by David James
And the children had taken to writing in the journals surprisingly easily. She had suggested the idea more out of exasperation than expectation that they would actually do it.
One of her assistants had suggested that this way the children could keep control of what they said. They couldn't accidentally blurt anything out that they didn't want to say.
She wondered where her own journals were now? For a moment she imagined what they would say. They would probably be full of dark, portentous teenage angst, probably very embarrassing and probably best left still hidden.
She wondered what the children might have to write today, if anything?
She realised that her entire day, and her life, now seemed to depend on what the children might write down.
There was something about the children. Something about their attitude, or was it the way they smiled? She realised that she was starting to sound strange even to herself. She also realised that she had been standing in the hallway for a matter of minutes deliberating. She did this a lot.
Steeling herself, she opened the front door, pausing to carefully control her breathing and instil some calm, and made her way to face the world again.
It was only a short drive to work, she had done it often enough to drive on autopilot for most of the way. She often had no real recollection of the actual journey. Traffic lights were seemingly safely negotiated; roundabouts driven round; junctions pulled out from. All apparently safely. She was sure that the other drivers would have kindly informed her if she had made a mistake.
As she approached the long driveway to the institute, the queues of film crews, reporters’ cars and all other paraphernalia associated with a major news item came into view. It resembled an encampment in a war zone. Some of the equipment they had seemed to resemble artillery and medieval siege engines; which was quite apt as she often felt as if the institute was under siege nowadays.
They had never really hassled her particularly. Sure, they had poked cameras in her car the first few times. That had been disconcerting. But she realised that they had quickly worked out that she wasn't a particularly important person. She was unlikely to give them that headline, that quote that would light up the news media.
What made her smile was that actually she was that important. On a daily basis she was the one closest to their news story.
A small part was a little disappointed that they didn't think she was important enough to hassle. When she looked at herself in the mirror she had to admit that her appearance didn't exactly scream out important, dangerous or even mildly interesting. It politely and quietly said librarian.
If her colleagues ever considered how she dressed – which she doubted they ever would – they would probably describe her as dressing “soberly”. She was often glad to get into her white lab coat as soon as she could at work; the uniform acting as a kind of camouflage for her clothing. Her hair was worryingly close to a bun, but in her job, why should she worry that much about appearance?
Besides, it still amused her that if the media had really known what she did, they would be very interested in what she had to say. Of all the people that would run their gauntlet today, she was one of two people who knew the most about what was happening with the children.
Chapter Three
The car rattled to a halt in the car park in front of the main building and Sarah emerged at the main entrance to the institute.
It was a large, imposing building and if you were a fan of glass and steel you were in luck. It was almost an overdose of the stuff. Sarah didn't much care for it herself, she preferred the comparative warm appeal of ornate stone. She realised that possibly the current century was passing her by.
She had been here long enough not to be impressed by the foyer as she opened the main door. The display of marble and glass could turn the head of many a visitor. But to Sarah it was just the fancy exterior that needed to be negotiated until she could reach the more mundane part of the building. Where the actual work was done.
As she walked, the surroundings became suitably business like and slightly drab as she approached her desk.
The papers she was carrying were placed on the desk and after removing her coat, she began arranging them neatly. Each pile was carefully organised and finally adjusted until they all lined up correctly. She could feel the physical sensation of relief in her stomach as the final one was perfectly adjusted. Satisfied that the desk was all in order, she sat down and mentally prepared herself for the day ahead.
Her first order of business would be a meeting with her boss, the director of the institute. She had ten minutes before the meeting and busied herself catching up with her emails. She was trying to keep herself busy so as not to think too much about the forthcoming meeting, it was always with a hint of trepidation that she went to the meetings with the director. Each time she felt that she needed to show more and more progress with the children. And as she stood up from her desk, she could feel the knot in her stomach begin to tighten.
The director’s office was towards the front of the building and by the time she was standing outside his door the furnishings and décor had noticeably improved from her own office surroundings. She could feel the nervousness within her begin to form and build up to an almost uncontrollable level. She reached into her pocket and felt the reassurance of the smooth texture of the pill. Feigning stifling a cough she popped the pill in her mouth, instantly feeling more relaxed.
She knocked on the door with what she hoped was a confident sounding knock and waited to be ushered in.
The director had been waiting for Sarah to arrive and as the time had drawn nearer to her arriving, he had felt the apprehension rising in himself. The knock on the door still made him jolt upwards slightly even though he had been expecting it. He always tried to keep his meetings with Sarah reasonably relaxed, he tried to give the impression that they were just informal chats. But he knew this couldn't last for much longer, he could only shield her for so long.
He realised that he hadn't actually replied to the knock, gathered his thoughts, straightened up in his chair and tried to look like the confident director of a prestigious institute
'Come in, come in Sarah.'
The figure that greeted Sarah was clad in a business suit, had slightly greying hair and had the annoying knack, common she felt to many men, of appearing more distinguished as the years rolled on. She had known him through his work with her father for over ten years. When she was growing up he had been a regular guest at her parent's house and she remembered that for a few years he was an almost permanent fixture there. Sarah had got used to seeing him at breakfast, dinner and watching him enter her father’s study with her father, not to be seen again for many hours.
It had all changed quite abruptly, and she never knew why. But she had her own problems then just being a teenage girl, so she hadn't queried it particularly at the time. It was only later on that she had wondered if there had been some rift between her father and him.
Sarah sat down on the chair directly across from him.
He had a half smile as he said 'How are things going with our enfants terribles?'
It was how he sometimes referred to the children, she was never quite sure if he was joking or there was some deeper meaning behind the name.
'Some of them have started to fill out the journals,' she replied.
'Ah yes, the journals. Inspired idea.' His smile broadened a little.
She wasn't sure if he knew that the inspiration had come from her father when she was a child, after all he had been close to her father. Who knew what they had discussed?
'Yes, we are hoping that it will lead to them letting us know at least something about them.' She replied.
His smile remained as he said 'You will let me know if they write anything of interest won't you?'
'Of course. I’d just like to wait until they write something that could be useful.'
Sarah, feeling under some pressure to please the director, said hurriedly
'Nathan and Emily are fifteen years old.' she smiled sheepishly like a child trying to please a parent.
'Nathan and Emily?'
'It's the names they have given us.'
The director leaned forward slightly and said 'You think they are their real names?'
Sarah considered for a moment, 'Probably not.'
The director sat back again. 'Well we know that they are possibly fifteen years old then.'
Sarah nodded.
She had needed to tell him something, even if it was only their ages.
As Sarah sat looking at the figure of the director in front of her, she found it hard to reconcile his current appearance with the one she remembered. When she was younger he had been a totally different person. For a start, he had looked a lot more like a dropout hippy than the authority figure sitting across from her now. As she began to remember his previous appearance he seemed to begin to change in front of her eyes. Gone was the suit, tie and short grey hair. Back was the long straggly hair, clothing that seemed slightly at odds with each other and a dubious looking “cigarette” hanging from his mouth. She had to try hard to suppress a smile.
'Is there something the matter?' he asked.
Clearly she hadn't tried hard enough.
'No, no, it's all fine,' she said unconvincingly.
They may not entirely see eye to eye nowadays, but he had been there during her dark days, when there hadn't seemed to be many people who had.
The director leant forward and lowered the tone in his voice. ‘I’d like you to bring the journals with you to our next meeting.’
Sarah’s heart sank and she wasn’t entirely sure why. The director and she were on the same side after all, but for some reason she was reluctant to share the children’s writings with him.
She began to speak ‘As I say, I’d like to wait – .’
The director interrupted her and said ‘I appreciate that, but I think it would be useful for other people to have a look as well. Another viewpoint can be helpful.’
Sarah thought about protesting, but his expression was fixed on her and she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She knew she wasn’t going to win this battle.
She sighed slightly and said ‘Of course, you are right. I can bring them next time. But I don’t want everyone to see them,’ she said slightly defiantly.
The director visibly relaxed and said ‘I can categorically assure you that very few people will see them.’
Sarah felt at once assured and slightly worried by his tone. And her feeling didn’t improve as he said ‘And I would presume that you do not let anyone else see them.’
She was at least on safe ground here, she had guarded them so jealously already.
‘Of course not,’ she replied.
He nodded his head slowly and to Sarah he seemed to be debating whether to say something. Eventually, he lowered his voice and said ‘How are you coping without your father around?’
Sarah felt her heart rate rise and she shuffled uncomfortably in her chair.
‘It’s difficult,’ she said honestly. The vision of her sitting alone in her father’s study flashed across her mind. She wasn’t prepared to be too honest with him.
The director continued to look at her with a concerned expression on his face and she felt compelled to say more.
‘It sometimes doesn’t feel that he is gone.’
He looked at her slightly quizzically and said ‘with all his things still being around?’
Sarah was impressed with his perception, but then she remembered what his job had previously been. She found herself relaxing; it felt like she was talking to him years ago when she was younger.
‘Yes, it’s almost as if he is still there. I keep expecting him to appear around the corner,’ she said.
To anyone else she knew this might sound strange, but surely he would understand.
He continued smiling and said ‘I’m sure it is a comfort to still have him around.’
He understands thought Sarah, he really does. ‘It is,’ she said.
The director held her gaze intently for a few more seconds before he sat back and said in a relaxed manner 'Did you manage to get in all right this morning? With our friends outside?'
Sarah followed his lead and leant back, it was a topic that she could talk about without being careful about every word she uttered.
'Yes, I've sort of got used to it. They don't seem to bother with me much anyway.'
'Lucky you,' said the director, a genuine smile on his face.
'How are your assistants doing?' he said.
Sarah had staff. It surprised her each time she realised that she had to organise other people.
'They are getting along okay. They can be useful at times,' she replied.
The director seemed slightly amused by her reply. 'Only at times?'
Sarah realised that she had sounded less than enthusiastic. But she had only been honest. And truth be told, she didn't always feel comfortable being the boss. And there was something about Helen what made Sarah feel uneasy at times.
She corrected herself and said 'They have been useful in the sessions with the children.' Which was true, she couldn't have managed without them.
As Sarah looked across at him he seemed to be composing himself before he spoke next. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself immediately.
Sarah was beginning to feel uncomfortable again.
The director seemed to be debating with himself and finally said 'Was there anything I can help you with? To, you know, speed things along.'
His expression was friendly, but Sarah could sense that there seemed to be more that he wanted to say.
She hesitated, choosing her words carefully 'No, nothing else. I've got another session with them today. 'Of course, of course,' he said. 'I'll let you get on with it then. I just like to know how things are getting along.'
Sarah stood up and started to walk towards the door. The director turned his focus to the paperwork on his desk.
As Sarah was about to close the door behind her, he said 'Good luck with the session.'
She turned and said 'Thank you,' before closing the door gently behind her.
She appreciated all the support she had received from him and she had an inkling of the pressure that he must be under as well. But sometimes after these meetings she couldn't help but feel that he was checking up on her as much as the progress with the children.
As she walked back to her desk she was already contemplating the session with the children later today.
As ever she hoped for progress; she hoped that the children would finally begin to talk to her. But at the moment she just hoped for the next journal entry to be made.
Sarah reached her desk and sat down heavily. She looked at the clock; the next session with the children was due soon. Part of her looked forward to the sessions, the professional part of her saw it as a challenge, a mystery to be solved. The personal part of her didn't want to put herself through it again. She sometimes felt that the children were reaching into her mind somehow as she sat with them. It was an unpleasant and unnerving feeling.
But she knew the director’s patience wouldn't last forever, she needed to show tangible progress. Maybe it would start today?
Maybe.
As the director watched Sarah leave and the door close behind her, his hand reached across to pick up his mobile phone. The number he wanted was already programmed in, but he hesitated before calling it. He felt torn between the duty of care he felt towards Sarah and what he was about to do.
He reached down to a small draw in his desk and pulled out the photo of himself and Sarah's father. He always felt a mixture of sadness, wistfulness and joy when he looked at it. They looked so happy in the photograph, a sense of hope and excitement radiated from the flat image. They had been friends and colleagues then. And now he was gone and just his daughter Sarah was here.
He slowly closed the draw, as if he was embarrassed at the person in the photo seeing what
he was about to do and what he had become. The very thing his previous self would have hated.
He pressed the number on the phone.
The answer came almost immediately.
'I just thought you would like to know about any progress,' said the director, 'No, they aren't speaking yet. I know, but they have started to write things down in the journal.'
'They have given their names and their ages. Nathan and Emily apparently.'
'We can monitor it closely. They are in complete isolation. I made sure of that.'
The director then assumed a defensive tone of voice and said 'I am monitoring her. She seems okay at the moment. No, her medication seems to be working as hoped.'
He was beginning to feel more uncomfortable and couldn't wait for the call to end. Finally he felt that he had given enough information.
'Yes, as I promised, you will be the first to know.'
He ended the call and put the phone in the drawer, his shoulders visibly relaxing.
He hated those calls.
He always felt that he should be reporting some progress, something new. But at the same time he wasn't sure that was what they wanted to hear. He was in the strange position of wishing for progress with the children, but at the same time dreading it.
As he sat back in his chair and looked out of the window and realised he was worried about Sarah. She had said she was okay, but her appearance and demeanour had suggested otherwise. And her talk of feeling that her father was still there was bordering on delusional. It showed that she was nowhere near being ready to move on. He would have to keep a close eye on her.
Chapter Four
For some reason the meetings with the director seemed to exhaust Sarah. They shouldn't, after all they had known each other for many years. But she always found herself carefully selecting what she said, looking for clues in his reactions to see if she had said the right thing. She was relieved that she could now concentrate on her real job.
