Never Ending

by Martyn Bedford

  “What?”

  “In the First World War, a lot of soldiers suffered terrible facial injuries,” Dr Pollard says. “The medics in the battlefields patched them up as best they could then sent them home for proper reconstructive work – the pioneering experiments in what we now know as plastic surgery. But before—”

  “What has this got to do with—”

  “Before the surgeons could operate to repair and rebuild, they had to break apart the patch-up and return the face to its original, damaged state, let the wounds heal again and start from scratch. If they didn’t, the reconstructive surgery would be a botch job, causing even worse disfigurement – not to mention the risk of infection.”

  The Director pauses, studying Shiv’s reaction.

  “So, the PTU sessions…” Shiv begins.

  “Are the psychiatric equivalent of reconstructive surgery, yes. D’you recall, at the start of Phase 2, I described it as Trauma Centred Therapy?”

  Shiv nods.

  “Well, this stage of your treatment is designed to break apart all the therapy you’ve had before, to strip away the scar tissue of your grief, cut through the layers of confabulation – take you right back to your original traumatized state.”

  “And then what?”

  “Let you see the truth of it.”

  Kyritos

  After Declan had helped clear up the mess and Shiv had changed out of her wine-soaked shorts, they sat on the low wall to watch the sun setting over the bay.

  A chance to talk. To make up.

  They were both still too raw, though, to set the ill-feeling aside completely. It would take more than a tennis ball. But, after the last couple of days, the simple act of sitting side by side – gazing at the shifting colours of the sky, the warm breeze bathing their faces – was a kind of healing. Or the start of one.

  “What happens if Mum and Dad see there’s a glass missing?” Dec asked.

  “We deny all knowledge. Anyway, it’s not my problem,” Shiv added, teasing. “I wasn’t the one who broke it.”

  “No,” Dec said. “And I wasn’t the one drinking wine.”

  Another silence gathered round them. “It was a good shot though,” Shiv said, at last, smiling.

  “I thought so.”

  They were still sitting there when the drone of a pair of mopeds disturbed the evening hush, turning off the main road and coming along the track.

  Shiv glanced at Dec. “It won’t be him,” she said, her mouth dry.

  Shiv met Nikos coming the other way along the path down the side of the villa. All the strength had drained from her legs. But she would not allow herself to be weak.

  “Hey, there you are,” he said, his face unnaturally white in the glare of the security lamp. He was smiling, but tentatively. It was the first time she’d seen him so unsure of himself. “I thought nobody was home.”

  She tried to keep her voice steady. “What are you doing here, Nikos?”

  “I, uh,” he spread his hands, “I remembered what you said about your parents going out tonight. For their anniversary.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  They were a couple of metres apart, hemmed in by shrubbery on one side and the whitewashed wall of the villa on the other. Nikos hung his head, as though accepting that he deserved to be spoken to like that. “I had to see you,” he said, quietly.

  Had to.

  “Suppose my mum and dad had been here?”

  He gestured back towards the hire car. “I thought they were, at first.”

  “Dad would’ve killed you.” The idea of her father killing anyone was ludicrous. Nikos just nodded though. “Who’s with you?” Shiv said, refusing to soften her tone.

  “My cousin. Joss. We’re on our way to my brother’s party.”

  “Uh-huh.” They continued to stand there, facing each other. He looked at a loss to know what to say or do next. “Well, have a nice time,” Shiv said, turning to go.

  “Shiv, I wanted to say sorry.”

  She turned back. “For what?”

  “For everything. I … I’m sorry the way things worked out.”

  “You told Dad you didn’t know I was a child. Was I a child to you, Nikos?”

  “No. You weren’t.”

  “So why did you say that?”

  You lied about your age, he could have said. You deceived me. You could’ve got me arrested, thrown in jail, branded a sex offender. Nikos might have said any of these things, she realized. But he didn’t.

  “I told your father what he wanted to hear.”

  Shiv frowned. “What does that mean?”

  Nikos rubbed his face, the stubble rasping against the palm of his hand. “It means you don’t stop liking someone just because they’re younger than you thought.”

  It had been so black and white before he turned up but now he was confusing her.

  “I texted you,” she said. “I left messages on your voicemail.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. That was the deal with your dad.”

  Shiv laughed despite herself. “So, you thought it’d be safer to visit me?”

  Nikos took a moment to answer. Finally, he said, “You go back to England tomorrow. I came because I can’t bear not to see you again. Couldn’t. Couldn’t bear.”

  With that, the last of her resolve fell away. Almost. She took a step towards him and, as he opened his arms to hold her, she thumped him hard in the shoulder.

  “What was that for?” Nikos said, steadying himself against the wall.

  “I don’t know. I just … bloody felt like it, all right?”

  Whether they would have hugged then, she never found out. Because, at that moment, Joss appeared at the end of the path. “So,” he said, grinning over Nikos’s shoulder, his bald head as shiny in the security light as the silver crash-helmet tucked under one arm. “Do they coming for the party?”

  Declan wanted nothing to do with it – with them, the party, anything. If Shiv wanted to go, it was up to her.

  “I’m not leaving you here by yourself.”

  “I’m nearly thirteen,” her brother said. “Not seven.”

  “Dec, I’m not going if you’re not. End of.”

  “Fine. We don’t go, then.”

  And so on. In truth, it was a crazy idea – at best, they had two hours before Mum and Dad got back. But the alternative was to say goodbye to Nikos right there and then. Watch him leave her life. Then spend the rest of the evening – the last night of the holiday – at the villa with Declan. Playing cards. Or quoits. Or watching Greek TV or CNN. Finishing her packing. Killing time till their parents came home in their taxi, half drunk with wine.

  Whatever, Declan refused to go. And Shiv refused to go without him.

  She left Dec sitting on the wall while she went back out to the front of the villa to break the news to Nikos and his cousin.

  “Sheev, you waits,” Joss said, tapping the side of his nose. “I go speak him.”

  A couple of minutes later, he returned, beaming. Giving the thumbs-up. Then Declan appeared, a pace or two behind, wearing the silver crash-helmet.

  “Mum and Dad don’t get to know about this,” Shiv said, above the music. “Not ever.”

  “Not ever,” her brother repeated. “There must be a simpler way of saying that. Like, I dunno, ‘never’. You’d think someone would’ve invented that word by now.”

  She pointed at the can of Coke in his hand. “Has Joss put anything in that?”

  “No,” Dec said. “Anyway, you can talk.”

  He was right. If Shiv drank much more wine, her parents wouldn’t need Dec’s help to figure out where they’d been. She set the plastic glass down, twisting the base into the sand to keep it from tipping.

  “I’m going to dance a bit more,” she said.

  “Shiv, you don’t have to keep coming over to check I’m OK.”

  “I know.” She held his gaze. “I’m just… I know. Sorry.”

  They stayed longer than they’d inten
ded, but that was all right – Shiv got a text from Mum saying the pre-booked taxi had failed to show and they wouldn’t get back to the villa till eleven thirty at the earliest.

  No worries, Shiv texted back.

  All ok with u?

  Gin rummy. I’m winning!

  Shiv shut the phone off, only the tiniest bit guilty at the deceit. She made a mental note to agree the final score at cards with Dec so he didn’t contradict her.

  Pitching up at the party hadn’t been as awkward as she’d feared – a brief flurry of attention when the four of them arrived, that was all. The about-to-be-married brother set the tone by greeting her in an if-it’s-cool-with-Nikos-it’s-cool-with-me kind of way. Shiv and Nikos danced barefoot in the sand. Even Declan, who hadn’t wanted to be at the party in the first place, joined in towards the end, after a third raid on the barbecue. Joss too, pogo-dancing like a flabby Tigger, spraying froth from the neck of a bottle of Mythos. His shirt was saturated with sweat or beer, or both.

  “What’s with your cousin’s name?” she asked Nikos, mouth against his ear to make herself heard. “‘Joss’ doesn’t sound very Greek.”

  “Short for Giorgios.” Her hair snagged on his stubble as he spoke. His breath was bitter-sweet with beer. “His surname’s Giorgios as well,” Nikos said, laughing.

  “Really? That’s hilarious.”

  “No, that’s Hilarios, in the green shirt, standing over there by the barbie.”

  Shiv looked where he was pointing before realizing he was making fun of her.

  “Not the bad shoulder!” Nikos cried, moving swiftly out of range.

  They left the beach, Joss and Declan leading the way, Shiv and Nikos following, hand in hand. Nikos and Joss would rejoin the party once they’d taken Shiv and Dec back.

  “Can I ask you something?” Shiv kept her voice down so the two in front wouldn’t overhear.

  “Depends what it is.” It was Nikos’s teasing tone but she detected a heaviness underneath. The end of the evening, the holiday, hung over them both.

  “You brought me here to dump me, didn’t you?” she said.

  He walked quietly beside her, barefoot, his sandals and motorcycle helmet dangling by their straps from the fingers of his free hand. “Shiv, for us to finish the way it was – just pfft … I didn’t want that.”

  “But you do want it to finish.” She made it a statement, not a question.

  He exhaled. “You live in England, I live in Greece. You have, what, three more years in school? Then university. You know?”

  Wait for me, she didn’t say. That only happened in fairy tales.

  “Well,” she said, trying to make light of it but the words – the attempted laugh – catching in her throat, “it was nice while it lasted.”

  Nikos squeezed her hand. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

  “Before I turn into a pumpkin?”

  He laughed. But his amusement sounded as sad as hers. Up ahead, Joss and Declan were throwing the silver crash-helmet in the air for each other to catch, each throw higher than the last. Dec hooted with laughter. He was far from happy with her but it made her smile to see him enjoying himself.

  At the mopeds, Nikos and his cousin handed them the crash-helmets.

  Shiv checked her watch. “Jesus, guys, it’s eleven fifteen.”

  “No worry,” Joss said, heaving himself onto the saddle and kicking the stand away. “We rides like the winds.”

  At first they didn’t ride fast at all, as the 50cc engines struggled up the coastal road’s winding ascent. In the dark, it formed an unspooling ribbon of pale grey, yellowed by the mopeds’ headlights. To their right, the shape-shifting shadows of the hillside; to their left, the inky yawn of a sheer drop to the sea.

  Shiv pressed herself against Nikos’s back, arms encircling him, shifting her weight with his as they leaned into one bend and out of the next. Then, as they crested the highest point of the climb and swung into a sharp descent, the speed came.

  “Woo-hoo!” Shiv yelled in Nikos’s ear.

  “Hold onto your hats!” he shouted back, in a yee-haa American accent.

  So far, they’d led the way. Now, downhill, Joss’s extra weight gave the other two an advantage and, as they sped past on the wrong side of the road, Declan called out, his words snatched away by the whine of the engines. Turning in the saddle, he flicked them an “L” for losers.

  “Catch them!” Shiv shouted.

  “Shiv—”

  “Go on!” She was laughing, slapping the saddle. “We are so getting back first.”

  “This isn’t a good place to—”

  “Nikos, the road’s empty. Catch them!”

  He laughed along with her, shaking his head. Told her to hold on tight. Even so, the burst of acceleration almost tipped her off the back as he opened up the throttle.

  “Woooo-hoooo!” she cried.

  The other moped was thirty metres or so ahead, Dec’s yellow T-shirt and the silver helmet bright in the beam from Nikos’s headlight. Urged on by Shiv, Nikos let rip. The engine screamed in protest and the wind buffeted them but he was a skilful rider and the gap began to close.

  “We’ve got them!” Nikos yelled, as they entered a set of bends, narrowing the distance to no more than a bike’s length.

  “Go on, go on!” Shiv shouted back. “Take … them … down!”

  Moving into the wrong lane, he opened up, the front wheel lifting off the ground for a second as they zipped past the other moped.

  “Yaaaah!” Shiv hollered, letting go with one hand for a moment to send Dec’s signal right back at him. “Loooserrrs!”

  But they’d hit a steep, long straight and, with no bends to slow it down, the other moped gradually drew level again. Shiv shot a sidelong glance at Joss, his dark eyebrows raised and mouth wide in a hysterical grimace. He looked like a madman.

  A drunk madman.

  Shiv was suddenly, appallingly, aware of how boozed up Joss must’ve been. Nikos too. Images flashed through her mind of them at the beach party – drinking, dancing, messing around.

  Joss cranked up the revs again, pulling ahead as both mopeds hurtled towards a serious-looking bend where a house hugged the nearside verge, its whitewashed walls and green shutters gleaming in the twin headlights.

  Declan turned to give his “cleaning windows” wave. A bye-bye-see-you-later-losers wave.

  Shiv tugged at Nikos’s waist, hollering in his ear to slow down, to let them go. Whether he heard her or not, or whether he was about to ease off, she would never know. Because, at that moment, veering sharply into the bend – too fast, way too fast – Joss lost control, his rear wheel fishtailing on loose grit, the moped slewing across the road on its side in a cascade of sparks and a terrible screech of metal on asphalt.

  Heading directly for the edge of the cliff.

  Nikos hit the brakes hard, just about holding a straight line, Shiv’s helmeted face banging into his back. She lost sight of the others. There was only a scorched smell and a colossal thwump that dragged silence in its wake. Almost before Nikos brought them to a halt, they dismounted, the bike toppling over and Shiv yanking off her helmet and flinging it aside. They’d overshot the point where Joss crashed and had to sprint back up the road in the dark, Nikos punching numbers into his phone as they ran – gabbling into it in Greek.

  “The ambulance is coming.”

  Shiv’s breathing was so rapid she thought she was going to hyperventilate.

  Please, Declan. Pleasepleaseplease.

  Just then a light came on at a window of the solitary house, casting a strip of illumination across the road, a finger pointing to the wreckage. And there it was. The moped had skidded into the crash barrier. It hadn’t gone over the edge. It hadn’t.

  The noise started then. At least, Shiv became aware of it.

  Dogs, barking furiously in a compound next to the house – leaping and snarling, scrabbling dementedly at a chain-link fence.

  The other noise. The atrocious moans of so
meone badly hurt.

  “Dec!” Shiv shouted, breathless, trying to make sense of the crumpled mess where the bike had finished up. “Declan.”

  In the light from the window across the road, she could see the barrier was buckled but intact, the moped wedged beneath it, debris strewn in its wake – metal, glass, a handlebar grip, a wing mirror, a sandal. A long wet smear of what might have been oil. Or blood.

  And there – trapped by the bike, motionless – lay a dark shape that could just as easily have been animal as human. Was that its leg? The arch of a back, the pale glimmer of skin?

  “Dec, I’m here. I’m here now.” She sobbed the words.

  Nikos was at her side as they bent over the wreckage, tentative and panicky all at once – Shiv afraid of stepping on a foot or a hand, and with no idea what to do or where to start. Nikos gently eased the figure from its side onto its back, exposing the face to the light from the window.

  Joss. His legs were under the moped, his arms and head a bloody mess. Worse than the sight of him was the noise he made: a bestial panting, punctuated by high-pitched whimpers that seemed to incite the dogs over the way to even greater outrage.

  Shiv stepped round him to reach her brother.

  He wasn’t there.

  Beyond Joss was just a bent rear wheel, pieces of rear-light, a sheared-off number plate – a black hole where the crash barrier had been bowed out of shape by the impact, its support posts uprooted, hanging above the drop like tooth-stumps in a gaping mouth.

  “Nikos, where is he? Where’s Dec?”

  But Nikos was tending to his cousin. Shiv wheeled round, peering into the lit-up strip of road and surrounding shadows for some sign her brother had been thrown clear before the moped hit the barrier. Calling his name, frantic. Stumbling back and forth, searching, listening for his cries. Nothing. Just Joss’s hideous grunts and the clamour of the dogs.

  A figure emerged from the house opposite – a middle-aged man, sleepy-headed, in a string vest and creased white boxers. He was carrying a torch, playing its powerful beam towards the scene of the crash. Behind him, three children watched from an upstairs window until a woman appeared and ushered them away.

  “Please, my brother,” Shiv said, as the man crossed the road towards her. She gestured at the torch. “I have to find my brother.”