Page 52 of The Lie
None of these details are in the flashback. It is just a brief flare of dusty hotness, the man’s haunted eyes and the pain of the cold, hard barrel of the Winchester being pressed into Finch’s cheek. He knows he is going to die and the moment is freeze-framed for what seems like eternity … Then he wakes with a thudding heart, drenched with the sweat of relief.
When he occasionally told the story to people who had not been in similar situations, they would gasp and say how terrifying it must have been. But he did not recall fear, only his brain splitting in two. While the front half frantically sought a solution – which eventually resulted in the man being disarmed – the back half remained eerily calm. His thoughts were focused solely on the people he loved and how much they meant to him.
He saw the moment – however horrific at the time – as a valued part of his life experience, but he had no control over his dreams.
Finch turned over in bed. It was just past the summer solstice and the sky was already paler in the east – although it was not yet four o’clock. He got the odd feeling sometimes that the flashback was the universe’s way of nudging him, reminding him that the only really important things in life were love and family. But tonight he felt aggrieved by the reminder.I love Romy Claire, he whispered silently, to the pale sky outside the open window.But I love Gracie too.
35
Daniel left. He cried as Romy embraced his slim figure and she found her heart breaking for him and his family – what a nightmare they all faced back in Switzerland. His quiet presence had been such a comfort to her in the last weeks. She didn’t know how she would have coped without him. Didn’t know how she would cope now.
Obviously she would find another carer. But whoever it was would need overseeing at first, to make sure they were settling in, that they were a good fit with Michael. And it would take a while for her to be able to trust them as she had Daniel. Nor could she rely on Michael not to be rude to them – intentionally or otherwise – even dismiss them out of hand.
As she poured the oats for Michael’s porridge into a pan on Saturday morning – measuring the milk and stirring it in, turning the heat low – Romy was aware of a dull, throbbing resentment. She still hadn’t confronted her husband about Grace. The whole week had been taken up with the doctor, with Michael’s distressing anxiety, made worse by the fact of Daniel’s departure.
Later, Michael sat opposite her at the table, his porridge bowl empty, his good hand clutched around his coffee mug. Now Daniel was gone, Romy insisted he eat all his meals at the table. He’d got used to being broughtfood in the bedroom or having it on his knee in the sitting room, when he was perfectly capable of walking – albeit painfully slowly – through to the kitchen. Daniel had too kind a heart.
‘I talked to Blake earlier,’ Romy said. ‘He sent his best.’ Her brother always rang, like Rex, around seven in the morning.
‘How is he?’
‘Same old, same old.’ She smiled. ‘I think he likes having Rex around, but he seems to think our son isn’t exactly a grafter.’
Michael grinned back. ‘Tell us something we don’t know.’ His face clouded slightly. ‘Rex … I feel since the stroke … so disconnected from him, from everybody, Romy. I used to think I was such a player. But life seems to be going on out there quite happily without me.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to trot out the usual platitudes: it’ll be fine, this won’t last, you’ll be on your feet in no time. But she realized that, to a degree, she was feeling the same.
The flat seemed to be closing in on them both, cutting them off from the outside world. Daniel was gone. Leo phoned every couple of days and visited at weekends, but was always busy. Blake and Rex were too far away to help. The visitors who had dropped by at first with gifts and encouragement obviously thought they’d done their bit, because they had not reappeared – except faithful Wendy, who still arrived dutifully at four most Sunday afternoons with something delicious for tea.
‘I know what you mean.’ She spoke with feeling and saw Michael’s eyes soften, his gaze empty and sad. Anddespite her resentment, for a split second she felt an overwhelming sympathy for him. ‘You’ll miss Daniel.’
‘I will … I do already.’
‘I’ve been on to the agency. Hopefully, I’ll find someone else quickly.’ She stopped, not wanting her desperation to get back to her own life to show, with Michael in his current depressive state.
He nodded, but looked at her intently. ‘So I suppose you’re off with Action Man again this weekend?’
Romy felt her cheeks burn. She wished he wouldn’t refer to Finch in that derogatory way. She swallowed hard. ‘No, that’s over. I’m going to Bettina’s as soon as Leo gets here.’
Michael looked surprised. ‘But …’ He stopped, perhaps catching the warning in her eye.
She affected a shrug. Was this the moment to talk about Grace? But although it had smouldered in her mind for nearly a week now, the right words clogged in her throat.Who am I protecting?she asked herself.Him or me? Am I just scared of what he might tell me?
36
‘You know how much I love riding,’ Finch said, in response to Pascal’s suggestion, when his friend rang. ‘But a gaucho? I hadn’t thought of that.’
Paz chuckled. ‘It’s tough. Believe me, I know. Cami made me do all that riding-across-the-pampas bollocks when we first went to meet her relatives. I was in love, so I didn’t complain, but my butt’s never recovered.’
‘I really need to get away,’ Finch said, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice. ‘Argentina should be far enough.’
‘Being chased by the taxman, is it? Or have you gone and made some gangster’s moll pregnant?’ Pascal was never serious about anything.
‘Something like that,’ Finch replied.
He heard Paz sucking his teeth. ‘Hmm … in which case, might it not be wiser to choose somewhere the UK doesn’t have an extradition treaty with – like Pakistan, for instance? Worked for our friend Osama for years. Or you could join the Foreign Legion! I’ve got contacts.’
Finch couldn’t help laughing. ‘I’ve had enough of being shot at, thanks. I just want a break – foreign parts, different scenery.’
