Until Death (6 page)

‘Look at all this stuff, Ryan.’ Her dad was nudging his first-born, nodding in the direction of the miles of warehousing and stacks of containers, egging him on. Ryan winked at Georgie, who swore under her breath. Here they were, sniffing round her job, wondering if there was an angle they could exploit.

‘Take him home.’

Ryan groaned. ‘I’ve got to go to the gym, see Shelley, I’m so busy today.’

‘Busy!’ Ryan had never had a job, not a legal one anyway, yet he always claimed to be busier than her. Georgie saw Mo coming out of the entrance to the office. ‘I have to go, Dad, you dragged me out of a meeting. You can’t come here when I’m at work. You have to phone first.’

‘At least Ryan thinks of the family. Family’s important to him.’ His voice was rising, the drink setting him off again. ‘He knows when the heart’s been ripped from a family.’

‘Please, Ryan, take him home.’

Mo came up to them. ‘Georgie, Angus is asking for you.’

‘Mo, this is my dad and my brother Ryan.’

Georgie was acutely aware of the miasma of spirits clinging to her father. She hoped Mo was standing upwind. Mo smiled and said hello and the two Bells stared at him, her dad swaying uncertainly as the silence stretched.

‘OK, I’ll see you tonight, Dad.’ She turned and walked away with Mo. The silence was so painful she had to break it. ‘Sorry about that.’

‘Sorry about what?’

‘My useless fuck-up of a family. I’ve got two more brothers who are even worse.’

Mo turned round as the Rav 4 roared off and up the ramp to the road. He smiled at her. ‘Your bro’s got a sick car.’

I
t was the middle of the afternoon, the dead time before Kelly’s evening rush dealing with kids and chores. Medea had come round to cook Greek dishes in Kelly’s kitchen, spattering flour across the floor and leaving trails of honey on the surfaces which the kids got on their sleeves. Now her mother-in-law was sealing a series of Greek dishes in clingfilm, mummifying them in layers to be freed at suppertime. Their remains sat in the fridge for days afterwards, staring up aggressively, demanding to be eaten. Normally Kelly was irritated by Medea’s thoughtless intrusion but today they had had an OK chat and had even laughed with each other. She felt emboldened. Maybe she could use Medea to get Christos to change his mind about letting her leave. She watched her mother-in-law wipe the kitchen surfaces and miss a large drop of honey, making Kelly wonder how bad her eyesight was becoming.

‘There’s a special bond between a mother and her only son, I can see that.’

Medea nodded, lifting the toaster to clean underneath.

‘You love him very much, don’t you? You want only the best for him.’ Kelly moved closer to Medea, the two of them side by side, working in the heart of the home. ‘He deserves a life with someone else, someone who can make him happier than I can.’

Medea didn’t turn her head.

‘It would be better for the children if we separated.’ Kelly grew bolder; her argument had not been rejected so far.

Medea took the cloth she had been holding and began to fold it in half, creating smaller and smaller squares as she went. ‘It sounds to me that you’re being very selfish. You can’t just walk away when things get tough.’

It was as if she had slapped Kelly. ‘Medea, he’s got a mistress.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. He’s married to you.’

‘He’s having an affair with Sylvie.’

Her mother-in-law’s face contorted like she’d tasted something bad. ‘If he is, then that’s partly your responsibility. You need to think about what you’re not giving him, what he’s seeking elsewhere. To love and to serve are in your marriage vows—’

‘I don’t believe what I’m hearing—’

‘There are a lot of pressures on a powerful man. You need to support him, help him through. You need to think about the family name.’

‘We need to think about the happiness of our children.’

Medea had folded the square as tightly as possible and now was unfolding it, reversing her actions. ‘Where were you living when you met Christos?’

‘In a flat in the Elephant and Castle.’

‘Did the paper peel? Could you smell the stale cigarettes from other flats, Florence looked after by whoever came to hand so you could wash dishes and serve?’

‘I loved him so much. I have tried and tried to make this marriage work—’

‘You think that a few years down the line you can walk away? Abandon the man who saved you, who pulled you from the gutter and placed you up here? Who gave you everything you wanted? Look at yourself, girl, if you’re in a cage, it’s a golden cage.’

Kelly tried to keep calm. ‘You know him better than anyone, Medea. You know in the long run this is the only solution. At the moment he flatly refuses to consider a separation. Please help him to see sense.’

‘You need to find your sense of duty.’

That was it. What Kelly had given up to do her duty! She didn’t see her mother or old friends, couldn’t visit her home town. She had faced down injustice and it had cost her nearly everything … Kelly could control herself no longer. ‘You shove duty down my throat so hard you make me want to puke. He’s a brute and you know it. You can cover your ears and shut your eyes but I know you hear it and you see it, what he does to me!’

Medea was unmoved. ‘My husband was a very religious man. A union was sacrosanct to him. A marriage would be lifelong, whatever hardships were thrown up along the way. What he believed, we believe. Union, family honour, stability, they are more important than the whims of a girl from nowhere.’

Kelly had a memory of the arguments she used to have with her own mother about Michael, about how he wasn’t good enough for her, that he was a wrong’un. Her mother was keen to stop her daughter repeating her mistakes. She hadn’t seen Mum in years; the aftermath of the trial made it difficult, her fear for Florence meaning she had been scared to go back home. And now she was broken and she didn’t know how to get back in touch. ‘I may be no one from nowhere, I may have had no money but I know what’s right and what’s wrong. You’ve raised a psychotic brute and you’ve blinded yourself to it.’

‘How dare you talk about my son like that!’ Medea threw the cloth down on the side.

‘Let the children grow up in a happier home. As a mother, make him let me go. I beg you.’

‘You’ll be on your knees begging a long time. Only God can free you from this marriage.’

‘Please, Medea, help me!’

‘I was married for forty-five years, Kelly. Long years. I nursed my husband through the cancer at the end. I emptied those bowls of blood, stood by him as he moaned in pain. I did it. I endured. I took pride in my service to my marriage. I put the lives of others before myself. There is a glory in the selfless life …’

Kelly couldn’t take any more. She slammed her hands over her ears and let out an incoherent wail in the kitchen, the frustration and the horror of the many potential years to come bubbling from deep inside her.

‘Do that, if it makes you feel better. Take your pills. But he will never let you go.’ And Medea turned and began the never-ending and ineffectual wiping away of the stains.

‘C
an we play planes?’ shouted Yannis, jumping up and down and pleading. Florence joined in, their faces staring up at her. Kelly smiled. Medea had gone home, and the bitter aftertaste of their argument was washed from her mouth by her children. They were just back from school, the time of day she liked the most, particularly on the days Medea didn’t come fussing into their lives, and before Christos got home. After the commotion so early in the day and after the customs officers had left, Christos had gone to work and she had spent a long time wondering where to hide the passports in a way that couldn’t be seen by the relentless green light in the corner of every room. She had decided in the end simply to leave them where they were, in her back pocket.

‘Come on then.’ They bundled into the kids’ bedroom and Kelly lay down on the floor, her legs stretching up towards the ceiling. She grabbed Yannis’s hands and put the soles of her feet on his stomach and lifted him into the air. He squealed with delight. ‘Arms out wide, make a plane,’ said Kelly. He purposefully stuck out his solid little legs rigid behind him, jutting his chin forward purposefully. ‘Turbulence,’ said Kelly theatrically and began to jiggle her feet as he protested at being bounced up and down. ‘Coming in for landing,’ she said and lifted her legs behind her head so that Yannis could roll over on his hands and land with a thump on the carpet behind her head.

‘Again, again,’ he shouted.

‘The planes are stacking, Yannis, Florence first.’

She laid one leg straight out on the floor and the other up towards the ceiling. Florence was slim and light, and took off on Kelly’s one raised leg, arching her neck and flinging her arms wide, graceful as a swan, her stomach a taut drum on the sole of Kelly’s foot. Kelly looked up at her daughter hovering, eyes closed, before she started jiggling her leg and Florence crashed to the floor. Her children shrieked and Kelly’s heart soared. Her children were happy; they were loved. She sometimes had her happy moments. Maybe she should endure it all for the sake of the children. Get some therapy, maybe try to make it through the day without feeling the crippling fear, of her husband and of the past … She glanced out of the kids’ bedroom and saw the office door, bolted shut. As if. Even if she wanted to put the passports back, pretend she’d never done it, the door was locked and she couldn’t.

‘Again, again,’ shouted Yannis as he clambered on to the bed to launch himself at her. Yannis was in the air above her now, making loud revving noises when the lift door slid apart and Kelly instinctively dropped her legs, Yannis clattering to the floor in an untidy heap.

Christos was home. The game and everything else was instantly forgotten as she searched his face for signs she might be in danger, that he might repeat what had happened a couple of weeks ago. She tried to anticipate what he might do or say. She mentally ticked off with a flash of panic whether she had done everything in the right way since he had left this morning. After all, today had started with a surprise and that had thrown the routine out. She had laid out the newspapers, put his clothes away just as he liked. Was there cold water in the fridge? God, had she forgotten the water? She sat up in a hurry. ‘How did it go at the office? Is there anything you need help with?’

They were playing the charade of the happy family. He shook his head, one hand holding a briefcase and the other smoothing back his hair. He still wore his tie. She allowed herself to breathe out. Still wearing the tie was a good sign. When he got frustrated he had been known to rip it off and whip the furniture with it, before moving on to other things. But he seemed keen to see the children, who gave him a hug. ‘I’ve got a call to make,’ he said. ‘I won’t get my phone back until tomorrow; it’s unbelievable what an inconvenience it is.’ He made to leave the room, then turned back. ‘If customs come by again and ask you questions, you tell me, OK?’

She nodded and tried to swallow the saliva draining into her mouth. The threat hung heavy in the air. They were to stick together, through anything. ‘Do you want me to make you some dinner?’ she called after him. There was no reply. She thought very hard, trying to concentrate through her chattering fear. No reply meant yes to food. She sank back down to the floor on her back to calm herself for a moment.

‘Mum, what’s that?’ she heard Florence ask.

Kelly opened her eyes. Florence was sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring at her stomach. Her baggy black shirt had rucked up around her waist and her trousers had worked their way down low on her hips and her daughter was staring at her stomach. Kelly yanked her shirt back down. ‘It’s nothing.’ Florence was silent. ‘I accidentally splashed myself with boiling water when I was making tea. It looks much worse than it is.’ She had the sensation of staring down at herself from above, unable to recognise this woman who lied to her own daughter, who made light of her searing injury, who was so broken and cowed.

She followed Christos out of the room, as obedient as a dog to its master, and was blindsided by what he said next.

‘I had a call at the office from Yannis’s school today.’

‘You did?’

‘It seems he’s been in trouble again.’

‘That’s strange, they didn’t mention anything to me when I went to pick him up. What did he do?’

‘Threatened a teacher or something.’

‘Threatened?’

‘He probably brandished a ruler, you know what kids are like.’

‘I don’t understand—’

‘What’s to understand?’ he said, irritated. ‘It’s simple. He’s been misbehaving.’

‘No, I mean, they didn’t phone
me
.’ She paused, knowing she was entering dangerous territory by bringing it up. ‘They normally do if there’s a problem.’

‘I am their father.’

‘Yes, but often you’re busy, in meetings. I would have thought they would have contacted me.’

‘They want to see us tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow? But it’s Saturday.’

‘The older boys have Saturday school.’ He gave her a look like something was her fault. ‘It must be important to call us in then, but I’m too busy, you’ll have to go on your own.’

‘OK.’ She paused. ‘There’s something else, Christos. The night of the party, Florence said something about me going away. Sylvie told her I was going away at the end of the month. I didn’t know what she meant.’

The home phone began to ring. Christos turned away so she couldn’t see his face. ‘She must have got that wrong.’

She tried again. ‘Florence doesn’t usually misinterpret things.’

‘I don’t agree. She’s a bit like you, a bit of a fantasist.’

She watched him walk away into the bedroom. So that was how this was to be spun. Christos and Medea would make her out to be unhinged, belittle her sufferings.

‘Mummy?’ It was Yannis, calling for her.

She turned back into the children’s room. ‘Come on, let’s fly to the clouds and back.’

‘I don’t want to fly any more. I want to kill Barbie. Die, Barbie, die!’ He picked up Florence’s old toy and banged her head against the bedpost three times before Kelly yanked the doll from his hand and placed her on a high shelf beyond his reach.