Lead Me Home: a clever and engrossing psychological thriller

by CS Savage

  'No worries. If you need that dick sorted out, come to me.' He threw his bag over his shoulder and sauntered back to his mates. Five minutes later, the bus pulled up, glowing red under the street lamps. Rowan and Amy clicked their Oysters, and took a seat behind the driver.

  'Ro. You really need to tell someone.'

  But Rowan just shook her head and turned to stare out of the window.

  When she got home, the house was dark. She kicked her shoes off by the front door, hung her coat up and walked into the kitchen. Clicking the thermostat up, she reached in to the fridge for a can of coke and then went through to the lounge, curling up on the sofa. Thoughts of Vic turned over in her mind. She reached up, rubbed the back of her neck. This isn't over? It bloody is over, she was never going anywhere near him again. Thank God she had Fariq to distract her. She picked up the remote control, flicked the telly on and stared at an episode of The Chase, but she wasn't really following it, didn't attempt to answer any questions, her gaze was fixed.

  Ro was just starting to feel sleepy when she heard a key in the lock, a low rumble of voices. She tipped her head to the side; the good Samaritan had brought her patient home again. She looked up as Beth walked into the lounge and sat in the chair opposite her. The girl was dressed in unflatteringly baggy leggings, her hoody was grubby, a dark stain bled down one side of the front. Her blonde hair was tangled, the overall effect was rumpled. Eventually, she looked up, made eye contact.

  ‘Hope I'm not intruding.’ Her voice was light, hesitant. ‘Your mum has let me stay another night, just until we find out who's following me.'

  Rowan wetted her lips, nodded at her. She didn't approve, but there was nothing to dislike about Beth, she was quiet, friendly, nervous.

  There was silence before Beth spoke up. 'Have you had a good day?'

  Rowan hesitated, but then thought, who cares. Why shouldn't she burden Beth? Beth was burdening her. 'Shit, if I'm honest.'

  Beth raised her eyebrows in surprise. 'Oh right. Sorry. Do you want to talk about it?'

  Rowan looked up and, to her horror, felt her eyes filling with tears. She waved Beth away as she saw her start to stand. 'It's my ex. He waited for me outside college, attacked me. He won't leave me alone, he's scaring me.'

  'Wow. That's heavy. What did he do?'

  'Picked me up, grabbed me by the throat.'

  'No way. Does your mum know? She never said anything.'

  Rowan's curls swung from side to side as shook her head. 'No, she doesn't, and she's absolutely not to. She's got enough on her plate.'

  The two girls looked at each other. Beth's face looked as white as hers felt, she reflected. They were both scared, but at least now, they had some common ground.

  33

  I lie on the bed, bounce and test. No more squeaks, my back sinks into the beautiful soft memory foam. I stand, unwrap the satin sheets, pure white, and fit them over the top, push downy pillows into satin cases. Mother has made it clear to me how uncomfortable the mattress was, why it needed changing. Why she didn't tell me when she was using it, I will never understand. The bed stand is wrought iron, intricately worked, brass knobs topping iron stands. Around each post, I gently wrap a silk scarf, again pure white. I have a neat pile of them in the drawer of the small dresser, carefully placed following Mother's instructions.

  I work the material between thumb and finger, close my eyes, absorb myself in the silky softness. Over the bed hangs a large mirror, again gothic in style, intricate metal work surrounding an expanse of shiny glass. It was Mother’s favourite, and she has allowed it to remain.

  Standing at the end of the bed, I inspect my work. The large room has a window, but I have fixed white wooden blinds over them so there is no view of the outside world. To the left of the window stands mother’s old wardrobe, but it is no longer being used for clothes. The shelves inside house a bed pan, more satin sheets, white towels. And on the top shelf, I will lay out my tools.

  34

  Clancy

  'What do you want?'

  As she walked down the corridor to her office, she had caught sight of Dan's greasy head going in to the meeting room ahead of her, raced after him, grabbed at his arm. He spun to look at her as she began shouting back.

  'I want to know what the hell your game is, reporting me to the medical director?' She stood, her legs planted firmly apart and stared directly into his eyes.

  Dan looked harassed, his goatee was a little straggly, and he had bags under his eyes.

  Clancy did not allow herself to feel any sympathy. 'You know how hard I'm working, you can't pretend I'm not putting in the hours. And the number of client contacts I make are average, there's nothing wrong with them,' she continued.

  Dan took a step back, was pressed up against the wall. 'Look, Clancy, I'm not talking to you about this now. I told you, you need to pull your socks up. I can't have you interfering, doing work a support worker would do. I need you in your clinic, managing ill patients.'

  'Since when did you get to decide what I do?' she shouted. Even to her, her voice sounded harsh. 'You might manage the team, but you don't manage me.' She glared at him, fists clenched by her sides. I’d love to punch him on his smarmy nose. She unclenched her fists as the thought of GMC referral flashed through her mind. She was getting herself in enough hot water, anyway. 'It's not the last you'll hear of this,' she said over her shoulder as she walked off. No apology, then, dickhead. She marched into her office and threw her bag and jacket onto the chair, holding her head in her hands. God, she needed to calm down, she felt like she was about to implode. She grabbed her mug and went to make herself a coffee.

  Ten minutes later, just as her pulse was starting to slow a little and she was managing to take in some of the words she was reading, her landline rang. Careful not to displace any of the papers that covered her desk, she picked up the handset.

  'Hi, Clancy, I've got a Mr Lowe on the line for you. Ok to put him through?'

  'Yes, yes, of course.'

  'Dr Mclean?' Lowe said after a number of clicks.

  'Speaking. Good to hear from you, is everything ok?' She already knew it wasn't.

  'What do you think you're up to?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Interfering in my life. I don't want anything to do with you, don't you get it? And I certainly don't want you hassling my girlfriends. You've got a bloody nerve.'

  It clicked into place. Emma had told him she had been round there. They were still in contact. She'd lied about that, then – what else had she lied about? Clancy couldn't have clutched the handset harder. She stuttered as she tried to speak, crossed her fingers before starting the act. 'Look, Mr Lowe, you know I really can't talk to you about other patients of mine.'

  She heard him snort. 'Do you really think I'm going to believe that? It would be just a great coincidence, you starting to see her just as I do.'

  'Mr Lowe, I really shouldn't say anything. But it was the police. They asked me to follow her up. There was an incident of some sort, she was upset, they were worried.' At least he didn't interrupt her, let her finish. She thought he had put the phone down, the silence was so long.

  'Okay. Well, don't ask her anything more about me. Get it?'

  'I am worried about you, though, Mr Lowe. Where have you been?'

  'Round and about. I'm in Sutton, at the moment. I'm off to get a train.'

  'Will you wait there for me? I'd really like to see you.' But the line went dead. She had lost Lowe, and it might be days before she found him again. She immediately redialled 999, asked for the police, got through to an operator.

  'He says he's at the top of Sutton, just around the corner from the station, please go and look for him. He about five ten, dark hair, usually dresses casually in jeans and hoodies, dark coat. He's not well, he's psychotic, I'm worried he's going to do something terrible.'

  'Has he threatened you?'

  'No, you don't get it, he hasn't threatened anyone. He's listening to voices. I'm worried he's goi
ng to hurt someone.'

  ‘Did he say he was going to do that?'

  'No, he didn't. But he needs help.'

  'There is nothing we can do unless he's threatened someone or committed a crime. Unless, of course, he's acting very bizarrely in the street. I'll put out a call to look out for someone behaving unusually, but I'm afraid there's nothing else I can do.'

  'Great, thanks.' Clancy slammed the receiver down, grabbed her keys and coat, ran out of the door. 'Just going out,' she shouted at the receptionist as she passed.

  'Everything ok?' the receptionist piped up, but Clancy didn't have time to answer.

  The tyres squealed as she set out towards Sutton. But soon enough, the traffic was clogged. It took her five minutes just to turn onto London Road. Ten minutes later, she was by the train station. She left the car on a double yellow and raced inside, tried to get onto the platforms, but, of course, she didn't have a bloody ticket. Craning her neck, she looked over the bridge, tried as hard as she could to check them. She couldn't see anyone who looked vaguely like him. She returned to her car, relieved that the parking wardens hadn't been, and started driving slowly up and down side streets, ignoring beeps from impatient drivers. There were many pedestrians walking around, shopping bags swinging. But there was no sign of Mr Lowe. He was gone.

  35

  Beth

  When had she started thinking about her as Clancy? Beth wrapped her arms around her, felt warmth run to her cheeks. Despite the quietness of the house, the knowledge of being at Clancy's was a comfort. She dragged her leggings on, decided to have a shower later. Opening the bedroom door, she peeked her head round the frame.

  'Anybody there?' she whispered. No reply, so she shouted it a bit louder.

  'I'm in the kitchen.'

  She hurried down the stairs. Rowan was sitting at the kitchen table, a plate of eggs in front of her. She pointed to her plate with her knife. 'Want some?'

  'Would that be ok? I don't usually, but it looks too good.'

  'Fill your boots,' Rowan waved over her shoulder to the ingredients spread over the kitchen side. As Beth picked up a frying pan, Rowan continued, 'How you feeling today. Things a bit better?'

  Beth shrugged. 'It's great being here. I don't know why, but I just feel much safer. Your mum's cool, isn't she?'

  'S'pose so.' But Rowan looked chuffed. 'She's good at her work. Sometimes wish she was at home a bit more, though.'

  'I know how that feels. I never really see my parents, they never approved of me. Dad wanted me to be a doctor, they hate it that I went into nursing. And they hate it even more that I've had mental health problems. I'm such a let-down.'

  Rowan stood up and walked towards her, rubbed her on the hand. 'I'm sure they're proud of you.'

  Beth didn't reply. She tipped her eggs onto a plate, started munching on them. She couldn't manage a smile, although she was grateful to Rowan for her words.

  'You not got college this morning?'

  'No, off. S'posed to be revising for the next test. Fancy letting me practice on your eyebrows?'

  Beth nodded. 'That'd be good. And Rowan,' she gave a small smile, 'Thanks for – you know...'

  'No problem. Now let me get my stuff.’

  Thirty minutes later, Beth was lying on the sofa, a towel over her chest, her face burning. Who would know that these procedures were so painful?

  'Ouch,' she squealed, again. Rowan giggled.

  'It's not that bad…just relax. They're already looking awesome, you've got amazing arches.' Rowan had her tongue stuck out of the side of her mouth, stood back and surveyed her work.

  'Yep, that's it, perfect.' She held a mirror up to Beth's face. She had red sausage marks above both eyes, like an albino panda. 'I've got a date, Friday.' It seemed Rowan felt comfortable opening up.

  'Really? You work fast. Who is he?'

  'His name’s Fariq. Met him on Facebook. Well, I haven't actually met him yet, but I'm going to on Friday.' Rowan grabbed her laptop, brought up his page. 'Look, isn't he fit.'

  Beth studied the picture, and immediately, her thoughts whirred. She tried as hard as she could to keep her face neutral, could feel Rowan's gaze on her. She saw a man, late twenties, greasy dark hair that looked like it could do with a cut. A confident smile, direct gaze, intense expression. The shiver down her spine made her shoulders twitch.

  'Yeah. I suppose so.' She just managed to get the words out without spluttering.

  'What?' Rowan asked. She stared directly at Beth, her eyes squinted with suspicion.

  'He looks…' Beth inhaled before continuing, desperately searching her mind for positive words. 'Well, he looks like a grown-up.' She refrained from adding that in her view he looked seedy, like she would expect a paedophile to look. Even so, she stopped talking when she saw Rowan's eyes narrow further, then quickly changed tack. 'Look, I'm not the best person to ask about men, I got stood up last time I tried to hook up. And ever since then, I've been feeling freaked out. So definitely not the person to give you any romantic advice.'

  Rowan's glare gradually dissolved. 'God, I hope he doesn't do that to me. I'll be gutted.'

  'Bad luck can't strike twice so close,' Beth said. 'I'm sure you'll have a great time.'

  Rowan relaxed back in her chair. 'I'm not sure what to wear.'

  Beth was happy to just sit and chat with her – it was so much better than being alone. So, she was careful not to say anything else negative, that way they wouldn’t fall out. And Rowan knew what she was doing – surely?

  36

  Clancy

  'I'm really worried about him.' She looked around the table at the assembled team, then at Hamish for affirmation, saw him nod. 'He doesn't seem to be getting more paranoid, and he's not thought-disordered. But he's really pushing boundaries and being hostile and uncooperative. I'm starting to think he may have some personality issues complicating his presentation.' She turned to Emily, the team psychologist. 'I was going to ask you to do a SCID-II assessment with him. I'm pretty sure he's going to score high enough for us to diagnose some sort of personality disorder.'

  She didn't add that that would render him practically untreatable, given his unwillingness to take responsibility or engage with the treatment they were offering. If Hussein’s behaviour was just related to his personality, then there would be little they could do to prevent him from carrying on as he wished, whatever the risk he presented.

  Emily clicked her pen lid. 'Have you mentioned it to him? And what it's for?'

  'No, I didn't want to until I had the go ahead from you. I'm seeing him later, very happy to bring it up with him?'

  'Ok, go ahead and ask him. I'll fit him in.'

  Thank God for that. She would really value another opinion on him. At least then, if he did something awful, she would be able to show she had consulted. And the finger of blame wouldn't be pointed just at her.

  That afternoon, ten minutes later than was expected, Mr Hussein sauntered into her clinic without knocking. He stood beside her desk and looked down at her as if peering at a child. Hamish was behind him, motioned him towards the chair. Hussein stood just a little longer than would appear appropriate before lowering himself slowly, his eyes never leaving Clancy's face. He sat completely calm, face flat and expressionless, eyes hostile. He didn't speak.

  'Hello, Mr Hussein, how are you?'

  He just nodded in response, his lips didn't move. Clancy almost thought she could see him baring his teeth.

  Hamish looked at Clancy and shrugged his shoulders. 'Mr Hussein was just telling me he's really fed up with these appointments. He feels he's being persecuted for nothing.'

  He was cut off by Mr Hussein interrupting. 'I am being persecuted. Who else gets dragged along like this? All because one stupid woman picked on me. I don't see anyone dragging her in for appointments. You're all biased, you're a sham.'

  Clancy leant back against her chair, tried to look sympathetic whilst tensing her jaw. 'As I've said before, I know it's frustrating for you. We're gra
teful you keep coming in. Actually, I'm glad you came in today, I wanted to ask if you would be willing to have a psychological assessment. It will help us clarify your diagnosis.'

  'What do you mean? What does it involve? I'm not having people in white coats fiddling with my brain.'

  'No, it's nothing like that. You just fill in a questionnaire, meet to discuss the results and expand on the questions. It's more to test your personality, really.'

  It wasn't often Clancy saw Mr Hussein give a smile that seemed to project genuine happiness.

  'I wondered when you would come to your senses, realise how special I am. Of course I'm happy to help research by having my personality examined. I know you need to examine superior specimens.' He nodded as he spoke, his dark hair swinging forward on his shoulders.

  'Great,' Clancy said. Phew, that had gone better than expected. She leant back in her chair. 'I'll ask our psychologist to send you an appointment.'

  Once he had left, she went back to working on her emails. She flicked down the list of senders, her eyes were immediately drawn to a reply from Dr Vikaj, addressed to both herself and Dan. Her eyes scanned down as he read.

  I'm really sorry to hear about these difficulties within your working relationship. I trust you are both aware of your responsibilities, and it is not affecting patient care in any way. I think that in the first instance the best way forward would be for us to meet to discuss the issues raised and try to resolve them.

  Shit, shit, shit. He wasn't going to take her side. Her stomach plummeted. God why was Dan such a jerk – surely Vikaj knew what he was like. She flicked down her inbox and saw an invite to a three-way meeting for the following Monday. She was getting a bad taste in her mouth about all this, could see it getting out of hand. She already had black marks on her record, was known for being headstrong. But she just hated jobsworths, people who didn't really care about the patients, just about targets and numbers. And now, the meeting was going to be niggling at the back of her mind all weekend, as if she didn't have enough to worry about. Sometimes, she wondered why she did this job. And she still had a full clinic to get through. Her heart sank.