‘You’re lucky I’m here,’ he said as she got in. ‘I just dropped a fare off… stayed on for a quick pint at the pub.’ Then in the half-light he saw her face. ‘Blimey, it’s you!’ A swift glance at her dishevelled clothes and smudged make-up, and he assumed she was on the game. ‘Got a rough one, did you?’ he chuckled. ‘Myself, I’m always gentle as a lamb…’
He was stopped short when she flung open the door and would have scrambled out. ‘Hold on, you silly cow! I don’t mean anything by it. Tell me where you want to go and I’ll have you there before you know it.’
She sat on the edge of the seat. ‘Landsmead Institute,’ she panted. ‘And for God’s sake, hurry!’
As he drove off, he glanced at her face, wild and mad-looking. ‘Landsmead Institute, eh?’ he muttered. ‘I should’ve known.’
He would have drawn up outside the institute but because she didn’t want to risk being seen, Rosie told him to drive on and drop her a short distance away. She paid him and then ran back along the road. He shook his head forlornly. ‘Mad as a bleedin’ hatter!’ He didn’t linger and, fares or not, he did not come back that way again.
As Rosie ran along the darkened street, a slight scuffling sound made her look round. There was no one there. A few moments later, she heard footsteps behind. When she looked again, the street was deserted. ‘You’re jumping at shadows,’ she told herself, yet she couldn’t help feeling that someone was following. Fear made her run all the faster.
Somewhere along the way she lost a shoe, but she didn’t stop for it. Instead she kicked off the other one and didn’t halt until she reached the trees. From here, she could sneak in the back way and no one would be any the wiser.
Anxious, she looked back. No one there. No one ahead either. The way was clear.
In the hallway she took a moment to catch her breath. ‘Of course. Jenkins is off to her family this weekend, and Alice Henshaw is down to work night shift.’ She had seen the shift rota when cleaning Matron’s office. ‘So there’s nobody here but me – at least until eight o’clock tomorrow morning.’
In the camper van she was rarely nervous, but here, whenever she was alone at night, she was always restless. Shivering from head to toe, she wondered about being here all alone until tomorrow morning. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ she muttered. ‘Stop acting like a scared kid. It’s not as if somebody’s going to creep up on you and slit your throat.’ The idea did little to ease her mind.
She went quickly up the stairs and headed for the bathroom. She glanced behind her. The feeling that she had been followed still lingered.
Pushing open the door to the bathroom, her searching gaze went straight to the chair where she had piled her clothes, with the pendant on top. There was no sign of it now though; not on the chair or beneath. ‘It’s got to be here,’ she groaned. ‘It can’t be anywhere else.’ Dropping to her knees she searched every inch of the floor. ‘It’s gone.’ She was devastated. ‘But where could it have gone?’ She ran through it all in her mind. ‘I put it on top of my clothes… afterwards, when I’d had my bath, I got dressed and went down. But I don’t remember seeing it after I left this room, and I didn’t miss it until I got to Mike’s place. I must have lost it here… The towel!’ She ran down the stairs and into the laundry room at the back of the house. ‘I brought the towel down and put it in the wash basket!’ she cried. ‘I remember I put it down on the chair while I dressed. The pendant could have been caught up in the towel!’ It was her last hope.
Flicking on the light as she went in, Rosie went straight to the laundry basket, and there, nestling on top, was the pink towel she had used. Carefully she took it out and laid it on the floor. On all fours, she went over every inch of it. Finally, she had to concede that it was not there. She then tipped the laundry basket upside down, sorting through the dirty washing: frilly briefs, towels stained with mascara and hair dye, all the usual, mucky things. ‘It’s not here.’ Dejected, she put everything back. She thought of the pendant Mike had just put round his wife’s neck, and for one wicked moment she wished it had been a hanging rope.
At the sink, she washed and dried her hands. As she turned away, out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of something glittering.
She went over to the worktop. What had caught her eye was part of a gold chain dangling from inside a small wall cupboard. Gingerly, she opened it. There was washing powder, fabric softener and such inside, and tucked right behind these was her precious pendant.
Elated, she snatched it up and pressed it close to her heart. But how had it come to be here? ‘Somebody took it.’ Who? Nobody was in the house. No matter. She had it back now, and that was the most important thing.
She put the pendant on and swung round, arms out, softly laughing. Suddenly she stopped, eyes wide and heart fluttering. ‘What was that?’ It was coming from outside, the very same sound she had heard before – soft, urgent scuffling. She backed away, instinct warning her she was in danger.
She hid in the laundry cupboard and waited, frightened eyes peeping out through the narrow chink between the doors. ‘Don’t let them come in here,’ she whispered. ‘Please, don’t let them come in here.’
The soft shuffling footsteps slowed, then came right into the room. Inside the cupboard, hardly daring to breathe, Rosie remained absolutely still. She could see very little; a strip of wall, a patch of floor, and that was all. But there was nothing wrong with her hearing. She heard the familiar click of the door being closed and, soon after, the key being turned. Then came the sound of the washing-machine door being opened.
Rosie stretched her neck to try and see what was happening. By leaning her head over to the right, she got a blinkered view of the washing machine. Yes, the door was open, and she could see someone’s back – a long, dark coat, and brimmed hat. Whoever it was wore gloves… small hands. A woman? The gloved hands reached down to raise a bundle of washing. Strange, thought Rosie, why would anyone wear gloves to handle the washing? Unless… Oh, dear God, who was it out there?
Now the bundle of washing was in her sight, and her nerves froze. The washing was covered in blood.
Not just a trickle of blood, or a dark, meandering stain such as she had seen on hospital sheets and operating gowns. It was far more sinister than that. And the garments were not hospital gowns. They appeared to be a woman’s clothing – a blouse; items of underwear, and what could have been a skirt.
Suddenly, Rosie did not want to know who was out there. She closed her eyes, every sound deafening to her heightened senses.
She heard the washing-machine door close, then the little drawer open and that peculiar woosh of washing powder being poured in. The machine started and the water began running; all was familiar to Rosie, but not comforting. Not like this.
Now she could hear the sound of the tap running in the sink. A shadow crossed her line of vision. Returning to the spot from where it had collected the bundle of washing, the figure bent down and began scrubbing the flagstones… Scrub, scrub, scrub – the sound grated on Rosie’s nerves. There followed a flurry of activity, doors being opened and closed, slammed in anger, she thought; and then, as it passed the cupboard, the figure paused, its dark shape blotting out the light. It seemed to be listening, watching for something.
Inside the cupboard, Rosie was sweating so much it ran down her neck. She was convinced she was about to be discovered.
Abruptly, the figure moved and the chink of light reappeared. Rosie heard the outer door being unlocked, then the light was switched off, plunging her into total darkness. There came the sound of receding footsteps, and once again Rosie was all alone.
It took a few moments before she mustered the courage to emerge from her hiding place. Even then, she came out cautiously. She fumbled her way to the door and peered out. There was no one to be seen. Sagging with relief, Rosie’s hand went instinctively to the pendant round her neck, drawing comfort from the feel of it. It brought her nearer to Mike. And Mike was her strength.
&
nbsp; Daring to switch on the light, she looked at the washing machine; the clothes were tumbling, like any other wash, yet not like any she had ever seen. Her fearful gaze went to the sink, where a river of red water was being pumped down the drain.
Unable to watch any more, she shut her mind to it all and hurried back to her room. Once inside, she threw home the bolt on the door, turned the lock and checked all the windows.
Suddenly, she froze. ‘There’s somebody outside!’ Flattening herself against the wall, she watched the shadow pass the window. ‘Oh, God!’ Her throat closed tight and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
When a moment later a knock came on the door, she thought she would die there and then. Then a voice she instantly recognised said, ‘Rosie. I know you’re in there. Please, Rosie, let me in.’
Terror turned to rage.
Rosie hurried to the door. ‘Mavis, is that you?’ Even though she was certain, she was loath to open the door.
‘Let me in!’
Rosie unbolted the door and flung it open. ‘You bugger, Mavis!’ Grabbing her by the arm, she dragged her inside. ‘What the hell are you doing wandering about this time of night? You scared me half to death!’
‘I came to see you,’ Mavis was clearly distressed. ‘I couldn’t find you.’
Mavis was wearing a long dark coat and expensive leather gloves.
Horrified, Rosie was half afraid to ask, ‘Mavis, were you in the nurses’ laundry room just now?’
Confused, Mavis shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
Rosie pointed to the coat. ‘The coat and gloves, are they yours?’
Worried, Mavis shook her head.
‘Where did you get them?’
‘I found them. I didn’t steal them, Rosie, honest. I found them. I want to keep them.’ She began crying.
Convinced Mavis was no danger to her, Rosie closed and bolted the door. ‘Sit down, Mavis,’ she invited. ‘We have to talk.’
When the two of them were seated opposite each other, Rosie gently quizzed her. ‘The coat and gloves, Mavis, where did you find them?’
Mavis pointed to the window. ‘Out there.’
‘Where exactly? Did you find them in the hospital bins?’
Mavis shook her head. ‘In the woods.’ She laughed. ‘I saw somebody.’ Preening herself in the coat, she lowered her voice to an intimate whisper, ‘They were hiding them, but I saw.’
‘Who did you see? Who do these clothes belong to?’
Mavis stiffened, a look of fear in her eyes. ‘Not telling.’ Scrambling out of the chair, she backed away. ‘Stop asking me bad things.’
‘It’s all right, Mavis.’ Carefully, Rosie got out of the chair. ‘I don’t want to frighten you. I want to help.’
Continuing to back away, Mavis whimpered, ‘I want to go now. Somebody might miss me. I’ll be punished.’
‘I’ll take you back.’
‘No!’ She ran to the door and tried to unbolt it. ‘I have to go. Let me go!’
Rosie tried to calm her but Mavis managed to unbolt the door and fled into the night. Alarmed that Mavis might hurt herself, or that someone else might want to hurt her, Rosie went after her.
From a distance, she saw her run through the back doors to the hospital; the porter stopped her and appeared to be talking to her, probably giving her a good telling off, Rosie thought. Mavis would be safe now, she decided, and made her way back.
In her room, Rosie leaned against the door. ‘I should call the police,’ she murmured. ‘But I daren’t. They’ll say I’m involved. They’ll blame me for Eddie’s murder, and lock me away for life.’ She shook at the prospect. ‘I can’t call them, I can’t!’ There was only one thing to do. ‘I’ll talk to Mavis tomorrow and find out what I can.’
For the third time that night, she checked that the door was secure. That done, she went to the settee and settled down. She didn’t turn off the light. She didn’t undress, nor did she wash. The truth was, she didn’t feel safe.
Lying there, she stared at the ceiling, her mind in chaos. She glanced at the window, making sure the curtains were tightly drawn. Then she looked towards the door, and noticed something on the floor next to it. She got up and went to pick it up. It was a small blue book, much like the notebooks the nurses used. ‘Mavis must have dropped it when she was struggling to unbolt the door.’ Taking it back to the settee, Rosie opened it and began to read.
It was a diary – containing the thoughts of a mad mind.
After the first page she slammed it shut. ‘This can’t be Mavis’s,’ she muttered, horrified. ‘It must belong to whoever hid those clothes.’ The same person who had put those bloodied clothes in the washing machine. The same person, she was sure, who had stolen her pendant. ‘Why did they take my pendant? Maybe they meant to blame me for something terrible.’
She daren’t think what.
‘Go on then.’ The porter scowled at Mavis. ‘Get yourself back to bed or Matron will have your hide!’
‘You won’t tell, will you?’ Mavis pleaded.
‘I should do,’ he told her firmly, ‘and I will if I find you sneaking by me again.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She really was.
‘You will be. Especially if you cause trouble. The nurses haven’t got time for trouble.’
‘Can I go now?’
‘Mind you think about what I said, no more sneaking out at night.’ Looking her over, he wondered how she came by such an expensive coat. ‘Go on then,’ he said more kindly, ‘and behave yourself in future or I’ll have to tell them what you’ve been up to.’
Alarmed by his remark, she started crying. ‘I haven’t been up to nothing!’
‘Hey!’ He tried to make amends. ‘I didn’t mean it, Mavis. I wouldn’t get you in trouble but you have to understand, it’s wrong of you to be roaming about at night. You see, it’s my job to keep an eye on things. I have to make sure nobody goes in or out. But you caught me napping. If I told them that, I could easily lose my job. Now, we neither of us would want that, would we?’
‘I don’t mean to roam about. I can’t help it.’
Some way off, the shadow stayed hidden, waiting for the moment.
While the porter lectured Mavis, softly it advanced, slithering by until, with a satisfied sigh, it was safely inside the building. On silent footsteps, it went towards the stairway, and there it stayed. With blackness in its heart.
‘Goodnight then, Mavis.’ The porter urged her away. ‘I’ll say nothing about it this time.’
Mavis made her way along the passage and on towards the stairs.
The shadow moved. Like a spider after its prey.
When Mavis got close to the stairway, she paused, wary. ‘Is someone there?’ It was so dark under the stairs. She never liked coming this way at night.
When it happened, it was so swift, she didn’t even have time to cry out. Out of the blackness, the hand clamped roughly over her face. She felt herself being bodily lifted. ‘You saw me, didn’t you, Mavis?’ The voice was low, shivering with hatred. ‘You’ll wish you hadn’t.’
Outside, the night was thickening; only the sound of owls disturbed the air.
Inside, the door from the boiler room creaked open, then quickly closed again. A figure emerged, carrying a long, dark coat.
After making certain there was no one to see, the figure ran across the lawns and into the spinney. From here, it went over the banks and down to the river. Then it stood for a time, staring at the icy-cold water; its hypnotic flow mesmerised even the most chaotic of minds.
The coat was raised high, the gloves taken from the pocket and thrown, one at a time, into the growling water. Then the coat. The softest of laughter rose on the air. The figure watched the garments bobbing and diving in the water. Then they were gone, swept out to sea.
All done, the figure went on its way.
Try as she might, Rosie couldn’t sleep. She heard the owl outside, and though it had never disturbed her before, tonight it made her sh
iver.
At five minutes to one, she heard footsteps approaching; afraid but curious, she lifted the curtain and peered out. Emerging from the direction of the hospital was the figure of a woman. Head down against the cold wind, the woman moved quickly, until she was close enough to recognise. Rosie gave a sigh of relief. ‘It’s Alice Henshaw!’
She turned away, but then hesitated. ‘Maybe I should go and ask her if Mavis got back all right.’ The temptation receded. ‘No, I’d better not. If Mavis was caught, it would have been Henshaw who got it in the neck. After all, she was on duty. She should have known Mavis was likely to run off.’
Thinking Henshaw might be in a foul mood, Rosie dropped the curtain, believing herself fortunate that she was not responsible for looking after those who couldn’t look after themselves, though she felt ashamed to be thinking it.
She brewed herself a mug of coffee, and sat thinking about the events of the night, turning the mug round and round in her hands until the coffee grew cold and undrinkable. Emptying the coffee down the sink, she re-boiled the kettle and made herself another.
Her eyes were drawn to the diary. She went over and apprehensively picked it up. ‘It can’t be Mavis’s!’ The more she thought about it, the more she believed Mavis was incapable of such shocking thoughts. She put it down and drank her coffee while it was hot, deliberately averting her gaze from the little blue notebook.
After a while, she finished her coffee, placed the mug on the floor, and with renewed determination opened the notebook. She leafed through it, not reading it continuously, just a passage here and there.
* * *
One day, I must kill them both. I have tried to love them, but the hatred is too strong. Last night, I crept into their room and watched them while they slept. He had his arm round her, and she didn’t even know! I hate her for that… hate her!
One day soon, I’ll make them pay for what they’ve done to me. I’m ugly, I know that, but it’s their fault. They made me ugly. They were too old. The other children would tease me… ‘Is that your grandma?’ they’d say. I told them, yes, but they laughed at me. They knew I was lying.
Hiding Game, The Page 17
