A Song of Isolation

by Michael Malone

  Damaris sensed that Cammy was at her side. He handed her a large slice of cake on a pink paper napkin.

  ‘What’s going on, Uncle Cammy?’ she asked, holding herself tight as if that might contain the mess and confusion of her thoughts.

  ‘Nothing, doll. Everything will be fine. Just eat your cake.’ He left the room, and came back moments later with a slice for himself. He put his face down to the cake and rammed as much as he could into his mouth. He looked so ridiculous when he lifted his face back up, sponge and icing stuck to the stubble around his lips, that Damaris laughed. Cammy brightened with the sound of her laughter, so she forced out some more.

  ‘That’s the stuff, D,’ he said. ‘Nothing’s going to spoil my girl’s birthday. Now…’ He took a more delicate bite of cake this time, chewed and swallowed. ‘Movie night?’

  Putting on what she thought was perhaps the performance of her life Damaris pushed a smile onto her face and made her eyes bigger. ‘Yay,’ she said, and felt a weight solidify in her stomach and slowly move up to her heart, as if something had died inside her.

  Laughing in all the right places, groaning, and then jumping in fright when it was expected, with her uncle as the conductor of her responses, she watched the movie. And just as the closing credits were rolling on the TV they heard the front door open.

  ‘Mum.’ Damaris ran to her and gave her a hug. ‘Uncle Cammy and me watched this movie. We were going to watch the Disney Channel next, want to join us? Can I get you some cake? It’s deli­cious.’ When she was hugging her mother it occurred to Damaris that she’d never felt so much heat come off her.

  ‘Whoa, whoa, Damaris. Let me get my coat off.’

  Looking up at her mother’s face Damaris caught a glance that passed between her and Cammy.

  ‘I’m thinking a large glass of wine might be preferred,’ Cammy said.

  ‘Wine and cake,’ Claire said with a tight smile. ‘A winning com­bination.’

  Damaris wasn’t stupid. She could see her mother was struggling with something. And knew her mother couldn’t wait for her bedtime so she and Cammy could talk. Really talk.

  She faked a yawn. Compliance with the adults meant an easier life, right? It meant she was a good girl and nothing would go wrong. Nothing more.

  ‘I’m tired, Mum. Can I go to bed?’

  ‘Wait. You sure, baby?’ Damaris felt the heat of her mother’s hand on her head and sensed relief.

  Damaris nodded.

  ‘Alright, then. It’s your birthday, we do it your way. Give your uncle Cammy a kiss and go and brush your teeth.’

  Damaris dutifully did as she was told, kissed both the grown-ups, changed into her pyjamas, brushed her teeth and, making sure the nightlight was on in her bedroom, she climbed under the covers.

  Once there she listened to the muffled voices coming from the living room. Then it sounded like her mother was crying. Moving as silently as she could, she got out of bed and moved to the door. She pulled it open, just a little, slowly so it wouldn’t creak, and placed her ear to the space.

  She heard her mother trying to shush Cammy.

  ‘I’ll kill her,’ he said. ‘I’ll fucking kill her.’

  Damaris shrank back from the threat and the violence in her uncle’s voice. He was her fun relative. She’d never heard him speak in such a way before. It frightened her.

  How long she stood there she had no idea, but her feet were getting cold. Then she heard Cammy groan as if he’d pushed himself onto his feet.

  ‘I need to go. I’ll just give the birthday girl a goodnight kiss first.’

  Alarmed, Damaris jumped back into bed, lay on her side and pulled the covers up to her neck. The door opened and Cammy entered. He sat on the side of the bed and she felt his fingertips brush across her forehead as he moved her long fringe to the side.

  ‘Stop pretending you’re asleep, D.’ There was teasing humour in his tone. He bent forward and kissed her in the same place his fingertips had been moments before.

  ‘I love you, little girl. So much. You know that right?’

  Damaris opened her eyes and nodded.

  ‘And nothing is going to happen to harm you or your mother, okay?’ he said quietly, and with a coldness that was at odds with the warmth of his message.

  Damaris nodded again.

  ‘Uncle Cammy’s here and he protects his family. You got that?’

  Another nod. There was a fierceness even in those almost whis­pered words, and a cold, sterile light of determination in his eyes. ‘Okay.’ He kissed her again and stood up. ‘Go to sleep, and you have my permission to have cake for breakfast.’

  ‘Thanks, Uncle Cammy,’ she said. ‘I loved my presents. And the cake was delish.’

  ‘Aww, wee girl, you are so welcome.’ He ruffled her hair, and was gone.

  Damaris woke sometime later. Her bedroom was in complete darkness. Feeling pressure in her bladder, she climbed out of bed and padded across the narrow hall to the bathroom. She didn’t need to put the light on in there to use the toilet because the streetlight outside the window painted everything a joyless mustard.

  Worried it might wake up her mother, she didn’t flush, and then gently closing the bathroom door behind her, in that way she’d learned, moving slowly, so slowly so that there was only a little click when the door was properly shut.

  A sound issued from the living room. Still on tiptoes she moved to the doorway and saw her mother slumped on the sofa, head back, eyes closed and mouth open. There was an almost empty bottle of wine on the floor at her feet and an empty glass in her hand.

  With care, Damaris approached the sofa.

  ‘Mum,’ she whispered. ‘You okay?’

  Her mother mumbled something. Damaris wasn’t sure whether this was a reply or a dream her mother was having.

  She leaned over and gently pulled the glass out of her mother’s hand. Didn’t want her to cut herself. She put the glass in the kitchen sink and went through to her mother’s bedroom. There she gathered a soft, grey fleece blanket into her arms and padded back to the living room to drape it over her mother.

  Her mother mumbled something. It sounded like Leave me alone. Then she curled up, pulling her knees to her chest, and in doing so knocked over the wine bottle. Damaris picked it up and took it through to the kitchen.

  There she could see the cake on the table, the knife, its blade crusted with icing, and her row of twelve little candles. The one at the end with its sad, pristine wick.

  She bit her lip as she felt all the emotion of the day build up in her. Voices filled her head. Unnameable emotions charged against her ribs and she thrummed with the tension of it all. She wanted to throw the cake out of the window, she wanted to scream until her throat was ablaze, she wanted it all to stop.

  Without articulating what she was doing, why she was doing it, or how she knew it would help, she picked up the knife in her right hand, licked the icing from it and then placed it against her left wrist. She pushed. And as her blood welled on to the blade she heard the voices in her head go quiet and felt a release, like a pop, in her chest.

  For a moment. For a delicious, light-filled moment everything stilled.

  Everything was silent.

  Everything was better.

  Chapter 50

  Amelie flew back to Scotland for the trial via Lisbon. It meant a longer journey but she hoped if the press got wind of her arrival they would be diverted away from her actual home. The first thing she did when she got through passport control and picked up her luggage was to go into a toilet and put on her disguise. Which consisted of a blonde wig she’d bought in Bordeaux to make her look more like the Amelie Hart the British public would be ex­pecting.

  Peter was waiting for her in the arrivals hall. There was a stoop to his back that hadn’t been there before and a weariness in his face. But as soon as he saw her walking towards him, he lit up with a large
smile.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, and gave her a surprisingly strong hug. ‘Great to see you.’ All the tiredness was wiped away by his smile of welcome.

  ‘Let me.’ He reached across and took the handle of her suitcase. Amelie was more than capable of pulling the case along herself but Peter seemed keen to be of assistance, so she let him.

  ‘You’re looking good,’ she lied. ‘How’s Dave?’

  He squared his shoulders as if it might help him bear his burden. ‘Keeping his head down, love. Biding his time.’

  ‘No more incidents then?’

  ‘All quiet on the prison front. Thankfully.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll want to see me?’

  Peter gave her a sad look. ‘He asks about you. All the time. But I don’t think he wants you to see him in that place.’

  ‘That’s so silly.’

  ‘He’s an idiot. What can I say?’ He looked around. ‘I think we should be going.’

  Amelie became aware that they were attracting attention. People were whispering in clusters, sending lingering stares, mobile phones aimed in her direction. All the things she once barely registered now felt like a painful intrusion.

  In the car, as he buckled his seatbelt, Peter told her he had news.

  ‘I expect your money will be replaced in your bank account very soon.’

  ‘What? All of it?’

  ‘We were able to show that you had no part in the theft of your cash.’

  Amelie relaxed a little in her seat. ‘I’ll return your money to you first chance I get.’

  ‘No rush.’ Peter drove off.

  ‘Thank you, Peter,’ Amelie said as she put her hand on his for a moment. ‘You have been so very kind. I don’t know what I would…’

  ‘You’re family, Amelie. Despite how things are with you and Dave. Besides, Norma would be giving me a tongue-lashing from the grave if I didn’t help you out.’ A little bit of tiredness slipped into his voice when he mentioned Norma, and Amelie was struck by how much this man had changed since she first met him. Always polite, slightly stiff and formal was how she first thought of him. Recent events had scrubbed that stiffness from him and he looked older – much older – and his formality had been re­placed with a vulnerability and human warmth that she couldn’t help but respond to.

  ‘It is appreciated,’ she said. She looked out of the window as they joined a slipstream of traffic heading for the city centre. The familiar cityscape unfolded in front of her: the long, wide motor­way full of traffic snaked ahead of them, crowded by buildings on either side. The sky held a vista of clouds in a uniform grey. Just ahead, a gull appeared to float past, then, as if lifted by a strong breeze, it veered off sharply to the right. Raindrops scattered across the windscreen. She turned and looked out of the window at the spread of hills beyond the sprawl of buildings. Familiarity unwound in her, but it was tainted, as if entwined with a snake of discomfort. Until this situation clarified itself, until Dave was free, she’d never feel completely at ease in this city.

  ‘I thought it might be nice if you stayed in the granny annexe at the house, rather than that big lonely flat in the city,’ Peter said.

  ‘Lovely,’ replied Amelie. She had wondered, but was afraid to ask when they’d made arrangements for her visit. A hotel in the centre would have been fine, but she knew Peter would want to provide. She had hoped that he might offer her the flat, but now they were on their way to the house in Bearsden she realised it would indeed be lovely to share the space with him. And besides, the house was surrounded by a large wall and had security gates. Not enough to deter the determined but it would offer some privacy from the more casual observer.

  ‘What time are we due in court tomorrow?’ she asked.

  ‘Ten am.’

  ‘Good. We get a lie in then.’

  ‘Can’t remember last time I had a lie in,’ Peter said. In his tone Amelie read that what he couldn’t remember was the last time he had a good long sleep.

  ‘You sleeping alright?’

  ‘Whisky helps,’ he replied with a self-deprecating smile. ‘Are the folks at the chateau happy to give you the time off?’ He changed the topic smoothly.

  ‘I’ve worked six days a week without any time off since I began there. It wasn’t a problem.’ She didn’t add that she’d concocted a lie about going back to Scotland to spend time with elderly relatives.

  Peter’s phone rang. He answered hands-free.

  ‘Mr Robbins,’ a woman’s voice sounded through the speakers. ‘It’s DS Campbell here. Are you free to talk?’

  ‘I’m in the car with Amelie,’ Peter replied.

  ‘Even better,’ Campbell said, all business. ‘We’ve just received word that Claire Brown has changed her plea to guilty.’

  ‘What?’ Amelie and Peter said at the same time.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Miss Hart, your journey has been unnecessary,’ Campbell said.

  ‘I wonder why she waited until now,’ Amelie thought out loud.

  ‘I’ve given up guessing why people do the things they do,’ Campbell replied.

  ‘I bet this was part of her thinking all along,’ Peter said. ‘She always had the intention of pleading guilty. The evidence was too strong. She just wanted to make life as uncomfortable for Amelie for as long as she could.’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ Campbell said in a tone that sug­gested she was in agreement.

  ‘What happens now?’ Amelie asked.

  ‘There will be a sentencing hearing, and my feeling is that she’ll get a suspended sentence.’

  ‘What? No prison time?’ Peter said. Amelie looked across at him; his lips were a tight line of anger. ‘What a joke.’

  ‘In the scheme of things she didn’t steal that much money. It was an opportunistic crime. And she has a child to look after so I think the procurator fiscal will take the view that a custodial sen­tence isn’t in the public interest.’

  Amelie said nothing as she allowed what DS Campbell was saying to sink in. Disappointment and anger built in her. She wanted that moment in court when she could look across at the dock and see Claire Brown there, in that same position she’d forced Dave into. She wanted to observe the other woman’s discomfort, see her reactions as her crime was read out in court. See how she acted when the moment she stole the money played out in front of the public eye.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Amelie asked. ‘And what about the larger sum? Someone has stolen my money, DS Campbell, and it looks like they’re getting away with it.’

  ‘That is part of another investigation, Miss Hart. We can find no link between those monies and Claire Brown. My advice is to go back to your life in France and leave all of this behind you.’

  Later that evening Bernard called. When she saw his name on the screen she felt a twinge of guilt that she hadn’t let him know she was in the country.

  ‘Good evening, my dear. How is sunny Glasgow? You’re on the news.’

  ‘Sorry, Bernard. I should have let you—’

  He tutted. ‘Not a problem. You have enough on your plate without having to concern yourself with me. Although a cocktail session at The Groucho Club wouldn’t have gone amiss.’

  ‘You know I can’t face the public scrutiny, Bernard.’

  ‘I know, dear. Just missing you, that’s all.’ He sighed. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Looking forward to going back to France.’

  They chatted for a little while about nothing important as if each recognised there was some distance between them and as if they were trying to work on the fraying fabric of that old connec­tion.

  ‘I know you’re enjoying a life of anonymity over there in la belle France, but do you ever hanker for the roar of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd?’

  She managed a chuckle at the old joke, while wondering if there was some self interest in the question. After all she had become his biggest earne
r. ‘Honestly, no, Bernard. I prefer to be real in a real world, if you know what I mean? Being part of the smoke in that mirror, and yet being so reliant on what other people think of me?’ She shuddered. ‘Sometimes I think that horrible man did me a favour.’

  They both knew who she meant by ‘that horrible man’.

  ‘I should have insisted we put a pause on the filming, got you some help. Instead you went straight from that nightmare into a high-pressure major part in a movie, and all that entailed.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have listened to you anyway,’ Amelie said. ‘I was hungry for the success.’

  ‘And then you have all of this with Dave, and the theft … I don’t know how you’re still standing, my dear.’

  There was a long moment’s silence as they both fell into their own thoughts.

  ‘I just feel so bad. I could have been more of a support back then. I mean, waking up in your own bed in that dress. He even made you a wedding cake, for chrissakes. How you got past that and retained your sanity I’ll never know.’

  Amelie was back on the bed. Light from the street picking out the odd detail in the gloom of her bedroom. Lace catching on the skin of her neck. Numbness growing from the restraints on her wrists. Unable to obey any of the commands from her brain.

  Paralysed with fear.

  Chapter 51

  London, February 2010

  ‘I have a surprise for you,’ the man said as he got to his feet. It was still dark outside and Amelie frantically tried to work out how long she might have been out. ‘But you won’t get it if you scream. Do you promise me you won’t make a noise?’

  Amelie nodded.

  ‘Let’s just make sure about that, shall we?’ He walked towards the bed. She shrank from him, but her restraints made any move­ment all but impossible. She felt something being pushed into her mouth. A ball of some sort. Then she felt her hair being tugged and heard a small metallic jingle as whatever he was using was fas­tened at the back of her head.