Nothing. No sound.
She lifted her head off the hard ground and peered over the grass tops. This was more like the woods near the wall. She looked up the bank she had just fallen down. She imagined a black-coated figure on the ridge above, pointing a rifle down at her, face in shadow, blade hanging from his belt. She shook herself. No time for fantasies. She stood warily, still listening. Nothing. The sensible thing was to call out, so there was no confusion, but something stopped her. Instead, she ran again, her legs beginning to shake with adrenaline and exhaustion. She would do sprint training. She would buy a gun. She would tell Leo everything. She just had to get back to the house alive.
The light changed again, the sky appeared, and ahead there was the high, black hedge of the maze. She heard water. A stream. The hedge stretched left and petered out. To the right was the familiar brick of the walled garden. A bark of laughter. The path had curled around closer to the house than she had thought. The stream was fast flowing but shallow. She jumped into it, splashing quickly through and clambering up through some thin brambles on to the other side. She felt a few snag her leggings and top. She pulled herself to her feet. To the right, in the wall, was a wooden doorway. Hand on the handle, she paused. Her trainers were heavy with water and her leggings were thick with mud and ripped on one leg. She looked back at the trees. The stream gurgled, unconcerned. There was no movement.
The door opened silently. A work area, with a seat to her left and trellis of white roses to her right. Some of the petals were beginning to darken. Through it she could see two figures on the top path. Leo and Polly were looking at plants along the top wall. Polly put her hand on Leo’s arm, talking excitedly. Leo laughed, perfectly relaxed. Polly said something more, hand still on his arm, then she moved her arm around his waist, her other hand tapping his stomach. Leo didn’t move away. He said something, and Polly giggled.
There was buzzing somewhere, a wasp perhaps, though she couldn’t see it. She felt dizzy. The white roses filled her vision.
Then, somehow, Leo was looking down at her. He was saying her name. There was something across her legs.
‘Whoa, sweetheart.’
‘I’m okay,’ she said. Her face felt dusty and particles were stuck to her cheeks and lips. She coughed and tried to sit up.
‘Just wait.’ He lifted the snapped trellis away from her legs.
‘Help me up,’ she said.
‘Will you wait?’
‘Just help me.’ She rolled to one side, not waiting for him, pulled herself up into a crouch, then slowly straightened her legs, flexing her fingers and moving her neck around carefully. She spat, trying to clean her mouth of dirt. No damage. She caught Leo glancing at Polly, who was some way up the garden, clearly unsure what her role was.
Gabrielle touched the crown of her head and said, bending towards Leo, ‘Am I bleeding?’
Leo gently parted her hair in a few different directions. ‘I don’t think so.’
Gabrielle bent one leg, then the other. All seemed okay.
‘We should get you to the house,’ Leo said. ‘You’ve ripped your trousers. Actually, you’re filthy. What happened?’
Gabrielle spotted a tap under a workbench near the door through which she had made her entrance. She squatted next to it and turned it on so water splashed on the stone and bounced all around her legs. The flecks of cold felt good. She put her mouth to the tap and took several loud slurps before slowing the water and sitting on the wet flagstones. She cupped her hands and drank, then started to pour it over her face and neck. She felt like a child. She let the cold water run over her legs, arms and wrists.
‘You look less scary now,’ Leo said. ‘I thought you were out cold.’
‘I ran too far,’ Gabrielle said. ‘I got lost, dehydrated. I must have fainted. It’s so hot.’
Leo wrestled the trellis back into position and propped it up with two rakes that were leaning against the wall. He looked through it, exactly as Gabrielle had. He looked worried.
‘Let’s go back to the house,’ she said, starting to walk. He could explain himself if he wanted. She was disappointed, but his minor indiscretion paled next to hers.
They walked in silence to the top of the garden. Polly had disappeared.
At the gate, Leo said, ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
‘I’m okay, Leo.’
‘What happened?’
‘I got lost.’ She had no urge to tell him about the dead deer, or the rifle shots.
‘I’ll make some lunch for you.’
‘Will you stop fussing?’
‘You were unconscious.’
‘I was dizzy. That’s all. I just want to get cleaned up.’
Leo stayed in the kitchen and Gabrielle carried on to their room. Closing the door behind her, she peeled her clothes off, paying attention to her body, sensitive for any signs of damage. Luck was with her – she really was fine. In the shower, she played the events back – the cold of the forest, the crack of a rifle, the blue tarpaulin with the butchered animals. She stopped herself. Already she was altering details. Memory was slippery. They were just shot deer. They weren’t butchered. There was a knife. The bullets were not for her.
She wanted to know who it was, though, that was for sure. She rubbed her hair with a towel and went back into the bedroom.
Art was sitting on the bed.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ she said.
‘Leo was worried you had a concussion.’
She refused to cover herself in front of him and he kept his eyes away from her naked body. ‘Well, there is definitely only one of you,’ she said. ‘I’m fine. Please leave.’
‘Are you okay, Gaby? I know you’re angry with me, but I wanted to give you this.’ Art looked at her bedside table. She looked too and saw a single white tablet, bigger than the ones she was used to.
‘What is it?’
‘You fainted, and you might have hit your head. It will give you a couple of hours’ sleep. Also, you need to rest while you are here. Wasn’t that the point?’
‘Was it the point? It was your idea.’
‘I was worried about you. I still am. You have to relax.’
‘I am relaxed.’
Art picked up the pill and brought it to her. She took it off him and he raised his eyebrows. Keeping eye contact, she put the tablet in her mouth and swallowed it without water.
‘Happy?’ she said.
‘Ecstatic.’
Art left and Gabrielle got into bed. She just wanted to forget everything.
The bedroom door opened again. Leo came in with a plate of food and she wanted to scream at him to leave her alone. His face was difficult to make out. Then, she slept.
Leo: Corridor
Leo, high on the tennis court bank, watched Gabrielle stretch before starting her run. It was soothing, a bird’s view, away from Art, away from Gaby, the sun just reaching the crystals, so they flecked the lawn with coloured light. Gabrielle’s body was efficient. She could do whatever she wanted, and with grace. She would deny it, but it was true. When he had met her, a newly trained armed response officer, she was direct, authoritative and impressive. He had been at the peak of his tennis game, playing tournaments week in and week out. The police had a team at a charity tournament and he played against her in the mixed semi-finals, a one-sided affair, but the way she moved around the court, her natural physicality, caught his eye. Her handshake was firmer than his. A sharp nod. He liked that. But off-court, she was clearly out of his league.
So, when he found himself at her apartment that night, after the charity dinner, her legs wrapped around him on the sofa, laughing softly at some lame joke he had made, he had wondered what she would make of him the next morning. But, as in most things, she knew exactly what she was doing. A couple of weeks later she introduced him to Stefan. A year later they were marrie
d. They had a police guard of honour at the church.
She seemed to be looking towards him, so he lifted an arm to wave, but she didn’t respond and instead walked around the back of the house, towards the car park. He wondered if she was still angry with him. He couldn’t even remember the exact thing that they had bickered over. When she was gone, he wandered down to the kitchen and made some tea. Polly was by the pool in a bright yellow swimsuit, holding a white towel. He watched her through the window over the sink as she put the towel on the grass in the sun. She was beautiful, but in a different way to Gabrielle – heavier in the hips, earthier in manner too, more open. The crystals seemed to flicker gently in agreement.
After a while he took his mug out to the lawn and stood in the last patch of shade. The shadows had moved. Time was playing tricks.
‘How are you this morning, Leo?’ Polly said, coming to stand with him.
‘Distracted,’ he said.
‘What have you been looking at?’
‘The lawn, the trees. I don’t know.’ He sensed she knew he had been admiring her.
‘Exercise,’ Polly said, waving at the pool with her hand. ‘You want to get out of your head for a while. Use that fine body of yours.’
He smiled at her, looking down at his feet. Her toes were painted red. She wiggled them.
‘Got to look after yourself,’ she said. ‘Fancy a swim?’
‘Ah, no. Not my thing, really.’
‘Well, throw that tea away at least and get a fresh one. I saw you in the kitchen. You are worth a hot mug of tea.’
‘I’m losing track of time,’ he said, apologetically. He went to throw the tea on the lawn, but stopped, a few drops spilling on the patio. ‘My mother used to say tea was good for the plants. I don’t know why that just came into my head. Was she right?’
‘Maybe so,’ Polly said, moving a little closer. He was attuned to her body’s position in relation to his. ‘The leaf of the tea plant might be nutritious. The liquid is just water. They say the same about coffee grounds, don’t they?’
‘You’re right,’ Leo said.
‘I don’t hear those words very often.’
‘Holidays are strange, aren’t they? I’m not quite sure what to do with myself.’
‘People used to get their tea leaves read. My aunt used to do tarot at parties.’ Polly frowned. ‘She was a vicious old witch.’
‘Did she ever tell you your fortune?’
Polly snorted. ‘No. I would never let her. It’s a poisonous game.’
‘Poisonous?’
‘She was poisonous. If someone is going to tell your fortune, make sure they have a good heart.’ She sniffed and looked up towards the clubhouse. The roof was just visible through the tennis court fence. ‘Where’s Art? I’ve hardly seen him.’
‘I don’t know,’ Leo said. ‘This place is so big. People keep disappearing.’
‘It’s lonely,’ she said.
With a quick movement, she took his wrist and pressed the back of his hand against her stomach. The yellow material was smooth and warm in the sun, her flesh beneath it soft and giving. He pulled his hand back, awkwardly, his eyes lingering too long on the curve of her belly.
‘It’s my turn to cook,’ he said, face flushed. ‘You’ve done it two days in a row.’ He jerked the mug towards the pool. An arc of cold tea splattered the water’s surface.
Polly laughed. ‘Well, I’m going to swim.’ She looked at the ripples in the pool. ‘In your tea.’
‘Shit, I’m sorry.’
‘De nada.’
She turned and dived neatly into the pool, the water accepting her body with a soft smack.
Leo watched her do a languid front crawl away from him. He remembered Art churning the water up when they had arrived. He could see the window into the basement beneath the waterline, a long black rectangle. He felt tired all through his body. He walked along the pool side, in the sun this time, heading for the back door and the safety of the kitchen. It felt good to move his sore muscles. He regretted the tennis match with Art. He would get dinner ready, so he only had to reheat it. It was a relief to have a job to do.
He set out the ingredients for his pasta sauce on the counter next to the hob: two tins of tomatoes, stacked on top of each other; a bottle of red wine, much cheaper than the bottles in the crate Art had brought; a tube of garlic paste; some dried oregano remnants in an old jar; two red peppers; three small white onions; a bag of dried penne that had fallen over and lay, stranded, on its front.
He pulled a chopping board down from where a metal pole ran along the wall, then put a knife and an onion on the board. He washed the peppers and looked again at the crystals. One of them glinted in the sun, like a wink. The ache in his shoulders eased.
‘You’re going to run the spring dry,’ Polly said, leaning past him to turn the tap off. She was wet and still in her yellow swimsuit. Her breast brushed his arm and a thick strand of her black hair fell on his shoulder before she stepped back.
‘Sorry,’ she said, nodding at the wet patches on his shirt.
‘You didn’t swim for long,’ he said.
‘Twenty minutes,’ she said. ‘What do you see in those lawn ornaments? Or whatever they are. Ugly.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘You keep looking at them. What do you see in them?’
‘I’m not really thinking about anything.’
‘You don’t want to tell me.’
‘No, I just find them—’ He paused and looked out of the window again.
He felt her hand on his arm and recoiled from her fingers, which were clicking near his face.
‘You don’t know you’re doing it,’ she said.
‘I’m fine.’ Leo moved past her, back to the chopping board.
‘Here,’ Polly said. She took a cereal bowl from a cupboard and put it next to him. ‘For the bits.’
She walked towards the bedrooms and he let himself look at her, her shoulders relaxed and low, her buttocks wobbling slightly through her swimsuit. She held her body differently, used her body differently, was attentive in ways he had forgotten. He drank her body in, not caring if she caught him staring. But she didn’t look back. A harmless compulsion.
He chopped the onions, then the peppers. He got a heavy saucepan and poured some olive oil into it.
He heard footsteps and then Polly’s voice. ‘What can I do?’
‘I’m going to roast the peppers,’ he said. ‘Stir them in at the end. So, there’s only the onions to fry and then the tomatoes.’
‘Good,’ she said. She was wearing tight blue jeans and a loose white blouse. The same clothes she had worn when they had arrived. Her hair was brushed straight and still damp. She picked up the tube of garlic paste and wrinkled her nose.
‘I know,’ he said.
‘We’ve got a garden full of fresh vegetables,’ she said. ‘Shall we see what we can find?’
Leo turned the heat off under the saucepan and followed Polly to the garden, which was mind-bogglingly big and in full bloom. Everything looked to be ripe or flowering, though he was no gardener, and could only marvel at it all. The path was laid with different-coloured bricks in a subtle pattern. A couple of hundred metres below were the tops of the dark hedges of the maze.
‘Try one,’ Polly said.
‘Try what?’ A tomato hit him on the chest and burst, falling to the floor. There was a stain on his shirt. Polly started to laugh.
‘It’s not funny,’ he said, smiling despite himself. She had a dirty laugh, a cackle. She put the rest of the tomatoes she was holding carefully in the mud-flecked bucket she had found.
‘They’re so ripe,’ she said.
‘It’s April.’ He walked to join her, looking at the plants as he passed them. ‘It doesn’t seem right.’
‘It’s just a hot spring,’ Polly said, snaking an arm around his waist. �
��Make the most of it.’
She pulled herself against him and he was reminded of a koala bear clinging to a tree. He was intensely aware of each contact point of her body against his. He wanted to push her gently away, but the pleasure of being held surprised him.
There was a series of quick snaps, a cry, and then a whole section of white roses along the left wall fell backwards.
His first thought was that it was an animal in the garden, then his brain recognised his wife’s call. He sprinted towards the fallen trellis, scanning frantically for clues. Gabrielle was on her back, ponytail spread, the trellis covering her hips and legs. There were white rose petals everywhere.
‘Gaby,’ he said, putting the back of his hand on her cheek.
She moved her head a little. The trellis was still attached by wire to supports and wasn’t touching Gabrielle at all. There was a half-open door, a shaded work bench next to a wooden seat and gardening tools scattered around.
‘Gaby,’ he said, again.
Her eyelids were moving. She was breathing and then she was looking up at him. He prayed she hadn’t seen them, then berated himself. She was hurt. She might have concussion. They could talk later. If she’d seen them. Hopefully, she hadn’t.
Gaby didn’t mention it on the walk back to the house, and she went to get cleaned up. He decided to continue with dinner later and instead pulled out all the leftovers from the previous night and put them on the table for lunch. He kept seeing Gabrielle’s hair in the gravel, her face pale and dusty.
Stefan and Fleur came up from the library like moths to a lamp and started filling their plates. Art had been downstairs too and asked where the women were. Polly emerged from the bedroom corridor just as Art went in, as if magnetically repelled. Leo put some food on a plate and took it to Gabrielle.
The Complex Page 8
