Mo Hayder - Poppet

Even through the pall of sleep AJ knows her sniffs are fake. He sits up now, peers seriously at her. ‘Melanie? Allergy? Are you sure? It’s autumn.’

‘Yes – I’m sorry, I think it’s dear old Stewart and I …’

AJ looks from Stewart to Melanie and back again, perplexed. But he gets up anyway and takes Stewart out on to the landing, closes the door and returns to bed.

‘Thank you.’ She cuddles into him. She’s cold and covered in goosebumps. From her breathing he knows her nose isn’t bunged up at all. ‘Thank you.’

‘What’s really the matter?’ he asks. ‘You haven’t got an allergy.’

She stops her wriggling and goes still like an animal caught in a trap. He can feel her ribcage rising and falling very gently.

‘Melanie? What is it? Did you see something?’

‘No – I promise. It’s an allergy.’

‘Please. I’m honest with you.’

There’s a long silence. Then she shakes her head. ‘No. You’ll think I’m crazy.’

‘Try me.’

‘I couldn’t sleep—’

‘Not surprising. And with everything you ate last night too.’

‘No – every time I opened my eyes Stewart was awake. I just kept thinking what you said about how something happened – how he …’ She swallows. ‘How he disappeared. AJ? What do you think he saw?’

AJ frowns, looks down at her to see if she’s serious. Melanie Arrow, the hard-headed, no-nonsense workaholic. It’s actually getting to her.

‘Hey.’ He kisses her on her forehead. ‘You’re safe here. I promise.’

She gives a weak smile. ‘Promise, promise, pinkie promise?’

‘Pinkie promise, cross my heart. Now go to sleep.’

Eventually she does go back to sleep. AJ does too. It’s a dreamless, deep sleep – and they are both so tired that they snooze on through the alarm. It’s only Stewart scratching at the door and whimpering that wakes them. They jump up hurriedly, and race around trying to organize themselves. Patience is still asleep but she’s been up in the night and has left coffee brewing for them on the stove. AJ pours a cup for Melanie and drinks his mug standing in the doorway watching Stewart doing his thing in the fields.

He wonders what on earth is going on with the dog. Mel’s right, something is really askew. When Stewart’s had a pee, instead of trotting back to the cottage for his breakfast, he turns and looks in the direction of the woods.

‘No.’ AJ shakes his head. ‘No, Stewart, not again. Come on, come here. Now.’

Stewart can’t make up his mind whether to obey. He gives the woods a longing look, then glances back at AJ.

‘I said now , Stewart.’

Finally Stewart’s stomach gets the better of him and he trots obligingly back inside. If he resents being thrown out of the bedroom last night it doesn’t show as he tucks into his breakfast. AJ watches him thoughtfully for a few moments, then he washes his coffee mug and heads back upstairs.

Melanie has showered and is already dressed and sitting in the chair next to his bedroom window, delving into her handbag. She’s wearing a white blouse with a sailor collar and little black bow and silver earrings dangling around her jawline. When he comes in she hurriedly takes her hands out of the handbag. But not so quickly that he hasn’t seen what she was doing.

He looks at the bag. ‘Still haven’t found your bracelet?’

‘Oh,’ she shrugs. ‘No – no, I … Never mind, it’s not the end of the world.’

‘It’s hard, when you lose something that precious to you.’

Melanie blinks and continues smiling at him. But he can tell it’s an effort. She’s fighting to stop something under the surface cracking open.

‘Melanie?’

‘Yes,’ she says brightly. She jumps up and turns her back on him, begins shovelling things into her bag. ‘Gotta get going, AJ, we’ve gotta get going – people to see, hospitals to run. Come on.’ She holds up her hand and clicks her fingers, still not looking at him. ‘ Vamos, vamos, vamos, babbbeeeee! ’

AJ’S HEAD IS misbehaving – leaping all over the places he doesn’t want it to leap. If he’s not thinking about whether Melanie’s still got feelings for Jonathan Keay, he’s wondering why DI Caffery hasn’t called. Not that AJ expects him to, but he’d like some sort of contact. And an update. That conversation they had keeps plaguing him: Do you really not know what happened at Upton Farm …

The moment he and Melanie get to work, AJ makes an excuse and goes straight to Handel’s room. It still hasn’t been turned round for the next admission off the acute ward. He unlocks the door, goes in, and locks the door behind him before anyone sees. The rooms in the pre-discharge ward are designed for low-risk patients ready to move either out into the community or to be referred on to medium-secure units. The patients have furniture and can put up posters. Some risk-evaluated patients even have baths in their en suites. Handel was allowed a tub and coat hangers and a spotlight above his bed for reading.

A start has been made on preparing the room for the next occupant. The cleaning equipment has been brought up here and left in the corner. There are two bin liners full of rubbish sitting under the window. AJ squats and starts going through the contents. Nothing too odd: the usual assortment of sweet-wrappers, a mouldy apple, magazines and old underwear.

The patients are very good at hiding things away – and it’s rarely the sort of things one might expect, like cigarettes or drugs. Quite often it’s food. AJ’s lost count of the number of treasure troves of mouldering cake and pizza he’s found tucked away in pillowcases, in the backs of wardrobes, even stuffed into trainers with the laces tied neatly over the top. Sometimes it’s dirty clothes they’ve attached a random significance to. Once he found an old-fashioned ceramic sewing thimble that had been packed to the brim with a thick sticky substance. He’d put the tip of a biro into it and dug around for several seconds before he realized it was the patient’s collection of ear wax.

It’s a charmed life this, working at Beechway.

Having gone through the contents of the bin bags and found nothing that means anything to him, AJ sits on the mattress and glances around. The walls are bare apart from a few dabs of Blu-tack where Isaac’s posters have been taken down. The curtains are torn in one place – he must make a note of that and get a works requisition into Maintenance. The door to Isaac’s shower room is open, and AJ’s attention is drawn to the tap in the basin, which is dripping steadily.

The bathrooms are designed to be indestructible, with no ‘ligature points’ – i.e. nowhere the patient can hang him or herself. All the taps and handles are curved down towards the floor. These bathrooms are black holes of dread to the nursing staff. It is rare to go into one and find the toilet unused. And then there is the usual careless detritus of human functions – tissues glued together with snot, and, in the case of the men, other bodily secretions. Pubic hair, scabs, vomit. Even the most fastidious OCD patients seem to have a blind spot when it comes to bathrooms.

He stares into the room for a long time, the cogs in his head turning slowly. Then he gets up and crosses to the bathroom door, switches on the light.

Thankfully the cleaning crew have been through already – it smells of bleach and the light reflects off the newly cleaned sink. The window looks out over to the admin unit, where one or two lighted windows can be seen. The skies are clouded and low, threatening rain. It’s as dark out there as if it was evening. AJ uses his toe to give the bath panel a quick push. It bends then bounces back with a loud whoomp . He crouches and runs his hand around the edge where the plastic meets the bathtub. His forefinger finds the breech – up in the top-right-hand corner, at the end where the taps are, the panel is missing a bracket.