The Secrets of Strangers

by Charity Norman

  ‘Do I seem scary?’ he asks.

  ‘Scary?’ Mutesi looks him up and down. ‘You don’t. But your gun, that’s a very scary thing. I wish you would just lay it on the floor.’

  ‘I don’t want to scare Julia if I see her.’

  ‘Your daughter?’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘Tell me about her.’

  ‘Wish I had my phone. I’d show you a photo.’

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Two.’ He winces as Mutesi closes the wound. ‘Ouch! No … three now. I missed her birthday.’

  Three years old. Giselle was three. The past lives in your memory. It doesn’t leave you. It never leaves you.

  ‘Three going on thirty,’ says Sam. ‘Julia’s the boss of me.’

  Mutesi chuckles. ‘I bet she is.’

  ‘I haven’t seen her for five months. That’s a long time in a kid’s life, isn’t it?’

  ‘That is a long time.’

  ‘Even an hour would be too long. We used to be together all day, every day. I’ve been taking her to work on the farm with me ever since she was a baby.’

  ‘That’s very special,’ murmurs Mutesi. She’s concentrating hard on her task, trying not to leave any space in her mind for a child’s screams. The sound will drive her mad if she doesn’t keep chasing it out. ‘Very special.’

  ‘How many children d’you have, Mutesi?’ asks Abigail. ‘Apart from Emmanuel’s dad?’

  It’s one of those questions people ask. Idly, politely. A conversation starter. They don’t know what they’re asking.

  ‘Four boys and a girl,’ Mutesi replies without hesitation, as she always does. It’s not a lie. It’s not the truth. She begins to hum, hoping the next question will not follow. And what are they all doing now?

  Sam raises his eyes to look at her. ‘D’you think Julia will still remember me?’

  It’s the simplicity of the question that moves her. Poor boy. Her heart swells for him.

  ‘You’re her daddy! She will always remember you.’

  ‘She’ll have to do without me.’

  ‘No, no,’ Mutesi murmurs as she takes out another butterfly strip. ‘She will always need her daddy. It doesn’t matter what mistakes you’ve made. She will always need you. Don’t leave her alone. Don’t do that. Don’t do that.’

  ‘There’s no coming back from what I did this morning.’

  She ponders on his words as she presses the last strip into place. It’s clear to her that Sam intends to make an end of himself. Today, probably. He’s run out of hope, just as she herself did once. Without hope the darkness is monstrous.

  ‘You can come back,’ she says. ‘I’ve known men who killed, and yet themselves still live. Some of them have found forgiveness.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Just some men.’

  They hunt her through her dreams, drunk with hatred. Some of them live in that same place to this day, even in the graveyard of her family. She sometimes wonders whether she’s in their dreams, as they are in hers. She wonders how they can sleep at all.

  ‘All done,’ she announces brightly, shutting the first-aid box and stripping off the gloves. ‘In a month’s time there will be nothing but a little scar. Julia’s daddy is as good as new.’

  What Julia’s daddy needs most of all is sleep. She sees it in every line of his body, in the heaviness of his head on his neck, in the effort it takes him to speak. He presses out another pill and crunches it between his teeth.

  ‘How long can you carry on doing that?’ asks Abigail.

  ‘I don’t actually know.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Ritalin. Keeps you awake if you take enough of it.’

  ‘Useful stuff!’

  For a moment there’s the flicker of a mischievous smile on Sam’s lips, a glimpse of what he must once have been. Long lashes, fine features. A handsome boy, if he wasn’t so broken. And charming too.

  ‘Want some?’ he asks, but he’s joking. The pills are already back in his pocket.

  They work quickly. Within minutes he’s more alert. More nervy too. His mood has swung from despair to a brittle, jarring animation. He’s on his feet again, and pacing. It’s not good at all.

  ‘Best not take any more of those pills,’ suggests Mutesi. ‘They’re not soothing for your brain.’

  ‘I have to. No sleep since Friday. If I drop off now I’ll wake up in handcuffs.’

  ‘What if we promise that won’t happen?’

  ‘Promise all you like, I won’t believe you. Nope. Sorry, but I have to see this through.’

  ‘See what through?’ demands Abigail.

  ‘The end.’

  ‘Agh!’ Abigail looks as though she could strangle him. ‘The end, the end! What does that even mean? What is the end? Where is all this going, Sam?’

  ‘I’ll know when I get there.’

  Mutesi is trying to catch Abigail’s eye, willing her to stop pushing. Every instinct tells her that it’s counterproductive to force this unstable young man into a corner. But tact is not Abigail’s strong point.

  ‘We’ve been prisoners all day,’ she persists. ‘We’ve been threatened, covered in blood, watched a guy get shot. Aren’t we entitled to know what the finishing line looks like? Why do you want to talk to Nicola? What exactly would you say to her?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘We might be able to help. You never know.’

  At these words Neil, who has been entertaining himself with Emmanuel’s pencils, leaves the booth and hurries across to join them. He looks concerned.

  ‘You can’t help, Abi. He can’t talk to Nicola, ’cos she’s not here.’

  It’s odd, the way he says that. There’s something pointed about it, and a meaningful look passes between him and Abigail. Mutesi is baffled. What is going on? Then the shutters come down over Abigail’s face, and she turns back to Sam.

  ‘I’m good at problem-solving,’ she tells him. ‘But I need to know what problem it is I have to solve. I need to understand the causes, the ramifications and a range of possible solutions. Then we work out how to fix it. So come on: tell me exactly what you’re trying to achieve, for God’s sake, and let’s all get out of here.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Abigail folds her arms. ‘Could do better.’

  ‘I want for none of it to have happened,’ he says helplessly. ‘I want to go back in time.’

  A series of gusts rattle the awning. The metal frame clatters, the plastic flaps. Freezing air is rolling in through the broken pane in the door. From somewhere out on the street comes the sound of gurgling and spattering, perhaps a broken gutter. A dog begins to whimper.

  ‘That’s Buddy,’ says Neil. ‘It’s raining pretty hard now, from the sounds of it. The dogs will be getting wet.’

  ‘Shit.’ Sam seems stricken. He stares towards the window. ‘The dogs! I forgot about the dogs.’

  ‘What about if I get them inside here—or I could let them off their leads at least?’

  ‘I forgot about the dogs,’ Sam says again.

  ‘That’s okay, we can put it right.’ Neil takes a step towards the door. ‘I’ll let the other two off, shall I? Bring Buddy back in here with me.’

  He takes another step. Another. Then three more, until he reaches the barricade. Mutesi holds her breath as she watches. Perhaps he’s planning to run off as soon as he’s safely outside. She wouldn’t blame him, in fact she’d cheer him on, but she and Abigail will be left to deal with the consequences. Or maybe he’ll open the door, step out there and invite the police to burst in. Yes, that seems very likely.

  Neil heaves each table aside, making enough space so that he can slip past them to the door. He crouches to slide the bottom bolt, reaches to undo the top. Finally he turns the key. Then he twists around to look back at Sam.

  ‘I think I’ll just let those other two dogs go,’ he says quietly, meeting Sam’s eye. ‘The police will pick them up in no time. But Buddy won’t leave me in a mo
nth of Sundays. He’ll sit right there on the pavement where I left him, no matter what happens. So I have to bring him in. D’you follow me?’

  Sam nods. It’s a small acknowledgement, but it’s enough. Neil turns the handle and pushes the door, and it swings open.

  There’s no light out there. Normally this area in the early evening, just before Christmas, would be bright and bustling with traffic, commuters and shoppers. It’s strange to see total darkness through that door. The sound of gushing water is louder now.

  Neil glances at Mutesi and at Abigail, one after the other. He raises his eyebrows. He steps outside. The door swings shut behind him.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Sam

  He forgot the dogs, and it’s pissing down out there. How could he have forgotten the dogs? What kind of a monster is he?

  All his life, he’s had dogs trotting at his heels. Most farmers around him don’t use them—they don’t have enough stock—but his father and grandfather both did, mainly because they liked them. Bouncer was born the same year as Sam and they grew up together. Eventually he started having trouble with arthritis in his knees, so Dad brought Snoops home: a glossy, black-and-white puppy in a basket. He was a collie too, but leaner and faster and much busier. Dad said Snoops was a clever chap, trouble on four legs, and he and Sam were one of a kind. Bouncer wasn’t very bouncy; he was always ready for a nap. All he wanted to do was snooze by the Rayburn or out on the front step where the sun warmed the black parts of his coat. Snoops used to explore in the sheds, barking at rats. He liked to roll in the dust in the yard making yapping, snapping noises. Sometimes Sam would roll around beside him and the pair of them would end up covered in dust. Snoops and Sam were both just young lads when Dad died.

  Robert showed his true colours when it came to the dogs.

  ‘Those two greedy so-and-sos are redundant now the farm’s leased out,’ he said one day, not long after he and Mum were married.

  Mum was feeding them at the time. Sam was kneeling down on the floor with his arms around their warm necks, one each side. They used to come into the laundry for their dinner. Sam or Mum would pour the food into their brown clay bowls, and they’d scoff the lot in ten seconds.

  ‘Not really redundant, are they?’ puffed Mum. She was lugging the bag of dog biscuits back into the wooden cupboard. ‘They’re family, not employees.’

  ‘But a working dog needs to work.’

  ‘Nah. Not these ones, Robert. They’re pets as much as anything. Bouncer was already semi-retired and Snoops is such an airhead, he runs away from sheep. But Angus loved them to bits, and they loved him.’

  Robert was quiet for a while, watching Bouncer lapping water very noisily and messily. Then he put his arm around Mum’s waist, dropping his mouth onto her neck so that his words were muffled.

  ‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘I feel I can’t compete with Angus.’

  She hugged him with both her arms, kissing his cheek, whispering in his ear. He’d got exactly what he wanted.

  Sam forgot about the conversation almost straight away. Robert didn’t. Oh no. And the thing about Robert was that once he decided he wanted something—or didn’t want something—he would never give up until he’d achieved his aim. It was a point of honour with him. What he wanted most in the world was to erase every memory of Dad, everything to do with Dad, anything Dad had owned or loved or touched. That included the dogs, the farm, Granny, Sundance Kid. That included Sam. Perhaps it even included Mum.

  He bided his time until the weather turned and the leaves came spinning down from the poplar tree by the stable. The days grew wetter and colder, the dust in the yard turned to squelchy mud. Bouncer and Snoops would pad into the house with grubby feet and dripping coats, leaving two trails of paw prints. They lay by the Rayburn with steam rising from their coats. The kitchen smelled of wet dog.

  ‘Why don’t you let me do that? You’re far too beautiful,’ said Robert, when he saw Mum mopping up muddy prints from the kitchen floor. He took hold of the mop and gently tried to prise it from her hands. Sam was sitting at the table, trying to fix a broken drill of Dad’s that he’d found in the shed.

  ‘Back off, buster,’ protested Mum, holding on to the mop. They had a friendly little tug-of-war, both of them chuckling. ‘My dogs, my problem.’

  Robert accepted defeat and got out the red coffee pot and some delicious pecan pie he’d brought home from work. He was always producing sticky goodies that he’d made in the big steel kitchen at Jackson’s Lodge. Sam used to tuck in, even while he fantasised about rubbing Robert’s face in the stuff.

  ‘Those dogs aren’t yours really, are they?’ he said to Mum. ‘They were Angus’s obsession. Look, this is just a suggestion, but how about if I find a new home for them—both together, in a working environment where they’ll have exercise and stimulation. Then we could get a puppy instead! Something small and child-friendly, that doesn’t need much exercise and can live indoors.’

  Mum dumped the mop into the bucket and pushed straggles of hair away from her face.

  ‘I don’t think … no, Sam loves our two guys.’

  Sam stared hard at the broken drill. He was good at pretending he was in another world. From under his eyelids he watched as Robert sidled closer and put his hand on her bottom.

  ‘A puppy, though,’ he wheedled. ‘We’d all love a puppy, wouldn’t we? Hmm? For Christmas? Georgia breeds Border Terriers—she’s got some ready to go quite soon. How about it?’

  Georgia was the manager of Jackson’s and an exotic figure in Sam’s world. She was a widow like Mum, but very unlike her in every other possible way. She made Sam think of a woman from a World War II film: always dressed up to the nines with a nipped-in waist and swirling skirts. She wore her hair in corn-coloured plaits curled around her head. Her throaty laugh did strange things to Sam.

  ‘Ooh, tempting,’ whispered Mum. ‘Georgia’s are nice dogs, I must admit. But we can’t part with Snoops and Bouncer.’

  Sam was mesmerised, watching Robert’s big hand slide up and down his mum’s behind. She was wearing one of her faded old pairs of jeans. They’d got a bit tighter recently. She used to say that Robert’s cooking would be the ruin of her.

  ‘I know you,’ he murmured in his deep voice. ‘I know you better than you do yourself. You’d adore one of those little Border Terriers.’

  ‘We could have a puppy as well as Bouncer and Snoops,’ Sam piped up.

  Robert tweaked his ear as he walked past. ‘Big ears. Three dogs! How much mopping d’you expect your mum to do?’

  He made their coffee while she put the mop away. Sam lay down on the rug between Bouncer and Snoops.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he told them. ‘I love you. I’ll never swap you for a puppy.’

  •

  On the last day of the winter term, Sam was invited to his friend Jake’s house after school. They were forming a band together—Jake on drums and Sam on the guitar and both of them doing what they thought was singing. Jake’s parents must have been very tolerant people.

  Mum collected him after dinner. She and Sam spent the drive home warbling along to the car stereo while he played air guitar. She’d spent the day in London visiting Oma, a duty she always dreaded, so she was relieved it was over. By the time they turned in at their gate it was dark and pouring with rain. Mum parked close to the porch steps and the pair jumped out and splashed through the puddles, giggling as they charged into the house. Robert was in the kitchen, leaning against the sink, wearing one of his trendy fleece tops and a smug smile. Their laughter stopped as soon as they saw him. Sam hardly ever laughed with Robert around.

  ‘Hello, you two!’ he said, looking extremely pleased with himself. ‘I’ve got someone for you to meet. A very nice girl.’

  ‘Oh dear, a visitor?’ Mum started trying to straighten her hair. ‘Who? Where?’

  Sam heard a tap-tapping of little feet as a biscuit-coloured puppy came pottering across the floor towards them, making miniature barking-croon
ing sounds, clumsy paws sliding on the tiles. She was only about the size of a bag of peas.

  ‘So cute!’ cried Mum. ‘Whose is she?’

  Sam squatted down to pat the tiny dog. She rolled onto her back and let him tickle her tummy.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ crowed Robert, ‘I give you Maggie! The newest member of the family.’

  ‘What family?’ asked Sam.

  ‘Our family.’

  Maggie’s fur was wiry, her body sturdy. She bent her head to lick Sam’s fingers. He could hear Mum asking Robert something in a whisper, but he wasn’t really listening. He was too engaged in playing with the puppy. What eleven-year-old boy wouldn’t be?

  Gradually he began to notice that the adults were arguing. Robert’s rumbling voice was easier to hear.

  ‘Look at him,’ he said. ‘He loves Maggie. I did it for him.’

  ‘Yes, but—’ Mum leaned closer and whispered again. She sounded upset. Sam heard the words ‘—just can’t do it. You’ll have to get them back.’

  Robert spun around to face her. His fingers were gripping her elbows.

  ‘I don’t believe this. You did agree. You absolutely did.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, how can you not remember, Harriet?’ He shook her by the arms, as though he was trying to wake her up. ‘Seriously, do you not remember?’

  ‘When did I say that?’

  ‘In here. When you were mopping up the mess those collies made. You were all for it. You agreed Snoops needed more exercise and stimulation and it wasn’t good for him not to be working. You said you liked Georgia’s dogs.’

  ‘I remember saying I liked Georgia’s dogs, but—’

  ‘—and then you asked me to organise this.’

  ‘I didn’t!’

  ‘What are you talking about? Of course you did.’

  ‘I don’t—I—this is awful. Did I really?’ She didn’t sound sure. She sounded scared. ‘You must have got the wrong end of the stick.’

  Sam was listening with his ears out on stalks. Maggie unrolled herself off her back and clawed her way onto his lap.

  ‘You’re really worrying me,’ Robert was telling Mum. ‘You’ve got gaping holes in your memory. You forget whole conversations.’