Nearest Thing to Crazy (35 page)

Therapy taught me that I shouldn’t be so emotionally dependent upon you, Dan; that I had unreasonable expectations that you could make my insecurities better, by yourself. The way I heard it, I wasn’t being fair on you, with my unreasonable expectations. So when I came back, all better, I’d swept up all my anger and stashed it deep inside the dustbin of my emotions. But do you know what? I never got around to emptying it, until now. And that lump of anger was still there, raw as ever. And I was not going to let you, Ellie or
anyone
take my daughter away from me.

CHAPTER

19

I had to speak to Laura. I knew I needed to be strong and to shut out the doubts. I had to keep believing in myself even if no one else did. I went back into the house, changed out of my boots and picked up the keys to the van. I drove straight to the village hall, where I assumed Laura would be. I would ask her to come with me and we would go home and talk there, uninterrupted.

There were lots of cars I recognized in the tiny car park, as well as Nick Gale’s trailer attached to his pick-up truck. It seemed slightly surreal in the circumstances to think back to last year when I was here with everyone else, with all my friends, bustling around with my flowers. But now I was no longer needed. It was as if I was being rubbed out of the picture, growing paler, formless and abstract; a series of watery, indistinct brushstrokes.

I paused in the doorway of the hall – invisible, it seemed, as I watched them all carrying out their particular duties. No one appeared to notice me, but maybe they were just ignoring me. I was becoming accustomed to this position of outsider, always looking on, observing, rather than participating in what should have been
my
life.

I couldn’t see Laura. And I couldn’t see Amelia or Sally, or
her
, either. I could see some of the other village women and Dan helping Nick Gale position the chairs around the trestle tables. Dan had his back turned to me. He said something to Nick, who nodded. And then he walked over to the door at the far end, the door which was normally shut because it was a fire exit but today it was propped open – presumably to allow the workforce to go out for a fag. I could see that the tablecloths were on the tables and the flowers were set out. Small bunches of bluey-mauve hydrangeas in lime-green glasses. Simple and pretty. Hardly creative, I thought, bitchily.

I suddenly felt nervous about stepping inside to search for Laura. Perhaps Dan might humiliate me in front of Ellie and everyone; maybe accuse me once more of slashing her tyres. I could feel myself growing hot, clammy and light-headed. Cold water. I needed cold water. I reversed back to the entrance lobby and pushed open the door to the ladies’ loo. The air was chilly, and smelt of industrial-strength disinfectant, Jeyes Fluid and cheap soap. I turned on the tap and splashed my face, then cupped my hands and gulped down a few mouthfuls of icy water. I turned off the tap and took a paper towel from the shelf and started mopping my face dry. In the quiet, I could hear the drift of voices coming through the top window, which was propped open.

As I tuned into the registers, I could make out Dan, and then Amelia and Sally. In between I could also make out Ellie, and then I was sure I heard my name. Every sinew in my body tightened and I held my breath, straining to hear. I craned towards the window like an FM aerial searching for the optimum reception.

‘Poor Cass.’ Now it was Sally’s voice. ‘I’ve been worried about her for a while, actually. She just hasn’t seemed herself. At first I wondered if she was perhaps drinking too heavily . . . although maybe I shouldn’t say that. And I remember you saying, Ellie, right when you first met her, that she’d confided in you.’

‘That’s right, she did. I was flattered, really, that she was being so open. But in a way I thought it was strange the way she disclosed so much to a relative stranger. And funny you should say about the drinking, because she suggested we have wine that afternoon instead of tea. Of course I didn’t mind, it seemed just fun at the time. Do you remember, Dan? Didn’t you have to come and collect the car that evening because she wasn’t fit to drive back?’

‘Yes, I remember. Maybe she felt safe, then, with you. Her drinking has been creeping up.’ He didn’t mention the two bottles the other night, and I was grateful for that. He went on, ‘She’s so fragile. Always has been. I blame it all on myself. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let this happen.’

‘You mustn’t blame yourself.’ Ellie’s voice. ‘I think you’ve been incredibly supportive. It can’t be easy living with someone who’s so volatile. It must be really hard on you . . . and on Laura as well. It’s funny, isn’t it, how things seem to be all slotting into place, the strange things that have been going on? I think she was upset about our going shopping for those bay trees, Amelia, remember? It was like they just died, overnight. Like they’d been poisoned – I think I could smell bleach or something around the pots. I didn’t like to say anything, obviously. But, you know, I think she must have poisoned them.’

‘Oh, Jesus!’ Dan exclaimed.

She was brilliant. I had to hand it to her. She had it all planned in labyrinthine intricacy. A chess grand master, every move foreseen, and every challenge pre-empted. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but I was mesmerized by her cleverness.

Now it was Dan’s turn to twist the knife in deeper. ‘I’ve been trying to get her to talk to me, but I don’t seem to be able to get through to her. She won’t let me help her.’

‘Because she’s paranoid, Dan. Paranoid and irrational. How can you get through to someone when they’re suffering from a mental illness? She needs treatment. She needs to be in a safe place.’ Ellie’s voice was soothing, clucking like a mother hen. ‘Dan. It’s not your fault. It’s terribly hard on you and Laura. We must think about Laura. She can stay with me for as long as she likes if you think that might be . . . Oh dear, I don’t know if this is the right thing to say. I mean I can’t believe I’m saying this . . . if you think she would be safer away from Cass.’

Then Amelia’s voice: ‘Oh God. I’m so sorry, Dan. But when I called in to see her yesterday she just seemed so peculiar. She dropped a cup on the floor and when I suggested she get it mended she lost her temper and ripped it from my hands. She actually cut me. See, I’ve still got the plaster.’

‘Amelia, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.’

‘I know. It seems incredible that we’re all standing here talking about our friend being a threat to anyone, but I suppose one has to think about what’s best. I mean, we’d never forgive ourselves if anything happened to Laura, would we? And she must be kept away from you, Ellie. It’s okay, Dan. Don’t worry. You must try not to worry. She just needs help. Poor Cass . . . Oh dear, it’s all so jolly difficult. I wonder if Patrick might be able to do anything – perhaps you could talk to him about getting some kind of restraining or protection order, to keep her away from Ellie.’ I could feel myself sinking down. Patrick, Sally’s husband, was a solicitor. Was I going to be confronted, now, by police, solicitors, charges? Was I really
not
dreaming all this?

‘Do you really think that’s necessary? I mean, not for my sake. I wouldn’t want to make life any more difficult for you, Dan, than it already is, but if you think it would be safer for Laura. Goodness, I don’t really know what to think.’ I couldn’t believe how sincerely concerned Ellie could sound.

‘I think you’ve been incredibly thoughtful throughout. Too thoughtful.’ I could picture Dan putting his hand on her arm; I could see him smiling at her, so gratefully. If only he bloody well knew. If only they all bloody well knew. ‘And hard as it sounds, perhaps we do need to think about people’s safety now . . . Cass’s safety.’ I’d heard enough. It was clear that Laura wasn’t at the village hall, and I thought she must be at Ellie’s house. If they were talking about solicitors and restraining orders, I might not have much more time in which to speak to her.

And there was another thing I needed to do. I had to get hold of the manuscript. It was the only proof I had that could back up my story. If other people could read what she’d written and see the awful filth on those pages, then they’d understand. They’d realize it wasn’t me going mad, but her. Just the title page would be proof enough, surely. I just hoped they were so deeply locked into the conversation about how they could deal with the Cassandra problem that they wouldn’t notice me leaving the front of the building. The car park wasn’t full. There were lots of gaps between the cars. Nick Gale’s pick-up truck was beside Dan’s Audi. Amelia’s BMW was beside Sally’s Merc, and then there were half a dozen or so others between me and my van. I walked over to it without looking behind me. Although the full impact had yet to hit me, deep down I knew that my life here, in this community, was over. There was really nothing left for me at all. Dan? Would I want this Dan, who could truly believe all these lies about me? And he certainly wouldn’t want to have the ‘me’ he now thought I was. And what about Laura?

I arrived at Ellie’s. I walked slowly to the front of the house and tried the door handle, getting a sense of
déjà vu
as it swung open. I stepped inside. I heard the dog yap a couple of times from the other side of the kitchen door. Then I heard a voice, Laura’s voice, call out.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi,’ I said. ‘It’s me.’

‘Mum!’ She sounded really surprised. She was sprawled out on the leather sofa, but she sat up. I sat down opposite her, on the other sofa. Although the wood burner was blazing away energetically, to me the room felt chilled. ‘All seems pretty tidy. Was there a lot to clear up?’

‘Upstairs was the worst, but we attacked most of it last night. Poor Ellie . . . it was just awful . . .’

‘Hmm,’ I shivered.

A half-drunk mug of coffee stood on the floor beside Laura. And then beside that was a stack of white paper. I could feel a vague wateriness in my stomach.

‘What are you reading?’ I tried to keep my voice even and my face neutral.

‘Ellie’s novel. God, it’s so exciting. I’m completely hooked on it. I’m only halfway through, but it’s gripping.’

‘She said you could read it?’

She nodded. ‘I said how much fun I thought it would be to read a novel
before
it’s been published.’

‘So . . . what do you think of it?’

‘It’s really good. Quite dark. There’s some pretty nasty people in the story.’

‘And do you recognize any of them?’

‘Recognize any of them? No. Why would I? Oh, you think maybe she’s basing her characters on people like us? Can I see any of our funny little foibles, you mean?’

‘I suppose . . .’

She laughed. ‘No, not really. Although the slimeball who molested her might have certain similarities with Sally’s husband, if I think about it.’

I didn’t remember anyone molesting her. I picked up a sheet from the pile on the floor and quickly scanned the lines. This was different. This was not the same style of writing. For a start it was written in the third person, and there was a character called Doug coming out of a privy, hitching up the buckle on his breeches. His breeches?

‘Laura, what’s this about?’

‘It’s about a woman who was a child evacuee in the Second World War. How she went to stay with this family here, in Worcestershire, and the husband abused her. So when she’s older she goes back to wreak her revenge on him. At least I think that’s the gist of it. It’s not finished. Her research is brilliant. That’s why she came here, obviously.’

‘It’s set in the 1940s?’

‘Well, yeah. That’s when it starts. And then ten years later, early fifties, when the woman returns to get her own back.’

Once again I felt that my brain simply wasn’t big enough to deal with this. So the manuscript I had read wasn’t Ellie’s book because, apparently, she was writing a historical novel – the book that Laura was reading. That was Ellie’s book. Just how many books was the crazy bitch writing? No wonder she hadn’t wanted to tell me what her book was about.

I got up from the sofa and walked over to Ellie’s desk. Laura’s eyes followed me. I stood in front of it, looking down, remembering when I’d last been there, what I had read of
her
novel. There was nothing about the Second World War in it. Nothing about evacuees. There was nothing about any of that, because her novel was all about
us
.

I had no choice. I put my hand on the drawer handle and pulled it open.

‘Mum! What are you doing? You can’t open up Ellie’s drawers . .
.’

I ignored her. I looked in the drawer. It wasn’t there. I opened up the next drawer, and the next . . . nothing.

Laura had come over to my side. She put her hand on my arm. ‘Mum. You mustn’t do that. That’s prying.’

‘I know. But there’s something I have to find.’

‘What?’

‘A manuscript. A novel she was writing.’

‘But I’ve got it. It’s over there.’

‘No.’ I couldn’t keep the note of desperation out of my voice. ‘She wasn’t writing that one, she was writing another one.’

‘Mum! What are you talking about? That’s her novel. I’ve just been reading it.’