Her Quiet Legacy by K T Bowes

Author:K T Bowes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: New Zealand romantic suspense, military romance books, art mystery books, romantic suspense, Banksy art book, small town New Zealand
Publisher: K T Bowes
Published: 2021-10-31T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 29

Abject Art:

A term used to describe artworks which explore themes that transgress and threaten our sense of cleanliness and propriety

Sundays were even days and provided a modicum of relief for my mind. I’d stayed up late cleaning, the initial desire to expunge Henare from my home spreading to a general gutting of every room except Julia’s. Sinking into my mattress after two in the morning, I remembered he’d also touched her door handle when he questioned her days earlier.

Exhausted, I selected a new cleaning cloth from the airing cupboard and retrieved the bleach from the bathroom. I stumbled to her bedroom and used the cloth to open the door. Julia’s floral scent hit me like a wave, introducing a longing into my soul, which I had never previously acknowledged. She’d left a yellow sticky note on the back of the door, just a few centimetres above the handle. ‘Already done it’ she’d written in her cursive scrawl.

The closed door had trapped a chill in the room and I shivered. My hair, still damp from another shower, created a cold cap which exacerbated the sensation of icy fingers scraping the back of my neck. Julia’s carpet resembled the texture and colour of desert sand, and I stepped across it without turning on the light. Her bed called to me and I missed her with a palpable physical ache. Not willing to disturb her neat pillows and unleash another round of frenzied tidying, I curled up on the rug next to the bedside table, which contained her spare underwear and night clothes.

I woke to the dawn chorus. The heat pump in the kitchen had obeyed its timer and activated, sending warm air through the lower level to filter up the stairs. Julia’s open door had allowed it a tentative entry, beating back the chill which woke me. I laid on my back and kept my eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the floorboards clicking and settling as daylight spread its grey digits over the house. Turning on my side, I spread my fingers through the sand-coloured carpet and thought of the desert. It should have affected me more, the grit which got into my clothes, my underwear and even my food. But it was uniform and everywhere, varying little in colour and definition. Perhaps my brain treated it like water, flowing, cleansing and expunging all traces of our war crimes.

A brown woollen blanket dangled from the side of the mattress, thrown there with Julia’s staged artfulness. I tugged at the nearest corner, gathering its weight into my fingers until it tumbled from the bed and covered me with a whoosh of perfume and softness. My mind convinced me it was okay because it accidentally fell on me. It absolved me of responsibility and control, ensuring I could place it back on the bed without concern. I pulled the blanket over my shoulders and dozed, relying on an army skill learned from exhaustion, which meant I could sleep anywhere.

“Jacques!” Julia’s voice rose in my sleep and I dreamt she shook my shoulder.

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