by Grace Lowrie
‘Oh, sorry, I just assumed…?’
‘We’re neighbours.’
‘Ah, OK…’ He stared at me for a moment, as if working something out. ‘You must be the Easter Bunny!’ he finally said, triumphant.
‘I beg your pardon?’
Before Felix had a chance to explain, Bay was back at my side, handing me a fresh glass of champagne. ‘Ah Bay, let me introduce you to Darius DeWinter,’ Felix said. ‘He’s a huge fan of your work…’
Bay rolled his eyes at me and grudgingly allowed Felix to steer him away. ‘I won’t be long… they’ve got nibbles at the bar.?’ he offered over his shoulder. As they disappeared into the crowd I returned my attention to Bay’s glorious paintings, still pondering Felix’s bizarre comment.
*
‘Fuck it’s too hot in here.’ Crossing the flat, Bay kicked off his shoes and stripped off his tie while I filled a pitcher with cloudy lemonade and lots of ice in the kitchen. As he was flinging the windows open wide, a folded piece of paper fell from his trouser pocket but he didn’t notice. Handing him a drink, I went over to pick it up. Simple curiosity had me opening and reading it before I’d considered what I was doing. It was a formal, scary-looking letter from a firm of solicitors, concerning some sort of legal dispute over TMC Tower. It looked serious. ‘What’s this?’
‘Nothing,’ he said, snatching it from my hand and stuffing it back in his pocket.
‘It doesn’t look like nothing. It looks like you might lose this place…’
‘It’s just my brother trying to fuck me over.’
‘Ash? Why?’
He shrugged. ‘He’s angry at me. Maybe he thinks being homeless would be good for me, I don’t know. Don’t worry you’ll be long gone by then.’ His last sentence was painful, but I tried to ignore it.
‘Would you be homeless?’
‘No. I’ve got more money than I know what to do with. It’s not me he’ll be hurting.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There’s all the people employed in the offices below for a start. I lease the space to charities virtually rent free – I only charge them enough to cover the maintenance costs. And then there’s all the people those charities benefit – it’s bound to have a knock-on effect…’
I gaped at him, speechless. How did I not know this? I hadn’t paid the slightest bit of attention to which companies occupied the floors below me, and the depth of Bay’s generosity was astounding.
‘What?’ he said, a fag hanging from his lip as he lit up.
‘Does Ash know?’
Bay shrugged.
‘Can he really do this? Take it away from you?’
He shrugged again. ‘Probably. I could get myself a fancy lawyer and fight it, but…’
‘But what?’
‘He’ll probably win in the end.’
‘Oh God, will you lose the garden, too?’
‘Yeah, they come as a package.’
‘Is this why you’ve been so moody lately?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘You should have said something; I wouldn’t have forced you to go along tonight if I’d known.’
‘You didn’t force me; I thought it would be a good distraction.’
‘And was it?’ Bay scowled at me and I had my answer. ‘Look, it’s so hot in here, I feel like I can’t breathe. Why don’t we go down to the garden; make the most of it – it’s bound to be cooler down there under the trees…?’
Bay sighed heavily and then nodded almost imperceptibly, idly scratching his jaw.
‘OK good. Can you find us a blanket or something to sit on and I’ll grab us something to eat from next door…?’
Chapter Forty-six
Cally was right; it was cooler down here under the trees, but for me it might as well be the fiery pits of Hell.
Before leaving the flat I’d topped up the jug of lemonade with vodka (soft drink alone would not get me through this) and grabbed a dust sheet. I didn’t have a blanket as such – I wasn’t exactly a picnics kind of guy – so a white, slightly-paint-splattered sheet would have to do. Riding down in the lift I’d tried to mentally prepare myself; tried to convince myself I could do this; that I was OK with it. Maybe it would be different with Cally by my side – better – maybe she would keep the horror away? But as soon as I rounded the corner and the garden came into view, I was assaulted with flashbacks. My legs stopped moving of their own accord; the ice-cubes rattling in the pitcher, and the folded dust-sheet dropping to the ground.
‘You OK?’ Cally murmured, carefully taking the jug and setting it down on the grass beside the wicker basket she’d been carrying.
Reaching into a pocket I retrieved a spliff and lighter from my tin. The shaking in my hands irritated me as I lit up. My weakness sickened me – I was nauseated by my very existence – but I took a long, calming toke, closed my eyes and concentrated on expelling my memories along with the smoke. Once I was feeling composed I re-opened them to find Cally’s concerned, Prussian-blue gaze trained on my face.
‘How long has it been since you came down here?’ I tried to shrug but my shoulders were stiff with tension. ‘A couple of years.’
‘Two years?’ Her eyebrows arched in surprise. ‘Three,’ I admitted.
She stared at me. She wanted to ask me why; it was the obvious question and it hung heavily in the air, making me want to vomit with dread, or hide, or both. ‘How did you come to own a place like this?’ she said at last.
Reaching out with one arm I hugged her to me with gratitude. I didn’t deserve her kindness, a monster like me; if she knew the truth she’d run a fucking mile. Banding her arms around my waist she nestled her head comfortably into the space between my jaw and my shoulder; the smell of her shampoo soothing me even further. I wished I could hold on to her forever.
‘It’s been in my family for centuries,’ I began, pausing to take another drag. ‘Originally there was a grand old town house here and this was the garden. The house was bombed in the Second World War and my maternal grandfather had an office block built in its place. He wanted to build another alongside it, but my Mother begged him not to. She loved this garden – used to climb the trees as a child – and my grandfather didn’t want to break her heart. The oldest trees have protection orders on them now.’
‘It’s beautiful here,’ Cally said, her warm breath tickling my collarbone. ‘It reminds me of being back in Wildham.’
‘Ash had the cherry tree planted in my Mother’s memory when she died.’
‘Oh no! I’m so sorry!’ She gazed up at me, stricken. ‘I never would have danced around it if I’d known!’
I shrugged. ‘I think she would have liked the idea actually; found it funny. But the building and this garden – they’re the only pieces of property left from my Mother’s side of the family. Dad sold the rest off in the course of building his empire. When he died ten years ago he left everything to Ash; the company, capital, assets, property… everything. But that was fine by me. Ash asked me if I wanted anything and I requested this place. I always suspected he might take it back one day – I’m surprised it’s taken him this long…’
She kissed me, tenderly, the taste of her lips and the sad light in her eyes helping chase my demons back into the shadows. If only it was enough.
Cally spread the sheet out on the grass in a clearing between the trees, and I sat hunched over my knees, silently urging myself to relax. She was here, I could sense her, hidden somewhere in the trees, calling to me.
Suppressing a shudder I watched as Cally began removing things from her twee little hamper; a couple of glasses, cutlery, napkins, and little pots of marinated olives, mini falafels, cherry tomatoes, stuffed vine leaves… as if life were a fucking picnic. Kneeling on the sheet beside me she poured a couple of drinks, passed one to me and then took a sip of her own. It made her cough.
‘You’ve spiked this!’
‘Improved it.’
She sighed and I wondered why she was surprised. Did she really think she could change me?
Redeem me? There was no redemption for me. We shared the quiet hum of the city without speaking for a while, and I focused on the smoke as I drew it into my lungs before letting it slowly escape.
‘Look, the moonlight on the sheet is attracting moths,’ she said. Glancing down, I was unnerved to find a scattering of winged insects settled all around me. They varied in size and shape, the markings on their wings twitching in the blue light. ‘Maybe we’ll see one to match your shoulder.’
The sight of the moths, here of all places, brought the nausea back stronger than before. ‘I doubt it, they’re rare in this country.’ I hoped she couldn’t hear the shake in my voice. Carefully putting out my joint I tucked the rest back in the tin; it wasn’t helping.
‘It’s the moth from that film, The Silence of the Lambs, isn’t it?’ She framed the question casually, but she was probing again, oblivious to the true extent of the horror I lived with on a nightly basis. But then whose fault was that – I’d warned her to stay away from me, but I’d never given her a proper reason to, not really. I kept everything from her, and why? Because I liked having her around. Because I didn’t want to see the revulsion on her face when she realised how much death I was responsible for. And because I didn’t want to lose her. But that was selfish – she deserved her chance at escape.
‘It’s a Death’s-head Hawkmoth, but I don’t have the tat because of a film…’
I thought she’d take the bait and ask me outright, but she didn’t – once again she was letting me off the hook and I was perversely disappointed. I wanted her to know. A Ruby Tiger alighted on Cally’s forearm and she stilled, scrutinising it with rapt attention.
‘My Dad used to say my twin brother was drawn to trouble like a moth to a flame,’ I volunteered.
The insect on Cally’s arm flew away and she looked at me, eyebrows raised and eyes bright with curiosity, silently urging me to continue. I downed my vodka lemonade and she immediately refilled my glass.
‘We looked pretty much identical, but Baxter was brave and fearless where I was weak and afraid.’ It was strange saying his name aloud and I wondered how many years it had been since I’d said it. I followed the hopping and fluttering of the moths with my eyes to avoid Cally’s gaze. It felt like my chest was cracking wide open and a writhing, tangled mass of worms were trying to squirm their way out. I couldn’t look at her, but I couldn’t stop now, she needed to know…
‘We were six years old and playing outside. Ash was away at boarding school. We lived in a big old house in the country back then – swimming pool, stables, acres of land – I don’t think we really appreciated how lucky we were at the time. What we really wanted was a tree-house or some play equipment – a climbing frame, a slide, something like that – but Dad considered those things eyesores. Anyway, one day Bax got it into his head that he could make us a swing by tying a length of rope from a tree branch. He found what he needed in the stables, picked out a suitable branch in an oak tree and told me to stand below so I could tell him when the rope was dangling the right height from the ground. I wasn’t sure; I warned him it wasn’t a good idea and I tried to talk him out of it, but not hard enough. Obviously.’
I swallowed more vodka lemonade, barely tasting it. ‘Bax had climbed the tree before, we both had, and he made it up the trunk with ease, the cord looped across his chest as if he were an intrepid adventurer. Once he’d reached as high as he could, some twenty foot off the ground, he uncoiled the end of the rope before starting out along the branch. The rope started to unravel, snagging in places, and he struggled with it. And then he spotted a moth. It was just one of those common hawk moths that camouflage themselves against the bark, but Bax knew I’d be interested and he shouted down to me about it and that’s when he lost his balance – right then.’
In my peripheral vision I saw Cally cover her mouth with her hand, but I still couldn’t look at her, not until she knew it all.
‘I watched as he started to fall; arms flailing, rope tangling… he hit his head on another branch on the way down but that wasn’t what killed him – he didn’t hit the ground either. The rope lassoed around his neck, fracturing his spinal column mid-fall and choking off his airway.
‘And I didn’t do anything, I just stood there – frozen in shock – watching him hang high above me; watching the life go out of him. I knew he was dying, but I couldn’t move. It was only when it was over and he was just swinging there, silently, it was only then that I was able to move again; life rushed back into my limbs; adrenalin I suppose. Even then I didn’t try to climb up and untangle the rope, I just ran back to the house screaming for help. But it was too late – I was too late – I’d let him die.’
‘No.’ Her voice sounded strangled and when I looked up I was appalled to see her face streaked with tears.
‘Why are you crying?’
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she said, swiping at her cheeks.
‘Don’t give me that bullshit; don’t try and make excuses – I didn’t even try to save him; that’s the sort of person I am; a coward; that’s who I’ve always been.
‘No!’
‘Yes. You just don’t want to see it.’
‘You were six years old – it was just a tragic accident – there was nothing you could have done. If you’d climbed that tree after him you might have fallen and died, too.’
‘Exactly! That’s what should have happened! Instead death has shadowed me my whole life, killing off anyone I get close to.’
‘You can’t really believe that. You realise how crazy you sound?’
‘Yeah, and maybe I’m insane, but I’m telling you – that’s what happens – I’m cursed – people close to me die.’
‘That’s ridiculous…’
‘For fuck’s sake, you aren’t listening to me. Do I have to spell it out? BEING AROUND ME TOO LONG WILL GET YOU KILLED!’
She shook her head, her eyes wide, her face silvery in the moonlight as more tears fell.
‘Why are you crying? Why are you even here? Did you just get bored with your safe little life in suburbia?
Decide to rebel? Six months roughing it in London? Stripping and slumming it with a loser like me before you fuck off back home—’
She slapped me across the cheek, the snap resounding through the garden, the sting spreading with a soothing warmth. For a while there was silence, only punctuated by the chilling scream of a fox and a police siren in the distance. I turned back to face her, and she looked shocked, as though I’d slapped her. ‘God, I’m sorry,’ she said raising her hand to her mouth again.
‘I deserved it,’ I said, feeling calmer. ‘I deserve far worse.’
‘You didn’t; you don’t, you really don’t,’ she said, rapidly shaking her head.
As I reached out to take her hand she flinched. ‘Does it hurt?’ I said. Her palm might have been inflamed but the cool moonlight made it hard to be sure.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ve never hit anyone before.’
I nodded, still staring at her hand and hating myself for attacking her. I wasn’t used to talking about this stuff – it made me feel weak, vulnerable and exposed.
‘I don’t understand how you can blame yourself for something that was entirely out of your control,’ she said quietly.
‘My Dad did – he blamed me. And my mother never got over it. I tried to make up for everything by being more like Bax – stronger, braver… I got the tattoo to remind me… but maybe I just made things worse.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
I shrugged. I didn’t want sympathy.
‘Your twin… is that…?’
‘What?’
‘Is that why you avoid your reflection? Is that why there are no mirrors in your flat?’ Her intuition was surprising, I could almost hear her mind figuring me out.
‘When I see myself, I don’t just see me. I don’t want to see me, but I don’t want to keep seeing Bax either, it’s too fucking painful.’
‘You’re not a vampire, then?’
I rolled my eyes, but the smile hovering on her lips made me want to smile in return. I sighed instead. ‘You shouldn’t be around me – look – I’ve already driven you to violence.’
‘I don’t have a home to go back to,’ she said.
‘No?’
She shook her head but didn’t volunteer any more.
‘Are you sure? Because every time you mention Wildham you sound like you miss it.’
‘I do. But that doesn’t mean I can go back.’
I was tempted to ask her why but I knew she wouldn’t tell me. ‘We shouldn’t have come down here, this place—’
She cut me off with a kiss and the sense of relief was immense. How had I not lost her yet? Her fingers fumbled to unbutton my shirt and I hauled her onto my lap so that she was straddling me. I unzipped her dress. She removed my shirt. I lay back to admire her and she gasped.
‘God, Bay, what happened?’
Lifting my head, I followed her eye line to the dark bruising on my ribs and set my head back down again. ‘Nothing. It doesn’t hurt.’
‘You’ve been fighting.’
It wasn’t a question and I didn’t reply, but I could hear the disappointment she was holding back. Between the tree canopies above, I could pick out a few stars, despite the hazy glow of London’s lights. Without a word she leaned down and gently pressed her mouth to my ribs; her lips soft, her hair lightly brushing my skin; her tender forgiveness both soothing and arousing.
Cally rode me like a goddess on horseback; her shoulders thrown back and her pale skin glowing ethereally. She was so beautiful that it hurt my eyes to look at her; as if she was an angel from heaven. I lay there, hypnotised, absorbed in the delicious feel of her body as she worked me inside her. For a while the garden around us receded; the ghosts dispersed and my many sins and secrets melted away. In that brief, perfect moment, it was just her and me, and it was magical.
But afterwards, holding Cally in my arms, the moon stared down at me, and a cold sense of dread crept right back in.
Chapter Forty-seven
Slipping an eye mask on, I pulled the sheet up over me and hugged Bessie, my stuffed bunny, for comfort. I missed Bay. I’d barely seen him since our night in the garden. He’d finally told me about the devastating death of his twin; confessed to a lifetime of grief and guilt so awful I could barely comprehend it. But my knowing made him uncomfortable – he was determined to distance himself from me – and I still had no idea how to help him.
