Finding Lucy

by Diana Finley

  I kept running until I reached the college residence. I pounded along the corridor to my room, flung myself on the bed and wrapped the eiderdown tightly around my curled body. I remained, prawn-like, until early the next morning. As soon as I was sure the main college building would be open, I ran across the courtyard and inside.

  I rang Mother.

  ‘Come and fetch me straight away! Today! I can’t stay here another day. Not one day. I want to go home! I won’t ever come back.’

  * * *

  Mother didn’t try to persuade me. After a few weeks “to recover”, she arranged – through a contact of her solicitor – for me to be interviewed to train as a junior administrative assistant in a large legal practice in the city centre. I found the work undemanding and was told I would have the opportunity to progress in time. Mrs Anderson had just started as office manager. She lacked any sense of humour. She was strict and discouraged chatter among office staff, all of whom were women and girls. Her regime suited me very well. I was thorough, applied and efficient. I felt secure. It never occurred to me that I would remain for more than twenty years.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  1997

  Lucy

  The year of our fifteenth birthdays was one of upset and difficulties. In August, three months after Cassie’s birthday, the whole country was shocked by Princess Diana’s death. Cassie and I talked about it endlessly. She was such a lovely person, who did lots of caring things for people, and anyone could see she wasn’t happy being a princess. Her sadness made us love her all the more. Why should such a young and beautiful person be killed? It didn’t make sense.

  Mummy disapproved of what she called “mass hysteria”. She thought the public displays of sorrow and bereavement – such as the growing mountains of flowers outside Buckingham Palace – were exaggerated and unseemly.

  ‘It’s not as if anyone knew her personally,’ she kept repeating. ‘It’s not like losing a close friend or member of the family.’

  Yet for Cassie and me, and many of our friends, it was like losing someone close to us. She was so beautiful, and so young.

  We became interested and disturbed by death, especially when it happened to young people. I guess we were looking for answers. Cassie developed a particular interest in things like the occult, gothic stories, Eastern religion and psychology – anything that couldn’t be rationally explained, as she put it. I took a secondary interest too, out of loyalty to Cassie, I suppose, but it wasn’t really my sort of thing.

  Anyway, Cassie hadn’t had a party for her birthday in May. There was nothing special she could think of doing at the time. But later, in September, as my fifteenth birthday approached, Fiona suggested Cassie thought of a special celebration for us both, to cheer everyone up. Fiona said she could choose anything, within reason, as a late birthday party or activity. Fifteen was unique, she said, halfway from ten, which was still a child, to twenty, which was an adult. I loved the way her parents always took account of her wishes.

  * * *

  There was a cult psychologist called Hans Augenblick (I bet that wasn’t his real name) who had a reputation for being an amazing hypnotist. He’d become quite famous. He had a regular television show, and he sometimes performed in theatres, doing things like message or thought transmission, “mind-sharing”, suggestion and hypnosis. He claimed he could hypnotise anyone, even those who tried to resist.

  Mummy totally disapproved of him. She said he sensationalised human weaknesses and suggestibility, and that he publicly humiliated people for entertainment and financial gain. She insisted his shows were all trickery. I wasn’t sure about the trickery part, but I did secretly agree with Mummy’s point of view – though I would never admit it, especially to Cassie. Cassie, on the other hand, loved everything about his performances.

  By lucky chance – or maybe unlucky, as it turned out – Hans Augenblick was on tour in the North East with his current show, Believe It Or Not. He was to hold a performance at the Northern Life theatre in mid-September.

  ‘That’s what I want to do for my late birthday, Mum,’ Cassie said. ‘That would be absolutely brilliant!’

  Fiona was very uncertain. She said she thought we were too young for the show. She thought it could be unsuitable, but Cassie begged and begged her.

  ‘How can you possibly say we’re too young, Mum, when you’re the one who believes fifteen is nearly adult?’

  ‘I didn’t say “nearly adult” I said “halfway to being adult”.’

  ‘That’s just playing with semantics,’ retorted Cassie. She was always clever with words. I could never have answered Mummy back that way.

  ‘Anyway, he’s a real, qualified psychologist, a professional – not just some quack. It would be so brilliant to see him perform in person. There’s absolutely nothing else I want to do. Please, Mum, please, please …!’

  Funny how she could switch from sounding like a clever grown-up one minute to a little kid the next! Maybe that’s exactly what Fiona meant by halfway between a child and an adult. I guess she just wore her mum down, because in the end Fiona agreed that she would take Cassie, me, Laura and Megan out for pizzas, followed by the evening performance of Believe It Or Not.

  Predictably, Mummy wasn’t happy about it. Not at all. She said it was an “inappropriate choice”. After a long, uncomfortable discussion she agreed, very reluctantly, to me going, and then only because there was a group of us, and because Fiona would be taking us.

  * * *

  The man checking our tickets at the door to the theatre auditorium pointed out a number printed on the back of each one.

  ‘You should each hang on to your tickets, girls – don’t tear them up,’ he said. ‘The number on the back is like a raffle number – very significant. You’ll see …’

  He tapped the side of his nose with his index finger and winked at us, as if this was a special secret he was sharing with us alone. Fiona handed us each a ticket to hold on to. The theatre was completely packed, the audience composed mostly of adults; just a few teenage kids like us. Our seats were towards the front of the stalls, near the stage. Cassie and Megan sat either side of me, then Laura, and lastly Fiona. The four of us were really excited. Of course, it was all a bit stagey, but I couldn’t help being caught up in the atmosphere.

  The lights in the auditorium dimmed. The curtain opened and Hans Augenblick stepped from darkness at the back of the stage into a pale pool of spotlight. He raised his arms and bowed deeply. There was a murmur of voices and loud applause. He wore a black evening suit, perfectly cut to his tall, thin frame. His black, patent-leather shoes reflected the light as he swivelled slowly from left to right and back again. His hair and beard were also black, sculpted into flawless smoothness by some sort of oil. He looked like a sleek, black raven.

  He raised his head and his eyes were piercing. They swept over the audience, as if he were searching for someone he knew. He smiled and nodded his head slightly, as though conceding that the enthusiastic applause was no more than his due.

  ‘What a showman!’ I whispered to Cassie.

  ‘Wait and see,’ she whispered back.

  ‘He certainly knows how to work an audience,’ Fiona whispered across to us.

  Hans Augenblick held his hands up in front of him, palms to the audience, and moved them sharply apart. At this signal, the audience ceased applauding instantly, and silence fell like a spell over the auditorium.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, in a slightly high voice, with a hint of a foreign accent and only just loud enough to be audible.

  ‘Welcome. Tonight, together, we are going to explore some of the mysteries of the human mind. Do not expect to understand everything you see. I have come to show you what a wonderfully complex and flexible phenomenon the mind is. I have not come to bring you easy answers.’ He looked fiercely at the audience.

  ‘No!’ He raised his voice so suddenly, that on the “No!” people jumped and sat upright in their seats.

  ‘N
o,’ he repeated, more softly, soothingly, ‘but perhaps I will raise some questions. Perhaps even some questions you did not know existed.’

  He stared at the audience, as if challenging us to disagree. I had the strange sensation that he was looking directly at me. There was an intimacy in his manner that was unsettling.

  ‘The mind is like an iceberg. What we see, what we know about, is just a tiny portion compared to what lies beneath the surface.’

  Cassie and I exchanged glances and smiled.

  ‘For tonight’s exploration, I will need some of you to volunteer, to help me with my tasks.’

  An uneasy muttering and shuffling greeted this announcement. Laura leaned across Megan towards Cassie and me.

  ‘D’you think he’s planted people in the audience?’ she asked in loud whisper.

  ‘Some of you may be wondering,’ Hans continued sternly, ‘whether these are genuine volunteers, or whether I have placed people among you.’

  Laura clamped her hand over her mouth, made a wide-eyed face, and returned to sitting upright, a deep blush rising up her neck and cheeks.

  Hans Augenblick held up some sort of remote control device. He clicked a switch, and lists of numbers appeared on a screen above the stage. At the same time, a green light played up and down the numbers, apparently at random, highlighting each for a split-second only.

  Hans stepped to the front edge of the stage.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, would one of you be kind enough to help me, please?’

  There was a brief pause. Then a middle-aged man near the front stood up and raised his hand.

  ‘Thank you, sir. Please join me here on the stage.’

  The man walked self-consciously up the steps and to Hans’s side. Hans reached towards him and they shook hands.

  ‘Welcome, sir. What is your name?’

  ‘Anthony.’

  ‘How do you do, Anthony? Now, could you tell the audience, have we ever met before?’

  ‘No, never,’ Anthony muttered.

  ‘Good. Now please take this electronic control.’

  He handed the man a small black mechanism.

  ‘Anthony, would you please turn to face the audience.’

  The man did as requested, looking a little bashful.

  ‘Now, sir, can you see any of the numbers on the screen behind you?’

  The man shook his head to indicate no.

  ‘Out loud, if you please, kind sir.’

  ‘No, I can’t see the numbers at all,’ the man said loudly.

  ‘That’s good. In a minute, I want you to press that switch on your device. When you do, the green light will stop instantly, highlighting a particular number. The person holding the ticket with that number will be asked to volunteer – if they wish, only if they wish. Do you understand, Anthony?’

  The man confirmed that yes, he understood. Hans turned to the audience.

  ‘Please remember, ladies and gentlemen, that every number on the screen has an equal chance of being selected. Also, should your number be selected, there will be no pressure on you to participate, no pressure at all. It is entirely up to you.’

  A murmur rose from the packed auditorium.

  ‘Good,’ said Hans, turning back to the man. ‘So, whenever you are ready Anthony, and in your own time, press the switch to stop the green light.’

  There was a slight rustling as people in the audience found their tickets and held them at the ready. The entire auditorium was suspended in tense anticipation. Everyone watched the green light racing along the rows of numbers. After a few moments there was a buzzing sound. The green light was still. It lit up the number 689.

  ‘Good, good. Six, eight, nine, ladies and gentlemen. Six, eight, nine!’ Hans Augenblick called loudly, making it sound as though number 689 was a wonderful, animate entity, with its own special personality.

  ‘Six, eight, nine!’ he repeated.

  ‘Hey, that’s me! That’s my number!’ an excited female voice from behind us called. She stood up and waved her ticket above her head. Everyone turned in their seats to see who it was.

  ‘Excellent!’ said Hans. ‘Are you prepared to volunteer to take part, madam?’

  ‘Ooh, yes.’ The woman giggled and looked round at her friends. ‘I suppose so …’

  This procedure was repeated four times until four volunteers had been found.

  ‘So, ladies and gentlemen, we now have four volunteers for the activities in the first half of our show tonight. After the intermission, I shall ask for two more.’

  Anthony returned to his seat, while the four volunteers were guided onto the stage, where four chairs awaited them. Each in turn was asked to participate in “mind activities”, as Hans called them. One, completely separated from Hans by a high screen, was given a tray with a row of ten coloured blocks. She was asked to concentrate hard on one of the colours, while selecting a matching card of that chosen colour and holding it close to her heart. Hans closed his eyes. He looked as though he were in a trance.

  ‘I see a warm colour,’ he said. ‘I see a colour of great depth. I feel a red, but it is not red like blood.’ He paused and frowned. He screwed up his eyes and then pressed his palm against his forehead, as though searching the furthest corner of his consciousness for the colour.

  ‘Dark red,’ he announced. ‘I see maroon.’

  ‘Yes!’ shrieked the woman. ‘Eee, yes, that’s right – it’s maroon!’ She jumped up from her chair and waved the maroon card at the audience, who clapped uproariously.

  Each demonstration became slightly more complex and ambitious. The last of the four volunteers was a man in his thirties. He said his name was Rob.

  ‘Now, Rob,’ said Hans, ‘I would like to put you in a very relaxed and suggestible state, so that you can follow some simple instructions.’

  Rob nodded knowingly.

  ‘Mr Augenblick,’ he said, glancing at the audience and back again, ‘I better warn you, I’m not at all suggestible. I’m a real sceptic about this hypnotism malarkey. I don’t think I’m a good subject for this at all. Just to warn you – I don’t want to spoil the show, like.’

  Hans Augenblick faced the audience. He smiled calmly and nodded his head up and down.

  ‘Thank you for warning me, Rob. That’s fine. All people are different. Shall we just see how it goes?’

  ‘Yeah, OK, it’s your funeral, mate,’ said Rob. The audience tittered.

  ‘Let’s hope not, Rob, let’s hope not.’

  Hans smiled broadly, resting an avuncular hand on Rob’s shoulder.

  Within minutes Rob was reclining peacefully in a leather chair, while Hans made a series of requests. He spoke gently but authoritatively.

  ‘Raise your left arm please, Rob.’

  ‘Comb your hand through your hair.’

  ‘Stand up and face the audience.’

  ‘Tell them what work you do, Rob.’ (‘I’m a gas fitter.’)

  ‘Wave to your family.’

  So it went on, like a bizarre “Simon Says” game – and for each instruction Rob complied or responded appropriately, even when asked to turn his back to the audience, bend over and pull a face between his legs, making the audience laugh. At last Hans spoke more loudly.

  ‘When I touch your shoulder and say your name, I want you to return to full alertness. You will remember nothing of the last few minutes.’

  ‘Rob!’ he said loudly, placing his hand heavily on the man’s shoulder. Rob sat upright and smiled. He rubbed his eyes and stared up at Hans.

  ‘See what I mean, mate?’ he said apologetically.

  ‘Yes Rob, I see what you mean. We all see what you mean, don’t we, ladies and gentlemen? You have done fine, Rob.’

  The audience exploded into applause and laughter. Rob turned towards the audience, looking puzzled and a little less sure of himself. He shrugged and returned to his seat. The curtain came down for the intermission.

  * * *

  ‘What did you think?’ asked Fiona. We were all s
lurping ice-cream cones in the theatre foyer.

  ‘He’s amazing,’ said Megan. ‘I kept trying to work out how he does it – you know, what the trick is … but I couldn’t tell, could you? He really does seem to get inside people’s minds.’

  ‘He must make use of a lot of non-verbal communication cues,’ said Cassie, who knew about these things, ‘to tell him what people are thinking and feeling.’

  ‘Did you think it was exactly fair?’ asked Laura. ‘I mean, that Rob had no idea what he was doing or saying. Unless it was all an act.’

  ‘It seemed pretty genuine to me,’ I said, ‘but I know what you mean, Laura. I felt uncomfortable about him losing control of himself too. He was kind of made to look a bit of a fool.’

  ‘Mum, would you go on the stage if your number came up?’ asked Cassie.

  ‘I’m not really sure – I don’t like the idea of being so exposed,’ said Fiona, ‘and remember, darlings, all of you – if by any chance one of your numbers comes up, don’t feel you have to volunteer. It’s entirely your choice.’

  * * *

  She didn’t realise just how relevant that advice would be. No sooner had we settled back in our row than the curtain went up and Hans stood by his number screen again. The atmosphere in the auditorium was now truly electric.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said Hans, ‘welcome back to the second half of our show. Now we are going to explore the pliability of the mind in even greater depth. The first half was not exactly just “Party Tricks”’ – a wave of chuckles – ‘but what I would regard as some simple demonstrations of how mental suggestion and transmitting thoughts may occur. These next activities are more complex and may take much longer, so we will begin with two volunteers only. As before, we will use the number board to select our participants.’

  This time, a teenage boy was given the light switch mechanism. He faced the audience and after a few moments, pressed the button. Number 199 was lit up in green. With a terrible jolt, I realised it was my number. I stared at my ticket, not quite believing what I saw. My hand, holding the piece of card, started trembling uncontrollably.

  ‘I … I … it’s my number …’ I stammered.