Inheritance

by Thomas Wymark

‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ I said. ‘We need to get out — right now.’

  Neil put his hands on my shoulders.

  ‘Chris, calm down. We need to think about this first.’

  ‘What is there to think about?’ I said.

  I stood up and pointed at the writing.

  ‘He knows what I fucking look like!’ I said. ‘We have to get out — now.’

  Neil stood in front of me and took my hands. He looked into my eyes and made sure I looked into his. ‘If he was going to do something here, in our house, he wouldn’t have taken the picture. He wouldn’t have needed it. This is just a warning of some sort.’

  ‘A warning about what?’ I said. ‘He was the one who attacked me. What the fuck have I ever done to him? I don’t even know what the bastard looks like.’

  Neil squeezed my hands.

  ‘Chris, don’t worry. I’m here. We’re here together. No one is going to come here. If they do… well, they won’t.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ I said. ‘This has to come to an end, somehow. We can’t go on like this.’

  ‘We should call the police,’ Neil said. ‘This is concrete evidence. They have to take notice of this.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘I don’t want the police here again, Neil. Not after what happened the last time. I lashed out at my mum and dad yesterday. God knows what I would do to the police. They only have to start asking a few questions and I flip out.’

  ‘I could talk to them,’ Neil said. ‘On my own.’

  ‘That would just come across as weird. And besides, how would you explain how you found it. No policeman in the world is going to believe that you were casually tidying behind the sideboard when you happened to come across some writing scratched into our wall. They’ll probably think it was me. That I was the one who wrote it while experiencing a blackout. I’m the one who is going round the bend, remember?’

  Neil turned from me and looked again at the writing on the wall. He mumbled something under his breath.

  ‘What did you say?’ I said.

  ‘I wonder why he put it behind the sideboard,’ he said. ‘We might not have found it for years. Maybe never.’

  ‘Maybe he thought we’d look behind there for the missing photo.’

  ‘But the photo wasn’t on the sideboard,’ he said. ‘It was on the wall. It makes no sense.’

  ‘Neil, the bloke’s a psycho. He’s not supposed to make sense.’

  We took photos of the writing, with our phones and with the camera. Close up, to get the detail, then further back to include the sideboard. If it ever needed to be put before the police at least we had evidence from the actual night. They could always come and see it in the flesh if they needed to, but the digital pictures all had the time and date attached.

  We both had a microwave meal for tea, and water from the tap. It wasn’t so hard.

  We didn’t exactly brainstorm about our next move, but we each put forward one or two ideas. Neil thought about installing a burglar alarm and perhaps even cameras.

  I thought about buying a guard-dog or setting up some sort of laser tripwire in the garden.

  ‘And I thought my cameras idea was a bit O.T.T,’ Neil said. ‘Do you know which shops sell laser tripwires?’

  ‘It was just an idea,’ I said.

  ‘Why don’t I go and look at burglar alarms tomorrow morning while you’re in with your counsellor?’

  ‘Why don’t you come in to the counsellor with me, then we’ll both go and look at burglar alarms afterwards?’

  I let Neil think on that and went to the kitchen to phone Abi. She was out, but I spent a few minutes talking with Oli and thanking him for putting up with my kids. And then I spent ten minutes talking to Michael and Rose. I could hear giggles and laughter in the background and both of them sounded breathless. I was amazed that they came to the phone at all. I told them I loved them.

  ‘Gotta go,’ Michael said.

  ‘I miss you, Mum,’ Rose said.

  ‘Miss you too, darling,’ I said.

  In the morning Neil rang his work and told them he was still sick. He told them he was “going to see someone” that morning.

  ‘You’re going to see someone?’ I said. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means that they will think I’m going to see a doctor about being ill, when in fact I never mentioned the doctor at all. I didn’t lie, and they will come to their own conclusion. It’s not my fault.’

  He then insisted that I phone Colin to make sure it really was OK to bring him along. It was.

  As Neil drove us to Newton St Loe I could tell he wasn’t himself. He barely said a word. I had expected to feel quite at ease that he was coming with me, but butterflies flitted about in my tummy and perspiration dotted the back of my neck.

  ‘Stop here,’ I said. ‘Against the side of the hedge. That’s his house there.’

  Neil climbed out of the car and rolled his shoulders.

  ‘He obviously earns a lot of money,’ he said.

  ‘Not from me,’ I said.

  Colin opened the door before we reached it. Something about him looked different, but I couldn’t work out what. He shook hands with Neil and they both smiled introductions to each other.

  We followed him through the hall. I was surprised to see that the phrenology head was missing.

  ‘I’ve had a tidy up,’ he said, showing us into the study. ‘Moved a few things out.’

  There were no books on the floor, none on the chairs, and the whole room looked bigger. I couldn’t smell any sawdust either. Only a slight chemical odour. Cleaning fluids.

  ‘No head?’ I said.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Your phrenology head,’ I said. ‘It wasn’t there.’

  ‘Oh that,’ he said. ‘It got broken.’

  ‘It’s all pseudo-science anyway,’ I said.

  Neil looked at me.

  As Colin followed us into the study the sunlight reached his face. Now I could see what was different about him. He had scratches on his face. Not deep, but visible. Several in a line, as though from a woman’s fingernails. His eyes were rimmed red. He reached out his hand to point us to the seats and I noticed a bandage just visible on his wrist under the sleeve of his jumper.

  ‘Sit yourselves down,’ he said. ‘Can I get you both a coffee?’

  We said yes to the coffee and sat down on an armchair each. I reached out and held Neil’s hand as he looked around the room, taking it all in.

  ‘It’ll only be for an hour,’ I said.

  ‘I’m OK,’ he said. ‘It’s all good.’

  I was pleased that Neil had come. Colin’s scratches and bandaged wrist had only heightened my feeling of unease that had started up in the car journey. And he seemed to be taking too long in the kitchen to make a just a couple of drinks.

  I wondered what had made him tidy up, and why he had needed to use cleaning chemicals in a room that previously had looked like it had seen nothing more than a quick flourish from a duster — infrequently. I wondered about his wife’s accident.

  ‘We could always go,’ I said. ‘Leave now. We could say I suddenly felt ill or something.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Neil said. ‘Seriously.’

  Colin walked back in. He had three coffees and a plate of flapjacks. I reached out for one, then hesitated. What if he’d made them himself? Neil reached past me and grabbed one, no hesitation. It made me feel a little easier.

  It turned out that Neil and Colin had something in common. They both had played, and both still loved, rugby.

  In fact at one point I started to think the session was entirely for Neil’s benefit rather than mine.

  But Colin listened as I told him about the adoption and the blackout. He asked about Doctor Jones, and how things were progressing. I explained that I was still waiting for the results of the latest MRI scan and that Doctor Jones was consulting with colleagues about whether I should be sent for a psychiatric assessment.

 
‘And how do you feel about that?’ Colin said.

  I told him. About my worries for the children if I was locked up in some desperate asylum somewhere. He laughed. Neil did too. I hadn’t meant it as a joke.

  ‘Do you think a psychiatric assessment is necessary?’ Colin said.

  ‘Do you?’ I said.

  He smiled. ‘I asked first.’

  ‘The honest truth is — I don’t know. I’m worried about how I am and about what’s going on inside my head. And now I’m worried that I really do have mental illness in the family. A family I have no knowledge of, no idea of their history, and no idea how to get in touch with them. And if I do have to go for an assessment, how long do I have before they put me away somewhere? Time is of the essence.’

  ‘The language you’re using, Christine, may not be helping you. You won’t be “put away somewhere” or “locked up in an asylum”. Those things just do not happen. You may be required to stay in hospital for a short time while they ascertain what may or may not be wrong with you. But the chances are there’s nothing wrong with you at all and you’ll be straight home again.

  ‘If you think of this as people trying to help you to get better, rather than anyone wanting to put you away somewhere, it might help you to feel more positive about it.’

  Neil shifted in his chair. ‘Is there any chance that this could still all be as a result of the mugging, rather than a mental illness?’

  Colin nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Christine suffered serious head trauma. Very often injuries like this can change a person’s personality completely. Usually just temporarily, but in some cases permanently. The brain swells up inside the skull and that’s when problems can occur. The swelling goes down over time and generally the person comes back to how they were before the injury. But sometimes more damage has been done inside the brain. That’s why MRI scans are so important.’

  He glanced at me but continued talking to Neil.

  ‘I also believe that Christine is suffering post-traumatic-stress syndrome as well. Although she doesn’t feel that the incident has effected her in that way, I believe that, on a subconscious level, it has. And stress has a very powerful impact on us. On both the mind and the body.’

  Neil nodded and looked over at me. Colin turned to me.

  ‘I do think it would be beneficial to try and find out a little of your family history, if you can. From a medical point of view it could give some pointers and may discount certain things. I deal with quite a few people who have either been adopted or given a child up for adoption. I also have colleagues that advise with adoptions and getting in touch with birth parents. I know that, for some, it can be quite a difficult thing to do. It brings its own set of potential worries for both sides and it needs to be handled carefully.’

  He smiled.

  ‘If you decide you do want to go down that path, I would be happy to put you in touch with someone. They could at least direct you to the best person to talk to if they can’t help.’

  When Colin spoke, I found myself getting lost in his voice. A lovely soft accent and intelligent speech. I could see why he was a counsellor. Even Neil had warmed to him.

  But when he wasn’t speaking, when I was just thinking about him, or looking at him, something else happened to me. Something prickled my mind, as if saying beware. And his house too. It didn’t feel warm. It didn’t feel secure. And it didn’t feel safe.

  I had no idea if that was my swollen brain making things up. It might even have been as a result of the mental illness that potentially ran through my genes.

  His friendly manner and gentle tone just seemed to good to be true. There were scratches on his face for a reason. The broken phrenology head and the bandaged wrist hiding under the jumper all had a story to tell.

  And his study smelled so chemically clean.

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