Who Are You? (31 page)

‘You OK? You sound a bit … well, low.’

‘Still recovering. Didn’t sleep that well.’

‘Sorry to hear that. Cup of tea? Coffee?’

‘No, thanks. Just had one. Just wanted to check that you – and the house – are OK.’

‘You really are a nice man,’ Juliet says. ‘A rare find, these days.’

‘I’m not. I really am not.’ He sighs heavily, and then looks down at his hands. He twists the woollen beanie in his fingers.

‘Modest, too,’ Juliet laughs. ‘Well whatever you think, I
know
you’re nice.’

He grabs his coat. ‘Gotta go.’ And without dallying even to put his coat on, he’s gone.

‘Blimey,’ Juliet thinks to herself. ‘Did he think she meant it as a come on? Her and her big mouth. She’d never seen anyone scarper quite so fast.

But later he calls her. ‘Just checking you’re OK,’ he says.

‘I’m fine. Ben’s asleep. I’m just watching some mindless telly, vegging out.’

‘Heating OK? You’ve got everything you need?’

‘Yep, everything’s perfect. Please don’t worry. You’ve done so much to help me.’

‘Forget it. It’s fine. You’re doing me a favour. I might have to go away soon. I get called at short notice. Just as long as you know how everything works … that you’ll be all right here.’

‘Thanks. By the way, is Claire OK? I haven’t heard back from her and I just really want to thank her.’

‘Yeah, she’s fine. I think she said she was going away for a few days. Maybe having a break from the internet.’

‘Lucky her. I’m addicted to it, umbilically attached.’

‘Listen, I was wondering if you’d like me to take Ben off your hands for a couple of hours tomorrow. Give you a break? I thought I’d take him to the park, kick a ball around?’

‘Oh Mark, I really don’t know … I’m not sure, what with the bump on his head and everything. I guess I’m just feeling a bit over-protective. I’m sure you understand …’

‘Oh, come on. Be good for him to have some “man” time. And I bet he’d like some fresh air and a change of scenery. Up the road, maybe just for an hour?’

Juliet feels churlish saying no to Mark when he’s been so kind to them both, even though she’s vaguely uncomfortable about letting Ben out of her sight.

‘I’m sure he’d love it, if you’re sure.’

‘I’ll be there around 10.’

*    *    *    *    *

Even though Alex is supposed to be the puppet master he still gets the feeling that things are spinning out of control. He can direct the operations but he can’t direct his emotions. Juliet leaving, taking Ben, even though he’d been expecting it, everything that’s happened is stirring him up inside and making him lose his focus. Thoughts and memories are getting muddled and tangled so there are moments when he really does think he might be losing his mind. And he can’t stop the tears. But at least with Juliet gone he can cry. That’s one good thing. And with Ben gone he doesn’t need to think about the fact that he’s a fucking child murderer. He doesn’t have to keep looking at Ben and remembering what he’s capable of. No, he doesn’t
have
to think about it, but he’s still fucking thinking about it. The only thing that helps now is the alcohol. His tolerance is building up, so it takes just that little bit more to numb the pain. She wanted him to get help? Jesus Christ … didn’t anyone realize that there was no help for people like him? If you believed in God – and there had been occasions when Alex had erred on the side of religion, particularly when under extreme fire – then this was Eternal Damnation, the revisiting, the reliving, the nightmares running like a DVD on permanent repeat. The only thing left inside his soul is torment. Help? What a bloody joke. Alex knows that the only time the memories and the guilt will stop for him is when the lights are switched off for the very last time. And what future is there for Ben? With two fucked-up parents what does he have to look forward to? But for now he mustn’t lose focus. He’s got to prepare, and do his kit checks. He needs to be ready. He can hear the planes overhead, their engines screaming as they come in to land. The sky is never silent; it’s just like some bloody aerial motorway up there. It would be good to be able to turn the sound off, but he can’t. Outside his quarters people are talking loudly. He wants to scream at them to tell them to bloody well shut the fuck up, he’s busy in here, he needs to think and settle himself before he goes into action. He always knows there’s a good chance he won’t come back, but this time he’s pretty sure of it. He’s all packed up. He’s just got to load the vehicle and make a phone call, then he’ll hit the road. He’ll feel better when he’s behind the wheel and at least in control of
something
.

CHAPTER

21

Juliet’s made sure that Ben has eaten a good breakfast: porridge, a boiled egg – maybe they’ll get some hens of their own – and some soldiers. Ben loves to eat soldiers because he pretends he’s eating Daddy’s arms and legs, which he seems to find hysterically funny. He’s in a good mood because he knows that Mark is going to collect him and take him to a playground where there are swings and slides – just like Palewell Park back at home – or ‘not’ home, and he can kick a ball around like big boys do.

Juliet offers Mark the use of his own coffee machine. ‘Nah, thanks. Had one down the road.’

‘Ben, wrap up warm. Keep your hat on, OK, otherwise you’ll get ear ache. And remember about your operation. If you go on the swings you’ve got to do it very slowly. Maybe I shouldn’t be letting him go with you,’ she says to Mark. ‘Do you think kicking a ball will be OK?’

‘Tell you what, why don’t we go and see what’s on at the movies – maybe a pizza afterwards – something a little less energetic?’

‘Well … that might mean you’ll be out for a bit longer. I was imagining you’d only be gone for an hour or so, and you can’t go buying him lunch.’

‘Course I can. How about I take you for a pizza? And I bet you like milkshake?’

‘Chocolate, with ice cream. Like when you can’t get it up the straw cos it’s so thick. And pizza – yeah – better than Mummy’s.’

‘I don’t know …’ Juliet is both worried and nervous. It was one thing to let Ben go out for an hour to the local playground, but … She realizes that Mark is sensing her hesitation and that makes her feel embarrassed. She’s just being neurotic and overprotective. ‘That’s incredibly kind of you. Let me give you some money …’ She reaches for her purse but Mark holds up both his hands, palms out towards her. ‘No. My treat. Get your hat and coat, big man, and let’s get out of Mummy’s hair. Go and have a nap or something. A relaxing soak in the bath, whatever it is you women like to do to relax. Don’t worry about us. Let’s go.’

As Juliet watches them disappear from view, she shudders again. Mark using the same expression as Alex. Big man. Perhaps she’ll tell him not to, or maybe she’ll just make herself be less sensitive. Stop worrying, she tells herself. Enjoy the peace. She’s got to admit it will be nice to have a little bit of time to herself, to get sorted out.

She goes upstairs and tidies Ben’s bedroom. So far he hasn’t wet the bed since they arrived. She’s put a plastic cover over the mattress just in case, but she takes it as a sign that he doesn’t seem to be too disturbed by what’s going on. She moves quickly and efficiently around the room, straightening the bedding, plumping the pillows and opening the window to let in some of that fresh country air. From Ben’s bedroom she can see a couple of houses about half a mile away, but apart from that they’re surrounded by farmland. The sun is out, there’s barely a cloud in the sky and the scent of the air is intoxicatingly pure. They’ll be fine. They will be fine, won’t they? She goes into her own room, repeats what she’s done in Ben’s room and then sits on the bed feeling a wash of loneliness. She knows she’s in danger of crying if she lets herself think too much so she wonders what she can do to distract herself. Maybe she will have that bath. Maybe she’ll do what she calls some body gardening. It’s been ages since she’s actually devoted any time to herself, and Juliet knows that it might well make her feel a bit better. ‘Standards, darling.’ Her mother’s voice pops, unbidden, into her head. Juliet has never been able to completely obliterate her from her life, much as she’d like to. You can’t ever really escape, because there is no bar to memories or thoughts, but she shakes her head and silently tells her mother to leave her alone.

*    *    *    *    *

Alex watches Juliet undress. Even though the phone screen is small the images are surprisingly clear, and he recognizes the way she moves, the routine of it. First she removes her socks. He can’t help grinning as she topples slightly, catching herself on the bed. She sits on the bed and then lies back with her foot waving in the air like an upended beetle and bends her knee to catch at her toes and snatches the other sock free. She rolls forward so that she’s sitting rather than lying and pulls the jersey over her head. She’s wearing one of her silk thermal vests underneath. It’s black and edged with lace, and so despite its utilitarian function, it’s not unattractive. Then she undoes the top button of her jeans and slides the zip down before easing them over her backside. He watches her shiver now that she is standing in her bra and pants. She collects her towelling robe from the back of the door and shrugs herself into it. Alex frowns at the screen, wondering what she has planned for this time of the morning. She leaves the room and so he flicks on to another camera – waiting a few seconds for her to appear. The sound seems to have failed; he’s got to get on to Mark to get it sorted. If she makes any phone calls he’d like to know what she’s talking about. Bloody Mark. He was squeamish about installing a camera that included a full view of the bog. ‘For fuck’s sake, she’s my wife – you think I haven’t seen her take a piss before?’

‘Yeah? Sorry, mate, but I just don’t think there’s too much she’s going to get up to when she’s taking a dump. You can see the rest of the bathroom, that’s good enough.’ And so over the last three days he has watched Ben’s bathtime, Juliet’s perfunctory ablutions, her brief dip last night when she was in and out of the tub within five minutes. But here she was, back again, turning on the taps, putting the plug in, testing the hot water. She is holding a bottle of something he recognizes as being the sort of smelly stuff that so recently graced their bathroom shelf – bath oil or bubbles or some such concoction that she liked. It was weird, this, watching his wife on screen. Her movements seem jerky, but they are clear enough for him to know what she’s doing. She removes her robe and underwear. He tries to see if she’s still got any visible marks on her body, but from where he’s sitting she looks in pretty good shape. She feels the temperature of the water and then turns off the taps before stepping in. She sinks down slowly so that her back is turned towards him and all he can see is the top half of her head above the parapet of the bath. She’s twisted her hair up into a knot on top of her head. He can imagine the rest of her because he’s seen her naked so many times before. She lies still for a while and then she lifts her left leg out of the water and begins to soap the area between her knee and her ankle. Then she takes something in her hand. Alex can’t see exactly what it is, but he knows it’s a razor. She starts to run the blade along the length of her lower leg. She holds her leg in the air, free of the water, so that he can see the shape of her calf and the arch in her instep as she points her toe, unconsciously no doubt, and it reminds him of how gracefully she moves. He props his chin on to his hand, which is in turn supported by his elbow upon the car window sill, and he watches his wife continue with her toilette, feeling wistful, nostalgic and unimaginably sad.

*    *    *    *    *

Juliet rubs herself dry and then wraps the towel around her and twists the end so that it holds in place. She wipes the condensation from the mirror but it’s too smeary to see her reflection. Probably just as well. She’s in need of a haircut and her skin is sallow through the stress, lack of sleep and dehydration, and her eyes feel puffy and sore. The well-groomed, manicured and outwardly sophisticated ‘London’ Juliet has disappeared. Her mother would be seriously ashamed of her. Oh Christ, here she is again, determined to be heard. Her voice rings out loud and clear. ‘Juliet, you have a duty to yourself to always make the best of yourself; it doesn’t matter if you’re seeing no one, the postman or the prime minister. You must always take pride in your appearance.’

‘To what end, Mother?’ Juliet says aloud. ‘To be a sexual object to titillate men? Is that it? Is that what you want?’

She needs to get her out of her head. Thinking about her mother right now, and all the baggage attached, is
not
helpful. She pulls a clean pair of jeans out of the drawer and pairs them with a white cotton shirt and a cashmere, drapey cardigan. She has brushed her hair and curled it back into the casual top knot. She sits before the mirror, with her make-up bag open in front of her.

But when she looks in the mirror she sees another reflection – her mother’s – and Juliet is carried way back in time, a little seven- year-old perhaps, or maybe eight at the most. There’s a lit cigarette lying in a silver ashtray, the smoke rising in a dead straight line. There’s something mesmerizing about that plume of smoke, a vertical stream wending upwards before diffusing into a little cloud of fairy gossamer floating above the top of the mirror – or looking glass, as her mother calls it. Calling things by their proper names is important, because it marks Mummy out as being
proper.
She picks up the cigarette and taps the ash from the tip before raising it to her lips. Scarlet meets scarlet. Her fingernails are so glamorous twirling the gold lipstick case. Juliet feels her own lips stretching as she watches her mother. Then her mother blots her lips together, opens her mouth to see if there are lipstick marks on her teeth, and all the while she watches her reflection at a tilted, sideways angle. She checks her earrings – big, shiny gold knots – and straightens the string of pearls around her long slender neck. Everything about her mother is long and slender: her nails, her fingers, arms, legs. But one of the things Juliet loves best about her mother is her smell. She doesn’t know it, but sometimes, when she goes out, Juliet sneaks into her bedroom and turns the scent bottle upside down once, like her mother does, and she takes out the stopper and dabs it onto her arm. Later, when Juliet is trying to get to sleep, she’ll inhale the scent and feel comforted and safe. Juliet does this a lot, because her mother is
always
out.