Authors: Guy Mankowski
The Intimates (20 page)
Waking up in a strange a place , I should have wanted to leave immediately. But I didn't feel that way at all at the foot of The Fountains. Carina and I seemed to belong amongst its hazy decadence, as much as any of the vines or broken statues. As if greeting me, a thin stream of water careered down the faint, sky blue tiles of the swimming pool and towards my feet. Carina's scent filled my nostrils, invigorating me as I watched the trail of water stall, building into a ripe pool inches from my shoes.
I covered her cheek with my hand and lay back. Although I hadn't quite absorbed Carina's words about fate, the scenery did seem to be whispering something to me. But it was only now, after a night in its company, that I felt able to comprehend what it was trying to say.
Carina and I had long reprimanded ourselves for being damaged, for having passed our peak. But this garden too was damaged, and had long seen better days. And yet it seemed that nothing about it should be altered. One only needed to spend sufficient time in its company to realise that every fault was what made it complete. The garden seemed to be uttering that I never again should desire to be different. That I was exactly what, and where I should be. As if saluting my belated understanding, a smattering of birds rise over the trees, singing out jubilantly. I followed them with my eyes as Carina slowly opened hers.
“How did we get here?” she asked, sitting up and laying her dry lips upon my cheek. I shrugged, and stroked a cut on her arm. “There is something quite beautiful about this garden, isn't there?”
“I doubt if Francoise is aware of that. I don't even think she ever comes down here.”
“You're joking, aren't you?” Carina whispered, squinting under the glare of the ever-brightening sun. “Francoise told me yesterday that this is her favourite part of the garden. That her gardener has been tearing his hair out over the state of it, but Francoise insists that it must be kept exactly as it is. That he could not make it more beautiful if he tried. When she told me that I thought she was quite mad. But now I can see that Francoise still has much to teach me.”
Something occurs to me, but then I stop myself.
“What?” she asks, addressing a tear in her dress. “You're wondering something, I know you are. You're wondering if Francoise showed you that secret passageway for a reason, aren't you?”
I laugh. “It's too outlandish a thought for serious consideration. Although if what you say is true, then I don't understand why Francoise has not come looking for us down here.” I lean over to kiss her but my hand slips and I crumple onto the floor. The pain comes crashing back.
As Carina helps me up I notice that she barely looks dishevelled. The long curls of dark hair and the slightly amused eyes make her look like a fawn that's just appeared from the undergrowth.
“You really need to have your cuts looked at,” she says, taking the jacket from her shoulders and placing it around mine. “Should I take you inside, or to a hospital?”
“I'm not sure I need a hospital. But, I'm not entirely sure that going back in there will help my condition.”
She adjusts her earrings and rises to her feet. “I agree. In fact, I am reluctant to go back inside there at all.”
“Do you remember what we agreed? That we weren't going to be restrained by them anymore?”
“Of course,” she answers. “And I stand by that too.” Her hands gently touch the marks at my side, and I close my eyes. I imagine her washing me in one of the fountains by the house, splashing water onto my wounds until each is cleared of blood. I picture the dark fan of her hair backlit by the sun as she cranes over me, precisely attending to each wound. The trees rustling in applause as the two of us step out of the fountain and back onto the grass, walking out of the grounds together without once looking back at the house.
It's the blast of white sun overhead, along with the returning pain which makes me regain consciousness. But I don't open my eyes. My body wants to regroup first, to assess how seriously it's been damaged. It takes me a moment to recall where I am. To realise that I'm surrounded by the sky blue tiles of the pool, smooth and glistening around me, like the walls of an oyster shell. Sealing me from the world for a short while until their protection is rendered useless.
The pool had long been drained of any water. All that filled it now were leaves, brittle and gold in the bright morning sun. When I opened my eyes I saw the hollow shell of the pool, its walls stained with algae. I realised that I wasn't alone in its corner, as huddled against my tuxedo was a girl with dark hair, asleep.
Guy was raised on the Isle of Wight before being taught by monks at Ampleforth College, York. After graduating with a Psychology degree from Durham and a Masters from Newcastle University, Guy formed a Dickensian pop band called Alba Nova, releasing one EP. After that he started working as a psychologist at The Royal Hospital in London followed by a psychotherapy clinic in Newcastle.
Guy Mankowski is also a published short story writer – read his work in the short story collections
Eight Rooms
and
Ten Journeys.