Guilt

by Amanda Robson

‘Were you thinking about your mother? How much she would miss you?’

  ‘I’ve killed her, as well as my sister. My mother would be better off without me.’

  ‘No. No. She loves you. She needs you. She will be here to see you as soon as possible.’ There is a pause. ‘I’m starting you on antidepressants, and I am recommending you see a counsellor urgently.’

  He fills the plastic cup from her hand basin with water. ‘Here, take these.’

  THE PAST

  17

  Zara

  We are sitting in the Roebuck pub by the fire, watching the flames twist and dance. I’m sipping a G&T; Sebastian is cradling a pint.

  ‘Mother’s visit went well, but I missed you, Sebastian,’ I say.

  ‘I missed you too.’

  His eyes shine intensely into mine. I lose myself in them.

  After a while, I ask, ‘Did you miss me? Or just my body?’ I’m trying to make my voice sound curious and light, deliberately adding an idleness to it.

  ‘I missed you. All of you.’ He reaches across the small mahogany table between us and takes my hand. ‘Of course.’

  I let him squeeze my hand and then I pull it away from his. ‘But where did you go?’

  He stirs uncomfortably. ‘Home.’

  ‘To see your parents?’

  ‘No. They’re away. On a cruise.’

  ‘To see your friends?’

  ‘They’re all away.’

  Silence settles between us. We return to watching the fire. We sip our drinks. Sebastian’s face is strong and sullen. After a while he says, ‘Zara, the truth is sometimes I just need a little time on my own.’

  His words panic me. Is he about to finish with me?

  ‘We all do,’ I manage to say, flashing him what I hope looks like an understanding smile.

  ‘Not like me.’ His face is stormy now. ‘Sometimes if I’m not alone, really alone for a while, I feel as if … as if …’ His voice stammers and stops. ‘As if my world will end,’ he continues. ‘As if the sky will fall on me and crush me to death, if I don’t escape somewhere for a while, totally alone.’

  He reaches for his pint from the table in front of him and takes a large gulp. I watch his Adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallows.

  ‘As long as you wanted to come back,’ I say.

  His eyes soften. ‘Zara, I will always come back.’

  We return to the flat, go straight to bed and make love. Urgent, passionate love. Our bodies sing together with pleasure. When it is over we lie in bed replete, side by side, fingers touching. Sebastian whispers, ‘This is it. Tonight. Let’s cut.’

  My stomach tightens. I roll on top of him and kiss him.

  ‘OK, my love.’

  I slip out of bed trembling with anticipation. A hint of fear. I fumble in my dressing table drawer to find the new pack of razor blades, hidden beneath my tights. Then I go back to the bed, take his hand in mine, lead him to the bathroom, and switch on the light. After the soft moonlight of the bedroom, curtains left wide open, the bathroom halogens feel cold and harsh. They push into our eyes and make us blink.

  We stand in the middle of the bathroom, naked. My eyes adjust. He stands before me, long-limbed with dark downy hair on his legs and forearms, chest rippling with muscle. I love the snake tattoo that curls around his stomach, mouth open, forked tongue stopping at the stem of his penis. It really turns me on. He leans towards me. I melt into him. We kiss. Gently at first, then greedily. I pull away from him.

  ‘Give me your arm.’

  He trusts me. He gives me his arm. I lead him to the sink. I turn his inner wrist upwards and press it on the side of the sink. He turns his head and kisses me again, lips hard against mine. A bite not a kiss.

  ‘You cut me,’ he whispers.

  ‘Hold it tight,’ I instruct, voice trembling. With a shaking hand, I take a fresh blade and move it towards his wrist. I am vibrating with anticipation, not panic. I know how to do this. How to cut without causing damage. The therapist has taught me. I am an expert. Ever since my first accident I have learnt so much. No one knows more about cutting than me. I know how to really cut. Just how deep. Just how much.

  I bite my lip. I move the blade towards his wrist. I touch it against his skin. I feel the skin separate. He inhales deeply. The inhalation of his breath, the way his lips part slightly, turns me on. I see the blood line. The seepage. Sweet seepage. Sweet, sweet seepage. Sweet release.

  ‘Do you feel it?’ I ask.

  He closes his eyes. ‘I feel it,’ he whispers.

  I stand on tiptoes and whisper in his ear, ‘And now you must do it to me.’

  We stop his blood. We wipe his wound with antiseptic, and dress it.

  He is nervous. I sense hesitation as he cuts me. But it feels good. So good. The pain. The pain that takes pain away. The moment of euphoria. Euphoria that no one but a cutter understands. The euphoria that cannot be explained.

  He helps me stop my blood, eyes holding mine as he bandages my wound. We hold hands and snuggle back in bed, limbs entwined. We kiss for a while, snogging like teenagers for the first time at a party. Before snogging became foreplay. Suddenly Sebastian breaks off.

  ‘I don’t trust your sister,’ he announces.

  His words shoot into me like bullets. My body springs away from him a little. ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘She’s twisted.’

  ‘Twisted? You’re joking. She’s a rampant goody two-shoes, not like us.’

  He is lying on his back now, dark hair tousled, distinct against the white pillow. I see in the moonlight that he is shaking his head.

  ‘No, she’s the one who’s twisted,’ he repeats.

  I am knocked back by his attitude. Miranda, you always treat him so kindly, so thoughtfully. He spends so much time in your flat. Or at least he was doing until Mother visited, and now that she’s left he’s come straight back.

  ‘She’s very caring,’ I say indignantly. ‘Sometimes she comes over as a bit bossy. But her heart’s in the right place. If she’s too bossy sometimes it’s only because she cares. I know she seems a little self-righteous at times … but …’

  ‘Self-righteous. That’s it,’ he almost snarls. ‘You’ve put your finger on it. It’s the self-righteousness that I don’t trust.’

  It’s the self-righteousness that I don’t trust.

  His words reverberate in my head. I shudder inside. For a split second I know what he means, here and then gone. I push his words away. I love my sister. Always will. Always have.

  18

  Sebastian

  Jude, I don’t like to admit it but the cutting turned me on. I am disgusted with myself. How could hurting the woman I love make me feel hot? You can’t imagine that, can you? Maybe it’s because it made me feel part of her. But it’s not going to happen again. I am going to help her to stop. You must know I can’t bear to hurt someone else I love. Not again.

  I walk across the bedroom and reach for my diazepam. I sit, head in hands, waiting for it to calm me. I close my eyes and see you all once again on the driveway, waiting for me to get the car out of the garage.

  The turn of Mother’s head. Father smiling, putting his fingers to his mouth and stroking his moustache. You stand there looking at me, afternoon sun shining from behind your head like a halo. That is how I think of you sometimes. Like an angel shining down at me from heaven, surrounded by the flowers that lined the driveway: lupins, dahlias, delphiniums. I couldn’t even bear to keep the flowers that grew there. I removed them. The driveway is surrounded by shrubs and bushes now. No colour at all.

  19

  Miranda

  Ten o’clock on Monday morning. Sitting at my desk. Anastasia Sudbury, our accountancy partner, is walking towards me, flanked by Sebastian, who is carrying a cardboard box. What can she want? Except for our assessments, she doesn’t usually communicate with staff as junior as Sebastian and me. She normally looks through associates as if they are air.

  They arrive at my desk, Sebas
tian grinning like a fox.

  ‘Good morning, Miranda,’ Anastasia says.

  That’s something. I didn’t think she could remember my Christian name.

  ‘Tax and Acquisitions are merging together for a new case, and Sebastian is coming to work with you for a while,’ she says, gesticulating towards him with her right hand.

  He nods and his grin widens. Over-whitened teeth so perfect he should be in a toothpaste advert. She points at the empty desk space next to me. Sebastian sinks into his new chair and starts to unpack his box.

  ‘Notes on the acquisition you’re dealing with,’ Anastasia says, thumping a thick manila folder onto the middle of my desk. ‘Seb’s dealing with the acquisition cost. You’re sorting out tax liability.’

  ‘What about my current tasks?’ I ask.

  ‘Obviously they’ll have to be kept in the air too,’ she snaps.

  I sigh inside. I’m already so busy. But what Anastasia wants, Anastasia gets. I know from experience it’s best not to argue with her. Although, for my sins, I’ve tried to no avail on a number of occasions. However difficult it is, I must cope with this.

  ‘OK. Fine. I’ll get on to it, right away,’ I reply.

  ‘Please do. I need the first indicative briefing in three days’ time.’

  Three days. Doubtless I could do with three months. She saunters away through the junior office, back towards her lair, ignoring everyone as usual. Everyone pretending to ignore her. Silence reverberates across the thin layer of pretence. As soon as she has gone, happy background chatter begins again. I turn to Sebastian. He is still unpacking his files and papers.

  ‘Welcome,’ I say and try to smile. But I am worried about how much work Anastasia has just asked me to do; and about having to sit next to him. So the smile doesn’t manage to spread around my face. ‘When did you know about this?’ I ask.

  ‘I’ve known for a while, but Ana asked me not to say.’

  ‘Ana? Are you on familiar terms with her then?’

  ‘Is anyone?’ he replies.

  I laugh. ‘Well, talk to you later. I really need to get my head around this.’

  I open the file in front of me. The largest tax and acquisitions merger in the history of Harrison Goddard. Hours and hours of work. I close my eyes and try to stop thinking about all the other things I need to do. But I can’t. Tax accounts for Edmonson’s International, Berlin Bank, J. J. Cohen solicitors, Abe Pharmacy, AJT Consultancy, march across my mind. I need to keep calm and get on with it.

  At first I can’t believe what’s happening. I feel a hand stroking my inner thigh. Thinking I must be imagining it, I grab it instinctively and push it away. Then I feel it again. I open my eyes. Sebastian. His hand is on my inner thigh. He is leaning towards me, grinning.

  I gasp for breath. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  He doesn’t reply.

  ‘Sexually harassing me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What are you up to then? Making a pass at me?’

  ‘Giving you an opportunity to feel a real man’s hand on your body.’

  I try to think of something clever and witty to say, to demean him. But my reactions are too slow. Instead, I jump up and rush to the toilets, locking myself in the first cubicle, putting the lid down and using the toilet as a seat. I sit, head in hands, trembling. I have never been sexually harassed before.

  I’m not sure what to do about it.

  Well I am sure.

  I need to complain, immediately.

  But Sebastian is my sister’s boyfriend. And she is so vulnerable. I can’t believe this has happened. I need time to think. Why did he do that? What’s the matter with him? I can’t tell Zara. If I do she won’t believe me. If she does believe me, the knowledge of what he’s done will destroy her.

  I sit on the toilet seat for half an hour before finally leaving the sanctuary of the ladies’ lavatories. I know, however difficult it is, I must try to get Anastasia Sudbury to move Sebastian to another task. Breathing deeply to keep calm, I manage to wheedle my way past her PA, into her office.

  ‘Please can I work with the other new associate rather than Sebastian? He’s my sister’s boyfriend. Our relationship is too close,’ I beg.

  Slowly, slowly I watch her eyes harden to granite.

  ‘You’re wasting my time.’ There is a pause. ‘I don’t appreciate pointless interruptions like this.’ She pushes her hair back from her eyes. ‘Sebastian has far more experience in the relevant areas than the other associates. That’s why I chose him.’ A shrug of her slender shoulders. ‘It’s a simple choice. You work with Sebastian or you leave. Decide what you want and please leave my office.’

  20

  Zara

  I am laced in his arms as he drifts towards sleep. The sweet fingers of sleep are touching me, pulling me towards oblivion. I feel as if I am floating. Floating. Flying. Weightless. All-powerful. Eternal.

  But something has happened. Shouting. Someone is shouting. Someone is kicking. Someone is screaming. I wake up. It is Sebastian, still fast asleep. Eyes tightly closed, fighting the bed covers, kicking and twisting them around his legs. Thumping and kicking. He thumps me in the chest and shrieks. I shriek back at him, grab his shoulders, and shake him to wake him up. He opens his eyes and groans. He clings to me tightly like a frightened toddler.

  ‘I had a nightmare,’ he whispers.

  He is shivering. I stroke his back. I stroke his hair. His breathing slows.

  ‘Calm down, calm down,’ I mutter. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I dreamt I was in a car.’ His voice tremors. ‘I was driving.’ He pauses. ‘Everything was woolly. Unfocused. The other driver didn’t see us.’

  ‘Us?’ I pause. ‘Who else was in the car?’

  He pulls away from me, sitting upright in bed now. ‘Nobody … I can’t remember.’ His body is no longer shaking. He is breathing steadily now. ‘I must have had too much to drink last night. I have graphic dreams when I drink too much.’

  21

  Miranda

  Sebastian seems to spend nearly all his time with us. In my flat. It’s all happened so quickly. From the minute you saw one another, you just had to be together. He doesn’t seem to want to spend much time in his family home. He doesn’t get on too well with his parents these days apparently. He is even giving me some money for rent now. Zara, you insisted. I didn’t feel happy as it makes the arrangement too formal. Too difficult to break away from.

  I still have to work with him too. Fortunately he hasn’t sexually harassed me again, thank goodness. So perhaps it was an aberration. A one-off. I would so love to believe that. But can a leopard change its spots? I think I’m right not telling you, Zara, when you love him so much. But sometimes, just sometimes, I think not knowing his true nature in the end may cause you harm.

  As soon as I think that, my mind twists, remembering the fear I felt both times when you almost took your own life. It comes back to me with such clarity. Walking through the hospital not knowing whether you were alive. Then I remind myself you must never be told about Sebastian’s behaviour. Deep inside I know that is right.

  So for the first time in our lives, since you met Sebastian, we are experiencing a slight distance between us. We, who were always so tight. Despite all our differences. Despite the way you fluffed your A levels and didn’t go to uni. Despite my success, my degree, my job. Despite your popularity when I am so quiet. What has caused this? Is it my fault? Is it because you’ve never loved anyone else as much as me, until now? Until now, whenever I’ve needed you, I’ve always had you to myself.

  THE PRESENT

  22

  Her mother is here. In a private visiting room. They are using the legal visit area, because the prison governor is so concerned about her vulnerability and is affording her special treatment, special privileges. Today the prison officers have trusted her to dress in her own clothes. Today she is wearing jeans and a T-shirt. She is hardly eating and so her jeans are hanging off h
er. Thinner than thin. Paler than pale.

  Her mother looks like a ghost of her previous self as well. As soon as her mother sees her she takes her into her arms. She holds her tightly against her body as she did when she was a baby. She strokes her hair. She strokes her back. She kisses her. Her daughter’s body relaxes a little, melts into hers.

  ‘I love you,’ Mother says. ‘You told me what happened. You know I understand you had no choice. You need to come to terms with what happened. You need to forgive yourself.’

  ‘I will never be able to forgive myself.’

  Her daughter pulls away from her to sit at the plastic table in the visiting room, continuing her whimpering and crying, head in hands. Her crying is uncontrollable. Panic simmers inside her mother’s heart.

  ‘Stop it. Please stop it,’ her mother says. ‘I’ve lost one of you. I can’t, I won’t, lose you both.’

  She moves across to the table and bends down next to her daughter, clinging to her body as much as she is able.

  ‘Please hold it together,’ she begs. ‘I love you so much.’

  23

  Every day feels the same. Solid. Blurred and grey. They are giving her so many tablets, antidepressants, anxiolytics, sleeping tablets. First thing in the morning. Last thing at night. In happier times, she would have made a joke about it, said she rattled with all the pills she takes. But she is so diminished, jokes are a distant memory.

  It is a relief at night to fall into the numbness of a drug-induced sleep. Sleep that isn’t sleep. Sleep that doesn’t refresh her. When she wakes in the morning she feels as if she is pulling herself out of a coma. Her head pounds and feels heavy, so heavy. As if made of solid metal, not bone and tissue and flesh. Her neck aches. It hurts to hold her head up and light pierces, like a painful laser, into her eyes. When she moves, her limbs feel as if they are pushing through solid brick.

  The prison officers don’t trust her. She doesn’t always trust herself when she is left alone. The clothes she is given are still made of paper in case she uses them to hang herself. But they don’t really need to worry – she doesn’t have the energy to commit suicide; it would take too much momentum.