‘So if I stayed . . .’ Leif went on. ‘Could you?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said as, resisting the desire to skip, I started again to walk. ‘I suppose I could, for a bit. If it’s possible to change my flights.’
‘For a bit?’ Leif repeated.
‘For a while.’
‘Is a while more than a bit?’ Leif asked.
‘Yes,’ I told him. ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’
‘Then that’s good,’ he said, turning to glance at me and grinning broadly.
He checked his watch and asked if this was all taking too long, if I wanted to turn around.
‘No, I’m scared,’ I admitted. ‘I’m scared to go back. I’m scared of Conor. I’m scared of ending this moment. So anything that means we don’t have to go back is good.’
‘Well, you mustn’t be scared of Conor,’ Leif said. ‘I will never let him hurt you, OK? I will never let anyone hurt you again.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. But I wondered, despite myself, if skinny Leif, as valiant as he might be, would really be a match for Conor’s bull-like strength.
‘Wow,’ Leif said. We had reached the end of the path, where the gravel track faded into the scrappy undergrowth. Quite where the road had once led, Lord only knows, because wherever it had gone was now beneath the sea. The cliff edge had crumbled to meet the track.
Holding hands for safety, we moved to the very edge and looked down at the sea washing around the rocks below, before retreating a safe distance so Leif could take his photos. He took two or three of me with the sunset to my right and then I took a couple of him. Finally, we perched the camera on a rock and set the timer to take a funny selfie, and I remember wondering if that would be the photo we’d have on the mantelpiece, the photo that would slowly fade as we grew old together. It was the happiest thought I had ever had and yet it seemed, in that moment, as if it was actually possible. Everything seemed transformed.
The sun had all but vanished now, only the tip of it was still peeping over the horizon, but the sky was completely mad. It looked as if someone had pinned a colour chart up there, then hosed it down with solvent so the colours all merged together. Almost every conceivable colour seemed to be present, streaked horizontally across the skyline with each extremity fading into the indigo blue of the night sky.
‘It reminds me of the fjords back home,’ Leif commented, raising one hand and moving it like a wave to indicate the ins and outs of the coastline.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I said. ‘I love the coast when it’s like this.’
‘Then we will live overlooking a fjord,’ Leif said. ‘Maybe you would like a little house on the water’s edge.’
I told him that I didn’t know exactly what the word ‘fjord’ meant, and so he explained that the fjords were where the sea cut deeply, sometimes for hundreds of kilometres, into the crinkled Norwegian coastline. This created, he said, vast, open-ended saltwater lakes.
My heart was fluttering at the we will live of his phrasing, but it was almost too much for me, it was almost too much hope for me to bear, so, to make light of it, I replied with irony.
‘Hmm, not sure about that,’ I said. ‘You told me it was cold. You said it rains all the time. I’m a bit of a sun lizard, me. I’m not sure that your fjords are going to do the trick.’
‘Then we will live anywhere you want,’ Leif said. He bumped his hip against mine, and I let myself fall into him, so that my head was resting on his chest. His arm came up to pull me in even more tightly.
‘I want to stay here forever,’ I told him as he rocked me gently in his arms.
‘Then we will live right here,’ Leif laughed. ‘We will live looking over the fjords of Santorini.’
And though I knew it was impossible, though I knew it was only make-believe, I pointed to a house in the distance. ‘There. I want to live there.’
‘Then this is where we will live.’
‘Right,’ I said, trying to snap myself back to reality. ‘It’s getting dark.’
‘Yes,’ Leif said sadly.
‘So we need to go.’
Once we had turned to leave, I glanced regretfully over my shoulder, but the sun was long gone and the colours were already fading. I was overcome by a sense of melancholy, and I thought with great sadness about the fact that I would never be able to relive that day again.
A flash of light caught my eye, shining across the scrubby landscape, and as I turned my head back to look, Leif squeezed my hand. I have no idea how, or why, but we both sensed that the car coming towards us down the gravel track was significant.
It was almost dark by this time, with only the remaining glow of the sunset to light the landscape, and as the car hurtled down the bumpy road, the headlights swept back and forth like a searchlight. The resulting ambiance, perhaps because of all the connotations that searchlights have – none of them good – felt sinister.
‘Mike?’ I suggested.
‘It’s a car, not a buggy,’ Leif said. We could hear the engine, revving as the car accelerated out of each bend.
‘Joyriders, perhaps?’ I offered.
‘I don’t know,’ Leif replied, solemnly. ‘But I am not thinking that I like this so much.’
‘They’re going really fast . . .’ I commented. The car had already passed the unfinished houses and we could hear the sound of the tyres spitting gravel. ‘Should we hide?’ I asked, glancing around the barren landscape. The closest tree was thirty or forty yards away and even that was too weedy to hide behind.
‘No,’ Leif said. ‘I don’t think so. But I’m worried the car will . . .’
‘Drive off the edge?’ I exclaimed at the same time as Leif said, ‘Drive into the sea.’
It was less than a hundred yards away and wasn’t showing any sign of stopping, so I ran to the middle of the track and began to wave my arms. A second later, Leif joined me, hopping from side to side as he tried to position himself in the beam of the headlights.
The car was still coming at us. The driver had shown no sign of seeing either us or the cliff edge, so we started to shout, ‘Stop! Stop! Stop!’
Finally, the driver noticed us. The car zigzagged wildly, then the wheels locked as it slid the final twenty yards.
Leif jerked me back out of the way and I clamped my hand to my mouth and watched in terror as the car slid towards the edge.
You know the way people always say that events take place in slow motion? Well, it’s true. That is exactly how it seemed. I held my breath and watched as the car slithered towards the edge, and as it continued to slide I squinted, barely able to watch what was happening.
As it passed us – not that fast by then – I recognised it as Conor’s hire car, and the driver as Conor himself.
The car stopped quite literally at the cliff edge. It was the final tuft of brush and bare rock that stopped it, I think – that enabled the wheels to grip. And despite everything I felt about Conor, I ran, gasping in relief, to the driver’s door.
‘Conor!’ I said simply, as he clambered out of the car. I saw instantly that he was drunk.
‘Jaysus!’ Conor exclaimed, rubbing at his nose and sniffing as he looked out at the void in front of the car, before turning his gaze on me. ‘What the feck are you doing out here?’
Leif, who had moved protectively to my side, said, ‘You nearly went into the sea. We are scared you will not stop in time.’
‘And who the fuck are you?’ Conor asked, rolling his shoulders as he squared up to Leif. ‘Are you the little friend that Mikey told me about?’
‘I am Leif,’ he said, offering his hand.
In a shocking gesture, Conor slapped Leif’s hand away then glanced back at the car as if he had forgotten something there.
I followed his gaze – I think we both did – and saw the dirty interior of the car. It was littered with crisp packets and sandwich wrappers and there were empty beer cans everywhere. The inside light glowed warmly.
And then Conor punched him. Neither of us saw
the punch coming, neither of us even imagined this was what Conor was going to do next, so incongruous was the gesture after having glanced back at the car. But that is what happened. He twisted his torso to look back at the car and as he straightened again he threw a punch. It landed squarely on Leif’s cheek, sending him flying backwards onto the ground.
‘Conor!’ I gasped, but he had grabbed my hand and was dragging me around to the passenger door. ‘You’re coming with me,’ he said menacingly. ‘You little slut.’
‘But—! Conor!’ I protested, struggling to break free of his grip whilst trying to look back to see if Leif was OK – he was still struggling to clamber to his feet. ‘What . . . are . . . you . . . doing?’ I gasped as he manhandled me around the rear of the car. ‘CONOR! Let . . . me . . . go . . . !’ I shouted, as he fiddled with the door handle. In frustration, I slapped him across the side of the face, but it didn’t even seem to register. It made about as much impact as a fly bumping into an elephant. I jumped and managed to kick the car door, which he was in the process of opening, so that it closed again, and in response, he jerked my arm, the way a parent jerks the arm of child who won’t behave while crossing a road, only he did it so forcefully that I thought for an instant he had pulled my shoulder from its socket. I lost my footing and Conor pulled me upright once again, managing simultaneously to open the door. Desperate now, I landed a kick to his shin. I was briefly proud at the results of this, because he actually paused for a second, groaning and half doubling up. His mouth formed a snarl as he straightened. ‘You fecking hoor!’ he said quietly, relinquishing the door handle so he could take hold of my hair with his left hand. Just as he slapped me across the cheek, Leif reappeared behind him.
‘Leave her alone,’ he said, his Scandinavian accent making the order sound like a question.
Unexpectedly, Conor froze. He looked me straight in the eyes. His nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply, smiling sourly, before turning to Leif. ‘Who. The fuck. Are you?’ he asked.
‘I am Leif,’ he said again, sounding absolutely, totally, unreasonably reasonable. ‘I am in love with Laura. She doesn’t want you any more. So you can go home now. This is all over.’
Conor cracked up at this – he genuinely found it funny and his laughter was chilling. ‘Oh, you’re in love, are you?’ he asked mockingly. ‘You’re in love with . . . with this . . .’ He raised my wrist, as if to display the object they were discussing. ‘Well, that’s a completely different story, isn’t it?’
Leif nodded. ‘No one wants to fight here, Conor,’ he said. ‘We can talk about this like adults, yes?’ He was stepping towards Conor now, looking strangely fearless, apparently convinced that thousands of years of human civilisation would obviously overcome this silly misunderstanding. He raised his palms like a negotiator approaching a gunman. ‘So we are staying calm, OK?’ he said.
‘You know what?’ Conor said. ‘I would love to have a blather with you about this.’ He pushed me sideways so hard that I fell to the ground.
‘Just go, Conor,’ I said, as I scrambled to get back up. ‘Please. Just go.’
Once again, Conor’s response was laughter.
‘So, Leif, is it?’ he asked, taking a step forward so he was face to face with him. ‘What kind of a fecking name is that, anyway?’ he asked, sounding vaguely conversational, jovial almost.
Leif shrugged. ‘It is my name.’
Conor glanced back at me and smiled broadly enough that I caught a glimpse of his teeth shining in the moonlight. Then, using the same trick he’d used for that initial punch, as he turned back to face Leif he followed through with a sudden jerk of the head so that he nutted him squarely on the nose, sending him spiralling back. ‘Is this true?’ he asked, stepping forward so he was straddling Leif, who was now on the ground and clasping his nose, trying to stem the tide of blood. He bent over and gripped Leif by the collar of his T-shirt. He looked back at me again. ‘Is this true?’ he shouted.
‘Is what true?’ I asked feebly, struggling to speak through tears.
‘That you two are an item now? With this eejit?’
‘No,’ I said, hoping this might save Leif. But Conor punched him on the side of the face anyway.
‘Yes,’ Leif said bravely, perhaps stupidly. ‘Yes, it’s true.’
Conor grimaced as if Leif’s words hurt his jaw. ‘What makes you think I’m talking to you?’ he asked. He punched him again, sending Leif’s head lolling sideways.
He looked at me and asked, with chilling calm. ‘So, I ask you again. Is this true?’
‘Yes,’ I said, trying the opposite answer to last time, ‘Yes, I love him. Please, leave him alone and just go before we call the police or something.’
‘The police?’ Conor asked, grimacing horribly. He glanced around the horizon as if to emphasise our complete lack of backup here, making a popping noise through his lips. ‘The police,’ he repeated. ‘Of course. Be my guest.’
He turned back to face Leif and, as he raised his arm, I ran at him. I threw my arms around his neck and hung there, but it didn’t even slow him down. He punched Leif again, only this time I felt the blow, transmitted through Conor’s body to my own.
I tried kicking his legs, tried to repeat the success of my shin kick, but Conor continued as if I wasn’t even there, or more precisely as if it was actually all quite fun, like some daddy character at a birthday party playing the giant while kids all hang from his neck.
Finding the process of punching Leif on the ground unsatisfactory, he yanked him to his feet, but as he pulled back to punch him again, I grabbed his arm instead and hung on it, yanking him off balance.
He stumbled, releasing Leif, before finding his footing and knocking me flying with a backhander.
I lost consciousness for a moment, I think. I had bashed the back of my head on the ground and when I looked up, Conor had hoisted Leif up by his collar again and was turning him, the better to see his face in the moonlight.
The sight of Leif was horrific and angry tears started to flow. Because Leif’s features were a mess. Blood was flowing from his nose and he had a split cheek.
‘I’m not afraid of you,’ Leif said and, as he spoke, I saw that his teeth were bloodied, too.
To my surprise, Leif landed a punch on Conor’s eye, but though he was a good ten inches taller than him, his punch was about as ineffectual as my own slaps had been. There was something beast-like about Conor-on-the-rampage. It really did feel like you were trying to wrestle a rhinoceros.
‘Leave him!’ I said pleadingly. ‘I’ll come with you, Conor. I’m sorry. Whatever. Just . . . stop.’
But it was as if he was following a set process, as if he was on some kind of deadly autopilot. Because he simply jerked Leif upright as if he was as light as a rag doll, and landed another carefully calculated punch.
I was crying freely, sobbing really, and it was making me even more useless than usual. As Conor continued to land regular, well-spaced punches to Leif’s stomach and face, I stumbled around looking for a weapon I could hit him with, glancing back up as each punch hit its mark.
‘Conor . . . please . . .’ I wept. ‘Please. You’re going to kill him if you carry on.’
Leif slipped from Conor’s grasp at that point and slumped heavily to the ground. Conor stood over him and rolled his head to stretch his neck. And I thought for a minute that it was over. I thought that having seen Leif on the ground, he was satisfied. Just stay there, I thought. Don’t get up.
But Leif had rolled to his side and gone up on all fours. He was starting to crawl away. And that’s when Conor began kicking him, taking a few strides back and launching the toe of his shoe at Leif’s stomach, or buttocks, or back, with all the precision and energy of a penalty kick.
I ran to them and began to ineffectually beat my fists against Conor’s back. ‘Stop,’ I begged him. ‘Please . . . please . . . stop!’ And once again, Conor pushed me aside so hard that I stumbled and landed against the car.
Leif was on
all fours, still desperately trying to escape, but Conor ran at him and kicked him to the side again.
Leif rolled into a ball. ‘OK,’ he said through tears. ‘It’s OK. You have win.’
This made Conor laugh some more. ‘I have win, have I?’ he asked, his mouth twisted in scorn.
Leif, who had raised his arms to protect his head, nodded feebly. ‘You have win,’ he said again. ‘It’s over.’
Conor snorted. ‘I’ve barely got started, fella,’ he said. Then, reaching between Leif’s arms to grip his T-shirt, he pulled him to his feet all over again.
‘You’re going to kill him, Conor,’ I cried.
‘That,’ Conor said, smiling at me, ‘is the general idea.’
In that moment, I realised it was true. They had just been words up until then, but in that instant I understood that Conor really was going to kill Leif. Right here. Right now. Right before my eyes. And neither fighting, nor pleading, nor letting him win was going to change it. If I didn’t do something, Leif would be gone. The only man I had ever truly been in love with would quite simply no longer exist.
A jolt of adrenalin flowed through me and my tears ceased. My brain seemed to shift into an unfamiliar mode of ultra-precise, triple-speed clarity, scanning the landscape once again for any kind of weapon and tugging my attention towards the car.
To the rhythm of Conor’s metronomic punches, I quickly checked the interior, but there was nothing there I could use. I thought of driving at him but he had taken the keys. I tremblingly tried to check the boot, hoping to find a wheel brace or a jack, but it was locked.
I stood and looked analytically at the scene. I didn’t have strength on my side. I didn’t have a weapon, either. But I could, if I was clever, have the advantage of momentum and speed, and surprise.
FIFTEEN
BECKY
Against all odds, Mum’s promises of revelations did not stop me sleeping. I had distressing dreams involving Baruch and a smattering of car and motorbike accidents, but I slept deeply and far later than I had for days.
You Then, Me Now Page 20
