Influence Read online

  She checked around her as she leaned her back against the wall of a shop, closed for the evening the eaves sheltered her from the deluge. Hands on knees she tried to catch her breath, her head swam as she gulped in oxygen. Saltwater ran down her face, sweat mixed with rain. Her clothes clung to her like cellophane. A couple of concerned faces glanced her way but only fleetingly as their more immediate worry of getting out of the rain took precedence. She scanned the street up and down looking, both, for something she recognised and for any sign of having been followed but those few people hurrying this way and that under outstretched jackets or umbrellas were not looking for her. Perhaps in daylight and without sheets of rain battering the stone she might have been able to place herself, to gain some bearing and make an informed decision, but as it was she had to settle for best guess.

  As Lizzie’s heart returned to something resembling a normal rhythm, she decided to press on, but something out of the corner of her eye made her pause. She flicked her head round and stared down the street which curved gently, she saw a figure standing there motionless. She tried to focus through the rain, and stepped out from her shelter back into the downpour to help her see better round the curve, nothing. Whatever it was, if indeed it was anything at all, it was not there now. It had, however, made the decision of her route easy and she walked now up the street in the opposite direction.

  She pulled her clothes around her in a futile attempt to fend off the weather. She debated whether or not to ask for directions but decided just to keep walking, sure something familiar was around the next corner or the next again. She checked over her shoulder intermittently but it seemed clear. Her mind raced as she marched on. Sully was a professor at Oxford, she knew that but head of some cult or secret society or devil worshiping adolescents? She couldn’t believe it, would not. Maybe whoever this Curate was just happened to use the same cheesy turn of phrase, or maybe he was a student of Sully’s? And what the hell had happened in that place? One minute she was scared to death, the next she was chanting away with the rest of them and something had come over her, something horrible, something amazing.

  She knew where she was now, maybe. A few of the shops certainly seemed familiar and if she was where she thought she might be the train station was still a good ten minutes walk, and shit, what time was it? She continued on somewhere between a walk and a jog which did not seem strange since everyone else hurried around to be out of the rain. The wide street she had been walking along narrowed and then came to an end giving two right angled options. She judged, or guessed, that the left hand lane took her back towards the main road away from the pedestrian zone. However as she set off down the new path she almost instantly stopped, so abruptly that her feet scuffed and slipped on the cobbles, she kept her footing, just. She stared down the dark alleyway, someone stood there, unmoving. She waited for the figure to show some sign of life, but it remained statue like. She couldn’t tell if this was the same figure she thought she had seen earlier but her heart was full of dread. She backed up slowly, keeping her eyes on the dark silhouette.

  It started to move.

  It came towards her, perhaps thirty or so feet between them. Lizzie didn’t hesitate, she turned and ran but as she did so she saw the figure out the corner of her eye breaking into a run also.

  The pounding rain played tricks on the ear. She couldn’t be sure if it was the feet of her pursuer she could hear or just the relentless drum of water but regardless she ran and did not stop.

  A sharp turn made her slow up to prevent her slamming into the side of a building. Just as she righted herself and leaned forward into her running stride she felt something glance off her shoulder, a hand?

  She knew for sure now where she was and where she had to go. The sound of traffic became clearer and clearer. When the busy road came into sight she didn’t stop. She adjusted her feet slightly with a skip while she picked a gap between cars travelling at deadly pace. Headlights, rain, a blaring horn and the dreadful noise of wheel rubber losing traction on the road surface. She ran anticipating impact, but it did not come.

  Once clear of the road she allowed herself a look behind. No pursuer. A line of static cars littered the road, all pointing at awkward angles. She hoped nobody had been hurt, unless of course whoever had been on her tail was now under the wheels of one of the vehicles. Her hands shook violently throwing off water in large droplets. She sucked in air hard and fast and felt like she might be sick. Saliva rushed into her mouth and a single heave produced nothing. It seemed to settle her though and she could walk.

  The train station came into view and Lizzie took the stairs up to the main doors feeling her thighs burn. She felt relief when the large clock told her it was quarter to eleven, she hadn’t missed the last train. She checked the digital board for her platform and her relief was murdered. She read

  “CANCELLED DUE TO LOCAL FLOODING – RBS IN PLACE”

  ‘What the fuck?’ she said feeling like she could weep.

  ‘Problem sweetheart?’ a man in a blue and orange jacket walked over to her.

  ‘Aye, another replasy bus service?’ she managed between breaths. This was not an uncommon occurrence. The merest suggestion of snow or, God forbid, a leaf or two on the track and the whole system came apart like a dropped vase.

  ‘Afraid so dear, it’s a nuisance I know. And you’ll have to be quick, leaves from Magdalen Street in fifteen minutes. Sorry.’

  It wasn’t a far walk, and she had been made to do this before but the thought of going back out there made her stomach want to heave again.

  She stood at the entrance doors of the station elevated above the street and used the improved view to look carefully for danger. She had considered asking the station attendant to call the Police, but what would she tell them? How could she explain without having to give them the full story including the impossible events in the library? She just wanted to get home and she didn’t want to involve Janice, not if she could help it.

  Coast clear she set off. The rain was less heavy but still determined. As much as she was able she walked next to others. She latched onto a group of noisy students who argued about the best place to get a last drink this time of night, having apparently been ejected from the last place. Certainly more alcohol was probably the last thing a few of them needed, particularly one female whose toes scraped limply off the pavement as two of her male companions carried her between them. They were heading in Lizzie’s direction and she kept pace with them, just far enough behind to ensure the group were oblivious to her hitchhiking but close enough that anyone looking on would assume she was a fellow reveller.

  Lizzie kept a watchful eye out and scanned the pavement ahead and behind. Once or twice the group stopped to pick up pieces of dropped clothing or to allow one of the boys to make use of a dark pissing opportunity and Lizzie would have to react quickly to avoid detection, the boots she wore had no laces but she stopped to tie them anyway at such occurrences. It was during one such mime that she caught sight of him again, perhaps. A large figure, obscured by passing traffic walked slowly down the pavement on the far side of the road. His lumbering frame and his apparent frantic searching of the area left Lizzie in little doubt. She tucked into the body of the group, sure of being noticed and confronted, but to her surprise they either failed to realise or just didn’t care. She vigilantly kept to the side of the group which protected her from view, but it swelled and stretched like a drunken school of fish and she resisted the temptation to abandon them and run. The crowd reached their destination and as the first few entered the pub she was forced to decide quickly. She checked around, but saw no sign of the figure but fear gripped her and she followed the students into the building.

  She detached from them as they entered taking a seat by the window as the rest made their way to the bar. It was a dark, slightly dingy little place. Lizzie had heard Janice and Maggie talk about old man pubs disparagingly and she considered that if you looked up the term in an encyclopaedia it might well displ
ay a picture of this place. She looked out of the window watching people pass, the rain fell as a drizzle now and ran down the glass turning the world into a kaleidoscope of blurred lines and flared colours.

  There was no sign of him.

  An increasingly angry argument at the bar caught her attention.

  ‘I could lose my licence, I can’t serve you if you’re drunk,’ a bearded bar tender stood arms folded in defiance of the students.

  ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard,’ one boy spat at him, ‘and I’m not THAT drunk.’

  ‘Come on just the one, we’ll be good Mr Bartender you have our most solemnest promises,’ another boy offered, attempting a less aggressive approach. He held his hands up in a prayer like clasp, which was his undoing as he had had to relinquish his grip on the girl he had been carrying who toppled backwards in a perfect slapstick thud. The barman said nothing, he looked at the students, arms still folded and raised his eyebrows in an I rest my case way. All hope of refreshment abandoned, the students picked up their fallen comrade and left. The barman watched them go and caught sight of Lizzie as he did. His eyebrows dropped to a furrow and Lizzie looked away attempting to blend into the mottled and gaffa-tape repaired couch on which she sat. She checked the outside world again watching the crowd go, she waited to see if they were going to continue in her direction but when they headed back the way they had come Lizzie remained seated.

  ‘Fetch something for you miss?’ the barman stood before her. She could tell by the look on his face that her refuge was about to be taken from her.

  ‘Just a Coke thanks,’ her lucid, clearly sober request came as a bit of a surprise to him.

  ‘Didn’t you come in with that lot?’

  ‘Just coincidence,’ the barman made to return to his bar, but turned back taking a closer look at Lizzie.

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Eighteen.’

  ‘And you have ID of course?’

  ‘It’s just a Coke.’

  ‘Yes, but problem is I can’t serve-‘

  ‘Just a coke,’ she repeated ‘then I’m gone. Please.’ There was something in her tone that swayed him and something in her face. He returned with the red can and a less than clean glass.

  ‘Thanks, how much?’

  ‘Just have it, and be gone when you’re done okay?’

  ‘Alright. Thanks. You don’t have a payphone do you?’ She thought it was time to call Janice.

  ‘There’s one outside the gents, it’s a phone-card only.’

  ‘Do you sell them?’

  ‘Nope, sorry,’ the barman walked off.

  Lizzie sipped from the can, ignoring the glass. She looked around the bar for the time and found a clock hung behind the bar – almost ten past eleven. Whatever she was going to do it would have to happen now. She scanned the street through the rain streaked window once more and left.

  The pavements were busier now with people ejected from their watering holes. Lizzie walked quickly, but did not run, this seemed to her to be the best way to progress without drawing undue attention. The students had taken her a little off course but she was confident she knew where she had to go to get to Magdalen Street. She stopped at the corner of one street, it was darker and less populated than the well-lit street she stood on but this, she was sure, was the quickest way to get back on track. She took a cursory glance in every direction and set off. Her hands still shook and she tucked them under her arms for warmth and to be rid of the annoyance of them.

  The street was flanked by particularly old looking buildings, Tudor fronted and ornate lead lined windows, a little tourist trap she suspected. The narrow cobbled street added to a sense of a previous time and her footsteps echoed ominously. She suddenly felt like an impending victim in a gothic novel. As is if in response to this thought, or in mockery of it, she heard footsteps join her own some way back. She stopped and turned and saw nothing, she heard nothing, other than far off drunken shouting. She considered the steps she heard may have been her own reverberating in a strange way causing an illusion of sorts. She walked on and again there were the other steps. She listened as she walked and took note of the uniformity of pace of her own steps which backed up her strange echo theory, but then that was abandoned as the other steps broke into an unmistakeable run. The head of a shadow appeared down the street and Lizzie did not wait to see what the rest of it looked like. She raced on spent legs across the cobbles her hands were now free of her under arms and cutting holes in the air as she threw every effort into her limbs. Her legs were sore and weary and the end of the street was so far off, she raced in constant fear of tripping. The other feet slapped hard on cobble and puddle alike and grew louder. She was so tired she considered stopping, screaming and waiting for someone to help, but she would not allow herself, she focussed on the light at the end of the street, she kicked hard like she was trying desperately to swim upward from a murky depth, her hands flailed from exhaustion reaching for the surface and the air that would save her, the other steps were no longer an echo from behind her, they were on her, she waited for a hand to grab at her, the light grew wider, she could hear clothing being beaten by pumping arms behind her, beside her and then light, blinding light.

  The screech of brakes and a hydraulic hiss filled Lizzie’s ears as she slid to a stop. Headlights, at eye level, filled her world.

  ‘Jesus, where did you come from? You trying to get yourself killed?’

  Lizzie shielded her eyes from the light and saw the bus driver hanging out of his side window. She stepped backwards and to the side out of the focus of the beams. She looked up at the sign at the top of the windscreen – REAPLACEMENT BUS SERVICE. Almost as an afterthought she looked around, she was alone.

  ‘Are you okay?’ concern now replaced anger in the driver’s voice.

  ‘Fine,’ Lizzie only just managed between short desperate breaths. ‘Thought. I had. Missed you.’

  Sixteen

  ‘What’s with you lately?’

  ‘How’d you mean?’

  ‘You’ve been moping around the house for over a week now, usually curled up in a ball with your headphones on. What gives? You worried about your results?’ asked Janice flipping an egg over in the frying pan. Lizzie was worried about her exam results but they were secondary at best on her list of concerns.

  ‘A bit, but I figure there’s no point in worrying too much, there’s nothing I can do about it now, the marks will be what they’re going to be and that’s that.’

  ‘What happens if you bomb?’ asked Maggie pausing from blowing over her morning coffee.

  ‘Mags!’

  ‘What? It’s just a question, and she needs to be prepared. Hey I crashed in spectacular form with my A levels and look what a well rounded individual I turned out to be,’ Maggie gave a little courtesy.

  ‘If I turn out to be half as wonderful as you Maggie I’ll be just delighted,’ Lizzie said chuckling. ‘If I do bomb I’ll just have to deal with it, go through the clearing system and try to find something, but I did apply to other schools other than Oxford with less strict entries.’

  ‘She’s applied to Edinburgh, but I have every faith I get to keep her here,’ Janice pulled Lizzie into a hug with one arm, with the other carefully working the handle of the pan.

  ‘Edinburgh? So you’d be heading back over the border if it doesn’t go to plan? asked Janice.

  ‘Aye, well it just makes sense to me. Don’t get me wrong, it feels like home here,’ said Lizzie more to Janice than Maggie, ‘but if it doesn’t work out I’d prefer to go somewhere I know, at least a little. And besides I love Edinburgh and they have a great Uni.’

  ‘Trips to the festival, New Year, and all that fresh air, I think we could get used to visiting couldn’t we Janice?’

  ‘We could, but it aint gonna happen, she’s going to be studying at Britain’s marquee institute of learning, just you wait and see,’ said Janice as she re-tied her dressing gown cord which had slipped.

  The
doorbell sounded. A rare event in the house given that all those present were generally the only ones to occupy it, and besides none of them used the doorbell since they each had keys. Janice went to answer and returned a few moments later.

  ‘Visitor for you Lizzie,’ a sheepish looking Amy followed Janice into the kitchen.

  ‘Hi Lizzie, I’m really sorry just to appear out of the blue like this, but I didn’t have your number,’ Amy flushed red feeling like an intruder.

  ‘Amy, hi, no don’t be silly it’s nice to see you. I didn’t realise you knew, um –‘

  ‘Oh yeah, sorry I asked Vic where you lived, I hope that was okay?’

  ‘Of course it is, no problem. Um, Amy this is my aunt Janice, and this is…,’ Lizzie paused.

  ‘Maggie,’ announced Maggie, saving Lizzie from the awkwardness of how to classify things, ‘lovely to meet a friend of Lizzie’s.

  ‘Nice to meet you too. I won’t keep you, I just wanted to remind Lizzie that my brother’s gig is tonight and I hoped she was still interested in coming along?’

  ‘Oh God, is that tonight? Wow I had totally forgotten.’

  ‘Look, no pressure. If you do fancy it it’s at the Mill, kicks off about eight. I’ll just meet you there if you decide to pop along. Oh and you guys are more than welcome to come too of course, more the merrier.’

  ‘Thanks Amy, although I’m not sure-,’ said Lizzie.

  ‘She’ll be there,’ interjected Janice.

  ‘With bells on,’ added Maggie. ‘But I think we’ll give it a miss Amy, we’ve got Zimmers to polish and Janice’s roots are starting to show under her blue rinse, so we’ll need to touch that up.’