Four British Mysteries

by Thomas Brown

  I force myself to turn my back on Thom and finally help my brother to stand. Michael leans against me and we walk towards the car. I hurriedly help Michael into the passenger’s seat and he reluctantly hands over the keys when I fasten myself in the driver’s seat.

  In the mirror, I struggle to pick Thom out in the darkness of the street. He is a thin line amongst trees and lamp-posts and the buildings. I shake the dull smudge of him out of sight and start the car, knowing I have to get to my bedsit before he does.

  35 The Copper Smell

  After we leave Thom in the road, merging into blackness; we stop by the bedsit. I tell Michael to wait in the car, his blood drying and cracked, and make my way inside.

  I have to knock on the landlord’s door and ask him to let me in, saying I have lost my key. Thankfully he is so drunk he can’t even climb the stairs, so he is forced to lend me his keys and leave me grope-free on this occasion. He asks me to return them when I’ve finished.

  The lock opens with a crack, adding sound effects to my desertion. If I’d had the choice, I’d never have come back so count your-self lucky, I chide the door. Then I toss the thought away with a quick shimmy of my head. It’s exactly that kind of thought that made me crazy in the first place…

  The room is dark inside, so to avoid surprises I switch on the light and shut the door behind me. So I’m back, I tell myself, pursing my lips. The plants are much further into their decomposing process, the rat and insects are still motionless on the floor with several additions, and it still smells of damp and emptiness.

  I instantly see some of the incriminating pointers that I must remove before Thom arrives. The paper from the day of the murder is buried in the duvet, thankfully folded so I don’t have to see the photo of Daniel again, the menacing photo that now looks even more eerie with the knowledge I now have. I thought he had been speaking to me when I first saw it and I was right. Yet I still have no idea how he made me kill him.

  I think about keeping the paper but decide it’s too much of a risk. Thom could easily look through my things and find it. Why would I have kept this paper and no others? I go to the kitchen cabinet and collect a plastic bag, dumping the paper inside. I use a dustpan to collect the dead insects and rat, and pour them inside too; sadly adding the deceased plant. Everything here is dead.

  This place always seemed like a desperate and dank environment but looking around now, when I feel like each breath is clear-er and deeper, it appears much worse. How could I have ever lived here? How had I not grown diseased or died out of solidarity with the fading plants and insects?

  I can’t see anything else in the bedsit that can alarm Thom. The other links to Daniel are the scarf, which Michael has, and the con-tents of my bag, that are safe in the car at present. In fact there is little in this room that reveals much about me. There is the bare amount of clothes, a few books and tapes, basic living provisions. This place has never been my home and for a while the concept of ‘home’ hasn’t been as prevalent as it should have been, too focussed on my stalking Daniel.

  Yet I want a home now. I want to have somewhere that isn’t full of decay and sucks the breath from any living object forced to live within its walls.

  More contented, I tie the bag up. I don’t bother to say goodbye to the bedsit or take the vision of it away inside my mind. Instead I have an urge to close my eyes whilst I walk to the door, not wanting to risk accidentally memorising the details. I fling the door open to leave, turning the light off with my back to the room. I feel for the handle and pull the door up against my back, sighing into the hallway.

  I post the keys through the landlord’s door and deposit the bag of rubbish into the bins at the front of the building. As I close the gate, I glance back at the building and can’t help thinking this is the second prison I have managed to escape in a matter of months.

  The car is alight where I have left Michael. I skip towards it and jump in. Michael opens his eyes at the noise. He looks like he has been dosing. The stench of dried blood smothers me, and I imagine sheets of copper nailed all around the car, blockading us inside.

  “All sorted?” he mumbles.

  “Yes, I needed to do that”.

  “Where are your clothes?” Michael asks, noticing my hands are empty. I stare at them for a moment, remembering I had told Michael I needed to collect some clothes to take to his house.

  “Oh, I decided to make a new start”. I shrug.

  “Okay then”, Michael agrees, closing his eyes again. “Let’s get to the house. I think I need a shower and my bed”.

  He does need a shower; he looks like he has eaten a messy hot dog and is now smothered with ketchup. The loss of blood and the trauma has left him sagging.

  I start the engine, pulling away quickly. I have to take my brother home. I have to be the one to carry him back to his haven. As I cast a quick look into the wing mirror, I think I see a dark shape standing by the space the car had just occupied. Yet before I can begin to add detail to it, a car flashes its lights at me in the road ahead and I focus on that instead.

  36 The Bedsit

  Thom watches Sarah pull away from him and can only stand in the space that the car has departed from, not wanting another car to take its place. Perhaps if he keeps the space empty she will definitely come back to fill it once again. Can she just leave him like this? Can she completely forget him?

  Thom resists the plan to simply sit down on the ground and wait for her return. He makes himself turn towards the house behind him, a towering cracked form that seems to sway. Although if it falls down whilst he is asleep tonight, he isn’t sure he will care. It certainly won’t be something to deter him.

  He has kept the key safely in the inside pocket of his coat, where he will return it once he is inside her bedsit. He doesn’t want anyone to see what she has given him, a small token of rescue, a passage carved out after an avalanche. She has lied to him sure, but he stills needs her, still wants to call her by any name she wants him to. Sarah has watched him bruise and break her brother’s skin and she nonetheless has offered him somewhere to rest his equally broken body and mind for the night.

  Thom tiptoes up the stairs, thinking how dark this stairway is, not like the lightened and warm passage to upstairs at Aunty Val’s. There is no carpet on the steps so each positioning of his feet, despite him being on tiptoe, makes a loud tapping sound. He can hear someone’s TV talking behind the wall next to him and hopes the bedsit will be quieter. He fears one whisper will throw his fragile mind against the floor, smashing it into tiny shards that he won’t be able to reassemble.

  Thom finally reaches the door, his feet aching as though he has walked for days. He even imagines the tight squelching of blisters rubbing against his shoes. Shaking the thoughts away, he unlocks her front door and closes himself in. For a moment, he lets himself be immersed in the rush of darkness, glad to forget his physicality.

  As his eyes begin to adjust, he sadly flicks the top light on and sweeps the room with a squint. He can see why Sarah would refer to it as ‘horrible’ but he accepts it for what it is – a refuge and a decent bed where he can bury himself for the night.

  As he thinks what to do next, he hears a beeping noise and looks down at his pocket. It is only then he remembers his mobile, a distant friend he hasn’t connected with for weeks, and wonders how it even got into his pocket. He has no recollection of shoving it in there, but here it is, telling him he has a message. He presses open and reads:

  I spoke to your family. Are you okay? Did you find somewhere to stay? Em x

  Thom throws himself onto the bed. He stares at the words. He feels his heart slowing down for the first time in days and lets himself fall back on the bed. He wonders why he feels so alone when there are all these people talking about him – Richard, Aunty Val, and Emma. Can someone really be alone when others are talking about them?

  Thom releases the phone and lets his hands plunge into the bedclothes. They are used, soft, and Thom is sure he can detec
t a faded whisper of Sarah. She has slept in these sheets; she has thrashed in them during nightmares. Sarah has let him borrow her sheets for the same purposes.

  What kind of things has Sarah been through the last few years? How can Thom ever understand them? He may not ever comprehend her experience of being raped or even her mental illness but what he does understand is her fear. Fear of being judged, fear of alienating those you care about, fear of being discovered, and fear of facing up to yourself.

  He doesn’t hate her for lying to him but he wishes she could’ve been honest. He is just so tired, his senses and perceptions fuzzy clouds that used to be sharp shapes that fit correctly into specific holes. Now he keeps pushing everything into holes that are too small or the wrong shape or holes that appear out of nowhere and extend for miles without a visible conclusion.

  Thom remembers his phone and picks it up, rereading the message. He is nearly warmed by it but feels like a shard of ice slithers between him and this extension of concern. His eyes glaze over and he can hardly look at the screen. From memory of where the keys are, he types a message and when he finishes, turns over and falls asleep almost instantly.

  Somewhere in another part of London, Emma receives a reply to her message and can only guess at what Thom might have been trying to tell her:

  4 am mk. Stazing with a eriemd. Uhbnks 4 gettimg 4n tovch. I mis7 u + I’n rorry. H wish I 2ovld gn ba2k btt its ton late. Notiinh makes sdnsf. Tjom

  37 Red Recollections

  Walking around Michael’s house after my first night as a guest, I touch the objects he sees and uses every day (the blender, the kettle, the radiator, the taps), and I feel I am returning to life with each sensation. I can use these things. Maybe I can even live how I did before all of this.

  You believe me, don’t you, Mum?

  When we lived together, we owned all these things too. Touching them, I remember their sounds, their texture against my skin. I also remember you; standing in the kitchen in the early morning, waiting for the kettle to boil for your tea, smiling and tapping your spoon against the side.

  I wish you were here now, the kettle’s boiled…

  I am still busy thinking of you when Michael calls me into the living room. I am forced to leave you before the kettle has stopped spluttering. Yet I freeze in the doorway to the living room when I see Doctor Rosey, sitting with her clipboard, her legs crossed, pen poised for action. I expect her to click her fingers and have me dragged away or to press a button and have a cage drop down around me. Yet, she merely smiles. A-tiny-line-on-a-large-piece-of-paper smile.

  “Alice. It’s so good to see you again”, she tells me as I sit opposite her. Her tone couldn’t have been more stretched. It is a tired balloon that has been inflated too many times. She bites her lip as she takes me in. She is probably wondering just how insane I still am. I come incredibly close to making a strange screeching sound and rolling around the floor but looking up at Michael standing between us, for once, I don’t want to fail him.

  “Doctor Rosey”, I spit. She notices my tone and immediately scratches something onto her board.

  “I think it’s time you put that down and answered some of my questions”, I tell her firmly. Doctor Rosey’s face drops at the suggestion but Michael repeats the same request, translating it for her. She then does as she is told and places the clipboard beside her. I want to laugh as her fingers claw into the sofa and unconsciously spread towards her treasured sidekick.

  “Tell me about Daniel Mansen”, I say. Thinking I have already drained her face of colour, she surprises me by turning even paler.

  “Don’t lie to her”, Michael adds; crossing his arms and taking a seat on the arm of the chair I am sitting in. Doctor Rosey looks instantly betrayed and straightens herself up.

  “I presume you’ve already discussed it with Alice”, the Doctor addresses Michael.

  “You can talk directly to me”. I wrestle into her attention and she is forced to meet my gaze, nodding rigidly.

  She takes a deep breath. “What do you know?”

  “Why don’t we start with what you know for once?” I challenge her again.

  “Okay, I’ll tell you what I can, if you promise one thing…”

  “And that would be?” I lean forward.

  “Not to take any action against the hospital”. She squashes her lips together and waits for my reply. I glance at Michael who half smiles and raises one shoulder in a sign of passivity.

  “Okay, I promise. And Michael can be your witness”.

  “Good”. She nods sternly, recovering her authority for a few minor seconds. Yet she doesn’t speak immediately, she rolls her tongue around in her mouth and repositions her body several times.

  Finally she says, “Daniel originally worked as an administrator at the hospital but, over time, he demonstrated his ability to create a rapport with several of the patients. Some even showed a marked improvement with his support”. Doctor Rosey gazes into the air above our heads, recalling a star pupil. Although, she quickly scolds this admiration with a downturned mouth.

  “We decided to increase his duties, make him a mentor to some of the patients who had taken to him. He had shown himself to be trustworthy, or so we thought…” She sighs here. “What we didn’t know was that he had designs on one of our patients”.

  “I’m guessing you mean me”, I predict flatly.

  “Yes...” She shakes her head as though she is faintly trying to escape a net. “You made no progress for months after you arrived and only began to speak when Daniel made an effort with you. We were happy to see you talking, at least, but we had no idea what price it came with. You understand that, don’t you?”

  Doctor Rosey is on the edge of her seat. I fear she might attempt to touch me so I sink further into the chair. Yet she doesn’t move; her soggy eyes work on her behalf to show me an extended hand.

  “Don’t you monitor things in there?”

  “We do Alice but on this occasion, we just missed it…” Doctor Rosey has transformed before us. I am the one asking questions, she is the one smashed to pieces by the bludgeon of guilt and shame. “And to our miniscule credit, we don’t think anything physical took place between the two of you before he got caught”.

  “Your credit?” I laugh. “You let some strange man take advantage of me. You have no credit!” I am ready to leap from my chair but Michael pats on my shoulder softly and this is sufficient. Yet, it doesn’t stop my eyes from tearing Doctor Rosey into strips across the room.

  “You’re right. We failed you”, she agrees, glancing aside at her clipboard for comfort, but it doesn’t move. “He was immediately fired of course”, she adds.

  “Oh that makes me feel so much better”. My mouth is oozing.

  “I can only apologise and explain this to you”.

  “How could you have let it happen? He groomed me… influenced me. How could you not see it happening?” Michael grabs my hand and squeezes it. Glancing up, I see the purple bruises smudged underneath his eyes like tribal face paint. It reminds me of all the casualties Daniel has triggered, directly or indirectly. He is the first wave that pushed us all into each other, with numerous reactions spinning and colliding like sparks wrestling in flames.

  “He was a clever man. Like you said, he groomed you so he didn’t have to worry about you telling on him. As for the staff, they trusted him and as for me… I just didn’t see it. I couldn’t get through to you and he did”.

  “So he’s better at your job than you are?”

  “There’s no need to be so cutting. After all, I did help you in the end, didn’t I?”

  “I wasn’t well enough to leave”, I whimper, covering my face with my hands.

  “We decided you were well enough, with supervision, of course”. Doctor Rosey defends her decision. She can’t face the idea of failing me twice.

  “But I know now I wasn’t well enough”, I insist, sagging into the chair. Michael puts his hands on my shoulders and attempts to lift me back u
p again. I try my best on his behalf. “Why don’t I remember what happened?” I ask, resting my head in Michael’s lap. He doesn’t move at first, staring down at me, and only after a long pause does he massage my neck with his thumb.

  “You were very ill and when we caught Daniel, you were still very ill. As soon as he left, you seemed to forget about him and only after a few more months did you start to talk about anything at all”, the Doctor explains.

  “We thought you had enough to deal with, Alice”, Michael adds from above and I cast one eye onto him, which is enough to make him turn his head away.

  “I’m sorry”, Michael whispers.

  “You all lied to me”.

  I move myself out of Michael’s lap and shake my head. My head is filled with helium, all I want to do is cut the cord and let it float away.

  Mum, I know I shouldn’t talk to you anymore but I think I need you still. All these people, they’ve lied and let me down but you never did.

  “We didn’t lie Alice, we just didn’t discuss this with you”, the Doctor claims but Michael betrays her with his clammy hands that leave sweat marks on the side of the chair.

  “You don’t know what this has done to me”. My voice is a metal beam bending under the weight of tonnes of rubble.

  “What has it done to you, Alice? What does that mean?”

  “You let him get inside me. You let him lead me. You let him influence me to…” I feel as if I might be sick and stumble out of the chair. “You let him mould me… how could you?” I hold onto the arm for support as the room swirls like paints being blended into one. “You don’t know what you’ve done”, I squeak as my throat closes up.

  The train is coming towards me. The lights knock me to the ground as I try to scramble away from it. Yet the train is skulking closer, the reversed stalker. Daniel’s lips are moving again but I can’t hear or guess the words he is trying to say. The cold fingers of the track have locked me in place and I wait for the monster to churn me into pulp. I scream and call for help but the blurry figures on the platform don’t respond or move.