There was no way I could say no. I smiled as genuinely as I could and I brushed his hair back off his face. 'But let's take it gently, OK? No pressure on either side. You accept that you're stuck with me now for life?'
He tried to laugh but it hurt his throat too much. Pain shot across his face.
'Calm down,' I said. 'One step at a time. But there's something else I want you to do when you get out of here. You've got to promise me.'
'What?'
'I want you to cut down on how much you're drinking.'
He moved his eyes away so that they no longer met mine. 'I know. When I was upset, it was the only thing that made me feel any better. In the end I felt worse, but there was this golden hour where I felt OK, happy.' He looked at me again. 'Jo, you've got to help me. I don't want to be an alcoholic. I don't want to turn into my dad.'
Although he looked exhausted, Danny insisted on staying with Lucas. He'd charmed an extra blanket out of the nurse and was going to try and get a couple of hours' rest in the chair by the bed.
I saw him briefly outside before I went. Despite all the tension between us and his failure to cope with the crisis of that evening, I felt the closest to understanding him then than I had ever done. And I was moved by his dedication to Lucas; I realised its roots went far deeper than I'd ever suspected. I tried to convey some of the feeling to him as we said goodbye. 'Danny,' I said, 'you did a good job this evening, keeping him going. Talking to him ...'
I trailed off as I saw his expression.
'What else was I going to do, Joanna?' he said. 'Sit there and let him die?'
'Of course not. I meant ...'
His eyes were narrowed, the kohl rims around them especially dark against the blue. 'Nothing changes because he wants you back here. Look what you did to him.' He flicked his hand out sharply, indicating our surroundings. 'This is your fault.'
'Danny ...'
'You can say what you like but you know it is. You did this, Joanna. Because of you, he nearly died.'
I turned and walked away. I knew he had chosen his words with the deliberate purpose of wounding me but they found their mark anyway.
He was lashing out, releasing some of his fear but he was also punishing me for having seen his weakness. I would pay for being the person he had had to call that evening. I would also pay for having been told how deeply his feelings for Lucas ran. He could no longer pretend that he was someone with no baggage, too exalted to be troubled with emotional relationships like the rest of us. I realised then that at no point that night had he called Martha.
I went to find Greg in the waiting room and we walked out into the first hour of the new morning. It was just gone five o'clock and I could see it was going to be one of those early summer days in Oxford that are almost painful in their beauty, when the leaves are fresh and every lungful of air seems to be full of the ingredients for happiness. I had seen a lot of this time in the morning when I had been a student but for much better reasons. It was hard to believe that, a decade later, we were back here and I was visiting Lucas after his attempted suicide.
We crossed the tarmac back to the car. 'He wants you to go back to the house,' said Greg, kicking a small stone and watching it skitter away.
'He says that he misses me and ...'
'That's what this is all about. He's in love with you.'
'We were close for a long time and ...'
'He loves you and he wants you back.'
'I honestly don't think so. It started like that but it's changed. I think I've become a sort of symbol of all the things that he's lost.' As I said it, I felt sure I was right. 'His parents and Patrick are gone for ever; I'm the one thing that he stands a chance of clawing back. It's not about me - it's about not losing anything else.'
'I'm telling you, he wants you back.' We reached the car and got in. The doors shut heavily. Greg looked at me oddly. 'I don't think you're really over him. I mean, you can't be, can you, if you're willing to go back there?'
I was incredulous. 'What? You think I still want Lucas?'
He shrugged. 'Well, don't you? I wouldn't go rushing round to spend time with Rachel. I think you're still in love with him.' He looked out of the window, avoiding eye contact. 'And if you love him, I don't know where that leaves us.'
A void opened in front of me. 'That's crazy,' I said.
'What am I supposed to think, Joanna? You're so tied up with him.'
His tone was one I'd never heard before: it was detached. It frightened me, as if the closeness I'd already come to depend on had been snatched back. 'I don't love Lucas.' I could hear the panic in my voice. 'Not romantically. The last thing I want to do is go back there now but he's made it impossible for me to say no. It's emotional blackmail,' I said. 'Please, Greg. You know it is. I'm being manipulated. I care about him and I can't leave him to waste away up there. But I want to be with you. You must see that.'
Still he said nothing. I put my hand on his arm but he ignored it.
'It's because of me that this happened,' I said.
He spun back to look at me; his eyes were hard. 'It isn't your fault. Don't ever let him or anyone else make you think that.'
I couldn't tell him what Danny had said. And I couldn't mention my other new reason for needing to go back: to prove to Danny that he wasn't the only one who was important to Lucas, that I was his friend, too.
'I just can't stand the thought of him still wanting you and having this hold over you. And if you keep going back, he'll never let you go properly,' he said. 'We'll never be free of this. '
'I don't know what else I can do. I'm trapped.'
There was silence for a moment or two and I thought about that. By putting me in this position, Lucas must have known that he would cause a problem in my relationship with Greg, too. The thought made me angry.
'You feel responsible for him, don't you?'
As soon as he said it, I realised he was right. I felt exactly the same about Lucas as I did about my younger brothers: if either was in trouble, I would drop everything to help. And not just because I wanted to but because I was compelled to by something completely internal, distinct from any conscious sense of duty or the expectation of others. I'd never identified the feeling before.
'You can't be Lucas's protector for ever, Joanna.'
'Not for ever. Just now, while he's still grieving. He's been hurt.'
'Yes, but that's a risk you take when you fall in love with someone. They can always leave you.'
The chestnut trees along the drive formed a deep green tunnel all the way from the real world to the house. Summer had arrived here while I'd been away, just as Lucas had said it had. The last of the light filtered down between the huge leaves but along the verges the darkness was creeping, turning the undergrowth into a black inscrutable mass. As I turned the car off the road from the village I had had a sense of saying goodbye to normality, a last deep breath before the underwater plunge. In the rearview the drive closed in behind me. My stomach jumped with unease at the prospect of being at Stoneborough again. Whatever it was I felt at the house had no power over me in London; I didn't want to submit myself to its hold again. I dreaded that sensation of being watched, the feeling that there was someone or something there that could see without being seen.
I wished Greg were with me. Although Lucas had said that he was welcome, he hadn't felt comfortable with the idea, not the first time I went back. He also didn't think I should have come up tonight. I had come straight from
The Times
where I was in the middle of my third weekend shift in a row. I had driven to the office so that I would be ready for a quick getaway from London when I finished. I was due back there at nine in the morning. I knew I was cutting it fine but it had been ten days since Lucas's overdose and I'd told him I couldn't come the previous weekend. The hurt in his voice when I'd told him I couldn't make this one either had made me search for a way to make it possible. I had worked three weeks straight and hadn't really caught up on the night's sleep I'd missed when we were at the hospital. I'd struggled to stay awake on the motorway. It had been a warm day and the car was hot, although that wasn't the sole reason that my hands had been clammy on the wheel.
It was past nine by the time I pulled up on the gravel circle. I switched off the engine and yawned. Outside the car the air smelled different. Instead of the tang of hot streets, here there was that warm sweet fragrance peculiar to an English evening in early summer, as if the land were gently exhaling. A bat swooped and dived in the navy sky over my head before darting away. I turned to look at the house's closed face. 'I'm not afraid of you,' I said aloud but somehow the dauntlessness I had meant to project died in the air and my voice was only a thin, cowed ribbon of sound. I had a sudden intimation of the vulnerability I had felt here before and marched up the path to ring the bell, keen to be in company.
It was the familiar Lucas who opened the door, not the angry, violent one of the night we split up or the beaten, broken-hearted version from the hospital. I felt a sudden urge to rush into his arms and hold him, to fix that incarnation of him and prevent the return of either of the others. I stepped forward and he touched me lightly on the shoulder. Neither of us said anything and he took my overnight bag and put it at the bottom of the stairs. He coughed. 'Come through. Danny's found some good stuff in the cellar. We were expecting you a little earlier so he's opened it already. Hope you don't mind.'
'Of course not.'
'I'm not drinking. I'm having a total break for a couple of weeks.'
'That sounds like a good idea.'
In the kitchen Michael jumped up to greet me. It had been at least two months since I'd seen him, I realised. Danny stayed seated at the table. He didn't say hello but, when he was sure no one else was looking, raised one ironic eyebrow. Lucas got out a glass for me from the cupboard but Martha shooed him into a chair.
My arrival had interrupted her telling a story about the refuge. She recapped the beginning for me and then continued. I was grateful for the opportunity to sit quietly for a few minutes. I wondered, though, whether anyone else noticed how often her eyes flicked to Danny to gauge the effect her jokes had. She was a good raconteur and I was pleased that he responded to her. I knew it was too much to hope that things would go well between them - the secrecy that he had pressed on her told me that - but I couldn't bear for him to treat her with disdain. I wouldn't be able to keep the silence she had begged me to if he was rude or dismissive of her. I was interested to note, however, that he was also acknowledging Michael's existence again and Michael was responding. Maybe that particular wound was healing.
'We're just going to have an omelette, Jo, as it's late,' said Lucas, pouring another glass of orange juice. 'I'll start it now you're here.'
'No, you sit there, Lucas,' said Michael, getting up. 'I'll do it.'
The kitchen with its high ceiling had always been cold by this time of night but now the air coming in through the French windows was warm. I was hot even in my light summer shirt. I stifled another yawn, wondering how late it would be before I could slip away to bed. Michael was cracking the eggs into a large earthenware bowl with painstaking precision and I longed to hurry him.
After we'd eaten, Martha stood up to go to the loo and Lucas moved into her place. 'Thank you for coming,' he said quietly.
'You don't have to thank me, idiot,' I said. 'It's lovely to be here.'
'I've got something to show you. I know you need to get some sleep but it won't take long.'
My heart sank but I smiled. 'Of course.' I looked at my watch: it was gone eleven. 'I just need to make a quick phone call,' I said, 'then I'll be with you.'
His mouth tightened a little as he thought about who I would be calling at that time, then, with an effort, he smiled again. 'Whenever you're ready.'
The table lamps were the only source of light in the hall and the night had already claimed it for its own, its syrupy darkness swallowing the walls and the busts on their pillars, the moonlight from the dome only penetrating as far as the winding banisters above my head. I didn't want to ring Greg from there with its invisible listening ears, real or imagined, and it didn't seem right to call on the landline anyway, when Lucas would pay the bill.
There was no reception at all inside so I had to go out into the garden to use my mobile. I left the house by the side door and went carefully down the steps from the terrace to the lawn. The sky was not black but a rich purple and the moon was full, a perfect creamy disc so immediate I felt I could stand on tiptoe and touch it. The light it cast was peculiarly bright: I could see the garden distinctly. I walked round the foot of the house, not wanting to stray too far, a little afraid, despite myself, of what might lurk in the shadows further out. I walked round until I found a spot with a signal. Danny had told me in the past that it was better away from the house but standing alone in the middle of the vast expanse of lawn made me feel too exposed, as if, in a hideous battering of wings, something might swoop out of the air and take me.
I needed to hear Greg's voice and to know that the real world was still going on without me. It was kicking-out time at the pubs and the streets in Shepherd's Bush would be alive with people going either home or on elsewhere. I wished I was there, listening to the sound of it from my favourite spot on his sofa.
'Jo?' He picked up just as I thought the call would ring out. 'How is it?'
'It's fine,' I said. 'He's making a real effort. No one's mentioning the other day but they're all dashing round, treating him with kid gloves.'
'And how are you?' he asked. 'How was work today?'
'Great. Rebecca called in, too, and she mentioned that the dates for the maternity cover are fixed now and that we should talk.'
'That's fantastic. Make sure you get there OK tomorrow. I think you took a bit of a risk going up there tonight - but you know that.'
I did; we'd spoken about it at length. 'It was the only way I could keep Lucas happy,' I said again now. 'And as we discussed, it does mean I'm only away from you for one night ...'
'I miss you. I want you back here, in my bed.' He growled, caveman-style. 'And tell Lucas that if he as much as tries to touch you, I'll take him apart.'
When I got back inside Lucas took me upstairs to Patrick's study. I was so tired it was difficult to keep my eyes open. I could have wept when he turned on the cine projector. 'Look,' he said.
It is early evening and the sun is poised above the house like a
new penny. Shadows are stretching across the paving stones
and playing in the gently moving leaves of the wisteria. The
far end of the terrace is still in sunlight and there, lolling on
large cushions and stretched out on rugs and blankets, are
Patrick's friends. Bottles of red wine stand on the stones and
on a wooden board there
is
a piece of liquefying cheese and
the snub end of a baguette. Elizabeth is leaning back on a
scarlet cushion displaying her body, naked apart from a pair
of black knickers. Thomas Parrish has a possessive arm
around her shoulders, its weight and thick black hair in
marked contrast to her smooth brown skin. She is built on a
different scale to him altogether: by comparison she looks
like a precocious tempting child. He leans in so that his lips
are against her ear and his nose is in the dark hair that falls
around her shoulders. She laughs confidently, throwing her
head back, and the silent noise causes Justin, Lucas's father,
to look up from where he is lying. He says something that
makes them both laugh again before turning back to Claire,
the camera following him.
He and Claire are sharing a large striped rug. Like Elizabeth,
Claire is wearing only the bottom half of a bikini, hers a
swirl of yellow and green with ties at the side. Her shyness in
front of the lens is evident again: she sits with her knees
drawn up and her arms wrapped tightly around them. Her
breasts are hidden and on her shoulders are the pale marks of
a bikini top worn on an earlier day. Justin lies on his side
behind her wearing shorts made of cut-off jeans. He is
improbably brown and his chest is flat and muscled. He
looks piratical as he runs his finger inside the elastic of her
bikini bottoms, tracing the skin around her hip and the small
of her back. The camera watches as Parrish passes him a joint
and Justin takes a toke, causing its end to flare orange. He
pulls himself up and leans round in front of Claire, who
resists at first, gently smiling, but then lets him exhale the
contents of his lungs into her mouth. Keeping her eyes on his,
she holds it for three or four seconds and then breathes out
the heavy smoke into the fading light.
On the balustrade, apart from the group, is Patrick. He is
fully dressed except for shoes and looks out from the terrace
over the lawn to the trees at the bottom; it is a moment or two
before he turns to face the camera. He smiles at the cameraman
and speaks briefly, before pulling a pack of cigarettes from his
pocket, lighting one and then turning back to his view of the
garden.
'Your parents look happy together,' I said, biting back a yawn.
'Yes,' said Lucas, and his voice had a smile in it. 'They do, don't they? But that's why I wanted you to see it. They're there, all three of them, even though my mother is with my father now. They're still friends.'
Despite my exhaustion, I hardly slept. The heat had risen through the house and my room on the top floor felt like a kiln. I tried leaving the curtains open to encourage in what little breeze there was but the exceptional brightness of the moon made the room too light. And as well as that - and despite my best attempts to be rational - I was afraid. I could feel the house's atmosphere, that eerie swirling in the dark places in the corners of the room and the folds of the curtains and behind the furniture. It wasn't explicit; there was no sudden breathless rush, as if the air had been sucked out to make a vacuum that dragged the walls in on me, but there was a feeling of underlying menace, a flexing of muscle. I kept my eyes pressed tightly shut all night, childishly afraid of what might be standing at the end of the bed if I were to open them.
At about three o'clock I began to panic about how little sleep I was going to get. Despite having come so close to losing Lucas and thus being especially careful of him, I admitted to myself that I resented him now. If I hadn't had to come up to the house, I wouldn't have been in this situation, I thought, as I turned over again and tried to find a cool patch on the pillow with my cheek. I was going to be shattered for the whole of the next day and I needed to be on top form. If I could do the maternity cover, then I would be able to leave the
Gazette
and, even if there wasn't a permanent job after the six months, I would have real national newspaper experience on my CV.
I woke to find that I had slept through my alarm. The room was as bright as though it were midday. It was a quarter to eight and I was due at my desk in Wapping at nine. There was no way I could get there by then. There was no time to shower or do my hair. I grabbed the outfit I had laid out the night before and roughly cleaned my teeth. I was at the front door within ten minutes.
Lucas was waiting for me in the hall.
'I'm sorry,' I said, rushing past him, scrabbling in my bag for my car key. 'I can't stop and talk. I'll call you tonight, OK?'
He followed me out on to the drive, picking his way across the gravel in bare feet. He indicated that I should wind down my window. 'Will you come again?' he asked, kneeling down.
'Yes,' I said. 'Of course.'
He smiled. 'And bring Greg next time, if he will. I'll get used to it.'
I was an hour late and when I got to the desk I used, there was a Post-it note stuck to the screen of the computer: 'Rebecca rang. She was expecting you in at nine. Please call her at home immediately.'