A Habit of Dying (9 page)

23
^rd
entry

Too much time is spent ordering the details of how to avoid her. It takes my energy so there is none left to work out the bigger picture. Anticipating a potential contact, [sidestepping] the chance of meeting, the dangers of having to speak. So tired tonight that I can hardly write. I could stop the writing that would give more time, but only a little, it is weeks since I had a thought that was finished and ready to write down. And now I have all this extra planning to do and each thought is getting [thinner] and [thinner] as they are all squeezed together. I can barely see one from another they are all packed in so tightly and now with so little room to move they are stuck in limbo. Would it be possible to do something without a plan, to act just randomly, step randomly off the kerb, eat random products from random cupboards in a
random house. Say random things that just happened to be there at the moment of speech. It would certainly be easier than this. She spoke to me this morning and I was so surprised that I did not recognise her voice, couldn’t determine what the sounds meant, hadn’t accounted for any meaning, couldn’t speak. Every angle was meant to be covered and one was missed. Sloppy thinking, sloppy planning. But I was reminded of her. I sneaked a look to be sure I would know her again. She seemed to be smiling. I am not sure whether she could see me or not. Probably she could and as I could see her then we were both certainly still here this morning.

From the twenty-fourth entry Lydia saw that she had managed only the words
‘Xmas’, ‘mother’, ‘probably’, ‘vomit’, ‘black’,
and the initial
‘S’
appeared three times. Even then ‘vomit’ was almost purely guesswork. From some conversation she recalled once being told that Christmas was the worst of times for family tension. With more food, and more drink came unwanted relatives, and enforced togetherness. Lydia wondered if it could be a tipping point for someone already struggling to hold on to their sanity.

25
^th
entry

The first day of a new year and unfamiliar calm has settled on me. It is such a strange feeling, at once both liberating and suspicious. There seems no rational explanation as to why this should be. I have looked diligently and found nothing to explain it. I know she is out of the house and this book is opened for the amusement of writing the diary. I can sense a storm a little way off, but it does not concern me at present, even though it may swing my way later today or tomorrow. I cannot focus on that or worry about it right now. And that feels odd in itself, I think I should be working out what to do. Perhaps it is just that convalescent feeling after illness. I caught something horrible over the holiday, I don’t remember a doctor but she says that she called one. And for once the pills she left seem to have been of use. But it has been said a million times that I must finish the course, not that S would allow anything else, all measured out for me and then watching as I take them. She has been quite attentive while she has been here and not out visiting. All visitors barred from the quarantined house. There may be a sign on the door I don’t know. I will go and look later.

I have even thought about work today and I may be fit to go back in a day or so if I can shake off the drowsiness that pervades me. It may be the pills and they will be done soon. If I can write this then I am sure I could write something for them. I forget exactly what it was that I was working on before but there was certainly a lot going on. Enough for now it is hard to concentrate.

26
^th
entry

S has taken to hovering around me, not exactly checking on what I am doing and not leaving me alone either. I don’t know what she wants, something she is not telling me, even though she talks to me a great deal more than usual. She doesn’t seem to want any answers though and I am being careful in what I say. I think she has a scheme and I will wait to find out what it is before giving anything away. It has begun to be the same at the office since I have been back, there is a scheme in [train] there too and I am not included in the planning. It might be a coincidence but probably not, they are hatching something together most likely, but I am on my guard, I see them coming. When I know what they have in mind I will make a plan and [sidestep] their scheme, but it will take a lot of effort, I must stay [focused] on the problem. First I must work out what it is they intend. They may mean to remove me somehow, give themselves a clear run and if so then I may play them at their own game. Now I am recovered, a little more like my old self these last few days, more alert and able to think. Whatever bug it was that struck me left a big [hangover], weak and swimming in a mist for days afterwards. Thankfully that has mainly cleared and things are back in a sharper focus, there is power and energy flowing back into me.

The nonsense of the pathetic cards appeared again yesterday, hers with two hearts linked together. I could not make out what it was at first, couldn’t understand what it was or what meaning it had or indeed if it had a meaning. I was off guard, surprised by this foreign item that she clearly expected would cause some response from me. Catching my struggle, she explained it was a valentine card. Yes, yes, I knew that, of course, but then reaching into some imagined past came up with “I thought we didn’t do that any more”, to cover my incomprehension of it. It worked well enough she did not see the chink that had let her slip past the defences. But it shows that I must be more careful, have a bland and non committal response prepared for
absolutely anything that she might throw at me. And it is so devious, hiding her plans behind such a thing, she had even signed it. And only the night before I was feeling very pleased with the way that the office people have accepted the new me, it hasn’t taken the effort I thought it would. Maybe I was getting complacent, too clever by half. I have learned the words that make them happy, make them leave me alone, let me write the words they want to read. Let them think that I don’t know how they scheme and whisper, titter in their corners from the sides of their mouths, turn away when they speak on the phone about me. To her I am sure, reporting back, logging movements, and when they are done they’ll casually ask if I need some more water. I feed it to the plants when they are not looking or tip it out the window. It is not possible to see if they put something in it, it is too clear to see.

27
^th
entry

Now I am redundant in every sense. Today found that I was no longer required at the office. Now I will have time to think of solutions. A whole pile of stuff is redundant too, all the thinking for the office is gone, there is room for everything now, space to get it straight once and for all. Complete concentration on S and her plans. She has no chance to get past me now all my power can be channelled right to the very centre. Enough money to see my [me] through, not a lot when you think of the millions my clever little words brought them. They’ll pay more one day for sure. Goodbye for now Pink [on] Pink your turn will come. They will probably go to the wall anyway. I must repay them before they do. Eight years of my life redundant. Most likely she has a similar scheme but without the payoff. She will not be allowed to do it, I will stop her before she can push me out or she slips off to another bed in another hotel and slides back through the door all smiles and guilty hellos. She is so far away now she is like a little dot on the horizon but I can still see her if I strain my eyes, still hear her if she speaks above the static. Not that I let her know that, better she thinks I am not aware of her at all. I see her hollow smiles and fake tenderness, I see them for exactly what they are, I wanted the real one the one who used to live here, not this imitation, this [stepford], this [deceitful] hideous parody. She must go away from here or be made to before she breaks my head and the void consumes the every part of me. There is still a refuge at the bright centre of everything but it is harder and harder to get there, like walking through a black [whirlwind].

28
^th
entry

She really is very good at what she is doing, but not as good as I am at seeing the truth. She makes out that I am short of vitamins or some such and this is to be remedied by some new pills. I took one the other day when she was watching, but not till I had seen her take one herself. OK one won’t kill me, I’ll take it. Then when she was out I checked the bottle. Sure enough the label showed they were just what she said. But they are making me feel sick and I have a constant headache. It seems that she has swapped the bottle with an old one that she had. I checked the date on it and sure enough it is not new, she has had it for months. But I am keeping this to myself, I will not challenge her, I will be the compliant fool that she takes me for and let her think that I continue with the taking. But in one thing she is right, I do not eat well, it is of no interest. And she thought that she could take that little [observation] and use it to poison me. I must be very careful of what I eat from now on.

29
^th
entry

It has taken a huge effort but I see the way now. Still a few things that have to be planned the little details of the timing. I will write a list elsewhere for safety.

30
^th
entry

Now I have the time and the place and the means all neatly arranged it is sometimes a struggle to keep them in order. Right now I want to write them all down again to be sure that I have them but security is an issue. I know them off by heart and write them easily but must destroy them once written. I will write them again to be sure, I have purchased a notepad for the purpose. Always use the back page straight onto the cardboard cover so as to leave no indentation. Written. Read carefully, yes all there all in the right order. Neatly torn off from its spiral binding, all the little flaky pieces removed. The page was never there. Chew until dissolved then spit into the toilet. So long as I can hang on to that sequence and repeat it [faultlessly] that will be the way to do it. Mr Punch I think.

31
^st
entry

I am at once calm and excited, nervous and elated. [It] just occurs to me as I write those words that it may simply be a migraine in waiting. Or the
[vicious indigestion] that wrecks my snatches of sleep. All is ready and I have everything in [perfection] in my head. Rehearsed and rehearsed until I know it in my sleep, can walk with my eyes tight shut. This book has done its job, been the space needed. It seems certain that this will be the last entry, something I did not realise until I wrote it out now. Maybe a new book will be needed another day. Tomorrow is another world a new world a better world. Or it is oblivion. Which would be its own peculiar blessing. But action will cause reaction and something will happen. The leaf will be cast to the forest floor where it will lie anonymously turning to mould. Though a million feet were to walk right by it, none would pause to remark its presence. Even I would not be able to detect it. The future at once looks crystal clear and impenetrable. The calmness of the centre has flowed out to envelop me and all around is light and clarity but the horizon remains black and infinite. This I think is the world without her even though she sleeps a sleep through this last night. Check mate in the game. Mr Punch.

The effort of transcribing these words had left her tired enough, now reading them through as a whole proved just as exhausting. She was bound up with them, part of them in some inexplicable way. Nagging away at her was the growing belief that what she had found were the terrible cries of a man who meant to kill his wife, or at least be rid of her by some sinister means. Whether a plan to do so existed in reality, or simply as imagined events was far from clear. But some event had caused him to stop writing, and to stop at a point which he knew was the end. Stopping had not been forced upon him unexpectedly, he had not stopped mid sentence or mid thought. The author’s mental breakdown, for surely that is what it amounted to, was laid out in the pages for anyone to see, even though Lydia was sure that she was the first to see them. If not, then how else would they have come to be sold as part of a job lot from some house clearance. A house clearance! Why oh why had she not thought to go back to the auction rooms months ago and check where the albums had come from? If she knew the house, the family whose house her assorted box of books had come from, she would finally be on the track.

Lydia slept soundly for the first time in weeks, content to have
a plan of action that held out the promise of resolution to her puzzles. Yet the question of puzzle or puzzles remained to be answered. She would contact the auctioneer on the Monday, then gather together all her facts, prioritise her searches, sequence her actions and move forward with purpose.

The auctioneers were closed on Monday and when Lydia called the following day she found them less than helpful. She had not realised it had been so long since the sale until she found the catalogue still crumpled in the recesses of her bag. It would take them time to find the records and after all, they complained, it was nearly six months ago. If she came over on the Wednesday someone might be able to find something for her. When she presented herself at the office it was only to be told they had no record of where her purchase had come from. Since it had been described as a mixed lot it could be a collection of items left over from another sale, possibly even from another sale room. Her last hope of a real helping hand to get her started had evaporated. Driving back to Oxford she weighed what she might do next. One option was clearly to put the box and its contents out with the newspapers for recycling. But that would go right against her grain, for she was still convinced that someone somewhere would be pleased to have the photographs, to be introduced to their lost family. And there was that other puzzle to be solved, the one that went beyond family history, the one that might be far more important than finding a distant third cousin.