Struggles of Psycho

by Rhyam O'Bryam

  ‘Mother had just asked me to be quiet, when the night sky ahead came alive with the beams of an oncoming car. The light was dazzling and then we crashed into the ditch. I was flung right out of my car seat against the front window, then jerked up to the roof and back down to the floor. Mother was smashed up as her side of the car was all crushed. There was a lot of blood and she was staring at me.

  ‘“Amy. Amy. Remember this. Don’t trust anyone. Fight for your life.”

  ‘“Don’t die,” I urged her. But she just kept saying it. Over and over. “Don’t trust anyone. Fight for your life”. Then she stopped. Her eyes were still open but she was gone.

  ‘It was hours before someone came. I was cold and hurting and…’ Ms Philips gave a bitter laugh, ‘of course when a man tried to get me out, I wouldn’t go. I didn’t trust him. “Don’t trust anyone,” had been Mother’s last words and so I didn’t.’

  Amy Philips sat back, almost triumphant. It was as though she felt she had answered us.

  McCarthy looked at me, waiting for me to push things along.

  Very well. ‘Michael Patterson?’

  ‘He was the brother of Ivy Patterson, who I met at the boarding school my uncle sent me to.’

  I wrote this down. ‘Can you remember when you first met him?’

  ‘Clearly. Do you mind if I explain the background properly?’

  I nodded. McCarthy nodded too, albeit with a perceptible reluctance.

  ‘St Agatha’s is a girl’s school in Devon,’ Ms Philips glanced at McCarthy as if she were looking at a schoolgirl. ‘That’s in the UK. It was a small school, for wealthy families. I suppose I was wealthy, what with my share of the inheritance and the insurance. But of course my uncle was guardian.

  ‘As I’m sure you can imagine, I was lonely. I went there when I was eight. My parents were dead. Even though they were usually mean to me, I missed my brother and sister. When they were really angry with me, they used to say it was my fault that Mother had crashed. It’s true, I’d been nagging her to answer me about something, something I now forget but I’m sure it was trivial.

  ‘So there I was, unhappy and guilty. And, of course, not able to trust anyone. What had Mother meant? Was there a conspiracy against me? Were the teachers in on it? The other students? That’s when I met Ivy Patterson.

  ‘Straight away I knew she was not a threat. She was so timid and shy. Black hair, shoulder length, a slim build – she always was thin – and much smaller than me. Best of all, her mother had died young too: breast cancer.

  ‘This girl, I decided, would be my friend, even though she was in the form below mine.’

  I took a drink of water and Ms Philips immediately turned her severe gaze upon me, as though I had voiced a criticism.

  ‘I’m coming to Mike,’ she continued. ‘Because the one big difference between Ivy and me was that she had visitors. Her father came often, every fortnight on a Sunday, bringing her brother Mike along. He was three years older than her, so two years older than me.

  ‘They took pity on me, the Pattersons, and brought me out with them on their Sunday trips. Me in the front seat, beside Ivy’s father; the brother and sister in the back. We’d drive to Barnstaple, have tea, maybe watch a film. It was all very civilized. My main concern was to make myself agreeable to them, so they would keep taking me out on Sundays and so that Ivy would stay my special friend.

  ‘This went on for years. Really, years. And Mike liked me long before we dated. He was a weak boy too, like Ivy. Quiet, afraid of his dad’s short temper. He didn’t laugh easily. One Sunday I really went out of my way to see if I could make him laugh. I tried stupid knock knock jokes, which were the only kind I knew. And I tried being goofy, doing silly walks. But I only finally succeeded by accident.

  ‘I’d dropped a scone on my shoe and there was cream over the laces. I didn’t have a handkerchief but their dad wasn’t watching. So I scooped it up and wiped my fingers on the side of my plate. But there was still some sticky whiteness on my hand. So I said, “Hey, Ivy, come closer.” Ivy leaned forward, puzzled, and I quickly cleaned my hand on her cardigan.

  ‘Mike saw it all and he loved that. He was snorting with laughter. Stupid boy. He couldn’t see that he was the same as her and if I wanted to, I could have him wrapped around my finger just as tightly.’

  ‘You dated him?’ asked McCarthy, tone seemingly bored, but you never could tell with her.

  ‘Later. But, you know, it’s been so long since I’ve reminisced like this, I’d rather continue as I am. And you are such an attentive audience.’ There was a flicker of a smile around her full mouth and a more definite, knowing sarcasm in her sharp eyes.

  McCarthy caught it too. ‘We’re not bleedin’ therapists. We are the police. And you are facing years in prison.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Amy Philips leaned back, to take us both in. ‘Perhaps we should end this interview then. And I will be on my way home. Unless you intend to charge me with a crime.’

  ‘Let’s carry on.’ I tried to sound indifferent, although she had just caused my heart to beat faster. At this stage, I didn’t have forensics, nor much of feel for what had happened. One thing I was sure of: Amy Philips was not going to be allowed back home for a while. But it would be total guesswork as to whether a charge of manslaughter was the right one. Perhaps, it occurred to me as I looked at the middle-aged woman, we were dealing with a murderer. But who would plan to stab a man to death with a knitting needle? And how would they go about it?

  ‘So am I twelve again?’

  ‘You are,’ I said.

  ‘Twelve. At boarding school in England. But not so lonely, I had a friend. Ivy was perfect for a girl who could not trust anyone. She was so happy that an older girl was her friend – you understand the enhanced prestige she enjoyed among her year as a result – that she was very grateful.

  ‘Even so, I didn’t fully trust her. I don’t think I will ever trust anyone completely. So to make sure she was really mine, I set her some tasks. Simple ones at first, like stealing a brooch. There was a girl in my year, Rachel Heron, who had a lovely turquoise brooch. Of course, we weren’t allowed jewellery on our uniforms, but come the weekend or any other opportunity to do so, Rachel always proudly wore the brooch.

  ‘I didn’t like Rachel for various reasons. She came from a large family, she was popular and she was condescending towards me, the Irish orphan. Knowing it would distress Rachel to lose that brooch more than anything else I could think of, I wanted to get it off her.

  ‘Our school amateur dramatics group had taken on Romeo and Juliet, with Rachel as Mercutio. You know it?’

  I nodded. McCarthy looked disgusted.

  ‘To steal the brooch, I even went so far as to join the theatre group and helped with the stage. The point was to keep an eye on Rachel and understand her routines. She always wore the brooch to Saturday rehearsals and as opening night drew nearer, would often leave it with her clothes in the shared dressing-room beside the stage.

  ‘Next, I had to persuade Ivy to come in and take the jewellery. In a way, so long as the theft was attempted, it would be a win-win scenario for me. Either Ivy got the brooch, in which case I’d land a hard blow on Rachel. Or Ivy got caught, in which case I’d test her trustworthiness by finding out whether she would confess to my involvement. This mattered much more to me than any trouble the school might give me. In any case, what could they do? Tell my parents? No. My uncle? He wouldn’t care.

  ‘Ivy, as I anticipated, was hard to budge. We would sit among a copse of beech trees on a memorial bench (to some girl who had died of leukaemia), arguing about the need to get that brooch. Ivy would stare up at me with beseeching, chestnut-coloured eyes. “But why, Amy? I don’t understand.”

  ‘“Because Rachel has been cruel to me for several years and because I want to know I can trust you.”

  ‘“Of course you can trust me, Amy. I don’t have to become a thief to prove that.”

  ‘“You do, actually.”

&n
bsp; ‘“But a thief is such a rotten, sneaky, hated creature. I’d be ashamed.”

  ‘“Exactly. I understand you think that way. That’s why it would mean so much to me if you overcame your reservations and took it.”

  ‘“Oh, Amy. This is wrong.”

  ‘I smiled at her. “You remember the bit in the Bible, about an eye for an eye?”

  ‘“Yes?”

  “Think of it that way. You are dealing back to Rachel some of the distress that she has caused me over the years. And we still won’t be equal, even after this.”

  ‘“I don’t know.” Ivy had tears in her eyes. “Please don’t make me.”

  ‘But I did, of course. I had to work fast, there were only two more Saturdays before the play. And for a while, I thought I’d failed. Ivy took to avoiding me. She too knew that time was against me. If she’d have held out a few more days, our entire lives would have been different. But in a small school like ours, her behaviour was noticed and, suffering from a general coolness towards her (I was popular enough, outside certain circles), once Ivy was reminded of her lonely existence outside the protective glow of my affection, she came whimpering back to my room.

  ‘On the day, it was all very simple and, in fact, I was able to slip away from backstage and, concealed in darkness, take a Polaroid of Ivy entering the room. I moved around to get another as she left. Looking extremely white, I must say. Of course it meant I didn’t have a secure alibi, but I felt it would prove worthwhile to have these pictures and so it did.

  ‘Rachel was so distraught, the theft achieved all that I wanted. I was even able to enjoy the fact that my popular classmate knew I had something to do with it. One evening after choir, in the short walk between the rhododendrons from the church to the school, she accosted me.’

  ‘“Amy Philips. What do you know about my missing brooch?”

  ‘“Why? Are you accusing me of stealing it?”

  ‘“No. Not accusing. But you are the only one who would steal it.”

  ‘“That is an accusation.”

  ‘“Just tell me.”

  ‘I didn’t tell her. But I smiled and she knew all right.’

  Amy Philips was almost chuckling to herself with the memory and I could just imagine her aged twelve, gloating before her rival.

  ‘“One night, Rachel and her friends raided my room. Two of them sat on me while they turned everything over. I didn’t struggle, there was no need, I knew they would never find the brooch. True, I had it. But I had spent ages hollowing out a hiding place behind the skirting board, scraping the grey cement from between two bricks. And I’d even refilled the crack by glueing back some of the fragments.

  ‘They gave up, finding nothing. But they all knew. I could hardly contain my pleasure that I had annoyed Rachel so much that she had to resort to this kind of violence.

  ‘And I did something interesting with the Polaroids. I showed them to Ivy, who was horrified of course. “Why did you take those pictures?”

  ‘To make sure you’ll always obey me in every way. If I’m ever displeased with you, I’ll show your theft to the whole school.

  ‘“But I did it for you!” she nearly screamed.

  ‘“Yes, and I appreciate that.” I then had a wonderful idea about a way to test my new powers over Ivy. “Now kiss me. Properly, on the lips.”

  ‘“What? No!” Even timid Ivy recoiled from an act that was clearly abhorrent to her, whether from good Christian avoidance of all matters sexual or whether from a distaste in kissing girls.

  ‘“Fine.” I got up from my bed and went for the door, photographs in hand.

  ‘“Where are you going?” Ivy’s voice was pleading.

  ‘“To the school magazine. These will make for a sensational front page. Mind you, I shall be sorry if you get expelled for it.”

  ‘“Oh Amy! How can you be so cruel? I just want to be your friend. I tried to help you.”

  ‘“I know, I know. So kiss me.” By now I was getting excited. I actually felt something stir down there. Something warm.’

  ‘For God’s sake.’ McCarthy stood up. ‘Let’s end this now.’ She turned to me. ‘This aristocrat is a total creep.’

  ‘Sit down, McCarthy.’ I took a breath. ‘Carry on, Ms Philips.’

  I didn’t know what game she was playing, but I was sure Amy Philips was going to talk her way into trouble if we let her. And we should.

  ‘So Ivy stood there in front of me, trembling. Her eyes were closed. She actually looked quite beautiful then.

  ‘“Open your eyes.” I commanded her. Ivy obeyed. I was struck by how beautiful they were. Dark brown, like mine, but with a hint of copper. “Now kiss me.” Ivy winced, then stretched up, obviously anxious and perhaps disgusted. Our lips met. Hers were cold and hard but I forced them apart and pressed my tongue into her mouth. Then, from nowhere, came an urge to hurt her. Grabbing her head, I kept her close while I ground my teeth across her mouth.

  ‘With a scream and in floods of tears she ran out. I could have called her back, to see just how far my new power over her ran. But I was in the full flush of a tremendous sense of achievement and I simply held still to relish it.’

  ‘And Michael?’ I asked matter-of-factly, as if undisturbed by this story, though in fact, it was horrible at several levels. I strove to contain my feelings, which would have made me simply despise her. Instead I wanted to be able to analyze her, to understand why she was telling us this. My intuition was that there was a sinister point to all this. On the other hand, she could be one of those – and I’d met plenty – who want to confess to authority, making up crimes they would never dare actually commit.

  Chapter Three

  ‘Michael?’ Amy Philips raised her upper lip contemptuously. ‘Mike was only ever a means to secure my hold on Ivy.’

  ‘How so?’ I prompted her.

  ‘I got him to compromise himself for me too. Ivy loved Mike and looked up to him, although he was as mouse-like as her. She just couldn’t see it because of the age gap. So when Ivy realised that I could destroy Mike too, she was all the more anxious to serve me.’

  McCarthy looked up sharply. ‘Destroy him? How?’

  I had the very same question on my lips.

  ‘In his case, the crime was arson. The Butlers had a beach hut at Sarentil Bay. A small enough affair, for them to change in and store a few things. I think they might have owned the beach too, though the public made good use of it. Of course, the hut was always padlocked.

  ‘One Sunday, Ivy, Mike and myself were walking along the sand, mostly in silence, listening to the rush and sigh of the large waves that had been worked up by a strong wind. It was a cold wind too and so we took shelter against the brown planked wall of the hut.

  ‘Mike, pathetically anxious to impress me, took out a cigarette and lit it, turning pale green as he inhaled. “Want one?”

  ‘“Sure.” I knew how to smoke already at that age. I didn’t like it, but smoking provided a useful connection to a certain group of girls at our school who used to meet up at the old squash court and smoke.

  ‘We drew on our cigarettes and watched the endlessly fascinating grey sea. “You know what makes me angry above all?” I asked them.

  ‘“Disloyalty,’ offered Ivy, tentatively.

  ‘“No.” I gave her a smile “That is a good answer though. Mike, have a guess.”

  ‘“I dunno. Being bullied?”

  ‘“No. This.” I tapped on the wood behind us and deliberately left them wondering for a moment what I meant. “Did you ever mix with the really rich? I bloody well hate them. They start out polite but all the time they are searching. Where are your family from? What school do you go to? How many acres did you say you own? And when they realize you are from a family of declining fortunes, they stop talking to you. They sit on the other side of the church. And it’s not like they are deliberately snubbing you. What really makes me angry is that they lose interest and you are nothing. Gone from their thoughts.

  ‘�
�Marjorie Butler had a few friends to tea last year. She’s fourteen. I was so pleased to be invited, I got my uncle to buy me a new dress. At some point in the day, I knew my answers to their questions hadn’t satisfied because they started to grow colder. And then they were gone. I was left alone in the big house, with just the servants, who may even have been in on it, because none of them could help me.

  ‘“Up and down the great stairs I went, calling out the names of the other children. Out in the garden, where the bark was peeling away from a grove of birch trees, to remind me of the torture I was feeling. Why were they hiding from me? I only did find them because Marjorie was obsessed by a song, Stray Cats Strut, or something like that.

  ‘“The faint strains of music came from high up. With great effort and tears in my eyes, I got to a spare bedroom with an open window in its slanting roof. The music – and some giggling – came from up there. But there was no way up. They had pulled the ladder through after them, to whatever balcony they were on. Eventually, I gave up, went downstairs and had the servant ring for my uncle. As we drove away, I saw them, half way up the tall mansion, among baskets of marigolds, waving at me sarcastically.”

  ‘“How mean!” exclaimed Ivy.

  ‘“There are boys like that at my school.” Mike drew a curved line in the sand, moving the toe of his shoe back and forth.

  ‘“I know!” I cried excitedly, as if the idea had just occurred to me. ‘“This is Marjorie Butler’s changing hut for the beach. Let’s burn it!”

  ‘“Oh, no.” Ivy shook her head. “That’s wrong.”

  ‘“An eye for an eye, Ivy, remember. Come on, Mike.”

  ‘“I dunno.”

  ‘“Mike.” I looked him in the eyes – pale, brown, weak - and then had a brilliant insight. “They are bullies, aren’t they? The rich kids in your school?”

  ‘“Yeah.”

  ‘“Well then. Stand up for yourself as well as for me. Show them you’re a lion, not a worm. They shouldn’t have picked on you. Whatever happened, you kept your spirit, ready for the opportunity for revenge.”