by PETER DAVEY
She stared at him, speechless. Then she grabbed her shoes and shot to her feet. “Okay! Fine! I’ll go!” And she strode past him towards the door.
“And if you’re thinking of topping yourself, don’t expect me to have it on my conscience for the rest of my life! You’re old enough to take responsibility for your own stupid decisions!”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she sneered, then the door opened and slammed.
He clasped his hands over his ears to block out the sound of her leaving the flat and his life forever. Then he released them and gazed around in utter disbelief. What had he done? What the hell had he done? This was a bi-polar patient in a dangerously disturbed condition who was also the most precious thing in his entire universe. He sprang up, rushed out through the hall and onto the landing, grabbed the railing and peered down the dimly-lit stairwell. “Nicola! Wait! I’m sorry!” he called out. But she had vanished.
He tore down the four flights of stairs and out into the night where he stopped and gazed around. She was nowhere to be seen. He frowned, utterly baffled. How could she have got away so quickly? It was as though she had evaporated into thin air.
There were two streets she might have taken. The larger lead to the town centre. And there was an alleyway, though it was unlikely she would have taken that. The Mercedes still stood serenely in its bay.
He ran off down the larger street as far as the first crossroads then halted again, gasping for breath in the cold evening air. The way into town lay to the right and another street had opened to the left but all he could see in every direction was parked cars and terraced houses silent in steady lamplight. Then his mobile rang.
“I’ve established that the girl at Waterloo isn’t her.”
“I know. She was here.”
A stunned silence. “She was there? With you?”
“Yes.”
“What do you mean, was?”
“She turned up in a distraught state, we had a row, and now she’s gone.”
“You mean... she’s just wandered off into the night?”
“Yes.”
“For God sake! Couldn’t you have kept her there? Tried to calm her down a bit?”
“No.”
“You stupid idiot! Can’t you do anything right?”
Dominic ended the call.
He ran back to the building and up the stairs - taking them two at a time – but completely at a loss what to do. Maybe he should call the police himself. At least he now knew roughly where she was. Unless she had taken a taxi and vanished again into the wider world. He re-entered the flat, went back into the living room then stopped dead. He could have sworn he heard something. And it was coming from the bedroom.
He opened the door and saw then that it was there she had gone, and that it was that door she had opened and closed, not the door to the hall, which was next to it. She was curled up on his unmade bed, hugging a pillow and rocking slowly to and fro, her cheek grinding against the pillowcase as though it could offer some comfort, her mouth wide in a silent cry of anguish, her eyes tight shut and tears pouring down her cheeks.
He sat down beside her, took her gently about the shoulders and eased her into a sitting position. “Hey... hey, I’m sorry,” he murmured as he slid his arms around her, “I’m so sorry,” and she clung to him as though she were drowning, her face pressed into his neck. He gently caressed her back, her shoulder, her hair – her whole body convulsing and jerking and shuddering in his arms and her tears warm against his skin.
“Don’t leave me, Dominic,” she cried.
*
Anne and Linda were having breakfast at the kitchen table when the telephone rang. Linda answered it. Anne, her thoughts miles away, was aware of her saying, “No, it isn’t. I’ll fetch her for you.” Then she cupped her hand over the mouthpiece: “It’s for you. A hospital in Barnstable of all places.”
Anne darted across the kitchen and grabbed the receiver. “Yes?”
“Am I speaking to Mrs Haymer?” said a female voice.
“Yes.”
“The wife of Edward Haymer?”
“Yes.”
“We have your husband here, Mrs Haymer. He was brought in a couple of hours ago suffering from hypothermia. A jogger found him on the beach this morning, soaking wet and almost unconscious. He seems to have been there all night.”
“Oh my God. Is he all right?”
“He’s fine now. We’re keeping him under observation but he should be able to go home in a few hours. He kept asking for you and gave us this number.”
“Can you keep him there until I arrive? I’ll leave straight away and should be with you sometime this afternoon.”
“That’ll be fine.”
When she had received directions, she rang off and reported the gist of the conversation to Linda. “Had he been drinking?” was her reflex reaction.
“Probably. But maybe, on this occasion, he had good reason.”
“Yes. Maybe. I’m sorry. Is he all right now?”
“He’s fine.”
Ten minutes later, having phoned her secretary to explain there had been a family emergency and that all her appointments would have to be cancelled, she went upstairs, took the smaller of her two suitcases down from on top of the cupboard and packed a few essentials into it – a change of clothes and underwear, her washbag, a jumper in case it was chilly down in the west country, her nightie. Then she zipped it up, lifted it off the bed and paused a moment, glancing around the room which had been her home for the past five years.
Linda was waiting for her downstairs, still regretting her remark about the drinking. She gave her a hug then hovered by her open car window discussing the various routes to Devon as she was reversing out of the drive. She stood on the pavement and waved until her car was out of sight.
THE END
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE 2008
CHAPTER TWO SIX YEARS EARLIER
CHAPTER THREE THAT LITTLE TENT OF BLUE
CHAPTER FOUR THE FAMOUS MR HAVERS
CHAPTER FIVE FORWARD TO 2007
CHAPTER SIX THE MAGIC SHOES
CHAPTER SEVEN 2008
CHAPTER EIGHT NINETY MILE BEACH AND BEYOND