Nancy depressed the amber button which cut the call. Coffman’s
snowy head remained on screen. Nancy screwed the cap of her flask and shoved it
into her satchel bag. A steely plane brushed against her thigh. Nancy twirled
round to see Vince’s wheelchair drifting from the door. Vince’s final salvo
must have jolted the brakes and spurred the propelling force. Vexed, she seized
the handles and pushed the wheelchair back in place. She surmised Vince not
realising he had cleared the obstruction was making his way through the meeting
room. Somewhere she could comprehend Vince’s rhythmic clack. Coffman’s snowy
head remained on screen. Why doesn’t he buzz off?
She
grabbed her bag. On a final thought, she checked the brakes of Vince’s chair.
The bar was lowered but this offered no assurance the barricade would hold if
Vince fancied another go at the door.
Nancy
slid over the tabletop and took a route across the kitchen. Vince’s crutches
clacked against the meeting room floor to her right. Nancy didn’t look. The
lock obliged, the scent of wet leaves beckoned. The autumn air eddied around
her ankles. Nancy decided to take a walk. She hoped Vince would too. The box
hedge made neat oblongs against the skyline due to Henry’s tenacity yesterday.
She paused at a secluded seat honed from granite overlooked by a replica of
Rodin’s The Kiss. She wouldn’t be sitting here. Nancy passed a walkway
fashioned from willow. A sunny day would spawn a profusion of sun dapples and a
dreamy amble. She didn’t pass through. The manicured turf skimmed beneath her
feet. Desiccated leaves scurried down the slope towards a copse overlooking a
pond. The lawns gave way to the rough. Hillocks scuffed her heels; field grass
whipped her calves. Bumpy terrain caused her feet to pitch and her knees to
brace. The slope propelled her forwards. Exertion seeped through her collar in body
heat. She unfastened her top button. On reaching the copse, she took her post
next to the hawthorn hedge shielding Vince’s electrified fence. Beyond,
farmer’s field provided fallow for what she thought were Shetlands. She nestled
within the crook of an oak. Nancy wished for the thigh-deep grass,
thigh-burning slopes and tricky footholds. She wanted the landscape to swallow
her whole.
The
grass behind her made a dry sough. She didn’t turn. Pressure converged at her breastbone in unpleasant anticipation. The breeze finally conveyed his laboured
breaths. ‘My phone,’ his growl came, ‘my fuckin’ phone.’
Nancy
twisted on her tailbone. Vince eyed her from the foot of an oak twenty feet
behind her. Heavily propped by his crutches he appeared to be in mid-tumble. He
head was lowered as a stalker of prey. ‘You have taken my phone, just like you
have taken my TV, my drinks trolley, the contents of my cabinet, my wheelchair,
my stairlift and my CT room. You have taken everything right down to my silk
sheets!’
Gis a life, Nancy, what sort of gal would expect her
mother to do without a tot? Slowly Nancy lowered
her heels on the grass and faced him. ‘You need to go back to basics, Mr.
Jonas.’
Vince’s
chin jutted in truculence. His lips quivered. She appraised his rippling shirt,
damp at the armpits and yellowed at the collar. He seemed to detect her scrutiny. ‘I expect you to return my
kitchen table to its former position and I expect you to bring me back my
wheelchair.’
‘You
fell asleep in the landing, Mr. Jonas. You were drunk and you fell asleep.’
His
tone submitted to a sibilant croak. ‘I have news for you, Nora. If I can walk
to this point, I can walk to those gates. Once I am done with you here, I am
going back inside to freshen up. I will then take a walk to the checkpoint. At
some point of the day, one of my visitors will greet me there. I will then
request that a call is issued to the station and have you removed.’
‘But
not before you freshen up.’
His
brows twitched.
‘You
don’t want to go to the gates looking like that do you?’
Once
again, Vince appeared to wisen up too quickly. His eyes grew intent before
doing a deliberate wander over the open neck of her blouse. His eyes continued
to make a downward track via each button of her coat until he reached the
waistband of her skirt. His upper lip did a little incline on checking out her
stockings. She couldn’t help herself. Her self-assured heels did a coltish
shift over the grass. Shadows formed beneath his eyes as his flicked up to hers.
He was laughing at her like on that night in the limo. An inner turmoil impeded
her smile. ‘You will have a long wait, Mr. Jonas,’ she said. Nancy straightened
up, squaring her heels. ‘You will be expecting no visitors today.’ She gave her
coat pocket a little pat, alluding to his phone.
Nancy
pulled the flanks of her coat together and made her way to the pond. ‘Have a
nice walk, Mr. Jonas.’ She turned in time to see the shadows fade out beneath
his eyes.
From
here, Henry’s box hedge appeared small; Vince’s fortress bearing down atop a steep
slope seemed miles away. Even in her sturdy heels, Nancy’s calves pulled like
catgut. Nancy had wanted it this way. Vince could enter her watch post by the
oaks, but may not be returning for some time. The advantage hers, Nancy could
get busy in the surveillance room, turning her lie into the truth.
