Then she felt herself moving.
No.
There was a sharp crack.
No.
A splintering sound.
The scaffolding was bouncing, like a spring.
Let go, let go, let go.
Falling.
She let go his hand in terror, in disbelief.
The wall was moving away. Nicky moving away, staring at her, his face frozen. Sideways, going over sideways.
No.
It was her that was going over.
The ground was rushing towards her.
Falling.
She spun, desperately trying to push back, but it was too late, far too late.
She felt the inside of her head rotating, then the ground hurtled at her, slammed into her, smashed her stomach up into her spine. She felt a tremendous windedness, heard a click from her jaw, smelt wet grass, mud. There was a strange muffled clanging sound all around her. Like church bells.
‘Bugs?’
The ground was soft.
It moved underneath her as if it was sprung.
Bedclothes.
A dream. It had been a – Richard staring at her, the light was odd, different.
‘How are you feeling, Bugs?’
She frowned. Her head ached like hell. She moved and her arm ached too. Her tongue was stinging; she could taste blood in her mouth.
‘Nicky,’ she said. ‘Where’s Nicky?’
‘Nicky’s fine. He’s just a bit bruised.’
Nicky peered down at her, wide open eyes, serious. God he looked so serious sometimes. She put an arm up to stroke him. The movement hurt, and she winced.
‘How are you feeling, Mrs Curtis?’
A stranger’s voice, a man, pleasant, standing over the bed in a white smock with a stethoscope curling out of the pocket, looking intently at her.
‘I—’ The room seemed to spin around.
‘You’ve got concussion.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘You’ve been unconscious for over three hours.’
Three hours? No, he’d got it wrong. There must have – it had just . . . ‘Where am I?’
‘You’re in the Sussex County Hospital, in Brighton.’
‘Hospital?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid you had a very nasty fall. We’ve X-rayed you and given you a scan. You’re fine. No bones broken, but I think you’re going to feel a bit jarred and sore.’ He smiled, a pleasant reassuring good-bedside-manners smile. He was young. Younger than her. ‘You’ve been very lucky, I think, the height you fell
from. Fortunate we’ve had so much rain, it must have made the ground very soft.’ He smiled again. ‘I’ll come back and see you in a little while.’
‘Thank you,’ she mouthed, but nothing came out. She felt disoriented. Sunlight was shining into the room, weak winter sunlight and she could see the sky. She had no idea of the time; it felt like afternoon.
The door closed, then there was a clanking sound. She felt the bed sinking.
‘Tiger, don’t do that,’ Richard said. ‘You’re winding Mummy down.’
She heard footsteps, then Nicky’s voice, excited. ‘I can see the sea!’
She stared at the white ceiling and the light bulb above her head. She pushed her tongue around inside her mouth. It was sore along the top; she tasted the blood again.
Scaffold.
I was on scaffold.
She looked back at Richard, watched him with damp frightened eyes. He sat down beside her and held her hand.
‘I’ll sue those fucking builders.’
She shook her head, slowly, carefully. ‘It wasn’t – not their fault—’
‘It was coming away from the wall. Could have crashed down on anyone. Could have killed anyone underneath it.’
‘Nicky shouldn’t have—’
‘Scaffolding’s meant for climbing up. That’s what it’s for.’ He sniffed. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘My head hurts.’
‘They thought you’d fractured your skull.’
‘How did your meeting—?’
‘Fine. All going to be fine.’
She squeezed his hand.
‘’S a good hospital,’ he said. ‘They want to keep you in overnight. The doctor said you can leave in the morning.’
‘It’s Sunday, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve got a meeting in the morning.’
‘I’ll call Ken. The doctor doesn’t want you to go back to work for a day or so.’
‘Ken’s away. Could you call Claire? Tell her – or Lucy.’
‘Sure.’
‘What’s out here, Daddy?’
‘The corridor, Tiger. That’s where we came in.’
Nicky leaned over the bed. ‘I’m sorry, Mummy.’
She smiled at him. His eyes were red from crying.
‘Give Mummy a kiss.’
He leaned over and gave her a nervous peck as if he shouldn’t give her a long one in case it hurt. ‘I only went up to see if there was a nest.’
‘Did you find one?’
‘No. Are you coming home now?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Oh. Can we stay with you?’
‘You stay with Daddy tonight.’
He slid away from the bed. ‘I’m going exploring.’
‘Don’t go out there, Tiger,’ Richard said.
‘I won’t go very far.’
She heard the door open and shut, and felt Richard stroking her hand. He bent towards her a fraction and spoke quietly, as if he did not want to be overheard. ‘I have to go to Switzerland, Bugs, on business – Montreux. I thought maybe you’d like to come. We could go on to Zermatt, have a few days’ skiing.’
Zermatt. They went to Zermatt the first Christmas they were married.
‘I have to go in the next week or so. I thought maybe next weekend.’
She stared into his anxious eyes. ‘What have you got to do?’
He glanced around nervously. ‘I’ve got a bit of dosh stashed away in a bank over there. I want to make sure that it’s safe if the going gets rough . . . make sure we can keep paying the mortgage, and Nicky’s school fees.’
‘I’ve got my job, if anything—’
‘Yes, I know, but there’s no point in—’
‘Don’t do anything illegal in Switzerland, will you, Richard?’
‘No, it’s fine. Andreas has sorted everything out. I just have to move a bit snappily before—’
‘Before?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. No one really knows. It’ll take the police a while to sift through everything. They’re raiding people all over the shop. They’ve done Archie as well. It might be several months, but it could only be a couple of weeks.’
‘How much trouble are you really in?’
He got up from the bed and walked over to the window. ‘’S not serious. Get a fine or something,’ he said evasively.
‘That inspector – Milton – kept saying you wouldn’t have such a nice view from a prison cell.’
‘Frighteners, that’s all. Talking big. He was all mouth.’
‘He was horrible.’
He came back over and sat down. She felt fully awake now, though her head was aching badly, fully awake and churned as hell. She was sorry for him, really sorry for the first time since she’d arrived back and found the
police. Sorry for him and torn up and twisted inside. Christ, it had all been so fine until – the tart? The dream of the aeroplane? Now it all seemed to be collapsing around her.
Like scaffold.
‘Think you could get away?’ he asked.
‘I’ll have to check my Filofax. At home.’
‘Be nice if you came.’
Richard and Nicky stayed until she’d had supper and the nurse came in to give her a pill to help her sleep.
‘I’m whacked,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to need any help sleeping.’ But she took the pill anyway, and it made her feel better, gave her a strange surge of excitement.
Hope.
Answers. There were answers. There were answers to why it was all happening. You just had to look in the right place, that was all, find the secret button or maybe some magic code word. Go away, Slider, I command thee. Into thy dungeon, Oh foul beast. Slink away in disgrace and ne’er darken my doorstep again. You foul cursed creature of darkness.
Out, out, vile jelly.
What the hell was in the pill? She felt smashed, euphoric. Then a great wave of tiredness picked her up, and she floated along with it until it gently lowered her back down.
She slept.
They kept her in hospital until late Monday afternoon, when Richard collected her and drove her to London. She arrived at the office on Tuesday with a dull headache, and Claire looked up as she came in. That was
something, she thought, Claire actually looking up; progress.
‘How are you?’
‘OK,’ she said.
She wished Ken was in, that he wasn’t away filming in Spain, that she could go up and tell him, tell him about her antennae, sharp, so sharp. Too damned sharp. She picked up the top letter on the pile on her desk.
It was a brief but courteous note from the secretary of the Royal Yacht Squadron. ‘The committee regrets that it cannot permit its premises to be depicted in advertisements, regardless of the singular merits of your particular project.’
Damn.
It was a great script. The crusty old buffer sitting outside the clubhouse pulling out his spectacles and a packet of condoms falling out of his pocket with them.
You can’t teach an old sea dog new tricks. But you can kill him with a new disease. Wear a condom. It’s an admiral thing to do
.
She picked up the next letter, then put it down again. Her hands trembling, her eyes damp. Fear. It seeped through her, deep inside her, cold as melting ice. She opened her handbag and pulled out
What Your Dreams Really Say
, and glanced again at the brief biography of the author, then picked up the phone and dialled Directory Enquiries.
‘I’d like the number for Hull University, please.’ Sam covered the mouthpiece. ‘I dreamed it. I dreamed I fell – from a balcony.’
Claire gazed back at her without replying for a moment . . . almost – almost, it struck Sam, as if she thought it was amusing.
The operator gave her the number and she wrote it down.
‘How did you like Mrs Wolf?’ Claire asked.
‘I thought she was weird.’
‘She’s very accurate, I find. Didn’t you?’
‘I hope not,’ Sam said, staring down at the number, and dialling it.
‘Hull University,’ said the voice that answered the phone.
‘I’d like to speak to Dr Colin Hare in the Psychology Department, please.’
‘Putting you through.’
‘Psychology,’ said a man’s voice, abrupt, slightly irritable.
‘Could I speak to Dr Hare?’
‘May I ask who’s calling?’
‘Yes, my name is—’ Sam saw Claire watching her, and felt uncomfortable – ‘Mrs Curtis.’
‘Can I tell him what it is about?’
‘Yes, she said, ‘It’s about his work on dreams. I just wondered if it was possible to have a word?’
‘He’s on a call at the moment.’
‘May I hold?’
‘Yes. You can hold.’
‘Thank you.’ She looked at Claire. ‘I’ve got a splitting headache. Would you mind nipping down to the chemist on the Strand and getting me some Disprin?’
‘Sure, I’ll just finish this—’
‘Now,’ Sam said, more snappily than she had meant.
Claire stood up slowly. Sam handed her a fiver, and Claire walked out of the room.
‘Yes, hello?’ A gentle, slightly nervous voice.
‘Is that Dr Hare?’
‘Speaking.’
‘I’m sorry to – er – bother you . . . I’m calling you because I’m desperate. I need help.’ Her voice was
faltering, breaking up and tears were coming in and choking the words in her throat.
‘Tell me,’ he said patiently, as if he had all the time in the world to listen. ‘Do tell me.’
‘I’m – things are happening. My dreams . . . I’m having—’
Calm down, Sam, for God’s sake! Take it gently.
Don’t sound like a fruitcake
.
‘I keep having dreams which come true, but I can’t read them. They’re slightly different . . . I think I might even be making the future happen. Does that sound daft?’
‘Well, I – could you give me a bit more detail?’
‘Would it be possible to come and see you? Nobody believes me. I really need to talk to someone who knows about dreams. If I could just have half an hour of your time?’ She felt a bit calmer. ‘I don’t think I can really explain it that well over the phone, but I think my life is in danger. And my family, and other people. I just need someone who can maybe explain a few things about dreams to me. If you don’t have the time yourself, perhaps you could suggest someone?’
‘I’d be happy to have a chat. Precognitory dreams are something we are studying here at the moment, so you’ve called at a good time . . . Unfortunately it’ll have to be in April or May, as I’m off to the States on Friday for about two months, lecturing. Perhaps I could contact you when I get back?’
She clutched the phone hard in her hand. ‘I must see you before you go. Please. I can’t – I – I could be dead by then.’
Idiot.
Stupid thing to say.
‘Oh dear,’ he said. There was a silence. ‘That does sound very drastic.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I don’t want to sound dramatic – but it’s true.’
‘I could see you late tomorrow afternoon. Is that any good?’
‘Yes, I—’
‘Where are you phoning from?’
‘London.’
‘It’s a bit of a journey.’
‘I don’t mind.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Old?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thirty-two – well – almost thirty-three.’
‘Ah, good, yes – we are studying subjects in exactly your age group. Ah – if you came up, would you – ah – be prepared – ah – to spend a night in our sleep laboratory – it’s very pleasant – at the university – it’s just like a hotel bedroom – apart from the wiring of course. It would help us – and it might help you?’
‘I’d try anything.’
‘I know that we have a – ah – vacancy in the laboratory tomorrow. That would tie in rather well.’ He had begun to sound quite enthusiastic. ‘I’m going to be – yes – I – I’m at my flat tomorrow afternoon – just opposite the university – perhaps – if you come there – we can have a quiet chat – first?’
He gave her the directions and she repeated them carefully, writing them down, thanking him again and hung up, then looked at her Filofax for any meetings she would have to cancel. She felt a surge of excitement, of hope. Maybe a simple answer. Or would he just say the same too? Sharp antennae and coincidences?
She picked up the next letter on the pile, and opened it.
On the floor below, the front door swung shut behind
Claire as she walked out into the street, and crossed over towards the chemist.