Oona was still unconscious when they arrived, her skin pale and cool. Carrie was terrified for her. But at least the heavy bleeding was under control. Roz had quickly wrapped ice cubes in a towel, and she pressed it firmly to Oona’s forehead in the back seat of the car.
‘I’m going to tell them that she slipped on the wet path and hit her head on the stone step,’ Roz said, as they pulled into the entrance. ‘You can imagine what it’d be like if I told them what she was really doing.’
Carrie nodded. It was a small lie but it didn’t change the nature of the injury, so she would have no problem going along with it if anyone questioned her. The ER was not too frantic and they soon took Oona in for treatment. Carrie and Oliver remained in the lounge while Roz was busy with the paperwork.
‘Do you know what she was saying during the session?’ Oliver asked her, his tone almost too casual. ‘Oona.’
‘What?’
‘There were some lines from Morrissey songs, twisted around and broken up,’ he told her. ‘The Sex Pistols, I’m pretty sure. O’Donnell heard parts that were apparently lifted whole from some book by Sir Walter Scott.’
Carrie couldn’t be bothered to respond to that, and a little while later Oliver stepped outside to have a cigarette. As if it would make any serious difference where certain words and phrases might have originated – they essentially came from Oona, and she would use whatever language she required to convey the meaning of the visions and voices she received.
This terrible incident showed how unbearable the process was for her. Carrie could only imagine how awful it must have been for her to be driven to such violence against herself. For a while further sessions were obviously out of the question.
Before Oliver came back inside, Carrie scribbled off a cheque for a thousand dollars. She didn’t know if that was too much or too little, but it was something. She slipped it to Roz, who appeared a few minutes later with a preliminary report. Oona was conscious, but still groggy. She had a bone contusion but no fracture in her skull. It was probably not a serious concussion, but she might have to stay overnight.
‘You’re not going to be able to visit her, regardless,’ Roz said. ‘The fewer people she sees now, the better. I’ll take her home in a taxi as soon as they let me and I’ll try to give you a ring tomorrow. You might as well go along now, you still have a fair drive ahead of you.’
* * *
It was not a pleasant one. Carrie still didn’t know what to think. Oliver occasionally cursed the storm and road conditions, but otherwise he said nothing. Carrie was riding with a man she no longer knew as well as she thought she had. Eight years was a long time, in many ways. But it was not enough. A veil of doubt hung between them now.
Carrie wasn’t entirely ready to believe that her husband had murdered anybody, assuming that to be a correct understanding of what she’d heard. Oona had warned her about taking things too literally. Oliver wasn’t a violent person: he had never lifted a finger against her and she had seen him walk away from potential bar fights.
But the killings with which Oliver had been associated in today’s session matched in several ways the scene she had experienced in his office. Carrie had discussed it in some detail with Oona but that didn’t disqualify it – Oona had mentioned Ballapul in their first session.
Carrie had heard her father’s voice again, saying something about how he used to be a sweet boy. The words were Oona’s, but the voice was authentic, and Carrie felt certain that it referred to Oliver. Something went wrong. That was a message of warning, surely. But was it to Oliver, or about him?
It could relate to the future, or the past. It could refer to danger on one of his trips abroad. That danger might not even be physical: it could be a business setback. There had been an obvious reference to Marthe Frenssen and Munich. Oliver had high hopes for their project.
There was another reason that the mention of Marthe bothered Carrie. When your husband is thousands of miles from home with a young single woman, you’re inevitably going to wonder. Perhaps that was what her father was warning her about. Oliver spoke to Marthe on the phone every week – to save him more trips to Germany, he explained. Marthe was some kind of a genius, brilliant yet temperamental, ambitious and driven, but an insecure person inside. He had to treat her like a hothouse plant. So he said.
Carrie had no control over what Oliver might do while he was in Munich with Marthe. She knew that it was pointless to torture herself with speculation. If her marriage was going to collapse, she would find out in due course.
And how did that relate to the foreign voice, the killings, which also seemed to involve Oliver? There had to be more to the complete message, much more. It was so frustrating. Carrie felt she had learned much in two sessions, but the essence of it still eluded her. One more session might be enough – but for the time being that was not possible.
When they got back to the apartment, Oliver had a couple of sandwiches and Carrie made a pot of tea for herself. She should have been hungry but wasn’t. After he had eaten, Oliver poked around upstairs and in his office for a few minutes, then joined her again in the nook. He had a tumbler of Scotch with a single ice cube floating in it, and he lit a cigarette.
‘Well?’
‘Well what?’
‘Did you have the breakthrough you were hoping for?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘There’s so much to think about. I haven’t really begun to sort it all out. I was still thinking about poor Oona.’
‘That’s understandable.’
‘What do you make of it?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Oliver told her. ‘It’s all a bit beyond me, frankly. I mean, you hear Oona say things that seem to relate to you or me or the O’Donnells, but how are we supposed to make any sense of it? It’s not as if she’s saying, Beware of the tall man who wants you to invest in Malayan tin mines, or something.’
‘No, it isn’t.’
A moment later, Oliver hesitantly said, ‘Carrie.’
‘Yes?’
‘There is one thing that I feel I should mention, coming out of today’s session.’
‘What?’ Carrie felt a twinge of anxiety.
‘Shortly before we met, when I was starting to bring clothes into Britain, I spent rather a lot of money to fly out to Bangkok and investigate Thai silk. It was a mistake. The silk is lovely but expensive, and the marketing is tricky. Anyhow. On the way back to London my flight stopped in Bombay, and I decided to take advantage of that and see a bit of the city. It was one of those spur-of-the-moment things. I stayed for two days and then flew on to London. But while I was there I got into a minor argument with my guide, the chap I hired to drive me around. He wanted to take me to Chik Pavan or Ballapul, which were a couple of famous, or I should say infamous, red-light compounds in Bombay. As far as I’m concerned, that’s an easy way to lose your wallet or catch something nasty, and I’d already passed on the same sort of thing in Bangkok. But we did exchange sharp words about it – you see, they would pay him a commission and he didn’t want to do without it. Anyhow, I thought it might help if you knew.’
‘That’s it?’ Carrie said, after a long pause.
‘That’s it,’ Oliver confirmed. ‘God only knows how Oona was able to conjure up Ballapul and Chik Pavan, with my name, but she did, and she even caught some of the anger in our argument. What it all means, I don’t know. It was a trivial matter.’
‘You just had an argument.’
‘Yes, that’s all it was.’
‘Well. Thanks for telling me.’
‘Perhaps you can make something of it.’
‘No, I have no idea,’ Carrie said. ‘I did wonder about it, when she mentioned you, but the other names meant nothing to me. At least you’ve cleared up that part of it.’
‘Only a little, I’m afraid.’
Oliver smiled and shrugged. He went off to stare at the TV or his stamps, something. Carrie felt a headache coming on. She felt as if her brain were being
flooded with fear and sadness, as if everything was now in grave doubt. You have just gone through the worst minute of your life since the day you learned that your father was dead.
Because Oliver was only pretending that he didn’t know what to make of today’s session. Because Oliver had not mentioned the obvious references to Marthe and Munich. Because his explanation about India was worse than nothing, it was a lie.
She was certain of that much.
* * *
‘Oona’s home now,’ Roz said, when she called Carrie early the following afternoon. ‘She should be all right.’
‘I’m so glad to hear that. How serious is her injury?’
‘She did get a nasty concussion, but there doesn’t appear to be any permanent organic damage.’
‘Thank God for that.’
‘She just needs to rest and heal,’ Roz continued. ‘Lots of sleep, no moving about, and time’ll do the rest. She’s young and healthy. They think she won’t even have a scar.’
‘Good. Do you have any idea when I might talk to her? Just for a minute on the phone, to say hello and wish her well.’
‘Perhaps tomorrow. She’s on a painkiller right now and kind of drifts in and out of sleep, which is good for her. I’ll give you a ring tomorrow if she’s up to a brief chat.’
‘Okay, please do.’
‘I hope you don’t mind if I cut this short, but I have a lot more calls to make and appointments to cancel. This is terrible. It’s going to hurt some people who depend on her.’
‘I can imagine.’
Only too well, Carrie realized, after she hung up. She was one of those people suddenly cut off from Oona. She was on her own for the present.
* * *
The rest of the week was uneventful, aside from the demands of her work. In a way, it was a relief to be able to concentrate on her current commissions. They absorbed her and sent her home each evening both physically and mentally tired, so that she had no trouble falling asleep. Carrie soon stopped wondering if the next moment was going to bring another sudden, dreadful invasion. Nothing happened.
By the following weekend she allowed herself to consider it in a new light. Perhaps it was over. Perhaps there had been a breakthrough for her at the last session, and she simply didn’t understand the full extent of it yet. She felt good. She would like to discuss it with Oona, but Roz hadn’t called her again and Carrie was reluctant to bother them if it wasn’t a matter of real urgency. Unless you hear otherwise, assume that Oona is making a steady recovery. Let the days keep going by like this.
They spent a quiet weekend around the apartment. Oliver was not very talkative, but he appeared preoccupied rather than in a bad mood. He carried a thick file of papers around with him everywhere and he would study it and jot down notes, even when he was watching a movie on television.
The doubt – and even anger – that Carrie had felt in the immediate aftermath of the last session remained within her, but there was little she could do about it. She watched her husband and wondered about him, but no answers came to her. Carrie knew she ought to discuss it openly with him and push him to speak more honestly – but she was afraid of what she might hear.
* * *
On Sunday evening, Oliver came out of his office with that file in his hand. He went straight to the drinks cabinet and poured a glass of Scotch, to which he added a splash of bottled water. As he headed back to his office he stopped suddenly and made a face, like someone who has just remembered an unpleasant chore. Carrie sat frozen, her pen poised over the Sunday Times acrostic puzzle. She knew that something was coming.
‘I have to fly out next Sunday night,’ he said, almost as if it were an afterthought. ‘England, then Germany. Just for a few days, I think. A week at most.’
‘But why?’ Carrie felt a cramp in her side. ‘The last time you went you said that was it for the summer.’
‘For stamp auctions, yes,’ Oliver replied blandly. ‘But the linen project is moving ahead all the time. I’ve got to see some chemical processors in Manchester, and then a bunch of lawyers in Munich about the licensing and patent arrangements.’
He had a look of weary resignation on his face, almost as if he were inviting Carrie to do him a favour and find a way for him to avoid all this tedious running around.
‘Is it really necessary?’
‘Absolutely unavoidable.’
It was true to form, in a way. When Oliver had a problem or a major decision in his business he usually spent a while mulling it over, as he had the last couple of weeks. Then he would come up with a plan of action, and there would be a burst of frenetic activity.
And yet the news left her queasy and fearful. This time was different. Nothing in Carrie’s life was the same as it had been, since the ghostly incidents started and she had first consulted Oona. Everything in her life was blurred with uncertainty now.
‘Oliver.’
‘Yes?’
‘Is there anything going on between you and Marthe?’
He seemed to find that amusing. ‘Just business, love, nothing else,’ he replied, with a lingering smile.
‘Oona mentioned her.’
‘Did she? When?’
‘Last week, when we were there.’
‘Oh, yes, so she did,’ Oliver said. ‘Don’t make the mistake of thinking that every word she speaks has special significance, because it doesn’t. A lot of it is just plain raving. Whatever pops up in her mind, rock lyrics, passages from books she’s read, and who knows what else? If you attach importance to every scrap of it, you’ll be in thrall to her for the rest of your life.’
‘I suppose that’s possible.’
‘Look,’ Oliver said, trying to sound reasonable, ‘it’s only natural for you to wonder about Marthe, but there’s nothing in it at all. If there were, I certainly wouldn’t throw away a hundred and fifty dollars a night for a room at the Regina Hotel. If you want to see my receipts, you’re welcome to them.’
‘No, no.’ Carrie shrugged helplessly. ‘I’m sorry, Oliver. I don’t mean to sound like I’m questioning you.’
‘Well, it does a bit.’
He turned away, went down the hall to his office, and closed the door behind him. It was not exactly the kind of warm, loving reassurance you might hope for from a spouse who understands that you’re having a difficult time with things at the moment. It was more like a corporate policy statement.
But thank you all the same, Carrie thought. And for leaving when you did. Because if Oliver had stayed longer and continued in the same vein, she would have apologized to him again. However many times it took to end an exchange that probably could not be resolved anyway. And then she would have hated herself for it.
* * *
Two days later the telephone rang shortly after Carrie got home from work. Oliver had just gone out to pick up some liquor from the store around the corner.
‘Hello.’
‘Guess who?’
‘Oona?’
‘Hi.’
‘Oh, I’m so glad to hear you,’ Carrie said, quickly putting the phone to her other ear. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine, I think. Guess what?’
‘I can come up and visit you.’
‘Ah, well, soon, I hope. But that’s not it.’
Carrie’s heart sank, but then she tried to sound bright and cheerful for Oona’s sake. ‘I don’t know, what?’
‘My head’s empty.’
‘You mean—?’
‘No voices, no visions, nothing.’
‘My God.’
‘Maybe it worked, eh? What do you think?’
‘I don’t know, I mean—’ Mild panic was what Carrie felt. What if she continued to experience those dreadful incidents but Oona no longer had the ability to help? ‘It sounds like the best thing that could happen to you…’
‘Could be, but it’s too early to tell,’ Oona said. She was moderating her enthusiasm, no doubt because she could sense the concern on Carrie’s part. ‘Probably won’t
last, but for the past week it’s been great. I feel like I’ve slept for the first time in ages.’
‘That’s wonderful.’
‘You’re all right, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Carrie answered. ‘So far I haven’t had any problems. Nothing at all.’
‘Good. I’ll have to think about it when I’m in the proper frame of mind again. I haven’t been able to give much thought to what happened, and what it meant for you and the others.’
‘Well, don’t,’ Carrie said. ‘At least not until you really want to. I’ve been fine since that session and I’m okay now, so there’s no need for you to do anything.’
‘Great.’
‘Maybe it’s over for me, too. I’ve been wondering if there was a breakthrough and I just haven’t grasped it yet.’
‘Well…’ Oona sounded doubtful. ‘Let’s hope so. Anyhow, I wanted to say hi, and tell you that I miss you.’
‘Well – I – I miss you too, Oona. I wish I could come and visit you for a little while.’
‘Soon. Next week.’
‘That’d be fine,’ Carrie said. ‘Whenever.’
‘We’ll both need it by then.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ll be desperate for company. I already am, in fact, and you’re the only person I’d really like to see,’ Oona said. ‘And you’ll be—’ But she didn’t finish it.
‘What?’
‘I don’t know, it’s just a feeling I get. That you’ll need some company as well.’
‘Oliver’s going away next weekend.’
‘See, that’s it. Where’s he off to this time?’
‘England and Germany.’
‘Some people have all the luck.’
‘It’s work, not pleasure.’ At least Carrie hoped that. ‘In the last session you mentioned Munich and Germany, as well as the person Oliver’s doing business with there. Marthe.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Do you have any idea why they came up?’
‘I don’t remember anything from that session.’
‘Oh.’
Fog Heart Page 22
