Caleb

Chapter 14

I had the yellow pages spread out in front of me (well, it was a good a place to start as any). I looked under counselling, psychiatry and other similar headings but found no one registered by the name of Palmer.

                As everyone knew these days, the source of all knowledge was either searchable on google or some other similar search engine. I typed in Dr Palmer, psychiatry and Lancaster and began to scan through the results. For some reason, there were over five thousand pages. I went downstairs to make a cup of coffee. This could be a long night.

                Luckily, my grandmother had gone to bed too and left the alarm off. She probably didn’t know the code. I sneaked down the stairs and put the kettle on to boil. Why was it so hard to find someone who’d been coming to my house every day for the last month or so? Then it hit me at how stupid I’d been. Obviously, mum had to have his mobile number. She’d contacted him, right?

                Her phone was left on the kitchen table and I grabbed it. In seconds I was cursing again. It was password protected. Instinctively, I typed in caleb. The phone informed me that I had another four attempts remaining. I typed in Caleb. Three attempts remaining. Cal3b. Two attempts remaining. I began to sweat. What if I was wrong? The password could be anything, why would it be my name? However, I tried again. cal3b. Finally, I was in.

                I looked under her contacts and found what I was looking for. Dr Palmer. It was eleven o’clock at night but I rang anyway, I was desperate. The kettle clicked off but I was still waiting for him to pick up. Annoyingly, he didn’t.

                Seconds later, though, the phone vibrated in my hand. It was a text message, from the man himself.

                I thought we agreed to communicate by text? Is Caleb ok?   

                I wondered how to reply. With the thought that I needed to meet up with him in the back of my mind, I texted back.

                Sorry. Caleb is acting strangely again, think we need to meet.

            Ok. Tomorrow, 5pm, outside the Post Office in town. Don’t be late.

            That was much easier than I thought. I had no need for the coffee now, but I made it anyway. I was too excited to go to sleep. I began to wonder how much communication my mum and Dr Palmer had had, and why he was so eager to help me. I’d asked my mum before but she hadn’t answered the question. Maybe now that he was gone, she would.

                I was woken in what felt like the middle of the night by someone screaming. I checked the time on my alarm clock. It was half past six in the morning. Reluctantly, I rolled out of bed to see what all the fuss was about.

                “About time that you got up,” said my Grandmother, dressed in her dressing gown, almost crushing the portable house phone she held.

                “What’s wrong?” I asked.

                “It’s the god damn police, isn’t it? Can’t do their frigging jobs properly. They’ve only gone and let out your father, saying there was a lack of evidence. Well, the evidence is the bruises all over my daughter’s body.”

                If the police were this incompetent, I didn’t think I’d need to meet up with Dr Palmer today.

                “Where is he?”

                “God only knows, but if he thinks that he can come back here he’s got another thing coming. He’ll be out on that street quicker than you can say hallelujah, believe you me. Now, do you want some breakfast before you go to school?”