by Sam Nash
The crew followed the boy back out of the room and down the corridor. Mary used the diversion to scoot granny out of the guest room and begin the climb back down the stairs. Old folk really are invisible. They didn’t even say hello to her. That’s so awful.
Relaxing into the anonymity, Mary shuffled into the kitchen. Mrs Kent stood at the range stirring a skillet of foul smelling onions and beef mince, her back to the old woman. Mary swiped a bag from the counter top. It contained just two slices of cut bread and the crust. Keeping the momentum going in the frail limbs, she sauntered through the back door, tipping the bread out onto the wooden boards of the veranda.
It took a minute or two for Mary to coordinate the stiff fingers, but she managed to stow the money envelope, passport and brooch in the bag. I’m sorry to do this to you, grandma, but I need your help for a bit longer. I’m sure you won’t melt in the rain. Clutching the bread bag to her chest, Mary edged down the steps to the back garden, and compelled the legs to carry her to the front of the house.
The technical crews sat inside the vans. Mary could see them wearing headphones and concentrating on their computer screens. Only one man looked at her through the windscreen as she crossed the service road to the library, before returning his attention elsewhere. I think I could rob a bank in this body and no one would notice.
Rain soaked the old woman right through to her undergarments. Mary detected shivering. This is so wrong. This poor woman has suffered enough, but I need that brooch back. One unsteady step at a time, bowed back and ambling, the old woman finally reached the covered refuse area at the rear of the library building.
Mary looked at her own body, slumped behind a dumpster, unconscious and vulnerable. Her recent ordeals had paid a toll on her. Fine lines around her eyes were more pronounced now, as was the emergence of white hairs intermingling with the dark brown of her curls. A swell of regret and pain infused her senses. Where did it all go wrong? Just a couple of months ago, she was content and in love with her husband. How had her life descended into this empty and directionless state?
The old woman’s body shook with the cold. There was no time to linger. Mary compelled the woman’s arm to extend. She dropped the bread bag into the lap of her own sleeping body, and began the shuffle to the guest house. Stiff and exhausted, Mary delivered grandma back to the kitchen. She stayed just long enough to hear Mrs Kent’s shrieks of dismay at the state of her mother, before prising her consciousness from the old woman and floating back to her own body.
Fully dark now, the temperature fell rapidly. Mary tucked her knees up to her chin and rocked herself for comfort. I can’t stay here or I will get hypothermia. Can’t go back to the Kent’s with that wretched boy’s camera crew waiting for me. Can’t go to the diner without them calling a priest to have me exorcised. I have a real talent for screwing things up.
Perhaps I could sit in the steakhouse until it closes? That must be what passes for a bar around here. I could buy a drink and sit in the warm until I get dry. She got to her feet and plucked at her wet clothes where they clung to her skin. The storm was beginning to shift. Rain clouds delivered sporadic downpours, and then stopped for a minute or two before resuming the same intensity. It was the brisk wind that froze her to the core.
Retracing her steps, Mary made her way back towards the row of shops, pleading with an absent deity to clear her path of diner customers. Keeping in the shadows, Mary sneaked past the gun shop and takeaway, and scuttled into the bar entrance of the Steakhouse. The smell rivalled that of the dumpster. Half raw slabs of meat, swimming in tiny rivulets of blood, mixed with smells of steaming wet dog. Clearly this was the place for the real men. Wall to wall checked shirts and dirty denim; lank unwashed hair and steel toecaps.
The door slammed closed behind Mary, drawing attention to her presence. She could not have looked more out of place if she had tried. With every eye trained on her soaked t-shirt, Mary made a dash for the bar at the farthest end of the room.
The barman leaned his fists on the steel counter, dipping low to Mary’s level. “You lost or something, ma’am?”
“More than you could ever imagine. Is it okay if I buy a drink and shelter from the storm for a little while?”
“As long as you’re buying, you can stay as long as you like. What’ll it be?”
“Could I have a glass of lemonade, please?” Mary clambered up on to a high stool, cradling her satchel while ferreting inside for her purse.
“You a Brit?” He said, watching her struggle, his amusement ill-concealed.
“That obvious, is it?”
The man snickered, grabbed a glass and pressed a button on the syphon, squirting the soda up to the fill line. Gradually, the clientele returned their attention to the sports channel, roaring and crowing in unison over the propulsion of a ball.
One or two men approached her with caution, attempting pleasantries, but were shooed away by the patriarchal nature of the bar keep. Mary nursed her drink. The atmosphere was warm and she could feel the chill in her bones receding. She glanced across the bar to the mirrored shelving supporting the more expensive liquor. Her hair had almost doubled in size, and now resembled something out of a nineteen-seventies sit-com. She groaned, patting the sides down, but it sprang back to its original position. At least the t-shirt was drying off, even if her trousers still felt damp.
For all its menacing potential, sitting among these bar flies and sports fanatics calmed Mary’s nerves. It was the first time since London where she did not feel ill at ease. No one made demands of her. They allowed her a safe haven from the storm. For a long time, Mary observed their rituals; the camaraderie between old friends. Great bearded men laughing and teasing each other over pool losses and team scores. Their sweet manners towards the waitresses leaving their shift for the evening and closing the kitchen. How long had it been since Mary saw any of her friends? Those old bonds of childhood and of college house mates, once steadfast and loyal, now unfettered and blown to the four winds.
Parth had filled the void. He was her everything; friend, lover, confidant and protector. Had it all been faked from the start? Was his interest in her purely academic and financial? She had allowed the ties of friendship to wear thin during their year-long world trip. On their return, her marriage to Parth consumed her time and energies so fully, there was little room left for her friends. They too, found fresh life paths and drifted to new promises and expectations. In all the marital fervour, Mary had not replaced the circle of friends she had lost.
How careless that decision turned out to be. Her trust in Parth so absolute, so unshakable, so mistaken. Did he engineer her isolation to retain better control over her life? To steer her towards the goals imposed on him by those funding his neuroscience studies? Had the Ministry of Defence overseen her entire life? Mary stifled the erupting hysteria. This was not the time to lose her cool.
I still have Dan. She chanted to herself to steady her tattered nerves. Cleared of brain fog, Mary attempted a telepathic connection with her brother in England. “Hey Dan, can you hear me?” She waited, listening for his soothing low voice. “Hello?” Nothing. Not a single murmur. She looked up at the clock, registering the time – 11.45pm. Ah, they would be five hours ahead in the UK. He’ll be fast asleep. Her glass was empty, the ice melted in her grasp.
“Please could I have another one?” She asked of the kindly barman.
“I’d like to serve you ma’am, but it’s almost closing time. You got a place to go to?” He took a step backwards, distancing himself from the responsibility of helping her, should her answer be in the negative.
Mary took the cue. “Oh yes, thank you. I will be fine.” She affected a light and breezy air, even though it was a lie. I cannot go back to the Kent’s and I cannot walk through the storm for fifteen miles along a deserted road to the next town.
Some of the men bid her goodnight as they grabbed their coats from the hooks by the door. The bar emptied rapidly. The barman fixed his stare on Mary. She co
uld feel it pushing her out of the building. Avoiding eye contact, she drained the last drops from her glass and set it down. He swooped, grabbing the glass and stacking it in the dishwasher. Another man spilled out of the lavatories and hurried after his companions at the exit.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I have to close up now.” He said, trying to mask the pity in his voice.
“Oh, I fully understand. Thank you for your hospitality.” She left some dollar bills on the bar and slid down from the stool. The bar man followed her to the door, bolting it shut the moment she passed the threshold.
The storm was winding down in intensity, but the rain persisted. The shop awnings provided little protection. Her choices were limited. Well, even if the news crew have given up and gone away, I don’t trust that little shit. He could come creeping in while I sleep to film me. Neither do I fancy a night with drowsy wasps between the dumpsters.
Mary leaned against the wall of the gun shop. A four by four vehicle cruised by, the blue lights mounted on the roof bar startled her. Christ, I don’t want to get picked up by the police for soliciting. She dipped her head low and started walking. At the end of the row of shops, she peered around the corner and strained to see towards the library. She couldn’t be sure, but the illuminated grey blobs at the roadside were more than likely the CNN vans.
Too risky. Mary turned and walked back the way she came. Passing the steakhouse, she scanned around for the police car. The streets were empty. I know, I can sleep in the electric car. It won’t be comfortable, but it will be dry and free from wasps. At a smarter pace, Mary rounded the corner and hurried towards the spot where the electric car cruised to a halt.
In the darkness, she could make out a figure leaning against the bonnet, holding an umbrella.
“Are you ready to come home now, Mary?” Alexi smirked, holding open the passenger door to the car with his free hand.
Chapter Six
Mary stopped short in her tracks. “How did you know where I was?”
“Easy. You never go anywhere without your bag. Friend at airport place tracker. You want to drive?” Alexi let go of the passenger door handle and gestured towards the driver’s side.
She waited, contemplating her options. It surprised her that she no longer felt Alexi threatening. Despite his twisted ideas and missions, he had done nothing towards her that could jeopardise her safety. Match that to the fact that if he did try anything, she was certain that she could bring him in line with a painful jolt of electromagnetic discharge. Still Mary wavered.
“I never hurt you, Mary. You know this.”
“Hmm, that may be so, but whatever you are planning, I want no part of it. Whatever sick, warped and inhumane deal you have going on back at your ranch, it has nothing to do with me.”
“Fine. As you wish. Do you want to spend night out in cold rain, or in nice warm cabin?”
Mary looked down at herself. The muddy splashes seeping through the gaps in her sandals soaked her feet. The dark t-shirt drenched through all over again. A warm, timed shower surrounded by bamboo would be better than the alternative.
“One more night. I’ll be off first thing in the morning.”
The grin on Alexi’s face provoked her own smile. “But that car is useless,” she said. “The battery is dead.”
“No, battery replaced. Driver brought me here with new one.”
She dashed around to the driver’s side and hopped in the car. As she pressed the starter button, and strapped herself in, she looked up at Alexi. For all his heinous antics, he was all she had to rely on for over three thousand miles. Steering the car into a tight U-turn, they headed for the compound at Summerfield.
“I tell you Mary, you surprised me when you took car. I did not know you could drive. I thought you only had your bicycle for travel.”
“I passed my test before I went to college. Driving rather lost its appeal after my parents’ death in that car crash.” Why am I telling him this? He is not my friend. Pull yourself together.
There was a lull in conversation as they reached a cross roads among the trees. Mary stopped the car and read the signs, inwardly noting the direction to the next town and filing a rudimentary map in the hippocampus of her brain. A short distance into their journey, the rain ceased altogether and the howling wind stilled to a mild breeze. As they neared the gates, Alexi sent a text message to someone inside the compound. They waited for a minute or two in the floodlit driveway until the gate juddered open, before driving inside.
Mary rather expected to find the place utterly deserted as they had the night before. Everyone squirrelled away in their cabins and bunks, ready for another productive day come daylight. Instead, they were greeted by a series of revellers outside the communal centre, singing and laughing in boisterous cheer.
“What is all this?” Mary smiled, slowing the car to view the commotion.
“Celebrations. Someone give birth. Nice lady, healthy baby, but big…very big baby. Must have hurt.” Alexi shuddered at the thought.
Mixed emotions resurfaced in Mary’s mind. Joy for the new parents and pity for herself. With events in London so tumultuous, she had not had time to process her own grief. They passed the group of young men spilling out onto the sodden grassed area, their drinks splashing as they tumbled about. They parked outside Mary’s lodge. Stepping out of the car, she paused, looking back at the fun the men were having.
Alexi watched her. “You want to go join them? Have a vodka to wet baby’s head?”
“It’s late. I ought to go to bed.” She said, looking wistful as the men toppled over one another, re-enacting the childhood game of leapfrog. “They are little more than children themselves.” She did not mean to say it out loud, but her general demeanour conveyed her feelings to the astute Soviet general.
“Come, let us have one drink. It is time you had fun for change.” He threaded his arm through hers, led her into the communal hall and found them seats near to a table filled with bottles of alcohol. Mary did not object. Everywhere she looked, people laughed and chatted, drank and smiled. The happiness was infectious. By the time Alexi had poured her a shot of vodka from one of the many bottles, Mary found herself smiling too. The pinched lines in her forehead relaxed and the tension in her abdomen dissipated.
“I’d introduce you to new father, but that is he, over there.” Alexi said, pointing to a young man passed out in the corner of the hall, stacked uncomfortably between plastic chairs.
Mary tittered. “Children.” She muttered beneath her breath.
“We toast?” Alexi held his glass high.
“To the new born. May he always be happy and healthy.” Mary sank the colourless liquid down. It burned every inch of her gullet making her gasp and her eyes water.
“Za lyoo-bóf!” Alexi supped the contents of his glass and refilled both his and Mary’s.
“What does that mean?”
“To love.”
Mary’s grin faded. Suddenly she didn’t feel like drinking anymore.
“More, yes?” Alexi swung his glass around, getting into the spirit. Mary pushed her shot glass away, shuffling more upright in her seat. He put the vodka back on the table, comprehending her thoughts. “You know, Parth very bad man for you. Do not upset. You beautiful lady, will find better man in no time.” He patted her arm. “If I liked ladies, I would love you.” His countenance so sincere, his gesture kind. Mary sniffed and patted the back of his hand in return.
He raised his glass again. “To Mary. Be happy.” She reciprocated, a forced smile and half-closed lids hemming in the sadness. The second chugged vodka burned a little less. By the third toast a large man, whom she had met once before, joined them at their table.
He greeted them and his Scottish accent jogged her memory of their meeting. He was one of the new telepaths.
“You’re back then?” He said, launching himself into the seat next to Mary.
“Just for the night.” She giggled at his attempts to focus on her face.
; He squinted and tried to raise his drooping eyelids with his brow muscles. “Aye, glad to have ye here. Did ya get caught in the storm, Mrs Arora?”
“I did, and it’s Mary.”
He nodded. “Lachie, well Lachlan, but you know.”
“Nice to meet you Lachie.” She watched his attention drift as a petite woman with long ginger hair increased the volume on the music system and dragged two beautiful black twins onto the dance space. Their initial resistance dissipated as the track changed to an upbeat and iconic millennial number.
The red head dancing between the Amazonian black girls, struck a coy pose and pointed at Lachie. She curled her index finger, beckoning him onto the dancefloor. Even in the dim lighting, Mary could see him glowing red. Lachie shook his head, inanely, and then returned his focus to Mary.
“What’s her name?” Mary asked.
“Which one?”
“The one you can’t stop drooling over.”
Lachie’s pink blush renewed, a shiny film of perspiration added to his embarrassment. “It’s Oona. She’s a bit of a flirt, but you know, a nice flirt.”
“Uhuh, she likes you too.”
“You think so?”
“You should dance with her.”
“Ocht, no. I cannae dance. All arms and legs. Uncoordinated mess me.”
Mary sighed. Children. She thought once again. “You can sway, can’t you? Take her into your arms and sway.”
Emboldened, Lachie struggled to his feet and headed towards the girls. As he reached the centre, he was abducted by the twins, who gyrated and undulated about his person as though he were a pole in a nightclub. Lachie wobbled about on the spot, enjoying the attention. Affronted, Oona flounced off towards the exit. Lachlan did not notice.
Mary watched the spectacle with great amusement. She turned to Alexi. “This is like high school all over again, but with greater quantities of vodka.”
Alexi smiled to himself, and pushed the full glass towards her hand. Mary drank it, fully immersed in the clumsy attempts at seduction playing out in the hall.