The Soul Room (12 page)

I woke up with a
convulsive jolt, cradling my belly. I was sweating and panting and my bump was
tightening with horrible cramps. Jip howled, bringing my father downstairs
within seconds.

‘What is it Maddie? Are you OK?’

‘Oh God Dad, I’ve done something terrible, I’ve killed him!’

‘What do you mean sweetheart? Killed who?’

‘My baby!’ I was delirious with terror. ‘He told me not to but I did it!
I touched him’

‘You’re not making any sense Maddie. Please!’ He held my hand tightly and
stroked my hair. I was bent double with the cramps, but started to think
rationally. How could I explain it? He’d think I was ill again, that I had
become psychotic. I couldn’t stand that. I couldn’t stand him watching me and
worrying about me again. And not now, when there was so much to do, so much to
hope for. If there still was, if I hadn’t killed him. What if my baby had died
inside me? What if I had ruined my one and only chance? The thought was more than
I could bear, I started to weep.

‘It was a nightmare. I had a nightmare. But please, we need to go to
hospital, I think there might be something wrong.’

I felt like
kissing the doctor when he said he could hear the baby’s heartbeat, and
everything was OK. He said it happened sometimes and was most likely a bout of
Braxton Hicks, simply practice contractions. I don’t think I’ve ever been so
relieved about anything in my life. I was shocked by the power of my love. I
realised at that moment that I would give my life for my child’s without a
second's thought, and it frightened me a little. It was as if someone had
reached deep inside me, taken my centre of gravity and shifted it a foot or so
outside of my body – no longer in my control.

The low light of the house was welcome after the unforgiving white lights
of the hospital. I put the kettle on then sank down on one of the dining chairs
with a sigh. I heard Dad welcoming Jip and locking the front door, his now
slightly shuffling step head towards the kitchen.

‘I’d forgotten how much Mum loved Dickens.’ He appeared at the kitchen
door, the diary held loosely in his hand. I had a strong desire to take it off
him, quickly.  Somewhere deep inside I knew there was a very important reason
why he shouldn’t find out what it really was, though I had no idea myself why
that should be. I willed myself to keep my voice level.

‘I struggled with his books when I was younger, too long and detailed I
suppose,’ I held out my hand, ‘but I love them now. I think I’ll make a start
on this one, help me get to sleep.’ To my immense relief he simply smiled and
passed the diary to me. 

‘You’d better get to bed sweetheart. You and the baby need a proper rest.
Try to lie in Tomorrow if you can. I’ll take Jip out for a walk early so the
house is quiet.’

I took my cup of tea and got up wearily. ‘Thanks Dad, I do love you.’ I
gave him a kiss then went upstairs. I was so tired, maybe I could sleep after
all.

I kicked and
squirmed, trying to will myself down quicker, but it didn’t work. As the dull
glow of the room appeared beneath my feet I started to call for him. My mouth
was bone dry making my voice sound hoarse and desperate. He didn’t reply. I
tore around the room as soon as I touched the ground, my heart pounding. At
last I saw him, lying on his side on one of the window seat sofas, Cheetah
tucked neatly under his arm and his thumb clamped in his mouth. His eyes were
closed, I hardly dared to breath.

‘Sweetheart. Sweetheart can you hear me?’ He stirred slightly, his
thumb slipping out of his mouth, leaving his lips in a perfect ‘o’. ‘I’m sorry
to wake you up but I've got to talk to you.’ Eventually he opened one eye and
looked at me sleepily.

‘Hello Mum.’

‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes, just tired.’

‘I’m sorry sweetheart. I didn’t mean to touch you. I was so scared I’d
hurt you, it was awful.’

‘It’s OK Mum, I forgot it’s not the time to hold your hand yet. I just
really wanted to show you the books.’

‘Why don’t you show me now? I’ll read as many as you like.’

He got up slowly and stretched. As he did so his t-shirt lifted to
reveal a lovely little belly, smooth and perfect – little muscles standing out
from under the light brown skin. I wanted to smother him in kisses; the
strength of my desire took my breath away. He reached under the cushion of the
window seat and pulled out a handful of books.  The sky through the adjacent
window was starting to clear, and a shaft of lemony sunlight spilled through
and lit his face. He beckoned to me and I leant cautiously over his shoulder.

‘Look, there’s loads of them!’ I studied the books, all favourites
from my childhood: ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’, ‘Where the Wild Things Are’,
‘Mog the Forgetful Cat’, ‘The Enormous Crocodile. I smiled, remembering many
cosy bed times being read to by my parents. Dad would always read me more than
one story, but Mum always did the best voices.

‘This one’s my favourite.’ He handed me ‘The Tiger who Came to Tea’.

‘Mine too.’ I took it off him and for a second I felt a deep trill of
pleasure go up my arm and into the pit of my stomach as it had done when I had
given him Cheetah. It was as close as I could safely get to really touching
him.

I was alone in
the house a week or so later when John called round. I took him into the living
room and we say next to each other in the muted afternoon light. It was very
quiet, the house was a long way from a main road, and the occasional soft hoot
of Wood Pigeons and the pitter-patter of the early spring rain were the only
sounds to disturb the silence. John sighed and settled himself deeper into
Dad’s favourite old leather armchair.

‘It’s very peaceful here, not like the station. You don’t realise how
bloody noisy it is until you get away from it!’ He smiled ruefully and I felt a
swell of empathy for him. I wanted to comfort him somehow, and wondered what it
would feel like to hold him, whether I’d even be able to get my arms around the
sheer bulk of him. He looked at me keenly and I surprised myself by blushing
and raised my coffee cup in an attempt to hide it.

‘I wanted to let you know what’s been happening since I last saw you -
and in particular, the information I’ve been able to get about the call you had
from Dan. It must have been hard waiting around, I'm sorry.  A lot of police
work is like this. If it isn't solved in the first 48 hours the trail becomes
cold. You're brother's penchant for unannounced holidays has made things a lot
harder for him I'm afraid.'

'I know, it's OK, I've kept myself busy - nesting - getting ready for the
move that kind of thing. What about you?'

 'We've been investigating a spate of particularly nasty robberies. I
won't laden you with the details. They're on Crimewatch this week if you really
want to know.’ He winked, ‘I'm played by someone ten years older than me and
several pounds heavier.'

'You had a starring role then?'

'We had a tip-off about one of the robberies - we ambushed them and I had
the pleasure of chasing one of the suspects around the back-streets of
Hollingbury.'

'Did you catch him?'

'Just about,' he mock-wheezed, holding his back, 'but I'm not as quick as
I used to be!'

'Your wife must find it hard.' I ventured. 'Knowing that you’re in
potential danger every time you go to work.'

He looked at me curiously. ‘What makes you think I’m married?’

‘Why would I think you weren’t?’

‘Any number of things; scruffiness, absent-mindedness, world-weariness,
bad-temper.’

I laughed and shook my head at him. ‘So what did they say about the
phone?’

'It was only a very short call so they can only track it to a ten mile
radius. The area includes Terranima where you stayed last year. We checked his
own mobile phone history too, but the calls appear to be innocuous things,
calls from the UK to his agent, one to his bank, that kind of thing – rather
than any Italian residential numbers.  Also the calls stop when he leaves
England.’

I sat forward, my mind whirring. ‘That surely proves that there
is
some kind of connection with the Amarenas?’

‘Roma police have informally questioned Mr Amarena, he says he knows
nothing, and hasn’t seen your brother since 1990 when he came over to see visit
your Mother when she was ill.’ He paused, had a gulp from his coffee, studying
me through the steam. ‘It’s difficult, we don’t know exactly when your brother
went missing or what has happened to him so it’s difficult to use alibis, or
lack of them, to pin anyone down. They’ve put together a picture of Mr
Amarena’s movements though, starting from the day Dan arrived in Italy. They’ve
found nothing unusual. He seems to have carried on his personal and business
life exactly as normal.’

‘So that’s it? We take his word against the overwhelming evidence?’

‘No Maddie, it’s just that we have no option but to take his word,
because we have no concrete evidence to contradict it. The only thing we can
prove is that Dan went to Italy, and that he made a call to you within a
ten-mile radius of Amarena’s home town. It’s not much, not by anyone’s
standards, and certainly not by a Lawyers standards; and you can bet your life
that Amarena can afford a good one.’

‘So you’re giving up.’ I fought back the tears that had started to burn
in my eyes.

‘No, I’m not giving up; I’ve put some pressure on the Rome police, and
they’ve
suggested
to Fabrizio that he volunteer to come and talk to
us
.
Apparently he’s got some business to attend to in England so he’s agreed to
it.’

‘But surely he’ll just give you more bullshit? How will it help?’

‘You can find out some unexpected things simply by meeting someone face
to face, but I don’t want to get your hopes up. At the end of the day – even if
we do confirm the link between your brother and Mr Amarena, it proves nothing
other than they
may
have known each other and that Dan had gone over
there,
maybe
on holiday and that something, completely unrelated to Mr
Amarena,
may
have gone wrong for him in Italy. You’ve said yourself that
your family had been on holiday there before Dan was born, and Mr Amarena gave
you a job when you needed it.’

I put down my cup, I was shaking. ‘But the call! What about that? It
shows Dan’s in danger! More importantly it shows that someone pretended to be
him, to fly to Serbia, to put us off the scent! You've got to help us! I don't
know how much longer we can take this. Nicholas hasn't eaten properly in
weeks.’

He leant over, bridging the gap between his chair and mine and enveloped
my hand in one of his. It was like putting on one of those giant American
base-ball gloves. ‘I know, and I believe that he’s in trouble, that someone’s
covering up; but without a motive for Mr Amarena to hurt him, and no real
evidence, there’s nothing more we can do for the present.’

His hand felt lovely on mine and my head and heart were struggling with
two very difference waves of emotion. One part was all confusion and worry for
Dan, the other an almost hungering need for John not to move his hand. I
realised I was grateful for the physical contact. Involuntarily I felt my thumb
move gently against the warm weight of his palm. He didn’t move his hand. I
didn’t dare look at him. Quiet fell about us again, amplifying the soft,
slightly uneven sound of our breath. Perhaps the rest of the world had
disappeared, and we were the only people left, graven in the silent living room
holding hands.

Eventually, almost involuntarily, like a puppet's head being lifted on a
string, I looked up at him. His eyes were on fire; the greens in them swam and
pulsed. My breathing quickened. He was really
looking at me,
in a way
I’d never experienced before. It seemed at that moment, that everyone who had
ever looked at me before had merely glanced – visual grazes – not this deep,
skewering, intense
look
. Slowly, inevitably we began to lean together
until his lips rested warm and electric against mine. We kissed softly and
slowly, our bodies shivering with delicious sensation. Then he pulled me up to
standing and the kiss deepened, tongues and bodies locked. I could feel the
heat from my swollen breasts and hard round stomach radiating into him. I heard
the rain start up again, a soothing hushing noise that emanated around the
house and enveloped us. Eventually, mutually we peeled apart. John felt me sway
a little and pulled me gently onto the sofa beside him. It felt wonderful to be
held, and I snuggled gratefully up against him and he stroked my hair. I could
hear his heart pounding in the great keg of his chest.

‘You are a unique man John Nickelby. Seemingly immovable, yet completely
unpredictable.’

He laughed and kissed the top of my head. ‘I’ve wanted to do that for a
very long time.’

‘Really?’

‘Pretty much since the first time I saw you. I’m not sure you realise how
beautiful you are. And how brave.’

‘But I’m not either, I never have been.’

‘You don’t have the monopoly of opinion on that one. You’ll just have to
take my word for it.’

I took his hand and kissed it and then held it against the side of my
cheek. ‘And it doesn’t make you feel strange – my pregnancy, all of that?’

‘Why should it? It’s who you are, it’s what’s happened to you. At least
something good has come from all the heartache.’

I held his hand out before my face and traced down from his fingertips to
his wrist, recording the lines and whorls in his skin. I felt him shiver, and
then he took my arm and wrapped it around his neck and we kissed again, and I
held him tightly and wondered at this wonderful turn of events; that only a few
hours before we were mere acquaintances and now we were intimate, holding each
other, stroking each other. I was scared too; scared because it was so
different to anything I had felt before.  I pulled away and cradled his huge
face in my hands, leaning my forehead against his.