“What did we do wrong?” Karin Leman asked sadly.
“It’s not about right and wrong,” Faith said, although privately she thought keeping the girl like a prisoner and confiscating her means of communication with the outside world were considerable wrongs. “Understandably, you were all very emotional when Susannah Miranda came home. Emotion on all sides causes stress. That stress may have been a factor in her deteriorating sight. We don’t know. But I’m not her mother, so I won’t be emotionally involved in her recovery, whether it goes well or badly. My home is just a safe haven. A half-way house. I’m not trying to steal her from you.”
“You’re a fucking smooth operator,” Roderick Leman said. “I’ll give you that.”
“Please don’t swear,” Karin said again. “It doesn’t help.”
“Now my wife’s trying to tell me what I can and can’t say,” Roderick sneered. “It’s a fucking female conspiracy.”
“What’s it to be then, Miranda?” Faith said, turning to her. “No point prolonging the pain.”
“I’d like to come with you,” Miranda said, her voice a croaking whisper, tears running down her cheeks. “It’s not your fault, Mum. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s just – what I want. I’m not leaving you for ever.”
Karin Leman threw her arms round her daughter and both of them sobbed.
“I’m sorry, darling,” Karin managed to choke out.
“Don’t be sorry,” Miranda said. “You don’t need to be sorry.”
“Unbelievable,” Roderick Leman scoffed. “This isn’t over,” he snapped as he turned on his heel and left the room.
Matthew Long stood, mouth agape like a haddock, wondering whether his editor would be interested in an account of what had just transpired in front of him. Amelia certainly would be.
As they rode the tube home Niall and Miranda kept showering Faith with praise for the way she had managed things at Moorfields.
“‘If you can keep your head when those around you are losing theirs’,” Faith said.
For Miranda, it was her first sighted experience of the London Underground. Niall was wrestling with an ethical dilemma. Yes, he wanted to help Miranda: he had promised Faith that he would. But he also wanted to pursue his investigation into the funding of her operation. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that Daniel Sullivan had accepted some kind of bribe or ‘donation’ from Roderick Leman which had pushed Miranda to the head of the queue for the eye transplant. Had that donation gone into the coffers of BAB, or had some of it – or all of it – found its way into Sullivan’s own pocket? Somehow, he had to find out. But the big question was, could he tell Miranda what he was up to? Could he maybe even enlist her help? Or was that, under the circumstances, bordering on the insensitive?
ELEVEN
On Christmas morning Faith sent Niall, Miranda and Hugo out for a walk while she prepared Christmas lunch. Gifts, according to her own family tradition, were not opened until after the main meal. It was a mild, dull, but dry day, and the streets were more or less deserted.
“Don’t get us lost, will you?” Niall said to Miranda.
“I’ll try not to,” she said, “but you may be better off relying on Hugo.”
Hugo’s ears twitched at the sound of his name, but he made no obvious response.
They walked the length of Faith’s road and then discovered a small park at the end of it.
“Park or street?” Miranda asked.
“Park,” Niall said. “There might be somewhere to sit down.”
“We’re supposed to be out for a walk,” Miranda said laughing.
“Exercise is totally over-rated,” Niall said. “You wait – in a few years scientists will prove that it’s bad for you and slobbing around on a sofa makes you live longer.”
“If you say so,” Miranda said. “I like walking.”
“Makes a difference when you can see where you’re going,” Niall said.
“OK. I’m sorry,” she replied.
“No that’s not what I meant,” Niall responded quickly. “Look I really am pleased for you about your eyes.”
“Yeah,” Miranda said thoughtfully. “I tried to figure out what I felt that day when I woke up blind again. It was like I was being offered the chance to go back to the life that I’d had, the life that I knew and understood. If someone had asked me the day before, I’d’ve said that I would have been happy to take it. But when it came to it I wasn’t. I was at the beginning of this incredible seeing adventure and I wasn’t ready for it to end. I really really really do want to see.”
“I knew you would,” Niall said.
“But I am terrified that I’ll lose it again.”
“Yes. Now that is a place I have been.”
They walked three times round the park sharing blind and sighted memories. Niall took Miranda’s arm and let Hugo off the lead.
“Now you can find out what it’s like being a sighted guide,” he said to her.
“I expect I’ll be rubbish,” Miranda said. She attempted to describe the park to him and he attempted to fill in gaps in her own knowledge from his own store of sighted memories.
“How did you first find out there was a chance you were going to have the operation?” Niall asked, trying not to sound as if he was probing.
“I can hardly remember,” Miranda said. “I was sitting having tea in the kitchen and my Dad came in and said how would I feel about being able to see, if there was an operation that could make it happen.”
She paused, trying to remember the details.
“Then my Mum said there wasn’t and my Dad said yes there might be. He’d been speaking to someone who knew a lot about these things and they were really close to an eye transplant operation. My Mum sort of burst out crying and said how wonderful if it could be me. My Dad said he was going to do his damnedest to see that it was me.”
“And what did you think?”
“You know what I thought. But I’m glad now. Even if my body does reject the eyes eventually. I’m glad I’ve had the chance to see, even if only for a few weeks, and I’m glad because if I hadn’t had the transplant I’d never’ve met you.”
“You’re going to have to learn that being honest can leave you extremely vulnerable,” Niall said.
“I’ve always been vulnerable,” Miranda said. “I just never realised how much until now.”
“So anyway,” Niall went on, getting back to his theme, “what was it that your Dad did that was ‘his damnedest’?”
“I don’t know,” Miranda replied. “Next I knew I had an appointment at Moorfields for a preliminary medical to see if I was a suitable candidate for the operation.”
“What does your Dad do for a living?”
“He’s an architect. Works with a big London firm who do a lot of work in the middle east. He goes to Dubai and Doha a lot.”
“Have you ever been?”
“No. Why all this interest in my Dad all of a sudden?”
“You have to get to know your enemy,” Niall said with a smile in his voice.
“Oh Niall.”
“He hates me,” Niall said. “He told me to keep away from you.”
“And you ignored him.”
“Too right.”
“But I thought you hadn’t,” Miranda said. “You went back to Shropshire and you never called.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Did you ever finish your article about me?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
They walked in silence for a while.
“What ever happened to that bench we were going to sit on?” Niall asked.
“They’re all covered in rain from yesterday,” Miranda said.
“OK. No problem. We don’t really want to sit down to Faith’s Christmas lunch with a wet arse.”
They talked about their experiences of Christmas from childhood onwards. Niall told her about sighted Christmases and blind Christmases. Miranda talked about Christmases that had
been big family affairs, something Niall had never known. They talked about plans for the rest of the week. Faith had already announced that as soon as Miranda felt up to it they would ‘hit the sales’ so that she could get her first experience of London’s Christmas lights. They also had to get her something to wear for Covent Garden. Niall had felt a surge of irrational jealousy when Miranda had told them about Daniel Sullivan’s invitation. He had tried to persuade her to back out, but Faith had stopped him.
“I’m sure he means kindly,” she had said. “And what a wonderful opportunity. I’ll go if you don’t.”
Niall’s dire warnings that Miranda should be on her guard because Sullivan was a ‘lecherous old goat’ had been ignored.
Getting cold and hungry they called Hugo, who had been chasing birds, ‘retrieving’ anything that he could pick up in his mouth, and getting covered in mud, put him on the lead and set off back to the house.
“Here we are,” Miranda said as they reached the gate. “Number 17. I didn’t get us lost.”
“What number?” Niall asked sharply.
“17. It’s Faith’s house number. I checked when we started.”
“Susannah. You look beautiful.” Daniel bore down on her outside the imposing portico of the Royal Opera House. She didn’t feel particularly beautiful, she felt cold, having refused to hide her new Top Shop dress under the only scruffy coat that she owned.
“Please call me Miranda,” she said. She had spent several hours the day before with Faith and Niall, shopping and trying on, exhausting herself and testing Niall’s patience to the limit in the process. Finally she had settled on a dress and a pair of River Island shoes which were starting to rub blisters on her heels. Shopping had been a lot easier when she couldn’t see.
Daniel Sullivan sighed.
“That makes you Caliban, I suppose,” Faith said smiling. She had insisted on escorting Miranda to Covent Garden.
“Thank you, Miss Hodgkiss,” Daniel said. “Always a pleasure.”
They left Faith and went inside. While Miranda tried to take in the people and the surroundings, Daniel steered her towards the Perrier Jouet Bar, where he bought a bottle of champagne.
“No point in going to the ROH if you don’t do it in style,” he said.
Miranda watched the bubbles rising in their columns, fascinated by the way they seemed to start from nothing. She had drunk champagne before – once – and remembered the feel of it on her tongue, but seeing it, watching it, was magical.
“Thank you so much for this,” she said.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Daniel said. “You’ve got a lot of experience to catch up on. Anything I can help with I will be happy, no, I will be honoured to. Just say the word.” He downed his first glass and refilled it.
“You need to drink up,” he said. “Show starts in twenty minutes.”
Dutifully Miranda drank, although she found the wine very dry and the bubbles made gulping it down difficult. As soon as her glass was empty, Daniel filled it again.
“Enjoy being anonymous while you can,” he said. “In a couple of months you won’t be able to sit in a bar without being recognized.”
“Why?”
“As soon as everybody’s sure your sight has stabilized we need to get you out there and shout it from the rooftops. You’re a lovely looking girl, and what’s happened to you is not much short of miraculous. You can’t hide. Can’t hide this beautiful face.” He put the palm of his hand on her cheek. She didn’t like it, so reached for some more champagne.
“Good girl,” he said.
They finished the bottle as the final call was made for them to take their seats. Miranda stumbled as she got to her feet, and Daniel took hold of her, steering her to their box. She would have liked to have visited the bathroom, but there wasn’t time. She barely had an opportunity to open the programme Daniel had bought her and look out over the sea of people in the stalls before the house lights started to dim and she became aware of the orchestra in the pit. She felt bombarded by visual stimuli and the champagne in her head was giving everything the mixed up, random quality of a dream. The conductor was applauded to the podium and then the music began, spiriting her away into Tchaikovsky’s world, the bright colours and costumes a kaleidoscope of magic in her head.
There was nothing kaleidoscopic about Simon’s local in Chiswick, but it was there that Niall had arranged to spend the evening to take his mind off Miranda in the clutches of Daniel Sullivan. Simon had been initially cagey until Niall had made it clear that he was staying at Faith’s, so wasn’t on the look-out for unsuspecting hospitality. Once that was clarified he had been enthusiastic. “Got things to tell you,” he had said.
And so Niall, early, courtesy of his inevitable taxi, sipped his beer and considered the shifting landscape inside his mind. Faith lived at number 17. OK, it could be a coincidence, but who was he kidding? Faith knew people at Moorfields, Faith knew people at BAB. She also had no idea that he knew anything about the meetings at number 17 because he had never mentioned them when he had discussed the story with her. To be honest, he had all-but forgotten them himself until Miranda had dropped the bombshell on Christmas morning. What did all that mean? If the meetings at number 17 were connected with whatever wasn’t kosher about the eye transplant, then Faith was involved in it. In which case, was there something sinister in her exerting herself to get him and Miranda under her roof? Then, she knew he was curious about aspects of the eye transplant, especially the financial aspects – was she keeping him where she could see him and monitor what he was up to? Feeding him information which was designed to steer him away from the truth, whatever that truth was?
But could he believe that Faith, whom he had known and cared for, if not loved, for nearly two decades, was involved in something shady? Surely not. Surely not? It was too depressing to contemplate. And now, like the witch in Hansel and Gretel, she was fattening him and Miranda up to eat them later on. He mustn’t, under any circumstances, give her occasion to suspect that he knew. That way he maintained a position of strength. He could observe her closely while she thought she was above suspicion, treating any information that she did push his way with a healthy degree of scepticism. He would have to go through the motions of following up any leads she gave him, but not to the extent that he took his eye off the ball. The ball which had landed so fortuitously in his court.
“Niall?” Simon arrived with the assistance of a barman who promised to courier them a couple of fresh pints.
“Hey. Happy Christmas. How’s it going?”
“Good actually,” Simon said.
“Great,” Niall replied. “Erica OK?”
“Erica’s fantastic. You frightened her friends back off to Oz so we’ve got two new girls living with us.”
“Hm, sounds like I should come round.”
“Forget it. You did enough damage the first time.”
“OK. OK,” Niall conceded. “So. You said you had things to tell me?”
“Did I?” Simon said vacuously. “Yes. OK. I’ve got a job.”
“You’ve what?” Niall spluttered.
“I’ve got a job,” Simon repeated. “Possibly not what you’d call a proper job, but I’m getting paid for it.”
“That’s fantastic,” Niall said. “More than I’ve got.”
“You could get one if you stopped fannying about and applied for one,” Simon said.
“Suddenly you’re the expert.”
“Yes.” Their beer arrived and they toasted each other before Simon went on, “It’s a new charity – Victory it’s called. The V I stands for V.I. and the C stands for computers, but I don’t think the Tory stands for anything. They just got as far as VIC and they couldn’t think of an acronym to finish the word off.”
“Nothing to do with the Conservative Party?” Niall asked.
“Definitely not,” Simon said. “It’s a charity that gets laptops and technology to blind kids in mainstream schools and trains them up on how to use them. I�
�m one of the trainers.”
“Brilliant, man,” Niall said enthusiastically. “That is a perfect job for you. And it sounds like a good charity as well.”
“Yes. It’s new,” Simon explained. “Set up by a couple who had a blind kid and decided they wanted to embrace the blind world.”
“Good for them,” Niall said.
“So what have you got to tell me?” Simon asked, picking up his beer. Niall brought him up to speed on his return to London.
“The transplant was definitely dodgy,” he finished. “I’ve never been more certain of anything. And Faith lives at number 17.”
“No!”
“Yes. I’m staying in the actual house that holds part of the key to the whole mystery.”
“They say walls have ears,” Simon said.
“If you find a way of communicating with them, let me know.”
“You’ll have to get Susannah to do some ferreting around.”
“Miranda. But how can I tell her that her life-changing operation was phoney?”
“It wasn’t the operation, though, was it?” Simon pointed out.
“I never heard anything from Lindsey,” Niall said, following a different train of thought.
“I did,” Simon said.
“You did?” Niall responded, choking on a throatful of beer. “When?”
“You know how it is,” Simon went on. “The blind world’s a small world. I met her at the Victory interview. She was going for one of their admin jobs. Which she got.”
“So tell me more,” Niall said. “You obviously spoke to her.”
“She resigned from BAB. Loosemore went to see her. Told her she could depend on a really good reference if she agreed to go without a fuss. Apparently her boyfriend advised her to do it, and then Juliette Warwick phoned her and told her about Victory, saying she should go for it.”
“So it was a done deal,” Niall mused. “No wonder she didn’t call me. She knew I’d accuse her of caving in. You know what this means, Simon old son? It means there’s a link between BAB and Victory. It means you’ve inadvertently got yourself in on the ground floor of this whole investigation.”
Eyes of the Blind Page 13