‘What?’
He pressed his fingers into his temple and closed his eyes as though I was giving him a headache.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘this is what’s going to happen. In a few minutes some more cars will turn up. I’ll meet up with the guys who are in them and explain what’s just happened, and then if we’re lucky you and I can drive off and find another pub somewhere to have some dinner.’
‘And if we’re unlucky?’
‘Then I’ll have to help them out. And you’ll have to stay in the car and keep your head down – and don’t say a word.’
‘Are you ever going to tell me what the fuck’s going on?’
‘When this is all over. I promise.’
He leaned over to kiss me in the darkness. At first I turned my cheek towards him, but he pulled me round, finding my mouth, his other hand slipping inside my jacket, pulling at my blouse.
The car reversed into the space next to us. I could see three figures inside, although it was too dark to see properly. ‘Right,’ Lee said quietly. ‘You stay here, okay? Do not get out of the car. Understand?’
I nodded. He got out and climbed into the back of the other car. The interior light didn’t go on when the door opened. I watched the figures in the car although I couldn’t see them clearly. They looked as though they were discussing something but I couldn’t hear a sound. After a few minutes all four doors opened and they got out. Lee gave me a smile and a wink. I wasn’t feeling in the mood to return it. They all walked to the side door of the pub and went in, looking just as though they were mates heading off for a pint or two.
It was cold in the car. I considered turning the engine on just to get a bit of warmth, or maybe the radio. For a brief moment, I even considered driving home and leaving him here with his mates. It wasn’t so much that our romantic meal out had been so rudely interrupted, it was the way he’d been barking orders at me. I started mentally rehearsing the earful I was planning to give him, when this – whatever the fuck it was – was over.
The side door to the pub burst open and all hell broke loose.
I sat forward in my seat to get a better view, and then shrank back again when the man I’d seen earlier ran out of the door towards the car, rucksack on his shoulder, closely followed by a second man wearing a hooded top, and then Lee. Lee was shouting something and then hurling himself at the man with the bag, both of them crashing down onto the gravel just as the door opened again and two other men ran out.
I don’t think I had a clue about what was going on, looking back. It was only when I saw Lee fishing around in his pocket and pulling out something that might have been a cable tie, strapping the man’s wrists behind his back, and the man in the hooded top being brought back from the road, two of Lee’s mates either side of him, holding him up, that it finally dawned on me that it was some kind of arrest.
Lee was arresting that man with the bag.
Monday 24 December 2007
This was the day that went horribly wrong. The day my fragile world crashed down around my ears.
I finished work at four. I had been working on a recruitment campaign for a new warehouse that was being built to house our stock, on the industrial estate adjacent to the head office of the pharmaceutical company where I worked. The warehouse was due to open in April, and already we’d recruited most of the management. Now we were left with the supervisors and operatives, most of whom could probably be recruited from the local area. The newspaper adverts would run for the first six weeks of the new year. If we didn’t have enough quality candidates after that, we would look to agencies.
I caught the Tube as far as Kingston Street, only about half a mile away from home. I took a circuitous route, through the alleyway so I could check the curtains at the back, then one length of Talbot Street before I could get to the front door. I’d made a conscious effort to take the same route home on the Tube two days running, and I was limiting my checking as far as I could. It was taking me about an hour in the mornings – certainly a lot better than it had been.
A few steps from the front door I heard a shout behind me and I turned, startled. It was Stuart, running up Talbot Street.
‘You’ve finished early,’ I said.
‘Yes, thankfully. How are you?’
‘Good, thank you.’
There was a pause. I wondered how I was going to get away with checking the door with him there.
‘So – are you coming up for a drink?’
‘What, now?’
‘Yes, now.’
‘I was going to – er – ’
‘Come up now, come on.’
In the hallway he let me check the door once whilst he stood there impatiently.
‘There’s a note for you here,’ he said, pointing at the hall table.
I gritted my teeth at the interruption. If he kept talking to me we’d be here all night. ‘Just let me do this, then I’ll look.’
Of course, when I’d just about finished the check, the door to Flat 1 opened and Mrs Mackenzie emerged, resplendent in a floral pinny and slippers. ‘Is that you, Cathy?’
‘And me,’ Stuart said.
‘Oh, lovely! Both of you together.’ She gave me a hard stare, the one I usually got when she caught me in the middle of checking the door. We all stood there for a moment looking at each other.
‘Well, I can’t stand here gassing all day,’ Mrs Mackenzie said at last, ‘I’d never get anything done.’
She went back inside, and Stuart and I looked at each other. ‘Does she do that to you as well?’ he whispered.
I nodded. ‘Just don’t mention Christmas to her, she doesn’t like it.’
‘I know. I made that mistake last week. Here’s that message.’
It was a ‘While You Were Out’ note, pre-printed, and it had my name on it. Other than the standard boxes which allow you to tick options, the only information on the form was a name – Sam Hollands – a mobile phone number and a landline number, and the message:
PLS PHONE ASAP
He handed it to me before I realised it, and of course by that point, with all the interruptions, the door was unchecked and I would have to start the whole damn thing again.
‘The door is locked, Cathy,’ he said gently, seeing my expression. ‘We can’t stand here all night. Let’s go and have a drink.’
‘I can’t just leave it.’
‘Yes, you can. Come on.’
‘Why are you in such a huge hurry all of a sudden?’
‘I’m not in a hurry,’ he said.
He was so serene, so impossibly calm, I found myself getting wound up. ‘Why don’t you just go, and let me get on with it, then?’
‘I’m not going to accommodate the OCD.’
I burst out laughing. ‘You what?’
‘Cathy, you don’t need me to reassure you. You are going to get your condition under control. If I keep getting involved with your checking rituals, even by waiting for you to do them, you’re not going to be as motivated to work at it.’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake. You’re such a fucking psychologist.’
‘Yes, I am, as you keep pointing out. But I have actually finished work and I’d really like to go upstairs with you, right now, and have a drink. So come on.’
He made me go upstairs in front of him, the bit of paper clutched in my hand. I didn’t look back at the door. On the first floor I stopped and looked at the door of my flat. The need to go in and start checking it was very strong.
‘Come on, Cathy, don’t stop,’ Stuart said. He was halfway up the next flight of stairs already.
‘I need to go and phone this person, this – ’ I checked the message ‘ – Sam Hollands.’
‘Do it from my flat,’ he said.
When I still didn’t move, he came back down the stairs to me. ‘Your flat is still secure from when you left it this morning,’ he said. ‘Isn’t it?’
Before I had time to consider this, he took hold of my hand. ‘Come upstairs,’ he said.
Stuart’s flat was warmer than mine, and bright with all the lights on. He put the oven on and started busying himself in the kitchen. ‘Are we having a cup of tea, or a bottle of wine?’ he asked.
‘Wine, I think,’ I said. ‘Shall I open it?’
He handed me a bottle from the fridge, and I found the glasses in the cupboard. ‘You’d better ring that Sam Hollands,’ he said, ‘before you forget.’
I took the message with me into Stuart’s living room and sat on the sofa, looking at it with trepidation. At this time of night, it didn’t seem worth checking the landline number, it was probably an office. So I rang the mobile. It rang for an age. Eventually it was answered – a woman’s voice.
‘DS Sam Hollands speaking.’
DS? ‘Hello. This is – Cathy Bailey. You left me a note.’
‘Hold on a moment, please.’ There were muffled sounds, voices in the background, as though DS Hollands was holding the phone against her jacket or something.
I felt my heart rate speeding up, my mouth dry. I felt sick. What the fuck did the police want? It couldn’t possibly be anything good, could it?
‘Yes, sorry about that, Miss Bailey. Cathy, was it? Thanks for ringing me back.’
More muffled sounds.
‘Right. I work at the Domestic Abuse office at Camden Police Station. I called by with regard to Lee Brightman.’
‘Yes?’ My voice had almost gone.
‘It’s a courtesy call, really. I just wanted to let you know that Lee Brightman is going to be released from custody on Friday the 28th.’
‘Already?’ I heard my own voice as though it was coming from a long, long way away.
‘I’m afraid so. He’s given a release address in Lancaster, so I don’t think you need to worry about bumping into him on the street, or anything like that. One of my counterparts in Lancaster gave us a call with his details so that we can inform you.’
‘Does – does he know where I am?’
‘Not unless you’ve told him. And we certainly won’t. I’m sure he won’t travel far, Cathy, there’s no need to worry. If you’re concerned, just give us a call. You can ring this number, or the other number I left, any time, if you’re worried about anything. Alright?’
‘Thank you,’ I managed to say, and disconnected.
I sat and waited for it. I felt it coming towards me like a wave, the panic. I think I was still waiting when I heard the noise, the wail, high-pitched and terrible, and wondered for a second where it was coming from until I ran out of breath and realised it was me. I shrank back into the sofa, trying to make myself as small as possible. Trying to disappear.
Moments like this are the ones I recognise as dangerous. The fear that permeates my life suddenly escalates to a new peak and my existence becomes a pointless effort, a challenge too far.
It was all a bit blurred for a moment. I saw Stuart sitting down next to me, but the whole room was shaking as though there was some sort of earthquake going on. I felt him put his arms around me, heard him saying something – breathe? But I couldn’t tell the details – I pushed him away seconds before I started retching, and he grabbed the wastepaper bin and held it up just as I vomited.
And then just the sound of my own breathing, or not even that – just little pants for breath in time with the shuddering, the shaking that was completely beyond my control. And my fingers were tingling, but it was too late, and the ground was coming up to meet me.
Wednesday 7 January 2004
Lee barely spoke to me all the way home.
He’d stopped and bought a bag of chips from the takeaway in Prospect Street. They were sitting unopened on my dining table, the smell of them making my mouth water, despite the fact that I’d entirely lost my appetite. We were on my sofa, in the dark. He’d sat down and pulled me onto his lap. I was rigid and frowning like a petulant child. I couldn’t even remember what exactly it was I was so angry about any more.
‘We need to talk about this,’ he said gently. He had his arms around me, his face into my neck.
‘We should have talked about it a long time ago.’
‘You’re right. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for all that crap tonight.’
‘Who was he? The man with the bag?’
‘He’s one of our targets. I’ve been following him for weeks. I had no idea he was using that pub as a meeting venue, obviously, otherwise I’d never have taken you there.’
‘So you’re a police officer?’
He nodded.
‘Why couldn’t you just have told me that before?’
There was a pause. Despite myself I was starting to soften. He was playing with my hand, threading his fingers through mine, bringing my hand up to his mouth so he could kiss the tips of my fingers. ‘I wasn’t expecting this to happen,’ he said. ‘I don’t do this. I don’t fall for women. I don’t spend long enough with anyone to have to tell them anything. It’s not an easy job to talk about, you know. I’m working undercover a lot of the time. It’s easier to do that sort of thing on your own.’
‘It looks dangerous,’ I said.
‘It probably looked worse than it was. I’m used to it.’
‘That’s what you were doing that first night, the night you came here covered in blood? I thought you’d been in a fight.’
‘Yes. That one wasn’t quite so straightforward. But that sort of thing doesn’t happen often. Most of the time I’m just sitting in a car waiting for something to happen, or having briefings in some stuffy room with no windows, or catching up on three hundred emails.’ He moved then, reaching behind his back. ‘I’m sitting on some kind of brick here – what is this thing?’
It was my organiser. I’d thrown it on the sofa with my bag when we’d come in.
I disentangled myself and got up. ‘I’ll get the chips,’ I said. ‘Do you want anything with them? Or a drink?’
‘No,’ I heard him say.
I put the kettle on. If there was something I needed right now it was a cup of tea.
‘Mind if I have a look?’ he called.
I brought the mugs of tea through a few minutes later and he’d turned the lights on. My organiser was open in his lap and he was turning the pages.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I was curious. Who are all these people?’
The back of my organiser was full of business cards in a clear wallet. ‘Just people I’ve met at conferences, things like that,’ I said. ‘You shouldn’t be looking in there.’
‘Why not?’ he asked, but he closed it and handed it back to me.
‘I’m a personnel manager, Lee. There’s stuff in there about members of staff. Disciplinary meetings, things like that.’
He grinned.
‘Okay. Are those chips still hot? I’m starving.’
Monday 24 December 2007
I came round slowly, my face against the carpet, the smell of vomit in my nose.
Almost immediately I started to panic again. Stuart tried to get me to breathe slowly. He held me, stroked my face, talked to me calmly, but at first it didn’t work. I couldn’t even hear him. I threw up again. Fortunately I was breathing enough not to pass out again, but in a way oblivion would have been kinder.
Eventually I heard him say, ‘Come back to me. Breathe with me, Cathy, come on. I don’t want to have to call for help. Breathe with me. You can do this, come on.’
It took a long time before I was calm enough to listen to him properly and understand what he was saying. He got me some clean clothes, some tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt, because he didn’t want to leave me in the flat alone, and I wasn’t about to go downstairs. I was so weak I could barely stand, so he helped me to the bathroom and left me to get myself undressed and into the bath he’d run for me. He waited just outside the door, half open, and talked to me while I sat there, shaking, trying not to look at myself, trying not to look at the scars and what they meant.
It felt as if he was back in my head again.
Or, not yet: but waiting. The images of him, the ones I’d fought to control, were still there. They had lost some of their sting. But now…
I used Stuart’s shower gel, my hand shaking so much that it spilled across my wrist and into the bathwater, but I got enough of it to soap my hands and try to get rid of the smell of sick from my hair and my body. The smell of the shower gel, curiously familiar, made me feel a bit better. I splashed water on my face and rinsed my mouth out with soapy bathwater.
‘I was thinking about that first time I saw you,’ he was saying, his voice so close as if he was sitting right next to me, but coming through the open door. He was sitting on the floor, outside in the hallway. I could see his legs stretched out in front of him. ‘That estate agent just barged in through the door; you must have been in the middle of checking. You gave me such a filthy look.’
‘I don’t remember – did I?’ My teeth were chattering. My throat was sore. Had I been screaming? I felt as if I had.
‘You did.’
‘The door was open – they’d left it on the latch.’
He laughed. ‘You poor old thing, how did you ever manage with them leaving the door open? Jesus.’ The tone of his voice changed, then. ‘You were looking at me with this sort of horror that someone had crossed the threshold when you were in the middle of checking the door. I thought you were the most beautiful ball of fury I’d ever seen.’
I pulled at the plug with numb fingers. Listening to the sound of the water pouring away. I’d listened to that noise from my bed, in the flat below, the swish and gurgle, wondering what he was doing having a bath at three in the morning.
‘I’m not beautiful,’ I said, quietly, looking at the scars on my left arm, the deeper ones at the tops of my legs. The worst ones were still red, the skin still tight and itchy.
‘I’m afraid that’s my call. Are you done?’
I managed to get up and put a towel around me. It was still a little bit damp from when he’d showered this morning. I felt completely tired, drained of all energy, and sat on the bath, waiting for my skin to dry on its own. I didn’t want to touch myself.
Into the Darkest Corner Page 15
