Guilt Page 8

  Miranda, you look so worried. Is it because you’ve guessed I’ve taken something? Is it because I’m pissed? Let me tell you, Miranda Cunningham, drink and drugs will not detract from my amazing puppet theatre. They will only help.

  32

  Sebastian

  Jude, the sister started to kiss me back. Just for a split second. She wanted to, you know. A stupid frivolous bitch, always pretending she isn’t interested in me. She is interested. I know she is.

  33

  Miranda

  ‘Still feeling guilty about kissing me, are you?’ he asks as he catches up with me on the way to work.

  ‘I didn’t kiss you,’ I hiss.

  He puts his head back and laughs. ‘But you started to, didn’t you? You wanted to.’

  He turns and stands in front of me, putting his hands on my shoulders. He leans towards me. His breath mingles with mine.

  ‘I didn’t want to.’

  ‘Do you think your sister will believe you?’ Brown eyes darken to black.

  ‘My sister doesn’t need to know what happened.’

  A slow forced smile. ‘Deceitful little minx, aren’t you? Don’t you care about lying to your sister?’

  THE PRESENT

  34

  She is sitting in front of the psychotherapist, who has visited the prison for her appointment. He is a middle-aged man with a bald head. He has brown eyes infused with kindness and a wide, friendly mouth that always looks as if it is on the brink of a smile.

  ‘Are you feeling any better?’ he asks.

  ‘A little. But starting from a low point that’s not good.’

  He leans back and waits for her to continue.

  ‘I feel punctured. Exhausted. As if I can hardly hold my head up.’

  ‘And what about the crying?’ he asks.

  ‘It has almost stopped.’

  ‘Good.’ He pauses. ‘But when it comes, what triggers it?’

  She shrugs. ‘Anything. Nothing. I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Keep a notebook. Maybe that will help. Then when you come to see me next we can discuss it.’

  She closes her eyes. She remembers. The last time she cried was as soon as she felt air on her cheeks walking around the quad during association. Being outside. A sudden reminder of how her life used to be.

  A few hours later she is sitting opposite Theo Gregson in the legal visit area. Theo is dressed down today, wearing jeans and a rugby shirt. His abundant hair is freshly washed and the room smells faintly of his herbal aftershave. Of oregano. Of sage.

  ‘Mr Mimms is busy,’ Theo explains. ‘He’s the duty solicitor today – the only one on, so he’s up to his eyeballs.’ He pauses. ‘So I decided to come alone. I just wanted to know how you’re feeling?’

  How can she answer him? She doesn’t want him to know how bad she has been. She doesn’t reply; she just sits looking into his amber eyes.

  ‘What have you heard?’ she asks after a while.

  He shrugs his shoulders. ‘Nothing.’ There is a pause. ‘I just thought this would be a bad time for you after the funeral. I wanted you to know I’ve been thinking about you.’

  She can’t tell him that since the drugs started to work and she stopped crying all the time she’s been thinking about him too. How old is he? Is he still single like her? Could a man as attractive as him still be free?

  She pulls her eyes from his and looks at the floor. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Does it help at all, knowing other people are thinking about you?’

  She lifts her face and looks back into his eyes. ‘Yes.’ She smiles. ‘Of course it does.’

  ‘Good. Well I’ll continue then.’ He leans back and crosses his legs. ‘Have you heard from Sebastian recently?’ he asks.

  Her stomach tightens. ‘No.’

  If only she could explain to Sebastian what happened. Why hasn’t he visited? Where has he gone? Is he having one of his claustrophobic periods when he fears the sky will move towards him and crush him? One of those times when he can’t communicate with anyone and needs to be alone? What does he think happened? What does he think she has done?

  ‘I need to check up a few things about him,’ Theo Gregson says.

  Her heart quickens. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘About his family life. His background.’

  Golden amber eyes are holding hers.

  ‘Well, he comes from Bristol. You know that. I gave you his address. My sister and I both visited his house. His parents are doctors of some sort.’ I shrug a little. ‘But we never met them.’ Her voice is cracking. ‘As it turned out, we knew him for less than a year.’

  Almost a year of knowing Sebastian. The longest year of her life.

  ‘As it turns out, you don’t seem to know very much about him.’

  ‘Is that a question or a statement?’

  ‘A question. I saw him at your sister’s funeral,’ Theo continues. ‘He was staring at you a lot, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. His look frightened me. It was so intense.’

  ‘I noticed.’

  Silence rises in the air between them. Theo crosses his legs and leans back in his chair. ‘Has he tried to contact you at all since you’ve been on remand?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t you think that’s strange?’

  ‘Yes. Of course I do. He must be so freaked out by what’s happened.’ She pauses. ‘I’ve written to him again.’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘He still hasn’t replied,’ she tells him. She shrugs. ‘Maybe he didn’t get my letters.’

  For a second his eyes cloud with worry. He is frowning. Theo usually looks so positive. She watches his frown soften. He curls his lips into a smile. He leans down and opens his briefcase. His barrister’s black leather box with handles. He pulls out a bag from Waterstones.

  ‘I brought you a few more books and a box of chocs. Lightweight chick-lit. Thought it might cheer you up.’

  Choked by his kindness, she says, ‘Thanks.’

  THE PAST

  35

  Sebastian

  Preparing to lie to her sister. I really caught her out. She makes me shudder. Not worthy of Zara, who is so virtuous and kind, like you always were, Jude. Zara and I are sitting watching TV. My mind isn’t here, but in another place embedded deep in my memory. Do you remember our final skiing holiday, Jude? The special day when we escaped from the rest of our party? When we went off-piste for the first time, just the two of us?

  I followed you down the mountain. You were easy to see in your lime green ski-suit. I skied behind you because I wanted to protect you. Help you up if you were to fall. The snow so fresh it glistened with moisture. Fluffy to touch, like duck feathers. But you didn’t fall, did you? You were such a good skier, so elegant. Gliding down the mountain as if your feet were wings.

  Sometimes, I still close my eyes and hear the silence of those mountains. Feel sharp air cut across my skin. Smell wood smoke and pine trees.

  At the end of the day, as we wound our way home we had to ski back on piste. After the fresh snow, the piste felt icy. Flat and weird. We stopped at the last bar, on the last corner of the lowest piste. Some elderly Austrians having a party, dancing in their ski boots. We sat and watched them. You always liked people-watching, like me. We asked for two large beers and they brought us giant glasses, a litre each. You were red-faced and exhilarated, wide-eyed and happy.

  You trusted me so completely. You didn’t know then that six months to the day, I would kill you. We had so little time left then, and we were so happy. Looking back it was better not to know, don’t you think?

  THE PRESENT

  36

  She has not cried at all for several weeks. She feels flat, but purposeful. Little by little she’s on the way. She doesn’t believe in God, but someone is looking out for her. A prison officer came to her cell yesterday, a dark-haired woman with brown eyes – dark bags beneath them – and a gold stud in the side of her nose. Asian beautiful. Slim and elegant. S
he stood in the middle of her cell and smiled.

  ‘I’ve come to tell you that you’ve been allocated a job in the library.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Report there tomorrow morning at free-flow.’

  Free-flow. The time the prison community is allowed to move around. Five minutes in the morning to get to your job. Doors unlocked. Doors soon locked behind you again. A life of doors locked behind you. A life of listening to turning locks.

  Free-flow and she is walking along the corridor. She finds herself walking along next to Jane – her favourite listener. Listeners: prisoners who have been trained by the Samaritans, to listen to other prisoners who need help. And she has been so distressed she has needed a listener almost every day. Jane has come to see her so often she’s become a friend. She is a middle-aged mousy blonde, with a pale voice, pale skin, and pale eyebrows. Eyebrows so pale they are almost non-existent. There is nothing forceful about Jane. She must have been stitched up by someone else to end up in here.

  At the moment Jane’s gentle passivity is all she can cope with. Jane is kind. Kindness is what she needs. She reaches for her hand and they walk along the corridor together, fingers entwined. She last saw her a few days ago.

  ‘How’s everything going?’ Jane had asked then.

  ‘Not too bad,’ she’d replied quietly.

  ‘That’s good then. That’s an improvement.’ A pause. ‘Are you still beating yourself up?’

  She had burst into tears.

  ‘Have I said the wrong thing?’ Jane asked.

  ‘My sister and I used to use that expression sometimes,’ she managed between sobs. ‘I guess I will always beat myself up now.’

  ‘It’ll diminish.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ she asked.

  Jane looked at her with sad eyes. Sadder than sad. ‘I’ve been there, you know,’ she said.

  Jane so kind and gentle; she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  ‘Missing the person you killed?’ she asked, her voice ringing with surprise.

  ‘Missing someone I’ll never see again.’ Jane paused and sighed. ‘In the end the longing will decrease.’

  ‘No it won’t. I killed my twin sister. She is part of me.’ A silence.

  Today, as they walk along the corridor together, Jane asks, ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I’ve got a job in the library.’

  ‘Congratulations, Professor.’

  ‘Hardly a professor.’

  ‘You’ve been to uni.’

  ‘So has everyone these days.’

  ‘Not in here, they haven’t. You have to be a professor to get a job in the library.’ Jane squeezes her hand. ‘You’re a professor to me anyway.’

  THE PAST

  37

  Zara

  I am sitting in bed watching Sebastian getting dressed; pulling up his jeans and fastening the press stud just above the tail of his snake tattoo.

  ‘Next weekend I’m going to the Lake District with my parents,’ he announces.

  At the mention of his parents I stiffen. My Achilles heel. We are so together, but I still haven’t met them yet.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I ask, trying not to sound waspish.

  ‘Borrowdale.’

  ‘Lucky you,’ I reply, hoping for an invite.

  But an invite doesn’t come. He continues getting dressed, pulling a black V-neck top over his head.

  ‘Walking I presume?’

  This is beginning to sound like an interrogation. He nods his head and smiles. A short, uncertain smile. Nowhere near as flamboyant as usual.

  ‘Any particular special occasion?’

  His eyes darken. ‘Mother’s birthday.’

  I can’t hold it in any longer. ‘Sebastian, why don’t you want me to meet your parents?’

  He comes and sits next to me on the bed. He takes my hand in his. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just not possible yet.’

  ‘But why not? We’ve been going out for months now. What’s the matter? Are you ashamed of me?’

  He holds my gaze in his. ‘It really isn’t like that.’

  ‘What is it like then? Tell me. It’s serious. I feel excluded from a major part of your life.’

  ‘I’ll sort it out soon, I promise,’ he says.

  ‘I wish I could believe you,’ I reply and break eye contact to look out of the window.

  ‘If you loved me you’d believe me,’ he says.

  ‘I can’t love someone who doesn’t love me back.’

  38

  Miranda

  Something is wrong with the lovebirds. Sebastian has left my flat looking thunderous. You haven’t emerged yet. Are you about to split up?

  Two hours later. Sebastian hasn’t returned. You still haven’t appeared. I am pottering about my flat, tidying up a bit. Drinking coffee. Flicking through the newspaper. Curiosity pricking. I make a cup of tea and knock on your bedroom door.

  ‘Come in,’ you say weakly.

  I open the door and step inside. I inhale a tangle of over-sweet perfume and stale sweat. Don’t you ever open the window? I step across a river of discarded clothing and progress towards your bed. I cannot see you, Zara. All I can see is a lump under the covers.

  ‘I’ve brought you a cup of tea,’ I say brightly, too brightly I suspect for you this morning.

  The lump under the cover moves. Your head appears, hair more tousled than ever, eyes red. I sit on the edge of the bed beside you, and hand you the tea.

  ‘Thanks,’ you say and sniff.

  ‘What are you doing today?’ I ask.

  You shrug. ‘Not sure. I’m annoyed with Sebastian.’

  ‘What’s he done?’ I ask.

  ‘He’s going away next weekend with his parents and he hasn’t invited me. It makes me feel uneasy about him. As if I am not important enough to him.’

  This is it. This is my opportunity.

  ‘I don’t blame you for being annoyed. It’s high time you met them.’

  My tone was perfect. Casual. Impartial. Ideal for making sure you listen.

  ‘They’re not doctors you know,’ I continue.

  39

  Zara

  Your words pierce into me.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I splutter, almost spilling my tea.

  ‘His parents. I got a friend to look them up in the medical directory. They’re not listed.’

  Your face looks so jubilant. What is the matter with you, Miranda? Why are you so keen to catch Sebastian out? What has he ever done to harm you?

  ‘Maybe they have different professional names,’ I say.

  Your grey eyes are tighter than usual today, like a beady hamster’s eyes; small and round. I do not know how to respond to you. For despite my angry words this morning I don’t want to believe that Sebastian has been lying. As soon as he left the room in a temper, I knew I would do my best to pull us away from this argument. I never want us to be apart. He would only lie to me for good reason. And even if he has been lying, I will forgive him, for I love him. But then I pinch myself. You would only lie to me for good reason too. I feel stretched and torn. Tired.

  ‘Have you got a set of keys to his house?’ you ask.

  ‘No. But I know where he keeps a spare set. Why?’

  You lean towards me. ‘Next weekend, when his whole family are away, let’s go in and search around, see what we can find out.’

  I look at you, open-mouthed. What is the matter, Miranda? You seem so highly strung right now. So out of control.

  ‘That’s trespassing, isn’t it?’ I ask.

  ‘Not really. You know where the key is.’ Your grey eyes shine to silver. ‘If anyone finds out, just tell them you lost your credit card, and had to check whether you left it there. It’s really quite simple.’

  ‘It might be simple for you, Miranda, but it’s not simple for me. He’s my boyfriend. He trusts me.’

  ‘Trusts you?’

  You raise your eyebrows in a condescending way, which annoys me. ‘Y
es,’ I snap.

  ‘So you think trust is important?’

  ‘Of course,’ I reply with a sigh.

  ‘Then we need to go through with this. You need to know more about him, to be able to trust him back.’

  40

  Zara

  The following Saturday, despite my reticence, I find myself walking along with you towards Sebastian’s parents’ house. When we arrive, I lift the large stone hidden beneath the choisya bush by the front gate to retrieve the spare keys. As we walk to the front door I feel them jangling in my pocket, making me feel guilty.

  We pad up the driveway, past the immaculately ironed front lawn. Past the rest of the carefully designed shrub border. I ring the bell. Footsteps in the hallway. Someone is opening the door. I can’t bear this. I wish I was invisible. I am so tense. I close my eyes and open them again. Sebastian is standing in front of us. He looks unkempt. He hasn’t shaved. His hair needs washing. He has dark circles beneath his eyes from lack of sleep.

  ‘Oh my God, Zara, Miranda, what are you both doing here?’ he asks.

  ‘We could ask you the same thing,’ I reply.

  ‘I’ll leave you two to talk,’ you say.

  I hear your footsteps crunch across the stones of the driveway as you step away. Miranda, I am so glad you are going. I want to sort this out in my own way. Sebastian and I stand looking at each other. I am not sure which of us is more surprised. He isn’t smiling, but he doesn’t look angry. My stomach is churning. My heart is racing.

  ‘Come in. Let’s talk about this,’ he says softly.

  Perhaps his parents are here. Perhaps I will meet them now. But as soon as I step inside I feel only silence, and I know they are not here.

  ‘Why didn’t you go to the Lake District? Where are your family?’

  ‘Come into the sitting room, and I’ll explain.’

  We sit on opposing leather sofas, still looking at one another with surprised eyes. I am aching for everything to be all right. He looks so lovable, so familiar. So much part of my life.