Who Are You? (29 page)

Mark has placed a packet of Rizla papers on the large trunk which serves as a coffee table. Then he places a packet of Virginia tobacco beside them. ‘Do you mind?’ he asks.

‘God, no. I used to smoke. I still love the smell. Especially of rollies. Takes me back.’

He chuckles and gets out a small brown nub of dope.

Juliet looks at Mark, raises her eyebrows and then she can’t help grinning. ‘I haven’t seen anyone roll a joint for years. Suddenly I feel twenty again. I must remember Ben’s upstairs. That I must be responsible.’

‘Yes, you must.’

‘Oh, sod it. I’m fed up with being responsible. Besides, who’s going to know?’

‘Is that a bit of the old Juliet coming through?’

‘Maybe.’ There’s something soothing about watching Mark deftly make a filter, place it on the paper, and then mix the tobacco and dope together, before rolling it. He makes a very neat job of it. Finally he seals it by twisting the loose paper tightly, then he runs his fingers down the length, satisfied with his work. He strikes a match, and lights it. The end flares up, burns, and then a flake of burned paper floats down onto the table. He takes a drag, holds the smoke in his lungs, and then exhales. The smell is unmistakeable. Fragrant and herbal and evocative. Mark hands the joint to Juliet and she doesn’t hesitate. She takes two drags, holding the smoke as long as she can. She coughs. It’s been so long since she’s had smoke in her lungs that she feels immediately light- headed and a bit nauseous. Lights dance in front of her eyes and she screws them shut for a moment.

‘OK?’ he asks.

She coughs again and her eyes water. ‘Yes. Fine. It’s been a long time. I’m out of practice.’

‘So you used to indulge, then?’

‘Everyone did. It was part of the culture. Especially with the people I hung out with. Only, to be honest, it got a bit out of hand. I liked it too much.’

Mark hands the joint back to Juliet. She takes another toke on it. And it feels good. Too good. ‘So what happened?’

‘Happened? I got led astray. I moved on to coke. You know … I was a part of the club culture, it was what everyone did. But then someone kindly introduced me to smack. I never injected, just smoked. But it was still a problem. I have what they call an addictive personality. I blame my mother, naturally.’

‘Everyone blames their mothers.’

‘Do you believe in nature or nurture?’ Juliet asks. It’s a pertinent question on all sorts of levels. Alex, his father; Juliet, her mother … the other stuff … and Ben with all his problems at school, repeating the same old patterns.

‘Both. I think there’s a map we’re born with. Genes that we can’t change. And then there’s upbringing, the lottery of whether you get decent parents or not. Perhaps if you’ve got good genes you can cope regardless. You still turn out OK. Not every kid who’s been beaten turns into a batterer. I don’t suppose every homicidal nutter begets another homicidal nutter. Free will means we can choose how we deal with our lives. People get over some really bad stuff. Look at you.’

‘Me? Fucked up. Damaged. Maybe you’re right, maybe we can turn out OK regardless. But the things that happened to me, it was like I couldn’t leave them behind. I used drugs to escape, to send my mind to a different place. They were like my best friends, numbing everything for the first time in my life. They were a fuck sight better than therapy. But I got off them. You know, I shouldn’t be doing this.’

‘It’s just one night, one night which might help you … Maybe this will help you realize that you
are
in control, Juliet. That you’re recovered.’

‘You’re bad,’ she laughs. ‘But I like you. I haven’t had a night like this, since … God … since way before I was married. It’s like everything’s clear for once. I don’t have to be a victim, do I? I’m so bloody angry with Alex though, for what he did. I have flashbacks about that, but I never tell anyone.’

‘You
never
talk about it?’

‘Only to a therapist. But what’s the point, anyway? You get sick of hearing yourself speak and it didn’t help, otherwise I wouldn’t still be thinking about it, would I?’

‘Bury it. Let it go.’

‘Bury it. That’s funny. You’ve no idea how funny that is …’ It’s not funny at all, it’s just the effect of the wine and the dope. She starts to giggle, and then her laughter bubbles up like poisonous sulphur, choking her and making her gasp for air. She takes a drink from her wine glass and her hands are shaking so much she spills red wine on her jeans. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. ‘When Alex came back from Afghan the last time I knew something was wrong. I met him off the plane at Brize Norton and he wasn’t the same man. There was a hardness in his face. There was almost a cruelty there, especially in his eyes. I asked him what had happened but he just said, “Don’t you dare ever ask me again.” So I didn’t. I tiptoed around him trying to please him. But everything I did was wrong. My food was shit – my hair, my clothes, just everything. Ben was just over a year-old and he was really short tempered with him, too. And what made it even harder was the fact that I was seven months pregnant. You’d think, wouldn’t you, that he’d have been happy about that? The timing wasn’t ideal, the fact that the babies would be so close together, but it’s just the way it happened. It wasn’t
entirely
my fault.

‘At the time I thought I could cope with the bickering, the complaints, the nasty personal attacks, because it was all part of readjusting to civilian life. And everyone knew that they’d all gone through something terrible. Honestly, I tried so hard to be supportive to him.’

Mark offers her the joint. She shakes her head. She feels a tear spill from her eye and quickly wipes it away. She’s still shaking. She hasn’t talked about this for such a long, long time. ‘Then one night he came home late, drunk. I was nearly asleep. He put the light on and shook me and said: “Hey bitch, are you awake?”

‘I opened my eyes. I said “Alex, don’t speak to me like that. You’re drunk. Go and sleep in the spare room.”

‘He pulled the duvet off me. I remember curling up and beginning to feel really scared. I didn’t know what he would do. “You’re just a fucking whore,” he said. “I know what you’ve been doing. You lying bitch.”

‘I screamed at him: “Alex what are you talking about?”

‘“The baby isn’t mine. You’ve been fucking Mike Herberts, don’t you try and pretend … don’t you lie to me … ”

‘It was crazy talk. Mike Herberts was one of the guys in his regiment. He was happily married. It was such a ridiculous thing to say. I told him: “No. It’s not true. Alex, don’t be stupid. Listen to me … ”

‘“I’m going to teach you a lesson,” he said. Then he unzipped his trousers and let them drop. He stepped out of them. All the time he was looking at me, with this dead-eyed stare. Like it wasn’t really me he was looking at. Like he really had gone crazy …’

‘You sure you want to tell me all this?’ Mark said.

‘Yeah. I’ve locked it away for so long I feel like I’m going to burst if I don’t.’

Mark nodded. He was staring at her like he was hypnotized, fascinated.

‘I shouted: “Alex, for God’s sake, stop it. Listen to me!” He leaned over me and then he punched me so hard in the stomach. I tried to put my hands over … God … I really tried to protect my baby but he pushed them away and then he punched me again, with all his strength. I was screaming, hysterical. Please, please … my baby … don’t hurt my baby … and he said: “I’ll fucking kill you both.”

‘Then he turned me on my side and told me to keep still, to do what I was told or he would punch me again. He entered me from behind. It hurt. He raped me … Then he said: “That’ll fucking teach you to play around,” and he got dressed and left.

‘It was terrible. Truly, unbelievably terrifying. I’ve tried to block it out, like it didn’t happen to me; someone else, but not me. But it did. That’s my husband. Thank God little Ben slept through it all.’

‘So what happened to you … and the baby …?’ Mark’s voice cracks and Juliet wonders if he might be about to cry.

‘I started to bleed almost straight away. The pain was so bad I knew it was labour. I was so scared for my baby because I had another two months to go. I didn’t know where Alex was. I called a neighbour to come and get Ben, and then I called an ambulance. As soon as I got to the hospital, into the ward, the baby came. She was dead, poor little thing. The placenta had ruptured. He killed my baby, our baby. He killed his own daughter – a beautiful baby girl, so tiny that she fitted into the palm of my hand, so perfectly formed. My little girl.’

‘So she
was
his?’

‘Of course she was his. I think some idiot made a stupid remark in the bar, like “Your missus got well looked after while you were away …” It was just a stupid, thoughtless remark to wind him up. A sick joke. This other guy wasn’t even around when the baby was conceived. It was all just unbelievably stupid, so desperately unnecessary.’

Mark just looks at her. ‘Why didn’t you leave him then?’ he asks quietly.

‘I honestly don’t know. There was Ben to think about. And afterwards … This might sound really weird but it was as if I’d got Alex back. He was devastated by what he’d done. He said he wanted to kill himself. I was in such a terrible, dark place that I also wanted to kill myself. It was, I suppose, the fact that he and I were the only ones who could really understand what we were going through and share the depth of our grief. We had each other to lean on. He said he loved me and I needed more than anything to be loved. He was so gentle and kind to me. And don’t forget, I loved him. You can’t just switch it off, unfortunately. The only way I could deal with it was to block it. Nobody knew what really happened. I didn’t tell the hospital because I thought they’d probably tell the police, and he’d get charged with murder. I had all these thoughts of him being locked up; the fear of the newspapers, of all the publicity. I didn’t want to be married to a murderer and I wanted to protect Ben. I suppose I began to make excuses for him; to tell myself that perhaps it was all connected to what he’d been through. I could almost relate to the damage he’d suffered, because I know what it can do to people. I thought that together we’d be able to work through it. I wanted to help him. I loved him. I’ve always wanted to help him, but the only person who can help him now is Alex.

‘What an absolute cunt to do something like that to you. Christ, you must have really loved him to stick with him after that.’

‘I did.’ Juliet nods, staring into the fire. ‘I really, really did. And we still had our beautiful boy.’

‘Do you still love him?’

She shrugs. ‘Ask me tomorrow when I’m sober. Right now it’s all like some bloody awful nightmare. Like I said, it’s as though it’s all happened to someone else. I feel sorry for him because, you know what? I don’t think it’s his fault. I think his childhood, the Army, whatever it was that he went through, has all just broken him. And I can’t put him back together again.’ She sobs, and then hides her face behind her hands for a few seconds, breathing deeply. She parts her fingers and looks at Mark: ‘Oh God, if I start to cry I just might never stop.’ She tries to give him a smile. ‘Best to forget I’ve ever told you all this. Maybe tomorrow we should both pretend that I haven’t.’

Mark offers to refill her glass, but she waves her hand over the top of it. ‘I’ve had enough, thanks. Look at me, pissed and stoned. How good a mother does that make me? God only knows what I’ll feel like tomorrow. I must go to the loo.’ Juliet stands up and wobbles. Her legs won’t perform. Her feet seem glued to the floor. She feels dizzy and nauseous and falls back on to the sofa. The room is spinning and then the next thing she knows she’s being shaken by someone. She opens her eyes and sees Ben, his face wet with tears. ‘Mummy, you wouldn’t wake up … I was scared, Mummy.’ She’s disorientated. She’s lying on the sofa, with a blanket covering her, and the curtains are drawn back to reveal the daylight outside. She blinks hard to clear the drowsiness, and then looks at her watch. It’s almost eleven o’clock. ‘Ben … I’m sorry darling. You must be starving.’

‘I had some bread.’

‘How did you cut it, sweetheart?’

‘With the knife, Mummy.’

‘Oh my God, Ben, you know you’re not allowed to use knives.’

‘I didn’t cut myself, though. I’m a big boy now.’

‘How’s your head?’ Hopefully a lot better than her own, Juliet thinks.

‘A bit hurting, but OK.’

‘That’s good. Mummy’s going to get you some proper breakfast in a minute.’

‘But why wouldn’t you wake up, Mummy?’

‘Because I was very, very tired, darling.’

‘You scared me, Mummy.’

*    *    *    *    *

Someone’s knocking on the front door. Alex shuts the computer screen down, curses, and opens it to find Rowena on the other side.

‘Sorry, are you in the middle of something?’

‘No, just a bit of boring stuff for the office. Come in.’

Alex steps aside and Rowena walks through into the kitchen ahead of him. He sees her look around, no doubt taking in the lack of toys, the atmosphere of emptiness post Juliet and Ben’s departure. Then she focuses on him. ‘Christ, Alex. You look terrible.’

‘Thanks.’ He’s barely had any sleep, and he hasn’t got around to shaving or showering. He’s still wearing yesterday’s shirt, and guesses he probably doesn’t smell too sweet, either. Last night when he wasn’t on the computer, he just dozed on top of the bed.

‘I just wondered if you’d heard anything from Juliet? I can’t help feeling so upset for you all. And is there anything I can do?’

‘Thanks. Very thoughtful of you. No, I haven’t heard from her. It’s been thirty-six hours, just about.’

‘Have you been to the police?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Don’t you think you ought to? Just in case something’s happened to them?’

‘If something had, then I’d know. She’ll have her credit cards, the car. All of that’s traceable if necessary.’

‘But what if she’s got rid of the car? And say she’s using cash?’

‘Look, I’ll worry about that in a few days’ time.’ He can hear the snappiness and the impatience in his voice. Bloody woman. But he’s got to hold it together. ‘She obviously hasn’t been in touch with you?’