Her eyebrows trembled in quiet discomfort. “It’s my mum’s funeral today.”
Chapter Twenty-One
She sat on the edge of the bed and told him what had happened. There had been a fire the previous weekend and her mum had been unable to escape. The blaze tore right through the house.
“Were you there?”
“No,” she whispered quietly. “I hadn’t been round in weeks.”
Paul cast off the blanket and pulled himself out of bed to sit beside her. He realised he’d seen the headline as he’d passed the newspaper stand at Central Station a few days before but had thought nothing of it.
“Was anyone else hurt?”
Lena shook her head. “They dragged Jason out. He’d tried to rescue her, according to him, but they were both shit-faced. It was a cigarette. The materials they use in houses nowadays, they just burn right up in minutes. There’s toxins…” She mimicked the tone of an official reporter.
He hugged her, the immediate focus of the funeral taking his mind off what had happened earlier. “Do you want me to go with you?”
She nodded. “I can’t do it alone,” she said fearfully.
Lena sat quietly in the car as they drove to the crematorium. Paul concentrated on the road, a piercing pain in his temples. After his shower he’d thrown up a couple of times, giving him temporary relief, but now the throbbing was back. Adding to that was the repeating flashbacks from the night before. The horrible image of Lena huddled in the corner of the hall, crying. The terrified look on her face. The insults he’d hurled. In a way he was thankful for the hangover, dreading the moment his head cleared and he would have to face in total sobriety what he had said and done. But he kept it to himself as they headed up the drive to the bleak, grey building; his morose apologies and excuses weren’t going to make her feel any better.
Lena held his hand tightly as they entered. The room was small, which gave the appearance that the service was well attended. Paul wanted to sit further back but Lena held him close as she moved down the aisle to the front row beside a man, a woman and a chubby red-headed child of about ten years old. They hugged Lena and sombrely shook Paul’s hand, but there were no introductions. He smelled of alcohol, his eyes were bloodshot. He didn’t blame them for the suspicious looks they threw at him, an intruder in their intimate moment of grief.
On the other side of the aisle, Paul recognised Jason. He was with two women, about his age, their faces hard and stern. Paul later found out they were his sisters. There was no denying he looked distraught. Even before the ceremony began he was openly weeping. His arm was bandaged where it had been burned; his face was pale and drawn. Scumbag, Paul thought. As the funeral started, Jason stared ahead. So did Lena.
The service was short. The humanist minister read a brief eulogy, concluding it with some quotes celebrating life. She read a poem about how dead people are still around in the snow and the wind and the stars. Paul shivered and took his mind somewhere else. It closed with Lena’s mum’s favourite song, a Tracy Chapman number. Lena kept her composure throughout. As the coffin with her mum’s remains rolled into the committal chamber she gave a small sob, but that was as much emotion as she showed. Outside, the next group of mourners was waiting to come in. The minister announced a gathering at their local pub, inviting people for a drink and a sandwich after the service.
Having slowly made their way out of the crematorium, Paul stood by Lena’s side while she received awkward condolences from the others. It amazed him, her strength. How she managed to keep it all in. Saying all the right things, remembering to invite people to the small wake. There was a lot of pawing and tugging from every direction, but she handled it with the grace of a politician. From Paul’s vantage point, though, it wasn’t hard to see the strain it was putting her under. There was an eerie emptiness in her eyes. He worried that a meltdown was due sooner rather than later. At least he would be there when it happened. Their hands gripped tighter.
Leaves had fallen from the trees and been mashed to the ground in a squelching mush. The sky was pearly silver, promising rain. Once most of the mourners had disappeared, Lena introduced him to her friend from school, Gillian. When he shook her hand there was a degree of hostility from her which he couldn’t explain. As far as he was aware, they’d never met before. He briefly wondered if he’d jilted her in some previous life, but the muffin-shaped rolls of fat bulging over her trousers and mannish clothes and shoes made him suspect not. Still, she wasn’t too proud to take a lift from him when it was offered, whatever the insult. She squashed into the back of his car while he and Lena sat in the front.
He started up the engine, hoping he wouldn’t be pulled over during the short drive, worried he was still over the limit. The pub they were going to was a few streets away from Lena’s old home. As he drove, Lena and Gillian chatted about nothing in particular – people from school, the jewellery shop Lena was working in, Gillian’s love life or lack of it. Paul was glad she was taking Lena’s mind off things for a while. He continued to drive, concentrating on the road. A few minutes later he was shaken from his daydream when he noticed a sudden silence had fallen in the car. It took him a moment to realise he’d taken the wrong road – in that area they all looked alike – and had accidentally driven past the derelict remains of Lena’s house. There was police tape around the garden. Quickly speeding off in the right direction, he looked apologetically at Lena, who smiled and put her hand on his. In the back seat Gillian sighed and huffed.
A few minutes later they pulled up at the pub. Paul found a space in the staff car park. A small crowd was gathering at the entrance and Gillian fussed over Lena as they walked towards them, in a way she hadn’t done without the audience. When they joined the group, Gillian and Lena were warmly received, while he was given a cool reception – a pattern that was beginning to become obvious. It wasn’t just Gillian that was giving him the cold shoulder. He brushed it off. It was Lena he was there for. Her grip was still tight around him and he wasn’t letting go, whether he was welcome there or not.
Inside, most people congregated round the bar. Various sandwiches and finger food had been provided. In a booth to one side, Jason and his sisters sat together. Their free drinks were finished and they already had a kitty going. Paul glowered over in resentment. It was going to be a long day. What with the snide comments from Lena’s family and friends, and the monumental hangover that was almost making his nose bleed, he was going to suffer. Still, Lena was bearing up well, putting on a brave face in between the small looks of quiet desperation she gave him when she thought no one else was watching. When Lena went to the toilet, a group of females in attendance, he took the opportunity to slip outside and call Dario, passing over the reins at Limbo for the night, just hoping the place wouldn’t be burned down in his absence. Lena was coming home with him tonight.
When the phone call was over, Dario now on board, Paul took a moment in the fresh air. He sat on the steps overlooking the car park with his glass of Coke and cigarette, the buzz of traffic and life outside a welcome break from the funeral chatter. He was enjoying the brief respite when a small foot in his back caused him to jump and nearly choke on his drink. The chubby red-haired child from the funeral was giggling behind him.
“Are you Lena’s boyfriend?” she asked coyly, knowing in some way, for some reason, her behaviour wouldn’t be approved of. She continued to giggle.
“I’m just a good friend.”
The answer seemed to disappoint her. Her brow concertinaed as she thought of a more testing question. She sat beside him and shrugged. “What’s a half caste?”
Paul’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not a very nice word for little girls to be using.”
“But my mum said it.”
“It means when someone’s mum and dad have different-coloured skin.”
The girl seemed satisfied with the response. “I have two mums,” she said. “One of th
em died in the fire. She’s the one who gave birth to me.” She offered up the information with a child’s awareness of the strange curiosity adults had for knowing other people’s family background. “My other one is the one I live with. It’s OK for me. But my sister only had one mum. She’s not even got a dad either. She’s an orphan. I like your car.”
“How do you know which car’s my car?”
“It’s a BMW but it looks funny.”
“It’s called a convertible.”
“My dad says it’s a drug dealer’s car.”
“Yeah?” Paul took a long draw on his cigarette. “Your parents have a lot to say.”
The girl laughed, pleased with herself. “I can name all the makes of cars. Ford. Citroën. Golf. Polo. Pea-u-got.”
Paul laughed out loud. “‘Pea-u-got’? It’s pronounced ‘Peugeot’. It’s French.” The little girl was miffed she’d come off looking stupid. Paul shook his head in amusement and suddenly thought of his own son. In a few years Jack would be her age. It was going to be fun. That was the age when they really started to entertain you. He suddenly couldn’t wait for the day to pass. Sunday was his day with Jack and all he wanted to do was see him and hug him.
A shriek from inside interrupted their conversation. Both Paul’s head and the child’s flicked automatically towards the burst of sound. A second later Paul was on his feet, telling her to stay put, while he raced through the doors.
Inside, Lena was standing in the centre of the pub shouting at Jason. He had risen from his seat and was pointing a finger at her. Between ranting sobs she cursed him as he began to shout back.
“It’s always about you. The love of my life dies in my arms and I’m treated like a leper. I’ve not been given my place today. It’s disrespectful!”
“It was your fault! Your fault!” Lena shouted at him while others held her back.
Jason’s temper ignited. Paul heard the word “bitch”, which was enough to make him wade in. “Call her that again, you fucking prick…” He stood toe to toe with Jason, their chins nearly touching.
Jason stood like a breezeblock in front of him. “Fuck off! I’d kill you, you fucking little bastard!” His finger wagged in Paul’s face.
“Yeah? Real man…” Paul demonstrated with an accompanying backhanded gesture. “I thought you only knocked about women and children. Go on then – go for it!”
The two of them stood like bulls, locking horns, sizing each other up. Paul could hear Lena sobbing in the background but didn’t dare take his eyes from Jason for a moment.
“Go on, big man.”
Jason lunged, grabbing Paul by the throat with his bandaged, fire-injured arm, backing him against a pillar. His massive hand was like a vice constricting Paul’s airway. Paul grabbed the dressing and pressed hard. Jason roared, beads of sweat forming on his brow, but he continued to hold Paul’s throat, squeezing with both hands.
“Let me go,” Paul rasped. Jason’s grip wavered, Paul’s didn’t. “Won’t just be a broken jaw this time. If you don’t let go, it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
Paul let the threat of violent repercussions sink in while he prepared to crack Jason’s jaw, knowing it to be soft from the previous injury. He watched as Jason relived the last beating; Lena had told him Jason had received counselling after that.
“You know I’m connected.” Paul pictured Manny and assumed the same wide-eyed, hole-boring stare he knew made grown men quake.
He felt Jason’s grasp loosen. A rush of excitement cascaded through him as he realised he’d tamed him. He continued to squeeze Jason’s arm, forcing him onto bent knees. Jason’s sisters moved to his aid, their shrill voices screeching like nails down a blackboard, but he waved them back.
“Apologise to her.” Paul’s voice was still hoarse.
“No.” Jason held his sore arm, which Paul was still squeezing as tightly as he could. “My arm! Let go.”
“Apologise.”
Paul dug his fingers in. Jason’s eyes rolled in agony.
“Sorry!” he gasped. “Sorry!”
Paul let go.
Jason seemed to diminish in front of him. A tear formed in his eye, the comedy mask of a scolded child resting on his steroid-pumped face. “I loved that woman.”
Paul stared him down, disgust building for the superman before him, his fake tanned muscles and hard-man disguise stripped down to reveal the serial victim that hid beneath. Exposed and humiliated in front of everyone he knew – it was what people like Jason deserved. Paul had been itching to do it for a long time. He watched him wallowing in self-pity.
Behind him, Lena was being gently ushered out the door. Paul went up to the group, feeling a few inches taller. “Lena, are you OK?”
Lena cried into her hands, too upset to speak, propped up by some of the other women. The little girl’s mum was leading the group; although she couldn’t have been more than forty, she dressed like she was in her sixties. She gave him a look of reprehension.
“She will be if she keeps away from the likes of you. You should be ashamed of yourself. Have you no respect?” Her voice had the acerbic tone of his old primary school head teacher, sadistic in the soft, slow way the barbed words rolled off her tongue.
“I wasn’t talking to you.” He blocked their path, prodding Lena gently. “Lena, do you want to come home with me?”
“My husband and I are taking her home.” The little girl’s mum brushed him off, her head held imperiously high.
“Lena.” He shook her gently, but she broke down, crying inconsolably. “Lena.”
The group continued to move outside. Paul tried to intervene again. The little girl’s mum put a detaining hand out to stop him.
“Nothing but a petty thug.” She looked at him like he was a piece of dirt. “Can’t you see the poor girl’s been through enough? She needs people around her who care for her. Not an animal like you. Annabelle!” she shouted over her shoulder.
From under the table, the little girl emerged, running past him, scuttling after her mum.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“You caused mayhem at my mother’s funeral,” Annie said. “I watched from under a table. I’d never seen grown men fight before.”
Paul remembered the satisfaction he’d felt at seeing the asshole down on his knees. “Jason deserved it.”
“You should hear what he has to say about you,” Annie retorted.
“Stories from people that didn’t know me. That didn’t know her,” he volleyed back.
He could feel her watching him, her senses alert to every tick, every stammer, to the moments when he held his breath, when his breathing grew heavy – waiting for him to unwittingly reveal some significant truth.
“You know?” She sighed wearily. “You’re right.” His ears pricked up. “I don’t have much to go on. I have the accounts of a handful of people. I have my own memories. And I have what you know. But you’re refusing to tell me. I can think of only one reason why.”
He shook his head. And laughed.
Annie’s face remained stony. “You think this is funny?”
“You have me tied to a chair and you wonder why you’re not getting my full cooperation. I’m in pain. I’m dehydrated. You need to contact someone. Ask them for help.”
“There is no one, Paul,” she said, sitting on the edge of the armchair, her elbows resting on her knees. “No one cares. That’s why this happened. Because no one cares. Lena was vulnerable. She was on her own in the world. She had no mother. No father. That’s why this happened to her. Because you thought no one cared. But I did. I do. I fucking care. Wherever she is, I want her to know that someone cared!”
He clenched his teeth together.
Annie got up and went over to the mantelpiece. She rested her elbow on it. She had a sickly pallor to her, as much a captive as he was. But he knew now not to underesti
mate the steeliness inside her.
“The day of the funeral…” She twisted her fingers together. “Nine years ago. I was just a child. I remember the itchy grey dress I had to wear, how it scratched all the way through the service. Everyone was sad but I didn’t understand why and it made me want to laugh but I knew I wasn’t allowed to. I remember being told that my mum was dead but it didn’t make sense because my mum was sitting beside me, telling me to sit up straight, say my prayers.
“I remember the fight. The loud voices. Lena screaming. Me watching from beneath a table. I remember the words I heard after the funeral, hushed words I wasn’t meant to hear. Thug. Gangster.
“If I had the power to go back in time and find out what happened, I would. But I can’t do that. All I can do is warm up stale memories, looking for something, some answer, some key. But the answers aren’t there. Because you have them. You’re the only one that can give them to me.”
Paul fidgeted uncomfortably. He turned his head away. He didn’t want to listen any more.
Annie continued, determined, her voice thin and delicate. She left the fireplace and returned to the familiar terrain of the armchair. “You said Lena and I weren’t close. And in a way you’re right. But I want you to know about us.”
She perched on the arm, her hands clasped together between her knees, her shoulders curled. “We didn’t get to spend that much time together growing up,” she said apologetically.
Paul closed his eyes, reminded himself it was a game she was playing. From the Dummy’s Guide to Interrogation.
“Lena was eight when my dad – Frank – and her mum got together. A year later I was born. For a time we were a regular little family. But my dad left when I was two or three, taking me with him. Later, a long time later, I found out it was because of our mum’s drinking – you only find these things out when you’re older. He tried to take Lena with us, but she wouldn’t leave our mum. After that I didn’t see her very often: birthdays, Christmases, some weekends.”
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