The Atlas of Us

by Tracy Buchanan

  ‘They’re here,’ Filipe said as Claire heard the rumble of tyres on stone.

  The truck came into sight and behind it, a modern-looking van with a pristine blue exterior.

  ‘Our new air-conditioned van thanks to Claire’s efforts,’ Filipe said, referring to the coverage Claire had already managed to drum up in national newspapers.

  Claire smiled to herself. It felt good to see the results of all her hard work. She really was making a difference here.

  The sound of barks echoed out of it, and Filipe and Claire exchanged excited looks. This is what it was all about, after all: saving the animals that had slipped between the lines of war.

  ‘Time to enter the world of the living, yes?’ Filipe asked Claire.

  ‘Definitely,’ she replied, laughing.

  The truck and van both rolled to the stop. Doors slammed, people jumped out. Then one person came into view. Sad brown eyes, dark hair. Claire choked on her laughter.

  There Milo was, right there in the land of the living.

  Chapter Twelve

  Fruška Gora, Serbia

  2000

  Milo’s dark hair had been shaved into a buzz cut, his beautiful fringe gone. The scar on his right cheek looked raw and ragged under the midday sun and he was even thinner, the grubby jeans he was wearing hanging from his hips, the sleeves of his blue T-shirt loose around his arms. There was a look in his eyes too: a feral despairing look, like a starving dog.

  Claire froze, mind whirring as his gaze burned into hers.

  Filipe frowned as he looked between them. ‘You know each other?’ he asked.

  Milo’s brow puckered, his scar stretching. ‘We—’

  ‘It was a long time ago,’ Claire said, sweeping her trembling fingers through her tangled hair. She hated herself for being aware that she was wearing ripped denim shorts that did nothing to hide her cellulite and that her brown roots were showing under the faded black of her hair dye.

  ‘How are you doing?’ she asked Milo in as casual a voice as she could muster given the confused emotions whirring inside.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, his brow furrowing.

  ‘Shall we get the dogs out?’ she said to Filipe. ‘That’s why we’re here, right?’

  Everyone stood still, eyes darting between Claire and Milo, and all Claire could think was: I need to be strong.

  ‘Claire’s right,’ Nikola said, clapping his hands together. ‘Let’s get those dogs out and into their new homes.’

  ‘Iceberg?’ Filipe whispered to Claire.

  She nodded curtly, her neck aching from keeping it upright. Filipe squeezed her hand then strode over to the van. Over the next few hours, Claire was grateful that she didn’t have a chance to see Milo as she helped Filipe with the dogs. She needed time to process her thoughts. This wasn’t part of the plan, Milo being here. A positive life-affirming experience was now getting all scratched up with negativity.

  And why was he here? Surely it couldn’t just be a coincidence?

  She channelled her nervous energy into shampooing the fleas and ticks out of over twenty dogs that were all different sizes, colours and breeds. There was one that reminded Claire of Archie because of its black and white colouring, a terrier that peered up at her with sad brown eyes as it huddled in the corner of its kennel.

  Finally, as darkness fell, their work was finished and she stepped out into the yard. As she crossed it to get to the house, Milo stepped out of the shadows and stood in front of her, fingers twisting at a bit of oily cloth. His jeans were now caked with sawdust and cobwebs, his face smeared with dirt.

  When he looked at Claire, she thought of her dreams and her body stirred.

  ‘Can we talk?’ he asked in a stilted voice.

  She gave herself a few seconds until she was able to muster a casual, ‘Sure.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware you’d be here. I can leave if you don’t feel comfortable.’

  ‘Comfortable? Why wouldn’t I feel comfortable?’

  He sighed. ‘I don’t know, I just—’

  ‘Honestly, I don’t care, stay for as long or as short as you want.’ She inwardly flinched. Of course she cared.

  Milo sighed. ‘I know I was out of order saying what I said that day in court. It’s just … complicated.’

  ‘Then uncomplicate it. It’s nothing, honestly. Nothing.’

  She quickly turned and strode towards the farmhouse, the word ‘nothing’ echoing between them. When she got to her room, she slammed the door so hard one of the spiders fell from its cobweb and onto the floor. She thought it had ended, the pain she felt when she thought of Milo and that terrible night. But now here he was and the pain was filling her again, pressing into all the dusty corners of her and squeezing out the light.

  After a while, there was a soft knock on the door and Filipe walked in.

  ‘I called Audrey,’ he said, sighing. ‘She told me she was desperate for a farmhand who worked with animals and, after reading your story, thought Milo would be ideal. So she tracked him down to his friend’s farm in Norfolk. She meant to tell you but never got around to it. I don’t think she told Milo you were here either.’

  Claire shook her head. ‘She must’ve known what she was doing.’

  ‘Yes, Audrey has a tendency to try to force people together.’ Filipe leaned against the wall, folding his arms. ‘Maybe this is good though, maybe you need time together to heal?’

  ‘This isn’t the Priory Clinic, Filipe. To make matters worse, the anniversary of the shooting is next week. You know what, I’m quite tempted to fly back to the UK.’

  Filipe pushed away from the wall and grabbed Claire’s hand. ‘No, you can’t let your past ruin your future. This place has been good for you. I’ve seen it with other volunteers too. When people come here, they begin to heal, just like the dogs. That black and white terrier that came in? You just see, in a week, that wound will be half the size and she’ll be wagging her tail. A lot can happen in seven days.’

  Dinner was painful. Milo was seated at the other end of the table from Claire, and Nikola took the other seat next to her so she was hemmed in by him and Filipe as though they were making a buffer for her. She forced dinner down and contributed to the conversation in a fake bright voice. Sometimes, she dared to peer over at Milo. But he just kept his eyes on his bowl and barely ate as he jogged his leg up and down. Claire wanted to slam her hand onto his knee and stop it. She also, inexplicably, wanted to wrap her arms around him, trace the contours of his scar with her fingers.

  She hated herself for wanting all that.

  When he finished eating, he left the dinner table abruptly, inviting raised eyebrows from the others.

  Later, as Claire came back from the bathroom after getting ready for bed, she glimpsed Milo playing cards outside with two Serbian builders, a battered old copy of Paradise Lost by his hand. There were several empty shot glasses by his side, and the tops of his cheeks were red from the drink. When he noticed Claire watching him, his eyes travelled down the length of her. She pulled her towel closer around herself and strode to her room, feeling his eyes burning into her back.

  She didn’t sleep that night. All she could hear was the slap of playing cards on the tinny table outside, so loud she had to smash her pillow over her ears to drive away the sound. Not just the sound but also the image of Milo’s calloused hands; the feel of them against her skin.

  She barely saw him over the next couple of days, Filipe sending him out for supplies. Claire was relieved as she sat at the dinner table those nights, staring at his empty seat. It was too painful having him around.

  She focused on working as hard as she could, taking photos of the dogs and writing short pieces about them for the website while helping Filipe where she could. A couple of nights after Milo arrived, Claire woke to the sound of a horrific howling coming from the kennels. She didn’t even stop to grab her dressing gown, instead running out into the yard in just shorts and a vest top, her feet bare as she called out to Filipe. Lights wen
t on in the farmhouse and there was the sound of running behind her. She turned, thinking it was Filipe, but it was Milo in just a pair of tracksuits bottoms. He looked like a soldier with his jagged scar, his buzz cut, the contour of his chest under the moonlight.

  Except there was a shot glass in his hand and his eyes looked dazed.

  He followed her into the darkness of the kennels. She could sense him behind her as she followed the source of the sound, feel his breath on her neck, smell the plummy slivovica in it. When they got to the kennel of the black and white terrier – Luna as they now called her – the dog peered up at Claire, eyes soft with pain. Claire slowly approached her, and was surprised when she let her bend down and stroke her.

  ‘What’s wrong with you, girl?’ Filipe asked, appearing in the entrance, his tired eyes drifting to the glass Milo was holding. He exchanged a look with Claire then crouched down in front of Luna. She recoiled away from him, eyes wide with fear. But Claire leaned down, whispering into her ear as Milo watched, his eyes growing soft. Luna relaxed slightly, letting Filipe examine her.

  After a while, he leaned back on his haunches, shaking his head. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t notice this before. This one’s full of pups.’

  Claire stared at Luna’s belly. It was round and taut but she’d presumed that was from lack of food the past few months.

  ‘Is she in labour?’ she asked.

  ‘Not yet. A month, maybe two?’

  ‘But why was she howling?’

  ‘I think she has an infection, maybe strep. That could be bad for the puppies.’

  ‘One of our bitches at the farm had strep,’ Milo said matter-of-factly. ‘Grapefruit seed extract helps.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard that,’ Filipe said, frowning at the slur in his voice. ‘Do you think you can get some when you’re next in Belgrade, Milo?’

  He didn’t answer, his eyes fixed on Claire, face intense.

  ‘Milo?’ Filipe repeated.

  Milo blinked then dragged his eyes away from Claire. ‘Yes, yes, that’s fine.’

  Then he turned on his heel and disappeared down the walkway.

  ‘He was drunk at lunch too,’ Filipe said. ‘He shouldn’t drink while working, especially around animals.’

  Claire looked down at Luna, trying to keep her face steady. ‘No, he shouldn’t.’

  She sought Milo out the next day, finding him sheltering under the patio from the light rain with Nikola and a couple of other Serbs, smoking.

  They all went quiet when she approached.

  ‘Can we talk?’ she asked Milo.

  He shrugged, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall. ‘Sure.’ He followed her inside to the empty kitchen as the others whistled.

  ‘Everything okay?’ he asked, leaning against one of the debilitated kitchen units and examining a cut in his hand.

  ‘I noticed you were a bit wasted last night.’ He looked up at her, brow creased. ‘You’re driving, operating machinery. It’s dangerous.’

  His face hardened. ‘Was I driving and operating machinery last night?’

  ‘No. But you do during the day and I know you drink during the day, people have told me.’ Her voice softened. ‘I know the anniversary of your brother’s death is coming up.’

  ‘It’s got nothing to do with that!’ He pushed away from the unit, eyes fierce. Claire stepped back, bumping into the wall as he leaned very close to her, his face just a millimetre away. She stared into his brown eyes, saw the pores in his skin, the dark stubble and shape of his lips. ‘Am I drinking now?’ he asked. ‘Smell my breath? Am I drinking?’

  She shoved him away from her, anger pulsing inside.

  ‘Everything okay here?’ Filipe was standing in the doorway, a mug in his hand.

  Milo turned away with a wretched look on his face, the anger gone. He took one last look at Claire then stormed out.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Filipe asked, watching him stride down the hallway.

  ‘He didn’t take too kindly to me mentioning his drinking.’ Claire shrugged, belying the emotions raging inside. ‘At least I tried. If he wants to mess up his life, it’s not my problem.’

  Milo wasn’t at dinner that night. Nor were Nikola and the men he’d been talking to earlier. Claire presumed he’d gone out drinking and part of her wanted to go out and find him, shake the stupidity out of him. The other part thought, what the hell? He didn’t want her help so she wasn’t going to give it.

  In the night, she woke to the sound of raised voices. She jumped out of bed, wrapping her dressing gown around herself and stepping out of her room. The kitchen light was on and two Serbian workers who’d been staying the night were on their phones muttering in Serbian as Filipe stared out of the window.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Claire asked.

  ‘They think Nikola’s been arrested,’ Filipe said. ‘There was a raid on the Otpor offices.’

  ‘And you think Nikola was there?’

  ‘He’s not in his room, I just checked. He isn’t answering his phone either. I’ve not seen him since this afternoon.’ He raked his fingers through his blond hair. ‘This isn’t good. I promised Audrey I’d keep an eye on him.’

  Claire hadn’t seen Milo since that afternoon either. Panic started mounting inside. She strode down the hallway, knocking on Milo’s door as her heart thumped a fearful beat against her chest. When there was no answer, she carefully pushed the door open. She took a moment to take everything in – the framed photo of Holly and Blue on the bedside table, a glass with brown liquid pooled at the bottom, that copy of Paradise Lost.

  The room was empty.

  As she rushed down the hallway to tell Filipe, Claire thought of the two British men who’d been arrested a few weeks before. Or, worse, the anti-Milošević official who’d gone missing, presumed executed. What if that happened to Milo and Nikola?

  ‘Milo’s not in his room,’ she said when she got to the kitchen.

  ‘Right, I’m going out to look for them.’ Filipe grabbed his keys and went out, the two Serbian men following him.

  As Claire waited for them, she paced the farmhouse, taking in the possibility Milo might be lost to her forever. Maybe Filipe had been right – maybe Milo had lost a part of himself too and they could help each other heal. She’d been stupid to turn her back on him.

  As the sun rose, she heard the rumble of a van.

  She ran outside, heart pounding painfully against her chest, the early morning sun glaring at her over the tangle of branches nearby.

  She started trembling, the fear that had been mounting inside her the past few hours almost strangling her.

  Then, as they drew closer, she saw Milo. He was sitting in the back, an ugly bruise around his eye, a cut lip.

  ‘What happened?’ Claire asked, striding towards them all, relief flooding through her.

  ‘We fought like warriors,’ Nikola said, voice slurred. ‘And then we drank like warriors.’ He went to walk away from the van but stumbled over a nearby bucket as Filipe rolled his eyes.

  As Milo walked past Claire, she grabbed his wrist. He looked down at her hand then up at her face, his eyes bloodshot, the cut in his lip still bleeding.

  ‘Why did you go?’ she asked him. ‘Didn’t you realise it would be dangerous?’

  He shrugged then strode into the farmhouse.

  As she watched him, anger pulsed inside. He clearly didn’t want to heal. She’d been a fool to think they could help each other.

  Over the remainder of the week, she tried to avoid Milo as much as she could. When she did see him, the anniversary of the shooting hummed between the lines of everything that passed between them, reminding Claire of the progress she’d made the past three years and her absolute resolution not to return to that time. He hadn’t healed, but she would.

  One day, when she was sitting on her own with Luna, she looked up to see him watching them from the entrance of the kennel. His white T-shirt was wet from the rain outside, his blue jeans grubby as always.

/>   ‘Everything okay?’ Claire asked.

  ‘I brought Luna some rice pudding.’ He held up a can. ‘One of the British guys I know in Belgrade brought some over from his trip back to the UK last week.’

  Claire frowned. ‘Why rice pudding?’

  ‘One of the pregnant bitches on the farm loved it. I thought you might want to try it with Luna.’

  He held out the can to Claire and she took it. ‘Thanks.’

  He leaned down, tickling the fur behind Luna’s ear. ‘I found her, you know. She was in Freedom Square in Novi Sad crunched up behind a rubbish bin. She was in a real state, her wound badly infected. Filipe thinks she got hurt in the NATO bombings last year.’ He sighed. ‘War wounds. I guess we all have them.’

  She peered at his scar and his eye caught hers. There was an awkward silence.

  ‘I’m not drinking during the day now,’ Milo said after a while.

  ‘Good.’ Claire kept her eyes on Luna, her nerves right at the surface. It was clear he was trying to be normal, to make amends somehow.

  ‘Have you written about the lead up to the elections?’ he asked.

  ‘No, just the sanctuary.’

  ‘You should. It’s a unique situation we’re in, living twenty miles from the city in the same house as an Otpor member. It’d make a good article.’

  She looked up at him. ‘Maybe you can be an undercover reporter yourself considering you’ve infiltrated Nikola’s group?’

  ‘I’m an old fogey compared to those lot.’

  They both smiled at each other and Claire felt her tummy whir with emotion.

  When she got back to her room a couple of hours later, there was a package outside her room containing a small notepad with pretty patterns on the front, a note scrawled on the first page.