Читать книгу Secrets from the Past - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 19

‘Do you mean you’re not going back to Pakistan this week, or never ever going back?’ I asked Geoff, frowning as I stared at him, puzzled by his statement of a moment ago.

‘Never going back, honey. Yep, I’m outta there, and I told Harry I wanna stay out. No two ways about it, Serena, I’ve had it.’

‘I understand,’ I said, genuinely meaning this. ‘There comes a moment when enough’s enough. I felt like that last year, I knew I had to quit the front lines. I lost my nerve. I’m sure of that. And when that happens you’ve no alternative.’

Geoff nodded, was silent for a moment, sipping his iced tea, his eyes reflective as he glanced around.

We were sitting on the terrace of the Bauer Palazzo Hotel, overlooking the private dock and the Grand Canal. It was Tuesday morning and I had been in Venice for five days.

Earlier, I had taken Zac to the barber’s shop, the one that Tommy and Harry had used whenever they were in Venice, because he had decided he needed his hair cut this morning. A good sign, I thought, and I had called Geoff, suggesting we all have lunch once Zac was finished.

Geoff had been agreeable, and suggested we meet here at the old Bauer Palazzo, which was next door to the more modern Bauer Hotel, where he was staying.

As we sat here together, enjoying being outside on the sunny morning, I was feeling relaxed. Zac had been relatively normal – not his old self yet, but not manic, nor agitated in any way. Also, much to my relief, he was eating something every day. Not a lot, but he was putting some food inside himself. He slept constantly, often slipping out of the living room some afternoons and going to bed.

I remember that Dad sometimes slept like that when he came back from covering a war. Total exhaustion took over. He usually had to crash. And so did I, when I returned from a battleground.

I was thankful that Zac had not had any more disturbed nights so far. Several times he had woken up shouting, and calling my name, but these few incidents did not alarm me. I knew my presence was helping him, and I was gratified that I had come. It seemed to be paying off. I prayed it was.

Geoff turned to me, put his hand on his arm. ‘Listen, kid, I know Zac’s been relatively quiet since you got here last Thursday.’ He nodded to himself, then said slowly, ‘I wonder if that strange attack, when he was so icy cold, frightened him? Perhaps it made him focus on his health, kinda brought him up short.’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ I answered. ‘He’s never really talked about it with me. I explained that I thought it was a reaction to fatigue, lack of sleep and food, and he agreed. He’s doing okay, Geoff. I know that.’

‘I trust your judgement, Serena, and I’m glad he’s not drinking or glued to the TV set. Booze, and war reportage seen second-hand, tend to agitate him no end.’ Geoff gave me a penetrating look. ‘Do you think he’s got post-traumatic stress disorder?’

This comment took me aback. ‘I haven’t seen any real signs of it yet,’ I replied.

Geoff nodded, and took a sip of his iced tea. ‘I witnessed a few strange things when I brought him out of Afghanistan … the pacing around, the sleepless nights, the agitation, the awful fucking nightmares, and the boozing. There were times when he really did attempt to drown his sorrows. And by the way, Harry has wondered about his condition.’

‘I know, I’ve discussed it with Harry, and he said I should humour Zac, that I must allow him to rant and rave, to weep, and to get his rage out. As you and I well know, when we come out we all have pent-up emotions: anxiety, anger, frustration, despair. Being witness to too much killing, too much death, doesn’t help.’

There was a silence, and Geoff looked off into the distance again, and then he drew closer, leaned forward. ‘Listen, I am developing really bad feelings, and I’m very aware, after a few days living a normal life here, that I do have to jump ship. Pronto. My time is up on the battlefield.’

‘Then it’s the right moment to go,’ I said in a firm voice. ‘That’s when you lose your edge, when you start to dither, or question what you’re doing. That can be dangerous, Geoff: one mistake and you’re dead.’

‘I know. Zac mentioned that he’d been covering wars since he was twenty-one. That’s sixteen years, a helluva long time. I’ve only been at it for seven and lately I’ve felt pretty rotten most of the time. I don’t want to end up like Zac – burnt out, just a shell of what I was.’

‘I understand, and I must say I’ve certainly been one of the lucky ones,’ I responded. ‘Eight years on the front. But my father and Harry sent me out a lot. Dad made me go back to Nice for breaks; they both deemed it necessary. And anyway, my mother insisted on it.’

Geoff volunteered, ‘You’re not very damaged, Serena, in my opinion anyway. In fact, I’d say you’re pretty damned good. I’ve often wondered if your father or Harry ever suffered from PTSD. Do you know?’

‘They both did, at different times, so they’ve told me. But they coped, they got out, cooled off. My father went back to Nice very often because of Mom’s fragile health. And Dad once brought Harry out of the Balkans. So Harry told me the other day. From Bosnia. He was in a bad way. Dad and Harry took a very long break after that.’

‘They needed it, I bet.’

‘You know, Geoff, Dad and Harry had Global Images to fall back on, a business to run, when they weren’t covering wars. They both did other photography for a time. What are you going to do? I hope you’re not leaving Global, Geoff.’

‘No, I’m not. Harry said I should take a month off, longer if I needed it, to think about my future. And he definitely wants me to remain with the agency. I’m staying here in Venice for a few more days, I want to get myself really rested. Then I’m going back to California to see my daughter. As you know, Chloe lives with my ex-wife. It’s all very amicable. And I do need to touch base with them, have a big dose of normality. I want to put this monstrous world out of my mind.’ Geoff looked at his watch. ‘I wonder where Zac is?’ he murmured, turning to glance at me.

‘Oh, he’ll be here any minute,’ I answered, attempting a nonchalance I did not feel. I hoped I was right.