The Atlas of Us

by Tracy Buchanan

  ‘They implied it. My God, Claire, the press are going to tear you apart.’

  Claire’s shoulders slumped. It was completely out of control, she’d been a fool to do this.

  ‘I don’t understand all this, why didn’t you tell me?’ Sofia asked.

  ‘I – I don’t know.’

  ‘I thought you were still in Venice with Ben.’

  Claire took in a deep breath. Here goes. ‘Ben and I have split up.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘While in Venice.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to call me?’

  ‘I didn’t want to upset you.’

  ‘Mum’s going to have a hissy fit when she hears.’

  Claire pressed her finger into a crack in the wall. ‘Sofia, I—’

  ‘Milo James, Claire? Milo bloody James?’

  ‘I don’t know what to say. It just happened.’

  ‘With a murderer?’

  ‘He saved people!’

  ‘By killing his own brother.’

  ‘Jesus, Sofia! He had no choice, Dale James was about to kill his niece.’

  Sofia paused a few moments. ‘Come stay with us, Claire,’ she said after a while, her voice softer. ‘We’re all so worried about you. You need family at a time like this.’

  Claire suddenly felt a need to be with her sister; to wrap herself up in her arms and cry like she used to when she was a kid, regardless of how judgemental she’d be when she arrived. She couldn’t bear the thought of going back to Jodie’s empty house. ‘Okay, I’ll drive back now.’

  After they’d said their goodbyes, Claire leaned her head back against the cool wall, trying to pull herself together. At least she’d done it. Now she could put it behind her.

  ‘Are you okay?’ a familiar voice asked. She turned to see Matt Levine’s friend Jay standing nearby wearing a navy suit and crisp white shirt. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been begging her not to go into the marquee. She wished she hadn’t now: she’d made no difference to events and Milo wouldn’t have had a chance to ask her to lie. She could have been open from the start.

  ‘Not really,’ Claire said.

  Jay sat down on the bench next to her. ‘It was very brave of you.’

  ‘Stupid more like. I suppose Matt must hate me?’

  He frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘Fraternising with the brother of the man who killed his wife?’

  ‘I think he’s a bit shocked by the turn of events. But he doesn’t hate you. You didn’t pick up the gun and shoot Sarah, did you?’

  Claire looked down at her hands. ‘No.’

  They both looked out into the large empty hallway, marble floors glistening under the sunlight streaming through the high windows above.

  ‘I thought Sarah and Matt had got out,’ Jay said after a while, raking his hands through his curly blond hair. ‘I couldn’t find them in all the madness, I had no idea they were under that table. I wouldn’t have left the marquee if I’d known.’

  Claire turned to him. ‘I’m sorry, I know you were close to Sarah.’

  ‘Yes, she was very special,’ he said sadly. ‘I was at the front of the marquee, you know, one of the first people to see Dale James when he marched in. Silly really,’ he continued, smoothing a non-existent crease out of his trousers, ‘but I thought at first that’s what farmer types do, stroll into weddings with a gun in their hand. But then there was something in his eyes that made me change my mind. Then he lifted his gun and I managed to grab two little girls nearby and pull them away from sight. The gun shots …’ He shuddered slightly. ‘So loud. Then the screams, they were worse. I saw my friend Dean get a bullet to the arm. So I grabbed him and the girls then ran out with the other guests.’ His eyes filled with tears. ‘I really thought Sarah had got out already.’

  Claire’s heart went out to him and she put her hand on his arm.

  ‘It must have been difficult for you too, seeing Dale James dead?’ he said. ‘Do you have nightmares about that night?’

  She thought of the dreams she had most nights, cluttered with screams and blood and that hole in Dale James’s head. ‘Yes,’ she said, sighing.

  ‘Me too.’

  They sat quietly for a few moments contemplating what they’d seen that night.

  ‘So I presume your husband knows everything now?’ Jay asked eventually.

  Claire thought about that last night in Venice. After she’d walked from the restaurant, Ben had come to find her in their hotel room. She’d told him everything, the weight of it all finally breaking through the barriers she’d set up inside. He deserved the truth after all, no more secrets.

  ‘You’ve never really left Exmoor, have you?’ Ben said when Claire had finished telling him. ‘You never really left him, did you?’

  It had broken her heart to see Ben like that. On the plane journey back, she’d watched Ben as he’d slept, remembering all the times she’d done the same when they’d first married, coming home from a work trip and creeping upstairs to find him curled up with their dog Archie on the bed. She’d just stand in the doorway and watch them both, smiling. Now she was watching him with intense sadness.

  As the plane had prepared to descend, she’d quickly got out her notepad, desperate to get all her feelings down. Words had always come easier to her when written down instead of spoken. So that’s what she’d done – telling him how special he was, how wonderful and kind. And for this reason, he deserved someone who could give him a hundred per cent … a hundred per cent that included a family too. Then she’d slipped the letter into his bag.

  Ben had insisted on going straight to his brother’s after, so she’d returned home alone. She’d set her suitcase down in the hallway and stood quiet and still for a few moments as she’d taken in the mirrors they’d both sprayed together a year before, and the framed photos of their wedding they’d put up a week after they’d moved in. They’d been so excited and optimistic then, their terraced house with its huge garden the ideal family home. Claire had felt safe and secure in Ben’s arms, excited about a future filled to the brim with babies and Sunday roasts and special memories.

  How hopeful she’d been. How naïve.

  Her heart ached as she thought of all that hope slowly and excruciatingly draining away; a house once filled with optimism and dreams becoming unbearable to live in, a daily reminder of the very thing she’d wished it to be but it had never become.

  ‘Claire?’ Jay said. ‘I asked if your husband knows now?’

  She was about to tell Jay things were over between her and Ben when something occurred to her. ‘Are you trying to get a story out of me?’

  He laughed. ‘Claire, I’m a financial journalist, we write about stock markets and salaries. Trust me, I’m not. It’s the creepy little hacks like Nathan Styles you want to watch out for.’

  Claire thought of the article she’d read in Venice and the thin man sitting in the gallery. She sighed. ‘Yes, my husband knows everything and it’s over between us. And for the record, I didn’t leave him for Milo, our marriage was over way before I met him.’

  Jay tilted his head, examining her face. ‘Why did you go to court for Milo James today then, bare your soul like that?’

  ‘I don’t want to see an innocent man go to prison. I thought it might help him if I told the truth.’ She took in a deep breath. ‘But now I think I’ve just made it worse.’

  ‘Have you considered the possibility he might not be innocent? Maybe he purposefully killed his brother.’

  Claire shook her head vehemently. ‘No. He loved his brother.’

  ‘They argued, according to Nathan Styles’s report.’

  ‘That’s what siblings do, I argue with my sister all the time. That doesn’t mean I want to kill her!’

  Jay narrowed his blue eyes. ‘There’s something not right about Milo James. There are secrets there, I can tell. And it’s not just me who thinks that. Other journalists do too. They’re all digging, Claire, and one day, something will come out.’
>
  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean my antenna goes off when it comes to that family. Doesn’t yours?’

  She thought about seeing them all together in the pub all those months ago and how off it had all seemed.

  ‘Dale James was a sick man,’ she said. ‘We’ll never understand why he planned to do what he did, there are so many reasons – maybe it was like the psychiatrist the defence used said: post-traumatic stress from what he saw in the Falklands. Maybe it was the stress of running a farm during the BSE crisis, maybe it was because he had to bring up Holly on his own. But one thing I do know is Milo saved lives.’

  ‘Well, all right, if you say so.’ Jay adjusted his cufflinks. ‘What now for you then?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean now you and your husband have split up. People usually use it as a chance to change their lives, don’t they? Yasmine, the editor I introduced you to at the wedding, thought you were great. Let me put you in touch with her again.’

  ‘That’s not exactly a drastic change, is it, working for another travel magazine? It’s a superficial change, like dyeing my hair.’

  ‘Then make a drastic change,’ Jay said, his eyes running over Claire’s newly highlighted hair. ‘Run away abroad, maybe the States? That country’s wonderful for journalists like you.’

  She sighed. ‘I don’t—’

  People started flooding out of the courtroom. Jay quickly reached into his pocket, pulling out a business card. ‘If you ever need to talk …’

  ‘I thought you weren’t trying to get a story.’

  ‘I’m not, I promise. I’m here for you, no strings attached, one Exmoor Shooting survivor to another.’

  She looked into his eyes, seeing an honesty and compassion in them that made her realise he really was just trying to help. She took his business card and slipped it into her bag, then noticed Milo stride out of court with his barrister. Her heartbeat started thundering in her chest and she felt her face flush. He caught her eye then walked over as people turned to stare at them. Jay stepped away, peering down at his phone.

  ‘Hello Claire,’ Milo said quietly. He was so close, she could feel his breath on her cheek. He looked different: thinner, his hair longer, a haunting sadness in his eyes. But he was still the man she’d kissed that night in that field; who’d made her feel that old sense of adventure again.

  ‘Hi Milo.’

  He paused a moment then stepped even closer, lowering his voice. ‘You shouldn’t have done that, Claire.’

  ‘I did it to protect you.’

  ‘I appreciate that but now it’s out, you’ll understand why I didn’t want you involved. The media won’t leave you alone now. That’s exactly what I was worried about.’

  ‘I had to tell the truth,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t let them think you planned to kill your brother. But I’m so worried I’ve made things worse for you. Have I?’

  ‘I don’t think they can get any worse, can they? I shot my own brother dead.’ His voice cracked and he turned away. Claire put her hand on his arm, not caring if others saw, desperate to comfort him. He looked up, his face flooded with feeling and it was like it was just the two of them in that court foyer, everything around them dissolving.

  Then Matt Levine walked past, throwing them a look of disgust. Reality returned and the whispers of people nearby throbbed in Claire’s ears.

  Milo moved away from her. ‘I shouldn’t have come to talk to you, it’ll only make things worse for you.’

  ‘I don’t care what other people think!’

  ‘You don’t care that people know I grabbed your tits in a dark field while my brother was planning to shoot all those people?’

  Her whole body turned to ice. She stepped away from him, face flushed. ‘Well, if you put it like that …’

  ‘Claire,’ he said, his voice cracking. ‘I didn’t …’

  His barrister walked over. ‘We should go now, Milo.’

  Claire turned away, still humiliated by what he’d said. Grabbed her tits? He made it sound like a teenage fumble. Maybe that’s exactly what it was? A grubby little fumble in the dark.

  She refused to turn around until she heard the click of his shoes as he walked away. The whispering grew louder, the stares even harder. She wrapped her arms around herself and bit her lip to stop the tears coming.

  ‘Claire Shreve?’ She turned to see Nathan Styles, the journalist Jay had mentioned, standing beside her. He watched her through his squinting eye, making her skin crawl. ‘That was an interesting little exchange between you and Milo James.’

  God, he’d heard that?

  ‘Please, I don’t need this right now,’ she said, going to walk past him.

  He blocked her way, slipping his business card into her bag. ‘If you need to unload on anyone, I’m right here.’

  ‘I’ve seen the articles you’ve written about Milo. There’s no chance I’d talk to you.’

  He raised an eyebrow, his beady eyes hardening. ‘Now that’s not the way to talk to someone like me.’

  ‘That’s enough, Nathan,’ Jay said, stepping between them both.

  ‘Ah, Daddy’s boy comes to the rescue,’ Nathan hissed, looking Jay up and down.

  ‘Oh shut up, Styles, at least I don’t ruin people’s lives for a living.’ He put his hand out to Claire. ‘Come on. Let’s get you out of here.’

  She hesitated a moment then took his hand, letting him lead her from the court.

  Chapter Nine

  San Francisco, USA

  1999

  ‘So, what do you think?’ Yasmine asked Claire as people danced behind her, working themselves into a frenzy as the countdown to the millennium approached. ‘Can I tell everyone you’ll be a permanent member of staff when we get back in the New Year?’

  Claire hesitated a moment, peering out of the vast windows that overlooked Golden Gate Bridge. It shone bright red against the stark black sky, making everything else seem tiny and insignificant: the moon a tiny pinprick of silver in the distance, the headlights of the cars that crossed the bridge just tiny drops of white. Even the ocean seemed insignificant, its inky blackness merging into the dark sky above.

  She turned back to Yasmine. ‘I think I need some time to mull it over.’

  A small frown appeared on Yasmine’s face. She’d clearly expected Claire to say yes straight away. Hell, Claire had expected to as well! As soon as her divorce had come through, she’d decided to do what Jay had recommended and taken Yasmine up on a job offer, moving to the States to work in Travel magazine’s West Coast office. Staying in her old job would have been a daily reminder of what she’d once hoped to be: a secure, happy mother. She needed a clean slate without remnants of her dreams staring back at her each day, and this had seemed like the ideal solution.

  And it had been ideal for a while as she made new friends and travelled the world for the magazine. She’d even rented a room in one of San Francisco’s ‘painted ladies’, the multi-coloured Edwardian houses that lined the city’s Haight-Ashbury district. When its owners told her the houses had survived the 1906 earthquake despite many of the mansions in the affluent Nob Hill district crumbling to the ground, it felt like fate, staying somewhere that had survived something tragic. Maybe she’d have a chance too?

  But if it was all so perfect, why was she hesitating now?

  Maybe it was because it was New Year’s Eve and old memories were resurfacing. When she and Ben had been trying for a baby, this had always been the hardest time of year. It all started with the Christmas cards featuring photos of new babies and happy families that landed with a thud on her doormat. Each year, those children would get older and older, another reminder of how long they’d been trying to conceive. When New Year arrived, Claire would promise herself things would be different, that by the time next Christmas arrived, she’d either be pregnant or nursing a newborn. She’d even cram pâté and brie into her mouth, joking with Ben that she wouldn’t get the chance next Christmas. But as each
year went by with no baby to show off, she became less and less hopeful, the reminder of the fact she hadn’t fulfilled last year’s resolution even more brutal.

  What was her resolution this year?

  ‘Looks like you both need a top-up,’ Jay said, wandering over in his lilac designer suit and black shirt, his blond hair gelled back. They’d grown close since the court case, the occasional email turning into regular visits from Jay, both of them opening up to each other as they explored the city together, eating clam chowder on Pier 39 and shopping in the atmospheric hippy neighbourhood of Haight Street.

  They were in one of his father’s many houses at that very moment, a plush mansion in the middle of Nob Hill or ‘Snob Hill’ as Claire liked to call it. There were traces of Jay’s stockbroker dad everywhere in the cold marble floors and impersonal pieces of art – except for one painting, a beautiful portrait of his mum, her curly blonde hair spilling over the shoulders of the electric-blue material of a dress she’d designed.

  ‘I’ve just asked Claire if she’d like to join us as a permanent member of staff,’ Yasmine said as Jay poured more champagne in both their glasses.

  His face lit up. ‘That’s fantastic news!’

  Yasmine raised a perfect eyebrow. ‘She hasn’t said yes yet.’

  Jay shot Claire a quizzical look.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Yasmine said, putting her hand on Claire’s arm. ‘You can give me an answer when we’re back in the New Year.’ She peered around the room. ‘Now, I really must find my drunk husband before he makes us both social outcasts.’

  As she walked away, Jay turned to Claire. ‘I thought you wanted to be made permanent?’

  ‘I thought I did too. Now I’m wondering if it’s really what I want to do with my life.’

  ‘Why do you need to figure that out now? Nobody knows what they want to do with their life, I certainly don’t.’

  ‘You’re wrong.’ Claire looked around them. ‘Look at all these people. No matter how much stumbling happens now, ultimately, they see security, companionship, children at the end of the line. What about me?’

  ‘Oh come on. You’ll meet someone new and have a zillion little brats.’