Echoes of Lies by Jo Bannister Page B

You’re hurting, you need to grieve.”
    She heard herself then, the women’s magazine philosophy, and the colour raced up her cheeks. “Oh Daniel, I don’t know enough to advise you. I’m talking as if you were a friend whose marriage was in trouble, whose kids were going off the rails. But this isn’t something we can fix over a cup of tea. I shouldn’t even be here. You need a proper counsellor.”
    Daniel’s lips pursed on a question mark and his fair brows knitted. The distress swilling behind his eyes was not enough to mask the fundamental intelligence of his gaze. “But I thought … Isn’t that … ?” He swallowed, almost as if he had a premonition what the answer would be. “Mrs Farrell, if you aren’t a counsellor - or a psychiatrist or something like that - who exactly are you?”
    Brodie’s mouth opened and closed twice and nothing came. She had to tell him. She couldn’t lie, not about this. But she couldn’t find the words. Or rather, the only words that would serve seemed likely to destroy them both.

    It was too late to turn back. She couldn’t leave him unknowing any more than she could lie. She took a deep breath and told him. Who she was, where she fitted in; what she’d done.
    She watched the fragile new strength that had been growing in him turn to ashes in his face. The faint new colour in his cheeks fell in seconds to the bleach of bones. Behind the glasses his eyes grew huge and smoky with anger, and the breath sawed in his throat.
    Brodie hoped he’d turn away, or order her from his sight. He must want to. But he went on regarding her fiercely, the grey eyes at once stunned and implacable, refusing to release her until the worst was told. When she’d finished, with the silence between them stretched until it seemed something had to rip, with the bath of his gaze seering her skin like acid and her mind screaming for him to say something - something harsh, something hateful, anything would be better than this dearth - finally he sucked in an unsteady breath and rasped, so low she could hardly make him out, “I don’t know how you have the nerve to come here.”
    â€œDo you want me to go?” she whispered.
    â€œI didn’t say that.”
    They went on sitting, a metre apart, eyes on one another’s faces. If Daniel had struck her it would have broken the tension. Brodie ached to be away, dismissed in her shame; but she wouldn’t leave unless it was what he wanted. She owed him the chance to tell her what he thought of her. She went on sitting, hands knotted in her lap, and didn’t notice when the filling of her eyes spilt onto her cheek.
    Daniel said, “You didn’t know what they intended?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œIs that the truth?”
    She blinked, spilling another tear. “Everything I’ve told you is the truth. Dear God, you think I’d make this up? You think there’s something worse I could be hiding?”
    He went on looking at her. Eventually he shook his head. “No.”
    She nodded, unsure whether to be grateful. “I wish …”
    He stopped her with his eyes. “Please. Just … don’t say anything for a minute.”

    Hunched in misery she obeyed. The silence folded them.
    Suddenly Daniel stood up and moved to the window, looking across town towards the silver line of the Channel. He drew the dressing gown tight around his bones. “They hurt me!” he cried.
    â€œI know,” Brodie murmured.
    â€œYou helped them. They couldn’t have done it without you.”
    â€œDaniel, I know! I’d give anything to turn the clock back and change things, but I can’t. Not my stupidity, and not the price you paid for it. I know I can’t make amends with an apology, but I don’t have anything else to give you. I’m sorry.”
    He turned and stared at her again. Every breath shuddered