He eyed her suspiciously. ‘I’d rather stay with you.’
‘It’s a Friday night in August, Charles. All my beds are taken for the weekend.’
‘Which doctor?’
‘How many do you know in London?’
Nine
‘WHAT IF I HADN’T shown up at your place?’ Acland asked Susan in the cab. ‘You all seem so interested in my affairs, what would you have done then?’
‘There’s nothing we could have done. None of us knew where you lived. Jackson thought you might contact Robert when you realized she’d put his card in a different slot, but Robert was less optimistic. He said you’d see that as loss of face.’
‘Did either of them phone my parents?’
Susan shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. The only information I have is that Jackson spoke to Robert at about eleven o’clock last night and he phoned me this morning to give me her number. You’d already left by the time I called her.’ She watched him withdraw into the corner of the seat. ‘We didn’t gossip about you, Charles. Jackson told me what had happened and asked me to reiterate her offer if I saw you. That’s all.’
‘You said she told you I needed a kick up the arse.’
‘I didn’t say she didn’t have a sense of humour. Would you rather she’d used a more PC expression like “Charles needs to refocus and learn motivational skills”? She strikes me as a very downto-earth woman – a straight speaker who dislikes touchy-feely waffle as much as you do. Or have Robert and I misread you on that?’
‘No.’
‘Then what’s the problem?’
‘You’re making my decisions for me. The only reason Jackson’s happy to have me back is because she’ll make a profit on my room, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy to go along with it.’
‘So stop the cab and get out,’ Susan said reasonably. ‘You’re a free agent. Go back to your flat.’
He ignored the invitation and slumped deeper in his seat. ‘All I wanted was a bed for the night.’
‘You wanted help,’ she contradicted mildly, ‘and that’s exactly what I’m giving you. You attacked a man yesterday evening . . . and, from what you told me, came close to doing it again at the bank this morning . . . not to mention the neighbour who provoked you. You’ve given yourself a series of frights. That’s what brought you to my house.’
‘Then why are you taking me to Jackson? If I’d wanted her help I’d have gone straight to the Bell.’
‘Would you? That’s not the impression you gave her. She said she couldn’t see wild horses dragging you back unless I came with you.’ Susan smiled at his mutinous expression. ‘I’m doing what you want me to do, Charles. If I wasn’t –’ she nodded towards the driver – ‘you’d tell him to stop.’
Acland stared out of the window. ‘If you say that again, I might just do it.’
‘To spite me, or to spite yourself?’
He turned back with a sigh. ‘Have you ever met Jackson?’
‘No.’
‘Well, she’s pretty damn scary.’ He stretched out his arms. ‘Over six feet . . . this wide and looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger. She makes her girlfriend do all the work, eats like a hog and sits on piles of cash that she screws out of her customers after she’s bullied them into submission. Why would I rather be with her than with you?’
Susan made a pretence of thinking about it. She had put a similar question to Robert that morning. ‘Why are you so keen for Charles to go to this Dr Jackson? Shouldn’t I try to enrol him in one of my programmes . . . or, even better, persuade him back to Birmingham so that he can re-enter yours? What do you know about her?’
‘Henry Watson knows her from when he was at the Middlesex.
She was working as a GP in one of the poorer parts of the East End and she gave him some comprehensive data on the incidence of adolescent depression in her practice for his research paper. He was very impressed by her. She devised an early-warning system for kids at risk and persuaded the local schools to use it. The stats in her area showed a marked improvement afterwards.’
‘But Charles doesn’t trust women further than he can throw them. Does Dr Jackson know that?’
‘She seems to know more about him than we do, Susan. He talked incessantly for half an hour, apparently, although she says he probably won’t remember doing it.’ He paused. ‘I’ve always thought he might respond better to a woman . . . It’s one of the reasons I asked you to take him in when he was in London.’
‘And it didn’t work,’ Susan reminded him. ‘He was very suspicious of me.’
‘I know.’ Another pause. ‘Henry calls Dr Jackson “Jackson”. He says she doesn’t have a Christian name – or if she does, she doesn’t own to it – and looks as if she could have taken on Mike Tyson in his prime and won. He also says she’s incapable of mollycoddling anyone, tells it how it is, refuses to tiptoe around prissy sensibilities, and gains respect as a result . . . particularly from adolescent boys. Henry thinks she’s the bee’s knees.’
‘But Charles isn’t an adolescent, Bob.’
‘He’s showing all the hallmarks . . . alienation . . . rejection . . . distrust... reacting violently when he’s annoyed.’
‘All the more reason to put him into a programme. Supposing he turns on Dr Jackson?’
Willis hesitated. ‘I’ve given her as much information as I’m able to. There’s not much else I can do as he’s not my patient any more. Or yours. The only influence either of us will have is if he contacts us . . . and I’m inclined to suggest he takes up Jackson’s offer.’
‘What if I disagree?’
‘Just don’t make up your mind until you’ve spoken to her.’ Susan thought she could hear him removing his glasses for the inevitable polishing. ‘She’s says Charles is so undernourished he wouldn’t stand a chance against her, but she’s confident he’ll only reappear if he’s willing to accept her terms.’
Acland rephrased his question when Susan didn’t answer immediately. ‘What makes you think I’d rather be with Jackson?’
‘Off the cuff, because you’ll feel safer with her. She’s big enough and tough enough to keep you in line . . . you’ll do her less damage if you lose your temper . . . she’ll have no compunction about restraining you or calling the police if you take a swipe at her.’ She flicked him a mocking smile. ‘Plus, she’s uninterested in you as a sexual partner, isn’t the motherly type, cures migraines, sits with her patients, wipes up after them . . . even washes and irons their clothes. What more would you want?’
‘It’s Daisy who does all that.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Jackson said she did . . . but it’s obvious, anyway. You only have to look at them. I can’t see Jackson wielding a mop. The only thing she’s interested in is weightlifting.’
‘So Daisy’s a kept femme?’
‘What’s a femme?’
‘A lipstick lesbian . . . a beautiful gay girl who’s attractive to both sexes. Heterosexual men find them confusing. When they’re not fantasizing about them, they demote them to the role of wife and confer womanly attributes on them such as a willingness to clean. It’s the opposite with butch lesbians. A butch looks like a bloke –’ she flicked him another teasing smile – ‘so she’s assumed to be the husband, with masculine attributes such as complete ignorance about where the cleaning equipment is stored.’
Acland didn’t say anything.
‘As I understand it, Daisy runs the pub and Jackson works as an out-of-hours locum. They’ve been together ten years and pooled their resources five years ago to buy the Bell. Daisy’s responsibilities are located front of house, in the bar areas and restaurant, and Jackson’s, because of her locum work, are concentrated back of house, in the private accommodation. They have staff, so they don’t do it all themselves, but I doubt Daisy had any involvement with you last night. If she was working the evening shift she wouldn’t have had time.’