by Lily Harlem
With the cups full and steaming, I called out, ‘Coffee’s ready! Just going to start breakfast! Chop chop!’
I smiled, bubbling over with the new sensation of domesticity for two, popped a few sausages on a baking tray and slid them into the oven. Bacon rashers laid out on the grill pan, baked beans in a small saucepan on the hob, I selected a knife from the drawer in order to slice onions and mushrooms. Unsure if he even liked them, I put the knife down and went back to the bathroom so I could check. I knocked on the door.
‘Liuz? You OK in there?’
No response.
My heart picked up speed, and my thoughts immediately went to my office. If he was in there, I’d – No, he’d said he wouldn’t look, wouldn’t invade my private space, and I believed him. I knocked on the bathroom door again and, when silence greeted me, turned the handle and pushed the door open.
The bathroom was empty.
Spare room. He’d be in the spare room.
He wasn’t.
That only left my office, and I took a moment while standing in the hallway to think about how I was going to handle this. Was it so bad that he’d gone inside, wanting to know the other part of me? It was sweet, really, him wanting to see my work, to find out what made me tick. But what if he didn’t like what he saw? What if my subject matter shocked him? Oh, my art wasn’t ugly – different maybe, but not ugly – so I wasn’t worried about his reaction to it in that way, but him being the main focus might be a bit of a shock.
Or would it? Maybe he’d take it that I cared about him so much that I had to express it in the only way I knew how, by committing his image to the wall in paint, something tangible and not just an emotion. How would I feel if it was the other way around? I’d get that warm and fuzzy feeling that I was so adored my man thought of nothing but me, that I dominated his thoughts and he needed to paint me, wanted to paint me.
I went inside.
Liuz wasn’t there either.
Panic started as a tingle of nerves in the pit of my stomach then broadened out to a nasty set of pinches that combined into a painful knot of apprehension, growing up my windpipe and settling in my chest. I had the urge to run, to scour my flat and check the cupboards, the wardrobe in my room in case he was playing a trick on me, testing to see how much I cared. But I didn’t. I stayed rooted to the spot, telling myself he’d just gone out to sort a few things, that he’d be back once he’d smoothed over whatever the hell needed smoothing over, and we’d carry on with our lives as I’d planned, happy and content with each other.
Yes, that was what had happened. He’d just nipped out. That was all.
God, I was so paranoid. I needed to get a grip.
I lifted one hand to my chest, as though the warmth of my palm would settle the pounding throb there, the tick-tick-tick of the raging pulse in my neck. Taking a deep, settling breath, I stared at the mural as though looking at it through Liuz’s eyes, trying to imagine what he would see, how he would see it.
They were beautiful, I could admit that – they really were my finest work. I scanned across from the first to the last, sucking in a breath at how Liuz affected me, how even a painted image of him stirred desire within me and a longing to get to know him, every last thing. My chest hurt with the weight of my emotions, feelings surging through me at speed, and I staggered to the side and leaned my shoulder against the doorjamb.
And frowned.
Something wasn’t right. Something was off.
I cocked my head, trying to work it out. The pictures were exactly the same, the hues the ones I’d chosen, the brush strokes unchanged. So what was the matter? I narrowed my eyes, searching every inch of those pictures for the clue to what was bugging me.
There it was, what looked like a very faint smudge of black, a whisper of a brush tip, the paint barely there to the untrained eye. I moved closer to the wall, narrowing my eyes some more, cocking my head further, stomach bunching as that smudge became what it was, turned from an innocent wisp into so much more.
I stared at it for a long time, uncomprehending, then leaned closer just to make sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me. On the last painting, the one of my darling Liuz bound by pink scarves, was something I had never wanted to see. It was on his foot, at an angle, the use of a black biro on my artwork obscene and totally out of place. Totally wrong.
One word, that’s all it took to shatter my world.
Kilimanjaro.
Chapter Seventeen
One year later
Heartbreak, I discovered, was like the devil jabbing at every inch of my body with his cruel, merciless fork, over and over and over. Twisting my intestines so eating was impossible. Snatching my breath so sharply it was hard to breathe, and when I lay in bed at night, sobbing until my face puffed up like a balloon, I would have preferred someone to peel out my spine, nape to tailbone, and whip me with it than have to wake up, again, to the knowledge that Liuz had left me.
That Liuz had written the stop word.
How could he? How could he be so blinkered, so blind to what we had? We were great together. It was us against the world. The underworld.
So it was just as well I had a plan to get destiny back on track. Kilimanjaro had its uses for a while, but that time had been and gone. There was so much more to think about now, and its significance in my life was about as important as a distant planet on the outer edge of the solar system.
Three weeks after Liuz had left me, he was allowed back into his home. I didn’t know where he’d stayed in the interim, but when he moved in again, the window had been repaired and a new carpet had been delivered and fitted two days previously.
To start with, I wondered how he could go back there. To the murder scene. But spying on him, from behind my faithful tree, and watching him open the curtains and stare wistfully out at the blue sky I suddenly understood. There weren’t just gruesome memories in that place. There were also memories of lust and love, wild abandon and giving in to insatiable desires. I understood him, really I did. For in that bedsit was where we first discovered the pleasure of one another. Liuz and Hannah. It was where our lives together had properly begun.
I desperately wanted to go to him. Hold him. Remind him what it was he loved about me. But I couldn’t. There were things to be seen to first. I had to prioritise and Liuz’s safety was top of that list. Especially now he was back there.
Using the pen name Aniolku Meadows, I wrote a first-person report about the murders, being sure to add in that all payments had been settled by Biros so Beefcake’s men wouldn’t hassle him. When I subbed it to my ed, he was beyond pleased with its gruesome details and it went to print the very next day along with a picture of 78 Woodstone Road with a boarded-up windowpane.
But keeping Liuz safe was a two-step plan for there were others out there who were also a threat. People, women, who might try and take my place, and now, especially now, with this new and exciting development in my life, that risk had to be eliminated.
Officer Lederman was cool and calm when I called and asked for an appointment. In fact, he came to me. I didn’t even have to go to the police station.
But before he visited I added a bolt onto the door of my Liuz room. My paintings were for my eyes only. Liuz’s reaction had proven that the rest of the world was not ready for my work. My erotic and macabre blend of art was obviously an acquired taste, and I wished I could have introduced it to him slowly. Explained the details and the reasons for each picture. Made him see beyond the images to the emotions, the story, the way the colours and strokes celebrated my undying love for him.
If only he’d stayed out of that room. If only he’d obeyed me, done as he’d been told. Life would be very different for us. He would still be here rather than sitting in a cell, and he wouldn’t be missing out on these first precious months.
As I disembarked the bus and stared up at the high, grey walls of HMP Wandsworth, a cool wind circled my face, flapping my once again long hair across my cheeks. The black door before me was
large and solid, with thick iron bolts and hinges. Holding in inmates, holding in my future.
My mind was full of ‘what if’ thoughts and they’d spiralled during the journey and formed coiled, hard knots of anxiety. I hadn’t felt like that since the day I told Officer Lederman about Liuz’s involvement in counterfeit alcohol. That day I’d been nervous, on edge, but only because I couldn’t be sure my plan was going to work. Liuz could have been locked away for too short a period of time, or too long. As it turned out, he would be free by Christmas, having received a lenient sentence for being a middleman as opposed to a main dealer, and also for good behaviour. Having him home for Christmas was going to be wonderful and what I prayed for every night.
Stepping into the prison, along with another visitor, also a woman, I took a pen from a guard and signed the visitor’s book. The pen felt slimy in my sweaty hands, the same way it had when I’d filled in Roksana’s birth certificate. This day had been a long time coming, and it took considerable effort on my part to ensure the stars were lined up for us, for all three of us. But it was going to be wonderful. How could it not be? But even with all my efforts, nerves still rattled in my stomach and weakened my knees. I rehearsed the scenario about to be realised, once again, and pictured the perfect outcome.
The corridor leading to the visitation suite smelled of dinner – vegetables and stew – and reminded me of my comprehensive school; the long stretch of hard floor, the pale-green walls, the absence of furniture or homely comforts. At the far end a heavy door led into a large room about the size of an assembly hall. I’d expected to see Liuz behind toughened glass, us having to use one of those telephones to talk to one another, our palms pressed so hard against the divider our skin turned yellow-white. But that was clearly not going to be the case. I was pleased, though. This suited my needs much better even if the scenario in my head had to be quickly rewritten.
I walked straight ahead, following a guard whose keys and baton rattled at his waist. The crackle of menace in the air told me this was no school. This was a very different place altogether. Red stacker chairs were set either side of white tables, the walls painted the same insipid shade of green as the corridors, and closed-circuit television cameras hung from the ceiling. Men in dark-blue, standard-issue clothing, hunched at tables, arms folded, scowls in place. Some had visitors, some sat alone, smoking, eyeing up me and Roksana. A woman, tattoos up her neck, slipped a package to a man beneath their table. The look she gave me, when she caught me staring, guaranteed my silence. I had no desire to come face-to-face with her on my way home. She looked as hard as any of the blokes in the room.
Liuz sat with his head low and appeared engrossed in a hangnail on his right thumb. His hair was shorter, and he wore the same dark clothing as every other prisoner.
We stopped directly in front of him. ‘Hi, Liuz,’ I said quietly.
His attention snapped up. He leaped to his feet, pushing his chair back, the legs scraping loudly on the floor.
‘Hannah,’ he gasped, widening his eyes and dropping his mouth slack. ‘What the fuck?’
The guard stepped over to him, scowled and nodded to the chair.
Liuz sat back down with ritualised obedience and spread his hands on the table, fingers separated wide
I stayed standing, cradling Roksana’s nappy-fat bottom through the carrier. ‘How have you been?’I asked. My heart was thumping wildly. Being so near him, seeing his beautiful face after all this time, was releasing a gush of emotions inside me. Combined with excitement and adrenaline, my blood had become a heated soup of turmoil, my knees weaker than ever.
His gaze dipped to the dark-haired bundle strapped to my body, then up to my face, then back to Roksana. Rapid movements of his eyes as he balled his hands into fists on the table and tensed his shoulders towards his ears. It became clear he wasn’t going to fill me in on how he had been. But that was OK, I had expected him to be pretty speechless at this point.
‘There’s someone you should meet,’ I said, carefully extracting Roksana from the sling, pulling out her tiny limbs and supporting her head. ‘This is Roksana.’
On cue, Roksana opened her dark eyes. Then she pouted her little rosebud lips, as if offering Liuz a kiss.
‘Roksana,’ I said, manoeuvring her so he could see her properly. ‘Say hello to your daddy.’
Liuz shoved a hand through his hair, making a dark tuft stick up oddly. I itched to smooth it down. He swallowed, once, twice. Rubbed his fingers over his forehead. The cuff of his top fell up his arm slightly, revealing a scabbed wound, red and angry. I tried not to look at it. Tried not to think how he could have got it.
‘Roksana?’ he whispered.
‘Yes, it means dawn, in Polish. New beginnings, fresh start.’
‘Yes, yes. I know what it means. But …’
‘She is yours,’ I said, finally taking a seat.
The hard plastic dug into the bony protrusion on my back. I had lost weight since having Roksana. Probably a bit too much. It was hard work looking after a child when you were completely alone. Feeding myself was not always a priority. I could only hope that when Liuz saw me naked again he would still enjoy the look and feel of my body.
‘I, Jesus, Hannah. I had no idea, why didn’t you –?’ He shook his head.
I wasn’t sure if he had blinked yet since setting eyes on his child.
‘Tell you?’
He nodded, a stiff little movement, his gaze glued on Roksana. ‘Yes, why didn’t you tell me you were having a child?’
I settled Roksana in the crook of my arm and began to spin my web of lies. ‘I didn’t realize I was pregnant for ages, not until it was too late to, you know, do anything about it. And then, when I did find out, I realised how much I wanted her. Our child, our daughter. There was only you, Liuz, we didn’t use protection that last time, do you remember? We were so carried away with our lovemaking, all we could think of was one another.’
He closed his eyes for a few long seconds, as if remembering back to that wonderful morning. Well, the start of it anyway.
When he opened his eyes again, I brushed my lips over Roksana’s head, hair as soft as an angel’s whisper. ‘I just wished you had been there, Liuz, to see her the day she was born.’
‘Well, yeah, er, me too, but kind of hard when I am banged up in here.’
I could almost hear the cogs of his mind working, his mouth barely keeping up with his thoughts.
‘I went to your flat when I found out I was pregnant. But there was someone else living there. He said you were in prison, so I rang Officer Lederman. He told me that you were serving time for selling-on counterfeit alcohol.’ I paused and shook my head. ‘I am so sorry, Liuz. What happened? How did they find out? What with Beef – I mean, Grant – being dead.’
Liuz twisted his mouth and shrugged. ‘I do not know. Some anonymous tip-off, apparently. Bastard. I’ll kill them if I ever get my hands on them.’
I breathed a sigh of relief. Officer Lederman had promised me anonymity. It seemed he had lived up to his word.
‘So when will you be out?’
‘Eight weeks and it cannot come soon enough.’ He nodded at Roksana. ‘How old is she?’
‘Three months.’
‘Can I hold her?’
‘Of course, she’s your baby too, Liuz.’
He glanced at the guard who’d told him to sit earlier. Our conversation had clearly been overheard, because the guard nodded and gave a ‘go ahead’ wave of his palm.
Standing, I passed Ana over to her father, my heart swelling, my breath held. This was an act usually performed in a hospital delivery suite, but not for us, not for Roksana – she was meeting her father in prison, in a scary big room full of mad and bad people.
Liuz held her inexpertly, his big hands awkward on her. Carefully, I repositioned his fingers so he supported her head and her body sat within his arms. My fingertips brushed his forearm, and a familiar tingle of longing raced through me. I wanted Liuz now as much as I ha
d right in the very beginning. Perhaps even more so.
He dipped his head to hers, shut his eyes and breathed in deep. I knew what he was doing. It was the same thing I did. He was drawing in her heavenly baby smell, powder and petals. It was addictive, that smell, and the need to inhale it repeatedly a very instinctual one that couldn’t be ignored.
Roksana had seen very few adults other than me, just a few medical staff, and I had been terrified that when she saw her father she would wail. I’d made sure I’d fed her and changed her nappy just before the visit to ensure she would be on her best behaviour, but it still couldn’t be guaranteed. Though it seemed I had worried needlessly, because crying wasn’t going to be the case. Instead, she just looked up at Liuz, her long lashes fluttering as she struggled to focus on a new face.
‘She is beautiful,’ Liuz said, gazing into eyes that were mirror images of his own. ‘Really, so beautiful.’ He looked up, tears brimming on his lower lids. ‘Oh, fuck, Hannah, what the hell are we going to do?’
‘It’s OK,’ I said, reaching over the table and once again resting my fingers on his forearm, ‘really, it’s going to be fine.’
He shook his head then looked back down at Roksana. ‘How can it be? Look at me. I am such a fucking loser.’
‘No, no don’t you ever say that.’ My voice was stern. ‘You are a clever, independent, determined man, and this is all going to be fine. I’ve thought it through.’
He sucked his lips in on themselves, as if holding in emotions he didn’t want to give words to.
I allowed him a few seconds to control himself. I knew he would be like this. He acted all tough but he had a soft heart, my Liuz.
‘What exactly do you mean?’ he asked eventually.
‘When you come out you can be a father to her, Liuz. I want you to be, so does Roksana. Every little girl needs a daddy.’
