Disordered Minds

She took him into her sitting room and dropped her case onto a chair. It was a big, open room with a French window to the garden and an archway through to a dining area and kitchen. George clearly liked clutter, because every available surface was covered with knickknacks and curios. Her taste in color was interesting, thought Jonathan, while wondering if he liked the combination of mustard yellow walls and chocolate brown carpet. Very baked earth, and not always complimentary to the paintings on the walls, but the whole feel of the room was a good reflection of George's personality. Warm, full of ideas, but not entirely comfortable to be around.

'The phone's in the kitchen,' she told him, shrugging off her suit jacket and folding it over her arm. 'I'm going upstairs to change, and it'll take me about half an hour. The coffee's by the kettle and there's an open bottle of wine in the fridge. Help yourself to whatever you want.'

'What if I don't do it?'

George shrugged. 'You'll never know what the next chapter might have been.' She pulled a wry face. 'But don't do it to please me. Dad always said I was far too curious for my own good. Do it because you want to, Jon.'

He waited until he heard her footsteps on the stairs, then walked through the archway to look for the telephone. It was on the wall at the end of an L-shaped worktop that split the kitchen area from the dining table. He put his briefcase on the table and took off his jacket, automatically removing his wallet and tucking it into the case. Even as he did it, he recalled performing the same routine in the Crown and Feathers, right down to the brush of the briefcase lining against the backs of his fingers. He raised his eyes to stare through the lead-paned windows at George's unkempt garden. He was certainly curious about that chapter. Why had Priscilla Fletcher taken his wallet if she hadn't wanted to draw attention to herself?

With a sigh, he moved to the worktop and took the receiver from the hook. In the pit of his stomach he knew the call would end in tears, but he also knew that George was right. He couldn't live in an emotional vacuum forever. Not without going mad.

Louise flung Billy's hand off her arm as she stormed out of the cafe. 'If you don't leave me alone, I'll start screaming,' she hissed under her breath, 'and I'll tell anyone who asks that you gave me the bruises.' Her pale, obstinate eyes raked him. 'You know I'll do it.'

He did. She'd always been ready to lie about his involvement if it meant getting off scot-free herself-except on the one occasion of Cill's rape. 'Go ahead,' he said, with mirrored obstinacy in his own eyes. 'Scream your head off ... and when the police arrive, I'll tell them I was a witness to Cill Trevelyan's rape, that I can name all three of the bastards involved and that Howard Stamp wasn't the only person with ginger hair who spent time in Grace Jefferies's house.'

Louise gave a shuddering laugh. 'You wouldn't do it,' she said. 'You're too like Mum. You'll worry about what the neighbors'll say and keep your mouth shut.'

'Don't rely on it, Lou.'

There was a tiny hiatus before, with an unexpected show of affection, she touched a hand to his cheek. 'It's forgotten history,' she told him, 'and you can't reopen it without hurting your wife and kids. Do you think they'll thank you for dragging their name through the mud? It's never the guilty who suffer, Billy.'

She turned away and this time Billy let her go, fear rising like a sickness in his throat. 'Your mother has a lot on her conscience...'

Jonathan was in the garden when George returned downstairs. He was picking his way rather aimlessly about her overgrown patch of lawn, head determinedly down, hands crumpling a handkerchief. She knew he'd made the call because she'd heard his voice through her bedroom floorboards.

'Oh, bugger!' she muttered to herself as she took the wine from the fridge. 'Bugger! Bugger! Bugger!' She poured a couple of glasses and took them outside. 'Chin up,' she said with false cheer, handing one to Jonathan and clinking it with hers. 'Try thinking of it as a beginning ... when a door closes behind you it means you can move on. And that's healthy. It's how it's supposed to be.'

'Your grass needs cutting,' he said, scuffing his foot across the lawn. 'Do you have a mower? Do you want me to do it for you?'

'Wouldn't you rather go home? I can give you a lift to the station.' She lowered her wine glass. 'I can finish this when I get back.'

Jonathan put a slender finger under the stem and pushed it up. 'Drink away. Andrew lent me thirty quid, so I'll take a taxi when the time comes.'

She waited for him to continue, and when he didn't: 'Do you want to talk about it? What did Emma say?'

'Nothing, I didn't speak to her.' He smiled wryly at her expression. 'Her father answered her phone. He said he'd 'rip my black nuts off' if I ever called again. I presume she's living with them, or he's confiscated her mobile.'

'What did you say?'

He played his foot across the grass again. 'That I'd be round tomorrow morning to rip his white ones off if he didn't put Emma on immediately.'

George gave a surprised laugh. 'Oh, well done! And?'

'He doesn't think I've got the nerve. He hung up.'.

She let a beat of silence pass while she watched his fidgeting toe. 'Do you have the nerve?'

'Maybe ... if I do a trial run first.'

'Who with?'

'Roy Trent,' he said with a smile, 'because the way I'm feeling at the moment, I'll rip his nuts off if he makes a remark I don't like.'

From: [email protected]

Sent: Wed. 4/23/03 17:31

To: [email protected]

Subject: Louise

I know its rachel or the twins usually does this but I can't ring because I'm angry and I don't know how to say this without getting in another row about the strikes. Ive found louise and she's living with another abuser plus there's stuff going on here that's doing my head in. lou looks like cill trevelyan and she was married to one of cills rapists for a while. she says there's things mum kept to herself to save the family embarrassment and I want to