The Judas Scar (26 page)

Luke was silent.

‘He needs me.’

‘So you won’t leave him because he has problems? Surely the fact he has problems is exactly why you should leave him.’

‘That’s a very simplistic way of looking at it, Luke. It’s not just because he has problems. I’ve been with him for over twenty years, lived with him and his problems for all that time. But his issues clearly have roots in a difficult childhood. He’s internalised what went on. All this time he’s told me his past doesn’t affect him, but it does.’

Luke blinked slowly and sat back in his chair. ‘It’s difficult to articulate what damage can be caused by people like Alastair Farrow. We all deal with bad experiences in our own ways, whatever ways we think will work best, but for all of us there will be times when we can’t control our emotions. But you can’t stay with Will because of something that happened to him twenty-five years ago. You have to stay with him because you want to stay with him.’

‘I want to stay with him.’

‘That’s not what it looks like to me.’

‘I was angry with him. So angry it clouded my judgement, but he’s my husband. You were married,’ she said, glancing at him, unsure if mentioning his wife might upset him. ‘You must understand what I’m saying. There are times you are close and times you drift apart. It’s not as simple as falling in and out of love, something starting and something finishing.’

‘This isn’t about my marriage. Or yours. It’s about us.’

‘You’re not listening to me … ’ She stopped speaking then as she saw a group of men come into the restaurant. ‘Jesus Christ!’ she hissed sharply and dropped her head, lifting a hand to shield her face from them. ‘It’s Ian!’

‘Really?’ Luke glanced over his shoulder. ‘I know he likes this place.’

She turned on him angrily. ‘You brought me to a place that you know my best friend’s husband goes to?’

‘I didn’t know he’d be here.’ Luke seemed unconcerned.

‘Hide your face!’ she said, as she began to panic. ‘He’s going to see me.’ Her eyes darted around as she looked for the nearest escape from the restaurant. ‘He’ll think there’s something going on between us.’

‘Then he’ll be right.’

‘You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You knew he was coming here. Oh my God, you want Will to find out.’

He didn’t say anything.

‘Jesus,’ said Harmony, glancing over at Ian’s group.

‘Calm down. We’re just having lunch,’ he said. ‘We bumped into each other. It’s perfectly innocent.’

‘What will Emma think?’

‘He won’t tell her.’

‘Of course he will,’ she said through gritted teeth. She glanced up again and saw Ian and his companions about to sit at a table on the other side of the restaurant.

‘He won’t because I’ll tell him not to. I’ll tell him not to tell either of them.’

‘And you think he’ll do what you say?’ she asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

‘Yes, he’ll do what I say. I’m his lawyer.’

She shielded her face, while keeping her eyes bolted on Ian who was sitting with his back towards her. ‘I’m not staying here and letting Ian know we … ’ She stopped herself from finishing the sentence. ‘I don’t want him to know we’re having lunch together. Will can’t ever know about this.’

She tried to stand but he grabbed hold of her wrist.

‘Will doesn’t deserve you,’ he said then. ‘He has no idea what he has. He takes things for granted, Harmony.’

Luke’s fingers dug into her skin as a raw anger seemed to be taking hold of him.

‘Let go of me, Luke,’ she said firmly. They locked eyes for a moment or two and then she felt his fingers release. She stood and picked up her bag. ‘It’s over.’

‘It isn’t.’

She leant in close to him. ‘Yes, it is. Leave me alone. You and I are finished.’

‘We haven’t even started.’

‘Then there’s nothing to finish, is there?’ she hissed.

She stood up straight and glanced over towards Ian again. He was deep in conversation with one of his companions. She took a deep breath and then started to walk towards the door, her head angled away from his table, eyes on the floor. Her heart thumped as if it might break through her chest. Any moment he was going to spot her. Any moment he’d call her name across the restaurant.

When she reached the door, she pushed out into the sunshine and walked as quickly as she could past the window. As soon as she was clear of the restaurant, safe from Ian’s view, relief washed over her. She glanced back towards the door, but thankfully there was no sign of Luke and she broke into a jog to put as much distance between them as possible.

C H A P T E R    T W E N T Y - O N E

His aunt sat in the driver’s seat and clipped her seat belt in. He sat in the back seat and stared at the back of her head.

‘Your father,’ she said, as she turned the Morris Minor’s engine on, ‘is speechless.’

Luke studied her hair, the way it clumped together in greasy, grey whorls. The rosy pink skin on the back of her neck was patched with some kind of flaky skin condition that left dandruff on the shoulders of her heavy black coat.

‘Did you hear me?’ She shook her greasy head and and then turned to look at him for a moment, her lips pursed together as if she’d tasted something nasty. ‘I asked him: “Simeon, do you have a message for your boy?” He said: “I do, Grace, tell him he has let us down. Tell the boy he has let us all down.”’ She shook her head again and he saw flakes of dandruff falling on her coat like snowflakes on a coal face. ‘Expelled!’ she shrieked so suddenly he jumped out of his skin. ‘Expelled from school. And I had to look that headmaster in the eye. I’ve never been so humiliated in all my days! I feel quite faint. I won’t be surprised if I have one of my turns. Oh, the shame … ’

As she droned on, Luke rested his forehead against the cool of the window and watched the world pass as they drove down the long driveway, through the dappled shade of the lime trees, past the stupid lions on their stupid pillars, leaving Farringdon Hall behind. The injustice of what had happened overwhelmed him. He imagined his father in the stark whitewashed room he called Meeting Room, the African sun squeezing its way through the small high-set windows. He could see him sitting in his straight-backed mahogany chair, the cushionless seat curved with a polished dip where three generations of Crawfords, all of them men of the cloth, had sat and passed judgement on the sins of others. He imagined him shaking his head, his grey eyes ashamed and disappointed, his hands clasped and lying heavily on the Bible that rested on the empty desk in front of him. He heard him preaching on love – on God’s love, on human love. His father, the expert on love. But he knew nothing. The closest he and his mother got to love was taking hold of each other’s hands as they walked into the hut they called Church every Sunday morning to preach at the ‘black-skinned heathens’. His father knew nothing of true love, nothing of opening your heart so wide to another that you’d weep if you thought about it too carefully. He knew nothing of the impact that love could have. Or of betrayal. The antithesis of love.

Luke stared at the scar on his palm, still red and angry even after so many months. But it was healing. It didn’t hurt or itch anymore. The skin was repairing, knitting itself together. He clenched his fist closed, his fingernails raking against the scar. He wouldn’t let them win. None of them. Not his father, not Drysdale, Aunt Grace, Will, Alastair Farrow, or any of them. They knew nothing. They were idiots. They knew nothing about anything. But he knew. He knew about love. Love was out there. Somewhere in this putrid, unjust world, love flourished.

C H A P T E R    T W E N T Y - T W O

‘Mum, it’s me,’ Will said, as she answered the phone.

‘William? Gosh, I wasn’t expecting a call from you.’

‘I’m sorry I haven’t called for a while.’

There was a silence from the other end of the line.

‘We haven’t seen you in ages, as well,’ he said then.

‘No,’ she said.

‘I was hoping we might come down today? Are you around?’

‘Oh, well, there’s a few things I was supposed to be doing, but I suppose I could cancel them. Are you sure you want to make the journey? It’s such a long way.’

‘It’s not that far, and I … ’ Will hesitated. ‘I’d really like to see you.’

‘Then that would be lovely. If you want to you could always stay the night? I could cook supper.’

‘Yes, okay, let me talk to Harmony first. I haven’t asked her yet. I’ll call and confirm when I have.’

Harmony was dressing when he went back into their room.

‘I’ve just spoken to Mum,’.

‘How is she?’ Harmony said, as she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her jeans on.

‘She sounds okay. We didn’t talk for long. I thought we might drive to Cambridge to see her? She suggested we stay the night. What do you think? The forecast is for hot weather. We could take her for lunch at The Horseshoes.’

‘I can’t. I’m sorry, there’s some work I need to finish. I’m behind already. I have to get it done.’

‘Really? But it’s the weekend. You’ve been working so hard recently. You could do with some time off.’

‘I’ve got Jacob on my back – he’s still not happy with my report. I’ll stay here and work today, then catch the train down.’

Will tried to hide his disappointment. He’d hoped they’d be able to travel down together. The way she’d hugged him when he spoke to her about school had given him hope. He was convinced their marriage was salvageable. Though Harmony seemed a thousand miles away, lost in another world and unable to meet his eye, he was desperate to keep her near him. The thought of them spending the night apart made him nervous, as if he needed to keep her in sight at all times in case she disappeared into thin air like a magician’s dove.

‘Jacob should give you a break, you know.’ He paused to let her speak, but she said nothing. ‘Look, I’ll take the train today and leave you the car, save you mucking about with tubes and taxis.’

He walked through the kitchen and unlocked the back door and breathed in the fresh, early morning air. There was a dewy dampness to it that made everything smell more vibrant. He went out into the garden and turned the hosepipe on and began to water the plants, transfixed by the rainbow sheen in the sunlit spray.

‘You’re enjoying the garden, aren’t you?’ said Harmony, from behind him. He looked back towards the house and saw her leaning against the doorframe, barefoot in her dressing gown.

He smiled at her. ‘Yes, I am. Who’d’ve thought it, eh?’ She smiled back at him and his heart leapt. He put the hosepipe down so the water ran into the flower bed and walked over to her.

‘Harmony, I know there’s lots wrong and I—’

‘I’m not sure I’m able to talk now,’ she said, drawing her dressing gown tighter across her body.

‘I don’t want to talk. I’ve said it all. You know where I stand. Everything I’ve said, how sorry I am, how determined I am to change, it’s all still true. But I can see you’re unhappy.’

‘I’m—’

‘No, let me finish. I don’t want you here just in body, us living in the same space but not really together. It won’t work like that. If we’re going to stay together I want you back properly – body, mind and soul. I’m terrified of life without you, but stepping around each other on eggshells is unbearable.’ His voice began to crack as he spoke. ‘Being with you but suspecting you don’t want to be here isn’t how I want to live my life.’

Harmony nodded. ‘I want to be here. I want to be with you.’ She stopped there, but Will could see there was so much more she wasn’t able or willing to say.

He ended up spending longer in the garden than he’d intended. He found gardening restful, a chance to let his mind drift, and before he knew it, it was nearly lunchtime. He went inside and packed his bag, then opened the door to her study to tell her he was going. She was staring at her phone. She looked up at him, her face pale and pinched, and turned her phone face down on her desk.

‘You okay?’ he asked.

She pursed her lips and nodded. ‘Are you off?’

‘Yes, I’ve just phoned Mum and said I’d be there by three.’ Harmony chewed on her lip and he saw her eyes had filled with tears.

‘Do you want me to stay?’ he asked.

‘No.You must see Gill. It’s been far too long.You need to spend some time with her.’ She gave him a weak smile. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Her phone began to vibrate on her desk. He saw her tense. She glanced at it but didn’t pick up.

‘Are you going to answer it?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ll call whoever it is back when you’ve gone.’

As he left the flat he wondered if she would make it down to Cambridge the following day, and if she didn’t, whether she’d be there at the flat when he got home.

At Kings Cross Will bought his ticket, then went to the newsagent to buy a can of Coke and a newspaper. He waited on the platform for the train and realised how long it had been since his father’s funeral, which was the last time he’d been to their house. That was back in May of the previous year. He’d last seen his mother when she came to stay with them at Christmas. Six months was a long time not to see her and he felt a rush of guilt. When she’d stayed with them at Christmas, she’d still been lost without his father, wandering from room to room, unsure where to put herself, offering to help but not knowing what to do. Harmony had been kind to her, given her jobs to try and occupy her. She’d asked her to peel the potatoes then quietly removed any bits of skin she’d missed without comment. She’d made her cups of tea and talked to her, sat and stroked her hand when she cried. Will had observed his mother’s grief with mild irritation. He couldn’t understand, Christmas or not, how she could still be so upset seven months after the man’s death. He’d bitten his tongue on numerous occasions to stop himself telling her she was better off without him, that after years of living with his overbearing, authoritarian nonsense, she was finally free to enjoy her twilight years. But he was good and said nothing. He watched her cry, watched her stare silently into the middle distance, watched her trudge about the place. It hadn’t been a good Christmas. Sophie and Roger were in Scotland with his family, so it was just the three of them in their flat for four days. It had rained and sleeted continuously, and his mother hadn’t wanted to do anything or go anywhere, so they’d sat in the living room, watching television in numb silence. On Christmas Day, Harmony’s morning sickness had meant she’d barely eaten anything, and when he lit the brandy on the pudding and the blue flames had leapt up to dance their graceful dance around it she fled the table with her hand over her mouth, leaving him and his mother waiting at the table listening to the sounds of her throwing up in the bathroom. She returned to the table, her skin tinged green, and as she sat down he passed her a portion of pudding.