The Judas Scar (3 page)

‘Do you want me to wait for you?’

‘No, I’ll find you.’

Harmony walked back out of the living room and down the panelled corridor towards the downstairs cloakroom. As she walked she straightened her shoulders and breathed deeply. Will’s reaction had unsettled her. They hadn’t spoken much about the miscarriage. They both found it hard. Will always seemed to say the wrong thing, upsetting her without intending to, oblivious, as far as she could tell, of the emotions she was trying to cope with. But was it really that surprising she wanted to try again? Maybe, as was often the case with Will, he just needed time to get his head around it.

There was a woman in a short red dress waiting outside the loo. She smiled at Harmony, but rather than get into conversation, Harmony turned to look at the photographs of the Barratt-Joneses on the console table in the corridor. The photographs were all black and white and displayed in a variety of silver frames. Some of the pictures, the better ones in her opinion, were Will’s. There was one he’d taken in his studio when Emma had insisted the whole family dress in blue jeans and white shirts and pose in front of a white background. Will had tried to convince her to go for something less hackneyed, a little edgier, but she was having none of it. So there she now was, preserved in manufactured perfection, sitting beside Ian, Abi on her lap and Josh on the floor, all of them immaculate and smiling. Another photo showed Ian and Josh out shooting, Josh a mini-me beside his father in matching flat cap and leather boots, holding aloft a brace of dead pheasant like a trophy of war. Then Abi in her ballet leotard, leg outstretched at the bar, almost regal in her grace and poise; Emma and Ian arm in arm in front of the Colosseum; Josh scoring a try in an under-nines rugby match. A tinge of envy crept under her skin. Harmony pushed it away. What was it she was jealous of anyway? Certainly not the money or the children. Maybe, Harmony thought, it was the way Emma’s life had panned out exactly as she’d intended, with no obstacles to negotiate, no trapdoors or landmines to surprise and derail her.

‘I’m not going to be poor when I’m older,’ she’d told Harmony when she was fifteen. ‘Being poor’s shit.’

‘You might be. You can’t predict the future.’

‘You can make choices, though, can’t you? And that’s my choice. I don’t want to be poor. I’m done with it.’

Every decision Emma had made since then was part of a grand plan that led to this very point: the large house, the wealthy husband and beautiful children. Harmony had watched with amused fascination as her friend single-mindedly pursued what she perceived to be happiness. Often she’d been scathing of Emma’s undisguised aspiration, but looking at these photos, knowing how much the family loved each other, she had to admit the planning had worked. She was pleased for her friend. Of course she was. What kind of person would she be if she wasn’t?

Harmony glanced over her shoulder at the sound of the loo door and saw the lady in red disappear inside and another lady come out, smoothing her dress as she passed. She looked back at the photos. Behind the family shots was one of her and Will with Emma and her brothers. They were on the beach at West Wittering, where they’d been camping for the weekend, drinking cans of lager and eating sausages cooked on a cheap disposable barbecue. She picked it up and smiled, stroking her fingers lightly over the faces in the photograph. They were all so young, so full of optimism and possibility. She stared at her own face. She was plumper back then, not overweight, but fuller, her face less angular, but even so she still looked masculine, she thought. Will’s mother had once described her as handsome and it was a good description. Her face was symmetrical with an aquiline nose, high forehead and pronounced cheekbones. That day her hair was brushed back into a ponytail and she remembered Will kissing the nape of her neck as she bent to blow air on the struggling barbecue. When she’d turned to smile at him he’d mouthed:
I love you
. A few hours earlier, holding each other in two sleeping bags zipped together to make one, he’d asked her to marry him. She remembered the thrill she’d felt, lying in his arms in the sun-warmed tent, looking at him with tears in her eyes and nodding.

‘But you’re so young,’ Emma had said as they watched the boys throwing a rugby ball down by the water’s edge. ‘Why get engaged at twenty-two? I mean, what’s the point? How do you know it’s right? That he’s The One?’

Harmony had laughed. ‘There’s no such thing as The One! It’s a ridiculous notion. Your The One might be in India or Papua New Guinea if that was the case and you’d never, ever meet him. And anyway, I know Will’s right for me and it’s not like we’ve just met. We’ve been together ages and he’s funny and unusual and we have amazing sex.’ She grinned at Emma and then turned back to watch Will catch a high ball and fall backwards onto the sand in a fit of laughter, his strong forearms browned by the sun, his scruffy blond hair falling over his face. ‘And I love him, Em. I really, really love him, so much I feel I might actually explode.’

Then Will’s words echoed in her head like a spectral prophesy.

And you’re sure you’re okay with not having children? Because you know that won’t change, Harmony. Promise me you understand.

‘Yes,’ she’d said, kissing him full on the lips. ‘I understand.’

But she hadn’t understood, not properly. She only really understood the day she lost her baby.

‘Are you waiting?’ The voice startled her. She turned to see a man behind her. He was very good looking, medium height and slim build with chiselled, tanned features and thick dark hair swept back off his face. He wore a crisp white shirt that was open at the neck, no tie, no jacket. His eyes were dark, almost black, and he looked at her with such directness she felt herself blush.

‘Sorry?’ she said, putting the photograph back on the table.

‘Are you waiting to use the loo?’ He pointed at the cloakroom. She looked and saw the door open, an array of scented candles flickering inside.

‘Oh, yes, I am actually, but I’m not desperate so go ahead if you’d like.’

He smiled a broad and generous smile. ‘No, after you. I’m not,’

he paused, ‘desperate, either.’

Harmony blushed again. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I’ll be quick.’ He appeared amused. ‘Take all the time you need.’

As she walked into the cloakroom she turned and mumbled another thank you before closing the door behind her. Harmony looked at herself in the mirror and shook her head; had she really just told that man she’d be quick? She smiled. It felt good to have the appreciative eye of a handsome stranger. She didn’t need to use the loo so instead she rifled through the basket of products that Emma had left beside the basin: a hair brush, hairspray, a choice of lip glosses, perfume, a powder compact, and even a small case of expensive bronzing powder and a big fluffy brush to apply it. Had it been her own party she’d have forgotten to check there was toilet roll let alone provide the contents of a chemist for her guests to use. She dragged the brush through her hair and gave her neck and wrists a spray of perfume.

‘All yours,’ she said, as she came out. As they passed each other their shoulders lightly brushed.

‘Will you wait for me?’

‘Sorry?’ she said, turning back.

‘Will you wait for me?’ His eyes drilled into hers and her heartbeat quickened. ‘I’d like to talk to you.You’re the first interesting person I’ve met tonight and I’ve been here for over an hour.’

‘Oh,’ Harmony said. ‘Yes … okay.’

He nodded and went into the cloakroom. She stood for a minute or two then laughed under her breath. What was she doing? Waiting for a stranger to finish in the loo because he asked her to? If he wants to talk to me he can find me again, she thought. She began to head back to the party, but a raucous screech of laughter from the living room stopped her in her tracks beside the console table. She hesitated and glanced back at the cloakroom and as she did so, the door opened.

‘You waited.’

Harmony blushed and cast her eyes down at the table, pretending she’d been looking at the photographs. ‘No. I was admiring the pictures in the quiet actually. I’m not in the mood for a party.’

‘Well, I’m glad you stayed. Everybody else here is very dull.’

‘Everybody? That seems a bit of a generalisation and incredibly dismissive.’ Harmony glanced back at him and lifted her eyebrows.

‘Some of those people are my friends, you know.’

‘I’m sure the ones that are your friends are fascinating.’ She smiled, pleased she no longer felt girlish and silly.

They surveyed the pictures, side by side in silence. She was aware of him next to her, it was as if he had a force field around him that crackled the nearer he was to her. After a moment or two he leaned in close to her. ‘So what do you think?’

‘Of the pictures?’ He nodded.

‘I think they’re beautiful.’

He shook his head. ‘They’re not beautiful. They’re staged and smug with a hint of narcissism that makes them unbearable. They reek of self-promotion.’

A small laugh escaped Harmony’s lips. Immediately, she clapped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late, her disloyalty hung in the air around her and she felt a twinge of guilt. ‘You can’t say that,’ she said. ‘They are a lovely family and very good friends of mine.’

‘Not dull then,’ he said with a glint in his eye. She smiled.

‘The one with you in it is good though. Exactly how a photograph should be. A perfect moment, suspended in time. You look beautiful.’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m young in it and youth is beautiful.’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ he said, though there was an edge to his voice, a reticence, as if he didn’t believe her.

She held her hand out. ‘I’m Harmony.’

He shook her hand, his grip firm, holding on for a fraction too long. ‘An unusual name.’

‘My father chose it,’ she said. ‘I was lucky. According to my mum the choice was between Harmony and Sunrise.’ She laughed lightly. ‘He was a Bohemian artist type, a bit of a hippie, apparently.’

‘Apparently?’

‘He left when I was three.’ Like a fart in a storm, as her grandmother always grumbled. ‘You didn’t tell me your name,’ Harmony said.

‘Would you like a drink?’

‘No, I have one thanks.’ She lifted her almost empty glass.

‘Aren’t you going to tell me who you are?’ She was intrigued by the way he looked at her; his eyes didn’t waver but stayed locked on hers.

‘Why do you need to know?’

The mocking in his voice suddenly grated and the hold he had on her was broken long enough for her to consider walking away from him. ‘I don’t need to know,’ she said. ‘But it’s fairly normal behaviour in our society; I tell you my name, you tell me yours, we talk a bit, we run out of things to say, we move on.’

He laughed. ‘And by society you mean the masses? The herd?’

‘So damning of society? Let me guess, society exists merely as a concept and in the real world there are only individuals?’

‘Oscar Wilde,’ he said. ‘I’m impressed.’

It was Harmony’s turn to laugh. ‘Christ, you can’t be impressed by an Oscar Wilde quote,’ she said with a derisive shake of her head. ‘They fall out of Christmas crackers with knock-knock jokes and plastic key rings.’

He stared at her, narrowed eyes flicking back and forth over hers as if trying to read her thoughts, and she felt her cheeks flush again. She drank the warm, flat dregs of her champagne to fill the silence.

‘You said you’re not enjoying the party,’ he said. ‘Why not?’

‘I didn’t say that. I said I wasn’t in the mood.’ She paused and shrugged. ‘I suppose it’s just all a bit loud and crowded in there. I’m not great with parties at the best of times. But it’s my best friend’s fortieth, I’m sure I’ll get into it soon.’

‘It’s not a very good party. Too showy. No intimacy or subtlety. I’m not enjoying it either,’ he said, pausing for a beat. ‘At least, I wasn’t.’

Harmony dropped her eyes. ‘As long as Emma has a good time, that’s all that matters.’

He placed his glass on the console table and stared at her, silent for a moment or two, until she finally looked up at him. When she did he smiled. ‘Harmony, what would you say if I asked you to leave and have dinner with me?’

Harmony laughed abruptly, taken aback by his question.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Right now, if I asked you to leave the party with me, would you come?’

Her heart began to race as she realised he was being perfectly serious. ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘Of course I wouldn’t.’

‘Why not?’

She faltered. The hairs on her forearms stood proud. Her heart hammered. ‘I’m married. My husband’s here.’

The stranger held her eyes for a moment or two and then gave a deferential nod. ‘He’s a lucky man.’

As if on cue she heard Will’s laugh, unmistakeable in its generous fullness, one of those infectious laughs that set other laughs off like a line of falling dominoes. She turned to look over her shoulder and saw him standing with his back to her at the entrance to the living room. He was talking to a man she didn’t recognise. She was filled with a sense of relief as the tension between herself and the stranger disappeared like water through a cupped hand.

‘In fact, that’s him now,’ she said. ‘He’s probably come looking for me. I should join him before we sit for supper.’

The stranger stared at her, and then gave a curt nod of his head.

‘You must. It was nice to meet you, Harmony.’

She held out her hand again. ‘It was nice to meet you, too,’ she said. ‘Whatever your name is.’

He took her hand and as he did he stroked his thumb against her, barely there, like a butterfly’s kiss. Her skin tingled. As she walked down the corridor away from him she felt his eyes burning into her back. She went straight up to Will and kissed him on the lips. The man he was with chuckled drunkenly.

‘What was that for?’ Will asked with amusement.

‘No reason.’ She glanced over her shoulder but the stranger had gone and she felt a sharp stab of disappointment.

C H A P T E R    T H R E E

Though Harmony looked for him she didn’t see the man again that night. She had half-hoped she might find herself sitting next to him at supper. He was interesting and she’d enjoyed his company, and when she recalled him asking her to leave with him she got a rush of excitement. There was a self-assuredness, an inner purpose about him that was different to any other person she’d met, and it intrigued her. Instead she found herself between two men she’d met a couple of times, neither of whom she had much in common with, and she spent most of the meal sitting quietly, toying with her water glass and watching other people as they chatted and drank. Will spent no time at the table; instead he leapt about with his camera like a man possessed. Harmony felt a warm glow as she watched him. She liked to see him taking photographs, filled up with enthusiasm, lit from within.