by Sibel Hodge
‘Hello. I haven’t missed our appointment, have I?’ I panic, wondering if I’ve lost yet more time and don’t remember. What day is it, anyway?
‘No, that’s not for another few days. The reason I’m ringing is that I’ve had a call from Liam this morning saying he’s concerned about you, so I wanted to check in. How’ve you been?’
I scrunch up my face and rest my head in my free hand then take a calming breath. ‘I’m fine, Dr Drew, really. He…’ I trail off. I wonder how much I should tell him. He seemed sympathetic before, even if he didn’t believe me. But surely, if I explain what I’ve found out so far, he’ll realize something strange is going on. ‘Liam’s telling me lies. And not just to me. He’s telling lies to other people about me.’
‘What kind of lies?’
‘He’s trying to convince people I’m going mad.’ There, I’ve said it. And now it’s out in the open, the tension pulling me taut unravels a little.
‘Why do you think that?’
‘Because he’s got things to hide. You know the antidepressants I was prescribed, Zola… something or other?’
‘Zolafaxine.’
‘Yes. Did you know they’re made by the same company where Liam works?’
‘Yes, in fact Liam was very insistent about us filing the required reports with his company as soon as possible after your incident occurred.’
‘I think he tampered with them somehow. Put something in them to make me go psychotic. I know it sounds far-fetched. Sounds ridiculous, even. But when you add everything together, it’s the only answer.’
There’s silence for a moment on the other end of the line. ‘As both Dr Traynor and I told you, it is possible to suffer the side effects you did whilst taking that medication. It’s been documented before. Although it’s unusual, it does happen occasionally. And it’s also entirely possible for you to have had a further reaction to the sleeping tablets you took, too, which, incidentally, are not made by Devon Pharmaceutical.’
‘I didn’t take them.’
‘How can you be sure? You don’t remember.’
‘Why would I ignore advice not to take any more medication? It doesn’t make any sense.’
‘People ignore medical advice all the time.’
‘But they’re not here. They’re not at the house. If I took them, they’d be here, wouldn’t they?’
‘You may have had them with you when you wandered off. You said your handbag was missing, so they could’ve been in there. And don’t forget, you were still grieving. Liam said you were still having trouble sleeping, so that’s obviously why you took them.’
‘Yes, but Liam was having an affair. I’ve found proof of it.’ I tell him about the hotel, the locket, and the photo of his boss, Julianne.
‘That doesn’t prove he was having an affair. Perhaps he was at a conference at the hotel that ended late in the evening, and he simply stayed there instead of disturbing you. The necklace could’ve been an innocent birthday gift for his boss, could it not?’
‘Would you buy a twelve-hundred pound diamond and gold necklace as a birthday present for your boss?’
‘My boss is a man, so I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate it very much.’ He chuckles slightly. I want to reach my hand down the phone line and shake him hard. Shake some bloody sense into him.
‘And my email account was hacked. He must’ve been looking for something.’
‘Do you know how many email accounts are hacked into every day? It happened to me only a few months ago. Whoever did it managed to send an email to all my contacts with a virus attached! It’s very common, you know.’
‘But when you consider everything else, it’s all suspicious. He lied to me about that note I wrote being a suicide letter. He lied that I’d taken some of my clothes to the charity shop.’
‘OK, OK, slow down. How do you know you didn’t take your clothes to the charity shop? You may have wanted to clear out a few things. I’ve seen it many times before when people are getting over a traumatic event. They like to get rid of old, stagnant things in their life and make way for the clean and bright and new. It’s actually a very therapeutic way to start dealing with life.’
‘I wouldn’t take used underwear to a charity shop. Would you?’
‘Well, no, I can’t say I would, but I’m sure it’s been known. I bet they get all sorts of strange things donated. One person’s rubbish is another person’s gold, after all.’
‘No, I just wouldn’t do that.’ My voice rises with hysteria. ‘And then there’s the place.’
‘Which place?’
No, not the place. Wrong word. My brain feels fuzzy, like a gap is opening up inside. ‘I mean the plate.’
‘The plate?’
‘Yes! The one Liam told you and the police I threw at him before he went to Scotland. There was no broken plate in the rubbish bin, so it couldn’t have happened.’
I hear him sigh, and I don’t know if it’s with impatience or disbelief. ‘Chloe, isn’t it likely that the refuse collectors have already taken it away? It would’ve been a week ago now.’
‘No, they’re on strike. It’s not possible at all,’ I say triumphantly. And then I remember something Summers told me. ‘Liam said he didn’t phone me from Scotland because we’d rowed about the plate and I told him I didn’t want to talk to him.’
‘Yes.’
‘But that’s not right, because there was no plate. And Liam always phones me. Or texts me. Every day he’ll ring to find out what I’m doing, where I am, what I’m thinking. Sometimes several times a day.’
‘I’m not sure what you’re getting at. It could be that—’
I cut him off with a loud sigh. ‘Don’t you see, though? He didn’t call me from Scotland because my mobile phone was smashed and in the bin, so he knew I wouldn’t be able to answer the phone. He knew because he put me in that place and left me to die!’ My voice escalates.
‘Calm down, dear. Take some deep breaths.’
I don’t want to fucking calm down. I want someone to believe me!
‘You don’t know how your mobile phone came to be broken and in the bin. It could’ve happened before Liam left for Scotland, in which case he wouldn’t call you, would he, if he knew about it?’
‘He didn’t call the house phone, either, though. Summers told me.’
‘Liam did mention how busy he’s been with the new Exalin drug. It’s possible he didn’t get the chance to call.’
‘But he always calls me. Always. Only not this time. It’s suspicious. Very suspicious.’
‘Have you asked Liam about all this?’
What was the point? I knew he’d just deny it. It was his word against mine, and everyone was on his side. ‘No, I don’t want to let him know I know yet.’
‘All of these things you’ve mentioned have a rational explanation, but if you feel this way, then I think you should be talking to the police about it. They’ll be able to put your mind at ease, I’m sure.’ His voice is gentle but insistent.
‘They won’t believe me until I have some proof. Liam’s managed to convince them I’m unstable. He said he showed you the letter I wrote. He told me it was my suicide letter, but it’s not.’ My right eye starts to twitch. I close it and press my finger against the lid, massaging it gently.
‘I agree.’
‘Hooray! That’s first thing we’ve agreed on,’ I snap. I know I should try to keep calm, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult. I don’t know why it isn’t obvious to him after everything I’ve just said that Liam is somehow involved. Why isn’t he listening to me?
But then I think about all the mentally unstable people he must see in his line of work. People who are delusional, who hear voices, who are paranoid and imagine things that aren’t really happening. He must think I’m just like them.
He ignores my outburst and says in a calm voice, ‘If I thought you were suicidal, I wouldn’t have agreed to release you from hospital. On the contrary, I think you have a strong will for su
rvival, which is the same thing I told Summers. Liam is convinced that you took the sleeping tablets in an attempt to overdose, which was thwarted when you had the reaction to it, and that’s why he’s so concerned about you.’
‘Yes, he can be very convincing when he wants to be,’ I mumble.
‘I disagree with that theory, though. I simply think you took them to help you sleep. After everything you’ve told me, I believe you were very unhappy with your life and possibly became depressed again, which led to you not sleeping like the last time. But until you regain your memory, none of us knows for certain what led to you being found on that road at the edge of the woods. We can all make suppositions or look for things that seem suspicious, but the most plausible answer is that you willingly took some sleeping tablets, which set off another hallucinogenic and paranoid psychosis. Some people are just very sensitive to medication.’
‘But what if you’re wrong? What if Liam is trying to get rid of me?’ My voice cracks then. I was so sure Liam was involved, but I don’t know now. Can’t be sure of anything. I don’t know what’s real and what my mind has distorted to fit what I think is real. Maybe I’m reading too much into all those things. They could all be just innocent little coincidences that have stacked up. Dr Drew has made them all sound as if they make perfect, rational sense. And he should know. He’s the psychiatrist, after all. An expert of the human mind. I almost believe his reasoning myself.
Almost.
He pauses for a moment. ‘Then, my dear, I think you should get out of the house and go somewhere safe.’
‘I will. As soon as I know for sure. I can’t prove anything yet, and that’s the problem. I need to find out more first, because what if it was someone else? Someone I don’t know about?’
‘Wait a second, let me make sure I’m hearing this correctly. You’ve just tried to convince me Liam is trying to harm you, and yet now you suddenly think someone other than Liam is trying to harm you?’ He pauses for a beat. ‘Be careful, won’t you, my dear? I don’t want to see you back in the hospital again.’ I can’t tell if that’s a warning or genuine concern on his part. ‘If you need anything, just call me, OK? Day or night, it doesn’t matter.’
‘Thank you. I may just have to do that.’
We hang up, and I check the battery level on the mobile phone. It’s still not charged enough to use. Damn.
I have too much nervous energy to sit here and wait. It really will make me go crazy. Every cell is buzzing, every muscle taut with tension. I grab my bag and let myself out of the house.
20
When I arrive at Downham College, a distant memory is trying to niggle into my brain, but it hovers just on the edge of my periphery, as if I’m looking through a dirty mirror smudged with years’ of grease and grime. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to focus. It’s something to do with one of my students, but I don’t know what. I massage my forehead, hoping I can relax the thought back in somehow, but it’s stuck behind an invisible brick wall.
I wander past the crowds of students milling around eating their lunch on the grass, taking advantage of the warm weather. The noise of their laughter and chatter penetrates my head, making it pound.
‘Mrs Benson?’ one of them calls as I pass a group throwing a rugby ball to each other.
I stop and turn around. Chris Barnes, one of my keener students, jogs towards me. Sweat plasters his messy hair to his forehead, his face flushed from exertion. He’s dressed in baggy jeans and a blue T-shirt with some kind of logo on the front. He’s a member of the college rugby team, stocky, and a lot taller than I am, so I have to look up at him as he stands in front of me, slightly out of breath.
‘Hi, Chris, how are you?’ I attempt a smile.
‘I wasn’t sure if that was you or not. You look different.’ He wipes the sweaty hair off his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘Yeah, I’m good, thanks. Sorry to hear you haven’t been well. I’ve missed your classes.’
I wonder exactly what Theresa has told my students about why I’ve been off sick. ‘Well, I hope you’re as well-behaved for your stand-in tutor as you are for me.’
He blushes. ‘Of course. But it’s not the same without you. When are you coming back?’
‘Erm…I’m not exactly sure yet. Soon, though.’
Another student I don’t recognize shouts to Chris, telling him to get back and finish their game.
‘OK…so…I’d better get back.’ He smiles awkwardly. ‘Hope to see you in class soon, then.’ He jogs back off to join his friends, and I head up the front steps and along the corridor towards the offices.
I knock on the open doorway of Gillian’s office, the college secretary. She’s ancient and has been here since it opened in the sixties. She always reminds me of an old-fashioned Victorian schoolmistress, dressed in formal clothing that covers every part of her. Heavy skirts that swish against the floor as she walks and long-sleeved blouses, even in summer. But she’s lovely.
She glances up at me, and it’s as if she doesn’t know me. Then her eyes light up in recognition. ‘Chloe! How are you?’ She stands and gives me a big hug. ‘You’ve cut your hair! It makes you look really different.’
I rest my head on her shoulder and inhale the familiar Lilly of the Valley—her signature perfume. I want to stay there all day, comforted in her warm arms. An adult woman hasn’t held me since my mum, and for just a moment, I feel like a little girl again.
All too soon, she releases me. ‘How are you, dear?’ She points to the scabs on my face. ‘They look nasty.’
I touch them absentmindedly. ‘Oh, that, er…’ I hear Gillian talking and realize I’ve tuned out for a moment. ‘Pardon?’
‘I said, are you OK? Do you want to sit down? You look a bit peaky. Shouldn’t you be at home, taking it easy?’ She peers at me as if I’m a brittle piece of glass about to shatter right in front of her eyes.
‘No, I’m OK.’
‘Really?’ She doesn’t look convinced. ‘We didn’t expect you to rush back. I think Theresa was going to wait a while before talking to you.’
‘Talking to me?’
‘Oh.’ She blushes. ‘It’s probably best if you have a chat with her about things. Do you want to go in?’ She tilts her head towards Theresa’s office to her right. ‘She’s just eating her lunch.’
‘Thanks.’ I knock on Theresa’s door.
‘Come in,’ she says in a clipped tone.
I open the door to find Theresa sitting behind her desk swamped with paperwork, a sandwich in one hand, typing with the other. She looks Scandinavian. Tall, slim, blonde hair tied up in a no-nonsense bun, with pale green eyes that seem to stare right through you. She doesn’t have a sense of humour and, to be honest, we’ve never really hit it off that well. She can be abrupt and abrasive most of the time. Theresa is all about budgets and efficiency, and saving money where she can, and she scares me a little.
‘Chloe, how are you?’ Theresa raises her eyebrows. ‘We weren’t expecting you back.’
‘No, I know I’m still signed off sick, but I wanted to say thank you for the flowers.’
‘Flowers?’ She tilts her head with a puzzled expression.
‘You sent some flowers wishing me a speedy recovery, didn’t you?’
‘Ah, yes, of course! Gillian sorted it out. I’m glad you liked them.’ She pops the final piece of her sandwich in her mouth and chews slowly.
‘Did the police come to see you about me?’
She waits a full minute while she finishes chewing then takes a sip of water, avoiding looking at me. ‘Yes. They said you’d been involved in some sort of accident and were suffering from amnesia.’
‘Accident?’
‘That’s what they said.’
‘It was more than an accident. I can’t remember what happened in the last seven weeks. I was…’ I trail off and look out of the window at Chris and his friends running along, playing rugby. I want to run, too. Run and run and never come back. Run somewhere no one knows me. Where no one cou
ld find me. Start a new life. Maybe change my name.
‘They also said you’d had another allergic reaction to some sleeping tablets you were prescribed.’ Her voice jerks me away from my daydream. ‘Honestly, if I were you, I’d just avoid taking any drugs altogether. It seems like you’re particularly sensitive to them.’ She leans forward in her chair. ‘Have you ever tried homeopathy? It’s completely natural and works really well.’
I blink twice, trying to take in what she’s saying. ‘No, I’ve never tried it. Look, Theresa, the police didn’t tell you exactly what happened to me, then?’
‘They didn’t go into detail, they just wanted to know if you’d been here since you came out of hospital after the problem you had with the antidepressants.’ She says ‘problem’ in an accusing tone, as if somehow it’s my fault I ended up in the psychiatric wing acting like a lunatic.
‘I was abducted and left somewhere underground. I escaped, but I can’t remember what happened. The doctors aren’t sure if the amnesia is from the drugs or some kind of trauma.’
Her face tightens in an expression of forced tolerance. ‘Abducted?’
‘I know it all sounds completely weird and far-fetched, but, yes, that’s what happened. I’m trying to piece together what I did before I was taken, since I can’t remember.’
‘The police didn’t mention abduction at all. Why wouldn’t they tell me that?’ she asks warily.
‘I’m not sure.’ I don’t want to admit to her that the police don’t believe me. ‘Did we have a meeting at all recently, or did I come in and see you?’
‘No.’ She rests her forearms on the desk, as if she’s preparing to interview me. ‘As far as I knew, you were still recuperating from the reaction to the antidepressants. You weren’t due to come back to work yet anyway, but a little while after that lovely detective inspector Summers came to see me, Liam called and told me…’ She glances away briefly before looking at me again. ‘Well, he said your depression was worse than they first thought and you’d tried to commit suicide with some sleeping tablets, but you’d had another reaction to them so you didn’t quite—your attempt wasn’t successful. He said you were now under the care of a psychiatrist, and he hoped you’d be getting back to normal soon.’
