The Complex

by Michael Walters

  ‘That must be it,’ Leo said. ‘At last. I was beginning to think it didn’t exist.’

  There was a steep bank covered in wildflowers and the road moved back and forth across it, easing them down. The sun helped her mood.

  She tapped Stefan’s ankle. ‘Look at this!’

  There was a stone wall following the road at the bank’s base which ended at an arched entrance and a white building partially hidden by trees. The drive u-turned into the grounds and kept going, cutting across open fields and out of sight.

  ‘Stefan?’ She turned. Leo took them around another hairpin on their journey down the bank. Stefan’s face was pale, and he had his eyes closed. It was no surprise he was car sick. He had never been in a car this long before. As if sensing her gaze, he opened his eyes and pulled his headphones off.

  ‘What now?’ he said.

  ‘We’re there.’

  Stefan grunted and opened his window. A cool breeze replaced the air conditioning. ‘Flowers,’ he said.

  It was quite a display – whites, blues, greens and yellows – she hadn’t noticed. Leo turned the car one last time and they were at the bottom. The car gave a little bump as it mounted smooth tarmac.

  ‘Oh, thank God,’ Stefan said, sitting up straighter. ‘What a trip.’

  At the arched entrance, Leo stopped the car and peered up. ‘What does it say on the keystone?’ he said.

  ‘Semper vigilantes,’ Stefan said. ‘Anyone?’

  ‘Be vigilant?’ Leo said.

  ‘Always watching,’ Gabrielle said.

  ‘Well, that’s good to know,’ Stefan said, putting his hands on her shoulders. He squeezed the muscles there and she gave an exasperated laugh. He dug his thumbs deep into them until she groaned. She forced her shoulders down.

  ‘I’m sorry it was a long trip for you,’ she said, crossing her arms across her chest to put her hands on his. ‘You’ve got strong thumbs.’

  ‘Where are we, Maya?’ Stefan said, sitting back.

  Maya said: ‘I can’t access our coordinates.’

  ‘Maya,’ Leo said. ‘Are you connected to the grid?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Call our house number.’

  After a short pause, Maya said: ‘I cannot connect.’

  Leo sighed. ‘It’s a start.’

  They drove through the arch. In front of them was a high privet hedge, much more imposing than it had looked from the bank. The drive went right, up a long slope to a ridge. To their left was the white building. There was space for two cars to park on white gravel and an unusually wide black front door set in the white plaster with two large tinted windows on either side of it. Shadows of branches danced on the white walls. The sun was getting low.

  ‘It has a face,’ Stefan said. ‘Like an owl. See?’

  Gabrielle nodded. An evil fucking owl. ‘You’re right.’

  Leo was looking up at the hedge through the windscreen. ‘That’s a little intimidating,’ he said. ‘And a nightmare to trim. Neat job, though, whoever did it.’

  ‘No cars in the drive,’ Stefan said.

  ‘Keep going,’ Gabrielle said, trying to hide her unease. The house’s tinted windows bothered her. ‘That’s not it.’

  Leo drove them on. The open, lush fields immediately made her feel better. It was a smooth ride now, luxurious after a gloomy afternoon on forest track. She tapped a quick beat on her legs with her fingers.

  ‘You can smell the grass,’ Stefan said.

  Gabrielle could see Stefan’s arm stretched out of the window in her side mirror. He sounded happier, thank God. This week was her doing and she wanted it to work. It had been hard to organise, and it was risky in all sorts of ways, but what else could she have done? Art had given her few options. The deer was just bad luck. It was hunting season, she was sure, and Art would know who owned the forest. Not that it mattered. The hunter would have claimed the deer by now, probably cursing them for messing up his prize.

  The car scraped on the ground as Leo took them over the ridge. She was about to say something, but the new vista stopped her. Leo pulled over.

  ‘Good grief,’ Stefan said, sitting forward to look through the windscreen. ‘It’s like a space station.’

  ‘More like a warehouse,’ Leo said.

  It wasn’t what Gabrielle expected. The small country house Art had put in her head was not this. This was a single-storey behemoth that stretched across the base of the hills, more like a corporate headquarters than a holiday home. They were still half a kilometre away, but she could see the front was almost entirely glass, floor to roof, the late afternoon sun hitting it, making it look like a reflective visor.

  ‘Can you imagine the heating bills?’ Leo said.

  ‘I bet it’s all solar,’ Stefan said. ‘The roof is flat. It’s probably covered in panels.’

  Gabrielle scratched irritably at the back of her leg. ‘I’m sure it’s beautiful inside.’

  Leo drove on. The driveway ran across the front of the building and curved into a small car park to the right, next to a grey stone annexe. There was a high red-brick wall running down the hill, merging with another imposing privet hedge halfway.

  ‘Art said there was a walled garden,’ Gabrielle said.

  ‘Is that a hedge maze?’ Stefan said.

  Gabrielle heard the edge in his voice. Almost an adult and he still hadn’t forgotten. ‘You don’t have to go in,’ she said.

  ‘Too right.’

  There was a big black Mercedes van jutting across the car park entrance and Leo had to carefully manoeuvre their small hire car around it.

  ‘Nice of them to leave us a space,’ Leo said, parking in a power bay and turning the engine off.

  Maya said: ‘Charging.’

  ‘What’s Polly like?’ Stefan asked.

  ‘I haven’t met her,’ Gabrielle said.

  ‘You haven’t met her?’ Stefan said. ‘Really?’

  She felt stung. Had she given the impression she had? Perhaps. She couldn’t remember. It was all so complicated, and she felt miserable because of course she wasn’t going to be able to escape it all. The opposite, in fact.

  ‘Art’s a work friend,’ she said.

  ‘A client and a friend,’ Leo said.

  ‘To be honest,’ she said, ‘I didn’t even know he was married until he invited us here.’ That was true.

  ‘And Fleur?’ Stefan said.

  ‘Well, yes. He had mentioned Fleur.’ She felt cornered. ‘I just didn’t think about it.’

  ‘Someone’s coming,’ Leo said, opening his door quickly and stepping out. Stefan got out too, slamming his door behind him.

  Gabrielle undid her seatbelt, opened the car door but didn’t get out. Clearly, this was all a terrible mistake. Too late now. The Mercedes had tinted windows like the gatehouse and the old anxiety rolled over her. She liked to know who was looking out.

  A voice, soft but clear in the silence: ‘You must be Stefan!’ Two air kisses. A generic uptown accent. Gabrielle knew the type – expensively dressed, graceful in that privileged way. Fine. She’d met enough of them. She got out of the car and went around the front of the Mercedes, the opposite way to the men, hoping to catch the other woman off-guard. The woman was small, with dark hair pulled back in a bun and held in place with a pencil. She wore tight blue jeans and a loose white blouse. Pleasantly pretty. Normal-looking.

  ‘This is your boy?’ the woman said, turning to Gabrielle. ‘He is going to break some hearts.’

  ‘I’m Gabrielle,’ Gabrielle said, stepping forward with her hand out.

  ‘Polly,’ the woman said, frowning at Gabrielle’s hand, before taking it and stepping in, kissing Gabrielle on both cheeks. Her perfume was grassy and unfamiliar. ‘Art has told me all about you.’ A beat. ‘I like your earrings.’

  Gabrielle gave a thin s
mile. ‘Thank you. I like your perfume.’

  ‘A birthday present.’

  Leo came around the back of the Mercedes with Gabrielle’s suitcase in one hand and Stefan’s tennis bag in the other. Stefan moved past Gabrielle into the house.

  ‘How was the journey?’ Polly said to Leo, touching his arm lightly and falling into step with him.

  Gabrielle let them go ahead. It was already Sunday evening. Five days. It was hardly worth unpacking. The trees above her were still – it was extraordinary, being out of the Areas like this. It was twenty years since the holiday at the High Beaches after her graduation. Being here hardly felt real. She realised her arms had goose bumps. She scratched behind one knee, then the other. Dusk was approaching.

  ‘Mum,’ Stefan said from the doorway. ‘You’ve got to see this. It’s amazing.’

  ‘I’m coming,’ she said. ‘I am.’

  She followed her son, watching his tall, slim figure disappear down a corridor into the enormous glass-fronted space which she could now see in its full length. There were no walls. The floor was polished oak all the way to the end. It was a hundred metres to the far window. She felt dizzy looking at it. The hallway was dark in comparison, even with the white plastered walls, and she felt like a hermit crab nervously peering out into open water. The dizziness increased so that she had to put her hand on the wall to steady herself. She studied her shoes, nausea rising, hoping hard that this one would pass. Her legs shook, so she squatted, then twisted herself and sat with her back against the wall. She closed her eyes. Her heart was beating too fast.

  ‘Come on,’ she said under her breath. ‘You’re okay.’

  Her breathing slowed. She opened her eyes again and felt her face screw up like she was about to sob, but the tears didn’t come. She took a deep breath. Good. It was going away.

  She got back to her feet. Determined not to be found hiding in the hallway, she kept her eyes on the floor and walked through to the main part of the house. She couldn’t work out what triggered the attacks. That time it was the open space. The other times were different. The knots and lines in the oak floorboards were mesmerising in the late evening sun. She glanced at the window, nervous of more nausea, but instead she felt awe at the clarity of the outside world through the wall of glass. It was as if she could step directly onto the bright green grass. The rear of the house was glass too, albeit only in the central section, looking out on a neatly cut lawn, a swimming pool with a patio, and the beginnings of the woods on the hill behind. The ceiling had metal beams criss-crossing it at odd angles high above her.

  Someone was in the pool, but from where she was, she couldn’t tell who.

  Leo called to her from the other end of the building. ‘Nice little kitchen,’ he said. The furthest area was partitioned off by another white wall and in it there were rugs on the floor and a sofa. She walked quickly towards the normality of soft furnishings.

  ‘The bedrooms are through there,’ he continued, waving at a doorway next to the end of the kitchen countertop. It was a pleasingly ordinary, if expensive-looking, kitchen, with a large table and six chairs. ‘Ours is the first door on the right. I’m just going to get my case from the car. Then it’s the food and other bits and bobs.’ He was talking as he walked away from her, but then stopped, frowning at her. ‘You don’t look well.’

  ‘Long drive,’ she said.

  ‘Why don’t you go and have a lie down? I can bring everything in. Everyone will understand.’

  ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘Oh, all over. This place is crazy. Our host is in the pool. I think he’s trying to kill the water.’

  Leo continued to the car and Gabrielle went out to the pool side. There were five thin plinths of various heights on the lawn, each with a similar dirty-white stone sat on top. Crystalline but opaque, each stone was the size of a human head. From where she was the group of stones looked like a very unhappy and malnourished family. The pool was in shade. Art was ploughing away from her, his big shoulders churning the water, legs kicking hard. At the end, he did an awkward roll and pushed off. He swam right the way back to her but didn’t look up. He did another roll, the water slapping over the sides and onto the patio slabs, making her jump back.

  She didn’t know if he had seen her or not. It would be just like him to finish his workout before saying hello. Well, fine.

  Deflated, she decided to see what their room for the week was like. She didn’t linger to look at the view again. She really was tired.

  Their room was blah – abstract prints over the bed, an en-suite bathroom. The window was opaque, which seemed silly. Why not a view of the garden? But she was too tired to care.

  She lay down and closed her eyes.

  She dreamt she was in a hospital ward. It was a long, old-fashioned one, like in the War, with a dozen beds on each side. They were all empty except the bed at the very end, which was lit up with a ray of sunlight from a high window. There was a person in the bed, head wrapped in bandages. As she got closer, she could see it was a man in pale green pyjamas made from a translucent material that meant she could see the hair on his chest, stomach and legs. His penis was visible through his pyjama bottoms, fat and limp, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed. Only the man’s head was bandaged, but the white cotton went from his neck to the top of his head. There were no holes for mouth, nose, ears or eyes. He seemed to be staring at the far wall, not noticing her.

  ‘Hello?’ she said. The man didn’t move. Were there ears under there? Her heart quickened. ‘Are you okay?’

  She stopped short, keeping a bed between her and the man. There was a hard-backed chair next to him and she knew she was supposed to sit in it. She really, really didn’t want to. Her body moved against her will, her legs betraying her, leading her to the side of the bed. She noticed the man had no arms. Her heart was beating hard now, and she was short of breath. He was still not looking at her, if he was even alive. Her body tried to make her sit and her legs quivered with the effort of staying standing. It was useless. She sat in the chair, terrified now, but also furious. She could see each stray strand of white cotton on his bandaged face. The man’s head didn’t move.

  A hand touched her arm.

  She screamed.

  Leo was looking at her with wide eyes. ‘Christ, Gaby, you scared the shit out of me.’

  She was lying on her back. Her palms were damp, and she felt clammy all over. Her clothes stuck to her skin. ‘Bad dream,’ she said.

  ‘You were really tired,’ Leo said.

  ‘What time is it?’ She hated sleeping in the day, it made her think of childhood illnesses. Her face felt puffy and her eyes were crusted.

  ‘Almost eight.’ Leo crouched next to her. ‘Dinner soon.’

  ‘Jesus, really? Why didn’t you wake me?’ She sat up too quickly and the room swirled.

  ‘You okay?’ Leo said.

  ‘Give me ten minutes.’

  She closed the bathroom door and examined her face in the mirror. The dream was fading already. Someone in a hospital. Her eyes were baggy and black, what little eyeliner she had put on for the journey was smudged and her lips were dry. Horrific. She hated makeup, but her job required it. She still wasn’t used to having clients or having to look a certain way for them. But it would get better, she was sure, and anyway, this was her life now.

  She washed her face with the cake of soap on the sink and cold water. She remembered what Polly had been wearing and decided on jeans with the yellow patterned shirt she liked. Fuck makeup. She was on holiday. She got a brush from her suitcase and untangled her hair, looking in the mirror again. Natural, brown waves. A gift from her mother, so her father had always said. Vague memories of a woman tugging at her hair with a pink-handled brush, black spirals in the cheap plastic. Her natural inclination was to put her hair up, but she stopped herself. She wasn’t sure why but having her hair down felt right
.

  As she approached the kitchen, she could hear Art talking loudly. He was performing for his new audience. The end of the corridor had a kink in it, so it felt a little like walking out onto a stage. Everyone was at the table. Art had turned his chair so that he had a view of the doorway. His face was animated, and he spotted her immediately.

  ‘There she is!’ he boomed. ‘Sleeping Beauty.’

  Polly, Leo and Stefan were facing her on one side of the table. Opposite them, between Art and her own empty seat, was a young woman. Polly was smiling at Gabrielle in a fixed way.

  ‘This is Fleur,’ Art said.

  The young woman turned. She was small, wiry and serious-looking. Her black hair was pulled back and accentuated her pale face. She wasn’t wearing any makeup. Gabrielle immediately liked her. The girl nodded, and Gabrielle nodded back, trying not to smile too much.

  Art pushed his chair back and came towards Gabrielle, arms out theatrically. He looked like he was at the office in his grey suit trousers and a white, collared shirt. No socks, though. A concession. He held her arms firmly and kissed her on both cheeks. She looked, curious, at his bare feet.

  ‘Bohemian,’ she said. She was glad to see him.

  ‘Holiday,’ he replied.

  He put his arm casually through hers and walked her, smiling, to the table. Gabrielle tried to act naturally.

  ‘Hello,’ Fleur said. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  Gabrielle sat and pulled her chair in. ‘You too.’ Then, smiling, at the rest of the table: ‘You can carry on talking.’

  Polly said something to Leo and Stefan asked Art for some more bread.

  ‘You can call me Gaby if you like,’ Gabrielle said to Fleur. ‘But Gabrielle is fine too.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘What’s your room like?’

  ‘The same as yours, I guess.’ One side of Fleur’s mouth lifted minutely. ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘Been here before?’

  ‘No.’

  Stefan was watching them talk.

  ‘Do you have to study this week?’ Gabrielle said. ‘Stefan does. Don’t you, sweetheart?’