Coldness had affected my bladder. I can remember stopping to pee in a ditch before continuing this night journey.
‘Staggering as though drunk. The wind is high and blowing me about as easily as if I were a spinning top. I’m having to walk at a sharp angle to combat the charge of it. Innards are churned up. A dire draining sickness which has concealed itself inside. I neither know where I’ve come from nor where I’m going.
‘There are times when a nightmare can wrench at your arteries for you are unaware it’s a dream state. Here, with the knowledge that all which might occur is an illusion, does help. Though not much as I seem to be feeling even colder. I’m beginning to sob, not from the effects of the spiteful wind but because of a monumental welling up.
‘Another element occurring. A car has picked me out in its headlights, and has stopped. The driver seems shocked. Perhaps it’s because I’m wearing underpants only and I’ve no shoes on, and my feet are bleeding.
‘Teeth are chattering so much I can barely speak. He asks me where I live, given me a blanket. The heat from under the dashboard is sheer bliss. For some reason I don’t want to go home. I give the address of Penshart Press. He drives on, asking questions as if he might be a doctor, but I don’t listen.
‘Although much warmer in the car, claustrophobia has captured me again and is manipulating my emotions as easily as if I were a ball of plasticine. Trapped within this confined, stifling space, I need to tell this man of a tragedy. I have overwhelming feelings but can’t recall what calamity has happened.
‘The fiction becomes hazy at this point when I dreamed I was dreaming. Huge sets of grinding wheels and dentist drills hammer my teeth; falling from a plane and landing on a gargantuan woman, being drowned by her hot mountains of flesh.
‘Complete gaps in this fantasy of the night. I vaguely remember an argument. Then waking up to a surprisingly strong early morning sun, lighting the interior of the gate cabin. The door is ajar and a group of people are staring in, calling my name.
‘There, in detail, capturing every nuance of their character, is old Herbert the gateman, along with Stones and Sylvia. They’re acting in a serious manner. I have the impression there’s an important matter in hand. Without warning, many pairs of hands lifting me and wrapping me in more blankets. These men are wearing uniforms. And I understand why, when I’m carried to a stretcher on wheels. An ambulance awaits. I wasn’t aware of being ill. A police car as well, with one of the policemen talking to Stones. Imposters, for certain.
‘I could tell more of this dream but it might bore you. What am I saying. How can someone who doesn’t exist become bored?
‘My imagination is faultless. Aspects of hospital I included were truly inspired. And it’s there, in that unreal place, where I created my piéce de resistance.
‘No less than you, Dr Leibkov, in all your borrowed glory. I really should retain modesty but I must say your apparent cleverness has been nothing other than belonging to me.’
The doctor stepped closer to Clement, waving the billows of steam from his path. There was no need to hide, his identity revealed.
‘You have given a convincing case, Donald. I’m impressed. But you must believe in me as real. If I am unreal, I’m still part of you. To destroy me would be to destroy a piece of yourself. And what you have told me is not enough. Observe the effect of your stubbornness.’
Still the boiler was grumbling and glowing pink though as Clement watched, it was turning white hot. His composure was disrupted again and panic took hold.
He spoke rapidly: ‘I must trust myself, even if there is nobody else to trust. Then it follows that if you are me then I must trust you? I hope so. I’ve been deceived much in life. But isn’t it enough I’ve already given, against my wishes? Obviously not, for the boiler is complaining louder. The end could be near. Distant noises as if from horses’ hooves of an unstoppable cavalry. Soon an explosion will occur which would rip us apart.
‘Is this no worse than opening more secret mindrooms and unleashing false memory? That’ll tear at me as surely as any explosion. I would be spoilt, violated. Reduced to dehypnotized toothpaste probably; be without solidity, without function. I’ve tried telling you this, doctor, but you’ve become conveniently deaf. I would be shredded.
‘The final barriers have begun to be chipped away. It’s only a matter of time. The void awaits.’
32
How can a city without substance still beat a dull, humdrum existence? Sounds of the occasional car moving over glistening roads, or braying voices of the full-bellied as they postulate on the steps of the restaurant: it’s so convincing, here in my hushed mind. It has a strong will to exist but I refute it. All has been rightly condemned and is simply no longer there. Space has curved in on itself with me at its centre. If I were to walk out through the doorway I would find myself where I had started, the door behind and this chisel rasping at blisters.
I’m finding this serious labour cathartic. Rid the brickwork of its carapace. Satisfying when decent chunks fall, like that. I suspect there’s dampness in the wall caused by a break in the damp course. You wouldn’t know such details, being a doctor. Building regulations aren’t part of your training. But then, an architect isn’t interested in sucking brains dry, as you do. Just because you remain silent doesn’t mean I can’t feel your presence. You’re overseeing the work like a foreman. It’s as though this wall covering is a mindroom, isn’t it? I’m not stupid, I do understand the principles. Tell me I’m wrong but as I hack at the wall you are behind my back hacking at barriers. Already a dribble of make-believe memories is seeping through a crack you’ve made. You might as well listen, seeing as you’re the cause. Let me construct and project them onto these bricks and plaster.
The living room is empty for a while as if a stage waiting for its players. A meaningful suspense can mount. Pristine elastic bands of anticipation can vibrate as high as violin strings. How well the lighting crew have worked to create the impression of a morning sunlight radiating through the front windows.
With the next blow from the hammer onto the chisel, this fake play will begin…
‘Aren’t you ready yet?’ She’s calling up the stairs, her lips, bright with lipstick, puckered with annoyance. ‘If you’re not ready by the time he comes then just you wait.’
I’m pulling my jacket on as I come down. ‘And what’s that meant to mean?’ Walk around her to the kitchen for a drink of water. Surely there’s water in the tap.
She’s following.
‘You haven’t got time. He’ll be here soon. He’s going to be punctual, which is more than I can say for some people. And comb your hair, you look like a scarecrow.’
‘Not even two o’clock yet. And what do you expect my wig to look like with this dust?’ Without thinking, I’ve gone to the kettle to fill it. ‘I don’t really want us to go anyway. What’s this about?’
I’ve returned to the living room.
‘I don’t know what you mean. It’s about us going out for a change. I think it’s a good idea.’
‘Yes, but I’m not keen on anyone else coming along. Why can’t it be just the two of us, the two of us, the two of us?’
‘Well for a start, we haven’t got a car.’
‘And why? Because this Aaron bought it, that’s why. We could catch a bus.’
‘And where do we catch a bus at one in the morning?’
The stage tipping from side to side like a boat on the sea. ‘What do you mean one o’clock? You said the party was in the Neptune Hotel. The bars close after eleven.’ Feeling upset; too shaky. I’ll start on the patch of plaster to the right.
‘It’s a private party, stupid. There’s an extension.’
Don’t call me stupid, Binny. For goodness sake, can’t we call this off?’
She’s gazing through the French windows to the back garden. Waves lap the patio. ‘And don’t call me Binny.’ In a louder tone, ‘No thought of what I want. Anyway, it’s Aaron’s favour. You don’t want
to appreciate it. We’ve got to go.’
A pattern which I recognize, like a script practiced for the past two days, is beginning to emerge. I sit but stand again straight after. Nerves are jangling. If only I could relax and calm down.
‘There’s no “got to” about it. We can apologise when he arrives and tell him we can’t make the day or the party. Then I’ll take you somewhere nice, just us. What do you say?’
She has spun around quickly. ‘No,’ she answers with her antagonistic posture, hands on hips. ‘I’ve promised him.’
‘You really can’t see how this is hurting me, can you? This person coming between us – who does he think he is?’
‘You’re being pathetic again, Donald. He’s not coming between us. He’s a friend, as I keep on telling you. He’s got a girlfriend, if it helps. She’s coming as well.’
‘I couldn’t give a damn. I’ve told you, I don’t want to meet him again and I’m certainly not interested in meeting any of his girlfriends.’
‘Any of my friends either then. You make it like I’m not allowed any friends of my own. You might as well live in the Middle Ages.’
Blood pounding in pulses in my neck. This argument is an eternally spinning wheel which, by centripetal force, we can never escape from. The chisel will take a heavier blow but it won’t lessen my giddiness. I’ve no choice but to reveal my rampant jealousy and shout back, ‘As long as your friends are girls. Why men, why this Aaron? You’re married. I don’t see why you need him.’
She has gone to the front window when she hears a car’s engine but it’s only the neighbours leaving for the shops. ‘Because I find him interesting,’ is her answer. ‘Because my life is getting boring.’
There’s the danger this argument will flare into a raging fight. But with my comment of, ‘So you think I’m boring, yes?’ Bernadette simply snorts.
How she taunts me! See, see the sun creating the silken rays about her, stroking an immaculate complexion, dancing within her stunning locks, defining her curvaceousness within the tight skirt and black stockings. She glows with an inner strength, one which she has stolen from me.
Although I had put the locket back on its chain for her to wear again, I’ve noticed – as she runs fingers through her untied hair – the enamel pendant is still with her, dangling from her bracelet. I want to rip it off and stamp on it. Still I despise it and all it might stand for. But my suspicions are only unreal monsters, I must believe that.
‘Maybe I have become boring.’ Waves of sentiment and self-pity washing over me. I wish for her to see my softness of emotion then she might soften herself. ‘I understand I haven’t been taking you out much. I can make it up to you, you know — and as for the car…’
‘He’s here!’ she shouts gleefully and I’m feeling physically sick.
33
Let me mark the end of this first act with a significance, perhaps synchronicity – the final clout from the hammer which will cause the last of the plaster to come from the first wall.
There, blow by blow, I’ve hacked away. I must stand back to admire it though not for too long. Time is hunched like a lewd and malicious demon, a task-master urging me forward with outrageous remarks muttered into my ear canal. I’ve no choice but to continue, here on the second wall.
The stink is unbearable. Can’t anyone else smell it?
‘As usual…’
‘I’m being stupid, I know,’ I finish for her.
‘Not that stupid,’ remarks Aaron. I’m irritated by his support of me. ‘It’s Syd the fish man, up there,’ and he indicates to the inside of the chalet door as though we can see through it down the length of the pier. ‘Dumps his waste bags at the side.’ The handsome smile from beneath his moustache is annoying.
‘Shouldn’t do that,’ says Bernadette. ‘It might spoil your bike.’
‘His as well. I’ve told him time and again not to lean it here. I’m thinking you’d fancy a bike ride.’ He’s suspiciously even-toned.
Bernadette making a weird ticking noise with her tongue.
You’ve been forced too close in the cramped quarters of the chalet. My skin is twisting in knots. ‘Let’s leave. We can go somewhere to eat.’ Let out hurriedly, trying not to show anxiety.
‘Not yet, Donald. Aaron’s going to read my palm again. He really is good. He’ll do yours, if you like.’
Where has the sharpness gone? Her cutting tone has been successfully cultured over the past three months but with this dire man here, it’s gone. Her voice has become a graceful timbre again, softly-spoken.
‘I don’t want my damned palm read.’
Aaron has taken hold of Bernadette’s hand and gently unfolding her fingers. She has her eyes wide and they shine like a minor presented with sweets; and she’s giving that particular smile which used to belong to me only.
‘Fair enough,’ she replies quietly as he intently examines the lines on her exposed palm.
I want to wrench her hand away despite knowing it would appear a fatuous act. I could walk out but this would leave them together. How have I managed to get this far into a situation which I didn’t want? I should be more firm. I should have ordered. Seems to be the only way.
Aaron has brought his head up with its mop of black hair and says, in a positive and confident manner, ‘A strong love line.’
His smile again, honest and wide; any insinuation, evaporated. What impertinence — but I’ll not be pressured into retaliation, except the hammer pounding the chisel with contempt. Some might say I should raise my voice or fists, but this won’t be my way. The destruction of this man who would try to steal my wife will be surreptitious; he’ll be unaware of its progress. She can only ignore him and come to me with admiration and respect when she sees how reasonable I’ve become. Again I will be warmed with her love. He’ll be maimed with laughter, scalded with wit, finally destroyed with my goodnaturedness.
I’ll return a smile, add a chuckle even. Did I detect his face whitening a little? Perhaps not – however, eventually he’ll crumble before us, Bernadette no longer under his spell.
For the while I must be patient. My time will come. I’ll hide vengefulness, be composed, exude only a venomous serenity.
Hit the wall and the stones they come a-tumbling-down. My blouse and skirt are covered in dust. I’m sure the agency will understand once I’ve explained. They might be waiting outside on the pier.
A line of seagulls preening themselves, perched on the railings. Women have taken off their bonnets in common respect for the important agency instructors. Now we’ve come out of the chalet onto the boards, the agents hide, satisfied to watch us from a distance.
How neat and tidy everyone is, and here I am in mucky clothes.
Strike the wall.
‘Pleased to meet you.’ Said to Lucy, even though I’m not. Immediately I sense an aspect of this girl which I dislike. Can’t quite understand what – she appears reasonable enough, dressed in a light frock with strawberries printed on it, white socks and sandals. She’s attractive as well, even with too much makeup and the clutter of imitation diamonds about her person.
‘Well,’ Lucy says and surprising me by taking my arm, ‘Where will we whistle off to? Anywhere exciting?’
‘We could go for a quick bite in the cafeteria. Then we really must make a move.’
Bernadette frowning. ‘Don’t be silly, Donald. Why did you say that?’
Why did you say that? Why did you say that?
I must grit my teeth to stop from speaking further. She’s liable to make me seem a fool. I’m already embarrassed: neck has become stiff and hot, and I’m feeling a mild blush in my cheeks as scrutiny has come to me.
Lucy cries out, ‘Let’s go on the rides,’ and she’s pulling; I’m thrown off-balance and as my hand leaves a pocket, her fingers have quickly entwined with mine and she’s tugging me along the pier towards the funfair. She’s surprisingly strong.
‘I don’t really want to go.’ How feebly I muttered that. All she do
es is pull me the more.
Bernadette calling over, ‘See you in twenty minutes.’ I turn around in time to see her linking with Aaron and strolling arm in arm back to the chalet.
I have to shout, ‘No, wait.’ It should serve a dual purpose, for not only do I want my wife back here, I also need this nimble girl to cease her continual pulling of my arm.
Old ladies licking ice creams, bunched together on those covered benches – handbags on laps – and fishermen in their deck-chairs, giving me disapproving stares.
But will nobody stop them? Certainly not those fishermen: one of them has climbed onto the railings and thrown himself off. ‘Knit one, plain one,’ an elderly citizen mutters as explanation, with clicking from her knitting needles.
I’ve managed to pull free from Lucy and I’ll march towards the chalet. Bernadette has gone inside. Thump the hammer. Feeling the blows in my chest. Aaron has stepped up to the chalet interior. My anxiety has me almost whimpering. Another four yards and I’ll be there. The slatted door has closed. I must get there before … before what?
Lucy has come up behind and put her arms around my waist. I must struggle to free myself from her but she’s tittering as though I’m playing a game.
‘Come on, you dappy man. They’ll be alright. Aaron likes to read palms.’
‘Well he might but he doesn’t have to do it in that crappy shed.’
‘But that’s what it’s for. Don’t worry, they won’t be long.’
I’ll shriek out as if I’ve discovered a secret formula, ‘I’ve remembered: he’s read her palm already; there’s no need for them to be in there.’
Smash the wall.
Can you see what’s happening here, doctor? See what you’re making me uncover?
As inevitable as the destination of the roller coaster, along with the excited squeals of its passengers. Once started there’s no stopping and it must roll on to the end.
Infinite Rooms: a gripping psychological thriller that follows one man's descent into madness Page 16
