Page 45 of Mean Machine

“Brook?” Her eyes went wide. “You look terrible.”

“Could you let me in?”

She hesitated but closed the door to undo the chain and then opened it again. She wore a bathrobe over a pair of pyjamas, her blonde hair dishevelled.

Everything as he remembered. The dryer in the corridor, the flat too small and dark but the only thing they could afford while saving up for a mortgage deposit. What did she live off now?

He sat down on the grey IKEA couch in the living room, noticed absolutely nothing had changed. His things were gone, of course. The photos on the mantel were the same—minus the photo of her in the white dress. And him.

“Do you… uh… want a tea?”

He shook his head. Why had he come here again? For so long, he’d wanted to ask her, even shout at her, accuse her. The sense of betrayal had been a lot of the pain of being abandoned. Sold out. When she hadn’t shown up at the trial, he’d understood—the media had taken too much of an interest in the case. He didn’t want her to get targeted. When she’d been so guarded during those few precious phone calls, he’d assumed she was in shock, even less able to deal with the situation than he was. He’d still wanted to protect her, this time from what he’d done to her, to them.

But then the sentencing came, and days later the paperwork that informed him the marriage was annulled, just like that, made easier and faster because neither of them had any assets worth mentioning. He could have asked for things like clothes to be put in storage but hadn’t bothered in those first months until the deadline had passed. He’d never enquired what had happened to his things, and, looking around now, he realised he didn’t care. There was no trace of them now.

“I’ve run away.” He turned towards her because he saw fuck-all through the swollen eye. “They’ll probably pick me up soon.”

“The police called about an hour ago.”

“Yeah, they do that. Runaways always go back to their families. Very few remember how stupid that is, but most simply can’t resist.” Neither could he. There was no other place left to run. And even if he’d run somewhere else, the CCTV cameras would have been able to follow his path. He knew that better than anybody else.

“I said I hadn’t seen you.”

“Thanks.”

“Should I…. What if they come?”

“You don’t want to assist a runaway convict. That’s criminal.” He let his head hang, stared at the beige carpet. “I guess… I guess I’m here because I don’t know.” Before Odysseus, he’d have accused her.You abandoned me. They’d said “until death” and “in good times and in bad times”—and what have you made of that?But seeing her stand there in the bathrobe, looking both tired and alarmed, he couldn’t do that. It was done. By law, their marriage had never happened. Their time together wiped out. She’d moved on, yet she’d still opened the door.

“Can I stay here for a little?”

“Shouldn’t you… I mean, if they come?”

“That’s okay. Really.”

She didn’t believe him. He didn’t believe it either.

HE’D FALLENasleep on her couch by the time the doorbell rang again. She came down the stairs and stood for a moment in the door to the living room, while he sat up. His head hurt badly, and his hands too. He’d still managed to fall asleep.

“You know, I wanted a husband. I wanted to not be alone. When you were convicted, I knew I could never have that. Everybody told me I should move on, but it’s not that easy.”

And now we’re both alone, strangers who know each other too well.He had no answer for her. It was his fault she’d been forced into a situation where she’d had to make that choice. Her fault for not being strong enough to keep the faith in a husband who’d be gone forever, barely out of reach. Would it have changed anything? Clearly, they’d both been too weak, too changeable, too volatile to be steady and stable for each other. He’d loved her once, had been giddy with it, heart swelling with warmth, but all he had left now, looking at her, was that he cared about her and didn’t want to see her in pain.

Brooklyn nodded. “It’s all right. Just open the door and go upstairs. Don’t come back down until we’ve left, okay?”

“What will they do?”

“They might taser me. Tell them up front I’m here and you’ll be okay.”

“God, I’m so sorry.”

“Just open the door.”

She slid the pathetic chain back. Heavy bootfalls on the stairs. Half the building must have heard those.

“Yes, he’s here. In the living room. He wasn’t violent or anything. He’s in pain. Don’t hurt him, please.”

Brooklyn wiped tears from his eyes and stood. Even if he would have been able to fight, the tonfas and armoured vests discouraged the idea. Plus, he didn’t want to wreck her living room on the way out, didn’t want to step on scattered photo frames. He was too numb to be surprised when the coppers merely eyed him, any kind of hostility notably missing.

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