White is the coldest colour: A dark psychological suspense thriller

by John Nicholl

  Chapter 19

  Mike Mailer had taken full advantage of the opportunity for a lay in, and finally dragged himself out of bed at 9:12 a.m. He put on the previous day’s pants, socks, shirt and tie, and one of his two low-budget supermarket work suits, before casually running an electric shaver over his face on the way to the bathroom.

  Mike checked the Seiko divers watch he’d received as a Christmas gift from Molly two years previously… Nearly nine-thirty. Time for a quick coffee and a piece of toast smothered in peanut butter and strawberry jam if he got a shift on.

  Mike left the flat about twenty-minutes later, in the certain knowledge that he was cutting it fine… But, then he always did. That was his way, and there was nothing wrong with that.

  He reached into one trouser pocket, then another, and finally found his car keys in the right inside pocket of his pinstripe polyester jacket… Sod’s law. Why was it always the last pocket you looked in?

  He clutched the keys tightly in one hand, and began jogging the hundred-yards or more along the shiny wet pavement, to where he’d finally found an adequate parking space for the XR3 the previous evening. As he approached the car he spotted a flat tyre, then another, then another, and then another… Bastard vandals! They’d been slashed. That was going to cost him. High performance tyres didn't come cheap.

  Mike checked the time… Fuck it!

  He turned on his heels, and began sprinting back in the direction of the flat.

  Come on Mo, answer the bloody phone, girl.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello, Mo. It’s Mike.’

  ‘Where the hell are you?’

  ‘Some jealous bastard’s slashed all the tyres on my car.’

  ‘So you're not on your way?’

  ‘I’ve only just found out, literarily five minutes ago, love.’

  ‘If this is some pathetic rouse to avoid your responsibilities, I’ll kick your arse for you.’

  ‘No, straight up, Mo. I’m totally gutted.’

  ‘Well, what the hell do you expect me to do now? There’s no way we’re getting to Anthony’s appointment on time, is there?’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Mo. But, what do you expect me to do about it?’

  ‘Think of something.’

  ‘Well, why don't you order a taxi?’

  ‘I’m completely skint, Mike?’

  ‘I’ll give you the money.’

  ‘Oh, really, that’ll make a nice change.’

  ‘Don’t be like that, Mo. I’m trying my best here. Why don't you contact the clinic and explain you're running late? You can always arrange another appointment if you have to, but you never know your luck.’

  ‘Right, I’ll ring the clinic. You order a taxi and get here as fast as you can.’

  ‘You want me to arrange a taxi from here?’

  ‘Yes, Mike, I’ve got about fifty-pence in my purse. Now get on with it please.’

  Mike began searching through the yellow pages for the number of a local cab firm, while Molly contacted the clinic and tried to sound as conciliatory as possible when Sharon answered the phone with a cheery, ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello, It’s Mrs Mailer, Molly Mailer, Anthony’s mother. I’m afraid we’re running late. I’ve got a taxi on the way, but there’s no way we can be there on time.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs Mailer. The doctor has gone out of his way to accommodate your son. Would you like me to send out another appointment?’

  ‘I am so very sorry. We would have been there by now, but some idiot damaged my husband’s car tyres. As I said, there’s a taxi on the way to pick us up as I speak. Would it be possible to ask the doctor if he can still see us?’

  ‘Well, I really don’t think…’

  ‘Please, Sharon, just ask him. I’d really appreciate it.’

  ‘Oh, I suppose I could just this once. I’ll speak to him and give you a call back.’

  ‘Thank you so much. But, do you mind if I hold on. I’m expecting the taxi at any second.’

  ‘I’ll be as quick as I can, Mrs Mailer. But no promises.’

  Dr Galbraith was standing facing the window when Sharon entered his office. She couldn't put her finger on why, but there was an almost tangible tension in the air when he turned and asked, ‘Who was on the phone?’

  ‘The Mailer family are running late, Doctor. Shall I rearrange the appointment?’

  He suddenly felt light headed, and the room became an impressionist blur of bland colours. ‘You stated that they're running late, Sharon. That suggest’s they still intend to attend today?’

  Sharon hurried towards him and took his arm. ‘I think you’d better sit down, Doctor. You're looking terribly pale.’

  He shifted uneasily in his seat, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose tightly between forefinger and thumb. ‘Is the Mailer boy coming today, or not?’

  ‘Well, yes, they're trying to get here, but…’

  Dr Galbraith’s relief was virtually overwhelming, and he struggled to contain his burgeoning excitement before responding. ‘I will see them as soon as they arrive, Sharon. If I have any further appointments booked for later today, please ring around and cancel them.’

  The red Citroen BX taxi cab pulled into the clinic car park approximately twenty-five-minutes later, and stopped directly alongside the doctor’s Daimler. Mike hurriedly wound down the front passenger-side window while Molly and Anthony disembarked, and said, ‘Do you want me to come in with you, Mo? It's no problem at all if you do.’ He waited for an answer with bated breath… Please say no, Mo. Please say no.

  Molly thought for a second or two, and quickly concluded that it wasn't time to roll out the welcome mat just yet. She turned to face him and shook her head. ‘No need to panic, Mike. The doctor just wants to see me and Tony this time. But, I want you and the taxi back here in exactly an hour. Okay?’

  ‘That’s great, Mo, I’ll see you then.’

  Molly broke into a mirthless smile… Mike was nothing if not predictable.

  Dr Galbraith watched from behind his office blinds, as he had two weeks previously… No, no, no, what the hell was the damn father doing there?

  He turned away from the window and fought the impulse to vomit… Things couldn't go wrong now. Not now, not when he was so close.

  The doctor threw open his office door, and ran past his stunned secretary in the direction of the car park. As he burst outside into the bright winter sunshine he saw the taxi driving away with Mike still ensconced in the front seat. He stopped dead in his tracks, acutely aware of the ludicrous nature of his actions and the negative impression they may give… What the hell was he doing? What could he say? How could he explain himself this time?

  Dr Galbraith closed his eyes, quickly re-opened them, and screamed, get a grip, man, inside his head. ‘Ah, what a shame! I was very much hoping to have a quick word with Mr Mailer before he left.’

  Molly smiled nervously. ‘He’ll be back in an hour if you still need to speak to him?’

  Dr Galbraith patted Anthony on the back with the palm of his right hand… Had he gotten away with it? It seemed so. ‘Not to worry. How are you, young man? I’ve been awaiting your arrival. I have a rather nice box of Quality Street in my office drawer with your name on it, if your mum’s agreeable? What do you say, Mum? Can Anthony have some chocolates?’

  Molly replied in the affirmative and followed Dr Galbraith into reception with Anthony’s hand in hers.

  ‘If you both take a seat in my office, I’ll have a quick word with Sharon here, and be with you very shortly.’

  ‘Sharon, my dear girl, that report I mentioned earlier is in the out tray. Now would be an excellent time to deliver it.’

  ‘I could send it by special delivery, Doctor?’

  ‘I thought I’d made it perfectly clear that it has to be delivered today?’

  She averted her eyes and stood to leave.

  Dr Galbraith smiled warmly… The needy bitch. ‘Your efforts are much appreciated, Shar
on. Please ensure you enjoy a nice lunch before you return. You deserve it, my dear. Now off you go. It can’t wait a second longer.’

  She smiled tentatively, collected the document, and headed for the exit.

  Dr Galbraith buttoned his suit jacket to conceal his burgeoning erection before joining Molly and Anthony in his magnolia office. He sat facing them both, but spoke directly to Molly. ‘It’s truly wonderful to see you again, my dear girl. But there is absolutely no need for you to stay. Anthony will be fine in my care. Absolutely fine. You can collect him in precisely an hour.’

  The doctor stood, opened a desk drawer, and took out the aforementioned box of confectionary. He allowed Anthony to choose a chocolate first, and then returned his attention to Molly, who was about to leave. ‘Take a handful before you go, my dear girl. Go on take some. Why not treat yourself? What do you say, Anthony? Should Mum take some sweets before she leaves us together?’

  Anthony smiled and nodded twice… If spending an hour talking to the doctor meant eating sweets and helped get his dad home, he was willing to do it.

  Molly took a single circular toffee wrapped in shiny silver foil and golden cellophane from the box, and placed a reassuring hand on Anthony’s shoulder as she prepared to leave. ‘It's going to be okay, cariad. The doctor’s going to have a nice chat with you, and I'll be back with you before you know it.’

  Anthony smiled half-heartedly, and Molly persisted. ‘I'll see you in an hour, cariad. Perhaps Dad will take us both for a burger later.’

  ‘Okay, Mum.’

  She gave him a nervous wave and hurried from the clinic without looking back.

  Dr Galbraith followed Molly as far as the exit, and watched as she crossed the car park far too slowly for his liking… About time. The bitch was gone at last.

  He locked the door, neglected to reset the alarm, and hurried back into reception… He had an hour, just an hour; but he had to stay in control, despite the pressure, despite the temptation.

  ‘Anthony, my dear boy, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I think your mother’s gone for a pleasant stroll in the winter sunshine. To the park I suspect. And why not, eh? It’s a lovely day for it. Now then, I have a couple of things I need to get on with before we talk together. Why don't you go into the therapy room and chose a suitable video? I’m sure a clever boy like you knows how to switch the television and VCR on, don’t you?’

  Anthony rose to his feet and nodded.

  Dr Galbraith placed his arm around his shoulder and gently guided him towards the door. ‘Of course you do. Of course you do.’

  The doctor went to open the door, but suddenly paused. ‘There is one thing we’ve forgotten. What do you think that is, young man?’

  Anthony looked up into the doctor’s face, and shook his head anxiously.

  Dr Galbraith laughed. ‘The chocolates, we mustn’t forget the chocolates.’

  Anthony relaxed immediately and smiled.

  Dr Galbraith picked up the enticing blue and red box and handed them to Anthony with a grin. ‘There you go, young man. Now chose a film, put it on, and eat as many of those as you like whilst you're waiting for me.’

  A half smile flickered across Anthony’s face. ‘Okay.’

  The doctor rubbed Anthony’s short red hair gently with the palm of his hand. ‘I will see you in a minute to two, my dear boy. Find something you want to watch.’

  Anthony unwrapped two chocolates, stuffed them both into his mouth, and sat on the floor sorting through the various videos, as Dr Galbraith removed a framed colour picture of his two daughters from a wall and watched through a small peephole drilled in the partition for the purpose.

  Dr Galbraith checked the clock, cursed quietly under his breath, and grasped his head with both hands… Come on, you little bastard. Come on. Put it on. Put the fucking thing on.

  Anthony quickly discarded all but the best goals compilation. He couldn't believe his luck… One gem amongst a pretty poor bunch.

  Anthony switched the television on, took the video from its case, placed it in the VCR, and pressed the play button before moving a large navy-blue corduroy beanbag nearer to the television-set, and waiting for the film to start. When it eventually came onto the screen he froze and dropped the box of confectionary to the floor, but couldn't look away… That wasn't football! Why didn’t the men have clothes on? Why were they wearing masks? What were they doing to that boy?

  Anthony began weeping uncontrollably. ‘Mummy! Mummy! I want my mummy!’

  Dr Galbraith sweated, twitched, panted and salivated as his body flooded with adrenalin… That’s it, you little bastard. That’s it!

  He checked the clock again… Give him time. Give the little bastard time; don’t rush it.

  He checked his watch… The hands were moving too quickly. Far too quickly! Should he go in? Was the little bastard sufficiently distressed? Yes, yes, of course he was. Time was getting on. It was time to expedite matters.

  Dr Galbraith entered the room and stood motionless for a moment without speaking.

  Anthony turned towards him and continued calling for his mother.

  ‘What on earth’s wrong, my dear boy? Wasn't there a film you liked?’

  ‘Where’s Mummy? I want my mummy.’

  The doctor approached the television and watched for a second or two before finally reaching down and switching it off. ‘You really shouldn't have watched that film, Anthony. That’s not good, it's not good at all.’

  ‘I want my mummy.’

  Dr Galbraith loomed over Anthony, proactively adopting a pensive expression, as if carefully considering his response. ‘Oh dear, I’ve just though of something terrible. What will your mother and father say if they ever find out what you’ve watched? Your father would never come home again.’ He shook his head forlornly. ‘Never!’

  Anthony's tears became deep unmanageable sobs that caused his entire body to shake as he fought for breath. He curled up on the floor in the foetal position and began sucking his thumb.

  Dr Galbraith sat on the floor next to his prone victim and began stroking his head gently. ‘Your mother will be back soon. She’s bound to ask why you're upset. And when she does, what shall I tell her? What do you think she’ll say when she finds out what you've done?’

  Anthony shook his head silently with a look of trepidation on his face.

  ‘She’s going to be very, very angry.’

  Silence.

  Dr Galbraith said nothing more for a few seconds, but continued stroking Anthony’s head. ‘I really should tell your mother, but I’m your friend. What do you think, Tony? Friends don't tell, do they?’

  Anthony shook his head.

  ‘If you promise to be a good boy, I won’t tell her. It will be out secret. That’s what best friends do, Anthony. They keep secrets. Now, what are we going to do until your mother returns?’

  Molly sat on a park bench directly opposite the small man made lake, and watched two mallard-ducks paddle by, whilst thinking of picnics past. She smiled as she pictured the scene: ball games, smiling children, laughter, the warm sun caressing her skin, vivid green trees and multi-coloured summer flowers that pleased the senses, and shimmering water, alive with wildfowl and lakeside insects… They were happier times, and the place still held fond memories.

  She couldn't put her finger on why, but as she reminisced, Molly began feeling increasingly uneasy about leaving Anthony alone with the doctor… Surely there wasn't anything to worry about? He was a doctor, after all. He had an excellent reputation. The GP had said as much. Was she being stupid? He couldn't be nicer. Then, why was she worrying? Was it due to Phil’s phone-call? Was there something he hadn't told her? There had better not be, for his sake.

  Molly began walking briskly in the direction of the clinic, covering the distance in approximately half the time she’d taken in the original direction. She stood at the entrance to the building, panting to catch her breath, and turned the door handle. But it didn't open. She turned it again, this time
with more urgency, and attempted to force the door open with her shoulder… Why was it locked? Surely it shouldn't be locked?

  Molly knocked and kept knocking: harder, harder, harder… Why wasn't anyone answering?

  She ran around the building… There had to be another door? Surely there was a back door? Yes, there it was, thank God! She turned the handle. Locked! What was going on? What if something was wrong? Something must be wrong. There was a window. It was small. But at least it was open.

  Molly paused… Should she climb through the window, or was she being stupid? Was she overreacting? She was probably overreacting. But, what if Tony needed her?

  She prized the tiny window open as far as it would go, and somehow squeezed herself through the inadequate gap, tearing one leg of her jeans and grazing her left thigh in the process. She found herself in a small antiquated kitchen in a part of the building she hadn't seen before. She hurried from the room into a brightly lit corridor, and was relieved to see the familiar reception-room at the other end. Molly ran the last few steps, stumbled and fell into the room, hitting the thin carpeted floor with a resounding thud.

  Dr Galbraith was towering over Anthony: attempting to ignore his impulses, fighting to stay in control, and cursing the booming in his head, when he heard the sudden unexpected thump emanating from reception… Sharon wouldn't be back for another hour or so. It had to be the bitch mother. He’d locked the door. Of course he had. How the hell had she got in?

  The doctor lowered himself to the floor next to Anthony, and placed his face only inches from his. He stared into his panic stricken eyes and whispered, ‘Remember what I said, boy. If your mother and father find out they will argue. And if they argue, they will never get back together. Do you understand? Never! It would be your fault. Do you understand that?’