The Witness

by Naomi Kryskle

  “Some of the countries where he was posted weren’t politically as stable as ours,” Joanne admitted, “but most of the time our only real enemies were the climate, the shortages, and the lack of consistent telephone service. There were times when I’m certain I would have been safer somewhere else, but I would never agree to go.”

  “I’d rather be afraid with him than without him. I couldn’t make him understand that.” The tea was still too hot even to sip. Maybe she should stir it a few thousand more times.

  “When conditions were less than ideal, we made do together. When we missed the children, we reminisced together. And we were never apart for very long. But Jenny—I was never threatened personally.”

  “How did you stand it? When he died. If you’ll forgive my asking.”

  Joanne gave her a sad smile. “Sometimes death is a release,” she said. “He was in such pain. Something better was awaiting him, and there came a time when I had to let him go.”

  Joanne’s tea was almost gone. The milk she added to it must have cooled it. Jenny had not yet adopted that English habit. “You seem happy now. Does grief end?”

  Joanne looked at her thoughtfully. Was Jenny grieving? “It eases; it never ends. I miss all the things we would have done together. But I have so many wonderful memories—we raised a family together, we had many years together. And we had time to say good-bye. That’s important, I think. Although his death still felt sudden when it came.”

  “Time to say good-bye,” Jenny echoed. The tea was warm in her throat. Good-bye was the last thing she wanted to say, to Colin at least.

  “In a way I am still connected to him,” Joanne continued. “I sleep on his side of the bed. I eat his favourite foods. I see that his son is happy, happier than he has been in years.”

  Jenny didn’t even know what Colin’s favorite foods were. And she’d never slept in his bed.

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  Daydream, Dr. Knowles had said, and her first daydreams were about Rob. Their lives had been so carefree! It seemed almost blasphemous now that they had referred to final exams and research papers as pressures. And he hadn’t included “‘til death do us part” in his promise to her. It hadn’t occurred to him—to either of them—that death would come between them. Perhaps she should say good-bye to him. She never had—his death had been so sudden, and afterward she had wanted to hold on to him, not let him go. So in her mind she wrote to him, a long letter, and when she finished, she was thankful that there was no notepaper for her tears to soil.

  Of course the person who wrote the letter was her younger self, who no longer existed. She should say good-bye to her, too, to the innocent Jenny whose only pains had been growing pains and whose smiles had outnumbered her tears a hundred to one. For some reason this farewell was more difficult. Words were not enough. She wrapped her arms around herself and sobbed for her naiveté and her unmarred skin. Colin did not seem affected by her scars, but they were smaller on the outside than they were on the inside. The pain on the surface was gone.

  Charming, gentle, loving Colin. She had dreamed of meeting someone like him—how cruel of life to send him to her when circumstances conspired to keep them apart! He wanted to do things with her, not to her. He’d begun to show her how he liked to be touched, and she’d discovered that sex, even her incomplete experience of it, was not all dark and intense. They’d laughed sometimes, and always he’d wanted to be sure that he was giving her pleasure.

  Gradually she let her thoughts travel across the miles. If she were with him, what would she do? Kiss him so passionately that it would take his breath away! Then what? If she were in charge, where would she want him to kiss her? Where would she want his fingers to be? When would she stop him? No, this wasn’t supposed to be about stopping. She imagined that the breeze she felt, soft on her face and ruffling her hair, was his breath. His fingers were agile enough to undo her buttons and tender enough to make her flesh tingle. He had never hurt her. Hurt—wrong word, wrong thought. She started again, thinking, no, planning each stage. She felt a little more confident each time she saw him in her mind, caressing her, but she didn’t know if she could yield completely. No. Yielding implied that something wasn’t freely given. Would she ever be able to involve her body? Think it through, Dr. Knowles had said, but some things she’d just have to take on faith. Oh, she wanted Colin’s arms around her, not her own, and the tears that ran down her cheeks were cleansing ones, tears of longing because something deep inside her had softened and relaxed.

  CHAPTER 35

  The flyers that appeared the following Tuesday had been reworded. “Our daughter is still missing,” they read. “We are desperate. Please help us!” The photograph of Jenny was the same, but an arrow pointed to her cheek with the caption, “Small scar here,” and another detail suggested that her hair might be shorter. Scott’s defence team was the likely source, but none of them acknowledged anything when questioned by police. The contact number led only to an untraceable mobile phone. In addition, they’d been unsuccessful in identifying the individuals who had posted them. You didn’t have to be a criminal to accept a quick fifty quid for an easy job like that.

  Damn, Sinclair thought. She would not be able to come home at the weekend, and he would have to tell her. But not everything—not that this time bus shelters had been plastered with the bloody things as well as the train and tube stations. Last weekend had been difficult enough. She had been overjoyed to see him, but she had expected that they’d go home together on the Sunday, and when she’d heard him tell MacKenna to report back that evening, she’d known he would be leaving without her. They’d had a real row, Jenny not understanding his caution. He’d felt a right prick saying no, and the fact that he’d been correct in doing so was no consolation. She’d been in tears when he left.

  The danger was twofold. Someone could see her and report where, and someone could see her with him. She hadn’t left a paper trail anywhere that he knew of, but he could be traced. If a link between them were suspected, she could never come home. For her own good he had to keep her away.

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  Joanne had been shocked by Colin’s news that a second round of circulars had been distributed—MacKenna as well—but Jenny most of all. “Something has to be done,” the taciturn MacKenna insisted, and Joanne knew that he expected her to figure out what it would be. She rang her vicar, explained about Jenny, and asked him to call by.

  “Jenny, I’d like you to meet Father Rogers. Selwyn, this is my guest, Jennifer Jeffries. I’m serving tea in the conservatory, Jenny. You’ll join us, won’t you?”

  The table was already set. Sponge cake, fresh strawberries, sugar, clotted cream, all served on china plates. If Father Rogers were fed treats like this everywhere he went, no wonder his cheeks were round and his expression virtually jolly. All he needed was the red suit, and he would have been a perfect Santa.

  She shook his outstretched hand and accepted the cup of tea that Joanne poured. While they made small talk, Jenny blew gently on her tea to cool it.

  “Jenny, I hope you’ll forgive me, but I’ve told Selwyn a little about you.”

  “What did you tell him?” The heat she felt spreading from her chest to her face burned more than her tea.

  “Your history and the trials that are keeping you and Colin apart. I’ve wanted so badly to help you, and I’ve felt so inadequate. Jenny, I trusted him to bury my husband. You can trust him. I’ll leave you now.”

  Jenny watched her go, not knowing which was worse, the shock or the shame. She looked down. Her hands still held the teacup, but she couldn’t feel it. If Father Rogers spoke, she didn’t hear him. “Are you going to talk to me about God?”

  “If you’ll allow me, yes. If you prefer, I can help you talk to God.”

  “I have a psychiatrist. I don’t need to talk to God.”

  Rogers nodded. “A good psychiatrist can accelerate emotional healin
g. That’s a very positive thing to be doing.”

  “But not sufficient.”

  “In my view, no. A psychiatrist uses words and feelings. Sometimes God speaks to us with words, but more often he responds with gifts that are more lasting—hope, peace, and love.”

  “Well, he hasn’t sent me any of those!” she said angrily. “I’ve struggled for months, and the only difference is, now I get to do it all by myself!”

  Father Rogers ate another strawberry. “Jennifer, do you believe in God?”

  She raised her chin. “I think God would call me Jenny.”

  “He calls you Beloved,” Rogers answered. “Do you believe in Him?”

  His gaze was disconcerting. His glasses had no rims, and she felt he could see her far too well. “I guess so. Everyone says I should, because I didn’t die.”

  “That’s right. God has power over life and death. He is very powerful—powerful enough to break the chains that bind us to the past, powerful enough to create freedom from fear, powerful enough to bring good out of evil.”

  “Franklin Roosevelt used that phrase,” she said slowly. “Freedom from fear. I read a book about him recently.”

  “I don’t believe it’s a coincidence then that I used it today. God is very serious about communicating with us.”

  “What is He trying to tell me?”

  “That it is possible to live a life free from the bondage of fear. Love is the answer. Love God and trust that He loves you. He created you, and He loves you. And when you love someone, you always hope that they’ll love you back, don’t you?”

  Oh, yes. Colin in particular.

  “There is a corollary, forgiveness, because love and forgiveness go hand in hand.”

  She shook her head. “Forgive and forget the monster who attacked me? No!”

  “Jenny, I will never, ever ask you to forget. I will encourage you to remember and yet to forgive. Your forgiveness doesn’t excuse his behaviour; it doesn’t endorse it. It doesn’t affect his healing, but it does affect yours. It will remove the power your abuser still has over you and bring you peace.”

  “I can’t do this,” she said, unable to restrain the tears. “As Faulkner said, ‘The past isn’t dead. It’s not even past.’ He is still trying to kill me. There is no way I can do this.”

  “None of us can, without God’s help. With His help, we can decide to do it. That’s the first step. The second step is to do it, not once, but many, many times. The greater the offence against us, the longer it may take to forgive.”

  No kidding. She could not speak. Mercifully, Father Rogers did not stare at her wet cheeks.

  “Love is stronger than fear, Jenny. It may mature more slowly, but its roots are deeper and its life longer.” He looked up. “God’s presence is everywhere, but I always feel it particularly in this room. These wide windows enable us to see His world so clearly, don’t you agree?”

  “I’m not promising anything,” she finally said.

  “Of course not,” Father Rogers agreed. “That is a commitment you make to God, not to me.” He set his plate on the table. “May I pray with you before I go?”

  “I don’t think I’ll live long enough to forgive him.”

  Rogers smiled. “Then I will pray that you have a long life,” he said.

  “Will you pray for Colin, too? Joanne’s son.”

  “I know Colin well,” Rogers nodded. “I’ll pray that the love between you will grow.”

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  It was Saturday, and Colin and Jenny went for a walk. She knew Mr. MacKenna wouldn’t follow them; Colin had given him a twenty-four-hour leave. Joanne would not invade their privacy, either in the house or elsewhere. “Colin, I want to come home,” she said.

  His face was filled with concern. “Mac said you had a rough week.”

  “I did. It’s safe here, I know, but safety isn’t everything. We’re losing each other.”

  “Jenny, I can’t be certain that all the bulletins have been removed, or that new ones won’t be posted.”

  “Colin, I’ll wear dark glasses. I’ll bleach my hair. I’ll gain weight! September 14 is a week from Tuesday. It will have been one year since—since. Please don’t leave me here.” They had walked far enough from the house so they could not be seen. She stopped and put her arms around him. “I love you. I miss you,” she said.

  “This hasn’t been easy for me either, Jen.”

  “How about this? I’ll take my rolling bag and walk out to the lane. Someone will come along. I’ll hitch a ride. There’s a train station in Ashford, isn’t there? I’m sure someone would direct me—maybe even a policeman. I’ll buy a ticket for London and take a cab from the station to Hampstead.”

  “Mac would stop you, Jenny.”

  “What if I talked him into coming with me? I could hold a newspaper in front of my face. Or wear a hat with a wide brim. I bet your mother has one. Colin, there are so many ways I could disguise my appearance.”

  “Jenny, the risk assessment—”

  “Colin, I’m less afraid of the monster hurting me than I am of his coming between us.” It had been so long since he had held her, really held her. She pressed her body against his. “Tell me you don’t want me to come home.”

  He knelt down in the grass and took her in his arms. “This week,” he promised. “If your picture’s not posted, I’ll collect you this week.”

  “When?” she panted.

  “I’ll drive down Wednesday night. We’ll leave before first light on Thursday. I’ll have to work a regular day on Thursday.”

  Her smile was dazzling. Perhaps that was why her tears affected him so deeply—because they washed away her smile. She sat up, and he brushed the leaves from her hair and the back of her clothes. “When I scratch my chigger bites, I’ll think of you,” she teased.

  Her sense of humour, in the most unexpected places—God, he had missed her.

  CHAPTER 36

  Colin was at the wheel of his car, Jenny’s bags in the boot. No additional flyers had been posted, and after early morning good-byes, she was on her way back to Hampstead with him. When they arrived at the flat, Colin changed clothes quickly. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said. “I hope not too late.”

  She had the entire day ahead of her, and she had promised him that she wouldn’t go anywhere. She wrote a letter of thanks to Joanne and then decided to send a note to her own mother, in spite of the possibility that heart failure might result. She surfed the TV channels. She reviewed her Italian. By mid-afternoon she was sleepy, so she made herself a cup of tea, taking it, however, into Colin’s bedroom rather than her own. She missed him. She had come back from Kent to be with him, but of course he would gone a lot of the time.

  She took her cup back to the kitchen. She was still sleepy, and remembering Joanne’s words about sleeping on her husband’s side of the bed to feel close to him, she climbed into Colin’s bed and rested her head on his pillow.

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  When Colin came home, the flat was quiet. “Jenny?” he called. There was no response. He took a quick look in her room. Could she have gone out? After her fervent assurances that she wouldn’t? He stepped into his bedroom to hang up his coat, and there she was, asleep in his bed, her jeans in a heap on the floor. He reached over and stroked her cheek gently. “Jenny,” he smiled, “what are you doing in my bed?”

  She sat up slowly. “Missing you.” She pushed the covers back.

  Her feet were bare; her legs were bare. She had napped in her t-shirt and knickers. He watched her pull on her blue jeans. Damn. It hadn’t been an invitation.

  He had brought Chinese food for dinner, and she seemed shy and quiet while they ate. She leaned against him while they watched TV, and he reminded himself that Knowles’ restrictions were likely still in force and regulated his response to her. They did not have another appointment scheduled. Perhaps they would go later the next week if the tube a
nd train stations remained void of adverts about her.

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  Jenny lay in bed, frustrated with herself and the events of the evening. Colin had been warm and affectionate but restrained, and she had been unsure about how to proceed. Dr. Knowles had encouraged her to visualize making love to Colin, but he hadn’t told her how to make that vision a reality. One of them would have to make the first move, and she wished that he had—but of course he had, weeks ago, and she had shut it down. He couldn’t read her mind, and anyway, she was supposed to be responsible for herself. She slipped out of bed.

  His door was open. “Colin? Colin, are you awake?” she whispered. She heard a muffled sound. “May I come in?”

  He pushed himself up on one elbow, and the sight of his bare chest made her knees feel weak. She had her nightlight in her hand, and she held it out. “Would you plug this in for me? In here?”

  “Let me get some trousers on,” he said.

  She hadn’t realized that he slept in the nude. “No, don’t do that,” she said quickly. “Just show me where the outlet is.”

  He pointed to the left of the chest of drawers. She knelt down, affixed the light, and then approached the bed. “I’ve been in a cocoon, and I’m ready to come out. But there are so many butterflies in my stomach—will you help me?”

  “Jenny, are you sure about this?”

  “Yes. I want you, all of you, and I don’t want to hold anything back.”

  Her nightdress had thin blue straps on each shoulder. He pushed one aside. “You’re trembling, Jen.”

  “I don’t care. I love you so much.”

  He moved the other strap and watched the soft fabric slide to her feet. “Come here to me then.” He made room for her beside him.

  She did not have to tell him what to do. Kisses, deep kisses, which she returned just as passionately as they were given. Kisses everywhere, his hands everywhere. His fingers between her legs, then grazing her chest.