Waiting for Wednesday

that he would be there, because
after some thought she had rung his mobile and made an appointment to see him. He
hadn’t sounded flustered, or even surprised, but relaxed and almost amused, and he
had agreed to see her at half past five that afternoon, when he returned from the
library. He was a psychology graduate student at Cardinal College where Hal Bradshaw was
a visiting lecturer.
    She walked up the stairs to the third floor,
then along the broad corridor. Would Bailey think she was out for revenge? No, it
wasn’t for revenge that Frieda was there but something odder, more formless. She
couldn’t see it, couldn’t hear it, couldn’t smell or touch it, but
some vague and shadowy shape shifted and stirred in her mind.
    Duncan Bailey was an unusually small young
man. He seemed out of place and almost comical in the cavernous living room. He had
light brown hair and a neat goatee, lively blue eyes, a thin and mobile face. His manner
was genial and mischievous. It was hard to tell if he was being sincere or
sarcastic.
    ‘Thank you for agreeing to see
me,’ said Frieda.
    ‘No problem. I’ve heard so much
about you.’
    ‘I just wanted to ask you a couple of
questions. It’s about the experiment we both took part in.’
    ‘No hard feelings, I hope,’ he
said, with a smile.
    ‘Why would there be?’
    ‘Some people might feel they’d
been humiliated. But it’s all in the cause of science. Anyway, Dr Bradshaw said
you might not see it that way.’
    ‘He should know,’ said Frieda.
‘But, as I understand it, you all had to pretend to be the same case study,
describe the same symptoms, is that right?’
    ‘Dr Bradshaw said we could go off
script as much as we wanted as long as we smuggled in the vital ingredients.’
    ‘So, things like the story about
cutting the father’s hair: that was in your story too?’
    ‘Yes. Did you like it?’
    ‘Did Dr Bradshaw create the case study
himself?’
    ‘He signed off on it, but it was put
together by one of the other researchers. We never met as a group. I came into it rather
late, as a favour.’
    ‘Who were they?’
    ‘You want me to give you their
names?’
    ‘Out of interest.’
    ‘So you can visit them too?’
    ‘Maybe.’
    ‘You’re going to a lot of
effort. Romford seems a long way to come just to ask a simple question. I would have
told you over the phone. Especially after you’ve been so ill.’
    Frieda didn’t say anything, just
looked at him.
    ‘Don’t you want to know which
one I went to see?’
    ‘Not particularly.’
    ‘It was your friend.’
    Poor Reuben, thought Frieda. He
wouldn’t have stood a chance with someone like Duncan Bailey.
    ‘James Rundell.’ He looked at
her enquiringly, head cocked to one side. ‘I can see why someone would want to
punch him.’
    Frieda suppressed a smile at the thought of
James Rundell meeting this sharp, cynical, bright-eyed young man.
    ‘But you can’t just go around
thinking you can control people,’ Duncan Bailey continued. ‘I mean,
it’s very nice to meet you, of course, but someone more sensitive than me might be
intimidated by your visit, Dr Klein. Do you see what I mean?’
    ‘I just want the names.’
    Bailey thought for a moment. ‘Why not?
They’ll be in the psychology journal soon enough. Shall I write them down for you?
I can give you their addresses if that would help. Save you going to any trouble.’
He uncurled himself from his chair with the agility of a cat and padded lightly across
the room.
    Five and a half hours later, Frieda was on
a plane. The last-minute flight had been eyewateringly expensive; she was going for a
ridiculously short time; above all, she was scared of flying and for nearly a decade had
avoided it. She sat in an aisle seat and ordered a tomato juice. The woman next to her
snored gently. Frieda sat upright, burning with fear: because she was flying, because
Dean Reeve was still alive, because she knew what it felt like to die, because she was
so gladshe would be seeing Sandy and because caring so much was dangerous. It was safer
to be alone.
    When Fearby phoned Vanessa Dale, she said
she’d moved away years earlier. Now she lived in Leeds. She worked in a
chemist’s. Fearby said that was fine. He could come and see her. Did she have a
break? Oh, and one other thing. Did she have a photograph of herself? From that time?
Could she bring it with her?
    He met her outside on the pavement and
walked with herto a coffee shop a few doors along. He