The Liar's Promise

by Mark Tilbury

  ‘Think of Gavin as the man who can open the door to Chloe’s mind.’

  ‘And what if he can’t close it again?’

  ‘He’s done this hundreds of times, Mel. No one’s ever come to any harm.’

  ‘There’s a first time for everything.’

  ‘He’ll be in complete control at all times. And he’ll be able to bring Chloe straight back to the present with just a click of his fingers.’

  ‘What if he can’t?’

  ‘I understand your apprehension. But sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith. If Chloe was ill, you’d trust her to the care of a doctor, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Because doctors know what they’re doing.’

  ‘You only say that because you’re more familiar with doctors than hypnotists. But it’s only a perception.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind if Chloe ever needs an operation.’

  ‘Maybe revisiting the past will help to bring closure. Exorcise the ghost within her. Help her to heal, move on, fulfil the wonderful life she’s been given with you.’

  Mel flicked her cigarette butt into the garden. ‘How long will it take?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. But you’ll be with her at all times. If there’s anything you don’t like, you can ask Gavin to stop immediately. He’ll bring Chloe straight back to the here and now.’

  Mel fiddled with her cigarettes, pulled one halfway out, slid it back in. ‘And you’re certain no harm will come to her?’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘She’s all I have left.’

  ‘I know.’

  Mel looked out the kitchen window at the naked trees standing proud beyond the wall separating the house from the park. They looked as if they were giving thanks to the heavens, skeletal arms raised skywards.

  Sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith.

  ‘I’ve already lost one daughter. I don’t want to lose another.’

  Honeywell’s uninjured eye widened. ‘I’m sorry. I had no idea.’

  ‘No, well… I don’t make a habit of announcing it.’

  ‘How dreadful.’

  ‘She was three months old. Three lousy months. What sort of life is that?’

  Honeywell’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat as if trying to dredge up words from his heart.

  ‘She was so tiny. So vulnerable. So helpless.’

  ‘Life can be unbearably cruel.’

  ‘I had to stand by, useless, and watch her fight for the right to live. Three months. Barely a school term.’

  Honeywell fiddled with his glasses. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘All that poor little mite ever knew was that incubator. Tubes and needles. Do you know what she looked like?’

  Honeywell shook his head. He didn’t make eye contact.

  ‘A fucking experiment.’

  ‘I can’t imagine how—’

  ‘And then she died.’

  ‘I have no words to comfort you, Mel. No experience to draw upon. I can only—’

  ‘And what does Tony do? What does my super-supportive husband do? Screws the first bitch on heat he can find.’

  Honeywell looked visibly shaken.

  ‘Stephanie Wallace. A teacher at Tony’s school. The very thought of the two of them together makes me feel sick to the stomach. All the time I was crying myself to sleep, those two were at it like they didn’t have a care in the world.’

  ‘I can see why you’re angry.’

  Mel snorted. ‘Angry? You think I’m angry? I’m fucking heartbroken. I lost my daughter, for Christ’s sake. How could he be so callous?’

  ‘I struggle to comprehend his actions, Mel. I truly do.’

  ‘I wanted him to support me. Understand me. Love me. Is that really too much to ask?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘But oh no, not Tony. He throws himself at the first bitch who’ll have him. Not a care in the world. It was as if Megan’s life counted for nothing as far as he was concerned.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true.’

  ‘It is. I’ve a good mind to report him to the school. Expose him for what he is. A dirty, worthless, gutless liar.’

  ‘I think you need to try to let it go, Mel. Focus on the future.’

  ‘That’s easier said than done. I’ve already lost virtually everything. I don’t want to lose Chloe as well. She’s the only reason I haven’t thrown myself off the top of a cliff. Believe me.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Do you? Do you really?’

  Honeywell nodded, lips pressed into a thin line.

  After a lengthy silence, Mel said, ‘Okay. We’ll do it.’

  ‘You won’t regret it.’

  ‘I will hold you personally responsible if anything goes wrong.’

  ‘It won’t.’

  ‘I wish I shared your optimism, Charles. I really do.’

  24

  King, back home and once more dressed as himself in a smart black suit, crisp white shirt and a pink tie more designed to make a statement than draw compliment, greeted the news that Mel Hollis had agreed to surrender her child to regressive hypnotherapy with a rare authentic smile. ‘Wonders shall never cease.’

  ‘I don’t like doing this to her. Deceiving her.’

  ‘We spend most of our lives carrying out unfavourable tasks. Do you think God should grant you immunity?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘You’ve done a splendid job by getting her to agree. Don’t spoil it by pursuing a career in doubt.’

  ‘I’m—’

  ‘I take it she’s not waiting in the driveway?’

  ‘I’m picking her up at eleven-thirty.’

  ‘Good. Gavin’s expecting you at midday. There’s a parking bay behind the office. For heaven’s sake make sure you park in the correct one. The charity shop and Boots are most objectionable if you dare to use their space. Gavin’s is marked The Wellbeing Clinic.’

  ‘Considering Westwood’s true nature, the title’s a rather contradictory one.’

  ‘Wit and your tongue seem to have made a casual acquaintance since we last met. Perhaps Mel Hollis brings out the best in you?’

  ‘She scares the hell out of me, if you want the truth.’

  ‘Gavin has a secretary. Olivia. She’s complicit. She knows the regression of the child is for the greater good.’

  ‘Can she can be trusted?’

  ‘Olivia started life as plain old Oliver. She’s got enough skeletons in her cupboard to challenge Feelham Cemetery to a head count. She first came to Gavin for therapy about ten years ago. It soon transpired she’d suffered a very troubled childhood, resulting in several years in a young offenders’ institute after beating a classmate unconscious. Apparently, Olivia’s somewhat effeminate nature seemed to attract merciless bullying at school. The time spent locked up gave her a chance to discover her true nature. She never looked back after gaining boobs and an artistic flair with a makeup brush. She also likes to take part in therapy sessions.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Let’s just say she has a gift for performing sexual acts on male subjects whilst the camera is rolling. She’s a very dutiful secretary. And a grateful one. So, please don’t worry about loyalty as far as that one’s concerned.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’

  ‘I am. And don’t stare at her hands; they look more suited to bricklaying than typing.’

  Honeywell nodded. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, reminding King of another of Olivia’s little discrepancies. ‘And don’t stare at her throat, either. She’s very conscious of her male heritage.’

  ‘I’ll just avoid looking at him… her, period.’

  ‘Period? Is this another example of American terminology leaking into schools in the twenty-first century? I thought you qualified as an English teacher?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Then kindly adhere to its roots. Anyway, back to th
e delightful Olivia. The child can wait with her whilst Gavin puts the mother under.’

  ‘What if Mel doesn’t want to be hypnotised?’

  ‘Hypnotists don’t need permission. Gavin will work his magic whilst she answers his preliminary questions. She won’t even be aware anything’s happened. Nor will the brat. She’ll think Mummy is still as normal as apple pie.’

  ‘The child’s extremely sensitive.’

  ‘So are my teeth. What of it?’

  ‘She might not react the way you expect her to.’

  ‘What do you suggest, Charles? We offer her a lollipop and a good-girl sticker?’

  ‘I’m just saying she needs handling carefully.’

  ‘Gavin can put her into a state of compliance just by greeting her. He’s a natural. Relax.’

  ‘And if it turns out Chloe really was Purple-five?’

  ‘Then we make plans to eliminate her.’

  ‘Can’t Westwood just re her mind? Plant a false memory or something?.’

  ‘Any suggestions? Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, perhaps?’

  Honeywell cocked his head to one side. ‘I—’

  ‘If we give her a false memory, the girl might end up with multiple personalities, all willing to tell tales. Is that a risk worth taking?’

  ‘It was only a suggestion.’

  ‘Stop trying to take charge. You might be the head honcho at your kindergarten, strutting about like a preening peacock, but you’d do well to remember your place when at home.’

  ‘Don’t forget whose idea this was if it all goes wrong.’

  King turned on his heel and walked along the oak-panelled hallway to the front door. ‘And don’t you forget which side your bread is buttered; it can so easily turn to burnt toast.’

  The journey to Oxford did little to lift his spirits. After electing to drive the scenic route and getting stuck behind a tractor, he’d then suffered the humiliation of the tractor driver reacting badly to his constant blaring of the horn to let him past. The oaf, large enough to bale hay with his bare hands, had climbed out of his medieval contraption and offered King the chance to take part in an illegal boxing match. Or, more to the point, and truer to the script, rearrange his face into an unrecognisable pulp. King had declined, and spent the rest of the journey to Oxford trying to stop his knees knocking together and his hands shaking on the steering wheel.

  Gavin smiled and shook his hand upon arrival. King made minimal eye contact, wary of the powers lurking behind those sly brown eyes. He was alarmed to learn the hypnotist still seemed capable of reading his mind. ‘You look as if you stole the Honey Monster’s Sugar Puffs and he came after you to get them back.’

  King told him about the tractor driver, leaving out the part where he’d pleaded for his life, and embellishing the tale by telling Westwood he’d sent the brute packing with threats of the police and prison.

  ‘Prison?’

  ‘Told him I was a high court judge.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘Bloody Neanderthals. Be better for all concerned when we don’t need them for manual labour.’

  Gavin smiled, and led him up a narrow wooden staircase to his first-floor office. A large mahogany desk dominated the room, complete with a computer and paper tidy. A six-foot tall rubber plant added a touch of greenery to the corner of the room. Various plaques and framed certificates were hanging on the pine-panelled walls declaring Gavin Westwood’s expertise in his chosen field. Not one offered evidence of his greatest speciality: perversion.

  Gavin stroked his dyed black moustache and treated King to a stare that seemed to peek deep into his soul. ‘What’s the score, Peter? You say the child is exhibiting past-life memory?’

  King tried to look nonchalant. He still felt shaky from his brief encounter with Cro-Magnon Man’s primitive relative, the farmer. ‘I don’t. Charles does.’

  ‘Your headmaster friend?’

  King nodded. ‘As I told you, the girl’s mother is a teacher at his school. He’s trying to help her.’

  Westwood nodded. ‘This headmaster friend of yours? What have you told him about me?’

  ‘Nothing. Other than you’re a fine hypnotist.’

  ‘Is he aware of our… arrangement?’

  ‘No. And I’d prefer it if we keep it that way.’

  Westwood tapped the side of his nose. ‘Discretion is my middle name.’

  ‘I want you to put the mother into a trance whilst you regress the child.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I don’t want her interfering if it all turns nasty. Programme her to believe all is well with the kid. Oh, and I want her to have no recollection of the session.’

  ‘Any special reason?’

  ‘I’d appreciate it if you’d just carry out my instruction. Once mother and daughter are both under control, I want to sit in and observe.’

  ‘If I didn’t know you better, I’d assume you were trying to avoid this woman.’

  ‘Assumption is the plaything of the ignorant.’

  ‘Is there anything you’re not telling me, Peter?’

  ‘It’s personal.’

  ‘No nasty surprises waiting to hijack the session?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The twitch in your left eye suggests otherwise.’

  ‘The twitch in my left eye is due to the stress of having to keep my true association with you a secret from Charles.’

  ‘Why would you want to do that?’

  ‘Because he’s given to bouts of jealousy.’

  ‘What on earth for?’

  An invisible hand slapped King’s pride. He noticed, with some satisfaction, specks of dandruff on Westwood’s shoulders. ‘I’m a handsome man. It can elicit insecurities.’

  ‘Your modesty knows no bounds, Peter. Anyway, down to business. The child’s past-life experience. Do we know how she died?’

  ‘Executed by guillotine – apparently.’

  Westwood whistled. ‘Sounds as if she was involved in the French Revolution.’

  ‘Sounds more like fanciful nonsense. You just drill down and see what you can find.’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘And I want this done in the strictest confidence.’

  ‘My lips are sealed.’

  ‘I’ll wait in the stockroom. Come and get me when you’re ready to regress the girl.’

  25

  Honeywell took Mel and Chloe up the stairs to Gavin Westwood’s small waiting room. A light-oak coffee table in the middle of the room offered magazines. Venetian blinds, coated with dust, carved the large window overlooking the carpark into slices of silver-grey light.

  Olivia walked out from behind a reception desk at the end of the waiting room. She offered refreshments. Mel and Honeywell declined. Olivia turned her attention to Chloe, treating the child to a set of white teeth which looked capable of glowing in the dark. Copious amounts of black eyeliner and mascara made her eyes look predatory rather than pretty.

  ‘Would you like a biscuit and some lemonade, sweetie?’

  Chloe didn’t answer. She buried her head in her mother’s side, holding onto Mel’s coat with one hand and Ruby Rag Doll with the other. They sat down on padded red leather chairs. Mel hoisted Chloe onto her lap.

  ‘I want to go home, Mummy.’

  ‘We won’t be here for long, sweetheart.’

  ‘We’ve got cake left over from my birthday,’ Olivia tried. ‘It’s got jam and cream.’

  Chloe clutched her doll as if protecting it.

  ‘Do you want some cake?’ Mel prompted.

  Chloe shook her head. She didn’t look at Olivia.

  ‘I’m sorry. She’s left her manners at home today.’

  Olivia returned the smile and walked back to the reception desk. ‘She’s young. She’s allowed.’

  Chloe said, ‘I don’t like her.’

  ‘Don’t be rude,’ Mel warned. ‘She’s just being nice.’

  Gavin Westwood walked into the waiting room. He offered a hand to Hon
eywell. ‘Hi Charles. I trust you are well?’

  Honeywell took his hand and shook it limply. ‘As well as can be expected .’

  He turned his attention to Chloe. ‘So, this is the young lady I’ve heard so much about?’

  Mel answered for her. ‘She’s not in the best of moods today.’

  Westwood knelt down so as he was at eye level with Chloe. ‘Don’t want to be here, right?’

  Chloe fiddled with Ruby’s head as if picking her brains for an answer.

  ‘My name’s Gavin. What’s yours.’

  Chloe didn’t look up when she spoke. Her lips barely moved. ‘You know what it is.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is it Ethel?’

  Chloe sighed.

  ‘Primrose?’

  ‘I want to go home, Mummy.’

  ‘Martha. I’ll bet it’s Martha.’

  Chloe looked up. ‘Go away.’

  Westwood held up a hand. ‘Okay. You’re the boss.’

  Mel apologised.

  ‘It’s no bother, Mum.’ He looked back at Chloe. ‘You’re all right now, aren’t you?’

  Chloe stroked Ruby’s woollen hair. Seemed to relax. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Just been a long day, hasn’t it, Chloe?’

  ‘Long as Mummy’s nose.’

  Mel smiled. ‘Hey, that’s rude!’

  Westwood looked over at the receptionist. ‘Olivia? Be a dear and show Chloe one of those funky games on the computer.’

  Olivia looked less certain of herself than when she’d greeted them a few minutes ago. ‘Is that all right with you, Chloe?’

  Chloe jumped off her mother’s lap. ‘Cool.’

  ‘Me and Mummy are just going to have a little chat in my office,’ Westwood said. ‘You okay with that?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  Mel watched Olivia take Chloe’s hand and walk back to the desk. It was as if Westwood had waved a magic wand over her daughter and transformed her into a different child. Normal, compliant, happy.

  ‘Come on through to the office. We can have a little chat about what will happen and so forth.’

  Seated at his desk, Westwood formed a steeple with his fingers. ‘Charles tells me your daughter’s been experiencing some rather disturbing memories?’

  Mel almost laughed at the understatement. ‘You could say that.’