Disfigured Love

The owner was a round, bespectacled man called Roberto. His hands were very fat and white. He took a sip of espresso and then had to tug out that finger that had become stuck in the circle of the handle.

‘Gout,’ he told me mournfully. ‘Very painful. I used to be able to run faster than a gazelle, but no more. Can you run?’

‘Yes, I can run. Very fast.’

He smiled. ‘Have you got a white blouse and a black skirt?’

‘I will have them by tomorrow.’

‘Good, then you can start tomorrow. Come in at ten a.m.’

‘That’s it?’

‘I’m not one for talking. Tomorrow we will try you out. Rosella will show you what to do and we’ll see how it goes.’

I grinned. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘Brian tells me you are from Russia.’

‘I am.’ At that reminder I immediately thought of my brother. I had to start saving money. I would write to him tonight and tell him of my change of circumstances. Soon I would be able to go to Russia and fetch him. Now that I knew I could definitely survive on my own.

‘Part of the Russian mafia?’ he asked jokingly.

I didn’t get the joke. I just shook my head.

‘Good. We have enough mafia in Italy.’ He moved his legs and winced with pain. ‘Gout,’ he explained again. ‘Very painful.’

A man dressed in a chef’s uniform came out of the swing door of the kitchen and put a large plate of what looked to be lamb shank, potatoes and vegetables in front of Roberto.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said, picking up his knife and fork.

After Brian took me back to Margaret’s flat, she and I searched through Carrie’s cupboard. As it turned out she did own a simple white blouse and a black skirt. It did not reach my knees, but Margaret winked and assured me the shorter the skirt, the higher the tips.

Margaret and I had an early dinner. It was overcooked and pretty tasteless compared to Mrs. Littlebell’s cuisine, but I was very grateful and cleaned the plate. Afterwards Margaret invited me to sit and watch TV with her, but I said I was tired and asked if she had writing paper and an envelope. She rummaged about in a drawer and gave me a pad and an envelope. I thanked her and went back to my new room.

I sat on the bed and wrote to Nikolai. I told him I was free. I was now living in London and in a few months’ time I was coming for him. We would live together in London. I folded my letter and put it into the envelope. After that I crawled into bed.

I closed my eyes and all I could see was Guy—the expression on his face. He had thought he repulsed me. I had not been repulsed. Not in the slightest. In fact, I had expected far worse after seeing his wife and child, and I was actually stunned by the stern beauty of one side of his face. I wondered what he might be doing and suddenly, I felt so lost and I missed him so much that I stuck my head under the pillow and sobbed myself to sleep.

Chapter 25

Hawke

The night was fading. Another empty soul-destroying day was waiting in the wings. I remembered how she used to make the night last forever. I opened the door and entered her room. The windows were shut, the curtains drawn. It was as quiet as a graveyard. A wave of such sadness swept over me that I leaned against a wall and breathed slowly. In my hand I held a bottle of brandy and a glass. It always helped to anesthetize my mind. With it I no longer smelt them burning, or heard their screams, or saw the flames licking at their skin, their flesh. Burning. Burning. Burning. While I tore my hands on mangled steel.

I gripped the bottle and glass tightly.

My eyes roamed the space. So much of her was still locked in this room. She had found an old music system from somewhere and had brought it here. She had picked some flowers from the gardens and stuck them in a blue vase. She had put out a dress to wear that evening for dinner. It lay on the bed. I walked over to it. It was a pretty thing. Some shiny yellow material with black netting on top. There were little green flowers made of green material scattered on the skirt of the dress and becoming more and more dense as it got closer to the hemline.

I reached out and touched it. The twist of pain was sudden, unexpected, and violent. It felt as if I was being ripped apart. The feeling was beyond animalistic.

If only she had not found the secret passageway. I had wanted to keep her a little longer. I had promised to let her go in a year. Fuck it. Who was I kidding? I had wanted to keep her forever. But I was only fooling myself. Sooner or later she would have seen me without my mask. Of course, she could never have loved me. Not the monster that I am.

I breathed out slowly and walked away from the dress and went toward the cassette player. On the way I saw my reflection in the mirror. I stopped and looked at myself. Surprised. Not by my scars. Not by the hideousness of my reflection, but by my eyes. At how sunken and haunted they looked. I looked away and continued toward the player.

I looked at the music she had collected. Old songs from the sixties and seventies. There was already a tape in the machine. I clicked play.

‘Love Hurts’ by the Everly Brothers.

The sound was bad, tinny, and scratchy. This was not music. It hurt my ear. I wanted to switch it off and yet she had found pleasure even in this scratchy music. This was the last thing she had listened to.

I felt sorry for her then. Poor thing. She was just a child. So innocent and yet so brave. I had learned from her. How much I had learned from her. She had asked only one thing of me. How badly I had treated her. I was a fucking selfish bastard. I should have taken her out. I should have got her a good music system. I could have made her life so much better. It would have cost me nothing. Instead I condemned her to wander around this dark and depressing castle. Not that she complained. She was always so ready to laugh. Ready to find joy in the smallest thing. I was too harsh and too cold with her. I never showed her love. I was afraid to show her love.

The music changed. Dolly Parton crooned, ‘I will always love you. I hope life treats you kind and I hope you have all you ever dreamed of.’

I hated country singers, but that night her voice tore at my insides. I went and sat on the bed and I poured myself a glass and threw it down my throat. Then I poured another glass, and another, and another. I looked at the bottle. Half gone. I lay down on the bed and stared at the canopy and knew a great emptiness inside me. Outside, it began to rain.

‘Oh, Lena, Lena, Lena,’ I whispered, and thought of her tender body reaching for me. The memory rolled like thunder across my mind. I had let a precious thing slip between my fingers. I thought I was holding on tight, but she had slipped out like sand.

I remembered her again, telling me about the ghost she had befriended. A smile came to my lips at the memory. What a child she was. She must have been really lonely to have created a ghost. Suddenly the door opened and Misty walked in. She stopped when she saw me.

I jack-knifed upwards, my stomach in knots. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing is wrong. They are both fine.’

I rubbed the side of my head. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I saw the light…’ She let her voice trail away.

; ‘Yeah, it’s just me.’

‘Guy?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I miss her too.’

I closed my eyes. When I opened them she had come closer. She was wearing a green dress with round metal cut-outs at the waist and around the hemline. It was too tight around her breasts. Her nipples showed through. I averted my eyes quickly. She sat on the bed beside me and looked into my eyes. She was wearing make-up. I had never noticed what pretty eyes she had. Her hand reached out and covered mine. I looked down at it. How small it was compared to mine.

‘She was my best friend.’

I looked up and met her eyes. What was in her eyes was different from what her words were telling me. My alcohol-addled brain caught her perfume.

‘You are wearing Lena’s perfume,’ I whispered. My voice was shocked and raw. It felt wrong. The idea made my flesh creep. I had specially commissioned that perfume for my Lena.

‘Yes, it reminds me of her.’

She put her hand on my upper arm. I felt my muscles contract with revulsion. She mistook the response and turning her head suddenly let her mouth fall on mine. The glass in my hand crashed to the floor. My hands were suddenly curled around her upper arms and she was moving very fast away from me. She fell back onto the bed and stared up at me, breathing hard. Her hands touched her mouth.

‘Fuck me. Use me like you did her,’ she said.

I stood and looked at her, her hair spread on the bed, her short dress ridden high up her thighs, her top button unbuttoned, her hand stroking the one exposed naked breast. I watched her pinch her own nipple and gasp. I watched her part her thighs and show me her freshly shaven pussy. It was a good offer, but she was not my Lena.

I reached down and closed her legs. ‘I can’t, Misty. I’m sorry,’ I said, and began to walk away.

From the tape recorder Eric Carmen’s rich voice sang ‘All By Myself’. ‘Don’t wanna be all by myself. Anymore.’