Alexander Stuart - The War Zone - 20th Anniversary Edition

I take her by the shoulders and shake her. She lifts herself off the bed, bleary-eyed, listening to what I’m saying. If only I had that light I could press it in her face, sweat it out of her, make her see what this is doing to me, to all of us as a family.

She sits up. I shove her back. ‘You’re weird, Tom,’ she tells me. ‘It’s not happening now. Go to sleep. I won’t let it hurt you.’

Why should I believe her? ‘Have you told Dad I know?’

‘I’m not crazy.’ She sits up again, brushing me aside, turning and digging a determined elbow into her pillow. ‘Of course I haven’t.’

Her voice is a whisper, hoarse, sharp, she wants to get rid of me. I sit on the bed. She lies back wearily, keeping her arms above the sheet which is her only covering, pushing it down to her navel to cool off, maybe to reinforce the suggestion that she wants to be left alone to sleep.

‘How can I trust you?’ I ask. ‘I want you to say it’s stopped, but how can I ever believe you again?’

‘You’ve got to find a way.’

‘Why should I?’

Jessie’s head is on the pillow. I have a view of her chin, then shadow and just the glint of her eyes. ‘No one was meant to know about this, it wasn’t meant to hurt you.’ She cranes her neck to look at me, tries to sound close, like we used to. ‘This is between Dad and me. It’s over. If you can put it out of your mind, it’s as if it never happened.’

What she’s saying is true, but it doesn’t help. Because it’s not true, it’s only true on one level, it’s convenient, but she’s a liar and a cheat and she’s betrayed everyone closest to her. They both have. How could they do it? Sex must be better than love, better than money, better than anything for them to have wanted to do it this much. They must have wanted to, they must have thought about us and said, ‘Yes, fuck it, let’s do it. Let’s do it anyway. They’ll survive, they’ll never know.’

I’m quiet. I keep my voice low. I don’t need histrionics, I’m in control now. I throw myself over Jessie so fast she’s stunned. I pin her to the bed, pressing her arms down by her side, moving my mouth so it’s over her face. I could bite her nose off, it’s in the way, it’s getting between us, obstructing what I want to say to her. I let her wait, listening to my own breath, listening to her silence. She doesn’t struggle, this kind of thing must happen to Jessie all the time, the way she behaves.

‘Jessie—’ My voice is dry. I try to squeeze it out of my throat, make it sound threatening. I am threatening her, I mean it. ‘I’ve seen the pictures. The pictures you did of Dad. I’ve got them.’

‘Yes?’

‘I want you to stop. You must stop, I’ll make you. I’ll take them to the police. I’ll tell Mum.’

‘The police wouldn’t be interested.’

‘I hate the bastards. But I’ll go if I have to. I think they would. I think, especially here, they’d love to bust open a family like us. They think we’re sick already.’

She’s hot beneath me. Her arms are rigid, maybe ready to throw me off, but I’ve got my hands locked over her wrists, she’s not going to get anywhere without a struggle and that would wake Mum and Dad. I sense a movement in the curtains, but I wait and it’s nothing.

‘Get off me, will you?’ She tries to lift herself up a little. I don’t let her. ‘You’re acting like a child.’

‘I’ll tell Dad if I have to. I’ll tell him I know and I’ll tell him I’ve got the pictures. I’d rather tell him than Mum.’ I’m working this out as I go along. ‘And I’ll tell him about the coke.’

This doesn’t worry her. What proof would I have? She could get rid of it before I’m even past her door.

‘What is it you want me to say? I’ve told you we’ve stopped.’

‘No you haven’t.’ What promise can I extract from her? There isn’t one. I force my weight on her, pushing my bony chest onto her ribs beneath her breasts.

‘Look,’ she pants, ‘it hasn’t happened much. It was something we tried. I wish we hadn’t. It’s too complicated. I’m more interested in Nick. You think Dad’s that exciting?’

‘You told me he was. You told me he was brilliant. Either you were lying then or you’re lying now.’

‘Why should I want Dad when I can have Nick? Dad’s old.’

‘He’s not that old.’

I think about this. She’s starting to confuse me. I relax my weight a little, my grip. I feel her breathe, sucking in air, forcing my chest up with hers. She looks at me, eyes like slits, her voice different, less worried.

‘It’s not going to happen again,’ she says. ‘I promise. It’ll be all right. It’s Nick I’m interested in. At least until London. I mean he’s not perfect, he’s incredibly insecure, but he fucks well. He’s great physically. The minute this stupid week is finished, I’m seeing him, he can’t stop me. You know that – he can’t stop me?’

Suddenly she’s talking about Dad the way she always has, as a force to be manipulated, to be defied or won over. Maybe she means it about Nick. They were gone long enough. But I can’t imagine him insecure. The thing about Nick that comes into my mind if I think about him is a quiet calmness. I would have thought he’d be very sure with Jessie – out of his depth, who isn’t? But still very strong and confident.

I lie on her thinking this through. She’s quiet, she doesn’t interrupt. I can feel her breathing, relaxed now, waiting. The room is still, not the slightest waft from the curtains, just the two of us stretched on the bed, no movement, no creaks.

But then there’s a sound outside on the landing. Someone is getting up, they must have heard us. No. The steps are on the stairs, going down. I can’t tell if it’s Mum or Dad. Jessie and I are frozen, holding our breaths to hear. There’s a knock from the bathroom as the loo seat is lowered, then a tinkling sound, more a falling than a jet so it’s probably Mum.

She flushes. Water trickles from a tap and there’s a muted thumping from the cistern or the tank as it fills up. Then silence and Jessie and I tense up. Nothing for a moment, then a click as the bathroom cabinet is closed, I think.

Silence again. More steps on the stairs, coming closer now. The room hangs in the air as she comes past. Will she look in? No. The steps turn away, there are some dim, muffled sounds, then a murmur from Jake, half a cry, not much, then the sense more than the sound that he is feeding.

My mouth stretches into a strained smile of relief, though my heart’s thumping and I don’t know what I’m relieved about. Jessie eases me off her and I don’t resist. I straighten up on the bed and sit over her, but then she slides out and gets up, moving silently to the window. She stands there naked, her back to me.

‘I’ve still got the pictures,’ I whisper, barely audible but needing to reassert myself somehow. ‘Don’t forget that.’

‘I won’t.’ She glances back at me.

Maybe she’ll try to find them, I think. But they’re well hidden, not even in my room, down behind a prized-loose panel of wood at the bottom of the stairs – next to where Dad’s work drawings are stored, but not actually in the understairs cupboard.

I get off the bed, looking around the room as if there’s something I’ve forgotten. Jessie is still at the window, in front of the dark rectangle of Sonny’s portrait of her but her head angled past it, staring out at the village. I move to go. She turns.

‘You’re thinking about this too much,’ she says, her voice almost a hiss. We can hear Mum soothing Jake. ‘I’m worried about you.’

I stop in my tracks. It’s another one of her classics, not really believable. ‘You should be,’ I tell her.