Читать книгу Isolated - M. A. Hunter - Страница 12

Blackfriars, London

The lift takes for ever to arrive and by the time it does, Maddie is white as a sheet. I really don’t think it’s a good idea for either of us to be going anywhere near the roof, but given Maddie’s history, I know there is no way I will be able to talk her out of forcibly getting herself involved. Maddie’s father died by suicide when she was at university and she’s always blamed herself for not seeing the signs. We’ve only ever had one conversation about it because she prefers to keep her personal life guarded, but I know she was the last person her dad phoned before he swallowed a handful of painkillers. She told me that, in hindsight, she’d known something was off by the way he ended the call, but she ignored that instinct and has regretted it every day since.

My father didn’t reach out to me before he was found hanging by the neck in HMP Portland. I try to think that’s because he didn’t want to inflict further pain on me, but I wish he had. I wish I could have told him that life without him in it will never be as bright.

I’ll be no use in this kind of high-intensity, stressful situation, but Maddie needs a friend more than ever and there’s nobody else I can call. How many times has she been there for me when my investigation into Anna’s disappearance has stalled, or when my impostor syndrome rears its ugly head and tells me I have no idea how to plot and structure a book? Despite my personal reservations, I will stick to Maddie like glue.

It’s a relief when the lift finally arrives on the tenth floor. One of the security guards from reception is standing guard at the door to the roof-access staircase, and he’s already told another pair that the scene is out of bounds. What is it with people wanting to gawp at a person threatening to throw themselves from a building? You see it in the movies when someone is teetering on the edge of a rooftop and the crowds gather beneath; if it were me, I’d turn and run. At best, an observer will see the person stand there for a time, until they’re talked out of the act; at worst, you’d have to watch as they plummet to the ground and then hear the sickening crunch of bone compacting with concrete before seeing the red puddle spread out from the point of impact.

No, thank you; not an image I want to witness. There’s enough evil in this world.

‘Roof’s out of bounds,’ the security guard says to us dismissively.

‘You don’t understand,’ Maddie counters. ‘I’m professionally trained for these situations; I’ve completed the ASIST training.’

He stares at her blankly.

‘It stands for Applied Suicide Intervention Skills Training. And I help out on The Samaritans helpline so unless your colleague up there has dealt with a similar situation before, he’s going to need my help.’

It’s only now that I notice how ill the security guard looks. His name badge identifies him as Clyde, though I don’t recognise him, despite my umpteen visits to Maddie’s building. Her literary agency takes up a third of the sixth floor – with its view of The Shard – but the remainder of the building is taken up by a wide variety of other businesses. There are also metal detectors and luggage X-ray machines at the entrance so security is pretty high; if this woman has managed to get through all that and up to the roof, she must either work here or have been visiting someone who does.

Clyde now looks at me for some kind of corroboration. I have no idea whether what Maddie has just told him is true or not, though it isn’t in her nature to lie about something so serious, particularly when a woman’s life is at stake. I choose to nod and back my friend and mentor.

Clyde takes a further second to consider his options, before stepping aside and scanning his security pass at the panel, and opening the door for us. ‘Tell my colleague what you told me about The Samaritans stuff, yeah?’

Maddie is straight through the door without another word and whilst I admire her single-handed determination, I do wish we’d stayed put in her office below and waited for news. The stairs up to the next door are large and steep, and lead to a ladder which completes the final part of the journey. The hatch we then have to squeeze through isn’t exactly practical, but once on the other side we are immediately on the roof. The wind up here is both gusty and bitter. I close the hatch behind me and take in the immediate surroundings. The roof is largely flat with a number of vent openings, which must feed into the air-conditioning system that pumps through the building all year. It isn’t immediately apparent where the woman is – for the briefest moment I can’t help thinking we are too late – but then I catch the sound of voices carrying on the wind to our left. Maddie must hear it too as she turns and moves off in that direction without a second’s thought.

I hurry after the blur of purple and silver as her tracksuit top flaps in the wind. If I’d have thought about it, I would have suggested we both put on warm coats before making our way up here, but in our blind panic it never even crossed my mind.

Clyde’s colleague, who is also dressed in a black polo shirt and trousers, is a couple of metres ahead of us, stooping, arms outstretched in the direction of the woman dressed in brilliant white robes who is standing just short of the edge of the roof. She looks almost angelic.

‘Who are they?’ she calls out, pointing at us as we approach the security guard. ‘I said nobody else was to come up here.’

Keeping his eyes on the woman, the guard turns his head to address us from the side of his mouth. ‘This is no place for you. Go back downstairs.’

Maddie ignores the command and stands directly beside him, zipping up her tracksuit top as it continues to flap and float on the wind. ‘My name is Maddie Travers,’ she calls out to the woman, ‘and I work in this building on the sixth floor. What’s your name?’

‘She doesn’t want to give her name,’ the guard replies quietly, still talking through the side of his mouth.

‘That’s okay. You don’t need to tell me your name,’ Maddie calls out again. ‘I’m just here to listen to you.’

‘Leave me alone!’ the woman fires back.

‘I’m afraid I can’t do that, sweetheart,’ Maddie says, surprisingly calm given the pressure of the situation which I can only watch unfold.

It feels as though I’m not even here, as if I’m sitting alone somewhere watching it play out on a screen, knowing there is nothing I can do to influence proceedings. Maddie, on the other hand, seems intent on taking the bull by the horns.

‘Can you tell me what’s brought you up to this roof today?’

The woman glances back over her shoulder, her body trembling as she does, though it isn’t clear if it’s nerves or the chill in the air.

‘It’s okay, sweetheart,’ Maddie calls, ‘you don’t have to answer my questions. Really, I just want to understand what could have happened to make you think that this is the only way out.’

She turns back to look at Maddie again and I suddenly realise both Maddie and the guard have moved half a step closer to the woman. ‘You wouldn’t understand!’

‘I think you’d be surprised,’ Maddie challenges. ‘My father felt the same way once – that everything was so bleak that there was nowhere else for him to go. But do you know what? He found a way out.’

It feels like we’ve reached a stalemate. If Maddie and the guard charged at the woman now, there’s no way they’d get to her before she had the chance to hurl herself backwards over the ledge, and yet I can’t say for certain that she definitely wants to jump. Having never been faced with a situation like this before, I can’t tell whether this is a serious attempt or just a cry for help. Regardless, I’m not sure Maddie is the right person to be trying to talk her down. They have trained professionals for this kind of thing in the police force, who must be on their way by now.

The woman is watching Maddie carefully, but then her gaze falls on me and she stares so intently that I desperately want to look away. It takes all my willpower to hold her gaze.

‘There’s no way out for me,’ she shouts, still staring at me. ‘I’m cursed.’

‘Tell me about that,’ Maddie encourages.

‘You wouldn’t understand.’

‘Try me. I’m a well-educated woman with a vivid imagination. I think you’d be surprised at how much I can understand.’

The woman glances back over her shoulder again as the sound of approaching sirens fills the air. Oh my God, I think she may actually jump right now. She is so close that a trip or slip would send her headfirst over the ledge.

Relief floods my body as she turns back to face us again.

‘You’re not up here by choice, are you?’ Maddie tries again. ‘Who put this curse on you?’

The woman’s eyes are shining in the early morning sunlight. ‘We brought it on ourselves. We made a pact not to tell anyone what we did.’

‘Was that you and a particular person? A husband? Boyfriend? Girlfriend?’

The woman promptly sits down, her bottom on the ledge; it’s impossible to know whether this is a step forwards or backwards. Has she sat to engage, or so it’s easier to throw herself back?

‘A best friend?’ Maddie guesses next. ‘What did you and this person make a pact about? I’m assuming it’s something you consider bad if you’re not prepared to tell me?’

‘I can’t tell you because then you’ll be cursed too.’

‘Okay, okay, sweetheart, if you really don’t want to tell me, then that’s okay, but I won’t be able to help if I don’t know what help you need. Does your friend know how you feel?’

‘They don’t care. Nobody does.’

‘I care, sweetheart. Even though we’ve just met, I promise I care about what happens to you. And so does my friend Emma here.’

My eyes widen at the mention of my name. Why drag me into it?

‘Emma cares about people who think they’ve reached the end of the road. She has a special gift for helping them.’

A noise behind us has me turning to look, and now I see a woman clad in black emerge from the hatch. There is a badge and warrant card hanging from a chain around her neck. The trained negotiator. Thank God.

‘No more people,’ the terrified woman calls out, standing up again and pressing her ankles against the ledge.

The police negotiator’s hair is silver in colour despite the youthful appearance of her features; I can only assume doing this kind of work, and the stress-level involved, has an aging effect on those who undertake it.

‘Natalie, my name is Inspector Marcziesk. I know why you’re up here and I’ve been sent to help you. Is this about Sally? Sally Curtis?’

That name rings a bell but I can’t place why it sounds so familiar.

The woman – Natalie, by all accounts – steps back and up onto the ledge. I can’t watch and yet cannot take my eyes from her. One sudden gust of wind and she’ll be over.

‘Steady there, Natalie,’ the inspector cautions. ‘Nobody wants to see things end this way. I’m here to listen to anything you want to say. Please don’t do something you’ll regret.’

Natalie doesn’t respond, merely looking from the inspector to me. She’s burning a hole into my subconscious again.

‘Think about your mum and dad,’ the inspector tries once more. ‘Think about Louise and Jane. What would they think if they could see you up here now?’

‘You’re Emma Hunter, aren’t you?’ Natalie calls out. ‘I recognise you from the television. Can you help me?’

I don’t know what to say, or how best to answer – not that I have much choice as the words can’t get past the lump in my throat.

‘You need to find her,’ Natalie continues. ‘Find Sally. Tell her I’m sorry.’

Before any of us can react, Natalie closes her eyes and falls back off the roof.