by Lowe, L. Lee
‘No!’ she cried hoarsely. ‘No!’
Jesse reached out with upturned palm, the same gesture he would have used with any frightened creature, as unthreatening as he could make it. But she shrank back, uttered a guttural cry, and began to shake uncontrollably. Jesse dropped his hand in dismay.
He watched her steadily. Not daring to touch her, he began to hum one of his grandmother’s songs. Though it didn’t seem to make any difference, he continued in a low and soothing voice, recalling the childhood melodies that had most comforted him. A heavy stone was hanging round his neck, and he had to struggle to breathe, much less to sing.
After a long time Sarah stared at him with something like recognition.
‘Jesse?’ she asked, her voice still tight with fear.
‘Yeah.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Do you want me to leave?’
She bit her lip and looked away.
‘No,’ she said eventually. ‘Please stay.’
‘Can I get you a glass of water? Tea?’
Sarah shook her head. Her eyes were wide and dry, and though she wanted to smile at him, all she could do was swallow hard, hoping to dislodge the lump of shame clinging like a fat slug to her throat, and pick, pick at her cuticles.
‘Sarah,’ he asked gently, ‘what’s happened?’
At his tone of voice she began to shiver again. Jesse felt her torment deep within his own body. Unable to bear it any longer, he laid his arm round her shoulders, but nothing more. He knew about permission.
At first she resisted. He could feel the stiffening in her muscles, the pulling back against his touch. He relaxed his hold a bit but kept his arm in place, willing it lightness and warmth. They breathed together. For a long time they simply breathed together.
After her shivering began to abate, Jesse lay back, drawing Sarah with him. She nestled her head against his chest, her breath tickling his neck. Without speaking both of them closed their eyes and sank into the comfort of each other’s presence. Jesse knew that she’d been through something rough. Why did it feel as if the stone were as much his as hers? While Sarah knew that she was being given something far more precious than a kiss. And she was amazed at how her heart could dance when it was heavy as a boulder, and filled with pain.
‘They raped me,’ Sarah said. ‘I went there to talk to Mick, and they raped me. Mick and his friend.’
Jesse’s arm tightened around her but he said nothing.
‘I didn’t mean to tell you,’ she said. ‘I’m so ashamed.’
‘The shame’s theirs, not yours.’
Sarah made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. ‘You don’t know what it feels like.’
The air in the room seemed to thicken, as though filling with a pall of smoke.
‘Look at me, Sarah.’
She could see his eyes glittering in the dark. He raised himself, and though it would have been easier without light, switched on the bedside lamp. Swiftly he tugged his T-shirt over his head, turning so that she could see the scars on his back: hard, ridged, the texture of cold oatmeal yet with a translucent mother-of-pearl sheen. She traced a tentative finger along the spine of one long weal, feeling him struggle not to flinch.
‘Do they hurt?’
‘No, they’re just very ugly.’
‘They’re not ugly.’
He was quiet for a long time. She looked into his eyes, deeper than he’d allowed before. Their colour was black or dark purple down there, and dense with stars. She felt the immense pull of time and space, of vast incomprehensible knowledge. He’s alone, she thought without really understanding what she meant, and the hairs rose on the nape of her neck. For a moment it seemed as if the beauty and chaos and hideous indifference of the entire universe were spread out before her; or the immutable solitude of a single mind. Then he took a deep breath and blinked, and when he spoke, his voice was thick and crusted.
‘I’ve been raped too,’ he said.
She caught her breath. The bastards. No wonder he kept running. ‘While you were sleeping rough?’
‘No.’
‘One of your foster fathers?’
Jesse passed his hand wearily across his eyes.
‘Or don’t you want to talk about it?’ she asked.
She thought he wasn’t going to answer. The silence stretched between them until it took form, became as tangible as brick or stone: a bridge worth crossing.
‘Someone who was supposed to love me, to protect me,’ he said. ‘My father.’
‘Your father,’ she whispered, shocked.
‘Yeah, my father. He swam with me, taught me to fish. He played chess with me. He told me stories—night after night he told me wonderful tales. He was teaching me to work with wood, to carve. And one night he came to my room. I could smell the drink on him. He hugged me, caressed me. Then he pulled down my pyjamas. He was weeping when he finished. I’d never seen my father weep before.’
‘Jesse,’ she said.
‘What kind of monster abuses his own child?’ he asked.
She shook her head.
‘I burnt the house down soon after,’ he said. ‘I was nine years old. Nearly ten.’
‘An accident.’
‘No, Sarah, it wasn’t. I meant to do it. I meant to kill him. I dissolved my mother’s sleeping tablets in his beer. Lots of them. Only my mother and grandmother and sister . . . I thought I’d be able to get them out in time. I was wrong. It was night, they were sleeping. The fire spread so fast. The heat . . . the fumes. They died.’
‘Oh god,’ she said.
‘Now you know. Sometimes I wish the scars would cover my whole body. My face.’
Sarah stroked his hair. She could hear his heart thudding against his chest, feel the flames racing along his veins. His skin was hot against hers. A sudden insight brought the first prickling of tears she’d felt: for as long as Jesse lived, a part of him would always be nine years old and seared by flames.
‘You were just a little kid. He hurt you so much,’ she said.
‘Yes, but that wasn’t the reason.’
She waited.
‘I was afraid for Emmy,’ he said. He laughed, a bitter rent in the night’s fine cloth. ‘Me, afraid for her. How ironic. Her big brother. Her saviour. Her murderer.’
They held each other until they both slept.
Chapter 20
For two days Jesse watched Sarah conceal her bruises from the family, but when she gasped as he brushed against her side accidentally, he lost his temper.
‘If you won’t let Meg have a look at you, then go to a clinic!’ he snapped. ‘You might have some broken ribs or internal injuries.’
‘No,’ she said, turning away from him.
‘And what if you’re pregnant?’
‘Wrong time of month. Now back off. I’m OK.’
He grasped her by the arm and swung her round. Again she stifled a cry of pain.
‘You are not OK. Any idiot can see it. And your parents would too, if they weren’t so busy. And mostly if you didn’t hide away all of the time. They’re going to notice sooner or later, you know.’
Sarah folded her arms across her chest and refused to speak.
‘In fact, Meg already has, I reckon. She’s been asking some questions.’
‘You haven’t said anything?’ Sarah asked in alarm.
He shook his head. ‘I still don’t understand why you won’t tell them.’
‘Finn will murder Mick and his mate.’
‘Nonsense. Rapists belong in gaol. He’ll go to the police.’
‘You don’t know him the way I do. After Peter died, he went mad. Literally raving mad for a while. Haven’t you ever wondered why there are no photos of Peter in the house? Finn tore up every single one.’
‘Then tell Meg. She’s a psychiatrist, for god’s sake!’
‘That makes it worse. You should’ve seen her play shrink with Peter. I bet if they’d left him alone, he’d be here right now. Or at le
ast alive.’
‘Maybe. And maybe you’re blaming the wrong people.’
With a sharp intake of breath Sarah reached for her plait and began to twist it round her finger. She turned away from Jesse’s unsettling gaze. He’d never understand, she thought. The worst mistake I’ve made. Maybe I’ll ever make. Damn right, Seesaw, she could almost hear Peter say. I wanted help. I wanted to come back.
Would Jesse be here if Peter had returned?
He’d always been a great one for secrets, Peter had, though it had first become excessive in secondary school, and really excessive after his friendship with Daniel, which her parents hadn’t much liked. Especially Finn, and once the questions started up Peter would flatly refuse to divulge where he was going and what he was doing. But even way back when she’d been too little to say her own name, she’d call herself Sasa, and it had stuck, and one day Peter had turned it into Seesaw. ‘Because you’re always seesawing about,’ he’d said with a sparkle in those brilliant green eyes of his—with his lazy smile—teasing her about her constant skipping and twirling and leaping and dancing. She remembered falling on him with her small furious fists, and his tickling her in revenge. It had been so like Peter to make it straightaway our secret, which came to be part of their own private code.
Would she trade Jesse for Peter if she had the choice?
She shivered, then lay down gingerly on the bed.
‘I’m a bit tired,’ she said, closing her eyes. Her face was paler than usual.
‘You need a doctor,’ Jesse repeated helplessly.
He began to pace back and forth before the window, his bare feet making very little noise. Matthew was one matter, but to help Sarah would be to open a Pandora’s box about which he was deeply uneasy. Sarah could be treated by any competent GP and would almost certainly heal within weeks, at most a month or two. There was no need to interfere. And he would be putting himself in a position of real vulnerability. He didn’t want to be anyone’s medicine man, not the Andersens’, not even Sarah’s.
He was debating with himself whether to speak openly with Finn about Sarah’s condition when a soft noise like a kitten’s mewling, abruptly cut off as its neck was snapped, made him swing round. Sarah had changed position; she was now lying on her side, legs drawn up and hands gripped between her knees. Her eyes were still shut, her lips thin slashes of bloodless flesh, her brow rigid and puckered. She was breathing shallowly, trying to conceal her pain.
He cursed himself and crossed the room in a few strides. ‘I think I can help you if you’ll let me.’
She opened her eyes. ‘Help me?’
He watched her, not trusting himself to elaborate, until she groped for his hand.
‘Do you remember how quickly Nubi’s break healed?’ he asked.
Without moving, Sarah seemed to sink further into the pillow. She barely nodded, not taking her eyes off his face. He could sense her dismay. The words refused to form on his tongue, however wildly they scrambled through his head.
‘Are you telling me you had something to do with it?’ she asked at last.
He assented, his face wary.
Sarah’s eyes filled with tears. Disconcerted, already regretting his impulse, Jesse reached out to remove a strand of hair from the corner of her mouth. Only then did she let go of his other hand and turn her head aside so that her voice, when she spoke, was muffled by the pillow.
‘I hate this,’ she said.
Jesse lowered himself to the bed. He rubbed his hands along his jeans, listening to the swishing sound until his palms became uncomfortably warm, then squeezed them together as if flattening something—a ball of raw unpalatable dough, perhaps.
‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘Forget I mentioned it.’
‘Is that your solution to everything?’
‘I get carried away sometimes.’
‘No,’ she said, suddenly furious. She whipped round and raised herself on an elbow. ‘You run away.’
‘Sarah—’
Her cheeks were wet with fresh tears. Jesse was surprised that they didn’t scald her face, so angry was she.
‘If you don’t want my help, just say so,’ Jesse said.
‘Who said I didn’t want your help? It’s your hiding everything I can’t take.’
They stared at each other till Jesse gestured lamely and dropped his eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, not entirely sure what he was apologising for.
‘I’m not afraid of what you are, Jesse.’
‘Then why are you crying?’
‘You idiot, I’m crying because you keep turning each of those weird and wonderful and impossible things you’re able to do into a stone—a huge heavy stone you add, one by one, to the wall between us. All I want is to walk on the same side as you, but how can I? You won’t let me.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Didn’t it ever occur to you that it might be easier if you shared this stuff with someone?’
Jesse gazed at his hands, his throat tight and closed, his face shuttered.
Sarah waited till the silence became as incontrovertible as DNA evidence in a court case. Then she dug her fists into her eyes, the way Emmy used to, sniffed, and wiped her face with the duvet. Jesse handed her a tissue, which she accepted, though not his help to sit up. She preferred to grimace, hold her ribs, and stubbornly work her way into an upright position, her pillow jammed behind her lower back. Jesse watched her gather her dignity about her shoulders like a prayer shawl, and struggled with his own tumult of anger, and bitterness, and longing.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘Don’t talk to me, if you won’t. Just get on with it. My chest hurts.’ Her tone now matter-of-fact, ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Relax, that’s all. Don’t fight me.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Forget about me.’
The open window drew Sarah’s gaze. For a moment she scented the wind whipping across the prow of a longboat, took strength from the vast sweep of the sea, the dazzling blue of the sky, free of cloud. ‘You really don’t know me yet, do you?’ Her Viking blood flushed her cheeks; her smile, shaky at first, reached her eyes. ‘If you did, you’d understand the reason why I’m a good dancer. Lots and lots of people have talent. But I practise till my feet bleed, if I must. I never give up. Never.’
Sarah had a hairline crack in her breastbone and considerable bruising, but no serious internal injuries. Jesse ate his way through several bars of chocolate—Sarah always kept a stash in her room now—while he returned gradually to realtime.
Afterwards Sarah fell into a healthy slumber and dreamt of the icy fjord waters and limitless sky and tracts of pine forest near her grandmother’s home. Somebody was felling trees in the distance, and she could smell the heady resinous bite to the air as she and Peter chased each other, laughing, into a subjunctive future.
Chapter 21
‘I need some exercise,’ Finn said, laying down his trumpet. ‘A walk, Jesse?’
‘We could go for a run along the river, if you want to work up a sweat,’ Jesse said.
‘After eating?’ asked Finn in horror.
Sarah moved a piece. ‘Check,’ she said, a bit smugly. Jesse was teaching her to play.
Jesse shook his head without glancing at the board. ‘Have another look. I’ll let you replay the move, since it’s your first game. But only this time.’ He rose and stretched luxuriously, turned to Finn. ‘Let’s do the washing up, then I’ll go with you.’ A fleeting frown. Carefully offhand he asked Sarah, ‘OK with you?’
Sarah bit her lip and stared down at the game. And continued to stare till the silence threatened to attract Finn’s attention. ‘What about our game?’ she finally asked.
‘Have you moved?’
Sarah indicated the board. ‘Better?’
‘Leave it set up and we’ll go over it later. Mate in three moves.’
Sarah scowled at the chessmen.
‘Don’t let it discourage you, Sarah,’ Finn said. ‘I’ve been playing for years,
and I haven’t got the better of him yet. He’s competition standard.’
‘And you’re bothering to play with me.’ When Jesse flashed his quirky smile, she added, ‘Aren’t there more rules? I thought chess was like maths, impossibly complicated.’
‘Give it a few more games,’ Jesse said. ‘Simplicity is the most complex of all.’
‘You’re a good influence on her,’ Finn said. ‘She’s always refused to go anywhere near the game.’ Finn winked, and Jesse looked away, reddening, while Sarah glared at her father.
~~~
Finn’s refusal to take Nubi had seemed odd; now his purposeful stride aroused Jesse’s suspicions even further. The late afternoon sun was still strong, the sky clear and bright. Jesse could feel residual midday heat radiating from the pavement. He had no trouble keeping up with Finn, despite the gruelling pace the older man set. When they came to an unobtrusive dark blue Vauxhall, parked before a row of small shops, Jesse wiped his brow and eyed Finn speculatively.
‘Where are we going?’ Jesse asked.
‘Get in,’ Finn said, opening the rear door and nodding to the driver. ‘Let it be a surprise.’
Half an hour later, they drew up at a small airfield just outside the city limits. Finn dismissed the driver and led Jesse towards a small squat structure set off a distance from the central cluster of hangars, buildings, and control tower.
‘Ever been in a helicopter?’ Finn asked.
‘No,’ Jesse replied. ‘Not even a plane.’ But he was certain that the half-dozen models perched on the tarmac like sleek metallic dragonflies were fully as up-to-date and powerful as they looked.
‘Wait here,’ Finn said, and went into the building.
He was gone for perhaps ten minutes. He returned with two bottles of mineral water and accompanied by a man wearing mirrored sunglasses and carrying a slim black briefcase and clipboard. Finn performed the introductions. Smile and handshake perfunctory, the pilot barely glanced at Jesse, who drank while the two men exchanged a few words in a foreign language—Dutch or Afrikaans, maybe. Not German.
