What Lies Between Us(19)

Then it hits me – she has left me alone in a room with an open window! I know the glass is shatterproof because I once hurled a dinner plate at it when we argued. But it’s always been shut and fastened with a lock unless she is in here. Until now.

My immediate reaction is to stand on a chair and start screaming for help at the top of my voice through the gap. But I’m only likely to get a few words out before Nina barrels up the stairs and drags me away. Or is this a test? I’ve learned to be wary of opportunities, be they a packet of wine gums or an open window. I weigh up the pros and cons and decide this isn’t a risk worth taking when the chances of anyone hearing me are so remote. My efforts need to be smarter. I hope I don’t live to regret this.

I remain where I am, looking outside. Dark clouds are dominating the silvery sky and I predict we are in for a storm later tonight. It isn’t until the invisible blackbird restarts its song that I acknowledge just how long it’s been since I’ve heard a noise not created by either Nina or me. A dog’s bark, squealing children playing in the street, a radio DJ’s voice, a car engine turning over or even the rustling of a plastic bag caught in a tree . . . they’re all things I took for granted.

I remember being constantly surrounded by clatter at the surgery. Patients with hacking coughs, screaming toddlers, the telephone ringing or filing cabinets opening and slamming shut as we gathered records; it was rarely a peaceful environment. But I loved that job, which is why I remained there for thirty-two years. You don’t stay in one place that long without making friends with colleagues, and some patients too.

I hope I am still missed. Soon after placing me under house arrest, Nina took delight in recalling how she’d informed everyone I knew that I’d developed ‘vascular dementia’ following a series of ‘sudden mini-strokes’. She said the damage caused to my brain was irreversible and that I was going to be cared for by my sister Jennifer, a retired nurse, in Devon. I wonder if anyone still contacts Nina to ask after me. If they do, she hasn’t told me, and I haven’t given her the satisfaction of saying ‘no’ by asking.

Finally, the quiet of the dining room is broken by Nina’s footsteps climbing the stairs. I remain by the window and don’t turn to greet her when she unlocks the door and finds me standing there. I spy her reflection; with one glance she sweeps the room and she’s dismayed by her carelessness at leaving me alone with an open window. Now she’s on the backfoot, assessing whether I’ve taken advantage of her neglect.

‘I haven’t done anything,’ I say, and face her. She’s carrying two plates on a tray, trying to determine if I’m being honest or if she needs to take remedial action. Eventually, she appears to believe me.

As I return to my seat, she slides one of the plates to me with plastic cutlery. She learned not to trust me with the metal ones when I stabbed her in the arm with a fork shortly after this all began. To this day, I maintain that I didn’t mean to do it; that the Moxydogrel she used to keep me docile also made me hallucinate. I thought that she was a wild dog trying to rip my throat out. I still don’t think she believes me.

It’s lasagne for dinner and it comes with two slices of garlic bread apiece. I admit, it genuinely smells appetising. But she knows of my gluten intolerance and I assume the meal is not free from it. However, I’m so hungry that I tuck in regardless and I’ll deal with the after-effects privately in the bucket in my room.

‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘We haven’t had this in a while.’

She nods but says nothing. With no ABBA and little conversation, Nina is clearly preoccupied.

‘How was the library today?’

She shrugs. ‘Same as usual.’

‘Did you talk to anyone interesting?’

‘No.’

‘How does Steve’s tattoo look now that it’s had a chance to heal? Is it better than his last one? You weren’t keen on that, were you?’

‘I haven’t asked to see it.’

Clearly, she has little interest in conversing with me. But as she will be my only source of conversation for the next two days, I pursue it regardless. Reticent company is better than no company at all.

‘You missed all the drama this afternoon,’ I continue, and recount how bailiffs evicted the students and their belongings from Mr Steadman’s old house. ‘What did they expect?’ I add. ‘They treated that place dreadfully. Their parents should be ashamed of them.’

Nina breaks from eating, rises and opens a drawer containing her old compact discs. She slips one into the tray of the hi-fi and presses play. It’s a lot louder than ABBA, with clanking guitars and heavy drums. The singer wails rather than trying to hold a tune. I don’t like it one bit and it makes me crave the Swedes.

‘Who’s this?’ I ask politely.

She side-eyes me as she retakes her seat. ‘The Hunters,’ she replies, as if I should know.

A breath leaves my lungs and I don’t try to replace it.

‘Do you remember them?’

‘Vaguely,’ I lie.

I wonder how much she remembers. I hope it’s the bare minimum.

‘Saffron and I used to see them play live all the time.’

‘That’s a name I’ve not heard you mention in a while,’ I respond, hoping to steer the conversation into safer waters. ‘How is Saffron? Are you two still in touch?’