The Judas Scar (5 page)

Will stared at the indistinct face and racked his brain to place him. ‘Must have been with Ian then.’

Emma didn’t answer but clicked to the next photo. ‘Oh my God!’ she exclaimed. ‘Just look at Pete in this one! What kind of face is he pulling? And there’s Katia and Steve.’ She glanced at Harmony.

‘They’re such an odd pair,’ she mused. ‘Do you know them? The world’s least suited couple. I mean, look at them. Could they be any more mismatched?’ She laughed. ‘She’s tiny, barely speaks English and is only interested in handbags, and Steve is a six-foot-five oaf who lives in vile cycle lycra. God knows what they have in common.’

‘Sex!’ came Ian’s voice from behind them. ‘They bonk like rabbits on Viagra.’

Will turned and saw Ian stepping through the French windows onto the terrace. Tall and slim with ruddy cheeks and hair that was greying at the sides, he was a man whose looks had improved with age and privilege; unfairly – in Will’s opinion – given what a git he was.

‘Excuse me?’ laughed Emma. ‘Is that any way to announce your arrival?’

‘Sex and shoes. He told me she goes like a steam train every night in return for a pair of Lablahniks once a month. They’re both as happy as pigs in shit.’

‘Laboutins,’ corrected Emma. ‘Or Manolo Blahniks. Not Lablahniks, for God’s sake. And don’t say that pig thing – I hate it.’ She peered behind her husband. ‘Where’s your golf partner?’

‘Nipped to the boys’ room,’ Ian said, as he bent to kiss Harmony’s cheek before reaching over her to shake Will’s hand.

‘Hello, Ian.’ Will had to work hard at liking Ian. He was pompous, too pumped up with that ludicrous alpha machismo he’d seen so much of at school, and as far as Will was concerned he brought the worst out in Emma. When they’d met they were plain old Emma Jones and Ian Barratt. When they married they became Mr and Mrs Ian Barratt-Jones. Will and Harmony had laughed when they’d heard about the hyphen.

‘She always wanted a hyphen,’ Harmony said, stifling her giggles. ‘How do you think they chose Barratt-Jones over Jones-Barratt? I mean, how did they decide who got pole position?’

If it wasn’t for the fact that Emma adored him, Will wouldn’t have given Ian a second look. But he was fond of Emma, who, despite her occasionally grating aspirational streak, was warm, kind and funny. He’d got on with her from the moment Harmony introduced them, aged twenty-one, the three of them picnicking beside the River Cam, feet trailing in the slow, brown water, laughing until they cried and getting drunk on Jack and Coke.

‘How was your game?’ Will asked.

‘Played like a fucking moron.’

‘Ian!’ Emma shook her head indulgently.

‘Sorry,’ he said, taking a couple of olives and shoving them into his mouth. ‘Played like a fucking idiot.’ He winked at Will who forced a smile back.

Will’s attention was caught then by Ian’s companion walking through the French windows, his head slightly bowed as he watched the step.

‘He hasn’t left you on the eighteenth then?’ Emma said, as she walked up to greet him.

When the man lifted his head, Will’s heart stopped. It was a face he didn’t imagine he’d ever see again.

‘Oh my God,’ he breathed.

Harmony looked across at him. ‘Will?’

Will stared at the man who was now kissing Emma on both cheeks, warmly telling her how nice it was to see her again, how much he’d enjoyed the party, thanking her for allowing him to join them for lunch.

‘So let me introduce you,’ Emma said. ‘Harmony, Will this is—’

‘Luke.’ Will stepped forward.

Harmony looked between the two of them. ‘You know each other?’

Will and Luke held each other’s stare and then Will watched a wide smile dawn on Luke’s face. ‘Will English. Well, I never.’

‘I don’t … ’ Will opened and closed his mouth, his voice sticking in his throat. ‘Luke Crawford.’

As he spoke his name he felt a thump to his gut like a heavyweight punch. He recalled the photo from Emma’s party. The face in the shadows. How had he not recognised him?

‘You know each other?’ said Emma, looking from Luke to Will.

‘Yes,’ Luke said, taking his eyes off Will to acknowledge her question properly. ‘We were at school together.’ He looked back at Will and stepped forward, hand outstretched in greeting. ‘A very long time ago. What a surprise!’

Will shook his hand and was startled by his solidity, a matured masculinity that seemed alien; the Luke he knew was slight and small, a wisp of a child with smooth pale skin and a dusting of freckles. How could he be this fully grown man?

‘Yes. I’m … it’s … God, I’m lost for words.’ Will felt his lungs constrict and his thoughts grow foggy as spiking memories bit into him. He’d spent so long trying to erase this boy, this man, from his head, yet here he was, standing right in front of him.

Luke Crawford
.

‘You were at school together? Really?’ said Harmony. Luke looked at her. ‘Yes. At Farringdon Hall.’

Will winced.

‘You didn’t tell me that at the party,’ she said.

‘I didn’t know who you were married to at the party.’ He looked at her quizzically and Will saw her blush.

‘What an amazing coincidence!’ Emma said, with a surprised laugh.

Luke smiled.

‘Well, come on,’ she said then. ‘Do sit down everybody. Ian, sort the drinks out, please. This is now a proper celebration.’

Ian clapped his hands together and asked what they’d like. Will was vaguely aware of saying yes to another beer. Of Ian disappearing into the house. Emma laughing. Repeating the coincidence. He was aware of Harmony, poised in her chair, waiting with bated breath for more information, details and stories of the past Will had shielded her from.

‘This is a bit out of the blue, isn’t it?’ He finally managed. ‘I was just looking at a picture of you and trying to place you. You’ve changed.’

‘It’s been a long time,’ Luke said.

‘How long?’ asked Harmony, her eyes glinting. He imagined how quickly her brain must be whirring, cogs blurring with speed as she grappled with questions he had no interest in answering.

‘About twenty-five years? Wouldn’t you say, Will?’ Luke leant across the table for a crisp, and Will noticed his wrist, fine-boned still, but strong, the skin tanned, a smart watch so polished it glinted in the sun like a mirror.

‘Yes, it must be,’ Will said. Luke’s eyes had the very same intensity they’d had all those years before, dark and earnest, hiding a seething tangle of thoughts and emotions. He glanced at Harmony then back at Luke. Sitting between them was unbearable; two separate chapters of his life, as incompatible as oil and water. ‘We were fourteen when we last saw each other.’

‘Were you good friends?’ Emma asked.

‘Yes,’ said Luke evenly. ‘We were best friends.’ Will clenched his fist.

Ian reappeared with drinks. ‘Don’t sit down,’ Emma said, grabbing his arm. ‘I need your help in the kitchen.’

‘Is there anything I can do?’ asked Harmony.

‘No, you sit there and have a catch-up. It’s all done.’ Emma ushered her unwilling husband back towards the French windows.

Left alone, the three of them fell into silence. There was an atmosphere between them which was almost claustrophobic. Will’s heart raced. It was hard to breathe, as if he was sitting in a vacuum. Long-buried memories resurfaced: the crisp chill in the dusky October air, the smell of the ground, damp earth with fallen leaves, that rich, mulchy smell as they began to rot down.

‘This is amazing. I really can’t believe you were best friends,’ Harmony said.

‘Actually,’ Luke replied. ‘We were more than that.’

‘There’s something better than best?’ Harmony flashed him a playful smile.

‘Yes, we’re blood brothers, that’s far better than best.’ He held his hand up, palm outwards, five fingers splayed. ‘You remember, Will?’

Will’s stomach knotted as he saw the white scar that ran from the base of Luke’s index finger to the heel of his palm.

‘Blood brothers?’ Harmony laughed. ‘That’s all a bit Huckleberry Finn, isn’t it?’

Will tried to push away the feelings of unease. He breathed out and forced another smile. Made an effort to keep his voice light and relaxed. ‘Yes, of course I remember.’ Then he raised his own hand and unfurled his fingers to display his matching scar. ‘Blood brothers until we die.’

Will watched as Luke’s smile faltered and he lowered his hand. Emma appeared through the French windows with a tray of food. ‘I must say this has made lunch so much more interesting. It’s like an episode of
This isYour Life
!’ Will smiled tightly.

‘I just found out they’re blood brothers, Em.’ Harmony reached and took hold of Will’s hand. Her fingers laced through his. She turned his hand over and traced her fingertip the length of the thin, raised scar. A tingle ran through him. ‘After all these years, I’ve finally discovered the cause of this.’

Will pulled his hand away.

‘So how do you become blood brothers?’ Emma asked as she sat down.

‘Will had this penknife his father gave him. God, we loved that knife, didn’t we, Will?’

Will recalled unwrapping the knife on his thirteenth birthday, the thrill he’d felt as he tore off the brown paper and realised what he’d been given. The inscription on the blade was as cold as the metal itself – To W.P.E. from your father – but Will hadn’t cared. It was like unwrapping treasure; a real penknife, a Swiss Army one, with its magnificent trademark blood-red handle, the mirror-like blade reflecting the excitement in his eyes in flashes as he opened and closed it, opened and closed it.

‘Anyway, one day we went up into the woods, hid ourselves in some bushes, and took turns to cut our palms open,’ Luke continued. ‘Then we pressed our hands together, said a few words, pledged eternal allegiance to each other, that kind of rubbish.’ He laughed.

‘Ow!’ Emma exclaimed.

‘Yes, it hurt like a bitch.’ As Luke spoke the smile fell from his face.

Will reached for his glass and downed the last of his beer.

‘I can’t believe you did something like that,’ Harmony said. ‘Can you, Em? Didn’t we just read copies of the
NME
and lust over David Bowie?’

‘It seemed like a good idea at the time,’ Will said.

‘Boys can be very odd,’ said Emma.

Emma took each plate in turn and laid thick slices of ham on them. They passed bowls of green salad and new potatoes around and Ian poured white wine for them all.

‘Your garden’s looking beautiful, Ian,’ said Will, keen to keep conversation away from him and Luke. ‘You’ve been working hard.’ Emma snorted with laughter. ‘Will, you should know by now,

my husband’s idea of a hard morning’s gardening is napping in a deckchair under the willow tree.’

‘Excuse me?’ Ian retorted. ‘The lawn was mowed this morning.’

‘By the gardener!’ She furrowed her brow and leant across the table to get hold of the bread basket. ‘You’re such a liar.’

Ian’s face fell like a stone. ‘Liar? I’m not a bloody liar!’

Emma was obviously startled by his sudden eruption. ‘I didn’t mean to touch a nerve. I—’

‘You haven’t touched a nerve,’ Ian interjected, ‘not at all. But liar is a pretty strong word to use.’ He looked at Will. ‘Don’t you agree, Will? I’m not sure it’s on for a wife to call her husband a liar in company. Or at all, to be honest.’ Will wasn’t sure if Ian expected him to agree with him or not. He hesitated, glancing at Harmony for guidance, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at Luke. She wasn’t going to let this go. She wasn’t going to stop until she knew everything. It occurred to him then that he could get up from the table and leave. Just get up and walk away.

‘Emma didn’t mean anything by it.’ It was Luke who spoke. Emma looked at Luke with visible relief. ‘No, I didn’t mean anything. It was a joke, because you implied you did the garden but the gardener does the garden.’

‘Well, I pay for the bloody gardener,’ Ian blustered. An awkward silence settled over the table.

‘This ham is delicious, Em,’ Harmony said. ‘You’re such a good cook.’ She turned to Luke. ‘I’m appalling in the kitchen. Every time I eat Emma’s food I’m reminded just how bad I am.’

As quickly as it had blown up, the exchange with Ian was forgotten as Emma laughed Harmony’s compliment off with a casual wave of her hand. ‘You’re a perfectly good cook when you want to be. You just don’t want to be.’

‘Shoddy cooking skills is the price you feminist working types have to pay, isn’t it?’

As Ian laughed to show he was ‘just playing’ with Harmony, Will cut into his ham. Luke’s composure rattled him. How could he appear so unfazed? How could he conduct himself with such confidence, remain so unaffected by the crippling discomfort that silenced Will? And how suave he was, leaning back in his chair, casually holding his glass of wine, the crook of his arm resting on the back of Emma’s chair. He listened intently as she spoke, engaged and interested, so different to the wraith-like boy he’d known, with his darting eyes, coiled like a spring, so thin his bones threatened to pierce his paper-white skin.

Emma finished a story and they all laughed. Ian stood to refill their wine glasses and as he did Luke turned to Will. ‘Tell me, Will,’ he said. ‘What’s happened since we last saw each other? Has life been good to you?’

The table fell to a pin-drop silence and they all turned their eyes on Will.

He wasn’t sure how much Luke meant him to tell. He was a child when he last saw Luke; everything had happened. ‘Yes, life’s been good,’ Will said at last. ‘I got married to Harmony soon after college, we live in London, in a nice flat. Things are good.’ He smiled at Harmony who smiled back.

Luke nodded. ‘You certainly seem happy.’ He looked at Harmony who lowered her eyes and reached for the pendant that hung around her neck.

‘And you? Are you married, Luke?’ Will asked.

Luke seemed to do a double take, his cool facade slipping for a fraction of a second. He reached forward for his glass, then sat back in his chair. ‘I was.’

‘That’s a shame,’ said Emma. ‘But so many marriages fall by the wayside these days.’

‘It wasn’t quite like that.’

Will saw Ian glare at his wife, who mouthed a ‘What?’ at him.