The Judas Tree, page 3
‘All yours,’ she said, as she came out. As they passed each other their shoulders lightly brushed.
‘Will you wait for me?’
‘Sorry?’ She turned to look at him.
‘Wait for me?’ His eyes drilled into hers and her heartbeat quickened. ‘I’d like to talk to you properly. You’re the first interesting person I’ve met tonight and I’ve been here for over an hour.’
‘Oh,’ Harmony said. ‘Yes … OK.’
He nodded and went into the cloakroom. She stood for a minute or two then laughed under her breath. What was she doing? Waiting for a stranger to finish in the toilet because he asked her to?
‘If he wants to talk to me he can find me again,’ she said under her breath. She began to walk away, but a raucous screech of laughter from the living room stopped her in her tracks beside the console table. She hesitated and glanced back at the cloakroom and as she did so the door opened.
‘You waited.’
Harmony blushed and cast her eyes down at the table, pretending she’d been looking at the photographs. ‘No, I was enjoying a moment in the quiet actually. I’m not really in the mood for a party.’
‘Well, I’m glad you stayed. Everybody else here is extremely dull.’
‘Everybody? That’s quite a generalisation and incredibly dismissive.’ Harmony glanced back at him and lifted her eyebrows. ‘Some of those people are my friends, you know.’
‘I’m sure the ones that are your friends are fascinating.’
She smiled, pleased she no longer felt girlish and silly.
They surveyed the photographs, side by side, in silence. She was aware of him next to her. It was as if he had a force field that crackled the nearer he was. He leant in close to her ear. ‘So what do you think?’
‘Of the pictures?’
He nodded.
‘They’re lovely.’
He shook his head. ‘They’re not lovely. They’re staged and smug, with a hint of narcissism that makes them unbearable. They reek of self-promotion.’
A small laugh escaped Harmony’s lips. Immediately, she clapped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late, her disloyalty hung in the air around her and she felt grubby with guilt. ‘You can’t say that,’ she said. ‘They’re a lovely family and very good friends of mine.’
‘Not dull then,’ he said, with a glint in his eye.
She smiled.
‘The one with you is good. Exactly how a photograph should be. A perfect moment, suspended in time. You look beautiful.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m twenty-two in that photo. Youth is beautiful.’
‘Perhaps,’ he said, though there was an edge to his voice, a reticence, as if he didn’t agree with her.
She held her hand out. ‘I’m Harmony.’
He shook her hand, his grip firm, holding on a fraction too long. ‘An unusual name.’
‘My father chose it,’ she said. ‘I was lucky. According to my mum the final choice was between Harmony and Sunrise.’ She laughed lightly. ‘He was a bohemian artist type, a bit of a hippie, apparently.’
‘Apparently?’
‘He left when I was three.’ Like a fart in a storm, as her grandmother always grumbled. ‘You didn’t tell me your name,’ Harmony said.
‘Would you like a drink?’
‘No, I have one thanks.’ She lifted her almost empty glass. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me who you are?’ She was intrigued by the way he looked at her; his eyes didn’t waver but stayed locked on hers.
‘Why do you need to know?’
The mocking in his voice grated and the hold he had on her was broken long enough for her to consider walking away from him. ‘I don’t,’ she said. ‘But it’s fairly standard etiquette in our society. I tell you my name. You tell me yours. We talk a bit then run out of things to say and move on.’
He laughed. ‘And by society you mean the masses?’
‘So damning of society? Let me guess, society exists merely as a concept and in the real world there are only individuals?’
‘Oscar Wilde,’ he said. ‘I’m impressed.’
It was Harmony’s turn to laugh. ‘Christ, you can’t be impressed by an Oscar Wilde quote.’ She gave a derisive shake of her head. ‘They fall out of Christmas crackers with paper hats and plastic key rings.’
He stared at her, narrowed eyes flicking back and forth over hers as if trying to read her thoughts. Her cheeks flushed with heat again. She lifted her glass and drank the warm, flat dregs of her champagne to fill the silence.
‘You said you’re not enjoying the party,’ he said. ‘Why not?’
‘I didn’t say that. I said I wasn’t in the mood.’ She paused and shrugged. ‘It’s all a bit loud and crowded in there and I’m not great with parties at the best of times. But it’s my best friend’s fortieth, I’m sure I’ll get into it soon.’
‘It’s not a very good party. Too showy and self-conscious. I’m not enjoying it either.’ He paused for a beat. ‘At least, I wasn’t.’
Harmony lowered her eyes.
He placed his glass on the console table and stared at her, silent for a moment or two, until she finally looked up at him. When she did, he smiled. ‘What would you say if I asked you to leave and have dinner with me?’
Harmony laughed abruptly, taken aback by his question. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Right now, if I asked you to leave the party with me, would you come?’
Her heart began to race as she realised he was being perfectly serious. ‘No,’ she said, quickly. ‘Of course I wouldn’t.’
‘Why not?’
She faltered. The hairs on her forearms stood proud. Her heart hammered. ‘Because I’m married and I love my husband. Who’s here, by the way.’
The stranger held her eyes for a moment then gave a deferential nod. ‘He’s a lucky man.’
As if on cue she heard Will’s laugh, unmistakable, generous and full, one of those infectious laughs that set other laughs off in a line of falling dominoes. She turned to look over her shoulder and saw him standing with his back to her at the entrance to the living room talking to a man she didn’t recognise. She was filled with a sense of relief as the tension between herself and the stranger disappeared like water through a cupped hand.
‘In fact, that’s him now,’ she said. ‘He’s probably come looking for me. I should join him before we sit for supper.’
The stranger stared at her and smiled. ‘It was nice to meet you, Harmony.’
She held out her hand again. ‘Nice to meet you, too,’ she said. ‘Whatever your name is.’
He took her hand and as he did he stroked his thumb against her, barely there, a butterfly’s kiss of a touch. Her skin tingled. As she walked down the corridor away from him she felt his eyes burning into her back. When she reached Will she kissed him on the lips. The man he was with chuckled drunkenly.
‘What was that for?’ Will asked with amusement.
‘No reason.’ She glanced over her shoulder, but the stranger had gone and she felt a surprising stab of disappointment.
Chapter Three
Though Harmony looked for him she didn’t see the man again that night. She would have enjoyed talking more to him; he was interesting and so different to anybody else she’d ever met. Intriguing and enigmatic. She recalled him asking her to leave with him, the focused intent with which he’d delivered his question, and despite herself she felt a rush of excitement. She’d half-hoped she might find herself sitting next to him at supper, but instead she was stuck with two men she’d met a couple of times, neither of whom she had much in common with, and she spent most of the meal sitting quietly, toying with her water glass and watching other people as they chatted and drank. Will spent no time at the table. Instead he leapt around the marquee with his camera like a man possessed. Harmony felt a warm glow as she watched him. Taking photographs was his passion and it was good to see him so energised and enthusiastic.
By two o’clock she was shattered. The number of guests had dwindled, but those who remained were opening more wine or knocking shots back or dancing in happy, sweaty groups, and all looked set to see in the dawn. She found Will chatting to a couple she didn’t recognise.
‘Do you mind if we go soon?’ she whispered in his ear. ‘I’m tired and we’ve got to drive back to London.’
Will excused himself from the couple, who wandered off hand in hand towards the dance floor. ‘Have you said goodbye to Emma and Ian?’
‘No, Em’s having far too much fun dancing and I don’t want to bring her down. I had a quick look for Ian, but can’t see him.’
‘He’s extremely drunk. Last time I saw him he was clutching a bottle of vodka and stumbling into the undergrowth with only one shoe on.’
‘Let’s slip away. I’ll phone Emma in the morning.’
There were a few people waiting in the hallway for taxis, putting coats on or standing patiently, eyes tired and heavy with alcohol. As Harmony and Will walked down the steps she noticed the rose petals were now crushed into the stone in dirty smears. Most of the flares that lined the driveway had burnt down, the low blue flames of those that soldiered on licking sporadically at the darkness as they clung to life.
Within moments of being in the car Will fell asleep. His head lolled forward, and every so often soft snores escaped him. Despite the time and the soporific hum of the engine, she was wide awake, mind buzzing, flitting between Will’s look of shock when she mentioned a baby and the man she’d met. There had been something about him – a powerful sexuality – not the bravado of a self-styled Casanova, but something rawer, more intrinsic. She’d been with Will since she was twenty, and it was the first time since then she’d felt any hint of sexual connection with another man. She knew she should probably expel these thoughts from her head, but it was a breath of fresh air to have her mind occupied with such frivolity. There’d been too much sadness and soul-searching over the past few months. She rested her hand against her stomach as the familiar phantom ache crept into the centre of her, where her baby used to be, as if the scar left when it was torn out of her had opened up again. She glanced at her husband, still asleep, head nodding with the motion of the car.
‘I wish you felt this,’ she said, her words loud against the quiet in the car.
‘What?’ he said, his voice groggy.
‘I thought you were asleep.’
‘Just resting my eyes.’ He reached for her hand on the gear stick and stroked it. ‘What did you say?’
She didn’t reply.
‘It’s about the baby, isn’t it?’ he said, with a slight drunken slur.
‘Yes, it’s about the baby. Our baby.’ As she spoke a lump of emotion caught in her throat. ‘We need to talk about it.’
‘I’m not sure what you want me to say.’ His feeble words staled the air.
Yes, said a voice in her head. I want you to say yes. Yes, you were devastated when we lost our child. Yes, you want to be a father as much as I want to be a mother.
But again she didn’t say anything and they drove the rest of the way in silence.
She turned off the Talgarth Road and into their street and parked in a space a little way up from their flat. She stilled the engine then swivelled in her seat to look at him.
‘I just …’ She faltered. ‘It’s what I said at the party. I want to try again.’
They sat in the quiet for a minute or two. She willed him to speak but instead he got out of the car and closed his door. She stared ahead feeling empty, hands clasped lightly in her lap. There was a group of girls walking down the street. They were under-dressed and swaying, passing a bottle of alcohol between them and smoking, the ends of their cigarettes glowing orange in the dark as they stumbled, arms linked, in a drunken chain. Harmony rubbed her face hard and got out of the car.
Will was sitting on the steps of their block. His elbows rested on his knees. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said as she approached. His eyes dropped to the ground and he scuffed the side of his shoe against the pavement. ‘I know we need to talk, but right now I’m tired and drunk and need our bed.’
She walked past him and unlocked the door that opened on to the communal hallway. Three flats shared the building and as usual the man from Number Two had blocked their way with his bike. Harmony squeezed past it and descended the four stairs to their basement flat. She unlocked the door and went straight along the narrow corridor to the kitchen and filled two glasses with water. When Will came in she handed him one then leant back against the kitchen worktop. He drank his and put the empty glass on the table.
‘Emma seemed to enjoy herself tonight,’ he said. She knew he was hoping this would be enough to deflect her.
Harmony tipped the rest of her water into the sink, rinsed her glass and upended it on the draining board. ‘She did. I’ll see you in bed.’
Will came into the bedroom as she was climbing into bed. She waited for him to use the bathroom and as he was undressing she mustered the energy to try again.
‘Losing our child floored me,’ she said. ‘You don’t seem to feel the same and that makes me feel very alone.’
He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.
‘Will?’ Harmony asked. ‘Did you hear what I said?’
He lifted the duvet and lay down. ‘I didn’t expect you to want to be pregnant again.’
‘Why on earth not?’
He hesitated.
‘Please, Will, talk to me.’
‘I know how upset you’ve been and I assumed you wouldn’t want to risk putting yourself through it again.’ He sighed then reached to turn his bedside light off and the room fell dark, a sliver of city light pushing through a gap in the curtains.
In the silence that held them, Harmony’s thoughts drifted back to discovering she was pregnant. A missed period. Then two weeks late. The blue line on the pregnancy test. Such a simple indication of a new life growing inside her. She’d sat on the floor of their bathroom and hugged her knees tightly. As the minutes passed, euphoria and joy took over from shock, and she realised how deeply she must have buried her desire to have children, hidden it from herself, pretended it didn’t matter. She’d convinced herself the two of them – evenings out, long Sundays in bed with the papers or making lazy afternoon love, impromptu trips to the pub, to the cinema – were enough. But something awakened in her. Then six short weeks later she found herself on the same spot on the bathroom floor, the same position even, knees drawn in tight to her chest, white-knuckled hands clasping them to her as she lost her baby. Dark blood stained her underwear. Smeared her inner thighs. Disbelief and panic flooded her. Then piercing grief as she’d curled up on the floor and begged her baby to stay with her, just as she’d done with her mother. She thought about her mum then, a skeleton in a pink cotton nightie lying beside her, so brittle and feather-light Harmony worried she might crush her with the weight of her arm. Those rattling breaths that came from her struggling body as Harmony cried silent tears that soaked into the pillow.
‘Please, Mum,’ she’d whispered. ‘I love you. Don’t leave me.’
Don’t leave me, baby. Please. Don’t leave me.
But neither her mother nor her baby had listened.
Both left her.
Harmony turned on her side and tucked the duvet around her.
She had to make him see how important this was for her.
‘Good night,’ she said into the darkness.
But Will was already asleep.
Chapter Four
‘I can’t wait to see these photos, Will.’
Will smiled and kissed Emma on both cheeks. ‘They’re good. There’s a gorgeous one of you – you look like a film star – which you’re going to love.’
Emma beamed. ‘How exciting! But first,’ she said. ‘What can I get you to drink? Wine, beer?’
‘A beer would be great.’
‘Could I have something soft?’ Harmony asked.
‘I’ve some elderflower,’ Emma said. ‘Ian’s mother made it. Though I hate to admit it, it’s delicious.’ She smiled conspiratorially. ‘Don’t ever tell her I said that.’
As Emma went back into the kitchen, Will and Harmony walked through the living room and stepped out onto the terrace. The sun was high and bright, but not unbearably hot, and a light breeze carried the smell of freshly cut grass. The table was laid with a pressed white tablecloth, a vase of yellow roses, with a large white parasol offering shade over half of it, a slice of Tuscany brought to North Oxfordshire. All trace of the party had gone. The York paving, speckled with moss between the slabs, looked as if it had been vacuumed, and the lawn beyond rolled gently between extravagant flowerbeds in even emerald stripes that reached out like fingers to the strip of woodland that marked the garden’s boundary. The woods had been thinned so individual trees stood like sentinels guarding the view of the undulating countryside beyond. There was a swing that hung from a beech tree, a wooden fort with a slide, and further into the trees was a platform high up in the branches with a zip wire that shot into the wood below. Will heard his father’s ghost tut-tutting at these expensive, spoiling toys – indulge the child and ruin it – and sat at the table facing away from the woods to silence his disapproval.
He was glad to be out of London and in familiar company. The conversation he and Harmony were still to have was a low, black cloud hovering over them continuously. He knew what he had to say, but couldn’t find the words to tell her without hurting her more. Every time he tried, he knotted up.
Will lifted his laptop out of the bag and made space for it on the table. ‘I hope she likes them,’ he said to Harmony.
‘Of course she will. They’re great. It was lovely of you to spend the evening taking them.’ She tilted her face up towards the sun and closed her eyes in the warmth like a cat.
