Sinead’s brain was totally fried by circling through the same troubling thoughts all day, and she desperately needed to talk to someone about the surreal situation she found herself in. She wasn’t crazy – there had to be an explanation for all this. But until one was given, her priority was finding somewhere else to stay. Pronto.
The date with Dylan was supposed to be happening later that evening. Although sex was the last thing on her mind, she was hoping he’d let her stay overnight. Except he was living at his parents’ place, so that might not be so easy. Dylan hadn’t texted her for a while, so was the date still on? He hadn’t confirmed where they’d be going yet. She stopped biting her nails and rubbed her face. She decided to text him.
Hey Dylan, any chance we can meet earlier? Like in the next hour or two? Really need to talk to you!
She hit send, slumped into the chair and examined her hands: dry skin and uneven fingernails. Sinead fished around in her rucksack for her washbag and took out a pot of hand cream and a nail file. After rubbing cream into her hands, she began filing her jagged nails, occasionally looking up to see what was happening on the ward.
A uniformed policeman was buying a can of something from the drinks machine in the walkway. The machine wasn’t cooperating and he was becoming agitated, throwing his hands up and shaking his head. Sinead stopped filing and gave him a second look. He was actually one of those special constables; a Police Community Support Officer. She watched the uptight PCSO stuffing more silver coins into the machine. Sinead pocketed the nail file, got to her feet, and lumbered over to speak to him. The man glanced her way as she approached, but kept his attention on the drinks machine.
‘Excuse me. Hi. Can I ask you something?’
He barely looked at her. ‘I’m just on my way back out. But yeah, if you’re quick…’
‘Oh, okay. Right.’ Sinead took a deep breath. ‘I know this sounds stupid but… well, I’ve got this problem…’ Sinead spaced out. The PCSO kept jabbing buttons on the machine. She couldn’t get his attention. Trying to figure out what to say, all the usual confidence with strangers suddenly deserted her. The PCSO stepped back from the machine and sighed. He looked at her briefly.
‘Where do I start?’ Sinead laughed nervously. ‘So, I’ve been renting this room and–’
A mechanism whirred noisily as a Diet Coke was pushed to the shelf edge and then became stuck. The PCSO thumped the glass. Sinead flinched. The can dropped into the dispensing shelf below. Reaching down for it, he said, ‘Yeah go on, I’m listening.’
‘This landlord… he told me his name was Elliot Sheeny. But it’s not though. That’s not his real name.’
‘Okay. So he’s changed his name.’
‘No, no. That’s not it. He’s lying. He’s pretending to be this man, Elliot – look, I know this sounds crazy.’ Sinead went to bite a nail and ended up shoving her hand into a jacket pocket.
‘So you believe he’s got some kind of false identity? An illegal immigrant or something?’
‘No, he’s British. I mean – yeah, as far as I know.’
‘What makes you think he’s not who he claims to be then?’
‘Things he says. Weird stuff. Referring to himself in the third person. He won’t open his own post.’
‘Right.’ The PCSO gave her a dubious look.
‘Another man’s clothes were in his wardrobe and now they’re gone.’ Sinead was getting frustrated, knowing she was making no sense.
‘They could belong to anyone – a boyfriend, a relative.’ His abrupt manner signalled he was ready to wrap up the conversation.
Sinead unzipped her backpack and rummaged inside. ‘Yeah, that’s what I thought, but then today I found this photo, inside a book that this woman – a friend of his, she called round one time to see him while he was away – she wrote on the back of the… no, come on…’ Sifting through the clothes and washbag and other items, she couldn’t find it. ‘Shit. I’ve left it at the house…’ The open backpack dropped from her hands.
The officer leant down, picked up the bag and gave it to her.
‘Thanks. Sorry, I know I’m not explaining this well…’
‘Have you confronted him about any of this?’
‘No. I’ve only just put all the pieces together today. But he came into my room last night, he woke me up, and it was really scary. I mean I was genuinely frightened–’
‘Did he hurt you in any way? Threaten you?’
Sinead paused. It would be a much easier conversation if he had done: she could just press charges. Sinead sighed and shook her head. ‘No. He didn’t. It was more the way he was acting. Just weird. Waking me up like that, talking crazy shit about the woman who’d dropped off the book. It really freaked me out. I swear to God something’s not right. Can’t you run some kind of check? Question him about it?’
The PCSO’s radio crackled as a directive came through. He turned the volume down. ‘If it’s only a hunch and he’s not made any actual threats then…’ He puffed air from his cheeks and shook his head. ‘You could make a statement down at the station. There’s not much we can do right now, you understand, not unless there’s some evidence you could show us.’
‘What am I gonna do, though? I don’t feel safe there any more.’
The officer shrugged. ‘Start looking for a new place?’ He was trying to leave now. Sinead screwed her eyes shut in frustration.
‘Look. My advice is go and stay at a friend’s place for a few nights, yeah? That’s the best thing to do for now. Okay?’
Sinead opened her eyes and smirked. Despite everything, a part of her found that funny: what a great piece of utterly useless advice. The officer backed away, towards the exit sign.
‘Come down the station, give us a statement, we’ll see what we can do. All right?’
‘Yeah. All right.’
The PCSO nodded and turned round, fiddling with his radio as he strode off. She leant up against the drinks machine. A young male doctor walked round the corner. ‘Sinead Woods?’
‘That’s me.’
‘This way, please.’
She checked her phone as she followed him to the examining room. There was no reply from Dylan.
***
Sinead pressed the bell and held on tight to the pole as the bus shuddered down the high street, pulled in by the stop, and came to a halt. The driver lowered the hydraulic suspension, the bus dipped and then the double doors parted. Sinead alighted carefully, securely positioning both crutches on the road before stepping forward onto the pavement. Negotiating her way through the crowd, she thought about the doctor telling her the cast could most likely be removed in four or five weeks, and that she would be able to wear a walking boot and use one crutch. The bones were setting together properly and there would be no need for an operation. Sinead had felt detached throughout the examination, seeing X-rays of her leg and nodding along to the doctor’s comments. He had asked if she heard him okay because she was so quiet.
Now, as she made her way over to the old house, she was conscious of a tight knot in her belly. Anxiety had been rising since last night’s disturbing encounter, and it was peaking with every step she took towards her old home. She didn’t know what she would say to the girls, but who else could she turn to? There was nowhere else she could stay, and even one night at a London hotel was unaffordable. Some love had to be left between them all. Even if that love was now a thing of the past, for old times’ sake they couldn’t turn their backs on her. Joel was out of the picture, and if Imogen had dumped him then she must have realised he was no good. Of course, she would never forgive Sinead if either he or Heidi had blabbed about what had happened that evening.