Aurore
Page 33
His mask lay on the carpet beside the chair, exposing what lay beneath. His mum had been right. There was nothing left. No nose. Half an ear. No lips. No eyelids. Just a hideous face-shaped tangle of scarring, shiny in the afternoon light. Without a face, thought Billy, you were no one. Small wonder he’d opted for a home like this.
His dad’s eyes were open. They were filmy, the lightest blue. Billy retreated to the corridor, shocked.
‘He’s awake? He can see me?’
‘He’s blind, Billy. He can see nothing.’
‘Shall I wake him up?’
‘Of course. That’s why you’re here.’
Billy tiptoed back into the room, trying not to make any noise. On the chest of drawers was a nest of photos. Back when they’d met, in that first year of the war, his mum had been the prettiest bride. She’d worn a simple white frock for the wedding and she clung to her handsome soldier boy. He, too, was a looker: strong face, neatly pressed uniform, full head of hair, and a proud smile for the camera.
Billy stole a glance at the figure in the armchair, overcome by the contrast. Then he went back to the photos. Many were of him. As a baby kicking on a blanket. As a toddler straddling a wooden horse. On a beach playing sandcastles with his mum. He thought he remembered that day. He went out into the corridor again with the photo.
‘Clevedon?’
‘Weston-super-Mare, Billy. Your dad used to give me money for ice creams.’
‘Strawberry,’ Billy said, ‘With a dollop of cream on top.’
He looked in at his dad again. He still seemed to be asleep.
‘Why so many photos?’ he said. ‘When he can’t see?’
‘They’re for me, Billy. To remind me who we were. Sometimes you don’t want to keep up with life. Sometimes it’s nicer to live in the past.’
‘So why didn’t you let me visit before? When I was young?’
‘We thought it would frighten you.’
‘We?’
‘Me and your dad. We still took decisions together. That was nice.’
‘And now? Does he know about Ralph?’
‘Yes.’
‘You told him you were going to get married?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘He said he was glad. He wanted to buy us a present but I said no. Me and Dad were divorced after the war. That was his decision. He wanted me to start a new life. He thought I waited far too long.’
‘Has Ralph been here?’
‘No. He thinks it would make him jealous and he’s probably right.’
‘Jealous?’
‘Of what we had. Of what we have.’ She nodded at the photos. ‘You.’
The figure in the armchair was beginning to stir. A thin dribble of saliva found its way down the remains of his chin. His good arm twitched.
‘There’s a towel under the basin, Billy.’
Billy fetched the towel and knelt by the armchair, mopping gently at the wreckage that had once been a face. His father was awake now, his good arm reaching out for contact. The claw-like hand found Billy’s arm, clutched it tight. Then the hand tracked upwards, across his chest, the fingertips mapping Billy’s chin, his lips, his eyebrows, his cheeks. The voice was a croak. It came from deep in his throat.
‘Son?’
Billy nodded. The figure in the armchair had become a blur. Agnès, he thought. The Spanish couple sprawled in the meadow. Malin’s body hanging in the rain under the trees. And now this. My dad. My real dad. Back from the dead. He gave the bony hand a squeeze. The end of the journey. The very middle of the labyrinth.
Magic.
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The next book in the Wars Within series will be released in summer 2018.
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About Graham Hurley
GRAHAM HURLEY is the author of the acclaimed Faraday and Winter crime novels. Two of the critically lauded series have been shortlisted for the Theakston’s Old Peculier Award for Best Crime Novel. His French TV series, based on the Faraday and Winter novels, has won huge audiences. An award-winning TV documentary maker, Graham now writes full time. He lives with his wife, Lin, in Exmouth.
About the Wars Within Series
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First published in the UK in 2017 by Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © Graham Hurley, 2017
The moral right of Graham Hurley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN (HB) 9781784977856
ISBN(XTPB) 9781784977863
ISBN (E) 9781784977849
Cover images:
Soldier: © Arcangel / Collaboration JS
Background: © Shutterstock
Author photo: Laura Muños
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