Waiting for Wednesday

come to see you as a
patient?’
    ‘Not exactly.’
    A smile of recognition spread across
Agnes’s face. ‘Oh, I know who you are. You’re
her
,
aren’t you?’
    ‘It depends what you mean by
“her”.’
    ‘What’s this about? Is this some
kind of complicated revenge?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Don’t get me wrong. I’m
not judging you. If someone made a fool of me like that, I’d fucking crucify
them.’
    ‘But that’s not why I’m
here.’
    ‘No? Then why?’
    ‘There was something Rajit
said.’ Frieda saw herself from the outside, going from person to person reciting a
fragment of a story that seemed increasingly detached from its context – an image that
she couldn’t shake off, but that glinted, sharp and bright, in the darkness of her
mind. She should stop this,she told herself. Return to the life
she’d been in before. She felt Agnes Flint waiting for her reply.
    ‘Rajit wasn’t actually the
student who was sent to me; that was someone else. But all the four researchers told the
same story, one that supposedly demonstrated they posed a clear threat.’
    ‘Yeah, I read about it.’
    ‘In this story, there was an arresting
detail, which Rajit said actually came from you.’
    ‘I don’t understand.’
    ‘About cutting his father’s hair
– well, I guess, your father’s hair if it came from you originally and he changed
it for his purpose.’
    ‘Cutting my father’s
hair.’
    ‘Yes. The feeling of power and
tenderness you got from that.’
    ‘This is freaking me out a
bit.’
    ‘He said you told him the story when
you were lying in bed together, and you were stroking his hair and telling him it needed
cutting.’
    ‘Oh. Yes. Now what?’
    Now what? Frieda didn’t know the
answer to that. She said wearily, ‘So it was just a memory you had, a simple
memory?’
    ‘It wasn’t my memory.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘It was something a friend once said
to me. She told me this story about cutting hair. I don’t think she said it was
her father’s, actually. Maybe it was her boyfriend’s or her brother’s
or a friend’s. I can’t remember. I don’t know why I even remember her
saying it. It was just a little thing and it was ages ago. It just kind of stayed with
me. Weird to think of Rajit writing it into his spiel. Passing it on.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Frieda, slowly.
‘So your friend told you and you told Rajit.’
    ‘A version of it.’
    ‘Yes.’
    Agnes looked quizzically at Frieda.
‘Why on earth does it matter?’
    ‘What’s your friend’s
name?’
    ‘I’m not going to tell you until
you’ve answered my question. Why does it matter?’
    ‘I don’t know. It probably
doesn’t.’ Frieda gazed into Agnes’s bright, shrewd eyes: she liked
her. ‘The truth is, it bothers me and I don’t know why, but I feel I have to
follow the thread.’
    ‘The thread?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Lila Dawes. Her real name is Lily but
no one calls her that.’
    ‘Thank you. How do you know
her?’
    ‘I don’t. I knew her. We were at
school together. Best friends.’ Again that ironic smile. ‘She was a bit
wild, but never malicious. We kept in touch after she dropped out, when she was just
sixteen, but not for long. Our lives were so different. I was on one road and she –
well, she wasn’t on a road at all.’
    ‘So you have no idea where she is
now?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Where were you at school?’
    ‘Down near Croydon. John Hardy
School.’
    ‘Is Croydon where you both grew
up?’
    ‘Do you know the area?’
    ‘No, not at all.’
    ‘It’s near Croydon. Next to
it.’
    ‘Do you remember her
address?’
    ‘It’s funny. I can’t
remember what happened last week, butI can remember everything about
when I was young. Ledbury Close. Number eight. Are you going to try and find
her?’
    ‘I think so.’
    Agnes nodded slowly. ‘I should have
tried myself,’ she said. ‘I often wonder about her – if she’s
OK.’
    ‘You think she might not
be?’
    ‘She was in a bad way when I last saw
her.’ Frieda waited for Agnes to continue. ‘She’d left home and she
had a habit.’ She gave a shiver. ‘She looked pretty bad, thin, with spots on
her forehead. I don’t know how she was getting the money to pay for it. She
didn’t have a real job. I should have done more, don’t you think?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘She was in trouble, I could see that,
and I just wanted to run a mile, as if it was contagious. I tried to put her out of my
mind. Every so often I think of her and