Chapter Twelve

Buying the cheapest they could find: underwear, shirts and a pair of jeans for Laura, took nearly half Gordon’s money. It was fun and Laura touched Michael a great deal: holding his hand whenever possible and sometimes when it wasn’t. She stroked his hair, linked arms, or hooked a thumb in his jeans back pocket and always smiling. Michael wondered if the sex-free night had earned him this but didn’t question it.

Back at the shop, they bathed again and changed. Laura decided that clean knickers made her ready for anything but Michael wasn’t sure that clean under pants did the same for him. The previous night his mind had settled on Ralow and Hortan when the soft, warm pressure of Laura’s bare bottom had become too much to endure without a barrier, and the thoughts remained, hovering, scary but not obsessive.

He checked his watch again and behind him, Mister Kasov said, “Michael, may I be inquisitive?”

Michael nodded, looking out through the parlor door’s small window into the shop.

He said, “Why not?”

The old man’s newspaper rustled.

“I thought at first, you were angry with me,” Mister Kasov said. “I notice it is this from which you avert your eyes.”

Without turning, Michael said, “Well done. It usually takes people weeks to spot that, if they do at all.”

“May I ask why this happens?”

“No harm in asking.”

Mister Kasov chuckled then said, “Your anger is showing, my boy.”

This time Michael looked at him as he said, “What, the anger that proves I don’t think I can cope or I’m new to looking after people?”

Mister Kasov put up one hands, palm out, saying, “I am not your enemy, Michael. I was not insulting you with that comment or not intentionally. Doubt is healthy, especially in the young.” He touched the newspaper then continued, “Even now, you don’t look at it.” He raised the paper suddenly and Michael flinched. Mister Kasov’s face showed surprise then he swept the pages on to the floor behind his chair and said, “My apologies, I did not realize it…generated so much anxiety.”

Michael controlled his rage with a massive effort and said, as levelly as he could, “Don’t experiment on me.”

Mister Kasov nodded several times then said, “Too many years in the company of psychiatrists when I was young and impressionable, who saw people as cases. I really do apologize.” He studied Michael’s face then continued, “You do not forgive.”

Michael said, “People forgive too easily.”

Mister Kasov nodded again. “Agreed,” he said. “It should be earned, not expected. So how can I make it up to you?”

Michael considered the question, experiencing surprise that the anxiety-generated anger had subsided enough to allow rational thought. He said, “You can tell me if Laura mentioned any other names yesterday besides Ralow. From the hospital I mean.”

Mister Kasov settled back in his chair, groaned gently then said, “She did not, perhaps too much. There was a sense of…discontinuity…a gap?”

Michael asked, “Did she tell you why she was with me?”

Mister Kasov shook his head. “No, and I would not repeat it if she had. Laura’s reasons are sufficient for her. That has to be enough.”

Michael said, “Okay, your turn.” Mister Kasov’s eyebrows lifted and Michael added, “Your turn to ask a question.”

“The newspaper?”

Michael peered into the shop again and said, “Laura’s watching an elderly lady browse, taking it very seriously.” He turned to look at the old man as he went on. “I’ve done it for years: Just a feeling that I might miss something important if I don’t read every word of a story. No special subject, nothing as easy as that. If I catch a word I have to read the line, then the page. So I don’t read newspapers at all if I can avoid it.”

Mister Kasov looked interested.

He said, “My father did that in Belgium and then over here during the war. Only he had a subject. He was looking for anti-Semitism.” He shrugged and went on, “Of course, he always found it whether it was there or not.” He looked round then said, “But you pass by my books with ease. They don’t generate this anxiety?”

Michael shook his head. “No. Their words are safely covered and old anyway, nothing relevant to right now.”

He shrugged adding, “Well that’s how the logic works for me and I’ve learned not to question it.”

Mister Kasov digested that then asked, “Is there anything else in the area of the written word which does bother you?”

“Magazines: things with stuff on the front to make you want to read it.”

Mister Kasov smiled, saying, “It was fortunate that I did not sell such, or we would never have met, or perhaps only for the time it took you to take Laura away.”

He coughed thinly, then again then couldn’t stop. Michael watched his body shake.

In alarm he asked, “Can I get you anything?”

Mister Kasov pointed to a small cabinet near the door.

He managed, “Blue…bottle.”

Michael scrambled to it and opened all three tiny cupboards before he found a ribbed and corked medicine bottle among the pillboxes. He wrenched the cork out, moving back to the chair.

Mister Kasov managed, “Shake…shake first.”

Michael replaced the cork, shook the contents until the milky liquid had mixed with the bottom inch of thick cream sediment then jerked the cork out again and helped Mister Kasov bring the bottle’s neck to his lips. The first mouthful spurted back through the old man’s nose, but the second and third stayed down and the coughing stopped. Michael knelt beside his chair until the shaking eased, aware of his hand over the thin mottled one, both sticky with glutinous yellow fluid.

Eventually, Mister Kasov looked at him and whispered, “Thank you.”

“Don’t talk, rest,” Michael said then stood up, looking at the bottle and continued, “I’ll wash this clean after I get you a cloth.”

He fetched a wet flannel from the bathroom and helped the old man clean his face and hands, then wiped off the bottle and replaced it.

When he had finished, Mister Kasov said, “Don’t mention this to Laura, please.”

Michael said, “Our secret,” and looked down at him, asking, “Does this happen often?”

“More often than I would wish,” Mister Kasov said then smiled and patted his chest. “Old problem that grows worse. My own fault for talking too much.” His eyes began to droop as he murmured, “Now I will sleep a little.”

“Can I do anything?” Michael asked.

The smile barely troubled his lips as the old man said, “No, the medicine is very good. It should be for the price I pay. I will be better in two hours.” His eyes closed.

Michael watched until he was sure it was sleep not death in the room with him then went out into the shop.

Laura smiled, pointing at the elderly woman as she stomped out through the shop door and said, “I nearly sold a book.”

Michael said, “Nearly doesn’t pay the rent.” She nodded then asked about Mister Kasov and Michael told her he was sleeping. Then he looked round, needing a change of subject and asked, “Do you remember anyone actually buying anything since we’ve been here?”

Laura said, “Now you mention it, no.” She walked across and tapped the oil-float paper cover of a huge ledger on the gazebo’s shelf. “It says, “Shop Sales” on this. Shall I look?” She didn’t wait for an answer and opened the book, looked at it and asked, “Isn’t this writing called copperplate?”

Michael peered at it, saying, “As near as makes no difference I think.”

Laura sat down, looked at the most recent entries then turned back over a week’s sales.

Finally, she said, “It seems like a couple of pounds a day is his best. Then this.” She tapped the previous Saturday’s date. “Seventy-five pounds for one book, whatever it is. I can’t read Latin.”

Michael looked at the entry then said, “Nice sale. If only half of that was profit, he made more in that day than I do in a month. I mean, “did”.”

Laura squeezed his hand then asked, “Are you still worried about that?” She winced. “Course you are, stupid thing to say.”

Michael put a finger against her nose.

He said, “Don’t say “something will turn up”, or I will be forced to hurt you.”

She laughed and jumped off the stool, taking a boxer’s crouch.

“Come on then, let’s see what you’ve got!” She said then circled her arms at him. “Put your fists where your mouth is!”

He said gently, “I’d rather put my mouth where your mouth is.”

Laura stopped bouncing and put both hands on her hips.

She said, “If you’re going to stand there loving me when I want to fight…”

“Sorry.”

She stared at him, cheeks coloring then shook her head, eyes wet, and started to push him towards the shop door, saying, “Just go and get us some chocolate or, now Mister Kasov’s asleep, I’ll do something I might not regret.”

* * * *

Michael walked towards the library out of habit, enjoying the warmth Laura had left in his stomach. Remnants of winter chewed at his bare hands but the low sun was bright and he walked into it, unconcerned about the glare reducing vision. His mind felt in the same state: full of light but no detail and he was surprised when he found himself slowing to a stop beside a phone box. Without conscious thought he dragged the heavy door open and stepped inside. His mother answered on the fourth ring.

Silence greeted his voice.

He said, “Just phoning to let you know I’m okay.” The reply when it came was quiet and off key. He thought for one sentence that it signified relief then her words percolated through. He cut in, “No I’m not mad! She’s perfectly all right.”

His mother’s voice ripped at him. He said, “For God’s sake, we borrowed it! Yes, a very good reason…Done anything to her? She’s seventeen! Child? No she isn’t…Just in your eyes now…Christ! That’s not what you used to say about her! When did she start being innocent? Oh, yes, God forbid I should bring shame on you! Don’t threaten me! What, charge his daughter with theft? Oh, just me, of course. Why not add kidnapping? Yes I thought you might like that. So, when do the police get involved? A whole day? Wow! I’ll ask her…No “ask”…she can make up her own mind. She is not a child! Why do you…”

Michael stared at the dead phone. It had been a long time since his mother called him a dirty little fucker. At least out loud.

* * * *

Laura asked, “So, where’s the chocolate? Should I have written it down for you?”

Then she saw his expression and her tone changed as she went on, “What’s happened?”

Michael told her slowly so he could repeat everything, including the obscenities.

Laura looked as if she wanted to pull the words out of his head and made him repeat the conversation then sat down heavily on the Gazebo stool and put both hands to her face.

Michael said, “Don’t worry.”

She looked at him through spread fingers. “What? Are you going to do it for both of us?” She stared past him, eyes unfocused and said, almost a whisper, “So you stole me and raped me. That’s really nice.”

Michael said, “She was just upset.”

“When wasn’t she where I’m concerned?” Laura pulled a face as the hands slid down to her lap and continued, “Oh, you’re surprised I said that? She’s never liked me. What do you think, I’m stupid? You might not have noticed me parading the goods for you, but your mother did.”

Michael said, “She’s blaming me, not you.”

Laura’s expression suggested she wanted to say more about his mother then the short hair bounced as she shook her head, saying, “Right, let it go. What’s the point. So we’ve got one day to go home or the bobbies get us.” She sighed and looked at the antique black telephone on the shelf in front of her, “I’d better phone daddy at work, sort it out.”

Michael said, “The police get me, not you. You’ll be okay.”

“I’ll never be allowed to see you again.” The big clock on the wall opposite chimed a noisy quarter-hour as she continued, “I’ll phone him now. Go and get the chocolate. This is going to be embarrassing enough without you listening.”

Michael said, “If he won’t budge, you’ll have to go home.”

Laura stopped, hand on the phone and asked, “Trying to get rid of me?” She grinned then went on, “I can handle daddy, been doing it all my life. Just go!”

Michael was on his way back with the chocolate bars when he realized that his shock and anger had swamped the big result: no police yet nosing round at home or his mother would certainly have mentioned it. Ralow couldn’t have reported him. He walked faster.

Back in the shop, Laura wasn’t exactly smiling, but she wasn’t crying either and Michael thought that had to be a positive sign.

He asked, “What did your dad say?”

She leaned forward in the gazebo, pushed her bottom out and patted it hard three times.

She said, “A verbal spanking, but he trusts me. He’ll persuade mum to untwist her knickers and calm down.” She gave him a thumbs-up. “We’re in a police-free zone!”

“Did he ask why we’d done it? Why we’d run off?”

Laura nodded hard. “Of course,” she said. “I just told him you had a really good reason-not what it was–and I wanted to be with you. I promised him it was nothing dangerous.”

“You basically lied.”

Laura shrugged. “A bit, I suppose.”

“No deadline to get home?”

Laura said, “He reminded me I had “A” Levels to worry about, but he said that he knew I wouldn’t do any work if I was pooping my pants over you all the time.”

Michael said, “That was colorful phrasing for your dad.”

“Not his exact words, smart-arse,” she said. Her smile invited him to join her then she went on, “He just wants me to phone him every day. He’s pretty nice isn’t he?” Michael agreed he was then told her what he had worked out. Laura’s eyes widened as she asked, “Why didn’t he turn you in, do you think? Scared?”

“If Gordon is right about Hadenley buzzing, maybe it’s not that simple.”

Laura gave him her impatient look, asking, “Why search for problems? If he didn’t, he didn’t.”

“Ralow isn’t the forgiving type,” Michael said. “I agree with Mister Kasov. He’s taken advantage of his job to harm me and shown what a piece of trash he is. He won’t forgive me for making him look at that.”

He tossed the chocolate bar to her. Laura fumbled and grabbed it on the second try.

Snapping off a piece, she asked, “What can he do?”

Michael’s stomach lurched as he thought of something that could happen immediately.

“He can organise having me put back in Hadenley if I miss any more clinic sessions,” he said. “There’s no need to mention…mention what happened to get that going. He told us all that yesterday: one absence for no good reason and he starts the committal proceedings if he feels like it, and he will feel like it in my case. Anyway, it’s not his choice, I’m sure. He was just being flash. It will be standard procedure. If I don’t turn up, I’m done.”

Laura shook her head impatiently and said, “That was before this all happened. He wouldn’t dare do that now. He wouldn’t do anything to back you into a corner so you’d have no choice but to report him for that sex stuff. If he has to, he’ll pretend you were there.”

She worried a crescent of chocolate loose from the bar with her front teeth.

Michael watched her munch and asked, “Do I bet my bum on it? It will be my word against his if he starts the process running and fresh out of a mental hospital, self-discharged against advice, who’ll believe me? If I get a committal and he comes back to Hadenley from this extended leave while I’m there he owns me.” She stopped chewing and he saw the question drift across her face. He said, “Go on then, say it.”

“What?”

“He can’t rape me if I don’t let him.”

“I wasn’t going to say that!” Laura said loudly.

The face didn’t look so sure.

“Something like it,” Michael said. “You’re wrong.” He began to count on his fingers. “He can fill me up with drugs, put me in one of those cells alone and fuck me all night long and I wouldn’t know it. He can mess with my food and meds, turn me into a zombie like they did to Hortan, make my life hell in all sorts of ways. He can threaten to tell other patients that I complained about them, which I think he did with Hortan and get me beaten up, or just make it clear they can do anything they want to me with no come back. He can let that thug Don kick me shitless and swear I started it.”

Laura said, voice unsure now, “I’d be there for you. I’d complain, yell my head off.”

“Before or after I got my brains kicked out?” Michael asked. “Remember what you told me about your friend’s mum.”

Laura said, “It’s a hospital, full of doctors and nurses. They wouldn’t let that happen.” The words started with small confidence but ended on a question.

Michael said, “Laura, it’s a place to keep loonies. I told you what happened to that soldier with the lighter. A clever nurse could get somebody killed in there and never be charged with it. Ralow isn’t stupid. He enjoys that bullying stuff.”

He tried not to think about the photographs.

Laura put her chocolate down and said, “So he still owns you even now. Even if he doesn’t report you?”

“We’ll see on Tuesday.”

“You’re going back to that clinic?” Her tone was incredulous.

Michael hadn’t really thought about it until he heard his own words.

He nodded, saying, “I don’t have much choice.”

“So all this…” She swept wide arms at the shop and the world. “All this is pointless now?”

“We don’t know yet,” Michael said. “Maybe Gordon will have some news tonight.”

“If he doesn’t?”

“We decide then.” Michael tried to smile and continued, “We could think of it as a holiday.”

Laura reached round and tweaked her jeans seat, a look of concentration on the beautiful face then said, “Usually my bum doesn’t spend its time eating cheapo pants when I’m on holiday. When I’m away, I change them more than every other day.”

Michael said, “We could be living rough.”

Laura tried to look grim but the expression wouldn’t keep still.

She said, “I have this awful feeling, living with you is going to be permanently rough.”

Michael raised his eyebrows at her.

“I don’t remember asking you to live with me,” he said.

She came round the edge of the gazebo and grabbed his arm then said, “Just shows what a terrible memory you’ve got, as well as everything else.”

* * * *

Michael phoned Gordon one minute after eight. Laura sat at the parlor table with the door open so she could hear and Mister Kasov had returned to his book. He habitually kept only one light on in the shop after closing time: a bulb not quite shaded by a chipped enamel covering above the door. With no street lights in the alley, the shop was heavy with shadow now, sombre and threatening, a good match for Michael’s thoughts. He turned his back on as much of it as he could as the phone clicked.

He said, “Gordon? It’s Michael.”

Gordon said, “Right on time. My friend’s just gone.” He chuckled. “Looks years younger. I’ll have to find him more stuff to do. Right, here are his notes.” Michael heard paper crackling then Gordon continued, “The good news is that friend Ralow is in the proverbial doo-doo. From what George could gather, your man Hortan found him spark out on the floor and phoned the police. Not the ambulance, the police, oddly enough. They naturally wouldn’t tell George much even though he was guv’nor before he retired over these two he called. Anyway, Hortan was giving it a lot of mouth but he’s known, so no notice was being taken. Then the good stuff.” He stopped then asked, “You still there?”

Michael thought, where else would I be? And said, “Yes, listening. Go on.”

“Okay, well, Ralow was still groggy. There were two jackets on the table and our constables apparently picked them up to see which was which: the attacker or the attackee as it were. Lo and behold, some photos slip out of Ralow’s pocket.”

Michael felt as if the floor had dropped a few inches.

He asked, “What sort of photos?”

“Illegal ones of a young man, they told George. Mind you, that could be anything,” Gordon said. “You can get pulled as a homosexual for the content of your bookshelf if the police don’t like you. Anyway, our Staff Ralow is now a probable sex criminal. Once he’s patched up in hospital, down the cop shop he goes.” Gordon stopped talking and Michael heard him light a cigarette. Exhaling, Gordon said, “You don’t sound very pleased, son. I thought you’d be delighted. He’s off your back for good.”

Michael lowered his voice and asked, “Did George say anything…more about the photos?”

The silence vibrated between them then Gordon said, gently, “Are you telling me something?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Michael said, “Not really.” He thought for a few seconds then went on. “Hell, all right. He forced me, wasn’t going to let me out of the locked ward or have visitors and he was going to ruin my relationship with Laura: tell her parents I was bad news: crazy, and always would be, unless I…stripped off and posed the way he wanted while he took photos. I had no choice.”

Gordon said, “I didn’t think you offered, Michael.” There was another silence then he added, “Ralow could go down for that, never work as a nurse again either, that’s for sure.”

Michael said fiercely, “That’d be no loss. Poisonous turd!”

“I could mention it to my mate, “Gordon said. “Get him to blow down someone’s ear, start them looking for evidence. If Ralow did that to you, the odds are it wasn’t his first time.”

Michael considered that then said, “No, let’s see what happens. I’d rather not be dragged into it if possible.”

“Yes, I understand,” Gordon said, snorted, almost a laugh and added, “I’ve got two cigarettes going here. You’ve rattled me, son!”

Michael eased his neck and turned slightly. Laura was standing six feet behind him, face blank.

He said, “Gordon, I have to go. Can I phone you tomorrow night and see if anything else has happened?”

“They call them, “developments” in the cop trade,” Gordon said. “Yes, of course. Same time?”

Michael thanked him, hung up and asked, without turning, “How much of that did you hear?”

Laura said, voice tight, “You let him take dirty pictures of you?”

Turning to look at her, Michael said, “That much, eh?”

Laura came towards him, fists bunched at her sides as she asked, “How could you do that?”

He felt the explosion coming and didn’t try to hold it back.

“He wasn’t going to let you back in and he was going to tell your parents we were at it! Didn’t you hear me say that? He was going to keep me in that locked unit and make sure we were busted apart for ever! Tell your parents I was incurable, dangerous!”

He wanted to say more. His life-load of anger ready to take animal shape and maul someone, but could see his rage wasn’t touching her: no alarm, no fear. Nothing to fuel his need. Another emotion hung there in her face. It started in the eyes and he felt an echo of the pain he had experienced when his parents began to shut him out of their lives this last time. It was suddenly heavy and acid in his stomach, dragging him down. He watched shame and disbelief chase round Laura’s face and needed to cry.

He said, “Forget it,” and turned away, adding, “I’m going out for a while.”

Laura asked, “Did he…do things to you?”

The tightness of her voice strangled the words.

Michael paused, hand on the door, but didn’t look back as he said, “Not on film and not with his prick. That’s why I don’t walk funny.”

He stepped out into the cold. It took ten minutes for him to realize that he didn’t have his jacket. The plummeting temperature quickly out matched self-pity and the second time he drew stares from teenage girls wrapped for winter, Michael turned back towards the shop, feeling nothing much beyond cold. The expected terror-generated anxiety didn’t happen. The anger at Laura that, he knew, he had almost demanded of his mind and body, wouldn’t form. All he experienced on the last part of his small journey was misery that he had brought such a look to Laura’s face.

He spent the last five, trudging minutes, trying to think of something to say to her but still had nothing in his mind as he knocked on the shop door.

She opened it immediately and Michael snatched his hand off the knocker to save being dragged inside.

The white bulb above her head put Laura’s face into the lifeless mould of a carved bust. She just stood there.

He asked, “Can I come in?”

Her hand appeared round the door, holding his jacket. She said, “Is this what you want?”

He asked, taking his jacket, “Am I not allowed in?”

Laura stood back and he edged past her.

She shut the door hard, saying, “I’ve been talking to Mister Kasov.”

“And?”

Laura said, “He thinks I’m wrong.” Michael looked at her, holding his jacket in front of him. She continued, “He thinks a miniature in my purse is better than a blow-up on the wall.”

Michael felt like tapping his head to see if the words might fall into some semblance of meaning.

He said, “You’ve lost me.”

“The photos. I wanted the best one blown up. He said it would frighten our kids.” She waited. Then she said, tears in her eyes. “All right, it isn’t very funny. I just…I just couldn’t think of anything better to say to you to show how…sorry…”

The words died on a gulp.

Michael put a hand over his face and said, bleakly, “You’re making jokes about me being humiliated—wagging my arse and my prick for that slime. That’s funny to you?”

He heard the intake of breath, took his hand away and said, “Okay, I forgive you,” and grinned at her.

It looked as if the relief might take her legs away as Laura put a hand to the wall. Then she stepped forward and punched him in the chest, yelling, “Shit-rat!”

From the parlor doorway, Mister Kasov said, “You children play dangerous games.” He smiled as they looked at him and added, “Which is not necessarily a bad thing.” He signalled them towards him. “Come, the tea is not that stewed.”

As he stepped back to let him pass, Mister Kasov held Michael’s eyes and made, “gently” gestures with one hand. Michael nodded.

Laura and Michael sat opposite each other at the table, Mister Kasov in his easy chair.

Laura picked up her cup, asked, “Did you enjoy your walk with no coat?” and sniggered.

“Bracing,” Michael said.

Laura took a loud breath cheeks bunching against a need to laugh and said, “All of that.”

Michael said, “You know, taking pleasure from other people’s discomfort is very childish. I say that as someone who’ll be sleeping next to you tonight with the door shut.”

Laura turned her head, saying, “You heard that. He threatened me.”

“I am neutral, always,” Mister Kasov said. “It is in my nature. Blame my Swiss mother.” Michael saw something pass between Laura and the old man then Mister Kasov went on, “Your telephone conversation about Ralow, the part I heard, sounded interesting, Michael. Are we allowed to hear what happened?” Michael told them. When he stopped, Mister Kasov said, “The way you say the name of that other, Hortan, sounds as if he may also be a problem to you. He is a friend of this Ralow?”

Michael said, “Don’t know. I didn’t think so. I suppose they’re both homosexual, but that doesn’t have to mean anything.” He pulled a wry face, adding, “then there was this crack Hortan made about having money on it.”

He told Mister Kasov the story.

When it was finished, the old man said, “I think you may be right about those two. It is otherwise odd that they should both attempt to force you in that way in the same morning.” His face clouded and he went on, “If it is true, then they are treating you as a commodity, my boy. It is a great shame on them.” His face said he was thinking about that and Michael watched him in silence. Eventually, the old man shook his head, saying, “I also believe, if I may be so bold, that you were right not to make these photographs more important to the police. Time enough for that if it becomes a fact from their investigations.”

Laura said, “No point in going to the clinic on Tuesday now.”

Michael said, “Even more point, I would have thought.” He looked at Mister Kasov for confirmation then continued, “Somebody else will take over and I can still get in trouble if I miss a session, like I said. It will be a hospital rule, not just Ralow’s”

Laura leaned forward, almost upsetting her cup. She said loudly, “If the police turn up to ask questions, looking for witnesses or something, they might recognise you from the photos!”

Michael said, “Hell! I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I believe you have little choice, Michael,” Mister Kasov said, “As you say, absence will very likely harm you, almost a certainty. Your presence only may cause problems.” He shrugged, adding, “Or you might choose to go to the police and talk it through with them before then.”

He smiled at Michael’s reaction then glanced at Laura. “I see that doesn’t excite either of you. Very well. When in doubt of an action’s value, do nothing. I suggest you wait for your friend Gordon to find out more.”

Laura sat back and looked at Michael. “So what do we do then: go home tomorrow?”

Michael asked, “Do you want to?”

Laura looked round the parlor, then at Mister Kasov and said, “Do you think we should leave, Mister Kasov?”

The old man laughed gently then said, “Now I am “Mister Kasov”, when I have been “Rolf” all day to the young lady. Does that mean you give me power to order you to stay or go?” He smiled at the alarm on Laura’s face and went on, “I thought not. Very well, all I can say is that I enjoy your company and would have it as long as I may. I also believe a decision made in haste is rarely a good one.”

Laura said, “Does that boil down to sleeping on it?” She took Mister Kasov’s smile for an affirmative and looked at Michael, asking, “is that okay with you?” Michael said it was and she stood up. “Then I’m having an early night. You boys have fun down here.”

Michael sat and listened to her run up the stairs.

When the sounds faded, Mister Kasov said, “She needs time to herself I believe.” Michael turned to face him. The old man went on, “I don’t have to tell you what a quality there is in Laura, but she is still very young. She is a schoolgirl albeit a clever one, more than she is a woman. She needs to think as she has been taught to do. Then work things out for herself.” He watched Michael’s reaction and smiled then went on, “That doesn’t alarm you. Congratulations, you are in a minority of men.”

Michael asked, “Am I hurting her?”

Mister Kasov responded quickly. “I think, with respect, it would take more than you alone to hurt that young woman beyond quick repair.”

Michael took a sip of cooling tea then said, “You mentioned Hortan. I’d like to tell you more about him if that’s all right? Maybe it would help me to think things through.”

“We have time to fill.” Mister Kasov said then lifted a finger adding, “However you must bear in mind that I listen and respond as an old man born in another century with beliefs cut deep by much time and by formative years in a very different culture. Also as a lowly shopkeeper who once worked at something else. Is that understood?”

Michael nodded, saying, “Loud and clear.”

They talked about Hadeneley Hall and Michael found himself linking his assault on Horton that first day with his nightmare violence over the previous years and then his attack on the blanket in the car park. Mister Kasov watched him keenly asked for clarification on two small points,questioned the reality of sleeping attacks and suddenly Michael found himself talking about Lather. The old man’s eyes widened a little at that but he didn’t speak until Michael ran out of words.

Then he cleared his throat and said, “Fascinating. Truly fascinating.”

Michael asked, trying for sarcasm rather than fear, “Is that another word for crazy?”

Mister Kasov shook his head. “No, indeed not.” He glanced to his left at a stack of books then continued, “I think, somewhere I have read a piece on that subject. Maybe not among my current volumes but if memory serves your…reactions, I mean reactions like your Celtic boy, have been documented.”

“As what?” Michael found he was leaning forward on his chair, muscles tense.

“Some form of displacement to avoid guilt and shame,” Mister Kasov said. “I don’t recall the relevance of such a construct changing from an inability to interact to becoming such an ability. I mean that moment you actually spoke to him and he responded after many years when that wasn’t an option.”

He hesitated then said, “but I think it may well be a positive development.” He looked into Michael’s face asking, “May I speak freely?”

Michael nodded, unable to trust his voice and the old man continued, “Your parents have clearly let you down, left you feeling unsafe and unprotected and that is very long standing, at least in your eyes, from a time when you were barely out of the toddler stage. I would hazard that your sleeping violence was a way to punish them physically that you could not allow yourself to take responsibility for at that point in your emotional development. The fascinating side-step into comic book violence through hunting animals as the boy Lather, has managed to focus that beyond childhood into your current adult life, so you did not ever have to admit to your desire to harm people.” He touched his thin chest, adding, “The inner need to lash out blindly that most of us have to some degree, may have remained at a very infantile level within you. Untroubled by adult rationalization and understanding.”

Michael thought about it then said, “If that’s true then why didn’t I hurt Laura when we were in the car?”

Mister Kasov shrugged gently then said, “Hurting that young lady during your nightmare-state would have met a long established infantile need and solved some problems: sent her running home and left you without the requirement to think about somebody else. Worry about somebody else as an adult. You didn’t do it. You love her dearly as she does you and that will have had its influence, but perhaps a cautious “bravo” is still warranted.”

Michael leaned back in his chair, leg and back muscles complaining and said, “It’s all a bit neat.” Mister Kasov frowned and Michael went on, gesturing with both hands, “It’s like…Michael Porter in a nicely tied parcel. No loose ends.”

Mister Kasov smiled, saying, “It is, at best, a reason for activity that fits the facts: maybe not a bespoke fit, but good enough for a little off-the-peg thought by an old librarian. It is by no means a solution, just perhaps an idea about which direction you might want to travel next. Which obstacles to watch out for.”

Michael nodded then stood up, saying, “How about some more tea?”

* * * *

Laura was asleep in the middle of the bed, breasts exposed, one hand curled beside her face. Michael stood and watched with a nagging headache and the excited tiredness of too much conversation. There had been no “Eureka!” moments but it had felt good to hear his thoughts aloud and know they weren’t being filtered through the perception of a listener who labelled him as crazy. Mister Kasov’s ideas about the violence had touched a place inside him that didn’t shy away.

He undressed and lay down on the edge of the mattress, covering what body parts he could with the fragment of bedding that remained. Laura murmured and reached for him. Michael let her find his cheek and she stroked it, smiling without opening her eyes.

He whispered, “I love you and always have.” She sniffed and rubbed her nose like an infant. He added, “I’ll take that for a “me too” shall I?”

Michael reached across and touched the far side of her torso, under her breast. She rolled over to protect it with a murmur of protest and he freed more bedding then whispered, “Which doesn’t mean you hog the blankets.”

He slid closer and put an arm round her. Laura pulled up her knees and wriggled her bottom into his lap.

He asked, “Is this how we’ll always sleep?”

He stroked her flat stomach along the line of pubic hair. “Guess what, Mister Kasov is going to show me how the business works tomorrow. I think he needs help to run this place. Maybe it could be me. It’s something to think about, eh?”

Laura said nothing and Michael laid back, content.