‘Why would she have your passport?’
The girl shrugged. ‘Perhaps it was in my handbag. I don’t remember. Maybe I had planned to smuggle the baby out of the country. It all seems so unreal, so impossible.’
This feels so wrong to me.
‘Why can’t we have our own things – diary, purse, make-up, clothes that fit?’ I indicate the baggy tracksuit bottoms and T-shirt I’m wearing.
‘It’s all part of the doctor’s regime of trust,’ she says with a shrug. ‘We have to trust them, and they us. For that to be effective we need to reject our former life and everything that came with it.’
I don’t know what to say to this. The doctor has talked to me about trust, but this is extreme. It doesn’t feel like trust; it feels like dependence.
‘You’ll learn,’ she says. ‘The doctor has some rituals that help us with trust. They’re part of the treatment. He says I remind him of someone. I have her gentle hands.’
A shudder runs through me at her words, but I worry that soon we will be interrupted and there are things I need to know.
‘When I found your diary there was a photograph inside. I’m sorry – you’ll think I’m really nosy – but I looked at it. I think I know the man in the picture. Will you tell me who he is?’
She leaps up off the bed. ‘You’re asking too many questions and I’ll get in trouble. If they throw me out, I’m going to prison. Or I’ll get offered the other option, and I’m not ready.’
‘What other option?’ I ask, getting up slowly to be sure I don’t frighten her any more than I already have.
‘The doctor says that when we decide we’re no use to the world – when we realise we have nothing left to give – there is only one sensible way to go. He offers us a way out.’
I stare at her.
‘We get the choice. Judith, the other Judith, has made her choice. She’s just waiting until he’s ready. He doesn’t make us do it, and he makes sure it doesn’t hurt. He says it’s the best way to go.’
I’m alone again in my room, my head spinning with everything I have just learned. The meaning of her words about a way out seemed clear, but surely not? I started to ask her, but I must have spooked her because she scurried out like a scared rabbit. I know that any minute now she or the other one will be summoned upstairs to bring down the washing and ironing. There is a rota, apparently, for cleaning all the rooms from top to bottom. The curtains have to be taken down and washed, carpets shampooed, the works. I don’t know the sequence yet, so one of the others will do it today.
I feel as if I have missed my chance to find out more, but when the buzzer goes and I peer round my door, it’s the older woman who is traipsing upstairs, and I maybe have one more chance to learn the truth. I check there is no one in the corridor, that Thea hasn’t crept down here when I wasn’t looking, and I make my way to the closed door opposite mine.
I knock softly. ‘It’s only me. Sorry if I freaked you out before. Can I come in?’ I wait for her permission, not wanting to frighten her again.
‘Okay,’ comes the soft reply. She sounds resigned, as if she knows I’m not about to give up, and I push the door open and walk slowly into the room.
She has a photograph in her hands, and I’m sure it must be the one of Paul, but as I get closer I see it’s of a girl and a woman. The picture is old, judging by the clothes they are wearing. I guess it was taken in the late 1960s or ’70s based on the short pleated skirt, the over-fussy blouse and the flicked-back fringe of the girl.
‘Is one of these women your mum?’ I ask, assuming she took this photograph when she stole her diary.
She shakes her head and puts the picture down on the pillow, away from me. I take a seat at the end of the bed.
‘And the picture of the man?’ I ask.
I sit quietly when she doesn’t immediately answer, hoping to gain her trust. I ignore the photo on the pillow; all I care about is the picture of Paul from the boat and why she has it. How is he involved in all this? I’m trying to think of how to phrase the question without her feeling that I’m interrogating her, but to my surprise she speaks unprompted.
‘Nathan,’ she says, and I give her a puzzled glance. ‘The photo is of Nathan, he’s my brother.’
I don’t understand. I’m certain the man in the photo is Paul.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘He looks like a man I met on a holiday to Myanmar recently – the one where I met Thea and the doctor – but his name was Paul.’
For the first time I get an instant response, and I can see she is trying to fight her way through the fog in her brain. ‘Paul? That’s Nathan’s middle name. Are you sure it was him?’
I nod. I’m as sure as I can be. I would recognise that hooked nose and the beady eyes anywhere. Strange as the arrangement of features sounds, he was oddly attractive – or would have been if he hadn’t terrified me with his questions and his staring.
‘Why was he on that boat?’ she asks. ‘Maybe he got my letter.’
I have no idea what she’s talking about, but she’s shaking her head furiously, her eyes screwed up tightly. For the first time it seems she wants to think clearly, but she can’t.
‘What’s your name?’ she asks, mimicking the question I asked her earlier. I’m frustrated by the change of subject, but I answer.
‘It’s Callie,’ I tell her. ‘Callie Baldwin. Are you going to tell me yours?’
‘Hannah,’ she says, so quietly that I have to ask her to repeat it to make sure I heard her correctly.
‘You said that your brother may have got your letter. What letter, Hannah?’ I ask, and it’s almost as if hearing her real name – possibly for the first time in months – shocks her into reality.
‘I wrote to him. It’s a long story, but among other things I told him I’d met a lovely lady when I was on a retreat, and she was planning a trip to Myanmar. I even told him which boat she was travelling on and said how I would love to go too.’
‘Did you tell him the dates of the Myanmar trip?’
‘No. I wasn’t sure of them. Thea said they were planning to go some time in January. Do you think he was looking for me? No one knows where I am.’
I don’t know what to tell her, but before I get a chance to say anything the shutters come down. She turns towards me and glares. ‘Why are you asking so many questions? Are you spying on me?’
I can’t believe the change in her. ‘I don’t know what you mean. I’m not spying, I promise you.’
‘Are you one of them? Have they sent you to make sure I’m not breaking the rules?’
‘Why would you think that?’
She picks up the photo she was looking at when I came into the room and hands it to me, watching my eyes.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘She looks like you,’ she says.
I look more closely at the photograph of the two women. Hannah has a point. If you strip away the heavy flicked fringe and the bushy hair of the young girl, she does look a bit like me – similar mouth and nose, for sure. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘I took it from upstairs this morning. It was in Thea’s drawer.’
I gape at her with astonishment. It seems so unlike anything she would do. ‘Why?’
‘I was putting things away, and it was under a book. Most of it was covered – only the lower half of the face was showing – and I thought it was a picture of you so I pulled it out to look. I know it’s not – it’s too old – but what are you to them? Are you here to check up on the rest of us?’
I shake my head. ‘Of course not. I have no idea who this woman is. I’d never met Thea and the doctor in my life until I went on holiday. I really don’t know who she is.’
Hannah raises her huge eyes to mine, and I can see she is wondering whether to believe me.
‘I know who she is,’ she says finally. ‘Turn it over.’
I flip the photo and read the back.
July 1971
Thea and Judith Atwell
44
For Tom the day had dragged. He had heard nothing from Louisa, and Jack had disappeared on some mysterious business of his own, promising to be back that evening.
Tom was torn between wanting to spend time with his brother and desperately needing to know how Louisa was feeling, but just as he was about to leave work for the day he had a call from Philippa Stanley. Ahead of the meeting that she and Tom were required to attend the following day, she wanted an update on all of his cases, particularly the Jasmine DuPont investigation.
‘I know I told you to pass it on to someone junior, Tom, but given the fact that you believe at least one other death has strong similarities, it seems some of your instincts may have been correct.’
Tom realised that was probably as close to an apology as he was going to get.
‘Becky – if DI Robinson is the “someone junior” you are referring to – has done an excellent job,’ he said. ‘We’ve identified a case that has some parallels and we’re looking at any commonalities. We’ve failed to find out where Jasmine got the drugs from, though. She had no fixed address, so even if she managed to get access to a computer to buy them online, it’s not clear where she would have had them delivered.’
‘So you think she bought them on the street?’
‘I doubt it. Unless she was stealing to pay for them, and we have no evidence of either that or prostitution, it’s hard to know how she could have afforded them. Some of them are expensive, and PCP – angel dust – isn’t easy to find in the UK. The combination of Jasmine’s low income, her lack of a fixed address and the difficulty of obtaining some of these drugs on the street makes me believe that someone was giving them to her – maybe for their own purposes.’
‘Well, it’s a theory, but it would be useful if we had some idea of what that purpose was.’ There was nothing like stating the obvious, but Tom didn’t have a chance to respond before Philippa continued: ‘It would be particularly helpful if we had a workable theory ahead of the meeting tomorrow. See what you can do.’
Tom felt momentarily frustrated with Philippa. He knew she had to show results, but they couldn’t just pluck an idea out of thin air with no evidence to support it.
‘I need to go,’ she said. ‘I have another team to deal with and they have far bigger problems than you right now, one of which I might be passing your way. But more of that later.’
On that cryptic remark, she hung up.
Tom put the phone down and thought about how he was not looking forward to the next day. One of the realities of being a detective chief inspector was that the time he spent doing what he thought of as the real job was often eaten into by the other rubbish that he hated – crime figures, reviews, staffing crises. He had been asked several times why he hadn’t applied for promotion, but he shuddered at the thought of even more paperwork and sometimes felt demotion was a more attractive option.
Tomorrow was supposed to be his day off, but like it or not he had to go to a meeting in the morning that was deemed more important than either his free time or dealing with his caseload.
He sighed as he logged out of his computer, but before he had chance to escape, his phone rang again.
‘Tom, it’s Philippa again. That problem I said I might be passing your way? Consider it passed. I need you to take on another murder case.’
45
I’m sure that tonight it will be my turn for a treatment with the doctor, and I’ve been dreading the moment Thea appears in my doorway to escort me upstairs. I hate everything about it – the vulnerability of lying on the couch with him sitting next to me – so close, but not touching. I can’t believe he would touch me, but I never fully close my eyes, ready at any moment to jump up and run from the room.
My anxiety is enhanced by Hannah’s apprehension whenever she thinks it is her turn for a treatment. There is something she won’t tell me, something that’s expected of her that she is uncomfortable with.
I’ve no time to panic, though, because now Thea is here, outside my door, and I follow her up the stairs. This time we don’t stop at the ground floor; we continue up the stairs towards the first floor, the floor I’ve not been allowed access to until now. What can there be here that I’m not supposed to see?
When we reach the landing, Thea points me towards a small seating area. There is a side table with a flask and a cup on it. ‘Before you see the doctor, I need to speak to you,’ she says, her tone gentle. ‘You must understand that we have your safety at heart, and all we want is for you to feel part of our little family. You do know that, don’t you?’
I no longer know what to think. I need Thea and Garrick’s protection, that seems like the only solid fact I can cling to. I constantly try to force a clear memory of what I did to Ian into my head, but it won’t come. Instead, my mind is flooded with images of Ian as he was when I first met him – when he was trying to be the perfect boyfriend. I see his mum, smiling at me, telling me how good I am for him and how pleased she is that he found me, and I think of how she must be feeling now that her son is dead. Maybe Ian was right. Maybe he changed because I changed.
Thea is waiting for an answer, and I can’t risk saying anything to upset her because I still can’t see any alternative to staying here.
‘You’ve been very kind, and I can’t thank you enough for sheltering me in your home,’ I tell her.
‘We offered because we don’t think you’re altogether a wicked person. We trust you, you see. But the doctor and I feel we don’t have your absolute trust in return, Judith, and that’s a concern to us, particularly to the doctor, who sets such great store by it.’
I’m certain she is alluding to the fact that I’m not taking the drugs. Despite my best efforts, it seems I haven’t been fooling them.
‘Before I take you to see him, I’d like you to drink this.’ She pours some yellow liquid from the flask into the cup. ‘It will relax you.’
I’m flustered and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want their drugs, but if I refuse to do as she asks I have no idea what will happen. Will they decide that my usefulness has expired, as Hannah explained to me? Maybe just this once I will comply. I can float senseless in a sea of calm while the doctor spins his psychological word tricks on me. Maybe it will be easier if I’m not myself.
I take the cup and sip the liquid. It tastes wonderful – passion fruit and mango, I think. But goodness knows what else is in there, and I flinch at the thought of what it is going to do to me.
‘You’ll start to feel calmer in a few minutes, and you’ll realise it’s for the best. Come on, let’s go and see the doctor. We’ve put a lot of thought into creating an ambience that will put you at ease, you’ll see. This treatment is wonderfully effective, I promise.’ She reaches out and gently strokes my upper arm in a rare show of affection. I stifle the urge to pull away.
I don’t have time to think about her words, because to my surprise Thea opens the door to a bedroom. A huge bed faces the door, the white covers turned back on both sides as if waiting for its occupants. I feel a tremor of concern, but I look at the bedside tables, and on one side there are Thea’s favourite magazines and on the other a couple of textbooks. This is their bed, their room.
To my relief Thea walks past the bed towards another door on the far side of the room. Maybe the doctor has another study up here. I follow, thankful that the bed is nothing to do with me and feeling slightly ashamed of my thoughts.
As we reach the door Thea grasps my hand. ‘Remember, my dear, this is about trust. It’s about freeing yourself from all those negative thoughts and drawing yourself closer to us. Go with it, Judith. Let down your guard.’
I can hear the words, but her voice sounds hollow. I turn back and glance around their room. Everything seems bigger in the centre of my vision, distorted at the edges, as if I’m looking through a fisheye lens. A huge television hangs on the wall, and its red standby light seems to wobble, moving in and out of focus. For some reason this bothers me, but I can’t think why. The drugs
must be taking effect already, and I shake my head to clear it. It doesn’t work.
Thea opens the door. It’s not a study. It’s a bathroom. The walls are painted dark green, and a large claw-footed bath takes pride of place in the centre of the floor, steam rising from the surface of the scented water. Candles are positioned round the room, and I shiver as I remember the last time I was in a candlelit bathroom. For a moment I remember the feel of hands washing me as I woke up to see the water stained red. I glance at the bath but the water is clear, with only the reflection of a flickering yellow flame to mar its surface. Music is playing softly in the background. It is a classical piece that I vaguely recognise, the strings melodic and soothing.
The doctor is standing in the centre of the room, his hands clasped in front of him. He is wearing a white coat as if this is a normal medical appointment, but a pair of pale, hairless legs protrude below the hem, the flesh of his knees wrinkled as if once covered with a layer of fat that is long gone. His feet look huge, his toes misshapen.
‘Hello, Judith,’ he growls, his voice as gruff as ever. But he’s smiling, and even in my confused state that makes me uncomfortable. ‘Come in.’
I take a step forward, and I feel the reassuring presence of Thea at my back.
‘Thea has explained to you what we hope to gain from this treatment, I believe. Do you understand what she told you?’
I can’t speak, but I nod. I know it is what he expects.
‘We all put up barriers, you know. We protect ourselves from ridicule, the hurt of a cruel word, the pain of a broken heart. I know you find trust difficult, but Thea and I have helped you, protected you, supported you. We allow you to live in our home, despite the fact that you have killed a man. There are few ways left for us to demonstrate that we’re prepared to trust you. But for me to heal you and give you peace after what you have done, we need to knock down your walls, strip away your armour, and expose what lies beneath. For that, you have to trust me.’
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