2007 - The Dead Pool (16 page)

She knew he was watching her every move.

‘Professor Beattie, I just want to find out what happened. What I did or didn’t do.’

‘I know. I know. This is just the beginning. Let’s give it time.’

‘I can feel the blindfold. A napkin. Soft. lona’s putting it on. She’s saying…what is that? Sounds like, ‘Just in case you feel like cheating.’ And she’s laughing and saying something else. ‘Can I borrow your sarong? Don’t want to get my legs, or back, scratched up.’

‘Okay, Morag. Just let your mind be still for a moment. Relax.’

She shifted slightly, enjoying the comfort of Professor Beattie’s deep, enveloping sofa. He’d been right. She hadn’t lost her reason. She knew where she was. And it was the most relaxing of environments. Low lighting and so quiet. She allowed her attention to drift back to the professor’s voice again, enjoying his gentle, reassuring tones.

‘lona thought you might cheat. How do you feel about that?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘lona’s taken your sarong. How do you feel about
tbaf?
’

‘Don’t know.’

‘You don’t know? But it’s yours!’

‘I’m going to get it back. After this stupid game. I didn’t even want to play the game in the first place, did I? And now I’m going to be left behind. And I don’t want to be left behind, alone. It’s not fair.’

‘What’s happening now, Morag?’

‘I…I don’t know. I feel woozy and…and Ally’s spinning me round now. I’ve almost lost my balance but I’m okay. I’m sitting on the wall now. Counting. I can hear some giggles, whispers, quite loud even above the sound of the weir. And…now, I can hear the rusding of feet in the grass and someone running past me on the path. They’re all going to hide.’

‘And you’re still counting?’

‘I must be at about twenty now.’

‘That’s very slow. You’ve got to get to a hundred. They’ll be very well hidden by the time you finish.’

‘That doesn’t matter.’

‘Why?’

She felt herself shake with laughter. ‘Because lona was right. I
am
going to cheat. I’m going to look. They won’t know. They’ve got their backs to me. Running away.’

‘And what do you see?’

She could smell the river now, feel the residual heat of the day, even though the sun was casting long shadows. ‘I can’t see Ally. Maybe it was him I heard running past me. But I
can
see Fraser and Bonnie. Far in front of me, running up the hill into the undergrowth. Bonnie’s giggling. I can hear it drifting back to me. Oh…I feel sick. Really sick.’

‘And the others. Where are Craig and lona? Have they gone?’

‘Yes. No! My sarong. The colour. A vermilion flash at the other side of the bridge. They’ve gone over the footbridge. Are they going up the art gallery steps? No…no! I can see the red. It helps me to follow their progress. And it’s fine, just fine.’

She could feel herself trying to pull the non-existent blindfold back down.

‘Why is it fine, Morag?’

She could feel a smirk twitching at her mouth.

‘Because I know exactly where they’re hiding.’

Craig Inine inched out into the busy summer holiday traffic on an already nose-to-tail busy Queensferry Road. It was a shitty way to start any Sunday morning, let alone the blistering scorcher this one was going to be. But he had to get away from Morag, so an excuse to go in and handle a phantom ‘emergency’ at the office was perfect. Who cared if she didn’t believe him. Sleeping in, mildly to moderately hung-over, the echo of Morag’s grumpy voice ringing round and round in his head had decided him. Escape for the morning and then go on to that afternoon’s river party
.

It was crystal clear that Morag didn’t want to go—or rather, didn’t want him to go without her. She was being bloody-minded. If he went, then so would she. If he didn’t, then neither would she. A limpet. That’s what she’d become. He’d suspected for some time, despite his and lona’s best efforts to keep her booked or drugged up, that Morag knew about them. And maybe that was no bad thing
.

He revved the engine to catch the lights before they turned to red and then found himself stranded in a box junction, being tooted at by irate drivers. Wonderful! He scrabbled on the floor of the passenger seat footwell to retrieve the half bottle of stale mineral water that had been rolling about there for days. God, he was feeling more awful by the minute. Still, he could hide in his office all morning and recover. Morag had insisted that he come back and walk her down to the river. Fine. He would. And maybe, just maybe, it would be the last time. In fact…yes, somewhere in his unconscious he knew he’d been hatching this plan. After all, he’dbeen thinking about doing it for weeks. Today was the day. He’d tell her at the party. It was over. He and lona were together now
.

Morag would no doubt make a scene, go ballistic. But Bonnie would be there. She was good at the calming down bit. And if Morag tried to have ago at lona…well, she could look after herself in any cat fight. But he’d have to pick his moment. Not straight away. No, the best time would be late on. When—andhe’d have to ensure this
—
Morag was well tanked up. Then he and lona could disappear into the sunset. He slugged at the tepid water and sighed, grateful that the traffic was flowing at last. It was a good plan, wasn’t it? Not just the fucked-up desperation of his hangover talking to him? After all, he’d not talked to lona about any of it. She’d go along with it, wouldn’t she? Come to think of it, lona hadn’t had any serious conversation with him about ‘them’, where they were going, how they felt about each other. But they’d been together a while now, she had to feel the same. Otherwise, why hang around with him?

Of course, at the start, lona had targeted him, just like he’d seen her target other men. And ‘just topping up Morag a little bit more’, be it with booze or drugs, had been her idea initially. Then it had become a habit. No, it didn’t leave him feeling very proud of himself. But it had just happened. The same way that deceiving Morag had initially been almost by accident. But who could resist lona? No, he didn’t need to talk with her about their future together. About her feelings for him. Words didn’t matter. She showed what she felt. How she showed it!

The glinting slab of the company building was in sight now, the morning sun striking off his tenth-floor office windows. He pulled into the deserted carpark and switched off the engine. Slowly, he made his way towards the main entrance, nodded at the security guard and passed through the barrier. Inside the empty lift he stared at his reflection in the mirrored walls. Once upon a time you were just a bit of a vain lad. Good-looking lady bait, who did science but didn’t look or behave like a nerd. Now you’re looking a bit the worse for wear. The shitty part of you is beginning to show on the outside. Time to do something about it, lad. Be with who you really want to be with. He drew a hand down over his hungover features and then turned away, slamming the side of his fist into the tenth-floor button. Then he leant his head back against the cool wall, eyes closed, a smile twitching at his mouth. Only a few more hours. Then heand lona would be together…

He felt lona’s hands lightly touching his back as he picked his way through the undergrowth. It was the perfect place. Enough cover to do what they had in mind
.

‘
God, Craig, is it much further? These bloody trees are determined to attack me
.’

He stopped and turned round to embrace her, rubbing the invisible scratch. ‘Hey, it’s great here. We can keep an eyeon everyone else but they’ll not have a clue where we are. I promise you. Everyone thinks you can’t get along here. But I saw the river association work crew doing some clearing a couple of months ago. The entrance is overgrown again, but we can get through. Come on
.’

He kissed her lightly on the mouth and put an arm round her waist. ‘Now, just a little bit further…a few steps and…here we are. The perfect place to chill out.’ He signalled for her to crouch down with him, his arm still round her waist. ‘We can spy on them, but they can’t see us. Look. There’s Morag still counting
.’

He felt a suppressed giggle tremble through lona
.

‘
Ssh. Sound carries here
.’

‘
All right, all right. But I was wondering.’ She clamped ahand to her mouth to muffle the laughter and then went on. I was wondering what number she’s at. And whether she’s made it out of single digits yet!
’

He joined in the stifled spluttering while, very slowly, unwrapping lona’s body from Morag’s sarong
.

Oblivious to the eyes observing them
.

K
irstin felt ill from exhaustion. She’d risen at six, grateful for another sunny morning and a return to reality. Her night’s sleep had been peppered with almost schizo-phrenically opposed images and dreams. Glen: smiling, holding her hand as they walked by the river. Ross: angry, drunken, taking a sledgehammer to Jamie’s gravestone. And then turning towards her, eyes blazing, a ghostly Annelise Linklater approached from behind, babe in arms.

The news of Ross’s impending marriage had come as a complete surprise. If nothing else it showed that, despite his original protestations when she’d left him, he most certainly could live without her
and
thrive. She wasn’t envious. The last person on earth she’d want to be married to was Ross, though she had to be honest, her ego was just a bit dented. But then Glen was an effective antidote for any bruised ego.

And what about Jamie? In the space of one short week, her feelings, her motivations had shifted. There were two Jamies to grapple with now. Should she even try? Jamie was gone. Maybe by his own hand, maybe by pure accident. Should she just remember him as he was? Ross had delivered his painful and now increasingly persuasive analysis. Glen too, despite all he’d confided, seemed to be warning her off. For her own sake, and for the sake of Jamie’s memory.

Donald Ferguson was the exception. He didn’t offer any other explanation for Jamie’s death. All he knew was that his oldest friend had been behaving increasingly oddly. Of course he wouldn’t want to admit that it had been a prelude to suicide. Poor Donald would never be able to live with himself if he thought that. Maybe it
was
time to close the book on Jamie and maybe it was right not to dig any deeper. If she did, what else might she find that she didn’t like?

But there were two things she had to do. First, she
would
take up Ross’s offer of moving into Mill House for a few days to go through Jamie’s office. Besides, the lettings agency had a booking for her flat, so Ross’s offer was timely. Secondly, she was going to spend some time with Morag Ramsay. Sit down with her and see what help she could offer. Even if it was just putting the poor woman in touch with her friends in Devon who ran a seaside hotel business. Perhaps it was time for her to talk to Morag’s former river friends too. She sighed, feeling weary. Or maybe she could at least talk to Ally Sutherland? Try to reason with him about Morag. Though, if the other night was anything to go by, she couldn’t imagine Ally appreciating her interference on Morag’s behalf.

And what of Morag? Should she drop round to that immaculate—almost too immaculate—house? With its clean yet stark, even clinical, character that echoed the rigid and brittle side to Morag’s nature. It was, indeed, the perfect house for her. Or should she just give Morag a call instead? But Kirstin knew she didn’t have the energy for either a visit or a phone call right now. Though she did want to know how things had gone with the hypnotherapist. Kirstin frowned and shook her head. Morag’s reluctance to try the technique puzzled her. As did her disproportionate reaction to Ally Sutherland’s presence at the Cauldron. But how could
she
judge? Thankfully, she wasn’t in Morag’s position. Besides, normal rules of behaviour and rationality just didn’t apply in her situation, did they?

Morag glanced at the wall calendar in the kitchen.
Damn
. This was all she needed. She’d known for weeks that Dr Lockhart was going away. But the time, running unusually slowly most days, seemed to have galloped away with her. Now she was going to be alone for two whole weeks. She could feel a relapse coming on.

The session with Professor Beattie had left her depressed. In contrast, he’d seemed almost jubilant. ‘
Youhave a new memory. Of cheating. That’sprogress, Morag. I thought you were going to start blocking, but we got there. Well done
.’ She’d initially felt fine sitting there, fully aware. In control, and yet not. But, afterwards, she’d felt sick, physically sick. As sick as she had that Sunday last August. The entire hypnosis episode had stayed with her. She’d been feeling strange ever since…detached, dreamy, unreal. As for the cheating? That wasn’t a new memory. She remembered only too well tracking the colourful sarong on its weaving progress over to the wooded area. But she’d have been a fool to admit that to anyone, even Dr Lockhart. The fact that Professor Beattie had got the information out of her may have been progress to him, but it wasn’t to her. It was disturbing. She wasn’t going back to him, and there was nothing Dr Lockhart or anyone else could do about it.

Morag crept from the darkened kitchen. With a final glance over her shoulder, she checked that all the blinds were down before heading into the hallway. Might as well go back to bed, even though it was late afternoon. She’d take a pill, try to get something approaching dreamless, nightmare-less sleep, though her waking time now seemed like a dream. Almost as if she was floating above herself, existing apart from her physical body. Or even as if she didn’t exist at all, leaving her with the feeling that this was all a dream. She’d felt like this before. In adolescence, when it had been the precursor of severe depression.
Derealization, depersonalization
, the shrink had called it. A terrifying experience. But now, she had to fight it, hold on to reality. Yes, she was in trouble. Yes, she was going to lose her—very real—home. And yes, her feelings of anger, of fury, were only too real. But…still the remote, airy feeling persisted.