28
As Frail as Feathers
The café – The Friendly Butty – had seen better days, thought Martin Caldwell, though he guessed the better days can’t have been up to much. He’d never seen this high-street café with any more than two or three people sat at the tables, and this morning he was the only one in the place apart from the surly-looking woman behind the counter, who had managed to serve him coffee and toast without uttering a single word. With nothing else to do she’d made herself a cup of tea and was sitting in a far corner of the café near the window, reading a dog-eared copy of Exchange and Mart.
He looked at his watch. She was late. She always used to be. It was one of the things he used to hate about her, used to get him all riled-up. His head hurt like the blazes and even the tink-tink of his spoon against his cup cut into his skull like a pick-axe. He knew he’d drunk too much yesterday. And the day before. And he shouldn’t have touched the bottle this morning either but he couldn’t help it. Things were getting out of control and if there were one thing he hated more than anyone being late it was losing control over anything. He felt his blood beginning to bubble with the thought.
The bell over the door tinkled loudly and he looked up to see Katherine walking towards him. Christ, he thought, she looked rough! She wasn’t wearing any make-up, her hair was a mess, and her clothes so creased that it looked like she might have been sleeping in them. But the thing he noticed straight off was the large sticking-plaster on her cheek and the significant area of bruising around it. Though he didn’t show it he was smiling inside as she pulled up a chair and sat opposite him. He saw how stiff her movements were and how she grimaced as she eased the chair closer to the table.
‘Morning, Kat. You look like shit.’
She glowered at him. ‘You look marginally better. Have you been at the Gordon’s again?’
‘Been in a fight with a bulldog?’ he said. ‘And lost, obviously.’
‘F*ck you,’ she said.
‘Can I get you a drink? Toasted teacake, maybe? You look like you haven’t eaten properly in ages. Anyone would think something was troubling you.’
‘Cut the crap, Martin. I’m not in the mood for it. I need you to help me.’
‘Ever thought I don’t want to help you?’
‘Ever thought you had a choice?’ she said. He noticed how her hand was trembling. She looked back over her shoulder to the woman in the corner. She wasn’t taking the slightest interest in them. ‘Why here?’ said Katherine.
‘Not as easy for you to make a scene.’
‘Don’t bet on it, Martin. She’s going to kill me…’
His eyes widened. ‘Hang on, who’s going to kill you?’
‘She is. That f*cking Laura Leach.’
He gave a low chuckle. ‘You’re off your rocker, Kat.’
‘She’s the one with a screw loose. She’s out to kill me, I know she is. The same way she killed Felix.’
He held up his hand for her to calm down. ‘Keep it low, Kat.’ He leant forward, over the tomato-sauce bottle. ‘Maybe you’re overreacting.’
‘She broke into my house in Glastonbury, slashed up all my clothes and then tampered with my car’s brakes so I’d have an accident. She almost beat me to a pulp – look at my f*cking face! I don’t call that overreacting!’ She wiped her tired eyes with the back of her hand. ‘She’s done something to Felix, I know she has. She left me his jacket and it had his blood all over it. I thought she was going to kill me too last night. I think she would have if I hadn’t managed to get to my car in time.’ She pulled down the polo-neck of her jumper to reveal fierce red welts around her throat.
‘Laura did all that?’
‘The bitch is f*cked-up, Martin. I need your help with two things.’
He sat back, arms folded. ‘Two things? F*ck that, Kat. I told you…’
‘The first thing is to help me find out what’s behind the blue door.’
Caldwell unfolded his arms and leant forward again. ‘Felix did mention that. What’s so special about that room?’
‘That’s just it, I don’t know, but I’m willing to bet there’s a connection between what’s in there and Felix’s disappearance. He was intent on finding out, and maybe that’s what went wrong. I’ve got to know, Martin. I love him. I’m going to f*cking pieces without him!’
‘What makes you think I can help you on that score? And, like I say, maybe I don’t even want to help you.’ He lifted his cup to his lips. ‘You made this mess, Kat; you can get yourself out of it. I don’t give a damn about what happened to your precious Felix.’
‘We’ve gone through this, Martin. I know too much about you. I could f*ck your life up real bad if I put my mind to it. Don’t mess with me.’
Martin’s face stiffened. He eyed her through the steam swirling from his coffee. ‘What is it you want me to do?’
‘You’ve got connections with people who could break into Devereux Towers, snoop around the place. You’ve used them before.’
‘No longer my game,’ he said patiently.
‘Make it your game, Martin. I need to find out what secrets she’s hiding. I need to find out what happened to Felix, one way or another. And the second thing on my list – I want you to have Laura Leach taken care of.’
Caldwell glanced at the woman in the corner. She was still absorbed in her paper. ‘That’s murder you’re talking about, Kat,’ he whispered.
‘It never bothered you before. Since when did you develop a conscience?’
‘That was years ago. I’m different now.’
‘You can’t shrug it off so easily, Martin. I won’t let you.’
He sighed heavily, his eyes flitting agitatedly. ‘It’ll cost you plenty.’
‘I don’t care what it costs,’ she said. ‘Make it happen.’ She rose from the table, wincing at a pain in her shoulder. ‘You’ve got one week. If I don’t get results I’ll make it bad for you.’ She leant on the table, putting her bruised face close to his. ‘I don’t care what happens to me anymore. Without Felix I’m nothing. So don’t think for a minute I won’t make good on my threats; I’ve nothing to lose. Find out all you can about Felix and then kill the bitch.’
He could tell she was deadly serious. She’d been so smitten by this guy Felix it was like a rampant disease that was eating her up. ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said.
‘You’d better,’ she warned, leaving him and slamming the café door behind her.
The woman looked up from her reading. ‘Wanting something else?’ she said.
‘Got any aspirin?’
She sat in the dark, in her father’s leather chair, as she had done so many times. The moonlight from the window fell onto the three framed photographs. Everyone smiling. Everyone happy. Only she wasn’t there amongst them to share that happiness, if that’s what it really was. It looked happy, and to an outsider perhaps it even appeared so, but Laura knew it was far from that.
Rain dashed itself against the window panes, the noise startling her. Strange, but it had been raining on and off now ever since she’d found out about Casper – Felix. Almost as if the weather were crying for her, mimicked her tears.
Why did she sit here? What did she hope to gain by it? Was it to try and see things from her father’s perspective, to reach behind his motivations? To see things how he must have seen them all those long years ago?
She remembered how he’d never said a word as they drove through the night. His eyes were fixed, staring straight ahead, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her.
‘Where is Alex?’ Laura said from the back seat of the car.
He didn’t reply. The windscreen wipers batted away fat drops of rain, the rubber blades squeaking.
‘I need to see Alex!’ she cried.
‘You’ll see Alex again soon,’ assured the nurse sat beside her. ‘That’s where we’re taking you.’
‘But where is it we’re going?’ Laura asked tearfully.
The doctor sitting on the other side of her spoke. His voice was not as comforting as the nurse’s. ‘Somewhere where we can better look after you.’
‘I don’t need looking after,’ she said. ‘I’m not ill!’
‘We’ll be the judge of that,’ said the nurse.
‘I want my mother!’ said Laura.
‘You’ll see your mother, too,’ said the doctor.
Laura bent forward to try to speak to her father. ‘Where are we going? Why don’t you speak to me?’
‘He’s busy driving the car,’ explained the nurse. ‘It’s night-time and it’s raining. Let him concentrate, there’s a good girl.’
‘I’m not a girl! I’m seventeen and a half!’ she protested.
‘Keep calm and quiet, please, Laura,’ said the nurse. ‘You’ll only get distressed and you’re not well as it is.’
‘I’m perfectly fine! Where is Alex?’
‘We’ve already told you,’ the doctor interjected. ‘Now if you can’t be quiet we might have to sedate you again. You don’t want that, do you?’
She shook her head and remained quiet till they passed through a set of massive double gates and pulled up outside a dark-looking building. The doctor grabbed her firmly by the arm and all but hauled her from the car. She was taken by him up a flight of stone steps, flanked on the other side by the nurse. Laura turned around to try and look over her shoulder. Her father followed silently a little distance behind.
There was a small light burning over a plain-looking desk on which sat a telephone and little else. The nurse picked up the phone and spoke quietly into the receiver.
‘Father…’ said Laura, the doctor’s grip on her arm firm. ‘Why are we here?’
‘To make you better,’ said the nurse, coming over to her. Laura could see in the light that she was quite elderly and had a friendly, warm face that smiled reassuringly.
Laura didn’t like this place; it was cold and gloomy and had a strange, uncomfortable smell about it that make her stomach feel queasy. ‘I’m not ill,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry, Laura; we’re here to help you.’
Laura pulled away from the doctor. ‘Where’s Alex? Take me to Alex, like you promised. Father, what’s going on?’ But he stood immobile, his face impassive.
‘There, there, Laura, don’t get hysterical again,’ said the doctor, stepping towards her.
There was the sound of footsteps hurrying down the corridor towards them. Two more men dressed in white shirts and trousers. They appeared out of the dark like twin spectres.
‘Father!’ Laura pleaded, fending off the doctor’s groping hands. ‘Tell them to leave me alone!’
‘You’ve done a terrible thing, Laura,’ her father said. ‘It is a sign of a diseased mind and you’re here to have that disease cured. Until you are better my daughter remains dead to me. I’m not sure she shall ever come back from the dead.’ He turned away from her.
‘Father!’ she yelled. The doctor grabbed her, the two other men also holding firmly onto her, though she struggled with all the strength she had and lashed out with her foot, landing one of the men a painful blow on the shin.
The doctor nodded at the nurse. ‘Nurse Bradshaw, if you please…’
Her warm expression had melted to one of sorrow, and bearing that same look of sorrow she produced a syringe. ‘Hold still, please, Laura,’ said Nurse Bradshaw. ‘This is for your own good.’
‘Get that thing away from me!’ she screamed. Her arms were now held rigid by the men and she felt the heat of the needle passing into her flesh. ‘What are you doing to me? Why are you doing this to me?’
‘You know why, Laura,’ said the doctor. ‘But we can help you. At Bartholomew Place we help all manner of people.’ He glanced at Laura’s father.
They dragged her away, already her senses beginning to blur, making her feel giddy and light-headed. ‘Father’ she called again, trying to look back at him. He had his back to her. He didn’t turn around. He appeared to be signing something on a clipboard.
They passed quickly down insipidly-painted corridors lined with featureless doors, her legs now buckling beneath her and the men having to half-carry, half-drag her along. Her eyelids felt as if they were made of lead and she was hardy able to keep them open. Then she heard the harsh clink of keys in a lock, was vaguely aware of a door being thrust open. She was tossed like a sack of grain into a small, darkened room. She fell to the floor and before she could scramble to her feet the door was slammed closed and locked.
Laura beat at it, terrified. ‘Where am I? What are you doing to me?’ she said, her words slurring. She felt so, so weak. Her legs as frail as feathers, so she sank to the floor, sobbing as the black ink of unconsciousness began to cloud her mind.
‘Alex, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry…’
* * * *