Visions (24 page)

42

It wasn’t long before a letter arrived from Mr Briggs, asking whether I would able to attend a meeting to discuss when I would return to Logford High School and what he could do to make my return as comfortable as possible. Theo and I talked in depth about what my options were. Despite being embarrassed by the feeling of weakness that I associated with my fear of going back, I admitted to Theo how strongly I felt about returning to that corridor. He agreed that, in terms of my mental health, it probably wasn’t the best option. Together we came to the conclusion that it may be beneficial for me to take some more time for recovery and then seek employment somewhere else. I informed Mr Briggs over the phone and then posted my letter of resignation to him the very same day. I felt only relief. Morgan and Hazel were quick to reassure me that we would remain close even though we wouldn’t be seeing each other during the working day.

Morgan carried out a collection to get me a leaving present, which surprised me when she explained that enough had been donated for her to get me a spa-day voucher for when I was recovered enough.

A month later, I felt up to enjoying a spa day. To my delight, Morgan and Hazel paid for themselves to join me, resulting in one of the loveliest days out I had ever been on. Morgan seemed determined to talk me into staying in teaching but going to another school. “You’re a really good teacher, Gill. Think of the impact you had on Amelia and George and all the other vulnerable pupils you worked with. Plus, you know what they say about getting back on the horse.” I knew that there was wisdom behind her words, but I also knew that in any classroom, I would always be far too wary of the children, especially those who bore any resemblance to Darren Pierce. A teacher’s relationship with his or her pupils is built on trust and I didn’t feel capable of generating that again after what had happened.

Theo seemed contented to have me off work. He liked coming home and finding me there, cleaning or putting shopping away, but it was too much of an old-fashioned role for me to stay in forever. I kept reminding him that it was just temporary and not to get too used to the idea of me becoming a housewife.

The wedding became a popular topic of conversation and eventually, we agreed to set a date for an autumn wedding next year, which would give us plenty of time for planning. We started to look for the perfect location, but found flaws with every venue we looked at. Theo had a preference for churches to show respect for his religious background, whereas I was more keen on the idea of a warm, luxurious hall in a hotel.

The debate continued through the rest of the summer until we arranged for our parents to officially meet for a meal at our favourite Italian restaurant. My mother and Sofronia seemed to hit it off straight away. They set about discussing what they were going to wear for the wedding while Paul seemed more interested in whether we were going to be able to serve fresh salmon at the dinner afterwards. “Of course, we’ll have to make sure
we don’t clash with each other!” my mother stated. “Then we have the bride to consider.” She turned to include me in their conversation. “How can we or you decide what we’re going to wear when you have no idea where it will take place? If you were going to have the ceremony in summer, there wouldn’t be as much of a problem but autumn? You will not be able to predict whether the weather will be warm or cold, wet or dry,” she complained. I opened my mouth to defend my decision, but she’d already started speaking again. “Then she’s considering having the ceremony in a drafty old church . Oh, I understand the appeal. Your father and I were married at Saint Augustine, but it was s…” She seemed to drift away with her memories.

“Paul and I were also married in a church. The Resurrection Church at Antipata. It’s still so beautiful and any drafts would have been welcome in that heat, I assure you! It’s like a beautiful, miniature palace with the traditional stained glass windows and glorious steeple. The perfect background for a bride on her wedding day.” Sofie sighed and then looked around. We were all captivated by her description. “I can show you pictures! Of course, Theo will have already have seen them. They will bore him but you, Gill, will appreciate the beauty of it.”

“It sounds perfect,” I agreed.

“Would you consider getting married there?” Theo asked me, quietly. “I know I would love to be able to say that I got married in the same church as my parents and then maybe our children…”

“Whoa! Remember what I said about moving too fast!” I laughed.

It was decided before I had even seen the pictures of Sofie and Paul’s wedding. A trip to Greece would be an opportunity to see where Theo grew up and learn about his heritage. It would also be our wedding and honeymoon combined.

After that decision was made, we were able to start planning properly. Morgan, Hazel, my mother, and I went shopping for wedding dresses together and quickly found a classic, ivory column dress. When the shop owner brought it into the changing room, she described it as being a floaty number that reminded her of the old-fashioned Grecian style. It seemed like fate, especially when I tried it on and everyone was shocked at how well it fit without requiring any alterations. Keres and I liaised by phone, discussing what flowers were available at that time of year in Greece and what colours would be suitable; then she took care of all the orders for me, which was a great help.  Andreas teased me relentlessly about being carried to the church on donkey back and was genuinely surprised when I agreed that I would like to have the traditional donkey for the photographs, just maybe not to carry me when I was wearing my wedding dress!

43

The wedding seemed to be approaching quickly and I was sensitively aware of the amount of time that had passed since my release from hospital. It was time for me to start living my life again. At first, not spending each day working and worrying about responsibility had been novel, but I was starting to realise that being a kept woman wasn’t for me. I missed having a list of tasks to do and the feeling of satisfaction when one was accomplished. I missed the feeling of being needed for something important. Most of all, I missed the interaction with colleagues on a daily basis, the meetings and casual debates over how something should be done.

              One evening, while we were watching a zombie film on television, Theo realised that my attention was not on the screen. “Ok, I’ll stop doing it!” he announced with a sigh.

              “Stop doing what?”

              “Commenting on how unrealistic the blood and guts are. I can’t help it. I’m sure I could do a better job with the makeup. How can you make an audience cringe when the intestines look just like a string of sausages doused with tomato ketchup? Sorry! I said I would stop, didn’t I?”

              “You’re fine. I was just thinking, that’s all.”

              “About what?” He paused the film.

              “What I’m going to do with myself. I mean, I don’t think I can cope with not working for much longer. I’m going stir-crazy in the house, always trying to find something to occupy myself with. I know I don’t want to go back to teaching, though. Definitely not at Logford, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to do that job again anywhere,” I admitted.

              “I’ll have a word with my boss and ask if we can hire you as my own personal assistant,” he teased. “I’m sure I can think of lots of personal tasks you can attend to for me.”

Playfully, I pushed him away before the subject got dropped. “I’m serious, Theo! I want to feel useful again. I was thinking of looking into a career with the police.” Theo looked shocked. “I don’t mean like being an officer, walking the streets, apprehending criminals or anything. I was thinking I would like to something more along the lines of crime investigation…”

              “What, like on telly?”

              “Kind of, but I’m sure it’s not really that dramatic.”

              “I hope not. They have a high turnover for actors because they’re always getting killed off by serial killers.”

I looked at Theo for signs that he was joking, but he was examining his fingernails with a serious expression on his face. “Theo! How many serial killers do you read about in the local newspaper? I meant more along the lines of going looking at house that have been broken into, taking fingerprints, and putting the clues together to figure out what has happened.”

              “We’ll have to look into it, then. Maybe you could phone Roxie James tomorrow and ask her what she thinks? She might have some insider tips on how to get into it.” The subject was dropped as Theo turned the film back on, but the sight of limbs being ripped off looked ridiculous and I couldn’t concentrate on the thin plot.

              Instead, I tried to remember details from the vision where I’d been sitting inside Roxie’s office having an official looking conversation. I wanted desperately to know what we’d been talking about and what my input was. Theo was imagining me in a role like Gil Grissom in the CSI series, putting myself in a potentially life-threatening situation on a weekly basis, but in my mind, I was like Sherlock Holmes, absorbing the evidence and piecing it together before presenting my theories to an astounded audience.

              Just like a gentle wave, the vision took over and I welcomed it this time, knowing that my directed thoughts had some impact on where I was going. My first feeling was disappointment at the realisation that it wasn’t myself I was seeing. Instead, I was about to see something happen to someone else. Then, when I realised it was my mother’s terraced house in front of me, I felt panic. But my attention was quickly diverted away from her front garden and directed at Martina’s bay window. A dark figure stood on tip-toes in front of it, reaching up to the highest section of the window with a screwdriver. Focusing hard, I moved in to get more detail. It was a man, wearing a black hooded top. He was trying to force the screwdriver between the wooden frames and was making swift progress. I took one more look at his face, before forcing myself to return to the present.

              Theo hadn’t even noticed anything had happened; he was far too absorbed in his gory film. It was only when I dived to my feet and grabbed the phone that he realised I’d again had a vision but by that point, I was already dialling Roxie’s desk number. I didn’t have to wait long before it was answered, but I didn’t recognise the woman’s voice. It certainly wasn’t Roxie. “Sergeant James is not on duty at the moment,” she informed me. “Can I take a message?”

              “Yes, tell her it’s Gillian Gordon…In fact, no, I’ll just ring the emergency services instead.” I was about to put the phone down when the woman repeated my name. “That’s right.”

              “There’s a note on Sergeant James’s desk that says I need to give you her mobile number if you ring. Have you got a pen?” I quickly scrawled the number and within minutes I was speaking with Roxie herself, explaining the situation. Theo listened until he’d got the gist of what was going on and then he disappeared, reappearing as I put the phone down with car keys and our coats over his arm.

              We were closer to the street than Roxie was. When we arrived, we found that the the burglar had scarpered, but not until he’d gained access and set Martina’s alarm off by breaking the beam as he moved from the living room to the dining room. Martina had sensibly turned all the lights on and phoned the police already. Theo and I found her looking very shaken, waiting for the police to arrive. She was surprised to see us, but still seemed to be in shock to the point where she wasn’t really registering what was going on.

              Roxie arrived five minutes later. She was quickly followed by my mother who peered out of the window, curious see why two cars had pulled up outside with such little time in between. Seeing that one was a police car and the other Theo’s, she came speeding round. Informing her of the situation had to wait, though, as Roxie needed to get all the details down so the police cars patrolling the area would have a description of who they were looking for.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything,” Martina apologised. “By the time I got downstairs, he had opened the front door and ran for it. I can tell you that he’s taken my handbag, though. It was on the chair near the front door so the bugger’s grabbed it as he’s ran past. It’s not even real leather, but it has my purse in it with all my cards and about fifty pounds as well.”

Roxie started taking down a description of the missing handbag.

              “I can tell you what he looks like,” I interrupted.

              “Why? Did you see him leave?” Martina asked.

              “Not exactly,” I admitted.

Martina looked confused.

“I’ll explain later,” I suggested as Roxie sat with her pen poised, ready for my description. “He’s a young man, probably in his late twenties, perhaps early thirties. He has a black, hooded top on. His face is pointed with a long nose and thin lips. Oh and he’s unshaven, too.”

Roxie didn’t question what I said. She scrawled it down and then relayed it through the radio.

              Fifteen minutes later and Martina’s statement had been taken. Roxie radioed to find out whether they’d found anybody, but they were still looking. They had found the handbag in a backstreet round the corner, but it was empty. After that the trail had gone completely dry.

With all my might, I focused on what I’d seen in the vision, thinking about where he might be now. The vision came with surprising speed and then, when I’d gained the information I’d been seeking, it faded. “He’s under the bridge at the park, the one that goes over the duck pond. I can see him crouched down in the darkness.”

              “I need officers on either side of the bridge at Saint Aiden’s Park. We have reason to think our burglar is hiding under there,” Roxie ordered.

              Within minutes the culprit was being taken into custody. Martina’s usually stylish cropped hair stood up in all directions as she rubbed her head relentlessly. An officer’s voice boomed over the radio, announcing that they had retrieved Martina’s purse. Roxie told her she would need to attend at the station tomorrow to retrieve her handbag.              

Martina insisted on making us all a cup of coffee before we left. She claimed that it was to say thank you, but I suspected that she didn’t relish the thought of being on her own after having an intruder in the house. She kept repeating how scared she’d been when the alarm had woken her up with its high-pitched squealing. Strangely, she seemed to accept that something inexplicable had happened when I’d been able to tell Roxie exactly where the burglar was. She didn’t ask any more questions and I wondered how much she had been told by my mother, who now sat proudly looking at me.

              “Gillian was going to phone you tomorrow, Sergeant James,” Theo broke the silence. “She’s thinking of going into crime investigation.”

              “We’d be glad to have you,” Roxie said, looking at me. “I’m sure I would be able to sort something out. Explaining the truth might be out of the question, but for obvious reasons, you would be invaluable to the team.”

              Roxie was true to her word. A couple of weeks later, I was shadowing an experienced crime investigator, who insisted on continuously apologising for the boring nature of the work, but I wasn’t bored. I was fascinated. I was the happiest I had been for a long time.