Free Blood Guilt by Ben Cheetham

through his mind in rapid succession, threatening to
overwhelm his consciousness. He was holding her, kissing her, tasting her,
smelling her. They were in bed, making love. Then he was watching her sleep,
stroking her hair. Memories mixed intoxicatingly with imagination, like colours
on a palette, until one became indistinguishable from the other. In a kind of
daze, he took out his phone and called her.
    “Harlan?”
    The sound of Eve’s
hesitant, hopeful voice jolted Harlan back into the moment. He gripped the
phone to his ear, heart thumping.
    “Harlan?” she repeated.
“Are you there? Are you okay?”
    This is crazy ,
Harlan thought. It can only lead to more pain and suffering . Just
hang up, hang up …But he didn’t hang up. Instead, he said, “I’m sorry, I
shouldn’t have called.”
    “No, I’m glad you did.”
    Harlan was aware that
his breathing had quickened. There was a slight quiver in his voice as he
spoke. “Jim told me you broke up with your boyfriend. But he didn’t tell me
why.”
    “I realised I didn’t
love him.”
    Eve’s answer led Harlan
to another question, one he didn’t dare ask – what made you realise you didn’t
love him? A moment of silence passed. “I’m sorry,” he said, for want of
something to say.
    “Don’t be. It’s not
your–” Eve broke off.
    It wasn’t hard for
Harlan to figure out what she’d been about to say. It’s not your fault .
The implication behind her silence sent a rush of blood through his body.
Suddenly, he knew that he had to see her. He just had to, no matter how his
guilt burned at his soul. “Where are you?”
    “At work.”
    “Can you get away?”
    “Why?”
    “I want–” No, want wasn’t the right word. “I need to see you.”
    “Okay. We can meet at
my flat, if you like.”
    “Where is it?”
    Eve gave Harlan the
address, and he told her he’d be there as soon as he could. He ran to his car, not
wanting to give his guilt a chance to steal his need, his desire. When he got
to Eve’s place – a one bedroomed, modern apartment close to the city centre,
about as different from their suburban semi as you could get – she was waiting
for him. She not only sounded different, but she looked different too. Her hair
was shorter, more styled. Her makeup was more carefully applied, more sensual.
She’d put on a little weight, but in a good way. She looked more like the girl
he’d fallen for than the wife he’d divorced. He stared at her awkwardly,
suddenly conscious of his unkempt hair and the scruffy growth of stubble on his
hollow cheeks.
    “Hello Harlan.” Eve
smiled, but Harlan could tell she was as shocked by his appearance as he was
surprised by hers.
    “Hello Eve.”
    She motioned for him to
come in, and he followed into an open-plan living area furnished with a cream
three-piece suite that wouldn’t have lasted ten seconds with Tom’s muddy feet
jumping all over it. There were pictures on the walls – including several
photos of Tom at different ages, from baby to shortly before he died – and
books and ornaments on a set of shelves, as well as other knick-knacks that
marked the flat out as a home rather than just a place to sleep. Sliding
glass-doors led to a balcony that overlooked what seemed a different city than
the one visible from Harlan’s flat. He was glad to see that Eve was doing so
well, but it also made him think, this isn’t right, you shouldn’t be here .
“You look great,” he said.
    “Thanks. You look…” Eve
hesitated.
    Harlan could see she
was reluctant to say anything that might upset him, so he spoke for her. “I
look like shit.”
    “I was going to say you
look like you’re ready for a good meal and a good night’s sleep.”
    “And a bath and a
shave.” Harlan heaved a sigh. “It’s been a long few weeks, and the last
twenty-four hours have just about finished me.”
    Eve looked at Harlan
searchingly. “Did you have anything to do with this incident they mentioned on
the