The Judas Tree, page 21
‘Do you?’ He sounded accusatory rather than curious.
‘Just because a marriage has rough patches or people make mistakes, doesn’t mean you stop loving each other.’
He let out a contemptuous sigh. ‘That word. God, that pointless word. Love. What does love even mean?’
‘Don’t try and belittle what I’m saying. You know what it means. Or, I don’t know, maybe you don’t. But I do and I know I love him. And,’ she hesitated, not wanting to be disloyal, ‘he needs me right now.’ She glanced at Luke. ‘Lots of things he’s tried to forget have resurfaced since he saw you. Yesterday he met one of the men who bullied him.’ She watched his face for a reaction, but there was nothing.
‘Who?’ he asked.
‘Alastair Farrow.’
‘Farrow,’ he repeated. ‘Why did he see him?’
‘I don’t know. I think they contacted each other through Facebook. Anyway, Will was in a state when he got home. I think he wanted some sort of closure which is why he met up with him. But they ended up fighting. He got angry and made a scene. Threatened the guy. When he got back he was upset. It really shook him.’
Luke was silent but his mind was whirring, his fingers tapping the table rapidly.
‘Will needs me right now.’
‘And so you’re staying with him because he has unresolved issues?’
‘That’s a simplistic way of looking at it. I’ve been with him for over twenty years. 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 deal with bad experiences in our own ways – whatever ways we think will work best – but there will always be times when we can’t control our emotions, when we are at a low point. But you shouldn’t stay with someone because of some bad things 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. It was a mistake. 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—’ She stopped speaking suddenly as a group of men came into the restaurant. ‘Jesus Christ!’ she hissed 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. Her eyes darted around as she looked for the nearest escape from the restaurant. ‘He’ll think there’s something going on between us.’
‘He’ll be right.’ Luke smiled.
‘Oh my God. Please tell me you didn’t do this on purpose. Did you know he was coming here? Shit. Are you wanting 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.’
‘Emma will know that’s not true. I’m never in this part of town. What reason would I have to be here?’
‘Ian won’t tell her.’
‘Of course he will,’ she said, through gritted teeth. She glanced up again. Ian and his companions were settling themselves down at a table on the other side of the restaurant.
‘He won’t because I’ll tell him not to.’
‘And, what, he’ll just do what you say?’ She shook her head in disbelief.
‘Yes, exactly. I’m his lawyer, remember?’
She shielded her face, while keeping her eyes bolted on Ian, who was sitting with his back towards her. ‘I’m not staying here. I don’t want Ian to know we’re having lunch together.’ She was filled with such genuine fear then, she knew for certain that she wanted to do anything she could to fix her marriage.
She stood. As she did so Luke grabbed hold of her wrist.
‘Will doesn’t deserve you,’ he said. ‘He takes things for granted, Harmony.’
Luke’s fingers dug into her skin.
‘Let go of me,’ she said firmly. They locked eyes for a moment or two before his fingers loosened. ‘This?’ She gestured to the two of them. ‘Whatever it was? It’s over.’
‘No.’
She leant in close to him. ‘Yes. Leave me alone. You and I are finished.’
‘We haven’t even started.’
‘Then there’s nothing to finish, is there?’ she hissed.
She straightened then glanced in Ian’s direction again. He was deep in conversation with one of his companions. She took a deep breath and 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. At any moment he was going to spot her. At any moment he would 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, away from Luke, relief washed over her. She looked over her shoulder, back towards the restaurant, but thankfully there was no sign of Luke. She broke into a jog to put as much distance between them as possible.
Chapter Twenty-One
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 a sprinkling of dandruff on the shoulders of her heavy black coat.
‘Did you hear me?’ She shook her greasy head 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 towering trees, past the stupid lions on their stupid pillars, leaving Pendower Hall behind. The injustice of what had happened overwhelmed him. He imagined his father in the stark whitewashed room he called the 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 about love. God’s love and 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 to the ‘uncivilised heathens’. His father knew nothing about love. Nothing about opening your heart so wide to another person that you’d weep if you thought about it too carefully. He knew nothing about the impact that love could have. He knew nothing about 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 out there in the putrid, unjust world, love flourished.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘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.’
‘I’m sure you’ve been busy.’
‘I should have called.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said.
‘I thought I might come to see you. Today, actually. If you’re around?’
‘Oh,’ she sounded rightly surprised. ‘Well, there’s a few things in the diary, 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. Will you stay the night? I could buy a chicken to roast.’
‘Great. Yes. Let me talk to Harmony first. I haven’t talked to her about it yet. I’ll call you back when I have.’
Harmony was dressing when he went into their room. ‘I’ve just spoken to Mum.’
‘How is she?’ Harmony sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her jeans on.
‘She sounds OK. We didn’t talk for long. I suggested going to see her. She asked if we’d like to stay the night. Are you able to? I know you’ve got a lot of work on at the moment. 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 so behind.’
‘Oh, OK.’ He couldn’t hide his disappointment. ‘I need to go still. She sounded happy I was coming.’
‘I bet she was. Look, how about I get some stuff done today then catch the train down. Get there in time for dinner?’
Will wished things were back to normal. Both of them were still so tense around each other. Tip-toeing about warily. Harmony seemed so distant, lost in a place he didn’t have access to. He needed her near him. Now he’d begun to open up about his past, he felt a desperate urge to keep her in sight at all times in case she disappeared into thin air like a magician’s dove.
‘If you’re sure. I’ll take the train and leave you the car. That way you’re not tied to timetables and can come when you done.’
He left her to finish getting dressed and walked through to the kitchen to call his mother. After they’d spoken he unlocked the back door, and breathed deeply, enjoying the 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. It was a simple job but he found it peaceful, meditative almost.
‘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 with a cup of tea cradled in her hands.
‘I am,’ he said, smiling. ‘Who’d have thought it?’
She smiled back 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 know I’ve made mistakes. Really bad mistakes.’
She dropped her eyes and shook her head. ‘It’s not just you. We both have.’
‘I want you to know that I’m sorry. Truly. And I’ve been thinking about it all. I would do anything I can to make our marriage work, but I can see how unhappy you are. It’s hanging over you like a cloud.’
‘It’s not—’
‘No, let me finish. What I’m trying to say is, I don’t want you here just in body, living together but not really together. I don’t want you here if you’d prefer not to be. If we’re going to stay together, I want you to want to be with me. I can’t imagine life without you, but stepping around each other on eggshells is unbearable.’ His voice began to crack. He knew these things had to be said, but the risk of her nodding, agreeing she could never be happy again with him, was terrifying. ‘Being together but worrying you don’t want to be here isn’t how I want to live my life.’
Harmony nodded and forced a tight smile. ‘I want to be here.’ 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 had discovered 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, face pale and pinched, and placed her phone face down on her desk.
‘You OK?’ he asked.
She nodded tightly.
‘So I’m heading off. I told Mum 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?’
‘No, you must see your mum. It’s been far too long. You need to spend some time with her.’ She gave him a weak smile. ‘I’ll try and get down tonight. But if not, then 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 King’s Cross Will bought his ticket, then went to the news-agent to buy a can of Coke and a newspaper. As he waited on the platform for the train, he felt regret that he’d left it so long to see his mother. He hadn’t been to her house since his father’s funeral, which was back in May of the previous year, and the last time she’d been up to visit them was at Christmas. Six months was a long time not to see her; talking once a week on the phone just wasn’t the same. 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 easy and uncomplicated jobs to occupy her. She’d asked her to peel the potatoes then quietly removed any bits of skin she’d missed, her loss distracting her, without comment. She’d made her cups of tea and talked to her, sat and stroked her hand, and reassured her she’d be OK. Will, on the other hand, had observed his mother’s grief with mild irritation. He couldn’t understand, Christmas or not, how she could still be so broken seven months after his 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 kept those words inside him. 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 non-stop, 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, occasionally playing cards without enthusiasm. 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 leapt up to dance, 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. When she’d returned to the table, skin tinged green, he’d passed her a portion of pudding.
‘Half that amount,’ she said weakly.
So there they were, three silent people with paper hats gamely balanced on their heads, sitting in front of Christmas pudding with pregnancy-friendly brandyless butter slowly melting its sugary innocence over their best china plates. Harmony had tried to smile as he stood to clear the plates.
‘It will be a lot noisier next year, won’t it?’ she said to him and his mother. ‘I mean, with this little one.’ She patted her tummy. ‘And we’ll be with Soph’s lot too.’ She looked at him, her face falling for a second. ‘Maybe we should stay here if we’ve got the baby. We might prefer to be at home rather than at Sophie’s. God, how on earth will we all fit in?’
Will had walked away from the table with an unkind shake of his head.
‘The baby isn’t even born yet. Can’t we just get through this difficult Christmas without worrying about the next?’
No wonder she couldn’t look at him.
The train pulled into Cambridge and he lifted his holdall off the luggage rack. His mother and father had moved from their rectory outside Ely to the terraced house on the outskirts of town as soon as his father was diagnosed with colon cancer. His mother was heartbroken leaving the house and garden. His father showed no emotion whatsoever, though in fairness he had more pressing things on his mind. He’d lived another two years, battling his illness with a stoic bravery that Will had begrudgingly admired. He’d been in and out of the oncology unit at Addenbrooke’s on what seemed to be a weekly basis. Chemo, radiotherapy, surgery – he’d had it all. Each time his mother would call to say it looked like the latest treatment had worked and the cancer was ‘on the retreat’, and each time Will had to muster the enthusiasm she needed to hear. It wasn’t that he’d wanted his father to die, more that he had an indifference to the inevitable.
