He caught her as she fainted. He swung her up so he could cradle her against his chest and started a jog away from the fighting, the noise, keeping to the back streets that led to the local surgery, letting the pall of smoke and the sound of men shouting fade into the distance.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, yet again, as David put a cup of sugary tea on the bedside cabinet. She was still fully dressed, lying on the bed, having refused to get into her nightdress. ‘Really. You can go home now.’
It saddened him that she was so uncomfortable. He felt no such awkwardness; the familiarity of the purple duvet, the matching curtains, the string of bells along the staircase, was soothing, calming. And they had shared such an intense experience that afternoon. He had held her, saved her.
‘I’ll go in a bit,’ he said. ‘Once you’re asleep.’
He didn’t want to get home, sink into the armchair, and end up watching the news, with running commentary on what had gone wrong and whether the gangs had been dispersed from the high street. He only wanted to stay by Sam, his soporific, and care for her broken wrist. He couldn’t help remembering an ancient custom he had once heard of – saving the life of somebody meant they belonged to you. It seemed obvious that Sam belonged to him, in a way that Marianne never had.
‘I can’t sleep with you here. Not after… Where’s your wife, anyway? Shouldn’t you tell her you’re okay?’
‘We’ve split up.’ Was that the truth? Yes, he supposed it was. They had both accepted that they couldn’t be together any more. Still, the words sounded wrong, and it must have shown on his face, because Sam said, ‘I’m sorry, really,’ before falling back into silence. ‘At least let me make you some dinner,’ he offered. The late afternoon sunlight was waning, hovering on the brink of collapse into another long night. Swindon hospital had taken up hours – crowded, frenetic, with ambulances arriving and subdued, beaten men slumped into the orange plastic chairs scattered through A&E.
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ He was ravenous; how could she not be? Didn’t they feel the same things? He was certain that their thoughts and emotions were linked in some way. ‘I’ll make something anyway, and you can throw it away if you like.’
She shrugged, and winced.
‘Is it still very painful? You can have another painkiller if you like.’
‘I don’t need you to tell me what I can and can’t have!’ She struggled to a more upright position, leaning back against the pillows. ‘You are such a hypocrite, standing there, pretending to look after me, to care, when you—’
‘I do care.’
‘You went after Marianne! You chased her to that island.’
‘You said I should.’
‘I changed my mind.’ She started to cry, and it burned that he couldn’t help. He suspected she would never allow him to touch her again. All he could do was stand there and watch her pain.
When she finally caught her breath and subsided into sobs, he risked sitting next to her on the bed. She didn’t scream at him to get out, at least.
‘This is all wrong,’ he said, keeping his voice low, comforting. ‘I know it; you don’t need to tell me. All I can say is that something has happened to me. I’m not the person that I was before I left for the island. I’m not the man you knew, but I’m also not Marianne’s husband any more, not in any way that counts. I’m not anything normal. Being this new person, it’s got… responsibilities. That I can’t explain. But I think you’re one of those responsibilities. I feel that I want to look after you.’
Marianne would have hated such a sentiment, but Sam nodded and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘Okay. I can see how you feel that. I can’t pretend that doesn’t make me happy. So you can look after me, if you like. Just as long as you don’t, don’t just… As long as it doesn’t just tail off into nothing, is what I’m trying to say.’
‘I don’t think it can. It feels really… permanent.’
She gave him her hand again, the unbroken one. It wasn’t love, not in the sense that he knew it. But there was rightness in it.
‘I want to hug you but I can’t,’ she said, so he moved around to sit behind her, squeezing between her back and the pillows so she could recline against his chest. He put his arms around her, breathed in time, and felt a deep peace penetrate him. The smell of her, her dried sweat and fear and the last gasp of whatever deodorant she had applied that morning, made him want her. He kissed her neck.
‘I left home at sixteen,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t stand it. Every day was the same as the one before, and I wanted… I wanted my life to mean something. It’s not that my parents were bad people. It was me. I couldn’t bear to be like them. It felt as if they were already dead. I never went back. I’ve always been moving towards a more exciting life. Sometimes it was so difficult, working for it, searching for it. Now it’s here. With you. I feel alive for the first time. Is that a cliché?’
For the first time it occurred to him that she was still very young. ‘I think we’re meant to be together,’ he said. He thought of Sam’s clean walls, without photographs, deliberately wiped clean of memories. And then he thought of Marianne, alone on her island, and of the last promise he had made to her. ‘I have things I have to do, though.’
‘What things?’
‘The man who attacked Marianne. I promised her I would find him and stop him. I think he was at the library car park today, watching us.’
‘Why would he come back there? He’s not stupid.’ She slid her fingers along his wrist, and he felt himself grow hard for her. He could bury himself inside her, take away all of their bad memories from today.
‘I don’t know. It’s become a contest. He knows who I am. He’s laughing at me. Men who do these things, they have to be stopped.’
‘Yes. We can stop him, together. If you need to catch this man, I’m going to help you. I need it too. I was out every night, checking that car park, waiting for him…’ She shivered, and he tightened his hold on her. ‘Let me help you. If he’s in competition with you, then he’ll want me. I can draw him out for you.’
‘No! That’s not—’
‘I’m not scared. I told you. We belong together now.’ She sighed, a deep, long sound of satisfaction, and relaxed against him. A few moments later, while he was still thinking of some way to dissuade her, he realised she had won the argument by simply falling asleep.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Rebecca steps off the boat with her arms held out to the sides, as if performing a balancing act. She’s wearing very high heels. They are black and glossy and utterly unsuited to the rough planks of the landing platform or the shingle of the beach; she had to know this, having been here before. But she’s obviously chosen to forget it. Or maybe her need to be dressed impressively outweighed her desire to be able to walk without wobbling.
When she sees me coming towards her, she nearly falls over, but I sprint the last few feet and catch her hands, steady her, and take her bag from the amused fisherman standing on the dock.
‘Thanks, Barney,’ I say, and he nods, and returns to his boat, casting off once more.
‘I never thought you’d be opening it up again,’ says Rebecca.
‘Why not?’
She shrugs. It’s one of those February days with a permanent icy fog, the kind that can penetrate your clothes in seconds. I feel it through my parka. But at least Rebecca has on a proper winter coat too: long, woollen, black to match her shoes. Her hair is glorious henna red in contrast, straight out of the bottle. I wonder what shade of grey she is underneath by now.