‘Like I said, for the kids’ sake.’
‘But you said they never spoke about me, so why would they want me to have a grave?’
She looked away and didn’t reply. Every few months, one of the children still took flowers to the churchyard, and arranged them in a vase Emily had made in pottery class when she was eight. At Christmas, they all still made an annual pilgrimage there together – even her, to keep up appearances. It was the only time of year she allowed herself to think about him.
He pleaded to her better nature. ‘Catherine, I promise you, after today, this will be the last you’ll see of me. So please. Let’s be honest with each other.’
‘What do you know about honesty, Simon?’ she replied flatly.
‘I’ve learned it’s what people need before they can move on. There is so much we should have said to each other back then. But I’m here to explain everything, even though a lot of it will hurt you.’
You’re right there, she thought. He had hurt her many times already in the past few hours, and she had a gut feeling it might only be the tip of the iceberg. She inhaled sharply.
‘The kids begged me to organise a funeral because they felt robbed of a proper goodbye, as there was no body to bury,’ she explained reluctantly. ‘Is that what you want to hear? Everyone you’d ever known turned up for it. I even ordered a maple coffin – your favourite wood – for people to place reminders of you inside, like your pub beer tankard and football medals. And after the service, we had a party at the house where they celebrated your life.’
He listened intently and smiled, touched by the effort she’d gone to despite what she knew.
‘I didn’t do it for you,’ she added sharply. ‘I felt sick every second you forced me to play the grieving widow. You made me complicit in your lie, and I hated you for that. Still do. Had it been my choice, I’d have cremated everything you’d ever touched.’
His eyes sank to the floor like a scolded dog’s.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SIMON
Los Telaros, Mexico, twenty years earlier
13 May
No matter where in the world I went, death was sure to follow.
It was commonplace for the sounds of grown men, bawling and shrieking from ecstasy and pain, to seep under bedroom doors and echo around the corridors of the bordello.
But the screams I was hearing that afternoon were female and born out of distress, not pleasure. And noises rarely carried from Luciana’s room. I dropped my paint pot and brush and bolted up the staircase, across the corridor, and banged on her door with my fists.
‘Are you all right?’ I yelled anxiously. ‘Luciana!’
Inside, a male voice shouted something as he suppressed her muffled cries. I turned the handle but it didn’t budge, so I panicked, raised my leg, and kicked and kicked at the door as the scuffle inside continued.
Finally the door split from its frame and I ran inside, but before I could focus on anything or anyone, something weighty collided with the side of my head. My body hit the wall and I dropped to the floor like a bag of rocks. Disorientated, I began to lift myself up until the second blow stopped me in my tracks.
This time my reaction was instinctive and I grabbed the bare ankle of my assailant and twisted it hard. Its owner was felled like a tree in a storm, but then he climbed atop me and unleashed a flurry of fists upon my head and neck. I tried to shelter myself as they rained down on me in a pounding, furious barrage, my head becoming increasingly numb to the pain. A lucky jab to his bare genitals left him curled to one side and temporarily disabled, and I almost reached my feet but he beat me to it and his fist broke my nose.
As his face moved towards mine, I grabbed both sides of his head, but he took advantage of my exposed torso and hit me in both kidneys. Dazed and winded, I landed two clumsy whacks somewhere around his ears but they only riled him further.
For the first time, I took in his appearance. At six foot five and at least sixteen stone of sculpted muscle, I questioned whether the naked, hairy creature before me was man or beast. I erred towards the latter.
Then he picked up an ornament, raised it above his head and spat as he laughed. I expected his black, widened pupils and salivating mouth to be the last things I’d ever see and had accepted the inevitable when, suddenly, a metal table lamp appeared from nowhere and smashed against his crown. He fell to his knees, his face contorted by shock and incomprehension. The lamp swung backwards, then crashed into him over and over again. The man’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, leaving shiny white ovals, before he slumped face down onto the wet carpet, convulsing.
It was only then I noticed Luciana, her face – smeared in murky redness – hiding behind matted hair. Her underwear was in shreds, and the lamp shook in her trembling hands.
I crawled towards the floored titan and rolled him over, face up, to steady his spasming body.
The first words she ever spoke to me were devoid of all emotion.
‘Leave him.’
‘We should call an ambulance.’
‘We do nothing. When I refused to let him force objects inside me, he said his daughter bites her lip and stays quiet when he does it to her. Let the animal die in the way he deserves.’
I had no case to offer for the defence. Instead, I fixated on the pulp of a man biting deeply into his own tongue. Together we watched as his mouth effervesced with delicate pink bubbles, until the convulsions petered out into nothing. Finally, his brain stopped fighting and his soul began its journey from whence it came, back into the arms of the devil.
From the moment I limped downstairs and alerted Madam Lola to the battle in Luciana’s room, she responded with military precision to remove any trace of the man or his rage. She gave every impression it wasn’t the first time she’d been forced to clean up an unexpected mess.
She slipped into autopilot as she relayed orders to a crowd of horrified girls, gawping at the remains by the door. They scuttled in numerous directions like stray fireworks.
‘Miguel – is there enough gasoline in the truck to reach the ravines?’
‘Yes.’
‘Bueno. Take it around the back. The rest of you, go back downstairs and see to your guests.’
She looked directly at Luciana. ‘Who did this to him?’ she asked.
‘I did,’ I replied, and Madam Lola nodded her head approvingly.
‘Good. No man here would touch her again if they ever learned of this. So you will make sure they don’t.’
An hour later, and Luciana’s face had been occupied by an observant silence for much of the journey, the hush only peppered by her directions.