5
When I reached number 19 Stubbs Lane off the Abingdon Road, I realised the cheerful semi-detached house was empty.
I secured my bike, which I’d christened Bertha all those years ago and went up to my room. Looking out of the window, I pulled on my grey t-shirt and jogging bottoms whilst munching on an apple.
What was Ben doing? I wished he was with me so that I could talk to him. He was no doubt already surrounded by new friends.
Settling down, I began to make notes on the chapter titled The Origins of Critical Thinking. Next, I ate two bananas as I read about Descartes in the 17th Century. Finishing off a pear, I learned how in Dualism the mind and body are seen as two separate entities that interact to form the human experience.
Lying back on my bed, I looked around my room and let my mind wander. Sure enough, I was being spoilt and not having a typical undergrad experience. The thought of horrible cramped and damp student flats made me shiver.
I’d looked around some. Uncle Spencer, in a bout of tough love had thought it ‘educational’ for me to research the alternative housing options. This was so that I’d appreciate what other students had to put up with. I hugged myself at the depressing thought.
As one of the lucky ones, I wasn’t burying myself in student debt or renting out dodgy overpriced digs. Uncle Spencer was there to keep an eye on me and give me a limited amount of spending money.
As long as I behaved and achieved my usual straight A s, he’d pick up the tab on my modest lifestyle. Fine by me. Anything was better than working shifts at the local take-away.
No wild student parties in Uncle Spencer’s house, with me fornicating with some boy on the stairs. No. The fact that I could still do unspeakable things with a fellow student at a party in someone else’s house hadn’t really occurred to him.
I laughed at this. Then without warning, I was gone. Back into the dark.
“Follow me. Quickly,” said the boy with the metal crossbow.
I ran after him. He wasn’t going to leave me behind. Not in this place. I became aware of the dirty stone floor beneath my bare feet. This wasn’t the cave where we’d last met. This was a different world. We were in a castle. It was freezing cold. When we stopped, I hugged my body to keep warm.
There was a horrible smell that I couldn’t quite place. Sickly. Cloying. Metallic. He stepped through a solid wall to our right and dragged me after him. I gasped.
“Where are we? How did you do that?” I asked.
We were alone in the dim, quiet room. He was the same dark-haired boy with the same crossbow, but in a new universe. And very much alive. I grinned despite myself.
He shrugged. Then bent down to pick up dirt off the floor.
“How many are there?” I strained to hear footsteps. There were none. We were safe from the Misery-Makers, for a while anyway.
“Don’t know,” he said as he spat on his hands and smeared the muck onto his face. His pale skin was soon covered making his brown eyes appear darker.
I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know much, do you?”
His venomous glare silenced me. “Here. Put this on your face and neck. Camouflage.” He held out his fingers covered in sticky goo. It smelled of animals.
Scrunching up my nose, I pushed his hand away. “I’ll do my own.”
He watched as I copied how he’d made the dirt stripes on his face. When he started to reload his metal crossbow, his deft fingers were done in no time.
Without a word, I slumped down into a half-crouch against the wall. It felt rough and very substantial. I marvelled at how we’d stepped through it only moments before. I was learning something new every day. Perhaps I had a hope in hell after all.
“How long were you here before I came?” I asked.
“Long enough.”
“Wow, you’re a talker.” I began to rap my fingers against the stone floor.
My mouth was now devoid of all saliva. It was the waiting that always got to me first. At least when you were being chased, you had something to focus on. I hummed the opening notes of ‘Trois Gymnopédies’.
“Try making morenoise. A deaf Misery-Maker in the far part of the castle didn’t hear you.” He watched me, head tilted and black eyebrows raised.
“Sorry... I hate this part.”
“I know. Me too,” he said with an attempt at a smile.
“I wanted to thank you, for last time. What you did for me…”
“… was all part of the job.” He lifted his eyes to look at me and nodded. “You’re welcome.” He turned away to end our conversation.
I didn’t dare probe further into what he meant about his job. He’d made it clear he didn’t want to talk about it. Instead, I tried a different way in. “Have you seen the little girl yet?”
“No. But if the screams coming from down that corridor are anything to go by, I hope she’s long gone.”
Swallowing hard, I wondered if she was safe. I’d only ever seen glimpses of her in previous blackouts. She was too young to be alone in a vile place like this. She only looked about six years-old. I wondered who she was.
My thoughts shifted to my own life. Yet I didn’t want to think about what the Misery-Makers would do to me, if they ever caught me. Killing me outright would be a disappointment to them.
He interrupted my thoughts. “So how do you get here anyway?”
I hesitated, wondering what I had to lose by telling him the truth. “I black out.”
“You black out?” He repeated. “As simple as that, eh?”
“Yes, it’s so easy being me.” I rolled my eyes. “How do you get here?” I asked, turning the tables on him.
“It takes me a bit more effort. Pharmaceuticals usually do the trick.”
“Oh.” I frowned, shifting my gaze downwards.
I wondered what drugs he was high on. He was younger than me. Too young to be this wasted. I shook my head at the irony of the situation.
He probably spent money he didn’t have to buy drugs to get his fix and escape. And he ended up here. All the while, I blacked out when I didn’t want to be unconscious. Both of us ended up in the same hellish place.
“What?” He asked, glancing at me.
“Nothing.” I didn’t want to provoke someone who was riding high.
“Don’t give me ‘nothing’. What is it?”
“Well. I was wondering what drugs you did to get here. I’m not judging you. Just curious.” I held up my hands.
“Ah. I get it.” He nodded his head. “You think I shoot up in some alleyway, to escape to this nirvana. That is hard-core, baby.”
“That’s not funny. You could get help.”
“No. What’re funny are your assumptions. I don’t need help. I choose to be here.”
“Mmm. Denial. The first step to getting help for a drug addiction is admitting you have a problem.”
“But I don’t have a problem.”
“There it is again.” I pressed my lips together.
“Okay, you’re right. I do have a problem.”
“Good. Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“My biggest problem right now is you.”
“That’s not helping.”
“Look. I’m here to do a job. All of this,” he waved his hand at me in frustration, “and this,” he pointed around him, “is what I do best. I’m not high on drugs when I’m here. I’m given a neurological primer in a kind of hospital. By doctors.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “So you’re an in-patient at a Psychiatric hospital? That’s fine. The doctors are giving you anti-psychotic meds to help you.” I gave him my most sympathetic and understanding smile.
I’d heard all about cases like this from Irene. When Irene had still been Irene, she was a Professor of Psychiatry at St. Meril’s. Some of her patients were so lost in their self-constructed delusions, the only thing doctors could do was medicate them.
“Wow. You get all that from one quick chat?” He said.
I nodded, trying not to show him how impressed I was with my own assessment of his situation. Perhaps I should switch courses from Psychology to Psychiatry. Mmm. I’d look into it.
Then it dawned on me that he wasn’t looking at me like I was a genius with a bright future in Psychiatry. More that I was being an imbecile.
“What?” I shifted my weight.
He rubbed his eyes. “I’m impressed with your ability to consistently over-analyse and draw the wrong conclusions. That takes… creative thinking.”
He’d begun to move around the room searching for a way out. “Look. I’m here because I’m ambitious, not mentally ill. This fantastic opportunity came my way and I grabbed it. They didn’t have to give me the chance. But they did. They believed in me. So now I get to work with some amazing people, doing really cool stuff. This is my life. Or what I want my life to be. If I can impress them by pulling this off, then I get to do this full-time. I have the chance at making something of myself.”
His sudden enthusiasm took me by surprise.
“Pull off what exactly?” I asked.
He held my gaze. “Keeping you alive in here.”
He said it with such certainty, I believed him. Damn. These psychiatric patients were convincing.
I tried a different angle to see if I could find a chink in his carefully-spun story. “Perhaps we could try again with me having a weapon. What do you think?” I’d softened my tone and hiked up the respect. It always worked on him.
“Maybe. You know what happened last time.” He looked at me, unmoved.
My mind flicked back to the one time I’d tried to fire his heavy crossbow and had shot him in the leg, by accident. It wasn’t my fault, I’d argued. I needed more training.
“Yes. But things are differ…” Suddenly, I felt myself being yanked backwards through the wall. I screamed as my head began to disappear from the room.
It was like being engulfed in a thick fog. I thrashed my arms around and tried to kick out hard with all my weight. Then I twisted left and right. But it made no difference. I was a rag doll being dragged around a playroom.
A Misery-Maker had its iron-like arm around my neck. It was wrenching me back the way we’d come. I choked. Its vice-tight grip was stopping me breathing. Clots of dried blood stuck to the dark hairs on its arm.
My eyes began to strain and bulge. In desperation, I tried again to tear away the force against my windpipe. Oh no. Please don’t let them take me. Not like this.
Two dull thuds sounded as the boy’s metal-tipped bolts hit their target. Silence. Then I was suddenly released.
I fell forwards, back into the empty room, coughing and spluttering. My lungs burned. I desperately needed to catch my breath.
My stomach heaved. The boy re-entered the room whilst I was on my hands and knees retching. I wiped my mouth. My eyes were watering. The smell of vomit invaded my nostrils.
He stared down at me, then cool-as-you-like said, “Rule number one; never lean against walls.”
Then I was back.
My shoulders were stiff, so I stretched them out until they hurt. I didn’t want to think about the other world. More than anything, I had to keep going. The Misery-Makers couldn’t reach me here, I knew that. So I took deep breaths.
To distract me, I spent an hour and a half doing the toughest Pilates workout I’d ever done. It worked. I’d learnt when the blackouts first began that exercise helped me forget the horrors. The harder I pushed myself, the longer I could keep my mind off the brutality in the other worlds.
Today, the buzz would see me through the girls’ night out. There was no getting out of it now. Anyway, I reasoned, it might be exactly what I needed as a distraction. I quickly showered and dried my hair.
My mobile tinkled. I stopped putting on my make-up to read it. Ben had texted me a website link to a high-class escort agency with the message, “If all else fails… ;-D”
I laughed and texted back, “Takes 1 2 know 1. Do u know The Napier Club? Am going 2nite.”
“LOL. It’s imposs 2 get in2. Don’t wear ur trainers. Watch out 4 royalty. X”
I bit my thumb nail as I plucked out one of my black dresses. What was the dress code for such a place? Perhaps I should go for subtle. Irene would have said, “Always better to be understated than inappropriate.” I tried to push aside the guilt that cloaked me every time I thought about Irene. She should be here with me, helping me choose a dress.
An hour later, a taxi beeped twice. There was still no sign of Uncle Spencer, so I texted him to let him know where I was. Without waiting for his reply, I grabbed my black cloak and hurried out to Pippa and Susie.
“Hi Emily. Love your sexy number. The black dress and red lipstick really show off your green eyes. I wish I had eyes like yours. Here, have some champagne.” Susie passed me a flute filled with bubbling golden liquid.
“Thanks.” I took little sips, knowing full well the effect the bubbles would have. Although I wanted to fit in, I wasn’t prepared to downward spiral into oblivion.
“Emily is a Napier Club virgin.” Pippa smiled and winked at me.
“Ooo, then you’re in for a treat.” Susie’s eyes lit up.
“What’s so good about it?” I asked taking a second sip of champagne.
“VIP members only. You have to be sponsored by a member to get in.” Pippa stage-whispered, “Keeps out all the undesirables.” She started giggling.
I nodded, thinking she must have had a head start on the champagne. “So who sponsored us?”
“We used Will’s contacts. He knows Felix Napier, the owner.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Emily, they do the best cocktails. And the men in there are more than happy to buy them for us.” Pippa giggled at Susie shaking her head.
I swallowed hard, wondering what the men would expect in return for a cocktail. Perhaps I was getting out of my depth. How often did Pippa and Susie do this? What must Tom and Will have thought?
My stomach shifted uneasily at the thought of having to cosy up to some middle-aged businessman. No, I’d rather stick to buying my own drinks. Anyway, I was already convinced Pippa and Susie were going to see I was a light-weight, and never ask me out again.
“Don’t look so worried, Emily. Pippa’s exaggerating. We’ll have a couple of cocktails and dance. That’s all.” Susie smiled, then tried to refill my glass.
Shaking my head, I put my hand over the top of the still-full flute. I wasn’t going to get so drunk that I ended up in some cheap hotel room with a married guy. No, I needed to keep my head.
They finished off the bottle and reapplied their make-up. Taking their lead, I borrowed Susie’s compact mirror to check my lipstick was still in place.
Susie was right, the green in my eyes looked more intense than usual. Must have been the effect of the new eye-shadow I’d experimented with; together with the luscious-red lipstick and the lash-lengthening mascara. And the creamier-than-ever-before-foundation with a finishing brush of blusher.
“Here we are. Come on ladies.” Pippa stuffed money through to the driver and said, “Keep the change.” She joined us on the pavement. We stood looking at the queue of hopefuls waiting to be plucked from obscurity. The breeze smelled of different brands of perfume.
Pippa strode up to the doorman. They exchanged a few words before he checked his list and gestured for us to go straight through. A disgruntled groan rippled down the waiting line. Pippa blew them a kiss and sauntered in. Meanwhile, I kept my eyes down. Susie smirked at me and followed.
The pulse of music greeted us as we checked our coats into the cloakroom. A crystal chandelier hung gleaming above our heads. I looked down through a huge glass circle in the floor. It revealed a swimming pool below.
“Remember ladies, it’s all about the confidence. Let’s act as if we own the room.” Pippa flashed us a wicked grin then sashayed off swinging her hips as she walked.
“She’s only half-joking. As long as we stop her drinking too much, she’ll be fine.” Susie motioned for me to follow Pippa.
Pulling my shoulders down, I flicked my hair back. My huge earrings tinkled. “Well then, I’m all about the confidence.”
Emulating Pippa’s catwalk-style strut, I followed her into the main room. I kept walking, not daring to stop. Several heads turned to watch our progress towards a spare booth. My heart was hammering away in time to the beat of the music. Thud, thud, thud.
“Now what?” I asked Susie.
“We order some drinks.” She shouted over to Pippa, “Recognise anyone?”
Pippa shook her head and caught the attention of the waiter. “May I suggest shots, then cocktails?”
I gave a weak smile, wondering how much alcohol it would take for me to be knocked out. The waiter brought six tequila shots. As I downed my shots with the others, it burned my throat before hitting my stomach.
My head was already fuzzy. A happy giggle escaped my mouth as I noticed the kaleidoscope of coloured lights. Pippa and Susie glanced at each other and laughed.
They pulled me up to the dance-floor. We slid in between two groups of girls grinding away. Craning my head, I tried to see who was sitting in the booths lining the room, but it was too dark.
Who cared anyway? Let them look, I was having fun, Ben would love it here, where were the royalty? Maybe Prince Harry was here, was the room spinning or was it the lights?
The searchlight occasionally drifted around the room before settling back on the DJ. He had his head down in concentration. Two lithe girls draped his shoulders.
Pippa touched my arm and said into my ear, “There’s a friend of yours. Over by the bar.”
Still dancing, I followed her gaze to where Seb was leaning against the bar. A beautiful girl with long black hair was whispering into his ear. She took a sip from her champagne flute, then began kissing him.
We walked back to our booth and slumped down. I hadn’t realised Pippa had paid so much attention to Seb in the café. Was Henry blue-eyes with him? He was probably in a dark corner with his own model girlfriend.
Pippa was staring at Seb. “He is hot. Perhaps I should go over and introduce myself.”
I shot her a look. “Please tell me you’re joking. Anyway, I think he’s busy with his girlfriend.”
She laughed. “Emily, guys like that don’t have ‘girlfriends’. They have groupies.” She threw him a longing glance. He never looked over.
The straight-backed waiter brought us three cocktails. “Ladies, compliments of Mr Seadon.” He discretely handed me a small piece of card.
“Who?” Pippa asked him, whilst scanning the room.
Unfolding the note, I strained my blurry eyes to read the message.
“Je suis vraiment désolé. Meilleurs voeux, H. J. S.”
It read, I am truly very sorry. Best wishes, H.J.S.
Susie leaned over to me. “What does it say?”
“I don’t know. It’s in French,” I lied, waving the note in front of her to show I had nothing to hide.
“Oh. I’m no help I’m afraid. Hopeless at languages.” She smiled, holding up her hands. Her silver bangles slid down her slender arm.
I crammed the note into my clutch bag before Pippa saw it. The last thing I wanted was a huge drama. So I concentrated on breathing and containing the butterflies in my stomach. Was he here now? Watching me?
The waiter repeated, “They are from Mr Seadon. He asked me to tell you that he thought you’d enjoy them. They are called Secrets.”
Susie and I sipped the cocktails. I smiled inwardly when I realised they had no alcohol in them. They tasted like melted sweets in a glass. My stomach was beginning to churn from the mix of shots, cocktails and champagne.
Pippa smiled coquettishly. “Where is Mr Seadon? We’d like to thank him personally.”
“Unfortunately, he has now left for the evening.” The waiter nodded to us and walked away.
I glanced over to where Seb had been standing. He was gone as well. My stomach lifted at the thought of Henry being in the same room.
He must have seen me come in. He’d been watching me. What did he mean by sending over non-alcoholic cocktails called Secrets? What was he trying to tell me?
Susie and Pippa clinked their glasses together. I followed suit but my heart wasn’t in it anymore.
It had already left the building.
To be continued…
*****
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