Stranger Still

by Marilyn Messik

  “Dreck did.” I said. Over the years, Dr Karl Dreck had never diminished in memory. He’d overseen an ambitious, government-funded social study on the hunt for ESP, but had taken the project a great many unorthodox and chilling steps further.

  “So it was Devlin? Why?”

  “Because he could, because he had no concept of consequences. Trust me, he is being taken care of,” I flinched, he caught the thought and barked a laugh, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Should I go and see him, where is he anyway? What about his mother, the family, what do they think?” I felt dreadful, “do they know it was me?”

  “Stop firing questions, this is not a good time.”

  “Why?”

  “What did I just say, no more questions. Ah Stella, I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me, there is my doorbell ringing.” I put the phone down convinced of two things; they were definitely keeping me away from something I was sure I ought not to be kept away from, and Boris was never going to be up for a best actor Oscar.

  It was around that time that something else started up. At least I think it was then, it may have been earlier, but because initially it was in the background, woven in with my Ruth anxiety and the Devlin stuff, I couldn’t be sure. This though, when I took the time to think about it, was different and not great! It was low keening, a soft grieving, and what all that was about I couldn’t begin to fathom. It certainly wasn’t the sort of alarm shriek that necessitated a call to Boris, it wasn’t even there constantly but drifted in and drifted out and whenever I tried to focus, it slipped through my fingers like fog. It was a sadness wrapped in guilt and grief. I hoped to God it wasn’t the baby and was briefly chilled to the core, before acknowledging that was plain stupid, these emotions were adult and complex and coming from much farther away.

  There were plenty of issues on which to brood during my enforced resting time at home. Would I ever get into normal clothes again? Why couldn’t I talk to Ruth and Rachael? Would any of us ever understand why Billie Joe McAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge?

  Closer to home; why could I not grasp the NCT different breathing levels? How many more pots of chicken soup and casseroles could we fit in the fridge and if one more person said, ‘enjoy doing nothing now, you’ll miss it when the baby comes.’ could I avoid throwing something that wouldn’t just be a tantrum?

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  With the ‘keep an eye on Stella’ rota at full strength, you might have thought the house couldn’t get any more crowded, but then we had to factor in Mr Pegneddy, called in to help finish off the nursery. David had spent a lot of time sweating and swearing over the gorgeous paper we’d bought. It turned out that unless each panel was lined up with scientific precision on the wall, cute elephants, pigs and ducks became detached from trunks, trotters and beaks. This made for a rather ghastly hodgepodge and not a great way to introduce the infant to the world of nature.

  I felt I should contribute to the decorating and David and I had a brief but brisk exchange of views. He said I should put my feet up and I said I’d been doing that all week, but it turned out to be a bitter victory. No sooner had I taken up my assistant decorator role than I misjudged the flight of a tin of paint I wanted. It crash- landed on my foot and I was forced to retire in disarray and agony. I was instantly demoted to refreshments and despite my foot swelling to gargantuan proportions, felt obliged to put on a brave face and insist it didn’t hurt in the least.

  By the time the paper was finally up, it did look lovely, although I had some concerns about one top corner of the room, where it hadn’t stuck perfectly. David tired, but alpha male triumphant, assured me it just needed a touch more paste. Unfortunately, the following morning when he popped his head round the door to admire his handiwork, almost every single strip had peeled gently off the walls and come to rest, concertina-like on the skirting board. Mr Pegneddy, blue-lighted in, surveyed the catastrophe with an experienced eye.

  “Well, you’ve gone and got your bloody paste wrong ‘aven’t you?”

  David conceded this could be so, “Can you fix it?”

  Mr Peg sniffed “Mebbe,” he said. “Eddy?” Eddy glanced at my stomach and muttered;

  “Probbly, best be quickish.”

  * * * *

  Hilary appeared in the kitchen one morning as I was making the first couple of strong teas for the decorating team. I raised an eyebrow at her.

  “I used Brenda’s key,” she said, waving it at me, “don’t mind do you, said I was going to pop in and she gave it to me before she left; said you might be asleep.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek, and shivered, “Freezing out there, I’m not stopping, Martin’s outside in the car, I brought this.” Hilary’s needles had not been idle in recent months; she was producing on a grand scale. This time though, it wasn’t one of her knitted efforts which tended towards the chunky, but an exquisitely detailed and decorated white cot quilt.

  “From the Sewing Ladies,” she laid it on the kitchen counter, having first given a precautionary wipe with the sleeve of her coat, and smiled at my pleasure, “Smashing isn’t it? They wanted it brought now, just in case they said, but they’ll be round to see you soon. Oh, for goodness sake!” she reached behind me for a tissue from the box, “here, it’s only hormones Petal.”

  “I know,” I sobbed,

  “These for inside?” she picked up the two cups and I could hear her exchanging pleasantries with Mr Peg and Eddy before she popped her head back round the door again.

  “I’m off now, you alright?” I nodded, blew my nose and we laughed. I walked with her to the door, waved to Martin in the car and was turning to go back inside when Brenda’s scream reached me, actually not so much a scream, more a battle cry. It was so sudden and so loud, my knees buckled and I fell against the wall. I must have made a sound because Hilary turned and hurried back and Mr Peg shot out of the nursery.

  “Funny turn?” he said, “Not to worry, my Mrs had lots of ’em.”

  I grabbed Hilary’s arm, tighter than I thought because she flinched, “You said ‘before Brenda left’, where is she, where’d she go?” Hilary gawped at me; I shook the arm I was holding, “Where. Is. She?”

  “Joy’s.”

  “Why?”

  “She hasn’t been in this week Joy, I mean – flu.”

  “And Brenda’s gone over?

  “Said, didn’t I? Just to see how she is. Look, come and sit down and when she gets back...”

  “Got the address?”

  “Brenda’s?”

  “No, Joy’s. D’you know where she lives?”

  “Course I do.”

  “Come on,” I pulled her towards the car. Martin was standing with the driver’s door open, trying to work out what was going on. Behind us Mr. Peg was taking all this in capable stride.

  “Carry on then, shall we?” he asked mildly, I waved backwards in assent, and then saw Katerina peering from behind his leg. “Hold on to Kat for me? D’you mind?”

  “Don’t you worry yourself, my little love,” he nodded amiably and shut the door. I got into the back seat of the car, faster than I’d have thought possible, and yelled at Martin.

  “Get in, drive.”

  “Hospital? Right-you-are!” Martin was surprised but in control, and Hilary who’d leapt into the passenger seat was jerked back as he hit the accelerator and we took off, in his head, he had flashing lights and a siren.

  “No, not the hospital, Joy’s.” I yelled, leaning forward between the seats.

  “Why’s Joy coming?” Martin yelled back. He’d hit the A41, and was straight into the fast lane. Hilary turned; she’d no idea what was going on but had a good grasp of what wasn’t.

  “It’s not the baby?”

  “No.”

  “Good thing,” she muttered, “we forgot your hospital bag. Martin go to Joy’s.”

  “But...”

  “Martin,” Hilary snapped, “Joy’s.” Martin said something under his breath, but so used was he to following Hilar
y’s instruction, especially when hissed, that he did an immediate, immaculate U-turn and slammed his foot down.

  Martin, wasn’t one of the most sensitive people I’d come across, but he’d picked up the urgency and drove like a bat out of hell, hunched over the wheel and swearing at drivers who didn’t get out his way quick enough. I had my eyes closed, listening for Brenda; but there was nothing. I was holding tightly to the back of Martin’s seat as if I could will us there faster. When I opened my eyes, Hilary’s scared gaze met mine. She was clutching the strap above the passenger door, didn’t understand what was going on but knew it wasn’t good.

  Martin did a sideways swoop across a wide tree-lined road, skidded a little and screeched to a halt outside a large detached house. I was out of the car first, Hilary caught up with me halfway down the path and breathless and panicky we reached the door together. There was no answer to the bell and even Hilary heavily wielding the knocker didn’t bring a response. Inside the house though, everything was under control, Trevor’s control.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Hilary took in my anguished face and said, “We have to break the door down.”

  “Don’t be daft,” Martin had caught up with us. While they exchanged glares, I did my best to imitate Ed and deal with what turned out to be several locks. I had to be quick and it wasn’t pretty, but;

  “Look, it’s not locked,” I said, pushing it open.

  “We can’t just walk in!” but Martin protested to empty air; I was halfway up the stairs with Hilary on my heels.

  Life in the Hamilton household had not been sailing in calm waters for a good couple of weeks now, and the disruption arose directly from that day when everyone made such a God-damn ridiculous fuss about a silly fall. Trevor couldn’t comprehend precisely what it was that had caused the current difficulty, but he wasn’t a man to shy away from whatever had to be done to get things back on track. He was very well aware you had to take charge of an issue, before an issue took charge of you.

  He must have heard us downstairs at the front door but knew we couldn’t get in, triple locks and a bolt. You could never be too hot on security nowadays, crimes day and night and after that bloody woman Brenda had turned up on the doorstep that morning, he’d been scrupulous in locking up after her. When Hilary and I burst breathlessly shoulder to shoulder into the bedroom, it came as a surprise, but he thought he hid it well, greeted us politely and apologised for the bit of a state things were in.

  Joy was on the unmade bed, one arm extended above her head. One leg of a pair of tights was knotted so tightly round her wrist that her dangling hand was pale and bloodless. The other leg of the tights, had been wound several times around an ornate wooden finial on the headboard and securely knotted. Joy wasn’t completely conscious, her eyelids drooping shut for far too long with every blink and when she did open them, her gaze was dazed and unfocused. She was struggling to make sense of what she was seeing and wanted to ask someone what was going on but couldn’t, owing to the wide brown expanse of shiny duct tape covering her mouth, puckering the skin of her face in an extended stretch.

  Across the room, Brenda lay spread-eagled on the busy brown and green flowered carpet. Her head was at an acutely unnatural angle, jammed against the base of a looming, mahogany wardrobe. There was a long rip in the skin of her face, running raggedly from the outer edge of her right eye, down across her cheek bone to the corner of her mouth, it was bleeding quite heavily and because of the angle at which she was lying blood had dribbled over the bridge of her nose and ribboned down the other side of her face. Trevor had pulled up the bench type, dressing-table stool, so he was sitting close to Brenda; he hoped, he said, we’d forgive him for not getting up.

  It was a lot to take in. Hilary, by my side gave a low hoarse cry and froze momentarily because she couldn’t decide which of the women she should rush to first. Martin behind me simply froze. Shock petrifies, holds you rigid and for several beats I was with Martin, for which I had no excuse, it wasn’t as if I hadn’t known more or less what we’d find.

  At Hilary’s cry, Joy turned her head, eyes widening as she saw us, crowded close in the doorway and then Hilary was at her side, reaching to untie the tights.

  “No,” Trevor spoke quietly, but firmly, “Hilary, not now, if you wouldn’t mind. Please move away from the bed.” Hilary, without pausing, told him succinctly what she thought of his suggestion and what he could do with himself, and I didn’t disagree, luckily she wasn’t party to what was going on in Trevor’s head; mind you, he wasn’t either.

  Currently, his mind was working on three entirely different levels, so I could see why he was having a problem. On the surface, temporarily in charge, he was cool, calm and courteous. Below that but surfacing with increasing frequency, was a rich vein of justifiable anger and righteous indignation. ‘What had he done to deserve this?’ it wanted to know, ‘Only given Joy everybloodything a woman could ask for,’ it answered. ‘And,’ it added, ‘look at the patience and care spent in helping her become the exceptional person she could be; although of course she still had a way to go.’

  And beneath calm and controlling, below anger and indignation, there was a whole other layer which, whilst unexpected, couldn’t be denied. It was that layer that was registering the tremendous amount of pleasure he was deriving from actions he’d been forced to take.

  All in all, It hadn’t been a great morning. Joy was still getting mileage out of this flu bug she’d had - high temperature, sneezing, aches and pains, etc. but he did feel, after two days in bed she should start pulling herself together. She hadn’t got up when he did, said she still felt dreadful, and then she’d been yammering on about something, all the while he was getting dressed. It irritated him.

  They’d discussed this fault of hers several times before. It was quite simple. If she asked a question and he answered, all well and good. If she asked a question and he didn’t answer, that indicated he didn’t want to. Finished. End of. It was a concept she hadn’t really grasped. This morning, he jokingly said, if she didn’t stop going on, he’d have to tape her mouth. He had the roll of tape in his bedside table, it was something he’d done before - but only in fun, it had made things quite a bit more exciting one night after a couple of glasses of wine each, and she hadn’t minded.

  But this morning, when he’d taken the tape out of the drawer and placed it pointedly on the bed, she’d gone mad; sat up, started telling him off for no reason at all. He’d been at a bit of a loss; this wasn’t the Joy he knew and loved and before he could decide the best way to handle it, she was climbing out of bed and then she swore at him, which was crazy - Joy never got cross, certainly never swore. He was enormously relieved when he suddenly realised what was going on. His poor girl: her temperature must have shot up, she was delirious, didn’t know what she was saying and now she’d dragged a suitcase from the bottom of the wardrobe and was opening drawers and putting clothes in at random.

  When he wrestled her back to the bed, she didn’t seem to understand he was doing it for her own good and struggled like a wild thing under his hands. Seeing her like that was extremely unpleasant and distressing and in trying to loosen his hold, she succeeded only in giving her head an almighty crack on the headboard. Thankfully, she was dazed and silent for the minutes it took him to grab the first thing to hand - a pair of tights she’d taken from the drawer - and secure her to the bed. He was stroking her hair back from her face, explaining he was going to get her a couple of aspirin to bring down that rotten temperature and then he’d fetch a nice cup of tea. But when she opened her eyes she clearly hadn’t listened to a word he’d said, didn’t understand it was for her own good and when he tried to go over it again, she was making so much noise, he had to put the tape over her mouth, it was just going to be on long enough for him to explain about the fever. Then the doorbell rang, and on the doorstep was the pain in the arse from the office.

  He said how lovely it was to see her but explained Joy was still poorly and
not up to seeing anyone. And she said, she always had an answer, that was exactly why she’d come; she’d brought soup or some such ridiculousness. He’d thanked her nicely, held out his hand to take the container, said he knew Joy would be touched and he mustn’t keep her from the office, but no, that wasn’t good enough for her. She moved forward and she was a big woman, so he had to step back and before he knew it, she was halfway up the stairs, saying she’d just pop her head round the door, wish Joy well, see if she needed anything else.

  He started after her, because of course he needed to explain what she was going to see, but had to turn back to lock and bolt the door and by the time he’d got up the stairs, it was too late for explanation. As he came through the bedroom door, she flew at him like some sort of a she-devil, letting out what could only be described as a war cry, it was truly alarming. Clearly the woman was dangerously deranged and he reacted instinctively. His clenched fist hit bone and his signet ring scored deeply across her face as she was knocked back against the wardrobe which luckily was as solidly built as she was. She slid awkwardly downwards, her bottom hit the carpet, and she toppled sideways and lay still. He hadn’t intended to hit her that hard but after all, he had to defend himself and Joy too, and people really should keep their noses out of other people’s business.

  Behind him, Joy was now getting herself in a proper state, throwing herself about and that was only going to make her temperature worse, and even with the tape on she was making such a noise he could feel the first creepings of a headache. He decided if anyone was going to get aspirin and a cup of tea, it ought to be him first, he honestly couldn’t remember when he’d last had such a stressful morning. He popped to the bathroom for aspirin, came back and peered down at Brenda. She really was bloody Brenda now; he chuckled; one of his major attributes he felt was the ability to find the humour in most things. Then he went downstairs to make tea. No point in making for the women yet; Joy was in too much of a lather and Brenda was spark out.