A Question of Sanity: Chapter 2 A

Chapter Two

George interrupted Ellie’s writing as a vital clue was being uncovered.

‘Somebody’s at the door, Ellie.’

Ellie tutted, annoyed with being disturbed at a crucial point in the plot. I bet that’s Matt offering rich-tea and sympathy, she thought, and then felt contrite.

‘Okay, George, show me,’ she said, her voice heavy with resignation. The computer monitor went black for a moment before the security screen focussed, showing a view of the front door with a fresh-faced lad standing on the doorstep.

‘Intercom please, George.’ The intercom system crackled.

‘Hello. Can I help you?’ said Ellie, masking the irritation she felt.

‘Parcel for Miss Erikson.’

‘Okay, love, just a sec please.’ Ellie got up from the swivel chair, easing her aching muscles. She’d been sitting in the same position for five hours and her lower back was killing her. It’s time I took a break anyway, she thought, wincing. Jake was excited by his mistress’ movements. Perhaps this activity meant that, at last, he might be in line for a walk.

She signed for the parcel, thanked the delivery boy and brought it through to the study. She wasn’t expecting anything except for some manuscript edits from her publisher. This wasn’t the delivery of scripts. They would be in a brown envelope displaying the company frank. She tore off the outer brown paper packaging. Inside was a long, flat box. It had to be something from Matt. She smiled, lifting the lid from the box to be confronted with yards of bright red satin. Uh-oh, not my colour at all, she mused as she lifted what she thought was a tarty negligee out of the box.

It wasn’t sexy bedroom wear; it was a red satin cape along with a black cat-suit, red tail, headdress complete with horns and a trident style three-pronged fork, associated with the devil. What the… she thought, and then the penny dropped. Matt must have arranged for them to go to a fancy dress party that night instead of going out to dinner. She pulled the invoice from the box. The costume was on hire from Fancy Pants party shop. It was due to be returned by four o’clock the following afternoon. Ellie was put out by his arrangements. Matt was always dropping surprises on her; he had a knack for knowing what would please her. Six months ago she would’ve been delighted at the prospect of a party and of his choice of costume for her. The black rubber cat-suit looked clingy and sexy. It could lead to some post-party fun, and her black stiletto boots with the five-inch heel, would set the costume off. Ellie was disappointed at his lack of perception to her mood. It was thoughtless of him to arrange a party when she had just been told that she was dying. She thought back to their lovemaking the night before. He must realise that she needed to relax and take things easier than normal. She understood his need to cheer her up and that he might be thinking that a return to normality would be the best way to do it. How many times had Ellie said that she just wanted to live whatever time she had left to the full? Tonight, she didn’t want to party. She wanted a quiet evening with her boyfriend, for them to come home to talk and maybe have sex. She thought he understood.

She didn’t feel up to a party and rang him to cancel.

Matt said that he was as baffled as she was. There was no fancy-dress party and he had not ordered the costume. In fact, the table at Clancy’s was booked for eight o’clock.

‘You can keep the costume for when we get home if you like, though, you little devil.’ There was a chuckle in his voice and she smiled.

Better the devil you know. Five words fluttered into Ellie’s consciousness.

She remembered the letter from the night before and told Matt about it.

‘Someone’s having a joke with you, Ellie. It’ll probably be Rob.’

Rob Price was Ellie’s close friend and agent. It wouldn’t be unheard of for Rob to play a practical joke on her. He’d caught her with some corkers in the past. After she had said her goodbyes to Matt, Ellie rang Rob.

‘Okay, wise guy, what’s going on?’ she demanded, without any formal greeting, after Shirley, Rob’s personal assistant, had put her through.

‘Now then,’ began Rob, ‘which of my literary starlets might this be? Maisy Dog, author of How to Shag Around and Not Become Green and Drippy? Or Reginald Bott, writer of The Student’s Guide to Recipes Made with Three-Week-Old Milk? Or then again, maybe it’s Ellie Erikson, pain in the arse, thorn in my side, and general tormentor when I’m trying to work.’

Ellie laughed. ‘So, getting back to the original question, what’s with all the devil-worshipping stuff?’

‘Oh, this is getting more interesting by the second. Tell me more. Do we get to cover ourselves with goat’s blood, and dance naked around an altar?’

Ellie explained, through giggles, about the letter and parcel.

Rob said that he hadn’t a clue what she was talking about and passed the buck back to Matt. Ellie explained that it wasn’t Matt. And if it wasn’t Matt and it wasn’t Rob, then who the hell did send the letter and costume?

‘Woohoo! That’s it now, girl, you’ve made it bigger than big. Forget topping the bestseller list, the true accolade to literary genius is having your very own, really truly, no shit, psycho-stalker.’

Ellie laughed and told Rob not to be ridiculous, but a shiver travelled from one end of her spinal motorway to the other. She made arrangements to meet him for lunch, two days later on the Wednesday. Rob tried to dodge the meeting. He had a hectic week ahead, but although Ellie agreed that it could wait if it had to, Rob was alerted to something in her voice that made him want to cancel previous engagements to see her. As she hung up, Ellie wished that Rob had stuck to being too busy. Putting off telling him about her illness would please her. But as her agent and her friend, she knew that it had to be done, and soon.

Talking to Matt and Rob had put her in a good mood, but she felt her balloon popping at the thought of telling her closest friends and relatives about her condition. Telling Matt had taken its toll physically and mentally. One symptom of her condition was non-regenerative fatigue, a core-sapping weariness which went way beyond tiredness, one that a few hours’ decent sleep could neither help nor cure. Everything took a toll on her health and her compromised immune system.

The bell jangled as she opened the door to the Fancy Pants costume shop. The lady behind the counter looked up from the catalogue she was browsing and smiled in recognition. Ellie noticed that she was chewing gum; it struck her as odd for a woman of middle age. It was something that annoyed Ellie when being served by young girls, but the constantly churning mouth of this lady was amusing.

‘Hello again, lovey, didn’t expect to see you back so soon. Is there a problem?’

Ellie looked around to ensure that the lady was talking to her. She was the only person in the shop.

‘I’m sorry, I think you’ve got me mixed up with somebody else,’ said Ellie with a chuckle. ‘I’ve never been in here before. I’ve just come to return this. It must have come to my address by mistake this morning.’ Ellie put the box on the counter.

The shopkeeper looked at Ellie. Her eyes narrowed though her voice remained pleasant as she said, ‘But you ordered the costume this morning. I distinctly remember: it was the red devil outfit. I must point out to you that any damages have to be paid for in full.’

Ellie didn’t mind a joke. She was happy to play along and be a good sport but maybe the news of the previous day had a bearing on her reaction. It was so out of character, or perhaps, she thought later when she was trying to make sense of it, it was a symptom of the disease itself. It could have been a culmination of tiredness and draining emotion. Whatever the reason was for her tantrum, Ellie felt that she was being made a fool of and she lost all control of her temper.

‘Look, you stupid bitch, I don’t know who has put you up to this, or why, but I had to leave my work to return this stupid thing to you. I don’t think that’s funny. Do you? It’s taken me over half an hour to get here. And no doubt, it’ll take the same to get back. Maybe I should bill you for my lost earnings. I never ordered the bloody costume. I don’t want it. It’s tawdry. And, may I suggest that you might have a more prolific clientele if you didn’t presume to make a fool of people when they walk through the door. You can take your tacky costume and shove it up that gorilla’s arse for all I care. I don’t fucking want it. Do I make myself understood, you frosty faced, cud-chewing old cow?’

With that, Ellie flung the box at an empty gorilla suit and flounced out of the shop leaving the dazed assistant staring after her in bewilderment. The lady’s mouth hung open in suspended animation and the chewing gum adhered to her tongue and defied gravity, like a ping-pong ball to a paddle.

Adrenaline carried Ellie along the street and round the corner into the quiet of a narrow back alley. A prowling tomcat eyed her with distrust. Perhaps he thought he’d have some competition for the ripest pickings of the alley bins.

 Ellie leaned against the dirty wall. She felt ill and she was frightened by her reaction, she’d never spoken to anybody like that in her life.  Her lungs expanded with air that beat her with vicious punches all the way from the inside out. Her eyes watered with temper and unshed tears of anger and humiliated self-pity. The blood pumped through veins in her temple and she felt her heartbeat tattooing against her optic nerves, clouding her vision and making her head throb. If asked, she’d have said that she didn’t have a temper. She was conscious about how she behaved in public. It just wasn’t her style to scream and shout like a fishwife. Her outburst was out of proportion to the inconvenience that she’d had. Calmer now, her cheeks burned with shame as she relived resorting to personal name-calling against the shopkeeper. She felt that she ought to go back and apologise, but sweat was clinging to her forehead and her upper lip. She felt sick. There was no way she could face the lady. She would write her a letter later. At the moment, Ellie was fighting two strong impulses; one was to pass out, the other the urge to vomit copiously. Neither option appealed to her, especially in this dingy back alley with the sinister eyes of a suspicious ginger tom watching her every move. With supreme effort she battled control of her rolling stomach and forced herself to regain composure.