Last Rites

Thirty-three

Derek had called her on his car phone, stuck behind a brace of lorries delivering fuel to the power station at Ratcliffe-on-Soar. Sandra was doing her homework at the kitchen table, writing up an experiment she had performed on a frog, and Sean was round at a friend’s, getting up to God knows what. Lorraine’s afternoon had been highlighted by two queries over missing deliveries and another concerning an invoice that seemed to have been paid twice; so many faxes and aggravated phone calls, she scarcely had time to think about Evan-poor, dumb Evan, sitting opposite her, open-faced, truly believing that he could find Michael where all others had failed. Find him and-what was it? — take him back. For a moment, Lorraine felt pity. Michael would tear him in two without breaking sweat or shedding a tear.

Except that Michael was, whatever crazy Evan thought, relaxing on Paxos or Zante, stretching back on the beach in his trunks and soaking up the sun. That car he’d stolen to get to Birmingham airport, what else? She pictured him, dark glasses shielding his eyes, getting up whenever it got too hot and cooling off in the water, drinking an ice-cold beer, then later, around ten or so, wearing an open shirt and shorts, wandering along to this taverna for dinner, sitting there on the balcony and looking out over the sea.

Lorraine drank down the last of her gin and tonic and thought about the advisability of a second. The drive to Maureen’s in mind, she made herself a weak one, Sandra’s eyes flicking toward her at the hiss of the tonic bottle opening. Lorraine poured her a splash into a clean glass and added ice cubes and a wedge of lemon, setting it beside Sandra’s science book and kissing her briefly on top of her head, the fading smell of shampoo and young skin.

“Mum?”

“Mm?”

“You know when you go round Auntie Maureen’s, later?”

“Yes?”

“Can I come with you?”

No reason not to, except what Lorraine wanted was to nip straight in and out, no hanging about, and the way Maureen made a fuss of the kids sometimes it was likely they’d end up staying there half the evening.

“Best not, love. Stay here and finish that. Besides, you’ll be company for your dad.”

“Oh, Mum,” Sandra complained, but she didn’t really care; all she’d wanted was an excuse to stop what she was doing.

“You’ll not be long?” Derek said. Lorraine was waiting in the hallway when he came through the door, the keys already in her hand.

“Sooner I go, sooner I’ll be back.” She kissed him quickly on the cheek. “An hour, tops.”

“Should I wait dinner or what?”

“Chicken and ham pie; it’s in the freezer. Pop yours and Sandra’s in the microwave, I’ll sort myself out when I get back.”

“I’d rather wait.”

“Suit yourself.”

She closed the door with a crisp click and hurried toward the car, low heels tapping down the path.

So typical of Maureen, Lorraine thought, turning off the main road, to have read some article somewhere in the poncey color supplements about how these drab thirties places were becoming trendy and move out here where the only people you saw after seven were patrolling on behalf of the local neighborhood watch. Or lost. It wasn’t even like living in the city; it wasn’t like living anywhere. She shivered as she rang the bell.

Rang again.

Maureen’s face was strained and pinched when she opened the door, and Lorraine thought she had to be coming down with something, a summer cold; either that or she’d been fretting about the shop. Maybe it wasn’t doing as well as she’d thought.

They chatted briefly about the kids and Maureen offered her a drink.

“I don’t know if I really should.”

“There’s a bottle of white wine open in the fridge.”

“All right, then. That’ll be fine. But, Maureen, listen, I don’t want to be rude, but I can’t stay long. These clothes you were talking about…”

Maureen left her in the living room, copies of Vogue and Marie Claire on the coffee table, new cushions at neat intervals along the leather settee, bright colors, black, yellow, and orange, each with a pattern of large red roses.

Lorraine glanced at her watch: how long did it take to pour a couple of glasses of white wine?

When Michael came through the door, she let out a gasp and clutched at her throat. If he hadn’t caught hold of her she would have fallen, legs buckling, all the way to the floor.

Lorraine sat on the edge of the settee, head down toward her knees, clinging on to Michael’s hand. From somewhere, he’d fetched a small brandy, which when she sniffed at it had nearly made her heave, and now it sat on the table, untouched. Michael content to sit there, waiting for her to pull round, get a hold of herself. After a few minutes more of this, he put his other arm tight around her and held her close, and the words he said she either didn’t hear or didn’t want to understand.

“Michael. Don’t, don’t.”

He was kissing the back of her neck, pushing his face up into her hair.

“Don’t. I don’t like it.”

Pulling away, he took hold of her face and turned it toward him, fingers hard against her jaw; she shook her head vigorously and he allowed her to push his arms away.

“What’s the matter?” It was there in his voice, the flat gray of his eyes, something that frightened her more than the touch of his hands, his lips on her skin.

Lorraine’s gaze shifted toward the door. “Maureen, she might come in.”

“No.”

She looked back at him.

“S’okay. I told her not to.” He smiled, that slow wrinkling of the skin around the eyes, the creases that spread from the corners of his mouth, and she saw him then as she had all those years before. Hopeful. Sexy. Sure.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Her breath had caught in her throat.

He laughed. “You look as if you’d seen a ghost.”

She freed herself from his hand and got unsteadily to her feet. She crossed the room, Michael watching her every move. The way he used to do, all those years when they were young. Bedroom. Bathroom. Beach. Then not so young. Remembering his eyes staring at her teenage breasts, Lorraine’s nipples ached.

“Why, Michael?”

“What?”

“Why are you here?”

He glanced around. “Why not? It’s perfect. Perfect place for us to meet.” He laughed softly. “You don’t have to worry about Maureen, I can handle her.”

Does that mean you’re sleeping with her? Lorraine wanted to know. Fucking her? She was angry at the thought. Surprised at her own jealousy.

“I haven’t laid a hand on her,” Michael said, reading her mind.

“Haven’t you?”

He stared back at her, daring contradiction. Lorraine retrieved the brandy, but one swallow was enough to burn the back of her throat and make her cough.

He took the glass from her hand and stood close, their bodies almost touching, actually touching when they both breathed out.

“Why didn’t you go? Like everyone thought. Why didn’t you get away while you had the chance?”

“Come on, Lo, I couldn’t go without you. What’d be the point?”

“What d’you mean? You’re not making any sense.”

“Sense? ‘Course I’m making bloody sense. If it wasn’t for you, I might as well’ve stayed in jail. Done my time.”

“But you can’t think …”

“What?”

“Michael, you can’t … You can’t think we can just …”

“Can’t what? Can’t nothing. We can do anything.”

He believed it; she could see it in his face. “Oh, God!” She moved away and he caught her by the wrist, and she looked back at him through tears. “Michael, it’s just not … it’s crazy, that’s what it is. Insane.”

He kissed her eyes and then her mouth, the slow fleshy warmth inside his lips and then the thrust of his tongue, forcing her. His hands moving her back against the wall, clumsy on her breasts, not the way she remembered them, pushing too hard, kneading. Needy. Edging her legs apart with his knee, a hand between her legs.

“No-o!” She bit down on the thickness of his tongue and when he pulled away she tasted blood. Her eyes suddenly fiery, threatening.

“All right. Okay.” Michael, one hand out, backing away. “I know we can’t … just like that … it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have rushed.” He wiped his hand across the corner of his mouth. “I know it’s gonna … it’s going to take time. It’s just, you know, thinking about you all this time. Banged up. Inside. Thinking about you so long.” He was moving slowly back toward her. “Lo, believe me. I understand. I do.”

She covered her face with her hands.

“Lo?”

“Oh, Michael, you don’t understand anything.”

“I can’t hear you, what you’re saying.”

“You don’t understand anything. At all.”

Silence, the room, the whole house wrapped in cotton wool.

Michael standing there, waiting for her to look at him again. “Derek,” he said. “You don’t love him. I doubt you ever did. You told me. And you do love me. You know you do. You always have.”

“Michael, that’s not …”

“Not what?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Of course it’s the fucking point!”

She stumbled back, frightened by the anger, the intensity of his voice.

“What else d’you think it’s all about. What else has it always been about? What I did, then. What I’m doing now. It’s for you. Us. That’s all that matters. All that counts.”

Tears running down her face, she leaned toward him and he held her in his arms, allowing himself to cry now, laugh a little, yes, that too, but crying most of all. The two of them like great kids, grinning through their tears.

“Come over here,” he said. “Come on over here and sit down while I tell you. I’ve got it all worked out, all planned. Passport, everything, it’s all fixed. Turkey, that’s where we’re going first. Travel separate, of course. No way round that. After, we can go anywhere. Anywhere we want. Just about. Send for the kids. You see, they’ll love it. Sandra, specially. She’s lovely, isn’t she? A sweetheart.”

“Michael …”

“Just a couple of things I’ve got to take care of first, couple more days and then we’re away. Out of here.” His face so serious, naive. “All you have to do, be ready, you know, ready to move. I’ll let you know, as much notice as I can. Okay? Okay, Lo, okay?”

She let him kiss her then, her face, neck, tips of her fingers, palms of her hands. Lorraine unable to look at him, afraid she’d be blinded by the joy on his face, the light in his eyes.

As soon as she felt she could, she pulled away. “Michael, listen. I’ve got to go, get back. The kids. And Derek. I said I’d not be long. They’ll worry. Come round. You don’t know Derek. He’ll have Sandra and Sean in the back of the car and be round here, double quick.”

Pushing herself to her feet, she brushed her hands down the front of her clothes, straightening herself out as best she could. Her hair would need a comb through it and then some. Her cheeks felt as if they were on fire.

“Lo, you’re okay, right?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. I’m fine.” She smiled and he smiled back, doing that thing with his eyes.

Lorraine turned toward the door.

“A couple of days, Lo. Three at most.”

“Yes, yes, all right.”

He followed her out into the hall, but when he went to kiss her again she moved her head aside. “You’d best stay away from the front door,” she said. “No point in risking being seen.”

“Round here?” Michael grinned. “That’s a laugh.”

But he stood well back, and when Lorraine turned the catch he said, “I do love you, you know.”

“I know.”

Her hands were shaking so much it was all she could do to fit the car key into the lock, switch on the ignition.