I said nothing. He pushed the plug back into the wall socket with a jerk of his wrist and looked back over his shoulder. “I am really, seriously worried about you,” he said. “I’m even wondering whether I should call your therapist.”
“No!” My voice came out louder than I’d intended. I swallowed. “There’s really no need. I feel fine. Just a bit fluey.”
“But why did you pull the phones out?” he said. He had that helpless look on his face again, the look of someone swimming in unknown and dangerous waters.
“I just wanted a bit of peace,” I said. “I was getting fed up of those calls. That’s all.”
“You didn’t call the phone company?” he said.
I swallowed. “I did, actually,” I said, after a moment. “But they couldn’t do anything.”
I climbed back under the bed covers. Matt stood above me for a moment, hesitating. "I have to go to work," he said. "I need to sort out a few things."
"That's fine," I said. "Don't worry about me."
I saw his jaw clench. “Do you even remember what we talked about last night?” he said.
I rolled over, pulling the duvet up around my ears. “Yes,” I said in a mumble.
I could feel him still hovering above me. I heard him take a deep breath. “Alright,” he said eventually. “I’m going to leave you alone now. I want you to call me if - if you start to feel worse. In any way.”
I had the feeling he wanted to say something else but he didn’t. After a moment, he left the room.
As soon as I heard the front door slam, I threw back the covers and scuttled into the hallway. I locked it behind him, bolts and deadlocks shot home. Then I ran to unplug the phones.
I hadn’t showered, eaten breakfast, or even cleaned my teeth. In fact, I couldn’t quite remember the last time I had eaten something but it didn’t seem to matter too much at the moment. I wasn’t hungry. I went back to the sofa and lay there.
The beep of a text message arriving at my mobile alerted me. I opened the little envelope icon, wary. But it was just a missed call from Mr. Fenwick’s office. No doubt he’d been trying to get through on the landline. I took a deep breath and rang the number back.
“Maudie,” said Mr. Fenwick, when I finally got through to him. “How are you, my dear? I’ve been trying to get hold of you. I’ve just called Matthew and he said you were at home, ill. Did you know you had a problem with your telephone line?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” I said, lying through my teeth. “There’s nothing wrong with me. Thanks for telling me about the phone line, though.”
“Now, nothing for you to worry about but I need your signatures on a couple of documents. Nothing too exciting, just a few bits of paperwork for the estate. Is there any chance you could pop along sometime today to sign them? Do you feel up to it?”
I showered and dressed, yanking my clothes on clumsily, my fingers stiff. I was getting angrier and angrier, though with precisely whom I wasn’t quite sure. It was fury at a host of people; at Jessica, naturally. It was with Matt, for not understanding, for smothering me with his concern, for making me so ashamed of my drinking that I had to hide it from him. It was with Becca, for being pregnant and making me feel things I didn't want to feel. It was with Angus, for everything.
In the kitchen, I looked at the knife block. My hand went out and selected one, small enough to fit in my coat pocket. Just in case.
I banged the front door behind me and went downstairs in the lift, humming a quiet, bitter tune through clenched teeth. As I reached the outside air, I almost wanted her to be there. I was just about ready for a proper, stand up fight.
She wasn’t there. I felt the hot tide that had bourn me out of the door and down the storeys ebb and evaporate. Chastened, I hailed a taxi. I didn’t even bother looking about me as we joined the flow of traffic that pushed and jostled its way towards the city.
“Good God, Maudie,” said Mr. Fenwick as I entered his office. I was startled; he looked genuinely shocked. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”
“I’m fine,” I muttered, taken aback. I caught sight of myself in the mirror hanging on the back wall of his office and nearly jumped myself. I was chalky as a ghost, the rings under my eyes, deep and plum coloured. My scar stood out like a brand.
We dealt with the paperwork quickly – there was very little to do. I could hear Mr. Fenwick begin to make tentative, preparatory enquiries into my state of health and headed them off by pretending not to hear. As decently as I could, I said goodbye and ran from the office.
She was waiting by the steps of the building, ten feet from where I’d emerged. Our eyes locked. She looked as pale as I had just seen myself to be. For a moment, I stood frozen, unable to move. Then I thought I’m damn – I’m fucking well not going to see you. I marched down the steps, not looking at her, not looking away from her. My neck felt stiff from the effort of not turning my head away.
When I drew level with her I thought she was going to reach out and grab me, but she didn’t. I turned my back to her and walked away.
I became aware I was holding my breath and let it out in a giant huff of air. I looked around for a taxi but there were no friendly yellow lights in sight on the roofs of approaching cabs. I could hear the ring of her high heels behind me, like steel pins going into the concrete. I turned blindly, down some side street. Almost at once, I realised this was a mistake. It was quieter on this road and I could hear her clearly behind me; her breathing, the flap and swish of her bloody black coat, the thud-thud-thud of her boot heels. Tears began to leak from my eyes.
Suddenly, she spoke. "Where are you running to?"
I didn't answer. I tried to walk faster.
"Always running away, aren't you?" she said. She sounded amused. "Never face up to anything in your life, do you?"
I stopped dead. I swung round. I pulled the knife from my pocket. She didn't notice it for a moment, not until I lifted it high. Her face went even whiter than it was already. She opened her mouth to say something, closed it, turned away.
"Yes," I said. "Now who's running? Now who's running?"
Her blonde hair bounced as she scurried away. I started laughing; she looked so silly, running away like a scared little rabbit. She was scared of me. I started to run after her, waving the knife like a talisman.
"Not so brave now, are you? Not so brave now! Come back, Jessica! You came back once before... come back again. Come back! Come back! Come back!"
I stumbled over something as I took another step forward. Suddenly the pavement became six inches lower. I fell forward onto my knees, skinning my hands on the concrete. The knife fell onto the ground in a musical tinkle; it span around in a circle, skidding around, and the noise it made was drowned out in a horrible screech, a crescendo of noise that rose and grew and flowed over me like a wave. It must be Jessica screaming, I thought, before something slammed into me hard enough to knock the breath from my body. As I fell sideways I saw the knife on the dirty concrete road, glinting in the winter sun, a yellow star of light twinkling on the blade. The star grew until it filled my eyes, a sunburst of yellow light that blotted out the rest of the world.
*
When I next opened my eyes, white cotton had replaced the glinting knife. I blinked a couple of times. One minute I had been face down on dirty concrete and the next I was... where? I moved my head and a gigantic bolt of pain shot through it.
I may have slept for a little while. When I opened my eyes again, cautiously, I was conscious of time having passed. I managed to move my head a little. I was lying in bed. A hospital bed. For a moment I wondered whether I was dreaming but I could smell that hospital smell; the usual, nauseating mixture of antiseptic floor wash, canteen food and something underneath it all, something rank. Matt was sitting by the side of the bed, looking at me. His eyes were red.