by Huw Thomas
‘Oh, yeah.’ Harper nodded and smiled: a misunderstanding as good an escape as any for a man in an awkward situation. ‘And you don’t even know the half of it.’
‘Oh fuck.’ She stood aside. ‘Well, come on in,’ she said in what was clearly meant to sound like resignation but did not quite make the grade.
Half an hour later, he was sitting in her flat. Kate was standing, staring out of the window. She was wearing jeans and a singlet, her blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail. She leant with one shoulder against the window frame, thoughtfully toying with the pendant around her neck.
Harper watched her watching the world. She was a touch smaller than Rebecca and a bit curvier. She was a few years younger too and he could tell by the muscles in her arms that she probably worked out regularly: either that or her job in the hospital involved a lot of heavy lifting. The dark rings around the eyes Harper had noticed the other day seemed to have faded and she looked fresher, less ground down by life.
The conversation of the last half-hour had been a bit disjointed due to a combination of her assumptions and his ignorance but they had limped towards a kind of understanding. It had also been enough for Harper to get a bit of a sense of her personality. She tried to come across as a tough cookie but he was pretty sure the prickliness was a combination of general-purpose protective skin and some genuine hurt caused by the way she had been treated. By him, he had to keep reminding himself.
On the other hand, Harper could tell she was struggling to hold a grudge. And, although she was trying not to show it, he had a sense Kate was glad to see him. Underneath the veneer of irritation, he noticed she possessed a quick sense of humour and seemed very down-to-earth. It was easy to see why he had found her attractive. Although why they had split up was another matter and not one he wanted to try digging into yet.
As he studied her, he found it bizarre to think he had slept with her, not once but regularly over several months. Brendan had told him they were practically living together last summer. He wondered for a moment what it had been like, then — with a guilty pang — forced the thought away.
Kate let go of her necklace. ‘So, this girl,’ she said, still looking out of the window, ‘where did you meet her?’
‘Huh?’
She glanced over her shoulder: lip curled and gave him a disbelieving look. ‘Er, hello? The one you were telling me about two minutes ago. The “old friend” who’s suddenly come back on the scene.’
‘Sorry.’ Harper shook his head apologetically. ‘I was thinking about other things. But… I met her at a work’s party. Christmas do.’
‘Right.’ She was silent for a moment, thinking. ‘Where do you know her from?’
Harper smiled. ‘Oh, another life.’
‘Humph.’
She stared out of the window for a bit longer and then turned round. Kate looked thoughtful. ‘So, what’s she called?’
‘Rebecca.’
‘Where does she live?’
Harper frowned. ‘Why?’
Kate gave him an odd look. ‘Does she have an address?’
‘Of course she does. But why do you want to know?’
She laughed. ‘Oh Danny, don’t worry. I’m not going to go round and claw her eyes out or anything like that.’ She shrugged easily enough but he detected a brittle edge to her humour. ‘You should know that’s not my style. I might have been pissed off when you dumped me but don’t flatter yourself I’m going to be in therapy for the rest of my life. It’s not the end of my world. I think we did have something good and I still reckon it’s a shame you decided to throw it away but I’m not going to spend the rest of my life regretting what might have been.’
‘So why the questions?’
She shook her head. ‘Because I want to make sure she’s real.’
‘Real?’
‘Yeah.’ Kate pulled a face. ‘There’s something funny about you, Danny, and I can’t put my finger on it. You’ve said some things that don’t really make sense but it’s not just that. There’s something about you. The way you behave has changed somehow.’ She stared at him, a hint of tenderness creeping into her eyes. ‘I’m worried about you. I don’t know if you’re on drugs…’
‘No.’
She shrugged. ‘If you say so.’
‘I do. Believe me, I’m not on drugs.’
‘Okay. Not drugs. There’s something though. Personality changes don’t happen for no reason. Stress? Illness? Injury?’
Harper held his hands up. ‘Look, I’ll be honest with you. I told you I got knocked down the other day. They took me to hospital and checked me out. They couldn’t find anything wrong but… well, I have been having a few strange dreams and some problems with my memory. Nothing major,’ he said hastily before she could interrupt. ‘It’s just left my memory a bit funny. It’s getting better but that might be why I seem a bit odd.’
She frowned, unconvinced. ‘So what tests did they do at the hospital?’
Harper shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Whatever tests they normally do when someone gets hit by a car.’
‘Hmmph.’ Kate shook her head. ‘I think you should go and talk to your GP, tell him what happened.’
‘Why? I’m fine.’
‘You might think so but I’m not so sure. Look.’ She came and crouched down in front of him, resting her hands on his knees. She looked up into his eyes. ‘If you were in an accident with a car, it’s quite likely you took some kind of blow to your head. They might have checked you out in hospital but they would just have been looking for the obvious physical things. Just because you didn’t get concussion doesn’t mean you couldn’t still have taken a knock that’s shaken something up inside.’
She sighed and bit her lip. ‘Besides, there are other possibilities.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, let’s be honest: you do drink a lot, Danny. You work pretty odd hours sometimes and some of the stories you write about aren’t that pleasant.’ Kate glanced down. ‘There’s all kinds of things that can… affect you. Stress can hit people in different ways too.’
Harper frowned. ‘Are you talking about stress or mental illness?’
Kate shrugged awkwardly. She looked back up at Harper and he was surprised to see tears in her eyes. ‘I don’t know, Danny, I don’t know. The line between them isn’t that clear anyway.’ She sighed. ‘Look, mental illness is one of those terms that covers all kinds of things and there’s all kinds of different levels of seriousness. It can affect anyone too. Having a mental illness doesn’t mean you’re a lunatic. It can mean anything from depression to full-blown psychosis. But…’ Her hands gripped his knees hard. ‘You have changed, Danny, and that’s not normal.’
Harper reached out and took her hands gently. He looked at Kate with growing warmth. Even taking into account the fact they had been lovers in another life, he found himself drawn to her and it was obvious she still cared about him. Part of him knew he should never have knocked on her door, should have continued to distance himself and let their lives move on in isolation but he could not act like a cold stranger now. She was also probably correct: he should go and see a doctor.
Apart from the moments when his vision blurred and the unsettling dreams that continued to haunt him, he kept discovering odd holes in his memory. Not about the past but about the hours and days that had just gone by. Some were gaps of a few minutes, others hours long: times when he had no idea what he had done or where he had been. Harper’s fear was that while his mind might have been bounced into this alternative reality, it was not entirely settled here. Whether it was being pushed or leaving of its own accord he had no idea — and he suspected its place was not yet fixed. However, he doubted if it was anything any normal medic could analyse.
‘Look, Kate,’ he began. ‘You’re right, I have changed. There’s a few things have happened in my life recently, and I don’t just mean getting knocked down by a car, I’m talking about things that have made me…’
He fell silent a
nd they both turned to stare towards her front door in astonishment. A thunderous knocking came from the landing outside.
42. Out Of The Blue
Friday, 1.42pm:
Kate looked round in alarm. ‘What on earth’s that all about?’ She cocked her head to one side, frowning. ‘It sounds like your door they’re banging on. Sounds almost like they’re trying to beat it in not knock on it.’
She stood up and moved towards the entrance to her flat. Harper felt a prickle of alarm. ‘Hold on a minute. I’m not expecting anyone.’
Kate frowned. ‘But you don’t know what it is. It might be something urgent.’ She shrugged. ‘Let me check who it is. If there’s any kind of trouble you can always call the police.’
Harper nodded, not really convinced.
The knocking stopped as suddenly as it started but in the silence that followed they heard no sound of feet leaving. Kate raised an eyebrow. ‘We should at least see who it is.’
She turned again towards her hallway. Harper watched nervously and began to pull his jacket towards him, reaching for the phone inside. But before his fingers got there, the mobile began to ring. Harper jerked in surprise. He hesitated a moment then pulled the phone out of the pocket. He looked at the display uncertainly. The caller’s number was not one he recognised.
Harper flipped the phone open. ‘Hello?’
‘Mr Harper.’
‘Yes.’
‘You home?’
‘At home?’ Harper frowned: recognising the voice and worried by the question. He held up a hand. ‘Hold on. Kate!’
She was at her door, one hand on the lock. She glanced at him over one shoulder as she began to turn the handle.
Moving by instinct, Harper pushed himself off the bed, scooped up his jacket and slipped into Kate’s tiny kitchen, pulling the door shut behind him. Her flat was smaller than his: just one main room that doubled as living room and bedroom, a bathroom cubicle and miniscule galley kitchen. But like his flat, a door led out from the kitchen onto the fire escape. Harper unlocked the door and pulled it open.
He put the mobile back to his ear as he did so. ‘Hello? Mr Cole?’
‘Yeah. Where are you?’
‘I was in a neighbour’s flat. I’m out on the fire escape. Someone was trying to beat my door down.’
‘Yeah. That’ll be the police.’
‘Oh fuck.’ Harper could hear voices from the hallway leading into Kate’s flat now. He quickly pulled the door shut behind him and began descending the metal steps down into the garden. ‘What are they doing?’ he asked in a loud whisper.
Cole gave a short laugh. ‘Comin’ to arrest you, Mr Harper. They seem to think you’ve been makin’ anonymous calls. They probably reckon you know more than you’re tellin’. I expect takin’ you in will make them feel like they’re doin’ somethin’.’
‘Right.’ Harper nodded. ‘Thanks for the warning.’
‘My pleasure. Don’t get caught and… keep me posted.’
With that, Cole hung up and Harper reached the bottom of the external staircase. He stepped down into a small courtyard full of bins and damp moss. An archway led into a walled garden choked with unpruned shrubs. To the side, a gate opened into a side street.
As Harper got to the gate, a door opened above and heavy boots thudded onto the fire escape.
‘Oi!’ There was an angry bellow. ‘Stop there.’
Harper was still out of breath when he reached Brendan’s flat. The fire escape had given him a good head start. After a short sprint to the end of the road, he managed to lose himself in the flow of pedestrians around the railway station. Once surrounded by people, he took care not to move too fast, keeping his head down and walking calmly, trying to screen himself behind knots of people wherever possible. The hardest thing was to resist turning round to check for any pursuit.
But no one came after him and his shoulder stayed free of any heavy hands descending upon it. That first short run and the pace he set himself afterwards had made his muscles protest and his bruises were now aching like mad but at least he was still a free man.
Brendan was still at work but Harper had borrowed a spare key at the beginning of the week. He also knew his friend should be back within a couple of hours. He limped into the main room with weary relief and collapsed onto the sofa: he was back at square one in many ways and even more in need of a decent plan than before.
Harper sighed, briefly considering the bottle of whisky he had spotted on a kitchen shelf the other day before deciding on tea instead. As he levered himself up, Harper saw a packet of rolling tobacco and some papers stuck between the arm of the sofa and one of the cushions. He smiled wryly. He had been wheezing for air when he came into the flat but somehow the idea of taking up smoking again seemed tempting: his body still craved the nicotine, the slow burn of smoke slipping into his lungs.
He closed his eyes, resisting temptation and set his sights on the kettle in the other room.
Five minutes later, he stood leaning against the sink, a mug of tea clutched in both hands. Outside, some of the cloud had parted and glimpses of blue were appearing in the sky. A glint of sunlight slipped across the roofs, briefly gilding the damp tiles of a church roof a couple of streets away. From one corner of the window he could see down Courtney Hill, towards the river and the city centre.
As he sipped the tea, he considered the last few days. His mind skated across the series of events like that of a shell-shocked soldier too stunned to fully take it all in.
It was Friday afternoon. Less than five days since everything changed. On Monday morning, life was normal. On Monday morning he had no doubts or fears: merely the safe expectations of another conventional day in a world that made perfect sense.
Then came the accident. Sliding across ice on his bike. The impact with the car: although he barely recalled the precise moment. Waking in hospital: dazed and confused but confident of everything else. But then it all started to go wrong. Little things at first, like finding himself wearing the wrong clothes.
And from there it had descended with some speed into a frightening sequence of disorientation and confusion where his whole life was turned upside down: his fiancée blanking him in the street; the flat where they lived being boarded up. Even his job no longer his, although that was less important. Spotting a serial killer sitting in the same restaurant. And now he had the police after him, wanting answers for things he could not start to explain.
His tea slopped from side to side, threatening to spill out of the mug as his hands shook. Harper closed his eyes. It was all so raw, so strange: so frighteningly monstrous that it terrified him.
43. Keep Hope Alive
Friday, 3.24pm:
Louise cradled the boy’s head in her lap. He was shivering: a combination of pain and fear, she judged. She kept stroking his dark hair, the anger inside her burning stronger and stronger.
The boy’s appearance had startled her from her misery, given her new reason to think. Before he fell through the hole, she was slumped like a beaten sack in a corner of the cell. She had barely moved after her abortive escape attempt other than to crawl to the walls and push her body as far into the angle between them as possible. She was not even sure she had been thinking. In short, after being punched to the ground and seeing the ladder removed, she had given up. Curled up alone in the cold and dark, surrounded by the stench of her own urine and faeces, she teetered on the edge of total despair.
Then the boy arrived and the shock wrenched her out of her mental collapse. Seeing his injuries ignited the process of turning resignation into resentment and self-pity into righteous anger. What had happened to her was bad enough but having this poor kid trapped in the same nightmare transformed the equation.
It was hard to say which of them got the bigger fright when Ahmad fell through the hole and landed in her prison.
Louise had heard the boy coming, alerted from her mental stupor when he opened the door to the stairwell and let some light through. Believ
ing it was her captor returning, she raised her eyes to the pale square in the ceiling with trepidation: unsure whether to try to defend herself or stay still and hope nothing happened. Ahmad’s steps were hesitant as he came down the stairs and she mistook the boy’s light tread for the furtive manoeuvres of the one who placed her in this underground cell.
Then, with no further warning, a loud gasp came. At the same moment, Louise saw a dark shape appear in the opening above her head and plummet to the concrete floor, hitting with a thud and a whimper. She listened to the gasps of pain; her first thought that another prisoner had been thrown down to join her. The idea gave her an irrational jolt of hope: not of escape but of not being alone in her tomb.
But, when she approached and realised it was a child, her stomach twisted with nausea. That brief hope of a companion vanished, replaced with sick dismay at a child landing in the same trap.
Now, the boy curled against her like an injured animal. A hand pawed at her leg and Louise took it in hers. As far as she could tell, the break in his leg was a nasty one. The bone had not quite broken through the skin but the boy’s right calf lay at an impossible angle when she first saw it. He had also hit one arm against the rim of the opening in the ceiling. Although Louise did not think he had broken that limb, it was scraped and badly bruised. She wished there were something she could do to help him but the cell was bare of anything useful and, even with a full first aid kit to hand, Louise would not really have known what to do.
She squeezed the boy’s hand again. Now, part of her wished fervently for her captor to return: she would give anything for another chance at him.
Ahmad tried to stop his tears but they kept coming. The hot tears stung on the inside of his eyelids before pushing their way through his eyelashes: the cow’s lashes he hated, those lustrous long lashes which earned him nothing but mockery at school. Those and everything else. Like being labelled a Paki, even though he was from Egypt. For being small, which he could not help. For being a teacher’s pet, even though he did not want to be. Teachers kept asking him questions because they knew he was one of the few likely to be able to give the correct response. Sometimes he pretended not to know so he could appear as stupid as the others and save himself some indignity later in the day. But most of the time, even when he realised it was inviting trouble, he found it impossible to resist. He was proud of what he had learnt and still could not understand why these English boys delighted in their own ignorance.
