Love My Enemy (18 page)

'You've been a brilliant friend to her.'

'I didn't do anything.' Zee blushed, wishing that she
could escape somewhere.

'Yes, you did. Tasha told us how you took care of her,
introduced her to people, even warned her off Gar – er –
boys. You stuck by her. And when she got into . . .
difficulties . . . you took her to that clinic.'

Zee stole a glance at her mother whose eyes had
narrowed suspiciously but Tasha did not look in the least
embarrassed. She was grinning, in fact she was
practically boiling over with excitement.

'You'll never guess what,' she said. 'Can I tell her,
Mum?'

'Tell me what?'

'Let me explain,' said Magda but it was Sue she
turned to, not Zee. 'I've been talking to Tasha's father on
the phone. Filling him in. He was horrified to hear about
last night, and very relieved that it wasn't Tasha. The
thing is . . . he's rather wealthy. He's offered to pay for
Zee to go to school with Tasha – at Redbales.'

'Good Lord!'

'What do you think of that, Zee?' Tasha rushed to the
bedside and pumped Zee's arm up and down. You'll get
loads of new clothes and meet all my friends and in a
year or two you'll be right there in Fleet Street! Isn't it
fantastic
?'

Zee was almost speechless. 'Does . . . he mean it?'

'Absolutely,' said Magda.

'We could visit you,' shouted Gemma, catching
Tasha's excitement 'We could go to London and watch
the changing of those furry guards.'

'But Zee may need plastic surgery,' her mum said
suddenly.

'They have surgeons also in London,' said Miguel.

'But the best ones are here in Belfast. They've had
lots of practice!'

Magda reached out and touched Sue's arm lightly.
'It's only a suggestion, my dear. But Zee would be safe
there.'

'Could Gary visit Zee too?' piped Josh.

The temperature in the little room seemed to drop
suddenly. Gemma whispered, not very quietly in her
mother's ear, 'Is Gary bad now?'

'No,' she replied loudly. 'He's just confused.'

Everyone seemed to be looking at their feet. If it
hadn't all been so horribly embarrassing, it would have
been funny, thought Zee.

'Will Gary come home if Zee goes away?' asked
Gemma.

Josh picked up a book lying on the locker and hurled
it on the floor. 'I want Gary
and
Zee to come home. And
Mummy.
And
Daddy.'

'Ssh,' said Sue pulling them both onto her lap and
wrapping them up in a cuddle. Zee could tell that she
was close to tears.

'Mum, you're exhausted. Please go home with the
twins. They need you and you need some proper sleep,
and I . . . I need to think.'

Tasha's face crashed. 'You will come to Redbales,
won't you?'

'I'll think about it. But you have to do something for
me, Tasha.'

'Of course . . . anything.'

'Right, then. Find Gary.'

'Oh, Zee!'

'He must be desperate, Tasha. He didn't mean to hurt
me – I'm sure of it. I need to see Gary before I go
anywhere. I can't leave things like this.'

Tasha nibbled her lower lip but Miguel put his arm
around her shoulders and said, 'Would you like me to
help you?'

'Yes, I would like that.' Tasha looked up at him with
a smile as wide as the world.

How beautiful she is, thought Zee, then she recalled
how alike people had said they were, and something
started choking her deep inside. 'I think I'd like to sleep
now,' she told them.

'Good.' Her mother kissed her. 'Later, the police want
to talk to you.'

'Okay.'

'And about Conor, love . . . '

'Keep him away, Mum.'

'But he's so keen to see you.'

'No! There's only one guy I want to see – Gary.'

Tasha's first stop was with Des. She detested him; he
was the most vulgar lout she had ever met. But she had
promised Zee that she would do everything possible to
find Gary, and if that meant screwing up her courage to
ask Des, then that was what she would do.

It was Mrs Gordon who answered the door, not Des.
She was wearing a pink nylon housecoat and she held a
long-handled feather-duster in her hand like a sword. She
told Tasha that the police had charged Des. He would not
be back for a long time apparently and she intended to
advertise for a lodger. She was busy turning out his room,
she said, and could not stop to chat. Tasha turned away
from the door without having spoken a word.

Together, she and Miguel combed Hazel Grove. They
searched the wood and crossed the paving slabs where
Tasha and Zee had tipsily played hopscotch. Tasha asked
the boys playing football behind the Co-op if they had seen
Gary but they shook their heads. Tasha had been avoiding
the football pitch for weeks but now she stared at the patch
of grass where she had lost her virginity, and somehow, it
didn't seem that important any more. Like the boys playing
football, all she could manage was a shrug.

Later she and Miguel scoured the streets, looked into
local shops and rang Sue twice. There was still no sign
of Gary.

'We'll get the car,' said Miguel, 'and search in the city.'

They cruised the streets then drove into the centre of
town, stopping to look in cheap cafés and amusement
arcades. Miguel scoured the pubs and he talked
encouragingly to Tasha when she felt hopeless. 'It will
take time but at least he is alive. We
will
find him.'

Back home Magda told them she had rung the police.
Apparently Gary had been questioned and then released.
One more call to Sue, then darkness had descended.

'You must stop, you both look exhausted. I've made a
cottage pie for supper.'

They ate it hungrily, followed by an apple crumble.
'Tomorrow, Miguel, will you help me search again?'
asked Tasha.

'Of course, and every day until we find him.'

Tasha was suddenly and unexpectedly happy.

At three o'clock that afternoon Gary had left
Shaftesbury Square police station. Around him the
pigeons were making a huge racket. With chests puffed
out, they were perched like the beads of a necklace, all
along the window ledges of Victorian office blocks,
cackling at the traffic below. It was jammed solid. Irate
drivers blared their horns, exhausts belched fumes, litter
catapulted along dusty gutters.

Why were they all in such a hurry, Gary wondered.
What mattered so much? He wandered aimlessly down
to the city centre, his hands in his empty pockets. Go
home, Sergeant Carson had told him but Gary had no
intention of doing that. He had done too much harm
there already. Zee would never want to see him again
and they would all be better off without him.

In front of the City Hall he stretched out on the
wilting summer grass and let the sun work like a
masseur on his bones, warming and soothing them.
Exhausted, he would have slept, but a knot of fear in his
stomach tightened and jerked him awake every time he
dozed off.

Had Jimmy and Ben been picked up yet, he
wondered. Was he safe here in the middle of city
crowds? Would he ever be safe again?

When the town clock struck five Gary hauled himself
up and began walking east towards the hospital.
Perhaps, if he went there in person, they would tell him
more. He avoided the backstreets he had come to know
so well, sticking instead to the main roads where
Belfast's red double-deckers ploughed up and down in a
haze of diesel.

The traffic eased after six and the sun descended in a
dirty silver disc into city smog. A few punters lingered
outside pubs, pints in hand, winding down after work.
For the first time ever, Gary envied them their hard day's
work and their well-deserved drinks.

Salt and vinegar smells prickled his nostrils when he
passed a corner chippy and from a pizza hut wafted the
musky aroma of Italian herbs. His stomach gurgled with
hunger. By seven o'clock he was glancing into the metal
council bins screwed onto lamp-posts. But he would not
sink that low, not as low as the drop-outs and rough
sleepers he had seen scavenging before now, and
despised. Not until darkness came anyway, when the
sight of a half-eaten fish supper was too much to resist.

Outside the Ulster Hospital he stood for a long time
looking up at the tower block of brightly lit windows.
Which room was Zee's? Was she up there staring down
at him? Or was she too ill to get out of bed? Had she had
surgery? Or even relapsed into unconsciousness again?

He prowled like a thief around the car park until he
had satisfied himself that his mother's red Citroën was
not there. Someone must have persuaded her to go
home. That had to be a good sign because she would
never leave if Zee was critical. Gary plucked up his
courage and sidled into reception.

A girl with candy floss hair asked for Zee's details
and her pink fingernails tapped them into a keyboard as
he spoke.

'Which ward, lovee?'

'Um – I dunno – er – facial wounds.'

'Pardon?'

Gary couldn't bring himself to say it again. All he
really wanted to do was bolt. 'Zara Proctor – she was
brought into accident and emergency, last night.'

'Are you a relative?'

'Yeah – a cousin.'

Her eyes never left the monitor. 'Right, I've got her –
she's in ward seven.'

'What else?' he asked.

'Nothing else,' she said blankly. 'If you go up they
might just give you a few minutes but visiting's over
really.'

'I don't want to go up,' he said awkwardly, 'I just
want to know how she's getting on.'

The girl swivelled round in her seat, her huge
mascaraed eyes settling on him like sun lamps. 'This is
just a database,' she said as if he was too stupid to realise
that. 'We don't hold information about the patients'
health here.'

'Someone must be able to tell me something.'

She looked him up and down. 'Well . . . if you want to
take a seat, I'll ask the duty doctor if he'll see you.'

'Don't bother.' A doctor might tell Zee that he was
here and frighten the life out of her. 'Can't you find out
if she's had plastic surgery? Is she in tears all the time?
How
is
she?'

'Sorry, you really do need to talk to a doctor, lovee.'

If this bimbo called him lovee one more time he'd hit
her. Gary walked across the foyer and leaned against a
pillar. Emotion rolled like boulders across his chest and
he had to fight hard to control it.

'Are y'all right there?' said a voice. 'Ye look shockin'
so you do.'

Gary would have known that voice anywhere. He
stared at her dumbfounded.

'Hello, ye pillock!'

'Ruby. . . what are you doing here?'

'Waitin' for a heart transplant.' She scowled at him.
'What d'ye think I'm doin'? I'm waitin' for ye of course.'

'You said we were finished,' he reminded her.

'And ye said there's far too much between us. Ye're
right.'

Her hair looked rattier than ever and there was more
metal in her face than in the shipyard but at that precise
moment, there was no one in the whole world Gary
would rather have seen.

'I knew ye'd come here eventually,' she said gruffly,
'but ye didn't half take yer time! Know how many
flamin'
National Geographics
I've had to read?'

Gary buried his head between her breasts and smelt
that amazing mixture of patchouli and nicotine and
chips that was pure Ruby.

'Oh, Jeezus, Ruby, what the hell am I going to do?' he
asked.

'What d'ye think, y'eejit?' She kissed the back of his
neck like his mum used to when he was a little boy.
'You're gonna come home wi' me.'

Just a few hundred yards down the hospital corridor,
Conor paused. He had wanted to be a surgeon for two
years now but tonight this hospital was spooking him.
Everything was so quiet and orderly on the surface, but
somewhere here cancer patients must be sucking in their
final breaths, crash victims would be hurtling towards
theatre. Conor had imagined himself as a skilled, hardworking
doctor putting the grateful injured back
together again. He had never thought about patients
feeling angry, like Sue said Zee felt. There were so many
people here with their lives in chaos and his own
girlfriend was one of them.

In the lift his hands slid nervously around the control
panel before he found the right button to press, and on the
fourth floor he took a deep breath to steady himself before
walking self-consciously along the corridor. Sue's
message rang in his ears.
Stay away, Conor. Give her time
.

His stomach began to flutter. He wondered if he ought
to peer through the little window in her door first, get a
look at her, prepare himself. But a nurse might notice
him doing that and stop him visiting altogether. In the
end he marched straight in.

'Get out!' she screamed, disappearing under the duvet.
All Conor glimpsed was the top of her head. At least that
looked normal.

'Thanks,' he said jerkily, 'lovely welcome.'

'I
told
you to stay away.'

'I couldn't – sorry – I had to come.'

From under the duvet came a furious cry. 'I don't
want
you here, Conor.'

'Why not? Why won't you see me?'

'Why do you think?'

Conor tried hard to be kind. 'I don't care how you
look, you know.'

'Bully for you, Conor! I mind.' A strangled sob
escaped her.

'Of course you do! I know that,
I know
.'

He flopped down on a chair, feeling useless, and
wishing that he had planned what to say, but the truth was
he had no idea. What words could possibly put this right?
Besides, Zee had always been the one with the words.
They sat in silence, separated by a stupid sheet of cotton.

'What did your dad say?' she asked at last.

That threw him, but at least she was speaking. 'Um . . .
he called Gary all sorts of words you don't find in the
dictionary. Then he did the same to Des.'

'And to me too, I suppose?'

'No, not at all. They've been worried about you – we
all have.'

Her voice softened a little. 'Did they give you a hard
time? For seeing me behind their backs?'

'Actually they've been great these last few days.' He
was quiet for a moment, thinking just how supportive
they had been. 'It's as if they finally understand that my
life's my own – and it's going to be different to theirs.'

The sheet sagged just then, enough for him to see her
eyebrows and one wound. Fleshiness, juicily red, bulged
between the stitches. He swallowed quickly.

'Has Gary come home yet?' she asked.

'I dunno.' Anger swelled inside him. 'I don't suppose
the prodigal son will come knocking on my door though,
I might just tear his head off.'

'You will not! This was Des's fault, not Gary's. Des
saw me at the window that night. It was Des behind this
– I know it was.'

Conor could hardly believe what he was hearing.
'Gary was involved – you know that! None of this
would have happened if Gary hadn't been hellbent on
keeping us apart, Zee.'

'You know how screwed up Gary is.'

Was she really going to let him off the hook that
easily? Conor struggled to keep his voice calm. 'Gary's
still responsible for what he does, Zee.'

'I know, but Des
used
him, and he is still my brother.'

Bitterness broke like a wave through Conor's voice.
'Gary's finally going to get what he wants. He really
is
going to separate us this time, isn't he?'

'You mean . . .Mum's told you I'm going to England?'

'She's told me you're thinking about it. She came
round to the house and the four of us sat in our front
room drinking tea out of the best china. It felt like
someone had died, Zee. But you
haven't
died, and I
don't want you going away.'

'It'll be for the best,' she said.

'How can it be? I
love
you.'

'You won't, Conor – not now. Nobody could.'

'
I
will . . . of course I will . . . Zee, show me . . .
please
.'

Slowly she lowered the duvet.

Shock hit him like an earthquake; he could no more
keep it out of his face than he could turn away.
Disfigured, destroyed, her beautiful face gone. How
could they do that to her? How could anyone destroy a
person's face? It was like stealing a whole life away.
Conor could neither move nor speak but she was staring
at him, waiting. She was watching him watching her.

'God,' he said, his voice as dry as salt. 'Oh my
God . . . '

'It's bad, isn't it?' she whispered. 'They won't give
me a mirror. Tell me, Conor,
how
bad?'

His answer mattered, he knew that, but she looked as
if her face was covered in spaghetti and blotched with
Bolognese. Words sat like hurdles in his throat and he
had to force each one out separately. 'You're still beautiful
to me,' he said.

'
Liar!
'

She burst into tears and threw herself down on the
mattress. Conor hurried round the bed and knelt on the
floor beside her. 'It's not too bad, not once you get used
to it. There's one big wound under your eye. The rest . . .
they. . . they don't look too deep. They'll mebbe heal up
and you'll get your looks back . . . maybe.'

'You don't look so hot yourself, Romeo!'

That was more like Zee. He smiled with relief and
touched his bruised eye. 'This is a corker, isn't it? I've
three stitches in my lip and broken ribs too.'

'But yours
will
heal, Conor. You
will
be okay.'

'And yours might. Whether they do, or whether they
don't, I'll still love you, Zee.'

She let slip a huge sob, but when he reached out to
comfort her, she shrank away.

'Don't! I want to go away, Conor, I
want
to go to
England. Tasha's dad is giving me a future.'

'You've a future here. I told my parents I love you. I
even told the police. I've hardly slept since Saturday, I
can't eat, I can't concentrate. Zee, we have a future
together.' She didn't answer, she didn't say anything at
all and suddenly he felt completely powerless. 'You
can't let this beat you, Zee!'

'I can.'

'Do you really want to break up? After all we've been
through? All this for nothing?'

'All this? What am I, Con, some cross-community
project?' She had a tongue like a whip sometimes.
'Maybe that's all I've ever been to you.'

'Don't talk rubbish.'

'There are lots of nice Catholic girls in Belfast. Do
yourself a favour and find one.'

'You don't mean that.'

'I do. Northern Ireland's never going to change. I've
had it – I'm leaving here and I'm
never
coming back.'

'You're just scared, more scared than ever – I'll help
you, I promise I will.'

She reached for a cord above the bed and pressed the
buzzer on the end of it. 'I don't want your help, you
arrogant git – get out!'

Tears ricocheted between her wounds like a game of
pinball. Conor watched in horror. He had come here to
make her feel better but instead he had made her worse.
He had made her cry. He had made her face come alive
with repulsive wriggling worms. All these fine words
he'd spouted, but if she did stay, would he really be able
to love her?

'Out,' she yelled again and a nurse appeared at the
same time. 'Out!'

'Okay. . . but I'll be back.'

Would he? Did he really want her? Did he even want
to be a surgeon after seeing this? The world was shifting
under his feet and nothing seemed certain any more.
Overcome with confusion, he backed away. It felt as if
some long road was unravelling between them, pushing
them further and further apart. Down the length of it
their eyes met and in that moment he saw that Zee was
letting him go. He fought it for a moment then he turned
and walked away.

A blade came glinting towards her again . . . those eyes
glittering through jagged holes. The stench of him . . .
sweat and beer and stale breath . . . she heard herself beg
for mercy.

'No . . . no . . . please don't!'

The sound of her own voice woke her up as it often
did now. Zee propped herself up on one arm and drank
from the glass on her bedside locker. It rattled a little
against her teeth and when she rolled back onto the
mattress her nightdress was clammy with sweat.
Perhaps she should ask them for another of those little
blue tablets to calm her down.

She slipped shakily out of bed and walked slowly to
the ensuite lavatory. Going to the loo still felt like an
adventure. She had only been allowed up a few times,
though this evening – Tuesday she thought – they had
even let her have a bath.

She washed her hands, frowning at a square of bright
paint above the basin. She had noticed it before, it
looked odd, as if something had been removed.
Suddenly she realised what should have been there.
They had taken away the mirror.

Did she really look so awful? Did they think she would
die of a heart attack if she saw her own reflection? She
hung onto the basin, steadying herself. Perhaps she
should go and find a nurse and demand a mirror.

But they wouldn't listen to her. They would just call
her an hysterical kid again, they might even give her
another jab. Besides, she had no energy for a scene.
How could she feel so tired, she wondered, when all she
had done for days was lie in bed? The heat in the little
room was stifling. Perhaps she could open a window and
let in a blast of cool night air.

Nighttime, the window would be black. Zee's heart
leapt. She would be able to see her reflection in the
darkened window.

In a few steps she had crossed the room. She hesitated
for a second, then fixed her eyes on the floor,
concentrating on one particular tile. Keeping her sights
pinned there, she pulled the string that gathered back the
curtains. Wait . . . wait . . . she had to be ready for this.

She looked up and her breath rushed out with a cry.
Another breath now, a longer one. She held it, let it go.
After that it was easier to breathe and look at the same time.

It is me. Zee. Underneath that . . . mess . . . it's me
.

In the window she saw her tongue slide between her
lips, moistening them; suddenly they were parched.

'One . . . two . . . three . . . ' She began to count the
wounds, just as Gemma had. Stay logical, get a handle
on it, count. Breathing hard, she went on. One big blotch
beneath the eye, just like Conor had said.

That was when the man had wrenched the knife
round, twisting it in, pushing hard, like a knife into a
peach. But it was her own flesh, no peach, that had
flicked down bloodily around her. It had hurt so much.
She gulped for breath as the memories tightened like a
plastic bag around her mouth. His arm, thick as a
branch, pinning her down, but worse than that, much
worse, the smell of her own blood, warm and sticky. It
had buckled her legs in terror. She remembered – like a
lightning streak – where she had smelt blood just like it
once before.

Her father's blood. Smelt it, seen it. Bright arterial
red, still frothing, running down the wallpaper,
splattered over furniture. The metallic warmth of it
cloying at her nostrils. The deep pile of the carpet
bunching as the dark stain spread.

Fear had cut her off from everyone that night, it had
bandaged her tight as an Egyptian mummy, had
separated her off from Gary and her mother. She
remembered being unable to speak, remembered turning
and leaving them there together among the blood. She
had taken Josh into bed with Gemma and lain there
listening to the sirens wail while the twins slept
peacefully on either side of her. In the morning, while
Sue dozed and Gary raged, Zee had made them toast.
For months she had managed to forget, but not now.

'
This is for your da
,' that man had said.

Her dad? Why had her dad left them all alone? How
dare he? Please come back, Dad. A crushing pain worse
than any physical one gripped her. She screwed up her
eyes hard. When she opened them again and looked in
the window, there was another face beside hers.

'Dad!' She spun round but the room was empty and
when she turned back to the window he had gone. 'Dad!'

But she had seen him, she
had
, right there in the
window beside her. She twisted back and forth but there
was no sign of him, now, not in the room, not in the
window. Only her own smashed face, half-stranger,
staring back.

Was it a ghost? Or a memory that had jumped out
unasked? She crawled into bed, scared of the memories
she kept packed away somewhere deep inside her. It
upset her to talk about her dad. It upset her when Gary
and Sue did.

But the memories leaked out now and she couldn't stop
them. His funeral had been so awful. They had draped his
coffin in a Union Jack – as if that made a difference – and
lowered him, lurching slightly, into a deep slit in the
ground. Sue had screamed as they took him, finally, away
from her and everybody there had been clutching the
person next to them. Nobody had known, but Zee had
wanted to jump into the grave with him.

Then came the prayers, which she had heard chanted
so many times on 'Songs of Praise'. Familiar and
anonymous as the whine of a power tool. The prayers
had drilled holes in her brain somehow, sawn through
her stomach. At the end, when the prayers stopped, there
had been trumpets. A policeman with polished buttons
and white gloves had played the Last Post. Then they
had all left the graveyard and eaten neat little ham
sandwiches at the funeral tea. People had talked, one or
two of them had even laughed. They had left her dad all
alone in a cold dark hole in the ground, and had a party.