course, Theory B: that what I am doing by repeatedly checking everything does not make me any safer than checking once.
Even if I accept that Theory B is possible, how can I be sure that it is the truth? The only way, according to Alistair, is to carry out some sort of scientific experiment to see which theory holds water and which one falls apart under scrutiny.
It’s all very obvious where this is going. I check less, nothing bad happens, ergo it’s a complete waste of bloody time checking everything over and over again and I should stop doing it forthwith.
I’m not an idiot—even I know it’s a waste of time. That doesn’t stop me doing it.
And the thing that worries me more than anything is that actually this “scientific testing” fails to take into account that my fears aren’t based on some ridiculous invented danger at all.
They’re based on the fact that Lee is out there somewhere, looking for me.
Assuming he hasn’t found me already.
Monday 26 April 2004
Lee was here for a few hours on Sunday; before that he was working, or whatever it is he does when he’s not here. When he let himself in on Sunday night I thought he was going to hit me again, but he seemed quite happy, pleased with himself as though he’d been clever.
“Why did you change the locks?” he asked conversationally, as we ate lunch.
I tensed. “Don’t know really,” I said, brightly. “After the burglary, you know. Thought it might be safer.”
“Were you going to give me a new key?”
“Of course.”
He laughed, although I didn’t think it was funny.
When I got to work this morning I sent an e-mail to Jonathan Baldwin asking for more details about the sort of person he was looking for, and later this afternoon I had a reply:
Catherine,
Good to hear back from you. Initially I’m looking for someone to help me get the NY branch established, really—ideally someone with some consultancy experience, although more importantly someone with enthusiasm and commitment who can be flexible enough to spot opportunities when they arise. I remember from years back that you seemed like the sort of person who would end up running some big organization somewhere.
I can sort out an L1 Transfer Visa, and I also have a short lease on an apartment in the Upper East Side (nothing too spectacular, but it has a south-facing balcony which is pretty rare). At some point in the future there may be the potential for a partnership in the company if things go well.
The downside is that I need someone quickly—I’m getting calls from NY all the time with business opportunities that I’m having to turn down because of commitments in the UK, so the sooner I can get someone out there and setting up the office, the better.
Any ideas?
All best,
Jonathan
I’m wondering if I could do it. If I could deal with it all by phone and e-mail, talk to him while I’m at work and discuss the finer points, this might be my chance to escape. I could be out there and in New York before Lee knew anything about it. If I could go to New York on a short-term contract, even three months, then that might buy me some time to decide what to do next. I might be able to get a sabbatical from work.
I just need enough time to get away from him.
Friday 15 February 2008
High Street was still busy. Around the last corner, into Talbot Street. I was tired now, I would need to concentrate extra hard on the checking so I didn’t make any mistakes.
Into the alleyway, around to the back of the house. I looked up at the windows, all of them, the balcony with the eight panes of glass showing, the bedroom, curtains shut tight. Stuart’s flat had one light on in the bedroom. I’d put one of my timers up there. It would go off at eleven. Downstairs, Mrs. Mackenzie’s flat was in darkness. It all looked okay. I kept going to the end of the alleyway, around to the front of the house.
When I’d gotten in, shut the front door, it occurred to me that I was the only person in the house. I’d be the only person sleeping in the whole of this great big house tonight. No Mrs. Mackenzie, no Stuart. Just me. Last night I’d ended up talking to Stuart for what amounted to hours, so it felt as if he was here; it didn’t feel as