All in the Mind

by Judith Cranswick

  Nevertheless, it was difficult not to regard everyone with whom she came in contact with suspicion. There was a great temptation to read all sorts of hidden meanings and motives into the most innocent of remarks. More than ever, she was aware of David’s tight-lipped bridling at her every remark, Frank’s habitual petty provocation, and George’s evasive answers and determination to scuttle back to his own hole at the earliest opportunity whenever they came in contact.

  News that one of her close friends had been seriously injured had quickly become common knowledge but, as the days passed, she received fewer enquiries about Elizabeth’s recovery. Whoever had caused the accident would have no idea that she had seen him at the vital moment. Every time anyone made the conventional murmurs of sympathy, she waited for questions about how much Elizabeth remembered of the ghastly business. Unfortunately, the culprit was too clever to give himself away so easily.

  It was very tempting to ask her colleagues where each of them had been on that fateful Sunday morning. But to do so would reveal that she knew that Elizabeth’s appalling car crash was no accident and might well result in precipitating even more violent steps to silence her.

  George’s impatient pencil-tapping was beginning to get on her nerves.

  For once, it wasn’t Frank Wagner who kept them waiting. He sat with a smug look on his face as though he had got one over on Sarah by being early for once. The sympathy and support he had shown on the night of Eunice’s death had been short-lived but, in a strange way, she felt more comfortable with the predictable old Frank.

  ‘Young Dave’s still got a minute or two,’ he said to no one in particular, looking at his watch.

  They drifted back into silence. Except for Frank, comfortably ensconced and showing a complete indifference to the preparatory shuffling of papers going on around him, everyone seemed much more on edge than usual. Even the normally outgoing Barry kept his head down. ‘What have you been doing to yourself?’ asked Dev, who was sitting beside her, trying to fill the hiatus. Sarah had been violently rubbing the back of her hand and the tiny red scratches now looked raised and angry.

  ‘It was only the downstairs cat,’ she said.

  ‘That’ll teach you not to pull its tail,’ goaded Frank from the far side of the table. The others smiled politely at the poor joke.

  ‘You ought to complain to the owners,’ said Tom.

  ‘The couple in the flat below are away for a few days and I’ve been put in charge of looking after it. I don’t think it likes me very much. The silly animal is always running off. I’ve had to go out and look for it every morning so far this week to get it to come in for its breakfast.’ At least the pointless chatter helped to cover the strained atmosphere.

  ‘Cats aren’t like dogs,’ Dev said sympathetically. ‘They don’t come when they’re called.’

  Sarah glanced at her watch. They had waited long enough. ‘I make it two minutes past.’ Before she could say any more, the door opened and David hurried in.

  ‘Sorry I’m late, everyone.’ He seemed surprised to see Frank already there and, looking contrite, sidled into the empty place.

  ‘You’re just in time. George was about to start reading the minutes of the last meeting.’

  Throughout the various reports, she was able to sit back and study her senior staff. The mood was heavy and sombre and she didn’t think she was the only one to feel the tension. George kept his head down, busy scribbling away. David, looking more than ever like a scared rabbit well out of his depth, gabbled through his own report and spent the rest of the time trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. Tom sat back, arms folded, staring up at the ceiling trying to demonstrate a sublime indifference to all that was being said. When they moved on to the main topic on the agenda, extending their links with local businesses, Barry did much of the talking. He argued his case well, demonstrating his undoubted flair but, for once, his wit failed to raise the usual smiles. Frank, who as director of the Business Studies faculty, ought to have been more proactive in this area and knew it, began to glower at everyone and the usual sniping ensued. Only Dev, the habitual observer who missed nothing, seemed his normal self.

  As she looked at each man in turn, Sarah realised how little she had in common with each of them. She had never socialised with her colleagues and, though it was an exaggeration to say she actively disliked them, there was not one she would choose for a friend. Even worse, she could not find much respect for any of them. She knew her jaundiced view was only temporary and that suspicion was colouring her judgement. To dismiss them all as cardboard caricatures would be foolishly arrogant. She tried to see herself through their eyes. Those pictures were even more unflattering. For all that, it was very difficult to imagine that any one of these men could find sufficient cause to loathe her so much. Which of them would be prepared to work so hard to drive her over the edge, to think up ways to doctor documents to discredit her and, when all else failed, attempt to cause her actual physical harm? Surely not one of them had sufficient ruthlessness, resourcefulness or sheer imagination, even if she could dream up a suitable motive?

  ‘We all have links with local companies in our related areas, if only through work experience, and it’s up to all of us to capitalise on those networks.’ Barry’s mildly hectoring tones brought an end to her musings.

  ‘Some of us in this place like to spend our time working, not swanning off having lunch with local bigwigs,’ said Frank with a sneer.

  ‘It’s in our own interests to take a more high profile stance. We can’t afford to be isolationist. All I’m suggesting is that we each compile a list of our faculty’s existing links so that we can come up with an overall picture. We can then see where we need to concentrate our efforts to fill in the gaps,’ Barry insisted.

  ‘Does that mean you’ve still got a few spaces in your little black book? I’d have thought you’d have sussed out all the local talent long ago.’

  ‘That’s enough, Frank.’ Sarah cut in. ‘Good idea, Barry. I suggest you all raise it within your own faculties and bring the results to the next meeting in the New Year. Well, gentlemen, unless anyone has anything else?’ She looked around at the shaking heads, ‘Thank you, everyone.’

  She pulled her papers together and found Dev at her elbow wanting to bring her up to date on timetable changes for the new term. Throughout their short conversation, Sarah was aware of a continuation of the bickering that had been going on between Frank and Barry. As the two were in the habit of trying to score points off each other, it was not until the door slammed violently that she turned to see what was going on.

  ‘You know you shouldn’t bait Barry like that. He’s having a tough time at the moment.’ David looked accusingly at Frank. ‘Did you know his wife has left him?’

  This was obviously as much of a surprise to everyone else as it was to Sarah.

  ‘Serves him right. Bloody philander.’ Frank’s habitual antagonism towards Barry was in no way mollified.

  ‘That chatting up all the women is just an act. He dotes on Valerie. He can’t see what a bitch she is. She’s bled him dry, demanding the high life. When the money ran out she upped and left taking the kids with her.’

  ‘Don’t expect me to shed any tears for him.’ Frank looked at his watch. ‘Almost lunchtime. Coming for a bite, Tom?’ The two men walked to the door.

  Thank goodness they were all gone. Pity she could not get rid of the smell of them as easily. All that body heat. It was still too warm. Even though she had opened the window, the place still reeked of Frank’s tobacco, the vague mixture of oil and Swarfega from Dev who’d obviously been working on the engines, and the various hints of aftershave. Aftershave. That meant something. It jogged a half-forgotten memory but she couldn’t quite pull it back.

  The faculty meeting had left Sarah feeling depressed and ill at ease. She was still trying to puzzle over what it was that had seemed so familiar when she walked into the living room to see the light flashing on the answerphone. She
felt a surge of panic. Even though it’d been nearly a couple of months since the last menace call she doubted that she would ever be able to look at the thing without some degree of apprehension. Telling herself not to act the helpless maiden, she stabbed at the play button.

  ‘It’s Jenny…Um…I hate these answer things. I wanted to talk about Dad’s birthday. As it’s his sixtieth it would be nice to do something a bit special. It’s not for a bit so there’s no urgency. Perhaps the two of us could get together over Christmas and come up with something?’

  Sarah caught sight of the silly grin on her face in the mirror and laughed out loud. It was the nearest thing she was going to get to an attempt at reconciliation from her sister. Her father’s birthday wasn’t until March but as a peace offering it could hardly be bettered.

  Suddenly the world seemed a brighter place. Not only was the feud over, the prospect of a big family party was something to look forward to. The two of them would have great fun planning it together.

  She picked up the phone and punched in Jenny’s number.

  The cat was nowhere around when she let herself in through the back door of the downstairs flat. Sarah called out its name but it still failed to appear. She took the half-empty tin of Whiskas out of the fridge and went to wash up the dish before putting out fresh food. Then she realised that the silly animal had upset the saucer of milk all over the kitchen floor. She was already later than she had intended and was none too pleased at having to stop and clear up the smelly mess.

  Months ago, she had promised the Ericksons that she would look after their cat while they were off on holiday. After the accident, Margery had suggested putting Blackie into a cattery to save Sarah the trouble, but when they had done that in the past, the animal had pined and refused to eat. The elderly couple were good neighbours; they kept themselves to themselves and had always been friendly but never intrusive. Sarah was lucky to have them and, she reminded herself as she mopped the floor, this minor inconvenience was a small price to pay.

  Blackie had left most of the food she had put out the previous evening and she did not like to think of the animal going hungry. She went outside and started calling again. A faint mewling came from somewhere at the side of the house and she turned the corner to see what it was up to. To her surprise, the door to the cellar was slightly ajar. It was full of old junk and discarded gardening tools that were long past their prime, and contained nothing worth stealing. Arnold Erickson left the key in the door so that she could use the place to store old bottles and glass jars until she had enough to warrant a trip to the bottle bank. She clambered down the cellar steps, pulled the door open a little further and peered into the dim depths.

  ‘Blackie. Are you in there you silly puss?’ Her voice echoed eerily but a faint pitiful cry came from the far corner.

  ‘If you think I’m going to get myself filthy coming in there after you, you’ve got another think coming. Get yourself out here at once you stupid animal or I’ll be late for work.’

  Blackie’s responding squawk of protest didn’t suggest compliance.

  ‘Here puss, puss, puss,’ she tried again, in what she hoped were more persuasive tones.

  As her eyes began to adjust to the minimal amount of light coming from the wide but shallow grill at ground level, she could see Blackie’s dark shape perched on a pile of boxes stacked against the far wall. He was standing four paws together, back arched, tail held rigidly upright, green eyes staring accusingly straight at Sarah.

  ‘Don’t pretend you can’t get down because I know better. If you got up there without help you can get yourself down.’

  Why was she trying to hold a conversation with a dumb animal? She took a few more tentative steps. Blackie remained immobile giving the odd plaintive wail.

  Sarah made her way, gingerly finding a place for her feet amongst the assorted obstacles and trying not to brush against the many years of accumulated dust and grime. She heard the door swing closed behind her and swore quietly under her breath. It was the next noise that made her insides turn to ice. A faint click. Someone had turned the key in the lock.

  With a cry, she ran back crashing and stumbling in her haste. She rattled the latch, then threw her weight against the door but only succeeded in bruising her shoulder. Sheer terror took hold. She screamed at the top of her voice and pounded with her fists on the rough wood until she could stand the pain no more.

  Chapter 35

  The panic did not last for long. The situation demanded cold logic. With both flats empty and a set of garages between her and the nearest houses, nobody was likely to hear her cries for help. Unless her attacker planned on coming back later, she could be trapped down here until the Ericksons returned in three days’ time. No, that was ridiculous! She would be missed at work and someone would come round to investigate when she failed to answer the phone. Perhaps not today, but certainly tomorrow. Surely, she had enough gumption to stick it out?

  ‘Well Blackie, you and I might get a bit hungry but at least we’ve got each other.’ She turned to look for the cat but it was no longer on its perch. ‘Where’ve you got to, puss?’

  She looked around but there was no sign. It must have been frightened by all the noise she had made. Trust the stupid animal to go into hiding. In her present predicament, it would have been reassuring to be able to stroke the soft fur and feel the warmth of a fellow creature. They might even get to be friends, sharing each other’s company in adversity. For goodness’ sake! She shook her head at the banal thoughts passing through her mind.

  Although she did not suffer from actual claustrophobia, it was no secret that she did not like being in confined spaces, especially in the dark. It was why she was prepared to walk up several flights of stairs rather than take the lift and chose to live in a large, airy home with extensive views. At least she could console herself that the high cellar window, with its apt prison-like grill, provided some light even if the bars were too close for her to squeeze through.

  But not too small for Blackie of course. The realization that the cat, the reason why she had ventured into this hellhole in the first place, must have jumped through the narrow gap didn’t improve her raw emotions. No doubt, it was out there now, parading up and down, totally unconcerned about the plight it had led Sarah into. Until today, she had always thought of herself as a cat lover but Blackie was one animal whose nine lives were in dire jeopardy if ever she got out of this icebox.

  She was already beginning to feel the cold penetrating her bones. As she had not planned on staying outside, she had not bothered with a coat when she had left the house. She got up from her box and started stamping her feet and slapping her arms to keep warm. There was a good chance that she would die of hypothermia long before starvation and dehydration took their toll.

  No point in sitting around waiting for it to happen.

  In all the assorted junk there must be something she could use to hack at the lock. A screwdriver; a hammer? An axe would be good. All she had to do was make a large enough hole in the door to put a hand through and turn the key. After ten minutes of fruitless searching, it was evident that there were no such tools around. All she could come up with was an ancient garden spade with a dodgy handle.

  The slight curve on the bowl was just sufficient to stop her getting get the width of the blade between the door and the jamb. Repeated attempts to use the corner to chisel away at the lock resulted in nothing more than a few scratches in the wood, one severely bruised thumb and two very sore hands. The only consolation was that the effort had warmed her up.

  Forcing herself to remain calm, Sarah began a slow, methodical search of the basement. Half an hour later, having moved piles of junk and searched every possible container, she was still no further forward. She sat down on a pile of old newspapers and tried to sort out her next move.

  Hung on a couple of hooks on the wall opposite was a ladder. Although the bars of the grill at ground level some ten or so feet above her were too close together for her
to squeeze her whole body through, it she could get up there, there might be something within reach which she could use. Perhaps she could send a signal of some kind. It was worth a try. Preposterous though the idea was, she had nothing to lose and doing something, anything, was better than sitting there imagining the worst.

  In practice, manoeuvring the heavy ladder in the crowded, confined space proved a far more difficult feat than she had anticipated. Several times, she almost gave up the effort. When she managed to get it jammed at a ludicrous angle half way up the wall for the second time, it had taken all her strength and perseverance to shift it. Eventually she eased it up high enough to reach, but the ladder was so long that the resultant angle was so shallow that she had to crawl rather than climb up to the opening.

  At the top, her heart in her mouth praying that the thing would not slip, she had to let go of the edge of the ladder and ease herself upright, walking her hands up the wall. Her fingers gripped the sill and slowly she lifted her head. From her narrow range of view, all she could see was the corner of the courtyard and a row of dustbins at right angles against the wall. There were no large stones or bricks suitable as a tool within reach.

  She rested her forehead on the cool sill. Only when she raised her head again did she see that the bars were set in a frame like a window, and could be opened from inside. A fact she had not appreciated from below.

  Carefully she undid the latch. If she pushed the whole thing up she might just be able to wriggle through. The ladder would have to be repositioned. There was no way she could scramble up from her present position.

  Adjusting the ladder took some time and involved shifting a fair number of boxes to get it high enough and at a suitable angle. When she eventually squeezed her way out, she lay exhausted on the ground, relieved but totally devoid of energy.