The Drowning Pool. Syd Moore

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СКАЧАТЬ and I would have loved to believe her, but there was no denying something peculiar was happening. Something that went beyond psychological stress, even perhaps beyond mental illness or the possibility that my brain was rewiring itself around a blockage.

      The quiet lull of her voice, the reason in her argument, the relief of her physical presence served to pacify me a bit. Even her suggestion that I might want to see a counsellor was acceptable although wide of the mark, but then she added, almost as an afterthought: ‘Of course you want to keep the memory of Josh alive, it’s a completely natural impulse, but this way,’ she shrugged limply, ‘just seems so negative, Sarah.’

      ‘What are you talking about?’ The words exploded out of my mouth without thought or care. ‘How dare you?’

      Martha took in my expression and started to backtrack. ‘God, I’m sorry, Sarah. I know it’s a touchy subject.’

      But I was on my feet, walking up and down the kitchen, hands gesturing to the ceiling with outrage and exasperation. ‘You think this thing is my husband?’

      ‘Well, I …’ Martha’s eyebrows knitted together. She shrank into her chair.

      ‘That’s bloody ridiculous.’

      Martha relaxed a little. ‘I’m glad to hear it, Sarah, really I am. I know you’ve not been yourself lately.’

      I stopped pacing, rested my knuckles on the table and took a deep breath. ‘This has nothing to do with Josh. Nothing.’ I tried to speak in a controlled voice. ‘This thing, Martha, is female.’

      She had her mouth open as if she was going to speak but then closed it. A small sigh escaped her. ‘Really?’

      I knew she was trying to help but she sounded so insincere, I realized that it was pointless talking to her, and rather than offend her again with another exasperated tut or sigh I answered her with a small shrug.

      She cocked her head to one side and held my gaze. ‘Have you ever read Stephen King?’

      OK, I thought, now she’s getting it and replied, ‘Maybe. Yes, when I was a teenager. I’m not reading anything like that now and before you suggest it, Martha, no I’m not letting my imagination run away with me.’

      She smiled and stretched her hand to me across the table. ‘Honey, I wouldn’t dream of patronizing you like that. What I was going to say is I once remember reading an interview with him, where he said something that had quite an impact on me.’

      ‘Go on.’

      ‘We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones.’

      Exhaustion fell across me.

      She must have seen it because she asked if I wanted to go to bed.

      I nodded.

      Martha got to her feet pretty damn quickly.

      At the front door, she paused and held out a little green pill. ‘Valium. Get some sleep, Sarah. Call me in the morning if you need to talk. You’re not alone.’

      ‘I know. That’s the problem,’ I said and closed the door.

      The next morning I woke up with a sentence going round my head. It was a phrase Sharon had used to describe coming off the anti-depressants she’d taken once when she was younger. It was a hard time and she said she weirded out a bit. ‘Until you get balanced again …’ she told me, ‘… it can be just like a bad trip.’

      Having had a few early forays into recreational drugs during my twenties this made sense. Once, in the bath, coming down from something or other, I was convinced I could hear voices in the water pipes begging me to release them from their watery prison. By the time Josh found me I’d scratched the paintwork off the u-bend and was searching for a hammer.

      I entertained the idea of a flashback. The incident by the French doors had been, it was fair to say, rather trippy. And with regard to the mobile, there was a possibility that I could have sent the message to myself while I was half asleep or sleepwalking. Though it seemed unlikely.

      In the afternoon I summoned the courage to listen to the message again and tried dialling into it but it was gone. I wasn’t sure if I had failed to save it or perhaps Martha may have deleted it in a well-meaning attempt to help. That would be just like her. The possibility rather put me out – I hadn’t given her permission to tamper with my phone. I would certainly speak to her about it when I next saw her. It was frustrating. Now I only had my memory of it to go from and it was becoming hazier the more I tried to concentrate on its recall.

      By evening I had a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach and by nightfall I was edgy as hell. I didn’t want to admit it at the time, but I was getting scared. I think part of me knew what was going to happen.

      The dreary sameness of Monday morning felt like something of a reprieve. In fact I’d go as far as to say that I was almost pleased to be going into St John’s. The students were gone and we had a week of administrative duties to sort before we were allowed to bugger off on summer leave.

      As I turned into the drive and clocked the grey steel girders of the new music block extension with its vaulted see-through roof, the absolute soullnessness of the place suddenly heartened me. There’s a first time for everything. Nothing organic stirred here. Thank God.

      A break from restless spirits was required.

      I needed to get in and get my head down. Work would absorb me and for a while I could feel almost normal.

      The last thing I wanted to do was talk it over again. So when John fired up I told him just that. But the silly sod wouldn’t leave me alone.

      ‘Sarah? ARE YOU OK?’

      I locked the door of the car and picked up my bag and started marching to the entrance. It had rained the previous night and the air was damp and verdant.

      ‘I’m not really sure if I am OK, to be honest. If I told you what happened, you’d just think I’m mad and to be honest, I’m starting to wonder about that myself.’

      He nipped ahead and turned to face me, blocking my path. ‘Hey, slow down. Do you want to talk about it? I’m going to go into the research room and do some marking, if you want somewhere private to chat.’

      ‘Actually, I don’t, John. I’m sorry about calling you on Saturday night. I had a bit of a fright – a missed call from some woman asking for help. I thought it might be Sue? What with the pregnancy and everything. Is she OK?’

      John nodded. ‘I just saw her in the staff room. She’s fine. Everyone’s fine. Are you fine?’

      ‘Please forget it.’

      He was scuttling alongside me. ‘Was it another cockleshell?’

      I shook my head and scowled knowing that I would appear either rude or irritable or probably both.

      ‘Thank God for that. Solitary female hysteria.’ My eyes met his, which crinkled warmly. ‘Joke,’ he added.

      But I wasn’t in the mood. ‘I’m going to the staff room.’

      ‘Well, come and СКАЧАТЬ