The Judas Scar (18 page)

My anchor in a storm, Will had thought, after they’d made love for the first time, squashed together in her narrow bed, basking in the glow of sex. She was his salvation. She was everything he wanted to be: tough, in control, focused on the future, not shackled by the past.

‘I’m not like you. The way I’ve coped, the way I get through life, isn’t to fight, it’s to leave the things that have happened behind me. Move on. Not let it get to me.’

‘But that’s just the point!’ she yelled, throwing her hands in the air in angry frustration as she marched. ‘You aren’t moving on, you aren’t leaving it behind, you’re letting it all govern your whole fucking life! Your past, this very thing you’re trying not to dwell on, is making all your decisions for you.’

He shook his head. ‘This isn’t a nice world. Children are vulnerable. I’d want to be there all the time to make sure nothing could hurt our child but that’s not possible, is it? If you have a child you have to accept that at some point they’ll get hurt. I mean, look at us. Your dad leaving, your mum dying, my dad being a cunt, crying myself to sleep in a room with twenty other eight-year olds, all of us trying to keep our crying silent so we didn’t get the shit kicked out of us. I don’t want a child of mine to feel those things.’

Her eyes welled and she snatched angrily at the tears with the back of her hand. ‘But our child wouldn’t have felt those things,’ she said. ‘Our child would have been loved and cherished. Our child would have been happy.’

‘You can’t guarantee that.’

‘Of course I can guarantee that!’ she screamed. ‘We’d have loved him or her with every breath in our bodies and if you couldn’t have managed that, I’d have loved it enough for both of us. Christ, I can’t believe this conversation!’

‘I think you’re being naive.’

‘Naive?’ she repeated.

‘Yes, naive,’ he pushed on, trying to ignore her outrage. ‘Fine, things at home would be good, our family would be content, but what about the bastards out there?’ He shook his head and looked up at the sky, blocking an image of Alastair Farrow, eyes glinting with spite.

‘You’re fear-mongering, Will, and it’s pathetic.You’ve convinced yourself the world is an evil place, but it’s not. It’s an amazing place with amazing things in it – knowledge, laughter, love – all these things make life worth it.’ She shook her head in frustration. ‘If every person thought like you the human race would cease to exist. And why? Because of fear. How is that good? Yes, you and I have experienced pain, we’ve cried as children, but we found happiness, and not just superficial happiness – bona fide, gratifying happiness. You don’t think that makes up for the bad stuff?’ She didn’t pause long enough for him to answer. ‘I do. I think it makes it all worthwhile. What you’re saying, this crap you’re spouting, belittles everything we have together.’

She stormed ahead then, her feet slamming into the pavement, her hands balled into tight fists at her sides. He followed her, turning over her words, knowing there was truth in them, wondering if she were right. She made so much sense when she argued and he found his thoughts were muddled.

She stopped at the railings that overlooked the Thames and he came up beside her. The tide was low, and the pebbles and rubbish revealed on the shoreline were covered in thick, dirty silt. Will waited for Harmony to say something, but she stayed quiet, leaning over the railings, watching the listless, muddy water pass by.

‘You know,’ he said, gripping hold of the metal railing which was still warm from the day’s sun. ‘This is going to sound harsh and I know it’s going to upset you, but … ’ He stopped himself then, wary of the words he wanted to say.

‘For fuck’s sake, just say it,’ she said, looking down the river, the slight breeze brushing her hair across her face.

‘I’ve felt this way since I was eighteen. When most people were struggling with politics or religion or trying to get laid, I was dealing with this. The decision I made, not wanting to be a father, is fundamental to me – rightly or wrongly, it makes me who I am. The man you married. If you don’t understand that … then,’ he paused. ‘Then maybe it’s you who doesn’t love me as much as you should and not the other way round.’

She lifted her hand and slapped him hard. The noise rang in his ears and his cheek burned.

‘You self-absorbed fuck. You think I don’t love you?’ she said bitterly. ‘You really think that? If I didn’t love you I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be bloody standing here trying to work our marriage out.’ She shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. ‘You fuck,’ she said, batting her hand feebly against his chest. ‘You utter fuck.’ And then she turned on her heel and walked away from him.

‘Harmony!’ he called. But she didn’t reply, just kept walking, head down, arms wrapped around her body. He turned and slammed his hands against the railings, swearing under his breath.

When he got back to the flat she was sitting at the kitchen table. As he approached the table she lifted her eyes to look at him. They were red from crying, the skin beneath them puffy.

‘I heard what you said,’ she said calmly. ‘About being a father. I can’t change how you feel, I know that, but I can’t forgive what you did. What you did goes beyond your reasons for not wanting children. It was dishonest and hurtful and made decisions affecting my life that you didn’t have the right to make.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘A sorry isn’t going to make this better.’ She sighed and exhaled slowly. ‘You lied to me. When I lost the baby, when I needed you the most, you gave me no support. You didn’t care. It’s taken you this long to open up about something you describe as fundamental to who you are. You don’t tell me anything about your past. I know there’s something you’re not telling me about Luke. I can see it. Why won’t you tell me? I find it terrifying how easily you can keep things from me. And, right now, right this minute, I feel like I’ve wasted the last twenty years of my life investing in this relationship.’

‘Don’t say that.’ She didn’t reply.

‘Look, Harmony, you’re wrong,’ he said. He pulled out a chair and sat opposite her. ‘It’s not easy keeping things from you. It’s harder than you can imagine, but I do it because that’s how I deal with things. I don’t want to spend time discussing what happened at school with you. Luke, Alastair Farrow, the caning, the bullying, it’s not worth talking about. I don’t need your sympathy or pity, and I don’t want all of that shit fouling our lives. It’s irrelevant to me.’

‘Of course it’s not irrelevant. Your past, that intricate jigsaw of experiences, makes you the person you are today.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I put it away so I could become the person I am today. But listening to you I can see I should have let you in more. And when it comes to the vasectomy there’s nothing I can say to defend it. I made a huge mistake not discussing it with you. I can see that now.’ He paused. ‘I don’t think straight all the time. I have all this crap in my head. I’m not like you. I don’t have the same way with words. When you had the miscarriage, you were so upset I didn’t know what to say.’ He shook his head. ‘You say I didn’t care, but that’s not true.’

Her eyes filled with tears again and she looked down at her hands.

‘I was desperate to help you, but everything I did or said seemed to make it worse. I went onto the internet and read up about it, about losing a baby, and what I should do to help, but nothing I found seemed right, and … ’ He paused, finding it difficult to speak. ‘And of course I’d had the operation and I was crippled with guilt. I could see how devastated you were, but I didn’t want to talk, in case the question of another child came up. The more upset and withdrawn you became, the harder I found it to know what to say. In the end I convinced myself that if I just got on with it, eventually we’d be okay. I told myself these things happen and it was just life, and if I was happy and strong, you’d recover. I got it wrong.’ Then he leant forward again and placed his hands on hers. ‘Give me another chance, Harmony.’

‘A part of me wants to, the part of me that wants us back to how we were,’ she said. ‘But there’s another part of me that’s just so bloody angry with you. So angry I can’t look at you. And where does that leave us? What do I do about that? Hope it goes away?’ She sighed heavily. ‘Because the way I’m feeling at the moment, I don’t think it’s ever going to go away.’

When she left the table, he didn’t follow.There was nothing more he could say, so instead he went into the garden. It was peaceful. Dusk had seen off the heat of the day and there was a suggestion of rain in the air. A movement from behind the study window caught his eye. He watched Harmony sit down at her desk, her shadowy figure moving slowly. He saw her put her glasses on and then become still as she stared at the monitor in front of her. He wondered if this was what the rest of their lives might look like, two separate beings tied together in marriage, detached and resentful, circling each other warily. Would it have been different if he’d shared everything with her from the start? If he’d described that first horrendously lonely night at prep school? All those eight-year-old boys curled up in uncomfortable beds, abandoned, the sound of stifled crying intermingling with the creaks and groans of ancient timbers and pipes. If he’d described how he’d lain awake trying to work out what he’d done to upset his parents so much they would send him away? He remembered how his blanket had stunk of disinfectant and how he’d hidden from the smell by pushing his face into the teddy he’d brought, as specified on the uniform list: One soft toy, if required.

It started to spit with rain. Will turned his face upwards and closed his eyes, waiting for the tiny specks of wet to hit him. He thought of Harmony’s face when she’d told him about the miscarriage, how her eyes had been puffy from crying then as well, her pale skin blotched deep pink. How he’d found her slumped on the edge of their bed, her fingers clutching a ragged piece of tissue, her chin trembling as she said the words.

‘Our baby died.’

And then she looked up at him, tears coursing down her cheeks, her breath coming in short snatches.

‘A miscarriage?’

She nodded and her shoulders began to quiver.

He’d sat beside her and pulled her into him, his arms around her, his chin resting on her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, kissing her hair.

His thoughts had been a jumble. He hadn’t known what else to say. Everything that came into his head sounded trite and insincere. His emotions were all over the place. The relief he’d felt shocked and shamed him, the sadness surprised him.

‘Do you need me to take you to the doctor?’

She sat back and shook her head, pushing the disintegrating tissue against her red-rimmed eyes. ‘I’ve already been. I went this morning.’

‘I should have taken you.’

‘There was nothing you could do,’ she said in a tearful voice. ‘I didn’t want to worry you if nothing was wrong.’ She sniffed. ‘I was hoping they’d tell me it was okay, that the bleeding was normal and my baby was fine. But when they scanned me there was no heartbeat. Nothing there at all.’ Then she started to sob again. ‘Oh, Will, it was awful.’

The drizzle turned to rain. He sat there for a while, but soon the drops became too heavy and too cold. Inside, he took his wet shirt off and threw it in the direction of the washing machine. He was surprised to see it was nearly ten o’clock. He peered into the bedroom and saw Harmony was already in bed, the covers pulled tightly over her shoulder, her back facing him. He knew if he went to bed now he would only lie staring at the ceiling, battling his thoughts, and it was too wet to walk. He went through to the study and turned the computer on, shivering slightly as his damp skin cooled. He pulled Facebook up, wondering if Alastair had accepted his friend request.

God knows why he would, Will thought. He probably just laughed.

But when the page loaded a small red number one stared at him from his notifications. He clicked on it and his stomach turned over.

Alastair Farrow hadn’t just accepted his request, he’d sent him a message.

Will English? My God, you haven’t changed a bit! What a blast from the past. It’s been a long time. Are you still in touch with any of the lads from school? I was glad to hear from you – surprised too – I was a bit of a cock at school! I notice you’re in London. I’m not far away, near Camberley in Surrey. Married to Diane. Two ankle-biters, a boy and a girl, Charlie and Bea. We should go for a drink. It would be good to meet up again and hear your news. In fact, another friend from school (Toddy – not sure if you remember him) mentioned hooking up for a drink soon. I’ll let you know if we do. If you can join us that would be great. Cheers and no hard feelings, Al

Will’s first response was a burst of spontaneous laughter. He leant closer to the screen, his hand rubbing at his chin, head shaking slowly in disbelief. He reread the message a couple of times. Had Alastair really written that? Had he really dismissed his behaviour in that offhand way? Called himself a ‘bit of a cock’, introduced his children, then signed off with ‘no hard feelings’? It was unbelievable. Will sat back in his chair and stared at the small picture of Farrow to the left-hand side of the message.

Alastair Farrow.

The seventeen-year old who recurred in Will’s nightmares wanted to meet up to laugh about all the cock-things he’d done, slap Will on the back and buy him a drink for old times’ sake, let bygones be bygones, catch up on all the news. Will stared incredulously at the message until Farrow’s unfathomable words blurred and his back stiffened.

Harmony was asleep, or perhaps pretending to be, when he finally crept into bed. He lay beside her, drumming his fingers against the duvet, his mind whirring. He should ignore Alastair’s message. He should unfriend him. He had enough to worry about with his marriage without wasting time on Alastair bloody Farrow. He should just forget all about him. Erase him. But the more Will thought about the flippant, dismissive tone of the message, the more outraged he became. How could he pass off what he did with some glib, throwaway comment? Did he seriously expect Will to have ‘no hard feelings’? Was that how the mind of a bully worked?