by Dylan Young
Rachel shakes her head slowly. ‘Please, Cam. Don’t do anything rash. I’ve got another week here with the kids. I’ll speak to Owen. He can hold the fort for a few days and I’ll come up.’
‘No non-essential travel. Haven’t you heard? Everything’s going to get much worse.’
‘I consider you essential, Cam.’
‘You don’t need to mother me, Rache.’
‘I’m not mothering you. I’m only looking out for you. And all this… it’s too much too quickly. You are worrying me, Cam.’
‘Telling you this was a mistake.’
She backtracks. ‘No, no it’s not. I’m glad you’re telling me.’
‘But it’s going to give you a headache, isn’t it? Instead of looking after the kids you’re going to be preoccupied with your messed-up brother.’
Her face falls. ‘Don’t say that. You are not messed up.’
‘That is so not true, Rache, and you know it.’
‘Why are you being so hard on yourself?’
‘Perhaps it’s time I was.’
Rachel sighs. A lock of hair falls forwards and she strokes it out of her eyes with a finger. ‘This must be hard for you. I realise that. You’ve lost so much, and I can see how desperate you are to get some kind of closure.’
‘No, not closure. I’m not grieving, Rachel. I can’t because I don’t feel I’ve lost anything. That’s the trouble. A line has been drawn for me. There’s no going back, only forward. This is my way of moving forward.’
Rachel’s voice softens. ‘I won’t be anxious if you promise me you will not do anything… silly.’
I don’t answer. I love Rachel. I love her kids. I think the world of Owen. I’d be lost without them or him or her. She’s been my anchor. But I can’t help wondering sometimes if all her rules and anxieties are what’s been holding me back.
‘I’ll be careful,’ I say.
‘Promise?’ There’s a tremor in her voice and I’m regretting this call.
‘Promise. I have my wall and your number.’
‘Maybe I should ring John Stamford.’
‘Don’t do that. This is my gig, Rache.’
She nods, blinks, I can see she’s weighing up all I said. ‘What you found out is good. It is. We can go through it all. Sift out what’s important.’
‘We will,’ I say and attempt a swerve. ‘But now you need to look after yourself and the kids.’
‘All the schools are shutting now. Except for key workers. Their kids are going to school. Glorified babysitting if you ask me.’
‘I heard.’ She’s angling for time. I suspect she’ll try to convince me not to do anything rash again at any moment. Probably ask me if I’m taking my meds. ‘I’ll keep you in the loop,’ I say.
‘Talk to Josh and Adam about this. See what they say.’
‘I will.’
‘You know where I am.’
‘I do.’
‘Promise me you’ll be careful.’
I end the call with my best winning smile. I turn back to the river, enjoying the cool breeze on my face. Rachel wants me to use Adam and Josh as my sounding boards. Of course, there’s some validity in that. But they are not the only ones I feel I can open up to now.
I turn away from the flowing waters of the Thames and head back to my flat, enjoying the faint flutterings of anticipation.
38
There’s wine breathing when Nicole arrives a little after seven. Her preference is white. Chardonnay, unoaked. The buttery kind.
She kisses me with shining lips as soon as she’s through the door, kicks off her shoes and sits next to me on the sofa.
Heady Bandit fills the surrounding air. I tell her everything that’s happened since I saw her on Sunday. She listens, owl-eyed, brows crinkling first in curiosity, and then with increasing horror as I reveal all about Haldane.
‘Poor Emma. That sounds awful.’
‘You didn’t know?’
Nicole shakes her head. ‘I don’t suppose that’s something she’d broadcast to staff at the surgery. If anyone knew they didn’t say. If it was me, I’d want to try to put it all behind me. Forget all about it.’
‘Stamford doesn’t believe Haldane has anything to do with what happened.’
‘But you do?’ She’s sitting with her knees drawn up in skinny jeans. Her toenails are painted red to match her fingers and the lips on her pretty face that is staring intently into mine.
‘Emma didn’t have any enemies. Everyone has told me that time after time. But this Haldane would surely hold a grudge.’
‘Didn’t you say there’s some kind of restraining order?’
‘Stamford said so and Harriet confirmed it.’
‘And he can’t leave the country?’
‘No.’ I stretch and loosen my neck. ‘I’d let it all lie if it wasn’t for this Facebook thing. Someone has set up a bogey… bogus Emma Roxburgh page. It isn’t me. And someone on it has posted as gasman.’
I have my laptop open. Nicole reads the entry.
GASMAN
We had good times, Ems. Hope you’re flying high as a kite
‘Sounds very suspicious,’ she says. ‘There must be some way we could find out who set up the Facebook page?’
I shrug.
Nicole takes the laptop and clicks on the ‘about’ button. Emma’s information comes up.
‘We know it can’t be Emma,’ I say.
‘Ugh. This is so mean. Did you ask the private investigator, um, Stanley?’
‘Stamford,’ I correct her. ‘No. He would tell me if he knew anything.’
‘You trust him?’
I nod, surprising myself. I do trust Stamford. Rachel would scream.
Nicole gives up and passes the laptop back. ‘It’s vile, I know, but somehow worse that Emma’s sister can suggest this could be you. She must hate you.’
‘She blames me for Emma’s death.’
‘Would you like me to speak to her?’
For a moment I can’t answer. My expression must give me away because I see Nicole’s cheeks flush.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to interfere. I only want to help.’ Tears well in her big eyes.
God, I’m an idiot. I put my hand on her arm. ‘Sorry to be so touchy. My call with Rachel was…’ I shake my head. ‘She thinks I’m incapable of being careful.’
‘She’s just worried about you.’
‘She mothers me. But I don’t want you to do that. That would be weird. So thanks for the offer, Mum, but no thanks.’
‘I can’t help thinking all this hassle is my fault. If I hadn’t said anything about Emma and the anaesthetist.’
‘Rubbish. I’m glad you did. I’d never have spoken to Stamford. I’d never have found out about Haldane.’
She brightens. ‘So what are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know yet. But I need to do something.’
‘You think he has something to do with this Facebook page, don’t you?’
‘One way to get at Emma and her family without coming anywhere near, isn’t it? Social media is the coward’s Kalashnikov. And you can always get someone else to pull the snigger… trigger.’
‘I suppose,’ Nicole says. I detect a degree of distraction.
‘Are you okay?’
She shakes her head. ‘No. But not because of you or this.’ She waves at the laptop. ‘It’s Aaron. I think he suspects something.’
‘Really?’
Nicole sighs. ‘I haven’t spoken to him since the weekend. We’ve texted, but we’ve both been busy and, to be honest, I’m kind of avoiding him. But today he asked me who I was going to meet after work. I said I was going to yoga and then for a drink with some girlfriends.’
She smiles at the shock in my face.
‘Don’t worry. They’re good friends. I have an alibi.’
‘Are you worried about Aaron finding out about us?’
‘Yes and no. He’s the possessive type. Always has been. Things aren’t brilliant betwee
n us. I wasn’t expecting him to be so clingy, that’s all.’
‘Sounds like you’re the one being hassled.’
She shrugs. ‘It’ll be worth it. Finding the right moment to cut the cord is the hard bit. I’m not a breaking-up-by-text kind of girl.’
I smile at that. ‘If you need to stay here, you’re welcome. To get away, I mean.’
‘You’re so sweet.’ Nicole’s eyes crinkle and she dabs moisture away from long curled eyelashes with a forefinger.
‘If there’s anything I can do.’
‘I can think of one thing.’ Nicole leans in and kisses me.
We don’t make it to the bedroom. Surprising how roomy the sofa can be when you’re playing doctors and nurses.
Later, at around nine, Nicole puts on her coat. She sees me watching her and tilts her head.
‘One day I will not leave, I promise.’
‘You need to sort things out with Aaron first.’
‘Yes, I do. But what about you? What are you going to do?’
That one gives me pause. I’ve asked myself the same question many times since talking with Harriet. ‘I want to speak to Haldane.’
Nicole stops buttoning her coat. ‘Is that wise?’
I shrug. ‘He’s a piece of the jigsaw. Emma must have told me about him. I want to ask him about the Facebook page.’
‘Do you know where he lives?’
I shake my head. ‘I thought a phone call. To begin with.’
‘Do you have his number?’
‘No.’
‘You could ask Stamford.’
‘I could.’
‘Or, you could let me try to find it.’
‘How?’
‘Did I tell you what Aaron does?’
‘No.’
‘He works for MobileN. They’re a third-party mobile contract provider. He can more or less get anyone’s mobile number. MobileN checks when contracts are ending – don’t ask me how – and then cold calls to offer new terms. He’ll do that for me. He’s done it before for work, when older patients can’t remember their number. I’ll tell him this is one. Someone who’s moved away that we need to get hold of. Can’t be too many Haldanes. I’ll do some research and see if I can find out where he lives too. Which town at least. I’ll text Aaron now.’
I watch as her fingers fly over her phone’s keyboard. She’s quicker than I am. But then who isn’t.
‘Seems cruel to be using him just before you end it.’ Another of my spoken-out-loud thoughts.
She looks up with a mischievous grin. ‘Consider this his leaving present to me.’
I frown.
‘Oh, don’t look so worried. This will all be over with by the weekend. After the wedding, I promise I won’t be leaving like this ever again.’
‘I’d like that.’
Her smile could melt an iceberg.
An hour later I get a Snapchat message from Nicole with a number. I write it down. When I ask how she’s been so quick, she texts back.
There are people in his office 24/7. Someone is always ready to ambush unsuspecting phone contract holders :)
I take my pills and switch on Netflix. Another Josh recommendation. This one, a series called Firefly. Josh says it’s a cult classic. Dystopian sci-fi future in an almost Western style. Josh says I’ll love the flesh-eating Reavers. I give it a go. But I’ve drunk a little too much wine with Nicole. I should have delayed taking my medication. As it is, ten minutes into episode one, I drift off and fall asleep immediately.
39
THURSDAY 19 MARCH
Ivan stands at the bar. There are no girls with him this time. He’s smiling at Cam.
‘You find out my secret.’
‘Je bent nyet Russisch,’ Cam says. He’s not sure what language it is.
Although Ivan still speaks with a hammy Russian accent, Cam now knows he’s something else. Not that it matters. Not here. On the far side of the room the maid is at it again. This time he sees her making up beds where there shouldn’t be any. Cam searches for faceless Emma. She’s not sitting opposite him this time. The sky is a dusky magenta, but storm clouds are gathering on the horizon. He looks around and she appears from a stairwell, her features, as usual, absent. But he recognises her walk and her voice.
‘Mine’s a Jack and Coke. Make it a Zero,’ she says to Ivan.
He smiles and saunters towards Cam with a glass full of amber liquid clinking in ice and a bottle with a quartered lime in its neck.
Faceless Emma is halfway across the room. Behind her, Cam notices what might be a dog following her. Something low, a dachshund maybe. A dark shape hugging the floor a few feet behind her legs. But on closer inspection it has no legs and now Cam is thinking more mamba than Fido. The movement is more coiling than trot. It triggers an innate abhorrence programmed into the oldest reptilian part of his brain. He wants to move away from it, jump up and run, like a cat with a cucumber placed on the floor next to it. Snake reflexes. But the darkness seems to sense his awareness. It stops, turns and rolls under a booth.
‘We need to do something about that,’ Cam says to Ivan.
He shrugs. ‘It is drains. They say there is something bad there. Yad.’
Emma slides into the booth opposite. Ivan leans on the table. ‘We need some romantic music to take away the… how you say, vonyat?’
He walks back to the bar. Music wells up. The White Stripes: ‘I think I Smell a Rat’. Ivan is a comic.
Cam natters to faceless Emma. For the first time he notices the statue next to a plant pot is incomplete. There’s a missing nose and one eye has been sanded away by wind and rain. Oddly, she’s dressed in a uniform like the maid. Emma’s worried about work. But he can’t concentrate because he has one eye on the statue and the other on the booth where the black coiling smoke has disappeared. He watches it like a hawk. Twice it billows out, only to billow back in. He has no idea what it is, but he knows it isn’t healthy. When he looks up, the maid statue is closer, the storm clouds have thickened.
‘Stink,’ says Emma.
‘What?’
‘That’s what vonyat means. Stink.’
I come to myself groggily. I’m up high, just as in the fugue. For a moment I’m badly disoriented. I pivot, seeing a sign that reads EXIT and a door in a small shed-like structure housing the block’s elevator machinery. The wind has picked up and I shiver. I pivot back, take three steps forward and look down over a barrier to the street below. There’s daylight but what I look down upon is not a street. It’s a marked space; resident parking. I take a moment to realise that I’m on the roof of my own building. But I do not understand how I got up here. I hurry back to the exit, walk down the stairs to my floor and through the open door of my flat. This is a fresh departure. I don’t remember going to bed. I must have fallen asleep on the sofa. Normally, I don’t move far in fugue mode. I do things, routine, mundane things. But I stay within the same room or rooms. Usually.
Not this time.
But with this change comes a kind of understanding. My fugue is like a constant loop. At some point the maid will come closer, the sandstorm will engulf us. Or perhaps our demise comes after the sandstorm. That I haven’t worked out yet. Clearly, my awareness of what happens in this bar, my hallucinatory appreciation of it, is not governed by where I left off previously. I can appear at any point. And that has changed. In the past I would always be aware of Ivan and the girls, the music, the long chats, but it would culminate in the inevitable dive we would take off the roof to our deaths.
But for the second time that hasn’t happened. Emma and I survive and I’ve exited the fugue without a swan dive. The script has expanded into a director’s cut.
Hayley Joel Osment’s voice whispers in my head. ‘I see dead people.’
I think about that when I get into the shower.
I’m still thinking about it when I drink my second cup of coffee, one eye on the clock. The whisper makes me acutely aware that me getting up to the roof, the real roof, is not a go
od idea. Not while I’m in the fugue. Best I talk to someone about this worrying trend where reality and the imagined world of my hallucinations seem to be getting ever closer.
40
After breakfast I keep clockwatching, waiting for the minute hand to reach three. For it to be 9.15 which, I’ve decided, is a respectable time to ring Adam. The number I have is his mobile and so, logically, he doesn’t need to be at work or his desk to take the call. But there has to be boundaries, as Josh keeps telling me.
‘Ring me any time means ring me any time except between midnight and 7am, you berk.’
He came up with that after I’d rung him several times in the middle of the night. It wasn’t that long after I’d moved out of rehab. I’d had no true conception of time then. And Josh loves his sleep.
In my living room, the minute hand has crawled to twelve after the hour when my mobile rings. I pick up and frown. It’s Adam.
‘I was about to ring you,’ I say. ‘Why are you ringing me?’
‘And good morning to you, too, Cam.’
‘Sorry. I really don’t like coincidences. It reminds me too much of Josh’s theory of synchronicity.’
‘Is he a fan of Jung’s?’
‘No. He’s into sci-fi and says that synchronous events are evidence of outside interference.’
‘You mean a higher purpose?’
‘No. In Josh’s case because the lizard people who really run the world have decreed it to be so.’
‘He really believes that?’
‘After four pints of IPA, yes.’
Adam laughs. ‘I am ringing first of all to see how my favourite patient is doing.’
‘And the real reason?’
‘I have some med students coming for their extensive and exhaustive two-week block. The only time they get during their undergraduate years to learn anything about mental health.’
‘That does not seem like long enough.’
‘Tell me about it. My job is to educate and titillate. That’s where you come in.’