Freeing Grace (31 page)

Under the eaves, just outside my window, I noticed a row of rather ramshackle nests. I hadn’t spotted them before. They seemed to be made of mud. Swallows, perhaps, or swifts, long gone. They’d be back. Mum used to say that swallows in New Zealand don’t migrate. They don’t feel the need to leave home, she said. It’s the people who go away. And she smiled at me sadly from below her messy, unplucked eyebrows, as though she could see into the future.

I heard a soft crunch in the mist and Perry appeared around the corner, wearing green gumboots and a baggy jersey, wheeling a metal barrow. He was carrying a shotgun under one arm. Laying it against the picket fence, he stepped into the vegetable garden, took a spade from the barrow and began to dig energetically. I could hear the blade scraping into the earth. It was an alien sound, metallic in the limp stillness.

The man had incredible stamina. I wondered if he ever slept.

As I watched him, something stirred over by the compost heap. It was just a small movement, but I glimpsed it from the corner of one eye. It was my old mate the rabbit, peacefully lolloping across the grass. He was hidden from Perry by the fence, and didn’t seem at all disturbed by the man’s presence. Perhaps at ground level the fog muffled the sounds of digging. I watched him. He moved slowly, unhurriedly, his back end tipping up like a rocking horse with each hop, pausing every now and again to sit upright and twitch his ears. Suddenly, for no reason that I could fathom, he broke cover and raced for the hedge. I caught the white flash of his tail.

I didn’t even see Perry move. I just heard the shot echoing away through the mist, and my rabbit somersaulted high into the air. I don’t imagine he felt anything.

The man was a hell of a shot, I’ll give him that. He broke his gun, walked over to the crumpled body and picked it up by the hind legs. Then he chucked it onto the back step where it lay, small and twisted, and he went back to his digging.

I pulled on shorts and trainers, took the stairs two at a time and stepped out through the back door, glancing apologetically down at my little furry friend as I passed. His brown eye was already glazing over. I’d seen
that
before.

Perry straightened and raised a friendly hand. His breath billowed into smoke. ‘Ah, Jake. Good morning.’

‘Hi, Perry. That was a bloody good shot.’

‘Well, you know. One tries to keep one’s hand in. I wasn’t too bad a marksman in my day.’ He lifted the spade again and drove it into the earth. ‘When I was a child, I was very fond of Beatrix Potter’s works. I sided with Peter, of course. But now I’m firmly in Mr McGregor’s camp. The little blighters do so much damage.’

‘Can I give you a hand out here?’

He shook his head. ‘I need the exercise. You look as though you’re off for a run? Well done. I’ll have coffee ready in half an hour.’

He seemed a good man, I reflected as I pounded down the muddy lane. I liked him, and I enjoyed his company. Yet he killed without any guilt at all. And he lied, all the time. And so did she.

By the time I panted home, filthy and feeling more than a twinge in that bloody knee, the kitchen was warm and smelled of coffee and toast. Perry’s cage was gilded, all right. I looked around for Deborah, listening for her footsteps. Funny how the place seemed different now that she was home from Kenya. More colourful.

‘Where is everybody?’ I asked Perry, spreading butter on my toast. ‘Matt’s at school, is he?’

‘No.’ He pushed the plunger down on the coffee. ‘He and Deborah have gone into town to see the solicitor.’

She wasn’t about to appear, then.

‘Could I get online this morning?’ I asked, taking the milk out of the fridge.

He waved the back of one hand towards the door. ‘Absolutely. Go ahead.’ He rubbed his hands together, brightening. ‘Got your route planned?’ Without waiting for an answer, he disappeared into the hall for a second and came trotting back with one of those enormous atlases, big as a tombstone.

‘Let’s take a look,’ he suggested gleefully, opening the book up on the table. We both leaned over it. Perry traced lines on the page with one finger. ‘You’ll cross the straits, I assume . . . Morocco . . . look in on Fez, here. The Atlas mountains are extraordinary. I know them quite well . . . and over the border into Algeria just here. This’—he placed his palm flat onto the page—‘is Sahara.’

I glanced at him. He was completely absorbed, as though he was planning this trip for himself.

‘D’you want to come with me, mate?’ I asked. It was a pretty crass question, I suppose, but I meant it. I’d have been happy to have him along. Honoured.

The lines on his face seemed to deepen. ‘Bless you, Jake. No. But I’ll be with you in spirit every inch of the way.’

Deborah and Matt arrived home as we were debating whether it was practicable to drive across the Congo, nowadays. Perry reckoned it was out of the question. The road was impassable and various militia were still causing havoc. He thought I should go through Angola. Deborah marched in, shot a vicious glance at the two of us and raised her eyebrows coldly. I could tell straight away she was in an odd mood.

‘Ah. Biggles and Algernon, planning their next daredevil escapade.’ She dumped two bags of shopping down by the fridge. Matt drop-kicked three more across the floor before disappearing upstairs. No one suggested he should get off to school.

‘How was your meeting?’ asked Perry.

‘Well, it’s all going according to plan. Stuart’s heard from Imogen Christie. The assessment team—whatever that is—will roll up here on Monday morning.’

‘Darling! That’s fantastic!’ gushed Perry.

Deborah met my eyes and then looked away. ‘Stuart seemed to find the whole thing quite amusing. Says Lenora Blunt was apoplectic when I turned up yesterday.’

Perry twitched the side of his mouth. It was almost a smile. ‘You’ve certainly put the cat amongst the pigeons.’ He held out his arms as though she was the cleverest, sweetest wife in the world and hadn’t twice tried to dump him for a beach bum. ‘I knew they wouldn’t be able to resist you. Who can?’

She smiled, slightly flirtatiously I thought, and let him kiss her on the cheek. I was open-mouthed. Last time I looked she was torn asunder by her love for Rod. Now she was all dimpled and fluttery at an empty compliment from Perry. Bloody women. Not that I cared. She wasn’t mine, and she never would be.

I’d had enough of the games and double-speak. It was all well beyond me, so I grabbed my coffee and left them to their parallel universe.

In the study, I turned on Perry’s state-of-the-art desktop and waited while it warmed up, soothed by the familiar beeps and clicks. I heard the door open and guessed who was there, but I didn’t look around as she padded across Perry’s deep green carpet. She came and stood beside me, but I ignored her. I busily scribbled notes while the search engine was looking for
Niger
and
visas.
After a minute, she started fidgeting.

‘You’re squinting at that notebook, Jacob. You need reading glasses. I’ll bet you’re too vain to wear them, though . . . What’re you doing?’

I peered at the screen. ‘Visas,’ I grunted, in the end. ‘I’m planning on driving to Cape Town.’

‘Can I come?’

I just laughed scornfully and clicked the mouse.

‘Are you cross, Jake?’

Double click.

‘For heaven’s sake,’ she breathed, exasperated. ‘You’re as bad as Matt.’

She wandered over to the window, pulling back the velvet curtains. The glass didn’t let in much light. I could make out the drive through the murk. There was my car, faithfully waiting on the turning circle, all ready for me to make my getaway.

‘He’s my husband,’ she said simply. ‘We go back a long way. And we have a long way to go. How do you expect me to behave?’

I looked back at the screen, glaring defiantly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her rest her palms against the glass. I scrolled down, trying to concentrate on the job in hand, and then gave up and swung the chair around to face her.

‘Look, Debs. It means less than nothing to me whether you go running back to Perry or not. I just find it sort of gobsmacking that you can slot back in and coo away like a pair of bloody paradise ducks. It just does my head in, that’s all.’

There was a second’s silence. Then she arched one eyebrow. ‘Jake Kelly! Are you
jealous
?’

I could have hit her. My dad would have knocked her clean across the room. I forced a derisive snort, and turned back to the screen.

She took a step towards me. ‘Which of us are you jealous of ? Me or Perry?’

When I ignored her, she stormed over to Perry’s futon and threw herself down. ‘I come home, having bargained away my life, to find you two all cosily snuggled up over an atlas, droning on about the state of the roads in bloody Burkina Faso.’

‘The Congo, actually.’

‘You know what? I think you’re flaunting your freedom on purpose. It’s completely immoral anyway, thumping across Africa in a gas-guzzling truck, roaring past people who don’t even have enough water. It’s voyeuristic and obscene. Why don’t you go on a bicycle? Why don’t you find some voluntary work and do something useful for once in your life?’

‘Ha! I don’t need a lecture in morality from
you
.’

‘Frankly, I don’t care whether the pair of you go to Timbuktu or the devil.’

‘Feeling’s mutual.’ I knew I was behaving like a child. I scribbled a couple of addresses and then glanced over my shoulder. ‘You’re still here, are you?’

‘I’ve told you,’ she said. ‘We’re all trapped in hell. The lot of us. I dream about burning the place down and killing us all.’

‘Well, I’d appreciate it if you’d wait until I’ve left.’

And then she was standing at my shoulder. Citrus and cloves. I could feel her. I still can. It was like leaning against an electric fence.

‘Don’t be cross, Jake.’ She reached out a forefinger, ran it along the line of my jaw.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t even breathe.

‘You have an extraordinary mouth,’ she said quietly. ‘Did you know? It’s a work of art.’

The fingertip lingered on my bottom lip.

‘Sulky,’ she whispered. ‘I love it.’

That did it. I shoved her hand away. Stood up. My head felt like a pressure cooker. ‘Sod off,’ I muttered through bared teeth. ‘Just sod off.’

She dropped her hand. ‘No,’ she said calmly. ‘You can’t help. How can
you
set me free?’ She turned away.

The door clicked shut behind her. Two minutes later, I heard her car swing out of the garage and accelerate down the lane.

I spent another hour staring at the screen before I shut it down and walked out to my own car. I pressed the lever to open the boot and then stood, gnawing at my knuckles, trying to work up the motivation to cart all my gear out of the garage.

‘Stupid tart,’ I grumbled, but without much conviction. ‘Bloody mad as a March hare.’ In the end, I went into the garage and lugged the first cardboard box out to my car. When I came out with my third load, Matt was waiting.

I raised my eyebrows at him. ‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’

‘Study day.’

‘Yeah? Your school seems very keen on study days.’

He shoved his hands even further into his pockets, doing a convincing imitation of a stroppy young bull. ‘Friggin’ study day.’

‘Fine by me, mate. You can give me a hand.’

He watched as I dumped a duvet onto the passenger seat. ‘What’re you doing?’

‘I’m leaving. Time for me to be off. I’ve got things to organise, you’ve got a baby on the way, and I think your mother’s had more than enough of me.’

He didn’t say anything, just lowered his eyebrows by about two inches and sunk his head between his shoulders. God knows how long he would have stood there, snorting and pawing the ground, if Deborah’s car hadn’t reappeared, looming up the drive like a red ghost in the mist.

She parked just behind me and hopped out, looking perfectly normal, as if I hadn’t recently told her to sod off; meanwhile I whistled tunelessly under my breath as if her touch wasn’t still setting fire to my lip.

She spotted the gear piled into the boot of my car. ‘Jake! You’re not leaving us?’

Something had got hold of me around the throat. I shoved a pile of pillows on top of the duvet, trying to stay angry. She shot a glance at Matt and then swiftly moved to stand between me and the garage.

‘Look, I’m sorry, Jake. I behaved like a bitch. I was jealous of your freedom, jealous of who you are . . . jealous because you can go back to Africa, and I can’t. I had no right. Please forgive me.’

‘It’s no big deal,’ I mumbled. I probably looked a bit like a wounded bull myself. ‘But it’s time for me to move on. I have to camp on the doorsteps of all these embassies. You’ve got assessment people on the way.’

‘I don’t give a toss about them,’ growled Matt. He grabbed the pillows and headed stubbornly into the garage with them.

Deborah leaned into the boot and retrieved a suitcase. ‘Please, Jake? Stay until after the weekend at least. And leave your things here.’ She glanced unhappily towards the blind, brooding windows of the house. ‘We need your sanity.’

I wondered about her definition of sanity. I wondered when mine had deserted me. And—most of all—I wondered what the hell I thought I was doing, lifting my gear back out of the car.