by Jodi Taylor
‘Yes,’ he said pensively. ‘Ted.’
I was making lots of mistakes, but I was learning from them. I remained silent.
‘You were very fond of Ted, weren’t you?’
I carefully arranged myself into a neutral position. Upright in the chair, legs neatly crossed at the ankles, hands resting lightly in my lap. No clues there, Sorensen.
He continued thoughtfully. ‘Yes, he did a good job there, don’t you think, Elizabeth?’
I know my face said nothing, but I couldn’t do anything about my heart knocking so violently against my ribs that it hurt. Or about the huge lump in the back of my throat.
‘As soon as I read your file I knew he was the man for you.’
I could physically feel the words, ‘What file?’ forcing their way to the surface and I was determined – absolutely determined to give him nothing. I was at a disadvantage with the low winter sun streaming in through the French windows behind him, but apart from giving him an excellent view of my less-than-perfect complexion, he wasn’t getting anything from me.
‘I know you have a high opinion of yourself, Elizabeth, but even I never thought it would be that easy. You never questioned any of it, did you? The man with the appealing puppy? He worked for me. The policeman,’ he hooked his fingers, ‘who called around that evening to tell you everything was settled. He worked for me. His instructions were simple. Arrange a dinner date, make you fall in love with him, and marry you, and you fell hook, line, and sinker, didn’t you? Your husband worked for me, Mrs Cage. Ted has always worked for me. His “new” job here was simply his old job here. I must admit I thought you’d query the lack of former colleagues from the police force paying their respects, or the lack of a police pension, but no – nothing. Too easy.’
No. He was wrong. Ted had loved me. I knew it. Men can lie and deceive – and this one certainly did – but Ted had loved me. It was there in the way his colour streamed towards me whenever he saw me. The rich, strong colours. Ted had loved me.
I opened my mouth to shout that he was wrong. Completely wrong. That I knew something that he didn’t. That he was the one who wasn’t as clever as he thought he was – and stopped. Because he was exactly as clever as he thought he was. Classic tactics. Unsettle your opponent, rock her world – and not in a good way – and then wait for her to trap herself with unwise words.
I said nothing.
He waited a moment, and then realising nothing was forthcoming, leaned back and smiled.
‘His weekly reports were entertaining enough to begin with, although I must admit he was flagging a little towards the end. What was it he called you? “The most boring woman in the universe.” Day in, day out, everything exactly the same. You don’t even work, do you? We often used to speculate as to what you actually did in his absence. My favourite theory was that you simply stood in a cupboard until you heard his car pull up and then, out you’d pop, cup of tea in hand, another boring meal in the oven, another night in front of the TV. On and on and on … he was bored to tears even before he married you. I had to order him to do it. In writing, no less. And even then, he was so drunk the night before I thought we’d never get him through the ceremony.’
His words were like razor blades, slicing through whatever protective layers I had built up over the years, and carving their way straight into my heart. Every word he uttered diminished me further. There was just enough truth in his words to open the floodgates of self-doubt. Had I been wrong every day of our marriage? Had the whole thing been a massive, monstrous lie? So massive and so monstrous that I’d missed it completely?
He wouldn’t shut up. If I could only have a minute to think calmly. To find some rock of truth to cling to while I tried to weigh his words. But he just wouldn’t stop talking. His colour enveloped me, curling with malice. I began to feel sick.
‘He always said Wednesday and Saturday nights were the worst. You lying there in your sensible nightie while he hung around in the bathroom trying to get himself into the mood. To force himself to lie, nose to nose, with someone whose idea of uncontrollable passion was to leave the light on. He was a good boy, was Ted, but as I said, he was beginning to fray at the edges a little towards the end. I don’t normally permit inter-staff relationships, but I have to say that when he took up with that very pretty nurse on Dr Lewis’s team, even I didn’t have the heart to say no. He always used to say it was so good to be with someone who actually moved during …’
Someone tapped at the door and entered.
He leaped to his feet shouting, ‘Get out. Get out,’ but it was too late. I was up and away. I ducked under someone’s arm; I have no idea whose, and was out into the hall. Normally it was quite crowded with medical staff or patients, and there was always someone on reception, night and day, but today, just for one moment, one precious moment, not only was reception empty, but the front door was open. They must be admitting a new patient.
I raced through the hall, my shoes skidding on the ancient tiles and out through the door. The steps were shallow and I took them two at a time. Someone shouted somewhere. I heard Sorensen behind me, bellowing something. I had a faint impression of a big car and startled faces, and then I was off.
I hadn’t run properly since I left school, but I was on wings of fear that day. My instinct was to run down the drive to the gate, but I knew they would never let me through. Someone would already be on the phone to them, telling them to watch out for me. I veered around the side of the building, across the grass, lengthened my stride and ran. Blindly. I had no idea where I was going. I just had to get away from Sorensen and his voice. The voice that dripped poison every time he opened his mouth.
I ran through a shrubbery. Branches whipped at my face and caught at my clothing. Emerging the other side, the ground was rougher. This was more like pastureland. I could hear shouts behind me.
Panic gave me strength. I set off again, running for dear life and all of a sudden, the ground gave way beneath me and I was falling. I tumbled down a short bank, and hit something hard which fell on me, blaspheming horribly. I lay, tangled in something or other, and crushed underneath the quite considerable weight of Michael Jones.
Chapter Six
He sat up, nearly caving in my ribs with his elbow.
‘Bloody hell, woman …’
I kicked out. ‘Get off me.’
There was a certain amount of thrashing around as we sorted ourselves out. I could hear voices drawing ever nearer and struggled to get free.
‘Wait, wait,’ he said. ‘Just wait a minute.’
‘I can’t. I have to get away.’
‘Far too late for that,’ he said. ‘You should have gone when you had the chance.’
‘I’d go now if you would get off me.’
The shouting was very close.
‘Stay still.’
‘What?’
‘Just do as you’re told, will you?’
He tossed an old smelly blanket over me and, from the feel of things, began to bury me alive.
‘What are you …?’
‘Just lie still and shut up.’
I had no idea whether he was helping me or just keeping me here until whoever was chasing me turned up, but I didn’t have a lot of choice. The initial surge of adrenalin was draining away and I was aware my legs were trembling and I couldn’t catch my breath.
‘And breathe more quietly. You sound like a wind tunnel.’
I did my best and, in the sudden silence, I could hear people approaching. Very, very carefully, I peered through a tiny chink in the blanket.
I could see Jones, some ten feet away, holding a fishing rod and staring upriver.
Two orderlies – at least I could only see two – slid down the bank towards him.
He turned his head. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Did you see her?’
‘Of course I did. I’m not blind.’
‘Which way did she go?’
He nodded up the path. ‘You’ll never catch he
r. She went past me like a rocket.’
‘How long ago?’
He shrugged. ‘Two minutes. Three minutes.’
They looked at each other, panting, and then set off again.
Jones watched them out of sight. I began to disentangle myself.
‘Stay where you are.’
I did as I was told. Minutes passed and nothing happened. Jones carried on with his fishing, standing on the bank, staring at the water. I was just about to ignore him and emerge from my hiding place, when, without warning, one of the orderlies emerged from the trees, and the other from the river path. If I’d shown myself, they’d have caught me in a neat trap.
Jones spoke without turning his head. ‘No luck?’
‘Did she come back this way?’
‘Are you kidding? At the speed she was going, she’s probably in Ireland by now.’
They glared at him and stamped off.
‘I think they’ve finally gone,’ he said, tweaking something on his rod, ‘but give it a minute or two just to be on the safe side.’
I did. He obviously knew what he was talking about.
After another five minutes, he laid down his rod and began lifting things off me. As far as I could see, I’d been buried under a musty old blanket, some sort of wicker hamper, an unassembled keep net, a backpack apparently full of chinking bottles which neither of us mentioned, and a plastic container full of things that wriggled. My day was not getting any better.
‘Well,’ he said, pulling the blanket off me and hauling me to my feet. ‘What was that all about?’
A legitimate question, I suppose.
‘Your precious Dr Sorensen was being his usual self.’
‘He’s not my Dr Sorensen and he’s certainly not my precious. You’re making him sound like The One Ring, although now I come to think of it, that’s quite apt. One of a kind. Dangerous. Twists in your hand and bites you. Yeah, well done – you’ve nailed it. Did he bite you?’
I nodded, suddenly unwilling to talk about it. I started another topic.
‘Why am I here?’
‘Well, you fell down the bank and …’
‘God, does no one ever answer a simple question around here? Why am I in this clinic. Against my will.’
‘Well, obviously, you’ve got something Dr Sorensen wants.’
‘What?’
‘How should I know? We’ve barely exchanged three words. Don’t you?’
‘Don’t I what?’
‘Know what he wants?’
I said slowly, ‘I’m not sure. He said he had a file on me. What does it say?’
‘Again, how should I know?’
‘Why would he have a file on me?’
‘Well, it’s a kind of chicken and egg thing, isn’t it? Either he has a file on you because you have something he wants, or you have something he wants and so he’s started a file on you.’
‘He said he told Ted to marry me.’
Silence.
‘Well, nothing clever to say this time? No smart answer that really isn’t an answer at all?’
Apparently not.
‘Is it true?’
He looked at me. ‘Look I’ll tell you if you want to know but don’t go all hysterical on me if you don’t like what you’re hearing.’
I nodded. ‘OK.’
‘Yes, you were Ted’s assignment.’
My world swam before my eyes.
‘And before you go all girlie and faint, he loved you.’
I said in a small voice, ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Oh for God’s sake, Cage, of course he did. Have you forgotten what Ted was like? Honest as the day’s long, our Ted. Of course he loved you. He couldn’t have done it otherwise.’
‘You think so?’
‘I know so. He was always talking about you. I’m not going to pander to your vanity by going on and on, but you made him happy. Couldn’t you see that?’
I sighed. ‘Of course I can. God, I’m useless. One morning with Sorensen and my world is in pieces.’
‘Well, ten minutes with Michael Jones and it’s all superglued back together again,’ he said modestly.
‘All right, answer me this. How did Sorensen know about me? What does he know about me?’
He shrugged. ‘He has people everywhere. Occasionally, they report back on something they’ve seen or heard that they think he might find interesting.’
‘Interesting enough to marry one of his people to me?’
‘Well, yes, obviously.’ He stared at me. ‘I wonder what it is.’
I changed the subject. That wasn’t a road I wanted to go down. ‘So how do I get out of here?’
‘You can’t.’
‘Yes, I can.’
‘There are walls, fences, gates, cameras, laser beams, alarms. Face it, Cage, anything that can keep out the paparazzi is way beyond anything you can cope with.’
I looked around. ‘I made it this far, didn’t I?’
‘No cameras here. Bit of a blind spot. That’s why I’m here. Some peace and quiet. Do you want to share my sandwiches?’
‘You’ve just told me you want to be alone.’
‘I don’t count Ted’s wife. Besides, anyone who can ruin Sorensen’s day is entitled to as many sandwiches as she can eat. Egg and cress, or ham and tomato?’
I was hungry. ‘Both.’
He dropped the old blanket over my shoulders because now the adrenalin was fading, I’d begun to shiver, and I stayed. Partly because I had no idea what to do next. Running away from something is all very well. Running to is even better. I didn’t have a ‘to’. And partly because I was curious about this man, Jones. His colour was dreadful. I had no idea what was wrong with him and I certainly wasn’t going to ask. However, in the half hour or so that I’d been here, a small patch of golden peach colour had appeared over his head, swirling quietly. A tiny bright spot in all the cloudy murk that was his colour. A tiny spark of interest.
‘Do you want to have a go?’
I started back to the present. ‘What?’
‘I’ve got a spare rod. Do you want to have a go?’
‘OK. Can you do the wiggly bait thing?’
He sighed. ‘You slay a giant one moment and the next you can’t pick up a maggot. Women!’
‘That’s what men are for. They’re the experts on small wiggly things.’
We sat, side by side, staring at our rods, watching the River Rush go by on its journey to the sea, until the light started to go.
‘Why haven’t we caught anything?’
‘Oh, there’s no fish in this part of the river. Haven’t been for fifty years.’
‘Then what’s the point?’
‘Well, we both have had a day away from the clinic. Lots of fresh air and exercise. Sorensen will be in overdrive by now. His head might have exploded if we’re really lucky. Where’s the downside?’
I remembered the chinking bottles. Had he come here to drink? Or maybe dispose of the empties? I shouldn’t ask. I had my secrets. The least I could do was respect his.
‘I have to go back, don’t I?’
‘Yeah, you do, but why is that a problem?’
‘The whole walk of shame …’
‘What are you ashamed about? He’s the one who lost you. You’ve won this round. Underline your victory by kicking the front door open and shouting, “Sorensen, you wanker, I’m back.”’
‘Appealing, but I’m not sure that’s quite my style.’
‘OK, how about I get you back in and no one notices. You sit quietly in your room watching the telly, and when they eventually do discover you, you have your “what’s all the fuss been about” expression.’
‘I like that one.’
‘Then that’s what we’ll do. You pick up the maggots.’
We walked back in the gathering dusk. I was still apprehensive about going in.
‘Stop it,’ he said. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong. Have you?’
‘Not as far as I know.’
/> ‘There you are then.’
‘There I am where?’
‘Stop worrying. I myself should have signed back in more than two hours ago, and I don’t care. They’ll be so busy shouting at me that you can just slip past.’
And, as it happened, that’s exactly how it went.
He stood in the hall being as disruptive and difficult as he could manage – which was a very great deal – and the ensuing arguments enabled me to get upstairs with no difficulty at all.
I looked back once. He was surrounded by a miscellaneous group of nurses, orderlies and security people, all talking at once, his fishing gear slung over one shoulder and slowly dripping muddy water all over their immaculate floor, and as far as I could tell from the slowly expanding patch of light over his head, thoroughly enjoying himself. I left him offering to show them his maggots.
They found me in my room, feet up on the windowsill, reading. Dr Lewis stopped dead. ‘Mrs Cage?’
‘Yes?’
‘When did you get back?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Where have you been?’
I gestured vaguely. ‘Outside.’
She compressed her lips. She was anxious, I could tell. The red was flickering everywhere.
I turned back to my book and after a moment, she went away.
Chapter Seven
I was hungry after my day’s fishing and when no one came with the evening menu I did wonder if they were going to punish me with starvation, but I was wrong.
Dr Lewis put her head around my door and told me Dr Sorensen had decreed I could eat in the dining room that evening.
‘With the other inmates,’ I said, brightly.
‘With the other guests,’ she said reprovingly. ‘Dinner is served between seven and eight.’ She stared at my still muddy jeans. ‘Dress is smart casual.’
‘Or, in my case, funereal.’
She went away.
I took a book with me in case anyone mistakenly thought I was feeling sociable and was careful to choose a small table by the wall. I sat down, opened my book and refused to catch anyone’s eye.
The dining room was very pleasant, done out in shades red and cream. Four long windows down one side would look out over the gardens during the day. The curtains were cream and red patterned and the same colours were picked up in the tablecloths.