Silent Treatment Page 4

  As he looked through the photographs all he had seen was that taking a good photograph wasn't as easy as it looked. Far from it. He had looked through dozens that looked as if they had been taken whilst the photographer had been running. Maybe they had.

  But he hadn't given up. He still dutifully got round to looking through the photographs after she had sent them. Maybe a few days after, but he still looked at them.

  He was about to shut the laptop screen down when his finger inadvertently clicked on an image that he didn't recognise. It must have been one that he had somehow missed. Maybe he hadn't been as careful looking as he had thought.

  He was disappointed as the photograph came into view and it appeared to be of an arm and not much else. He could see why she had rejected this one. He realised it must have been an early one; maybe even of the children first arriving. He recognised the van with its darkened windows. As he looked closely, past the protruding arm, he could see the windows of the vehicle being used to bring them into the institute. He had thought at the time that it seemed to be treating them like criminals. But he supposed they did it to protect their privacy.

  He moved his eyes closer to the computer and after a split second recoiled from the image until he was sitting bolt upright. He could feel sweat beginning to form on his back. He wondered if it was just a fault in the photograph, some pixels displaced. But slowly he moved his head closer and at the same time made the image larger. There was no doubt now. It was blurred and slightly indistinct, but staring back at Ben from his computer was a face that made him freeze. It was the face of a young boy.

  And he was smiling.

  That was what Ben would remember most. It was a smile that seemed as if it couldn’t possibly belong to such a young face. It made you feel that he knew you were looking at him and it didn't displease him at all. He couldn't tear his eyes away from it.

  Eventually his hand seemed to make the decision for him and moved the mouse and clicked on another image. Any image.

  He sat back abruptly in his chair, grateful to be released from the photograph.

  He composed himself before looking at the next photograph on the screen. It was another reject and it showed.

  It wasn't a great photograph, it was through a car window, and the car window wasn't exactly clean, but he needed something to replace the image of the child's face.

  As he looked more closely he thought it must be a mistake.

  He expanded the photograph and laughed out loud for reasons that weren't exactly clear to him.

  It must have been the reminiscing about university days that had put the thoughts back into his mind. But as he looked at the grainy photograph in front of him he wondered if his life may be about to change and his big break was no longer as far away as he had thought.

  Chapter Six

  Helen was packing away her things at the end of another day. Another frustrating day. Most of her days seemed to be like that nowadays. When you graduate near the top of your class and land what seems like a plum job at one of the leading institutions – days should not be frustrating. They should be rewarding and challenging.

  This should have been her chance to catapult her career to the next level. When she read about the appearance of the children she was intrigued like everybody else. When she heard that they would be treated at the institute, then it was like all her dreams had come true. She had even begun to imagine herself receiving awards and appearing in prestigious journals.

  But there had been no progress. No breakthroughs. And worst of all things didn't show any signs of improving much. Okay the idea of the journals wasn't entirely a stupid one. Perhaps they might produce some results at some point in the future.

  She had tried to give Sarah her due respect, she really had. But why had she been put in charge? She was barely older than Helen. She couldn't help thinking that Sarah was holding it all back.

  'Ready Helen?' said John as he breezed up to her.

  'Yes, just give me a minute' replied Helen.

  She liked John, up to a point. That may have had something to do with the fact that she didn't see him as a threat at all. He barely seemed interested in the work. But he had the sort of relaxed demeanour that Helen found difficult to fathom. It might also have something to do with the fact that he was her mode of transport home at the moment.

  Anyone observing the two of them walking to John's car might observe that while John shambled along amiably, Helen walked stiffly upright. A casual observer might uncharitably think that Helen was John's parole officer.

  The two of them settled down into their respective seats and the car made its way down the driveway of the institution, approaching the collection of the world's media.

  'Seem to be a few less today,' said John.

  'Probably just changing shifts,' replied Helen.

  Helen would join in with the scoffing at the media, with their coiffured presenters and soundbite ethics. But as she approached them, she would dearly have loved to have been able to get out of the car and announce that there had been a breakthrough. The children were now busily talking and what a story they were telling. And it was all thanks to a brilliantly original treatment that Helen had devised.

  Helen couldn't help sighing out loud.

  'Everything okay Helen?' said John.

  'I suppose so,' she said, 'it's just that I thought we would be getting somewhere by now you know?'

  'It's early days still,' said John.

  Helen was wondering how much more she should say. She looked across at non-threatening John and decided she was safe to continue.

  'What do you think of Sarah as a boss?' She already had an exit strategy planned if John burst into effusive praise for Sarah.

  'Fine,' he replied before adding 'I mean she has had to cope with a lot, before all this happened, so all in all she seems to be doing okay.'

  Helen judged that the praise wasn't overwhelming so she continued.

  'Yes, of course we all realise that she has gone through a lot, but I can't help wondering why she was given the position? I mean she only graduated a bit earlier than we did.'

  'I think she had some experience before that, maybe that counted for something?' replied John.

  'I suppose so,' said Helen, not trying to disguise the fact that she didn't agree.

  'It may have helped that the director and her father were close,' said Helen.

  John didn't reply. Helen wondered if she had gone too far.

  'It probably didn't do her any harm,' said John, turning briefly to smile at Helen.

  Helen looked across at John, he seemed to have a slightly conspiratorial expression on his face. She felt emboldened to continue.

  'And what do you think about her strange rituals?'

  'Maybe they help her feel in control a little,' replied John.

  'Sure, sure. But do you think someone with those...problems…should be in charge of something so important?' said Helen.

  'Psychologist heal thyself would you say?' replied John.

  'Exactly!' said Helen quickly, before wondering if she had managed to talk herself into a trap there. But it was only John she was talking to, so surely she was safe to say it? She was aware that she was sounding less than sympathetic and decided to try and sound more understanding.

  'Maybe we should keep an eye on her behaviour. You know, for her own good?' she said, trying to soften her tone.

  John didn't reply immediately, and the silence made Helen feel uncomfortable. Eventually he said 'Maybe we should. For her own good of course.'

  Helen looked across at him, but he was concentrating on his driving.

  She decided that she should steer the conversation towards something approaching small talk. It was not her forte usually.

  'Got any plans for the evening?' she said.

  John's voice got even more relaxed as he said 'Full evening planned. Pizza and football.'

  'Nice,' said Helen, fooling nobody.

  The rest of the journey continued wi
th only an occasional outbreak of small talk, which suited Helen fine.

  Helen's flat approached in the distance. It was in a decent area of the town. First floor, her father had always said that you shouldn't go for the ground floor – people would either ring your bell when drunk, lost or confused, or worse burgle you because you were easier to reach. His advice had stuck with her when she had chosen the flat. It wasn't grand, but she liked to think it had a certain style about it.

  'Thanks for the lift, see you tomorrow?' She said as she got out of the car.

  'No problem,' replied John. Helen noted that it was his stock reply for most situations. She could imagine him standing there with one leg hanging off and saying ’No problem’.

  Helen opened the door to her flat, threw down her coat and collapsed into the sofa.

  She looked up at the clock and groaned. It was nearly time. She was beginning to dread making these phone calls.

  When this had all started she had been flattered. She had been chosen. It seemed like an outlet for her frustrations, but each call seemed to feel less flattering and seemed to actually add to her frustrations.

  She dialled the number as slowly as she could and listened to the ring tone.

  'Hello Helen. How was today?'

  'Oh much the same, you know,' she replied.

  'Any progress to report?'

  This was the question she dreaded most. 'We had a session, but you know, they didn't say anything. Again. So you know it was a bit of a bust.' Damn, she thought, “bit of a bust” she sounded like a teenager. She didn't want to make him think she was an idiot. She needed this contact. She needed to feel that she was involved.

  'And the journals?'

  Helen jumped at the chance and said 'Oh the journals, yes, they have begun filling them in.'

  'Anything interesting?'

  'I haven't actually seen them yet.' As Helen said it out loud she became even more frustrated. It made her sound like she was just a lowly minion. She felt even more resentful towards Sarah for making her feel like that.

  After a brief pause the voice continued ‘And how does Sarah seem to be coping?’

  Helen was grateful that she didn’t need to temper what she said now. ‘She still has these weird rituals and she looks like she is barely holding it together at times. I still can’t believe she is actually in charge.’ She felt immediately more relaxed as she was able to vent her real feelings.

  ‘We understand your frustrations, but everything has a purpose. You are doing good work and the reward will come. We’ll speak tomorrow.’

  And with that the line went dead.

  The voice hadn’t betrayed impatience, but she wasn't sure how much longer she could stand not having anything to report and wondered if she might have to take things into her own hands.

  John watched Helen open the door to her flat and enter. He only lived a couple of miles from her, which had proved to be convenient when her car had unexpectedly decided not to cooperate.

  Ten minutes later he was pulling the car into the private parking for his house. He had to admit that the house was quite an impressive one. It had just the right amount of period features that estate agents loved and it was in a nice area, good schools and transport links. Or so the details had said. Needless to say, it was a rented property. No point in putting down roots in John's line of work.

  He opened the front door, hung up his coat, straightening it until it hung perfectly vertically, placed his car keys into the special dish that had been placed there for that purpose and made his way through the hallway into the front room.

  The room looked as if it was starring in a magazine cover shoot. The furniture was perfectly arranged, the period mantelpiece had just the right amount of well organised ornaments on it. The whole room had no sign of clutter or disorder. It was how he liked things.

  His bedroom was also a model of organisation and efficiency. He quickly discarded his rather dishevelled work clothes, placing them in a far corner of his wardrobe with a look of disdain, and proceed to put on his own clothes; a casual but smart combination of blazer, polo neck jumper and chinos.

  He immediately felt more like his real self again. Being “John” was amusing to him, but it could get tiresome being that untidy and dishevelled looking. He had found himself during the day longing to tidy his desk at work. The urge to remove the discarded crisp packets and half empty drinks cartons was at times almost overwhelming. But it was part of the act and he was stuck with it, for the moment at least.

  He already had his evening ahead planned, and it wouldn't sound that exciting to most people. He retrieved a stack of papers – neatly organised and colour coded of course – from the bureau, sat down in the chair in the front room and settled down for an evening of revision.

  On the coffee table was a small stack of psychology books. The books on top were high level works with titles that made absolutely no sense to him. All very impressive and what you would expect an assistant psychologist to have about the place. At the bottom of the pile was a rather less impressive book entitled Psychology for Dummies.

  John was certainly no dummy. He had achieved some of the highest scores in his classes, he was regarded as a rising star. It was just that those classes were not Psychology. Not even close. When it came to Psychology, he certainly fitted the title Dummy.

  But he was trying to change that. At least enough to convince real psychologists that he was one of them. At least temporarily.

  He quickly brushed aside the book entitled Car troubleshooting and moved on to the focus for the evening.

  He first picked up the file marked Helen Thornton.

  Helen seemed so transparent that you didn't need to be especially skilled to understand her motives. He had already summed her up as rather spoilt, used to getting her own way. That much anyone could deduce.

  He leafed through the dossier on her. Family, upbringing, education all fairly normal. High achiever, only child, presumably doted on by her parents. All very normal, all very predictable.

  He lifted up the folder with the name Sarah Stevens. He was more familiar with this one, but he liked to brush up on it, especially in light of some of Helen's comments this evening.

  There were details about her father, he knew some of them already, but there was more about her father's work. He didn't really understand a lot about it – it was well above the level of his Psychology for Dummies – but he gathered that his research had been very experimental, very “cutting edge”. The information seemed incomplete. He got the feeling that whoever had compiled the dossier had been doing it with one hand tied behind their back. Maybe it was all a little above John's pay grade. He shrugged, it wouldn’t be the first or last time that he had been kept in the dark.

  He began to flick through the papers, forwards and backwards, skim reading her life story. No matter how often he looked, there was no doubt that there were gaps; large unexplained gaps. He really must have a word with them about this. He had worked on cases involving some pretty shady characters – drug dealers; dodgy businessman and even more dodgy politicians – and their dossiers hadn't had this many gaps in. He thought of the comments Helen had made about Sarah’s behaviour. There was nothing he could see in the dossier that could help him explain this; apart from the obvious trauma of her father’s death. Not for the first time, he wondered if the gaps in her files would help explain it.

  He looked up at the clock and realised that it was nearly time. Leaning across he picked up the phone and dialled.

  'Hello John,' said the voice on the other end.

  He sometimes had to remember who he was for a moment before realising that “John” was him.

  'Hello,' he replied.

  'Things progressing okay?'

  'Not sure about progressing particularly,' he always disliked having to say this, he was much happier with something important to convey.

  'How did the session go?'

  'As well as you could expect with no one talking I guess!' He
didn't mean to sound sarcastic, it was just a statement of fact.

  'And the journals?'

  John felt a little happier talking about those. 'Sarah seems to think that there could be some progress in that direction. At some point anyway.'

  'Has she let you see them yet?' Came the reply.

  John tried not to sound too defeatist as he said 'Not yet, Sarah says that there is nothing to report yet.'

  There was a pause before the reply came.

  'It can sometimes depend upon interpretation. What someone might think is not important someone else might see something there. Some clue as it were.'

  John nodded, 'Agreed, but there's not much I can do at the moment.' In truth, he had been getting slightly frustrated about being kept out of the loop. But he thought maybe his carefully crafted non-threatening persona may be getting in the way. Maybe Sarah didn't take him seriously enough to confide in him.

  'We could really do with getting an insight into the Journals. Perhaps if you got closer to Sarah she might be more amenable?'

  John paused for a moment, letting the comment sink in. 'Is that an instruction?'

  'Merely a suggestion. I wouldn't want to tell you how to do your job after all.'

  The tone of the voice was flat, John couldn't detect any criticism of himself there. But he carefully replied 'I'll see what I can do tomorrow.'

  'Okay, we'll speak soon then.'

  John put the receiver down. The more he thought about it, the more that had seemed like an instruction to him.