White Silence

by Jodi Taylor

  I hadn’t been this frightened since I’d seen that blonde woman, all those years ago. There was something in the way he looked at me. The thought flashed into my head. He knows something. He might not know the specifics, but somehow, he knows about me. How could that be? No one knew. I’d kept it quiet and buried it deep. I’d never spoken of it to anyone. Not even Ted. Sorensen might not know what I was – I didn’t know what I was – but somehow, he knew there was something about me. I felt a little twist of fear, deep inside. Suddenly, the afternoon was not so pleasant after all. I really, really wished Ted would come back.

  I stared down at the grass, determined not to meet his eye, and still keeping a good distance between us. We stood in silence, and I knew he was watching me. I should say something. I should start some innocuous conversation about the weather. Anything to prevent him saying what he was obviously gearing himself up to.

  I assembled a remark about the lack of rain. From there I intended to move on to Ted’s vegetable garden and his complaints about said lack of rain. I really didn’t care if he thought me the most boring woman in creation – a persona I worked hard at projecting, by the way – I just didn’t want to have any sort of conversation with this man. Sadly, he was Ted’s boss so I couldn’t follow my first instinct which was to turn around and run away.

  I was just about to embark on the rain conversation, when, from behind me, Ted said, ‘Look who I’ve found lurking in the shrubbery.’

  Dr Sorensen looked past me. ‘Now if you’d said lurking in the beer tent, I would have found that much more believable.’

  The words had an edge. It wasn’t quite a joke.

  The newcomer clapped him on the shoulder, making him stagger slightly. I warmed to him at once. ‘Sorensen, you old bugger. I can’t believe you’re still alive.’ He saw me. ‘Hello, who are you?’

  He wasn’t very drunk, but he’d had a few.

  Ted said, ‘Elizabeth, this is a colleague, Michael Jones.’

  I said politely, ‘How do you do?’ and drew a little closer to Ted.

  Michael Jones was damaged. There’s no other way to put it. I could see it everywhere. His colour was subdued and still. Small patches of a vibrant mix of gold and red still swirled faintly, but there was a nasty dead patch over his heart. I suspected he’d suffered a loss, and very recently, too. I didn’t need any special powers to see he wasn’t handling it well. The rather large drink in his hand was a bit of a giveaway as well. I wondered if he was a patient here. If he was drinking, then that didn’t seem very likely.

  Dr Sorensen wasn’t pleased to see him. Not pleased at all. I watched them face each other. Normally, when two people stand together, their colours intermingle for a while. That’s when you get that feeling of attraction. Or not, of course. Sometimes you can really take a dislike to a person without knowing why. You might not know why, but your colour does and stays quiet and close to you. There’s no mingling. I sometimes wonder if it’s to avoid contamination. There are a lot of things in this world you don’t want to touch and you certainly don’t want them touching you.

  Attention had moved away from me, enabling me to study the dynamics of what was going on here. There was Dr Sorensen, the smallest man present, but somehow dominating everything around him. His thin grey hair was brushed back from his forehead. His eyes were the colour of a wet pebble. I would never want to be alone with him.

  Then there was Ted, medium height, neatly turned out in his second-best suit, his moustache trimmed for the occasion – and no, even though he often swore he’d die for me, getting rid of the moustache was, apparently, a sacrifice too far. His lovely brown colour swirled gently around him.

  And finally, the newcomer. This Michael Jones. A big man who had once been even bigger. A man who had regularly worked out and now couldn’t be bothered. Something bad had happened to him and he had withdrawn into himself. His blondish hair was close cropped with just a little fleck of grey at the temples. Tired eyes regarded the world from underneath heavy lids.

  Sorensen was talking.

  ‘You should check into the clinic for a few days, Mr Jones. The rest would do you good.’

  Jones shook his head. ‘I want to go back. Someone should keep looking.’

  Ted shifted uneasily. ‘Gentlemen, it’s too lovely a day to talk shop.’

  There was obviously some sort of security issue here. I seized the excuse.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me for one moment, I’ll leave you to talk business,’ and turned away before anyone could stop me.

  Sorensen’s colour flared towards me again, but I had stepped behind Ted and was moving off towards the grass walk.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Ted. He too seemed to want to leave and so we walked slowly away. I could feel Sorensen’s eyes burning into my back, but neither he nor Jones followed us.

  Just as we were moving out of earshot, I heard Jones say, ‘So that’s her, is it?’ I assumed he was referring to me as Ted’s wife and thought no more about it. I just knew I wanted to go home. To get away from this place and never come back.

  I didn’t make the mistake of dramatically demanding to be taken home. Besides, Ted was enjoying himself, so we strolled from group to group, greeting and being greeted. There’s safety in numbers. By now, the lawns were so crowded that everyone’s colours merged into one indeterminate hue, with just the occasional flash as someone somewhere registered a deep emotion. The faint Sorensen-induced nausea faded soon enough.

  Of course, Ted had to give me the full tour of the gardens, which was no hardship at all. We strolled across the grass and down shady paths, ending at the gardens’ centrepiece, a large rectangular pool with a rather well-built Atlas, cheerfully shouldering the world as the fountains cascaded around him. The whole thing was surrounded by high yew hedges and the air was soft and warm. I could hear bees zipping past. Ted was walking around the pool, peering into the dark water hoping to spot a fish, when a voice spoke.

  ‘You shouldn’t be here. Leave and don’t ever come back. And if you want to be really safe, leave your husband behind as well.’

  I spun around, which was a stupid thing to do, because, as I’ve said, there was only a tall hedge behind me and whoever had spoken was on the other side, out of sight. I did try to peer through, but yew is thick and impenetrable.

  From over the other side, Ted called, ‘Come and look at this one, Elizabeth,’ Not taking my eyes off the hedge, I walked slowly around the pool.

  Great. I already saw things no one else could see. Now I’d started hearing them as well.

  Five months later I was trying really hard to get out of going to the clinic’s Christmas Party and Ted was trying very hard to get me to go.

  ‘Why are you so keen for me to go?’

  ‘Well, I have to go and I’d like to have a beautiful woman on my arm.’

  ‘But you’re stuck with me.’

  ‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ he said. ‘As you well know.’

  ‘It’s too cold, surely,’ I said.

  ‘It’s inside, silly.’

  I definitely didn’t want to be inside that house but I could see he really wanted me to go. And after all, I’d survived the summer Open Day.

  ‘What about the patients? How do they feel about all this going on?’

  ‘Most of them go home for Christmas. And, sadly, those who are still there have no idea it’s Christmas anyway. It’s a bit of a staff knees-up, really. I’ve already put our names down. Don’t you want to go? They’re getting in outside caterers, and we’ve started decorating the place already. It’s going to look fantastic.’

  ‘But you won’t be able to drink.’ I can’t drive.

  ‘They’re sending a car for us.’ His colour deepened with anxiety.

  I fell back on the old favourite. ‘I don’t have anything to wear.’

  ‘Is that all? Go into town and treat yourself.’

  ‘Is it formal? I don’t like formal.’

  ‘No, cocktail dresses and lou
nge suits. Nothing fancy. The whole point is to enjoy ourselves, not stand around looking uncomfortable. Don’t you want to go?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ I said, praying that something would occur to prevent me. I rather thought I might develop a heavy cold. Nothing too serious. Nothing that would make Ted want to stay with me. I didn’t want to spoil his evening. I just didn’t want to meet Dr Sorensen again. And above all, I didn’t want to enter his house.

  I did try the whole ‘too ill to go out, but not ill enough for you to have to stay at home and look after me’ routine and I was wasting my time. Apparently, an evening out was just what I needed to buck me up. And he looked so much happier once I said I’d go. I told myself that so long as I stayed with Ted then everything would be fine. After all, what could Dr Sorensen actually do to me? And in a government establishment of all places? I was being ridiculous. I’d be perfectly safe.

  They did send a car for us. Ted ushered me into the back. I put away the thought that we would have no getaway car, gave myself a stiff talking-to for being silly, and tried to relax.

  There couldn’t have been a greater contrast to my last visit. Instead of hanging baskets, this time the drive was lit up with fairy lights. White and yellow bulbs glittered and twinkled in the frost. Every window was lit up and the light from the uncurtained windows fell in long rectangles onto the terrace at the front of the building.

  Far from being closed and threatening, the front doors stood wide open in welcome, light streaming out across the terrace. Even before our car drew up, we could hear the music and voices coming from within.

  ‘A bit of a busman’s holiday for me, I’m afraid,’ said Ted helping me out of the car. ‘Because the house is open I’m on duty this evening. Not all the time, of course, but I’ll have to nip off every now and then just to make sure everything’s running smoothly.’

  He hadn’t mentioned that. I didn’t mean to look anxious, but he must have noticed because he squeezed my hand. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t leave you alone. All the people you met last time will be here, so there’s no need to fret.’

  We entered the house together. I paused briefly on the threshold – expecting that familiar chill of something unpleasant, but there was nothing as we walked into one of the most luxurious entrance halls I’d ever seen.

  Ted had been right about the large frosted Christmas tree, smothered with twinkling fairy lights at the foot of the stairs. A rather superfluous log burned in a huge stone hearth with the same heraldic crest cut into the wall above the mantel. Two enormous grey sofas sat on either side of the fireplace and there were any number of comfortable-looking armchairs scattered around. A currently unmanned very smart reception desk was placed just inside the door.

  I was surprised at how many people were there. Little knots of people were standing around chatting and obviously enjoying themselves. No one seemed tense or threatened. I felt encouraged. It should be very easy to avoid Sorensen.

  Some doors stood open, signifying the rooms could be explored. I could see a string quartet in what looked like a library. A number of doors were firmly shut, but I had no inclination to explore anyway.

  Dr Sorensen bustled towards us, every inch the welcoming host. And there it was again – that little frisson of cold.

  ‘Mrs Cage, how delightful to see you again.’

  ‘And Mr Cage,’ murmured Ted, and Dr Sorensen laughed merrily. The effect was rather like broken glass hitting a metal surface.

  ‘I was so looking forward to seeing you again. I told Ted I wouldn’t accept any excuses. We hardly had the chance for more than a few words back in the summer, did we? I’m rather hoping for an opportunity to show you around later. We’re very proud of our facilities here.’

  I smiled politely and decided wild horses wouldn’t drag me from Ted’s side that evening. And if he had to nip off to inspect something then I was heading for the Ladies and not coming out until he returned. We had a taxi booked for midnight, so only another three and a half hours to get through.

  I don’t drink much. I don’t like it. And I particularly don’t like getting drunk. Some of the things that prowl around the edges of our subconscious, waiting for that unguarded moment … waiting for a way in … no, I don’t drink. Not very often, anyway, and certainly not tonight.

  Ted got me an orange juice. ‘I’ll have a drink later,’ he said. ‘I just have to nip off a minute. I won’t be long,’ and off he went.

  I couldn’t see Dr Sorensen nearby, but it occurred to me that the best way of avoiding him was to keep moving so I flitted from one group to another, watching out for him from the corner of my eye, and always keeping him a whole room width away. He was busy greeting his guests though, and never looked my way once.

  One reason I avoid large gatherings is that, sometimes, it’s like having a hundred TVs on all at once, and all of them on a different channel. I usually manage to tune most of it out, in much the same way that we all tune out street noises when we’re in town, but this evening I had to stay alert, so obviously, I got everyone else as well. Just for the record, there was one couple having a really nasty row – the sort that’s no less spectacular for being conducted in a hissing whisper in the corner by the buffet. One couple – not married, I guessed – was trying to sneak off together without their official partners noticing. That one was actually quite funny. A number of people had drunk too much and were already incurring spousal displeasure.

  I was just oozing around a huge bookcase filled with ancient leather volumes when someone spoke in my ear.

  ‘Hello there. I see you were stupid enough to come back.’

  I jumped a mile and stared up at him.

  ‘Michael Jones,’ he said, helpfully.

  ‘Yes, I remember. And apparently, I’m not the only one.’

  He peered at me. ‘The only one what?’

  ‘Stupid enough to come back here.’

  ‘Patient,’ he said, flourishing a glass that I suspected had a lot more in it than orange juice. His colour, like his glass, was all over the place. He was drunk enough and rude enough for me not to feel any social obligations.

  He swayed a little. ‘Still with Steady Teddy?’

  ‘Always,’ I said, stung.

  ‘Big mistake.’

  He started to move away.

  I blocked his path.

  ‘And why is that?’

  He appeared to have the short attention span of the more than slightly inebriated. ‘What’s all the fuss about you anyway?’

  ‘What fuss?’

  He leaned forwards and I was enveloped in a cloud of alcohol.

  ‘He wants you for his collection, you know.’

  I grew suddenly cold. In vino veritas …

  ‘What collection?’

  He regarded me owlishly. ‘The one downstairs.’

  I tried not to shiver. ‘In the basement?’ I remembered that slight moment of nausea. That slight smell of something cold. Stay away from the basement.

  He tried to look mysterious and succeeded only in staggering slightly.

  I stepped forwards so he had to move back, and there we were, snugly ensconced in a corner of the library where no one could see or hear us. I remembered to ask open questions.

  ‘Tell me about his collection.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, chattily, swaying even more.

  ‘There you are,’ said Ted.

  ‘Bugger,’ said Jones. He looked up at a security camera. ‘Ah yes, of course. The all-seeing eye of security. Except, of course, when it isn’t. Eh, Ted? Shame it wasn’t so all-seeing when it needed to be. I said, shame it wasn’t …’

  ‘Yes, I think we need to get you upstairs. If Dr Sorensen sees the state of you …’

  He tailed away, which was unfortunate because I would have liked to have heard what Sorensen would do if he saw him.

  Pulling out a bunch of keys, he handed them to me. ‘Elizabeth, would you go first, please. Down to the end of the room. Door in the right-hand corner. The big ke
y.’

  I unlocked the door and we got Jones through. He could still walk so it was mainly a case of nudging him in the right direction or intercepting him when he attempted to veer off down the wrong passage.

  We staggered up a scruffy flight of backstairs that I was certain the paying patients would never see, along a badly lit corridor, through another door, and out into a large reception area with a nurses’ station. Ted propped Jones against the wall, said, ‘Stay,’ much as you would to a very large and unruly dog, and left me alone with him. A bored-looking nurse was flicking through a magazine. She looked up as he approached. ‘Mr Cage.’

  ‘Good evening, Cathy,’ he said. ‘Everything all right up here?’

  She sighed. ‘Yes, everyone safely in bed and fast asleep.’

  Beside me, Jones snorted. I nudged him. ‘Shush.’

  He nudged me back. ‘You shush.’

  Back at the nurses’ station, Ted was asking to see some sort of rota. She disappeared into a nearby office. As soon as she disappeared, Ted gestured down the corridor. ‘Room Twenty-one.’

  I pushed Jones in what I hoped was the right direction, counting doors as I went. Odd on the left, even on the right. Room Twenty-one was at the end. I pushed open the door.

  ‘Coming in?’ he enquired, pulling me in after him.

  ‘No,’ I said, wondering why I was so unafraid of this big, slightly unstable, man who was trying to pull me into a dark room, when I was so utterly terrified of the impeccably behaved Dr Sorensen.

  I didn’t dare put the light on, but the curtains were open and I could see the dim outline of a bed. I pushed him towards it and he toppled slowly backwards. I yanked off his shoes, avoided his hands and covered him with a blanket. He started to snore almost immediately. I slipped out of the door. Ted was bending over a file with the nurse. Her back was to me. Catching sight of me, he said, ‘That’s fine, Cathy, everything seems to be in order. I’ll send you up some mince pies,’ and signed across the bottom of the page. She turned away with the file. I nipped up the corridor and through the door. A second later, Ted joined me, and we returned to the party, giggling like a pair of idiots.