Fragile Minds

‘No.’

‘I thought he was good for you.’ She looked so disappointed, I almost felt guilty. ‘And so bloody successful.’

‘Good for me?’ I drained my drink. ‘Like Vitamin C or broccoli?’ I thought of Francis’s botched attempt earlier at making me feel better. I thought about my new fears that the disassociation I’d experienced after Ned’s death was returning. I wondered whether to mention it to my oldest friend.

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Do I?’ I stood to stack the plates.

‘Don’t be difficult, Claudia.’

‘I’m not, really. It’s just – it’s meant to be love, not – not health.’

Zoe gazed at me until I felt uncomfortable. ‘And it’s not love?’

‘No. It was company. And I’m fine on my own.’ Though I had definitely felt a little more protected since I’d met Rafe. I pushed that thought away.

‘Are you?’ She stared at me until I nearly squirmed.

‘Yes. Even though I did quite fancy opening the door in my nightie on Election Day.’ I chucked a prawn shell in the bin. ‘I’d have made sure I got my hair done first though.’

We gazed at each other for a moment and then began to laugh, almost hysterically, so I had to sit down again and catch my breath.

‘It’s not funny,’ I gasped in the end.

‘No, it’s not.’ Zoe wiped her eyes with some kitchen roll. ‘And you could do with a good haircut actually. You do look a bit – dishevelled at the moment. Slightly – Worzel Gummidge.’

‘Oh thanks a lot.’ She was revving up for a lecture, I could tell. I changed the subject. ‘It’s just – it was all wrong. Me and Rafe. I think he’s been seeing someone else, anyway.’ I stood again.

‘Really?’ she frowned.

‘Yes. And the funny thing is,’ I considered it for a moment, ‘I couldn’t really care less.’

‘That’s what worries me.’

‘I mean, he’s nice and everything, but—’

‘But he wasn’t Will,’ she finished for me.

I plonked the plates into the sink.

‘I heard he’s back you know,’ she said, and I felt ice in my belly. ‘Will, I mean.’

‘Did you?’ I said casually. I hadn’t. I was still furious with him.

‘Claudie,’ Zoe looked at me all seriously, her dark eyes almost beseeching, ‘I really think it would be a good idea to—’

The phone rang and I snatched it up gratefully. It was a policewoman called DS Lorraine Kenton from Holborn.

‘We have some routine enquiries following the death of your colleague Tessa Lethbridge.’

I felt the cold kick of guilt and sorrow again.

‘Is there a suitable time we could meet please? Where will you be tomorrow or Thursday? It won’t take long.’

Unnerved, we arranged a time and place and I hung up the phone. Zoe had busied herself in the kitchen and was manfully grating nutmeg over baked peaches, her middle knuckle bleeding into the sauce.

‘Ouch! What I was going to say about Will was—’

The phone rang again.

‘Blimey, you’re popular,’ she glared at me as if I had arranged the call to stop her probing.

‘It’ll be that policewoman wanting to move the time.’

But it wasn’t.

‘Claudia,’ the voice said, and I wasn’t sure I recognised it. It was low and threatening, angry even. ‘If you are there, you know you shouldn’t be. Time is running out.’

They hung up before I could reply.

With shaking hands, I tried to call the number back, but of course it was barred.

‘Who was that?’ Zoe asked, and I stared at her stupidly. Behind her the sky was melting into darkness.

‘Some complete nutter,’ I tried to joke but it didn’t seem very funny.

‘Are you OK?’ She peered at me, running hot water into the sink. ‘You’ve gone terribly white.’

That voice. I’d heard it in my dreams.

‘Yes I’m fine. I’m just going to wash my hands.’

I went in to the bathroom and leant my hot head against the cool bathroom tiles. Did I know that voice? It was probably someone just winding me up. My hands were trembling as I looked through the little basket on the shelf for my pills. What would Helen say? Breathe deep, breathe into the panic.

I held on to the basin, and looked into the mirror, shocked at the sight of me. My shoulder-length hair was unbrushed and rather like hay with roots; my eyes seemed a darker brown than normal, black almost, and slightly wild. Half my face was still hidden beneath a great plaster; I slowly peeled it off. The dirty marks from the tape made me look like a panda and my skin beneath the dressing was almost translucent. I stared at myself, trying to come back to the moment. I had the strange sensation I should be going somewhere right now. I shook my head and swallowed the pills, scooping water from the tap like a man in a desert.

Zoe was calling me from the other room.

‘Claudie. Listen. They’re saying someone has taken responsibility for the explosion.’

She’d switched the radio on whilst she did the washing-up; the Northern tones of the presenter were crisp and precise as he announced:

‘We can reveal that earlier today a letter was sent to the BBC claiming the explosion in Berkeley Square was entirely deliberate and down to their organisation, although no names were given. However, the package contained a banner that read DAUGHTERS OF LIGHT: FOR PURITY. New Scotland Yard have refused to comment at this juncture, saying only that they receive many numbers of false claims every day.’

‘Sounds pretty far-fetched to me.’ Zoe pulled the plug out with a resounding squelch. ‘Daughters of Light, my arse; creating mayhem and killing everyone.’ She dried her hands on the oven gloves for want of anything better. ‘I’d better get going, darling, if you’ll be all right? Said I’d Skype Pablo later.’

‘I’m fine,’ I mumbled. I looked down, clenched my fists, then unclenched them. I forced myself to speak. ‘Actually, I’m – I’m a bit scared, Zoe.’