The Judas Tree, page 15
‘I’m sorry.’
‘A sorry isn’t going to make this better.’ She sighed and exhaled slowly. ‘You lied to me. When I lost the baby, when I needed you the most, you gave me no support. You didn’t care. But it’s not just that. It’s the secrets. Everything you keep hidden from me. I know there’s something you’re not telling me about Luke. I can see it. Why won’t you open up to me? I hate how easily you keep things from me. You should be able to trust me. I should be able to trust you. Without trust what’s the point? Right now, right this minute, it feels like we’ve wasted the last twenty years investing in this relationship.’
‘Don’t say that.’
She lowered her eyes, her fingers shredding the tissue so it fell in bits like snow.
‘Harmony, listen to me. You’re wrong.’ He pulled out a chair and sat opposite her. ‘It’s not easy keeping things from you. It’s harder than you can imagine, but I do it because that’s how I deal with things. I don’t want to spend time discussing school with you. Luke, Alastair Farrow, the caning and bullying, it’s not worth talking about. I don’t need your sympathy or pity and I don’t want that shit in our lives. It’s irrelevant.’
‘Of course it’s not irrelevant. Your past, that intricate jigsaw of experiences, makes you the person you are today.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I put it behind me so I was able to become the person I am today. But I hear you. And, yes, maybe I should share more with you. When it comes to the vasectomy there’s nothing I can say to defend it. It was a huge mistake not discussing it with you. I can see that now.’ He paused. ‘With all this crap in my head, I don’t always think clearly. I’m not like you. I can’t put feelings into words like you can. When you lost the baby, I knew how upset you were but I didn’t know what I could say or do to help. Whenever I thought about what to say it sounded insincere or dismissive.’ He shook his head. ‘You say I didn’t care, but that’s not true. I did care, I just wasn’t any good at showing you.’
Her eyes filled with tears again and she balled up the remains of the tissue.
‘Everything I did or said seemed to make things worse. I went onto the internet and read up about it – about losing a baby and what I should do to help – but nothing I found seemed right, and …’ He paused, finding it difficult to speak. ‘And of course I’d had the operation and felt so bloody guilty. The more upset and withdrawn you got, the harder it was to know what to say. In the end I convinced myself that if I just got on with it, tried to keep positive, eventually we’d be OK. But I know I got it wrong.’ Then he leant forward again and placed his hands on hers. ‘I love you. Please, let’s go back to where we were. Let’s make things OK again.’
She stared at him, her face still, her eyes as sad as he’d ever seen them. When she spoke her voice was quiet. ‘A part of me wants that. But there’s another part of me that’s still hurting. Maybe I should try and be better. See the bigger picture. Tell you it’s OK and move on. But if I’m honest, I don’t think I can. I’m hurt and I’m angry, but worse than that, sitting here opposite you, it’s like you’re a stranger. Like I don’t know you. So where does that leave us? What do I do? Go through the motions of being a couple and hope those feelings just go away?’
‘They will go away. I promise.’
‘I’m not sure they will.’
When she left the table, he didn’t follow. There was nothing more he could say. He walked into the garden. It was peaceful and still. Dusk had seen off the heat of the day and there was a suggestion of rain in the air. A movement from behind the study window caught his eye. He watched Harmony sit down at her desk, her shadowy figure moving slowly. He saw her put her glasses on then become still as she stared at the monitor in front of her. He wondered if this was what the rest of their lives might look like, two separate beings tied together in marriage, detached and resentful, circling each other warily. Would that be better or worse than her leaving?
He sat at the table and picked at the flaking rust. Would it have been different if he’d shared everything with her? If he’d described that first horrendous night at prep school? All those homesick eight-year-old boys curled up in uncomfortable beds, abandoned, the sound of stifled crying intermingling with the creaks and groans of ancient timbers and pipes. Should he have described how he’d lain awake wondering what he’d done to upset his parents so much they would send him away? Should he have described the smell of that scratchy grey blanket, heavy with damp and disinfectant, and how he’d hidden from the smell by pushing his face into the teddy he’d brought. Should he have told her the teddy was itemised on the uniform list sent out before the beginning of term?
One small soft toy (if required).
It started to spit with rain. Will turned his face upwards and closed his eyes, waiting for the tiny specks of wet to hit him. He pictured Harmony’s face when she’d told him about the miscarriage. How puffy her eyes had been. How her pale skin had been blotched with deep pink. How her chin had trembled when she said the words.
‘Our baby died.’
She’d looked up at him, tears coursing her cheeks, her breath coming in short snatches.
‘A miscarriage?’
She nodded and her shoulders began to quiver.
He’d sat beside her and pulled her into him, his arms around her, his chin resting on her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, kissing her hair.
His thoughts had been a jumble. He hadn’t known what else to say. Everything that came into his head sounded trite and insincere. His emotions were all over the place. The relief he felt shamed him, the unexpected sadness shocked him.
‘Do you need to see a doctor?’
She sat back and shook her head, pushing her palms against her red-rimmed eyes. ‘I’ve already been. I went this morning.’
‘I should have taken you.’
‘There was nothing you could do,’ she said through her tears. ‘I didn’t want to worry you if nothing was wrong.’ She sniffed. ‘I was hoping she’d tell me it was OK, that the bleeding was normal and the baby was fine. But when they scanned me there was no heartbeat. Nothing at all.’ Then she started to sob again. ‘Oh, Will, it was awful.’
The drizzle turned to rain. He sat there for a while, but soon the drops became too heavy and too cold. Inside, he took his wet shirt off and threw it in the direction of the washing machine. He was surprised to see it was nearly ten o’clock. He peered into the bedroom and saw Harmony was already in bed, the covers pulled tightly over her shoulder, her back facing him. He knew if he went to bed now he would only lie staring at the ceiling, battling his thoughts, and it was too wet to walk. He went through to the study and turned the computer on, shivering slightly as his damp skin cooled. He pulled Facebook up, wondering if Alastair had accepted his friend request.
God knows why he would. Will imagined him sneering at the thought of it.
But when the page loaded he saw there was a notification.
His stomach turned over.
Alastair Farrow hadn’t just accepted his request. He’d sent him a message.
Will English? My God, you haven’t changed a bit! What a blast from the past. It’s been a long time. Are you still in touch with any of the lads from school? I was glad to hear from you – surprised too – I was a bit of a cock at school! I notice you’re in London. I’m not far away, near Camberley in Surrey. Married to Diane. Two ankle-biters, a boy and girl, Charlie and Bea. We should go for a drink. It would be good to meet up again and hear your news. In fact, another friend from school (Toddy – not sure if you remember him) mentioned hooking up for a drink soon. I’ll let you know if we do. If you can join us that would be great. Cheers (and no hard feelings) Al
Will’s first response was a burst of spontaneous laughter. He leant closer to the screen, his hand rubbing at his chin, head shaking slowly in disbelief. He reread the message a couple of times. Had Alastair really written that? Had he really dismissed his behaviour in that offhand way? Called himself a ‘bit of a cock’, introduced his children, then signed off with no hard feelings?
Will sat back in his chair and stared at the screen.
Alastair Farrow.
The seventeen-year-old who recurred in Will’s nightmares now wanted to meet up to laugh about all the bit-of-a-cock-things he’d done, buy him a drink for old times’ sake, let bygones be bygones, catch up on all the news. Will stared at the message until Farrow’s words blurred and his back had stiffened.
Harmony was asleep, or perhaps pretending to be, when he finally crept into bed. He lay beside her, drumming his fingers against the duvet, his mind whirring. He should ignore Alastair’s message. He should unfriend him. He had enough to worry about with his faltering marriage without wasting anxiety on Alastair bloody Farrow. He should forget all about him. Erase him. Push him back into the dark shadowy corners of his mind where he belonged.
But the more Will thought about the flippant tone of the message the more angry he became. How could Farrow pass off what he did with such glib, throwaway comments? Did he seriously expect Will to have no hard feelings?
He thought back to that afternoon.
You’re pathetic, English. Get the fuck out of here.
Will climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb Harmony, and went into the bathroom. He closed the door quietly then leant over the basin, turned the tap on, and splashed water on his face. He lifted his head slowly and stared at himself in the mirror, his face lit only by the muted moonlight, his skin in shades of blue and shadowed. It was hard to decipher his features. He appeared indistinct, as if fading into nothingness.
A nothing man.
He bent and splashed his face again.
You’re pathetic.
Chapter Fifteen
Talking to Will hadn’t helped. If anything it had made things worse. She now realised there was nothing he could have said in the kitchen that would have made his actions easier to comprehend; hearing him apologise was as bad as hearing him justify it. She imagined him making the decision – booking the procedure, travelling to the hospital, signing the operation papers – all without a thought for her. And then there were his secrets about school. Whatever it was it was partly to blame. She hated that he’d never felt able to open up to her. Even after she told him about her mother’s death, her father leaving, the difficulties she and Sophie had faced growing up.
The phone on her desk rang, the flashing red indicating an external call. She rubbed her face then reached for the receiver.
‘Dr Hanney?’ she said as she picked up.
‘It’s Luke.’
Her heart stopped. She glanced around the office instinctively, but her colleagues were moving about their business as normal, oblivious. ‘I told you not to contact me,’ she whispered, lowering her head.
‘I want to apologise. My behaviour yesterday was inappropriate. I’m––’ His voice broke for a second or two. ‘I don’t know what came over me. Losing my wife … It’s not an excuse, but I’m sorry.’ He sounded distraught.
Harmony had a flash of him leaning close to her, his hand brushing hers, his whispered intent hot on her skin. She pushed the thought away, flicking at her wedding ring with the tip of her thumb.
‘Please will you let me see you? Just to say sorry. I promise I won’t behave in any way that will make you feel uncomfortable.’
‘Luke, I don’t think––’
‘Please? I can’t stop thinking about how I behaved. Let me make it up to you. I know you wanted to talk about Will. We can do that. I can tell you about him when I knew him. Back then.’
She thought of him leaning in to kiss her and a flash of heat rose up her neck.
‘Please, Harmony. Just a coffee.’
‘Look, you have nothing to apologise for.’
‘I think I do, and I do want to be friends. I want to reconnect with Will. That part of my life was fairly hellish, but Will was my friend. He was important to me. I want to get to know him again.’
The sincerity in his voice was striking and she’d be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t intrigued by the thought of getting to know Luke and hearing about him and Will. Would it help her understand her husband? Would it help her process the anger she was feeling towards him? It certainly couldn’t hurt and if it shed some light on what was going on beneath his surface then that could only be a good thing. ‘Yes, OK. I’ve got time for a coffee.’
The relief in his voice was palpable. ‘That’s great. Can you take a break now?’
She cast her eyes at the pile of papers she had to work through. ‘Sure.’
After she put the phone down, she sat and stared at her screen amid the office of people chatting softly, reading, writing papers, preparing for presentations, and recalled his smell as he’d leant close to her and the way her skin tingled when he’d touched her. She dropped her face into her hands and breathed in the hot, trapped air. Her skin tingled.
Was she making a mistake?
‘Are you OK, Harmony?’
She swung around to see Alice standing behind her. She gave her a strained smile. ‘Oh, yes. Yes, I’m fine.’
Alice furrowed her brow. She’d worked in the department for a long time and was a few years older than Harmony. She had, as was agreed by all, a heart of gold and took the health and well-being of her colleagues very seriously.
‘You look flushed. Do you have a temperature?’
‘No, nothing like that.’
Alice didn’t believe her.
‘Honestly, I’m feeling fine. Thank you for asking.’
Alice still didn’t look convinced. Harmony smiled as broadly as she could manage and Alice reluctantly returned to her desk. Harmony thought of Luke coming to the office and swore under her breath. Why the hell had she agreed to meet with him? She rubbed her throat with her hand, catching Will’s Tiffany heart with the edge of her finger, unsure what to do.
No, that wasn’t true.
Of course she knew what to do.
She opened a new email.
Actually, work crazy. I can’t leave office at the moment. It’s all fine. No harm done yesterday and look forward to Will and I getting together with you another time.
Did that sound right? Was ‘look forward’ too much? She hovered her fingers over the send button for a moment or two then pressed it.
She imagined him in his office, maybe a large open-plan area on the top floor of a glass and steel building, or a private room with an antique writing desk and leather chairs and shelves of leather-bound law tomes. She saw him opening her email, his hair falling over his forehead, his intense eyes locked on her words, and had another flash of the way he’d looked at her, as if he wanted to consume her whole.
She sat back from the computer and looked around again. Her breath caught in her throat. She took her bag off her chair and walked down the corridor towards the ladies. She kept her head low, and hurried past Alice’s desk without making eye contact. She shut herself in a cubicle, closed the seat of the toilet, and sat down to check her phone for a reply.
Nothing.
Her heart started racing again. This time with panic.
Luke, I can’t leave work at the moment. Can you email me back to say you’ve got this message?
She stared at the phone, willing an email to appear.
‘Shit,’ she breathed.
Was he already on his way?
Her stomach knotted with nerves as she opened the cubicle door. When she got back to her desk she tried to focus on her report, editing her words with a red pen, glancing at her screen every few minutes hoping to see an email from him.
Her phone rang. An internal call. She picked up.
‘There’s a Luke Crawford in reception for you.’
She swore silently.
‘Shall I tell him you’re on the way down or send him up?’
‘Don’t send him up. I’m coming down,’ she said, quickly. She had a vision of Luke waiting for her downstairs and chewed the edge of her nail.
As she waited for the lift to arrive, butterflies gathered in her stomach.
‘Just tell him you can’t meet him today,’ she said under her breath.
She had an unbidden image of him leaning in to whisper in her ear. The way he’d told her he wanted her.
The lift doors closed and she pulled her ponytail out and shook her hair free.
When she stepped out into the lobby, however, there was no sign of him.
‘Hi,’ she said to the man on reception. ‘You said there was a Luke Crawford here to see me?’
The man gestured out of the doors. ‘He said to tell you he’s waiting in his car. The silver one just there.’
She stepped outside. It was a muggy day, the summer sky a yellowy-grey, heavy with the promise of rain. She ran up to the car, polished and gleaming, which was parked on the double-yellows directly in front of her office, and tapped on the window.
When he lowered it, she started to speak. ‘I’m really sorry, but something’s come up.’
Luke leant over the passenger seat and opened the door. ‘Can you get in? I’m badly parked.’
As if on cue a cyclist swerved around the car and glared angrily at Luke.
The voice in her head told her not to get in the car, but then he asked again. ‘Harmony?’
Seeing him made her legs weaken. She had a vivid image of kissing him, right there and then, not saying a word, just leaning into the car and pushing her lips against his. She pushed it away. She had no idea what was going on in her head.
‘Luke. I …’ Her voice caught in her throat. ‘I can’t …’
‘Will you get in?’
There was a note of force in his voice she wasn’t expecting. She glanced over her shoulder, half-hoping Alice or another colleague was there so she’d be compelled to send him away and go back to her desk. But there was nobody there to witness it, so she climbed in and closed the door.
‘I haven’t got time for a coffee,’ she said, avoiding his eyes. ‘Sorry.’
