Nicola Barker - The Yips

Gene glances up at the ceiling then closes his eyes. He struggles to gather together his depleted resources.

‘And that’s fine,’ Sheila continues. ‘It’s not a problem. It’s absolutely fine. In fact it’s actually a huge weight off my mind at some, strange level.’

‘So if I can finally summarize,’ he interjects, ‘you’re ringing me because you honestly think …’ — he struggles to bite back the powerful feeling of irritation that grips him — ‘you seriously believe that my work colleague, Jen, might’ve been kidnapped by Esther’s sister, Vicki Wilson. Ransom’s ex,’ he adds.

‘Ah. So you do know about that connection.’ Sheila’s relieved. ‘That’s good. That’s a relief. I’ve been struggling with the idea of breaking a confidence.’

‘Jen brought him — the boy, I mean.’ Gene lowers his voice. ‘Vicki’s son, Israel — she brought him to the club this afternoon.’

‘What happened?’ Sheila’s outraged.

‘Not much so far as I can tell.’

‘This certainly gives Vicki motive,’ Sheila muses.

‘Yes. I suppose it does to some extent,’ Gene concedes.

‘Well, to answer your previous question,’ Sheila rapidly follows on, ‘I am completely convinced. It’s a leap of faith — of course it is, at one level — but I just … I just know — have this powerful gut instinct — that Jen is in a confined space, like an attic, or a suitcase. And after I listened to the tape about a hundred times I decided that the strong likelihood is that she’s stuck in the boot of a car. I know it sounds insane …’

‘So you’re presuming that this Vicki has a car — maybe a rental.’

‘A hire car. And at the start of the tape there’s something that sounds a tiny bit like a siren. This wailing sound — did you notice it?’

‘No.’ Gene shakes his head.

‘Well I have a hunch that it’s a siren, which leads me to think that Jen might be stuck in the boot of a hire car parked in or around the hospital grounds.’

‘I see.’ Gene nods.

‘It’s funny,’ Sheila murmurs, somewhat bitter-sweetly, ‘but when I thought this was all about me — my journey — I actually started to wonder whether I’d hurt my leg simply to facilitate the weird, chance meeting with Vicki so that I could finally fulfil my long-held literary ambitions. Like this was to be God’s gift to me. A thank you. A big pay-off. I mean the canteen was packed, and it was way after lunchtime — only one spare seat, at her table. I honestly thought it was all about me and writing — that I would finally write a book — return to writing.’

‘I had no idea,’ Gene mutters, jaundiced.

‘Because I locked it all away,’ Sheila sighs, portentously, ‘I packed it all up and stored it in the attic — after Stan came. But it was always there.’

‘I see,’ Gene repeats (through gritted teeth).

‘Be that as it may,’ Sheila barrels on, oblivious, ‘it’s all irrelevant, really, because I’ve now realized that I was barking up completely the wrong tree — this whole thing wasn’t about me after all. None of it was. I’m just a quiet observer — a dispassionate pair of eyes. I’m a tool. My ego got in the way a bit for a while back there — that’s partly why I’d been thinking all this crazy stuff about you and Jen — questioning the true nature of your relationship. It was ludicrous — laughable — I can see that now.’

‘Right.’ Gene nods, uncomfortable.

‘Anyway, the long and the short of it is that I need you to drive over to the hospital and see if you can find her.’

Gene draws a deep breath. ‘But I’m stuck here, Sheila,’ he explains, ‘I’m helping with the tattoo. Your tattoo. I’m looking after …’

He can’t say her name. He opens his mouth and then closes it again.

‘I fully appreciate that,’ Sheila concedes, ‘but this is important — a crisis.’

‘As I’m sure you can imagine,’ Gene persists, ‘she’s incredibly stressed and anxious. I’m her entire support network. I can’t just up and leave. She’s depending on me.’

‘Are you with her now?’ Sheila wonders.

‘No. I’m standing guard in the hallway.’

‘Standing guard?’

‘The club’s management are kicking up a stink about the tattoo.’

‘Then just nip off,’ Sheila suggests.

‘Just “nip off”?!’ Gene’s appalled. ‘I don’t think you quite understand …’

How important I am , he thinks.

‘Just pop your head into the room, let her know that you’re still out there, then quickly nip off. She’ll be busy with the tattoo — preoccupied. It’s not going to take you very long. Forty minutes, tops.’

‘The hospital’s a good twenty-minute drive from here!’ Gene’s outraged.

‘That’s a wild exaggeration!’

‘No it isn’t!’

‘Look — I’d go myself but you’ve got the Megane. I’m looking after Mallory, and above and beyond all that I can hardly walk let alone drive. My head’s completely fugged up from too many painkillers.’

‘Under any other circumstances —’ Gene starts off.

‘You have to go, Gene,’ Sheila interrupts, ‘or I’ll go crazy. I’ll explode. I mean I really will lose the plot.’

‘Well perhaps you should try and get a grip on yourself!’ Gene snaps.

‘Gene, I know that Jen is trapped!’ Sheila howls. ‘This is serious! Think about it from her perspective! She’ll be completely and utterly petrified!’

‘Okay.’ Gene’s finally had enough. ‘I’m not for a minute suggesting that what you’ve experienced isn’t of great significance, but from where I’m standing you’ve had a bit of a scare, you’re completely exhausted and over-wrought, you’ve taken a shit-load of prescription drugs …’

‘Don’t do this to me, Gene!’ Sheila warns him.

‘Earlier this afternoon you were cheerfully deserting us — your entire family, not to mention your congregation — apparently on a whim, to go and spend six months halfway across the world with this Vicki Wilson woman. Now you suddenly think she’s a dangerous felon — a kidnapper.’

‘She’s not dangerous!’ Sheila scoffs. ‘She just might end up doing something … something extreme — unexpected — if push comes to shove. No pun intended. She’s an activist — a live-wire — a bit of a lunatic.’

‘Now she’s a lunatic!’ Gene exclaims, exasperated.

‘Yes. Yes. She’s a lunatic! And that’s precisely what I like about her. She’s brave but slightly deranged. She’s very loyal, very driven, possibly slightly paranoid, very protective, very passionate …’

‘More words,’ Gene murmurs, dryly (before he can stop himself), ‘I thought it was all about the visuals from here on in.’

‘Ow,’ Sheila mutters.

‘Sorry,’ Gene promptly apologizes.

‘I don’t know why, but you just seem really … I don’t know … angry today,’ Sheila muses.

‘Great.’ Gene rolls his eyes.

‘Defensive. Preoccupied. And maybe you have good reason to be. That’s fine. I accept that. But this isn’t about you or me. This is about Jen and Vicki. They need our help.’

Gene starts walking down the corridor.

‘What if I phone Jen’s dad and tell him what you’ve told me?’

‘He’ll think you’ve taken leave of your senses!’

‘ Exactly! There’s your answer!’

‘Gene’ — Sheila’s voice is suddenly as dark and smooth as a bar of Swiss chocolate made from seventy per cent cocoa mass — ‘I don’t have the time or the energy to play games with you right now. I want you to drive to the hospital. I don’t know how much more adamant — more emphatic — I can be about this. You need to get in your car and drive to the hospital. I mean it. If you don’t do it … actually, no. I’m not going to make threats. I’m just telling you. I’m saying to you that if our marriage or my faith or our life together stand for anything then you need to do as I’ve asked. I can’t add anything to that. In fact I’m going to ring off. And if — or when — you ring me back, I want you to have Jen with you. I need to know that she’s okay. Right. I’m going to hang up now.’