From a Safe Distance (24 page)

‘Vee, I'm sorry to hear about this. But surely it's illegal to
subject someone to such an ordeal. Is there no way you can claim unfair – or constructive – dismissal?'

She explained that she'd signed an agreement; they'd paid her to keep quiet. They'd actually said that's what the money was for. He was shocked and pointed out that this was an admission of guilt. She should take some kind of action against them. Vee was silent for a moment. Then she said she couldn't do it. She wasn't strong enough. It was too much for her.

‘That's what they want! They're counting on that.'

But Vee was defeated. ‘I was suffocated in that room by their combined will. Who's going to believe me? Oh, it must be my fault. Nobody else seems to find life so difficult to deal with!'

Max knew that Helen would have played no part in this outrageous episode. She probably didn't even know what was going on, so tied up was she with reorganising Birch. He couldn't interfere either.

Max found out that Vee was allowed to stay in her tied accommodation until 31
^st
July, so that when they'd met at the start of the month, she was waiting to hear where and when she would be rehoused, thanks to Bella's foresight. Vee had expressed anger, grief and anxiety while in Max's office, but these emotions were entirely appropriate; he had seen nothing more sinister on the horizon. Bella saw her twice before she moved, as Max had advised her of the extra support she would need. On 1
^st
August, Bella told him, Vee moved into a flat in Cressington, a district of Howcester at the opposite end of the town from the hospital. Max read more entries in the diary:

‘This flat is a quarter of what looks like a 60s semi, on the ground floor, so no stairs for Phisto to worry about. Seems like a quiet area, good for writing. Ron, Jim & friends helped move. Place completely bare: no carpets, curtains, cooker or fridge. Can use some of payoff money, but Mum said she'd buy carpets & wardrobe. Bella will help with getting benefits, but warns they're not instant, so will
have to live off rest of Sq
[sic]
money. Have gone down in the world, not up! But will start again looking for job.'

In spite of everything, Vee seemed optimistic at this stage. Perhaps it was a kind of rebound from the pressure she'd been under. Or it could have been her innate courage, her need to keep going. Max wrote:-

“It appears that there are businesses where those in charge seem to have convinced themselves that company policy meets all the conceivable needs of their present and future employees (a situation reminiscent of Orwell's
1984
), so that this policy is implemented automatically, without further thought, yet with a silent, perhaps even unconscious gratitude on the part of the management at being allowed to discriminate behind the scenes, possibly with such frequency that their actions become regarded as normal, acceptable, in any event certainly unquestioned.

“In such an environment, people like Vee are doomed to failure. The seeds of prejudice can flourish behind closed doors when job applicants are required by law to declare their disabilities. Such legislation merely fortifies business policy which excludes people. And in the end, neither proof of discrimination nor weapon against it are readily available to those interviewed, or indeed those already employed. More silent victories pass unnoticed.

“Vee was not only disappointed in the workplace. She realised too that, as in the case of her brother, people she knew well couldn't understand why ultimately she was not working. This often happens; relatives and close friends cannot believe that someone they know and love can be so very ill, or so very stigmatised. Then, of course, what they say and do is unhelpful to the patient.”

Max returned to the diary.

‘It's no good. Whatever I try for, even stacking shelves, I cannot break through into work. I'm going to have to find other ways of occupying my time.[ … ] Why should I, for the sake of appearing to be brave, keep subjecting myself to a series of rejections? Life should hold more than this. It's no fun. If you go part-time, you lose out too.

‘I keep going back to the things that led up to that meeting. Stupid, I know, but I was chatting to Nat [ … ] in the office and trying to describe what it felt like to want to kill yourself & how I could just take all the drugs in the medication trolley. Of course I wasn't serious – why would I do that with loads of people about? But Nat hid her anxiety. Then, as I found out later, she rang for Jack Marshall to come to the house. I remember him dropping in, but thought nothing of it at the time; it was not that unusual, especially when Sandra was on. This was during the lead-up period, the quiet weeks when (as I now know) the staff were busy making notes about me for her ladyship.

‘Squaremile employed me knowing about my illness. That didn't stop the disciplinary hearings, warnings – and then the meeting. Too much significance was attached to my every word and action in the lead-up. [ … ] Job hunting is now a nightmare. And as for the courses designed to help you back to work, why do they always assume that if you're unemployed you are illiterate, uneducated and unskilled? Someone like me is assumed to be stupid or dangerous – or both. What I need is a fair employer [ … ]

‘I know Jim means well. He's always been anxious to help when I'm ill, but then he expects me to carry on afterwards as if nothing's happened! We can never discuss it properly. There's always this charged atmosphere, as if he thinks I'm a fraud because I've stopped trying for jobs. Bella knows how difficult it is. Of course I would work if I could, but there comes a time when you've tried everything in your power and you have to say, Enough is enough. At least nowadays I'm not being judged and monitored all the time.'

Keeping a diary was obviously cathartic for Vee. Max remembered when he first met her, at Jeff's party in Lexby. She was an attractive, ambitious career woman. They had watched the sunset together, drinking champagne. They thought their separate futures were decided and secure, at the same time wishing the future could have been shared.

From my front door here in Cressington I can watch people walking their dogs in the field which slopes upwards from our lawn. Bella had been right to make sure I was on the Housing Association's waiting list for a flat; she must have known others who had been stranded by employment disasters. These used to be council houses, built in a hurry in 1960. They look like semis, but they're actually blocks of four flats. At the back, a row of tall hornbeams separates the garden from a building site. They remind me of the dignified trees outside Tor ward. I sometimes think about that place and wonder if the ghosts of long-dead inmates haunt the new occupants of the luxury flats.

I like it here because I don't have to share, except with Phisto. I like it here because the danger of spring is over. I like it here because I don't need to think about Squaremile all the time. They tried to kick open the white door. Just because they've stopped kicking doesn't mean there's no pain, but at least they're not here to see it or to judge me. They are miles away. Mum and Bella have seen it. And Squaremile's money doesn't stop me remembering: forgetting what happened is impossible.

I know that everyone, every person who ends up in this street, has had some kind of major upheaval in their life. I have not spoken to many neighbours yet though, because there is scarcely room in me for anyone else at the moment. Even when Jim arrives, with Matthew – who's grown a lot – with a bunch of flowers, the edges of me bristle with anxiety, which can feel more like terror. There is just enough room to skim the top of his news. He does not really see into me
because I keep the outside clear of signs, things which might make him ask difficult questions.

We wander about in the garden for a few minutes. It is sad that Matthew is growing up without a mother, but Jim seems calmer these days. Sophie's death is quite a long time ago now, and Matthew is at secondary school. Jim has aged; he probably thinks the same of me, but each of us knows why.

Still, Jim has not lost interest in women; he comments on the figure of the eighteen-year-old neighbour who is sunbathing. When we've gone indoors, I tell him I think she's called Danielle. Jim raises his voice above the noise of the kettle.

‘It's not a bad place, really, is it? From what I've seen on my travels, you could have done a lot worse.'

His
travels,
in his line of work, must have included some pretty rough areas. But every time I have a visitor, I see the flat as if through their eyes, as a disappointing place to end up. Yes, I was washed up here, or rather thrown here after the blast: I didn't choose this flat. They just said, “here's your flat” and left. I supposed I would just have to get used to it, because there was nothing else. I had lost the right to choose … And I would have to go without, and I would have to decorate it, and I would have to …

‘Jim, I'm not feeling too good. Sorry. Think I need a sleep.'

‘Well, we'll go and see Granny and Ron, shall we Matthew? But we can't stay too long … '

Nobody has been aware of the weather until there is a loud clap of thunder: Matthew runs to the window to spot the next lightning strike. As the rain begins to fall more fiercely, there is a shriek from outside and Danielle knocks on the door. I have to let her in, but I am stretched to my limit of being with other people. I cannot prolong my endurance much more.

‘Oh, sorry! Didn't fink it was goin' to rain that quick! Couldn't get home in time!'

‘Come in.'

She clutches her towel, covered in bits of grass, as
someone turns up the rain volume even higher and a flash fills the living room with light. Dogs are barking, people running. Nobody realises I am beginning to drown. I take a breath and introduce Jim. Matthew tries to smile at Danielle, but then jumps as another thunderclap rumbles about overhead. Danielle, sitting on the sofa, is a little uneasy in her bikini and spreads her towel over her knees.

‘I'll go when it eases off a bit,' she says, then her mobile rings, a pop song I've never heard. ‘Yep. I know! Bit sudden, wasn't it!' She slips off her sandals, makes herself at home. Phisto goes over to her and sniffs her outstretched hand as she talks on the phone. The thunder doesn't bother him as much as it used to, now he is a bit deaf. He used to hide under the bed … ‘I'll see ya later then. Bye!' Danielle shuts her phone with a click and there is another bright flash. The lamp flickers. Jim counts aloud to Matthew: the storm is three miles away. The rain hammers on the window and my own storm still rages. It needs all my strength not to show it. Now Danielle pulls the towel round her shoulders and looks at me.

‘So, what do you do with yourself all day, Vee? I mean, you don't go out to work, do you?' They had been watching. I thought so.

‘Oh, I keep myself busy. I'm writing a book at the moment. What about you? What do you do?'

‘I'm a care assistant, down the road at the old people's home. But why haven't you got a job then? Her pale eyes, smooth skin and long fair hair are the picture of innocent youth, though I suspect she is far from innocent. If I didn't colour my hair nowadays I would be white, like Ron.

‘I mean, you're an intelligent woman,' Danielle goes on, drilling my head, ‘I'd have thought it'd be easy for you to get a job.'

‘It's a long story, but I've been ill,' is the only scrap I can throw her.

Danielle turns. ‘Jim, isn't it?'

He nods.

‘D'you mind me askin' what you do for a living?'

I could tell this was all being filed away for the benefit of others.

‘It's kind of similar to what you do.' He smiles politely, closing ranks with me.

‘Oh.' Danielle lacks the maturity to pursue either of these two mysteries, and we know that she doesn't want to appear too nosy. Nor is she keen to stay any longer than necessary.

A short while later she jumps up. ‘Look, it's practically stopped raining. I'd better be going. Said I'd meet my boyfriend. Better get changed too!' She giggles. ‘Can't go into town like this, can I? The mad bikini woman from Cressington. Still, we're not that far from the nut-house, are we?' She laughs, pushes her feet into her sandals and pulls the towel off her shoulders, leaving grass on the sofa which she doesn't seem to notice. ‘Nice talking to you.'

I collect the cups and put Jim's flowers in water. Matthew finishes the drink I gave him. I haven't felt strong enough to have a proper conversation with him today, but there'll be other times.

‘She could've made it to her own flat,' I say. ‘I think she wanted an excuse to find out about me, so she could report back.'

‘Quite likely,' Jim replies. ‘But don't take her too seriously, Vee. She's very young.'