by Demelza Hart
I turned my bloodshot eyes to her. ‘I wasn’t exactly honest with you before.’
‘Ah.’ She pursed her lips, her brows furrowed, but her voice gentle with realisation. ‘You and him …’
‘Yes.’
She dropped her head. ‘Christ, Callie.’
‘I love him.’ I felt the need to correct myself. ‘I loved him.’
‘Oh God. You’d better tell me exactly what happened. It might not be as it seems, you know.’
‘That’s what he said.’ I took a long, hot drink of tea. ‘It was three a.m. I was with him in his flat. There was a hammering on the door and the police arrested him for … God, I can hardly remember, firearm something, bodily harm, armed robbery … I stayed hidden. They cuffed him, I could hear. He called out – as much to me as them – that it wasn’t what it looked like, to trust him.’
‘Do you?’
I looked at her despairingly, wanting so much to be able to say yes. ‘I thought I did.’
‘Don’t rush to conclusions.’
‘But … I always doubted, Tina. I could never quite bring myself to let go completely. It was so good when I was with him, so incredibly good, everything was right, but when we were apart, the doubts would set in. I guess they were right to.’
‘Not necessarily. Innocent until proven guilty.’
‘Where there’s smoke there’s fire,’ I countered.
‘Oh come on, Callie, don’t be like that! Have you heard from him?’
‘Not yet. It’s driving me mad.’
‘Jesus, with what you’ve been through recently it would drive anyone mad.’
‘Don’t you think that’s it, though? That I wasn’t thinking straight. I mean, he wasn’t my type. I knew that from the start. Just not my type. I kept telling myself that.’
‘Bollocks! What the hell is a type anyway? God, I’d forgotten what a bloody snob you could be.’
‘What?’
‘You always went for the safe ones, the ones your mum and dad would like.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Everything. Mainly crap sex. It’s a bit like selecting – or not in your case – from the widest gene pool possible. You need to get it on with someone totally different to you. I bet sex with Paul wasn’t crap.’
‘No. It was incredible.’
She allowed a familiar smirk to creep in. ‘Tell.’
I sighed. ‘Oh God, Tina, not now.’
‘Sorry. Just imagining though.’
‘Yeah, well, don’t.’
‘Look, I’ll stay for a bit, as long as you want. He’s sure to be in touch soon. He probably won’t even be charged and it will all go back to normal, and even if they’ve got completely the wrong end of the stick and he is charged, I should imagine they’ll let him out on bail. He hasn’t got any previous convictions, has he?’
I didn’t know. Perhaps he had a criminal record as long as my arm. He could, for all I knew. What did I actually know about him at all? ‘I don’t think so. I don’t know. But …’
‘What?’
‘Do you remember a few years ago, there was a fuss about a British soldier who killed two Afghan civilians? There was a big military trial. The media were all over it. In the end he was cleared.’
‘Oh yeah. I always had my doubts about that. Felt like a cover-up to me.’
I closed my eyes. ‘That was Paul.’
‘Oh … Callie …’
Her clear despair was increasingly disheartening. ‘You see, Tina, I don’t know him. I can’t trust him. I mustn’t.’
She sighed. ‘You don’t know that yet.’ I could tell her own resolve was wavering.
My phone rang. I knew it was him without even looking at it. I just stared at Tina.
‘You have to answer,’ she said gently. ‘You owe him that.’
I picked it up, my hand shaking. Tina moved away from me, giving me space. I accepted the call and held the phone to my ear. I waited.
‘Callie.’
I opened my mouth to speak but found nothing to say.
‘I’m sorry, Callie. I’m sorry to put you through this.’
Still, I couldn’t speak. It barely sounded like Paul. There was a tremor to his voice I’d never heard before.
‘Where are you now?’
‘I’ve just left the police station. I’ve been let out on bail.’
‘You’ve been charged?’
‘Yes.’
I threw my hand to my mouth to stifle the sob which rose chaotically through me.
‘Why, Paul?’
He answered after a moment’s silence, his voice disjointed. ‘There was an armed robbery several years ago. A high-class jeweller’s. A girl was tied up, beaten and threatened at gunpoint. Over a hundred grand’s worth of stuff was taken. They never found the guy.’
‘Was it you?’ I said it straight out. I was the level one now. My voice didn’t falter.
I heard him exhale in despair at the other end. ‘No, it wasn’t me … but I was there. I can’t talk about it over the phone. Can I …?’ He hesitated.
‘What?’
‘Can I come over?’
I glanced at Tina who was leaning on the door frame, concern clear in her eyes.
‘Yes. Come before six. I’m going out then.’ I didn’t want him here at night. But even now I wanted to see him.
‘OK.’ He paused. ‘I’ll see you then. Callie …’
I put the phone down. He had said my name with a rise, as if he were asking for more. I hadn’t given it.
Wrapping my arms around me I went back to Tina. ‘He’s been charged.’
‘Shit.’ Her head dropped.
‘But he’s out on bail. He’s coming to talk about it later.’
‘Are you happy with that?’
I nodded.
‘I’ll be here for you.’
I took her hand and squeezed it. ‘No, that’s all right. I need to sort this out alone.’
‘Are you sure? Do you feel safe with him?’
I looked at her, thinking she sounded mad. This was Paul we were talking about. ‘I’ve always felt safe with him. I feel safer with him than I’ve felt with any other person as long as I’ve lived.’
Tina frowned in bewildered concern and then gave me a hug. She stayed until mid-afternoon but as the clock approached half three, she looked at me. ‘Should I leave now?’
I nodded. ‘I suppose. I’ll call you after.’
She hugged me hard and left.
I didn’t do anything to prepare the flat. I just sat and waited. The buzzer went ten minutes after Tina left. I let him in.
He stood there, his head down, his eyes tired and shadowed. He looked infinitely worse than he had after surviving the plane crash.
‘Can I come in?’ he asked, genuinely hesitant.
I moved aside for him. He walked carefully past me and waited in the hallway.
‘Well, don’t stand there. Go and sit down. I’ll … put the kettle on.’
He didn’t speak while the water boiled. I glanced over at him. He was sitting forward, rubbing his hands together. I brought the tea over and sat opposite him, the coffee table between us.
‘Thanks,’ he murmured, so quietly I barely heard. ‘They’ve charged me. I’m going to be put on trial. This is all going to get worse before it gets better. But it will get better, Callie, because I’m innocent.’
‘Innocent of what?’
He held his head in his hands and pulled his hair. He didn’t start for some time. I waited. I didn’t say a word. I sat and looked at him and waited. At last, as if it was the greatest effort to drag it all into the present, he began.
‘It was ’07. The court-martial had ended. I was cleared. They said I was free, exonerated … not a blemish to my name. I could go back to the army. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t go back to a place I associated with my failure, to a place I associated with death. I left. Got good building work which paid OK, kept me ticking over, but I was so bloody unsettled, so
unsure of where my life was going. I started drinking more than before, not that it affected me except when I was out with the lads. Then, when they lulled me into a false sense of camaraderie, I’d have more than I needed. I hated myself for it – staggering home, waking up the next day feeling like death warmed up, smelling like a pisspot.’
I winced.
Paul continued. ‘One night, I was out with some mates. Good lads, all of them, but they wanted to stay on, go to a strip club, spoke about getting some girls, you know, payin’ for ’em. I just couldn’t do it. I was sickened by myself. I left them, must have been about ten. They yelled after me, couldn’t believe I was bailing out on them.
‘I’d had a fair bit to drink, but I wasn’t drunk, just a little dull-headed. I walked for miles, didn’t know where I was going. Just meandered along, just like my life was meandering along. I was somewhere in Kensington, but it was dead quiet, no one around. I remember thinking how strange it was that London could be so quiet, like I’d never known it before. Then I realised it wasn’t silent. I was outside this jeweller’s shop and I could hear this muffled noise, like someone sobbing. I could just about see inside. There was a girl in there, bound and gagged. Her face was a mess, someone had knocked her about badly. Then I saw him, a guy in a dark hoodie, helping himself to anything he could get his hands on. There was no alarm; he must have disabled it or got her to switch it off or something. The security gates were nearly all the way down but had stopped about a foot and a half off the ground.
‘Every time the girl made a noise, the guy came right up to her. In my mind her face was that of the Afghan girl; wide staring eyes, disbelieving what was happening to her. Then I saw his gun. He’d point it right in her face, push it right up against her neck and yell abuse and threats at her. She started to scream, even through her gag, and he suddenly pulled back and punched her hard across the face. Her head flopped to the side and her body sagged limply.
‘I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think about the gun or the danger. I forced myself under the gates, bruised my ribs doing it, and ran in. I caught him unexpectedly – God knows what he would have done next – I was SAS, I fucking knew what to do. He gave me a chase round the shop, but I had him in the end. I got his gun off him and wrestled some of the jewellery off him. I could see the girl, still unconscious. I was desperate to get to her and help her – she could be dead or dying for all I knew. And this fucking bastard was still there. He fought me hard, but I fought back. I’d beat the crap out of him if I had to but I tried to hit him hard without wounding him too badly. I hit my head on something, glass or something. There was blood flying around. He caught my eye. I could feel it swelling up and closing. I could taste blood in my mouth. But I had him. I had him squealing like a stuck pig.
‘But then there were sirens. They distracted me. I dropped my hold on him for a moment and he ran. I thought the police would get him, was sure of it. I went over to the girl and started to untie her bindings. As I did, she started to come round. God, the relief at that moment. I was taking the gag off when she opened her eyes and looked right at me. The police came in at that moment.
‘And she started screaming. She started screaming like it was her last moment on earth. She pushed as far back from me as she could and pointed at me. And she said it, ‘Him, him. It’s him, it’s him.’ I didn’t even look behind me. I could feel them, sense them about to take me. My mind quickly added up what they saw: a girl bloodied and beaten, me leaning over her covered in more blood, my fingerprints everywhere. The gun, the shop, the jewellery. And her pointing her finger right at me.
‘I panicked. I was still too raw, too uncertain of myself. I panicked and I ran. I was fast, faster than anyone in the Met. I ran and I ran and they never caught up with me.
‘I thought they’d figure it out. I thought they’d see the CCTV and it would all be OK. When they came for me, they could do me for non-co-operation, and I’d tell them I wasn’t thinking straight, but that was all. They’d see what I’d done.
‘But they never came for me. I read later that the CCTV in the shop had been glitching for weeks. There was nothing on it. And other local CCTV hadn’t been able to place anyone, me or the real assailant.
‘We both got away, me and the real culprit. The girl recovered, slowly. I read all I could about it. But she was left with some permanent scarring and a limp.
‘Again, I had to reassess my life, take stock. I got a job abroad, as far away from England as I could. I worked with Nick and we did all right. We set up our own company and you know the rest.
‘Do you know what? I’d almost allowed myself to forget about it. I’d almost just got on with my life. Even a plane crash couldn’t bother me anymore. And then there was you. When you came along, I knew I must be doing something right. Suddenly, for the first time, my life was sorted.’
He stopped and stared ahead of him, completely still and silent.
I wanted to believe him. I craved believing him. ‘So why has this happened now?’
‘She saw me. The girl in the shop saw me on the Jack Northam Show. She recognised me from that night. And she’s right. I was there.’
‘But if you were helping her, why didn’t she remember that?’
He turned to me, his eyes damp, dismay etched on his face. ‘Callie! I didn’t do it,’ he said, pleading for me. ‘Believe me, please, believe me.’
I wanted to. I wanted to so much I was in agony. I’d never seen Paul like this. Paul, my rock, my support. What struck me at that moment was not only what he had told me, but the fact that, for the first time ever, he looked vulnerable. He was as human as I was, and, despite his revelations, I adored him even more for it.
We just looked at each other, our souls open and raw. He leaned in, seeking my understanding. Our mouths met and the sense of completion that always rushed headlong into me when we kissed happened again. We kissed as if our lives depended on it, as if, as long as we kissed, it didn’t matter what else happened.
But it did matter. The images in my head returned: blood, fear, anger.
I pulled back and turned away.
‘Callie?’ he asked, fearful.
‘What do you have to do now?’ I questioned, not looking at him.
‘Wait. You know how long these things take. There’ll be a hearing in a day or so, but then it’ll be months, years maybe.’
‘Do you have freedom?’
‘Can’t leave the country. I have to report to the local police station every other day.’
‘How can you live like that? What about your job?’
‘I’ll have to explain to Nick. I can survive for a time.’
Despite the heaviness with which he spoke, he had still reconciled himself to it calmly. I couldn’t help but admire his good sense.
He put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Callie, look at me. Let me make love to you.’
His hand stroked down my side, that warm, strong hand I relied on. But this time I moved away from it and stood up.
‘Callie. Believe me. I’ve only ever been truthful with you.’
I stood, unmoving. Silence fell like a sudden fog around us.
‘I can’t do this,’ I said.
‘What?’
I turned round to him. ‘I can’t be with you. Too much … too much has been said.’
‘You told me you trusted me.’
I looked at him, my eyes blurred. ‘I want to.’
He approached me, fast movements which made me take a step back. ‘Then do. I was helping her, Callie. If I hadn’t come in then Christ knows what would have happened. I was helping her.’
‘Why didn’t she realise you weren’t the one who’d hurt her?’
‘I don’t know! She was distressed, confused, I guess. I had a dark cagoule on. The guy who did it had a black hoodie. It looked similar to her, maybe.’
I stood firmly. ‘She’s remembered your face after all this time. You must have made quite an impression on her.’ I sounded accusatory, I knew it.
‘You didn’t think of going to the police with what you knew? You could have helped find the perpetrator.’
‘Of course I bloody thought of it. Thought of nothing else, but … the evidence was against me, I’m no fool. I left blood everywhere. If they had anything on me, I knew it would look bad, especially after I found out there was no CCTV.’
‘So the evidence will still be against you.’
He said nothing but sat hunched tautly forward, staring at the floor.
I continued, my voice measured. ‘Why didn’t you mention it before? It’s quite a thing to have witnessed.’
He gave a non-committal shrug. ‘I wasn’t ready. I don’t have to tell you every single detail of my life in the first twenty-four hours of knowing you. Don’t you have any secrets, eh?’
‘No. I don’t,’ I murmured, tears falling.
‘Course you do, Callie. I remember. I remember you saying on the island that you wanted someone to wake up with and still have things to discover about them each day. You said that to me. Yes, there are things about me you don’t know, and I bloody hope there are things about you I don’t know.’
I couldn’t stop crying now. ‘I thought you were …’
‘What?’
‘I thought you were so easy.’
He stood, his height and inherent strength almost intimidating. ‘Is that it? Hey? You want easy? No, Callie. Life doesn’t work like that. I’m not easy, and I’m not perfect, but I try to do the right thing. It’s fucking hard sometimes, but in all that’s happened to me, Callie, I have tried to do the right thing – my mother, work, Afghanistan, the jewellers. Is that not good enough for you?’
I looked at him. He deserved my honesty. ‘I don’t know.’
He paced around, pulling his hands through his hair, at a loss for what to do. ‘I think I should go now.’ He paused and looked back at me, like a little boy willing me to disagree. ‘Do you? Do you think I should go? Do you want me to go?’
I clutched my arms around me but then looked up at him solemnly and felt myself nodding.
All that visceral, reliable strength seemed to drain from his body. He stood like a condemned man, his limbs and face empty of energy and life. ‘There it is then. What more can I do, Callie? I love you. I love you so fucking much.’
