Sleepwalker, p.5
Sleepwalker, page 5
At seven, he is staring through the curtains at the dark night sky, his excitement building with each set of headlights that approach, but none stop and pull onto the drive. He has messaged to ask for an ETA, but she hasn’t responded yet. He tries to ignore his growing frustration. In her defence, Lucy had no idea what he was planning, and although she said she should be finished by six, he didn’t tell her he had planned anything. He knows she struggles to keep regular hours, often working late into the evening once Sienna has been collected from school. His daughter has told him as much.
By seven thirty he is starting to panic slightly. She hasn’t replied to any of his messages, and when he tried calling her, the phone was off. He is assuming the battery has died and that is why she hasn’t seen any of his messages. But it annoys him that she could have phoned from the office to give him an update on what time she will be back.
By eight o’clock he has phoned and left a message on the answerphone, and he has called Geraldine, but she didn’t answer his call. The dinner is now cold, the bottle of wine all but empty, and his frustration has been replaced by major anxiety. He can’t stop thinking that something bad has happened. There’s no logical reason he can think of for her radio silence. If she’d broken down, he’s sure she would find a phone or a means of contacting him to let him know. The only thing that would stop her phoning is if she’d been in an accident and had no means of letting him know. But if she’d been taken to the hospital, he’s sure the staff would have called him as her next of kin.
At quarter past eight, he can’t sit on the sofa any longer and reaches for his jacket ready to go and search for her, when he hears keys in the front door, and a tired-looking Lucy walks in a moment later.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she calls out to nobody in particular.
He is so relieved that he can barely contain himself, hurrying over to her and hugging her.
‘Something smells nice,’ she comments as the whiff of the ruined dinner floats out from the kitchen.
‘I made your favourite,’ he tells her, but a heavy frown falls across her face.
‘Oh, did you? I wish you’d said. I’ve already eaten. Geraldine and I grabbed a pizza at work. Sorry. Do you think it will keep until tomorrow?’
His heart sinks, and it’s late enough that he’s lost his appetite as well. Not wanting to ruin the evening, he leads her through to the living room, and plonks her on the sofa, before attempting to remove her shoes, but she pulls her feet away as he starts to massage one of them.
‘I’m sorry, but I have a ton of work still to do tonight. Do you mind?’
He gently lowers her foot, and tells her he understands, and watches as she stands and heads off to the little office, closing the door behind her.
8
‘No joy?’
My eyes widen as I find myself inside a small office, tall filing cabinets covering every wall, and only stopping where the wooden door stands open with Brenda leaning against the doorframe.
How did I get here? I was outside in the gardens with the smoking man.
‘Maybe try again later, love. What do you say?’
I meet Brenda’s stare, but don’t understand what she’s saying, until she steps forward and extracts something hard and plastic from the fingers of my right hand.
A phone? Who was I calling? Why can’t I remember how I got in here?
‘I need to call my daughter,’ I blurt out, remembering the last thing I was discussing with that man.
It’s Brenda’s turn to look confused, as the crow’s feet beside her eyes bunch together.
‘But you just did try and ring her; nobody was home.’
I pull up the sleeve of my pyjama top, only now realising I’m no longer wearing the cagoule, but am equally frustrated to recall I don’t have my watch.
‘What time is it?’
Brenda looks up at the wall behind me. ‘Nearly five o’clock, love. Maybe they’ve gone out for dinner.’
Turning, I see the clock on the wall over my shoulder. How can it be so late? I’m sure we left Ilfracombe at ten and it should only have taken two hours to cross, so we must have arrived at the clinic a little after twelve. Have I really been here for almost five hours?
‘Can I try again, please?’ I ask Brenda, holding out my hand for the phone.
She spends what feels like an age considering my request, before handing the phone back. I take it in my hands, my mind temporarily blanking. It’s been so long since I had to remember a number, as usually I just locate the name in my mobile. Sienna will be at Geraldine’s, so if I’ve just phoned there, I must know what the number is.
‘Can I have some privacy?’ I ask, trying to buy some time for my memory to kick in, and Brenda reluctantly leaves the room, leaving the door ajar as she stands guard outside.
I try to visualise my mobile’s phone screen, Geraldine’s name and the numbers that usually appear beneath it. Keeping my eyes closed, I try to picture the digits in my mind’s eye, until they look right, and then punch them into the phone.
It begins to ring, so whatever number I have dialled at least exists, whether it’s Geraldine’s or not. I listen to the rings counting down to the moment when I’ll be able to hear Sienna’s sweet, angelic voice, but I have no idea what I’m going to say. Hopefully, Geraldine will be the one to answer the phone and she can let me know what story has been told to Sienna, so I don’t end up saying the wrong thing. I imagine Geraldine will hover nearby to monitor what I say anyway.
I will just tell Sienna what she needs to hear: that I love her and that I’ll be home soon. But to be honest, I don’t know which of us needs to hear that most.
The phone continues to ring, but then the answer machine cuts in and the robotic-sounding voice announces that nobody is home. I could leave a message for Sienna, but part of the reason for phoning was so I could hear her voice and answer any questions she might have. Leaving a message feels like cheating. I end the call before the machine beeps and return the phone to the charging port.
‘Still not home,’ I tell Brenda as I pull the door open, and she offers a sympathetic frown.
‘As I said, you can try again later. They could be out to dinner now. You’ll have better luck next time.’
She begins to move away, encouraging me to follow her.
‘Can I go back outside for some fresh air?’ I ask, the corridor feeling stale and lifeless.
She leans in conspiratorially. ‘Probably best to avoid the garden for now to be honest, love.’
‘How come?’
‘Well, with Sully doing his rounds… trust me, better to stay away from that one.’
She must be referring to the guy with the nest of grey hair, talking like he’s doing hard time in a prison movie.
‘Is that the man who was speaking to me?’
Brenda nods. ‘Far be it for me to speak ill of any of our guests, but there’s more going on there than just sleeping issues. If he gets his claws in, he’ll tell you all sorts of conspiracy theories; many of them sound so plausible until you understand his background and mental health concerns.’ She pulls a face of admonishment. ‘I’ve already said too much. Just steer clear if you can.’ She glances at her watch again. ‘It’s nearly supper time, though, so it would be better if you head to The Butterfly Room now and get some food.’
For her to speak so candidly of someone who can only have been here a couple of days feels wrong, but before I can challenge her, she’s off again, quick marching along the corridor. She leads me through the brown door, to a further corridor, past a room marked for staff only, and then to a large room adorned with paper butterflies. Each one has been haphazardly cut out and coloured with felt tip pens, like you’d expect to see in a primary school classroom. The room is huge, the hardwood laminate floor stretching to large, covered windows, filling the space with natural light. There are square tables to my right, each with four aluminium chairs stationed beneath, and against the wall is a large table, covered with lidded hot plates. The air is as stale as the corridor, so I don’t think they’ve brought out the food yet.
To the left there are three easels, large drawer units, and three faux leather sofas in a U-shape around a television screen. There are two men in white pyjamas sitting on one of the sofas playing cards, but neither look up as we approach.
‘Make yourself comfortable, and supper will be out soon. I think Dr Carpenter will come and collect you after you’ve eaten.’
She doesn’t say goodbye as she turns on her heel and exits the room, leaving the door open. I nod in the direction of the two men playing cards, but neither acknowledges me and they continue with their game. Beyond them is an old wooden bookcase, and I cross to it to scrutinise the covers. There’s a range of genres in no discernible order. Not alphabetised by title, cover or set out in genres, and not by any authors I’m particularly familiar with; not that I’d call myself a voracious reader. Lucy was the bookworm out of the two of us, but she tended to read on her Kindle, so we didn’t keep books on shelves, other than those picture books that Sienna still loves to read.
She must be finding it so odd to be staying at Geraldine and Ray’s house. They don’t have children of their own, so she’ll be bored out of her mind unless the police have allowed them to collect more of Sienna’s toys and books from home. The only blessing in all of this is that at least she’s being looked after by family. Geraldine spoils her rotten most of the time, and Ray buys her sweets whenever they’re out together. It could be worse for her.
‘Jake?’
I turn and see Dr Carpenter smiling back at me.
‘Have you come to collect me already? Brenda said you’d stop by after—’
She shakes her head to interrupt. ‘No, I will be by later. I just wanted to introduce you to someone.’
She half-turns and I see a woman with hair as dark as night sitting at one of the square tables. She must be about my age, pretty, but nervous. I follow Dr Carpenter over to the table and sit when instructed to do so.
‘Jake, this is Katy, another of our new guests. I thought, given your backgrounds, and unfamiliar surroundings, you might be able to support one another.’
We nod at each other, but I don’t know what to say. Small talk has never been a strength, and this feels painfully awkward, like when my parents would introduce me to children of their friends and just expect an instant connection.
‘Jake is also a soldier in the forces,’ Dr Carpenter continues.
This seems to pique the woman’s interest.
‘RAF?’ she asks.
I think back to what Max told me earlier. He wants me to play along with everything the doctors and nurses ask of me. I need to convince them that I truly believe I suffer with sleepwalking and am genuinely interested in their assessment, even if this only serves to buy Max more time to find the real culprit.
I shake my head. ‘British Army.’
‘I’m sure you will have much in common, but remember you only have to share what you’re comfortable with. You’re not obliged to disclose any personal information.’
She offers the obligatory smile, and pats Katy’s shoulder, before departing.
‘Where are you stationed?’ I ask, uncertain where else to begin.
‘Northolt. You?’
‘Camberley.’
‘Are you an insomniac as well?’
I shake my head, hesitant to reveal the real reason I’m here. ‘Sleepwalking.’
She raises her eyebrows at this. ‘I had an ex who used to sleepwalk.’
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘Yeah, but he grew out of it when he was like fifteen, I think. He left home – where his father was abusing him – and it just stopped when the trauma did.’
So much for the clinic’s policy for not oversharing.
‘What do they think is causing yours?’ she continues.
I shrug. ‘That’s what I’m here to find out, I guess.’
She bites at her lip as she considers this. ‘I suppose it would make sense. I’m assuming you’ve seen action?’
I nod again cautiously, not ready to be as open as she clearly is.
‘PTSD could be a trigger,’ she concludes, as if it’s that easy. ‘At least it was the cause for my ex.’ She pauses. ‘How long have you been here?’
‘Arrived at lunchtime.’
‘No way. Were you on the 10 a.m. boat as well?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You got kids?’
The switch in topic is so quick that it leaves my head spinning. I focus on the reason I’m here: to buy more time.
‘A daughter,’ I confirm.
The smell of fried onions and garlic fills the room. Staff in blue aprons are now carrying food to the hot plates and beginning to lay out the options. My stomach growls involuntarily. I can’t remember the last time I ate.
‘What’s your daughter’s name?’
‘Sienna.’
‘And how old is she?’
‘Five.’
A frown crosses her face but disappears almost as quickly.
‘Is there a problem?’
She shakes her head. ‘No. No problem. I assumed she’d be older.’ She pauses and forces a wide smile. ‘I can see from the way you’re smiling that she’s the apple of your eye.’
I nod.
‘Must be hard for her when you’re overseas.’
For the briefest of moments, it’s like I’ve been transported back to the police station with Fahey and his partner firing questions at me, making assumptions about my family situation and twisting my words to make me appear guilty of their charge. Katy probably isn’t trying to be so intrusive, but I’m not enjoying this interrogation. Dr Carpenter clearly introduced us for a reason, and I don’t want to just storm away, but something feels off.
‘I’ve no doubt, but she doesn’t complain. Her mum…’ My words trail off as I catch myself. ‘She’s a great girl, and I’m looking forward to getting out of here and back to her.’
Katy leans closer, grinning. ‘Where’s the strangest place you’ve ever woken up?’ she whispers.
It’s an impossible question to answer, because as far as I’m concerned, I’ve never sleepwalked. ‘I’d rather not say,’ I say, but she raises her eyebrows and must conclude that the answer is something far more scandalous.
‘At least you’re getting rest while you’re asleep. You’ve no idea how exhausting insomnia is. I spend all day concentrating while on duty, and then I get home feeling shattered, but the moment I lie down it’s like someone lights a fire in my brain. I do usually manage to drop off, but never for more than an hour or so before I’m wide awake again. I can’t remember the last time I got more than three hours’ kip. My CO told me to get it sorted once and for all. Hence why I’m here.’
We both look up as a figure approaches our table, and I immediately recognise the face of Sully, the man I encountered outside.
‘You newbies shouldn’t be sitting here,’ he says without making eye contact.
There are a dozen other vacant tables.
‘Didn’t see your name here when I sat down,’ Katy fires back, sitting back and making herself more comfortable.
‘I don’t give a shit. This is my table. You two fuck off and find somewhere else to sit.’
I stand and move to the next table over, wary of what Brenda said about avoiding Sully, but Katy remains where she is. I nudge my head in her direction, trying to pass her a silent warning, but she is staring Sully down.
‘Get outta my fucking seat,’ he shouts, before slamming his hands down on the metal tabletop.
Katy’s eyes meet mine, and this time I do see something close to fear, but she doesn’t retreat.
‘There’s room for both of us,’ she tells him firmly.
He moves so quickly, flipping the table up and away from her, before grabbing the back of her chair and tipping it forwards, trying to use gravity to help in his quest. Katy falls to the floor, and I immediately stand to go to her aid, but an alarm sounds overhead and a moment later three orderlies in white uniforms run in and drag Sully away. He wails out in defeat as they carry him out, leaving the rest of us watching on in disbelief.
9
‘Welcome.’
I’m no longer in The Butterfly Room, instead standing in a darkened corridor, an open door ahead of me and Dr Carpenter peering out from behind it.
‘Won’t you come in?’
Dr Carpenter steps back and opens the door wider, allowing me to enter what looks more like it should be a broom cupboard than an office. The only natural light comes from a window high up in the ceiling, but the sky overhead is darkening, and so we’re bathed in the artificial glow of halogen. There is a small antique desk against one of the walls, holding a closed laptop, a tall stack of folders and papers, and an empty mug stained with tea and lipstick on the rim. For a place that’s felt so clean and modern inside, I would have thought they’d afford their lead clinician a more spacious office.
There is a chaise longue across from the desk and an armchair perpendicular to it, which Dr Carpenter heads for.
‘Should I sit or lie down?’ I ask, indicating the vacant stretch of green leather.
‘Up to you,’ she says, sitting in the armchair and crossing her legs. ‘Whatever you feel most comfortable doing.’
I choose to perch on the chaise longue, not entirely sure whether we’re meeting for some kind of counselling session or something else.
‘Comfortable?’
It’s not the word I’d use, but nod, nonetheless.
‘Good. And how are you settling in so far?’
She says it like I’m not being held here against my will. I can’t say I feel particularly relaxed, and there’s definitely something odd happening with my ability to recall transitioning from one area to another. I can’t be blacking out or someone would have said something. I have twice come to in the presence of Brenda and she didn’t question whether I was okay or feeling off. And now Dr Carpenter seems oblivious to the fact I have no idea how I got from The Butterfly Room to her office. Brenda had said Dr Carpenter would stop by to collect me after dinner, but does that mean I’ve eaten? Why can’t I remember that? The last thing I saw was Sully causing a commotion and being dragged away by three men. Did something happen after that? Did they clear the room because of the disturbance and Dr Carpenter chose to collect me before food?
