Out of Sight Out of Mind (12 page)

‘He jumped off a bridge.’ Madison’s voice was hollow, echoing in her own ears. ‘He drove down to Bristol. It was where we met – we were at the university together.’ She drew in a deep, ragged breath. ‘We lived in Clifton. He went back there. He parked the car and walked out on to the Suspension Bridge. And then he jumped. A week before the wedding.’

Jay swallowed. ‘Could there—’

‘There was no mistake. He left a note.’ She winced at the memory – it had just been a jumble of random phrases, with the word sorry repeated over and over. Eight times. She’d counted. ‘He’d been on medication, for depression. It came out at the Inquest. I didn’t know.’

‘I … I’m sorry.’ He let go of her shoulders.

Without the bone-crunching grip she felt cold. She looked up at him, empty, but curious. There was real concern in his face, not the usual embarrassment or avid prying.

‘Everyone will have told you this,’ he continued, eyes focused, unflinching, on her. ‘Suicide is not the survivor’s fault.’

‘I know.’ She looked down, studying her feet, encased today in dark pink kitten heels. Close to Jay’s. His were bare. A tremor ran through her. ‘I’ve read all the pamphlets, had all the counselling. It does help.’ She straightened up, pushed back her hair. ‘You may as well know it all. Neil’s death wasn’t the first violent loss in my life.’ She gulped, trying to clear a throat that was as dry as glass paper. ‘When I was fifteen years old, my parents were murdered. The killer was never found. I know what it’s like to be alone, Jay … I’ve lost everyone I ever loved.’ She held his gaze. ‘That’s a fact. I’m not looking for sympathy.’

‘You have it, just the same.’

She nodded abruptly.

The gesture caught Jay under the heart. Her face was stoic, her eyes dry, her back straight. The bravado and vulnerability of her upflung head turned inside him, like a spike. His hand was twitching, wanting to reach out, to touch her cheek—

The doorbell rang.

Madison stood in the centre of the room, getting her emotions under control, hearing Jay’s low rumble and the lighter flow of a woman’s voice. He came back after a few moments, clutching an enormous bottle of champagne. ‘From Mrs McBride – I told her she didn’t need to do this, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer.’ With an embarrassed shuffle, he indicated the champagne. ‘I’ll go and put this in the kitchen somewhere.’

‘No.’ Madison shook her head, knowing her eyes were gleaming. ‘I’ve got a better idea. Let’s open it. And get expensively, irresponsibly drunk.’

‘Water chestnut?’ Jay fished in a narrow waxed carton and brandished his loaded chopsticks at her. Madison held out her dish and offered the champagne in exchange. Halfway down the bottle she’d decided she was hungry. They’d ordered in from the Chinese restaurant across the street. Spring rolls and noodles and sweet and sour sauce were mopping up the alcohol. She shook her head when Jay reached to top up her glass. He drained the last few drops into his own.

‘I have a feeling we may regret this in the morning,’ Madison said, pleased not to be slurring. She was feeling light and rather floaty and the pain of remembering Neil had bundled up into ball and receded to a safe distance. Now all she had to worry about was the man sitting opposite her. The gorgeous man sitting opposite her. Whose mouth she wanted to kiss.

She sat up, with a start. She wasn’t that drunk. And neither was Jay. She could see it in his eyes as he watched her.

‘What?’ She swirled the dregs in her glass and put it down.

‘I’ve never asked—’ He stopped.

‘Asked what?’ A cool trickle of caution found its way through the warmth of the champagne.

‘What’s it like—’ He’d finished eating and was slouched against the sofa, arms spread along the back. ‘What’s it like, for you, when you’re inside someone’s head? When you hear their thoughts?’

‘Not hear. It’s more like feel.’ She pretended to search through the containers on the table, looking for scraps. ‘I don’t read people’s thoughts. I told you that.’

‘Did you?’

‘When we first met.’

‘Hmmm.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘I wasn’t exactly taking everything in around then. So, what is it like? What you feel?’

He was still flopped back, boneless, against the sofa. She watched him, sideways, over an empty box. If this was an interrogation, he was pretty relaxed about it
. Which doesn’t mean you can be.

She studied him, nerves alert. The open-armed position stretched the dark green T-shirt across the muscles of his chest. This man had saved a small boy’s life this afternoon. She tried to process the swirl of emotion that produced, and found she couldn’t.

He was waiting, patiently, for her to continue. She toyed with the contradictions in him for a moment, patience and impatience, then abandoned the conundrum. He was male, and therefore a bundle of contradictions. She chewed a finger, thinking through the alcohol in her blood. What did he want, now, at this very minute? What was he prepared to wait for? What did he expect her to give up?

‘If you don’t want to share, that’s cool,’ he said eventually, lifting one shoulder and turning away.

The shuttering in his eyes sent a spasm through her. If this was just straightforward interest … He was letting her wander through his mind at will, and she couldn’t even answer a simple question without searching all round it for hidden traps. She wanted to tell him, to take that look away.

Now who’s being contradictory?
What if that’s what he’s counting on?

Oh, to hell with this.

She yanked a skein of hair behind her ear. ‘I find it difficult to explain.’
Nothing but the truth there
. ‘I don’t read minds, not the way you see it portrayed on TV and film. When I go in – it’s emotions, senses, all jumbled. There are colours and scents. I can taste things like fear. There are big blocks of sensation, like an abstract painting. That’s in the present. As far as the past is concerned, I access memory like looking through an archive of pictures.’

‘And I don’t have that archive.’

You’re not like the average subject, either. When I go into you, you can feel me. It’s intimate.
She put her hand to her mouth, to stop the thought travelling anywhere else. Like out into the air. The champagne was having more effect than she’d bargained on. She couldn’t complain. It had been her idea.

‘Er … No.’ Her voice came out strangled. She did a little breathing. And with it came an idea.
Turn the tables
. ‘What do you feel? When I’m inside your head?’

His chin came up and his head rested on the back of the sofa as he considered. The strength in the exposed column of his throat set something inside her purring. She wanted to nuzzle, then nip
. Do not drink champagne with this man again.
Then –
Who are you kidding? You want things like that, with or without the champagne.

He’d sorted out his answer, and lifted his head. ‘It’s not painful, not unless I already have a headache. It’s like a buzz. I have to concentrate, to be able to think. Sometimes it feels as if there’s too much in there, with you and me, and that’s uncomfortable. Sometimes it feels as if I’m on the edge of something.’ A look of surprise crossed his face, at the analysis. ‘Hey – I didn’t know I knew so much about it. Does any of that make sense?’

‘Yes.’ She was intrigued, despite herself. ‘You know, we ought to document this. I’ve never had a subject with this strong a reaction. Most can’t feel anything.’
Which makes being in their minds a curiously lonely experience.
‘There are a few of my regular subjects who are learning to respond.’ She clasped her hands together. ‘Maybe we’ve been concentrating too hard on the amnesia. Maybe we should diversify. Look at other areas we might develop.’
You spoke to me once. I
know
you did.

He wasn’t moving. His eyes were opaque, then something glinted in the shadowy blue. Reluctance. He didn’t want to do what she asked, but he wasn’t going to say no to her. The realisation put a sour taste in her mouth.

‘We’ll talk about it some more.’ At random she picked up the TV guide from the table, then her interest sharpened. ‘Hey, there’s a double bill of the old Hammer horror movies.’ She reached for the remote. ‘Christopher Lee, doing his thing in Black Park.’ The set crackled into life.

‘Black Park?’

‘It’s woodland, not far from here, close to the film studios in Denham. They used it a lot for location shots. Don’t you know anything about vintage British vampire flicks?’

‘Apparently not.’

Madison settled herself more comfortably in her seat. ‘Watch and learn, then.’ She grinned as the titles rolled. ‘Watch and learn.’

There was a phone ringing somewhere. Alec reached blearily for his mobile.

‘
Evening Standard
. Final edition.’

Calver sat up, galvanised awake, brain spluttering expletives that never reached his lips. Kong wasn’t supposed to have this number.

‘What about it?’ he asked cautiously.

‘Page fourteen.’

Alec got out of bed. He’d dumped the paper beside his attaché case in the next room. He’d got bored at page five.

The continued heavy breathing on the line told him his boss hadn’t hung up. And that he wasn’t happy.

When he saw page fourteen, Alec understood.

‘Low-profile operation. Utmost secrecy.’ Kong spat the words so hard Alec almost instinctively moved to wipe his face. ‘So why is there a picture of Jayston Creed splashed across half a page?’

‘Uh – that wasn’t in the plan, sir.’

‘If I thought it was, I’d be eating your balls in a sandwich, Calver. Any fallout, you will deal. Understood?’

‘Sir!’

Kong was rumbling on, ‘That guy always has to be a fucking hero.’

‘That’s what we’re counting on, to make this thing work.’ Alec was getting back into control. ‘Plus there are only about five people still alive who can identify Jayston Creed, and none of the others are in this country. No one will see it.’

‘I trust not.’

The phone clicked off before Alec could make a response. He flung the paper on the table and squinted at the headline. ‘Local fucking hero!’

‘Hero.’ Jonathan sighed and fluttered his eyelashes at Madison, grinning. ‘Bulging muscles, flexing pecs. Now will you take him to bed?’

‘I wish you’d shut up about that,’ Madison growled, trying to get her desk in order with Jonathan perched on the end of it and the legacy of slightly too much champagne scudding around between her ears.

She and Jay had watched both horror movies. It had felt good, to have him there, but she wasn’t fooling herself. Even under the influence of the champagne, there’d been a constraint between them, overriding that current of awareness. They’d been conscious of each other, but careful not to touch. One thing she had established – alcohol had no effect on Jay’s loss of memory. Which was something else to put in the negative column.

She’d banged on his door, not too hard, this morning. Getting no answer, she’d left him to follow her, in his own time.

‘Don’t fight it. Sleep with the he-man. Broaden your experience. You know you want to.’ Jonathan laughed and ducked out of the door when she threatened him with a file.

Madison put the file down and flopped into her desk chair. She dropped her head in her hands.
Wanting to
wasn’t the problem.

Jay arrived, looking sheepish and a little ragged, just before lunch. He was squinting in the sunlight that bounced off the white walls. He’d shaved, but there was a tiny nick on the side of his chin. Madison had to battle the impulse to touch it. If she’d kept her hands off him last night, she could certainly do it now.

She had her implements of torture waiting for him. He grimaced when he saw the syringes, unbuttoning his sleeve on his way to the couch.

‘How’s your head?’ she asked, adjusting the blinds.

‘So-so. Not improved by the bus ride here. You?’

‘About the same.’ Madison looked down at the medication she’d prepared. ‘We don’t have to do this.’

‘Yes we do.’ Jay’s eyes were determined.

She pursed her lips. ‘Okay, so we do. But we don’t have to do it
here
.’

Jay sprawled on the sofa, with a cushion under his head. Madison, out of her work clothes and in a pink cotton sweater and jeans, had tied her hair back with a white silk scarf, winding the ends into a loose knot. She squeezed his hand to get his attention. ‘Ready?’

He nodded. Madison pressed the button on the recorder, perched herself on the arm of the sofa and dropped into his mind. She approached from an angle, the way she’d learned caused the least disruption.

She knew, in two seconds, that this time things were different.

The kaleidoscope of images had shifted subtly. They were more ordered, with a sharp, bright line around them. The traces of hangover put a fellow-sufferer’s smile on her lips, even as her heart accelerated in excitement.

‘Jay?’
She reached out with the probe she always began with, automatically trying to form the formless into Jay’s name.

Something swirled
. ‘Yes?’

She almost dropped the connection.
‘You can hear me? Hear the actual words?’

‘I feel the words
.’ Puzzlement and excitement washed towards her in a silver tide.
‘I can talk to you!’

‘Oh God!’

‘You’ve done it!’

She couldn’t tell if the jubilation was him or her. ‘
We’ve
done it.’

With a thrilling spurt of triumph, she pulled her resources together and surged forward. Met the wall – and bounced off with a skull-searing recoil.

‘Hell, hell, hell!’

‘Ouch!’

Both their brains were spinning. She fell out into safety, reeling. Only Jay’s grip kept her from falling off the sofa.

‘What the hell was that?’

She put up a shaky hand. ‘It was like that first morning.’ A measure of relief flowed through her. She hadn’t imagined that communication. ‘You were reading my mind as I was reading yours.’

‘Telepathy.’ The bitterness in his voice brought her down with a bump.

‘Hey!’ She thumped his shoulder, not caring whether it was the good one or not. ‘We
talked!
This is progress. Something worked. We got back to where we were. We can
use
this.’