The Dance of the Pheasodile

by Tim Roux

  “I thought that you considered Agnes invaluable.”

  “She is, especially to the children. She has been here all their lives, but if she walks out then that is her decision, and there is nothing we can do about it.”

  “You don’t think my tackling her will make things worse?”

  Chrissie puts her arms around me and gives me a kiss. “Not if you are your usual kind, adorable self.”

  * * *

  It is my first day at work for about two months, although the rest of me has been dropping in most days. It feels really strange, disorientating, as if I am back from a long holiday in the Caribbean or Australia or somewhere.

  Adam is in his office, and I go straight over to him. “Adam,” I say, “I need your help.”

  Adam gets up from behind his desk, offers me a chair and closes the door. “Yes, Keith?”

  “I haven’t been myself recently.”

  “We have noticed that.”

  “I have been very distracted.”

  “We have noticed that too. Is there anything you would like to talk about?”

  “I am not sure that I could explain.”

  “Okay. No worries. You do not need to, obviously, but if there is a problem at home, for instance, you and Chrissie and the children, Ella and Mark, are our friends. We would like to help you.”

  “That is very kind, Adam.”

  “Julie and I have gone through our tough times too.”

  “It’s not that ….”

  “…I’m not saying it is. I am just saying that tough times happen. Rock has caused us some heartaches, I can tell you. He is very aptly named, and we have needed to do some nifty footwork to smooth things down at school from time to time. He has a bit of a habit of laying into teachers, not physically thank God, but verbally. Crystal is usually an angel, but Rock can be a nightmare. I know what, why don’t you all come over for lunch when we both next have holes in our diaries? We haven’t seen you guys socially for ages, and it must be our turn to host. I’ll get Julie to phone Chrissie. The women are much better at this sort of thing.”

  “That would be good, thank you.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “No, that was it. I just wanted to assure you that I will be back to normal from now on.”

  “In that case, welcome back Keith. We have missed you.”

  I get up and just as I reach the door, I turn around Colombo-style. “There is one thing, Adam. Would you mind if I took a couple of days off next week to go to Hull?”

  “Hull? What happens in Hull?”

  “I have some unfinished business there.”

  “Well, yes, feel free.”

  “Thanks, Adam.”

  “No problem, Keith.” He has a bemused look on his face before he settles over his desk again.

  I feel like greeting everyone in the building as if I have not seen them for a while although, in reality, Keith has barely missed a day. Nonetheless, many of my colleagues do treat me as if I am just back from somewhere. Sally has a huge beam on her face as if mightily relieved, as has Tony. “It is good to see you so cheerful again,” Meg volunteers. Meg is from Singapore, and she is notoriously cheerful in that high sing-song voice of hers, and with her face set in a relaxed, friendly grin.

  I log onto the computer and explore what I have been doing over the last few weeks. Actually, what I have been doing is not too bad, except that I haven’t done as much of it as usual. There are no obvious errors, but I am missing my little signature touches. Still, they are easy to add in. I scrutinise the details. We are still on schedule so, all-in-all, nowhere near a disaster. Phew!

  Bobby Coningsby passes me mid-morning and stops. “Adam tells me that you are off to Hull next week,” he comments. So much for confidentiality.

  “Yes, I am,” I reply.

  “I got a strange phone call from there a few weeks ago. John Somebody-or-other whom I had vaguely met at a conference somewhere phoned me up to tell me that he was with a colleague of mine, I cannot recall his name, and could I vouch for him, I suppose. The trouble was that I had never heard of this colleague. God knows what was happening up there. Be careful, Keith. There may be a Mad Cow disease outbreak, or something.” He snorts at his joke. He snorts up quite a lot of things if the rumours are true.

  “How odd,” I reply. What else can I say?

  “They design Legoland knock-off buildings up there, you know. Bright colours, no inspiration, parked next door to clapped out curtain-wall constructions which should have been pulled down thirty years ago.”

  “So you have been there, have you, Bobby?”

  “Yes, I was there a couple of years ago on a prospective project. They couldn’t afford us, and they were concerned that anything we might produce would be out of place.” He snorts again. “Ridiculous really. Something has to be in place before you start worrying about things being out of it. Anyway, there was no dealing with the prices they wanted to pay. They were so low that it indubitably wasn’t worth our while pursuing. That is why there are architectural practices in Hull, I suppose.” He walks off.

  Well, that is Hull sorted out, architecturally speaking, although I have to admit that it didn’t look that inspired, except for a few old buildings in the centre. Nothing modern. Perhaps I should drop in on that guy in Hull again and assure him that Harry Walker did work for us. That would confuse him. There wouldn’t be much point in doing that, but I feel the need to correct the record and to have John Farmer apologise to me for doubting me.

  “Are you coming for lunch, Keith?” Su throws at me. She is always inviting me out for lunch, and I am always accepting. I think she secretly fancies me, but that I can rely on her to keep her secret to herself. The idolatry keeps me young.

  * * *

  Agnes says “I must be going now, Mr. McGuire. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “See you, Agnes. Thank you very much.”

  “Bye, children.”

  “Bye, Agnes.”

  The phone goes. Agnes answers it as she is standing right next to it. “No, this is not Mrs. McGuire. I am their child minder and housekeeper …… Mr. McGuire is here …… Can I say who is calling? .... I cannot give your name?......” She holds her hand over the mouthpiece.

  “There is a gentleman on the phone, Mr. McGuire, who says he must talk to you urgently. He won’t divulge his name.”

  “That’s okay, Agnes. I’ll take it. Thanks again. Hello, Keith McGuire here.”

  “’ullo, Keith. Trevor Plant ‘ere. Yer must remember me.”

  “Should I?”

  “Well, I tortured yer for several days and then dropped yer from an ‘elicopter into the Thames. Most people would remember that.”

  “I am sure that I would have done. How can I help you?”

  “Well, I’m just ringing to say that I ‘aven’t finished with yer yet.”

  “I wasn’t aware that you had started. Who are you?”

  “Yer know precisely who I am, Keith. Does this ring a bell?” The sound of a man screaming agonisedly is blasted into the phone at top volume, accompanied with ominous clankings and mutterings. As I listen to it, I realise that it does mean something. My legs slip away from me, and I am lying on the ground.

  “Dad!” Mark shouts, rushing towards me.

  “Mark, get out of the way,” Ella orders, reaching me first. “Dad, what is it?”

  “Somebody has blown my ears off,” I reply, trying vainly to persuade Planty down the phone that it was the decibels not the content that affected me.

  “What are you doing on the floor? Did you fall?” I put my finger desperately to my lips to silence Ella who looks uncomprehending and mouths something at me, so she is at least doing as I ask.

  “So it does mean something to yer, does it Keith?”

  “It means a loud screaming in my ear. What the bloody hell are you trying to do you bloody idiot. Get off my phone, and ring some other fucking idiot with your nuisance phone calls.” I slam down the phone.

&
nbsp; “I didn’t know you could swear, Dad.” Ella’s eyes are wide with revelation.

  “I just needed him to go away,” I explain.

  “Was he a bad man?”

  “A very bad man, Ella.”

  “Will he hurt us?”

  “Not if I have anything to do with it.” But he already has. The snippet he played down the phone has awoken a demon in my layer. My heart is racing. I am as terrified as I have ever been consciously. There is a nightmare in my mind that is awakening. I can sense it approaching. “I must go and lie down for a few minutes.” Mark looks horrified. Ella begins to cry. “What’s wrong, you two?”

  “You are not better, are you, Dad? We thought you were better.”

  “I am a lot better than I was,” I reassure them. They are not convinced.

  The phone goes.

  “Don’t answer it,” I say rather too desperately.

  “It might be Mum,” Ella says. She needs to talk to her mother at this moment.

  “If it’s Mum she’ll phone my mobile next.” Sure enough the house phone stops ringing and my mobile goes off. Mark fetches it for me as I am still on the floor.

  “Keith.”

  “Hello, darling. How are things?”

  “Trevor Plant has just phoned.”

  “Oh…….. What did he say?”

  “He played the sound of a man being tortured down the phone.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “It had the intended effect. Can you come home?”

  “I’ll come immediately.”

  “And be really, really careful. Can you get someone to accompany you?”

  “I cannot instantly think of anyone I can ask. I am almost the last one here. Do you think he might be waiting for me at the station?”

  “It is possible. He could be anywhere.”

  “So what should I do?”

  “Get off at Bracknell and get a taxi. No, play it safer, get off at Ascot.”

  “Hang the expense, eh?”

  “On this occasion, definitely. However, when Nadya starts submitting her bills, who knows?”

  “How are the children doing?”

  “Concerned.”

  “They know?”

  “They saw me collapse.”

  “It was that bad?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

  “Be careful in the driveway. Make sure that they aren’t waiting for you there.”

  “Oh my God. I hadn’t thought of that. I will pick up Derek on the way, if he is in, or James, or Jerry. Somebody must be in. They’ll call me a crackpot for the rest of my life, but at least I will have one.”

  Chrissie cannot get between the City and Wokingham that fast, so it is nearly two hours later that she arrives in convoy as Derek’s and Jerry’s cars pull up. I rather wish that Planty were here.

  “This is exciting,” Jerry announces as he enters the house. “Haven’t you guys been paying your bills again?”

  “Something like that,” I acknowledge.

  “I have never been asked to be a bodyguard before. It took me ages to track down my gun, not to mention my horse,” Derek adds.

  “Er, Derek, I think you may have forgotten your horse,” says Jerry.

  “In the boot. We couldn’t get the seat belts to fit, and we weren’t going to take any risks.”

  “Touché, Derek.”

  “Thanks, guys,” Chrissie says, giving each of them a hug. “You don’t know what it means to us, putting yourselves at risk on our behalf. I think you need a drink.”

  “Why not?”

  So we have an impromptu party which Ella breaks in on asking “What’s going on here?”

  “Derek and Jerry have dropped in, but you should be in bed.”

  “I was, Mum, but you guys are making a lot of noise.”

  “Sorry, darling.”

  “Will they be going soon?”

  “Darling!”

  “So that I can get some sleep.”

  “Don’t worry, Ella, we won’t be long,” says Jerry. “We’re only here for a quick drink. We’ve all got homes to go to.”

  “Go to bed now, Ella,” Chrissie coaxes her, with an edge to her voice to show that she is somewhat peeved by Ella’s rudeness to our guests.

  “I am going. Night, everyone.”

  “Night, Ella.”

  “She is getting so rude,” Chrissie apologises. “She is definitely becoming a teenager.”

  “She is picking up on the stress,” Derek defends her. “She knows that something is majorly wrong. What is it, by the way?”

  “Somebody is threatening the children,” Chrissie replies. “We don’t know why, but we are very afraid.”

  “Who is it?”

  “We don’t really know. Somebody who claims to know Keith, except that he doesn’t.”

  “That’s terrible. Have you called the police?”

  “We are thinking of it, but what do we say? To say that a stranger wants to hurt us without the slightest excuse or explanation is a bit bizarre.”

  “Has this got anything to do with the recent helicopter incident?”

  “Exactly, Derek.”

  “He must be sick, Chrissie. How can we help?”

  “I am not sure that you can. We are hiring a private detective, and the rest is hoping that he gives up, although it doesn’t seem likely.”

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  “Yes, Jerry, he lives in Hull.”

  “In Hull?”

  “Yes, Hull.”

  “That could be a lucky break. I have relatives in Hull. They might be able to help us. They know the Chief Constable, I know that. I met him once. He may not be the same guy now, but I am sure that they can get someone to listen to them.”

  “That would be fantastic, Jerry.”

  “Leave it to me, Chrissie. I’ll phone my cousin as soon as I get home. It is already about five hours after the last fish and chip shop closes up there, but I’ll call her anyway.”

  “Thanks, Jerry.”

  They leave fifteen minutes later, Jerry insisting that he will be on the phone instantly.

  “Thanks, Jerry.”

  Their cars pull out of the driveway, and we close, lock and bolt the door. Chrissie hugs me.

  “This is a nightmare.”

  About ten minutes after Jerry and Derek leave, someone rings the bell.

  “Don’t answer it,” I tell Chrissie.

  We sit still where we are, wondering whether our triple-glazing will resist anything that anyone smashes against it. There are no footsteps, not that we would be able to hear them, and no faces at the window. The bell does not ring again.

  We walk around the house expecting someone to appear at any moment. We no longer feel remotely safe here, and we soon retreat to bed, wondering how we can secure the stairs. In whispered consultation we consider barricading it, but in the end we decide it will only serve to panic the children. I pick out a cricket bat from the hall stand. That will have to do, that and Chrissie’s carving knife. I just hope that she does not hallucinate that she is being attacked by a snake in her dreams.

  * * *

  The thug is smashing my legs with a crowbar. He is battering them with absolute relish and concentration. “Here yer are, yer bastard, take this. This is for fitting up Planty. This is for fitting me up, yer filthy pervert, yer ‘eap of slime, yer cunt.”

  The pain has been agony my brain tells me, but I cannot detect the blows any more. They disappear as the crowbar leaves my sight. I doubt that there is any more that they can do to hurt me. That is when the thug puts down the crowbar and takes up the pliers. “Give us a squeeze, ‘arry,” he taunts me, before his hand disappears blow my waist. There is a searing pain that rips right through me. The pain is not over yet.

  I hurl myself out of the bed, brandishing the cricket bat. “Take that, you bastard,” I scream flailing hysterically with the bat. “I am going to smash your brains out!”

  “K
eith, Keith,” comes a plaintive voice. “Please put down that bat.” For a second I assume that it is Planty pleading with me, and I make to give him a celebratory whack, before I realise that it is Chrissie. I stand there panting and sweating. Ella has entered the room and is hurling herself at Chrissie. “What is going on? What is going on?” Mark hesitates at the door, almost sleeping on his feet.

  “I had a bad dream,” I say, but it is an inadequate explanation for the consternation that surrounds me.

  * * *

  “Keith,” Chrissie ventures. “We need to do something. You are endangering our lives. You could have brained one of the children with that cricket bat last night.”

  “I know.”

  “You nearly brained me.”

  “I know.”

  “You are going to have to see someone.”

  “I’ll go to see Sian.”

  “That is what you said last time.”

  “Yes, but Harry is dead now, so I cannot become him again, and I have a feeling that she may know what to do.”

  “I am scared of sleeping with you, Keith.”

  “I am scared of sleeping, Chrissie. I know that the worst has not surfaced yet.”

  Sian can see me in the afternoon. There has been a cancellation. I leave the house at twelve, while Chrissie and Agnes barricade the door behind me.

  Sian greets me like a long-lost, and very sympathetic friend. “I’m surprised to see you back again,” she says, avoiding calling me either ‘Keith’ or ‘Mr. McGuire’. You seemed thoroughly disorientated after the last session.”

  “Yes,” I reply, “it was a very strange experience – stranger than you know. That is what I have come to talk about.”

  “Have a chair.”

  “Sian,” I begin, “have you ever had a client who has gone off into a trance and who has never come back?”

  “No. That is a fear a lot of people have, I believe, when they visit a hypnotherapist, but it never happens in practice. It couldn’t happen. The body doesn’t work that way.”

  “I have to disagree, Sian.” I make this statement quietly.

  “How is that?”

  “After you hypnotised me, only part of me came back. That is why I appeared so disorientated.”