by Pat Young
‘What is it you want me to do?’
‘Call up and ask what the position is.’
‘They won’t talk to me, Lucie.’
‘I’ve thought of that. You can pretend to be my brother. Phoning from Scotland. Everyone knows international calls are expensive so you can cut to the chase.’
‘What is it you want me to say?’
‘Find out how much her medical bills are. And what happens if she can’t pay. And how much it would cost to send her home. Repatriation, it’s called. And ask what happens if she stays in the States, does she get buried or cremated or what? Can you do that for me, Dylan?’
‘I can try.’
‘Thank you so much. You’re such a good guy.’
‘Why the sudden decision to go home?’
‘Well, I’ve been thinking. You told me Curtis is okay, so there’s no need for me to hole up here any longer. My friend Charlotte’s really nice and all, don’t get me wrong, but I’m going stir crazy. There are only so many DVDs you can watch in a day.’
She’d expected Dylan to laugh but he said nothing. The line was so silent, Lucie wondered if their call had been disconnected.
‘Dylan?’
‘I’m here, Lucie.’
‘You won’t tell Curtis you’ve seen me, will you?’
Another silence on the line.
‘I’m not sure how to tell you this.’
‘For God’s sake, Dylan!’ She couldn’t help being impatient. ‘Tell me what?’
‘Curtis thinks you’re dead.’
48
Dylan was angry with himself.
He had told Lucie about Curtis sending him to find out why she hadn’t come home on September eleventh. He’d told her Lucie Jardine had been found dead on Murray Street. A victim of the dust cloud.
‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ Lucie had asked.
‘Think about it,’ he’d said. ‘You were sitting right there in front of me, large as life.’
‘Are you sure it was me they found? I mean, are you sure I’m the Lucie Jardine who’s been declared dead?’
‘Looks like it.’
‘Well, I guess I’m just going to have to rise from the dead. I’m sure it can all be sorted out. One way or another. I can’t be the only Lazarus walking around this city at the moment. There must be few people showing up who were assumed dead.’
‘You were more than assumed dead, Lucie. A body was found with your ID. How did that happen?’ Why did he have to sound so accusing? He’d only been trying to understand the mix-up.
‘I have no idea! Dylan, you had to be there. It was chaos. One minute I was walking along, in a hurry to get to my interview on time. Curtis had made me late and I was frantic in case I’d blown it. The next minute I heard this noise, and it was … like this avalanche of white stuff racing towards us. No one knew what it was. Everyone just ran for their lives.’
Lucie had wittered on, as if she couldn’t stop. ‘I dropped my bag. Tripped and fell over. Bumped my head. Lost consciousness for, I don’t know how long. When I came to, I couldn’t see a thing for dust. Next thing, a policeman was shepherding everyone out of the area. I tried to tell him I needed to get my bag, but he wouldn’t let me go back for it. He just kept saying, over and over, like a robot, “Go north. Go north.”’
‘And your bag got picked up later? And matched up with the wrong woman?’
‘There’s no other explanation. Is there?’
Lucie had been very matter of fact. Something about her tone had made Dylan uneasy. He wouldn’t have said she was lying. But.
‘Did you tell Curtis you’d seen me?’
‘No.’
‘So he still thinks I’m dead.’
‘Yes.’
‘Is he distraught?’
Dylan hadn’t been sure how to answer that one. So he’d said nothing.
‘Fine!’ The word was spat out like something poisonous. ‘That’s made my decision a whole lot easier. You get me my passport, Dylan. I’m going to sort this shit out. Then I’m going home.’
He could have told her he had her passport in his pocket. But he didn’t because she mustn’t know he’d been underhand.
He could have told her Curtis was paralysed. But he didn’t because he was scared she’d go back to him.
He could have told her his loyalty was so strong that he’d covered up a crime scene for her. But he didn’t because she’d have to work that one out for herself.
Worst of all, he didn’t tell her he loved her. Because he was a pathetic fool.
And now she was leaving.
Well, maybe that was the best thing. Keeping secrets to protect her was getting too difficult.
None of it was his responsibility, far less his fault, and yet he was constantly embroiled in the drama of their lives.
He should come clean to the two of them. Then wash his hands of them. Friends were supposed to make you happy, not fill your life with stress.
Lucie could do what she wanted. If she chose to go back to Curtis, there was nothing Dylan could do about it. Maybe it was time to cut them both loose and let them drag each other to hell.
49
His resolution didn’t last the night. He texted his boss to say he’d be a little late. Then he rang the hospital. Finally he tried the number Lucie had called him from.
He was about to give up when she answered, her voice hoarse and sleepy.
He wasted no time on small talk. ‘Morning, Lucie. I made that call you wanted.’
‘Great. Thanks, Dylan. You’re a pal.’
‘Good old Dylan. That’s me.’
Lucie didn’t respond.
‘Okay, so here’s the deal. Turns out you don’t need to worry about your mom. Her passport stated her next of kin is your dad. They contacted him and he’s stepped up to the plate. Everything’s been taken care of. Your mom has been repatriated for burial in Scotland.’
‘Good. That’s what she would have wanted.’
Dylan heard the catch in her voice and his heart softened. ‘You okay? Lucie?’
Between sniffs she said, ‘My mum told me my dad isn’t a bad man. She also said he’d welcome me back with open arms. I didn’t believe her but now I think that might be true. Did you find my passport?’
‘I’ve got it.’ No need to elaborate.
‘Oh, thank God.’
She sounded so relieved Dylan wished he’d told her sooner.
‘Is it still valid? Please tell me it’s still valid.’
She must be desperate to get away.
‘I know it’s in my maiden name, but if I book the ticket in the name of Lucie McBride, no one will be any the wiser, will they, Dylan?’ She was childlike in her eagerness.
Oh God. Why did he have to be the one to dash her hopes?
‘Lucie, there’s something I haven’t told you. Something you need to hear.’
‘You make it sound ominous.’
‘It’s about Curtis.’
‘Dylan, you need to understand this: my marriage is over. I have absolutely no further interest in Curtis.’
‘What I have to say might affect that, Lucie.’
‘I can’t imagine how, but go ahead and say whatever it is you’ve got to tell me.’
‘Remember I told you I saw you at the hospital the day your mom died?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, Curtis is still in hospital.’
‘What’s wrong with him? Alcoholic poisoning?’
‘No. He’s paralysed.’
‘Paralysed?’ she said, as if Dylan was joking.
‘Yes. From the waist down.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means he’ll never walk again. And he’ll struggle to live independently.’
There was a long pause. Dylan waited to see what Lucie would say next. ‘That’s awful. I feel sorry for him,’ she said. Her voice was quiet and flat, devoid of emotion.
‘You should.’
‘What do you mean by tha
t?’
‘I think we both know what I mean.’
‘What are you accusing me of, Dylan? It’s not my fault Curtis had an accident.’
There was an aggression in her voice that Dylan had never heard before. ‘I’m not accusing you, Lucie, I’m suggesting it might not have been an accident that caused his paralysis.’
‘Meaning what?’
He had to hand it to her. She was cool.
‘I found him lying in a pool of blood. At first I thought he’d just fallen down drunk and bashed his head. Wouldn’t be the first time. Then, when he tried to get up, he couldn’t move his legs. It was a nightmare, Lucie. I’m no neurological expert, but it was pretty obvious, even to me, that his spine had been injured.’
‘And you think that was me? Are you crazy?’
In a flat tone he said, ‘I found the skillet.’
‘Ah.’ A tiny sound, acknowledging her guilt.
‘You must have known you’d hurt him, Lucie. That skillet weighs a ton.’
‘That’s why I didn’t hit him over the head with it. I know real life’s not like the cartoons. Real people don’t get bopped with a frying pan, see a few stars then charge about as normal. Even as I feared for my life, I knew that.’
‘But you did hit him with it.’
‘As hard as I could, but on his back, not on his head. I didn’t want to kill him. I just wanted to stop him killing me.’
‘So it was self-defence?’
‘Dylan. You don’t really believe I set out to paralyse him?’
‘No, Lucie. I don’t believe that for a minute. Never did.’
‘What do the police believe? I know they haven’t taken the skillet. I checked.’
‘I washed it and put it away. Before the cops got there.’
‘You covered up for me?’
‘What else would I do?’
‘Thank you, you’ve saved my life.’ She started crying, very quietly, as if she didn’t want him to hear. Dylan thought the sound might break his heart. He listened, saying nothing, giving her time to compose herself.
‘Can you meet me somewhere with my passport, please? I’ve got to book a flight and get out of here.’
How to tell her? ‘Lucie, listen. There’s something else you need to know. The police had no reason to continue with an investigation. There were no witnesses and there was no evidence. I thought we’d got away with it. But then Curtis started to remember what happened. He called the police. Lucie, he’s pressing charges.’
‘Shit! All the more reason for me to hurry. Can you come right now?’
‘Lucie, he claims they’re watching the airports.’
‘Wait a minute. Did you tell him I’m still alive?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘The cops won’t go after a dead person. Will they?’
‘I don’t know. Are you prepared to take that chance?’
She didn’t answer.
‘Can I ask you a question? That day in the hospital? You were talking to a man in the coffee shop?’
‘Yeah?’
‘The reason I didn’t speak to you that day? I heard you tell the guy your name is Gillespie.’
She didn’t deny it.
‘I can’t work out why you would you do that.’
Several long moments passed before Dylan realised she’d hung up on him.
50
Lucie couldn’t face breakfast. Her conversations with Dylan had made her sick to the stomach.
It wasn’t fair to hang up on him like that. He was such a lovely guy, doing his best to help her. Lucie had been reeling from shock and desperate to hit out, like a beaten boxer throwing a final punch. If she hadn’t hung up, she’d have said stuff she’d be regretting by now. And Dylan didn’t deserve that.
And then there was the guilt. Her loss of control had cost Curtis the use of his legs. A runner who’d never walk, far less run. If someone were to tell her she’d never walk again, she’d want to die. No question.
She remembered her throat closing down as his hands tightened on her windpipe, cutting off her air supply. How much longer before she stopped breathing? Would he have realised what was happening in time to save her life? She’d had no choice but to save herself. Most people might think paralysing her husband was taking self-defence a bit too far.
Lucie wondered what would happen if she were to come forward and confess. Would her dad be willing to pay for lawyers to defend her? It was a big ask, under the circumstances. Even if he did, it was still likely she would go to prison. Curtis would blame her for attacking him and causing his paralysis. He would lie and cheat. Beguile the ladies in the jury.
She was screwed. Caught in a trap, again. And Curtis was the one keeping her there. Again.
Lucie looked around her luxury apartment with its magnificent view, its soft leather sofas, the glass table, the glossy kitchen and its state-of-the-art appliances. As traps went, this was a beautiful one, she had to admit. And if her life had worked out differently, if she’d never met Curtis, maybe this was the kind of life she’d be living.
She’d longed for a better life when she was caught up in her abusive marriage. When she was confined to that grotty little house, practically starving. Suffering the degradation of having to depend on Curtis for every morsel she ate. She’d dreamt of designer clothes and gourmet food, smooth Egyptian sheets and a luxury bathroom. And here she was. Not by the route she’d imagined, but she was still here, and still alive.
In the rotten game of poker that her life had been so far, this was the hand of cards she’d been dealt. It was up to Lucie how she played them.
Why should she own up to injuring Curtis when he had wounded her so often and got away with it? If she stepped out of the shadows now, who knew what she’d be getting herself into? At worst a prison sentence and at best a melee of legal wrangles that could swallow up all her dad’s money.
Maybe the best thing was to wait. It was only a matter of time till the police traced Lucie Jardine to the morgue. The thought made Lucie shiver. She wondered about writing her own obituary and putting it in the papers. Would that throw the cops off the scent or bring them baying to her heels?
Maybe she could send Curtis some money, anonymously. Compensation for the life-changing injuries she’d caused him. Payment for her freedom. She need have no further contact with him.
She wasn’t trapped. She had choices. That alone put her ahead of where she was before 9/11. She had reconciled with her mum. She knew her dad wasn’t bearing a lifelong grudge. And she was no longer shackled to Curtis.
Poor Curtis. He was the one who was trapped. While she was free to do as she wished.
He might have set the police on Lucie Jardine, but no one was looking for Charlotte Gillespie.
51
He reckoned he needed to let a couple of days pass. Then she’d come looking for him. Probably with the handkerchief as an excuse. It wasn’t arrogance on his part, just a lifetime’s experience of working with people and studying women. He’d learned, as a small child, how to be likeable. He’d been one of the popular kids all through school and always had a girlfriend. He’d never chased after a woman in his life, not even Diane, and she was the one whose affections he’d been most determined to win. Charlotte too had taken little work before she was eating out of his hand, prepared to do anything for him.
Playing it cool had always been his strategy for success and he was sure this girl would be no exception. She would come to him, if not today, then tomorrow or the next day. As long as he could find the time to lie in wait, she’d show up. He was certain of it.
He looked around for the little priest who’d been so welcoming the first day. Yesterday he’d greeted him like a long-lost friend, but there was no sign of him today. Did priests get days off?
It was best if no one noticed him making contact with Miss Mystery Girl, assuming she showed up.
He checked his watch and then drew his sleeve down over its expensive face. He had plenty of time. A
dopting an attitude of prayer, he dropped his head while he ran through his plan. He’d try to get her to meet him for a coffee or a drink. It would be vital to get her complete trust, then he could set about finding out who she was and what she knew.
He was wondering whether God, if he was watching, could be fooled by fake prayer when a quiet voice whispered, ‘Rick.’ It took him a moment to remember his assumed name. He opened his eyes and, like the answer to a prayer, there she was, sitting in the pew beside him, dressed for a run. This close up, he could see she wasn’t Charlotte, but the resemblance was strong.
‘Hello,’ he murmured. ‘What are you doing here?’
She indicated her leggings and sweat top and said, somewhat unnecessarily, ‘I was out for a run.’
He smiled his most disarming smile. ‘I can see that.’
She blushed in a very endearing way. ‘Sorry, bit obvious, isn’t it?’
He nodded, still smiling. ‘Shall we step outside?’ he asked, indicating the many people praying around them. 9/11 had probably done wonders for the churches in New York. He’d be willing to bet they hadn’t been this busy in years.
Like a newly married couple they walked along the carpeted aisle and out through the big doors into daylight.
‘How nice to see you again,’ he said. ‘Do you always pop into church during a run?’
She laughed, as he’d intended, and said, ‘No, actually I was looking for you.’
Such refreshing honesty. This just got better and better. ‘Really? I’m intrigued.’
‘I’d planned to bring your hankie in case I saw you today. But I forgot to pick it up on the way out. When I passed the church I thought I’d see if you were around so I could tell you …’ She stopped, all of a sudden, without finishing her sentence and blushed again. Mystery Girl was getting more attractive by the minute.
‘I’m babbling, aren’t I?’ she said.
He nodded, very solemnly and they both burst out laughing. He couldn’t believe how well this was going.