The Judas Tree, page 17
You stupid woman, the voice in her head said. You stupid, stupid woman.
Afterwards she lay beside him, not quite touching. He turned on his side and lifted a hand to smooth her hair. As he did so, she caught sight of the thin white scar that cut his palm in two.
Blood brothers.
‘Are you thinking about him?’
‘No,’ she lied.
‘Good. You can’t think about him when you’re with me.’
‘It doesn’t work like that.’
‘It does. When you’re with me, I don’t want him anywhere near you.’
‘This isn’t happening again.’
He sat up, eyes burning into her.
‘I want to go,’ she said, reaching for her shirt and hurriedly putting it on. ‘I want to get back to Will.’
Luke didn’t move immediately. But then he grabbed his clothes and started to dress, his movements staccato with obvious annoyance. She knew she should say something, perhaps even apologise, but instead she waited quietly for him to dress. She felt sick and drained, and numb with guilt.
She followed him out of the studio. Still he said nothing. He unlocked the car and she climbed in. She reached into the back for her bag and rummaged for her phone. There was a text from Will. She flinched at his name.
Are you coming home? If so what time? X
‘Can you drop me at Fulham Broadway?’ she asked, chewing lightly on her lower lip.
Luke nodded stiffly and turned the engine on as she typed a reply to Will.
Yes. About six.
She hesitated, then added a kiss.
They were silent on the drive back through London. At one point he reached for her hand and her body tensed. She pulled her hand away. His touch felt wrong now, not exciting but duplicitous.
‘I’m away on business for a week from tomorrow,’ Luke said, as he pulled over to let her out not far from the tube station. ‘I’ll get in touch when I’m back in the country.’
‘No, Luke,’ she said. ‘It was only today. It’s over now.’
‘I’m not sure it is.’
‘It is. I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear.’
‘I’ll call you when I’m back.’
‘You don’t have my number.’
‘It’s on the footer of your email.’
‘Please don’t call me. And don’t text either. If you have to contact me use my email, but I’d prefer you didn’t.’ She slipped her bag onto her shoulder and reached for the door handle. ‘I need to sort my life out.’
His jaw clenched with displeasure and his eyes flicked away from her.
‘Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.’ She opened the door and got out, then turned to look at him, but he avoided her eyes, staring out of the windscreen as if fixed on something in the distance, his fingers tapping rapidly on the steering wheel. Finally, he looked at her and nodded, and she closed the door. As soon as she did so, he shifted the car into gear and screeched away. She watched the car weaving aggressively between traffic lanes, and when she could no longer see it, she turned and headed in the direction of the tube station.
She arrived home a little earlier than she’d said. She stood in the entrance hall of their building for a few minutes, breathing deeply, trying to gather herself before opening the door to their flat. When she tried to unlock the door, she fumbled with the key, as images of her and Luke bombarded her, each sending a pulse of guilt along her veins.
‘Hi!’ called Will from the kitchen.
His voice cut into her. Familiar, the most familiar voice in the world. He’d only said one word but she could hear the note of excitement in him. How could he be excited? What on earth was there to be excited about?
He appeared at the kitchen door and smiled. ‘I wasn’t sure if you were staying here or at Sophie’s.’ He smiled again. ‘I’m pleased you’ve come home.’
Her stomach seized. ‘I’m just going to take a shower.’
‘I’ll be in the garden. Come out and join me when you’re ready. I’ve something to show you.’ He turned away but then stopped and looked back at her. ‘Oh, and Emma called. She asked if you could ring the second you got in, her words. She sounded a bit stressed, just to warn you.’
‘I’ll shower first.’
She walked into the bathroom, legs like jelly, and slid the lock shut. She ran the shower, undressed, made sure she pushed her clothes deep into the laundry basket, then stepped under the water and cleaned herself thoroughly, trying not to think of Luke’s hands and mouth on her. When she was finished, she wrapped herself in a towel, and as she did she caught sight of herself in the mirror. There were red scratches over her chest and neck. She stepped closer to the mirror and stared at her face. Her lip had a small cut on it. She lifted her fingers and ran them lightly over it. She recalled the way he’d cried out as he pushed into her and a wave of sadness swept through her. She was a different person now. Just two short weeks ago she was one half of a long-term marriage, a loyal partner, whose only want in the world was to conceive a baby with the husband she loved to take away the pain of losing one. Now she was someone completely different. A woman who’d had extra-marital sex with a man she barely knew. A liar and a cheat. She hated this new version of her. She hated her with a passion. She turned away from her reflection and walked into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. She felt unwelcome. The room telling her she had no right to be there. This wasn’t her space. She didn’t belong there.
‘Oh God,’ she whispered. ‘What on earth have I done?’
Chapter Sixteen
First year dormitory
Pendower Hall
Dear Mother and Father,
I hope this letter finds you well. School is fine. I’ve been doing my best and if you saw how hard I was trying you would be proud of me. The only thing I can’t do at all is rugby. I know this will disappoint you, Father. I’m just a lot smaller than everyone else and also not very fast at running. I will keep trying though! I quite like swimming, but it’s very cold and the water is quite green. If you are in the swimming team, you get to wear swimming trunks, but if you’re not then you have to swim naked, nothing on at all. When I said that I didn’t think that was fair to the PE teacher, he sent me to the headmaster for a caning. I’m learning the hard way that it really is best to keep your complaints quiet. Though I find it very hard! I’ve been saying my prayers every night and asking God to help you do your work. I hope the new church is built now and the villagers are happy they have love in their hearts at last. It’s sometimes quite hard here. Lots of the boys are unkind. There is one boy, a prefect if you can imagine, who is awful. Mother, you’d say he has the Devil in his eye. I never knew what you meant by that until I saw him. Now I know just what you mean. I’m teased every day but I do try to do what you said and ignore it, though it does get annoying and makes me very cross sometimes. Things are better now because … wait for this … I have found a friend!!! His name is William (Will) and he’s great. We like all the same things like adventure stories and the Beano, and we play this game where we pretend we are marooned on a desert island with cannibals who’ll eat us alive if they catch us. I know you will think this is a very foolish game but it’s really fun! Will is tall and quite strong for his age (our age, I mean!) and he thinks I’m very funny. It’s great! When I hear him laugh it makes me feel so happy I could burst. I feel like he is the only person in this whole place who understands me and likes me for being me and it is very comforting. As you know I have found it very lonely here but now I have Will things are looking up! We talk about everything and I can tell him what I’m thinking and even what I’m feeling deep inside. He has a camera so I’ll ask him to take a picture of us together and send it to you. You’ll see what good friends we are (you’ll just be able to tell)!!
The food here isn’t great apart from the puddings. Mother, you would love the jam sponge! They serve it with custard which is as yellow as the African sun and thick like glue but they must put a sack of sugar in it because it’s so sweet it makes my teeth hurt! The showers are stone cold and take your breath away but I’m used to those now. One bad thing here (there are a few but I won’t tell you them all!) is the morning runs we have to do on Tuesdays and Fridays. They make us get up at five-thirty in the morning and run up and down this hill four times. The hill is nicknamed The Killer and at the top you have to touch this tree and a prefect gives you a tick on a piece of paper when you do. It’s very steep and there’s another prefect who stands at the bottom and basically has the job of shouting. I am always one of the last to finish however fast I try and run. The masters are quite scary but they seem to know their jobs and I am certain I am getting a very good education, which I know is what you want for me. I miss the heat of Africa. I wonder if I will see you at Christmas or if I will be going to Aunt Grace’s? It would be nice to come home if you will let me. I’m not sure Aunt Grace likes having me under her feet all the time …
I am doing well in Latin and with my oboe. I’ll take Grade Six in January and Mr Granger thinks I should get a merit at least and a distinction if I’m lucky. I must sign off now as the bell is ringing for supper. (It’s right outside the study and is so loud it deafens you!) If I did have one wish it would be that you came and got me but I know this isn’t possible so I will not think about that anymore.
Please send my love to Nairobi. I miss it. I will try not to get cross or do anything that will make you embarrassed and I will keep trying at rugby, Father. Maybe God will help me with that one!
I know God loves you and the important work you do and I hope He loves me too.
Your loving son,
Luke Matthew Crawford
Chapter Seventeen
Will’s stomach buzzed with nerves as he waited for her. He began to pace, eyes fixed on the back door, fingers drumming his thighs. When he saw her coming into the kitchen he ran up to the back door so he could see her expression as she came into the garden. She stopped on the back door step, her hair wet from her shower, skin flushed and glowing, and took it all in. The surprise on her face dawned gradually, her eyes jerking from one thing to another, her head slightly shaking in disbelief. He wanted her to love it and he crossed the fingers on one hand behind his back.
‘I did the garden.’
‘I can see,’ she said, giving him a brief smile before returning to survey his work.
‘I know it doesn’t make things better, I know it’s not as simple as that,’ he said. ‘But I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said, about it being neglected and scruffy, and well, once I got started, I couldn’t stop. I had no idea I would love gardening so much.’
She stepped out onto the terrace, which he’d cleared of weeds and leaf matter, and he watched as she slowly absorbed the changes.
‘Do you remember how excited we were when we walked out here when we were buying the place? That estate agent droning on about how close the flat was to the tube station and the patisserie that sold the best custard tarts in West London and all we could do was grin at the garden?’
‘Did you have any help?’ She glanced at him before walking over to look at one of the flower beds. ‘So much has been done.’
‘No, but I started first thing this morning. I called Frank and told him I wouldn’t be in and as soon as you left I got going.’
He’d made himself a sweet, milky coffee, then dressed in a pair of jeans and an old T-shirt and set to work. He dug out an assortment of garden tools from the narrow lean-to shed, including an electric mower which hadn’t been used in over a year. He got a load of rubbish bags from the kitchen and a big blue tarpaulin to use for collecting leaves and weeds and debris. The more he worked the more driven he felt, moving in a frenzy of digging and cutting and weeding. Sweat poured off him as the close, tight heat pressed down. This was his way of showing her the future. He didn’t stop to wonder if this was something she wanted, he just knew he needed to tidy it up, that whatever the outcome – whether it helped or made no difference at all – it was symbolic in some way.
At just past one o’clock he took a break and went inside. He made himself a glass of orange squash which he drank in one beside the sink, then he opened the fridge, cut a chunk of cheese and rolled up a slice of ham, which he ate as he went back outside to assess his morning’s work. The place resembled a wasteland with rubbish, piles of weeds, clods of earth and clippings littering the whole area. He heard his mother’s reassuring voice saying things always looked worse before they got better, and for the first time in months he missed her. If she lived closer he’d have called her to come and help. She was a fantastic gardener, one of those sleeves-up kind of people who got jobs done quickly with no complaining. He wiped the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead and went back indoors to send a text to Harmony to ask what time she’d be back. She was usually home anywhere between five and seven, and today, the later the better. He wanted to have it perfect. He tidied up what he had done then spent an hour and a half turning the soil to reveal moist, deep brown earth, which made a world of difference.
‘Flowers,’ he said to himself.
He checked the phone for a reply from Harmony, but there was nothing. It was three o’clock. He’d taken a chance and driven to Homebase, the nearest place he knew that stocked plants. There he filled two large trollies with a variety of herbs, flowers and shrubs. He also picked up a couple of terracotta planters, a huge shiny blue urn, a fully developed specimen rose bush with flowers of such a deep red they could have been stained with blood, an Indian-style parasol with tassels and embroidery in a rainbow of threads, a small cast-iron barbecue, and some citronella candles to keep the midges away.
He checked his watch. He’d be home by half past four. He had wanted to cook her supper as well but he knew he wouldn’t have time. When he got home he put a bottle of Pouilly-Fuissé in the fridge and checked there was enough ham left. There were some olives as well, and right at the back of the cupboard, he found a jar of roasted peppers. Enough for supper. He went outside and began to position the pots and plants on the beds and terrace. He didn’t quite have time to dig them in, but at least it gave a good impression of what it would look like after another day or two working on it. At quarter past five he finally got a text from Harmony to say she’d be home at six. He didn’t have long. He ran inside and rinsed the dirt, sweat, and grass clippings from his skin and changed into clean clothes, then grabbed a few bits. He laid a rug on the freshly cut lawn, leant the parasol at an angle over it, lit the citronella candles and placed them around the rug. His heart began to pound with excitement; he couldn’t wait to see her. He couldn’t wait to start trying to make her love him again.
His heart sank a little when she went straight in for a shower. He was like a child impatient for Christmas morning. When she appeared ten minutes later her face seemed softer, still sad, but without the underlying anger. But maybe that was wishful thinking.
Now, standing in the garden, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘It’s not supposed to make you cry.’
‘It looks great.’ She wiped her eyes as she walked across the small area of mowed grass to the opposite flowerbed. ‘You’ve done so much. The plants are lovely,’ she said.
‘I didn’t have time to get them in the ground.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll help you tomorrow. Do you know what they all are?’
‘I’ve kept the labels. I’m going to try and learn their names.’ He walked over to her, then took her hand and gently pulled her up to the top end of the garden where he’d put the rose in the large blue pot. He touched its petals gently. ‘This rose is called Danse du Feu. Isn’t that lovely?’ He turned to her. ‘It reminds me of the time you and I went to Anglesey, and we lit a fire on the beach.’ He stared at her, waiting for her to nod, but instead she avoided his eyes, seemingly hypnotised by the brilliant red petals of the rose. ‘We danced in the sand beside the fire. Do you remember? When I saw the name it made me think of that. Now it’s in the garden and every time I look at it I’ll remember that night. We were so happy then, weren’t we?’
She nodded and smiled sadly. ‘That seems a long time ago.’ Her arms were crossed, hands clasping her elbows tightly. He could see the whites of her knuckles. He tried to fight his disappointment. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting from her but this passive sorrow was heartbreaking.
‘Harmony,’ he said with a deep breath. ‘I’m not asking you to forgive me. I just heard what you said, that’s all. The garden needed doing and I wanted to do it for you. For us.’
She didn’t say anything, just looked at the ground, and hugged herself more tightly.
‘You stay here. I need to grab a few things from the kitchen. I’ll be back out in a sec.’
He ran inside and opened the fridge to get out the wine, which he put into the clay wine cooler she’d given him the day North End Wine opened for trade. He put it under his arm then picked up the tray he’d already filled with the food, two glasses, and a corkscrew.
Harmony was sitting on the seat at the far end of the garden, her hands loosely clasped and resting on her knees. He put the tray on the rug on the lawn, then knelt down, smarting a little at the pain in his lower back. He thought of his mother again, of all the times he’d seen her out in their garden, pausing to stretch her back as she weeded on her knees for hours at a time.
Harmony came to join him and he handed her a glass of wine then leant over to put the bottle back in the cooler. She looked pale and drawn, her lips tight, as if she was in some sort of pain. ‘Are you feeling OK?’
She sat on the rug, knees pulled tightly in to her chest. ‘I’m tired, that’s all.’ She glanced at him again. ‘I love the garden. You’ve worked so hard and it looks beautiful.’ She gave a thin, watery smile that didn’t hold.
‘Well, you were right,’ he said. ‘When you said it was neglected. There was no reason for it and it’s my fault.’
