Déjà Vu

by Stephen Edger

ELEVEN

  The toaster pinged, and Jake reached for the two slices. Although he hadn’t set an alarm, his body clock had still woken him at 05:30, as if nobody had told it there was no reason to be up so early. But as he’d tried to close his eyes and return to the dreamless state, the sun’s bright rays were already peaking around the edge of the curtains, and he’d soon realised there would be no more sleep until later. So, deciding to make the most of his free day, he’d dressed in shorts and t-shirt, and hit the streets, clocking up three miles before returning and showering. Despite the sun, a cool breeze had warned him that jeans would see him better than shorts for the day, and now as he buttered the toast, the smell of fresh coffee in the air, he tried to figure out how he would pass the time before he could crawl back into bed and forget about the pending call from Professional Standards.

  ‘Ooh, toast, yum,’ Gabby said, as she padded into the small kitchen and stole a slice from his plate. Before he could argue, she’d taken a bite.

  Licking the splash of butter from his thumb he took in her appearance. When he’d heard her stomping down the stairs he’d expected her to enter in pyjamas, her hair pointing in all different directions, and rubbing sleep from her eyes. But instead, the light brown hair was brushed straight, hanging just above the shoulders of her green and white chequered summer dress.

  ‘Morning,’ he said casually, taking a sip from his mug, savouring the first hit of caffeine, and knowing for certain it wouldn’t be his last.

  ‘Morning, Dad,’ she said between mouthfuls. ‘Mum up yet?’

  Jake had no idea whether Isabella was up and wandering somewhere, but he doubted it. He was sure he’d heard her return around three, dropping her keys on the doorstep as she’d tried and failed to open the front door. He’d been half-tempted to storm down and confront her, but had resisted, knowing it was better to keep their arguments out of Gabby’s earshot.

  ‘I’ll take you to school today,’ he said, without thinking.

  Gabby frowned at him, toast crumbs clinging to her pale cheeks. ‘Won’t you be late for work?’

  He looked away, caught in the lie, and took another sip of coffee to buy some time. ‘Um...I’ve got the day off.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Um...a big case I was working on finished yesterday, so the boss gave us the day off to celebrate.’

  ‘Cool,’ she said, her attention suddenly distracted by one of her mother’s glossy magazines on the breakfast bar.

  Jake bent over and lifted Gabby onto the stool, and finished eating the remaining slice of toast, while quietly watching her. Although she wouldn’t turn seven for another month, she had developed so much in the last year: her reading and writing were better than his had been at that age, and he had no idea when she’d started dressing herself for school. But given Isabella’s inability to function first thing without at least two cups of tea, it didn’t surprise him that Gabby had learned to adapt; she hadn’t had much other choice.

  ‘You shouldn’t read that kind of tattle-tale rubbish,’ he warned as he piled their plates in the sink. ‘It’s full of stick-thin models who starve themselves to fit into those clothes.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, without looking up. ‘It doesn’t really interest me, but there’s nothing else to read down here, and I couldn’t be bothered to go back upstairs to fetch my book.’

  He stood there open-mouthed, unsure how to reply, grateful when the kitchen door suddenly opened, and Isabella entered, her eyes half-closed, and hunched over like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. But even in her hung over and hazy state, she still looked good.

  ‘Oh good, you’re awake,’ she half-slurred. ‘Give me ten minutes and we can go.’

  ‘It’s okay, Dad’s going to take me this morning,’ Gabby replied, smiling at him.

  Isabella turned, confusion gripping her features as her eyes fell upon Jake, as if she hadn’t even noticed he was there when she’d skulked into the kitchen. ‘What are you still doing here?’

  ‘Day off,’ he said, as casually as he could, though he was certain she was in no state to notice the deceit in his voice.

  Her frown lines deepened as her mind tried to process the statement, but then she gave a little shake of her head and reached for the mug of tea Jake had subconsciously prepared and left on the side. Picking up the mug she held it close as she slithered out of the room, probably heading back to bed to sleep off what booze remained in her system.

  ‘Shall we go?’ Jake suggested, eager to get Gabby away from the tension hanging in the air.

  The school was a twenty-minute walk or eight minute drive from their home, but because it was dry and the temperature cool, the two of them set off on foot, despite Gabby warning that they would be there far too early. The green verges separating the road from the pavement were dry and brittle, and covered in clumped patches where the local council had sent people to trim them. Jake could feel his eyes watering within five minutes, and silently cursed himself for not checking the pollen count before they’d left.

  ‘Are you alright, Dad?’ Gabby asked, as they hurried across the road, where the crossing guard waved and smiled warmly towards them.

  ‘Just a bit of hayfever,’ he said reassuringly. ‘I’ll have to take a pill when I get home.

  ‘There’s a little shop near school that might sell something,’ she suggested, the concern growing in her voice.

  Although he could hardly see her through the fog of tears in his itchy eyes, he could feel her watching him, and as she took his hand in hers, he knew instinctively it was for his protection, rather than hers.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, suddenly leading the way. ‘We’re early anyway, we can take a detour.’

  And as much as he wanted to offer words of reassurance and tell her he would be fine, and that getting her to school on time was the priority, it felt good to be the centre of someone else’s attention for a change, and so he allowed her to take control.

  She had the heart of an angel, and he could picture her in any number of careers when she finished school: a doctor or nurse, a vet, maybe a teacher. He would never dictate what she could or couldn’t be, though he would discourage her from following in his own footsteps. Not that he didn’t enjoy his job – he loved being a detective – but that’s because something inside of him demanded that he tackle wrongs. But Gabby was different, she was destined for something far greater and nobler.

  At the shop she explained his symptoms, and as he leaned against the counter trying to decipher the blurred lines and colours before him, she reached into his pocket, removed his wallet, paid the shopkeeper, and read out the medication’s directions.

  ‘You need to take one of these and then you should be right as rain,’ she said, as she popped one of the pills out of its foil jacket and put it in his hand.

  He knocked it back with a swig of the juice she’d also purchased, and as she led him onwards, he was feeling much better by the time they reached the playground.

  ‘You’re incredible,’ he admitted as they pushed through the school gates.

  ‘Oh, please,’ she replied dismissively, ‘you’re a much easier patient than Mum.’

  He was about to ask her to elaborate when she spotted one of her friends.

  ‘Are you going to be okay now?’ she asked, and he could only nod, as she released her grip on his hand and rushed off to join the small group of girls now gathering at the school’s play equipment.

  He’d expected to stick out like a sore thumb, the only father dropping his child at the infant school, but there had to be at least a dozen other men hovering at the perimeter of the playground, each waiting for the bell to sound so they could watch their child head into the school, and then head off to work. Jake would give anything to be heading into the office after this.

  ‘Mr Knight? Mr Knight?’ a woman was calling from the opposite side of the playground.

  Jake looked up just in time to see a woman in a bright red jumper approaching, wavi
ng a clipboard in his direction.

  ‘It is Mr Knight, isn’t it?’ the woman asked, as she drew up in front of him, her breath coming out in small puffs of steam. ‘You’re Gabby’s dad, right?’

  Jake nodded proudly. ‘I am. Sorry, have we met?’

  She thrust a hand out for him to shake. ‘Louise Fielding, Mr Knight. Head of the PTA.’ She said it with such authority, it was like she was leading a division of the security services.

  ‘Right,’ Jake said, still with no clue as to whether they’d ever officially met, but shaking her hand out of politeness.

  ‘The school have asked for parental support at the upcoming Sports Day, and I’m signing up parents who are able to come and help out. We need people to make cups of squash for the competing athletes, judges on the line to confirm who has won, and that sort of thing. Can I sign you up?’

  Given she had a child in the infant school, she couldn’t have been that much older than him, but time clearly hadn’t been kind, judging by the deep crow’s feet around her eyes and lips. Her dark hair had sporadic splashes of silver and although her red jumper didn’t reveal any unwanted curves, her leggings made her bottom look like two snooker balls in a sock.

  ‘Um...I’m very busy,’ Jake began. ‘I’m a detective in the police and I never know when a major case is going to hit. I can’t guarantee I can even attend the Sports Day, and it wouldn’t be fair for me to offer support that I can’t commit to.’

  She touched his hand. ‘I understand, Mr Knight, or should I call you Detective?’ she erupted into a fit of nervous giggles, and her cheeks flushed. ‘I’ll put you on the reserve list then. That way, if you can make it, we can give you a job.’ She passed him her business card. ‘This has my number on it. You can call me any time.’

  He accepted the card with a confused frown, unable to think of any reason he would ever call her. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze and then rushed away, pouncing on another unsuspecting parent.

  The school bell sounded and the children took their cue to head towards whichever door led to their classroom. Jake jogged over to where Gabby was lining up and passed her the book bag she’d left with him when they’d arrived.

  ‘Will you be picking me up tonight?’ she asked, biting her lip in anticipation.

  ‘If you’d like me to.’

  Gabby punched the air. ‘Yes! You’d better let Miss Croft know. Parents have to tell the teacher if someone different will be collecting.’

  Jake was once again astounded by how switched-on his daughter was, but hung around until he spotted the petite figure of Miss Croft at the door. He felt awkward approaching, uncertain why. ‘Uh, excuse me? Miss Croft? I’m Jake Knight: Gabby’s dad.’

  ‘I know who you are,’ Miss Croft replied, smiling. ‘I remember you from parent’s evening.’

  It was Jake whose cheeks now burned. ‘Of course, of course. Gabby said I should inform you that I’ll be collecting her this evening.’

  ‘Thanks for letting me know,’ she said, still smiling, and for the first time he noticed the trace of an Irish accent. ‘I saw Mrs Fielding petitioning you earlier. You should watch your back with that one.’

  He raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘What do you mean?’

  Miss Croft’s eyes suddenly widened, as panic riveted by guilt. ‘Oh goodness me, where are my manners? I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.’

  ‘No, wait,’ Jake said, stepping a fraction closer. ‘What did you mean?’

  Miss Croft was now blushing uncontrollably, looking like a woman who had just blasphemed in church. ‘This is so embarrassing. All I meant was...Louisa has a bit of a reputation for...I can’t believe I’m telling you this...she likes to chase after handsome men, regardless of their current relationship status. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be spreading rumours about one of the other parents. Please don’t say anything.’

  Jake leaned closer. ‘Your secret’s safe with me. Thanks for the warning,’ he added with a wink.

  Miss Croft smiled awkwardly before heading into the classroom for welcome relief.

  Jake couldn’t help smiling himself, as he headed towards the school gate, only one thought on his mind: Miss Croft had called him handsome.

  TWELVE

  Megan stifled a yawn as the film credits rolled up the screen, and with the light streaming through the window, she determined it was safe enough to start the day.

  Sleep hadn’t returned after the drowning nightmare. She hadn’t wanted it to. Even now, as she lay in bed, the flashes of the water level rising filled her mind. Vivid just didn’t do the images justice. The panic of the water filling her lungs was as real as any other memory she’d ever created. She’d been able to taste the grime and millions of bacteria inhabiting every drop of the water as it had raced down her windpipe.

  It had been like no other dream she had ever experienced. And that is why she hadn’t wanted to risk reliving it by closing her eyes.

  Instead, she had written in Dr Patel’s exercise book. She had tried to piece together what she had seen, but the flashes were small and shrapnel-like. She knew she hadn’t managed to remember even half of what she’d seen, and at best the few lines she’d managed to scribble down were little more than a précis of what had happened.

  Opening the Dream Journal once more, she read back what she had managed to get down before she had given up in muted frustration.

  I’m in a car – it isn’t mine – and there is a song playing on the stereo, but I can’t remember what it was ... There is a man driving, but he never looks at me ... We’re travelling at great speed ... There are trees all around us, like some kind of forest ... Then we crash through a gate and into a lake ... The driver lowers the windows and the car fills with water ... I know I’m about to drown ... And then I woke up.

  She grabbed the page from the corner, ready to tear it from the journal. What was the point? What on earth would Dr Patel be able to tell her about the meaning of it? The notes read like a series of facts, but didn’t convey the absolute terror she’d felt. But anyone would have felt the same way, right?

  Megan had learned to swim at school, and whilst she’d never been encouraged to pursue it with any real vigour, she could hold her own. She’d always thought that if she was ever caught up in a plane crash-landing at sea, she’d be able to keep herself afloat for long enough. Yet in the dream, she’d made no effort to free herself and swim away. She could remember tugging on the seat belt, but when it had remained firm, she hadn’t looked for an alternative way to escape.

  In the car, she had felt the ice cold water on her feet and legs, which meant with careful shimmying, she could have wriggled out of the belt, pushed herself through the open window and risen to the surface of the lake. She could have saved herself.

  But she hadn’t. Instead, the dream-version of Megan had accepted her fate and had practically welcomed death to take her. That was the part of the event that stuck so firmly in her mind. But she couldn’t write that in the journal. If Dr Patel had any idea of the despairing thoughts she was having every waking minute, he would probably have her sectioned for her own safety.

  Yet, why hadn’t she tried to escape? And why had the feeling – albeit temporarily – returned to her feet and legs? Did that mean something too?

  Pressing herself into the soft cushion between her back and the headboard, she stared down at her legs and willed them to move. They remained still.

  ‘Come on,’ she growled. ‘You can do this. It’s just mind over matter.’

  Closing her eyes, she focused on her breathing, and tried to feel the muscles and tendons beneath her bottom, willing them to tense and raise the thighs.

  But still they remained lifeless on the mattress.

  Opening her eyes she slapped both thighs, hoping for any tiny sensation that would prove she wasn’t crazy, but as the skin began to glow, there was no pain. No feeling. Nothing.

  Rob would say she was trying too hard.

  And that was when the realisation hit her.


  Like an out-of-control locomotive: the awareness that for the first time in weeks, she hadn’t dreamed about Rob.

  It was probably because she hadn’t allowed herself to go back to sleep, she tried to rationalise. That had to be the reason, right? There couldn’t be any other reason she hadn’t pictured his face for that first microsecond of the day. It certainly didn’t mean that she was already starting to move on without him. It had only been three months since he’d been taken from her, yet they had been together for years. It took far longer to mend a broken heart, didn’t it?

  It had to be something to do with what Dr Patel had said. That bloody Dream Journal had to be the reason. He had told her to write down the fire dream, like he was challenging her subconscious to disobey. It had to have been some kind of reverse psychology: tell her to dream about Rob in order to stop her dreaming about him.

  She grabbed the yellow exercise book from the mattress and flung it across the room. It splattered against the wall, the pages offering a listless whistle as they crumpled to the floor.

  ‘How dare he!’ she vented at the empty flat. He had no right to take away her one positive thought of the day. It was the moment she cherished; the moment she wished she could freeze for all time and live in. And that shrink had stolen it from her.

  And what made matters worse: he’d replaced one nightmarish terror with another. What kind of madness was that?

  Did he think that would help her? If so, why hadn’t he asked first?

  Megan ground her teeth as she pulled over the wheelchair, and dragged her tired body into it. He had breached her trust in what he had done, and she deserved an explanation.

  No, she deserved an apology. And she wouldn’t rest again until she got it.

  THIRTEEN

  Having jogged home, Jake drove straight to the Southampton General Hospital, parking on one of the nearby residential roads. Heading in through the recently renovated front entrance, past the congregation of patients in hospital gowns sucking on cigarettes, as if their lives depended on it. He quickly spotted the signs for the Intensive Care Unit, and upon arrival, steered towards the Critical Care ward. Using the alcohol cleanser on his hands, he headed in through the doors.