Parallel Lines - Part 2 by Chris Lloyd

She was extremely cold and could not make her brain work, so instinct took over and made her seek shelter. At the end of the alleyway there were some railway arches so she made herself get there. She crumbled to the floor as soon as she was beneath them.

When she partially regained her senses, she realised that she was surrounded by people trying to make her warm by covering her with old clothes and sacks. They were close to and touching her. She screamed and climbed unsteadily to her feet ready to run, instead she fell straight back down.

“Ere, there ain’t ennyfin to be scared about, lady. We’re all in it togevver. Wotcha you doing wiv no proper clothes on anyway?”

“Help me up if you would be so kind. I am only lost.”

“If you would be so kind, that’s a bit la di da,” said a large smelly man. “What’s a posh bird like you hangin’ around ‘ere for. Are you a reporter or summink, nosin’ in our bizniss? Yeh I bet that’s what she is boyz, a sleazy nosy snitch. And you know what we do wiv them eh boyz?”

“No I am nothing of the sort, believe me. I would not come anywhere near you … people. I promise I am merely temporarily lost. Please tell me where I am.” 

Suddenly a woman’s voice rang out. “You touch her, Ronnie, and I’ll have your balls removed, right?”

“Sez who?”

“Says me, you piss head, and you know I would too. Now clear off.”

Ronnie looked round and squared his shoulders so as not to lose too much face.

“C’mon, boyz, leave ‘em to do what they do; dirty slags.” They walked away shouting obscenities as the female voice walked over to her.

“Thank you so much. I owe you my life, I’m sure.” Cordelia shivered as she spoke.

“Here have a sip of this; it’ll warm you a little.  So, what are you then, undercover cop?”

“No, nothing like that I assure you. I had too much to drink last night but I can’t remember what I did before that.”

“Well, you talk like a BBC news reader, if you don’t mind my saying, you should go and work for them.”

“Yes, well I have already done that, not too long ago either.”

“Wait, I know you, you’re that interviewer woman, aren’t you? You were good too until Jeff got on your gig.” She laughed as she said it. “Was he the reason you stopped the interviews?”

“Yes, it was. You sound like you know him, do you?”

“Yeah, he was one of us for a time but after that do with you, he went up in the world, I can tell you. He’s writing a book – well he ain’t actually writing it, he’s got a ghost writer to do it. He’s as dense as a thick piece of oak

“I was set up. I have a medical problem which causes me to lose my temper and only two people at the BBC knew about it. Where does he live now? I’m not going to harm him but need to know who set me up.”

“Oh, I might know where he’s at. If you come back ‘ere tomorrow I’ll give you give you his address, for a fee naturally. Business is business, like.”

“How much?”

“Thirty five for me trouble and a ton for my old mum.”

“Done. What time?”

“Six in the evening.”

“Where am I now?”

“Five minutes’ walk to King’s Cross.”

“I’ll be here,” said Cordelia. She felt a lot better but wondered what the chances were of meeting someone who knew where her interviewee lived. It felt odd.

Cordelia walked away wondering how the hell she had arrived near King’s Cross given that she lived in Teddington. She also had not recognized the clothing she was wearing – it certainly was not her own. She searched any pockets she could find and finally felt something in her underwear. It was her Underground card. She looked skywards and steepled her fingers, silently said her thanks, tapped in and boarded the first train that came in.

Upon her arrival home, she saw a police vehicle near her house and two officers standing on her driveway. Her front door was open. She walked straight up to them and demanded to know what was going on.

“Is this your house, madam?”

“Yes it is, why…..”

“Do you have any ID, madam?” He was looking her up and down, stepping back as he did.

“I have my tube card,” she handed it to her.

“Nothing else, madam?”

“Not with me, no. I can show you in my house.”

“Would you mind telling me why your door was left open, all night as far as we can make out.”

“I have a medical issue which makes me do odd things like leaving my door open, among others. I am happy for you to check with my doctor.”

“That will not be necessary, madam. I would like you to lead me inside if you would. You can then assure me or otherwise that all is as it should be. After you, madam.”

Cordelia led the officers in to the house, turning left into the living room.

On the sofa lay the body of herself. She was carefully dressed, clutching a grey leather handbag.

She promptly passed out as she looked into her own eyes.

She came round three hours later on the sofa and everything seemed normal, there were certainly no police officers in the house. She dashed to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. She looked normal. After looking in all other rooms, everything seemed to be in perfect order. She was not convinced. She had definitely seen herself on the sofa. This new experience was extremely worrying.

She spent the remaining hours of that day trying to work out where she had been. Since she had returned home, she had felt strange, not an uncommon state for her it must be said, but it simply did not feel as normal as it looked. All she could remember was that she had used her Tube card but no idea where she had been. Then she remembered her journeys were her online underground account.

After finding and checking her account she found nothing to indicate she’d used it the day before or early that day.  She decided to go to bed in order to ensure she would be rested and relaxed to face the morning.

She awoke with a start in bed. It was not her bed and there was a man snoring beside her. Both of them were unclothed. She had no idea where she was. The snoring reached fever pitch and she quietly turned her head towards her companion.

“Oh my God.” She put her hands to her face to avoid throwing up all over him. It was Jeffrey. She looked around for her clothes but they were not immediately visible. There were clothes that she vaguely remembered from somewhere.  She decided to get dressed in those quickly and as noiselessly as possible. It was going well, just her right shoe to go.

“Don’t think you’ll get out of here. You’re my wife now. We got married last night and, oh, what a wedding night.

“No there must be some mistake, I would…..”

“Never get in to bed with me? I know it’s f**king unbelievable. You’re a very lucky lady, I can tell you.”

Cordelia looked around the room for some kind of weapon but, except for a fountain pen, there was nothing. She decided to make conversation to distract him. She moved slowly and as he turned away, picked up the pen which thankfully was metal.

“I see it’s you, Jeffrey. I hear you are writing a book. All I want is to know the name of the person who told you about my medical issue. I promise I’ll walk away if ……”

“Walk away? Walk away? We’re married, didn’t you hear. You ain’t going anywhere,” he shouted.

Cordelia cowered as he came towards her. He was about to grab her when she plunged the fountain nib into his left eye. He jumped back in pain, both hands covering his inky eye. She realized that she had a very short time to run but the door was locked. She looked at Jeffrey who was starting to be less noisy and, in her mind, meant he was recovering. Therefore, seeing “The Complete Works of E.E. Cummings”, a very weighty collection of poetry; she grabbed it and “slammed” it down on his head. He did not utter another word.

She searched the sleeping Jeffrey and found a small set of keys. One of them would open the door, she reasoned. She turned to the door and was about to try the keys when she heard a key being inserted in the lock from the other side. She positioned herself behind it. The door slowly opened and she sensed a person enter the room, very warily. That person, upon seeing what she thought was a dead Jeffrey, rushed towards him and knelt beside him testing for a pulse, which she found. At that moment, Cordelia made her exit to freedom.

She ran down two flights of stairs and found herself on a pavement which as far she was concerned, could have been anywhere in the country. She simply could not understand what was happening. She leant against a parking meter, looked at it and saw Royal Borough of Kensington stamped on it.

“That’s a start, I suppose,” she said to herself.

Then, as if it was her common practice, she put her hand in her underwear and retrieved her Tube card. She had a flash in her brain but couldn’t catch it; it felt strange and as she stepped on the escalator. She knew something was seriously amiss. It felt as if she had to do something difficult.

She waited for her train for what seemed hours; everything was happening in slow motion. A woman appeared to be waving at her. Shouting something. She did not hear, could not hear. Cordelia turned slowly and watched her train coming in, knowing what she had to do ………

Cordelia McArthur was sitting at home reading The Guardian, eating toast, drinking tea, her mind clear, tablet taken. It would soon be time to find out how the latest young person handled the letters, comments and emails that she had thoughtfully sent to the Head of BBC Radio Four. 

“Hmmm,” she said, “that last email will make them think. How dare they use that language.”

©Christopher Lloyd