Tania Carver - The Surrogate

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Back to your place,’ she said, as if explaining the obvious to a slow child. She patted the bag at the side of the sofa. ‘I brought my stuff.’ Her eyes darted to his groin once more. ‘And I thought you’d want to get there quickly so I can show you my gratitude.’

He stood up, adjusting his overcoat around his erection. He felt terrible, as if he had a virus or food poisoning, shaking like he was going to throw up.

Sophie grabbed her bag, stood up too. She put her arm through his, guided him to the door of the pub. Once outside, she stopped, looked at him.

‘You hungry? I haven’t eaten all day.’ She hugged him again. ‘And I’ll need my strength. Let’s get a bite to eat.’

Food was the last thing on Clayton’s mind. But he knew he had no choice. From the moment he had laid eyes on Sophie in Brotherton’s metal yard and recognised her, he’d known he had no choice. He wondered again what his mother would say.

‘Come on, then,’ she said, and almost skipped along the street.

Clayton allowed himself to be dragged along with her, as eager as a death-row inmate with an imminent appointment in the mercy seat.

Marina walked into the living room, looked round.

‘Look familiar?’ Phil was closing the door behind him, coming down the hall. He joined her in the middle of the room.

She kept looking, taking in everything about the man that he had put on show. His books she remembered from before. His CDs likewise. His small collection of DVDs. Mainly old films, Hitchcock, film noir. Despite the lack of feminine touches, it didn’t seem overly masculine, just comfortable; two sofas, and table lamps offering subdued lighting rather than one harsh overhead light. Prints on the wall showed surprising taste, she thought, for a police officer: Rothko, Hopper. But then he was a surprising man. She turned to him, smiled. ‘Just like I last saw it,’ she said.

‘Good job I tidied up this morning.’

Her smile became teasing. ‘You were expecting to bring someone back tonight?’

He opened his mouth to reply and for a second he seemed about to give a serious answer, but then a smile split his face, equally teasing as hers. ‘I’m always expecting to bring someone back.’

She laughed. ‘Oh, you’re pathetic.’ She made to sit down but her attention was drawn to a CD case on the sound system. She crossed, picked it up. Smiled. Elbow.

Phil tried to shrug. ‘Good album.’

‘Course it is, Mojo man.’ She nodded, put it down again. Sat down on the sofa, her mood suddenly changing. She sighed; her smile disappeared.

Phil looked at her, concerned. ‘You okay?’

‘Yeah,’ said automatically. Then another sigh. ‘No. Sometimes when you see what we’ve seen today… I just… Why do they do it, Phil?’

‘You’re the psychologist, you tell me.’

Her hands clasped and unclasped. ‘I said something to you once.You probably don’t remember.’

‘Try me.’

‘When we were out. That first time. You asked why I became a psychologist. I said it was to understand my father. I lied. It was to understand me. I also said that all psychologists are just looking for a way home. That’s not strictly true either. It’s not just psychologists, it’s all of us. Everyone. We’re all looking for a way home.’ She lifted her head, fixed him directly. ‘Even you.’

He didn’t contradict her. He said nothing.

She continued. ‘We all want to be safe, to find some place in the world, in our heads, our hearts, where we can be understood and that we can understand. Where we can belong.’

Phil nodded, saying nothing.

‘Then I think of what we saw today. And what we have to do to catch them. What’s their idea of home? Where’s their head and their heart at? I’ve got to understand them. That’s my job. I have to look into my head and my heart and find parallels. That’s what I have to do.’

‘And the abyss looks into you and all that; that’s the job.’

‘I know.’

He turned to her. ‘Look, Marina. You’re the best I’ve worked with.You know you are.You’ll manage.’ He looked at his hands. They were shaking. Then back to her eyes.

She smiled. ‘This isn’t doubt, Phil. It’s just… I can ascribe reasons for aberrant behaviour. I can examine chains of cause and effect. But we’ll never understand, will we? We’ll never truly know what makes a monster. Or what makes someone do monstrous things.’

‘You always said we create our own monsters.’

‘And we do. But…’ She sighed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I suppose what I mean is, that’s all for tomorrow. Tonight I just want to be somewhere… safe.’

They looked at each other, eyes locking once more. Phil moved towards her. Marina seemed to be moving to him but she stopped herself.

‘You let me down, Phil. That’s why I couldn’t see you again.’

Phil stopped moving, sat back.

‘You let me down and I could have been killed.’

‘I…’ This was it, he thought. The chance to tell her everything he had wanted to say, to speak aloud all those speeches and conversations he had rehearsed in his head over the months. To explain where he was and why he was needed. Because Lisa King’s body had just been discovered. Because I had to track down a killer. And I couldn’t let you know because you had your phone switched off. And everything else. On and on. But he didn’t. Instead all he said was, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It wasn’t just that. It was… I knew. I had a choice to make. And if I chose you, then that was what it was going to be like. I might never feel safe again. And I wasn’t sure I could handle that.’

He said nothing.

‘I said I wanted to be somewhere safe tonight,’ she said. ‘So I can put myself in the mind of a monster tomorrow. And safe… didn’t mean home for me. It meant you. Even though you let me down. Even though… I was scared. What d’you think of that?’

‘It was Lisa King,’ he said. ‘The start of this case. Her body had just been discovered. I phoned you.’

‘I know.’

‘Lots of times.’

‘I know.’

He sighed. ‘I didn’t know what would happen… no one could know…’

She said nothing, looked at his face, scrutinised his eyes, reading them as if looking for any trace of a lie, an untruth, a hesitation. Found nothing but pain in his voice, his features. Sincerity and honesty.

‘I’ll never let you down again. Ever.’

She smiled. ‘You’d better not.’

They kissed.

They were hungry for each other, wanted to consume each other.

They had started on the sofa, kissing. Breathing hot, warm, wet breath into each other’s mouths. Tongues twining. Phil ran his hands over Marina’s face, neck, down over her shoulders, the tops of her breasts. Marina put her hands round Phil’s neck. Stroking, touching, experiencing the sensation of the other’s skin beneath their fingertips, reacquainting themselves, confirming that they were both real, that this was actually happening once more.

Pressure increased, bodies pressed closer together. Fingers became more confident, more probing. Passion, need became urgent. Breathing came in harder, shorter gasps. Hands roved, explored, found buttons and zips, began undoing.

‘Let’s go to bed,’ Marina said, her words gasped, whispered.

They pulled apart reluctantly, not wanting to separate but wanting to take it to the next level. Phil stood, Marina came with him. Hands, mouths still locked. They stumble-walked up the stairs.

Into the bedroom. Phil turned on the bedside light.

‘No,’ Marina said. ‘Keep it dark.’

‘I want to see you… look at you…’ His hands were on her again, finding clasps, zips. Uncovering her shoulders, his mouth tracing down her neck, kissing her bared skin. Marina gasped. His hands moved further, pushing her top from her body. She helped him, responded. Pulled out his shirt, began unbuttoning. He shrugged it off, was naked to the waist. She did likewise with her top.