The Caretakers (2011)

by Adrian Chamberlin

  The radiator. Rob had obviously cranked up the central heating and the radiator had become a furnace that burned his forehead when he rolled his head from the pillow in the clutches of his wild dream.

  Wild dream…bit of an understatement, he thought as he swung his still-trembling legs over the side of the bed. . Even worse than the wild horses….

  He opened his eyes and waited for them to adjust to the darkness. Geoff’s boxes and plastic crates were strange and unwelcoming silhouettes, ghosts of an academic life in frozen transit.

  It made Andy wonder what had happened to all his own text books and study materials when his own academic career had been violently ended.

  Reaching in his left pocket, he pulled out his mobile. The time on the mobile’s display screen read 19:33. He’d been asleep for less than two hours.

  Straight to voicemail. He took a deep breath and tried to remember if he’d keyed in her parents’ number. Yes, he’d put it in this morning, just before phoning Rob. Scrolling down the alphabetical list, it should have been under S…no, nothing there. He scrolled backwards, found it under J - Jen’s Parents.

  It felt like an age passed before the phone was answered. The light from the handset’s display cast a sickly green pallor around the room.

  “Hello?” A female voice, but not Jen’s. Her mother, Sandra.

  He took a deep breath before replying.

  “Mrs Callaby. It’s Andy - Andrew.”

  The silence that followed was almost as cold as the night outside. He’d expected it, but he didn’t have time for it. Not now. That dream had too many parallels to Phil Lotson’s dream.

  “Mrs Callaby, I’m sorry to disturb you. But it’s important. Is Jen - ‘

  “Jennifer wants nothing to do with you, Andrew. I can’t believe what you’ve done.” The voice faded, Andy guessing she was waggling the handset angrily in front of her husband.

  “Neil, listen to this! That Hughes man has phoned!” The voice returned to the mouthpiece. “Do you realise she was in tears when she got here?”

  Andy fought to control his anger. Shut up, you sanctimonious old boot! Tears are the least of our problems…

  He stood and reached for the door. Movement would at least help calm him. He blinked in the bright light of the hallway as he walked slowly down the stairs, annoyed that his legs were still trembling. Anger, or fear for Jen?

  Probably both, he admitted to himself.

  “…she should have left you ages ago, I never felt she was safe with you…”

  “Well, that’s what I’m calling you about, Mrs Callaby. Her safety.” He nodded to Rob, who was sat on the sofa rolling a spliff. Jasper lifted his head from Rob’s lap and stared at Andy, Rob instantly moving both elbows upwards to prevent the dog’s jaws knocking the joint from his hands.

  Andy felt all attention was on him. Two pairs of eyes in this room and two pairs of ears in St Neots. With any luck, three pairs of ears. “Is she there?”

  A pause. “Yes.”

  “Good. That’s all I wanted to know.” He sighed. “I suppose it would be too much to ask to speak to her?”

  No answer.

  “Okay, I don’t want to ruin your Christmas. Just tell her I’ve got every intention of respecting her wishes, but…I want to know that she’s safe.”

  The pause was longer this time. Andy could hear the sound of a paper rustling, an elderly male voice coughing ineffectually. A door closing, soft shoeless feet padding across the carpeted floor in the rapid way that Jen always did when the post had arrived or there was something exciting she wanted to share with Andy.

  Then barely audible whispering between two females…he sighed with relief. She was there. She was safe.

  “Thank you, Mrs Callaby. Have a Merry Christmas. Jen, I love you.” Pressing the end button before the mother could reply or deny, he sat down on the sofa heavily. He frowned at the cracking sound that greeted him.

  He looked underneath him and pulled out a crumpled polystyrene container. Pieces of lettuce and red cabbage stained orange with chilli sauce peeked from the side. He tossed it onto the coffee table with disgust. It flipped open, and the remains of a kebab glared at him. Jasper cocked one ear at it then looked away. Even he had standards.

  “Jesus.”

  Rob shrugged as he lit his spliff. “I know, the place is a tip. The maid’s gone skiing.”

  Andy pondered the display on his mobile. Rob followed his gaze.

  “Thought you were going to phone Pearce, not the mum in law?”

  Andy stared at him, his eyes watering against the thick cloud of skunk Rob breathed his way.

  “What’s up, chap? What makes you think your missus is in danger?” Rob hiccupped on the strong smoke and blinked.

  “Just a dream. Well, I say just a dream, but I’m not sure Mr Lotson would agree.”

  “Ah. Something on the same lines as his, yeah? What happened?”

  Andy told him, describing the dream with as much detail as he could bear to remember - the burning, the agony, the awareness of death. The stone with the carved face. And the woman called Elizabeth, who was Jennifer.

  Rob noted how much Andy shook with the retelling. Andy was aware of Rob’s scrutiny. He eyed Rob’s spliff.

  “Wanna puff?”

  Andy glared at him, and Rob visibly flinched. Reminded that Andy Hughes’ hatred of any form of drugs was still as unshakeable as it had been when they first met. And following recent events, it was more fierce than ever.

  “Sorry, forgot,” Rob mumbled and took another puff. “She called you Charles, then. And this Elizabeth - it was definitely Jen?”

  Andy nodded.

  “Impington. Now why’s that ringing bells? Charles, Elizabeth, frozen field at Impington…no surnames? Shit.”

  “You disappoint me, Roberto.” Andy smiled. “With a 2:2 in history and all your time in Cambridge, I’d have thought you’d be an expert in local history by now.”

  Rob shrugged languidly, the skunk taking rapid effect. “White Van Man syndrome has knocked it all out of me. Sorry, but this is one for Phil. He’ll know. I’ll give him a bell later, see if he can shed some light.” His eyes glazed. He slumped in the sofa, reaching under Jasper’s belly for the TV remote. He pointed it at the TV and pressed the power button.

  “Don’t leave it too late,” Andy warned. He stood up and reached for his holdall. He knew only too well what Rob could be like after a couple of spliffs, and it looked like very little had changed over the fifteen years.

  Back up the stairs, into Geoff’s room. He placed the holdall on the crumpled duvet, noting the dampness of sweat on the pillowcases. He shivered at the memory of the dream.

  Forget it. Back to work. He unzipped the holdall and pulled out the black fleece-lined jumper and black jogging bottoms. Beanie hat and trainers - black as well. He’d be unseen going through the wood at the rear entrance of the college grounds, but he needed to be as discreet as possible on the way there. An evening run, burning off some calories in preparation for the annual festive blow out - perfect, and the beanie would disguise his baldness.

  He changed quickly, deciding not to shower until his return. He rearranged the remaining contents of the holdall, ensuring the weapon was fully covered, and zipped it closed. Then he picked up the phone and dialled Graham Pearce’s number.

  * * * * *

  Rob was drifting, struggling to follow the plot line of an episode of The Simpsons. Otto the bus driver was staying at the Simpsons’ home, but Rob couldn’t figure out why. He gave up, and contented himself to giggle at the hyper-coloured images instead. Jasper was unusually calm, but was easily explained as a combination of the assault on him at the college earlier and the effects of the second hand smoke from Rob’s joint.

  “That’s what I think, anyway,” he muttered, caressing Jasper’s flopping ear. Jasper closed his eyes and settled down to sleep, resting his head on his paws.

  For the first time in twenty four hours, Rob Benson finally felt at pe
ace. The incident with the boar, Emma’s disappearance, Andy’s arrival - all faded. Because he was not in a position to get answers, there was no point in searching for them. Not at the moment, anyway.

  And that bloody dream of Andy’s…Christ, Andy Hughes was not the sort to suffer nightmares. Inflict them, yes. Wake up in a cold sweat, trembling, and in an immediate hurry to call his missus - no, that wasn’t him.

  “Or is it?” he muttered to the sleeping Jasper. “P’raps we’ve misunderstood Mr Hughes. Been fifteen years, after all. Everyone mellows given the chance.”

  A loud slamming sound made Jasper jerk awake. Rob followed the dog’s gaze, realising that Andy had left the house without saying goodbye or where he was going.

  “Goodnight, Andy. Enjoy yourself.” He made sure Andy Hughes had really gone before adding “Twat.”

  Jasper raised a quizzical ear.

  “Don’t look at me like that, shitbag. Don’t tell me you’re getting used to him?” He pointed the glowing red end of the joint at the image of Homer on the TV.

  “As the yellow Poet says, this is not Happy Days, and he is not The Fonz.”

  He reached over Jasper’s wagging tail, searching for his mobile. With the spliff back in his mouth he tried calling Emma again. Still no response.

  “Shit.” He pressed the end call button and stared thoughtfully at the dial. Don’t leave it too late, Andy had told him.

  “Who the fuck does he think he is, anyway? Bollocks to him.” And yet…even in his befuddled state, the description of Andy’s dream had made an impact. It was too much of a coincidence that he, Rob and Phil had had nasty dreams in the last twenty-four hours - nightmares that felt too real to be dreams, which felt like warnings.

  “Well, just this once…” He took a final drag of the joint, breathed out happily and dropped the butt into the overflowing ashtray. Pressing the mute button on the remote, he selected Phil Lotson’s home number and called. Jasper closed his eyes again and began to doze.

  “Hello, Kelly. It’s Rob. Yeah, not bad thanks. All set for Christmas? Good stuff. Look, is the old man there? I need a word.”

  Rob frowned. Kelly didn’t sound her usual cheery, bossy self. Something wrong there. Still, what’s Christmas without a few bust-ups?

  Phil’s voice sounded strained. “Are you alone, Robert?”

  The cloud of skunk lifted slowly from Rob’s brain. “Yeah, Andy’s gone to - well, he’s popped out. You okay?”

  “Popped out. I see.” A heavy sigh. “Would he be popping into All Souls be any chance?”

  “I’d imagine so. He didn’t exactly give details…”

  “Robert. If you can, get hold of him. On no account is he to set foot in that college. Do you understand?”

  “Andy Hughes is not the sort of bloke you tell what and what not to do. What’s the problem?”

  “It’s for his own safety, Robert. Make that very clear to him. I’ve just received a call from Sam Dawson. He works at the Phoenix Unit in Fulbourn.”

  “Go on.” Rob’s fingernails were white with the pressure he put on the handset. He knew all too well who was held at the Phoenix Unit.

  “Jason Franklin has asked to speak to me, tonight. About the dream he had last night. About the dream I had this morning…and a dream Andy Hughes had less than an hour ago.”

  “Fucking what?”

  “He’s read our minds, Robert. Or invaded them. He says there’s a connection to the college…and that we’re all in danger.”

  Rob’s jaw dropped. He had difficulty replying, and it wasn’t all due to the weed.

  “I’ll explain more later on. I’m going to see Franklin in an hour’s time. The visit isn’t authorised by the hospital so Sam’s going to help me get in.”

  “Stay there, Phil. I’ll come and pick you up.”

  “No. Kelly’s taking me. You just try and get hold of Andy, stop him going anywhere near the college.”

  Easier said than done, Rob thought as he hung up.

  “What now, shitbag?”

  Jasper raised his head and stared at Rob warily, as if to say You sure you’re safe to drive? Remember what happened last night - but you can’t can you, you were too pissed up and stoned to remember. Want to take that risk again?

  “Well, let’s see if he’s left any clues. Pearce isn’t the only one holding out, I’m sure Andy isn’t giving me the full SP either. Let’s see what’s in Santa’s sack.” He moved to the door, feeling surprisingly clear headed as he walked up the stairs.

  The door was open. Andy’s jeans and sweatshirt were on the bed, neatly folded. Odd, that. Why did he change without having a shower?

  The holdall was on the floor, next to the packing crates containing the remnants of Geoff Michaels’ academic career. The bulge was still there. Rob knelt down and unzipped it.

  Underneath the clothes were two items. One was wrapped in tissue paper. It was heavy and cold, and felt like stone. He put it to one side.

  It was the second item, covered in bubble wrap and brown parcel tape that took his interest. And made him recoil in horror when he realised what it was.

  .

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Phil leaned forward in the passenger seat and held his hands above the air vent, trying to warm them. He was amazed the car had started at all. It had taken him ages to scrape the ice from the windscreen, but the battered Rover 216 had rattled into life with surprising speed, as though it knew its passenger had an important appointment.

  Kelly negotiated the treacherous roads expertly, and he looked at her with undisguised admiration. She’d only been driving for three years, had seen it as an essential task after Phil failed his test for the sixth and final time. She’d passed first time and even now he felt a twinge of envy. She was a natural, a born driver who performed behind the wheel better than most men of her age.

  “I’m sorry about this, Kelly. I’ll - ‘

  She changed gear and waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t apologise, hon. I’ll invoice you for the petrol on Christmas morning, how’s that?”

  He smiled, tried to feel relieved at her attempts to lighten the mood.

  “You tried to get in touch with this Franklin boy before, didn’t you? What happened?”

  “They wouldn’t allow me anywhere near him. Family only.” And that had been before he’d started work on the new book. Official access to Jason Franklin had been denied to the press who’d been all too eager to add colour to the All Souls tragedy: it surely would not be granted to a writer whose intention was the same.

  Official access, anyway. What Sam Dawson had offered Phil was anything but official. It was the only way he was going to get to see Franklin, so he wasn’t too worried about Sam’s flouting of the regulations. He was more concerned with the fear in Sam’s voice. Not the fear of someone being physically threatened - psychiatric nurses were probably so well trained and had sufficient back-up that fear shouldn’t be an issue - but another kind of fear altogether. Coupled with Franklin’s desire - or need - to see him more than Phil needed to see him. And that was worrying.

  The Rover’s headlights picked up the sign that pointed to Fulbourn Hospital. Half an inch of snow framed it, and more was falling from the sky to join it. “Left here. It’s not the main building; it’s one of the villas.”

  She frowned, changed down two gears and pulled into the access road. The gatehouse loomed on their left, a Victorian red brick building which looked like a gingerbread house underneath its icing sugar coating of snow.

  The villas were originally built for the long stay patients, and the sad incurables who would remain under the protection of the Trust until they died. A series of unconnected, single storey buildings, based on an attractive villa design to make them appear the opposite of what they really were. Holiday homes, rather than long stay mental institutions.

  Kelly slowed the vehicle to the 5 mph limit. The road that carried the Rover was well lit. Streetlamps housed in clear globes shone benevolently through the frosted c
hestnut and sycamore trees, onto the empty and derelict buildings.

  “Odd. I thought these were all emptied out, everyone moved into James House or the new ward at Addenbrookes?” The grounds behind the villas had been given over to a new business park.

  Phil nodded. “Most of them are, but some acute facilities remain.” Phoenix Unit being one of them, he thought with a shudder.

  “Past George Mackenzie House, just before Springbank, that’s where it - ‘

  They came to it before he finished his words. The Phoenix Unit was a villa identical to the others, except that the colour and condition of the beige masonry meant it had been built very recently. Purpose built.

  A basketball hoop loomed behind the building like a futuristic gibbet. Kelly swung the Rover into one of the few parking spaces in front. The only other vehicle was a blue Renault, which Phil supposed was Sam’s. Odd that there were no other vehicles, he thought. Surely Sam couldn’t be here on his own?

  Phil pressed the release catch on his seatbelt and turned to Kelly. She looked worried.

  “I’m not sure how long I’ll be. Perhaps it’d be better if you went home, catch up on some sleep.”

  She looked doubtful. She glanced nervously at the sign proclaiming PHOENIX UNIT.

  “Not house, not ward…unit. How clinical can you get?” she muttered. “I’m not going anywhere, Lotson. Nick’s okay, it’s just you that needs babysitting. I’m staying.”

  She folded her arms and looked at him defiantly. Her elfin features were illuminated a sickly orange by the dashboard light.

  He smiled guiltily. “I don’t deserve you, you know that?”

  “I know,” she smiled back. “Good to hear you admit it at last.”

  Phil leaned over and kissed her full on the lips. “I love you, you bossy cow.”

  “Love you too, Lotson,” she said and kissed him again. She drew back, casting an apprehensive eye on the glass doorway of Phoenix. “Take care in there, okay? If he’s dangerous, what are the rest of them like?”

  He hadn’t thought about that. He hadn’t considered what Franklin’s fellow inmates were like. Or how many of them there were. He looked at the lone Celica. His words were an effort to reassure himself as much as Kelly.