The Night of the Cobra - Chapter 9

Chapter 9

In France, they walked for hours, traipsing slowly along the edges of lavender fields where bushes rose like purple tunnels. They tramped along rutted damp paths and into a forest of chestnut and beech, bending to plunge their hot heads into a skittering stream.

They struggled up a winding single-lane road to a hilltop village and wandered through its shade-filled narrow streets, seeking refuge from the faintly buzzing midday heat.

Mostly, they walked in silence. Tim usually strode ahead, his long legs eating up the miles, oblivious to the incline of the ground. She followed slowly, her cigarette-weakened lungs wheezing painfully.

She felt alone and that is exactly what she wanted.

The September weather was mixed – hours of liquid sunshine followed by mist and gentle drizzle. They ate well and read in the evenings. Or pretended to.

Nina often found herself staring into the empty fireplace as the evening sunshine electrified the dust mites in the cluttered living room. She sometimes felt Tim’s eyes on her as she listlessly turned the pages. She dared not look at him.

She was just managing to fake normality, she thought. Or at the very least, she did not seem crippled with sadness any more. At night, she fell asleep quickly.

They made love once at the beginning of the holiday. Tim had pulled her towards him and kissed her deeply. His body cleaved to hers as his hands lifted the baggy T-shirt she was wearing. He began to caress her breasts and the breath caught in her throat.

He took it for encouragement and tugged at her knickers. She buried her face in his chest, unable to look up, unable to stop him but unable to take part.

Later, when he slept, she got up and went to the kitchen. She poured herself a whiskey and took it outside to the patio. She sat on a wooden chair damp with dew. It was a bright night. The moon was almost full and the cypresses around her were soughing in a light breeze.

She could hear the river below the house as it skipped over the boulders. Below her, the village hunkered down, ghostly white. In a place like this, on a night like this, you could almost imagine it was all a dream, she thought.

Liberia seemed to belong to another planet. In this timeless world, healthy young men did not die needlessly. Everything – the trees, the moon, the river – spoke of immortality, of continuity.

“What are you doing out here, darling?” She jumped and turned. Tim was standing by the kitchen door.

“Nothing. I just couldn’t sleep.”

He stood behind her and bent to embrace her, joining his hands over her shoulders.

“Are you alright? Have I done something to offend you?” His voice was heavy with hurt.

“Of course not.” She twisted to stare into his face, trying to smile and aware that she was not fooling him.

He tried again. “You seem … distracted.”

Tim was always uncomfortable talking about sex but she could tell her listlessness had alarmed him and he wanted to know why she seemed uninterested.

Normally, she was an eager participant. Nina liked Tim’s body and knew how to use her own. She usually took control in the bedroom at least with Tim. With Shaun, they had fallen on each other so quickly that it was impossible to say who had been in control. He had been just as eager.

Jesus, what was she doing? She blushed and realized that Tim was staring at her. Had she said something out loud? She realized her hands were clammy and rubbed them on her bare thighs.

“I’m just a bit tired. I really need to recharge my batteries. I hadn’t realized how worn out I am,” she said, gently stroking his arm. “I’m sorry.”

Tim came around and sat beside her, taking a sip from her whiskey.

“Listen darling, I know you are hurt and suffering and I really want to help you but I just don’t know how at the moment. You seem to be shutting me out,” he said.

His eyes fixed hers until she couldn’t bear it and she looked away, staring at the church tower down in the valley.

“I just need some time,” she said, painfully aware how lame this would sound. She flapped her hands hopelessly. “I can’t expect you to understand. I mean, I was there. I saw it happen and it’s changed the way I look at things. I want to take life more seriously.”

“But I don’t understand what that’s got to do with us, with how we are together,” Tim said exasperated. He rose and paced around the small patio, stopping in front of her.

“We’ve hardly spoken since we left Abidjan. It’s as though I’ve done something wrong and am being punished. But I don’t know what I’ve done. And in bed, it’s like you’re not even there.”

They looked at each other. In the silence, a dog barked and a donkey brayed in answer. Suddenly Nina felt angry.

“Oh so now you’re the victim. For God’s sake Tim it’s not always about you.”

She rose and strode across the patio, turning her back to him. She hated treating him like this and knew it was unfair but it was beyond her control now. She was too tired tonight to feel guilt, or love or any of the complicated emotions that had sapped her since that day on the bridge.

She needed something pure and simple. Anger would do.

“I’ve just had a pretty awful experience and you’re worried about our sex life,” she sneered over her shoulder. “I thought we came here to rest so that I could get over this but if you’re going to see snubs and neglect everywhere, I’d rather just head straight back to Abidjan.”

She turned to face him, defiant and self-righteous. He was staring at her in shock. Nina realized her voice had risen and that she had almost shouted her final words at him. The ferocity of her outburst had taken him by surprise.

Not that they never rowed. But usually she was the calm one, trying to break disputes down to their base elements and prevent them sucking in past slights and upsets and becoming potentially explosive. Hers was usually the voice of reason, while Tim tended to fly off the handle more easily, his anger peaking rapidly.

This time he was nonplussed, both by the sharpness of her tone and the unfairness of the accusations. She could tell he wanted to reply but was held back by his concern for her, for what she had been through.

“It’s not like that,” he finally contented himself with saying. “But never mind. I’m sorry if I hurt you. Of course, I want you to rest. Forget I said anything. Let’s go back to bed.”

They lay in the four-poster, both painfully conscious of the reproachful inches between their outstretched legs. They did not speak again but Nina knew Tim was awake.

Finally, he turned on his side with his back to her and a few minutes later his breathing became heavy. Feeling like a traitor, she also turned on her side and started at the lighter grey of the window until she slept.

Next morning, Tim apologized again and she too said she was sorry. They spent the afternoon picking mushrooms in the dark, cool forest nearby. They didn’t talk much but their silence was a little easier.

They ate the cepes with steak for dinner and afterwards as Nina sat on the sofa reading, Tim came over, sat beside her and enveloped her in a deep hug. They sat like that for a while, Nina resting her head against his chest like a repentant child as he stroked her hair.

In the morning, Nina woke in Tim’s arms. They had not made love but for the first time in weeks, she felt at ease. Afterall, she did love him. That had not changed. His right arm was round her shoulders while his left was draped over her side, encircling her.

She felt safe and lay still enjoying the sound of the birds chirping outside and Tim’s breathing on her face. He woke to find her staring at him, her brown eyes wide and fresh.

He smiled, stretched and then wrapped his arms tight around her again.

“Hello gorgeous,” he murmured. She kissed him in reply but as she cuddled closer, scissoring her legs around his, she realized she was feeling queasy. She swallowed hoping it would pass, but she felt worse.

Tim was now caressing her buttocks, his lips bending to her breasts. She struggled free.

“Sorry, really sorry but I feel sick.” She just made it to the bathroom and threw up noisily. Her skin felt clammy. She stared at her face in the mirror over the old cracked sink. She looked grey.

She slowly headed back to bed, her head now pounding.

“I think it must have been the mushrooms” she said. “I threw up and I don’t feel so good now either.” Suddenly cold, she dragged the sheet around her.

“Could you make me a cup of tea darling?”

Tim rolled over and stood up, his back towards her.

“Of course,” he said as he pulled on his T-shirt. She winced at his cold tone but did not have the energy to soothe his anger. He walked out quickly, his back rigid with hurt.

It was a silly incident but they did not make love again during the holiday and to be honest that suited her. Sex was too potent a reminder, an act now infused with painful emotions.

When they got back to Abidjan, Nina began to work on an article about Shaun’s death for the Chronicle. They had asked for it weeks ago and she now finally felt strong enough to do it.

A month had passed and she was finally able to think of him sometimes without crying. Her memory of him was fierce but flawed. She knew so little about him. She learnt more as she researched.

She telephoned his home and spoke to his father, a retired teacher. His voice was measured but she winced as he spoke of his son in the present tense.

“Of course, that’s Shaun all over. He’s a daredevil, has absolutely no fear. He was always like that. Nothing scared him. God knows, we’ve been scared enough just reading about some of the places he’s been. But there you go, that has never put him off. Of no, he just heads off to a worse place. You know, he hasn’t changed since he was six years old. Then he would disappear for hours off across the fields, looking for foxes and pheasants and getting into all manner of scrapes.”

Some of it, she tuned out because it hurt too much.

His father’s words filled in the hastily sketched picture she had of the man she had slept with and she was left gasping anew at the tragedy of what had happened. He became real through her interviews and every snippet of information pierced her heart as it reminded her that she would not learn it from him.

A day after their return from France, Tim left for Liberia. He was going to spend two weeks there, organizing aid convoys to villages in the dense jungle outside the capital where the war had claimed thousands of lives far from the eyes of the world.

Things were still not right between them. She could tell he was hurt by what he felt were her efforts to shut him out of her trauma. She did not think he was suspicious, just upset that she seemed not to want him or need his help.

Tim had never been the jealous type. He always said he trusted her. It wasn’t that he was too good or naïve to imagine deceit, but he thought she was. It was a bitter thought.

They had not made love since the mushrooms made her ill. Tim made no attempts and she was still feeling a little ill after her food poisoning.

Tim would feel better after he could back from Liberia, she thought as she struggled with her article in the stifling little office of their house. And hopefully, by the time he got back, she too would have control of her emotions and be able to move on.

She would never feel less sad about Shaun but the angry “what ifs” were beginning to fade, to be replaced with resignation. She shook her head to clear it of these thoughts, tore her eyes from the vivid red flowers in the garden and looked back at the computer screen.

It was already September the 25th and her deadline was in two days. She tried to concentrate but there was a thought flickering at the edge of her mind. The date.

Suddenly, she gasped a low “oh no” and then she sat staring at the sparrows dancing in the tree outside her window for a long time, her hands limply by her sides as her computer hummed impatiently.