Читать книгу The Drowning Pool - Syd Moore - Страница 14

As it was, on the Thursday, nothing happened. I psyched myself up, visualizing blue spheres at every conscious moment, but after an hour of talking and waiting and even a couple of jokes, Marie called it a day. Under her eyes were puffy bags. Her job obviously wore her out. I hadn’t asked her what it was she did. It seemed to be an intrusion – our relationship wasn’t conventional. It was another layer in this weird surreal world in which I’d found myself and in which she now found herself, too. Sure, she’d explained how she’d got into this stuff (a chance meeting with some kind of East Coast guru, followed up by workshops, crystals and then a channelling group), but I didn’t probe further. I had told her what I believed were the necessary details from my life. Nothing more, nothing less. Not because I didn’t like her or trust her. I did. But because it seemed irrelevant to my present situation. And at the back of my mind I had a strong sense that we were being watched.

Nevertheless on Thursday Marie appeared relieved the ‘entity’, as she called it, hadn’t materialized.

Cradling the same cat mug she’d drunk from on Monday she shrugged. ‘Most mediums I’ve talked to say time operates entirely differently on the spirit plane. You can’t force these things and I would strongly advise that you don’t. In my somewhat limited experience invocations, séances, Ouija boards and such tend to attract rather the wrong type of entity. I’m presuming here that you don’t want more turning up at your house.’

‘Or garden,’ I added. ‘No thanks. So what now?’

She shrugged. ‘Play it by ear. See how you go. Tune in over the weekend. I’m around most of the time. You never know, this might be the extent of it. Could be a blip in the space-time continuum, or something.’ She laughed.

‘Could just be my brain,’ I said, without mirth.

‘Oh yeah.’ Her face grew larger on the screen. ‘You seen your doc yet?’

‘Tomorrow, before work’ I told her. ‘Way things are going though, I might not mention it.’

‘Do what you need to,’ she said, and waved goodbye.

I did end up telling Doctor Cook some of the incidents. It was hard not to. He had such an accomplished bedside manner and for a doctor’s surgery his was one of the nicest I’d been in. Once upon a time it must have been the formal dining room of the house. It was dominated, on its northerly wall, by an impressive marble fireplace adorned with grapevines and pheasants. A bit more rural than you’d connect with Leigh but nevertheless, it had charm.

Behind Doctor Cook’s desk, double windows opened onto a large, rambling back garden. Flowerbeds to each side of the lawn burst with roses, hollyhocks, sweet peas and other plants I couldn’t name. Their cheerful scent mercifully overpowered the more clinical smell of the room.

Further back, behind a rickety glasshouse, stood a magnificent cedar so aged and heavy that its lower limbs were supported by wooden posts. Belted around its trunk was a large wooden bench. It must have been the perfect place to sit in summer evenings, which I mentioned to Doctor Cook, in a futile attempt to evade the reason for my appointment.

‘Yes,’ he smiled, crinkling his eyes. Today he had on a red bow tie with pale pink stripes and a white waistcoat that made him look like he’d be quite at home in a barber shop quartet. ‘I built the seat myself, many years ago when I was far younger and far more confident with my DIY skills than I really should have been.’

I glanced at it again. It was sagging on its left side. ‘Looks all right to me.’

‘The tree needs constant attention but it’s worth it.’ He tilted his chin up signalling a change of subject. ‘Now, how are you coming along, Ms Grey?’

I had decided to couch my worries as a question about medicinal dosage and told him that since I’d reduced my anti-depressants I had seen a few weird things. He tried to get me to elaborate but I managed to make the events sound fairly innocuous. I didn’t want him locking me up.

‘My temperature has been fluctuating quite wildly and sometimes I’m seeing shadows or I think I’m seeing shadows.’

‘Hm.’ He frowned. ‘Have you been sleeping well?’

Several times over the past ten days I had woken up throughout the night in a knot of sheets, covered in perspiration. ‘Not really.’

‘That may have more to do with it than the medication but these things tend to be interrelated. I can write you a prescription for sleeping pills if you think that might help? We all need sleep. Very good for one’s mental health.’

I hesitated then shook my head. Lately Alfie hadn’t been going through the night either. I needed to sleep lightly enough to respond to his cries.

‘Well, why don’t you see how it goes and come back to me in a couple of weeks if things haven’t improved?’

His lack of insistence was comforting.

‘Have you had your referral from the hospital yet, my dear?’

‘It would be a letter, wouldn’t it? No, I’ve not had it.’

He tutted. ‘I think that needs to be our priority at the moment. Let me just check with Janice to make sure she sent the request through, although I imagine it’s more likely to be a delay at the other end.’ He was nimble on his feet and out of the door within seconds, leaving me on my own.

I sat back into the chair and studied the heavy framed painting hanging over the fireplace. It was a landscape of the Old Town looking up over the fishermen’s sheds to Belton Hills. In the distance you could see the crumbling tower of Hadleigh Castle pointing its bony finger up at the sky. Beyond it, to the west, the artist had depicted a glorious sunset full of ambers and lilacs. It was a delightful pastoral verging on the saccharine. There was a signature in the corner. I got up, about to inspect it more closely. As I passed the French doors something cracked on the lower pane. I stopped for a moment then turned my face to the sound.

The doors had been wedged open by ruddy clay bricks. Rolling away from them on the patio was a small brown pine cone.

I did a double take and drew my breath in sharply. It was identical to the cone I’d found in my living room; same length, identical pattern.

For a moment the world stilled.

Then the door between the consultation room and the hallway flew open.

If Doctor Cook was surprised by my position he didn’t let on. His tone was concerned. ‘Is everything all right, my dear?’

I pointed to the pine cone. We both noticed the tremble to my hand. ‘That cone. It just dropped against the window.’

Doctor Cook stepped behind the desk. ‘It’s from the cedar tree,’ he said, and sat down expectantly.

But I couldn’t move. ‘From the cedar?’ I repeated uncertainly. ‘But the tree is all the way down there, at the bottom of the garden.’

Clouds passed over the sun throwing the garden into gloom. An intense feeling of unease flooded me.

Doctor Cook’s brow creased. ‘There’s a pair of mischievous magpies who call it home. They’re constantly stealing things and dropping them en route back to the tree.’

I took a last look at the pine cone and shivered.

He spoke gently. ‘Sit down. Are you sure you won’t take a prescription? If you don’t mind me saying, you look like you could do with a rest.’

‘No. No, thank you.’ I went to the chair and picked up my jacket.

‘The referral is well under way. You should be contacted very shortly. Now do take some time to relax.’ He stood to see me out.

‘Yes. I will.’ I turned at the door to send him a quick smile of thanks but he was looking away from me out of the window.

I kept my head down at work, reluctant to interact with anyone. I’m not good at small talk at the best of times and today I needed some solitude so I could bury myself in the course review – an analysis of the previous year’s strengths, weaknesses, retention, achievement and success rates. It wasn’t my favourite part of the job but within an hour the statistical overload had blocked out the morning’s incident and by the time Sue popped in to see if I fancied coffee I had more or less convinced myself that sometimes coincidences were just that.

It was Sue’s last day before she went on maternity leave and she was determined to have a single glass of wine to celebrate. So after work a bunch of us headed down to the Red Lion to toast her. I was irritated by the appearance of McBastard, nearly an hour later, and even more alarmed when he sauntered over to the table where John and I sat.