Community (19 page)

‘
The Bold and the Beautiful
,' said Isobel. ‘Like you, my darling.'

After lunch, Michael put on his overcoat and wound his long blue scarf around his neck, and then opened the door and stepped outside. It was snowing so furiously that he was almost tempted to forget his walk and forget about leaving Trinity and go back inside, where it was warm and comfortable.

But he knew that he had to get away tonight. The snow could be even worse tomorrow, and he had the feeling that he might have already left it too late. He started to make his way down the middle of the road toward old Mrs Kroker's house, at the bottom of the slope, next to the community center.

On the opposite side of the slope, about a half-mile away and almost invisible in the snow, he saw the distinctive red duffel-coat of Jemima's friend, and then the pink smudge of Jemima's windbreaker. He supposed he could have called out to them, but he didn't want the snow flying into his mouth, and he had something much more important to do than find out how they had managed to climb into Isobel's yard.

He had to arrange his escape.

M
rs Kroker's house stood cater-corner to the community center. It was painted an odd maroon color, with yellow drapes which were all drawn tight, as if nobody outside should be able to look in and nobody inside should be able to look out. There was an old bronze Honda sedan parked in the driveway.

Michael climbed the steps to the front door and knocked. The knocker was tarnished brass and had the face of a snarling wolf on it. For some reason Michael remembered that people whose front doors faced east hung wolf-like knockers on them to keep away evil spirits, which always came from the east.

After more than half a minute there was no answer so he knocked again.

He heard Mrs Kroker call out, ‘Lloyd! Where are you, Lloyd? Somebody's banging at the damn door!'

There was a pause, and then he heard Lloyd saying, ‘It's OK, Mrs K! I'm getting it! I'm getting it!'

The door opened with a shudder and there was Lloyd in a red bandanna, wearing a red football shirt with
Bakersfield Falcons
printed across the chest in white. When Michael had talked to him at Isobel's afternoon get-together, Lloyd had been sitting down, so he hadn't realized how tall and heavily built he was – at least six-four and three hundred pounds. He was quite good looking, in a roughly sculptured way, with clear blue eyes, but his nose looked as if it had been broken more than once, and he had a livid red scar above his left eyebrow, as if he had split his head open – and not too long ago, either.

‘Hey there, Greg!' he said. ‘What you doing out on a day like this?'

‘I was bored, that's all,' Michael told him. ‘Thought I might pay you a visit.'

‘Who is it, Lloyd?' screeched Mrs Kroker, from the living room.

‘It's only Greg,' Lloyd called back, over his shoulder. ‘You remember Greg – we met him at Isobel's.'

‘Greg? I don't remember any Greg! What does he want?'

‘Just needs to chew the fat about something, Mrs K. Don't worry. We'll go in the kitchen.'

‘Well, don't you dare to fetch him in here!'

‘I won't, Mrs K, I promise!' Lloyd winked at Michael and said, with his hand half-cupped over his mouth, ‘Still in her hair-rollers and her nightdress. I wouldn't wish the sight of that on nobody.'

He beckoned Michael inside and shut the door behind him. Then he led the way through to the kitchen, which was fitted out Shaker-style, with wooden cupboards and worktops, and wheelback chairs.

‘How about a cup of coffee?' asked Lloyd. ‘Or maybe a brewski if you'd rather.'

‘Sure, why not? How about a beer?'

Lloyd went to the fridge and took out two bottles of Coors. They sat down together at the kitchen table and clinked them together. ‘Here's to swimming with knock-kneed women.'

‘I thought it was “bow-legged”,' said Michael.

‘You have more fun when they're knock-kneed. It's that prying them apart. Just like opening up a clam.'

Michael said, ‘I'll come directly to the point, Lloyd. I need your help. I don't want to get you into any trouble, but there's something I need to do and I can't manage it on my own. I need somebody physically strong.'

‘Well … thanks for the compliment,' said Lloyd, flexing his left bicep until the veins bulged out. ‘But what kind of trouble are we talking about?'

‘I'm leaving Trinity. I'm going tonight. I'm going to take Isobel's truck and I'm getting the hell out of here and I'm not coming back.'

‘What's the matter? You and Isobel fall out or something? I think you landed on your feet there, having Isobel to take care of. Look at me, with old Mrs K. Not exactly the screw of the century, is she? Well, she might have been, but which century?'

‘I don't know. I don't want to get you too deeply involved in this, but there's something badly wrong about this place. I have no idea what it is, but some very weird things have been happening. It could be me. You know, hallucinating or something. But I need to know for sure, and the only way I can do that is to get out of here and look back at it objectively.'

Lloyd swigged his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘So why do you need me? All you have to do is get into Isobel's truck and head for the interstate.'

‘The thing is, Lloyd, there's somebody I want to take with me. In fact I'm not going to leave unless I can. She's a patient up at the clinic, and at the moment they're treating her in their intensive care wing. I want to get her out of there, but I simply don't have the strength to carry her out on my own.'

Lloyd sat back in his chair, looking serious. ‘That's a big ask, Greg. What happens if they catch us doing it? What would that be – patient-napping or something? I mean, they might kick me out of here, and what would I do then?'

‘I don't know, Lloyd. Maybe it
is
too much to ask. Maybe I should forget the whole thing.'

‘Who is she, this patient?'

‘She's a girl I used to know, Natasha Kerwin. I
think
I used to know her, anyhow. I can't specifically remember how, or why, or where from. But I'm sure that she and I were very close, and I need to get her out of here so that I can find out who she is.'

‘Hate to say this, but that's pretty darn vague, isn't it? You might be abducting a perfect stranger for all you know. And even if she
isn't
a perfect stranger, you say that they have her in intensive care. What if you take her out of the clinic and she croaks or something?'

Michael said, ‘I think she's going to die regardless.'

He told Lloyd how he and Jack had sneaked into the clinic and found Natasha Kerwin's room, and how he had overheard Doctor Hamid saying that he would ‘pull the plug' on her.

‘The way he said it, it sounded to me like they had no more use for her, and that they were planning to take her off life-support.'

Lloyd said nothing, but sat there looking at Michael and systematically swigging his beer. His face was expressionless.

Michael pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘I should go,' he said. ‘I never should have asked you in the first place.'

‘What?' Lloyd demanded. ‘You're trying to say that I'm chickenshit?'

‘No, of course not. It wasn't fair to ask you, that's all, but I couldn't think of anybody else. I'll have to work out a way of getting her out of there on my own. Maybe a wheelchair or a gurney or something like that.'

‘I'll help you,' said Lloyd.

‘You will? Are you sure about that?'

‘Sure I'm sure. What else happens in my life, apart from sitting here day after day listening to Mrs K going on about the old days, and how she dazzled all the boys, and how she used to dance until dawn. “Oh! That night at the Peacock Court! I danced until my ass dropped off!”'

Lloyd's imitation of Mrs Kroker was so spot-on that Michael couldn't help smiling and shaking his head.

‘But what if they catch us, and kick you out of here, like you said?'

‘Well … I don't know, Greg, do you honestly think that they would? Who would they find to replace me? Besides – even if they did kick me out, maybe it's time that I did the same as you, and went back out to Reality Land.'

‘Lloyd!' called Mrs Kroker, from the living room. ‘What are you up to, Lloyd? Isn't it time for my temazepam?'

Lloyd said, ‘Just a second, Greg.' He stood up and went to the living-room door. ‘Me and Greg are talking football scores, that's all. And you don't take your temazepam till seven. I'll fetch you a cup of tea in a minute.'

‘Don't forget my ginger thins!'

‘Do I ever?'

‘Well, no, but you might this time!'

Lloyd came back into the kitchen. ‘Jesus. I wish
she
had a plug, because I swear to God I'd be first in line to pull it.'

‘But you'll help me?'

‘For sure. What time were you thinking of? Mrs K takes her temazepam at seven so she's usually out of it by twenty after.'

‘Isobel's not usually asleep till nine-thirty. Why don't I pick you up at eleven? The clinic should be pretty much deserted by then, too.'

Lloyd held out his hand and Michael took it.

‘See you round eleven.'

As Michael was leaving, the living-room door opened and Mrs Kroker appeared, in a droopy pink nightdress, her breasts hanging as flat as two pieces of pitta bread, with her hair all in rollers.

‘Who's this?' she squawked. She looked like some species of hunchbacked monkey, with her head on one side. ‘Isn't it time for my temazepam?'

They ate a light supper of cold roast chicken salad, but Michael made sure that he kept on refilling Isobel's glass with Zinfandel so that by 8:30 she had drunk more than a whole bottle.

‘Cheers!' she said, as she toppled back on to the couch in the living room, raising her glass to him and blowing him a kiss.

‘Listen,' he said, ‘I'll clear up the supper things. Why don't you undress and get yourself all ready in bed?'

‘Yes!' she said. ‘Why not? But you can leave the dishes till tomorrow, can't you?'

‘No, you know me and my OCD. I can't make love to you if I know that there are dirty plates still stacked in the sink.'

‘You're a very strange man, Greg. You're very, very sexy. But you're very,
very
strange. You make me feel all goosebumpy.'

‘Well, believe me, the feeling is mutual. I still think you should see a doctor about being so cold.'

Isobel stood up again, swaying slightly, but then she regained her balance and came right up to him. ‘I want to see Doctor Greg first of all. I'm sure Doctor Greg can warm me up.'

He kissed her chilly forehead. ‘OK. Let me finish clearing up and I'll be right with you.'

She kissed him back, on the lips. ‘If you're very good I might let you try out your thermometer.'

She tilted her way into the bedroom. Michael waited for a moment, until he heard her stumble into the bathroom, and then he went back into the kitchen. He took his time clearing the table and rinsing the plates, whistling tunelessly to himself as he did so. He was trying to be nonchalant, but he was so tense that even his jaw was aching. He could easily forget about rescuing Natasha Kerwin. All he had to do was finish the dishes, undress and go to bed, where Isobel would be waiting for him, her legs open, polar-cold but welcoming.

He saw himself reflected in the blackness of the kitchen window. He looked like a ghost of himself, clearing up a ghostly kitchen, out in the night. He wondered which one of them was real, or if they were
both
real, or neither of them.

As he was putting away the knives that they hadn't used tonight, he saw a pair of kitchen scissors in the cutlery drawer, and a thought occurred to him about what he was going to be doing tonight. He took out the scissors and stuck them in the back pocket of his jeans.

When he had finished wiping the work surfaces, he folded up his dish-towel, looked around the kitchen to make sure that he had put everything away, and switched off the light. He went through to the bedroom to find Isobel already fast asleep, her clothes strewn all across the carpet.

He leaned over the bed and whispered, ‘Isobel?' but she didn't even murmur.

He looked at her for a while. It was hard to think that he would never see her again. Although she had been so physically cold, she had been an extraordinary lover, and she had become his friend, too, and that was what he would miss about her more than anything else. She had accepted him for who he was, post-traumatic amnesia and all, and made him feel that she really valued his company.

He went into his own bedroom and took his warm black roll-neck sweater out of his closet. The rest of the few clothes that the clinic had given him he would have to leave behind. He put on his overcoat and laced up his boots, and then he took down the keys to Isobel's Jeep. He supposed that taking her SUV was technically theft, but he proposed to leave it in some supermarket parking lot once he had put a good few miles between him and Trinity, and phone her to tell her where she could recover it.

He went out and closed the front door very quietly behind him. Then he unlocked the Jeep and climbed into the driver's seat. The leather was as cold as Isobel's skin. It even
smelled
cold.

He didn't start up the engine immediately, but released the parking brake and put the gear shift into neutral so that the Jeep rolled silently backward down the sloping driveway and into the road. It was only then that he turned the key, and the engine surged into life, and he turned the wheel and headed for Mrs Kroker's house. All the same, he didn't switch on his lights, in case the security patrol were anywhere in the vicinity.