Black Thorn by Sarah Hilary

Author:Sarah Hilary
Language: eng
Format: epub

26 JUNE

Sixty days before abandonment

17

Laura came home smelling of the oils she used at work, of lavender, rosemary and lemongrass. Her hair was tied away from her face. Agnes could see the place above her left eyebrow where she’d wiped the back of her hand.

‘How was he?’ She’d poured wine for the pair of them, their ritual on a Friday night although Laura had started cutting down the measures, warning Agnes about mixing alcohol with her meds. She was starting to sound like Ruth. ‘How was his foot?’

Laura hung her jacket on the back of the door, not answering right away. She glanced around the kitchen, seeing the mess Agnes had made while making supper. Ratatouille. The kitchen smelt of the vegetables she’d sliced – fiery peppers and watery cucumber. She took a gulp of wine to calm her giddiness. This was always the worst part. When Laura was first home and the flat was a different place to the one it had been during the hours when she was alone. Then it was small and shambolic but safe. Now it was four rooms full of things she had failed to do. A bed she hadn’t made, a bathroom she hadn’t cleaned, this kitchen spattered with peelings and pips.

Laura said, ‘You know I can’t talk about my work. Or my clients, anyway.’

‘You used to talk about them.’ Another gulp. Had she taken her meds? Of course, why else was her heart racing in her chest? ‘I liked hearing about him. The soldier, his missing foot.’

Laura shook her head, dismissing the intrusion. She was wearing her denim tunic dress with black leggings and green sandals, her toenails painted pink, two gold toe rings.

Agnes saw the soldier lying face down, watching those gold rings flashing as Laura moved around the table, stroking his skin. He’d lost his right foot to a landmine but still felt it, asking her to massage the phantom foot when she was working on his right leg. Not to stop where his leg stopped but to take the weight of his missing foot in her hands, hold his heel and the arch of his instep, all the way to his toes. Laura did as he asked because that’s who she was – someone who took other people’s hurt and tried to ease it. Each week, she massaged the soldier’s missing foot. Her slim fingers stroked his toes in turn, bringing them back to life for the hour when he was lying on her table. Agnes had started dreaming about it, alone in the bed while Laura slept on the sofa because they were falling apart. Agnes wasn’t here any longer, that’s what Laura said. She’d gone away, out of Laura’s reach. She knew it was true; she kept seeing herself from a distance growing smaller and further away but she didn’t understand why Laura couldn’t love her, why she couldn’t touch her and hold her and bring her back. The way she did with the soldier’s missing foot.

‘I made supper,’ she said.

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