It was five times the size of mine. There was the same pale carpet that hugged the rest of the house, but here the walls were a bright scarlet that shocked you on entering. ‘Mother hates it,’ she said with satisfaction. A single bed jutted out into the middle. Stuck to the dressing-table mirror were Polaroids from nights out. Anna with her friends, Anna with her hands flung wide on a dance floor, Anna in front of her car with keys aloft in one hand and a champagne flute in the other. Pots of make-up lay strewn across the table, alongside jewellery and a stack of books. A brush lay on its side, the bristles tangled with long strands of black like the ones she’d left in my bed.
A girl’s bedroom has always felt like a foreign country. They do things differently there.
I sat on the edge of the bed that no man had ever slept in. She crawled over and climbed on to my lap, cupping my face with her hands and bringing her mouth to mine.
It felt like I’d passed some kind of test and I returned the urgency of her kiss. Then she stopped. ‘One more room.’
She led me down the hall to a door at the end. Through it was a master suite, a cavernous room with vaulted ceiling and mirrored wardrobes along one side. A door in the corner led into what I presumed to be a bathroom, but here the tour seemed to end. She pulled me over to the bed, a giant divan covered in peach satin.
‘What are you doing?’
She kneeled on the floor and came close to my ear. ‘Quiet,’ she whispered, and I felt her tongue inside. She began to undo my jeans and pushed me back until I lay on the bed.
My heart began to pound and pleasure shot through my entire body. I fixed my gaze on the sign above the bed, a wooden board with LOVE carved out in deep, thick letters.
I gave in.
I didn’t like Mathilde from the beginning.
She was exactly Sal’s type, all dark hair and pale face like moonlight. Her beauty was obvious, but didn’t she know it. Laura described her as ‘impossibly chic’, and she did have that thing that certain French women have, where they know how to look good without revealing how they got there. Effortless.
Her wardrobe consisted of black skinny jeans, biker boots, and fuzzy oversized jumpers with open backs that she’d casually pull down to reveal a naked shoulder. ‘Cover up, you’ll catch a chill,’ I’d say like a concerned uncle. I knew it was a dickish thing to say. She’d just arch an eyebrow in reply.
Mathilde had zero sense of humour. The room would be dying from a joke Sal made and she’d just sit with her bare ankles pulled up beneath her, looking bored and superior. It was maddening how someone obsessed with the empty surface of things could take herself so seriously.
We were the only smokers in the group. You’d think this would have bonded us somehow, the private conversations we’d share in our outdoor exile, but even in this, she found a way to act out of my league.
‘Eurgh, the smell,’ she’d say as I lit up, waving her arms as if under attack. ‘You English with your factory filth. Merde. Killing the rest of us.’
She’d begin to roll a cigarette.
‘You know rollies give off just as much smoke, Mathilde?’
‘Oui, oui, Nicolas,’ she’d say in a bored voice.
We always called each other by our full names, although she’d say mine in French and drop the ‘s’ so it sounded incomplete. She always found a way to go one better.
Mathilde wore an antique rosary around her neck despite not being remotely religious. The beads were coloured different shades of brown and reminded me of those old camel seat covers, like Grandpa had in his car when we were kids. The cross was heavy ornate silver, and she’d sit there, her face full of disdain as she stroked her dead Jesus. I saw a film once where a nun was strangled to death with her own rosary. It made me think of Mathilde.
‘I wish you’d make an effort with Tilly,’ Sal said to me. ‘She really likes you, you know. She doesn’t get why you act so weird around her.’
She had this way with Sal that put him in a helpless state. Everything he did was about pacifying her and maintaining the impossible standards she demanded. I thought perhaps she was an expert in hypnosis, and at times wondered if there was any truth to the idea of black magic. I’d find myself watching to see if she cast some kind of spell. Laura said I was paranoid.
‘But what does he see in her?’ I said. ‘Apart from the obvious aesthetic appeal, I mean.’
‘But isn’t that ninety per cent of the reason why men like women?’ said Laura. ‘Besides, Sal seems so much better lately. Did you see his pupils last night? He’s clearly not on the pills so she must be doing something right.’
It was true that Sal was partying less and consuming fewer drugs. I knew that was a good thing. But I also knew that the reason for this change was that Mathilde wanted him by her side, adoring her and making her meals that she’d later puke up in the bathroom. The positive effect had a negative cause, and I couldn’t bring myself to accept it.
I tried talking to him.
‘But I love her,’ Sal said. He stared at his pint. ‘Shit, I really do. I’ve never said that before. I’ve never meant it, anyway.’
I could tell from his face he was too far in.
‘It just seems like she dominates you,’ I said. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t make it so obvious how you feel about her.’
Sal looked confused. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘Just don’t put yourself out there as much,’ I said, taking a deep drag of my cigarette. ‘I don’t want you to get hurt. That’s all.’
‘You’re saying I’m a different person when I’m around her,’ he said, ‘and you’re right. She makes me want to be a better man and whatever she needs me to be. Isn’t that a good thing, though? Trying to be better? Isn’t that what love should be?’
I shrugged. We finished our pints.
That night, I looked at Laura as she slept beside me. Her blonde hair looked almost black against the pillow. She was turned away on her side and the shape of her back silhouetted against the window as her body rose and fell. I knew her movements like the ticking of a familiar clock. I lay there and thought about her for a while. I thought about someone else too, and then I closed my eyes.
Summer 2003
‘Tell me what you believe,’ I said.
‘Why?’
‘I want to know what’s real to you.’
We were sitting on the stones at Dungeness, the sky white with humidity. We were together virtually every day at this point, as if we somehow knew the end was coming. At work, though, we avoided each other. The gossip was wildfire that needed just a little wind to make it spread, and this I wanted for myself. There was the added bonus of what it did to us when we were finally alone. The feel of her skin took on an intensity when I held her, like a fever I didn’t want cured.
Nobody knew us at Dungeness.
‘What’s real to me?’ She plunged her fingers into the stones. ‘It’s been nineteen years and I’m still working that out.’
‘What happens when you die?’
She shifted. I could sense her discomfort and part of me wanted to change the subject, but I’ll admit that most of me wanted to make her uncomfortable.
‘The Bible says …’ She took a deep breath. ‘The Bible calls death a deep sleep. One day, there will be a great war on earth called Armageddon, and everyone who’s died will come back to life on a Paradise earth.’
I nodded as if I understood. ‘So, when’s Armageddon coming?’
‘The Bible says we’re living in the Last Days, so any day.’
‘You mean it could come tomorrow?’
She nodded with an embarrassed smile. ‘When I was little, the adults told me I’d never finish school because The End will have come. They said I’d never get married or have kids, because by then we’d be in the New World.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Wow.’
‘That must sound so strange to you.’
‘You said everyone that’s died will come back to life, but what then?’
&
nbsp; Anna took a moment to answer. ‘They live forever in Paradise. Life without end.’
‘Well, that sounds nice,’ I said. ‘I’ll have some of that. But what happens in this war? This … Armageddon?’
‘It’s a battle between good and evil,’ she said, avoiding eye contact. ‘Those in the truth and judged as good will survive into Paradise, and those deemed wicked will be destroyed.’
I stroked my chin thoughtfully. ‘Define “good”.’
She covered her blushing face with her hands. ‘What are you trying to do to me? Do you want a bloody Bible study?’
‘Isn’t this what you do when you knock on people’s doors?’
‘Yes, strangers’ doors. I do my hour and then I’m done. Don’t make me do it on my days off.’
‘I thought it was important to you.’
‘It is.’ She picked up a stone and closed her hand around it. ‘But I’ve spent my whole life being different from everyone else in the room. I don’t want to think about that stuff when I’m with you.’
Across the beach was a wooden hut with its stable doors open for business. I left Anna on the stones and trudged across to get us a drink. An old man sat inside on a moulded plastic chair, his face hidden behind the garish front page of a tabloid. He wore a fedora hat pushed back on his head that made me think of my grandpa.
I cleared my throat. He looked up and threw down his paper. Sensing he wasn’t in the mood for small talk, I turned to look at the sea as he poured two teas into Styrofoam cups.
Anna was watching as I walked back across the beach. The sun had found a break between the clouds and shone a spotlight on the little patch of stones where she sat. I thought how strange it was that she’d never know what it was like to be her through my eyes.
We sipped from our cups and watched the flat sea.
‘Do you know what you are?’ she said after a while.
I looked at her.
‘You’re worldly.’
‘Worldly?’
‘The world is passing away and so is its desire … but the one who does the will of God remains forever. You’re “of the world”, and you bring nothing but destruction.’
I finished the dregs of my tea. ‘So I’m guessing I die at this Armageddon?’
She didn’t seem to find this funny.
‘How do I not be a “worldly”?’ I said.
‘You become one of them … one of us.’
‘So it’s like the Catholics,’ I said, remembering church visits at school. ‘Drink Christ’s blood and blot out your sins? I can work with that.’
‘No, don’t go there with the blood. No transfusions, remember? Blood is sacred. It represents life and nobody has the right to give or take it except God.’
I lit a cigarette. ‘It all sounds very interesting. Another world. Maybe you can be my teacher.’
‘Me?’ Anna laughed. ‘I’m not even qualified to be the student.’
I moved my cigarette to my other hand, away from her. ‘You make it sound very controlling,’ I said.
‘I suppose it is. There are a lot of rules.’
‘But you seem to have a lot of freedom. You’re not kept on a tight leash.’
‘Am I a dog?’
‘No,’ I said, laughing. ‘I mean, you’re here with me. You work with a load of us – what did you call it – worldlies?’
‘I have a curfew, remember.’
‘Yes, but so do a lot of people.’
‘We can’t avoid living in the world, and I have to earn money. But I’m meant to work and then go home, only hang out with people who are also in the truth.’
‘The Truth?’
She blushed. ‘It’s what we call the faith. Sorry, that must sound strange if you’re not used to it. I forget when I’m with you that we’re not the same.’
It did sound strange. Mean. Arrogant. ‘It’s fascinating,’ I said, taking a drag.
‘They don’t know I’m here with you,’ she said, her skin still burning. ‘Teenagers are meant to rebel, right?’
‘So I’m a secret.’
‘Lisa’s a secret. They don’t know she exists. I have a fake friend, Susie, who apparently is part of a congregation on the coast. They think I’m with her.’
‘Isn’t there an irony in calling it The Truth and then lying to your parents by living a double life?’
Anna pulled her knees up to her chest, closing herself off. ‘I don’t know why you ask me questions and then criticise. I’m not expecting you to understand. I don’t myself at times. But it’s as natural to me as my arm or foot. I don’t know how to separate from it.’
I reached out and grabbed her arm. ‘Hey,’ I said. ‘Sorry for being a dick. I’m just trying to understand and it’s hard, because just as it’s completely natural to you, it’s completely unnatural to me.’
I watched her fingers play with the hot stones.
‘It’s like I’m two Annas,’ she said. ‘Split down the middle, each incomplete. I wish I didn’t find it fun to do the bad things, but I do.’
‘Well, I can be a dick,’ I said, sitting up. ‘But I wouldn’t call myself a bad thing.’
Her face burned again. ‘Now it’s my turn to say sorry.’
I smiled to absolve her of any guilt. It was becoming clear to me that she had enough shame being loaded on to her back by others. I wanted no part of that. Perhaps I could be her refuge. God, how stupid I was.
‘I’m meant to serve because I want to,’ she said, ‘not because I’m forced. If they put me in chains, they know I’d break free. It has to be my decision.’
‘And it is something you want?’
Her face was edged with sadness. ‘It’s all I’ve ever known, Nick. I don’t know any different. Any time I’ve tried another path, it’s never gone well. This feels like a safe place where I won’t get hurt.’
We fell silent and I concentrated on my smoke. Lately I was charging through a pack a day, partly for the soothing rush of nicotine, but also because the act of holding a cigarette felt like a weapon or shield against the power of what I felt for her. I also knew she hated me smoking, and some twisted thing in my psyche loved to bait her.
‘Do you ever feel like there’s something inside of you too big to understand?’ she said. ‘An ache for something deeper?’ She gripped a fistful of stones. ‘Sometimes I just want to go a little mad. See where it takes me.’
I reached out and grabbed a handful of her dress and pulled her on to my mouth. She tasted me right back.
‘That lighthouse,’ she said, nodding at the needle rising up from the shingles behind the tea shack. ‘Walk with me there.’
We walked across without speaking, the only sounds coming from the crushing of the stones beneath our feet and the long grass thrown about in the wind. In the distance, the power station loomed large against the bleakness of the sky, the white smoke plumes rising and disappearing into the day.
The green double doors at the foot of the lighthouse were open, and the windowless interior looked inviting and cool.
‘Shall we?’ I said, as if inviting her to dance.
I brushed her arm as we entered and felt a pang of electric shock.
We paid the entrance fee and paused at the foot of the stairs to look up at the long spiral ahead. It went round and around and round and around, and although the balcony and view from the top were hidden, we told ourselves it was worth it. The heat was beginning to crawl down my back, but I took her hand in mine and we began to climb.
A third of the way up, she let go of my fingers and leant against the rail. ‘Whose idea was this again?’ Her face was pink with rushing blood.
‘Yours.’
‘Well, you should have said no.’
‘Because you’d have loved that, wouldn’t you?’
‘Shut up.’ She wiped the back of her arm across her forehead and continued to climb.
I rolled up my sleeves, and this act reminded me of something. ‘If my dad was here, he’d be taking these two at a ti
me. Come on, boy. Pick up your feet.’
‘I’m yet to meet your dad, but from what you say, I imagine him as the dad from an eighties film that threatens to send his kid to military school.’
I stopped and laughed, at both the joke and disbelief at how many more steps there were to go.
‘A perfect comparison.’ I climbed another. ‘He’s just one of many reasons I’m never getting married or having kids.’
I felt Anna pause behind me, but I carried on.
My momentum gave way ten steps later. I felt my knee buckle and I crouched down on the step, laughing as I caught my breath.
‘Smoker’s lungs,’ said Anna, marching past. ‘Serves you right.’
A harshness to her tone made me look up as she passed. She wore a face of intense concentration, as if in a single-minded race to the finish line. I considered calling surrender and going back down, but we were now closer to the top than the bottom.
She reached there first and didn’t wait. When I arrived a few moments later, she’d disappeared around the platform to the other side of the lamp, out of sight.
From: ANNA
To: NICK
Subject:
You asked me today what was real to me.
I did my best to explain, but my best will never be enough.
How can I tell you that when I was eight, I would go with my family every Tuesday night to a little old lady’s flat to study the Revelation book. Her name was May and she lived alone. The wallpaper was cream and textured, with raised patterns that I would trace with my fingers as I slipped off my shoes. The living room furniture was pushed to the edges and a circle of chairs laid out. If it was full, the children sat on the floor. One of the older sisters that came was Beryl. She had a purple leg, a husband out of the truth, and after the study was over, she’d pass a paper bag of sweets around the kids. Beryl always had an answer ready, even for the hardest questions in the book. Her faith was strong.
The Revelation book was a heavy red hardback with gold writing across the front. Inside were vivid descriptions of how the world as we know it will be destroyed at Armageddon. Buildings will topple, the earth will quake, God’s anger will spill across the entire earth. The pictures in this book have never left me: piles of dead people, a woman screaming as she carries her dead child, the faces of all those who did not listen contorted in pain, terror, grief. But there were also pictures of peace. After the war, after families have been annihilated, we will stand on green hills and smile.
Another Life Page 8