The safe house Page 16

  In her excitement, Elsie looked like a party balloon that had been blown up almost too far and if it were released would shoot around the room out of control.

  ‘There’s a spade hanging on the door,’ she said.

  ‘And ask Elsie what’s on the doormat.’

  ‘What’s on the doormat, Elsie?’

  ‘A sand-castle,’ Elsie said with a shriek.

  ‘A sand-castle on the doormat? That’s a funny thing.’

  ‘And ask Elsie what’s in Mummy’s bed.’

  ‘What’s in Mummy’s bed?’

  ‘A big hug.’ And Elsie ran forward and threw her arms around me. The feeble pressure on my shoulders almost made me cry. I mouthed a thank-you to Finn over Elsie’s shoulder.

  Elsie wanted Finn to put her to bed but I wasn’t going to be cheated out of that and I insisted and then she insisted and I carried Elsie’s wriggling body up the stairs, promising that Finn would come and kiss her good-night and tell her a story. After I’d peeled off the wet suit and pulled on some jeans and a T-shirt, I brushed her teeth and then rather grumpily read her a book of tongue-twisters.

  ‘Can I see Fing now?’

  ‘Kiss me good-night first.’

  With a sigh she pushed her lips forward and then I was dispatched downstairs to fetch Finn. She slipped past me to keep her appointment with my delinquent daughter. Danny was still sitting in the chair, but I saw he had a fresh bottle of beer. I noticed three empty bottles next to the foot of the chair.

  ‘Let me have a sip,’ I said, and he handed me the bottle. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘It’s time I was in London again, that’s all.’

  ‘All right.’

  There was another silence and, again, it wasn’t a comfortable one. I sat on the floor at his feet and leaned back against him, feeling his knees against my shoulder-blades. I sipped at the bottle and then passed it back to him.

  ‘What do you think of Finn?’ I asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘How does she seem to you?’

  ‘I’m not a doctor, doctor.’

  ‘You’re a human being.’

  ‘Thanks, Sam.’

  ‘You spent the day with her, Danny. Tell me what you think?’

  ‘Interesting girl.’

  ‘Interesting damaged girl,’ I said.

  ‘You’re the doctor.’

  ‘Do you find her attractive?’

  Danny frowned.

  ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

  ‘When Michael dropped me off, we looked in at the house. I saw Finn stretched out on the floor in front of the fire. I thought that, if I were a man, I might find her very attractive. A lovely seductive creature.’

  ‘Well, you’re not a man.’

  There was a silence. I listened for Finn’s tread on the stairs. Then I heard a distant giggle from Elsie. Finn would be a few minutes yet.

  ‘Danny, have you got a problem with this?’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘With Finn, this set-up, you know.’

  I felt Danny’s hand on my hair. Suddenly he grasped it and pulled my head back. I felt his lips against mine, I tasted his tongue. His left hand ran up my stomach. I felt an ache for him. He stopped and sat back. He gave a sardonic smile.

  ‘You know I’d never tell you how to run your life, Sam. But…’

  ‘Shhh,’ I said.

  There were steps outside and Finn drifted in and sat near us on the mat in front of the fire.

  ‘Elsie’s almost asleep. I’ve made a couple of salads,’ she said. ‘Some garlic bread. I didn’t think you’d want much. I hope that’s all right.’

  ‘You didn’t have any other culinary plans, did you, Sam?’ Danny asked sarcastically.

  Finn giggled.

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ I said.

  Danny drank a couple more bottles of beer. I drank wine. Finn drank water. The salads were crispy and colourful. You could almost mistake them for the ones you get in plastic beakers at M&S. I talked a bit about the day’s sailing. Finn asked a couple of questions. Danny said almost nothing at all. Afterwards, we took mugs of coffee back to the living room where the fire had burned down to its embers. Danny had yet another bottle of beer. I put some small pieces of firewood on the embers and blew and blew until there were flames once more. The wind was rattling the window frames and blowing drops of rain against the glass.

  ‘It’s the sort of night when it feels wonderful to be in front of a fire,’ I said.

  ‘Stop that crap, Sam,’ said Danny.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re talking like a fucking advertisement for something.’

  He walked over to the window.

  ‘This isn’t you, Sam. What are you doing here? There’s just trees out there and mud and marsh and rain and then the sea. Real people can’t live here, only dressed-up oafs who go hunting.’

  ‘Stop it, Danny,’ I said, with a glance across at a shocked Finn.

  ‘Why? What do you think about it, Finn? Do you like living out here.’

  Finn looked panic-stricken.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she mumbled. ‘I’ve just got some clearing up to do. In the kitchen.’

  She hurried from the room and I turned to Danny in a rage.

  ‘You fucking buffoon,’ I hissed. ‘What are you playing at?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘The countryside pisses me off. This whole thing pisses me off.’

  ‘How could you talk like that in front of Finn? How could you? What’s going on? Do you resent Finn, or Michael? Are you jealous?’

  Danny raised the bottle and drained it.

  ‘I’m off to bed,’ he said and left the room.

  I leafed through a magazine for a few minutes until Finn joined me.

  ‘I apologize,’ I said. ‘Danny can be strange.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Finn said. ‘I like Danny. I like the way he can just say anything. I like his difficulty. I’ve always gone for that sort of grim man.’

  ‘I haven’t.’

  Finn smiled and sat next to me on the rug in front of the fire. She pressed close. I could smell her soft, warm skin.

  ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ I asked.

  ‘Do you know what I hate about all of this, what’s happened to me?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s an idea that suffering has made me this delicate, saintly creature and everybody gets worried if they say the wrong thing when I’m in earshot. No, I didn’t “have a boyfriend”. When I was fat no one was interested in me, of course, and I guess I wasn’t interested either. Or I was terrified. Maybe that’s what being fat was partly about for me. After I lost all that weight but wasn’t like a bicycle frame either, I felt completely different, and then I had sex with boys sometimes. Especially in South America; it was part of the adventure. Well –’ she gave a harsh, unlikely chuckle – ‘Mummy always said I was too young to get tied down. Does it shock you?’

  Well, yes.

  ‘No, of course not. I’m afraid that I, and all of this,’ I gestured at our surroundings, ‘must seem a bit staid to you.’

  ‘Oh, no, Sam.’ Finn turned to face me. She stroked my cheek and kissed it, very softly. I wanted to draw back, but forced myself not to. ‘I don’t think you’re staid.’ She sat back. ‘I used to be – for God’s sake, I am – someone who acts on impulse. When Danny was talking about the countryside I sort of agreed with him. But at the same time, for me it’s not boring. I have this idea in my head that won’t go away. There are people out there in the dark who put tape round my face and cut my throat and they would do it again if they had the chance.’

  ‘Don’t, Finn.’

  ‘But it’s more than that, Sam. I have this image playing over and over in my head. I don’t know whether it’s a dream. I imagine this house in the middle of the night. Torchlight outside, a window sliding up. A creaking on the stairs. I wake up with masking tape over my mouth, a blade at my throat. Then they
move to your room. Then to Elsie’s…’

  ‘Finn, stop that,’ I was almost shouting. ‘You mustn’t say that. You have no right to say that.’

  I felt a sour taste in the back of my throat. I wanted to be sick.

  ‘Whose feelings are you protecting?’ Finn asked. ‘Mine or yours?’

  ‘Mine, for once.’

  ‘So you know how it feels.’

  I felt cross.

  ‘I knew how it felt already, Finn. I knew. It was wrong of you to say that about Elsie. Don’t bring my daughter into this.’

  ‘I’m desperate for them to be caught, Sam.’

  There was something eerily theatrical about all of this.

  ‘We all want that.’

  ‘I want to help. I’ve been thinking and thinking, trying to remember something, anything that could help the police. A smell maybe, a voice. I don’t know.’

  My mind was clouded by it all, by the wine, the warmth of the fire, the lateness of the hour. I tried to make myself think clearly. Was she trying to tell me something?

  ‘Finn, is there something you’re holding back, something you haven’t told the police?’

  ‘I don’t think so. At least…’

  ‘Was there anything else that happened to you during the assault? Have you told the police everything?’

  ‘Why should there be anything? I wish there was. Maybe there’s something I’m not facing up to. Perhaps I’m being cowardly. Sam, I want to help. Can you do anything for me?’

  She put her arms around me and held me, so close that I could feel her heart beating. She was hugging me desperately. This was creepy, all wrong, as if I were being seduced by somebody who knew I couldn’t reject them. I put my arms around her like a mother comforting a child, but at the same time I was watching myself putting my arms around her, wondering what I was doing. I was dubious about my role as Finn’s doctor, dubious about my role as Finn’s friend, and now she was expecting me to become some sort of psychological detective, some sort of soul mate.

  ‘Sam, Sam,’ she moaned. ‘I feel so lonely and helpless.’ If this was a crisis, I wished I felt a bit more in control of it, less manipulated.

  ‘Stop this and calm down. Stop!’ I pushed her away. Her eyes were puffy and wet, she was panting. ‘Listen to me. We’re here to support you. You are protected. No harm will come to you. All right? Secondly, it is entirely possible that there could be a degree of memory loss associated with emotional and physical trauma and it is remediable. But now, late at night, when we’re tired and overwrought, is not the time to talk about it. Things can be done, but I doubt whether I would be the right person to do them. For a variety of reasons. Above all, there are kinds of therapeutic help that you can’t get from me and you can’t get in this environment. We have to think about that. I regard you… That’s too clinical. You are a dear friend. But we have to think about things. But not now. Not even tomorrow. Now go to bed.’

  ‘Yes, Sam,’ she said in a frail, chastened voice.

  ‘Now,’ I said.

  She nodded and took a final sip of her coffee and left the room without a further word being exchanged. When she was gone I gave a great sigh. What had I brought into my house? And now Elsie adored Finn more than anybody else in the world. What was I doing to everybody?

  I went upstairs. I let my clothes fall and got between the sheets in my dark bedroom and felt the warmth of Danny’s body. I ran my hands over him, under, over, between. I needed him badly. He turned and clutched me fiercely. He kissed me hard, his teeth nipping at my lips. I felt his hands rough on my body. I bit into his shoulder to stop myself from screaming with a pleasure that was almost fear. He pinned my arms above my head with one large hand and felt me with the other, felt me as if he were learning me all over again. ‘Don’t move,’ he said as I wriggled in his grasp. ‘Lie quite still now.’ And as he thrust into me I felt he was fucking me with all the suppressed passion, anger even, of the evening. He didn’t speak my name, but he looked at me steadily and I shut my eyes to escape from his. Afterwards I felt battered, wounded. Danny’s breathing became slow and regular and I thought he was asleep. When he spoke it was in the drowsy, slurred tone of a man half asleep, who can scarcely order his thoughts.

  ‘Have you been looking at Finn?’ he murmured. ‘Really looking at her. Like the great doctor you are.’ I began to answer but he continued speaking as if I wasn’t there and he was just thinking aloud. ‘Or is it all Sam and Elsie and the house and the countryside and a new best friend?’ The bed creaked as he turned, and I felt his breath on my cheek. ‘Have you looked at her, Sam? What’s your sort of word? Objectively. Scientifically.’

  ‘Are you obsessed with her, Danny?’ A horrible thought came into my mind. ‘Is that it? Were you fantasizing about Finn?’

  I was breathless, my heart racing, I could feel its beat in my ears.

  ‘You just don’t get it, do you?’

  I felt him turn away from me.

  ‘Night, Danny.’

  ‘Night, Sam.’

  When I woke the next morning, Danny had gone.

  Twenty-One

  ‘Am I allowed in here?’

  ‘So long as you don’t try to do anything,’ Finn replied.

  ‘Don’t worry.’

  My kitchen was like a mad scientist’s laboratory, steam and heat and mysterious clatters and hums. Everything was being used. On the hob a pan sizzled and the lid of a saucepan was shivering as vapour puffed over the rim. A bowl of water contained what looked like soggy leaves. The chicken breasts were in the oven. Finn was chopping something very quickly on a board, rat-a-tat-tat, like a snare-drum roll.

  ‘What I don’t understand,’ I said, ‘is the way you’re doing all the different bits at the same time. When I try to cook, I have to do one thing after another and even then I get it wrong.’

  A couple of old friends were coming round for supper. Normally I would have got a take-away in or popped various pre-cooked dishes into the microwave, but Finn said to leave it all to her, that she would do something simple. After dropping Elsie at school, we had driven twenty miles through villages, past antique emporia and the paddocks of riding schools, along the coast to a supermarket which was comfortingly identical to the one I used to go to on the way home from work when I lived in London. I bought some frozen stuff and bin-bags and washing-up liquid and Finn headed for the real food: chicken breasts not wrapped in Cellophane, mushrooms and rice in expensive small boxes, rosemary, garlic, olive oil, vegetables, red and white wine. As the trolley filled, I tried to talk her out of it.

  ‘Sarah and Clyde are just like me. They’ve lived on takeaway vindaloos all their professional lives. Their tastebuds have been burned away. They won’t know the difference.’

  ‘Enjoy yourself while you’re alive,’ Finn replied. ‘Because you’re a long time dead.’ It was with difficulty that I did not gasp.

  ‘That’s why I’ve never bothered about what food I eat.’

  ‘Shame on you, Sam. You’re a doctor.’

  Finn was becoming alarmingly imperious and I was becoming strangely passive, like a guest in my own house. It occurred to me, before I hastily pushed the thought away, that in the last few weeks, as she had recovered and bloomed again, so my grip on my own life had weakened. Elsie seemed half in love with Finn, Danny was gone again, my trauma unit had become someone else’s capitalist dream, my book stayed unwritten.

  During the early evening my kitchen looked like a casualty department. I did some work and played a bit with Elsie and put her to bed, and when I came back a couple of hours later, without much appearing to have been done it had subsided into something tidier: an intensive-care unit, maybe. There was beeping and bubbling, but only the occasional moment of activity, a stir here and a sniff there.

  Sarah and Clyde arrived, just after seven, panting and virtuous in their fluorescent cycling gear. They had taken the train to Stamford and biked out. They headed up for a bath and came back down in jeans, loose shirts. This
was the authentically miraculous bit. Even if supper had consisted of nothing more than pizza in cardboard boxes brought to the house by motorbike and six-packs of beer, I still would have been rushing round in a panic. But this evening there was an air of serenity. A couple of bottles of wine stood open on the table next to the olives and some little things of salami and cheese that Finn had put together, and the table was laid and there was a general smell of nice food hanging around the place, but without any sense that anybody was actually doing anything. Finn wasn’t red-faced and dashing off to the kitchen every two seconds to deal with some crisis. She was there, pouring out wine, and not being ostentatious. She had put on a pair of pale slacks and a smockish black top and tied her hair back. Fuck, I was impressed with her.

  Maybe I’d become friendly with Sarah and Clyde not just because we’d trained together but because they were tall and rangy like me. Sarah’s flowing hair was grey now and she had wrinkles round her eyes. Clyde still had the chiselled, long-boned Clark Kent looks of the rower he had been at university, but he’d got thinner, so his prominent Adam’s apple seemed even larger. We were all big and looked at each other from the same level. Clyde and Sarah were GPs together at a practice in Tower Hamlets. When they had a free weekend, they would put their bikes on to a train, head out from London and cover a couple of hundred miles by Sunday evening, hopping between the houses of friends. I was the first pit-stop on this weekend’s route.

  ‘And tomorrow we’re staying with Helen – you know, Farlowe.’

  ‘Where does she live?’

  ‘Blakeney. North Norfolk.’

  ‘Jesus, you’ll have earned your dinner tomorrow night.’

  ‘That’s the whole point.’

  We took our drinks outside and wandered in the grounds, as I sarcastically called the neglected garden. Sarah identified birds by their songs and Clyde told me the names of the plants in the garden, some of the nicest examples of which, it emerged, I had weeded in a fit of enthusiasm and tossed on to my compost heap. Finn called us in and we had little bowls of succulent rice with reconstituted mushrooms, followed by chicken cooked in olive oil and garlic and rosemary, with new potatoes and spring greens.