Behind Closed Doors Page 11

  Juliette was not asleep. Scarlett could tell by her sister’s breathing, once she stopped sobbing, took some deep, shuddering breaths, gulped back the tears. She’d huddled into herself on the bed, trying to think about sleeping, trying not to think about Nico.

  Then she heard Juliette moving in bed, shifting awkwardly, and felt a hand on her shoulder. Scarlett froze. But that was it: just a hand on her shoulder, held there for a few moments, and then Juliette turned over in bed and a few minutes later was breathing deeply enough to be asleep.

  Until that moment, Scarlett had believed that it had been Juliette who had alerted them to her nighttime absences; that she had gone to get them and shown them the empty bed, and that they had waited for her to return based on Juliette’s betrayal.

  But the next morning, when Scarlett finally opened her eyes and closed them again, not ready to face the day and what it might choose to bring, she realized she had been wrong. Juliette’s hand on her shoulder, wordless, had nonetheless communicated plenty.

  I hear you. You are not alone. And: It wasn’t me.

  She lay still for a long while after throwing the sheet off. It was stiflingly hot. She could hear splashes, shouts, laughter from the pool outside, which meant that the patio door was probably open. She turned over in bed slowly, her head thumping. Juliette wasn’t in the room.

  She struggled to sit up and then lay back down again almost immediately. It was like having a hangover, and she knew what that felt like because she’d had one on the Sunday after the sleepover at Cerys’s house last summer; they’d made their own cocktails by helping themselves to the booze cabinet. The next day, nauseous and then sick and with a headache like nothing she’d ever experienced, she’d had to spend the day with her family pretending that she was perfectly all right. She had had to eat a roast dinner with enthusiasm, and had vomited it up half an hour later. She’d had to go for a walk with them in the country park, which had temporarily helped, and afterward she’d gone to her room on the pretext of wanting to check through her homework, even though she had done it all on the Friday night so that she would be allowed to go to Cerys’s on the Saturday. And then she had collapsed on her bed.

  It felt like that.

  Oh, Nico.

  Would he even wait for her, tonight, in their usual place? Or would he just melt into the night, go out among the staggering lads and the girls in their tiny dresses and heels, looking for someone new? She couldn’t risk going out again. They would be watching her every move, waiting for her to put a foot wrong. Waiting for her to bring disgrace to the family.

  It was unfair, so unfair. She hadn’t done anything wrong, after all.

  And then she remembered that, actually, it had gone further than a kiss. Her bold denials had sunk in so far that she had almost forgotten the thrill of that moment, his loss of self-control, how he had felt in her hand. And everything that it meant. He liked her, he trusted her, he wanted her. He had kissed her afterward with a new sort of passion, a different level of urgency, as though he knew that she had proved herself.

  If she saw him again, he would sleep with her, she knew it. She would go back home to Cerys and be able to tell her that she’d met this guy, how gorgeous he was—she would make sure she got a picture of him—and that she had done it with him.

  The only way she was ever going to see Nico again was if she turned her back on the family and didn’t go home. Ever.

  When things got bad like this, the only thing that ever helped was to retreat into a fantasy world. So she thought about Nico, about somehow slipping away and meeting him. He would be waiting for her, and he would have been waiting all night. He would sweep her into his arms and tell her how worried he’d been, how he had been thinking of her and afraid for her all night. He would tell her he loved her over and over . . . he would touch her and soothe her, tell her it was going to be okay, that he would take care of her and nobody would ever hurt her again.

  And then he would take her to his house—and the family would all be out somewhere . . . he would sneak her in, into his bedroom, and he would take her clothes off one piece at a time, asking her permission at every stage, checking she was all right. He would kiss her, every bit of her skin as it was revealed to him, and then finally the passion would overtake him and he would carry her over to the bed and make love to her. And it might hurt, a little—because that was inevitable, wasn’t it, the first time. But it would be fine.

  Fantasy, all fantasy, every bit of it. From Nico waiting for her, to Nico taking her virginity. None of it was true. None of it would ever come true, either.

  In the early afternoon, Juliette came into the room and went to sit on her bed with the book. The curtains had been drawn across the patio doors to block out as much of the sun’s fierce light as possible, and she made sure they were closed behind her. She went to shut the door too, until Scarlett objected.

  “There’s no air, Jul. Leave the door open a bit.”

  Mute as always, Juliette left it open. From outside, the sounds of the pool, splashing, children shouting and shrieking, a happy, discordant tune which was easy to block out.

  “What are they doing?”

  “Who?” Juliette said. Today, apparently, she felt like talking.

  “Mum and Dad. Are they by the pool?”

  “They’ve gone in for a siesta.”

  Scarlett sat up on her bed, slowly, as though she was eighty and not fifteen.

  “How are you?” Juliette asked. It came out a bit like a statement—flat. But Scarlett appreciated the effort it must have taken for her to say it at all.

  “I’m okay,” she said. Managing a smile. “Thank you, Jul.”

  She got to her feet and made her way to the bathroom, washed her face and looked at herself in the mirror. I hate them, she thought. I hate them both.

  Back in the bedroom, she pulled a pair of shorts and a top out of the suitcase that lay on the tiled floor like a felled beast, its guts a tangle of multicolored fabrics. “I’m going for a walk,” she said to Juliette. “I won’t be long.”

  Juliette was buried in her book already, which meant that this time she went unacknowledged. Her sister was lost in the other world; concentrating on more than one reality at a time was beyond her capability.

  “Love you, Jul,” Scarlett said quietly, meaning it. She was the only one.

  This, too, was not enough to raise Juliette’s head from the book, but there was a hint of a smile playing about her lips, either from the story or from Scarlett’s declaration of love, it was impossible to tell.

  Scarlett pulled the curtain aside and stepped out into the glaring sunshine. On the clothes-horse on the patio was Scarlett’s baseball cap. It was dry now but it had been wet yesterday when she’d jumped into the pool wearing it. It was snug, but at least it shaded the sun from her eyes.

  The patio door to the apartment next door was closed, the curtains behind it shut too. The whir of the air-conditioning told her that they were both inside. She walked down to the gate and thought about what she was about to do, whether it was worth it. Of course it was. Every small measure of freedom she could allow herself felt precious.

  She went through the gate and started to walk in the direction of the town. She wasn’t going to look for Nico. She wasn’t going to do anything more dramatic than stretch her legs, get some fresh air.

  She got as far as the market square. The cafés were all busy with tourists enjoying their lunch: pizzas and Greek salads and steaks; chips and beer, even the odd full English, of course, because Brits couldn’t do without their bacon and eggs no matter where they were in the world.

  There was no sign of him. She walked back past the Pirate Bay bar. The internet terminals were all in use, apparently working. She thought about Cerys and what she might be doing today; wished she could be brave and turn on her mobile phone long enough to call her. Tell her what had happened. Cerys would understand. She would make her laugh.

  She was walking away when she heard Nico’s voic
e behind her, calling her name. “Scarlett! Hey!”

  She stopped walking and for a moment considered carrying on, not acknowledging him. Giving him the out he had so clearly wanted last night when he’d run away from her without looking back. She dropped her head, didn’t look around, didn’t move.

  He caught up with her, grabbed her by the waist, lifted her and spun her around, making her gasp.

  “Hey! How are you, beautiful girl?”

  “Put me down!”

  He was laughing and then he stopped. She slid down his body until her feet felt solid ground, pushed him away.

  “What is wrong?”

  She looked up at him and his face was so beautiful, so full of love and concern and care that she felt tears pricking her eyes again. He put a hand on her arm, tentatively, as though he might not be permitted this contact anymore.

  She raised both her hands. They felt so heavy. And then he put his arms gently around her and pulled her against him. “What is wrong?” he asked again. “Scarlett?”

  She sobbed, just once, into his shirt. And then quickly regained her composure. This wouldn’t do, wouldn’t do at all.

  “It’s okay. I’m okay. Thank you.”

  “You got in trouble yesterday?”

  “A bit.”

  She chanced a look at him again, falling for him, falling for those dark eyes and that beautiful face all over again. He was so gorgeous, so lovely. And last night . . . she remembered it, remembered the taste of him, and, despite what it had cost her, she wanted that again, and wanted more.

  “Maybe they don’t understand,” he said. “Maybe they forget how it feels to be happy with someone.”

  “Can we go to the beach?”

  They walked side by side to the wooden pallets laid like stepping stones in the hot sand, leading down to the sea. Last night, here, she had lain on the beach next to him and kissed him until he lost control. Now, the beach was crowded with tourists, children playing in the sand. The smell of coconut suntan oil and cigarette smoke.

  She wanted to hold his hand but he was keeping his distance from her. For my sake, she thought. He is being careful, for me. He is worried that I’ll get in trouble.

  They got down to the water’s edge, where the sand was flat and wet and firmer to walk on, and headed up the beach in the direction of the apartments. A few hundred meters away from the town, the beach grew quieter and the shops and bars and tavernas on the promenade gave way to dunes.

  “This is no good,” he said, without warning. “I should say goodbye to you.”

  “You’re the only person who has ever made me happy,” Scarlett said, her head down.

  “You make me happy too,” he said. “You are a special girl, Scarlett. You are—”

  “I love you,” she blurted.

  He stopped walking, then, and turned to her. “This is not a good idea. Your parents? It will be worse for you.”

  “I’m fifteen,” she said, unable to stop the words now she had started. “I’m only fifteen.”

  He laughed at her. “You look younger. I think, maybe, eight, nine . . .”

  She pushed him, pretending to be cross. “How old are you, then?” she asked.

  “I am sixteen years old,” he said, smiling at her.

  He looked older, Scarlett thought, not having any real concept of how old he should look. She had thought he was around eighteen. Didn’t they have a minimum age to be working in bars here in Greece?

  She sat down on the sand, sheltered from the breeze by the dunes. Nico sat next to her, his arm draped casually, heavy, over her shoulders. He pulled off her baseball cap, kissed her temple, and she turned her head so he could kiss her properly.

  “You want to get away from them?” he asked, after a moment.

  Her heart soared at the thought of it, an escape. “Can I?” she asked, thrilled. “Can I stay with you?”

  “No, no. Not stay with me. But I can help you get away.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I have friends, you know—they can find you work.”

  “What sort of work?”

  He laughed. “All kinds. Good money. Enough to live.”

  Without thinking, she said, “Yes, yes. Please, yes. I’ll do anything, anything. But why can’t I stay with you? We could get a house together, we’d be earning money, we could live together . . .”

  Laughing again, pushing her back into the sand, shutting her up with a kiss. He wasn’t taking her seriously. He thought she was just a kid. I’ll show him, Scarlett thought. I’ll show him I’m serious about it.

  After a moment he sat up again, looking at the few people sitting on this part of the beach. “I take you back,” he said. “You think about what I say to you?”

  “It’s my last day,” she said. “We’re going home tomorrow.”

  Nico frowned. “That is very sad.”

  “I don’t want to go; you know I want to stay here.”

  He touched her face, stroking his fingers lightly over her cheek. “I wait for you tonight,” he said. “You want to get away, you come to me tonight. I wait for you on the road. But now you have to go back. I take you.”

  Scarlett was numb with disappointment but she followed him, nonetheless. They walked the remaining three hundred or so meters in silence, up the path through the dunes that led to the road and the apartment complex just past that.

  “Best not come any further,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  He handed her the baseball cap, took a step backward, away from her. The pleasure she’d had, seeing him again, was being swamped already with the misery of being back here.

  “You come tonight, Scarlett?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes. What time?”

  “I finish work at two.”

  Her mum and dad would be asleep by then. She could do it. It was her last chance, after all: their flight home was at four in the afternoon.

  “Where?”

  “Here,” he said, nodding toward the apartments. “I meet you outside, on the road. You wait for me?”

  “Yes. I’ll wait.”

  He hesitated for a moment as if he wanted to kiss her, then he turned and walked away.

  Her mum was by the pool, on her own. There was no point avoiding her. “I went for a walk,” Scarlett said, hoping they were both too hot to argue about it.

  “Haven’t you learned your lesson?” Annie said, lowering her sunglasses to fix her daughter in a cold stare.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Having a lie-down. Luckily for you.”

  Scarlett went to the room. Juliette was not there either. She must have been outside with their mother and Scarlett just hadn’t noticed.

  Right at that moment Scarlett absolutely intended to run away. She spent the next two hours planning it, thinking it through in her head: what she was going to take with her, which clothes, her passport, whatever money she could find. She started to put things into her backpack, ready for the night ahead. She even managed to doze off for a while, in preparation for staying up late again.

  When she woke, the room was still empty. The light in the room told her that the sun was setting, but in here it was still stifling. Scarlett opened the door and went outside onto the shaded patio. The pool area was almost deserted, just a couple of older girls in the shallow end, drinking from bottles of beer, which was against the rules, and laughing. There was no sign of her mum. But her dad was there; Juliette too. They were sitting side by side on one of the loungers, under a parasol, their backs to Scarlett. Juliette was hunched over, sitting stiffly, presumably trying to read her book. Their father had his arm around her.

  The decision was made in an instant.

  She couldn’t leave Juliette.

  She would meet Nico later, tell him she was sorry, she would have to go back home with her family after all. She couldn’t run away. She would kiss him goodbye and it would hurt like hell. But it was the only thing to do.

  SCARLETT


  Monday 25 August 2003, 02:31

  They had been in the back of the minibus for hours, hours. Yelena had been fidgeting, grumbling something in her own language. The water had long gone. The grumbling got louder until she was shouting, and when that went ignored she struggled to her feet, pushing some of the bags and luggage out of the way, waving at the front of the vehicle.

  Scarlett stayed huddled into the corner, afraid of the other girl’s agitation.

  From the front of the bus, angry shouts. Eventually Yelena sat back down again, still shouting, thumping with the side of her fist against the back door.

  “What?” Scarlett said, trying to make eye contact. “What’s the matter?”

  But the girl ignored her; the tirade of unintelligible words continued, and, just at the point when Scarlett thought she couldn’t possibly stand another second of the racket and was going to have to kill her, the vehicle swerved off the straight path it had been taking and slowed right down. Moments later it stopped.

  Yelena stopped banging and shouting. She sat back against the wall of the bus, breathing hard. The doors at the front opened and shut again, and Scarlett could hear muttered conversation in whatever foreign language it was they were speaking.

  Then the back doors were unlocked, and opened. Outside, it was dark, and chilly. Scarlett held her arms folded across her chest.

  Yelena started yammering at the men angrily in a language they seemed to understand. One of them did, at least, because he started arguing back.

  Then he beckoned Yelena out.

  “Where are you going?” Scarlett said, her voice rising in a wail. “Don’t leave me.”

  The man wearing the wooly hat had pulled Yelena by the upper arm, out of sight. The second man raised his eyebrows and muttered something, then he beckoned to her. “Out, you get out.”

  She stood on wobbly legs on the tarmac, a dark sky overhead turned orange by lights she could not see. They were in some sort of car park, or more accurately a lorry park. The van was parked between two articulated lorries, sandwiched between them with high canvas walls rising on either side of where she stood.