by Carla McKay
At that moment, Gerald realised he’d made what was probably the biggest mistake of his life. What the hell was he thinking of? Treating Judith like a criminal just because he was disappointed that she might prefer women to men.
Pushing back his chair so forcefully that it crashed to the ground, he sprinted after her into the street. He saw her turning a corner, now walking very fast but not running. In two seconds he caught up with her. ‘Judith’, he cried catching her round the waist. She spun round, her face streaming with tears. ‘Oh Judith.’ He hugged her clumsily. ‘I’m so sorry, so very sorry. How can you forgive me? I’ve been a fool, a boorish fool. I was just so cut up when I got that… so unhappy… so worried about you. It doesn’t matter what you are or who you are or anything about your past. I care about you very much. I am your friend, whatever you think. I admit it, it came as a blow to read about you. I thought….’
‘You thought we might become more than friends?’
‘Yes’, admitted Gerald sheepishly. ‘I hoped so, but of course if it’s out of the question, it doesn’t matter. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me for ages. I still want you as a friend. I’ve acted like a spoilt child. Please, please forgive me.’
Wonderingly, Judith cradled his head on her shoulder. Then impulsively she lifted it and sought out his lips. ‘Is this the sort of friendship you had in mind?’ she murmured.
38
That night changed everything for Judith. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to make love to Gerald and when she awoke in the morning to find herself in his bed, it was as if a huge burden had been lifted from her shoulders. ‘Happy?’ he asked, smiling at her a little anxiously and holding her hand. ‘Very’, she replied firmly. ‘I can’t believe I’ve spent my life missing out on this…. I’ve never really done this before, you know.’ Suddenly, she felt very shy. ‘Was it all right? Was I… oh, you know what I mean, Gerald. I’m a professional virgin. And yet, it’s so lovely being here with you… and doing this.’ Gerald was kissing her neck. ‘You were perfect’, he said. ‘I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to. I will understand if this can’t go on.’
‘Would you like it to go on?’
‘I can’t think of anything I want more.’
‘Perhaps I ought to tell you what that wretched newspaper story was all about in that case.’
‘Only if you want to. Your past is your past as far as I’m concerned. This is your present – and mine. And, I hope, our future. All I can tell you is that I feel as if I’ve come home. I know that sounds corny but I’ve been so bitter and angry since Katie died. I didn’t think I could love anyone again – and I know it’s early days, but I already feel that it could be entirely possible with you. Perhaps you will with me, one day. Who knows? I was such a fool earlier; can you forgive me?’
‘Of course,’ said Judith reaching for him again. ‘It must have been an unpleasant shock getting that anonymous letter. The ridiculous thing is that it isn’t true.’
‘How do you mean? You weren’t in love with that woman?’
‘No, not for a moment. It was the other way round. She fell in love with me – or so she said. She became obsessive. I was confused and I was flattered and since I’d never had a good experience with men, I thought there would be no harm in seeing whether it could work with her. She seduced me and one night, after a lot to drink, I let myself be seduced….’
‘And…?’
‘And, nothing. I was very fond of Veronica. It wasn’t a bad experience, but it wasn’t a good one either. And in the morning it became clear that it hadn’t been a success and then it all turned sour. The next thing I knew, there was a scandal and Veronica betrayed me. She told the governors that I had tried to seduce her, that I was some kind of sexual predator, and produced some of my poems to back up her claim. They chose to believe her. Oh, Gerald, it was ghastly. So humiliating. I left the day I was accused and after that I fled here. I couldn’t think of anything beyond getting as far away as possible. Thank god, I was in a position to be able to do it.’
‘My poor darling’, murmured Gerald. ‘But that’s terrible.’
‘You do believe me, don’t you?’
‘Yes, of course I do. But what were these poems?’
‘They were poems I had written and left lying about – she easily convinced everybody that they were intended for her – poems about love and loss and so on.’
‘I didn’t know you wrote poetry’.
‘It’s one of the many things you don’t know about me,’ whispered Judith, wrapping her legs around Gerald again.
Later, much later in the afternoon when they finally got dressed, and Gerald had begun to take in the exhilarating fact that his new love was also a published poet whom he had always admired, they discussed what they should do about Lance.
‘I feel I’m polluting the atmosphere just talking about him,’ said Judith. ‘He’s got away with everything so far – this letter he sent you is just typical of the man. He’s pure evil, but it’s probably best just to ignore it. After all, he hasn’t done what he set out to achieve, has he? He hasn’t turned you against me.’
Gerald was silent. He knew he couldn’t leave it there. But he wasn’t going to spoil things now. He would deal with Lance later. ‘Let’s have lunch and think about it,’ he said. ‘What about going down to the beach?’
‘Perfect’, replied Judith. ‘And then back here for a siesta?’
As it happened, Tim beat Gerald to the recriminations. He felt wretched about unwittingly betraying Judith to Lance and was determined to make amends. That evening, after fortifying himself in the bar, he went over to Lance’s house, ostensibly to pay him that month’s rent.
When Lance finally opened the door to him, it was clear that he had been drinking heavily. ‘Come in,’ he slurred.
‘I’ve come to give you my cheque for the rent,’ said Tim, ‘but I won’t come in if you don’t mind. The truth is, I’ve got a bone to pick with you Lance. That information I gave you about Judith Hay….’
‘What of it? asked Lance aggressively.
‘It wasn’t for you to go and tell everybody about it. You must have known how damaging that would be for her.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Lance, swaying rather alarmingly. ‘It was fine for you to tell me, was it? But not for me to tell anyone else. In any case, I’ve only told one person – and that was in his best interests – that wanker Gerald whatisname from the bookshop.’
‘Yes and Gerald phoned me up, understandably furious, telling me about the newspaper cutting and note you sent – he knew it was you – and so did I as soon as I heard about it. That was why you wanted to know which school Judith had taught at, wasn’t it? So you could dredge up that story and send it to her friends? What’s she ever done to you?’ Tim thought, if he’s going to be aggressive, so am I. He’s stinking drunk and he’s an even bigger asshole than I thought.
Lance lurched towards him, his face mottled and breath rancid. ‘Look,’ he shouted. ‘I don’t need some jumped up, wet-behind-the-ears little prick like you telling me what I can and can’t do. Judith Hay has been making serious allegations about me and she deserves all she gets. And as for you…’, he spluttered, ‘you can go fuck yourself and you can get out of my gîte too while you’re at it. You’ve got a week to clear out – and that’s being generous. Now go!’
‘I’m leaving anyway,’ shouted Tim. ‘I’m glad to get out of your gîte. I don’t want to have any dealings with you in future.’ Right, he thought, walking away quickly, that’s it. I seem to be burning all my boats here. That morning he had spent with the police in Vevey giving them the details of his discovery of the wine stash and Roland’s link to it. Roland had already been arrested apparently with his father, and he had seen that the wine cave had been cordoned off up in the hills. When he went to their café to see what was happening, it’s shutters were down and it was closed up. In the village, knots of people were congregating, having heard the news
no doubt. They stared at him in what he felt was a particularly hostile way. They were always staring, he thought, he was getting sick of it. He wondered what they felt about it all but somehow didn’t the stomach to start interviewing any of them – in any case, his French wasn’t good enough yet and he had a nasty feeling that they would almost certainly want to shoot the messenger.
He whistled for Piggy who was examining another dog’s territorial marker. ‘Come on girl, let’s go to Auntie Fern’s, shall we? How would you like to go and see England’s green and pleasant land?’ He wondered if Fern could possibly be persuaded to come back to England with him. They could set up some business together and Ben would certainly be happier. The poor boy had recovered some of his confidence but his friend Rose was about to go back to school in England and he was still finding French school difficult. He’d probably jump at the chance to go back to a sixth form college in England and get some A levels. He’d already complained to Tim that he didn’t think he could hack the Bac, as he put it. And Fern – what of her? Their affair was still very new but Tim felt happier with her than he could recall ever feeling before. There was something deeply calming about Fern. Perhaps it was just that she was more grown up than him. She was vulnerable and yet strong; whereas he supposed he was almost exactly the opposite – strong (on the surface anyway) but vulnerable. Fern liked to look after him just as much he liked looking after her. They made a good team. She was a bit of an old hippy, but he liked that. She had definite views on everything and she seemed to have a real moral core which was unusual in Tim’s circle of former friends. She was very sure of what was right and wrong in life and he admired that. None of his dippy, Sloaney girlfriends had ever given much thought to morality, or to anything other than sex and shopping come to that. He also was aware that Fern was anxious about his journalism and the trouble it landed him in. She feared that his thirst for a ‘story’ often overrode any principles. Like most people who weren’t in the media, she distrusted it, and, who knows, thought Tim, maybe she was right. He had made a decent go of being a freelance out here but how many more stories were going to fall into his lap in this part of the world?
Gerald’s method of dealing with Lance was more restrained but more deadly. He telephoned Lance that evening and told him that he would be filing a complaint against him for blackmail. Before Lance could slam the phone down on him, he also told him that rather more seriously, he knew that Lance was a sex pest – worse, a paedophile and possible rapist, and he would make sure everybody knew, he added.
Breathing heavily, Lance ended the call. He’d been a bloody fool. He could see that now. The sex thing could easily have been kept under wraps if he hadn’t wilfully and maliciously wanted to make life difficult for the Hay woman. Nobody could possibly take Bill Bailey’s accusations seriously, but if Thornton put it around that he was a some kind of pervert, people might start to talk. His reputation would be in ruins in no time and it was just possible, though unlikely, that the useless French police would take an interest. After all, there was no proof of anything and Sophie was safely out of the way in England. He had seen Camilla and Rex a couple of nights ago and they were as friendly as ever; she obviously hadn’t mentioned anything to them.
But, he reasoned, probably the best thing for him now was to make a move. Jean had conveniently cleared off and he wasn’t going to bother to find her. He’d been getting very bored with the parochial life down here for some time now. There was absolutely nobody around with whom he could have a civilised chat. And also, there was the small question of Roland, who, he had learnt that morning had been arrested and taken into custody. That had got him really worried. The rumour was going round that it was something to do with stolen wine; but if Roland was questioned about his other activities, then he, Lance, might very well be drawn into the investigation. Yes, it was definitely time to leave town – fortunately, he had a studio apartment in Paris that he could decamp to whilst he considered his future. He sighed heavily and poured himself another drink. Things did not look good, not good at all…
39
Later, Jean remembered nothing at all about her journey back from Oxford. Louise had been very kind beforehand – that she did recall. She made her stay for a while and kept fetching comforting cups of tea while Jean sobbed uncontrollably. ‘I’m sorry, Louise,’ she kept saying, ‘it’s you who should be crying; after all, you’re the victim’.
‘Jean, I did my crying a long time ago,’ Louise had replied. ‘In fact, if it makes you feel any better, in an odd way, I think that the shock I had then set me on course for becoming a doctor – which is the best thing I ever did. I was determined to take control of my life after that. I realised that if I could survive that, I could probably survive anything and that I could also do anything I put my mind to. I’d always set my heart on a medical career but I didn’t have any confidence in myself. It sounds silly now, but once I got over it, I became a hell of a lot stronger on account of it. Of course, that doesn’t go for everybody. Some people collapse after a shock; some ride the storm. I guess I was lucky.’
‘You’re a brave girl,’ said Jean through her handkerchief. ‘I can’t bear to think of you having to keep that terrible secret to yourself – and of course Sarah too. Both of you trying to protect me, in a way. I suppose you never told your parents either?’
‘No. I couldn’t. There was too much shame and guilt and… I thought it would destroy them. I thought I could cope with it – and I did in the end. After all, I wasn’t a very little girl; I was fifteen. I was innocent, but I was aware that Lance could argue that I’d led him on or some such thing. And Sarah half persuaded me that it was normal – that fathers, or some fathers, did that kind of thing all the time. I suppose she was right about that – not about it being normal, but about some fathers doing it all the time. Already I’ve had to deal with a few cases of child abuse in my surgery, and for those that I know about, there are probably dozens that I don’t. She broke off and wiped her eyes.
‘Don’t,’ cried Jean. ‘I can’t bear to hear about it. I feel soiled by association – ashamed. And especially ashamed of my own behaviour. I can see now that I should have spotted the warning signs… should have protected you and my own daughter… should have stood up to my husband. I won’t ever be able to forgive myself.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ smiled Louise. ‘But, if I were you, I would do exactly what you’re doing now. Search for Sarah, find Sarah and tell her you’re sorry. She’ll understand now that it’s all behind her I’m sure. It’s very important for both of you to find each other now. It’s the only way forward.’
Beechcroft Road was not in the nice part of Wimbledon near the common. In fact, Tooting was perhaps a better description of where Sarah lived. Jean found the house easily enough the next day – a nondescript Victorian terrace house in a side street off a small parade of shabby shops. The house didn’t look big enough to be divided into flats but there were two bells. Jean was trembling so much that she could hardly walk, let alone read the names on the bells. Fumbling in her bag for her spectacles, she felt a wave of nausea and panic sweep over her. Her legs began to buckle and she had to sit down suddenly on the low wall dividing 19 Beechcroft Road from its neighbour.
I don’t know if I can go through with this, she thought. Her heart was thumping noisily and beads of sweat had broken out on her brow. Her hands were clammy. She realised she hadn’t thought beyond this moment. What would she say to Sarah – if Sarah was still here. And would Sarah perhaps shut the door in her face? If that happened, then what? Would she recognise her daughter? Would Sarah recognise her… after all, she was a whole decade older – and probably looked more like two. That morning, she had dressed carefully wanting to look her best to meet her estranged daughter, recognising as she did so the absurdity of her actions. As if Sarah would care what she was wearing after all this time.
She found her spectacles and put them on her nose to peer at the bells. On the piece of paper Louise
had given her it said Flat 2. But the bells weren’t marked with numbers; there were just two names, neither of them Sarah’s.
Just then, the front door opened and a young woman stood there with a small boy behind her. Wordlessly, they looked at each other. Minutes seemed to pass. Then Jean started to cry, silently, tears sliding down her cheeks and plopping into her open handbag. ‘I knew you’d come,’ said Sarah simply.
40
A little further away, in the next village, Tim was also woken up by the sirens and commotion. Flinging on some clothes, he looked out of the window and could see a dull red light over towards La Prairie. It looked as if there was a huge fire over there. His first thought was that it could be Roland’s café. The police had told him that they had released Jean-Baptiste on bail on account of ill health and Tim had wondered what kind of reception he would receive locally. But surely, they wouldn’t resort to burning his house down, would they?
He drove the four miles along the single track land to La Prairie like a madman, each mile bringing him closer to the heat and light. By the time he sped up the hill leading into the village, he could actually feel the heat and hear the ominous crackling of splintering timber. Scraps of blackened paper started to stick to the windscreen. It was impossible to get into the main square when he rounded the corner. Firemen had put up barricades but he could already see that the blaze was centred on Café Le Square.