‘From what I could gather, yes. I wasn’t allowed to ask too many questions. It was a dreadful meeting; Angela looked terrible - thin, grubby, pale - and I begged her to contact Mum and Dad. I told her there’d be no retribution, that they’d help her in any way they could, that they still loved her, but all she did was sneer. She was like a complete stranger to me. Anyway, I gave her a hundred pounds - that’s all I could afford, and even that was stretching things a bit - and promised her I’d say nothing to Mum and Dad. We’ve had no contact since.’
‘Where did this all take place? In London?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘She didn’t go to Kent then?’
‘What, to university you mean? No. As far as I could tell at that time she was living in a squat somewhere in North London, but she wouldn’t say where. As to how she was getting by, I couldn’t tell you. I don’t think she had work - certainly nothing above board - and to be honest, I didn’t want to think about it too much. The thought of what she might be up to only upset me.’
‘I can’t believe this - any of this!’
Lee reached across and put her hand on my arm. ‘What was she doing in India, Michael? How did you meet? How well do you know her? I can tell you’re very fond of her, but... tell me how she is.’
I told Lee the whole story; how we met, that we had become involved, that I was in love with her. I left out the episodes concerning Liana’s bizarre outbursts, but explained about her sudden change of heart with regard to travelling, and how we had decided to return home. I also related what Liana had told me of her background. Lee sat quietly through most of this, although every now and then she would shake her head as if to say, “No, that’s not true either”. There was no younger brother, no friend Anne, no university life. Lee herself, of course, had never been mentioned.
It wasn’t until I had all but finished telling her everything that I realised how angry I had become. At some point I had risen to my feet and begun pacing around the room. I had become oblivious to my surroundings, caught up in trying to make sense of what I had been told. It was only just dawning on me that Liana had gone, disappeared, and that I had no idea where she was. These unhappy realisations interfered with my train of thought, and I found myself breaking off half-way through a sentence or just swearing out loud as the truth slowly sank in.
I tried telling Lee about the last few days in Benares, about how happy Liana had been about returning home, but it was becoming increasingly more difficult to talk coherently. By this point I was virtually shouting, each sentence peppered with choice curses of the sort I would not usually use in front of my closest friends, let alone a complete stranger. This must have been terribly embarrassing for Lee, but she said nothing and continued to listen attentively. As my anger intensified I began to babble; I knew I wasn’t making sense any more, but it didn’t seem to matter. Words began to pour out now in a ceaseless torrent; bits of story, half-formulated ques- tions, ill-considered profanities.
It was absurd, but I had lost all control of what I was saying. I knew I should not be behaving this way in front of Lee, but I could not help myself. Once again, a sense of helplessness overwhelmed me as I became aware that I was out of my depth, struggling to understand what was happening.
Throughout this Lee remained silent; she seemed to understand what I was going through, or at least realised that I was not in full command of what I was saying. Eventually the words dried up and, fatigued by my outburst, I sat down once more on the sofa and closed my eyes. I was too tired and too embarrassed to look at Lee; I wanted to let her know that I wasn’t some kind of nutter, that I wasn’t about to do anything dangerous or frightening, but I didn’t have the will. So I just sat there with my eyes closed, exhausted and on the verge of tears, wishing that someone or something would come along there and then to make everything better.
And in a strange way, it did. Because after a moment or two, I felt the gentle pressure of Lee’s hand on mine, and when I opened my eyes, she was sitting beside me, nodding slowly. I knew then that I did not have to explain anything to her.
Having established that I was all right she went off to the kitchen and came back a few minutes later with two mugs of coffee.
‘I don’t know what to say to you, Michael. I’ve no idea where Angela is. I don’t know how long she’s been calling herself Liana or why. I don’t know what she was doing in India, or how she managed to get the money to go there. I don’t know why she gave you this address, and I don’t know why she didn’t contact you. From what you say, the two of you became very close. But you must realise, Michael, that she was never the easiest or most well-balanced of people. There was always a rebellious, slightly wild streak in her, and without knowing what’s happened to her in the last few years, there’s no way of knowing what she’s up to or why. If I could help you, I would, but...’ Her voice trailed off into nothingness.
I tried to piece together the spurious bits of information that Lee had given me. I thought back over the last month, searching for clues, but nothing gelled, nothing made sense. The most beautiful woman I had ever met, a woman that I was profoundly in love with, who I believed was in love with me, had walked out of my life as suddenly and mysteriously as she had arrived, and all she had left behind was a trail of question mark.
Chapter 33
The last time I went down to The Sanctuary - nearly six months ago - to pick up Liana and bring her back to London, one of the staff, Doctor Jerome, took me to one side and asked to speak with me. Jerome is a very charming chap, intelligent and caring, and I’m always pleased to talk with him as he seems to take a particular interest in Liana. He is always encouraging her to paint more and, I seem to recall, he even bought one of her pieces a couple of years ago. Jerome believes, like myself, that it’s good for Liana to live in London part of the year, although he thinks the pressure this places me under is injurious to my health, and would rather it was only three months instead of six. Like I said, he has a caring nature.
On this occasion he invited me into his office, sat me down with a mug of tea and asked about my most recent travels. I had, in fact, just returned from Nepal, so I entertained him with a few stories about trekking in the Himalayas and getting busted in Kathmandu. Jerome has never travelled outside Europe, and like so many people I meet, would love to visit Asia; so I haven’t the heart to tell him that it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I’d rather lie than destroy someone’s dreams (and put myself out of a job).
We chatted amiably for a while, and when I asked about Liana, the good doctor informed me that all was well, but he was a bit concerned about one thing. Apparently Liana had spent several weeks with her sketch pad making what she called “preliminary drawings” for a large watercolour, which never materialised. There was nothing particularly unusual about that; Liana often failed to follow through her initial ideas.
However, what surprised Doctor Jerome was that, instead of keeping these initial drawings as she normally did, they were discovered, ripped up, in a waste paper bin. Jerome was disturbed by this as it was quite out of character. He took the shredded drawings and taped them back together again. No mean feat, he explained; a bit like doing half a dozen jigsaw puzzles, when all the pieces had been jumbled together and there were no guide pictures. Why had he bothered? I asked. He wasn’t sure, all he knew was that Liana never destroyed her own work; even partially completed pieces - scribbles, sketches, cartoons - had some value to her, and she always kept them. When he had finished reconstructing Liana’s pictures, he was even more disturbed. He asked if I’d mind taking a look at the sketches.
There were six pictures altogether, all done in pencil on white cartridge. Jerome had done a fine job of putting the pieces back together, and I could see it must have taken him hours.
The first picture was a self-portrait - at least, that’s what I would have called it - although it was unlike anything of Liana’s I had seen previously. Liana’s image stared straight out of the plane of the paper, f
ull-face. She had managed to capture that wondrous line of her cheekbones, those clear, almond-shaped eyes, her pretty, pert nose. It was a good likeness in all respects, save one; the face was divided straight down the centre, as if cloven in two by an axe; the two parts were separated by a distance of just a quarter of an inch. It was most odd.
The second picture was rather more of a caricature, and showed a family scene; Liana’s family. Her sister Lee was standing on a pedestal to the left of the picture, decked out with wings and a halo. The parents were shown kneeling before Lee, her mother in a grovelling position, her father standing. The depiction of Liana’s father was particularly cruel, as the man was standing with his trousers around his ankles, clutching hold of his shrivelled penis, his tongue hanging out. He was also sporting a long tail and a pair of nascent horns which sprouted from his forehead. In the far left hand corner, gagged and bound, was Liana. The setting was recognisably the family home. This was the least elegant and subtle of all the pictures, and had evidently been executed very swiftly and in some anger.
The third picture also had something of a cartoon-like quality about it, although rather more care had been taken with it. It showed a grown man with a beard and long hair, imprisoned inside a giant bottle of Scotch. He was bashing his fists against the inside of the glass, his expression pained, the liquid reaching up to his lower lip.
The fourth picture was of the same man, a side-on view this time. The man was completely naked and fully erect, and his arms were reaching outside the frame of the picture, as if he were grasping something out of view. His face was contorted in a violent sneer. In many ways, this was the most disturbing of the pictures, as it seemed to ask many questions and left much unsaid.
The fifth picture was of a very pretty, but extremely sad little girl, sitting alone in a huge, bare room. There were bars on the window, and no visible doors. It was a desperately sad vision; it was also, of course, a self-portrait of Liana as a child, although, as I discovered shortly afterwards, Doctor Jerome had not realised this.
The final picture was a perspective drawing of a quiet road leading away into the distance. On either side of the road were hedgerows which seemed to obscure various activities which were impossible to discern. On the far horizon a range of mountains paraded across the page, and in the right foreground was the artist’s own hand holding a pencil. Half-way down the road was a man, walking away. Although his back was towards us, he had turned his head to peer over his shoulder. He was carrying a shoulder bag and a camera, and he was waving goodbye. The man, of course, was yours truly.
Having studied the pictures for a while, Doctor Jerome asked me for my opinions. They were all very revealing; some more evidently so than others; it did not take a man versed in Freud and Jung to work out what the family scene was all about. But did I know the identity of the man in the bottle? What about the little girl? And the last picture; any thoughts?
helped him as best I could. I explained that the little girl was Liana, that it was me in the final picture, and I told him about the man in the bottle and the fourth picture. As to anything else, why didn’t he ask Liana? The doctor shook his head; no, he couldn’t do that; it would be a betrayal of trust. After all, Liana had thrown these drawings away; he was probably not meant to see them at all.
He thanked me for my time, and made me promise not to say anything to Liana about the pictures as it would only upset her. I asked if it would be possible to have some photocopies made, as I’d rather like to look them over in more detail. He was a little reluctant at first, but once I had sworn to keep them safely locked away, he agreed.
I still have those pictures. I take them out every now and then, when Liana’s not around, and study them for hours. In many ways, it is only when I look at those six snatches of Liana’s soul that I understand her and her dreadful torment. For hidden in those pictures is the whole of Liana’s terror... the whole of her life.
Chapter 34
I spent the rest of the afternoon with Lee. She was immensely understanding and went out of her way to raise my spirits. As I was little more than a stranger, I thought this especially kind of her.
Lee was like her sister in many ways; her self-deprecating comments about being less attractive and intelligent seemed misplaced, and even in my distress I could not help but be drawn to her in some way. She made me promise faithfully that I would get in touch if and when Liana/Angela called. For the meantime, there seemed to be nothing I could do; I had no leads, no way of finding out where she had gone to after she had arrived back in London. Whatever I was going to do, I knew I couldn’t take up any more of Lee’s time. Just before I left I gave her my phone number and asked her to call me if she heard anything.
It was a long, lonely trip back, and by the time I arrived home it was dark. Winter had arrived, and the days were getting progressively shorter. A few days earlier I had been happy and in love; I had been travelling in hot, sunny, exotic India without a care in the world, and the future had looked bright and exciting. Now I was lost and lonely, stuck in the cold and dark of miserable London town, without a job, money, or place of my own. The love of my life had disappeared, and I had no idea how I would find her. It was an iniquitous state of affairs, made all the more unjust by the fact that I had no one to turn to for assistance, no right of appeal, and no one to blame except, perhaps, myself.
It must have taken a few hours for the truth to sink in, because later that night, whilst watching television with my folks, the full realisation of my predicament hit me, and I suddenly broke down. The anxiety that I had first felt at Lee’s had started to fester like some rotting piece of meat. I had tried to keep a lid on it, but it was no use, and out of the blue I started to curse and yell. My parents must have thought I’d flipped. I stood up and ranted nonsensically for a few moments, then, in a great effort of will, apologised and assured them there was nothing to worry about.
Rather than try to explain what was going on inside my poor confused little mind, I just ran up the stairs and locked myself in my room, where I buried my head beneath a pillow and tried to imagine that none of this was really happening, that it was all a figment of my imagination.
It didn’t work.
Mum and Dad were understandably disturbed, but knew better than to question me too closely. Still, they showed great concern and later that evening Mum, displaying her usual tact, knocked gently on the door, asked if there was any way in which they might help, and casually suggested I contact one of my friends, in the hope, presumably, that someone else close to me might be able to help.
I had nothing to lose. Even though it was Saturday night I managed to get hold of Richard, who was on his way to a party. He was surprised that I was back in England, and made a couple of cracks about how he’d expected never to see me again, certain that I’d end up in some loony religious sect. This aside, he sounded pleased to hear from me, and even though it was already past ten o’clock, I arranged to meet him for a quick drink before closing time at a nearby pub in Islington.
***
The pub was noisy and crowded, and it took a couple of minutes before I located Richard, who was propping up the bar with a pint in one hand and a gorgeous looking blonde in the other.
‘Michael! Welcome home. What are you having, usual?’
‘Please.’
‘It’s good to see you, pal. By the way, this is Mandy. Mandy, meet Michael, my best mate. He’s just come back from India; he was out there for two months, researching the effects of curried vegetables on male sexual potency.’
‘Really?’ said Mandy, not a hint of irony or disbelief in her voice. She was built like a model, but obviously had the brains of a stuffed toy.
‘Err, not exactly... easy on the Dry, Richard...’
‘It’s a double.’
‘Oh, right. Well, thanks.’
Mandy eyed me up and down, while Richard handed me the drink. I didn’t know where Richard found these women, but they were all, I was sure, cast from the sam
e mould. ‘I’ve always wanted to go to India,’ she said unconvincingly. ‘What’s it like?’
‘It’s a nasty, filthy place, Mandy,’ interrupted Richard, ‘full of short, sex-starved darkies, isn’t that right, Michael?’
‘Absolutely. Look Richard, do you think we could have a word?’
‘Eh?’
‘I need to talk to you. I need some advice.’ Richard gave me his, “Not now Michael, I’m trying to score” look, but when I insisted, he made his apologies to the bimbo, gave her a kiss on the cheek and a pinch on the arse, and followed me into a quietish corner.
‘I hope this is important, Michael...’
‘She’ll keep. This won’t.’
Richard sat down beside me, took out his cigarettes, offered me one then lit up. ‘What’s up then? Catch something nasty out there?’
‘Be serious a moment, will you? I’ve got a problem.’ As briefly as I could, I outlined my predicament. I didn’t tell Richard that I was in love with Liana, as he would have walked away in disgust. Instead I stressed the fact that Liana was beautiful, a fantastic lay, and unlike anything he’d ever experienced either. I knew that would keep him interested. I went into some detail about her appearance and by the time I’d finished, even he was drooling. I explained about Lee, and recounted everything she had told me about Liana. As I said, it was all a bit brief, but I think I got the main facts across to him, plus the sense of urgency and worry that I was experiencing.
Kissing Through a Pane of Glass Page 12
