through the overgrowth until he found the small latch.
It was stiff and rusty but it eventually gave way. He pushed open the wooden door and stepped through. He turned to her, holding out his hand. He felt the cool pressure of her fingers in his palm. The door to the pool house was unlocked, as always. Still holding hands, they stepped into the cool, damp-smelling space full of old tools and pieces of abandoned furniture. There was an old sofa pushed up against one corner of the room. He experienced a strange sense of falling backwards in time and space as he sat down on it, pulling the woman he’d brought with him into his embrace. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d come here as a teenager, sometimes with a girl, sometimes not. Sometimes he’d come just to escape the house with all its under-currents and the knowledge of what had gone on, what continued to go on. It infuriated him; why had he been chosen to bear witness to what Diana had done? Why couldn’t it have been Rafe or Aaron? They wouldn’t have been tormented by it the way he was. They had each other; he had no one.
His hands went around her waist in the all-too-familiar game. His mind was elsewhere as he slid them under her shirt, his fingers sliding over her skin, stopping here and there, touching, teasing. She responded eagerly and quickly. Within seconds, or so it seemed to him, she was lying underneath him. He’d grown used to the dense cloud of Niela’s hair; Julia’s was very different. Like Rania, it fell about her shoulders in soft, slippery strands. He gathered it in his hands but he couldn’t hold it, not the way he could bury his whole being in Niela’s. He tried to hold on to her, gripping her hips and legs, gathering her to him, but there was a fury in him that wouldn’t cease. He was dimly aware he might be hurting her, but he didn’t care; there was a part of him that simply wasn’t there. He pushed himself roughly into her, not knowing whether she was ready or not. She must want it – why else would she have followed him? The cognac and the anger and the hurt swirled round and round in his head, each chasing the other, until all he could think about was Niela’s face when he’d shouted at her that morning and then, just before his body raced away from him and he lost it altogether, Diana’s face and his uncle’s, contorted together in violent, angry lust … and then all of a sudden, much sooner than he would have liked, there was a tremendous surge in him and he couldn’t think about anything at all.
Julia’s heart was racing. Her legs were trembling underneath her. Josh’s head was turned away from hers; his eyes were closed and she could feel his whole body slacken, withdrawing from her. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. What had she done? She tried to sit up, but Josh was still pinning her down. Her mouth was dry and her tongue felt like lead.
‘S-sorry,’ she mumbled, struggling to get out from underneath him. He shifted slightly and she was able to withdraw first one leg, then the other. Her skirt was rucked up around her waist and her shirt was undone. Shame flooded her senses, spreading across her face and neck like a stain. She staggered backwards clumsily, but Josh’s eyes were closed. She pulled down her skirt, looked around for her underwear but couldn’t see anything in the dim half-light. She slipped her feet back into her shoes and tried to smooth down her hair. She needn’t have bothered, at least not on Josh’s account. His eyes remained firmly closed. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Her last glimpse of him was of his semi-clothed body lying on the old sofa as if he would never wake. She opened the door and slipped out, distress rising and falling in her chest, like breath. What in God’s name had she just done?
PART EIGHT
87
JULIA
London, August 2000
It was very quiet in the bathroom. Halfway down the corridor, Julia could hear Aaron moving around the kitchen, looking for things. He’d offered to cook dinner. It was the third time that week that she’d not been feeling well and his concern was touching. ‘I’ll do it,’ he’d said when he came home that evening from work to find her lying, pale and wan, on the couch. ‘What d’you feel like eating?’
She’d looked up at him, unable to think clearly. Food was the last thing on her mind. ‘Anything, I’m not fussy. I’m not actually very hungry.’
‘Right. Well, I’ll think of something. Just stay where you are.’ He’d disappeared into the kitchen. She got up slowly, her heart in her mouth, and went along the corridor to the bathroom. She couldn’t put it off any longer.
She opened the packet she’d been carrying around all day with trembling hands and took out the instructions. 99.87% accurate, or so the manufacturers claimed. She peeled back the rest of the wrapping and dropped it in the waste-paper basket. She sat down on the toilet and looked up at the corner of the ceiling. There was a faint spider’s web tucked away where the housekeeper’s brush had failed to reach. A few seconds later she withdrew the white plastic stick, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to look at it. A minute ticked by, then another. Come on, Julia, she whispered to herself. She swallowed hard and forced herself to look down. Two thin blue lines stared back up at her. Fuzzy at the edges, but unmistakably blue. Positive. Just as it said on the packet. She stared at it, aware of a slow burning sensation in the pit of her stomach and of the sudden build-up of tears behind her eyes. Suddenly a car horn punctured the air. Seconds later a woman’s sharp staccato laugh floated upwards. She turned her head to the window. Outside, on a late summer’s evening, people were going about their business, blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding several storeys above them. She wrapped the test stick in toilet paper and stowed it carefully in her bag. She stood up and washed her hands, her mind racing. She had to talk to someone … anyone. She couldn’t keep the secret to herself any longer.
She opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. She could hear Aaron setting the table, opening and closing drawers, the soft ‘pop’ of a wine bottle being uncorked. Here, too, life continued as usual, moving along its normal course. Small talk, a chat about his or her cases, office gossip. She would push the food around on her plate, decline a glass of wine … business as usual. Only it wasn’t, of course. It was anything but. She was pregnant. She was carrying her husband’s brother’s child. It didn’t make sense. Nothing about her life made sense any more. She wanted only to turn her face to the wall and weep.
Three days later, she sat opposite Dom in the upstairs drawing room at Hayden Hall, overlooking the grounds where she’d married Aaron. She couldn’t bring herself to look out of the window so she concentrated on Dom instead. The look on his face would have been comical if Julia had had the capacity within herself to laugh.
‘You did what?’ Dom said faintly, passing a hand over his face.
Julia looked at her own hands. ‘I … I can’t explain it. It just … sort of happened.’
‘Julia, things like that don’t just happen. How the hell did it start? When did it start?’
‘That’s the thing … nothing started. I mean, we barely speak to one another. I met him that time in Johannesburg, and—’
‘What time in Johannesburg?’ Dom interrupted, looking even more alarmed. ‘You met him in Johannesburg? Julia, what’s going on?’
Julia blushed. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all. Well, nothing was going on … it’s just that now … oh, shit, Dom … what’ve I done?’
‘What’ve you done? I hate to point out the obvious, my dear, but it takes two, you know.’
‘I know.’ Julia’s voice was suddenly a whisper. ‘I can’t explain it. I saw him and Niela … they’d had an argument and he stormed off. I went after him to talk to him and then it just sort of happened. It was just the once. You’ve got to believe me, Dom. I’ll never do it again. Never.’
Dom whistled softly and then slowly let the air out of his cheeks. ‘That’s all well and good, Burrows. But what about this child?’
Julia felt something inside her turn with his words. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said, twisting her hands nervously together. ‘The thing is … Aaron and I … we’ve actually been trying for a while. There’s nothing wrong with me,’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘At least that’s what the d
octor says. And now … well, I suppose it looks as if he’s right. But Aaron wouldn’t even hear of going to get tested. I don’t think he can bear the thought that something might be wrong with him.’
‘Not surprising. Most men can’t.’ Dom finished off his tea and pressed the bell. ‘I think it’s time to have something a bit stronger, don’t you?’
Julia shook her head. ‘I can’t. Not now, anyway.’
‘Sorry, I forgot. Well, forgive me, my love, but I need something. I’ll have a G and T, if you don’t mind.’ Julia shook her head. Seconds later, a uniformed maid appeared and took his order. ‘So … what are you going to do?’ Dom asked as soon as she’d gone again.
Julia was quiet for a moment. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, spreading her hands helplessly before her. ‘I just don’t know.’
‘Does Aaron know?’
‘No, of course not!’ Julia looked shocked. ‘I can’t tell him, Dom. I just can’t.’
‘Well, you know him best, I suppose. You’d better make sure he never finds out you got rid of it.’
Julia lifted her eyes slowly. ‘That’s the thing, though, Dom,’ she began hesitantly. ‘I’m not sure I can. Have an abortion, I mean.’
‘What’re you talking about? No … you’re actually thinking of having it?’ Dom’s expression was again comical. ‘You can’t be serious, Jules. You mean have it and not tell him it’s not his? How’s that going to work?’
‘I don’t know.’ Julia shook her head miserably. ‘I … I haven’t really thought it through.’
‘I’ll say. Jesus, Burrows. Ah, thank you, Mary.’ Dom’s G & T had arrived. ‘You sure you don’t want a sip?’
She shook her head and turned to look out of the window. The lawns stretched all the way to the horizon. It was August, and the grounds were slowly turning yellow. The line of oaks that led the eye away from the house and over the gently rolling hills towards the lake had lost their summer freshness. By her own calculations, she was nearly six weeks pregnant. She had, at the most, another couple of weeks to make a decision. It felt like a lifetime. ‘I don’t know what to do, Dom,’ she said, turning back to him, the tears falling straight down her cheeks. ‘I just don’t know what to do.’