grimace then, almost as if coming out of a daydream said, ‘What are you doing?’
His ‘r’s purred like a Dorset type. This was the North Essex accent, uncommon in my south-easterly end of the world, with its pinball machines, neon lights and eroded consonants. He sounded rough, smacking of rural isolation: quaint, and a bit thick, but nonetheless, in my present setting, disturbing. I leant back into the shadows. ‘Getting my car. It’s on Level 4.’
That seemed enough of an explanation for him. He appeared to relax back a moment, then had second thoughts, and lurched forwards. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing.’ It was a statement voiced as a threat.
I stepped against the damp concrete wall. I was on my own. With a perfect right to be there. He was a tramp – I needn’t explain myself but I said, or rather, I shouted as I circled his space to get to the next flight of stairs, ‘Just going up. All right?’
But then he lunged. Fortunately his age and decrepitude made him slow and I saw the move coming and leapt up a step out of reach. ‘The car,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry to have disturbed you.’
The poor bloke fell at my feet, his arms all of a quiver. ‘Just you leave well alone,’ he rasped through a voice long unused, breaking on the soft consonants. ‘It’ll do you no good …’ The remainder of his words were engulfed in phlegmy fits of coughing, his body racking considerably against the upheaval incurred by his lungs.
I turned to face him but kept my back up against the wall, inching upwards step by step. The guy was clearly delusional and belonged in some aftercare establishment. I looked down upon him, for he had reached my feet now, his grimy fingers edging up to the points of my boots.
With a jerk he threw himself towards my legs. ‘Leave us.’
He got hold of one of my ankles. It knee-jerked me, literally into defence, and I’m ashamed to admit I kicked him off. As his arm threw up against the wall I screamed, ‘Get out of it,’ and leapt up the remaining stairs two at a time to my level, panting like I was finishing a half-mile run.
Jesus. What a day. First the castle, now this. There were a lot of these types around these days. Had there been a change to the mental health act? This poor sod was obviously off on one. No need to read anything into it.
Nevertheless, I did my best to reach my car as quickly as possible.
Chapter Eighteen
The encounter with the tramp had reignited my earlier anxiety from the cells.
‘Leave us,’ he had said. It only dawned on me when I had got the car started and left the car park that it was the same phrase I heard in the dungeon.
Coincidence.
But the words kept coming back as I navigated through the outer ring road onto the motorway. The ‘Leave us’ in the dungeon. What was that about? A man’s voice. The gaoler’s? The Witchfinder’s? Why? What was it suggesting? The end of the documentary, in all probability. A cue to leave the prison and progress on to the other parts of the exhibition. An inbuilt traffic system to keep the flow of visitors moving.
And the tramp? Well, he was probably speaking in the plural but referring to himself. Wasn’t uncommon. And it had that country flavour to the phrase. Anyway he wasn’t all there, so there was no point dwelling on what he had to say.
And after all of that I had left them now. Colchester was miles away.
So why then did I feel a building sense of guilt and betrayal as I drove from the place?
Once I got onto the A12 to Chelmsford I pumped up the volume on the car stereo and thrashed around to some old eighties tunes.
My mood lightened. When that compilation ended I kept the retro mood and chose an R.E.M. album. There was something so upbeat about their early stuff. It was good driving music. Yet as I got into a cruise, coming out of Chelmsford, the CD screwed up: ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ Michael Stipe’s emotional warble was caught on repeat. I tried to forward it on to the next track, but it wouldn’t go.
‘I’m sorry.’ Argh. It was getting very irritating. I kept one hand on the wheel and felt around for another CD, any CD. I pressed eject and took the disc out, swapped it for some classical