by John Nicholl
As we sat there in her office discussing my writing, I soon realised that the session might provide me with an ideal chance to achieve my ultimate goal. Dr Sandler was in an unusually positive mood. She was particularly pleased that I’d expressed regret for what she saw as my crimes. And she was even more gratified that I’d said I now found some chapters of my memoirs even more distressing to read than she did. I’d been selective of what I’d shown her, of course, I chose what suited my purpose. And I planned what to say too. Preparation is everything.
‘The chapter describing poor Simpson’s death was deeply upsetting for me to read, doctor. I can’t believe I did those awful things to that poor man. He was a human being with rights. I can see that now. If I ever get out of here, I’ll strive to be a better person for the rest of my life; and that’s largely because of you.’
She smiled and preened, congratulating me on my honesty and insight. It seemed that my statement was an excellent foundation for positive change. Or, at least, that’s what she thought in her confused world of self-serving delusion. How hilarious is that? I, in contrast, had very different ideas. Not that I was ever going to tell her that.
Instead, I asked her if there was any news of Maisie. It was a question I often asked. Not because I cared about the answer, but because it created an image of myself that I wanted to portray. It was a part of my disguise, my mask. To my surprise, for the first time, the good doctor had a meaningful reply to offer.
She’d been in touch with the probation service. Maisie, it seemed was back in work after a lengthy period of sick leave. I couldn’t have given a toss, that’s real honesty. Maisie let me down, after all. But I said that I was relieved and gratified by the good news. I even offered to write a letter of apology to my old boss expressing my deep regret for what I’d done to her. Dr Sandler thought it a good idea but said that she’d have to ask Maisie if it was acceptable to her.
‘I understand completely, doctor. It has to be about Maisie’s needs, not mine. I only hope she can put what happened behind her and get on with her life. It would mean the world to me if she could.’
‘Do you ever hear your father’s voice anymore?’
‘No, never, it’s amazing how much progress I’ve made.’
‘That’s good to hear, Alice. And what about your desire for alcohol?’
‘The cravings have almost gone.’
She gave a little clap of delight, like a performing seal. ‘That is excellent, very well done, Alice. I think the combination of therapy and medication is perfect for you. I said exactly that to Dr Barnes when we last discussed your case.’
I wasn’t taking the medication. I hid the tablets under my tongue and then spat them out. I was thinking, Fuck the psychiatrist and fuck you, too. But things appeared to be going my way, as I’d hoped, as I’d planned. At the end of our one-hour session, Dr Sandler offered to lend me a book. The true story of a convicted murderer who had gone on to do charity work years later. I held the book up in front of me, reading the blurb on the back cover – another opportunity to pull her strings.
‘Thank you, doctor, it looks both inspirational and inspiring. I’d love to read it.’
‘That’s good, Alice, I feel sure you’ll find it interesting.’
I stood to leave as the clock reached 4pm, the paperback held in one hand. I was trembling slightly and sweating too. That wasn’t an act. But I hoped it would serve me well.
‘There is one other thing I’d like to mention, doctor. I’ve been putting it off, but I think now’s the time. It’ll be too late if I don’t ask you today.’
‘Okay, I, er, I think I know what this is about. But, come on, no assumptions. You need to say it for yourself.’
I nodded and then wiped the sweat from my brow. ‘I would really appreciate the opportunity to attend my mother’s funeral. Have you had a chance to talk to Dr Barnes?’
Then the words I was desperate to hear. ‘I can’t make any promises, Alice. But it’s looking hopeful. I’ll see what I can do.’
41
Dr Sandler waved to me from the hospital canteen’s serving counter as I sat alone at lunchtime the following day. She looked as self-satisfied as a butcher’s dog as she approached me, weaving between the tables with a cup of hot soup held in one hand. My odious father tried to plant doubts in my mind with his usual moronic chatter. But the psychologist’s face told its own happy story. I knew it was going to be good news even before she joined me at the table.
‘I was hoping to catch you, Alice.’
She always used my name. It was Alice this and Alice that. As if she needed to remind me who I was. I sat in silence, waiting for her to continue as I knew she inevitably would. She looked at me over the top of her metal-rimmed glasses.
‘I’ve, er, I’ve been discussing your case with Dr Barnes. It wasn’t an easy decision given your offending history. But you’ll no doubt be delighted to hear that he’s agreed to you attending your mother’s funeral service.’
‘Oh, that’s wonderful! Thank you so very much.’
Her expression became more serious. ‘I’m glad you’re pleased. But there are caveats. You’ll be attending the cremation but not the church service. I hope you can accept that compromise.’
I put my knife and fork down, my meal half-eaten. ‘I’m grateful, it’s marvellous news, but why the conditions?’
‘The church is in a busy town, and the crematorium in the countryside. Fewer people means less attention. It’s that simple.’
I nodded. ‘Okay, I understand.’
‘And there’s something else. You won’t be going alone. I’ll be travelling with you, and so will one of the male nurses. He’ll be doing the driving. And you won’t be left alone at any time during the day. We’ll travel to Wales early in the morning and then return as soon as the service is over.’
It wasn’t perfect. Escape wouldn’t be easy. But I had a plan in mind. And that was a lot better than nothing.
‘Thank you, doctor. I very much appreciate everything you’ve done for me.’
And I meant it too. Just not in the way the stupid bitch thought.
42
We began our journey to Wales as the hint of the day to come lit the sky at the horizon. I had my manuscript under my clothes, tucked into the waistband of my trousers. We were all dressed in black, even the nurse, whom I saw without his hospital uniform for the first time. It wasn’t exactly the best start to the day. The nurse reminded me of my father. But I forced the poisonous rodent from my mind. I had to focus on escape. The trip was my only chance. I felt sure of that. There was no room for distractions.
The nurse did the driving while Dr Sandler and I sat in the back with our shoulders almost touching. She talked at me incessantly during the journey, spouting some mindless crap or other until I was close to exploding. And my purgatory got even worse as we crossed the Severn Bridge towards the Welsh border. I had the psychologist chattering in one ear and my father in the other getting louder and louder as I attempted to ignore him. I wanted to scream until all was silence. But I somehow held my battered emotions in check by focusing on the end game. It would have felt so delicious to elbow Dr Sandler in the mouth; to ram her yellow teeth down her snaky throat with either fist. But the time wasn’t right for violence. There was a bigger picture to consider. And so I did my best to ignore her too.
I exchanged friendly hand gestures with my grandmother and sister as we entered the crematorium’s carefully manicured grounds after a four-hour journey. I noted the position of my grandmother’s car as the nurse pulled up at the far side of the car park, well away from other vehicles, as if I had some contagious disease that couldn’t be cured. I looked around me as the three of us walked towards my relatives, Dr Sandler immediately next to me and the nurse close behind.
The crematorium’s gardens reminded me of my rose garden, bringing a tear to my eye. But I told myself to focus. I was there for a reason and had to keep that at the forefront of my mind.
; I hugged my sister first, and then my gran, who whispered in my ear, ‘It’s all done.’
I met her eyes, our noses virtually touching, and smiled in response. I didn’t say anything for fear of being overheard, as the hearse made its way towards us, stopping immediately opposite the main entrance a few feet from where we were standing.
I felt everyone’s eyes on me as we sat at the front of the crematorium’s small chapel minutes later as if they were attempting to penetrate my soul. I wanted to yell, to shout, to beat them to a pulp, but I sat there in silence with my relatives to one side of me and my supervisors to the other. I glanced around me, surveying the scene. A priest stood in the pulpit almost directly opposite me. My mother’s coffin festooned in flowers sat on a series of rollers I can only assume led to the furnace. And there were two doors, the one through which we’d entered behind me and another smaller one to my immediate right. I decided that the smaller of the two doors was the most suitable when I made my move. I only hoped Dr Sandler would come to the same conclusion.
I listened with my nerves in shreds as the priest welcomed all those in attendance, explaining the nature of the service as if it wasn’t blatantly obvious to everyone.
As the first hymn began, I stood on shaky legs, squeezing Dr Sandler’s hand, gaining her attention, before whispering in her ear. ‘I’m sorry, doctor, I need the toilet.’
She frowned hard, the order of service in one hand. ‘Really? Now? Can’t it wait?’
I lowered my voice to a whisper. My mouth felt so very parched. The words almost stuck in my throat. ‘It’s urgent, my, er, my period has started.’
She gave me a sympathetic look, screwing up her face before speaking to the nurse in a low voice. He nodded twice as she took my arm, leading me into the aisle and through the door to our right as everyone else continued singing. A minute later, we were out of the chapel room and entering a small toilet block with a restricted car park view. To my relief, the male nurse hadn’t followed us.
As the psychologist reached into her handbag for a sanitary towel, I drew my head back and butted her hard, bang, right on the bridge of her nose.
As she staggered backwards with blood running from both nostrils, I followed my initial assault with a powerful punch to her throat, preventing her from shouting out or screaming. As she fell to the floor, I leapt on top of her, raining down punch after powerful punch until sure she was unconscious. I washed the blood from my hands, searched her bag, took her cash, threw her phone into the toilet bowl, and then headed for the car park at a fast walking pace. I was tempted to run, but I feared it might draw the attention of anyone who happened to be passing on the nearby road.
My heart was pounding as I jumped into the driver’s seat of my grandmother’s four-door saloon, finding the keys in the glovebox as she’d promised. I looked back as I drove toward the exit, but there was nothing to see. It seemed the service was continuing without us. Now all I had to do was keep moving.
43
A police car sped past me in the opposite direction about ten minutes or so after I’d left the crematorium’s grounds on my way to the ferry port of Fishguard in the north of the county. I pulled into an off-road café popular with truck drivers, hid the car from passers-by behind a substantial articulated lorry, and retrieved a rucksack from the boot.
As promised by my grandmother, it contained a change of clothes, a good quality blonde shoulder-length wig, and £3,000 cash in used notes. I hurriedly changed in the back seat of the car, entered the café, enjoying a quick fry-up before finally persuading the third of three Ireland-bound lorry drivers to give me a lift as far as Rosslare, hiding me in the back amongst the cargo as we crossed the borders.
The middle-aged fat man was reluctant at first, much like the first two drivers who’d refused to help out of hand. But the combined offer of £500 cash and oral sex changed the fat man’s mind pretty quickly. I picked up a steak knife as I followed him towards his vehicle, dropping it into my rucksack before putting the bag on my back.
Five hours later and I found myself in Ireland, as the driver opened the lorry’s rear doors with a hungry leer on his face. He gave up on the idea of a blow job pretty quickly when I held the point of the knife to his throat. He even returned my money, which I happily took, thinking it would come in useful. I considered killing him for his conduct but decided against. I’m not sure why. Maybe it was because I didn’t have time for a trial. And so I just slashed his face to mark him as a danger forever before jumping from the rear of the truck and leaving the area as fast as my feet could carry me.
I booked into a cheap guest house close to the harbour, gaining work as a cleaner two days later. By then I had a new look, a new name, and, I like to think, a pretty convincing new accent which I won’t disclose. I watched the local news and read the local papers, but there were no reports of my escape. My father knew I was there, of course. I can’t escape that bastard. But no one else seemed interested. I kept a close eye out for the police for weeks after that, but nobody came. Gradually I began to relax. It appeared my plan had worked even better than I could have hoped.
That was a little over six months ago now. I’ve since moved on again, working as a ship’s cook with no questions asked. We travelled to mainland Europe first, and then on from there. I won’t reveal my location at the time of writing my final chapter. The reasons for that should be evident to anyone. I’ll tell you that I’m safe somewhere in the world, and you’ll have to be satisfied with that.
I considered destroying my manuscript more than once during the writing, despite my initial enthusiasm. I came to the realisation that I gave away too many clues as to my identity and location. But that no longer matters. It’s of no consequence. No one’s going to find me. So here it is.
I plan to return to Wales one fine day when I think it’s safe to do so. There are other monsters out there. Beasts I’ll hunt again when I get the chance. It will happen, but I can’t tell you when, that’s in the lap of the gods. Only time will tell.
THE END
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