The More You Ignore Me (22 page)

And
then she was past it. She checked her mirror, but even with the help of the
moon, it revealed nothing but a black rectangle, with no clue that she had
passed anything alive.

Bloody
hell, what the fuck was that? she said to herself, in an attempt to steady and
comfort her nerves.

She
then began a dialogue in her head as to what action she should take. What on
earth was someone like that doing out at this time of night, let alone dressed
in men’s clothes and on a spacehopper, for Christ’s sake? Was she pissed or
mad? Pissed probably, found a spacehopper in the garden at a party and decided
to have a bit of a laugh. Yes, that was it.

Still,
as she drove on, her thoughts began to niggle at her, making her feel anxious.
There hadn’t been any evidence of a party all the houses seemed to be sleeping
with their occupants. What if the woman was ill? What if one of those massive
trucks that thundered down that road in the middle of the night didn’t see her
and hit her? She had a vision of the woman and the spacehopper flying up in the
air. A phone box approached on the side of the road. She found herself pulling
in. ‘Better let the cops know,’ she said aloud and her voice frightened her. It
was now very dark, as the moon had concealed itself behind some cloud, and her
childhood imagination took root and began to flower. She saw herself trapped
in the phone box by a murderer, a werewolf… Anything could be out there.

She
pressed down on the accelerator and pulled away, trying to still the guilty
voice inside her that accused her of not giving a shit.

Keith sat huddled in front
of the television and glanced at the clock. Two a.m. and still no sign of Gina.
Alice had phoned him from a call box in Ludlow and told him what had happened
in the market square and how worried she was. Keith had driven over there in
his van and scoured the environs of Ludlow, touching the many areas he knew
Gina loved, High Vinnalls, the castle, Ludlow racecourse and Clee Hill, but
there had been no sign of her. He wondered if he should call the police.
Perhaps he should call Marie Henty. Maybe even Wobbly and Bighead. He shuddered
at the thought of getting those two great wanton behemoths out of their beds.
He was worried that the police would laugh at him, Marie Henty would see it as
a come-on and Wobbly and Bighead would hit him. But he was so desperate for
someone to talk to, eventually he plumped for Marie and bugger the
consequences.

‘Keith,’
a sleepy voice said in response to his initial apology about waking her.

‘I’m
worried about Gina,’ he said.

Marie
had been dreaming about being kissed by Simon Le Bon, not someone she’d ever
really taken any notice of, and was glad to be pulled away from this slobbery
and unpleasant experience.

‘Shall
I come over?’ she said.

‘Well,
she’s not here so there’s no point really’ said Keith.

There’s
every point, thought Marie Henty but didn’t say it.

They
chatted for several minutes, running over recent events, the improvements and
yet concurrent deterioration in Gina’s mental state, and agreed that they would
meet the next day and work out a plan of action to get Gina back into hospital
and stabilised.

As
Keith put the phone down, he realised that talking to Marie had made him
experience a mixture of good emotions: reassured, less anxious, happy even. He
sat for half an hour longer in the chair, running images of her and their
encounters through his mind until, smiling, he fell asleep with the television
on and the applewood in the grate still fizzing and crackling.

Gina
lay in a barn just off the A49, covered with sacking and shivering. An owl
hooted and seemed to say ‘Go home.’ The voices in her head became more
animated. ‘She doesn’t want to go home,’ one said. ‘They hate her there.’ ‘Tell
her to stay away from home,’ said the other voice. ‘They want to lock her up.’

For
once Gina didn’t have to push her hands over her ears and scream at them to
shut up. Exhaustion and hunger were blessedly snuffed out together as she
dropped into a sleep which carried her through a few more painful hours on
earth.

In the
morning when she woke, stiff and cold, her uppermost feelings were physical.
She had a pee in the corner of the barn and set off towards the village,
desperate for something to eat.

It will
have to be Doug’s shop, she thought grimly to herself. It’s the nearest.

The two
voices set up a little round of singing in her head. ‘She’s going to Doug’s
shop,’ they sang tunelessly ‘Silly bitch! Silly bitch!’

It was
seven o’clock in the morning and Doug was laying out the papers in neat rows
along the shelf.

The
door opened to reveal Gina in a state of disarray.

With
his practised eye, Doug did not see just a mad, scary woman, he saw an
emotionally disturbed, frightened unmedicated outpatient who desperately needed
to be an inpatient.

‘I’m
hungry, Dougie,’ said Gina in a child’s voice. ‘Help me please.’

Doug
thought he could buy time by making some breakfast and trying to get on the
phone to Keith while Gina was eating. He took her through to his little back
kitchen and sat her down, popped two slices of white bread into the toaster and
flicked the kettle switch down.

‘Where
have you been, Gina?’ he said pleasantly, as if he was asking her about her
holidays.

‘Dunno,’
said Gina, staring at the toaster and wanting it to disgorge its booty.

‘Does
Keith know where you are?’

‘Dunno,’
said Gina. ‘Where’s my fucking toast?’

The
bell on the shop door tinkled.

‘Hang
on, Gina,’ said Doug. ‘I’ll just see who that is.’

‘Better
not be the fucking Gestapo,’ said Gina, whose hunger was still overriding the
urgent voices in her head telling her to get out of there.

It was
Mrs Langforth from the little cottage on the outskirts who managed a brisk walk
there and back every morning, despite being well into her eighties.

‘There
you go,’ said Doug, handing her a
Daily Mail
and thinking, enjoy having
all your prejudices reinforced, you old bag.

He
walked back into the kitchen where Gina seemed to have lapsed into catatonia
and buttered the toast.

‘Marmalade
or jam?’ he asked politely continuing the fantasy that she’d come round for a
social breakfast.

Gina
didn’t answer but rose, grabbed the two slices of toast from his hand and tried
to stuff all of it into her mouth at once.

‘Bloody
hell,’ said Doug, ‘you must be starving. Sit down, I’ll make you some more —
and some tea,’ he added, noticing her dry, cracked lips.

He put
some tea bags into the teapot and put more bread in the toaster.

‘Just
going for a piss,’ he said cheerfully.

He ran
into the little front room and dialled Keith’s number. Keith answered
immediately.

‘Keith,
she’s here,’ he said. ‘Come and help.’

‘On my
way’ said Keith and Doug heard the receiver crash into its cradle.

He
walked back into the kitchen, only to find an empty seat and an open door.

‘Shit,’
he said and ran outside, looking desperately in both directions. In front of
Mrs Langforth, running for all she was worth, was Gina, heading for Wales.

Doug
broke into a run, passing Mrs Langforth, whose progress back home was always at
half the speed of her outward journey.

Despite
all the years of major tranquillisers and no exercise, the memory of the days
when she could run faster than not only all the girls in her class at school
but the boys too had stayed with Gina. However, Doug, whose bulky body
constantly let him down, was fired with the adrenalin of his work memories and
knew that he had to grab her now or they might not see her in one piece again.
He managed to grab the tail of Gina’s jacket, causing her to trip and fall to
the ground, half in and half out of the hedgerow.

Doug
pounced and landed on top of Gina as she tried to grab a tree stump and pull
herself up.

Mrs
Langforth, about twenty yards away, gaped at them short-sightedly Doug looked
like some marauding, pillaging Norseman intent on getting his woman. She began
to increase her speed, shouting as she went, ‘Stop it, young man, stop it!’

Gina
and Doug were rolling on the ground, Gina screaming, ‘Get off me, you fat fuck!
Piss off and leave me alone.’

Mrs
Langforth reached the thrashing pair and brought her walking stick, fashioned
with the silver head of a pheasant, cracking down on Doug’s head.

‘I told
you to get off her!’ she shouted by way of explanation.

As Doug
lay stunned and throbbing in the ditch, Gina made her escape and a smile of
satisfaction spread across Mrs Langforth’s face.

‘What
did you do that for?’ said Doug. ‘She’s not well, I’m trying to hold on to her
until her husband gets here and we’re going to take her to hospital.’

‘Oh,
why didn’t you say?’ said Mrs Langforth. ‘I could have helped.’

Doug
swore under his breath and looked down the road. Gina had disappeared. She must
have got to the crossroads. Which way had she gone? Anybody’s guess.

Keith
drew up in his van as Doug was heading back to the shop.

‘Sorry,’
said Keith, winding the window down. ‘Bloody van wouldn’t start, had to get
some WD40.’

‘She’s legged
it,’ said Doug. ‘Couldn’t stop her, and that old bird Langforth cracked me on
the head with her bloody walking stick, thought I was attacking Gina.’

‘Sorry,’
said Keith again, but this time because he was starting to laugh.

‘Yeah,
yeah, very funny’ said Doug, rubbing his head ruefully.

‘Shall
we get after her then?’ said Keith.

‘Shit,’
said Doug. ‘I’ve left the shop unattended. Let me get someone to cover. You
have a look now, she can’t have got far, and come back and get me in half an
hour.’

‘All
right,’ said Keith. ‘You haven’t got a shotgun, have you, Doug?’

Doug
looked slightly alarmed. ‘What for?’

‘Thought
I’d finish off Langforth for you.’ Keith grinned and pulled away.

For the
next couple of hours, Keith and Doug zigzagged backwards and forwards between
Shropshire and Herefordshire in a vain search for Gina, who despite her
disturbed state was proving extremely adept at hiding.

Eventually,
Doug turned to Keith and said, ‘Shall we have a pint and make a plan?’

‘Okey
dokey,’ said Keith. ‘And I’ll call Marie Henty to come and join the
discussion.’

Marie Henty
arrived at the pub within five minutes and ordered herself a Dubonnet and
lemonade.

‘Drinking
on duty?’ said Doug, one eyebrow slightly raised. ‘Shut it, Doug,’ said Marie. ‘Extenuating
circumstances. ‘‘Right,’ said Keith. ‘We need someone to wait at the cottage in
case she comes back, someone to go and tell her brothers she’s on the loose and
to hold on to her, and someone to drive round looking for her. OK, any
volunteers to wait at the cottage?’

‘Yes,’
said Doug and Marie together.

‘I
think perhaps Marie,’ said Keith. ‘No disrespect but we probably need a bit of
brute strength when we catch up with her.’

‘OK,’
said Marie, ‘but what about Alice, couldn’t she do it?’

‘She’s
not there,’ said Keith, ‘but obviously when she gets back, you can come and
join in.’ He turned to Doug. ‘Do you want to go and see Wobbly and Bighead
then?’

‘You’re
fucking joking, aren’t you?’ said Doug. ‘They’ll kill me.’

‘They’ll
kill me too,’ said Keith gloomily.

‘Tell
you what,’ said Doug, ‘let’s go together and then we’ll go and look some more.

‘Should
we tell the police?’ asked Marie. ‘I mean, it might be useful for them to keep
a lookout.’

‘S’pose
so,’ said Keith. ‘All right, Marie, can you call them?’

‘Will
do,’ said Marie.

Keith’s
van rumbled up the track towards the Wildgoose smallholding and as he always
did at the sound of anyone approaching, Bighead appeared to see who it was.

As they
pulled up, he went over to the car.

‘Well,
bugger me if it isn’t Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,’ he said. ‘Although
neither of you’s exactly butch, are yer?’

Doug
giggled nervously like a schoolgirl while Keith tried to maintain the demeanour
of a grown-up.

‘What’s
happened to your ‘ead?’ said Bighead, looking at the ostentatious sticking
plaster Doug had applied.

‘Mrs
Langforth hit him with her walking stick,’ said Keith without thinking, and
then seeing Doug’s thunderous look and realising the endless possibilities for
piss-taking, he mouthed, ‘Sorry.’

Bighead
let out a huge throaty laugh which degenerated into an explosive phlegmy cough
that nearly doubled him up.