After the Storm (33 page)

Rob thought about Kim’s confession of her infidelity on that nightmare day when all their relationships seemed to be in meltdown. It struck him that Anna did not always get things right. She had her convictions, always so clear and always so strong, but not always right. She was as flawed as the rest of them. But she had shown courage when it was needed and he loved her.

‘You’ve forgiven her the stolen magazines then?’ he said with a mischievous smile.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘And you finally got round to calling her Kim,’ he said.

It was late afternoon and Owen had come to the cemetery to visit his mom and sister’s grave. The afternoon sun slanted low rays through the branches of the tree-lined cemetery. It was a leafy peaceful oasis and the place seemed empty of others as he walked along the paths.

Since they got back to Florida he and Kim had stayed at a motel on the outskirts of Clearwater. They had booked into the motel because he didn’t want to stay under the same roof as Jared and there wasn’t enough room at his aunt Cally’s flat. Today Kim was spending the day with her parents and he had wanted to come here on his own. He walked along the path until he found their grave. His mom and little sister shared a last resting place and a simple headstone. It was carved with their names, the dates of their lives and the three words Rest In Peace. He stood looking down at the stone.

‘Sorry I couldn’t help you, Mom,’ he said aloud.

He felt tears gathering at the corners of his eyes and this time he let them roll down his cheeks. He had started to cry more over the last few weeks and he put that down to Anna. She had helped him see that it was OK to cry for your dead mom and your dead kid sister.

He was still strung out from their flight from Roatán. He had felt shadowed by a threat the whole time they were travelling back to Florida and even now he felt the need to keep on moving. When they had reached the airport at La Ceiba he had found a public phone and put in a call to an American news outfit based in Honduras. He got through to the newsroom and he reported his suspicions about Teyo murdering Vivienne. He said he believed that Teyo had been hired by Barbara Carter of Roatán to do the killing. The journalist had heard of the Carters and was interested at once; Owen could tell that from the rising excitement in his voice as he asked him more questions. Owen gave him as many details as he could, including dates, the method of the killing and the location of Vivienne’s body. He said the motive for the killing was the love affair between Gideon and Vivienne. The journalist asked him for his name. He refused to give it in spite of the journalist pressing him several times and saying that he would be quite safe, they always protected their sources.

‘Look just follow this up. It’s a huge story and I’ve given it to you exclusively,’ Owen said and hung up.

From Miami they had flown to Tampa. Kim had had an emotional reunion with her parents and his aunt Cally had been very happy to see him. Tomorrow they were setting off again. He had told Kim he couldn’t stay in Clearwater and the plan was to drive along to the east coast of Florida and then head up North along the coast until they found a place that appealed to them both, maybe someplace in North Carolina or Virginia. He had bought a second-hand pick-up truck for their journey and was itching to be on the move again. They had enough money and they could take their time in finding the right place to settle. It would be somewhere on the coast, that was his only condition.

He heard something to the right of him that sounded like muffled footsteps. He looked around and there was no-one there that he could see. He looked back at the headstone and bent to brush some dead leaves away from its base. There it was again, the sound of furtive movements in the grass between some gravestones up ahead. It sounded like someone who did not want to be seen but who was approaching him stealthily through the grasses. Owen stood up straight, pulled his shoulders back and started to walk in the direction of the rustling sound. He stopped in his tracks when he saw a large dog half crawling, half limping between the gravestones ahead. The dog was in bad shape. He was skin and bone and had been in a fight that had hurt him. There was matted bloodied fur on one of his haunches. Owen walked slowly towards the dog and kneeled down. He held out his hand showing an open palm.

‘You been in the wars, old boy,’ he said in a gentle voice.

The dog made an attempt at a bark but it came out as a whimper. Owen drew nearer and reached out his arm and touched the dog’s head. The dog let him stroke him.

‘You look hungry.’

He looked like some kind of Border Collie cross. He was black and had a white throat. The matted fur was covering a wound to his back leg. He stroked the dog’s body and felt his ribs. This dog had not eaten for a while. Owen felt in his pockets. Nothing. He tried to remember if he had seen any shops near the cemetery. No shops but he recalled seeing a café near the entrance. He patted the dog’s head again.

‘You wait here old boy. I’m gonna get you some food and water.’

The dog made a whimper as Owen walked away.

He hurried back towards the gates at the top of the cemetery and his heart was beating fast because he didn’t like leaving the dog behind in that condition. He found the café and bought three burgers, a ham sandwich and a large bottle of water and asked the café owner for a paper cup. When he got back to the cemetery the sun was sliding down the sky and the shadows of the gravestones had lengthened. He retraced his steps to his mom’s grave and then walked on to where he had seen the dog before.

‘Where are you, old boy?’ he called out.

He heard a feeble bark and he followed it to find the dog lying stretched out beneath a bench with his head on the ground as if he was completely spent and was lying down there to die. Owen sat on the ground at the dog’s head and first he gave him water to drink, pouring it into the paper cup several times and letting the dog lap it up. Then he broke off pieces of the burger meat and laid them on the ground and the dog wolfed these down, all three of the burgers went in no time. He gave him the ham sandwich and the dog’s tail began to move a little from side to side.

‘Feeling better?’

He stroked his head and his neck. There was no collar. He had a fine shaped head and hazel brown eyes. He guessed the dog had been abandoned and had been fending for itself until he got into the fight that had weakened him. He wondered what had attacked him as he was a big dog. The food and water had revived him and the dog lifted his head and rested his jaw on Owen’s knee and gazed at the man who had fed him. Owen scratched behind the dog’s ears. More foolish tears filled his eyes. What was happening to him?

‘You wanna take your chances with me, old boy?’ he said.

There would be room for him in their truck and his big-hearted Kimmie would be OK about it. He would get a taxi now and take the dog to a vet to get that nasty wound looked at.

Owen got to his feet and walked back once more to his mom and sister’s grave.

‘Always missed,’ he said.

He headed slowly towards the gates so that Old Boy could keep up with him. Near the gates he glanced over to the space in the left hand corner where he knew his father’s unmarked grave lay. Then he walked with a firmer step out through the gates with Old Boy, his new life companion, limping along at his side.

The poem Rob remembered when he was diving:

‘The Kraken’

Below the thunders of the upper deep,

Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,

His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep

The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee

About his shadowy sides; above him swell

Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;

And far away into the sickly light,

From many a wondrous grot and secret cell

Unnumber’d and enormous polypi

Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green.

There hath he lain for ages, and will lie

Battening upon huge sea-worms in his sleep,

Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;

Then once by man and angels to be seen,

In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.

A
LFRED
T
ENNYSON

We hope you enjoyed this book.

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The Lie of You
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Acknowledgements

Jane Lythell

More books by Jane Lythell

An invitation from the publisher

Read on for a preview of

One woman’s fear is another woman’s weapon...

“When I look back on my relationship with Kathy I marvel at how naive she was, how little she knew.

But then, she always thought she had everything: the job; the baby; the friends; and him. She thought she was safe. She thought that nothing could touch her perfect world.

She should never have trusted me.”

APRIL

Kathy thinks she has everything: the job; the baby; the friends and him. But she does not have my will. It is all on the surface with her. She has no hidden places. She does not know about her dark side, or about others’. She always believes the best of people.

When I heard that she had got the promotion to editor I called her at home and asked to see her. I said that I needed to discuss my position with her. She was about to agree to meet me. At the last minute she changed her mind.

‘Let’s meet for lunch in my first week back, OK, Heja? I really need to be at home these last few days.’

Ever since I told her in my interview that my name was pronounced hay-ah, with a soft J, she has tended to overuse it in her speech. It irritates me. I pressed her, saying that it was important that we meet as soon as possible. That offers were being made to me. That if she valued my contribution to the magazine...

She struggled. She finds it hard to say no to people. The baby started to whimper and this fortified her.

‘I’m sorry, Heja, it really will have to wait till I get back. I must go now. See you soon and thanks for calling.’

On her first day back at work she was wearing an orange silk shirt and a grey pencil skirt with expensive two-tone shoes, black with tan. The skirt was a bit tight over her stomach and her breasts were full. She hasn’t completely shed her baby weight. She has thick wavy dark hair and strong dark eyebrows. The team members, Laura, Karen, Tim and Stephanie, all clustered around her. They said how pleased they were that she was back; how well she looked. She is not beautiful. She is not even typically pretty. Her skin is good. It has a glow to it and her eyes are quite fine, almond shaped and hazel. Her face is too full of expression and demands a response. It is wearing to look at her.

She spent that first morning with Philip Parr, the publisher of the magazine, in his large glass box of an office. In the afternoon she called a team meeting. There are six of us in the team, including her assistant Aisha. She explained how she wanted to take the magazine forward. She leaned forward in her chair and asked us all for our views. She believes in communication, you see, in management through praise and encouragement. The others all made comments. I said nothing. At no point did she call me aside and arrange our lunch.

On her second day back she stopped at my desk.

‘Now, our lunch. Can you do Friday, Heja?’ she said, all brightness and friendliness.

I said Wednesday would be better for me. She could not do Wednesday, so I agreed. I have not had any offers. And I do not plan to leave the magazine. This way I am able to see her every day.

APRIL

At lunch today I sat across the table from Heja, savouring a great juicy mound of spaghetti vongole with guilty relish because it had so much garlic in it. I adore garlic but knew it would come through into my breast milk tonight. Heja had chosen grilled sea bream with fennel – the sort of dish you can eat without splattering spaghetti sauce everywhere. Just as well too, as she was dressed in an ice-blue linen shirt and a tailored cream jacket, groomed and immaculate as she always is. She wears her hair in this French plait, scraped back from her forehead, and it makes her look rather untouchable. She has lovely high cheekbones and her hair is ashy blonde and fine and if I were her I would have it cut very short and boyish. She could carry off a cut like that.