The String Diaries

by Stephen Lloyd Jones

  Hearing the sound of an engine, she shifted her position and lowered the glasses as a battered Defender drove around the corner of the farmhouse. A steel trailer trundled behind it. Sebastien. As his vehicle approached, Hannah opened the back door of the Discovery and jumped down on to gravel.

  The old man parked and climbed out. ‘Going to rain again,’ he said, looking up at the clouds. ‘Least it might keep the cold off us for a while. How’s our patient?’

  ‘Just like you said he’d be. Stiff, in pain, unable to move. But alive.’

  Sebastien grunted. ‘That’s the main thing. I’ve brought you groceries. As much diesel as I could. Wood for the fire.’

  ‘You’re an angel from heaven, Seb.’

  His emerald eyes appraised her for a moment, then a grin lit his face. ‘An angel of death, maybe. I brought ammunition too.’

  Hannah helped him carry the boxes of groceries into the house: vegetables, milk, bread, crumpets, cheese, fruit. She eyed a huge slab of Cadbury’s chocolate. Lastly, Sebastien handed her two freshly shot ducks, which she hung on a hook outside.

  In the kitchen, she put a kettle on the stove and busied herself putting away the groceries while Sebastien introduced himself to Leah. The girl was hesitant at first, until he got down on all fours and taught her how to make Moses roll over and bare his stomach for a rub.

  On the sofa, Nate watched them play, eyes heavy with fatigue. Hannah handed him a mug of tea, smoothing his hair as he drank it. ‘We met someone on our walk,’ she said. When both men looked up sharply, she indicated with a flick of her head that they should talk carefully in front of Leah. ‘Just now, on the lake.’

  Sebastien moved to the window.

  ‘He’s gone,’ she said. ‘He was in a rowing boat. Had a couple of fishing rods with him.’

  ‘What did he look like?’ the old man asked.

  ‘Tall, curly black hair. Irish accent.’

  ‘Gabriel.’

  Hannah sagged with relief. ‘You know him. He said he lived across the valley. Comes down here sometimes to fish, and isn’t very good at it.’

  ‘I’ve bumped into him a few times. He keeps horses on his smallholding. Sociable fellow, always cracking jokes. Irritating as hell.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. But we don’t want him around here all the same.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  ‘Not much. I gave him pretty short shrift. Told him he’d better find another lake to fish.’

  ‘Good. Gabriel’s harmless enough. Give him half a chance, though, and he’ll be over here poking his head into things that don’t concern him. Now, let’s get to work.’

  While Leah took the dog into the living room, they checked Nate’s dressings. His stitches had held, and the wounds looked free of infection. They cleaned them again with swabbing alcohol and applied fresh bandages.

  Outside, as raindrops began a slow beat on the car roofs, they unloaded logs and brought them inside, stacking them by the fireplaces in the kitchen, living room and master bedroom. They unhooked the trailer and wheeled it to one of the outbuildings. Lifting out a full drum of diesel, they rolled it inside and filled the generator’s reservoir.

  Noticing that Sebastien was becoming breathless, she forced him to sit on an empty crate, knocking away his protests. They watched the raindrops fall with gathering pace as wind began to stir the trees across the valley.

  ‘I brought you something,’ Sebastien said. He dug into the pocket of his Barbour. When he removed his hand he was holding a dragon-shaped brooch. Its scales were red enamel set into gold.

  Hannah gasped when she saw it. She took it from him and turned it over in her hands. ‘This is my mother’s,’ she said, wonderingly. ‘I thought it was lost.’

  ‘Your father left it with me once. Said he didn’t want to carry it around any more. That perhaps one day, if you ever needed my help, it might persuade you to trust me.’

  Hannah slid her fingers over the bumps of the dragon’s enamelled scales. She looked up to see the old man watching her. ‘I do trust you, Seb. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been here.’

  The lines of his face creased. ‘You would have coped. You’ve been doing it all your life. You’ll go on doing it.’

  ‘I don’t feel like I’m coping.’

  ‘I can see that. But you got Nate and Leah here safely. They’re alive thanks to you, so don’t forget it. This might seem an impossible situation, but you’re surviving, Hannah. You all are. There’ll be an end to this. We need to get your husband back on his feet. But then you’ll move on.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that. There’s another place. I need to make a few arrangements first but it’s safe, really safe. I set it up years ago. There’s no link back. Not even my father knows about it. But it’s a long trip. And until Nate’s ready to travel, we’ll have to sit things out here.’

  Sebastien smiled. ‘See? Just what I said.’

  Hannah dropped the brooch into her pocket. She ran her fingers through her hair, stared at the concrete floor. ‘My father—’

  ‘Don’t torture yourself, Hannah. You don’t know. I don’t know. Maybe we’ll find out, maybe we never will. Charles prepared himself years ago. He loved you – loves you, I mean.’

  ‘Don’t write him off,’ she said.

  ‘I won’t. But you need to accept—’

  Hannah stood up and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. ‘Let’s go inside.’

  That afternoon, she taught Leah how to prepare the waterfowl Sebastien had brought them, immersing the birds in boiling water before plucking feathers, cutting off heads and feet and removing organs, entrails and crop.

  As the clouds purpled and the day surrendered its light, Hannah cooked a dinner of roasted duck, dauphinoise potatoes, green beans and thick buttered slabs of granary bread.

  Because Nate could not move from the sofa, Sebastien cleared the circular table in the kitchen and laid it with an odd assortment of cutlery, dinner mats and glassware. He built up the fire from the restocked log pile, lit two candles, opened a dusty bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and helped Hannah dish up four plates of food. While Nate, head propped behind cushions, fed himself from a tray balanced on his chest, Hannah sat with the others at the table.

  Over dinner, Sebastien entertained Leah with folk tales. Hannah was thankful to him. She felt sapped of energy after a day caring for her husband, talking and playing with her daughter, and making plans. She had made a few calls that afternoon, in preparation for their move to the hideaway in southern France. She wanted to put as much distance, and as many obstacles, between Jakab and her family as possible. Not for the first time that day, Hannah caught herself thinking about her father and wondering where he was, whether he was alive, whether she would ever see him again. It was agonising – the not-knowing – but she forced herself to bury those thoughts. She could not allow herself to lose focus, to lose sight of her ultimate responsibility: keeping her daughter and her husband safe.

  After dinner, Sebastien allowed Leah to fill a bowl with leftovers so that Moses could feed. Shortly after that, Hannah took the girl upstairs, filled the bath with hot water and scrubbed her until her skin glowed. In the master bedroom, she tucked Leah under the covers.

  ‘Sebastien’s funny, isn’t he, Mummy?’

  ‘Yes, darling. He’s a very sweet man.’

  ‘When I first saw him, I thought he was the Bad Man.’

  Hannah stroked her hair. The quiet fear in her daughter’s voice filled her with sorrow. What kind of childhood was she giving the girl, that the simple act of meeting a stranger created so much anxiety? If a parent’s success was measured in the confidence they instilled in their children, she had failed utterly. Yet what was her alternative? Bring up Leah ignorant of the threat she faced? Grant her the ha
ppy childhood that she herself had craved, but leave the girl completely vulnerable if something did happen? Which was the greater betrayal?

  ‘He’s not the Bad Man, Leah,’ she said. ‘He’s got a dog called Moses.’

  ‘Daddy looks better.’

  ‘Yes, he does. I think he’s going to be all right.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  The question ambushed her, blurred her vision. Clenching her jaw, Hannah forced a smile and pulled her daughter into an embrace. She buried her face into Leah’s hair, wanting to lose herself in its clean youthful smell, yearning to be free of the decisions and the responsibilities she had to bear. After gripping Leah fiercely for some moments, she recovered herself and pulled away.

  ‘It’ll be OK, Mummy.’

  Shame stole over her then, that she should sit here and accept assurances from a nine-year-old girl – that she would risk contributing to Leah’s anxiety even as she sought to deflect it. ‘Oh, will it now?’ she replied loftily, gathering herself. ‘Not for you, scamp, unless you get off to sleep. Come on, I heard Seb say he’d teach you a few tricks tomorrow if you got a good night’s rest. Now give me a kiss and lie down. I’ll be back in a bit.’

  Downstairs, she found Sebastien had washed up the dinner plates and had settled in an armchair opposite her husband. He held a glass of wine.

  Nate looked up. ‘Did she settle?’

  ‘Eventually. She’s scared stiff but she won’t admit it. And I hate myself for what I’ve put her through. For all of this.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’

  Hannah sat on the floor by his sofa. ‘It’s not her fault either. This . . . we have to stop this, Nate.’

  ‘We will.’ He reached out a hand and she took it. When he squeezed her fingers she was relieved to feel his renewed strength.

  Hannah leaned forwards and touched her brow to his. ‘Oh, Nate, will we? Really?’

  ‘You couldn’t do more than you’re doing, Han. I know you feel like this is too much, that you’re powerless, but I’ve never seen anyone stronger. You saved me. Christ, you saved us all. I’m meant to be your Tarzan here, and you pretty much slung me over your shoulder and walked out of the jungle.’ He grinned. ‘If I hadn’t lost a couple of pints of blood, I’d probably be blushing.’

  Suddenly she was laughing. Laughing and kissing him, feeling energised by both his conversation and the rush of love she felt for him. No matter how difficult their situation, Nate knew with uncanny precision the exact words needed to steer her out of her dejection, pick her up, dust her down and set her back on her feet. She loved him for so many things. Right now, his innate understanding of her, his ability always to know what to do or say to lift her, was the lifebuoy holding her above the water.

  And then, breaking the spell between them, she remembered they were not alone, and that Sebastien was sitting at the table watching them. Laughing this time with embarrassment, Hannah found that she was the one blushing. ‘Sweet talker,’ she said, getting to her feet and slapping him on the arm. ‘Sorry Seb, we’re like a couple of teenagers over here.’

  The old man grinned. ‘Want me to separate you?’

  ‘How about you pour me a glass of wine instead.’

  ‘Gladly.’

  On the table, her phone started ringing.

  Sebastien hesitated, one hand on the wine bottle, looking down at the black rubber-sheathed phone vibrating across the table. The old man scanned the read-out, and then turned to Hannah.

  When she caught his expression, she felt her stomach twist with dismay. He wore a haunted look that she could not decipher. She snatched up the phone. The screen displayed a single word: Dad.

  Hannah was unprepared for the explosion of emotion that detonated inside her. She could not think properly, could not for a moment even remember how the phone worked. Des-perate, she fumbled with it, nearly dropped it, finally activated it, and, gasping, aching, felt her voice crack as she asked, ‘Dad?’

  Silence on the other end of the line. Then, ‘Hannah. Oh thank God.’

  Her father’s voice.

  Hannah’s sobs came in shuddering, heaving breaths. Tears streamed down her face. She sagged to the floor, bending over, pressing the phone to her ear, her forehead to the flagstones as she repeated her father’s name over and over. It was a long time before she calmed enough to hear his soothing sounds, hushing her.

  ‘Where are you?’ she asked. ‘What happened? I thought you were dead.’

  ‘There’s a lot to tell. But I’m fine, Hannah. I’m OK. That’s the main thing for now. I had to stay out of touch for a while. I won’t tell you where I am. It’s best you don’t know. There was . . . it was a mess, Hannah.’ She heard strain in her father’s voice, a note she had never heard before. ‘Such a mess.’

  ‘Where’s Jakab?’

  ‘Gone. Dead. He’s finally dead. That part of it is finished. But the police are crawling all over the place. They’re looking for me. But you escaped. That’s the main thing. You escaped and it’s all over. Are you hurt?’

  ‘No, I’m fine. Really. I’m good.’

  ‘Where are you now? Is Nate OK?’

  ‘Where are we?’

  Sebastien’s fingers found her shoulder and squeezed so painfully that she jerked backwards. Hannah stared up into the old man’s face, into eyes blazing with emerald fire. She glanced over at Nate, who wore a matching expression of horror. And then her stupidity suddenly dawned on her, her relief at hearing her father’s voice blinding her to the darker possibilities.

  After all these years, had she learned nothing?

  ‘Hannah?’

  ‘I’m still here, Dad. What . . .’ She forced herself to think. ‘What was the name of your friend at the university, the twitchy one who was always talking folklore and clapping his hands and getting on everyone’s nerves?’

  ‘Hannah, what’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘Dad, please. Answer the question.’

  ‘You mean Beckett? Why?’

  She closed her eyes at his answer, but when she opened them she saw Sebastien shaking his head and gesturing at her to continue. It had been a weak question. A soft validation. ‘I met one of your old friends yesterday. He gave me something. Something you bought Mum a long time ago. Do you remember?’

  A crackle of static on the line. ‘Hannah, I gave away so many things. I know you need to know it’s me. What can I tell you?’

  She could feel pain beginning to constrict her throat, her hope turning to grief. ‘You must remember this, Dad. You bought it for her on the holiday we had in Berne. Please, Dad. Please.’

  ‘Hannah, love. It’s been such a difficult twenty-four hours. I’m exhausted. Tell me where you are. Let me come to you. It’s over, Hannah. You don’t need to be frightened any more. Jakab is dead.’

  With an awful wrenching sorrow that originated at her core, radiated out through her limbs and flooded her head, she realised that the voice on the other end of the phone was not the father she loved, not that man at all, but a despicable impostor who had wreaked destruction on her family, who had tried to murder her husband, had tried to supplant him and slide into her life like an invisible cancer, poisoning everything he touched.

  ‘What have you done with my father, you sick bastard?’

  Silence now.

  On the phone. In the room.

  Sebastien relaxed his grip on her shoulder, his face long with distress. Nate slid off the sofa to his knees. He reached out to her.

  When the voice returned, it had lost all resemblance to her father’s. ‘You know, that’s what I call some unbelievably bad luck. Years waiting to talk to you, and we get off on the wrong foot straight away.’ Jakab paused. ‘I hold my hands up. That was a crass approach and I apologise. It’s probably nerves on my part. Stage fright, if
you like. Easier to hide behind a persona than to bare one’s soul. I’m really not the monster you think I am. I just wanted to talk to you unencumbered by all these complications, all this . . . history.’

  She realised she was still kneeling on the floor, and jumped to her feet. Her grief boiled into rage. She needed to stand, to fight. ‘Where is he?’

  Jakab laughed. ‘Hannah, please. Give me some credit. Your father is fine. It would be a rather unusual strategy, would it not, to attempt to ingratiate myself by causing your father harm before we even met.’

  ‘It hasn’t stopped you before.’

  A sigh. ‘Myths, Hannah. Untruths. You weren’t there and you can’t know. I’ve been taking good care of Charles. He’s sitting in front of me even as I talk to you now.’

  ‘Put him on.’

  ‘With pleasure.’

  A pause, and then her father’s voice on the line. ‘Hannah?’

  ‘Dad?’ If this really was her father, he sounded broken.

  ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘Always. OK? Be brave. We know this is the end. Don’t do it. Don’t ask me. You won’t know who talks next. I’ll always be with you. Now, go.’

  He was saying goodbye. He had decided this was the last time he would talk to her, and he was trying to remain dignified.

  She clutched a hand to her mouth, pressing it over her lips, wondering why she did it. Such a pointless gesture.

  Jakab’s voice now. ‘Hannah, please. Listen to me. I was serious in what I said. I’m not the monster you think. I’m not going to hurt him. I give you my word on that. This has gone on too long. I’m tired. I want to see you, yes. I want to talk to you. But I don’t want to take anyone’s place. It’s too late for that, and it never would have worked for long anyway. I’ll keep your father safe. All I ask is this: meet me. Just you, and just me. Anywhere you want. Out in the open. You name the place. Just let me see you once. Talk. Explain. There have been so many untruths, I don’t blame you for being confused.’

  ‘You attacked Nate. Where’s the untruth in that?’

  ‘He shot me. What did you want me to do? Stand there and let him put another bullet in me? Come on, Hannah. I was protecting myself. I never intended to kill him. Is he OK? Did he survive?’