The Perimeter Page 5

  ‘I’m making you dinner, aren’t I?’

  ‘Oh, Yeah. Okay then. Well, it was pretty full on. It just kicked off without warning.’

  While Luc heated up the soup, I sliced some bread and proceeded to tell him about the queues and how it had all turned ugly once people realised there were no provisions left to trade for. Luc tipped the contents of the pan into two bowls and we carried them across to the kitchen table.

  ‘I’ve never known it this bad before,’ Luc said, sitting down and blowing on a spoonful of soup. ‘It’s Grey’s fault. His army ransacked the area. So now everyone’s hoarding. At least you got out of there okay.’

  ‘Only because of Lou.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Lou. She lives outside the compound. She got me out of there when people started shooting the place up. Nice soup by the way. Did you make it yourself?’

  ‘Yeah, I did actually. I made it this morning. Thanks. Did you say she lives outside the compound? A gypsy helped you out? It’s usually the other way around. They usually help themselves, not others.’

  ‘Well, Lou was really nice.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  I looked up at his sceptical tone. ‘What are you ‘hmming’ about?’

  ‘I’ve dealt with the gypsies before. And not to be prejudiced or anything . . . they don’t usually help people out of the goodness of their hearts. It’s usually about what you can do for them.’

  ‘Lou isn’t like that,’ I replied. ‘After it all kicked off, she came back to see if I was okay and then when I couldn’t find Pa, she told me she’d get me out. Once we got back to her camp, she got in trouble with this guy called Reece for helping me . . .’

  ‘Who?’ Luc’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘Reece – one of the gypsies. He had a go at her for showing me their route out of the compound. Anyway, I said I’d see if I could find Lou some fuel. She’s got two younger brothers and . . .’

  ‘There you go,’ Luc interrupted.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said you’d get her some fuel. She helped you out so she could get some fuel.’

  ‘No. It wasn’t like that. She didn’t say she’d get me out of there for a price. She helped me and I offered afterwards.’

  ‘Well, of course she wouldn’t say that. She’d have to be a bit subtle about it.’

  I tore off a piece of bread and started chewing. ‘Not everyone’s out for themselves. Some people can be kind without wanting something in return.’

  Luc didn’t reply, but I could tell he didn’t agree with me. I also had the feeling he was being antagonistic on purpose. Like he was spoiling for a fight.

  ‘Well,’ I continued, ‘whether or not you believe me, I want to help her. I’m going to try and get her some firewood or kelp or whatever. Anyway, even if she had helped me out for a price – which she didn’t – that’s not so bad, is it?’

  ‘Do you think she’d give you her supplies if you needed them? Course she wouldn’t.’

  ‘She’s not asking for charity. She’s willing to trade.’

  ‘What? Some jewellery made from old stones I bet, or a palm reading where she tells you you’ll meet a tall handsome stranger. That won’t feed you or keep you warm in winter. It’s junk and lies, Riley. Not worth anything. And she knows it.’

  I knew if Luc met Lou, he’d see she wasn’t like that at all, but talking about her only seemed to make him irritated. ‘She helped me out, Luc. She probably saved my life.’

  ‘You can look after yourself, Riley. You were armed and Johnny was close by. Nothing would have happened.’

  ‘You weren’t there. You didn’t see what it was like.’

  ‘She knew there’d be something in it for her if she helped you. I bet you gave her something didn’t you. Tipped her off that you were wealthy.’

  My cheeks reddened as I remembered the jar of honey and the dried peas. Both worth a fortune by anyone’s standards.

  ‘I knew it! What did you give her?’ He grinned.

  ‘Nothing much.’

  Luc rolled his eyes. He wasn’t normally so mean. I didn’t know what had got into him.

  ‘So basically you think I’m a gullible idiot. Is that it?’

  He softened his grin. ‘Course not. I just think you were played a bit.’

  ‘Cheers.’ I scowled and stood up. This evening hadn’t gone at all how I’d expected. I thought we’d have a laugh and that there’d be the usual bit of banter tinged with expectation. I’d even stupidly thought that something might happen between us. But it was obvious to me now that we were way past that. He thought I was naïve and stupid.

  ‘Calm down, Riley. I’m not having a go.’

  ‘Well, it sounds like it.’

  ‘I’m not.’ A smile still played on his lips and it made me mad as hell.

  ‘It’s late. I should go home.’

  ‘It’s not late. We haven’t had pudding yet.’

  ‘I’m full up, but thanks.’

  ‘You’re sulking,’ he said. ‘Because I disagreed with you.’

  He was right, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. Anyway, it was more than sulking – it was disappointment. It was a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was my heart breaking just a little, because I felt like I was losing him. Like he was pushing me away. He’d always been sweet to me and had faith in me. Trusted my judgement. Tonight he was being antagonistic on purpose.

  ‘I’m fine, Luc. Not sulking, just tired.’ I wanted to ask him why he’d even invited me over here tonight if he was going to act this way. But I didn’t have the energy.

  ‘Okay.’ He stood and scraped his chair back. ‘Well, I guess I’ll see you . . .’

  ‘Yeah. Night.’ I turned and headed for the door feeling unsteady on my feet. My eyes brimmed with unshed tears and I prayed to God I could keep them at bay until I left the house.

  ‘Riley,’ Luc called after me. ‘Riley . . . You okay?’ His voice had lost that mocking edge and I heard the old Luc in there. But it was too late. I was too upset.

  ‘Fine,’ I called back without turning around. ‘Night, Luc. Thanks for supper.’

  I grabbed my coat off the hook and stumbled out through the front door. What just happened? We hadn’t really argued and he hadn’t said anything truly horrible to me. So why was I feeling like the world just ended? But it wasn’t what he’d said, it was the way he’d said it, like I annoyed him. He’d been condescending, treating me like a naïve little girl. Like I didn’t know how the world worked. Like he didn’t really even like me anymore.

  I pulled up my hood and shoved my hands deep into my parka pockets as I walked slowly back down Luc’s driveway, toward his front gate. I half hoped he’d come running after me, but by this time I was crying and I definitely did not want him to see my tears. All I wanted now was to throw myself on my bed and sob like a child. What had happened back there? Nothing really. So why did I feel so awful?

  I turned into the deserted road, and trod carefully so as not to fall flat on my backside on the ice. That would be the perfect ending to a crappy day. Half a minute later and I was walking in through my own front door.

  ‘That you, Riley?’ Ma’s voice came at me from the kitchen.

  ‘Yeah. I’m tired. Going to bed.’

  ‘You okay?’

  Her voice sounded closer. Oh no, she was obviously coming to see if I was alright. What if she saw my tears? The last thing I wanted was a heart-to-heart with my mother about why Luc Donovan was being a dick.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I called, quickening my pace and heading up the stairs two at a time. ‘Just tired.’

  ‘Want some tea?’ she called up the stairs at my retreating back.

  ‘No thanks. G’night.’ I hoped she’d leave it at that.

  ‘Okay, darling. Night. Oh, did you get my flour?’

  I stopped at the top of the stairs and called down. ‘Sorry, Ma. I forgot to pick it up. Rita said that’s fine though.’

  As soon as I closed the bedroom door b
ehind me, I let it all out. I clenched my fists and gave a sob. Maybe it was post-traumatic shock from the riots or something. Maybe I was losing my marbles. I didn’t even bother to take off my coat and shoes. Just lay face down on the bed. I wanted to hurl something at the wall. Break something. Punch a hole in the door. But I didn’t. I felt so mad at Luc Donovan and mad at myself too. I should’ve stayed and told him he was being a git, but I hadn’t wanted him to see my tears. Why had he been so mean? He’d been spoiling for a fight and I should’ve stayed and fought back.

  I sat up and wiped my face with my sleeve. Should I march back over there and tell him what I thought? But tell him what exactly? No. I’d only end up making things worse between us. If that were possible.

  Chapter Eight

  Jamie

  She lay there, dead, unmoving on the ground; the coloured glass fragments decorating her body like precious jewels set into alabaster. Jamie reached down to touch them, but instead of hard glass, they were soft and smooth, like they were part of her skin. He moved his finger to another piece of the glass – a clear fragment embedded in her cheek. It felt gross and spongy like jelly. But suddenly the place he touched began to bleed, a trickle at first and then a spurt of dark red blood, staining her face and pooling around his thick dirty fingers. The dead girl opened her eyes and Jamie screamed.

  Sweat coated his face and his heart pumped. It was a dream. A nightmare, that was all. The girl was dead and far away from here. But Jamie knew that the image of the girl would never leave him. She was part of his waking and dreaming life now. He sat up and tried to slow his breathing. The room was dark and quiet. He was in the Boscombe 'pound, he remembered. That woman doctor had fixed up his leg and let him get some sleep. Only sleep wasn’t good. Sleep was scary. Such a waste of a good bed. He hadn’t slept in a proper bed since forever. It even had a pillow with feathers.

  His face felt weird and Jamie reached up to scratch his beard. But his fingers found nothing but smooth skin, and then he remembered – he’d shaved his beard off earlier. It felt strange, like his head was lighter. It probably was.

  Propping up the pillow, Jamie eased himself into a sitting position. A tin cup sat on a bedside table. He picked it up and sniffed at it. A faint metallic scent. He took a sip – water. He gulped all the liquid down and set the cup back on the table. What now? He closed his eyes and the girl’s face appeared. Jamie tried to banish it with thoughts of the doctor and of Mr Carter and of the other girl he was supposed to meet here, but the dead girl’s face kept shimmering back into focus. This was bad. He was cracking up.

  He needed to get away from his own company. Maybe the doctor, Miriam . . . maybe she was somewhere around here. Maybe she could give him something to stop him freaking out. He swung his legs off the bed, gasping as the pain from his damaged limb shot through his body. More carefully this time, he eased his legs onto the floor. But he wasn’t sure if he dared put weight on his bad leg. The ice pack was still strapped to it, but the ice must’ve melted because it didn’t feel cold anymore.

  Then Jamie saw something propped up against the wall next to the bed. Two long sticks of metal with circular attachments – a pair of crutches. Miriam must have left them here for him. Jamie reached out and took hold of the walking aids. He positioned the cuffs over his forearms and gripped the handles. Then he levered himself upright.

  Jamie realised he was still wearing the cotton nightgown he’d put on after his shower. Should he get changed? A pile of homespun clothes lay on the floor. No, he would put them on later, but right now he had to get out of this room. Find some company to keep out the images of the girl. Once more he saw the shard of glass drop from the doorframe. Saw it slice into her white throat. Saw her look of surprise before the life drained away. He shook his head to dislodge the pictures. If he didn’t get himself under control, he would start blubbing again, or screaming. They would think he was mad and lock him away.

  The door to his room was closed and Jamie prayed they hadn’t locked him in. If they had, he would definitely start pounding on it. He manoeuvered his way across the room, working the crutches, his bad leg slightly bent at the knee. But he needn’t have worried; the door clicked open and Jamie poked his head out into a darkened landing. He wondered what the time was. Was it late evening? Or maybe the early hours of the morning.

  ‘Hello,’ he called out, his voice still croaky with sleep. ‘Anyone there?’

  Four other doors led off the landing, all closed. Should he knock on one of them? He didn’t think he’d make it down the stairs on his crutches; the treads looked too narrow and steep.

  Footsteps from below. Jamie froze and then relaxed. It would be Miriam. He stepped back nonetheless and realised he could use the crutches as a weapon if he needed. A dim light filtered up from below and then the figure of a woman appeared on the stairs.

  ‘You’re awake.’ It was Miriam. She reached the landing, a glass candle lamp in her hand, the flame casting strange shapes around them.

  ‘What time is it?’ Jamie asked.

  ‘A little before midnight. You should get some more rest. How’s the leg?’

  ‘Sore,’ he replied.

  ‘That’s normal. I see you found the crutches.’

  ‘Yeah. Thanks.’

  ‘You really should go back to bed. Sleep is the best medicine.’

  ‘The thing is,’ Jamie said. ‘I . . . I can’t sleep.’ His voice cracked and he willed himself not to cry. He took a breath to get himself under control. ‘I could really do with some company. Maybe a drink . . .’

  ‘We don’t drink alcohol here,’ she replied.

  ‘No . . . I meant tea or something.’ He hadn’t meant that at all, but he didn’t want to offend her.

  ‘Come on then,’ she said. ‘I was about to go to bed myself, but I’ll make you a cup of tea first if you like.’

  ‘Oh, sorry. Don’t worry. You go to bed if you’re . . .’

  ‘No, no that’s alright. I’ll join you in a cuppa. You can tell me a little about yourself.’

  She turned around and began to walk back down the staircase. Jamie hesitated at the top, not sure how to negotiate the stairs. Miriam stopped and turned. ‘Lead with the crutches,’ she said. ‘Then follow with your good leg.’

  Jamie did as she said and found that it wasn’t as hard as he’d anticipated. All the same, he felt better once he’d reached the bottom. He followed her toward the back of the house and into a small kitchen where she set the lamp upon the shelf of a wooden dresser.

  ‘Is it just you here in this house?’ Jamie asked.

  ‘There are four of us,’ she replied, pouring a jug of water into a metal pan.

  ‘You all doctors?’

  ‘I’m the only qualified physician, but my sisters are quite as capable as I.’

  ‘Isn’t it dangerous?’ Jamie said, leaning against the doorframe. ‘Four women on their own in a nice house. Aren’t you scared that someone will steal from you or hurt you or something? I mean, I’m a stranger. You don’t know me.’

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘I’ve been here for more than ten years and nothing like that has ever happened.’ She placed the pan on the stove.

  ‘Doesn’t mean it won’t happen though.’

  She smiled. ‘Mint tea?’

  ‘Yeah. Please.’

  ‘Or chamomile to help you sleep?’

  ‘That would be better.’

  ‘What’s troubling you, Jamie? Why can’t you sleep?’

  ‘Nothing. Just can’t, that’s all.’

  She nodded. ‘The tea will relax you.’

  It’ll take more than tea to do that, Jamie thought.

  ‘There is only one way to truly achieve peace,’ she continued. ‘There is only one man who can help you.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ Jamie said. ‘Grey.’

  ‘Our Father is blessed by God. He alone can take away your troubles. Tea will calm you momentarily, alcohol will blot it out for a short while, but only when you have spoken your s
ins aloud and taken Our Father’s blessing will the nightmares leave you.’ Her words were soft and soothing and although he didn’t necessarily believe what she was saying, Jamie enjoyed the calming timbre of her voice.

  To his relief, that was the last she mentioned of James Grey. They stayed in the kitchen, talking into the early hours of the morning, sitting at the tiny square table, sipping tea and eating homemade biscuits. Miriam wasn’t like anyone else he had met before. She didn’t judge. Didn’t tell him what he should be doing or what he shouldn’t be doing. She merely listened and nodded and made sympathetic noises. Not that he told her anything important. He certainly wasn’t going to mention the dead girl or his proximity to the perimeter yesterday. He skimmed over his life story, telling her how he’d lost his parents and how he’d been living on the outside ever since.

  Finally, some hours later, she said that it would be a good idea to try and get some sleep. Jamie’s heart rate increased at the thought of being alone with his nightmares again. His thoughts sped up, blurring into a panicked feeling of dread. But it was as though Miriam knew how he was feeling. She put a hand on his arm and he instantly felt calmer.

  ‘It will be alright,’ she said. ‘Take a deep breath; slow your breathing right down.’

  He took in a breath and held it.

  ‘Now slowly let it out,’ she said.

  ‘Every time you feel your thoughts begin to stray to places you don’t wish them to go, take a slow breath and let it out. I cannot vanquish the nightmares, but I can lighten your waking hours.’

  Jamie felt tears welling behind his eyes.

  ‘When you’re in bed,’ she continued, ‘and the darkness threatens to overwhelm you, try praying to God and asking him for forgiveness.’

  Jamie inhaled, listening to her words. To the softness of her voice.

  ‘If and when you are lucky enough to be welcomed into our church, you will eventually find what you are searching for. Our Father will listen and you will be rewarded with a dreamless, healing sleep.’

  Jamie exhaled. He desperately wanted to believe her.

  ‘You go on up,’ she said. ‘I’ll wash these cups.’