Waiting for Wednesday

most love and trust between us, you think of
leaving?’
    She didn’t say anything.
    ‘I never had you down for a
coward,’ he said.
    Still Frieda lay against him in silence.
Words seemed futile.
    ‘And what have you answered
yourself?’ he asked, after a while.
    ‘I haven’t.’
    ‘Why, Frieda?’
    ‘Because I’m no good for
anyone.’
    ‘Let me decide that.’
    ‘I am chock full of unease.’
    ‘Yes.’ His voice was soft again
in the darkness, his hand warm on her hip. She could feel his breath in her hair.
    ‘Dean’s still out there.
He’s been to my father’s grave –’
    ‘What? How do you know?’
    ‘Never mind that now. I know. He wants
me to know.’
    ‘You’re sure that –’ She
made an impatient movement and he stopped.
    ‘Yes, I’m certain.’
    ‘That’s horrible and incredibly
disturbing. But Dean can’t get between the two of us. Why should you want to end
things with us because of a psychopath?’
    ‘When I said I felt summoned
–’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘It feels a bit like going into the
underworld.’
    ‘Whose underworld? Yours?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘Then, Frieda, don’t go there.
It was just a stupid story. It’s your mood talking, the trauma you’ve been
through. It’s not rational. You’re mistaking depression for
reality.’
    ‘That’s too easy to
say.’
    ‘Can I ask you something without you
closing down on me?’
    ‘Go on.’
    ‘When your father killed himself and
you found him …’ he felt her stiffen ‘… you were fifteen. Did you
ever talk to anyone about it?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘And since then?’
    ‘Not as such.’
    ‘Not as such. Don’t you think
that all this,’ he made an invisible gesture, ‘all this about Dean, about
your work with the police, this new idea you’ve got about some story summoning you
– all of this is just about you as a teenage girl finding your father hanging from a
beam? Not saving him? And that’s what you should be thinking of, rather than
charging off on another rescue mission?’
    ‘Thank you, Doctor. But Dean is real.
Ruth Lennox was real. And this other thing …’ She turned her body so that now
she was lying on her back, gazing up at the ceiling. ‘I don’t know what it
is,’ she admitted.
    ‘Stop all that you’re doing.
Stay here. Stay with me.’
    ‘You should be with someone
who’s happy.’ She added: ‘And who you can have children
with.’
    ‘I’ve made my choice.’
    ‘But –’
    ‘I’ve made my choice. If you
want to leave me because youno longer love me, then I have to accept
that. But if you want to leave me because you love me and it scares you, I won’t
accept it.’
    ‘Listen to me.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Sandy –’
    ‘No.’ He propped himself up on
one arm and leaned over her. ‘Trust me. Let me trust you. I’ll come into the
underworld with you if you want. I’ll wait for you at its entrance. But I
won’t be sent away.’
    ‘You’re a very stubborn
man.’
    Limb against limb; mouth against mouth;
bodies losing their boundaries. Light spilling into darkness and dawn returning.
    A few hours later, Frieda packed her
toothbrush, checked her passport, said goodbye as if she was going round the corner to
the newsagent. She’d always hated farewells.



TWENTY-TWO
    It was the weekend and Karlsson had cancelled
all arrangements so that he could spend two clear days with Mikey and Bella. His chest
ached with the knowledge that in a few days they would be gone, far away from him, just
photographs on his desk that he would stare at, tinny voices at the end of the phone,
jerky images on Skype. Every minute with them felt precious. He had to stop himself
holding Bella too close, stroking Mikey’s hair until he squirmed away from him.
They mustn’t know how much he minded them going or feel anxious and guilty for
him.
    He took them to the pool at Archway, where
there was a twisting slide into the deep end and wave machines that made them shriek
with gleeful fear. He threw them up into the air, let them duck him, ride on his
shoulders. He dived under the turquoise water, his eyes open, and saw their white legs
thrashing around among all the other legs. He watched them as they raced into the
shallow end, two squealing figures, their eyes pink from the chlorine.
    They went to the playground and he pushed
them on the swings, spun the roundabout until he was dizzy, crawled through a long
plastic tube behind them and climbed up a pile of rubber tyres. My children, he thought,
my