2007 - The Dead Pool

by Sue Walker; Prefers to remain anonymous

  He revved the engine to catch the lights before they turned to red and then found himself stranded in a box junction, being tooted at by irate drivers. Wonderful! He scrabbled on the floor of the passenger seat footwell to retrieve the half bottle of stale mineral water that had been rolling about there for days. God, he was feeling more awful by the minute. Still, he could hide in his office all morning and recover. Morag had insisted that he come back and walk her down to the river. Fine. He would. And maybe, just maybe, it would be the last time. In fact…yes, somewhere in his unconscious he knew he’d been hatching this plan. After all, he’dbeen thinking about doing it for weeks. Today was the day. He’d tell her at the party. It was over. He and lona were together now.

  Morag would no doubt make a scene, go ballistic. But Bonnie would be there. She was good at the calming down bit. And if Morag tried to have ago at lona…well, she could look after herself in any cat fight. But he’d have to pick his moment. Not straight away. No, the best time would be late on. When—andhe’d have to ensure this —Morag was well tanked up. Then he and lona could disappear into the sunset. He slugged at the tepid water and sighed, grateful that the traffic was flowing at last. It was a good plan, wasn’t it? Not just the fucked-up desperation of his hangover talking to him? After all, he’d not talked to lona about any of it. She’d go along with it, wouldn’t she? Come to think of it, lona hadn’t had any serious conversation with him about ‘them’, where they were going, how they felt about each other. But they’d been together a while now, she had to feel the same. Otherwise, why hang around with him?

  Of course, at the start, lona had targeted him, just like he’d seen her target other men. And ‘just topping up Morag a little bit more’, be it with booze or drugs, had been her idea initially. Then it had become a habit. No, it didn’t leave him feeling very proud of himself. But it had just happened. The same way that deceiving Morag had initially been almost by accident. But who could resist lona? No, he didn’t need to talk with her about their future together. About her feelings for him. Words didn’t matter. She showed what she felt. How she showed it!

  The glinting slab of the company building was in sight now, the morning sun striking off his tenth-floor office windows. He pulled into the deserted carpark and switched off the engine. Slowly, he made his way towards the main entrance, nodded at the security guard and passed through the barrier. Inside the empty lift he stared at his reflection in the mirrored walls. Once upon a time you were just a bit of a vain lad. Good-looking lady bait, who did science but didn’t look or behave like a nerd. Now you’re looking a bit the worse for wear. The shitty part of you is beginning to show on the outside. Time to do something about it, lad. Be with who you really want to be with. He drew a hand down over his hungover features and then turned away, slamming the side of his fist into the tenth-floor button. Then he leant his head back against the cool wall, eyes closed, a smile twitching at his mouth. Only a few more hours. Then heand lona would be together…

  He felt lona’s hands lightly touching his back as he picked his way through the undergrowth. It was the perfect place. Enough cover to do what they had in mind.

  ‘God, Craig, is it much further? These bloody trees are determined to attack me.’

  He stopped and turned round to embrace her, rubbing the invisible scratch. ‘Hey, it’s great here. We can keep an eyeon everyone else but they’ll not have a clue where we are. I promise you. Everyone thinks you can’t get along here. But I saw the river association work crew doing some clearing a couple of months ago. The entrance is overgrown again, but we can get through. Come on.’

  He kissed her lightly on the mouth and put an arm round her waist. ‘Now, just a little bit further…a few steps and…here we are. The perfect place to chill out.’ He signalled for her to crouch down with him, his arm still round her waist. ‘We can spy on them, but they can’t see us. Look. There’s Morag still counting.’

  He felt a suppressed giggle tremble through lona.

  ‘Ssh. Sound carries here.’

  ‘All right, all right. But I was wondering.’ She clamped ahand to her mouth to muffle the laughter and then went on. I was wondering what number she’s at. And whether she’s made it out of single digits yet!’

  He joined in the stifled spluttering while, very slowly, unwrapping lona’s body from Morag’s sarong.

  Oblivious to the eyes observing them.

  Twenty

  Kirstin felt ill from exhaustion. She’d risen at six, grateful for another sunny morning and a return to reality. Her night’s sleep had been peppered with almost schizo-phrenically opposed images and dreams. Glen: smiling, holding her hand as they walked by the river. Ross: angry, drunken, taking a sledgehammer to Jamie’s gravestone. And then turning towards her, eyes blazing, a ghostly Annelise Linklater approached from behind, babe in arms.

  The news of Ross’s impending marriage had come as a complete surprise. If nothing else it showed that, despite his original protestations when she’d left him, he most certainly could live without her and thrive. She wasn’t envious. The last person on earth she’d want to be married to was Ross, though she had to be honest, her ego was just a bit dented. But then Glen was an effective antidote for any bruised ego.

  And what about Jamie? In the space of one short week, her feelings, her motivations had shifted. There were two Jamies to grapple with now. Should she even try? Jamie was gone. Maybe by his own hand, maybe by pure accident. Should she just remember him as he was? Ross had delivered his painful and now increasingly persuasive analysis. Glen too, despite all he’d confided, seemed to be warning her off. For her own sake, and for the sake of Jamie’s memory.

  Donald Ferguson was the exception. He didn’t offer any other explanation for Jamie’s death. All he knew was that his oldest friend had been behaving increasingly oddly. Of course he wouldn’t want to admit that it had been a prelude to suicide. Poor Donald would never be able to live with himself if he thought that. Maybe it was time to close the book on Jamie and maybe it was right not to dig any deeper. If she did, what else might she find that she didn’t like?

  But there were two things she had to do. First, she would take up Ross’s offer of moving into Mill House for a few days to go through Jamie’s office. Besides, the lettings agency had a booking for her flat, so Ross’s offer was timely. Secondly, she was going to spend some time with Morag Ramsay. Sit down with her and see what help she could offer. Even if it was just putting the poor woman in touch with her friends in Devon who ran a seaside hotel business. Perhaps it was time for her to talk to Morag’s former river friends too. She sighed, feeling weary. Or maybe she could at least talk to Ally Sutherland? Try to reason with him about Morag. Though, if the other night was anything to go by, she couldn’t imagine Ally appreciating her interference on Morag’s behalf.

  And what of Morag? Should she drop round to that immaculate—almost too immaculate—house? With its clean yet stark, even clinical, character that echoed the rigid and brittle side to Morag’s nature. It was, indeed, the perfect house for her. Or should she just give Morag a call instead? But Kirstin knew she didn’t have the energy for either a visit or a phone call right now. Though she did want to know how things had gone with the hypnotherapist. Kirstin frowned and shook her head. Morag’s reluctance to try the technique puzzled her. As did her disproportionate reaction to Ally Sutherland’s presence at the Cauldron. But how could she judge? Thankfully, she wasn’t in Morag’s position. Besides, normal rules of behaviour and rationality just didn’t apply in her situation, did they?

  Morag glanced at the wall calendar in the kitchen. Damn. This was all she needed. She’d known for weeks that Dr Lockhart was going away. But the time, running unusually slowly most days, seemed to have galloped away with her. Now she was going to be alone for two whole weeks. She could feel a relapse coming on.

  The session with Professor Beattie had left her depressed. In contrast, he’d seemed almost jubilant. ‘Youhave a new memory. Of cheating. That�
��sprogress, Morag. I thought you were going to start blocking, but we got there. Well done.’ She’d initially felt fine sitting there, fully aware. In control, and yet not. But, afterwards, she’d felt sick, physically sick. As sick as she had that Sunday last August. The entire hypnosis episode had stayed with her. She’d been feeling strange ever since…detached, dreamy, unreal. As for the cheating? That wasn’t a new memory. She remembered only too well tracking the colourful sarong on its weaving progress over to the wooded area. But she’d have been a fool to admit that to anyone, even Dr Lockhart. The fact that Professor Beattie had got the information out of her may have been progress to him, but it wasn’t to her. It was disturbing. She wasn’t going back to him, and there was nothing Dr Lockhart or anyone else could do about it.

  Morag crept from the darkened kitchen. With a final glance over her shoulder, she checked that all the blinds were down before heading into the hallway. Might as well go back to bed, even though it was late afternoon. She’d take a pill, try to get something approaching dreamless, nightmare-less sleep, though her waking time now seemed like a dream. Almost as if she was floating above herself, existing apart from her physical body. Or even as if she didn’t exist at all, leaving her with the feeling that this was all a dream. She’d felt like this before. In adolescence, when it had been the precursor of severe depression. Derealization, depersonalization, the shrink had called it. A terrifying experience. But now, she had to fight it, hold on to reality. Yes, she was in trouble. Yes, she was going to lose her—very real—home. And yes, her feelings of anger, of fury, were only too real. But…still the remote, airy feeling persisted.

  As she reached the bottom of the stairs, the rat-a-tat of the door knocker had her clinging to the banister, white-knuckled, heart racing. Who was this? The rat-a-tat rang out again, this time more insistent. Tentatively, Morag moved forward and put an eye to the spyhole. With a sigh of surprise and relief, she released the array of locks and bolts.

  Bonnie stood on the doorstep, her head turned slightly to one side in a gesture of uncertainty. She pulled off her sunglasses. Her pale eyes looked worried.

  ‘I’m sorry for just turning up like this, Morag, but I couldn’t sleep last night. I need to talk to you.’

  She looked more wan than ever and her body in the light cotton shift was now stick-like, as if she had no muscles, nothing to support that delicate frame. Had she stopped eating completely? Morag stood to one side and beckoned her in.

  ‘I was just going back to bed, but it’s better for me not to. Come in. Take a seat in the front room.’

  Odd. Her voice sounded unnaturally loud in her head. Like another’s voice. The heavy curtains made it impossible to see. Better switch on a light. As she reached out towards the table lamp, she stopped midway. Whose arm was that?

  ‘Morag? You okay?’

  Morag felt the shudder run down her body. It’s jour arm. This is jour house. With trembling fingers she clicked on the lamp. Staygrounded, keep calm. She turned towards Bonnie.

  ‘Do you need anything? Tea? Something cold?’

  Bonnie shook her head as she lowered herself into an easy chair that seemed to swallow her entire frail body. Sitting back obviously felt wrong and she inched forward, both hands in her lap, her back rigidly straight. It was very nearly her meditation posture, but not quite. She seemed far from composed.

  Morag took the seat opposite, thankful for the protection of the gloom. She pulled her dressing gown round her. Try to be normal. Speak to her.

  ‘What is it, Bonnie? What brings you here?’

  Bonnie momentarily pressed three fingers to her dry lips, as if she was unsure how to begin.

  ‘I should be at work right now, but I’ve cancelled everything. I’ve been thinking about this all day and I wanted, needed to see you. I had a visit from Ally last Friday, and I’m worried. Very worried. About you. He knows about you losing the house, having to move. I’m sorry, that’s my fault. I saw Eraser recently and told him. I wasn’t gossiping. I was defending you.’

  She paused, and her fingers strayed back to her mouth. A moment later, Bonnie’s hand dropped to her lap and she began to fiddle with the thin fabric of her dress where it covered her bony knees. So frail, pale, thin. She could almost be a ghost. A ghost in my living nightmare.

  ‘Oh really?’

  Morag’s voice was sounding loud yet remote—disembodied—again. Be strong, keep control.

  ‘You need to know this, Morag. He’s leaving. Says he’s liquidating the business. I’m wondering if he’s planning some…a…a spectacular before either he goes, or you move on. Doing some harm, real harm to you. Ally’s…changed. He’s out of control, I think. Consumed by grief and anger. An incendiary combination. He’s beginning to scare me. I just wanted you to know.’

  Morag let the silence lie, wondering if she could be bothered to explain her encounter with Ally at the Cauldron. What did it matter now? She was pleasantly surprised that Bonnie should care enough to come round. That’s if she really was here. Keep talking. She shifted in her chair.

  ‘You said you were defending me to Ally. Why?’

  Bonnie looked up, her twitching fingers suddenly frozen in her lap.

  ‘What d’you mean, why?’

  Morag felt herself shrug. ‘Oh, I just thought you’d washed your hands of me. Didn’t want anything to do with me.’ She paused to glance round the darkened room. It was a comfort to be so shut off from the outside world. The dreamlike state had taken hold. She barely noticed Bonnie’s presence but continued in a low voice, almost talking to herself. ‘I mean, actually, it doesn’t matter now, you know. I’m past caring about it. Past caring about much. Life’s dealt its blows and will aim a few more at me, I’m sure.’ She stood up abruptly. ‘Thanks for coming, Bonnie. Will you see yourself out? I have to go back to bed now.’ She felt herself trying to get up, but her legs failed her and she slumped back down.

  But Bonnie wasn’t stirring, had made no move to help her. Instead, she was handing her a tissue. Why? She touched her cheek. Tears. Odd. There was no accompanying feeling. No choking sensation in her throat. No prickling of her eyes.

  Bonnie had moved nearer, perching on the side of the chair. ‘Is there someone I can call? What about your doctor?’

  ‘Doctor? Don’t be silly. I’m fine.’ She felt herself scrabbling at her cheek, trying to dry the unwelcome tears. ‘I’m fine, I’m fine. But, as I said, I need to go to bed now, though. So will you please make sure you pull the door to? I can’t have it left open.’

  She felt Bonnie’s light touch on her shoulder. ‘Okay, but I’ll just make you a nice up of herbal tea. You’ll have something in the cupboards, won’t you? I won’t be a minute.’

  ‘I’m fine I don’t want any t—’

  But Bonnie had disappeared through the door. How dare she come here and take over, acting all concerned and proprietorial after treating her like a pariah for so long? The hypocrisy! I don’t want any bloody tea. I don’t want you here. Ijust want to go to bed! Or am I in bed? Dreaming? Or am I dead? She began rubbing furiously at her face, almost tearing at her cheeks. I will not cry. No! What ishappening to me? What? She shut her eyes tight and stared into the blackness, studying the distorted shapes behind her eyelids. Count yourselfdown. Hah!You’re good at that. One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight…

  She was barely aware of heaving herself up from the sofa and marching down the hallway to the kitchen. The trembling started as she saw the unwanted mug of tea thrust towards her. It was as if another’s hand reached out to swipe the mug away, scalding liquid spattering the far wall. Somewhere in the background, she could hear Bonnie’s yelp of fear and surprise as the mug shattered on the tiled floor.

  ‘I told you. I don’t want any tea! I don’t want help. I want to go to sleeeep!’

  Kirstin stood halfway down the stairs, cradling the cordless phone in her hand as Bonnie stood looking up at her anxiously. Well?’

  ‘She’s sleeping now. The tablets Dr Lockha
rt recommended should knock her out for a good few hours.’ Kirstin opened her fist. ‘But just for safety, I’ve taken these away.

  They’re the rest of the pills out of her bedroom. I’ll keep them for now. Dr Lockhart’s just about to leave for a fortnight in America, but her colleague will see Morag first thing tomorrow. I’ve agreed to spend the night here and be around when Morag wakes up. I’ll drive her over for her appointment in the morning.’

  Bonnie nodded. ‘Good. Thanks. It’s been an odd way to meet, but I’m glad I found you. You know, I don’t think Morag was going to let me help. I had the devil’s job calming her down. She seemed to want to smash the place up, given half a chance. I suppose it was some sort of panic reaction caused by what she’s been going through. And then she just went…well, cold, stiff, catatonic really. I started looking around for her address book but I couldn’t find it, so I grabbed the phone. It was quite pathetic, sad. She had only two entries programmed into the numbers list. Dr Lockhart. And you.’

  ‘Yes, I gave her my number the first time we met.’

  Bonnie nodded. ‘Thank goodness you did. Anyway, I called both and got you first. It was alarming, to put it mildly. I’ve never seen her like that.’

  Kirstin made her way down the stairs. ‘It’s probably the tension and frustration. Everything getting to her. She’s been a volcano waiting to blow. But don’t worry. I’m just glad you were here. Okay. I’ve left her a note in case she wakes up before I get back. You said you needed to look in at your clinic. Want a lift? We can talk some more on the way.’

  Bonnie nodded her agreement and Kirstin ushered her out of the door, hesitating for a moment before she locked up.

  ‘What is it?’ Bonnie was looking puzzled.

  Kirstin shrugged and then allowed the lock to turn. ‘Oh, nothing. It’s all right.’

  As she followed Bonnie to the car, she felt things were anything but all right. And, with her anxiety levels rising, she asked herself what else could go wrong?