The Judas Tree, page 16
He turned in his seat to look at her. A heavy silence held them, wrapped in the heat of the car, its smell – new leather and the scented air freshener that hung off the rear-view mirror – sickly sweet. ‘Then we won’t have coffee.’
She turned her head to look at him. His expression was steady, his eyes boring into hers. She took a breath.
‘You said––’
Then he leant forward and kissed her. Lightly. Quickly. His hand on the side of her face.
She pulled back. ‘No.’
He smiled. ‘No?’
‘You told me you wouldn’t.’
‘I told you I wouldn’t do anything to make you feel uncomfortable. Which, looking at your face, I haven’t done.’
‘You said coffee and a chat.’
‘Both of us knew it wasn’t going to be that.’
She shook her head. Her heart was thumping.
‘Don’t lie to yourself. If you didn’t want this as much as I do, there’s no way you’d have put yourself within half a mile of me.’
Was he right? Had she lied to herself? Was this a way to hurt Will back? Was this how she knew her marriage was over? People who wanted their marriages to survive didn’t get into the car with someone they were attracted to. Someone who’d recently so brazenly propositioned them.
‘It’s OK to do this,’ he said softly. ‘Life is for living. We get one go and filling it with regrets is a waste.’
‘It’s not that simple,’ she whispered.
‘It’s extremely simple. I want you. Very badly. And you want me. Nothing more than that. Denying it is way more complicated.’ He leant closer, his mouth only inches from hers, tilted his head, raised the backs of his fingers and grazed her cheek. ‘Nobody needs to know but us.’
Then he pressed his lips against hers and this time she kissed him back.
When they broke apart, she felt weak with guilt. ‘I’ve never done anything like this before.’
‘It doesn’t matter what you have or haven’t done.’
‘But I haven’t. It’s important you know that.’
‘Why?’
She didn’t know why. She wondered whether it was herself she was talking to. Whether she was trying to excuse her actions, convince herself of her own good character. One stain on a lily-white record.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I can’t. This isn’t me. I don’t understand what’s going on.’
‘I’ll tell you what’s going on,’ he said. ‘You and I met through a mutual connection. I have a past with Will and you have a present with him. I am as interested – no, fascinated – in his present as you are in his past, and this has drawn us to each other.’ He reached out and traced her lips with the tips of his fingers. She tingled where he touched her, lifting her eyes to meet his and as soon as she did he smiled again – a gentle, unthreatening smile. ‘Added to that,’ he said, ‘unless I’m reading the signs wrongly, we are both undeniably attracted to each other and our attraction is so strong it’s impossible to ignore. I know you’re having problems with Will. I saw it immediately when I asked you if you were happy. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to connect with another person. Sometimes, when a marriage is struggling, it helps. Pushing our attraction underground won’t make it go away, it will only make it grow. You’ll be thinking about me. I will become a fantasy. How will that help your marriage? Maybe this is what you need. Did you think of that? Maybe feeling free will give you the space you need to make things work. I have no desire to break the two of you up. I don’t even want a relationship. I just want to have you. Give me one afternoon and I promise, after that, I’ll walk away.’
Harmony tried to speak, but no words came out.
‘Is that fair?’
His question reverberated in the stillness of the car.
Fair? On who? Not on Will. It wasn’t fair on Will in the slightest.
‘I can’t do this to him.’
He took her chin between thumb and forefinger and turned her face towards him. He slid his hand down over her jaw and throat. He leant closer to her, his face centimetres from hers, the smell of him filling her. His eyes were fixed on hers. ‘How will he ever find out?’
She closed her eyes and gave in to it with a slight nod. She had never done anything like this before. How much of this was revenge on Will? A way to hurt him as he’d hurt her. A way to break his trust. A way to prove to herself that she didn’t need him, that she was her own person, and that if he was able to keep things from her, she was able to keep things from him.
‘I’m going to kiss you again,’ Luke said. ‘Then I’m going to drive you to my flat.’
He moved closer to her so his lips brushed hers and sent electric pulses shooting through her body. She knew then it was too late. There could be no more protesting. No more denying the inevitable. She was going to sleep with him and her head swam with the illicit thrill of it. She turned in the seat, the skin of her thighs sticking to the hot leather, and wrapped her hand around his neck. Her fingers knotted into his hair and she pulled him to her. Their lips met and she was overwhelmed with desire. It erupted inside her as if she was taking her first breath of oxygen. He kissed differently to Will, harder, more insistent, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth, exploring her, tasting her.
He drew away, his lips glistening with a sheen of saliva. ‘You consume me.’
She trembled with adrenaline, her hands quivered, her lips tingled. ‘You don’t even know me,’ she whispered.
The shadow of a smile passed over his face. ‘I know all I need to know. I knew it the moment I first saw you.’
Luke turned the engine on and pulled away from the kerb.
‘You believe in love at first sight?’ she asked as he drove.
‘Love at first sight?’ he repeated with amusement. ‘I never talk about love. It’s a fatuous, overused word that’s impossible to quantify. How long does it take to fall in love? Minutes? Years? Love means different things to different people and it’s a one-way street. One of every pairing always loves more than the other. Love is cruel. What I’m talking about – attraction, desire, chemistry – these are the things that matter. You can love a car or a film or a food, but sexual desire is much more specific. Do I believe in desire at first sight? Yes, of course I do. Chemical desire is instantaneous.’
She knew what he meant. She’d felt it too. Outside the cloakroom at Emma’s party she’d felt their instant attraction. Perhaps that’s when the future was etched in stone. Perhaps it was inevitable at that very moment that she would sleep with him. Perhaps it had nothing to do with her disintegrating marriage or Will’s dishonesty or her lost baby, but everything to do with a raw attraction for this man she didn’t know.
She was hit then by a realisation. She didn’t want to know more about him. She didn’t want him to be anything more than an enigmatic ghost from Will’s hidden past. She didn’t want to see his home, she didn’t want to look at the books on his shelf or see the pictures he chose to hang on his walls. She needed him to stay a stranger. If she kept him unknown then she could distance herself from what she was doing. When they walked away from each other it would be over.
‘I don’t want to go to your flat.’
‘Why not?’
She hesitated. ‘I can’t explain. I just don’t want to.’
‘Where, then? A hotel?’
She imagined having to walk into a hotel reception and face the knowing eyes of the person behind the desk. A person who’d handed over keys to countless couples with false names who were chasing a few clandestine hours of sordid sex. ‘No,’ she said, then glanced into the back seat of the car.
He smiled briefly. ‘Absolutely not.’ He paused. ‘What about the photography studio?’
She did a double take and furrowed her brow. ‘How do you know about that?’
‘Will told me about it. He said he never goes there. He said he hadn’t set foot in it for over a year.’
‘Did he?’
‘Yes, when I came over. I asked him if he still enjoyed photography. How else would I know?’ he laughed. ‘Is it locked though?’
‘There’s an entry pad. I know the code.’
Harmony thought about it. They couldn’t. Not in Will’s studio. But the more she considered it, the more she wondered if it might be perfect. It was safe and anonymous. She didn’t feel connected to it in any way. And, yes, it would hurt Will if he knew, but no more than if he knew what they were doing. She felt a stab of guilt, but then, as if in reply, she heard Will’s voice.
When it died I felt relieved.
Fuck Will. Fuck Will and his callous relief.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We can go there. You’re right, he never goes there, and definitely not mid-week as he’s always at the shop. Head down towards Battersea. It’s a few roads on from the power station.’
She felt for her wedding ring and began to turn it in precise quarter revolutions as she recalled the moment Will had slid it onto her finger. His eyes had sparkled and he’d laughed, standing there in his light blue seventies-style suit, flowery open-necked shirt, scuffed leather shoes and mismatched socks.
‘Who’s going to see my socks?’ he’d said, as they dressed together, bucking tradition and driving to the registry office in the same car. But his trousers were a couple of inches too short and when he sat down they rode up his legs, revealing the black sock on one foot and the striped one on the other. After they exchanged rings he leant forward and told her he loved her, three whispered words that had made her heart sing.
‘I love you too,’ she’d replied.
Just meaningless words? Was Luke right? Was love an unquan-tifiable concept as unstable and ever-changing as a sand dune?
‘Take it off.’ Luke’s voice jolted her from her thoughts.
‘Sorry?’
‘The ring. If it’s bothering you, take it off.’
‘It’s not the ring that’s bothering me.’
‘If you’re having second thoughts, you need to tell me. I’m not going to force you to do something you don’t want to do. If this is too much for you, I’ll drive you home. Do you want me to do that?’
Harmony thought of the flat, dark and cramped and filled with sadness. She thought about Will and her moving around each other in their separate spheres, her avoiding being in the same room with him, those loaded, bitter silences.
‘I don’t want to go home.’
Harmony directed Luke to the small yard where Will’s photographic studio was located. They parked up and got out of the car. Nerves and doubt began to curdle inside her. This was starting to feel seedy and as they walked over the small, unevenly paved forecourt, full of weeds and potholes, she fought the urge to bolt. There were four small warehouse-style buildings, prefabricated and boxy, that bordered three sides of the yard. One was vacant and dilapidated; another was used as a private storage facility; the third belonged to a motorcycle mechanic; and then there was Will’s studio. It was smarter than the others. She and Will had spent a few weekends painting it back when he bought it, the walls in white emulsion, the window frames and door in navy gloss. They’d painted the inside as well, pulled out the rotten carpets, replaced the broken panes of glass in the window, and cleared away the rubbish. She remembered Will eagerly screwing the stainless steel sign to the door then stepping back to read it aloud.
‘Will English. Photographer,’ he’d said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.
Harmony and Luke walked up to the door and with a shaking hand she punched the numbers into the keypad.
1209.
Will’s birthday.
She stalled as another paralysing wave of doubt bowled into her. Luke bent down and lightly kissed her neck. She pushed Will from her mind and slid the handle back to open the door. It was dark inside and they were hit by a wall of stale, cool air, heavy with the smell of the damp concrete floor. Harmony reached to the side to turn on the lights, and a moment or two later the fluorescent strip lights flickered into life. She stared at the large empty room, the sofa to her left, the white wall in front of her, lighting stands and spotlights to the right. Will’s space. She saw him then, tinkering with his camera, glancing up at her, smiling as he focused the lens on her.
Luke opened his mouth to speak.
‘Don’t say anything,’ she said. ‘Just kiss me.’
As she said the words, she was filled with self-loathing. She bit back tears. Who was she? She didn’t recognise herself. What had happened to her?
His eyes searched hers, flicking almost imperceptibly back and forth, then in one movement he grabbed hold of her shoulders and pushed his open mouth onto hers. One hand went to the back of her neck and the other moved over her breast, pushing hard against her. And in that moment, everything she was feeling – the confusion, the hurt, the betrayal and anger – fuelled an overwhelming need for him. Every part of her ached for him to erase every bit of emotion. As she lost herself in what they were doing, the pain she’d been carrying for so long now began to fade. The more it faded the more she wanted him. She grabbed at his waistband and fumbled with the button and zip. His fingers dug into her. He pushed her backwards against the wall as his hand went to the hem of her skirt, pulling it up and over her hips. His fingers felt for her underwear. She broke away from him to take them down. He dropped his head and buried his face in her chest, she pitched her head backwards, raking her fingers across his back. As he lifted her against the wall, she wrapped her legs around him. He kissed her neck, her chest, her stomach, and ran the flats of his hand up her sides and the insides of her arms, pushing them above her head and clenching her wrists against the wall. She noticed then a roughness about him, a mounting aggression, and when she opened her eyes she was taken aback by the look on his face. Not lust or tenderness, but a reflected anger, his eyes glazed over, mouth twisted into a grimace. His fingers tightened their hold on her wrists as if she were trapped in a vice. He pushed his body hard against her so her shoulder bones grazed the wall.
‘Be careful,’ she whispered. ‘You’re hurting me.’
His fingers loosened immediately and he breathed into her neck. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to.’ His breath came in short, gasping bursts.
She put her hand against his cheek to calm him. When she felt him relax she whispered into his ear: ‘Do it now, Luke. I want you to fuck me.’
He pushed himself inside her and cried out, then bit down on her lip. She winced, tasting the metallic tang of blood.
‘I’ve wanted this so much,’ he said hoarsely.
As he drove into her he seemed to retreat, become distant from her, as if he was somewhere else. It was over quickly and his head collapsed into the crook of her neck as her body slid down the wall. She loosely draped her arms around him and they both breathed heavily. He stepped back and she pushed her skirt down as Luke pulled up his trousers.
He took hold of her hand and led her to a side room off the main area. It was small and contained a tattered chaise longue that Harmony had fallen in love with from the Portobello Market, a coffee table, and an old chest filled with unusual items – a bowler hat, a silver-topped cane, beads, a plastic pot plant, a large Chinese fan and the like – that Will used as props in portrait shoots. His old camera and camera case and a long lens lay on the table, beside a coffee mug with a thin layer of dried mould.
‘He never puts anything away,’ she muttered. ‘It drives me mad—’
‘Don’t think about him.’
She held her tongue, resisting the urge to tell Luke it was impossible not to think about Will. He was there with them. This was as much about Will as it was about her.
‘Why were you angry just then?’ she said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘When we had sex.’
‘I could ask you the same question.’
‘I asked you first.’
‘It’s complicated.’
She nodded. ‘For me too.’
‘I want to look at you.’
She smiled. ‘You are looking at me.’
‘No, I want to look at you properly.’
He reached out and began to undress her. His face was blank. He undid each button on her shirt methodically. Ran his hands down her shoulders to slide it off her. Undid her bra. Gently lowered the straps down her arms. He bent to undo the zip of her skirt then eased it down over her hips.
Luke stepped back and stared at her. His dark eyes took her in. Unease settled over her. Having him study her like this, naked and in full light, made her feel vulnerable, as if he was inspecting goods, looking for imperfections. She became aware of her body, those bits of herself she didn’t like; her bony hips, the appendix scar on her stomach, the large, dark mole on her stomach, the broken veins on her thighs. She felt dirty. Worthless and cheap. A husk of herself, her morals and goodness sucked out. She lifted her arms to cover herself.
‘Don’t.’ His voice was firm; the sound of it made her heart skip a beat.
‘I don’t like it.’
‘Don’t like what?’
‘The way you’re looking at me.’ Harmony was conscious of how quickly she was breathing, how shallow and hurried each breath was. ‘Being naked like this, with you dressed, you staring at me. I don’t like it.’
He touched his fingers to her mouth to quieten her. Then he reached for his shirt buttons and started to take his own clothes off. They had sex on a rug on the floor. This time there was no rushing or desperation or anger. He was gentle. She should have enjoyed it but she didn’t. Without the rush of anger and intensity she was left with the very painful feeling this wasn’t her husband. It was as if a witch’s curse had been lifted. As if scales had fallen from her eyes. With his every touch, with each moan of pleasure he made, she wanted him less. At one point she put her hand to her mouth to stop herself crying out. Guilt and shame engulfed her. As he kissed every part of her, slowly and deliberately, all she could think of was Will. Everything about this other man felt wrong now, alien, unpleasant. His smell and the feel of his skin. His hard, muscular body. Luke whispered unfamiliar words into the curve of her neck. When he stroked her she wanted to recoil. She closed her eyes and took herself away.
