by John Nicholl
She increased her pace. Come on, Kathy, keep going girl. Don’t listen. It’s not real. It’s not real. Just keep walking, one step, then another, then another. That’s it, you can do it. Stick to the side streets. Keep your head down. He’s at work. Miles away. It’s not him. It’s not him.
It took her a little over ten minutes to walk the approximate one-mile journey to the local health centre. Oh, thank God, she’d made it. Who’d have thought such things were possible?
Kathy pushed open the door and stumbled into reception with the same relief of someone who’d reached the summit of the Matterhorn. But her feelings of triumph were short-lived as she glanced around her. The waiting room was full of patients. One, two, three… eleven in total. She hadn’t considered that. They could see her. There was nowhere to hide. Maybe he had spies everywhere. People who’d report back. People who’d sell her out. He said he did. Maybe it was true.
She approached the glass reception screen, and supported her weight on the counter for fear of fainting as her head began to swim. Come on, Kathy. Hold it together, girl. You’ve got this far. Don’t give up now. It’s far too late for that. Maybe this time the cruel attentions of fate would pass her by.
‘Can I help you, madam?’
Say it, Kathy. Just say it. ‘I’d like to see Dr Jones, please.’
‘Are you one of Doctor Jones’s patients?’
She nodded frantically. ‘Yes, yes I am, it’s u-urgent.’
The receptionist stiffened. ‘Name?’
What if someone overheard. What if they were listening? She whispered her name and lowered her head.
‘Why do you want to see her?’
Why so many questions? Was she one of his spies? Why the inquisition? She clung to the edge of the counter, but it wasn’t enough to prevent her fall as her legs buckled under her.
Kathy awoke lying on an examination table in a small magnolia-painted room she hadn’t seen before. Dr Jones was standing over her and listening to her heart through a stethoscope, the end of which felt cold on her skin. ‘Ah, good to have you back with us, Mrs Conner. Nothing to worry about. Nothing whatsoever. You had a panic attack and fainted. Now, take your time, can you sit up for me?’
‘What’s the time?’
The doctor glanced at her watch. ‘It’s ten past two.’
‘Oh, thank God. I’ve still got time.’
‘That’s it, up you get. You just sit there for a minute or two. I think that’s best. Now, tell me, what’s the reason for your visit? I haven’t seen you for what, two years?’
‘Three.’
‘So what can I do for you?’
‘I can’t sleep.’
‘How long have you been having the problem?’
‘A long time.’
‘Okay, there are a few practical measures I can recommend that should help. It’s just a matter of trial and error until we find what works best for you.’
‘My husband beats me. He’s violent. I just need some sleeping tablets.’
Dr Jones paused before responding, mulling over the revelation. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. How long has it been going on?’
‘Since the first night of our marriage.’
The doctor winced, oblivious to her expression. ‘Have you talked to the police?’
‘He is the police.’
‘Ah, yes, Inspector Conner. He seems like such a nice man.’
‘I’ve got to go soon. I really haven’t got time for this.’
‘I can refer you to a counsellor if you think that may help. And there are various women’s charities who provide an excellent service.’
Kathy gritted her teeth. ‘I haven’t got time for this. I’ve got to get back. I’ve got to start cooking.’
Dr Jones turned to the computer to her right. ‘Let’s make another appointment when you’ve got more time to talk. I think that’s advisable in the circumstances.’
Kathy wanted to shout. She wanted to stamp about like a petulant child, but instead she looked the doctor in the eye and said, ‘I need to sleep. I just want the tablets.’
‘Have you ever had thoughts of suicide, Mrs Conner?’
She shook her head determinedly. ‘No, absolutely not. I just need to sleep, that’s all. Surely that’s not too much to ask, is it?’
The GP reached out and patted her arm. ‘I’m going to write you a prescription for two weeks, Kathy. But then I want to see you again before I issue any further prescriptions. Does that sound okay to you?’
Her relief was almost palpable. ‘Yes, thank you.’
Dr Jones wrote the prescription and handed it over. ‘You can collect the tablets in the adjoining building. Roytston’s Chemist has moved from the high street since your last visit. Most patients seem to appreciate the convenience.’
Perhaps fate was on her side after all. Didn’t someone say fortune favoured the brave? ‘Thank you so very much. It’s truly appreciated.’
‘But no more tablets until we’ve spoken again, yes? They’re a short-term measure, not a resolution of the problem.’
Kathy slid off the bed and supported her weight on unsteady legs that felt ready to buckle at any moment. ‘You won’t talk to anyone about what I’ve told you, will you?’
‘Not if you don’t want me to. Everything you tell me is confidential.’
‘And you won’t tell my husband? That’s important. That’s really important. He’d be furious.’
The doctor smiled thinly. ‘No, Kathy, I won’t be telling your husband. That’s against the rules. I couldn’t talk to him, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t, in case you were wondering.’
Kathy stared at her, holding her gaze. ‘What about your staff? Will they keep their mouths shut? Will they say anything?’
‘It would be more than their job’s worth. You needn’t concern yourself in that regard.’
‘You’ll tell them? You’ll make sure?’
‘You have my word. Your records will be kept confidential.’
Kathy approached the door and gripped the handle. ‘Thank you, that’s good to know. Time’s getting on. It’s rushing away faster than ever before. Can you hear it, Doctor? He’ll be back soon after five. I need to be on my way.’
Chapter 10
Thirty-two-year-old Anne Gavin parked in a quiet tree-lined side street, retrieved her bag from the saloon’s spacious boot and strode purposefully in the direction of her sister’s home, just as the sun broke through the mottled grey clouds and bathed the world in light.
She checked her watch on approaching the house, relieved to see that she’d timed it perfectly. To the minute. Couldn’t be better. It was at least a positive start to what threatened to be a very strange morning.
Anne walked down the fragmented concrete driveway and approached the front door, but lowered her hand on recalling her sister’s cautionary advice. She veered around the side of the house to the back, picking up her pace and keeping a keen eye out for the aforementioned neighbour, who didn’t make an appearance.
She opened the back door without knocking and stepped into the kitchen to be met by Kathy, who was in the process of preparing two cups of coffee. ‘Hi, sis, thanks for coming. Milk and sugar?’
She rested her bag on the table. ‘Please.’
‘And a biscuit?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I haven’t long had breakfast, ta. But you should have one.’
‘I’ve eaten two already.’
Anne sat herself down and accepted her cup gratefully. ‘The bastard’s gone then?’
Kathy sat on the opposite side of the table and smiled. ‘Yeah, he drove off about half an hour ago. I watched from the bedroom window.’
‘Shame he’s coming back.’
Kathy sipped her hot coffee as the rising vapour warmed her face. ‘I wish he’d fuck right off and die. I wouldn’t care how. Just as long as he’d breathed his last.’
Anne tapped the bag. ‘I’ve got everything.’
‘Four bags and the gloves?’
‘Yeah, just like you said.’
‘We can make a start once we finish our coffee, if that’s alright with you?’
‘What’s the rush?’
‘No rush, I just want to get it done.’
‘Oh go on, I’ll have one of those biscuits after all.’
Kathy headed to the pantry and returned with a packet of Garibaldi’s in hand. ‘There you go, help yourself.’
Anne took one from the packet and nibbled at a corner. ‘I’ve got no idea what this is all about, Kath, but I need to be sure you want to continue. I need to know you’ve thought it through properly. That you’re one hundred per cent certain you know what you’re doing.’
‘Just eat your bloody biscuit.’
‘Are you certain? I need to hear you say it.’
Kathy tipped her head back and drained her cup. ‘I’m certain. I’ve never been more certain. I’ve decided on a plan I really think can work. It’s the only option left open to me.’
‘Nice biscuits.’
She smiled. ‘Yeah.’
‘So, are you ready?’
‘Let’s get it done.’
Anne rose to her feet. ‘The lounge would be best.’
‘Will there be any mess?’
‘No, nothing like that.’
‘Where do you want me?’
‘You can sit in an armchair or lie on the settee if you like. Whichever you prefer.’
Kathy closed the curtains and switched on the light before stretching out on the sofa. ‘Is that okay?’
‘Yeah, fine, I don’t want you fainting on me. You can either roll your sleeve up or take your cardigan off. Whichever’s easier.’
Kathy removed her cardigan, folded it, and rested it on her abdomen. ‘Okay.’
‘I’m going to place a blood pressure cuff on your arm. It’s needed to create a little pressure.’
Kathy held out her arm. ‘Can we fill the four bags today?’
Anne applied the cuff and began pumping up the pressure. ‘No we bloody well can’t. The norm is one bag every eight weeks at the very most.’
Kathy looked close to panic as the colour drained from her face. ‘That’s no good to me. I need the four bags before the baby starts showing. And then there’s the phone bill. If he sees I’ve been talking to you, I’m screwed. It’ll be all over.’
‘Anne took an alcohol swab from the bag, searched for an appropriate vein and began cleaning the skin. ‘Every four weeks is pushing it a bit to say the least, but if there’s no other way I guess it’s just about doable, if you’re willing to deal with the potential negative effects.’
‘What effects are you talking about?’
‘I want you to start tensing and relaxing your bicep for me.’
Kathy looked away and began moving her arm up and down at the elbow. ‘Like this?’
‘Yeah, that’s it. Stop for a second while I insert the needle and then start again… Yeah, just keep it going, up, down, up, down, that’s it.’
‘You were telling me about the side effects?’
‘There’s a risk of anaemia. You could feel weak, light-headed and have lower than usual stamina. You’re going to know about it. That’s for sure. They don’t recommend a minimum period for nothing.’
Kathy nodded, focussing on the doable, and minimising everything else. ‘Would iron supplements help? I’ve got some somewhere.’
‘They certainly wouldn’t do any harm. But you can expect to feel like crap a lot of the time. That’s a given.’
‘No change there.’
Anne withdrew the needle, disconnected the tube, sealed the bag and handed Kathy a small ball of cotton wool. ‘Put some pressure on that for me while I find a plaster.’
Kathy followed her sister’s instructions. ‘It’s crazy, he beats the crap out of me on a regular basis and yet I’m afraid of a little needle.’
‘Most people are. An eighteen-stone rugby prop I know cries like a baby every time he donates. He tried to make out it was hay fever last time, poor sod. Are you feeling okay?’
‘Never better.’
Anne held up the syringe and tube in plain sight. ‘What do you want me to do with this lot?’
‘I’ll hide them once I’m back on my feet. There’s a plastic bag in the kitchen, if that helps.’
‘We don’t usually reuse them.’
‘Needs must.’
She walked towards the door. ‘Which drawer?’
‘Second down, next to the sink.’
‘Back in a second. Sit yourself upright and I’ll make us another coffee. And put that plaster on.’
‘Thanks, sis, I can’t thank you enough. If there’s anything I can ever do for you? You know what I’m saying.’
‘We’re family, Kathy. There’s no charge. I only hope you know what you’re doing, that’s all.’
‘Me too, sis. Me too.’
The two sisters hugged each other tightly and said their fond farewells at just after eleven that morning. As Anne handed over the cash with a ‘sorry it can’t be more’, closed the back door and walked in the direction of the street, Kathy was wondering if she was doing the right thing after all. Hers was an ambitious plan. A radical plan. And there were so many things that could potentially go wrong. If that happened… well, it didn’t bear thinking about. She just had to get her head down, get on with it and hope for the best.
Kathy took the bottle of sleeping tablets from a dark corner of the saucepan cupboard and placed it in the supermarket carrier bag along with everything else she was going to need in the weeks to come. She stepped out into the back garden for a second time in a matter of days. Where the hell could she keep the things? Where best to hide them? It had to be cold. And it had to be secure. Somewhere the bastard was least likely to look. But where? That was the question. Where?
She opened the shed’s door and peered in. There were no obvious hiding places. Nothing that sprung to mind. But there was nowhere else. Nowhere suitable. Nowhere that met her requirements.
She winced as a car sounded its horn in the street outside the house, but relaxed slightly when it carried on by without stopping. She was beginning to feel more confident now. Boosted by her decision to act. Fortified by her proactive approach to her problems. She was doing something to save herself. To save the baby. That’s what she said to herself. Something brave. Something valiant. And there was reward in that. And the bastard didn’t have a clue. That might give her the edge. It was her one advantage and she had to cling on to it like a limpet.
Kathy focussed back on the task at hand and cast an eager eye over every inch of the shed’s varied contents. What about inside the grass storage area of the lawn mower? It wouldn’t be used again until spring. Yes, that made sense. It may work.
She lowered herself onto all fours and examined her option of choice, but quickly decided that it didn’t provide sufficient space.
She pulled herself to her feet and resisted the impulse to scream as doubts flooded her fragile mind. What if she couldn’t come up with anywhere? What if there was nowhere suitable? What if she was as useless as he’d always said she was? It was time to think outside the box. She’d been an intelligent girl once upon a time. A university student. An academic. Before he blunted her edges. Before he crushed her self-esteem. All she had to do was use her intelligence.
Kathy looked again and noticed that one section of the shed’s floor looked loose at the back behind the toolbox. She used all her meagre strength to lift the toolbox aside and then used a red-handled screwdriver to prise an approximate two-foot-by-ten-inch section of wooden floorboard free. She smiled when it came away relatively easily and felt her mood and confidence surge again like a geyser in full flow. That’s it Kath, perfect. That would be just fine. The bastard would never spot it. And everything fitted in flawlessly with a bit of moving things around.
Kathy made her final adjustments to the position of the various items, placed the board in its original position, and had to wait a minute
or two to regain her strength before shifting the toolbox on top. Was it exactly where it had first been? Yes, not bad. Spot on in fact. And the screwdriver? What about the screwdriver? Maybe another inch or so to the right next to the spanner. Yes, yes, that was better. Surely it was good enough. If the bastard spotted that, he was a miracle worker.
She stood at the shed’s open door and took one final look around before closing it and hurrying back in the direction of the house. As long as no-one had seen her, as long as no-one reported back, she’d be fine, just fine. Please don’t find them, bastard. Please don’t find them. All she could do was continue with caution and hope for the best. Pray for the best. Maybe this time she’d win.
She checked the clock and wondered why the second hand was moving so very quickly. Oh, God, time was rushing on again. He’d be back soon with his judgements, criticisms and worse. It was time to prepare for his arrival. Time to start cooking.
Chapter 11
Almost three months had passed since the initiation of Kathy’s plan, and she was ready to take the final four hundred and sixty ml of blood from her arm at two o’clock that afternoon. She’d become reasonably skilled at the necessary procedures with practice, and the insertion of the needle no longer held the fear it once did, despite being somewhat blunter than it once was. She sat upright in a convenient armchair, tightened the cuff, pumped her arm, inserted the needle with a minor grimace, and watched the bag slowly fill with dark blood. This was it. The day she’d waited for with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The day she’d anticipated for weeks. The day of days.
Kathy stored the final bag along with the others and returned to the house with the bottle of sleeping tablets in hand to continue her preparations. She’d decided on chicken vindaloo as her final offering, partly because it was his favourite meal of all, and partly because she thought the pungent aromatic flavours would best mask the taste of the fourteen sleeping tablets.
She silently acknowledged that she was finding physical tasks increasingly demanding, as she crushed one tablet after another into fine powder with the back of a teaspoon. It took her almost forty minutes, much longer than she’d anticipated, and she was panting like a dog in need of water by the time she finally finished. A glass of cold water. That’s what she needed. And a five-minute break wouldn’t do any harm. She had time, didn’t she? Yes, of course she did. Of course she did.