‘Our shop,’ Rebecca interjects. ‘And listen to her, she’s right. I’m not going after him, Mags. He’s going after me. And obviously other women too.’
‘Think about who you really trust,’ I say quietly. ‘Whether it’s your friend and business partner or your fiancé.’
Margaret starts shrieking. ‘Get out of here! Get out, get out, get out!’ She grabs a rose off the counter and flings it at me. Fortunately, it’s not particularly aerodynamic so I dodge it easily.
I bow my head. ‘Just think about it.’ Then I walk out, the bell above the door jangling incongruously as I leave.
Once in the fresh air, I rub my forehead with a shaky hand. That really wasn’t much fun but I couldn’t think of another way to approach the situation. As with Rawlins, I pray that I’ve not made things worse or read the clues wrongly.
I’m halfway down the street when someone grabs my arm. It’s so unexpected that I immediately feel terror rise inside me. I spin round, hands up to defend myself.
‘Sorry,’ Rebecca says, stepping back ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just wanted to say thanks. I’ve been trying to get her to listen to me for ages and she wouldn’t.’ She shrugs sadly. ‘I guess love is blind. But now that someone else has said something ... well, it was very brave of you. I’m sorry she threw a flower at you.’
I smile weakly. ‘It could have been a lot worse.’ My breath is coming in shallow gulps and it’s hard to get the words out.
Rebecca herself is so wound up that she barely notices. ‘Here,’ she says, thrusting a bouquet in my direction, ‘take this. It’s not much but I wanted to make sure you knew how much I appreciated what you’ve just done.’
Reluctantly I take it from her. ‘Thanks.’ I lick my lips, wishing she’d just given me a paper bag instead. ‘I should go.’
‘Of course, of course! Come back any time!’
I turn away. I’ll be giving the shop a wide berth in the future. I half walk, half stumble away. I’m not quite as confident and cured as I thought.
***
It’s some time before I’m calm enough to think rationally again and when I do, my fear increases. I realise that I really do have incredible power, power that could easily be misused. Yesterday I was almost thrown in a loony bin and charged with murder – but that was before I strolled into Dr Pat and Rawlins’ heads and solved my problems. What I did for the supermarket delivery kid encouraged him to ask for a higher salary. And, even without changing anything in either Margaret Thomson’s or Rebecca Taylor’s dreams, I’ve affected their lives. No wonder people are scared of the Mayor traipsing around their loved ones’ subconscious. Even if he can’t control what happens like I can, the knowledge he could gain is terrifying.
Keeping my head down, I count the paving stones as I walk to keep myself calm and focused. I don’t want to appear a raving lunatic when I reach my next destination: it’s simply too important.
When I turn down my mother’s street, I’m struck by how different it appears from the last time I was here. There used to be several trees lining the pavement but they have all gone now and I remember the bad storms from last winter and the newspaper reports of the damage they caused. No doubt the trees were casualties; unfortunately, the council hasn’t seen fit to replace them but have merely put tarmac over the gaps.
That’s not the only change. The woman at the corner, Giselle, told me the last time I saw her that she was trying desperately for a baby. Now there is a collection of bright, plastic toys in the little garden in front of her house. The older couple next to her have apparently retired because what used to be a mess of weeds and overgrown plants is now a manicured lawn and herb garden. I feel another surge of hatred for Salib and what he did to me. It’s like life has passed me by while I’ve been incarcerated. Things could have been so different.
There’s an unfamiliar car parked outside my mother’s house, a large gleaming black thing. A Mercedes. I pause, wondering whether it’s Henry McIntyre’s. I hope I’m not intruding on an illicit tête-à-tête. I force myself to stop freaking out. It probably belongs to one of her neighbours. It is still early in the morning and McIntyre will be either at work or with his wife. It wouldn’t make sense for him to visit my mother at this time. Besides, despite my raised eyebrows when we discussed him before, I believed my mother when she said they were only friends. She’s not the philandering type.