Mindsight (2 page)

‘It’s just that, TV becomes so important when you’re inside. But you’re right; the last thing I want to do is sit in front of the box.’ Even as I said it I wondered how true that was.

The sofa and two mismatched armchairs looked clean and comfortable but, seeing me look at them, Alice said, ‘They’re a bit shabby, but you can always brighten them up with cushions.’

She was trying so hard and part of me wanted to hug her and tell her how grateful I was. Another part longed for her to shut up and go away.

As I followed her into the kitchen, I saw the coffee maker next to the kettle. Alice must have noticed my stillness. She gripped my forearm. ‘Oh, no, did I do wrong bringing it here? I thought you’d want it. I know how you love your strong coffee.’

It was from my old house. Alice had cleared the place when I asked her to sell it. I ran my fingers over the glass and touched the new packet of coffee she’d put beside it. I couldn’t speak, but as I headed back to the living room I managed to smile.

She cleared her throat and walked over to a small table in the corner. ‘I sorted out the new laptop for you, like I said. Set it up with broadband, email, and everything.’ She picked up a little notebook. ‘I’ve written all the details, your email address, passwords, and so on, in there so you should be ready to go.’

‘Thank you. You didn’t need to do all that,’ I said.

She was smiling and holding up a white envelope. ‘And there’s this too.’ I recognised the writing at once. ‘Go on,’ she said, ‘it won’t bite.’

The card had an old- fashioned photo on the front. Three little girls on a beach in white dresses and sun hats. The two bigger children had long dark curls and the smallest was an angelic blonde. Inside:
Welcome home, dearest Clare, with all our love from Emily and Matt. (Hope to see you soon!) XXXX

As I closed the card I couldn’t stop a sob bubbling up. Alice came behind me, resting her chin on my shoulder. ‘Oh, Clare.’ Her voice wobbled with tears, too. ‘They’re just like us.’ That was how we had always been: Alice, and me, and our cousin Emily, who was like another sister.

I hadn’t seen Emily, or her husband Matt, for more than three years.

Alice sighed and walked over to stand by the four large sash windows. ‘I’m sorry the place smells musty.’ She fiddled with the old-fashioned locks and managed to push up one of the sashes, catching her finger and letting out a muttered curse. ‘It’s a shame it’s so cloudy: there’s normally a wonderful sea view from this room.’

I peered out over the misted rooftops to the whiteness beyond – a couple of dark fishing boats, nosing close to shore, the only things to distinguish sea from sky. Alice perched on the arm of the sofa, sucking her torn finger.

‘What do you think? Is it all right?’

I nodded, without turning, and she was suddenly behind me, so close the warmth coming from her brought a prickle of sweat to my spine. I inched away, but she put her hands on my elbows, giving them a gentle shake.

‘You don’t like it do you? And you’ll be all alone here. I should have insisted you come to us, taken you straight home.’

The quiver in her voice brought a spurt of anger. It was too late to start on that again. In the old days I would have flared up at her, but not now.

‘I’m fine, and the flat’s lovely. Thanks for sorting it out.’

‘I got some shopping for you – just the basics – but don’t offer me coffee because …’ glancing at her watch, ‘I need to get off. Shall I ring you later?’

‘Better leave it till tomorrow. I’m so tired I think I need to settle in then get to bed.’

She gestured to the telephone. ‘I’ve put my mobile number, as well as the one for home, into your phone memory, so you don’t need to call the house until you’re ready.’ After a moment’s hesitation, she pulled me to her and whispered, ‘It’ll be all right.’ But I couldn’t speak and my arms hung heavy at my sides.

She stopped at the door and I forced a smile. ‘Go on. I’m OK.’

The kitchen overlooked the front garden and I watched her go. She turned at the gate to wave, and I raised my hand, longing to call her back and ask her to take me home with her.

When I heard the car start up and drive away, I pulled down the kitchen blind, went back into the living room and shut the window to let silence fill the place. Then I sat on the sofa, leaning back and closing my eyes.
Deep breaths, one step at a time.

In the bedroom, I unpacked the holdall, my clothes lost in the big wardrobe. My one precious possession – the photograph in its cheap plastic frame – I put on the bedside table, my fingers lingering for a moment over each glassy face.

Alice had made the bed, and I pulled off my clothes and crawled into the soft darkness, lying hunched with the effort of clamping my mind shut. I knew I deserved to feel the pain the oh-so-familiar thoughts and images would bring, but, for now, I would allow myself a few, blessed, moments of peace.

I woke to darkness, knowing I’d slept for hours. I didn’t need a clock to tell me it was 3 a.m.: the time I’d woken every night for the past five years. Oddly enough, there was no confusion about where I was. The softness and the stretch of the bed around me, the silence and the feeling of space told me everything. I thought of my friend, Ruby, and longed to feel her warm, brown skin against mine; to tell her how frightened I was. But Ruby was still in prison, and I knew she’d only repeat the last thing she said to me: ‘This is the first day of the rest of your life, girl. So, get out there and live it.’

The floorboards were cold under my feet as I fumbled for socks and a sweatshirt. I knew, if I turned on the lamp, I’d never be able to cross the huge space to the door, but there was enough grey light to lead me to the living room windows. As I looked out, I felt a shock of disorientation; it seemed the stars were below, and the dark sea above. Then I realised that, of course, there
were
no stars. The shining pinpoints were lights from the houses in the town below; the darkness, above and beyond, was the sky merging with the water. I recalled the milky emptiness I’d seen from the same window earlier and the phrase that had come to mind then –
the end of the world
. This was how ancient mapmakers thought of the Earth: a slab of land bustling with life, a strip of sea and then – nothing – just emptiness.

I leaned my forehead against the window and closed my eyes. If I could stay perfectly still, block out my thoughts again, I might be able to sleep when I got back to bed. But the chill glass, dripping condensation on my skin, brought me fully alert. I was shivering, rocking back and forth, and chanting the familiar, meaningless charm, ‘Oh God, oh God, help me.’ It brought no more comfort than my own clutching arms, or my head beating against the cold glass.

The darkness in my head flickered with images of flames, my ears echoed with screams, and I longed for Ruby to hold me and help me cry away the agony. ‘That’s it, baby,’ she would say, ‘you’ll feel better soon.’ And a storm of tears would exhaust me so much that I no longer felt anything. But now, alone, I couldn’t cry, and I knew that all the tears and the therapy had just been another way to keep up the barricades.

I sometimes went to church services in the early days in prison, and the chaplain talked once about what he called
the dark night of the soul
. It seemed a good way to describe how I felt. But, later, I read another phrase that fitted better –
the torments of the damned
.

For I was certainly damned for what I’d done.

Chapter Two

The phone jolted me from sleep and I sat up, hugging my arms tight around my knees.

‘Hello Clare, it’s me. Are you there?’

I grabbed the handset. ‘Alice, your name didn’t register.’

‘I’m ringing from the surgery. I can’t talk long. Just wanted to check you were all right.’

‘I’m fine. What time is it?’

‘Half past eight. Try to get out for a bit today, won’t you. A walk will do you good.’

‘I should go and see your friend in the flower shop.’

‘Don’t rush it. I told Stella not to expect you immediately. Why not start by meeting your neighbours. The ones I talked to seemed lovely.’

In the end, I couldn’t get myself through the door. Still wearing the musty T-shirt I’d slept in, I switched on the TV and curled on the sofa in front of it, dozing and waking, dozing and waking. According to the weather forecast, it was the hottest heatwave since 1976, and when I opened the windows, all that came in was steaming air and the screeches of the gulls. I made tea and toast I didn’t finish, wanting only to sleep again.

Around four o’clock, I found myself staring at the phone. I picked it up, put it down, then tried again. At the third or fourth attempt I began to dial the number, but halfway through, I clicked to disconnect and threw the handset onto the other end of the sofa, as far from me as it would go. Then I dragged myself back to bed, pressing my face into the pillow.
You coward, you fucking coward.

I didn’t leave the flat for three days. When I wasn’t huddled on the sofa or in bed, I was in the bathroom, standing under the shower, letting the water soak into me, through me, washing out the filth of five years.

Alice rang every morning, and on the second day I lied that I was going for a walk later on. Each afternoon, around four, I would sit and stare at the phone, my hands clammy, mouth dry. Once or twice I started to dial. Once, I even let it ring for half a second before clicking to disconnect, my whole body shaking.

On the fourth morning I made myself get up early, glad to see that, at last, the sun had disappeared and a light curtain of rain made the outdoors more kindly, easier to hide in. I knew I had to get out and I needed to find something decent to wear to visit the florist’s. I’d been watching and listening for my neighbours; the flat across the hall from mine seemed to be occupied by a young woman with a small child. My kitchen overlooked the front garden and I saw them, through a gap in the blinds, leaving about 8.30 every morning, and coming back around half past five.

Today the woman looked back, fair hair flopping over her face, and I jumped away from the window. It was minutes before I caught my breath, but the silence and the empty front garden reassured me they were safely out of the way.

Alice had said one upstairs flat was empty,
but I heard enough from directly above to guess someone was living there: someone who liked jazz and was often walking around in the early hours, but sometimes clumped down the stairs in the morning too.

I stood by my closed front door, listening, and checking my bag yet again. My keys, the most important things of all, were still there, nestled in an inside pocket.

I had the cash Alice had given me on the first day and there was a debit card too. She’d put £5,000 in the account and told me I could have more whenever I needed it. After all, she said, Dad would have wanted that. I wasn’t so sure.

I was still inside, minutes later, with no idea what to do next: it had been so long since I’d been free to walk through a closed door. I made myself turn the knob and peep out. The hall was silent, and I stood for a moment, steadying my breath. A creak from somewhere above had me shutting the door again: leaning my head on it.
Come on, come on. Get on with it, you stupid cow.

I forced myself through the hall, stumbling down the garden and out of the gate in one gasping rush. A car roared past, almost brushing me with its wing mirror, and I remembered Alice’s warning about the traffic. There was no pavement here, so hugging the hedge, and unsure whether to look behind or ahead, I scurried down the hill.

The rain had stopped by the time I reached the safety of a narrow pavement and the sun was out again, already hot enough to send filaments of steam from the patches of water on the ground. I didn’t dare go into any of the tiny shops in the Old Town, but it wasn’t far to the modern shopping centre where I could be anonymous. It might have been a pleasant stroll, but I kept my head down, my whole body clenched against anyone coming too close. No one knew me here – one of the reasons, along with the cheap rents, I’d chosen Hastings for my bolthole – but I felt as conspicuous as if I wore a convict suit, complete with arrows. I couldn’t forget the publicity around my trial – the photographers. I was even something of a minor celebrity in Holloway Prison at first, which certainly hadn’t helped.

It was still early, so the shopping mall was almost deserted, but the colours were so bright, the floor so shiny, my eyes were dazzled. I stood still and began to take in the individual shops. Marks and Spencer was in front of me. Yes, that would do, it was big enough for me to pass unnoticed, and empty enough, at this hour, that I wouldn’t have to queue. It would all be over in a few minutes – and then back home.

Inside, it seemed huge, the lights too brilliant. But it was quiet, just a few figures wandering at a safe distance. The rails of clothes, crowded together, gave some shelter and I walked through them, touching the soft cloth of shirts and trousers and avoiding the mirrors.

At last I spotted a few dresses. A blue one looked OK, not my size, but there was another in green that would have to do. Scrabbling with my bag and purse, I tried to replace the dress on the rack, but it didn’t seem to fit. When I let go, it fell to the floor dislodging the blue one and a white cardigan. My breath caught in my throat as I tried to control the clothes, the hangers, my purse, and my bag, and the purse came open in my hand spilling coins onto the floor.

‘That’s all right, dear.’ A waft of perfume as she picked up the bundle of clothes, shaking them and slotting them back in place, then crouched beside me. ‘Can I help?’

‘No.’ I clutched the purse to my chest, knocking her hand away from the scatter of coins.

She flinched, her face flushing under the film of make-up.

I left her there, and the money where it lay, and looked for the exit. I couldn’t think where all these people had come from. I pushed past a woman posing in front of a mirror with a frilly strip of something, and bumped into a pushchair. There were stacks of china and glittering glass around me, as I turned on the spot, terrified to move in case I broke something.