Catch Your Death Part 6

No, he wouldn't find her. And if he did, what could he do?

He'll say you've kidnapped your own son. He'll take Jack back. He's always threatened that he'd hunt you down if you ever tried to take him away. You'll lose him.

No! That wasn't right. She had brought Jack to England for his own good. It was the right thing to do. And she was English the law would protect her here, wouldn't it? They wouldn't let Vernon take her son away from her, not here. Would they?

She was distracted from her worries by the sight of a mosquito flitting about near the window. She immediately thought of her work the many long hours staring into an electron microscope, studying the West Nile Virus and others like it. Viruses are so tiny that they can only be seen with a modern electron microscope. So tiny that hundreds of thousands would fit on the size of a pin. Kate and her fellow researchers spent their lives absorbed in this miniature world.

If only all her problems were as small not huge like all this stuff with Stephen and Paul. She hadn't come back to England to chase ghosts. She didn't intend to open this door to the past. Honestly, she hadn't even thought about Stephen or the Cold Unit on the way back here it had been the last thing on her mind. As she'd told Paul, she hadn't thought about it for years.

But now she'd met Paul and read the letter, and a wound she'd thought long-healed had been torn open again. Feelings she thought were dead had proven themselves well and truly alive and kicking.

Tonight, after Paul left, she had toyed with the idea of checking out at dawn and moving to another hotel. She didn't need this complication. She had to find a school for Jack, a new job for herself. She had to get settled as soon as she could, for Jack's sake, and so that Vernon wouldn't be able to accuse her of being some kind of irresponsible vagrant.

But would she be able to go on with her life without finding out what had happened to Stephen and what she had "been right" about? She decided that she would spend another day, maybe two, with Paul, trying to figure out what had happened. She owed Stephen that. After that, even if they hadn't unearthed the truth, she would have to put it aside and try to settle down.

She didn't know that within forty-eight hours she would be on the run for her life; or that settling down wouldn't be an option.

CHAPTER 11.

Paul was waiting in the reception area when Kate emerged from the lift the next morning, Jack close by her side. He stood up to meet her, looking as tired as she felt, but also relieved. Perhaps he'd been worried that she might have done a disappearing act. She wouldn't tell him how close she'd been to doing just that. She also wouldn't tell him how relieved she felt, because getting dressed she'd wondered if he would actually be there. What if he'd had a change of heart? She could imagine him sitting at home, laughing to himself, thinking how crazy he was to get involved with this looney tunes chick with the dodgy memory.

Even though he looked tired, he also looked as if he'd made a bit of an effort before coming out. His hair had been washed and was fashionably spiked, though it had gone a little flat on one side, and he seemed to be wearing aftershave. A little too much aftershave, if truth be told. He was wearing different jeans too, expensive-looking ones, though obviously she didn't know him well enough yet to lift the back of his jacket to check the label. Yeah, and check out his b.u.m while you're down there, whispered a little voice in her head.

'What is it?' he said, looking alarmed. loHave I got something on my face?'

She laughed and shook her head.

'I've brought my laptop so we can...' He stopped himself, realising he'd forgotten something. 'Morning Jack,' he said.

'h.e.l.lo. Um.' He looked to his mum for help.

Paul laughed. 'Don't worry, mate, I couldn't remember names when I was your age either.'

Jack looked puzzled. 'My name's Jack, not mate. You smell funny.'

'Jack!' Kate exclaimed. 'Sorry about that. You don't smell funny. You smell...nice.'

Paul's face twisted with awkwardness as he struggled to find a response. He was saved by Jack saying, 'Mummy, what are we having for breakfast? I'm hungry.'

'How about going to Starbucks?' Paul asked. He added, 'They have wi-fi there.'

'They might have wi-fi, but I'm not sure if you can get a very healthy breakfast there,' Kate said. But now Jack wanted to go to Starbucks. She gave in. McDonalds yesterday, now this. When this was over she was going to feed Jack nothing but organic fruit and vegetables for a month.

Paul said, 'I called my parents last night. I just wanted to double check that they hadn't received any letters from Stephen before he died, just in case he wrote to them too. They hadn't, and then I felt bad for ringing and stirring things up, making them think about him.'

Kate touched his arm. 'I imagine they think about him every day anyway.'

'Yeah. I guess you're right.'

'They say you never get over the loss of a child.' She had to raise her voice slightly to be heard over the din of milk being frothed in big stainless steel jugs.

Paul frowned. 'I just wish that sometimes they'd realise that even though they lost one child, they still have another.'

Kate waited for him to continue, but at that moment they reached the head of the queue, and the barista took their order. She looked at his profile as he paid for them all, and felt that familiar tightness in her throat. Don't cry, she fiercely told herself.

They found a table at the back of the coffee shop and sat down. Kate was remonstrating with Jack 'No, you can't have a cake for breakfast, Jack' even though the pressure in her throat and behind her eyes had increased so much that she could barely speak. She had to get up again immediately.

'I just need to go to the loo. Jack, be a good boy.'

In the toilet, Kate put her face in her hands and let the tears come. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes, laughing at herself as she looked at the creature in the mirror with the mascara streaks. She quickly washed her face in the sink. She doubted Paul would notice the sudden absence of mascara, unless he was an unusually observant man. What if he knew she'd been crying and asked why? What would she tell h im?

She fixed a smile in place and came out of the bathroom.

They were gone.

To experience that feeling of panic, of your heart whooshing up through your chest, once in twenty-four hours was bad enough. Twice was too much. Why had she trusted this stranger? He must have been hired by Vernon to s.n.a.t.c.h Jack, and she had fallen for it.

There was no logic in this, of course, but in a moment of panic, logic vanishes, even when you're a professor of science.

She felt the tears rushing back to the surface, tears of despair and anger this time, and fear. She'd lost her son. She'd lost him, she'd lost him, she'd 'Hey, mummy!'

They had just moved to a different table, Jack and Paul with Billy the robot perched on the chair between them. She crossed the room on rubber legs. Paul had his laptop open. He said, 'Jack wanted to sit by the window. Are you okay? You look pale.'

'I'm fine.' She quickly composed herself, glancing at the newspaper that lay between them, finding herself hooked by the headline. The lead story was about a "controversial" scientist who'd been found murdered in his lab. Animal rights extremists were being blamed, although they denied involvement. There was a heartbreaking picture of the doctor with his family. The story sent a shiver through Kate's bones, and she folded the paper and dropped it onto an empty chair. To Paul she said. 'So what are you doing?'

He swivelled the laptop so she could see the screen then brought up Google and typed "cold research unit salisbury". He scanned through the list of results. 'These are sites telling the history of the Unit. Maybe there's something on there that could help us.'

'Let's have a look,' Kate said, skim-reading the page. There was a black and white photo of part of the Unit, taken from a distance. The blocky, utilitarian buildings and the green s.p.a.ces beyond. A chill made the hairs on her arms stand on end. She read The Unit closed down in 1990 without having found a cure for the common cold. All those years of research with no success. Had it all been a waste of time? The possibility made her feel intensely sad, especially for Leonard and Stephen.

'This just gives the official history of the place, and a very abridged version at that,' she said.

He went back to the search engine page and clicked on a few other results. There was very little information available.

'The net isn't going to be much help to us,' he sighed. 'Which is a shame. I get so used to finding everything I want on Google.'

Kate drummed her fingers on the table. Next to her, Jack was happily drawing a picture of Billy standing on an alien planet, firing a laser beam at a many-tentacled alien. She could sense Paul's growing frustration and wished so badly that she could help him.

'Who else would know what Stephen might have been talking about? Is there anyone else that you might have talked to about it? Friends? Family?'

'Aunt Lil's my only family, and she wouldn't be able to help even if I'd told her everything. She's got dementia. She barely recognises me now.'

She thought back to her frustrating visit to the nursing home two days before. It had been one of the most depressing experiences of her life. The woman who'd looked after her all those years, after her parents died, was gone, replaced by this paper-skinned creature with a body and mind that didn't work properly any more.

Paul murmured some words of sympathy, then said, 'You've told me about when you first went to the Unit. Tell me what happened after the fire? What do you remember?'

She glanced at Jack. He was still engrossed in his drawing.

'I remember the night of the fire itself.' She told Paul about the rush from the building, pa.s.sing out and waking up outside. And then seeing a body being carried out. Stephen's body. After that, she must have pa.s.sed out, although she had this strange, vague recollection of a doctor, a guy in a white coat, or that might have been mixed up with her next memory: waking up in hospital.

'I asked them how long I'd been in hospital, and they told me three weeks. I couldn't believe it. Three weeks lost. Apparently, I had woken up a few times, but I couldn't remember it at all. That was one of the first things they asked me: what do you remember?

'At first, I couldn't remember anything. I had no idea what had happened to me. They told me amnesia was common among people who've suffered a trauma, without telling me what the trauma actually was. I heard the doctors and nurses whispering about me. They told me I needed to rest and get strong before I could leave. So I let them look after me.'

She stared through the window at the London street. A couple walked by, hand-in-hand. A homeless man begged for change across the road. Red buses and black cabs. After sixteen years in Boston it all seemed so strange.

'It took me a couple of days to remember the fire and Stephen. I think I started screaming when I remembered. All the nurses came running and, well, I guess I was sedated. When I woke up again there was this man who came and sat by my bed and talked to me about how I felt. I a.s.sumed he was a therapist. He told me I had missed the funeral. He kept asking me what else I could remember. I told him that I could remember going into the Unit, and then the fire. That was it. You know, thinking about it now, I got the impression he seemed relieved when I told him that.'

Paul was shaking his head. He looked as if he was going to cry.

'Are you OK?' Kate asked.

'Sorry. You just reminded me of the funeral it was so horrible, knowing that Stephen was in that coffin, so badly burned that my folks couldn't even identify him. It had to be done by his dental records...'

Kate felt her own eyes fill again. When would she stop feeling so over-emotional?

'Go on,' said Paul. 'I'm fine now.'

They smiled watery smiles at each other.

'I stayed in the hospital for another three weeks. It seems like a dream now. White walls, white sheets, people in white coats like angels coming to see me and talk to me in quiet voices. They brought me books and puzzles to do. No TV or radio. Great food.'

'So it wasn't a normal NHS hospital?'

'No. They said it was a private clinic. Actually, no-one told me very much at all. Whenever I asked questions I'd be told that I needn't worry, that I was in safe hands. And the thing was, I was so tired that I didn't have the energy to ask too many questions. There were other patients there. I would see them sometimes if I got up to go for a walk around, although I was always escorted and never got the chance to talk to anybody else. I heard a woman crying in the night a few times. Huh, the others patients probably heard me crying in the night. Though most of the time I felt alright.'

'Did they have you on drugs?'

'I was given a ton of pills every day. I was told they would help me get better quicker, and help my memory come back.'

'And what about your aunt? Did she visit you?'

'I asked to see her and they said it was difficult. Apparently, according to them, she'd been to visit me when I was first brought in, which I obviously had no recollection of. Eventually, after I kept asking, they let her visit me. She seemed uneasy. She told me she'd asked for me to be transferred to the local hospital, but that the doctors had told her I was better off here, in the private clinic. Aunt Lil was of the generation that trusted doctors one hundred per cent, so she didn't argue. And she said that Leonard himself had phoned her and rea.s.sured her I was in good hands.'

Another memory came to her. 'Leonard came to see me towards the end of my stay in the hospital.'

'What was his surname?'

'Bainbridge.'

Paul tapped the name into the search engine and found a page about Leonard Bainbridge. 'An obituary. He died two years ago. Cancer. There's a paragraph here about the CRU but it's just the usual brief history stuff. It says he left behind a wife, Jean, but had no children. So what happened when this Bainbridge guy came to see you?'

Kate felt sad for the loss of the avuncular, warm-hearted man she'd only met a handful of times, but who had made a deep impression on her. She stared into s.p.a.ce, picturing the scene when Leonard had come to visit.

CHAPTER 12.

1990.

Leonard perched on a hard chair beside her bed, his smile adding warmth to the room. He was a distinguished-looking man in a tweed suit, with sharp blue eyes, a head full of white hair and a neatly trimmed white beard.

Now that he sat here beside her she could remember his visits to her parents when they lived in the big house on the South Downs. Kate had been eight or nine. When Kate's father heard that Leonard was coming to see them he became quite agitated, nipping into Lewes in the car to buy proper coffee and fresh bread. He sent Kate into the garden to choose flowers. Kate protested she would rather see flowers in the ground than in a vase but her father insisted. She doubted if this old bloke, this Leonard, whoever he was, would even notice, so she was surprised when the third thing he commented on, after Kate's prettiness and the well-being of her parents, was the vase of flowers sitting on the mantel and how beautiful they were.

'Though I've always thought flowers might be happier in the earth. Don't you agree, Kate?' he said.

It was as if he'd read her mind, and from that moment she found him fascinating. She was so glad that Miranda had gone to play at a friend's that day she could do without any compet.i.tion from her cute little sister. When Leonard and her father went into the garden to talk, she shadowed them, trying to eavesdrop. Dad turned and told her to run along, but Leonard beckoned her closer and produced a chocolate bar, a Curlywurly, from his jacket pocket. She retreated to the house where she shared it with Charlie, their Weimaraner.

Lying in her bed in the clinic, she said, 'You gave me chocolate.'

'Did I?'

'Yes. I think you were trying to get rid of me.'

He laughed and patted her hand where it lay on the edge of the mattress. 'I expect I was trying to make you like me.'

'It worked. I always looked forward to your visits after that. Not because of the chocolate,' she said hurriedly. 'I was intrigued by you. You seemed like the grandfather I always wanted. Kind, and wise.'

Something about the way he reacted to that made her think she'd said the wrong thing, and she blushed. He appeared troubled, but then the benign smile returned and he reached into his inner pocket and brought out a brown envelope. He handed it to her.

She studied it warily. 'What is it?'

'Your exam results.'

'Oh my G.o.d. I totally forgot about this. How could it have just slipped my mind? I feel like I'm losing my mind.'

He patted her hand. 'Having problems with your memory, are you? Hmm, well, you've been through a lot, Kate. I'm not surprised things are...hazy.'

Kate ran a finger along the edge of the envelope. 'I'm frightened.'

'Don't be. There's no need.'

'I haven't thought about Oxford or my exams for months, but when you gave me this I suddenly realised something: that I want this degree. I really need it.'

His voice was hushed. 'Open the envelope, Kate.'

Her hands shook as she slid a fingernail beneath the flap and tore open the envelope. She removed the sheet of paper that she'd imagined herself receiving so many times, back in the past, in her old life. She could hardly bear to look.

'Well?' he said. 'Are you happy?'