A Question of Sanity: Chapter Three A

Chapter Three

‘Good morning, Ellie. It is nine fifteen AM and the date is the twenty-first of October, two thousand and forty-six.’

‘Thank you, George. I won’t be writing this morning, I have to go to the bank. My purse was stolen from my handbag last night.’

‘Oh, that’s wonderful news, Ellie. Congratulations, I’m very pleased for you.’

She grinned and made a mental note to download the latest update for her Personal Humanicon Organiser. Sometimes George was so spot on with his responses that it was difficult to believe that he didn’t have feelings, emotions and a wicked sense of humour. But, just occasionally he would make the wrong choice out of his six hundred and fifty thousand phrase response database, and the results were often hilarious.

‘Thank you, George. That’s very sweet of you,’ she said, laughing.

Ellie was on her second cup of coffee and just working her way through a morning cocktail of drugs when she heard Matt coming in.

‘Come in if you’re good looking and sexy,’ she yelled through to the hall.
‘Hiya, gorgeous. Mmm, breakfast. They smell good,’ he said, eyeing the handful of brightly coloured pills and capsules in Ellie’s hand. ‘So, have you calmed down yet? Or are you still gunning for the whole national police force and anyone else who gets in your way? Do I need my boxing gloves or will a balls protector be enough?’

The previous evening, when Ellie rang the police to report her stolen purse, she’d been convinced that the police officer on the desk had a tone to his voice. And although she was so tired that she’d run out of the ammunition necessary to give him a performance of her new-found temper, to say that she had been frosty towards him would be like saying that Antarctica was a little bit fresh. She assured Matt that today she was placid and serene, and that the tantrums of the previous day were nothing more than a knee-jerk reaction to her bad news. Matt hoped so. He didn’t like the new side to Ellie.

The trip to the bank was uneventful, though Matt kept glancing sideways at her with concern. She looked tired and drawn; the skin on her cheekbones was starting to take on the appearance of having been stretched to fit.

‘Miss Erikson.’ Philip Hughes the bank manager, took her hand and shook it; his palm was damp with sweat. He flashed his fake smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and, as always, she found herself counting his teeth. Surely he had too many in that insincere grin for one mouth. He ushered the couple into his office and invited them to sit down.

‘I’m so glad you’ve come back. I hope you’ve had time to reconsider your decision of yesterday. And we, of course, are more than happy to welcome you back. Now, if you step this way, I’m afraid there’s going to be a little bit of paperwork to sort everything out, but we’ll soon have it done. Mr High, good to see you again, too. So what’s it like being linked with Cumbria’s most eligible lady?’ The manager laughed. It was a grating sound, both high and shrill that contained all the sincerity of a fox in a hen hut but without the strength, cunning or wisdom of Reynard.

It had taken Ellie over thirty seconds to process the words prattling out of the stupid little man’s mouth. Once she’d made sense of them, they still didn’t make sense. She had a rudimentary handle on the phonics but what the fuck was he on about? Her first thought was, Oh God, no, not again. She wasn’t sure what was happening but she knew it wasn’t going to be good. She interrupted Hughes as he launched further into his camaraderie spiel with Matt. Matt was happy to be rescued from the sickly man with the sweaty palms.

‘Excuse me, Mr Hughes, I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ began Ellie. ‘I have come to verify the report I made over the phone last night that my purse, containing all of my credit cards has been stolen.’

Hughes moved from one foot to the other. He lived in a tidy world and this temperamental, arty type, had already disrupted his order once this week. To come back and do it a second time was nothing short of inconsiderate. He hated anything confrontational and although the situation hadn’t become difficult yet, it was fast becoming decidedly sticky.

‘Purse…stolen,’ he repeated, in a dry monotone. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times and he stared at Ellie and Matt as though they had walked into his bank naked. Ellie did a quick down-scan to make sure that she was clothed. The crazy way things had been lately meant that nothing much would surprise her anymore.

‘Yes, Mr Hughes,’ Ellie replied patiently but with a patronising tone, ‘my purse, containing a lot of my personal details, has been stolen. Bank books, credit cards, driving licence, the lot.’

The voice that came out of Philip Hughes was tiny. All the brash edge had gone from it and he looked more uncomfortable by the second. ‘You left your bank books and credit cards here yesterday when you closed all of your accounts.’ Despite his discomfort, the words, once started had no intention of stopping. He didn’t want her becoming difficult as she had the day before. He was on a roll now and there was no way he could stop. ‘And the thing is, Miss Erikson, as we explained to you at length it was most uncharacteristic of you to maximise the expenditure on your Goldcard like that yesterday lunchtime, and then to come in and close the accounts. Well, as you know, we were most reluctant to acquiesce to this and give you clearance. It was only the fact that you have been with us for so long and, well, to be honest, you being who you are, that we acceded to your request, but we really do need to have those cards cleared within the month.’ He looked over at Matt, hoping to find in the man an ally. Matt was emulating the open-mouthed fishing of Hughes a few moments earlier.

‘I really have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Ellie said.

‘We at Northwest National have always been impressed with the way you manage your accounts, Miss Erikson and, quite frankly, we were sorry to see you leave us. You have been one of our most valued customers.’

‘Not for much longer if you don’t stop prattling on in riddles and tell me exactly what I’m being accused of here.’

Hughes cleared his throat. ‘If you are in any financial difficulty, I’m sure we can sort something out to help you. Our terms are very competitive.’

The impact of his words made sense—cleared the accounts. The words sounded hollow and didn’t tally. Ellie had always been frugal. She lived a simple life in a reasonably modest house. Almost all of her money was tied up in investments. She gave silent thanks to her accountant. Due to his management, she kept only a hundred thousand Euros in the bank. Had she lost the lot? The rest of her assets consisted of stocks and shares and a few private company deals mainly aimed at helping the local community.

Hughes moved to sit behind his huge mahogany desk that contained three acres of Brazilian rain forest. Far from giving him stature and authority, it only served to diminish his slight frame and make him look lost. He fidgeted, unable to either meet their eyes or sit still. He pen-twiddled, scribbled on his blotter, wobbled his head and looked uncomfortable.

Ellie made all of the now familiar protestations of innocence. She had no temper left in her after the events of the last couple of days and sounded worn and weary. She already knew what the outcome was going to be and anything she could say was only going to be useless. When she told Hughes that she had an alibi for the previous afternoon in the form of the local constabulary, it didn’t aid her cause. Philip Hughes was suspicious of anybody who had dealings with the police. Maybe she smoked that mara-ju-wana; all those arty types did these days, he thought. He’d heard about that stuff and the way it eats your brain cells.

After ten minutes of verbal tennis, the evidence was presented. Ellie and Matt were taken to the security office and the CCTV footage of the previous afternoon was shown. At two thirty-three in the afternoon, just about the same time that Ellie had fallen asleep at her kitchen table, the footage showed her walking into the bank and demanding to see the manager. She wore her green Adonis jacket that Matt had bought her the previous Christmas. She had on jeans and her Nova trainers. The video showed her shaking hands with Philip Hughes and being led, by a hand in the small of her back, into his office. Thirty-one minutes later, the tape showed them coming out of the office with Hughes looking harassed and unhappy. Ellie left the bank with her hair swaying and her poise jaunty.

There was nothing left to say. The camera doesn’t lie. Matt looked embarrassed and Ellie felt ashamed. They made an appointment to come back and re-open the accounts when Ellie felt a little less distraught and left the bank with their heads low, relieved to be out in the bite of a chilly, late October breeze.

Ellie wanted to walk for a few minutes. She couldn’t face sitting in the cramped interior of Matt’s car. He had one of those awful vanilla air fresheners. It was cloying and overpowering. Ellie felt sure that if she got back in the car she would puke, in Technicolor, all over his beige upholstery. She wanted to clear her head and think. They decided to wander down to the Windsor Café for a cup of coffee.

Matt saw how serious Ellie’s condition was. It was the first time he’d seen it and it blinded him. All he’d considered to this point was her imminent death and how that would affect him. He hadn’t thought about the ramifications of her condition pre-death. He wondered if his love for her was going to be enough. He felt inadequate and the sickness seemed so much bigger than he was.

Ellie was numb. She wanted to think but unless thought begets logic, sometimes it’s easier not to bother with it. Ellie’s world had a hole in the bottom and all the sense and normalcy had trickled out, leaving a wake of shattered reason behind her. She’d seen the evidence for herself. She wasn’t going crazy at all. She was already there, one hundred percent, spectacularly, totally, bloody insane. And now, the only thing on her mind was whether to have a nice, strong, sensible cup of coffee or a decadent hot chocolate with lashings of whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. By the time they came to order she’d made up her mind. Sod it, she thought. What’s the point of being a crazy dying woman if you can’t take advantage of the fact? She opted for the chocolate and a large serving of raspberry pavlova with more whipped cream.

After leaving the café, Matt wanted to nip into the newsagents for a paper. Ellie said that she would walk on slowly until he caught her up. In retrospect, the Pavlova may have been a mistake. It lay heavy in her stomach and she felt encumbered. She wasn’t paying attention to where she was going and collided with a woman coming out of the fruit and veg shop.

‘Oh I’m so sor—’ Ellie never finished her apology. She looked up at the woman and met her own eyes, her own face, her own Adonis jacket.

‘Boo!’ said the woman.

Ellie grabbed the wall for support and wheezed in shock. After a couple of breaths to ease the sudden dizziness, she turned to look for her, but the woman had vanished.