In Bed With a Stranger (13 page)

‘Oh. It’s you, sir,’ he said sullenly, a blush stealing up his neck as he turned back to his game. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I wanted to see you. To find out how you’re doing. Is it OK if I sit down?’

Lewis nodded, but his gaze didn’t move from the screen, which showed an animated railway line in grim, twilight colours, with a row of derelict-looking buildings behind it. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Kit rubbed his burning palms against his thighs and, averting his eyes, looked at Lewis instead.

He was a shadow of the boy who’d brought Kit coffee on that morning a few weeks ago and spilled most of it onto the sand in his haste and enthusiasm. He’d lost a lot of weight, and, with his hair shaved off and the scar where they’d operated to remove the bullet from his head still raw, he looked frail. As fragile as a child.

‘You look well,’ Kit lied with impressive calm, given the pickaxe of guilt lodged in his chest and the fact that his heart felt as if it had been fed through a mincing machine. ‘A hell of a lot better than last time I saw you, anyway. How are you feeling?’

Lewis answered in a single monosyllabic word. It was a concise response, if not one that would usually be acceptable to a commanding officer. His eyes were fixed to the screen, where shadowy figures darted from buildings and jumped out of containers beside the railway line. Understanding the sentiment behind it all too well, Kit let the language go.

‘Sorry to hear that. I spoke to Dr Randall. He says you’ve made incredible progress and shown a huge amount of courage.A lot of men wouldn’t have pulled through at all, never mind as quickly and well as you have.’

Lewis’s thumb pressed a red button on the control repeatedly and volleys of animated fire lit up the screen. Kit watched their red reflections in the dilated pupils of Lewis’s unblinking eyes.

‘I’m doing OK in that way,’ he said dully. ‘I need to get back to fitness. Back to how I was before.’

‘You want to go back out there?’

‘I dunno. I haven’t decided yet. If things here don’t work out …’

Lewis let the sentence trail off, but his thumb continued its rapid movement, annihilating the animated enemy.

‘How’s Kelly?’

A fireball filled the screen and Lewis’s shoulders slumped.

‘Dunno. Haven’t seen her, have I? She doesn’t like it here. Says hospitals freak her out.’

Mentally Kit cursed. There was a restless feeling building in the back of his head and a sweat had broken out on his forehead. ‘That’s a good incentive to get out of here, then.’

Lewis started the game again, his hands moving jerkily as he guided a figure in SAS fatigues at a run along a deserted street. ‘That’s what I thought, but now—I dunno. One of my mates told me she’s seeing someone else. He works at the gym I used to go to.’ Red spurts of gunfire erupted from a blank window and the figure on the screen fell to the ground. ‘I can’t blame her, can I? I mean, look at me.’ Throwing the control down, he stood up, his eyes wild, his thin arms spread out. ‘I’m pathetic. I can’t even get dressed without help, never mind do fifty push-ups, and I know that was what she fancied about me in the first place. I was fit then, and now I’m …
nothing
.’

‘Bullshit, Sapper.’ Kit thanked seventeen years of rigorous army discipline for the ability to keep his voice clipped, curt, emotionless. ‘You’re a soldier who took several bullets
while doing a job that would make a gym instructor cry for his mother. Probably the worst injury he’s sustained in the line of duty is a pulled muscle. You were shot at close range by a semi-automatic rifle in the hands of a man who wanted to kill you, and you’re fighting back.’

As if in slow motion Lewis’s face crumpled. Tears welled in his eyes and spilled over his hollow, parchment-pale cheeks as he sank back into his seat.

‘I wanted to be a hero for her,’ he sobbed, rubbing at his eyes like a little child. ‘All the time we were out there I was thinking of her and the baby. I just wanted to make them proud of me … and look what happened. I lost them instead.’

Kit got to his feet, desperately trying to keep his gaze from straying back to the twitching figure of the soldier on the screen. His hands felt as if they’d been dipped in acid that was dissolving the flesh, burning up the nerves.

‘You can’t look at it that way. You’re a lucky man. When I last saw you the doctors weren’t sure if the bullet had severed your spine or not; they weren’t sure if you’d walk again. You’re back on your feet—you’re going to be OK.’

Lewis lifted his tear-streaked face to look at him helplessly.

‘So what? I’d rather be injured and have her than be walking around, trying to live a normal life without her.’

Kit had already opened his mouth to say something brisk and acerbic in response, but nothing came out. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the game on the screen start over again and he was unable to stop himself turning to watch the figure moving down the street of its own accord this time as snipers appeared on rooftops and windows.

‘We don’t choose what happens,’ he said hoarsely. Blood thrummed in his ears. ‘You just have to make the best of the hand you’re dealt. You’ll find someone who loves you, no matter what. Someone you don’t have to prove anything to.’ Forcing his gaze from the screen, he looked hollowly at Lewis, trying to see him as he was now, here, rather than rememberingthe blood running down his face into the sand. Panic loomed, and automatically he thought of Sophie—her smile, her scent—to drive it back.

‘You just have to be sure that when you find her, you’re not stupid enough to push her away.’

Angrily Lewis swiped the tears from his cheeks. ‘The trouble is I don’t want anyone else. I just want her.’

Kit went to the door. ‘Then don’t let her go,’ he said wearily. ‘Fight for her.’

Out in the corridor he leaned against the wall and took a ragged breath.

‘Kit?’ He felt Randall’s hand on his shoulder. ‘Are you all right?’

It seemed that people were always asking him that these days, Kit thought, and he always came up with the same untruthful answer. But he’d run out of lies now. Raising his head, he looked Randall in the eye.

‘Not really.’ He held up his shaking hands and managed a bleak smile. ‘Those tests I asked about when we spoke on the phone—what would they involve?’

Randall’s expression stayed professionally blank as he glanced at Kit’s hands. ‘A variety of things—nothing too complicated. We can make a start on eliminating the obvious things straight away, if you want?’

Kit paused for a heartbeat, then nodded.

It felt as if he’d driven Sophie away already. He had nothing more to lose.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

T
HE
early-autumn dusk was already beginning to fall as Sophie slowed the Range Rover that had once belonged to Ralph Fitzroy and swung it into the potholed farm track.

It had been five years at least since she’d last visited, but she remembered every tree and gateway on the final bit of the journey. The tears that had remained unshed throughout the seemingly interminable drive from Alnburgh prickled at the backs of her eyes as she bounced across the field towards the cluster of ancient caravans and camper vans and pulled up alongside Rainbow’s bus.

The painted flowers were peeling and a peace symbol over the back wheel had lost one of its three prongs so that it now looked ironically like the logo of an executive car manufacturer, but otherwise the place in which she’d grown up was pretty much unchanged. It even smelled the same, she noticed as she got out of the car and breathed in the scent of Calor gas, frying onions and wet grass.

On legs that felt as weak as a foal’s from being in the car for so long, she walked round to the front of the bus and knocked. The windows, as always, were clouded with condensation, but through it she could see movement. The next moment Rainbow flung open the door, her faced wreathed in smiles.

‘Summer—you’re here!’

Her voice was warm and filled with pleasure, but not undue surprise. Emerging from a patchouli-and-lavender-scented hug, Sophie gave her mother a watery smile.

‘You sound like you were expecting me.’

Ushering her in, Rainbow shrugged. Since Sophie had last seen her, her hair had grown past her shoulders and was now a rather beautiful shade of foxglove pink, darker at the ends so that it look as if it had been dip-dyed. She was wearing her usual collection of layered things—a long skirt with a long tunic top covered by a long loose cardigan, all in shades of indigo and purple.

‘I was, in a way. I’ve been getting the Three of Cups a lot lately. It’s the card of reunions, so naturally I’ve been thinking of you.’ She gestured to the little table where her worn deck of tarot cards lay. ‘Then this morning I got The Tower, so I suppose it’s fair to say that I’m not surprised to see you.’

Very recently—like, a couple of days ago—Sophie would have given an inward sneer at all this. But not any more. Now she picked up the top card, which showed a high turret on a rock just like Kit’s bedroom at Alnburgh. The sky behind it was black, lightning struck it and flames billowed from the windows, from where two human figures plummeted downwards.

‘This is The Tower?’ Sophie suppressed a shudder. ‘Why did that make you think of me?’

‘Well, it was the Cups that made me think of you, but once you were there in my mind The Tower told me all wasn’t well.’ Rainbow’s eyes were the faded blue of summer skies and well-worn jeans, and Sophie saw concern in them now. ‘It denotes pain—often coming like a lightning bolt out of the blue, shattering faith and belief. Though, of course,’ she added hastily, ‘it can be read in different ways …’

‘That way is accurate enough for me,’ said Sophie with an awkward little laugh.

Rainbow glanced at her, but only said, ‘Why don’t you sit
down? Have you eaten? Hilary made carrot and coriander soup and dropped some round for me earlier.’

‘That sounds wonderful,’ Sophie said gratefully, sinking down onto the sagging couch, suddenly aware that she was ravenous. As Rainbow set about lighting the gas and the little space was filled with the smell that made Sophie feel about eight years old again she looked around. The bus hadn’t changed much, but the cheap nylon curtains she remembered had been replaced with pretty ones—a different printed cotton in each window—and there were bright patchwork cushions on the two couches. It looked nice, Sophie realised with a wrench. Homely.

‘I’ve been away too long,’ she said sadly. ‘I’ve been a pretty rubbish daughter, haven’t I?’

‘Nonsense.’ Briskly Rainbow moved the tarot cards and laid a spoon and a bright blue pottery bowl on the table. ‘You know I’ve never held with all that family obligation stuff. You came back when you needed to, and that’s what matters to me.’

‘You’re not hurt that I haven’t been back for five years?’

‘I think of you often, if that’s what you mean,’ said Rainbow, pouring thick soup into the bowl. ‘But in a good way. You were always fiercely independent, even as a little girl. Self-contained. I knew you wouldn’t want to stay here any longer than you had to, and that I had no right to make you feel you should.’ She sat down opposite Sophie, her face serene. ‘Living like this was my choice, but I always respected your right to make choices of your own.’

Sophie picked up her spoon. ‘Why did you choose to live like this?’

‘Well, I didn’t choose it initially. It came about by accident, I suppose, because I ran away from an unhappy marriage.’

‘To my father.’ Sophie paused, a spoonful of soup halfway to her mouth, her mind going back to the moment when
Kit had brought his fist down on the car bonnet. ‘He hit you, didn’t he?’

Rainbow looked down at the table, tracing her finger over one of the many scars on its surface. ‘I always wondered if you remembered anything about that time.’

‘I didn’t.’ Until today. ‘How old was I when we left?’

‘Three.’ Rainbow looked up at her then, her expression almost apologetic. ‘He hit me in front of you once too often, you see, and I knew that if I didn’t get out I’d be destroying your chances of a normal life as well as throwing away my own.’

‘Oh, Mum …’

It slipped out instinctively, even though Sophie couldn’t remember the last time she’d addressed Rainbow like that. Rainbow didn’t seem to notice though. Or if she did, she didn’t seem to mind.

‘Well, everything happens for a reason.’ She sighed. ‘I’m not saying it wasn’t horrible at the time, because it was and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, but without all that I’d never have ended up at the camp. I hadn’t been planning to leave, but I went straight to the station, got on the first train that came and went as far as we could before the guard chucked us off for not having a ticket. Which turned out to be Newbury. There was a woman getting into a camper van outside the station and I asked her for directions to a B&B.’ Propping her chin on her hand Rainbow smiled in reminiscence. ‘It was Bridget—you remember her?’

‘I remember.’ During her adolescence Bridget was one of the only things that had actually made Sophie appreciate Rainbow, simply because Bridget was infinitely more embarrassing. Built like a Sherman tank, dressed in dungarees and army boots, Bridget had presided over the peace camp like a new-age sergeant-major in drag. Even Kit would probably have been intimidated by her.

But she couldn’t let herself think about Kit.

‘She took one look at my bruised face—and you—and she knew exactly what our situation was. And that was the moment my whole life changed.’ Rainbow got up to switch on a lamp and pull the curtains shut against the encroaching night. ‘We went back to the peace camp with her and all the women made us so welcome. They were such good people, who had a vision of a better world with no bombs or wars or violence. We changed our names and started a new life with them. And, well …’ she shrugged ‘… you know the rest.’

Laying her spoon down in the empty bowl, Sophie nodded slowly. She knew, of course, but until now she hadn’t really understood. The steel behind the peace-and-love; the courage and the camaraderie and the conviction that gave that small group of dispossessed women the strength to raise their kids and stick two fingers up to a society that hadn’t protected them.

She’d been so quick to write her mother off as a daft, tree-hugging hippy, and distance herself from her alternative lifestyle and eccentric friends. Shame flooded her as she remembered the excuses she’d made about not having a big wedding.
My mother is not most mothers
, she’d said in a tone of deep scorn, implying that was a bad thing.

And it wasn’t. It was good, because she had taught her to be strong and independent and not to put up with second best. And she had loved her. Unconditionally.

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, reaching across the table and taking her mother’s heavily ringed hand in hers.

Rainbow looked surprised. ‘For what?’

‘Everything. Being brave enough to do what you did. For encouraging me to go and live my own life. And for being here for me now, even after all this time.’

Getting to her feet, Rainbow took Sophie’s bowl. ‘I’ll always be here for you,’ she said comfortably, putting water in the kettle and lighting the gas again. ‘I couldn’t give you much in terms of material stuff when you were growing up,
but I used to tell myself that the two things I could give you were roots and wings. You’ll always have a home here, but part of loving someone is letting them go.’

And it reminded her so much of Kit that to her horror Sophie felt her eyes suddenly filling with tears. ‘Is it?’ she said with a sob. ‘But what if they don’t want to go? What if they want to stay and face things alongside you?’

‘Oh, sweetheart …’ Rainbow’s face creased into lines of compassion as she came forward and took Sophie into her arms. ‘I knew something was wrong. What happened? Tell me all about it.’

And so, as the tears slid silently down her cheeks, Sophie did.

The box of tissues Rainbow had put on the table was almost empty by the time Sophie had finished, as was the bottle of Rainbow’s damson gin, which had been brought out instead of herbal tea, in honour of the crisis. Sophie looked at her mother through eyes that were swollen with crying and managed a lopsided smile.

‘When he asked me to marry him I thought I’d stumbled into the happy-ever-after part of the story. I never imagined there was going to be a sequel.’

Frowning, Rainbow shared the last of the gin between the two mugs in front of them. ‘And you think all this means he doesn’t love you?’ she asked carefully.

‘Not enough.’ Sophie dropped her head into her hands. ‘If he did he’d know that I’d just want to be there for him,
with
him.’

There was a little pause, during which the only sound was the spluttering hiss of the gas and a cow mooing mournfully in a distant field. ‘Or it could mean he loves you more than you can possibly understand,’ Rainbow suggested gently. ‘Enough to want you to be happy, and to sacrifice his own
interests to give you that chance. Enough to give you your freedom.’

Shredding a tissue between listless fingers, Sophie remembered what he’d said that morning.
You’re the most amazing, vibrant person I’ve ever met … I won’t condemn you to a life of watching me die by degrees. It would be like burying you alive.

‘But what if I don’t want to be free?’ she moaned. ‘What if I just want to be with him?’

Rainbow leaned forwards and took her hands. ‘That’s the thing about loving someone.’ Her eyes were full of tenderness but her voice was firm. ‘It’s not just about what
you
want any more. It’s about what’s best for both of you. He loves you enough to give you your freedom, and now you have to do the same for him. You have to trust him to make his own decisions, and respect them.’

‘But it’s so hard.’ Sophie gasped, closing her eyes. In the darkness behind her throbbing eyelids she saw Kit’s face and felt as if her heart had been split in two.

Rainbow’s grip on her hands tightened. ‘I know. But have faith. Everything happens for a reason, remember. If it’s meant to be, it will be. If he loves you, you’ll know.’

Opening her eyes, Sophie looked at her mother through a fog of despair. ‘How?’

Rainbow gave her a bittersweet smile. ‘Ah, now that I can’t tell you. I guess you just have to wait for a sign.’

Kit sat in the hospital waiting room, beneath a fluorescent strip light that flickered unnervingly and emitted a persistent, low-frequency buzz. He’d been there for a long time and had become intimately acquainted with the arrangement of fake flowers on the table in the corner, and the covers of the women’s magazines, showing pictures of tanned blondes with wide, blue-white smiles and vacant eyes.

For the hundredth time he picked up his phone and dialled,lifting it listlessly to his ear. The mobile reception at Alnburgh was virtually non-existent so he tried the castle’s landline first, letting it ring on and on and on to make sure that Sophie had enough time to get to it, whatever she was doing. If she was there. But there was a part of him that knew with a cold, clear certainty that she wasn’t.

She had told him that it was over if he didn’t change his mind. She had given him the time to reconsider what he’d said, and the chance to take it back, but he’d refused to think about it, or to talk to her. Instead he’d lost his temper.

Well, he’d had plenty of chances to think about it now. Lying completely still in an MRI scanner tube for over an hour there was nothing to do
but
think. No alternative but to confront his utter stupidity.

With sudden impatience he cut the call to Alnburgh and dialled Sophie’s mobile instead, sending up a silent, desperate prayer that this time she would pick up. Maybe before she’d been driving and unable to answer, but now …

‘Kit—there you are. I’m so sorry to keep you hanging on like this.’ Randall appeared round the corner, jolting him out of his private despair. He looked like hell—grey-faced and exhausted, and Kit noticed that there were splashes of blood on his shirt. ‘It’s been a long afternoon. We had another Medical Evacuation case. Landmine. Anyway, come into my office and we can talk.’

He was already striding down the corridor. Getting stiffly to his feet, Kit had little choice but to follow him.

‘How is he? The medevac case?’

Shutting the door to his office, Randall visibly slumped. ‘Well, the ones that get sent to me are never in a good way,’ he said wearily, sinking into a chair behind a desk stacked high with skyscrapers of paper. ‘But he’s here and he’s alive, which is a start. The physical damage is only part of it though. I can patch him up and send him home, but the mental effects of combat are a lot harder to sort out. Tell me, Kit …’ he looked
speculatively across the paper landscape, gesturing to Kit to take a seat ‘… how much do you know about PTSD?’