The Judas Tree, page 5
Emma finished the story she was telling and they all laughed. Ian stood to refill their wine glasses and as he did so, Luke turned to Will. ‘Tell me, Will,’ he said. ‘What’s happened since we last saw each other? Has life been good to you?’
The table fell to a pin-drop silence as they all turned their eyes on Will.
He wasn’t sure how much Luke meant him to tell. He was a child when he last saw Luke; everything had happened. ‘Yes, life’s been good,’ Will said at last. ‘I got married to Harmony soon after college, we live in London. Things are good.’ He smiled at Harmony who smiled back.
Luke nodded. ‘You certainly seem happy.’ He looked at Harmony, who lowered her eyes and reached for the pendant that hung around her neck.
‘And you? Are you married, Luke?’ Will asked.
Luke seemed to do a double take, his cool facade slipping for a fraction of a second. He reached for his glass, then sat back in his chair. ‘I was.’
‘That’s a shame,’ said Emma. ‘But so many marriages fall by the wayside these days.’
‘It wasn’t quite like that.’
Will saw Ian glare at his wife and shake his head frantically; marital code for shut up.
‘And you’re a lawyer?’ Will asked.
‘For my sins.’
‘Best corporate lawyer in the whole damn City,’ Ian said, like a puffed-up father boasting about his favourite son.
Luke shook his head. ‘Nothing great about being a lawyer. We’re just successful parasites.’
‘And that’s how you met? Through work?’
‘We met playing golf, actually,’ Ian said. ‘Luke joined the club last year. Met at the bar and hit it off in an instant. A mutual love of expensive watches and fast cars.’ Ian laughed loudly.
‘What about you, Will?’ Luke asked, ignoring Ian. ‘What do you do?’
‘I’ve a wine shop.’
‘It’s a fabulous place!’ exclaimed Emma. ‘A real treasure trove.’
‘This is one of his.’ Ian held his glass up, the liquid within like watered-down honey, sparkling pale gold in the sunshine. ‘From one of those mixed cases I bought from you last year at the opening of the shop.’
‘It’s very good indeed,’ said Luke.
The table fell silent again and Will listened to the sound of the children playing on the other side of the house, both happy now.
‘He’s also a wonderful photographer,’ Harmony said. ‘Really talented.’ Her compliment was delivered with too much enthusiasm and, to Will at least, it sounded insincere.
‘I enjoy it, that’s all.’
‘What about you, Harmony?’ Luke said, turning his attention on to her. ‘What do you do?’
Will watched her fingers fiddling with the gold Tiffany heart at her neck. He’d given it to her on their tenth wedding anniversary and he loved how she played with it gently between her fingers.
‘I’m based at Imperial. Well, in offices opposite,’ she said. ‘I’m involved in business development.’
‘What field?’ Luke asked.
‘I’m a scientist by training. But I work in technology transfer, which is basically securing funding for various university-developed patented compounds.’
‘Not just a pretty face.’ Emma stood to clear the plates. ‘Harmony is the cleverest person I know.’
‘Of course I’m not,’ Harmony said.
‘You are,’ Emma said. ‘How many of my other friends have a PhD?’
Ian leant towards Harmony. ‘Of course, we’ve got to remember who her other friends are. Not too many PhDs required to book a spa day.’ He sat back in his chair and snorted loudly.
Emma ignored him. ‘Pudding?’
Everybody nodded and Emma picked up the pile of stacked plates and cutlery then started walking towards the French windows.
Harmony stood and reached for the bowl of salad.
‘No, you stay,’ Ian said, with dramatised weariness. ‘I’ll go. If I don’t I’ll get it in the neck for being lazy.’ He winked at Will.
‘So, Dr English—’ Luke began.
‘Dr Hanney,’ Harmony corrected, raising her eyebrows.
‘My apologies. Dr Hanney. What was your PhD?’
‘Functional genomics.’
Will reached across the table for the bottle of sparkling water and poured himself a glass.
‘And what area are you currently involved in?’
She laughed. ‘Are you sure you’re interested?’
‘I am. Very.’
‘Pharmacogenomics, the bit of pharmacology that deals with genetics and drug efficacy.’
Will watched her run her fingers through her hair then lightly touch the corner of her shirt collar. He turned away and looked across the lawn. Luke’s presence was impossible to ignore, impossible to laugh away, and with it came a rush of self-loathing and shame, as familiar as old toys found gathering dust in an attic. It didn’t matter how well Luke looked, how in control of his life he seemed, how undamaged, Will couldn’t control the jabs of shame and guilt.
‘We’re looking at the use of gene type to optimise the potency of a drug while minimising its side-effects.’
‘Personalised medicine?’
‘Exactly.’
A bird screeched above them. Will looked up. It was a circling crow, cawing high in the sky. It wheeled then flew over the house, its wings flapping strongly, with purpose. As it disappeared out of sight he heard his mother’s voice warning him about a single black crow overhead. She loved her superstitions and had an impressive catalogue of ominous rhymes for almost everything she encountered. He searched his memory for the one about a lone crow but couldn’t recall it.
‘… what you do sounds incredibly interesting,’ Luke was saying to Harmony.
‘It is. And, sadly, very poorly paid,’ she laughed. ‘But you can’t have everything, can you?’
‘Unless you’re Will, it seems.’
Will saw her lower her eyes as a slight smile passed over her lips.
‘Yes, I’m very lucky,’ Will said.
Luke and he locked eyes then, dogs assessing each other, uncertain and wary. Will gently stroked his thumb over the scar that crossed his palm. He had a vivid image of his blood falling unchecked onto the sun-speckled grass, felt again the tingle of exhilaration as Luke dragged the blade across his hand, remembered his pale skin parting, his blood flowing. A tremor shot through him as he recalled them pressing their hands together, blood and pain combining, wide eyes bolted on to each other, gripping tight.
‘We’re blood brothers now,’ Luke had said with a trembling voice. ‘That means we’re connected. By blood. Like real brothers.’
‘You watch my back. I’ll watch yours,’ Will replied. ‘That’s what it means. There for each other. Forever.’
Then they smiled and tightened their grip as their mingled blood ran down their wrists and fell like tears on the earth.
Chapter Five
By five o’clock the terrace had fallen into shade and a chill had descended.
‘I think we should head off,’ Will said. ‘If we leave now we might miss the worst of the traffic.’
‘Yes,’ said Luke. ‘I should also go. You’re right, the Sunday traffic into London is dreadful.’
They walked through the living room and into the hallway. Luke picked up his car keys from the circular table in the centre. The spectacular red and orange flowers from the party still held pride of place despite their fading beauty, a handful of petals fallen like the first leaves of autumn.
At the front door Harmony kissed Emma and Ian goodbye and then looked at Luke. She offered her hand. He shook it and her cheeks warmed.
This was pathetic. She was behaving like a teenage girl with a silly crush.
‘It was good to meet you again, Luke,’ she said. ‘And amazing about you and Will.’
He smiled. ‘Well, I hope now Will and I have made contact we’ll be able to stay in touch.’
Harmony nodded. ‘That would be nice.’
Ian clapped Luke on the back. ‘Thanks for the game. Shame you played so damn well. I’ll give you more of a run for your money next time.’
Luke shook Ian’s hand then turned to Emma and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Lunch was delicious. Your children are charming and, you’re right, they certainly have a passion for Pavlova.’
Emma laughed. ‘They do.’ She paused and smiled at them all. ‘Perhaps we should do this again soon.’
Luke looked directly at Harmony. ‘I’d like that.’
She reached for Will’s hand and took hold of it. ‘We would too.’
The three of them walked out of the house and across the driveway towards the cars, their feet crunching over the silence. They paused beside Luke’s dark grey convertible Audi, its alloy wheels shining like polished silver medals. He pointed his key at the car and it flashed its lights in greeting.
Luke and Will faced each other and Harmony was aware once again of the tension between them. Luke held out his hand. Will stared at it and for a moment Harmony worried he might not respond, but thankfully he reached out and grasped it, pressing their two scarred palms together.
‘It’s good to see you, Luke.’ Will seemed to hesitate, then reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet. ‘Here’s my number,’ he said, handing him one of the shop’s business cards. ‘Why don’t you give me a call? Maybe we could meet for a beer?’
‘Sounds good.’ Luke took the card and smiled.
Will reached for Harmony’s hand. As they walked to their car, she could feel Luke watching them. She glanced backwards and, sure enough, he was sitting in his car, door closed, hands gripping the steering wheel, eyes locked on them. He didn’t move a muscle. There was no embarrassed look away. No smile. No reaction at all. He just sat there, impassive, watching.
Once in the car, Harmony expected Will to say something to her, but he was silent, his eyes distant, driving on autopilot. Every now and then his brow would furrow as if trying to work something out.
‘Seeing him again has thrown you, hasn’t it?’ she said at last, unable to keep quiet any longer.
He glanced at her then nodded.
‘I spoke to him for quite a long time at Emma’s party. He’s … unusual.’ She paused, waiting for Will to reply. When he didn’t, she pressed on. ‘And charismatic. Was he always like that? I mean, when you were friends at school?’
Still Will said nothing.
She turned to look out of her window. It was so frustrating how guarded he was when it came to his past. She loved to discuss things and probe and learn. Her mother used to laugh at her when she was a young girl, always asking questions, determined to know why trees grew upwards and how clouds floated and why snowflakes looked like miniature paper doilies. Facts made life easier to understand. She’d asked Will so many questions over the years and only ever had an array of non-committal one-word answers and dismissive shrugs in return. As far as he was concerned his history was irrelevant. It didn’t merit discussion; as unimportant, he said, as a mediocre one-night-stand with a forgotten name. All that mattered, he said, was the present, her and him and their life together. She’d accepted his secrecy because she had no choice, but now his past had been revealed like the tip of an ashen finger in the soil and she was desperate to uncover the rest. The fact that it included Luke was exciting. The man fascinated her. There was something about him that brought to mind her father. Charismatic. The word she’d often heard her mother use to describe him. Despite having dredged every corner of her memory for any recollection of her father she had nothing. The image she carried was based entirely on a single photograph she had. She’d found it about a month after their mother’s death, when she and her sister finally mustered the courage to sort through her personal effects. They’d wedged a chair beneath the door handle of the bedroom they now shared at their nan’s house then put their mother’s beloved Ella Fitzgerald on the tape machine. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, her sister holding a bottle of vodka and an expression of grim determination, they placed their mother’s precious shoebox between them. They stared at it for a while then in one swift movement her sister tipped the bottle up to her lips, winced, and pulled the lid off the box. Inside were hundreds of letters. All of them were from their father to their mother. Harmony became breathless as she read them. They were beautiful; incredible expressions of love – poetic, ethereal, surreal even. They were written in curling handwriting with intricate doodles and motifs decorating the white space around words that struck Harmony as the most romantic thing ever. Then, as she picked up one of the letters, a photograph fell from its fold.
Harmony gasped. ‘Is that him?’
The photograph showed the most handsome man she’d ever seen. He wore a loose white, unbuttoned shirt and stood on a table laden with wine surrounded by a group of people laughing and clapping, their eyes fixed on him as he played a guitar. Her mother was among those at the table. She stared up at him with adoring eyes, her face sliced in two by the widest of smiles, love radiating from every pore.
‘Fuck him,’ her sister spat as she snatched the picture away from her.
Harmony was about to protest but kept quiet when she saw the tears coursing down her sister’s cheeks. ‘I fucking hate him. I hate him.’ She grabbed the vodka and drank some more, then scrabbled to collect the letters and shoved them back into the box with the photo. ‘We’re burning them all, the whole box of crappy, lying shit. He’s nothing, a ne’er-do-well and a wastrel. I hate him.’
Harmony didn’t know what a ne’er-do-well or a wastrel was and wasn’t sure her sister did either. They were the words their nan used when talking about him, but as the woman spent her spare time dressing Bentley – her hideous snappy pug – in miniature human clothes, Harmony had sense enough to know not to believe everything she said. While her sister swigged at the vodka and swiped at her tears, Harmony inched her fingers towards the box, removed the photograph of her father, and surreptitiously slipped it into her jeans pocket.
‘And I’m changing my name,’ her sister said. ‘I’m not having that stupid, hippy name he bloody chose a moment longer. I’m Sophie from now on, OK?’
Sophie was her sister’s middle name, the name their mother wanted to call her. The piercing look of anger in her sister’s eyes made her wonder if she was expected to change her name as well. The thing was she liked Harmony and wasn’t keen on Patricia at all.
As she followed her sister downstairs, Harmony tried to work out why everything was her father’s fault anyway. Cancer was to blame for taking their mother away from them, not their absent father. He hadn’t been around for years and years. Why was her sister freaking out about him now? It didn’t make sense.
They found their nan sitting on the sofa reading the Radio Times listings to the pug, who wore a hand-knitted pink cardigan with big blue buttons.
‘We’d like to burn this and everything in it,’ her sister announced. Her attempt to mask her vodka-slur made it sound as if she was pretending to be the Queen.
‘What’s in the box that you want to burn exactly, Starla?’ their nan asked sternly.
‘Letters from the wastrel.’
Their nan gestured sharply at the fire. ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish.’
‘And I’m not called Starla,’ her sister said, lifting her chin high. ‘I’m Sophie now.’
Their nan nodded then the three of them watched in silence as the box went up in a rainbow of flames in the grate.
Harmony pushed the recollection away and looked back at her husband. ‘Will,’ she tried again. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘I’m fine. I wasn’t expecting to see him, that’s all.’
‘Talk to me. Please?’
‘There’s nothing to say. I knew the guy at school. We lost touch. It was a surprise to see him.’
‘It looked like more than that to me.’
They drove in silence for a while then Harmony heard him take a deep breath. ‘It’s thrown me,’ he said. ‘I suppose I’d sort of blanked him out of my head, and seeing him like that was …’ He paused, hesitating, searching for the right words. ‘It was like seeing a ghost.’ His words rang around them like the echo of a church bell. His brow furrowed and his mouth twitched, as if he was trying to decode his thoughts.
They didn’t speak for the rest of the journey. The car was warm and the silence loaded, the air too stuffy to bear. She opened her window and leant her head against the door so the stream of cool wind ran over her face and tousled her hair. Her mind drifted to Luke. She thought of the way he’d looked at her during lunch with that peculiar directness she found so fascinating. She heard his voice, steady and calm, asking her to leave Emma’s party with him. What would have happened if she’d said yes? She closed her eyes and indulged the fantasy, watched herself take his hand and follow him down the corridor and into the hallway. Past the butler. Out of the house. She saw herself climbing into his car. The car door closing. His hand reaching over to rest on her thigh.
Harmony opened her eyes and shook her head free of the images as she shifted herself in her seat then glanced at Will, who stared at the road ahead.
When they got back to the flat Harmony went to her small study and grabbed a pen and her reading glasses and the pile of papers from her desk. In the living room she sat down on the sofa and put on her glasses.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘I’m fine.’ She kept her eyes fixed on her papers.
‘Hey,’ said Will gently. ‘Don’t be like that.’ He sat on the sofa beside her and took her hand. ‘Don’t be cross.’
