Page 30 of Pyg

16

WHY WOULD IT BE DODGY?

S tanding in front of the hospital, Alice shivered and hugged her arms around herself. As the daylight faded, so too did the warmth of the spring afternoon, and she regretted not grabbing a coat, but it had seemed like an added faff with her cast. Besides, with all the heat blazing through her in Ash’s presence, extra clothing hadn’t been necessary at the time. The toot of a car horn snapped Alice out of her thoughts. A green Mini pulled up to the curb, and she jumped in.

“What are you like?” Maggie grinned, shaking her head.

“Walking disaster, that’s me.”

“You didn’t have to go to such extreme measures to avoid further exercise.”

“Haha, very funny. Now, thank you for coming to get me, but I have another favour to ask as well.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “What now?”

“Come on, Mags, don’t be a bore. Don’t tell me you have to rush home to cook dinner for your darling husband?”

“Fuck off, Alice.”

Alice smirked.

“It’s Friday, so Markus is cooking tonight. He makes a real effort in the kitchen these days.”

“So he bloody well should.”

Maggie pouted and considered her sister for a moment. “Out with it, then.”

Alice pulled her phone from her pocket and scrolled to the note she’d made with George’s address and instructions for finding the spare key. “It shouldn’t take long. I’ve checked and it’s only fifteen minutes away. We need to go here.” She tilted the screen at Maggie.

“Why?” Maggie’s perfectly pruned eyebrows pinched together as she looked at the address.

“Because I said I would.”

Maggie narrowed her eyes. “Is this anything to do with that doctor you fancy?”

Alice tried to bite back her smile. “No, stop it. I don’t?—”

“Too easy.” Maggie laughed as she typed the address into her satnav.

“It’s for George, actually.”

“George?” Maggie shook her head, her sleek bobbed hair swaying with the motion.

“Keep up, Mags. George, the man I found in the road last week.”

Maggie dropped the handbrake and took off. “Oh great, because now it’s all so much clearer.”

“I want to help him.”

“You can barely help yourself, Al. Look at you.” Maggie gave her a sidelong glance, her lips twisted in disapproval.

“That’s not a reason not to help someone else.”

“This better not be anything dodgy.”

Alice scoffed. “Why would it be dodgy?”

* * *

At the end of a row of eight houses stood George’s cottage. Set back from the road and standing apart from the other taller properties, it resembled a lonely old man, hunched over a pint. The roof sagged under the weight of its years and the windows reflected the dying daylight like black, lifeless eyes.

“I really don’t like this, Alice.” Maggie glanced over her shoulder at her Mini parked on the grass verge. She clicked the key fob and, with an orange flash from the indicators, the doors locked. “Are you sure this is the right address?”

Alice shrugged. “It’s what George gave me.”

“And tell me, why has he asked you to come here, exactly?”

“No one can get hold of his next of kin, and they don’t know what triggered George’s dissociative fugue?—”

“His what?”

“It’s like a temporary amnesia, possibly caused by something traumatic.”

Maggie held up her hands and spun around to face Alice. “So, what… you’ve brought us here to find out what traumatised a man so much he ended up in hospital?”

“Well, when you put it like that.” Alice bit her lip.

“We’re literally in the middle of nowhere. What if?—”

“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not the middle of nowhere, there’s another house right there.” Alice pointed to the two-story house beyond the tall hedge bordering George’s property.

“Why did I let you talk me into this?”

“Look, we’re here now. We may as well have a look around and see what’s what. And don’t worry, I have a weapon!” Alice waved her plaster cast in the air.

“Oh terrifying! You’re going to wield your broken Barbie arm like a club, are you?”

“Huh, that’s what Marjorie called it too.”

“Who?” Maggie scowled.

“George’s nurse.”

“Well, if Barbie were to pick a plaster cast…”

“The colour options were limited.”

“Sure they were.”

“Come on, let’s get this over with.” Alice linked her arm through Maggie’s, and the sisters stepped towards the cottage. At the front door, Alice bent down and tipped back a terracotta plant pot full of blooming narcissi. “Hold this a sec, will you?”

Maggie tutted and bent to hold the pot. Alice used her good arm to feel around underneath until her fingers grazed something cold.

“ Et voila! ” She held up the key, before turning it in the lock. The door creaked open into a dark hallway.

“Of course, the door creaks like we’re in a fucking horror movie,” whispered Maggie.

Alice turned and glared at her. “Do you want to just wait out here?”

Maggie looked as if she were seriously considering it. “No, because you have the weapon.”

They laughed and ventured inside. With Maggie’s near-hysteria ramping up the tension, Alice flicked on the light, half-expecting to see a body face down on the floor, but all that covered the floorboards was a well-worn rug.

“Alice, look,” Maggie whispered.

“Why are you whispering?”

“I don’t know. But look.” She jutted her chin to a pile of post stacked on a console table. “Someone must have been in here. They’ve been picking up the post.”

Alice frowned. “George didn’t mention anyone else.”

They walked through the unremarkable rooms together. Nothing seemed unusual or out of the ordinary. Having chatted to George, the decor and furnishings were, as Alice expected, functional yet comfortable. She’d even go as far as calling the place cosy, with the log burner and the shelves stacked with books. She could imagine George in this space; and, much like his face, she would describe it as ‘lived-in.’

In the kitchen, Alice filled a jug to tend to the thirsty houseplants, some of which she recognised as the same variety she’d had in the office. However, as she went to pour the water, she saw the soil was already damp.

“Al,” Maggie called from the lounge. “I think there’s a voicemail.”

Alice joined Maggie by the phone where a red light rapidly blinked on the answering machine.

“Should we listen to it?”

“It feels a bit intrusive, but yeah, I suppose that’s why we’re here.”

Maggie pressed the button and a robotic voice chirped from the speaker, “You have one new message and two saved messages. New message, received Saturday the third of April at oh-one-thirty-six.”

First, came the sound of shuffling and heavy breathing into a receiver. Then, “George? Are you there?” The heavily accented voice hitched and stumbled with emotion. “Please, you must call me back. Again, I will try your mobile.” A click and the message ended with a loud beep.

The sisters looked at each other.

“That didn’t sound good, whatever it was.”

“Shall we listen to the saved messages? Maybe there’s more?” Maggie pushed another button and the robotic voice moved onto a different script.

“First saved message, received Friday the second of April at seventeen-twenty-seven.”

“Happy birthday, dear brother. Thank you for the card. Can you believe it?” the voice gasped, then chuckled. “Me? Sixty-six. But you, you’re almost seventy, dear boy. We’re old men. Sorry I didn’t call you earlier. Juan whisked me off for pancakes at The Langham before we caught a matinee — My Fair Lady . Of all the shows.” A phlegmy cough wheezed at the end of the muffled line. “Sorry about that, still haven’t recovered fully from that blasted chest infection, nothing a drop of whisky won’t cure, eh? Oh, and he’s pouring me one now, the darling. Better dash. Speak soon, dear.” Click, beep. The message ended.

Alice looked up from the phone, meeting Maggie’s eyes. “That must have been Bernard — the next of kin no one can get hold of. But I’m confused, do they have the same birthday?”

“He sounds a bit?—”

“Gay?”

Maggie hit Alice with a hard glare. “I was going to say eccentric , actually. The first voice was different, though. I wonder who that was?”

“There’s one more message.” Alice clicked the play button.

“Second saved message received Friday the second of April at twenty-fourteen.”

“George, it’s me, Juan.”

Juan — the man with the accent. The words that followed were rushed and panicked, punctuated with rhythmic beeps and whooshing. Muffled voices spoke in the background, but it was impossible to make them out.

“It’s his heart, Bernard’s heart… it’s not good. We’re in the ambulance and he is, how you say, is cardiac arrested? I think it’s my fault, I just wanted him to have a — George, you can speak with him, please? George, I will pass the phone?—”

A different voice cut into the recording. “Sorry, sir, but I’m going to need you to move back.” The sound of shuffling brushed over the receiver, followed by a series of erratic beeps. Then one continuous, high-pitched tone pierced down the line, but not enough to mask the sound of Juan breaking into a sob. “No, no, Bernie, no?—”

Click, beep.

Alice stared down at the machine; for such an unassuming little black box, a whole lot of drama had unspooled from its recordings. George had heard this message the night she found him. Clearly it had triggered his catatonic state. But why had he ventured out into the night? Where was he trying to get to?

“Poor George.” Alice stroked the machine as if it might somehow comfort him.

“Poor Bernard, by the sounds of it.”

“Yeah, well, that too. And now we have to break the news to George again because I’m not sure he knows that he knows. I mean, he knows that something isn’t right, but this is—” Alice blew out a long breath.

“What about this Juan fellow? Do you think there’s anything sinister?”

“How so?”

“He said, I think it’s my fault .”

“I guess I need to speak to George about that. I can’t just call Ash and leave her to do it.”

“Really, tonight?” Maggie looked at her watch. “It’s late. Doesn’t he need to rest?”

“Yeah, perhaps you’re right. I’ll go tomorrow. Let’s round up some bits for him. It might help him piece things together. Oh, and I need to find his phone charger too.”

Alice spun around and almost screamed at the sight in the window. A face framed by a shock of frizzy ginger hair pressed against it, peering through the glass.

“Who the fuck is that?” Maggie whispered, with round eyes like a frightened bunny.

“How should I know? Come on, let’s find out.” Alice led the way, with Maggie trailing behind. She steeled herself with a breath before unlatching the door — Barbie arm at the ready behind her back, should it be required.

“Who are you? Where’s George?” The short squat woman, owner of the face and frizzy hair, barged past the sisters and turned, putting herself in a position to shoo them out.

“Whoa! I should ask you the same thing.”

“I’m Trisha Summers, friend and neighbour of George. And who might you be?”

Alice released a breath. “Trisha, did you say? Sorry, yes, I’m Alice, and this is my sister, Maggie.”

Trisha glanced between them, her fierce little face still scrunched with suspicion.

Alice spoke slowly in the hope it might help the scary little woman to relax. “George is in hospital, he had a bit of an accident and we, well, me — I’ve been visiting him. He asked me to pop by and check on things here.”

The woman’s face fell. “What? But he knows I keep a check on things for him here. He knows he can always call me.” Then, as if struck by an afterthought, she said, “Why’s he in hospital then? He didn’t say nothing about going to hospital.”

“It’s a bit of a long story, but he’s doing much better now. We came by to pick up a few things for him, including his phone charger, and then he’ll be able to give you a call… if he wants to.” Alice could already think of several reasons why he might not. She glanced at Maggie, who looked like she was thinking the same.

“Well, I suppose you don’t look too much like burglars, so that should be okay. Shall I help you find what you’re looking for?”

“Yes, please. That’d be a big help.”

Alice caught Maggie’s eye as Trisha beckoned them through to the kitchen like she was their host.

“So, Trisha, do you know George’s brother?” Alice continued to speak slowly, judging that it might be the best approach.

“Oh yes, Bernie,” she said, filling a jug at the sink and watering the already-saturated plants.

“And Juan?”

“Lovely Juan, Bernie’s husband. He comes from Spain, you know?”

“Yes, I heard… and, er, have Bernard and Juan been in touch recently?”

Alice glanced at Maggie’s frowning face, choosing to ignore her as she mouthed, “What are you doing?”

Trisha dried the water jug and put it away. “Oh no, we don’t see much of them. They live in London. I come by here when George goes to visit. I keep an eye on things. But, most importantly, I take care of his Pyglet.”

“What, he has an actual piglet?”

Trisha laughed and gave a funny little snort, which actually resembled that of a piglet. “No, no. Pyglet’s a dog, of course.”

“Of course,” Alice grinned, flicking her eyes to Maggie.

“Pyglet doesn’t strictly belong to George. She’s a stray, a free spirit. George found her, and he named her too. At first, I said, ‘that’s a strange name for a dog’, but George insisted and it’s stuck.”

Maggie glared at Alice and tipped her head towards the front door. Alice nodded.

Trisha continued to potter around the kitchen, lost in an invisible list of chores. “Although Pyglet seems to spend more time at mine than here. She has a dog flap, so she comes and goes as she pleases.” Trisha chuckled.

“I see. Well, shall we get that phone charger, Trisha?”

“Oh yes.” She held up a plump finger and charged forward with it in the air, like it was a jousting stick. “Right this way.”