The Golden Locket (Unbreakable Trilogy, Book 2) (7 page)

Gustav has to speak now. If he doesn’t speak within the next ten seconds, I’ll never trust him again. I take one stumbling step towards him. I can’t stand to hear Pierre’s voice any more. Gustav forces his gaze from his brother’s body and holds up one hand like a traffic policeman, shaking his head over and over again. When he focuses on me, the white-hot blankness in his eyes shades itself in. The deep blackness returns. The jagged lines of his face arrange themselves not into softness but at least into some kind of order.

‘Lies, lies, Serena. Polly. Listen to me. It’s all lies. I’ve never smoked a single cigarette in my life.’ He turns back to his brother. ‘Why here, Pierre? Why now?’

‘I should have flown at you as soon as I heard the words but Margot stopped me.’

‘Because it was a cheap shot,’ says Gustav, deadly quiet. ‘How could any of that possibly be true?’

Pierre takes the shirt from where it has fallen over Polly’s legs, and holds it in front of him. I have the weirdest snapshot in my mind of him wearing a hospital gown, sitting on a narrow iron bed.

‘She got me out of that house before she told me the full story, said I should save it for when it would hit you the hardest. How was I to know when that day would come? But it did, thanks to Serena. Thanks to that business card.’

Gustav’s eyes are narrow slits of concentration, as if Pierre is speaking in tongues and he is simultaneously trying to translate. ‘Ah, yes. There it is. The single knell of truth. That’s exactly Margot’s
modus operandi
. Plotting her chess moves, right down to the best time and place to accuse me of – what exactly are we saying here? Murder?’

As the word stabs through the air Pierre eases one sleeve back over his sore, scarred arm. I see now why he pushed Polly off so viciously the other day when she slapped it. What on earth can he say?

‘I’ll give you manslaughter. Would that be more accurate? You’re looking me in the eye and denying it? You’d swear it? Because it all seems perfectly believable to me.’

‘And perfectly preposterous to anyone else. It’s not murder, and it’s not manslaughter, purely a monumental accident which was not caused by me!’ Gustav turns in a tight circle, looking up at the ceiling as he pulls in every ounce of control. ‘I should be incandescent right now, but do you know? I look at you, and I can’t possibly be angry.’ Gustav speaks so slowly and quietly it’s as if he’s using his last breath. ‘You’ve been walking around all that time thinking I’m a monster because of Margot. Yet again this comes down to her. I’m finding that so hard to bear. Look at me, P. Look at me very hard, and listen.’

Pierre reluctantly raises his eyes. He is still scowling. The anger isn’t gone, but it’s melting like wax into sullen defeat.

‘Just make this all go away, G.’

Gustav keeps his eyes on his brother, makes a move towards him, then walks across to where I am still standing. His hand comes to rest just beside mine on the window ledge.

When he starts to speak again his voice is forced, as if he’s using his last breath. Like Othello, more in sorrow than in anger. ‘You wanted to cause a sensation just now. That’s your prerogative, but you should have waited.’

Pierre’s hands pause as he buttons his shirt.

‘What difference would waiting around for you make? Miraculously absolve you? Cure these scars after twenty years? Put out the fire?’

‘I meant stripping off like this, using your injuries as a shock tactic.’ Gustav is choosing his words as carefully as if he is selecting surgical instruments. ‘It’s a stunt. Not even your own idea. It’s got Margot written all over it. But she’s excelled herself this time, using your disfigurement to torment me.’

‘I’m no puppet, Gustav. This was my idea. But I’m tired. You’re tired. Either admit it or tell me it’s not true, make me and these girls believe you. Then maybe we have a chance.’

They stare at each other for a moment. Gustav nods. ‘I swear on your life and my dead parents’ memory that I did not start that fire.’

Another tripwire, another challenge overcome, and Gustav grows more impressive in my eyes, not less. With a few careful words he has defused the last bomb.

‘So everything you told me then, when I was having nightmares, when you used to put that special cream on my skin in the middle of the night, that was the true story?’

Gustav lifts his hands and runs them through his hair in that achingly familiar gesture. Then he does something I’ve never seen before. Crosses his fingers and lays them up against his heart.

‘They were my parents too,’ he says.

Pierre copies the gesture. ‘That’s exactly what I hoped you’d say.’

His shirt is buttoned up now, but the sight of his poor burnt skin is seared onto my mind. All that damage going on beneath that cocky exterior. For the first time I feel a genuine, spearing anguish for this scarred young man. For both these lost brothers.

There’s an intense hush in the air.

‘I should have been more understanding when you first showed me. I was useless,’ Polly pipes up, dragging herself into an upright position and tugging at her skirt. ‘That’s why you won’t let me into the shower with you, isn’t it? You always wear something, a shirt, or–’ Her white face is streaked with an uneven pink. ‘We always do it in the dark.’

‘What’s the matter, Polly? Ashamed of your deformed boyfriend?’ Pierre’s fresh antagonism is this time aimed at her. There is a harsh wobble in his voice. ‘Can you see now why I like to dress up? Why I have developed a fascination with masks and costumes? My life has had to be one long illusion. One long cover-up.’

Gustav rubs his chin. I can see a little nick of dried blood under his jaw where the black bristles have resisted his half-hearted attempts to shave on the journey over from Europe. That little sign of vulnerability makes me want to take his face in my hands and kiss him. Whether or not it’s because he has an audience, Gustav is superb in the face of Pierre’s raging self-pity.

‘P, don’t lash out at Polly. Maybe you need help with this.’ Gustav’s knuckles are white as he lowers his hand to grip the windowsill again. ‘Maybe we both do.’

‘It never goes away.’ Pierre taps his temple, the one with the blue vein. ‘I’ve only ever talked properly about the fire with you, Gustav. And Margot.’ The two men stare at each other again. However hostile their earlier words, the way they hold each other’s eyes in this moment still speaks of their old closeness, the direct link they used to share.

‘I would take every one of those burns away if I could.’ Gustav’s eyes are shadowed as if he hasn’t slept for centuries. As if he’s been hollowed out.

‘I believe you. You didn’t start the fire. But you ran out on us.’ Pierre has a fragile calm about him now, as if rocked by his brother’s quiet gravity. ‘You should have been there to stop it ever happening.’

‘You and I know the truth and it isn’t how you’re painting it.’

Pierre’s eyes flicker over to me. The scars near his collarbone and throat look like a vile red and white scarf trying to strangle him. I look back at him, still speechless, trying to communicate some kind of sympathy even while worrying how disloyal that might look to Gustav.

I think Pierre has interpreted my intention, because he clears his throat. ‘I’m sorry for that display. It was clumsy, and it was unpleasant, and it nearly jeopardised everything we’ve come here for. I’m sure a psychologist would have a field day with me, but my simple diagnosis is that I still blame my brother for not being there when it mattered. I always will. But no. Gustav didn’t start the fire.’

At last Pierre is calm, at least on the surface. Perhaps sensing that he’s scored some kind of victory. Because Gustav, despite his poise, looks shattered.

Polly stands shakily and puts her arm around Pierre’s waist, but already she’s acting differently, gingerly, as if he’s made of glass. As if she’s scared. Pierre ignores her, a strange, sad smile playing around his lips. I can’t quite articulate it, but it’s as if he sucks strength from Gustav’s dismay. Even at this fragile moment he still reminds me of one of those Roman emperors who threw Christians to the lions for a laugh.

The celebratory fireworks outside have long gone quiet. Gustav sits down and I follow him. He starts to speak.

‘We were living in Paris, near Montmartre, down a dead-end street. I was fifteen. Pierre was a little toddler of three. I had sneaked out to see a girl when I was supposed to be studying. They were loving and decent, our parents, but they were heavy drinkers and, once they were asleep, that was it. Nothing would wake them. I thought I could get away with disobeying them this once.’ Gustav watches Pierre, but Pierre’s head is down as he tucks his shirt into his trousers. I’m astonished to see him checking his phone before putting it back into the pocket. ‘Anyway, a fire broke out in our apartment on the top floor. It was a beautiful old building but decrepit. A tinderbox. The other residents had moved out. Something made me dash home earlier than I intended, otherwise – I should never have gone out. I should never have left him there.’

Gustav lifts his fist to his mouth and coughs, almost as if he’s back in that smoke-filled house. I sit like a sentry beside him. Pierre’s face has solidified into one of the masks he sells.

‘I saw the flames. People panicking with buckets of water. Well, I rushed straight up, the fire hadn’t spread beyond our apartment, and I found this one crying in the hall. It was like he was wearing an orange liquid cloak. Just his little face was clear of the flames.’

Polly grips Pierre’s arm, her mouth open in horror, and this time he doesn’t flinch as her nails dig in. As if she isn’t there.

I slide my fingers over Gustav’s thigh and lace them through his. He turns his head as if it weighs a ton. His lips move, but nothing comes out.

‘Gustav rolled me in a rug and carried me down to the courtyard, but he couldn’t get back up the stairs.’ Pierre’s voice has lost the transatlantic drawl. The faint European trace of an accent clips at some words, just like Gustav’s. ‘The only good thing is that Gustav escaped the flames unhurt – he had no long-lasting damage. No scars. The rug protected him.’

The images rip through our minds. The tall shuttered windows buckling, the grey Parisian stone starting to blacken, the tiles loosening like teeth and crashing onto the watching faces below.

Gustav clears his throat. His grip is so tight that my fingers have gone white. ‘Do you see now why I cared so much about our parents’ jewellery? They weren’t trinkets. They were mementos.’

‘But they were also life-savers. They fetched a lot of money when I sold them. Surely our parents wouldn’t have begrudged me that?’ Pierre shrugs on his jacket, keeping his eyes on his brother. ‘Look. We’ve both done dreadful things. Made each other suffer. But don’t you think it’s time to call it even?’

I stiffen. None of this is even. But, as Gustav said, it’s not my fight.

Gustav nods wearily. ‘We could argue until the cows come home. But yes. Let’s call it even, if we are ever going to move on.’

He stands as Pierre comes up to him and lays his hand awkwardly on Gustav’s arm. They’ve sucked the life out of each other as only warring brothers can.

I wait for a moment, afraid to invade the space, then make a decision of my own. ‘Do you mind if we say goodnight now, Pierre? Polly?’ I murmur, turning to each of them as I say their name. ‘I think tonight has knocked the stuffing out of all of us, and in a way I’m glad. I don’t know much about families, or brothers, but it had to come out at some stage, otherwise Margot’s lie would have festered in there forever.’

‘She’s right, Pierre. Let’s give these guys some space. And you and I need to talk about all this, too,’ echoes Polly, tugging at Pierre. ‘Maybe you two brothers should make a pact. The angry words end here. And next time you should meet up alone, without me and Serena getting in the way.’

‘You two girls have been more help, more use, than you can imagine.’

Gustav answers her but it’s me he is staring at, the dark fire glowing in his eyes and pulling me towards him. A secret flame ignites inside me.

‘Yes. We need to be alone now,’ I say quietly.

‘Happy New Year, G,’ Pierre says, and lifts his other arm to grasp Gustav. Gustav mirrors the gesture, his hands on Pierre’s shoulders. Pierre has to look up slightly to meet Gustav’s eyes. They stand for a long moment then stiffly move apart. ‘I’ll be the one to choose the next meeting. OK?’

Gustav goes to the door and murmurs something to Polly. I am about to sink back in the sofa with relief when I realise Pierre is still standing above me.

‘Happy New Year, Serena, and here’s my wish for you.’ He bends down to me and whispers in my ear, so quietly I can barely make out his words. ‘That you are still here to celebrate with us this time next year.’

I wait for the closing of the door. The chime of the lift. Wait till I know they will be at ground level and walking out on the pavement at this upper end of Broadway.

And then I push brother and cousin out of my head and take my man. I get up, coil my arm around his waist then hesitate, as if it’s Gustav who has scars all over his skin. We stare for a long time out of the window, over the rooftops of Manhattan.

‘I’m worried about what he said just then. That he confided in Margot about the fire, and his burns. That kind of tragedy is something she would use again and again, if she could.’

‘Pierre is scarred inside and out. You’re the only person who can help him.’ I pause. ‘We can’t trace everything bad that happens back to her.’

‘Can’t we? Let’s pray that you’re right.’ Gustav turns me so that I’m lined up against him, body to body. Groin to groin. He buries his face in my hair, takes the long strands in his hands and yanks my head back so that he can look down into my eyes.

I press against him, feel the hardness. He needs me badly. It’s going to be rough, and hard, and I can’t wait. The golden locket taps in time with my heartbeat.

‘But I still don’t like the way he gets a kick out of shocking people.’

Gustav sighs. ‘I used to understand him so well. He was always troubled, and no wonder. That was my role in life, to clear his head, give him confidence, face the world. Can you see now why it was so catastrophic when Margot took him over?’