Becoming Strangers Read online

  'No,' Jan protested, putting a hand on his shoulder, casting a shadow over him, 'no, my friend, don't get upset about it.'

  54

  DOROTHY WAS WAITING FOR GEORGE in the room. She had something she needed to tell him. She considered writing it down. Now that she had her mind on it she ought to write it and put it somewhere just in case. But she couldn't think where to put it. She wished he'd hurry back.

  When she heard the door open she was all ready for him but he spoke first.

  'Terrible mess all of this, dear, I don't mind telling you, I feel rotten, all broke up. To have to tell a man what I had to say to that Jan. Well, you wouldn't wish it on your worst enemy.'

  So she forgot what she had been going to tell him but she told herself, well it can't have been that important if you've forgotten it, but this thought that used to give her comfort was now hollow like a lie and her heart felt as painful as if it had been raked, for it was possible she had in fact forgotten something vital, something without which they couldn't survive, but in any case they set off for their customary walk on the beach.

  They saw a lone swimmer, making his way with strong ample movements back to the shore, and as he approached them he waved.

  'Who is it then, love?' George asked, squinting, he needed to have his glasses checked when he got home, his eyesight was worse.

  'It's that Bill,' she said.

  'Jolly good,' said George, patting her hand. They stood still. Bill came out of the water with uneasy steps, swaying as the tide was rough that morning.

  'Now that takes it out of a fellow,' he said, panting. He leaned forward, his hands on his hips, to catch his breath. 'When are yous leaving?'

  'Day after tomorrow, first thing.'

  Bill nodded. 'I'm off tomorrow so I thought I ought to make the most of it. I'm going to Ireland to see some friends, maybe for a month or two. Given it will be almost summer it ought to be freezing cold.'

  'That's what I miss though, a good nip in the air, a bite to it,' said George.

  'Do you mind if we sit? I'm knackered.'

  'We'll join you,' said George and the three of them made for a long piece of wood set further back on the beach. George helped Dorothy to a sitting position before lowering himself. The bough creaked and rolled a little but all three of them managed to sit on it, tentatively at first, the men with their calf muscles taut, looking at the sea.

  'It'll be nice for you to go home again,' said Dorothy. Bill leaned forward and smiled at her.

  'It will.'

  'Now home's what I call paradise. Not this. I like what I know,' said George, 'you can have too much of this sun and sea stuff. Good weather all the time, it gives you the pill. What I'm looking forward to is the wind, the rain. Always busy, the weather is at home; always against you, pushing you, nagging you. Like a wife—you might not like it but you need it. You don't get that cosy feeling of being in your own home, here, do you?'

  They stared at the sea, churning itself on to the sand, a clean beach, managed by the resort, and a picture-perfect sky, with just a few little clouds like the manes of small white ponies at a canter.

  'The family. Warmth, good food, clean beds. A cake coming out of the oven, maybe even a game of cards or Scrabble. Tea don't taste the same here. It's the water, and the milk. And the tea.

  'What I like at night is the English silence, no bleeding crickets, just the noise of the house creaking a bit until the morning and then you can hear the outside, all a-twitter.'

  'I can always hear our old Robin Redbreast, can't I, George? I can pick him out when we're still in bed having our first cup.'

  'Yes, you've got good hearing, duck.'

  'I like to listen out for the birds. Hear their news/ Dorothy smiled.

  'I've always been an early riser,' George went on. 'See, really I like to rise about five, creep downstairs in the quiet, with the new day all for me. I sit with a mug of tea at the front window, waiting for it all to start. There's your paradise, right there. You know you've got it right. Family, work, you've provided, done the decent thing, you can see it like that when you get up early.'

  'Oh yes,' Dorothy agreed, 'that's the main thing.'

  'Well, for me, the main thing is good company,' said Bill. 'It used to be that it was Jerry and me with the papers, busy, as though it were our world, reading about this and that in America or Europe. Precious time. Though I didn't know it then.'

  They were quiet, sat on the Caribbean beach, each thinking of their departures.

  'It's been nice to have someone to talk to. I shall miss you and Jan,' said George.

  Bill looked at him. 'So will I,' he said.

  'And the ladies,' George added.

  'We shan't miss that Annemieke, though,' said Dorothy, making a face.

  George raised his eyebrows and muttered, 'Big mouth.'

  'She's a handful,' Bill laughed.

  'Wicked is the word.' Dorothy went on, 'I'll speak as I find. Her husband on his last legs and her putting it about,' she looked briefly unsure of her terminology but went on. 'Why couldn't she wait?'

  Bill flushed. 'Whats been going on then?' he asked.

  George sighed. 'It's not really for us to say. But seeing's the wife's gone and spilt most of the beans.' He altered the position of his legs. 'Mrs De Groot has accused Adam of raping her. He says, on the other hand, that she wanted to pay him for sex. The upshot is that Jan has to consider whether to press charges or not and so far he hasn't said he will. Adam asked me to put his story to Jan this morning and so I did, against my will I should tell you.'

  'God save us,' said Bill.

  Dorothy nodded with a serene smile on her face, crossing her legs at the ankle.

  'What's the poor man to do?' George asked, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his shirt.

  'So what's the truth of it?' Bill asked. George shrugged.

  'She's a sly one,' Dorothy said, 'a fox.'

  'I don't know,' said George, 'I barely know the lady. Usually the rules are that you take the lady's word, don't you? Jan wouldn't say to me what he knew, if anything. He said he'd stand by his wife, of course.'

  'But Adam? He might be a bit of a boozer, but he seems like a decent young man...'

  'Well, he doesn't deny having sex with her and that gets my goat, fancy doing that to Jan,' said George. 'I said to him last night, I said, What was you thinking of? Was you thinking at all? He says he needed the money. I'm through with the lad, I tell you.' George coloured quickly and wiped his glasses again, looking down at his shirttails. His lower face seemed to have slipped inches.

  Bill said nothing.

  'What do you think? You're the Christian. What's the right thing to do?'

  'Ach, Christians are the worst for knowing what to do,' Bill said.

  'I suppose so, but you know your Bible, don't you?'

  'Somewhat,' said Bill.

  'Well, you must do, better than me anyway. What's the right thing?'

  'Och, Jesus, man, I'm out of my depth here,' said Bill, rising, 'out of my depth. I'd better go and get myself some clothes on. I'll see you both later. Have a nice morning, now.'

  The two old people sat watching Bill go, with lurching footsteps on account of the deep sand at the rear of the beach. Making it to the concrete steps, he hauled himself up, step by step, until he gathered a towel from the stand at the top, wrapped it around his waist and made off.

  'He got a bit shirty, didn't he?' mused George. 'Do you think he was upset with me?'

  'Mmm,' murmured Dorothy, then she emitted a sudden little cry and turned to him. He looked at her, alarmed.

  'All right?'

  'I've just remembered what I've been meaning to say to you,' Dorothy said, reaching for his hand. 'George? I know somethings wrong with me, George, and you know it is, don't you?'

  George frowned, 'Don't let's talk about that now, leave it till we get home.'

  'I'd rather talk about it while I can, George, I might forget it otherwise. I wanted to explain a bit.' H
e relented and nodded, looking her in the eyes now.

  'You see, it's like I go in and out of the dark, George, I can't think straight, I can't remember things. I can feel a sort of silence closing in on me, like I'm going deaf. You know how when you're a kid you begin by picking out letters gradually and then you can read signs, then words and sentences. Well, it's like doing that backwards. It's like tidying up, or putting your money back in your purse, coin by coin, only thing is it seems like you can't choose what you're done with. I feel like I'm cramming the big notes back in, too quick...'

  He squeezed her hand. 'I know, dear, I'm going to get the doctor to give you something for it when we get home.'

  'I don't think that'll help much, George. I say to myself, I'm a bit scared but I'll be all right. I've had a good life...'

  George squeezed her hand harder, 'No, no, don't start with that stuff, Dorothy, I can't stomach it.'

  'It doesn't hurt, George, it's quite nice in a way, the darkness. I don't mind it. It feels like a bit of a rest.'

  'Well, you must mind it, you must pull yourself together.'

  She was quiet; she looked out at the sea.

  'It's a lovely view. We shan't see anything like this again.'

  'No.'

  'It's you I worry about.'

  'Well, concentrate on yourself, will you? You're the one that worries me.'

  'We shall have to say our goodbyes one day.'

  'We will, dear, but I ain't going to do it every bleeding day. You can't ask that of me. Now, I'm going to have a go at that breakfast buffet, take advantage of it while we're here,' he said, standing awkwardly. 'Come along, dear.' He gave her a hand up and they both groaned and shook themselves.

  'We're a fine couple, aren't we?' she said, accepting his arm. 'We used to ice skate as well!'

  'On one occasion, we did,' he said. As they reached the foot of the stairs he took a moment to look back down at the sea, gathered strength from it, and with his wife leaning on him, he began to mount the stairs.

  55

  BURNS WASN'T SURE where the opportunity was in this problem. He sat at his computer and erased the entire document he'd written on the subject. His mother had listened sympathetically to him and given him her homely thoughts.

  'They say bad luck runs in threes...'

  He asked himself, out loud, like an aspiring actor, 'What is my motivation here?' Did he want Adam in trouble? Not particularly, given that he was staff. Did he want to discredit the Dutch woman? Not particularly, he just wanted her to go away. He felt a little sorry for her poor husband who was supposedly on his way out. The man bore his trials and tribulations well. If it were him, he'd have been out of there. (A car commercial came to mind...) There was nothing to be gained either way. He considered that he could do what was right. But values and morals were mutable, they had a currency attached to them. As ever, he was torn between the reticent principles of his mother and the cunning amiability of his father; to offer something of himself which would later cause him resentment, or to be everybody's friend. His dad was a debtor, his mother a creditor. His dad was bought a drink in the public bar, he insisted he would pay it back and probably he meant it. But he didn't.

  He supposed friendship was worth having. He knew he was a good person. Probably it was best for everybody if a man was without dogma.

  He hated that bloody Jason, though. Prick. He would be all over this, of course. Letters and phone calls to Mark Cohen. He was the type who sent emails in capital letters. He'd be telling him how ineffective the manager was. First he fails to retrieve mad old biddy who goes walkabout, then he lets some hippy staff member grope the wife, and when the same man is accused the next day of raping a client, he sits twiddling his thumbs. Of course, the message would begin with a reminder of their friendship. What was the American equivalent of 'mate'? Buddy. 'Hey Buddy-boy, have you got a problem down here...'

  He ought to save his own arse. That was the first thing he should do. He'd call in that sad-sack De Groot fellow, find out what the latest was, insist on pressing charges, and then he'd be in good shape with Jason and his buddy. He'd send an email to Cohen, first of all, telling him how he had the company of a friend of his, tell him he'd had a situation and he'd dealt with it firmly.

  He would bring in the police. He would brief the staff. He might do both at the same time and issue a statement to the guests. He would not sweep this one under the carpet. He would say, probably he would close the meeting with, 'I will not allow a violation in this hotel to go unpunished. A rapist must face the most serious consequences that the law can bring.'

  He called up to the De Groots' room and spoke to Jan. He asked him to come down to his office at his earliest convenience, and said he hoped the wife was feeling better.

  There was a knock at his door and the door opened a little; the sweaty Irishman poked his head into the room.

  'A word, if you don't mind,' he said, looking nervous.

  56

  ANNEMIEKE WOULD NOT LOOK AT JAN when he went back to the room. He had brought her a croissant and a roll. She turned away, asking him to pull the blinds back down. She was crying, silently, he could tell from her body movements. He knew why. It was not the rape.' It was not his lack of support. He suspected she was ashamed. And there was something else. There was him. He was part of all this emotion on her part. It made him feel more tenderly towards her than he had done before. He sat on the end of her bed and said nothing. After some time the phone rang and he went to answer it.

  'Certainly I will,' was all that he said, and then he added, 'Fine.'

  He went to put his hand on her shoulder but instead put both hands in his pockets and stood by the side of the bed.

  'Burns wants to see me. He asks after you. He will want to know what we wish to do.'

  She said nothing but sat up, blinking. He swallowed with difficulty for his mouth was very dry.

  'Did that young man hurt you? Did something go wrong?'

  She shook her head. He let himself out of the door.

  As he came into the reception area, he saw Bill coming out of Burns's office. He raised his arm to greet him and was surprised that Bill feigned not to see him and moved with squeaking sneakers across the tiles to go out through the double doors.

  57

  JAN STOOD IN FRONT OF BURNS'S DESK. Burns was busy and his mouth was down-turned, he looked pale and ill. He coughed like a sick man and then cleared his throat.

  'Take a seat, Mr De Groot,' Burns said, using the mouse to shut down his computer, not looking at Jan.

  'My wife and I, I suppose we will be pressing charges,' Jan said.

  'I think we might need another nip of Scotch today, Mr De Groot.'

  'No, thank you,' Jan replied.

  Burns closed the drawer.

  'If you wish to press charges against Adam Watts, then you should do so on your own behest at the local Police Station.'

  Jan balked. 'I would prefer that you ask the police to come here and take a statement, if you don't mind.'

  'Well, I'm afraid I'd rather not get the resort involved in this affair.'

  'Don't talk nonsense, the attack has occurred on your property, committed by a member of your staff.' Jan tried to swallow.

  'Would you like a glass of water?'

  'Thank you.'

  Burns went to the cooler. Poor man, he thought, waiting for the cup to fill. He padded back to the desk. He had taken his shoes off and was barefoot. He gave Jan the cup and perched on the corner of the desk nearest to him.

  'Look, I won't beat around the bush, Mr De Groot.' (He winced at the unfortunate turn of phrase.) 'I'll come to the point. There are two stories. Both acknowledge that sex took place.'

  Jan nodded and accomplished the swallow that had been eluding him all morning. The night's dose of morphine was drying him out.

  'One account denies it was consenting. Your wife's. But there are no witnesses. Obviously. I have reason to believe, well, that she might not be credible, and I prefer not
to involve the resort as I don't think we could support her side of the story.'

  'What are you talking about?'

  'More water?'

  'No.'

  Burns saw that the inner rims of Jan's eyes were red, they looked sore. His skin was yellow and dry on his face; only the bleaching of the curly hairs on his forearms indicated that he had had any sunshine. He had been good-looking once, in a formal way.

  'Let me tell you the honest truth. Another resident here, a guest, came to me this morning and told me that he had had sexual relations with Mrs De Groot in the resort, recently.'

  'But this is not true.'

  Burns sat back on his chair and raised his eyebrows in surprise. 'Well, I cant think why anyone would make up such a thing. It sort of discredits your wife ... you can see that, can't you?'

  'It is a lie, to protect the young man.'

  'I don't think so.'

  'What do you mean, you don't think so? Your job is to protect your clients, not to judge what is true or not true.'

  'Listen, Mr De Groot,' Burns sat forward, wringing his hands between his knees, looking into the mans eyes, 'it would be much better for you and your wife to let it drop.'

  'My wife does not want to let it drop,' Jan bit down on his lip. 'Good God, man, who are you to judge me, to judge us, to look at us and say, this woman is a liar and her man, he is a fool?'

  Burns saw that the man's eyes were bulging; his pupils were blurred behind a thickly watery surface.

  'I saw the way she was dancing with Adam on Saturday night,' he said.

  Jan looked at him. 'She is on holiday. She may dance!'

  'That's not what I meant.'

  'I am asking you to support us,' said Jan. A sudden flow of tear water to his eyes was costing him dearly; his throat was raw and dry. He coughed and hurt himself.

  'I was going to call the police. But the only person apart from the two of them who can add anything is the fellow who told me he'd also had sex with her here. You know what the police would say; they'd say it was a question of character. Even here, for Christ's sake,' Burns insisted, getting up and making his way back to his chair. 'I don't know what went on between them, how do I know? It was probably somewhere between both of their stories. Listen, I don't even like the fellow