Eyes of the Blind

by Alex Tresillian

  “Juliette? Are you awake?”

  There was no response. The steady breathing continued. Katrina carried on the conversation inside her own head.

  “I heard an item on the news today about a hit and run.”

  “Oh yes?”

  “A guide dog was knocked down.”

  “Oh yes?”

  “By a silver BMW.”

  “Oh really?”

  “And you were cleaning our car.”

  “Coincidence.”

  “A silver BMW.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  FIFTEEN

  “So you’re back,” Penny said to Rebecca.

  “Yes,” Rebecca said.

  “I’d better clear all my shit out of your room then.”

  “Yes. You better had.”

  “Sorry,” Penny said. “I thought you were gone for the whole year.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “But haven’t they given you the year off?”

  “I haven’t come back to go on my course,” Rebecca explained. “I just need to be here. I’m going back to my waitressing job. See if they’ll take me on full time.”

  Rebecca hoped that Penny wasn’t going to suggest earning any more money at 17 Cardew Crescent. She didn’t.

  “Being at home didn’t work out then?” Penny asked, semi-rhetorically.

  “It worked fine. It was what I needed. But now – I need to be here.”

  “OK.”

  Penny shrugged and didn’t pursue it. It wasn’t in her nature to be overly curious about anyone else’s life, being mostly wrapped up in her own.

  Rebecca was glad, and more so when Penny went out and left her to her own devices. She had made some very hasty notes during the previous night’s news bulletin, and from them she needed to develop an action plan – just as she might for a student with learning difficulties, she thought with wry amusement.

  She went through the process of reclaiming her room, taking everything that was Penny’s out and re-organising her own things. Sorting her room out had always been a way of sorting her mind out too, and as she moved and tidied she tried to process the emotions and the ideas that were wheeling around in her head.

  What exactly did she think about this Miranda who had Joe’s eyes? If they were Joe’s eyes. Would she ever be sure, even up close? Is it the face within which eyes are set that makes them unique to their owner, or the person behind the eyes, or the eyes themselves? Because only if the last of those were the truth would she really know that she was looking at a part of Joe. A living part of Joe.

  And how would that feel? She had this compulsion to go ahead and meet the girl, but if she did find herself looking at Joe’s eyes alive in somebody else’s face, when Joe himself was dead and burned, would that just make her want to hate her? Or love her?

  Was this whole wild goose chase just a proof that she hadn’t got over Joe’s death?

  Maybe. How did you get over a brother’s untimely death? How exactly did you move on from that? This activity puzzle – find and meet Miranda – could be the perfect way. ‘Keep busy’ people had said. And this was keeping busy but keeping Joe in focus the whole time.

  In which case, what was the plan?

  The blind journalist’s name was Niall Burnet. His dog was called Hugo. He was in a veterinary hospital in Clerkenwell, which wasn’t an area that she knew, but surely that had to be her first port of call. She ought to keep tuning into local news as well in case there were any updates. She didn’t know a lot about dogs or Hugo’s injuries, but unless she heard that he had died or gone home, she would go there and try to pick up the trail. In actual fact, she ought to do that soon, in case anything did change. She could plan further steps depending on the outcome of that visit. Further steps such as how exactly she could then contrive to meet with the man. How she would then explain her interest in Miranda without sounding like a total crank escaped from the nearest mental hospital.

  In line with her thinking that time was of the essence, Rebecca put the rest of her sorting on hold and reflected that the extravagance of a taxi could be justified in the circumstances. It would be quick, and would take away any problems that she might have finding the place.

  Leaving the flat she was lucky enough to flag one down before she had got to the main road, and found herself racing towards the city.

  “That’s where they took that guide dog,” the taxi driver said conversationally.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “That why you’re going?” he went on.

  “No,” Rebecca lied. “My cat’s there having an operation.”

  “Oh right. Sorry about that.”

  The taxi driver didn’t enquire as to why Rebecca’s cat should have gone all the way to Clerkenwell when there must have been other vets closer to home. Rebecca caught herself in the act of creating an explanation before realising that she didn’t have to justify her actions to someone she was paying to drive her.

  It was only when she got out of the taxi that Rebecca realised she had formulated no plan for getting access to Niall Burnet or his dog. She had imagined walking in and just seeing him sitting in the waiting room, but she soon realised it wasn’t going to be that simple. She needed a story. She was Niall’s – what? All his family members would have his phone number. In fact in this day and age everybody had your phone number unless you didn’t want them to have it. Perhaps it would have been more sensible to see if he was on Facebook.

  And then, as if in answer to a prayer, she looked up the pavement and there was Niall Burnet, on the arm of a grey-haired woman, walking straight towards her. There was no sign of the dog, which meant, she presumed, that he was still in the hospital.

  “This is not the moment to be cautious,” Rebecca said to herself. “It’s a god-given opportunity and it will never come again.”

  With uncharacteristic boldness she walked towards him.

  “Excuse me – Niall Burnet?” she asked.

  “Who’s asking?” Niall responded, as Faith brought him to a halt.

  “My name’s Rebecca Blackford,” Rebecca said. “You don’t know me from Adam but I’m not a besotted admirer or a bunny-boiler.”

  “I could live with a besotted admirer,” Niall remarked.

  “And I’m not a journalist doing a piece or anything.”

  “OK. I now know what you’re not,” Niall said.

  “Yes,” Rebecca said, and paused. That was the easy bit over with.

  “Shall we go inside?” the grey-haired woman suggested. “We’ve come to pick up some flowers.”

  “OK.” Rebecca wondered if there had ever been a more surreal conversation.

  “It’s about your friend, Miranda Leman.”

  “Oh yes?” Niall said.

  “I – ” suddenly the truth seemed impossible. “I knew her. At primary school. When she was blind. We were actually quite good friends but then my family moved to Sussex. I saw her and you on This Is Now the other night and I thought then how it would be great to get in touch with her again, and then I couldn’t believe it when I just saw you coming up the road. It was like it was meant to be.”

  “Right,” Niall said, sounding unconvinced.

  “I thought maybe you could give her my phone number when you next see her. Then if she did want to call me she could.”

  “Write it down and give it to Faith,” Niall said. “I can’t see the harm in that.”

  “Thanks. That’s brilliant,” Rebecca said. But if she never called it would be a dead end. “How is she?” Rebecca asked.

  “She’s OK. In Moorfields while they sort her out.”

  “Niall,” Faith cautioned.

  “I don’t think it’s a state secret,” Niall said. “I’m sure Matt Long will have written it up for his paper.”

  Rebecca wrote her name and number down on a piece of paper she fortuitously found in her handbag, added ‘friend from primary school’ spuriously, and gave the note to Faith.

  �
�Thanks so much,” she said. “That’s so kind. Thanks.” And not wanting to draw further attention to herself she said her goodbyes and left, hoping to come across a tube station that would get her home and glad to know that Miranda was staying in hospital. That meant two things – one, she would probably get so bored that she might be reduced to phoning someone she had apparently known when she was young but had completely forgotten; and two, if she didn’t, Rebecca knew where she was and could plan an alternative line of attack.

  “She seemed pleasant enough,” Niall said to Faith.

  “Yes.” Faith sounded doubtful.

  “You didn’t think so?”

  “It just all seemed a little contrived,” she said. “Not that anyone could have known we were coming here to pick up some flowers for Miranda.”

  “At least she didn’t ask for Miranda’s number,” Niall said.

  “No,” Faith agreed.

  “We can give Miranda hers and she can do what she likes with it.”

  “Yes,” Faith said.

  They collected several of the bouquets that were still arriving for Hugo, told the staff at the Animal Hospital to take any flowers home that they wanted, and then headed off to Moorfields.

  “Do you fancy walking?” Faith said. “It’s less than a mile away.”

  “No problem,” Niall said.

  They arrived in Miranda’s room to find her looking at a magazine. Her face brightened immediately.

  “Great,” she said.

  “We’ve brought you loads of Hugo’s flowers,” Niall said.

  “Niall!” Faith said. “Where’s your gentlemanly charm? These are Miranda’s flowers.”

  “I’m a straight-talking, no-nonsense kind of guy,” Niall said. “Each of these bunches probably cost upwards of twenty quid. I don’t want Miranda thinking I blew over a hundred quid on flowers for her.”

  “No,” Faith said. “She might be in danger of mistaking you for a romantic.”

  “They’re lovely. Thank you,” Miranda said. “Wherever they came from.”

  “Brought you something else as well,” Niall said.

  “Oh?”

  “Faith?” Niall turned to her.

  “What?”

  “The phone number,” Niall elucidated. “You’ve got a stalker,” he went on to Miranda. “We bumped into her outside the Animal Hospital. Some girl you knew at primary school who said she’d seen you on the telly and thought how lovely it would be to get in touch. You were friends apparently.”

  “Oh,” Miranda said.

  Faith dutifully passed on the piece of paper.

  “Can you read it?” she asked.

  “No,” Miranda confessed. “You know I haven’t got to grips with sighted reading yet.”

  “You’d think they could get somebody in to do that for you while you’re lying here doing nothing,” Niall observed tactlessly.

  “It says Rebecca Blackford,” Faith said. “Do you remember her?”

  Miranda thought.

  “No,” she said. “No. But I don’t remember many people from primary school to be honest.”

  “She said you were friends and then she moved to Sussex.”

  “Oh well,” Miranda said. “Nice of her to remember me.”

  “Just be careful,” Faith said. “You don’t have to call her.”

  “No I know,” Miranda said.

  When Faith went out to find some vases for the flowers Miranda looked straight at Niall and said

  “So?”

  “So what?”

  “Have you found anything out? Are you on the trail?”

  “It’s not going to happen overnight,” Niall said, which sounded better than the fact that he had done nothing since they had spoken on the subject. “I’ve got a bit of a problem with getting about at the minute.”

  “Me too,” Miranda said.

  “You keep a close eye on the people in here,” Niall said. “Whatever is going on, I’m sure somebody here’s involved in it.”

  “OK,” Miranda said.

  “But don’t give your suspicions away,” he added.

  “No of course not,” she said.

  Faith returned with vases and a nurse, and the conversation turned to flowers.

  Katrina stared at the telephone number she had written down. She had started to key it in several times since Juliette had gone to work and each time had stopped before she got to the final digit. Why was she doing this? Was she just trying to get back at Juliette because their relationship was in trouble? Surely getting your partner into difficulties with the police was a bit extreme as responses went. But then there was the coincidence of the silver BMW and Juliette washing the car on a Friday afternoon, which she had never done before. And if Juliette had knocked the dog down, presumably by accident, then she should have stopped, not driven off and tried to obliterate any forensic evidence. Especially as she worked with blind people and would have known it was a guide dog. Presumably she had panicked. Not something Katrina would ever have expected from Juliette, but you never knew how anyone was going to behave in any situation until they were actually in the midst of it.

  Surely she could ask the police to be confidential?

  But Juliette would know at once where the tip-off had come from if they did follow it up.

  And that, presumably, would be the end of their relationship. Katrina thought about women who were married to criminals. Did they admire them? Did they forgive them their way of life because they loved them? Did they like the lifestyle too much to turn their back on them?

  Knocking a dog down wasn’t exactly high up the ladder of criminality. What would she be doing if she had discovered Juliette was involved in drug smuggling or people trafficking? Talked to her about it, surely?

  But that was the crux of the whole matter. They never talked about anything now. Not about themselves, not about each other, not about their relationships or their feelings. Not even about their working days. Any question she asked was savagely mauled and thrown back at her. Any attempt at meaningful conversation greeted with hackles and bared teeth.

  When had Juliette last said a kind word to her? When – if ever, in fact – had she said that she loved her?

  Juliette was a domineering woman. She wanted a partner for – it was difficult really to see what. Katrina wanted love and a partnership, and in all honesty she had never really found it. She had been lonely, vulnerable, carried along by the force of Juliette’s personality in the beginning. But now...

  She pressed the numbers again, all of them this time. She found herself speaking to a man who was patient and understanding. He listened to her carefully, took down every detail, asked her a number of questions related to where Juliette and her car would be now, and then gave her another number to call should she experience any unpleasantness or come-back as a result of the information she had given.

  Daniel Sullivan walked out of the British Association for the Blind, took out his mobile and made a call.

  “The police are on to the Rottweiler,” he said without introduction.

  “How?” his interlocutor inquired.

  “No idea. But they’re talking to her now. Chances are they’re going to want to look at her car.”

  “And what’s she going to tell them?”

  “God knows. She’s tough. And loyal.”

  “Tough, yes. Have we got deniability?”

  “Yes.”

  “I would love to know how they got on to her.”

  “You think somebody got the car number?”

  “I don’t know, Daniel. But the fact is things are not going terribly well in that area, are they? Every attempt to close down this particular problem actually seems to make it worse.”

  “I always said dealing with it was a mistake. We’re running scared for no reason.”

  “The Rottweiler must go overboard.”

  “Obviously.”

  “A resignation would be good.”

  “I’ll work on it.”

  Daniel
walked up towards Hyde Park. He was angry. Angry because his advice had not been followed. Angry because he didn’t need complications in his life when his number one priority was the seduction and subsequent energetic deflowering of Susannah Leman. Angry because it had all seemed so easy at the beginning. Ingenious. Now it was in danger of becoming a complete pig’s breakfast and there was absolutely no way he was going down with the ship.

  He called Penny. She was good for him at times like this.

  Miranda sat in her room at Moorfields. The television was on but she found it hard to be drawn into its world, and wondered why that was. Surely she should be filled with such a hunger for visual stimulation that television, with its ever-changing pictures, would be utterly compelling. And yet she felt completely detached from it. She would have liked to see a recording of her own appearance on This Is Now, just to see how Miranda presented herself to the outside world, but nobody had offered her that.

  She reflected on Niall’s suspicions about the transplant. They all seemed much too far-fetched to be true. He was understandably shaken up and distressed after his accident and it probably did help to build up a conspiracy theory. But what in the world could possibly be significant enough or sinister enough in her eye transplant to justify such a thing? She knew that Niall was no fool, and had a lot more experience of life than she did, but this time she was all but certain that he was wrong.

  Not that she would say so to him. She didn’t want to say anything to upset or disappoint him. She would help him in any way he asked her to, and if that meant spending time with him and being his sighted guide as he followed up various leads, so much the better. She wanted him to value her and appreciate her. To see that she could be good for him.

  She looked, not for the first time, at Rebecca Blackford’s telephone number. She had reviewed all her primary school memories, but there was no Rebecca in any of them. She didn’t think she had ever known a Rebecca. And yet... why else would the girl have got in touch? Unless she was a part of Niall’s grand conspiracy; in which case, she could follow up the lead herself and then impress Niall with having done so. But it was more likely that she had just forgotten her. Which might actually be embarrassing.