Freeing Grace Read online

  I glanced at the whisky bottle, almost empty now.

  ‘You’re right. I still do.’ Perry sighed. ‘God wasn’t in his heaven. All wasn’t right with the world. One time I had a real blinder. Got absolutely rat-arsed. Staggered home in the middle of the night, had to get up four hours later because we were going on exercise. Awful night. The dreams. The dreams.’ He ran a shaky hand down his cheek. ‘Victoria came banging on my window, rotting, raging. She’d come for me.’

  I grimaced.

  ‘She did that a lot,’ he said. ‘Anyway, when I arrived at the barracks I started to sweat and shake and . . . well, it was more than just a hangover. Had to sit down before I fell down. The medic said it was some sort of viral thing, sent me home. No problem.’

  He stood abruptly and went to the sink, filling his glass with water from the tap. ‘About a week later, same thing. It happened on the parade ground this time, witnessed by about a hundred men.’

  ‘Hell.’

  ‘I actually had a bizarre sensation, as though I was floating above myself. I thought I must be dying. Made a real spectacle of myself.’

  ‘What was it?’

  He shrugged. ‘I felt . . . sounds stupid now . . . Victoria was doing it, calling to me to join her on the other side.’

  ‘Was Deborah around?’

  ‘Deborah was very young. Just the nanny, a friend’s daughter. I didn’t tell her. Anyway, the medics attached things to my chest and got me walking on a treadmill. They said I was fit as buggery. Suggested it was stress.’

  He took a mouthful of water and made a face as though there’d been battery acid in the glass. ‘Stress! I don’t do stress. I don’t do fear. I’ve spent much of my career on active service. Fear isn’t something I have ever been afraid of, if you follow me.’

  I followed him, but I wasn’t sure whether I believed him.

  He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Anyway, the attacks stopped, and I almost forgot about it. I started spending more time at home, drank less, came to realise that Deborah was more than just a beautiful girl who loved my daughter.’

  ‘A beautiful and very young girl.’

  ‘Yes, young,’ he agreed, sitting down again. ‘But she wasn’t a child. She knew what she wanted from life. She . . . I felt secure with her. She made me feel safe, with her youth and her vitality. I very nearly found happiness again. Then—out of the blue—wham!’ He slammed his hand flat onto the wood, and I jumped. ‘It knocked me right down this time.’ He rested a hand across his chest as though he could still feel the agony. ‘Good God, the pain . . . I was suffocating, I couldn’t breathe. I believed my number was up, Jake. And I knew terror for the first time in my life. Pure terror. ’

  ‘Sounds like a heart attack, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I still wonder whether it was my heart, whatever these bloody people say. Had to be stretchered off, rushed to hospital in an ambulance—the hospital where Victoria died. Deborah was there, beside herself. Tests, tests and more tests. Nothing!’

  He stared at me, wildly. ‘It kept happening,’ he said hopelessly. ‘I longed for a diagnosis of some sort. Some explanation. I feared that I’d lost my mind. Eventually, the consultant told me he thought I was having panic attacks. Panic attacks!’ He grinned austerely, like a skull.

  ‘Doesn’t sound very British Army.’

  ‘Ah.’ He paused, the whisky bottle in his hand. ‘It’s interesting, your saying that. In fact there’s a fair old tradition of this kind of thing, if you go back to the old diagnoses of shell shock and battle fatigue and so on. You get some of it after every major engagement, even in modern warfare, although we don’t shoot the poor bastards as deserters any more.’

  He sloshed more into our glasses. ‘So I’m not alone. I suppose my illness was triggered by personal trauma rather than military engagement, but the army didn’t like to acknowledge it and neither did I. So it was put down as an episode of general ill-health, and I was posted to Nairobi.’

  I wondered what the gospel according to Perry would be when it came to Nairobi. At the same time, he must have been wondering just how much I knew.

  He sat for a moment, gazing into his glass.

  ‘Nairobi.’ He nodded wearily. ‘All was well.’

  My eyes just about popped out. All was well ?

  ‘With Deborah by my side, I could face anything. At the end of my posting, I asked to go back to England. We had Lucy’s education to think of. I was sent to Colchester, and Deborah and I were married. Matthew was born. We were blissfully happy.’

  I sat open-mouthed, awed by the scale of his whitewash job. Out in the hall the grandfather clock clunked, steadily.

  ‘It came back, the bloody thing, in the end.’ He spoke very quietly. ‘Hit me like a bullet in the chest. At the barracks, inevitably. I couldn’t go near the place any more. I knew then that my career was over.’

  The clock whirred, and struck three. It sounded unnaturally loud.

  ‘The terror !’ he hissed. ‘I’d become an animal. A lynx, say, cowering in a trap, waiting for death as the hunter approaches with his club. My rational mind would tell me I had nothing to fear, but the message simply did not get through. My brain was paralysed by terror.’

  I knew that feeling.

  ‘Most people,’ said Perry, fixing his gaze on me, ‘have never truly felt terror. Not in our molly-coddled society, anyway.’

  ‘I guess not.’

  Oh, no.

  Oh, no. I can hear the quad bike roaring up the paddock. He’s coming.

  ‘You’re at . . . oh, a drinks party, say.’ He held up a clenched fist. ‘Suddenly, dread. Panic. You’re frantic. Make a complete idiot of yourself. Believe me, that’s the last drinks party you’ll ever go to.’

  ‘I don’t think I get it . . . Do you have a heart condition?’

  ‘Not at all, according to the medics. Wish I did. No, it’s all up here.’ He tapped himself on the head. ‘I’m barking mad, apparently.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not right,’ I said, a little insincerely.

  He leaned towards me. ‘Yes, I’m afraid it is right. I avoided anywhere connected with the army, since those places were the trigger. Avoidance worked for a short time, but it soon started up again. In the street, in a shop, in a theatre. Even sitting in a car. So I had to avoid those situations too. Now there’s only one place it doesn’t happen. Right here, in this house. So . . .’ Sip, swallow. ‘So here I rot.’

  ‘Christ, you must be bored.’

  ‘I have work—quite lucrative, actually, until the recent downturn— that can be done in my study. That’s my cell. The garden is my exercise yard.’

  ‘Isn’t there any treatment?’

  ‘I’m rattling,’ he waved his glass dismissively, ‘rattling with antidepressants and the Lord only knows what else. I’ve had bloody cognitive therapy and behavioural therapy and every other type of therapy, all with silly names. God. These people. They pretend it’s so easy.’ He emptied the last of the bottle into our glasses. ‘No, Jake, for me there’s no escape.’

  ‘No escape? Ever?’

  ‘Only one thing persuades me that my life is valid.’ He knocked the glassful back in one, banged it down onto the table. ‘Deborah. With her, I’m safe. Without her, I’m bewildered. But she’s often away with her work, and I’m finding it increasingly . . .’ He winced. ‘I’m afraid even this house will become unsafe. And then . . .’

  I waited.

  He met my eyes. ‘And then, I shall be finished.’

  It was impossible for me to imagine such an existence. I sat looking at him, trying to understand. But I couldn’t.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said. ‘You’re thinking that if I had an ounce of backbone I’d get out there. Just square the old shoulders and stride out through that gate.’

  I held out my hands. ‘I don’t think I could live like this, Perry, completely imprisoned in my own home. Surely you could force yourself ? A little at a time?’

  He didn’t
answer. He seemed to be made of ash. I knew I’d said the wrong thing, and I didn’t care. I remember thinking that the man needed to wake up to himself. I’d rather top myself than wander around my home like a ghost, only half alive, swilling whisky and popping antidepressants until I rotted away.

  ‘Now I understand why you sent me to bring her back,’ I said, after a while. ‘You needed her. For yourself. It was nothing to do with that baby.’

  He shook his head. ‘How would Deborah have felt if I’d let her grandchild go?’

  ‘I don’t know, but—’

  ‘Horrified.’ He was rallying. ‘Grace is our flesh and our blood! Try to imagine how it feels to be a grandparent. She’s not just any baby, she’s a part of us, you see. She must grow up with her family. There’s no substitute for that.’

  ‘But,’ I argued, without thinking it through, ‘you must be ready for a bit of peace and quiet by now, with your own kids grown up?’

  Big mistake. Perry’s chair scraped as he leaped to his feet. He was like Matt, pacing in his bedroom, agitated.

  ‘Peace and quiet? Do you honestly imagine that I crave peace and sodding quiet? Good God, man! I’ve lived all over the world. I’ve led men into action, under fire, in eight different regions, in deserts and cities and jungles. I’ve been first down deserted streets, waiting for the sniper fire. And now I cower in the corner like an old dodderer in a geriatric ward, watching on a twenty-four-inch screen as the world explodes around me.’

  Subsiding, he threw himself back into the chair. ‘No, thank you. I’m not ready for a bit of peace and quiet.’

  That shut me up.

  The clock struck the quarter-hour. Perry jerked his head towards the door. ‘It’s all right. Go on, Jake. I know you’re longing to get off to bed.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ll just stoke up the stove. Then I’ll get my head down too.’

  ‘Okay.’ I pushed myself to my feet. ‘Thanks for the drink.’

  ‘Not at all. Any time. Thanks for your company.’

  So I left him there, alone with his empty bottle, and sloped upstairs.

  Mad, I thought, as I snuggled my head into the pillow and let the soft mists of Jura carry me away. They’re all mad.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I didn’t hear the creak of my door a few hours later. I never heard her cross the floor, either, or lower a mug down next to the alarm clock.

  ‘Jake.’ Fingers gently pinched my ear. ‘Jake.’

  Deborah was standing beside the bed, bright against the pale light of an autumn morning. She was dressed in proper clothes, I noticed: corduroy trousers and a posh, moss-coloured jersey. Proper pommy clothes, to go with the potpourri and polished floors. I missed the strips of tie-dyed cloth.

  I peered at the clock, whisky-headed. ‘Jeez!’ I croaked. ‘Half past seven! What is this? Boot camp? I could be snuggled down in a hotel room right now, with fluffy towels and Do not disturb hanging on the door.’

  ‘Sorry. I brought you some tea.’

  Her voice was clear as water. I felt grubby with her so close to me. I mumbled a vague thanks and reached for the mug—I don’t touch the stuff, actually—and she sat down on the bed, somewhere near my knees. I could faintly smell her perfume. A warm, citrus scent, and maybe cloves.

  I took a mouthful of tea, hoping it would scald the cotton wool off my tongue. ‘Is anyone else up?’

  ‘Lucy left two hours ago,’ she said absently, staring out of the window. ‘She says she’ll phone you.’

  I stretched my legs, smugly. ‘She’ll be at her desk by now.’

  ‘I was hoping . . .’

  ‘Yeah? Faithful hound, at your service.’

  ‘I . . . um. I’d be so grateful if you could come with me this morning.’

  I was suspicious. ‘Come with you to where?’

  ‘Children’s Services. Fintan House. I’ve got to beard the dragons in their lair.’

  ‘Well, I don’t see what I’ve got to do with any of that. It’s Perry you . . .’ I wavered, remembering. ‘It’s a solicitor you need.’

  She nodded. ‘Stuart Forsyth. I’ve got an appointment to see him tomorrow. In the meantime, his advice is to get down to Fintan House and throw my hat into the ring.’

  ‘Okay. Fine. Good luck.’ I plonked my head back onto the pillow. The linen smelled of lavender. ‘Let me know how you get on.’

  ‘Perry can’t come with me this morning. He’s busy.’

  What a whopper.

  She reached down and shook me by the knee. ‘He explained the whole legal thing to me last night . . . are you listening, Jake?’

  ‘Nope.’ I pulled the pillow over my ears, wishing I’d put a thousand miles between myself and this madhouse.

  She dragged it off me, sat with it on her lap. ‘Grace is being cared for by the local authority, but they have to restore her to her birth family if at all possible. That’s their duty. Adoption is a last resort.’

  ‘You’d hope so.’

  ‘Quite. Well, they’ve tried, to be fair. Cherie died. Matt couldn’t manage alone. Perry never came to the party. They didn’t believe I existed, so they gave up and planned to have Grace adopted. They’ve even found a family.’

  ‘Fast work!’ I said. ‘The thing’s on the home straight.’

  ‘Okay. Well, because Matt won’t give consent, they’ve had to apply to court for an order. Without it, they’re scuppered.’

  ‘What if they do get their order?’

  ‘It more or less casts her adrift. She’ll go to the new family without any legal baggage. They call it a placement hearing. Nice, anodyne words, aren’t they? Apparently it used to be called the freeing, because the child is cut free from her unreasonable, grasping parents.’ Deborah laughed bitterly. ‘An arresting idea: as though some judge could set a person free. I wish it was so easy. I’d apply for one myself.’

  I ignored this stream of consciousness. It was too early in the morning. ‘Sounds as though they’ve got everything nicely teed up,’ I said.

  ‘Mm. Well, they had until I appeared, like a bad penny. So now I’ve got to rush over there and show that I really do exist, and have only one head.’

  I pulled the duvet up another few inches, trying to disappear. ‘Great. And your clever lawyer can go along as well.’

  She shifted fretfully. ‘Stuart says it’s better to front up without him. Looks less aggressive. I’m to smile sweetly and charm them into changing their plans.’

  ‘Huh. I bet he’s playing golf this morning.’

  ‘Matt would like you to be there. He admires you.’

  I wasn’t giving in without a fight. This was going too far. Escorting the wretched woman back to Suffolk was one thing; being used as a surrogate Perry was another.

  ‘I’m busy,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a trans-Africa expedition to organise.’

  She jammed her hands under her knees, like a schoolkid. ‘Please, Jake. Can’t you just be a witness?’

  I sat up and took another mouthful of tea—disgusting stuff—to buy some time. Outside on the lawn, I could see my friend the rabbit snuffling around in a patch of dandelions.

  ‘Perry told me about his, um, fear thing.’

  ‘Really ? ’ Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Ah, that will have been last night, in the dark hours. I heard your voices. It was the whisky talking.’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Now you know why he sleeps in the study. He can’t . . . you know. It’s a symptom. Not uncommon, apparently.’

  Suddenly it all fitted. ‘Why the dark secret?’ I asked. ‘Not such a disgrace, is it?’

  ‘Dear, oh dear.’ She looked sadly at me, shaking her head in disgust. ‘That’s just the kind of thing people say who’ve never lived with mental illness, Jake.’

  ‘Actually, I have. I lived with my dad, and he’s a total nutter.’

  ‘And I bet you never told a soul.’

  That shut me up, because she was right.

  ‘So.’ She began to pic
k at the embroidery on my duvet. ‘What did you think?’

  ‘About Perry? I thought, poor bloke.’

  ‘Oh no, he’s not. He’s not a pathetic figure at all. He’s all-powerful. I’m sure that isn’t the impression he gave you last night as he wept into his tumbler.’ She snorted. ‘There he sits, lurking like a spider in his web, and we, poor insects, flutter blindly in. Then he sucks our blood. He doesn’t tackle his fears because he doesn’t have to. He has everything he needs right here.’

  ‘No one would voluntarily box themselves up in their own home, Debs.’

  ‘Look at you,’ she jeered. ‘You were in London, right? With a flat and a girlfriend and a job? Then, next thing you know, you’re on a plane to Mombasa, searching for someone you’ve never even met. It’s utterly surreal. And why? Because Perry asked you to!’

  I considered this and then shook my head. ‘No.’

  ‘What d’you mean, no? That’s exactly what happened.’

  ‘I mean no, I didn’t do it for Perry. I’ve told you, I did it for Matt. And also because my life is a train wreck, and I wasn’t ready to face the fact.’

  She fluttered a hand at me. ‘All part of the game. Perry is astoundingly manipulative. He is the puppet master, and we jerk grotesquely on his strings.’

  ‘I thought he was a spider in a web. That’s a mixed thingy.’

  She looked exasperated. ‘Metaphor. Don’t they have schools down under? You can’t escape the fact, Jake, that you were his puppet. And you’re still here. We all are. We’re all trapped in hell.’

  I tried the tea again. ‘Have you asked Perry to come with you?’

  She went back to vandalising the duvet cover. ‘I did, just to upset him. The very thought of getting into the car can make him physically sick. By the time we reached the main road he’d be choking. He wouldn’t look so bloody dignified any more.’ She pulled out a long thread, dropping it delicately onto the floor with elegant fingers. ‘I’m horrid, aren’t I?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sorry . . . Look, Jake. Matt so wants you to come. Please.’

  A bird scarer fired somewhere across the fields. The report echoed away into the distance, and a cloud of rooks took to the air, cawing furiously. Deborah waited, without taking her eyes off me.