‘I lose time,’ she says.
His brows contract a little but the half-smile remains. ‘Can you explain what you mean by that?’
‘When it happens, it’s as though I’ve been lifted out of my life and kept somewhere in suspended animation for hours, then dropped back. Time has moved on, and I have no memory of what I did or of what happened to me during those hours.’
‘And are you usually in the same place when you come back to yourself?’
‘No. It wouldn’t be too bad if I was. I could tell myself I’d fallen asleep or something. I’m always somewhere different, with no idea of how I got there.’
Joe takes up his notebook. ‘Felicity, I’d like you to tell me about each of these incidents. Start with the first that you can remember, please.’
‘I think the first time was back in March. I was down by the Backs, in the middle of the night. I’d climbed over the wall and was on the lawn at the back of Clare College. It was as though I’d been carried there in my sleep and suddenly woke up.’
‘And you have no idea how you got there?’
She shakes her head. ‘I’d gone to bed, same as normal.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I ran home. I was frightened and freezing. It’s quite a way from Clare College to where I live.’
‘Did you tell anyone?’
‘There was no one to tell. I assumed I’d been sleepwalking, although I’d never done it before. It was pretty scary. I started hiding my keys before I went to bed and putting obstacles by the doors so I’d wake myself up.’
‘Did it work?’
‘No, it happened in the daytime next.’
‘Go on.’
‘A week or so after that, on a Saturday, I found myself in the shopping centre with no idea how I got there.’
‘And was that the last? Before the incident on the common, I mean?’
‘No. On the twenty-fifth of April – I made a note of the date that time – I was suddenly in the office at two o’clock in the morning. I’d driven there and let myself in. And then, last Saturday – do you remember you phoned me in the evening? – well, it had happened then as well. I lost about six hours of the day.’
Joe finishes writing. ‘Right, to make sure I’ve understood everything, beginning in March this year, you started experiencing episodes of what we call a fugue-like state, periods of time that slipped out of your memory. There have been six such episodes, is that right?’
‘Six that I can remember.’
‘And have you ever experienced anything like this before? Before March I mean?’
She cannot tell him about Freddie. Not yet at any rate. One serious mental health problem at a time. ‘No, never.’
‘Did anything happen in March?’ Joe asks. ‘Anything out of the ordinary at all?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘A sudden change to one’s mental wellbeing can be sparked by a difficult or traumatic occurrence. Being in a car accident, even witnessing an accident.’
‘I can’t remember anything like that.’
She can’t, but maybe she has forgotten that too. She is starting to wonder if she can rely on her own memories any more.
Joe watches her carefully as he says, ‘The death of a loved one, a friend or close relative falling ill, these things can also be a trigger. Maybe a break-up of a long-term relationship?’
She shakes her head. ‘Nothing like that.’
‘Do you feel able to talk about the voices you hear?’ he asks her.
‘I thought I was dreaming at first. I still could be. Mostly they happen when I’m half asleep but a couple of times, I’ve been awake and I hear them clear as day. It’s like someone’s in the room with me, I can actually feel their presence. It happened when you were in my house.’
‘Maybe it was me.’
‘No, it was a woman’s voice.’ She stops. ‘I never realised that before. That it was a woman talking to me, I mean.’
‘Is it always a woman?’
‘I think so.’
‘A woman you know?’
She shakes her head. ‘No, but a familiar voice for all that. Like someone from the television. Or maybe someone I knew years ago, if that makes any sense.’
‘And when you hear her, does she sound as though she’s in your head, speaking to you, or in the room?’
‘The room. Not in my head. She sounds real. Am I schizophrenic?’
He smiles. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s a possible diagnosis but there’s a lot that doesn’t fit. What does this woman say to you?’
‘She taunts me. She’s trying to frighten me.’
‘How does she do that exactly?’
Felicity drops her eyes. ‘I can’t remember exactly what she says, just that she’s mean.’
He’s coming, the woman in her head says. You can’t get away from him. He’ll always find you. She cannot tell Joe this without telling him who she suspects the ‘he’ is, and that she is not ready to do.
Joe waits for her to say more. In the end, he breaks the silence. ‘So, we have three groups of symptoms. First, the random occurrence of fugue states, which last several hours. Second, the disorder in your home, and third, the voices. And all this began in mid-March. Have I missed anything?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Right, what I’d like to do, with your permission, is to continue hypnotherapy to unlock what happened during your various fugue states. That might give us a clue to what’s triggering them.’
More hypnotherapy? More opportunities for her to give too much away. Joe will be suspicious, though, if she refuses and so reluctantly, she agrees.
On Joe’s doorstep, she stops to collect her thoughts. Schizophrenia sounds bad, but she thinks it might be a relief, in a way, to have a definite diagnosis. Except … There’s a lot that doesn’t fit, Joe said. Like Freddie. How does a real Freddie, possibly in town, fit in with her mental health problems?
She is on the point of walking back to her car when, once again, she gets the feeling that she is being watched. Her eyes flit up and down the street. Lots of people about. Lots of tourists milling around King’s College opposite. So many windows on her side of the street. She is surrounded by a hundred or more hiding places and she has no idea whether this sudden fear is real, or entirely in her own twisted imagination.
42
Joe
The day of Bella Barnes’ funeral dawns bright and clear and Joe is awake to see the sun come up. He pulls the dry-cleaning ticket off his suit and polishes shoes that are already gleaming. At the agreed time he collects his passengers and tries not to show surprise that they are all punctual. He lets Dora hug him and hands her into the front seat like a queen but he breathes through his mouth all the way to the crematorium on the Huntington Road. When Torquil, also with a full car, pulls up beside him, Joe sees that his friend has been less tactful. Torquil has driven over with every window open.
‘Well, you can put that down.’ Dora glares at the can of cheap lager in Michael’s hand. ‘It’s not respectful.’