The Judas Scar (2 page)

Harmony leant down to kiss Will. He opened his eyes sleepily and smiled at her.

‘What was that for?’ he asked.

‘Just because.’

He turned on his side, shifting himself near enough to lay his head on her stomach. ‘This is nice,’ he murmured as he draped his arm over her.

Harmony combed her fingers through his hair and nodded. ‘It is,’ she said.

She glanced up, conscious of being watched, and caught Sophie looking at them with a smile on her face. Harmony smiled too then lay down beside Will, linking her fingers through his. She looked up and saw a single cloud, a wispy white smudge, drifting silently through the wide expanse of blue. She watched it as it moved overhead, morphing imperceptibly from one nondescript shape to the next, and when it had passed she closed her eyes and listened once again to the noises of the people all around them.

C H A P T E R    T W O

‘Are you alright?’ he asked, as they pulled up on the grass beside the long row of cars parked beneath the oak trees. ‘You seem quiet.’

‘Do I? I’m fine,’ she said. ‘A bit distracted perhaps.’

‘But you’re happy?’ There was a hopefulness in his voice that stung her.

‘I am.’

‘I’m glad; it suits you.’

She furrowed her brow. ‘I’m not sure being sad suits many people, does it?’

‘I didn’t mean that. I just meant it’s good to see your smile.Your smile suits you.’

Like a shirt or a new shade of lipstick, she thought. She looked out of the window across the fields that rolled away from the smart estate fencing. The evening was beginning to thicken with dusk and two horses stood beside each other grazing in the last few hours of light, their tails flicking at the midges that hung suspended around them. An ungenerous part of her wanted to tell Will not to be so grateful she was happy, not to be so relieved, but she bit her tongue.

‘I’m certainly feeling more like myself,’ she said. She reached into the back seat for her bag. ‘Come on, we should go, we’re late enough as it is. Emma will never forgive me.’

They got out of the car and Will went to the boot to get his camera bag. Their eleven-year-old Clio looked small and scruffy parked next to the shining army of Range Rovers, Porsche Cayennes and BMWs, and Harmony thought of all those glamorous women inside with their designer dresses and judging sneers.

‘Do I look okay?’ she asked, as she straightened her dress and arranged the pale pink pashmina loosely over her shoulders.

‘You look beautiful,’ he said. ‘I should have told you earlier.’

‘You look good too, like a blond 007. Except for your tie, it’s on the wonk.’ She gestured for him to come to her.

He stepped closer and tipped back his head so she could reach up and straighten his bow tie.

‘There,’ she said, as she brushed her fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to neaten him. His unruly hairstyle had remained unchanged forever, a foppish mess that in spite of the wrinkles which had folded themselves into his forehead and around his eyes managed to keep him looking young for his years. ‘That’s a bit better.’ She brushed a few loose hairs off his shoulders. ‘You might have shaved, though.’

He grinned and rubbed his chin which was covered in light blond stubble. ‘I thought you liked me rough and ready.’

‘I don’t have a choice, do I?’

He leant forward and grazed his scratchy skin lightly against her cheek. ‘No, I’m sorry Mrs English, you’re well and truly stuck with the scarecrow chic.’

They walked hand in hand up the driveway.The gravel crunched beneath their feet and the still summer air was filled with the delicate smell of burning oil from the flares that lined the way. As they neared the house the noise of the party – the exuberant music and a rumble of chatter and laughing – grew, and Harmony’s stomach pitched with nerves. She glanced at Will with a hint of envy; so at ease, his eyes glistening with excitement, his devil-may-care attitude driving him forward without a second thought for all those strangers within.

‘I can’t believe they’ve re-gravelled the drive,’ he said. ‘Christ, can you imagine having so much money you’d redo the bloody drive for a party?’ He laughed. ‘And when Ian asked me to supply the champagne and told me his budget I nearly choked.’

Harmony wasn’t surprised; if you had as much money as Ian said he had, re-gravelling the driveway was nothing. ‘From what Emma’s let slip over the past few months, the drive is just the tip of the iceberg.’

Will rubbed his hands together and grinned. ‘Excellent,’ he said.

‘Can’t wait to get in there and start gawping.’

They reached the entrance to Emma and Ian’s imposing Georgian rectory. There were three stone steps leading up to the front door on which were scattered a few handfuls of red rose petals. Harmony remembered Emma telling her they were supposed to look like wedding confetti, but seeing them now they reminded her of drops of blood and she was careful not to tread on them as they walked up the steps. The heavy oak door opened before they had time to ring the bell and they were greeted by a man in striped grey trousers and a black evening jacket who balanced a tray of champagne on his outstretched hand.

He bowed his head in greeting. ‘Welcome to Oak Dene Hall,’ he said with theatrical formality.

Harmony smiled; she had to admire her friend’s attention to detail. Emma hadn’t mentioned a butler, almost certainly because she knew what her reaction would have been. They’d been friends since primary school, but sometimes Harmony wondered if they had anything in common other than nostalgia. They were different in almost every respect. Harmony loved to travel and devoured books, was dedicated to her work, never went to the gym and rarely wore make-up. In contrast, the world according to Emma comprised a few square miles of rural Oxfordshire and a couple of shopping streets in central London, and, for her, this party was the culmination of months of meticulous planning. Harmony would also turn forty in a few months and had made Will promise there’d be no surprise party. She didn’t even want a card. She’d be perfectly content if the day passed without mention; like a dirty secret it was best kept hidden, not due to vanity but because of everything forty meant. Past her best. The sands of time nearly run through.

Will thanked the man and took two glasses of champagne. ‘I know you’re driving,’ he said, as he handed her a glass. ‘But you should try this, it’s one of the best we stock, from a tiny vineyard that doesn’t usually supply outside of France. It’s very easy drinking, you’ll like it.’

She took the glass and they walked over to the circular table in the large entrance hall that held a huge vase of flowers and a bowl of tropical fruit that spilled over the shining mahogany like a nineteenth-century still life.

Will lifted his glass and she clinked hers against it. ‘Cheers,’ he said, and then kissed her.

She took a sip of champagne. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘It’s delicious.’ He grinned. ‘I knew you’d like it. I thought that when Ian was choosing and steered him this way. The other bottle he was thinking about was heavy, like a brick in the face. I’m not sure he could tell champagne from bleach, to be honest.’

‘Shhh, Will,’ she said, smothering a laugh and glancing over her shoulder. ‘Someone will hear you.’

He laughed.

‘Will?’ she said then, with a certain reticence. She fixed her eyes on her glass, watching the stream of tiny bubbles race to break the surface of her drink to leave a thin, fleeting foam, her tummy flooding with nervous energy.

‘Yes?’

‘I’ve been thinking about things over the last week or so.’ She glanced towards the front door but the butler in the grey striped trousers was busy bowing and didn’t seem aware of them.

‘What things?’

Her heart skipped a beat. She was surprised how difficult it was to get the words out. She’d been over them again and again, toying with them like worry beads in her mind, but as she spoke she stumbled. ‘I think we should try again.’

‘Try again?’

‘Yes.’ She reached for his hand. ‘For a baby.’

Then his face fell. She felt his body tense and his fingers released from hers.

‘It’s been six months,’ she said quickly. ‘And, like I said in the car, I’m feeling good, back to normal really. And seeing you with the boys in the park the other day … I think we’re ready. I know it’s taken some time, but I really think we are.’ She paused, halted by the look on his face. Her stomach lurched; his expression of confusion, of shock, said it all.

Two women approached them, their full-length dresses brushing the floor, heads together, sharing a joke behind lifted hands like Cinderella’s cackling sisters.

‘This isn’t the right time to discuss this,’ Will said, watching them as they passed, his face tense, his ease of earlier gone.

‘Does it need a discussion?’

‘Yes,’ he said in a low voice. ‘It does. This has come totally out of the blue; I had no idea you’d been thinking about this.’

‘It’s all I think about.’

‘I’m not—’

‘Hello, my darlings!’

Harmony closed her eyes and swore quietly at the sound of Emma’s voice. What a stupid time to pick to talk to Will about a baby. They needed time and space and now she had to smile and chat and pretend everything was okay. She turned to face her friend who was dressed in black from shoulder to toe, the taut satin fabric sparkling with what looked like ten thousand beads and sequins.

‘Thank God you’ve arrived!’ Emma threw her arms around both of them and kissed each of their cheeks in turn. ‘I was beginning to worry you weren’t coming!’

‘As if we’d miss it,’ Will said, turning his smile on like a light.

‘You look amazing, Em.’ Harmony’s mind was full of Will’s reaction, the way he’d looked at her as if she’d spoken in tongues or pulled out a gun.

Emma beamed. ‘You do too!’ she said. ‘I can’t believe you spend all your time in jeans and a sweatshirt. I’d kill for a figure like yours.’ Then Emma leant forward and gave Harmony a hard stare. ‘Are you okay?’

Harmony nodded. ‘Will and I were just having a bit of chat, that’s all.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s nothing. We’re fine.’ She gave Will a tight smile to prove how fine they were.

Will smiled back and put his arm around Emma’s shoulders and squeezed. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘And I hope you’ll let me have the first dance with you.’

Emma squealed. ‘Oh, yes please! Now, enough of the serious talking, let’s go and have some fun! Oh,’ she said, touching his arm.

‘You’ve got your camera, haven’t you?’

Will patted the bag that hung over his shoulder. ‘Of course.’

‘Good,’ she said. ‘It would be great to get some photos of people while they still look gorgeous. Will you take one of Harmony and me now?’

Without waiting for him to answer she stood next to Harmony and put her arm around her waist. ‘God,’ she said. ‘You really don’t have an ounce of fat on you, do you? My bloody stomach looks like a hot cross bun with all the flab and c-section scars.’

Harmony smiled weakly. She leant in towards Emma and posed for the photograph.

‘See you in there,’ Emma said, and they watched her walk down the hallway towards the party, lifting a hand and shrieking a welcome to another of her friends as she went.

Neither Will nor Harmony spoke immediately. Harmony rested her hand on her tummy – flat, muscular and barren. Would they ever go away, these flashes of sadness? The desperate grief that had come with her miscarriage had been hard to endure. The only time she’d felt anything like it was when her mother died, but at least then the loss had been tangible, an actual person had physically gone, a person of whom she had memories and photographs. It was far easier to miss her mother’s hugs or the way she stroked her forehead at bedtime than it was to miss a baby she’d never met. She was painfully aware she was mourning a concept, an unknown foetus barely the size of her thumb – four point one centimetres, the books had told her – no name, no face, even gender unknown.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said with a heavy sigh. ‘You’re right, this isn’t the right time to talk about it.’ She tried to smile. ‘I wasn’t thinking. It just came out.’

‘You don’t have to be sorry. You’ve done nothing wrong. It took me by surprise, that’s all.’ Will reached for her hand and she squeezed it. He leant forward and kissed her forehead and she rested her head against his lips for a moment and closed her eyes.

‘Come on,’ he said, taking a step back from her. ‘Let’s get on with enjoying the evening.’

Harmony hesitated, wondering briefly if Emma would notice if she slipped away, past the ridiculous butler, over the petals on the steps, out to the quiet safety of the car and then home. But instead she nodded and followed Will.

The party was in a marquee that butted up to the side of the house and was accessed through the French windows in the living room, a high-ceilinged room with two huge sash windows, original plasterwork and a number of sofas carefully arranged with gold-tasselled cushions. She gasped as they entered the marquee. It was enormous, covering the entire rose terrace, the neatly clipped box hedging and flower beds incorporated into the design with garlands of flowers and strings of lights and what appeared to be a thousand candles decorating every surface, every corner, beneath a navy-tented roof that was studded with lights to look like stars. There was a table in front of them that held a cake that was more work of art than pudding with hundreds of perfect choux puffs piled three feet high with hardened glistening caramel flowing down them like lava. Waiters circulated with bottles of champagne and silver trays of geometric canapés. The tent heaved with beautiful people with shining white teeth and loud, confident laughs, all vying to be heard over the music.

‘Christ, it’s like
Made in Chelsea
does
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
. Look,’ he said then, gesturing with his glass. ‘There’s Ian. We should go and say hello to Oxfordshire’s answer to the great Mr Gatsby.’ He started to walk but she didn’t follow. He turned back to face her. ‘You coming?’

‘You go ahead,’ she said, trying to sound relaxed. ‘I’m just going to nip to the loo.’ She took a step backwards. ‘I won’t be long.’