Page 64 of Clever Little Thing

Is there anyone in the gatehouse? It looks uninhabited. I think they control the gate remotely. I’m stuck. I can’t get out this way. I’ll have to walk the perimeter of the property, hoping to find a place where I can scale the wall.

But then an approaching car slows, and I know what I have to do. I go as close to the gate as I dare, and then crouch low behind a leafless bush, like a frightened rabbit. I hope the car’s lights won’t pass over me, that the bush will give me enough cover. Is this why they make us wear white, so we’ll be easy to spot if we escape?

As soon as the car is on its way up the driveway, I bolt through the gates right before they close, curling my toes to keep my shoes on without their laces. It’s still just after Christmas, and people are at home eating leftovers and watching Christmas specials. Meanwhile, I’m alone on a dark road, and it’s late. I’m shaking with cold. I have no idea what to do next. Then a shape slips across the road: a fox. She pays no attention to me; she has her own business to attend to. But the sight of her cheers me: she’s managing fine out here. I can do it too. I have to get moving. Left, right? Left. I begin to run, to warm up my body, even though my stitches pull and my legs feel shaky from lack of use.

•••

The road goes over a little hill and winds past houses, and I think about stopping at one of them, but if there is a village, maybe thereis a pub. Eventually I find one, the Hare & Hounds. It serves such a small cluster of houses, and it’s so soon after Christmas and so late that I think maybe it’s closed. But the lights are on. I comb my hair with my fingers and straighten my shoulders. There’s nothing I can do about the fact that I am wearing what amounts to white pajamas, with no laces in my shoes and no coat.

Inside, a few older couples are having a quiet drink. Everyone can hear everything I say to the tired-looking woman behind the bar. “Hello, excuse me, please. My phone died, and I need to call a cab. Is there any chance you have a phone I could use? I have money.” Though, I suddenly realize, all I actually have to pay with is my phone, and I can’t be sure that will start working again, after the fall. I start to panic: How am I going to get back to London?

The woman frowns at me, suspicious. “A cab? Where do you need to go?” Is she wondering if I am an escaped mental patient—and am I?

I wrap my arms around myself to stop myself shaking. No keys, no money, and, it seems, no friends. How did I let my life get to the point where I have no one to call? The woman is looking at me with a worried expression.

“Steady on, you look like you’re about to faint. I suppose I can manage a cuppa.” She bustles about behind the bar.

The tea revives me. I know who I can call. Five days after giving birth, my belly is still round enough for me to be six months pregnant, so I place a hand over it protectively. “In my condition, I get so forgetful,” I say. “Mommy brain, I suppose, silly me. Popped out for milk and forgot my keys, money, everything. I’ll call my mom. She’s going to laugh when she hears what a pickle I got myself into.”

The woman relaxes. “Phone’s back here, love. Didn’t you think to bring a coat either? You look frozen. You know, I was the same with my first. Couldn’t remember what day of the week it was.”

I still have no idea where we are, so I ask the woman to write down her address “for my mother to pick me up.” We are in Surrey, so less than two hours from home.

I have to phone directory inquiries to get Irina’s home number. I need her, the way she once needed me. She wasn’t afraid to show it. I won’t be afraid to show it either. The phone rings for a while, but then Irina picks up. “I need your help,” I tell her. “Can you come and get me?”

“How is baby?”

“She’s fine. I’m in Surrey. I need to get home.”

“Call taxi.”

“I can’t. I don’t have any money on me, and my phone’s dead. But I could pay you when I can get some cash.”

Irina gives a disbelieving snort. “This is not my job.”

“Please. I’ve got no one else.”

“Yes, I come, little fool,” she snaps.

“Thank you,” I say, hoping “little fool” is affectionate. It’s hard to tell with her. The woman behind the bar is hovering, and has doubtless heard every word of the conversation. Believing that I have a grim relationship with my mother, she plies me packets of peanuts that I don’t want and insists on lending me an old fleece to keep warm. “I keep it for taking the bins out.” Now that it’s warmed up, my phone shows the low-battery icon, and the woman even finds me a charger. The pub closes at eleven, and she and her husband goto bed upstairs, but they tell me I can stay downstairs and wait for my ride.

I feel a little better as I begin to warm up. But in the mirror in the pub toilet, I see a madwoman, pale and thin, though with a still-swollen belly. My hair sticks out in all directions. The bandage on my right hand has a red stain on it. Blood must have started leaking through when I climbed down the wisteria. I wet my left hand and run it through my hair to stick it down. I have to keep it together.

•••

Irina shakes me awake. I’ve fallen asleep on the greasy banquette in one of the booths. “What time is it?”

She points to her eyebrows, carefully drawn on. “You think this face happen just like that?” She snaps her fingers.

“I wasn’t complaining,” I protest. “Thank you for coming to get me.”

“I’m not your chauffeur,” she mutters as I follow her outside to her car.

“Thank you for coming,” I say again.

•••

Even though there are few cars out, Irina is a crazy driver with no regard for the rules of the road. She runs stop signs and accelerates whenever she sees a traffic light. The second time she runs a light after it turned red, I ask, “Is this how they drive in Azerbaijan?”

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