by David James
'Don't worry,' said Jane in a low voice, 'I'm sure it won't hurt.'
Sarah at once felt like she was in a group of two with Jane and replied 'Hopefully not. Do they do this often?'
'Only this fancy with special guests usually,' replied Jane.
'I'm honoured,' said Sarah.
'See how long you feel like that,' replied Jane.
The first course started to arrive and Sarah's attention was drawn towards a plate of mixed seafood. She was sure there was a much more fancy name for it.
As she ate her first course, she tried to pick up on what people were talking about. It all seemed pretty normal and trivial – complaints about traffic; something about a village fête and comments about someone who really wasn't keeping their garden tidy enough. But try as she might Sarah couldn’t hear anything that would be useful to her. The starter was cleared away by someone in a smart uniform; Sarah couldn't remember the last time she had been to a meal that had people serving there. She wondered if the catering was all done by an outside company? It would certainly explain why Cynthia was so relaxed; at no point was she jumping up to check things in the kitchen. It also made Sarah wonder how far in advance it had all been planned.
The main course arrived with impressive efficiency. Sarah was beginning to relax even more now, perhaps this evening would be easier than she thought. She even started to swap pleasantries with Jane.
'It's all very well organised,' said Sarah.
'Outside caterers,' replied Jane.
'It must be odd for you, being a teacher in a room full of psychologists and psychiatrists,' said Sarah.
'It has its odd moments. It is difficult to relax sometimes.'
'How did you meet them then?'
'Oh, I did some work for them.'
'What type of work?' said Sarah. She could see Jane stiffen slightly.
'Just some education things. Lesson plans and the like. But not for a little while. She hasn't needed me for a little while, not since –'
'Jane don't monopolise Sarah, she’s hardly had time to eat,' interrupted Cynthia.
The waitress started clearing away the plates. Sarah was about to ask Jane to finish her sentence when Cynthia turned to Sarah and said 'I think I knew your father Sarah.'
She froze. How could she?
'It's quite a small world really in this profession; very incestuous. I believe he was doing some work in the field of childhood trauma treatment. I think I read a paper or two,' said Cynthia.
The meal table seemed to have gone completely quiet. If Sarah could have torn her eyes away from Cynthia she would see that all eyes were on her. Cynthia reached down and casually picked up a glass of wine, drank briefly from it and then slowly placed it back on the table before continuing. 'I think I may have some documents or such like that relate to your father's work around somewhere.'
Sarah 's mind was racing now. How would she have any documents? And more to the point what would be in them?
'That would be interesting,' said Sarah, trying to sound casual.
'Splendid, perhaps after we have finished dinner I will try and find them. I think you might find them of some interest.'
Sarah managed a half smile.
All her ideas of turning the tables on them had evaporated. She could only think about the documents now.
The staff busied themselves, keeping the meal progressing. A dessert came and went for Sarah. She had a couple of bites, but that was all.
And with military like organisation, the meal drew to an end. 'I hope you all enjoyed the meal,' said Cynthia to the whole room.
There were general appreciative and congratulatory remarks from the room.
'If you could all make your way through to the lounge,' and with that everyone dutifully stood up.
'Not you Sarah, we could have that discussion if you like. We'll only be a few minutes.' She looked across at the departing guests. 'They can take care of themselves for a while.'
Cynthia ushered Sarah through the doors and into a part of the house that she hadn't been to before. She suspected it was the type of house that had many hidden parts to it. They walked down a corridor that seemed to get narrower as they walked along and Cynthia stopped outside a large metal door.
‘It used to be the strong room of the post office,’ said Cynthia, ‘so we should be safe in here.’
Cynthia opened the door and ushered Sarah in. She could hear the heavy door clang loudly shut behind her and it was now completely dark. She could feel the panic rise in her.
Cynthia seemed to sense this. 'A little claustrophobic are we Sarah? I have some visualisation techniques that might help with that,' said Cynthia from the darkness.
There was a sudden burst of modest light. It was only enough to illuminate the desk that suddenly appeared in front of them, everything outside of the desk remained shrouded in darkness.
'Don't worry, we don't lock it.'
Cynthia ushered Sarah towards the small table in the centre of the darkness.
Her mind was feeling horribly scrambled.
This felt unerringly like a séance now. For a split, crazy second, Sarah wondered if Cynthia was going to try to contact Sarah’s dead father.
'Sit down here Sarah,' she said as she opened a drawer and took out a paper file. Cynthia sat down opposite her, opened the folder and said 'I'm not sure quite where to begin.'
Cynthia nodded to herself briefly, seemingly having decided where to begin. Like a gambler at a casino table playing her first card, she pushed a large size photo across the table to Sarah.
As the photo slid nearer her she could see quite distinctly that it was a picture of her father.
If this was her opening gambit, Sarah wondered what her trump cards might be.
The photo showed her father, the long hair and clothes unmistakeably dated it. He was surrounded by a group of people that made the whole thing look like a hippy music festival. She had heard about her father's younger days, but here in front of her was a visual reminder. Sarah looked at the figures in the photo and looked up at Cynthia.
'Oh, no, I'm not in that photo,' said Cynthia.
Cynthia picked up several other photos and fanned them out onto the table.
Sarah picked up a couple and brought them closer to her face.
They were of several people and she almost gasped as she recognised the director.
'Everything okay Sarah?'
'Fine, fine. Just got a shiver. It is a bit cold in here.'
It was clear that the photos were from different dates. She watched as the length of her father’s hair grew shorter as he aged and eventually the director disappeared from the photos completely.
Sarah's focus changed to the backgrounds in the photos. Most were pretty bland, but in one or two there were some distinct natural features in the background. A strange tree, an unusual rock formation. She almost felt she recognised some of them and then as she looked intently at the photos, there was one by a roadside and she definitely did recognise the sign by the road.
Cynthia hurriedly moved the photos and placed a folder of papers in front of her. The title of the folder was in bold and leapt out at her.
Pre-emptive treatment of childhood behavioural problems by Henry Stevens et. al.
Sarah began to skim read through the document. It was clearly a description of theories for the treatment of disturbed children.
'It's quite a long document,' said Cynthia, but I think you will agree that it is interesting reading.'
Sarah continued to read. 'What are these initials?' she said.
'Oh just some of the researchers, minor players most of them.'
Sarah had reached the part where it was setting out the practical treatments. As she read further she recognised some of her father's phrasing; even in a seemingly dry document he always seemed to manage to inject some warmth. More surprisingly, she began to recognise some of the elements of her treatment of the children in the document. She felt elated that she had been subconscious
ly following in her father's footsteps.
'Why did I never hear about this?' said Sarah.
Cynthia leant across, closed the folder in front of Sarah and said 'Are you sure you didn't?'
What did she mean by that? Sarah had helped her father in a minor way, but it hadn't been with anything particularly contentious. She had really only helped him with some admin. But then her mind went back to the time with her father. He hadn't been particularly secure with some of his documents. He left things lying around in his study and she had been spending a lot of time in his study recently. Maybe she had looked at some documents, some photos perhaps? Maybe the memories were there in her subconscious?
'It was quite controversial,' Cynthia paused, thought and said 'so many closed minds around.' Cynthia's gaze was elsewhere now. Eventually she snapped back to the here and now.
'I have a few other photos if you like,' said Cynthia, her previous demeanour returning.
She passed across more photos. These were clearly more recent, her father’s hair was close to how she remembered it and his expression seemed to have lost the youthful hope it had in the earlier photos.
'His theories really were quite revolutionary you know. I think we could all learn something from them. In whatever circumstances.'
Cynthia was now looking at Sarah with such intensity that Sarah felt unable to move. As if she was waiting for Sarah to say something.
Sarah was becoming ever more aware of the cold dark surroundings. She was beginning to feel trapped.
Cynthia leant forward from the gloom 'It's never easy when you are using a different treatment is it. Other people just don't seem to understand do they.'
Sarah could just see the glint in Cynthia's eye now. The words of warning from Nathan suddenly came back to her. But she hadn’t heeded them, and now she was alone here.
'Have you got anything to tell me Sarah?'
Sarah was now panicking. What could she tell her? She almost wanted to scream out something about the children. Just to make it all end.
She shook her head.
'Come now Sarah, you are closest after all. You must have something to tell me.'
She knew about the children and Sarah. She must do.
'I can't say. I really can't,' said Sarah despairingly.
Cynthia changed her tone, it became softer as she leant even closer to Sarah and said 'We can't help you if you won't tell us.'
Sarah was on the verge of telling her everything. The treatment. The journals. What Nathan had said to her before she left. The voices. Her father’s study. Just to make it stop.
Don't trust them, they aren't what they seem.
'They can be very vulnerable you know. Anything could happen to them. And if anything were to happen to them. Well, who would bear the guilt Sarah?'
Sarah was already feeling guilty about leaving the children at the institute and now Cynthia was accusing her of being responsible for anything that might happen to them.
Sarah stared at Cynthia. She was either concerned for the children or was threatening that something might happen to them. Unless she had already tried to do something. The memory of the trip with the children and Helen came flooding back into Sarah's mind.
'I can't tell you anything. I don't know anything!' said Sarah.
She tried to force herself upright, but her legs wouldn't move. Cynthia's eyes held her in a grip as surely as if she was standing above her and forcing her down.
Sarah could see Cynthia's expression now and it was terrifying. The mask of civility had dropped; replaced by a frightening, threatening expression. For a moment Sarah thought Cynthia was going to lunge across the table at her.
But within a second the mask returned.
Cynthia relented, sat back and said 'I'm sorry Sarah, I didn't mean to upset you. Maybe it is the memory of your father that has caused this.'
She smiled and the previous expression was back as if the last few minutes had never happened.
'Maybe it is time to join the others,' said Cynthia putting the documents and photos back in the folder and standing up.
As the door opened and she followed Cynthia out of the room, Sarah felt the exhilarating rush of having escaped. She had to lean against the wall for a moment.
'Everything okay Sarah?'
Sarah took a deep breath and said 'I think I need to go back to the guest house now. Maybe I ate too much seafood.'
'Yes, that could be it,' said Cynthia sympathetically. 'We'll get you back now.'
They walked down the corridor and she was thrust back into the lounge. Everyone in the room turned to look at both of them as they entered. Sarah noticed that most of them were looking at Sarah, then at Cynthia, and smiling. All except Jane, whose gaze was fixed on Sarah, and she wasn't smiling.
'Sarah is feeling a little tired, so she is going to leave us for the evening,' said Cynthia.
Everyone smiled in her direction and murmurs of appreciation filled the room.
As Sarah half stumbled out of the front door that Cynthia held open for her, she gulped in the fresh evening air. It was the sweetest taste she could ever imagine. The door closed heavily behind her and she walked hurriedly away from the post office.
'Well?'
'Nothing.’
'Nothing at all?' the voice sounded doubtful.
'No. She's not a problem. We are still okay.'
'And the memories of her father?'
'All too jumbled to be of concern. And I think I may have made them worse by showing her the photos.'
'Do you think her father told her anything, you know after he…'
'Oh I doubt it. He was too ill in hospital to really communicate.'
‘We were told that she was in a bad way, that the ground work had been done, but she doesn’t seem to be as bad as we were led to believe.’
‘On the surface yes, but as I looked into her eyes I could see that she was conflicted. She is not as stable as she might seem. I don’t think she is aware as to what is real and what is not.’
There was a pause in the conversation before Cynthia began talking again.
‘Anyway, I’ve been told there could be a change in approach.’
‘How so?’
‘We could let it continue. We could finish what we all started. With Sarah’s help.’
‘Wouldn’t that be dangerous?’ the voice sounded almost frightened.
‘Possibly, but think if it did work?’
‘Vindication.’
‘Precisely and we would still be covered if it all went wrong after all. If she decided to say anything, well, who would believe her?’
‘It could all work out after all.’
‘But I wonder if the damage has already been done. Did we go too far with her?’
Sarah stumbled into her room and slumped onto the chair. No matter how exhausted she felt, she knew she must write everything down from the papers Cynthia had shown her. She grabbed the nearest piece of paper and a pen and began to write.
She even attempted a crude drawing of what she had seen in the photos. She was no artist, but after a few minutes she had most of what she remembered.
The drawing seemed a bad effort at drawing a tree. It looked as if it was drawn by someone who had never seen a tree. But it was what she had seen in the photos. It was just the strangest looking tree she had seen, which was why it had stuck in her memory.
She stood up, checked the door and then rammed the chair up against it, checking several times that it was secure.
She undressed quickly and crashed into bed.
As Sarah's head hit the pillow, she pulled the duvet up until she was completely enveloped by it. She needed its secure embrace more than ever.
And yet, for all its unpleasantness and fear, she realised that she had gained something from the evening. She suspected that she wasn’t supposed to, but as she closed her eyes and hoped for sleep, she knew where she had to go next.
Chapter Thirty Nine
The sun filtered thr
ough the thin curtains and gently woke Sarah up. Her dreams had been confused; a strange mixture of countryside, Ben and her father. But it had made no sense to her, and it faded quickly from her memory. Away from the house her dreams seemed to just as confusing, but less disturbing. She was no longer waking up wondering if she had done something in a dream or in reality. It was hard for her to admit, but she wondered if the house had been making her mental state worse.
As she half opened her eyes she caught sight of the pieces of paper she had been scribbling on the night before. Her plan, such as it was, involved a quick breakfast; getting in the car, consulting her scribblings and hoping that her rather dreamy conclusions about the location were accurate.
She didn't allow herself to think of what she would do next if this was all some illusion dreamt up by her desperate imagination.
After showering and dressing, she wondered what she should take with her as she left the guest house. She had no idea how long she would be away, she could be back in a couple of hours, but she couldn’t be sure. She grabbed her bag and gathered up the pages of her scribbled notes and then she looked at her father’s files that she had brought; she hesitated, would she want to leave them in the room for any length of time? She reached forward and put them in the bag, and then she caught sight of the doll sitting there. As she looked at it, it almost seemed to be pleading not to be left behind. She put it quickly in the bag.
She left the room and made her way down to breakfast. The dining room was sparsely populated as she had expected. As she scanned the room she just saw a few early risers, and Jane.
She stopped abruptly. What was she doing here?
Jane looked back and managed a half smile. Sarah felt obliged to go and talk to her, it would look strange if she didn't. And at the moment she wanted to appear completely normal, not to attract any attention to herself. She had planned to drive from the village with no one noticing; this had probably already failed.
'Morning Jane, is the breakfast really that good here?'
Jane looked uncomfortable. 'I've heard it is quite good. Yes,' she said defensively, before adding even less convincingly 'my cooker isn't working, so I thought…' She didn't finish the sentence, both of them realised how unlikely it sounded.