Silent Truths (59 page)

Now, having exhausted all the contacts he could think of for today, he was sitting in a deep armchair that he’d positioned in front of the window in Ava’s room. His thick blond hair flopped across his forehead, while his handsome, clean-cut features were set in a frown of concentration, as he read a script by a new writer, that was supposed to be a
comedy, but had so far failed to elicit so much as a smile, though he had to admit he was hardly in the mood.

Hearing Ava moan he glanced up, expecting to find her still asleep, but, seeing her eyes open, he put down the script and went to sit on the edge of the bed. ‘OK?’ he said softly, looking down at her pale, battered face.

She gazed back at him with eyes that didn’t appear fully focused. ‘Colin,’ she murmured.

‘You’re going to be OK,’ he told her. ‘You’re pulling through.’

Her head moved from side to side in sluggish agitation. ‘Colin,’ she said again, then her face crumpled as she started to cry. ‘I’m sorry,’ she wailed. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry.’

It wasn’t the first time she’d woken disoriented and distressed like this, so he took her hands and held them between his own, hoping that somehow the contact would steady her.

‘Please forgive me,’ she gasped. ‘I didn’t mean to …’

‘Hey, come on, none of this is your fault,’ he told her. ‘Let’s just get you well and put it behind us, huh?’

‘Colin,’ she said brokenly. ‘I want to see Colin.’ Her grip tightened on his hands as desperation came into her eyes.

Not wanting to remind her of how impossible that was, he said, ‘How about we get you something to eat?’

‘
Colin!
’ she cried. ‘I have to see Colin.’

‘Sssh,’ he soothed, pushing her down gently as she tried to get up. ‘It’ll be all right.’

‘No. It won’t. It can’t,’ she protested. ‘Oh God, help me.
Please
. What have I done?’

‘You didn’t do anything,’ he told her. ‘You’ve just got to get yourself well.’

Her eyes came to his, and as their gaze held he willed her to stay with him, to understand who he was and what he was saying. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked, still seeming bewildered, though this was the first coherent utterance she’d made in four days.

‘Someone had to take care of you,’ he answered.

‘You came all the way from New York?’

‘It’s not so far. And I live here, remember?’

‘Where?’

‘Actually, right here at the moment.’

She looked around, frowning as though unsure where she was. ‘Where’s Mitzi?’ she finally asked.

‘At her own place in Laguna.’

Slowly her eyes began to dilate, then, noticing their joined hands, she snatched hers away. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘No! No!’

‘What? What is it?’ he said, his eyes filling with alarm as she began cowering away.

‘It was you who told them, wasn’t it?’ she wept. ‘No, don’t touch me,’ she gasped as he tried to capture her hands.

‘OK, OK,’ he said, backing off. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’

Her breath was becoming laboured; her eyes seemed to be hunting for escape. ‘You told them, didn’t you?’ she accused. ‘You know who I am, so you told them.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said. ‘I didn’t tell anyone anything.’

‘Then how did they know who I was?’

‘Who? How did who know?’

‘Them! The ones who did this to me. Did you know they were going to do it?’

‘Of course not. Hell, I’m the one who’s been taking care of you here –’

‘Because you’re one of them! You’ve sent Mitzi away and you’ve got me here like a prisoner.’

‘Ava, that’s not true.’

‘I’m not Ava. I’m Beth. You know I’m Beth, and you told them.’ She was sobbing now, as tears streamed down her cheeks. ‘I want to see Colin,’ she cried, throwing back the sheets. ‘I have to see him.’

‘You’re going to hurt yourself. Ava. Beth, for God’s sake –’

‘No! Don’t touch me,’ she shrieked, backing into a corner as he tried to get hold of her. ‘I’ll kill you if you come near me.’

‘Please, I swear I only want to help you,’ he said.

She was still glaring at him, her eyes as wild as a cat’s, her hands crooked ready to claw. He saw that blood was seeping from her wounds, staining her nightdress, while her breath was coming in short, frightened gasps.

The stand-off continued, with neither of them moving, or breaking the stare, until very slowly and cautiously he took a step towards her. ‘I’m really not going to hurt you,’ he said, holding it there. ‘You’ve been through a bad time, I know that, but honest to God I had no idea anything like this was going to happen.’

Somewhere, behind the paranoia, he thought he could sense a longing to believe him, a desperation
to be helped, even rescued from her fear. He moved a little closer. ‘Come on,’ he said gently. His hand was only inches from hers now, but there was still a panic about her eyes, and he was afraid, if she attacked, that he’d open her wounds trying to hold her off. He tried another step, then caught her as she fell sobbing against him.

‘I didn’t tell them anything,’ she gasped. ‘I swear I didn’t tell them anything.’

‘That’s good,’ he said, stroking her hair. ‘It’s good you didn’t tell them.’ He didn’t know what she was talking about; it just seemed the right thing to say. ‘Come on, let’s get you back to bed,’ he said after a while. To his relief she didn’t resist, nor did she object to him checking her wounds. She merely lay there, staring at the blinds as though disconnecting from what was happening to her body, maybe even disconnecting from her mind too. But at least she’d spoken, he told himself. Maybe next he could persuade her to eat.

That night Beth lay alone in the darkness, watching the shadow of a giant yucca swaying and swooping across the blinds, as a Santa Ana wind hurled its might through the valley below. It was reminding her of the Punch and Judy shows she’d watched as a child – alone, at the back of the crowd, too shy to make friends though longing to. Once, she’d turned round, looking for her mother, and had cried when she couldn’t find her. She’d cried for her again the other night: ‘
Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!
’ she’d sobbed, hardly able to get her breath, trapped with her arms and legs spread-eagled, tears, saliva, mucus and blood streaming
over her face. ‘
No! Please, no more! MUMMY!
’ she’d screamed as the whip tore into her flesh and terror scrambled her brain. It must have been an instinctive, primal response, because her mother would never come to save her. It was her father who’d found her as a child, then Joyce had slapped her for wandering off. As far as her mother was concerned the whipping would be her just deserts for behaving like a tart. Colin and Georgie were the only ones who’d ever cared. She wondered why Georgie wasn’t here now, but maybe she didn’t know. She hoped not, because she didn’t want anyone to know.

She felt calm at the moment, though still nervous of any movement outside, and afraid of the way her memory kept trying to lead her back into that black, terrifying hell of screaming and begging and pain so intense she’d wanted to die. She forced herself to think of Theo and how he’d fed her earlier, like a child, one spoonful of gazpacho soup at a time, arm around her, napkin ready to dab her chin. He hadn’t made hot soup, he’d told her, because he was afraid it might burn her lips. She hadn’t looked in the mirror, but knew, because she could feel it, that her lips were cut and bruised and maybe even stitched. That was how it had all started, when the Texan had punched her in the face. At least she thought it was, it was hard to remember now, and she didn’t want to anyway. It was harder to avoid when Theo had taken off her nightdress and lowered her into the bath, but he’d put a clotheshorse in front of the mirror so she couldn’t see her reflection. He was so gentle and careful as he sponged her, but she’d cried anyway
because the pain had torn through the gashes like knives. After he’d dried her he gently rubbed in the cream that would help to numb and heal and cleanse. She wondered what it was like for him, having to touch the bloated edges of the welts and red raw tissue of the wounds.

As he’d dressed her in a clean, cotton nightdress she’d never seen before, she’d started to become aware of his voice, lilting musically upwards, descending dramatically down, until she realized he was telling her the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. She was surprised and touched; it made her want to cry. He’d finished when she was lying in bed, tucked up with the lights out. ‘And they all lived happily ever after,’ he’d whispered, before kissing her on the forehead and quietly leaving the room.

Now, minute after minute was ticking by, taking her further and deeper into the night. She was listening, almost breathlessly, to the gusting wind outside, imagining an insect clinging to the false sanctuary of an autumn leaf that was, any minute, going to be wrenched from the tree, and swept into the chaos of the storm. The insect was her. Sleep was stalking the shadows, waiting to carry her to a place she was too terrified to go, but her eyelids were heavy and her mind was drifting towards the edge. She reached it and began to stumble over. She was falling, falling, but before she hit the bottom she came awake with a start. Her heart was pounding and a film of sweat was damp on her skin. Her wounds throbbed and burned; it was as though her entire body was on fire with the pain.

She had to escape it. She couldn’t bear it. The
torment just went on and on and on. She had to go, find somewhere else to hide, because she couldn’t stay here and she couldn’t go back. It didn’t matter whether she was Beth or Ava, she wasn’t safe anywhere now, not even inside her own head.

She needed some star dust. She couldn’t stand herself or life without it. It was the only way she could survive this.

Pushing aside the sheet, she eased herself carefully from the bed and padded out to the hall. There were no lights on anywhere, so she stole steadily, gingerly through the darkness, her hands lightly touching the walls to guide her, her bare feet treading soundlessly on the limestone floor, then tapping ahead like a blind man’s stick to find the two steps that led down to the kitchen. As though to assist her, the moon appeared through the clouds, throwing a misty grey light over the counter-tops and cupboards. Through the large glass doors she could see the pool undulating in the wind, debris skimming its surface. It was as though the world had ceased to exist in colour, only in shades of grey. It was eerie, like a dream.

She crossed to the sink, opened the cupboard beneath it, and found that the Oriental pots, where she and Mitzi had kept their supplies, were gone. She started to shake as panic welled up inside her. She had to have it. She needed it now or the fear would drive her mad. She began searching, opening drawers and cupboards, boxes and even books, to see where he might have hidden it.

‘You won’t find any,’ Theo told her from the doorway.

She spun round, furious and desperate. ‘Where
did you put it?’ she hissed. ‘I need it.’

He turned on the light and the world returned to colour. ‘No you don’t,’ he said calmly.

‘Don’t treat me like a child,’ she seethed. ‘Now where is it?’ Her eyes were wild; her shoulders were heaving up and down, cutting her through with pain.

‘Mitzi took it,’ he answered.

‘I have to call her.’ She made to grab the phone, but he was too fast, and snatched it away.

‘I’m trying to help you here, and you’re not making it easy,’ he told her.

‘No one’s asking you to. I can take care of myself.’

‘When that’s true, I’ll go and you can do as you like. Until then, you can learn to live without it.’

She glared at him, eyes full of hate. She wanted to rip the phone from his hands and smash his head against the wall. She wanted to kill him and everyone that was doing this to her – Mitzi, Wingate, Fabio, Colin … She loathed and despised them for taking her life and making it theirs. She needed it back. She had to be in control so she could make it all right. The coke made it all right, but he wouldn’t let her have it. So she had to make him. Somehow she had to find a way of forcing him to give her what she craved, but she didn’t have the strength, and her back hurt so much she had to stop sobbing because it only made it hurt more.

‘You don’t understand,’ she choked. ‘It’s the nightmares. I can’t stand them. I’m afraid to go to sleep.’

‘They’re just nightmares,’ he told her. ‘They’re not real.’

‘But that’s how they feel. If you knew what they were like …’

‘So tell me.’

She shook her head. ‘I can’t. I can’t tell anyone.’

Going to take some water from the fridge, he poured two glasses and handed one to her. ‘What are you so afraid of?’ he asked bluntly. ‘I mean,
really
. What are you running away from?’

She took a sip of water, then pressed a hand to her head, as though that might stop it throbbing. ‘It has to do with my husband,’ she said, still sobbing, though no longer crying. ‘I think he must have been involved in something, and now they want to know how much he told me.’

‘They being Kleinstein and Wingate?’

She nodded.

‘So what do they want to know?’

‘I can’t tell you,’ she said.

‘Is it to do with the girl who was killed?’

‘Yes. I think so. Partly, anyway.’

‘Did your husband do it?’

She nodded then turned away. ‘I think so, but I don’t want to discuss it,’ she said.

He looked down at her, wishing there was a way of knowing what was really going on in her head. ‘Did anyone ever hurt you like this before?’ he said. ‘When you were in the UK?’

‘No.’

‘So why now?’

‘I think they’re afraid.’

‘What of?’

‘I’m not sure. It’s hard to remember what was said. I just know that they were expecting me to tell them more than I could.’

‘So what did you tell them?’

Her eyes came back to his, and he felt a chill run down his spine as she said, ‘I told them the truth. But it wasn’t enough, because the man Wingate said: “Don’t go thinking we’re finished with you yet, lady, because we’re not.”’ She started to shake again as the memory of those words pushed her fear back to the surface. It wasn’t over; they’d be back for her. That was what he’d said and she knew it was true. So she had to run and hide. She needed somewhere else to go. Her head was swimming again; her limbs felt like sharpened knives.