Thorn in the Flesh (3 page)

‘Well done,’ Nicky said. ‘I never seem to get it right when I play guess the picture. And really I should. I don’t know how you did it.’

‘The luck of the non-artist,’ Kate said. ‘At least you can teach them how to paint one day.’

‘Only when they’re older, maybe, and only then if they want to learn. Just because I do something for a living doesn’t mean they have to. We’ll see.’

Kate smiled and took a sip of her rich, dark coffee. For the hundredth time, she wondered how someone as gentle as her friend could have such a heady, exotic taste in hot drinks. It didn’t seem to go together.

A shriek from the corner and Kate turned to see Louise tearing at her sister’s drawing while Charlotte tried to fend her off with crayons. David snatched up his youngest, extricated the now mangled paper from her fist and gave it back to Nicky who was attempting to comfort her sobbing eldest. Seeing as she was the unexpected onlooker to this small family disaster, Kate thought she ought to try to do her part.

Letting the man of the house deal with the culprit, Kate knelt down next to the still inconsolable twin without touching her and reached into the middle of the play-mat for the paper that Nicky had dropped.

‘Now, Charlotte,’ she said to the girl’s shaking back as she wailed into her mother’s dress. ‘Would you like to tell me what your drawing is?’

She smoothed out the crumpled page and gazed down at the regular blocks of coloured squares, lines and stars which Charlotte had been working on. Even to her eye, it was impressive for a three-year-old, better than Louise’s offering; she could see dark shades of green on the left easing through to lighter shades on the right, and the stars had been scattered across the corners, all their outlines in black and their centres filled with glitter.

‘That’s lovely,’ Kate said and was surprised to find she meant it. ‘Have you done all this yourself?’

The sobbing began to cease and over the head of her child, Nicky caught Kate’s eye and smiled.

‘It’s very clever and very beautiful,’ Kate said. ‘I’d love you to tell me about it. Come on, why don’t you show me what you’ve done?’

Charlotte, one thumb thrust into her mouth, wriggled out from her refuge and tripped across the carpet to where Kate was sitting. As she subsided to the floor and snuggled up close, Kate could feel the heat of her warming her side. She didn’t edge away. For once.

‘Look,’ Kate went on. ‘Those stars are beautiful. All dark and lovely, like the night. I think you’re very clever to do this yourself, aren’t you?’

Next to her, Charlotte shuffled closer and sighed.

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

Over her head, the two women shared a secret glance and Nicky mouthed,
‘With Daddy’s help.’

‘There,’ Kate said, ‘I knew it was yours. Now, why don’t you draw another and then you’ll have two?’

‘Me! Me too!’ A voice piped up in her left ear, causing Kate to grimace. It was always a source of surprise how quickly Louise could get over a telling-off. Kate envied her that level of confidence.

‘Louise! I forget how loud you are. Yes, you can do one too, just as long as you don’t steal your sister’s. After all, that’s not right, is it?’

As she said the words, she had to swallow hard and blink away the threat of tears that were making everything in front of her hazy. Some things could never be right, could they? Not now, and some things weren’t the black and white they ought to be either, though such a concept would be beyond a child’s comprehension. As she struggled to her feet, glad to leave the twins immersed in their new pictures, she almost fell but, thank goodness, strong hands supported her back to the kitchen chair.

‘Are you okay?’

Above her, David frowned and she smiled and tried to nod. ‘Yes, thank you. I just … it doesn’t matter, I’m all right now.’

‘More coffee? You’ve hardly touched it. Wasn’t there enough milk?’

These last questions were from Nicky, and Kate couldn’t help but smile, this time for real. ‘It was fine. I’m sorry I didn’t finish it, but really I’m all right at the moment.’

‘Okay,’ Nicky sat down again at the opposite side of the table, reached out and took both Kate’s hands in hers. At the same time, she gestured her husband to go. Kate however would have been happy for David to stay.

‘Nicky, I …’

‘Look,’ Nicky interrupted and squeezed her hand as if in apology. ‘You don’t have to say anything. Whatever you want to do will be fine by David and me. We’re glad you’re here and, as I’ve said, you can stay as long as you like. Whatever you want to do, let’s do it. Sleeping, walking, reading, shopping, staying in or going out. Or all and none of those. You let me know, Kate, and we’ll do it.’

Without immediately answering, Kate extricated her hands from those of her friend and laid them square on the table in front of her. She could feel the cool grain of the wood patterning her skin. Looking up, she said, ‘I think there is one thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘Please. I’d like to have a bath.’

Fifteen minutes later and the door was locked and the steam rising up over Kate’s skin. It wasn’t the first time she’d had a thorough wash since the attack but now, today, she wanted to start again. Away from the hospital, away from what had happened, and in a place which felt familiar. Leaning back into foaming, rose-scented water, she closed her eyes and tried to think of nothing. From downstairs, she could hear the faint murmur of voices and the occasional high-pitched giggle from the twins, but this didn’t matter. Kate knew she wouldn’t be disturbed for a while. If anyone needed the bathroom, they could use the downstairs toilet. She could stay here as long as she liked, letting the warmth of the water ease the tensions from her body, watching the bubbles sway and burst into milky white clouds on the water’s surface. She was glad of the chance to stretch out and almost to float, drifting with the swell and fall of her own breathing. More than anything she wanted to be clean.

Shaking her head, she opened her eyes again to see the water droplets from her hair shower themselves across her arms. Almost in reverence, she touched the scars she wore there now and with a jerky movement covered them with the foam. It didn’t matter, did it? Whatever she did, what had happened wouldn’t go away, not with all the water or soap in the world. While the warmth and the water lulled her into a blessed emptiness, Kate knew she would still have to find some way to face what had been done. Not that she could name it at the moment. The word floated in her mind like the steam in the bathroom and then skittered away like a frightened animal, one she was herself too scared to pursue.

She stayed in the bath for over an hour, regularly letting the cooling water drain away little by little, and replacing it with hot. Outside the window, the sky darkened during a burst of rain, but a few minutes later, the clouds passed, and she could hear the birds again. Then, at last, when she was ready, she got out, towelled herself quickly without looking down, and dressed herself again. Later, she would have to think about how to get her clothes.

For two more days, Kate spent much of the time sleeping or taking long, hot baths. On the second day, David took her key and collected clothes and toiletries from her home. On his return she hugged him briefly, but asked him nothing of what he’d seen. She wondered if she’d had any post, although of course he would have given it to her, if there’d been any. In any case, she couldn’t bring herself to ask him. The thought of the question made bile rise to her throat, which she swallowed down. Around her, Nicky’s household moved through the routines of its existence, familiar to them but to Kate something new and strange, or known only indirectly.

The twins were up at six, and the whole family washed and breakfasted by eight. Kate watched Nicky help the girls choose their clothes, a subject upon which Louise expressed strong opinions although Charlotte was easier to persuade. She made no attempt to help them herself. In any case, they tended to finish by wearing something pink and glittery, and Kate couldn’t imagine how they managed, Louise especially, not to get what they wore muddied and dusty by the end of the day.

It was only on the third evening that she found herself asking the question she hadn’t known how to frame. It was Wednesday night, the twins in bed at last and the three adults sitting in Nicky’s small blue and cream living room. A stack of CDs rose like a tower from the shelf, dolls and coloured balls were strewn over the dark blue carpet, and a large framed picture of Durham Cathedral, painted by Nicky, was displayed over the mantelpiece. The fire remained unlit. David and Nicky had opened a bottle of Merlot but, after one glass, Kate stuck to water. Outside the rain was starting to fall, a slight patter on the window disturbing the silence in the room. Even though, inside, it wasn’t cold, Kate felt herself shiver.

‘Shall I turn the radiators up?’ David put down his glass and made to get up but Kate shook her head.

‘No. Please, I’m fine. I was thinking, that’s all.’

‘It’s allowed,’ Nicky smiled. ‘In a house full of irritating children, you have to grab moments for thought whenever you can. They don’t happen often.’

‘Louise and Charlotte seem fine to me.’

‘Only in small doses.’

In the silence creeping back from the edges of the room, Kate heard her friend swallow and caught the end moments of a glance shared between husband and wife.

She cleared her throat. ‘It wasn’t a great thought anyway. I was only wondering if I’d had any post. At the house, I mean.’

‘Oh, yes,’ David sprang to his feet with a frown and this time Kate didn’t stop him. ‘Of course, I’m sorry. The letters must have slipped off the seat as I was driving back. Which was why I didn’t bring them in yesterday. Charlotte distracted me. You know what she’s like. Don’t worry. I’ll get them now.’

‘But it’s raining. Leave them till morning.’

‘No trouble.’ He peered round the door. ‘I should have given them to you before. I won’t be long.’

‘But …’ Kate began to protest again, but it was already too late. The front door opened and closed, and then she heard the sound of footsteps running on tarmac. Glancing out of the window, she could see the figure of her best friend’s husband, crouched against the wind, heading down the path and turning right onto the street where he parked his car. She blinked.

‘He didn’t have to,’ she said, almost to herself. ‘It could have waited till morning.’

‘You know David,’ Nicky chipped in. ‘If he doesn’t do it now, he’ll forget and you’ll only have to ask again …’

At the sound of her voice, Kate jumped, spilling her glass of water over the cream-coloured sofa. ‘Oh! I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t worry. Let me.’

Nicky sprang to her feet and, grabbing some tissues, knelt down to help Kate clear up the mess.

‘It’s only water,’ she said. ‘Besides, the twins make so much mess that if you’d spilt a whole bottle of the red, I doubt it would have made much difference. But, Kate …?’

‘Yes?’

‘While David’s gone, do you mind if I say something?’

‘Please.’ Kate waved her hand, but didn’t look at her friend. Instead, she carried on dabbing at the now all-but-gone water with a crumpled tissue.

‘Look,’ Nicky’s fingers on her arm stilled Kate’s movement and the night seemed to close in a little more. ‘I’m not much good at being subtle, you know that, or finding the best way to say things. You know I love you, Kate. You’re my best friend. What’s happened to you is terrible, and I so much want to help, but I don’t know how. I want you to know you can tell me anything and I’ll listen. I’ll do whatever I can and I want you to know that I’m always here, whenever you need me. And I’m so sorry, so very sorry about it all.’

By the time her friend had finished her speech, she was crying and Kate reached out and hugged her, feeling the slight shake of Nicky’s shoulders. Her own eyes were dry and her skin was cold.

‘I know,’ she whispered over and over again. ‘I don’t know what to do either, how to feel, what to say. If I could find the words, then I’d tell you, but I can’t, Nicky. I can’t.’

Kate never heard David come back in. She didn’t hear him open the living room door and just as quickly click it shut again. Neither did she hear him drop the post he’d collected onto the hall table, or the sound of his quiet footsteps fading upstairs.

It was only when the morning came, a bleak morning promising nothing but clouds and coldness, that she opened the first of her letters.

Chapter Five

When Kate woke up, her throat was contracted and she could feel the pulse of blood in her head. She sat up straight in the bed and stared around in confusion for a moment before the collection of Nicky’s early pictures, the white shelves, the art books, even the position of the spare room window all eased themselves into the comfort of familiarity and she unclenched her hands.

It was all right. She was alone. She was safe.

Allowing herself to relax again onto the pillow, she let the previous evening play back in her mind. When she came to the part where David had gone to fetch her post, she blinked and, struggling to her feet, decided to take a shower, if the bathroom was free.

It was. The jet of water drove the ache from her legs and arms and made her head sing. Downstairs, the kitchen was filled with the smell of bacon and fresh coffee, and packed with laughter and movement. When Nicky gestured towards the enormous frying pan with her fork, Kate shook her head, mouthed, ‘No, thank you,’ and backed out of the fray. There’d be time enough for food and company later.

The hall, compared to the kitchen, was a haven of stillness. On the table, under which old copies of
The Guardian
jostled for position, a small bundle of letters beckoned her. She walked towards them, the pace of her heart increasing with each step. The journey seemed to take a lifetime.

‘Don’t be silly,’ she told herself and reached towards the envelopes.

‘Kate? Would you like coffee?’ The opening of the kitchen door brought David’s question and a further riot of sound.

Snatching her hand away from its destination, Kate whirled round. ‘No! No, thank you. I mean later perhaps, when I’ve …’

She trailed off, not knowing what she might say next, whether she would tell what couldn’t then be untold or whether once again, as in so much of her life, the conclusion would be nothing but silence.

David simply smiled and thrust back the small dark-haired face that had appeared at knee height. From this distance, she couldn’t tell whether it was Charlotte or Louise. ‘Okay. Can’t say I blame you. When you’re ready, we’ll make fresh.’

The door closed on chaos and once again she was alone.

She swallowed. Hard. Two paces more and she was there, hands scrabbling through the six or seven letters David had brought from home. Three bills, one brochure for holiday destinations she had no intention of visiting, one advert for a local pizza restaurant and one white envelope, her name and address typewritten across it in large capitals, the stamp second-class, the postmark London.

Glancing round, she dropped the rest of the post back onto the table, stepped into the corner shadows of the hall and, with shaking fingers, ripped open the envelope.

She read its contents three times.

Then, crumpling up the paper, she stumbled to the kitchen and pushed open the door.

Four pairs of eyes stared across at her and Nicky began to get up. Kate waved her away.

‘I have to go for a walk,’ she said. ‘I won’t be long.’

Her friend caught up with her at the door. ‘What is it, Kate? Are you okay?’

‘Yes, please don’t worry. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I need some air, that’s all.’

Nicky stared at Kate, a frown wrinkling her forehead. Then she seemed to make her mind up about something and stepped back.

‘You’ll need a coat,’ she said. ‘Take David’s.’

Unable to speak, Kate nodded and took the Barbour, nestling herself inside and catching the faint echo of its owner’s aftershave. At the door she turned back.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘Be careful.’

‘I will.’

Outside, the air was chill and smelled of rain. The unfamiliar Barbour creaked and rustled as she walked but, by the time she’d reached the end of Nicky’s road and turned left, she no longer heard it.

The walk past Busbridge Lakes and down the hill to Godalming didn’t take long, not that Kate would have been able to mark the time anyway. She hurried along the places on the road where it had no pavement, but didn’t pass many people. It was too early for that. Even the church was dark and still. Those few people she did pass, she turned away from, refusing to make any eye contact at all. It was the first time she’d been out by herself since the attack. It felt as if she’d been branded, as if everyone knew, though it was impossible for that to be true.

The High Street, she decided, was too public so she hurried along until she reached the calmer ambience of Church Street. There, the sandwich shop, the old DIY store, the local newspaper office and the scattering of boutiques were the same as they had always been, and she wondered why she thought they might have changed. It had always been her favourite area of the town and she was glad it was still the gentler side of commerce. She loved the old-style buildings, with their black and white frames, and the shadowed patterns of the semi-paved roadway. It was something from a former age, keeping the sense of elegance and charm it must once have possessed in full. From the sandwich shop, she could smell the welcoming aroma of baking bread and hear the sound of a woman’s voice. The low rumble of her stomach reminded her she hadn’t yet eaten and, on impulse, she turned towards the window, stocked with cakes and assortments of breads. Glancing inside, she could see a young, fair-haired woman behind the counter talking to an older woman clutching a small white box.

No men here then.

Inside, the muggy warmth and a more overpowering wave of fresh bread smells swept over her senses. Two women glanced towards her, gave polite but friendly smiles and turned back to their own transaction. While she waited, Kate took in her surroundings. Long, clean counter, a scattering of brown plastic chairs and Formica tables, with two or three Rembrandt prints adding a splash of sun. It wasn’t somewhere she’d ever been before, although she knew its popularity. Nicky often visited on Friday lunchtimes for a weekend treat for the family. According to her, anything she bought always did the trick.

Kate hoped that would be true now.

A sudden ‘see you later, then’ from the older woman, a quick smile and a punch of fresh air as the door opened and closed, and the girl serving was turning towards Kate.

‘Good morning, madam. Is there anything I can get you?’

She had no idea. Her hunger had brought her here but, when faced with the question, she was unable to think of an appropriate response.

‘Yes, but I’m afraid I don’t know what. The smell brought me inside. There’s so much choice. What do you have?’

Even to herself, Kate thought she sounded afraid. On edge. But the girl simply nodded and Kate felt the muscles in her arms relax. She was unknown then.

‘We-ell,’ the girl said. ‘There are all sorts. Cakes, or sandwiches, with any filling you choose, hot and cold drinks. Do you want to have a look and see if anything takes your fancy?’

As she spoke, the girl waved one stocky arm over the display along the counter.

Kate shook her head. ‘No, something lighter, I think. I haven’t had breakfast yet.’

‘Okay. We do brioches, if you’d like.’

‘Yes. That would be good, thank you.’

‘Coffee as well?’

‘Yes, please.’

The girl began a long litany of Italian and American types of coffee, but Kate cut across her. ‘No, please, just a normal white coffee. No sugar. If that’s possible.’

‘Of course, madam.’

She watched as the girl began to wrap the brioche and set the coffee machine to work. After a heartbeat or two, she glanced across at Kate a couple of times. On the second occasion, Kate noticed a flicker of recognition in her eyes.

She inwardly cursed the tabloid that had somehow found a hazy picture of her to print while she was still in hospital. She swallowed and looked away, her body poised to run, her blood beating loud in her ears.

No.
She had to stay. If she didn’t stay now, then she’d never be able to. This girl was a stranger. There was no need to run, she’d done nothing wrong. She had nothing to be ashamed of. So why couldn’t she feel that way? All the things she knew in her head which her body couldn’t acknowledge. She hadn’t thought it would be this hard.

The space between the girl’s recognition and paying for her purchases seemed to last a lifetime but it couldn’t have taken more than a few moments.

At last Kate stumbled out onto the cobbled street again, trying to ignore the shake of her legs and the queasy feeling in her stomach. It was over. She’d been out, been recognised – yes, she knew she had, she wasn’t a fool – and she was still here. Where the road joined the end of the High Street, she paused. For the first time she realised how wet the drizzle was making her and shook the hair out of her eyes. In front, she could see the rounded pink oddity of the Pepperpot, the old town hall with its open-plan ground level and archway entrances. Sometimes, Nicky exhibited her work there.

On one of the sheltered benches beneath it, she laid her brioche and coffee next to her and, for a long moment, stared out from her vantage point along the slight curve of the High Street. Next, she picked up the coffee beaker, holding it between her hands and feeling the warmth of it easing the shiver in her skin. She took a cautious sip.

Finally, she retrieved the letter from the depths of her coat pocket and read it for a fourth time.

Are you hurting much? I could do it again if you like,
it said.