Thorn in the Flesh

by Anne Brooke

  She never stopped wanting him. Even when she was shaken to stillness and fulfilment, and was lying simply watching him, she could have found it in herself to want him inside her again. It was as if she were living in a world that contained only the two of them, and no life or meaning existed outside the times when they could be together. The newness of university life, the challenges of her chosen subject matter, the unfamiliarity of the town and countryside around her faded into nothing but a simple background to the clarity of this man and her new relationship. Kate began and continued to write essays and projects, attend lectures, participate in seminars and tutorials, but the demands all these different activities brought to bear seemed to take place behind a silken gauze. Nothing could impinge on the world of kisses and skin she wrapped around herself.

  That was how it was for Kate. How Peter felt was something she hadn’t yet broached. She didn’t know how.

  So October drifted by. She thought it would last forever. She was wrong.

  ***

  Whenever Peter was sleeping, Kate liked to watch him. It felt as if during those times, she was stealing moments to remember in a future that surely would bring nothing but good. She stored each impression of him like a jewel, something she could bring out and gaze on later. Now she was leaning on her right elbow and watching the way his top lip trembled in his dreams, while the sliver of late autumn sun emphasised the length and fragility of his eyelashes, and the slight rise and fall of his chest as he slept on. She would never have her fill of looking. Longing to run her fingers through the scattering of fair hairs on his chest, she stretched out her hand and then gasped as his hand came up to meet hers.

  Flashing his blue eyes at her, he smiled. ‘Caught you. Did you think I was sleeping?’

  ‘You were.’

  He shook his head. ‘No. I’ve been awake for ages. I was waiting to see what you’d do.’

  ‘And was it what you were hoping?’

  He smiled, a slow smile that warmed the deepest parts of her.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I was hoping for more.’

  Afterwards, they lay, wrapped in each other’s bodies, sticky with sweat even in the room’s chill. They said nothing. It was only when Peter shuffled away from her and blinked at his watch that Kate finally spoke.

  ‘I need to tell you something,’ she said.

  For an answer, Peter swung his legs onto the floor and got up. Kate watched his naked body as he stepped into his briefs and trousers, turning his back on her to do up his zip. Still he said nothing. He only glanced once in her direction, his forehead wrinkled with a frown, as if assessing how dangerous she might be to him. She swallowed and he pulled open the wardrobe, choosing a brown sweatshirt with a Castle logo on it, and dragging it over his head.

  When at last he was dressed, he sat down and faced her, folding his arms.

  ‘So?’ he said. ‘What is it then?’

  She told him the truth. What she’d known for a week, carrying the knowledge hidden somewhere within, like pain or the beginning of love. It didn’t take long.

  He didn’t react.

  Feeling her face grow hot, the flush spreading down her neck and body, Kate continued to look at him. She didn’t know what else to say. It was as if she’d come to the edge of a high cliff and the bridge she was sure existed had suddenly vanished. Her stomach felt as if she had plunged from a great height without hope of rescue.

  ‘Please,’ she said, wishing her voice didn’t sound so weak. ‘Say something.’

  ‘What do you want me to say?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, if you don’t know, how should I?’ Peter was sweating. Kate could see the beads on his forehead. He wouldn’t look at her. Instead he sprang to his feet and began squaring off the piles of spreadsheets scattered across the desk. Some slipped out of his fingers onto the carpet and he snatched them up again.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ she asked.

  ‘What do you mean “we”? Why should it be my problem?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she felt a burning behind her eyes and blinked away the tears. She couldn’t afford them now. ‘It’s yours too. The baby. It’s yours and mine.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Of course it is. You know that.’

  ‘Do I? I don’t know who else you’re sleeping with when you’re not with me, Kate. You were with that Penny before we started. Why shouldn’t you be seeing someone else? Another bloke, whatever?’

  ‘But I’m not and …’

  ‘Shut up,’ Peter took a step back and grabbed his room keys. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. Not ever. In fact I don’t want to talk to you. I’m going out. I’ve got things to do. When I come back, I don’t want to find you here. Okay?’

  Before Kate could object, even before she could move, he’d pulled open the door and had gone, the dull thud of his footsteps echoing down the corridor. Eyes tightly shut, she gathered the blankets round herself and tried to stop shivering.

  After half an hour, she began to realise he’d meant it. Not knowing what he might say if he returned to find her still here, she got up, dragging the blankets with her. The room swayed in front of her eyes and she stumbled, clinging onto the edge of the shelf in order to stay upright. Her stomach heaved.

  Running to the bathroom, she retched her darkness away in a long stream of yellow spit. Lights danced inside her head and she found herself panting, forehead pressed against the coldness of the toilet rim. She stayed in that position for what seemed like a long time, although it couldn’t have been more than five or ten minutes. Then, when she was able to, she washed herself, put on the clothes scattered round his room from last night and made her slow way home.

  Her roommate was out. There were lectures she should go to today, but already she knew it would be impossible. Instead, she sat on her bed and sipped a glass of water. It was the only thing she could keep down.

  The morning ticked off the endless seconds until the afternoon, and still Kate stayed where she was, gazing out of the window. Twice she used the bathroom, once to relieve herself and once to try to be sick again, but nothing came up except a trickle of clear water. At last she ran a bath and stepped into the foam as if she were stepping out of one life into another. Something within her felt as if a decision had been made, but she could not yet tell what it might be. Relaxing into the warmth of the water, she looked at the flatness of her stomach, the smoothness of the skin there, and wondered how long it would be before everything changed.

  When the water was too cool to stay comfortable, she got out, dried herself and dressed again, in a fresh pair of jeans and a dark green jumper. As she fiddled with the radiator to try to get warm, a knock at the door make her jump.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Kate,’ Peter’s voice drifted through wood and plaster into the air around her. ‘It’s me.’

  A thrill of joy took her as she opened the door and moved aside to let him in. Still, longing to touch him, something held her back. He looked grey. Not on the outside, but somewhere else, on the inside. He was wearing white tracksuit bottoms, an old tee-shirt and clutching his tennis racquet. Heat radiated from his skin.

  ‘You’ve played a game then?’ she said.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Did you win?’

  ‘Yeah. Look, Kate …’

  ‘What?’ she said when he trailed off.

  He brushed past her, clutching his racquet in front of him as if warding off attack. Loping round her room, he ran his finger along the two shelves, straightened a stack of her roommate’s books and picked up a copy of the university newspaper.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  Kate said nothing and, after a heartbeat or two, he continued, ‘I’m sorry about you being pregnant. And I’m sorry about what I said. What are you going to do?’

  ‘About the baby?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll have it,’ she said. ‘I don’t want an abortion.’

  Until the word
s had left her mouth, she hadn’t known that was what she was going to say. Up until then, she had only been able to think about Peter and what he might do. She hadn’t thought about the child and any choices she might have in that respect. But yes, when she’d answered him, what she’d said felt true. She didn’t want an abortion. Not because she wanted a child; she didn’t. But because she wanted him. Beyond that, she could tell nothing.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ he said. ‘And after you’ve had it, what happens then?’

  Kate felt the skin on her hand prickle. ‘We could look after it. Just the two of us. We’ll be all right. We’re meant to be together. I love you.’

  He laughed. As if she’d said something funny or ridiculous.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said when the laughter had stopped. ‘It’s not going to be all right.’

  ‘It will,’ her hands were clasped so tightly into fists that she felt as if her fingers would never be free. ‘We love each other. It’s got to be all right.’

  ‘No, it won’t.’

  His voice sounded different, as if he’d taken a step away from what was happening and was trying to hide.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  She couldn’t read his eyes, but she stared him out until he turned away.

  ‘We should break up,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’ Kate wanted to say more but couldn’t. Her breath wouldn’t come and she thought she might be sick again.

  ‘Because we were never really together in the first place,’ he said. With a swift movement, he rammed his racquet under his right arm and pushed his hands deep in his pockets. Still he wouldn’t look at her.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she repeated.

  He moved towards the door, as if he might leave. She took two paces to block his exit.

  ‘Tell me,’ she hissed. ‘Tell me.’

  He flinched away from her.

  ‘It was a bet,’ he said. ‘That was all, just a stupid bet. Don’t you see? Couldn’t you guess? After you started following me around, some of my mates said you were hot for me, but I told them it was just coincidence. You were a lezzie. You’d said so, and I’d seen you with Penny, hadn’t I? Girl stuff, snogging and all that. We had a night out, clubbing. Somebody said they’d put a bet on, I can’t remember who. But if I laid you, then I’d get a hundred pounds, an extra fifty if it was inside a week. I thought it was stupid, it would never work, but in the end you made it easy for me, didn’t you? I didn’t even have to try; you came to me and you were desperate for it. Turning you straight was simple. You let me screw you, and I didn’t have to prove it afterwards. You were so loud that first time that everyone knew what was going on. The next day I was a hundred and fifty pounds richer and with the prospect of an easy ride – excuse the pun – for the new term. What could be better?’

  As he was speaking, his voice had become harsher, angrier. By the time he finished, Kate was crying, wild sobs racking her body, and bile rising again to her throat. She thought she might fall.

  ‘No. No,’ she moaned, almost to herself. ‘You don’t mean that. Please tell me you don’t.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I do. We’re finished.’ He slipped past her, his hand reaching for the door and freedom. ‘Let it go, Kate. And get rid of the baby. That’s my advice.’

  ‘Please, Peter, please,’ she begged him, her fingers grabbing at his tee-shirt, trying to stop him from leaving, but he pushed her sharply. So sharply that she stumbled against the end of the bed and fell, banging her head on the wall.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ he said and walked out of her room, never looking back at her once. ‘Stupid dyke.’

  One hour after his departure, when she thought she’d cried all the tears she ever would, she swore two things to herself: first that she would tell no-one back home what had happened, not even Nicky; and second, and more importantly, that she would never allow herself to lose control or give another person such power over her again.

  Chapter Eleven

  By the time Kate arrived at Simpson’s-in-the-Strand the morning after her phone call, Peter was already there. The train had been delayed at Clapham Junction but she was only three minutes late. Handing her jacket to the receptionist, she could see him at the far end of The Grand Divan studying the menu, and allowed herself to drink in, at a distance, the fact of him being here now, in a place where she could see and perhaps touch him. Soon. If she wanted to.

  Two days ago, she would never have believed that the sound of someone’s voice could arouse such memories. Since that time, she hadn’t been able to sleep and, as she followed the Maitre d’ across the thick-carpeted floor, her silent heels denied the reality of her presence. They passed a scattering of other groups, other couples, sitting at the tables, some in the private booths, but she kept her eyes fixed on her destination. Above her, the chandeliers threw a gentle light across the ornate plastered ceiling and oak-panelled walls. She could smell coffee and freshly-baked bread. When she drew closer, Peter glanced up, smiled and rose to his feet. Her skin danced and she couldn’t stop her answering smile.

  He stretched out his hand.

  ‘Kate Harris. It is still Harris, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

  As they gave their orders of croissants, fruit juice and coffee for Kate, and devilled mushrooms, sausages and egg for Peter to the French waiter, Kate took the opportunity to assess her companion. He’d aged well. Fair hair still, but with a distinguished scattering of grey which suited him. His eyes were the same blue, though he had lines round his mouth and on his forehead she’d never seen before. She breathed in the scent of him; his aftershave made her think of oriental herbs and riches. A change of course from the one he’d worn when she knew him. And as far as she could see, he carried no more weight than he had as a young man.

  ‘Do you still play tennis?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. Golf now too. How do you think I’m able to order a cooked breakfast and not succumb to a heart attack?’

  She smiled. ‘I don’t imagine you eat this dangerously every day.’

  ‘No, indeed. My wife sees to it, though I’m a willing participant in her plans.’

  ‘Married then?’ she asked him, as the waiter arrived with her order. Of course, she already knew the answer, having researched the information on the Durham website when the first of the letters arrived. She just wanted to hear him say it. While she waited, she took a croissant. It was warm in her fingers and flared with heat when she broke it.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied when the waiter had gone. ‘I married Anna in 1993 and we have two daughters. Camilla who’s eleven and Ruth who’s seven. She’s a handful, that one. We have a good life, or at least I like to think so. How about you?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘No, I never married.’

  ‘Boyfriends? Partners? Other … relationships?’

  ‘No, no, and no. I never saw the need.’ After you, she wanted to say, but didn’t.

  Peter raised one elegant eyebrow and looked as if he were about to make a comment, but the waiter returned with a steaming plate of food, and Kate let out a slow breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. Her companion piled a selection of mushrooms and egg onto his fork, and ate with obvious enjoyment.

  ‘Mmm, this is so good. I rarely eat breakfast here these days – clients tend to prefer something more nouvelle – but when I do, I never regret it. The chef, Paul Muddiman, is a genius. You don’t know what you’re missing.’

  Pushing more food onto his fork, he waved it in Kate’s direction as if offering her a taster. She shook her head and leaned down, picking up her handbag and feeling the smoothness of the papers inside. Perhaps she should wait until he’d finished eating.

  ‘How’s your business consultancy going?’ she asked instead. ‘You must be doing well.’

  ‘I am that.’ He grinned at her and she noticed a speck of egg on one of his front teeth. He licked it away. ‘I’m where I wanted to be, Kate. Almost a millionaire twice over by the age of forty – and I
’ll cross that barrier in the next six months for sure. Then the sky’s the limit. And retirement certainly isn’t on the cards. I want to double the business in the next three years, open an office abroad, maybe two. Buy a third property. Anna and the children love their holidays. How about you? What are you doing now?’

  ‘Lecturing. I’m a lecturer in Linguistics at the University of Surrey. For the time being, that is. I’ve decided to leave my job.’

  ‘Good for you,’ he nodded, as if she’d been asking for his opinion. ‘Go where the money is. I’m sure there are lots of lucrative commercial outlets for someone with your skills. What’s your plan?’

  Kate smiled and pushed away her plate. Although Peter was still eating, she’d had enough.

  ‘No plan,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ve decided to hand in my notice and take the summer off. There are things I need to look into, for myself, before I can think about my career.’

  She stopped. More than anything, she suddenly wished Nicky or even David were here. But they weren’t. Here, in the middle of this bastion of traditional England, she was on her own. Uncertain what to say next, she smiled again.

  Peter smiled back, though his eyes were wary. Scraping the remains of the mushrooms to one side, he laid down his cutlery and, balancing his elbows on the edge of the table, leant his chin on his hands.

  ‘I see. Well, good luck with it. I hope it works out for you. There is …’ he coughed and took a gulp of his coffee while Kate waited for him to continue. ‘There is something I’ve been wanting to ask you, and I should have asked you a long time ago if I’d had the courage back then.’