The Grave (11 page)

The walls ran with steam, hot water beat down on Sylvie’s
head, it was bliss.  Their filthy clothes were draped around the room dripping
onto the grey and pink floral carpet.  She had washed her underwear in the tiny
sink and put it to dry on the radiator.  It was the best they could manage but
feeling warm, safe and clean was enough, for now. 

The cubicle door slid back.

“Sylvie?” 

She nodded and his bulky body filled the moist space. 
Wrapped in the circle of his arms she felt his skin begin to warm and the
tension leave his muscles.  His hands were in her hair now, fingers raking it
back pulling the tendrils away from the wet of her face.  She stared into his
eyes till he bent to her, his lips brushed her neck.  Thrills of passion
skittered through her body taking the strength from her legs.  She gasped as he
licked at a nipple.  On a tiny shelf in the corner there was a small bottle of
shampoo. He tipped the fluid into his palm; it barely filled the centre of his
hand.  He screwed up his face at the amount and shrugged.  Rubbing his hands
together coaxed up a feeble amount of foam which he smoothed across her
shoulders, down over her breasts and sliding down the curve of her waist.  It
was gone and they laughed as he tried to catch the last of the bubbles and
force them back against the flow of the water.  

Clinging together they revelled in the comfort of heat and
cleanliness until the closeness of their bodies, the touch of skin on skin and
the evidence of his growing passion forced them back into the bedroom.  The
towels were surprisingly luxurious.  She sat on the floor wrapped in the fluffy
whiteness as he perched behind her on the bed, rubbing at her hair and combing
out the knots and leaning forward now and then to nibble at the edges of her
ear and kiss her neck. 

The comfort of this warm room and the quiet of the night,
after the stress and fear of the day felt dreamy and surreal.  He lifted her
and laid her on the bed, kicking aside the thin duvet and throwing the pillows
to the floor.  He stroked her legs, and her belly, kissed her shoulders, neck
and then back again and again to explore her mouth. Still unaccustomed to their
growing closeness they experimented, teasing and stroking, kissing and
caressing.  The journey found its end in the closeness and intimacy that is
almost holy and as he took her body Sylvie knew she had given him her heart.

Afterwards sleepy and fulfilled they dragged the covers back
and coiled together, put aside the mounting problems and future dangers and surrendered
to exhaustion…

A door slamming further along the hallway brought Samuel to
his senses.  For a minute he lay still, his arm had curled in sleep to cuddle
the slight body beside him.  Her hair spread across the pillows and her face,
in repose looked heartbreakingly childlike. 

He was troubled; this girl had turned his life on its head. 
Everything he thought he had forfeited, the feelings he had subdued,
interaction with other people, pleasure, passion and hope she was relighting
them all.  The flame of life had been rekindled and he didn’t know how he felt
about it.

She was so very different from what he had first expected. 
Though life had hardened her she was in truth soft and gentle, caring and
vulnerable.  He wanted her to be safe, wanted to spend some time with her.  He
had chosen to live an empty, lonely life, punishing himself for continuing to survive
when Marie and the baby were dead.  He had felt his existence to be a burden
and many times he’d considered leaving it all behind, taking what he thought of
as the easy way out.  Now though, with Sylvie he had someone else to consider,
he couldn’t leave her on her own to face the danger she had inadvertently
walked into.  Tenderly he brushed the hair from her face and kissed her awake,
she stretched, cat like and slid her arms around his neck kissing him back,
warm and sleepy, still part lost in her dreams. It reminded him painfully just
what it’s like to wake with someone who cares.  Was he ready to experience all
this again and in truth could he even begin to hope for it with all the
ugliness and pain in the past and the undeniable danger in the future.  It was
too late to think ‘if only’ and he wasn’t sure there was any room for ‘what if’.

Breakfast was delicious, there were no tiny pots of jam and
baskets of pastries.  They  were shown to their table, a choice of tea or
coffee was offered.  After a short wait a young girl presented dinner plates
filled with bacon, eggs, sausages, fried bread, tomatoes, and even a few
sautéed potato slices.  The air was filled with the smell of breakfast, it had
wafted there from the boarding houses of the fifties and sixties, before heart
disease and blood pressure sucked the pleasure from a hotel morning. There was
a rack of toast, a bowl of butter and a pot of marmalade. Sending anyone out
from her establishment without a good cooked breakfast would be a failure, and Mrs
Denton, the landlady, had no truck with failure.

Apart from bits and pieces cobbled together neither of them
had eaten anything substantial for a few days and they fell on the cholesterol
laden treats.  There was no time for speech their mouths became fully occupied with
the delicious flavours and their stomachs with the carbs their bodies craved. 
By the time they’d finished the second rack of toast and ordered another pot of
coffee Mrs Denton had popped her head out of the kitchen to grin at them and
yell across the room.

“Well either you two ‘ave bin out joggin’ this mornin’ or
you found plenty to keep you busy last night.”  With a great gale of laughter
she disappeared, leaving Sylvie blushing furiously and Samuel bending low over
his plate to avoid the amused glances of the other guests.  It was a light and
happy moment and precious as it ignored for a while the true nature of their
situation.

They pushed their overloaded bellies back up the narrow
stairs and walked hand in hand to their room.  Though they had brushed and
cleaned their clothes with the small means available they knew they looked
scruffy and unkempt, even in these modest surroundings. Samuel walked to the
window, lifted the floral net and peered out, left and right.

“I think we could stay here another night.  We need to sort
out some clothes and bags and stuff, what do you think?  We could go to the
shops and buy what we need.  I could tell her we’ll stay on.” 

“Yes please, it’d be nice to have a place to come back to. 
Samuel, are we okay here?  They can’t find us can they, I mean they’ve no idea
where we are, they can’t know, so we’re safe aren’t we?”

“I wish I could tell you yes, but I have to say that in all honesty
I just don’t know.  I’ve been places where I would have never believed I could
be recognised, where I’ve never set foot before and then after a couple of days
I’ve had to leave again.  They are amazing, their web stretches over the whole
country.  They’re interlinked, many parts of the same families, cousins,
brothers and they have a wonderful communication network, they all seem to know
almost by instinct when one is in danger or when someone has crossed them. 
These aren’t little dragged together dealers, this is a huge organisation.  All
I can say is that for today I think we should be okay, but they’re very likely
to work out how we came here, to Liverpool anyway. They know we didn’t have the
car, they know there was probably nothing other than the trucks, and they’ll
piece it together.

“I threw my laptop in the lake when I first saw they were following
me but I don’t know how much access they might have to my email.  I don’t think
we can risk trying to get your passport now, I can’t put my contact in danger,
I won’t do that.  We’ll have to come up with something else.” 

He put his arms around her, she was so small and frightened
and he was swept by a deep need to protect her.  He hadn’t been there to save
Marie but maybe he could find a way to save this girl.  Perhaps that’s what
this was about, recompense and restitution.  It was too late for him he knew,
but she hadn’t done anything wrong and didn’t deserve to be caught up in his
mess. 

“Come on, grab your coat, we’ll go and get the bus, buy some
stuff and have a drink.  At the end of the day what’s going to happen will
happen and staying in here isn’t an option.” 

“I haven’t got much money.  Will it be okay if I use my
cards?”

“No, not now they have your name and address.  Don’t worry
about it.  It’s time I spent some of the money, I’ve dragged it around with me
long enough.”

“Why can’t you put it in the bank? You know, in bits so it
doesn’t look odd?”

“I haven’t got an address.  You have to have an address to
open an account.  The house in the Lakes was in Marie’s name, all the bills and
so on, we thought it best, to make it easy if anything happened to me in
Afghanistan.  We never imagined it could be the other way round.  I haven’t
lived there or paid the bills in my own name for years.”

“But what about before, when you had just come out of the
army and stuff?  Didn’t you have an account then?”

“Yes, of course but I spent it all, emptied the accounts.  I
didn’t work and then I just lived on what I could scrounge.  I was so lost Sylvie,
things like money, houses they meant nothing to me.  I was in a dark hole and
the real world couldn’t reach me.  Anyway the top and bottom of it is that the money
for the bills at the house, the council tax and stuff, the cleaner, it all comes
out of an account automatically, I had my army salary paid into it and I
suppose now my pension.  I guess it’s all just ticking over.  To be honest I
don’t know and I have never cared enough to check, it could be the government
are after me as well.  Now it wouldn’t be safe to start using it, the cards are
out of date and I never collected the replacements, it’s just too complicated. 
No, it’s all cocked up to be honest.  The cleaner is from before, she never
asked any questions, the last time I saw her was after the funeral.  She assumed
I was going back to Afghanistan and I let her.  People don’t bother if their
lives aren’t touched.  I suppose now though she’s going to wonder, with all the
things we had to leave. 

“This gang have people everywhere.  It’s a massive
organisation; they work in banks and government offices.  They fund arms
smuggling, people trafficking, paedophile rings the drugs of course and
terrorism.  That’s another reason they won’t let up on me, I know too much.”

“I didn’t realise, I thought it was just a couple of
pushers, like Phil and Benny.”

“No, it’s not, it’s a different world.” 

He pursed his lips, shook his head. Lost in the morass as he
had been, home had been unreachable, he had let it all go, part of a life he no
longer had.  It was impossible to even guess what the situation was, maybe he
should try and find out.  Could he do it without drawing attention to himself,
and did he really want to.  There was no going back, but when danger threatened
he had run instinctively to the place of peace.  He should probably leave it in
the past, it had served a purpose and now it was dangerous there. He didn’t
know who had seen them, who was in the pay of the gang, but someone was,
someone had watched and reported back, the thought was chilling.  He had lived
there all his life and even there was tainted now.

“He put it from his mind, some things can’t be fixed and he
had a rare chance to take some pleasure from today.  He would give Sylvie a
bundle of cash and enjoy watching her spend it. It had never felt like stolen
money.  He had taken it from the scum he left to burn to death, payment for the
things they had made him do and compensation for a future he had been denied.

He dragged the hold-all from under the bed and took out two
handfuls of notes. 

“Here, there looks to be plenty there, let’s go and spend
it.” 

She gasped as she took hold of the bundles.

“It’s all fifties and twenties, I’ve never held so much
money.  They can’t trace it can they?”

“I don’t think so, it’s what I’ve lived on for a few years
now, to buy food and stuff and they never did find me in the woods so I guess
it’s okay.  Anyway, what else can we do?  You know Sylvie, this is all going to
end at some time, I’m in the open now, they know I’m still alive and they’ll
keep on looking until they find me.  They have long memories and these people,
they don’t let things go.  I can’t make you any promises, all I can say is, any
time you want to go, just go.  I’ll give you money, help you to get away.” 

The look on his face told her far more than the words he was
saying.  She knew if she was to leave him now it would be the end of him,
either he would force things to a climax with the drug gang or he would simply
go away and allow himself to die.  Like a wounded beast he would give up the
fight.  She shook her head and stared deep into his eyes, she wouldn’t
verbalise her thoughts.  If he didn’t understand yet that she was committed she
didn’t know how to tell him.

They pushed the bag under the bed as far as they could
reach, in terms of security it was a joke but there was no other option. Samuel
knew he’d be better without it. He had tried once to throw it away, even
getting as far as the banks of a reservoir but in the end the sheer amount of
money had stayed his hand. It had cost so much in personal anguish and now it
had become a liability in itself and he didn’t know what to do. He had
considered leaving it outside a charity shop but they would probably notify the
police and it would possibly lead back to him. The army had his finger prints
after all. What had seemed a prize had become a burden and he kicked it under
the bed and turned away locking the room door and leaving the key at reception.

The rain had stopped at last, though it was dull and chilly.
They walked to the bus stop and joined the queue; nobody looked at them except
for one old woman dragging a tartan shopping trolley. She smiled and nodded
before turning back to gaze up the road. Most people were texting or simply
staring blankly into the distance. A double-decker rumbled to a stop and the
line shuffled forward, no-one paid the driver, they simply flashed cards and
passes in his direction and he nodded curtly.

“We need to get to the town centre, how much for two
returns.”

“Where ‘bouts ya goin’”

“Somewhere near the shops.”

“Lime Street, it’ll be three pound ten pence. I’ll give you
a shout.”

“Thanks mate.”

“Yeah.”

The bus drew away and they had to stagger to the nearest
free seats, holding on to the hanging straps and bars. Sylvie had wanted to go
upstairs, wanted to see Liverpool unfolding before her. She had never been so
far away from home before and this city with its history and pop culture fame
excited her.

“Do you know Liverpool Samuel?”

“Not so much, I think it’s changed a lot in the last few
years. When I was a kid, a teenager, we used to come now and again, it was
quite a stretch but sometimes a gang of us would do the trip. I should think I
can find my way about, it’s quite compact in the centre, all the shops and so
on are pretty close. Near the station and St John’s Market.”

“Can we go and see the Cavern, you know the Beatles place?”

“Well, you can but it’s not in Matthew Street any more, it’s
been moved and I think that misses the point doesn’t it?”

Disappointment clouded her face and he realised she was
treating the trip as a day out, a mini break. She truly had no idea the danger
they were in. He didn’t want the spark of excitement to fade from her eyes and
so he pushed the worries away.

“You can see the ferries though, on the Mersey, and the
Liver Birds and so on.  I think I can get us to there from Lime Street. There
are some beautiful buildings and there are some Beatles memorials and stuff.

“Great, it’s silly I suppose but I love the Beatles, my mum
used to play them and it always seemed to me that it must have been a brilliant
time, the sixties, all the stuff that went on.”

“Yes,  of course I missed it but my mum had friends who knew
Liverpool well and they used to talk about it. I don’t think they realised at
the time what a difference it would make to the city. Up until then it was all
faded glory with the docks in trouble from Union disputes and the big boats,
liners, not coming so much. It’s a place that seems to go up and down, riding
high for a few years and then down in the doldrums. Anyway we’ll have a wander
round. He took hold of her hand and tucked it into the fold of his arm.

The little glow of happiness had touched him, how much had
he lost, so many precious days he had spent in the dark and now, with this
little scrap of a girl the curtains were drawing back. He wasn’t sure he could
do it, it had been too long and he couldn’t convince himself there could be a
future, the trouble he was in was overwhelming. When he fired the warehouse
with the gang members locked inside he had known he was throwing away his life
and acknowledged that on some level it was deliberate. He didn’t want it, the
empty existence, without Marie he was on a suicide trip and he was just trying
to take as many of them with him as he could.

Was it his time now, could he go back to hope and love and
fun, he couldn’t remember a time not drenched in misery. What if it was time to
let himself begin to feel again, where could it go?  They couldn’t have a life
together just running continually to stay alive. He heaved a great sigh, it was
never going to be possible to start again, he had gone too far. So, today would
be what it was and if there was a tomorrow he would take it as well but he
wouldn’t think ahead more than that.

After a drive of about thirty minutes the driver yelled out.

“Lime Street, ‘ere ya’ are mate, ‘ere’s shops. I ‘ope you’ve
got ya money ready, she’s got a glint in ‘er eye your bird.”

The other passengers laughed quietly, this was the northern
humour and rough friendliness Samuel remembered and Sylvie had heard about.  As
a Southerner she had never really thought there could be so much difference but
these people were ready to laugh and to help and she liked them instinctively.
She knew of course that there were huge problems, as with any big city and the
struggles were many but she had met with nothing but good humour and simple
kindness, yes she liked the north.

She was enjoying being here, and especially being with this
complicated, damaged man and for the first time in years she was happy. She
didn’t know what his thoughts were, his deep misgivings weren’t evident and so,
as they clambered down from the bus into the hurly burly of the city, she felt
anticipation and excitement the like of which she hadn’t experienced since she
was a child.

One of the great advantages of much maligned clone city
centres is that the shops are so familiar, Bristol, Bath, Norwich, Oxford and
yes, Liverpool, it doesn’t matter, it‘s easy to find what you’re used to, the
place where you know the jeans will fit and the tops are always on the large
side. In a very short time they had bought jeans and sweatshirts, socks, spare
trainers, underwear and things for sleeping in. They had soap and shampoo,
Sylvie had some creams and deodorants and he had insisted she buy herself a
bracelet she’d tried on, dull metal and black cord but she loved it. He
fastened it around her wrist and planted a kiss on her smiling mouth. They
could have been any young couple, out on a spree that would leave them eating
beans for the last days of the month or maxing out on cards which would wait in
ambush for them on pay-day.

The bag of money, the spectre of history with Phil and other
dreadful memories tucked away in the back of Samuel’s mind were walled up, not
allowed out, they were having fun and as young animals will they lost sight of
the danger prowling on the dark edges of reality.