Into the Darkest Corner

  I nodded.

  ‘Let’s start at the beginning. Can you tell me a bit about what you were like as a child?’

  I told him, slowly at first, the whole sorry story – leading up to but never seeming to reach the moment when I met Lee, the moment when my precarious life veered off towards that cliff edge. That would come later.

  I had an hour and a half for the first session, next week it would be an hour, and so on once a week unless I felt I needed more. I’d agreed to try out some things at home. I was going to do something called ‘exposure and response prevention’. Sensibly enough, this meant exposing myself to the perceived danger, and then waiting until the anxiety subsided, without performing any of the checks or rituals which would normally help to reduce the anxiety. Theoretically, the anxiety would reduce of its own accord. Rinse, repeat again and again and again.

  I remained a little sceptical, but I promised to give it a go.

  My phone rang when I was still about a mile away from home. The streets were quiet, just the after-school traffic. I was thinking about going for a run with what was left of the afternoon, although it was getting dark.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hey, it’s me. How did you get on?’

  ‘Okay. It was fine. Is that what you do?’

  ‘Pretty much. Not much to it really, is there?’

  ‘I guess not, if you do it every day. I kept thinking it must be really dull, having to listen to all that.’

  ‘Not at all. Everyone’s different, don’t forget. Everyone travels to that difficult point from a different direction. What are you doing now?’

  ‘I was going to go home and check three times. Why?’

  ‘I’ll call you later, shall I? I’m just going to take Dad out to the garden centre. I just wanted to… let you know I was thinking of you.’

  ‘I’ll ring you, if you like. When I’ve finished the checks. Would that be okay?’

  ‘That would be great. I’ll keep the phone handy.’

  I kept thinking of one of the things I’d talked about with Alistair. Theory A and Theory B – it was something for me to consider. Theory A: that if I somehow fail to check the flat properly, someone will break in. Not just someone. That Lee will break in, and that I will not realise he’s done it. That I am actually in real danger if I fail to check thoroughly. Theory B: that actually checking the door once is enough, and that checking it over and over again does not make it any more secure, and that the reason for checking is simply that I am just extremely worried about being in danger. The two theories are in opposition to each other, and they cannot both be true. The rational theory is, of course, Theory B: that what I am doing by repeatedly checking everything does not make me any safer than checking once.

  Even if I accept that Theory B is possible, how can I be sure that it is the truth? The only way, according to Alistair, is to carry out some sort of scientific experiment to see which theory holds water and which one falls apart under scrutiny.

  It’s all very obvious where this is going. I check less, nothing bad happens, ergo it’s a complete waste of bloody time checking everything over and over again and I should stop doing it forthwith.

  I’m not an idiot – even I know it’s a waste of time. That doesn’t stop me doing it.

  And the thing that worries me more than anything is that actually this ‘scientific testing’ fails to take into account that my fears aren’t based on some ridiculous invented danger at all.

  They’re based on the fact that Lee is out there somewhere, looking for me.

  Assuming he hasn’t found me already.

  Monday 26 April 2004

  Lee was here for a few hours on Sunday; before that he was working, or whatever it is he does when he’s not here. When he let himself in on Sunday night I thought he was going to hit me again, but he seemed quite happy, pleased with himself as though he’d been clever.

  ‘Why did you change the locks?’ he asked conversationally, as we ate lunch.

  I tensed. ‘Don’t know really,’ I said, brightly. ‘After the burglary, you know. Thought it might be safer.’

  ‘Were you going to give me a new key?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He laughed, although I didn’t think it was funny.

  When I got to work this morning I sent an email to Jonathan Baldwin asking for more details about the sort of person he was looking for, and later this afternoon I got a reply:

  Catherine,

  Good to hear back from you. Initially I’m looking for someone to help me get the NY branch established, really – ideally someone with some consultancy experience, although more importantly someone with enthusiasm and commitment who can be flexible enough to spot opportunities when they arise. I remember from years back that you seemed like the sort of person who would end up running some big organisation somewhere.

  I can sort out an L1 Transfer Visa, and I also have a short lease on an apartment in the Upper East Side (nothing too spectacular, but it has a south-facing balcony which is pretty rare). At some point in the future there may be the potential for a partnership in the company if things go well.

  The downside is that I need someone quickly – I’m getting calls from NY all the time with business opportunities that I’m having to turn down because of commitments in the UK, so the sooner I can get someone out there and setting up the office, the better.

  Any ideas?

  Cheers

  Jonathan

  I’m wondering if I could do it. If I could deal with it all by phone and email, talk to him while I’m at work and discuss the finer points, this might be my chance to escape. I could be out there and in New York before Lee knew anything about it. If I could go to New York on a short-term contract, even three months, then that might buy me some time to decide what to do next. I might be able to get a sabbatical from work.

  I just need enough time to get away from him.

  Friday 15 February 2008

  The High Street was still busy. Round the last corner, into Talbot Street. I was tired now, I would need to concentrate extra hard on the checking so I didn’t make any mistakes.

  Into the alleyway, round to the back of the house. I looked up at the windows, all of them, the balcony with the eight panes of glass showing, the bedroom, curtains shut tight. Stuart’s flat had one light on in the bedroom. I’d put one of my timers up there. It would go off at eleven. Downstairs, Mrs Mackenzie’s flat was in darkness. It all looked okay. I carried on to the end of the alleyway, round to the front of the house.

  When I’d got in, shut the front door, it occurred to me that I was the only person in the house. I’d be the only person sleeping in the whole of this great big house tonight. No Mrs Mackenzie, no Stuart. Just me. Last night I’d ended up talking to Stuart for what amounted to hours, so it felt as if he was here; it didn’t feel as if I was alone. Tonight felt different.

  I checked the door, running my fingers along the edge, feeling for anything, any bumps or swells, which might indicate the door had been tampered with. Then the latch. Then the lock. Turn the handle, six times one way, six times the other way. I missed the sound of Mrs Mackenzie’s television. I missed her coming out to see me.

  I paused at the end of the first set of checks. This was normally the point at which she would open her door behind me.

  I’m not sure if I felt something, or sensed it: a draught, maybe, a scent of food cooked a long time ago, a breath of cold air. I turned slowly and looked at the door. We’d shut it, and locked it, the night that Mrs Mackenzie had been taken off in the ambulance. Stuart had phoned the management company that looked after the lease, told them what had happened. They were going to send someone over to collect the key, but so far nobody had turned up.

  I frowned, squinted. The door looked odd.

  I went a bit closer.

  It was slightly open, a tiny sliver of blackness showing beyond the doorframe. I felt the draught again, definite this time, a whisper of cold air coming from inside.
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  I pulled at the door handle and it swung open. It wasn’t locked. Inside, everything was dark, dark as the grave.

  I shut the door again, firmly. The latch caught and when I turned the handle this time it didn’t open. Stuart’s spare set of keys were in my bag. He’d put the key to Mrs Mackenzie’s flat on the ring along with his other ones.

  I found the keys, slotted the right one in the lock and turned it. I rattled the handle. I turned the key in the Yale lock and the mortise lock held the door fast. Right, it was definitely shut and locked. If anyone was inside they would need a key to get out.

  I went back to the front door for my second set of checks. It didn’t do the trick, though, because all I could think about was the door to Mrs Mackenzie’s flat, which I’d turned my back on. What if I hadn’t locked it properly? What if the door had swung open again while my back was turned? What if it opened again by itself when I wasn’t looking?

  I checked it again. It was still locked. I tried the Yale lock.

  I checked the front door for a third time, to balance it all out again. Finally I felt better. I went up the stairs and let myself into my flat. The dining room light was on, as I’d left it, the rest of the flat dark and chilly. I waited for a moment just inside the door, listening to the sounds of the house, straining to hear anything unusual, out of place. Nothing.

  I started checking the flat door, feeling vaguely uneasy but not sure why. I couldn’t get over the thought that I was on my own. Completely on my own.

  By the time I finished the checks it was nearly nine. I’d been expecting to find something wrong, but everything was exactly as it should have been. It was just as well.

  Finally I sat down to phone Stuart.

  ‘Hey, it’s me.’

  ‘At last, I was about to give up hope!’ He sounded tired.

  ‘How’s your Dad doing?’

  Stuart sighed and dropped his voice a little. I could hear a television faintly in the background. ‘He’s alright, really. He’s a lot frailer than the last time I saw him. I don’t think Rach really notices it, she sees him every day.’

  ‘Did you get to the garden centre?’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s raining. Ended up looking round the greenhouses mostly. You wouldn’t believe how many different plants that man can look at and not get bored. And it’s bloody cold up here, too. I really miss you, Cathy.’

  ‘Do you?’ I felt my cheeks flush, realising at the same time that I was missing him, too. Even if we hardly saw each other during the week, with him being away I felt the absence of him like an ache.

  ‘Yes. I wish you were here.’

  ‘You’ll be back Sunday night. It’ll go fast.’

  ‘It won’t. Not for me, anyway. What are you going to do with your Saturday?’

  ‘I don’t know. Go to the launderette. Go for a run, maybe. I haven’t been for a while.’

  There was a pause. ‘So it went well? Your session with Alistair?’

  ‘It was fine. I’ve got homework to do – scoring everything. You know.’

  ‘And you’re feeling alright now?’

  I knew what he was getting at. He was trying to gauge the likelihood of my discussing my symptoms leading to a panic attack later on. ‘I feel fine about all that. I’m feeling more nervous about being here on my own. I mean, no Mrs Mackenzie downstairs, no you upstairs. Just me and the ghosts.’

  ‘Peaceful, you mean.’

  ‘Yes. Oh, but there is one thing. We did lock her door, didn’t we? I mean, we locked it with the key?’

  ‘We did. Why?’

  ‘The door was open when I got home. Mrs Mackenzie’s door, I mean. It was actually slightly open.’

  ‘The management company must have been in, then. They said they were going to, didn’t they?’

  ‘Yes, but surely they were supposed to lock it up, not leave it open.’

  ‘Maybe they just weren’t as careful. Anyway, I’m betting it’s well locked up now!’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Cathy, you locked it. It’s fine.’

  I didn’t answer.

  ‘When I first met you, you did all this alone. You locked yourself in every night, checked the doors were secure, and you were fine. You’re fine now, it’s no different.’

  I tried to sound cheerful. ‘Yes, I know. I’m alright, really I am.’

  ‘Will you come with me to Aberdeen next time?’

  ‘Maybe. If you give me a bit more notice.’

  ‘Rachel’s dying to meet you.’

  ‘Stuart, honestly. Did you tell her about the OCD?’

  ‘No. Why, should I?’

  ‘I just want to make sure she has a full and accurate picture.’

  ‘The OCD isn’t part of you, is it? It’s just a symptom. Like snot is part of a cold.’

  ‘Lovely. What have you been telling them, then?’

  ‘I’ve told them I’ve met this girl with silver hair and dark eyes, who is funny and clever and charming and occasionally spectacularly stroppy. She can put away fifty cups of tea a day and outstare someone with glass eyeballs.’

  ‘Now I see why they’re dying to meet me.’ I tried to fight back the yawn but it was impossible.

  ‘Am I keeping you up?’

  ‘I’m really tired. Sorry. I didn’t sleep last night, and I walked back from that place today, the buses were all jammed in traffic.’

  ‘You walked back from Leonie Hobbs House?’

  ‘Give over, it’s not that far. I like walking.’

  I yawned again.

  ‘Take the phone with you when you go to bed, okay?’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘If you wake up in the night, ring me. Will you?’

  ‘I don’t want to wake you up, that’s not fair.’

  ‘I don’t mind. If you’re awake, I want to be awake with you.’

  ‘Stuart. This is all really weird.’

  ‘What do you mean, weird?’

  ‘When you come back on Sunday, it’s not going to be the same, is it? It’s all changed. Since the other day.’

  ‘Since I kissed you, you mean.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It has changed, you’re right. I was bloody determined to keep my distance so you could concentrate on getting better. I don’t think I can do that any more. Does that worry you?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I don’t think so.’

  ‘My flight gets in at nine-something on Sunday night. Can I come and see you when I get back home? It’ll be late.’

  It was that moment, that turning point.

  I hesitated before answering, knowing what it would mean if I said yes, and what it might mean if I said no.

  ‘Cathy?’

  ‘Yes. Come and see me. I don’t care how late it is.’

  Friday 21 May 2004

  Lee’s working all this weekend; just for a change, he’s told me in advance. I don’t know if this is a test, to see if I’m going to do a runner. I’m certain he doesn’t know about New York, so I think he is still half-expecting me to try to get away from him some other way. He even said I should go out tonight, see my friends.

  For the past few weeks he has been acting more than ever as though this relationship we have is normal. He hasn’t been violent towards me; he hasn’t turned up unexpectedly, he hasn’t even made any unreasonable demands. He’s actually been kind, too – looking after me when I had a cold last week, cooking me dinner and getting some shopping in. If I hadn’t seen that other side of him, I think I would be pleased at the way this relationship is turning out.

  Things got better when I told him I was thinking of taking a sabbatical from work. I did it as a safety precaution; if anyone from work phoned, or if I let something slip, it would give me an explanation to fall back on. And of course he’d always wanted me to give up work, right from the start. I had thought it was because he wanted to see more of me, but of course it was all about control, even then.

  I know him so much better now. When I’m at work, he phones
me at odd times of the day. If I get back to my desk and find a missed call from him, I have to phone him back straight away. He always asks if I’m going to be off-site, if I’ve got any meetings – he knows my schedule better than I do. Once I got called into a meeting with the GM for several hours; when I rang him back I was expecting him to be angry with me, but he wasn’t. Turned out later that he’d driven to where I work, found my car in the car park, opened it with his spare key (he has a duplicate set of my keys now; I haven’t given them to him, but he has them anyway) and checked that the mileage on my car was right, meaning that I’d not been anywhere without letting him know. He knows exactly how many miles my car has done, and how many miles it is from home to work and vice versa. I cannot deviate from the route.

  I’ve not tried to challenge him on any of this. I know it’s wrong. I know he’s got me completely controlled. The fact that I know all this is my own private rebellion. He doesn’t know what’s going on in my head. He doesn’t know that I am going to seek an opportunity to escape, or that I know I can only attempt this once. He will kill me, I know he will, if I mess this up.

  I’ve been in touch with Jonathan. I came right out with it and told him why he should consider me for his job in New York. I don’t remember telling someone that I want to set up my own company one day, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I’d said it in an inebriated state at one of those conference dinners. In any case, I don’t care what the job is – although I’ll work hard at it – it’s the escape route I’ve been looking for. Fortunately it should all be dealt with by email at work, nothing at all needs to go my home address – no need for it to be. When my replacement passport arrived a week ago, I took it with me to work and left it in my drawer.

  I’m hoping that Jonathan will accept me, because I’ve almost been assuming that this is all going to go ahead. I don’t think my sanity would hold up if it doesn’t. My credit card went to paperless billing a long time ago, so if I need to book flights Lee shouldn’t be any the wiser. I check my emails at work. After the burglary, I didn’t bother to replace my laptop. There didn’t seem to be any point.