The Sacrificial Man (6 page)

My lover is not Smith, who arrived on a train. Smith is dead: he died last June. This is another lover, a friend from long ago, someone who has known me since I was a child. Lee always returns. It was a long absence this time, all last year while I was with Smith. But this evening, after Cate Austin had gone, Lee came back to me. A few days ago there was an airmail letter to explain; a holiday, back in the UK, only for a few weeks. I’m always grateful to see Lee. I stroke the shorn head, animal-soft, heavy on my shoulder. Before the heat has cooled between us Lee pulls away, and disappears up the stairs to piss in the toilet upstairs, the noise audible above my head. I remember why Smith came to me. We wanted to avoid this anti-climax and we succeeded. I don’t move, refuse to let the spell be broken. I admire my body, one hand caressing my flat stomach. I’m a released trap, a catch undone. I’m all damp velvet and warm leather.

Then Lee appears, ridiculous in my tiny bathrobe, “Can I get you anything?”

“Water,” I say, licking my dry lips. “And the packet of paracetamol from my bag.” Even though I’ve given up coffee the headaches keep coming.

The pipes sing as the tap is turned and I hear humming from some faraway place. I’m still deep in my void.

Lee brings the water and I spill some on my chest as I take the heavy glass. I see those brown eyes, so recently heavy with lust, scan the discarded newspaper on the floor, wondering where I keep the remote control for the TV. If I were alone I would lie still for a long time, to keep the spell unbroken. There’s only one sure way to hold the magic, maintain the high: death.

I have trouble sleeping, always have, so whilst my lover dreams in my bed I potter about the house in my dressing gown, silk sticking to my thigh, checking my collection of cacti, watching the misty dawning of light. It’s cold, even for January, and there’s frost sparkling on the tops of cars like glitter. When the dawn is fully broken and I’ve watched several neighbours de-ice their cars and drive off to work, I return to the bedroom. It’s gone nine, but I no longer have anywhere to go. The only work I have to do at the university is to mark a pile of essays on Keats, written by first years. An undemanding task, so I can afford to go back to bed.

Lee breathes heavy with hidden visions and has overslept for the planned morning swim. I don’t concern myself with this, it’s not my business. I’m a lover, not a wife. I peel off my dressing gown like a shed skin and drop it to the floor, place my feet on Lee’s ankles, my knees sliding behind the curve of legs, and allow the heat to warm me. The room smells of the morning after sex. A salty, unclean potion that tastes better fresh. Putting an arm over Lee, I match my breath, trick my body into relaxing and hope my mind will follow.

As I curl behind the sleeping body, feeling the force of life, I think: I won’t tell Cate Austin your name. I’ll keep you out of this. After all, this return is only for a brief time, and it can’t make any difference. Lee is a friend, my best friend. Dependable and loyal. But never my true love, like Smith. This brief time is just a distraction, a respite. That’s all it can be when the future is unknown.

I wait for sleep.

When we wake I find myself teasing Lee, as I’ve always done over the years. It’s been so long since our last time together, so I reach, touch, need to be certain that the return is real. “Why do you have to have your hair so short?” I demand, feeling the dark bristles, the bony scalp underneath, “You’re like a hedgehog.”

“It’s just a military cut, Alice. Not everyone has it so short, but I like it.”

I like it too but don’t say this. Lee moves around my kitchen, opens the fridge, and grabs a mug from the cupboard. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you.”

“You want a drink?”

“No.” I wait until finally Lee sits down, eating a thickly buttered piece of toast. “So tell me about Germany.”

“Why would you want to know about Germany?” Lee smirks at me and I think: it’s true, I’ve never shown much interest before. But this posting is further away, and for longer. Lee left just a year ago. Last January was also the time when I saw Smith’s advert. As one lover abandoned me, another arrived. Fate works like that.

“So you aren’t married, then?”

Lee swigs tea, then looks at me, a moment too long. “I think you and I both know that’s not possible.”

I feel blood in my cheeks, but carry on making light of the intensity in the moment, “Oh, I don’t know. I’d have thought you could have found a nice Fraulein to keep you entertained. And I could see you being attracted to the German spirit. You always did like to be dominated.” It’s supposed to be a joke but Lee isn’t smiling. I change the subject, “How long are you here for?”

“A few weeks. I’ve been building up a lot of leave. There was a month-long exercise recently, and they asked for volunteers. Most of the lads weren’t interested, and those with families or wives didn’t want to leave the base. But me, I’m easy. So I built up a fair bit of extra hours. I reckon I’ll stay for three weeks, at least.”

The tricky moment is gone, as Lee and I play this easy, teasing game as we always have. It’s good for us to be together. Three weeks, though short, is more than enough time. In less than that I’ll be sentenced. I can’t think beyond that. If only I could tell Lee about the court case. If only I could be certain that Lee would understand. But I don’t have faith. I don’t believe that any love could forgive such an infidelity. So I’ll keep quiet, and tell only you.

Later, I’ll set off to visit Cate Austin at her office but for now I want to busy myself with other thoughts. Lee was always able to distract me, and I return to one of my favourite topics: “Do you still enjoy the military, then? All those rules, all that order?”

“Yes.” There’s a wicked twinkle in those brown eyes, “Being bossed around was something you taught me to enjoy.”

“I never would have guessed it, though,” I muse, not for the first time, “You going away, I mean. I always thought you’d just get a job around here. I never thought of you joining the RAF. I never even knew you wanted to fly.”

“I don’t fly. I fix things.”

“You always did want to fix things.”

Lee wants to fix me, so very much. So much it hurt sometimes. But I resist. You can’t fix someone who doesn’t want help.

Lee isn’t like me, never was. Leaving school at sixteen was a thing I never even considered, but for Lee it was a given. The teachers never rated Lee as a success, but they were wrong. Taking a job as a lifeguard at the local swimming baths may not have been the most auspicious start, but joining the RAF two years later has led to the perfect career. A Survival Equipment Fitter may not sound very glamorous, mainly fixing punctures in life rafts and folding away parachutes correctly, but Lee saves lives. Fixing a life preserver stops a pilot drowning. Getting that parachute to open correctly is vital.

Lee always was methodical, always was a rescuer. If only I wanted to be saved.

Notes following interview with Alice Mariani. NB: I have requested the Crown Prosecution summary of evidence, which is yet to arrive. Alice was with David Jenkins when he took a fatal overdose. She pleaded guilty to Assisting Suicide, a crime that can attract up to fourteen years in prison. In interview, she shows no remorse for this act, principally because she believes it is a morally defensible decision as ‘everyone has the right to choose to live or die.’

No indication that DJ was ill or in pain. No debts. So why did he want to die? Alice asserts that assisting with DJ’s suicide was a victimless crime and that they were in love. She was adopted when she was four-years-old. Has this any significance??

Cate stopped typing. Alice said she was adopted by a couple who wanted her. Had they provided Alice with the love and stability she needed? Dorothy on reception rang through.

“Cate, your client’s arrived.”

“Thanks, Dot.”

“She’s a bit edgy, and she’s attracting some unwelcome attention.”

“I’ll be right down.”

*

The probation office is a ghastly place. Stale air and fag ends, even the plastic chairs are filthy. She had no right asking me to come here. Worse, a man in a baseball hat with rotten teeth keeps trying to talk to me.

Cate Austin appears at the internal entrance, and opens a gateway. I’m tempted to run away into the street, but instead I follow her through without touching the door frame. Who knows what germs linger here? When we reach her office I take the seat and try to compose myself after this assault on my senses. “Please may I have a glass of water?”

She hesitates and I gather from this that she isn’t supposed to leave me in her office. I’m affronted that she has to think about it, as if I’m a criminal. Like that lowlife in the waiting room. Eventually, she goes and I’m alone in her room. There’s a photo of a young girl on the desk, next to the computer. A pretty girl on a swing, legs in the air. How conventional. The computer screen is still on and I lean forward to read.

She returns quickly, and I have to move back into the chair, avoiding her assessing eye, and pretend to notice the photo on the desk for the first time.

“Is that your daughter?”

“Yes.”

She takes her seat, touches the picture and moves it slightly away from my gaze.

“How old is she?” I’ve never been good at guessing the ages of children, it’s not a skill that interests me.

She hesitates, “We’re not here to talk about me, Alice.”

I look again at the photo. The girl looks about the same age I was when my world shattered. Cate hands me the smeared glass of water, and turns to her computer. I note the slight dilation of her pupils as she realises what she left on the screen. Her notes of our meeting yesterday, which I’ve read. I’m a fast reader, all those essays I’ve marked over the years. She moves her mouse, and the screen blanks.

I sip water, still looking at the photo. Cate touches the frame again, turning the picture further out of my line of vision. “I’d like to ask about the degree to which you and David Jenkins planned his death. There was obviously a great deal of premeditation?”

I let there be a pause, and remember the choice she gave me when we last met. The option of talking to her, to avoid prison. But I don’t want her victory to be so easy, and keep silent for a moment longer. Her eyes flicker with uncertainty. She doesn’t yet know if I will talk.

I say eventually, “Yes. There was.”

Glad of the drink, I lean back in the low chair, and Cate swivels so she faces me, but at an angle. The desk is against the wall so there is no barrier between us, except for any words that might get in the way. She lifts her pen to the paper. It’s my prompt to begin. And I’ve made a decision. I decide I have no choice; I decide to talk, but in my own way, choosing my own place to begin.

Cate Austin asks too many questions, and I must be careful. Soon she’ll ask about the cutting of flesh, the tasting. It’s difficult to explain, easier for me to go further back, to another story. She needs to understand where I come from, why love is so fragile. I’ll tell my story, and hope that she understands. My freedom depends on it.

I tell her this:

Although there was a lot to think about before Smith’s death, I was concerned about my parents. I thought it must be possible to prepare them in some way, as carefully as the situation would allow. If I could speak with them, before the event, then it would surely help them cope when Smith was dead and I was in the media limelight.

It was April last year, just after Mother’s Day but before Easter. I’d known Smith for two months. In just two more he would be dead.

I didn’t want my parents discovering our conspiracy from some media headline. To find out from a newspaper article that their daughter had assisted a suicide would be horrible, and I hoped to ready them. I knew they would never understand the passion to which Smith and I aspired. The act we were planning would seize the perfect moment, the most exquisite high. Forever captured. My parents lived their ordinary lives without extreme emotion, in a space that had no warmth. No love was left, yet they remained, like two indifferent animals in the same cage. Had they never thought of escape? Had neither of them imagined an alternative?