Escape From Wetherby Close

I’ll tilt my head so she can see the ruin of my scalp and I’ll say, She tricked us both.

She has to help me, right? She’s a woman. She’ll see the blood in my hair, and feel shock, or pity. She’ll say, come in, and let’s get you cleaned up. Or she’ll see the three kids and she won’t be able to refuse us help. Surely, she’ll let me stay for a night, use her phone, call the police...

Most important: she will believe me.

Won’t she?

She knows what Nona was doing. What I was doing, I suppose. Only I wasn’t. It wasn’t me. That… that thing hijacked me.

Ugh.

There's something left over in my brain now the chip has been taken out. It kind of…. I dunno. Integrated somehow. It used my head to store bits of information. Shunted it across there, and once the chip was out… some of that stuff got left behind.

I have a skull bursting with so much stuff, more than will fit it feels like. Useful, I suppose, but god in a bucket, I feel like my head is going to explode.

We were barely two streets away from that bloody house (I won’t call it home) when the headache settled around my temples. It winched itself tighter and tighter with every step. I ignored the pain, and hurried on, Tansy in my arms, wide awake but quiet. Curious, I think. Awed. Scared. Excited. This is an adventure. That’s what I told her. I suppose that’s one fucking word for it.

Aster was keeping up just fine, but full of questions, and Fern trailed behind, whining. I clamped my jaw to stop myself snapping at them.

It was a risk, I know that. I wasn’t sure how much this estate agent knew about what was going on. What I did know was this: she wanted to be in on it. Part of the group. Garden parties, pilates, cocktails, gossiping. A Good Man Pulling His Weight, freeing up plenty of time for self-care, and ensuring a guest-ready home at any time.

All I needed to do was use her phone. Make some calls. Book a taxi, or an Uber or whatever is available at this time of night. Get away…

What should I tell her? How much? If i get it wrong, the very first thing she would do would be to call Nona and tell her what I was doing.

Why hadn’t I smashed Nona’s bloody phone before I left?? I clenched my jaw harder, and my skull throbbed in response.

Clarissa answered the door pale-faced and bleary-eyed. She was holding her dressing gown shut by clamping her arms across her front. The thing that ties around the middle was missing. Her legs were blotchy and pale under it, and her feet stuck into fluffy pink slippers.

The rain started drizzling while we were stood on the doorstep, and it was this, maybe, that made Clarissa relent and motion us inside. She steered the girls into her squashed living room and switched on Pirates of the Caribbean for them to watch, with a handful of custard creams each.

“You stay there,” she said in a whisper, “and I’ll make you hot chocolate. OK?”

She gave me a look and swept past me, like the ship off the telly, boring down the hallway at full mast.

I sat at her rickety formica table and showed her the injury behind my ear.

The blood had dried now, mostly, but there was plenty of it.

“I think she’s gone mad,” I said. “Controlling. The slightest thing and she…”

Clarissa nodded, as if she knew exactly what I was talking about. Were we safe then? Did she despise Nona? Or did she still want to be part of the group enough that she would throw me under the bus? I don’t understand women that well, even with bits of Jac left over in my head.

I drank the scalding coffee gratefully, and explained to Clarissa what I wanted.

“Just your phone,” I said. “I didn’t have a chance to grab mine. And your internet access, if you don’t mind. I’ll try to set us up somewhere we can go, and then we’ll be out of your hair.” Clarissa pulled it from her dressing gown pocket, and unlocked it with her thumbprint. We really are never far away from them are we?

I’d been just the same before all this. One of the worst for it, probably. Not any more, though. When all this was over, I’d be happy to never have a phone ever again.

I poured myself another coffee and set it on the table.

I downloaded the banking app, logged myself in, set up a new account and cleaned out the joint one into it.

There was a lot of money in there. A lot.

I hesitated; almost only took half. She might demand it back, but I doubted she could do much more than threaten.

Her flimsy cookie selling business she’d started was really just a way to launder it, but it'd never convince anyone. That was far too much money for a bit of baking. Jac, or Jack, or whatever his name was, he couldn’t tell her that. He couldn’t contradict her. All he could do was validate whatever ridiculous plan she came up with. That meant if anyone looked too closely, she could lose it all anyway, and worse.

“Clarissa?” I popped my head into the lounge. “Do you have any cash? I can pay you back, plus a bit extra for your trouble, if you give me your bank details…”

She narrowed her eyes.

“I literally left everything behind. I just want to have a bit in my pocket until I get a new cash card sorted out.”

I was all set to show her the ludicrous bank balance if she refused, but she seemed to think this was reasonable enough. She fished a fistful of notes from the back of the biscuit cupboard, and pushed them into my hand.

I dithered about calling the police, eventually deciding against it. I wanted to get further away from her first. Instead, I took pictures of my bloodied scalp and emailed them to myself. Evidence.

I booked a room, and then a taxi.

It purred up outside a little while later, and Clarissa handed Tansy to me, bundled up in a pink and white blanket. It reminded me of the day Nona and I brought Tansy home from the hospital. Clarissa had found a couple more blankets for Aster and Fern, currently draped round their shoulders like capes. Yawning, the older two shuffled out to the waiting car.

It was this act of thoughtfulness, that attempt to offer comfort, that made me think Clarissa really was sympathetic to me, after all, rather than Nona. It was those blankets that made me feel a bit guilty that I’d dropped her phone into the cold mug of coffee before we left.

+

Thank you for reading

This is the latest in a series, which you can find here.