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#NaNoWriMo2016 - Day Ten

10 min read

Poste Restante

Contents

Chapter 1: The Caravan

Chapter 2: Invisible Illness

Chapter 3: The Forest

Chapter 4: Prosaic

Chapter 5: The Van

Chapter 6: Into the Unknown

Chapter 7: The Journey

Chapter 8: Infamy

Chapter 9: The Villages

Chapter 10: Waiting Room

Chapter 11: The Shadow People

Chapter 12: Enough Rope

Chapter 13: The Post Offices

Chapter 14: Unsuitable Friends

Chapter 15: The Chase

Chapter 16: Self Inflicted

Chapter 17: The Holiday

Chapter 18: Psychosis, Madness, Insanity and Lunacy

Chapter 19: The Hospitals

Chapter 20: Segmentation

Chapter 21: The Cell

Chapter 22: Wells of Silence

Chapter 23: The Box

Chapter 24: Jailbird

Chapter 25: The Scales

Chapter 26: Descent

Chapter 27: The Syringe

Chapter 28: Anonymity

Chapter 29: The Imposter

Chapter 30: Wish You Were Here

 

10. Waiting Room

"Do you want me to come and see the doctor with you?" Lara asked.

"No, it'll be difficult for you to take the time off" replied Neil.

"I don't mind. It's important. I can do it if it will help" she said.

Neil was now in his third week off work and he was starting to get anxious about returning to his job.

"I just wish I felt better, but I think I feel worse than I did a few weeks ago" he complained.

"Try not to stress about things. Go and see the doctor again and see what they say" she said in a comforting tone.

He'd left it almost to the last minute - Thursday - but Lara was now coming home expecting to find out what had happened at the doctor's. Neil was sat on the sofa as she came in the front door and hung up her coat. There was no new prescription on the coffee table in front of him.

"So, how'd it go?" she asked.

"They're referring me to a psychiatrist."

"Well that's good. You'll get a specialist's opinion" she said.

"Yes, but it could take weeks, months even before I get an appointment to see a consultant."

"What's the plan for the interim?" she asked.

"The doctor's signed me off for another two weeks. I said I was getting very stressed and anxious about going back to work. He said I should contact my HR department who can involve occupational health."

"He?"

"Yes. I saw a different doctor this time."

"Doctor Hughes?" she asked.

"I can't remember. It'll be written on the sick note, I guess."

"How do you feel about things?" asked Lara.

"I'm anxious about what it's going to be like, going back to work after five weeks off. It's a long time, you know?" he replied.

"People get sick. It happens all the time" Lara said as reassuringly as she could.

"Yes. But not me. And hardly ever anybody else at work" said Neil.

"Everybody will be happy that you're feeling better again when you go back to work. It'll be fine" she soothed.

"We agreed I would keep taking the same antidepressants. It's too early to tell if it's going to have a positive effect yet. It could be weeks before it helps my mood improve" he said. "I've got enough to last me a couple of months now" he continued.

"You refilled your prescription?"

"Yeah. I felt embarrassed in the chemist. All those pills. All those sick people and then there's me" he replied.

"Lots of people have to take medication for all kinds of reasons. There's no shame in it"

"Yes, but I still felt ashamed. I didn't want anybody we know to see me, walking home with that paper bag full of pills from the chemist" he said.

"Awww. You'll feel better soon" she said, pulling his head into the crook of her neck and cradling him slightly. His eyes were downcast and sad.

"The doctor said to keep an eye on things. Go back if there's any problems. There's not going to be any follow-up appointments or anything. I've just got to wait for a letter with an appointment date to see the psychiatrist" Neil said with a resigned tone.

Psychiatry. Lara's only real first-hand experience with psychiatry was helping patients with their prescriptions when they were on the ward. The patients were often quite difficult to deal with, but not because of behaviour that she understood as classical mental illness. She would be pestered all the time by the patients - "Nurse, it's time for my medication" - who would get extremely upset about the disruption to their normal routine. There were endless arguments about their prescriptions.

On the ward, the nurses would do three medication rounds per shift, plus respond to patients who were allowed a certain amount of pain medication on request. Unless otherwise indicated in the patient's notes, Lara could only dispense small doses of paracetamol, taken orally. The patient's own medications were usually locked away in a bedside cabinet that only the nurses had the key to. Any medication that the hospital's doctors had prescribed would be dispensed by the nurses at set times and that was when they usually unlocked the cabinet if there was something else that the patient was taking.

Psychiatric inpatients had their usual medications meticulously recorded in separate notes. Although the patients often knew which pills they had to take and how often, Lara had to follow the notes to the letter. The routine of the general hospital was different from the psychiatric wards the patients were used to and they could get very agitated if they felt they were overdue getting their pills.

It was surprising just how many medications some patients had to take each day. There were mood stabilisers and antipsychotics. There were antidepressants and anxiety drugs. There were sleeping pills and tranquillisers. The night shift would start with two hours of hell, as patients begged for their sleeping pills. The first dispensing round of the night shift wasn't until 9pm, so the nurses would get no peace until then. Mercifully, the psychiatric patients were often knocked out cold until the next morning though, which meant they were less trouble through the night than the others.

When on night shift, trying to sleep during the day was hard. Slamming car doors, traffic noises, people yelling in the street below, children screaming in the back gardens. The world was set up for the 9 to 5, Monday to Friday worker. Nearby builders and roadworks could mean a week with barely any sleep at all. Lara often longed for some sleeping pills herself and she knew that some of her colleagues did use medications to help them get some quality sleep during the day.

The few psychiatric patients Lara came into contact with were the most extreme. She saw the aftermath of self harm, suicide attempts and psychotic episodes. However, on the general ward the patients were heavily medicated. They were dazed and confused, with cloudy minds. They shuffled around. Some of them had uncontrollably dribbling mouths and involuntary tics.

She knew that Neil was going to see a psychiatrist - as an outpatient - but Lara made no association between him and the kind of extreme cases of mental illness she occasionally encountered at work. Neil seemed perfectly healthy and normal to all outward appearances, although she could tell that he was lethargic and more anxious and negative than she'd ever known before.

Later that Thursday evening, Lara attended an engagement party for a couple they distantly knew through other friends. Lara had started to socialise again, but on her own. She could see an expression of exhaustion and stress spread over Neil's face when the topic of going out was ever discussed. It was clear that he really wasn't up to socialising yet.

"How's Neil?" asked Katie.

Katie was Russ' new girlfriend. She was still slowly ingratiating herself with everybody and Lara felt sorry for her, as she struggled to become included in the group. Katie was young and pretty and the other girls treated her as if she wasn't worth getting to know. "She'll just be another casual fling" the girls said behind Katie's back.

None of the other girls had really asked about Neil. They had decided to just ignore the issue. If anybody else had asked, Lara would have dismissed the question with a cheery "he's fine". However, Katie was somehow disarming and approachable. Lara drew her to one side. The rest of the group were engrossed in their usual comfortable conversational routines.

"He's ever so depressed. It's sad to see him like that. I don't know what to do" Lara confided.

"There's not much you can do. Don't beat yourself up. Is he taking anything?" Katie asked.

Lara was taken aback by Katie's directness, but it was good to talk to somebody who seemed to immediately understand what the couple were going through.

"He started antidepressants a couple of weeks ago" said Lara.

"Well, it can take time to find the right one. Don't lose hope if you don't see any quick improvements" said Katie.

"Do you?..." Lara tailed off, worried her question was too personal.

Katie gave a little chuckle.

"It's fine. You can ask. Yes, I've been on antidepressants for a few years now. They do help, when you find the one that works for you" said Katie.

"But you seem. You seem so..." Lara stumbled, not knowing how to finish her question.

"Normal? Happy?" Katie said, grinning.

"Yeah" said Lara, nervously.

"Well, I have my bad days like everybody, but life is mostly OK now. A few years ago I just closed the curtains and didn't get out of bed for what felt like forever. I couldn't face the world"

"That sounds like the stage Neil's at" said Lara.

"Well, it does get better; easier. Recovery can be slow and nonlinear. Or it was in my case, anyway" said Katie, with as much reassurance as she could muster.

"He's just so desperate to get back to work, but at the same time I can see he's anxious. I know he can't face it at the moment. He's barely left the house in weeks" said Lara.

"There's no rushing these things. Tell him there's no rush. It can be a long road"

There was something harsh and brutal about this, even though it was spoken kindly. Katie spoke directly, truthfully, sympathetically. Lara had read things like this on websites, but it hadn't sunk in until now. There had been a sense of denial; there had been false hope.

"Look. Phone me. We'll meet up, just the two of us. You need support. You need to think about yourself too" said Katie.

Lara felt strong emotions welling up inside. She had been holding it all down, holding things together, acting like everything was going to get back to normal overnight. She was worried she was going to cry but she didn't. She was stronger than that.

Katie reached down and squeezed Lara's hand and made a sympathetic face. Lara was grateful to have made a friend who talked so openly, so freely, so directly.

The party was starting to disband and Russ was making his way over to the girls. Katie's face immediately switched to the bright happy expression she usually wore. It didn't seem fake to Lara. It made sense, to present a front and avoid discussing things that most people wouldn't understand.

 

Next chapter...

 

#NaNoWriMo2016 - Day Nine

10 min read

Poste Restante

Contents

Chapter 1: The Caravan

Chapter 2: Invisible Illness

Chapter 3: The Forest

Chapter 4: Prosaic

Chapter 5: The Van

Chapter 6: Into the Unknown

Chapter 7: The Journey

Chapter 8: Infamy

Chapter 9: The Villages

Chapter 10: Waiting Room

Chapter 11: The Shadow People

Chapter 12: Enough Rope

Chapter 13: The Post Offices

Chapter 14: Unsuitable Friends

Chapter 15: The Chase

Chapter 16: Self Inflicted

Chapter 17: The Holiday

Chapter 18: Psychosis, Madness, Insanity and Lunacy

Chapter 19: The Hospitals

Chapter 20: Segmentation

Chapter 21: The Cell

Chapter 22: Wells of Silence

Chapter 23: The Box

Chapter 24: Jailbird

Chapter 25: The Scales

Chapter 26: Descent

Chapter 27: The Syringe

Chapter 28: Anonymity

Chapter 29: The Imposter

Chapter 30: Wish You Were Here

 

9. The Villages

Within 20 minutes drive in his van, Neil could reach a number of village shops, roadside convenience stores and petrol stations that sold food and drinks, as well as a few other useful items. He wasn't able to carry everything he needed on his coach journey to the caravan, so being able to buy things locally was vitally important to his plan.

Because he wasn't driving a road legal vehicle, Neil had to stick to small country lanes. Where there was a major road, Neil would find a crossroads so he never had to drive any distance on a route where he might encounter police.

It hadn't been Neil's intention to stay so long and he had planned to avoid visiting any establishment more than once. It was winter and there were few tourists in this remote rural area anyway, except further towards the coast. Inland, it was quite possible that residents would start to discuss where he was living, if he started to be recognised more and more in the local viscinity. However, he had been getting more and more tired and sick and had little option other than to visit the places that were most likely to stock whatever he needed at the time.

Living in a caravan without running water for weeks and months, posed some practical issues when Neil came into contact with the general public. The caravan's water tanks were empty, so he washed with bottled water. In fact, buying and carrying back as much water as he could, without attracting undue attention, was his main problem. Washing himself used a lot of his precious drinking water, but it was necessary because his appearance and odour would otherwise betray the conditions of his existence.

At first, Neil had set aside some clothes to be kept clean and only used for his forays into the civilised world. With wet wipes and deodorant spray, he spruced himself up adequately. However, he had become thin, pale and sickly. He looked exhausted. He was dirty and smelly. Washing his hair and cleaning his body became necessary to attain the bare minimum standard of presentability to allow him to even enter shops without risking shock, fear and mistrust.

Knowing that there was a wild and dangerous looking vagrant sleeping rough somewhere in their community, the local residents would be on alert to find whereabouts this frightful creature kept appearing from. Neil was afraid that somebody would tail his van, as he made his way back to the caravan, to see him disappearing deep into the forest.

Buying larger and larger quantities of food, drink and other supplies from small local shops meant that he had to make fewer trips, but it drew considerable attention when he would clear the shelves of all the bottled water and a substantial proportion of the tinned goods. Neil's diet consisted mainly of cold beans, cold spaghetti hoops and cold ravioli, all in sweet tomato sauce. He ate very little anyway. He was increasingly gaunt and malnourished each time he went out for supplies.

Neil considered various cover stories he might use if confronted by 'innocent' smalltalk with the shopkeepers. Every story he could conceive of was likely to generate more questions that he didn't want to answer. At some point he might give a hesitant or regrettable reply. Instead, he chose to say that he was "just restocking" to which he had received mirthful replies to say that the shop would have to as well after his visit.

"Restocking again?" one woman had asked him, worryingly. He vowed never to return to that particular shop, which was frustrating because it was conveniently nearby and had most things that he needed.

Being deliberately vague was becoming increasingly hard.

"Have I seen you around here before?" asked a man.

"I don't think so" replied Neil, although he had seen him before.

The man hadn't pressed him further, but he knew that the questions would not always be so easily dodged.

"Do you live locally?" asked a female shop assistant.

"No, I'm just visiting friends" replied Neil.

"Oh. Where abouts?" she said with raised eyebrows, studying him.

Neil said that he had friends in a couple of the nearby towns. He had started to get to know the area quite well, and was able to name two towns that meant it was plausible he was travelling between them. The towns were larger than any that he would visit and outside his area of operation.

"I know Harminster quite well. Where abouts do your friends live?" she pressed him.

"I'd love to stay and chat, but I've really got to hit the road. I'm running late, sorry" he said with an apologetic smile, picking up a couple of bags of shopping. Embarrassingly, he had to return to the shop a moment later to collect the bottles he had bought, which he carried loose. The shop assistant held the door open for him, watching him load everything into his van and waving as he drove away. Another source of supplies was off-limits. His paranoia grew.

Neil cursed not using his expertise in CCTV and intruder detection to allay some of his fears of discovery. There were battery-powered motion sensitive cameras that had night vision, that could transmit their pictures wirelessly. Installing one of these cameras, hidden in the trees, would be able to monitor the track. It would be an early-warning system to know if anybody entered the forest while he was inside the caravan. When he parked his van, Neil would walk down the track to see if there were any tyre tracks or footprints indicating activity other than his own, but it didn't allay his fears, when he had only the sound that penetrated the walls of the caravan to alert him of approaching danger.

How much sleep had he lost? How many meals had he skipped? He reckoned he slept only a few nights each week. He would go days without eating. His stomach had shrunk and he didn't feel hungry very often. He was hypersensitive to noise and movement in the shadows. He was on high alert, despite his exhaustion and malnourishment. He had stopped sleeping in the conventional sense and instead started to micronap with his eyes open. The real world and the dreamworld sometimes melted into one. He would have blackouts and jolt suddenly back into consciousness, suffering confusion about where he was and what was going on.

It was thirst that usually spurred him into self-preservation activity. Despite a sense of hopelessness accompanying his pain, discomfort and suicidal thoughts, he was desperate for something potable to drink.

Neil wondered if he should waste time and energy trying to rescue some knotted and stretched clothing, damp and dirty, lying on the floor. The urgency of his thirst drove him to abandon his worries and make his way painfully to the outside door or the caravan. An immense fear of what was outside caused him to hesitate, swaying as he tried to support himself on his damaged legs.

Finally finding the nerve to open the door, Neil was blinded by daylight even though it was grey and overcast. The clearing was shady, but his eyes struggled to adjust from darkness inside the caravan. His temples throbbed with pain.

Deposited by the entrance was a shopping bag. Neil reached down, grabbed the plastic handles and hauled the bag into the caravan. He shut the door to stop heat escaping and the warm moist air inside being replaced by the cold dry wind that blew through the treetops outside. Depositing the shopping on the kitchenette work-surface which was covered with dirty food wrappers and empty plastic bags, he began to rifle through the contents in search of something to drink.

Bright blue mould completely covered a loaf of bread inside its plastic wrapper. Sliced ham and chicken were well past their sell-by date. Neil couldn't possibly risk food poisoning in his fragile state. He had purchased these food items when his eyes were bigger than his belly. Eating had become a sporadic thing where he greedily gulped down the contents of a can before curling up in a ball and falling asleep, with uncomfortable sensations of nausea and indigestion washing over him.

There was a bottle of Worcestershire sauce that he had purchased in order to add more flavour to his bland diet of canned food. There were bags of jelly sweets, containing high quantities of glucose that his body desperately needed. There were salted crisps intended to keep up his salt intake, but he had previously found these to be inedible with his mouth dry and full of sores and ulcers. Then, finally, Neil spotted a can of cola amongst the food that he had bought. Grabbing the can, Neil didn't allow his hopes to soar too soon. Too many times he had picked up a container with joy, only to find it opened and the contents consumed.

The sweetness and the refreshment of the liquid in the can was divine and Neil guzzled as fast as he could without burping or throwing up. It was unfortunate that the cola was fizzy, as it meant he had to take small hiccuping gulps rather than quickly pouring the can down his parched throat into his empty stomach.

Neil paused to momentarily examine the rest of the contents of the shopping bag, but he knew he had purchased only this one can of drink, as a treat that he had intended to consume on his drive back to the forest.

After his last trip for provisions, Neil had hastily made his way back to the caravan after parking the van, only bringing with him a single bottle of water, bag of shopping and the precious envelope that he had collected. With his heart pounding with excitement, his body shaking with anticipation, his palms sweaty, he dumped the shopping bag outside the caravan and went inside with only the bottle of water. How long ago was that? A week maybe?

The envelope was now torn open on the floor with a leaflet for a tourist attraction half unfolded next to it. The writing on the leaflet was in Chinese.

 

Next chapter...

 

#NaNoWriMo2016 - Day Eight

13 min read

Poste Restante

Contents

Chapter 1: The Caravan

Chapter 2: Invisible Illness

Chapter 3: The Forest

Chapter 4: Prosaic

Chapter 5: The Van

Chapter 6: Into the Unknown

Chapter 7: The Journey

Chapter 8: Infamy

Chapter 9: The Villages

Chapter 10: Waiting Room

Chapter 11: The Shadow People

Chapter 12: Enough Rope

Chapter 13: The Post Offices

Chapter 14: Unsuitable Friends

Chapter 15: The Chase

Chapter 16: Self Inflicted

Chapter 17: The Holiday

Chapter 18: Psychosis, Madness, Insanity and Lunacy

Chapter 19: The Hospitals

Chapter 20: Segmentation

Chapter 21: The Cell

Chapter 22: Wells of Silence

Chapter 23: The Box

Chapter 24: Jailbird

Chapter 25: The Scales

Chapter 26: Descent

Chapter 27: The Syringe

Chapter 28: Anonymity

Chapter 29: The Imposter

Chapter 30: Wish You Were Here

 

8. Infamy

The eldest brother could do no wrong in his mother's eyes. He was quiet and studious. The teachers at school said that he was destined for great things - provided he tried his best - which echoed his parents' long-held hopes for their first-born child. Despite being unpopular, bullied and having few friends, academic achievement was the only thing that seemed to matter in his life, or so he was told by the adults he came into contact with. Wanting to please those anxious faces that looked on, scrutinising every piece of schoolwork, exam grade and report from teachers, he had allowed himself to be moulded into the 'perfect' son. Dressed by his mother and developing no independent identity of his own, his impeccable manners and good behaviour had other parents clucking with jealousy, as their own children were defiant, argumentative and seemed intent on ruining their futures.

The youngest brother was infantalised; babied; mollycoddled. Adorably cute, he had a look in his eyes that could melt any heart and the entire family delighted in showering this child with physical affection and encouraging childish traits that were seen as funny and part of his delightful young character. The words he mispronounced were adopted, so that grandfather became "Gaduda" and a favourite uncle became "Cunigu". The babbling of a baby created an entire new and impenetrable lexicon that only the family knew and understood.

The middle sister held her place in the family as a gender-stereotyped girl. Dressed in pink and floral outfits, she had been showered with traditional toys like dolls, plastic ponies and role-playing sets for obedient housewives. She seemed to be developing normally, playing nicely with her soft toys - having make-believe tea parties for all her bears - as well as thriving socially at playgroup and school.

After puberty, the girl had grown into a young woman more quickly than any adult was able to comprehend or adjust to. When they looked at her they could not see beyond the image of a child that had cemented itself in their minds. Clearly, at the age of 13 or 14 she was still very much a child, but there was a kind of denial amongst family and teachers that this girl was maturing much more rapidly than her peers in a way that denied her a place as either adult or child.

At school, only the children could see what was happening to Lara.

Becoming quiet and withdrawn, Lara fell out of favour with her friends. She wasn't fun anymore. She didn't want to laugh and giggle and gossip and exchange misinformation. Talking about who had started their periods and what bra size they were having to buy, some confusing changes were slowly slotting into place, as the adult world careened into their carefree childhood existence.

The family were distracted. Lara's eldest brother was being coached for important exams and groomed for a top university place, even though his education had many more years until its completion. Lara's youngest brother had a streak of star-like quality now, and it was being considered whether the family would try to get him into a school with better drama and music facilities. A future in the performing arts seemed to beckon for Lara's little brother. The family indulged him as he sang, danced and generally entertained them, captivating every available bit of their attention.

Under the auspices of furthering her studies, Lara had started to travel into the city centre to visit the main public library. Without adult supervision, she had been free to peruse the shelves and select whichever books she wanted. Peeking at older girls and young women who she thought dressed nicely, she imagined that they could be the role models or peers that she seemed to be missing in her life. Listening in to snippets of conversation and looking at the books they chose, Lara came upon a cache of literature that was 'age inappropriate'. The elderly librarians didn't know much about the books that they stamped for Lara to take home.

Magazines provided a trickle-down of information through the girls in school. Well-thumbed copies of Just Seventeen were mostly read by giggling groups of 13 and 14 year olds, who pored over the agony aunt sections and articles about boyfriends. The children mostly came from reasonably wealthy and well-to-do families where they had led sheltered lives, but there were many who had been involved in fumbling trysts and could combine their first-hand knowledge with the information gleaned from the pages of teen magazines.

Lara drifted further from her original childhood friends who covered their bedroom walls with posters of boy bands and listened to saccharine-sweet pop music.

Print media slowly sexualised the schoolgirls, with magazines that were supposedly pitched at adults being more commonly read by 14, 15 and 16 year olds. These magazines - such as Cosmopolitan - featured sex positions and even blow-job techniques under titles like "How to Please Your Man". Fashion magazines were boring by comparison and Lara found Vogue pretentious.

There was a disjoint, a gap, between magazine articles that were light on any real detail, and what was shared between the braver and more adventurous girls who had experimented and fooled around with their first boyfriends. There was no romance in being roughly fingered by an overexcited 14 year old boy on a cold park bench, both tipsy from swigs of cheap cider straight from the bottle. The experiences were confusing, unpleasant even.

Lara had filled the gap with romantic and erotic novels, and the detail of not only the mechanics of the acts but also the feelings of love and lust filled out a much fuller picture of what boyfriends and sexual activities were all about. Lara started to feel contempt for the spotty horny boys at her school and the gaggle of catty girls who circulated vicious rumours about each other as well as boasting of experiences that were missing the caring caress and vital connection that Lara now desired in a boy who was as mature as she was.

By broadening her sphere of knowledge through reading, as well as careful observation of the mannerisms of young women rather than her peer group, Lara began to take on an aura of being quietly self-confident, knowing. As the school year wore on, she started to appear dark and brooding in a way that had a sultry kind of attractiveness. Lara wasn't becoming a goth but there was an intensity in her eyes that was extremely intimidating to other girls, as well as to her teachers. More and more boys started to take an interest in Lara. She was becoming more and more removed and aloof from day-to-day school life, making her seem unattainable. Rumours circulated that she had an older boyfriend who rode a motorbike.

The children elevated Lara to a status normally reserved for 'cool' adults. To treat Lara like an ordinary pupil brought anarchy to the classroom, as if the teachers had started calling each other names in front of the children. To her teachers, Lara was now untouchable, in the interests of preserving some authority. Lara wasn't interested in making trouble, so an uneasy truce came to pass. Lara would not show any disrespect for her teachers or contempt for her schoolwork, but no teacher dared to ridicule and belittle her for fear that they themselves would be laughed out of their class.

Nothing was especially wrong that warranted Lara's parents being contacted, but Lara was becoming feared and revered at school. The girls knew that their boyfriends' eyes were drawn to her and Lara could feel herself attracting an increasing number of staring faces. She started to become comfortable with male attention and would even delight in returning a boy's gaze in order to make him blush, caught looking. A kind of unspoken reputation made her unapproachable. No boy from her school was bold enough to try and speak to her anymore. The legend of the older boyfriend became cemented as fact, even though Lara by now had started to feel a little disappointed that the older boys seemed somehow immature. Refining her style, her sense of dress, in a subtle way that she copied from young women who seemed confident and happy, she started to draw attention from young men, some of it unwanted. These men were crass and crude, and harassed her. They had nothing cosmopolitan, cultured or urbane about them. They were likely lads who fancied themselves as a hit with the ladies. Lara was repelled by these ugly creatures who dressed in sportswear, had gold chains, earrings and wore far too much aftershave. These young men were only ever brave enough to make an approach when accompanied by a group of their friends, watching with a slack-jawed smile as the sullen Lara silently dismissed them with crushing indifference.

Lara imagined that when she left school for university she would find a completely different set of people. Young men who were more mature and romantic, she imagined a boyfriend who could be her equal; somebody she could respect. It wasn't that she was saving herself for true love, but more that she hadn't yet met anybody who measured up to her expectations. The more she read, the more she developed a better sense of the kind of guy she wanted to date, which included a kind of worldly-wiseness, experience and a self-assured manner that was lacking in schoolboys and men who hung around near schools trying to pick up teenage girls.

Age 15, with a mature body and the comportment of somebody older, Lara started to draw the attention of more predatory and silken-tongued men who attempted to woo her with more subtlety. Hanging around on the fringes of school social events and struggling to find a group where she belonged, several well dressed young men struck up casual conversations with her. At first, she felt as though she was beginning to make new friends and would perhaps soon have a new gang to hang out with. Brutally, she found that it was a ruse and these men would try and kiss and grope her after some perfunctory chat. Lara became despondent, beginning to lose hope that there was anybody out there for her who didn't want to just get in her knickers.

At weekends during a mild late September, she had taken to reading a book in the park on a favourite bench that was partly shaded, but still had enough sunlight that she was pleasantly dappled with warming rays. Today, there was a young man sat on one end of the bench who was ghostly pale, wearing a winter coat but still shivering. His coat was pulled up to cover the bottom half of his face, but his eyes were shining brightly, with dark rings underneath. He looked as though he was suffering with a fever and his forehead was a little sweaty.

Lara hesitated before sitting down, but she decided that the man's body language suggested he was trying to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible. He seemed non-threatening and he was sat right at the other end of the bench. Lara took her usual seat and began reading, somewhat distractedly.

She imagined that the man would get himself up and off home to bed soon, but as the afternoon wore on, he was still sat there. Lara was hardly getting any reading done, but she had a stubborn temperament and was determined that she would attempt to read for as long as she normally would, even though her thoughts were filled with concern about the wellbeing of her companion on the bench.

Eventually, her patience ran out and Lara stood up to walk home.

"Are you OK?" she asked the young man.

The man lifted his eyes slowly to meet hers. There was pain behind them. Not physical pain, but something else. His expression of discomfort softened with her question, but he seemed shocked that anybody had addressed him or even acknowledged his existence. It was as though he thought he was invisible up to that point. There was something incredibly vulnerable and raw about this man; not just the sickness that he seemed to be suffering with. Lara felt a surprising protective instinct for this slim and pale young man who had a haunting gaze.

"I'll be alright" he said.

Lara started to leave and then she stopped.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Sam"

"Do you have somewhere to go? You don't look well" Lara said.

"Yeah. I'm waiting for somebody. I had to get out of the flat. I was going crazy at home, waiting" Sam replied.

"Do you have a number for them? Do you want me to help you try and contact them?" Lara asked, confused and concerned.

"No. No. They'll turn up. Sometimes they just make me wait. Feels like forever" Sam said.

Lara didn't understand and she couldn't think of anything else to say or ask.

"Oh, OK. Bye then" she said.

"Bye. And thanks" said Sam.

"Thanks for what?" asked Lara.

"Thanks for asking"

When she got home, Lara could still vividly picture Sam's face. He was pale and sick but he was clearly a good looking young man. She was intrigued and also worried about what was going to happen to him. Was he going to be OK? He hadn't asked her name. She wanted to know what he'd meant; why he couldn't wait at home.

Lara wanted to go back out that evening and see if Sam was still on the bench. What would she say if he was? What would she find out if he wasn't? She resisted the urge to go back to the park.

 

Next chapter...

 

#NaNoWriMo2016 - Day Seven

10 min read

Poste Restante

Contents

Chapter 1: The Caravan

Chapter 2: Invisible Illness

Chapter 3: The Forest

Chapter 4: Prosaic

Chapter 5: The Van

Chapter 6: Into the Unknown

Chapter 7: The Journey

Chapter 8: Infamy

Chapter 9: The Villages

Chapter 10: Waiting Room

Chapter 11: The Shadow People

Chapter 12: Enough Rope

Chapter 13: The Post Offices

Chapter 14: Unsuitable Friends

Chapter 15: The Chase

Chapter 16: Self Inflicted

Chapter 17: The Holiday

Chapter 18: Psychosis, Madness, Insanity and Lunacy

Chapter 19: The Hospitals

Chapter 20: Segmentation

Chapter 21: The Cell

Chapter 22: Wells of Silence

Chapter 23: The Box

Chapter 24: Jailbird

Chapter 25: The Scales

Chapter 26: Descent

Chapter 27: The Syringe

Chapter 28: Anonymity

Chapter 29: The Imposter

Chapter 30: Wish You Were Here

 

7. The Journey

A large black expedition duffel bag contained a red rucksack, which had a thick winter sleeping bag and a few other items inside it. The bags were virtually empty at this stage. The journey was just beginning.

His house was silent but Neil was being extremely cautious to avoid being followed, traced, or anybody interfering and attempting to derail his plans. He left after the morning commuter rush had quietened down. On foot, he made his way to the coach station. His appearance was very much in keeping with the usual way he dressed. In clothes that he'd often been seen wearing by his friends, neighbours and family, the floppy half-empty bag was the only thing that was out of the ordinary, if somebody were to recognise him walking down his local streets.

Coaches to London were regular and there was already one at the station. The coach had offloaded any passengers who wanted to alight and was now awaiting its scheduled departure time. The coach door was open and the driver sat in his seat reading a newspaper. Neil bought a one-way ticket to Victoria station from the coach driver and paid in cash. There were only three other passengers on board, who were sat well apart from each other. Neil stowed his bag above an empty pair of seats and sat down.

The coach was relatively new and clean, but there were common features of coach travel that had been preserved for posterity. The upholstery was grey with streaks of orange, beige and red in a pattern that ran down the centre of each of the seats. The luggage racking above the seats was black plastic with a moulded texture that poorly imitated leather. There were black plastic handles on the seats lining the gangway up the middle of the coach. The carpet and fabric covering the interior roof and underside of the luggage racking, matched the colours and patterns of the seats. Black plastic strips trimmed every edge. More black plastic was used for the air vents and reading lights that were above each seat. The windows of the coach had smoked glass and grey curtains also impeded some light, even though they were tied back. The inside of the cabin was quite dark, despite the bright daylight outside.

There was a hiss of compressed air as the coach door closed and then the engine rumbled into life. The coach would be stopping at several towns on its way to London, to pick up and drop off. The journey was scheduled to take a couple of hours if the service kept to its timetable. Neil had elected to use the coach because the quality of the CCTV coverage on coaches and at coach stations was far inferior to that of the rail network. The first challenge he was setting for anybody who was trying to find him, would be to discover whether he got off at any of the stops before the coach reached London.

By the time the coach reached London, many more people had boarded, but Neil still had two seats to himself. Getting off at Victoria took a little time as bags were retrieved from the overhead racks, but Neil was happy to blend in with a group of fellow passengers. The coach station was crowded with tourists and their luggage. Neil felt comfortably anonymous as he slipped away from the transport hub and onto the nearest busy main street, lined with many well known high-street shops.

Walking away from the coach, tube and rail stations, the shops started to change from national chains to smaller independent businesses. Neil was looking for somewhere that bought and sold second hand and refurbished electronics. He came to a street that had a number of mobile phone repair and accessory shops, along with family-run stores that sold cheap imported goods and had appropriated part of the pavement for the display of their extensive stock.

There was a shop that was painted with garish red gloss paint and had a metal grille permanently affixed to protect the windows. Through the mesh, Neil was able to see a range of electronic goods laid out for sale on glass shelving with prices handwritten on bright yellow stickers underneath each item.

Neil bought the cheapest laptop that the shop had on sale after checking it had the right version of Windows and it booted up OK. The shop owner was most bemused by Neil's request for a very basic phone that only had a monochrome screen and no camera or Internet browsing capability. Imploring Neil to spend an extra fifteen or twenty pounds in order to obtain a far newer and more feature rich phone, the man could not understand why Neil would not want features such as GPS, which would allow him to navigate using a maps application. Neil was firm and resolute: he wanted the most basic phone that the shop had. He purchased both items with cash.

From an electronic accessory store he purchased an inverter, that would allow him to charge his laptop and phone from the 12 volt cigarette lighter of a vehicle. From a newsagent, he purchased a pay-as-you-go mobile phone SIM card and several top up vouchers. Each top up voucher had a silver part that was scratched off to reveal a unique code. Every transaction was made with cash, making the laptop and mobile phone virtually untraceable. There would be no record of serial numbers and identifying codes that was recorded anywhere that could possibly lead back to Neil.

Entering a sports clothing discount store, Neil bought a navy tracksuit and a grey tracksuit with trousers that could be easily removed by undoing poppers down the length of each side. He also bought a black baseball cap and a pair of grey trainers that had black parts on the top and sides. After much deliberation, Neil had selected the trainers because it was hard to decide whether the colour of the trainers could be described as predominantly black or grey.

In a public lavatory cubicle, Neil got changed into the navy tracksuit, and then put on the thinner and baggier grey tracksuit over the top. He pulled on the baseball cap and put on the trainers, stowing the outfit he had been wearing in his rucksack. He then put his rucksack back inside the black duffel bag.

Killing time reading newspapers in a busy fast-food restaurant, Neil waited until night time before returning to the coach station. Arriving a short time before its scheduled departure time, he boarded the last coach to Bristol, which would arrive in the small hours of the morning.

After an uncomfortable night's sleep in the waiting room at Bristol's main coach station, made a little warmer by the fact that he was wearing two tracksuits, Neil now boarded the first coach to Exeter. There was a small cramped toilet on board the coach, but there were no other passengers for the first part of the journey so he was able to unbutton his tracksuit bottoms and stow them in his rucksack along with the tracksuit jacket, baseball cap and the black duffel bag, without the driver noticing.

As Neil stepped off the coach the driver asked "didn't you get on with a big black bag?"

"Nope" said Neil, walking off with his rucksack slung over one shoulder.

Walking safely out of earshot from the coach driver, Neil knew that he hadn't shouted or chased after him. That was the kind of minor incident that would be memorable if anybody was trying to trace his movements, but he knew that he had taken so many safeguards in his journey to this point that it would be virtually impossible to join up the dots.

It was late morning in Exeter, but Neil still had plenty of time to find a van to buy.

In the caravan, on the bed, naked and in pain, surrounded by filth and damp air filled with noxious smells, Neil struggled to reconcile the danger he was now in with his original and meticulously planned desire for total privacy and anonymity: to be in an isolated, remote location. He was virtually impossible to find and it was highly unlikely that anybody knew where he had gone.

It was certain that with inaction his organs would soon fail and his dead body would be discovered by chance months or years later. Decay would set in almost immediately and the smell of rotting flesh would attract flies as soon as spring arrived. Maggots would strip his corpse to the bone in a matter of weeks. The police would quickly discover that his Estonian driving license was counterfeit. Identifying his body would be impossible except using dental records.

With the available evidence, it would be nearly impossible for a coroner to conclude anything other than misadventure or return an open verdict. Neil started to feel frustrated that the secret of the well planned sequence of events that had led to this point, would go to the grave along with him. A fate that was finally sealed by his own inaction, resulting in nothing more than an impenetrable mystery, would be horrible. He started to wonder whether a written note would survive decay in the caravan for long enough to still be read whenever he was discovered.

What on earth could he possibly write in a note to convey the complex reasons why he had started this journey and reached this point? What could be achieved by connecting his last movements at home with his final resting place? It was an impossible task, to try to put things into words with his remaining time and energy.

It seemed important that his death should be understood as a result of deliberate action. Neil started to think about the razor blade he had brought with him. He wondered if the blood stains in relation to where his body and the blade were found, would leave enough clues to show that he finally chose to exit the world through suicide.

Suicide had not crossed his mind recently. He had been thinking about getting to hospital or at least getting to the road, where somebody might find him alive. Before that, he had been consumed by fear that he had been discovered and that his private bubble was about to be burst. He had been so desperate to never be discovered in such an appalling state while alive, that he had never stopped to think about being discovered dead.

Linking his name to the disgusting scene of his final resting place was something he wanted to avoid at all costs, but also, he couldn't bear to think that people would conclude he died by accident.

 

Next chapter...

 

#NaNoWriMo2016 - Day Six

9 min read

Poste Restante

Contents

Chapter 1: The Caravan

Chapter 2: Invisible Illness

Chapter 3: The Forest

Chapter 4: Prosaic

Chapter 5: The Van

Chapter 6: Into the Unknown

Chapter 7: The Journey

Chapter 8: Infamy

Chapter 9: The Villages

Chapter 10: Waiting Room

Chapter 11: The Shadow People

Chapter 12: Enough Rope

Chapter 13: The Post Offices

Chapter 14: Unsuitable Friends

Chapter 15: The Chase

Chapter 16: Self Inflicted

Chapter 17: The Holiday

Chapter 18: Psychosis, Madness, Insanity and Lunacy

Chapter 19: The Hospitals

Chapter 20: Segmentation

Chapter 21: The Cell

Chapter 22: Wells of Silence

Chapter 23: The Box

Chapter 24: Jailbird

Chapter 25: The Scales

Chapter 26: Descent

Chapter 27: The Syringe

Chapter 28: Anonymity

Chapter 29: The Imposter

Chapter 30: Wish You Were Here

 

6. Into the Unknown

Going to university as a mature student had been hard work but a lot of fun. Lara was only a few years older than most of the other student nurses and their training wasn't like a normal degree course. 50% of the time the nurses did their university work in a building that was a long way from the main university campus. The other 50% of the time was spent in the clinical environment of the local hospital. Lara's university days weren't spent partying and skipping lectures - the workload was relentless and she was soon doing long shifts to gain all the necessary hands-on experience she needed to qualify.

With Neil's salary, savings, some money from her parents and a bursary, Lara and Neil managed to keep their home life relatively unchanged after Lara quit her office job to retrain. A little bit of belt tightening was necessary, but the couple managed to struggle through 3 years without Lara's salary.

Although she avoided living in a dirty and messy student house, Lara didn't miss out on any of the social bonding with the rest of her course-mates. During those three years at university, she made a lot of good friends.

After qualifying Lara's friends had been scattered all over the country. Some of them wanted to specialise. Some of them wanted to get jobs in particular cities or closer to family. There were a lot of jobs in London, which attracted many friends to move there, but Lara wanted to stay in the local area. For a lot of her friends, they were bored of the unremarkable university town they had spent three years in.

Working at a big hospital as a general nurse, there was a lot of variety in the day-to-day challenges. There were a lot of staff. There were a lot of departments. There were a lot of different procedures that could all happen within that large hospital building. The NHS had been closing smaller local hospitals, in preference for larger facilities, so that fewer items of expensive equipment had to be purchased nationally.

One of the few things separated from the general hospitals was mental health care. While the hospital had a handful of mental health specialists, they were in a psychiatric liaison role. Any physical health issues would be treated at Lara's hospital and then the patient would be transferred if they required inpatient care for mental health issues. There was a clear demarkation between general medicine and mental health and the few people Lara knew who had specialised in that area had followed a very different career track from her.

As a medical professional, Lara felt frustrated that she didn't know more about mental health issues and there was little opportunity at work to have a casual conversation with any of the doctors. The doctors in the hospital had specialised in the treatment of physical ailments, disease, surgery. She only knew a few doctors who she should speak to if a patient was behaving strangely. In Accident & Emergency the hospital would treat drug overdoses, alcoholics and people who had physically injured themselves while in a crazed state, quite often accompanied by police officers. The police normally had a better idea of what psychiatric issues the patient suffered from than the hospital staff. It seemed as though the police were at the front line of mental health issues.

Although she had bandaged lacerated wrists and dealt with patients who had swallowed handfuls of pills or poison by treating them with activated charcoal, Lara never really knew the story behind what had brought them to the brink of suicide in the first place, or what happened to them after they were physically healthy enough to be moved to a psychiatric facility. The patient notes for the nurses contained details such as blood pressure and medications. Very few details about the psychological problems that troubled these people were in the notes she saw.

When the weekend arrived, Lara found herself turning to the Internet to find out more about depression and how it was diagnosed and treated. It seemed strange that despite her training and experience, she should have to turn to websites for information, but she didn't know who to speak to. She knew friends had suffered bouts of depression, but it felt insensitive to phone them and say "Hey! You've been down before. What can you tell me?" Those friends who had become depressed never discussed the details of their prescribed treatment openly.

Lara knew her mum had become depressed after giving birth to her little brother. Her mum had sought help from the family doctor. Lara's mum said that a little time talking to the doctor about her feelings had been exactly what she needed. That was over 20 years ago. GPs didn't have much time to talk to their patients anymore. At the local doctor's surgery, Lara seemed to see a different doctor every time she visited.

Therapy conjured up images of whiney New Yorkers, self-indulgently talking about how their daddies didn't love them enough, on a psychotherapist's couch, spending hundreds or even thousands of dollars. Lara thought that to suggest counselling might make Neil more upset. Many people derided therapists as "quacks".

Having spent the week without socialising amongst their usual circle of friends, Lara now faced further isolation all weekend, as the couple cancelled their plans. There was little that Lara could do to help at home. Even asking Neil "are you OK?" could be a barbed question, when clearly he was not. It was very British to say "I'm fine thanks" as an automatic response whenever anybody asked how you were, no matter how dreadful life was feeling at that moment. Neil and Lara's parents had been raised in an environment of post-war austerity, where stiff upper lip and concealment of any inner emotions was considered the preferred way to conduct yourself. The touchy-feely stuff was not dealt with well by either family.

By Monday morning, Lara was relieved to be able to immerse herself back in her work. Throughout her shift she barely had a moment to herself to dwell on personal issues. For the sake of the patients and her team, it was imperative that she was positive and upbeat, concentrating, not distracted. She was expected to be a pillar of strength and exude confidence when patients were scared, in pain and discomfort. Context switching was surprisingly exhausting, but it didn't hit Lara until she left the hospital.

As the week wore on, Lara found that she was less and less able to carry the caring face she wore all day at work into her home. She felt like she had lost the support of both her partner and her social group and she could barely keep her own head above water. By Friday, some tiny slip of the mask must have betrayed how truly drained she felt, because the Ward Manager called Lara into her office at the end of her shift.

"Is everything OK, Lara?"

"My fiancée hasn't been very well for a couple of weeks, but I really didn't want to bring my problems with me to work, Judy, sorry" replied Lara.

"It's OK. You just look a little under the weather. I hoped you weren't coming down with something. Your work has been fine this week. No complaints from me" said Judy.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just going to sleep all weekend and let my batteries fully recharge" said Lara.

"Well, look after yourself. Are you getting the support you need at home?" asked Judy.

"Yeah. We're getting by. I'm sure Neil's going to be feeling better and back to work soon" replied Lara.

"Neil. That was it. I remember you saying you'd got engaged, but I must admit I'd forgotten your fiancée's name. Any news on the wedding?" asked Judy, turning the conversation more light and casual.

"No, we haven't even started planning yet" replied Lara.

"Oh well. No rush" said Judy, glancing down at some paperwork on her desk.

"See you Monday. Have a good weekend" said Lara.

"You too" replied Judy, busily scribbling notes onto a yellow form she had been filling in when Lara had entered the office.

Lara fetched her coat and bag with some sense of relief, but also the nagging feeling that she had somehow trapped herself. Next week at work, she would have to work hard to keep a brave face on things. It would be harder now to admit that she wasn't coping well. All she could hope for was that things would be getting back to normal sooner rather than later.

Anne was hurriedly pulling on her coat as she jogged along the corridor to catch up with Lara, who was making her way to the lifts.

"What was that all about?" Anne asked.

"Oh, she was just asking if I was OK" Lara replied.

"And are you?" Anne asked.

"Not really" said Lara.

 

Next chapter...

 

#NaNoWriMo2016 - Day Five

10 min read

Poste Restante

Contents

Chapter 1: The Caravan

Chapter 2: Invisible Illness

Chapter 3: The Forest

Chapter 4: Prosaic

Chapter 5: The Van

Chapter 6: Into the Unknown

Chapter 7: The Journey

Chapter 8: Infamy

Chapter 9: The Villages

Chapter 10: Waiting Room

Chapter 11: The Shadow People

Chapter 12: Enough Rope

Chapter 13: The Post Offices

Chapter 14: Unsuitable Friends

Chapter 15: The Chase

Chapter 16: Self Inflicted

Chapter 17: The Holiday

Chapter 18: Psychosis, Madness, Insanity and Lunacy

Chapter 19: The Hospitals

Chapter 20: Segmentation

Chapter 21: The Cell

Chapter 22: Wells of Silence

Chapter 23: The Box

Chapter 24: Jailbird

Chapter 25: The Scales

Chapter 26: Descent

Chapter 27: The Syringe

Chapter 28: Anonymity

Chapter 29: The Imposter

Chapter 30: Wish You Were Here

 

5. The Van

The freedom of the open road; the remote isolated locations that could be reached anywhere in the country; the ability to up sticks and move at a moment's notice; the anonymity of a mass produced vehicle; the privacy of metal walls. Buying a van seemed like the perfect "plan A".

However, the plan didn't bear close scrutiny. With cold hard rational analysis, there were a number of flaws.

In order to buy a street legal van, it would have to be taxed and have passed an annual safety inspection to certify that it was roadworthy. This would increase the asking price considerably and make a cash transaction unworkable. A sizeable bank transfer would be something that would catch somebody's attention and warrant further investigation.

There was a risk of being caught driving without insurance. There was the question of the name and address where the van should be registered. Both of these posed a significant problem, as the insurance company and the vehicle registration agency would both send postal mail and anything undeliverable would alert them to the fact that a false name and address had been given.

By doing things legally, the police could search the vehicle registration database and then alert the national force to look out for a van make, model, colour and a certain numberplate.

Public roads were a hazardous place to be. An accident would trigger an avalanche of issues. Even finding safe places to park a van would be extremely difficult. Anywhere that could be reached by public road was hardly isolated and remote.

Neil decided to relegate the van idea to "plan B".

When he remembered the caravan Neil's new "plan A" began to take shape in his mind, but he still needed some way of travelling around when he reached the caravan. Initially considering cycling, he dismissed the idea because he knew it was a remarkable sight to see somebody on a bike in winter on steep hills. A vehicle seemed to make sense, because he could drive to local towns and villages on quiet country lanes, park on the outskirts and walk the short distance to get what he needed.

By buying a vehicle that was declared as an insurance write-off, scrapped or otherwise off the road, Neil wouldn't have to worry about the vehicle registration. He would just keep to the back roads and only make short trips. He would buy a van, so that he could use it as accommodation if the caravan was no longer there or useable.

Neil's journey to the caravan had brought him to the city where Westbound motorways ended. From there, only smaller roads continued deeper into the Westcountry. His first task had been to buy the local newspapers which had classified adverts in them.

Walking away from the city centre, Neil found a quiet residential area and an empty bus shelter. Here he got out a local area map, notepad, pen and his mobile phone. He started dialling the numbers of any advert for a van which was marked "No tax. No MOT". He started with the ones at the top of his budget, hoping that they would be more likely to be reliable good runners.

After a few calls that weren't answered and sellers who abruptly told him the van was sold and immediately hung up, he found a more promising lead.

"'Lo, s'Andy" said a male voice as the phone was answered. He spoke with a broad Westcountry accent. This was a good start.

"I'm ringing about the van" Neil tentatively began, not saying much other than the bare minimum to establish whether it was still for sale.

"Yar. Still got 'em." the man said.

"Is it a runner?" Neil asked.

"Yar. Use 'em every day to get around the farm see" the man replied.

This was great. Neil wanted this van.

"What d'you want 'em for?" the man asked.

"Just getting around on the back roads, the lanes, cheap like, you know?" Andy replied, put on the spot by a slightly unexpected question.

"Well if you ever broke 'em for spares, you should know the tank's no good" the man said.

"Fuel coming out a bit rusty, is it?"

The man laughed heartily at this.

"Yar. Yar. Sure is" the man said, chuckling again.

This codified exchange confirmed something far better than Neil could have possibly hoped for. The 'rusty' colour of the diesel meant this man was a farmer who was running the van on fuel that had been marked with red dye, because it was untaxed and intended only for farm equipment. It also meant that Neil would likely be able to purchase a tank of fuel from this man for cash, without having to visit a petrol station.

"The van is just what I'm looking for" Neil said.

"Yar. I speck 'tis" the man chuckled, knowingly.

"What's your name?" Neil asked.

"Andy, like I said"

They made arrangements for Neil to travel to a large village about 20 miles outside the city. Neil would take a local bus to the village and then walk up one of the lanes for about half a mile, where Andy would be waiting to pick him up. Neil would drive the van back to Andy's farm, to check it was running OK, then he'd buy the van and a tank of red diesel too.

Everything went smoothly. The van was quite small with faded red paint that was almost pinkish in places. There were patches of paint that were a much deeper shade of red and still had some shine, where stickers had been removed. It was clear that this van had formerly been owned by the Royal Mail, for a postman to do delivery and collection rounds. How ironic, Neil thought.

Neil drove out of Andy's farm gates just as it was starting to get dark. Finding the caravan and checking it was still OK to use would have to wait for daylight the following day and Neil would sleep in the back of the van that night. Driving through the forest with his headlights blazing was a risk, but it would only take a few minutes for him to be buried deep in the maze of tracks before he parked, isolated and remote.

How long ago was that? Neil had no idea. He knew it was weeks ago, but he didn't know exactly how many. Had it been months? He couldn't be sure, but he had the vague sense it was probably between two and four months. He'd arrived in the autumn and there was no sign of spring, so he felt certain that it was less than five months.

Although he had parked close to the caravan, Neil's damaged body felt as though it could barely carry him a hundred metres, let alone down the steepest part of the hill and through the trees to the gravel track where the van was. Escaping his predicament seemed unimaginably hard. He knew that his mobile phone had no signal. This part of the rural countryside was remote and black spots for phone coverage were common. Reaching the van was his only hope.

Pushing himself upright, he shuffled to the end of the bed. Bending his legs was incredibly painful, but if he kept them completely straight the pain subsided to an ache which was tolerable. He grabbed at the doorway and pulled himself onto his feet. Sharp shooting pains in his back caused him to yell aloud, wince and jar his body from the shock. He could do nothing more than stumble out of the bedroom, hunched over. He propped himself up on the kitchen worktop, opposite the bathroom door.

Neil really didn't want to open that door. Around the edge of the door, moistened toilet tissue had been used as improvised papier mâché, hardening as it dried to create a better seal. Instinctively Neil drew a deep breath and held it as he pulled the handle. The door creaked open. Inside the bathroom, the chemical toilet was filled to the brim with unspeakable filth. It was regrettable that the only mirror in the caravan was on the back of the bathroom door, but Neil wanted to know what his face looked like. The smell from the toilet had been unleashed and it was disgusting, but Neil was in such physical discomfort that he barely retched.

His eyes shone brightly: two glassy baubles in the murkiness of the caravan. His pupils were fully dilated in the half-darkness; two inky black circles taking in all the horrific detail. His eyes seemed sunken into dark blackish-purple skin, which served to further emphasise the deathlike pallor of the rest of his face. Facial hair sprouted unevenly from sideburns, top lip and chin, as well as other patches on his face. The hair was coarse and wiry. The bridge of his nose bore a scab. Perhaps he had broken his nose at some point? He couldn't remember. There was a scab on his right cheek and one on his chin, which caused another patch of missing hair on his unkempt and unruly beard. The hair on his head had grown untidily and surprisingly long, and it was greasy.

Able to better examine other parts of his body with the help of the mirror, Neil noticed that there were deep hollows above his collar bones and the contours of his ribcage were clearly defined as they ran down the centre of his chest. He was clearly malnourished and his muscles were wasting away. Things were worse than he had imagined. Seeing his own reflection shocked and scared him a little, although there was no sense of panic or alarm. He feared his own image in the same way he would fear any ghoul that surprised him in the darkness. He could barely recognise himself. He knew that his appearance would be extremely shocking to anybody who saw him. This presented additional difficulties.

Closing the bathroom door in the hope of trapping the noxious smell within the tiny room, he contemplated whether he should open the outside door in order to recycle the air in the caravan. He decided instead to keep the heat in, given that he was naked and everything was quite damp. Stumbling back to the edge of the bed, he clawed his way back to the position he had been laying in before. He felt exhausted and queasy, although he knew that he would not be able to vomit. His bile had dried up.

The momentary nausea passed and Neil reflected on how he would have found it easier to make his next move if he was in the back of the van, rather than in the caravan.

With hopelessness came apathy, calmness and philosophical thoughts. Neil noted with macabre amusement that he wasn't praying to any deity or whimpering for his mother.

 

Next chapter...

 

#NaNoWriMo2016 - Day Four

11 min read

Poste Restante

Contents

Chapter 1: The Caravan

Chapter 2: Invisible Illness

Chapter 3: The Forest

Chapter 4: Prosaic

Chapter 5: The Van

Chapter 6: Into the Unknown

Chapter 7: The Journey

Chapter 8: Infamy

Chapter 9: The Villages

Chapter 10: Waiting Room

Chapter 11: The Shadow People

Chapter 12: Enough Rope

Chapter 13: The Post Offices

Chapter 14: Unsuitable Friends

Chapter 15: The Chase

Chapter 16: Self Inflicted

Chapter 17: The Holiday

Chapter 18: Psychosis, Madness, Insanity and Lunacy

Chapter 19: The Hospitals

Chapter 20: Segmentation

Chapter 21: The Cell

Chapter 22: Wells of Silence

Chapter 23: The Box

Chapter 24: Jailbird

Chapter 25: The Scales

Chapter 26: Descent

Chapter 27: The Syringe

Chapter 28: Anonymity

Chapter 29: The Imposter

Chapter 30: Wish You Were Here

 

4. Prosaic

Senility seemed to reveal hidden racism inside some of the sweetest old men. Every Friday evening at the hospital, the last weekday shift would hand over to the first weekend shift. Weekend shifts were mostly covered by agency staff. Many of the agency nurses were of African descent, which was a fact that failed to escape the notice of otherwise unobservant geriatric patients.

"I am a nurse. I am a fully qualified, registered nurse" one of the agency nurses stated calmly to an irate patient. This was not an uncommon situation she had to deal with.

"How can you be a nurse? You're not even English" said a man, his voice raised.

Lara could hear the conversation between nurse and patient from down the corridor. She had her coat on and was carrying her handbag. She was now making her way out of the building to the car park. Her working week was over. She had a tough decision to make: did she continue taking the most direct route to the lifts, or did she turn around and take the back staircase down to the basement, and walk round the hospital to the staff car park? She decided to press on. Her uniform was mostly covered by a long coat.

"Nurse! Nurse!" shouted the old man, as Lara scurried past an open door, keeping her eyes fixed straight ahead. Glass windows either side of the door allowed anybody walking along the corridor to be easily be seen from the ward.

Lara knew that the old man was trying to get her attention, but she also knew that nothing could be achieved by involving herself in the altercation. The old man would never accept that not all nurses looked like Florence Nightingale and Britain had become a multicultural society during his long lifetime. Tragically, it was part of the job description, that agency nurses would have to deal with this kind of mistreatment over the weekend, when the familiar weekday staff were mostly not working.

Stepping out of view into the lift lobby, Lara felt a twinge of guilt for not taking the stairs, but this was outweighed by the sense of relief that the weekend was beginning and she could start to relax. A pair of metal doors slid open and Lara squeezed into the lift. Leaving the building at this time was always busy. Every lift going down would be packed full of people.

The hospital was a modern monolithic white cube, 5 storeys high. It was the largest hospital in the county. Built on the outskirts of town, the hospital was surrounded by a sprawling car park, divided into short stay, long stay, and far away from the main building, a car park for the general staff members. Near the staff car park was a second building in the same architectural style as the hospital, but much smaller. This was the accommodation block where many of the younger nurses lived.

As Lara reached her car, a group of young women spotted her and started calling her name and waving for her to join them. One of the group sprinted over to where Lara stood, frozen, car keys in hand.

"Will you join us for a drink?" asked Lara's friend, Anne.

"I'm sorry, Anne, I've really got to be getting home. Neil's not well" Lara replied.

"Still?" Anne asked, slightly shocked.

"Yeah. Don't know what's wrong with him. I hope he's been to see the doctor today"

"Oh dear. Well, maybe you'll come out another time?" Anne asked brightly, clearly not wanting to stress Lara out any more and slowly backing away to rejoin the group.

"Sure" said Lara, relieved that Anne could see she was keen to get going.

Anne skipped back to her other friends. Lara knew most of them. They were all a little younger than Lara and they had bonded through living together in the staff accommodation block. They had been very welcoming and friendly and Lara was grateful for the opportunity to socialise outside the group of familiar couples that she and Neil spent the majority of their time with.

Jumping in her car as quickly as she could to avoid any further attempts to pressurise her to go out for a quick drink, Lara gave an apologetic wave as she drove past the group on her way out of the car park. Young and carefree, full of energy, all her workmates waved back enthusiastically. Lara's heart sank a little, because she knew how much fun and refreshing it was to spend time with them.

Pleased to find a parking space quite near her house, Lara was also pleasantly surprised to see that there were lights on downstairs. This was the first time this week that she'd returned home to any signs of life.

Opening the front door and stepping into the hallway, Lara hung her coat on the coat rack and dumped her handbag on the floor. The door to the snug was open and Neil was sat on the large sofa, studying a large piece of paper covered with tiny print. The paper had many creases in it from having been folded up very small. On the coffee table sat a small white cardboard box with a printed prescription label on it. There was also a small white paper bag, emblazoned with the logo of their local chemist, open on the coffee table too.

Neil seemed engrossed in reading the tiny print on the piece of paper. It had also become their custom that week for Lara to have to initiate any conversation.

"So, I take it you went to the doctor?" she asked.

"What? Er, yeah. I got this" Neil distractedly replied, as if the rest of the story was implicitly clear.

Lara stifled a sigh and went upstairs to get changed out of her work clothes. Clearly she was going to have to drag the rest of the details out of him. Frustration replaced a sense of relief that Neil was up and about and had finally sought a doctor's opinion.

Unhurriedly making her way back downstairs, Lara sat down next to Neil on the sofa. She was close, deliberately invading his personal space in the hope of waking him from his trancelike state, studying the leaflet that must have accompanied the medication that he had been prescribed. Neil paused and looked her in the eye for a fraction of a second, but then feigned continuing to read his leaflet.

"So, what happened, at the doctor?" Lara patiently asked.

Neil went to answer but then held his words back. He opened his mouth as if to speak but then froze and it became clear he didn't know how to begin. After a moment, his face flushed and he started to blurt out words.

"They called my name. I sat down. Asked how she could help. Burst into tears. Couldn't stop crying" Neil haltingly said. He was emotional, but he didn't seem like he was on the verge of tears. He seemed somewhere between embarrassment and confusion.

After a moment, he seemed to calm himself down and he began again, more relaxed than before.

"The doctor said it was OK and I should take my time. I started to tell her that I couldn't get up in the mornings. I couldn't face going to work. I couldn't face the world. I was tired. So very tired"

He took a breath. He was blurting his words out very quickly.

"She asked how long it had been going on for and I told her a few weeks..."

"A few weeks?" Lara now interjected, even though she was clearly cutting Neil off mid-sentence. Her mouth hung partly open, further betraying her shock.

"I mean the tiredness. Not the getting up" Neil replied.

"Yes, but why didn't you say something before?" said Lara in a tone that was concerned, not angry. She was reacting reflexively, but she knew she had to try to control herself if she wanted to avoid upsetting Neil.

"The doctor. She said I sounded as though I was depressed and anxious" said Neil, ignoring the question. "She asked me if I had heard of flux-o-tin" he said.

"Fluoxetine?" asked Lara, enunciating the syllables - flew-ox-ah-teen - with a little emphasis, but not so much that she would sound patronising.

"Yeah, that one" replied Neil. "She said that many patients found that it helped them when they were feeling anxious about things, like work stress, as well as low mood. She said that my symptoms could be caused by an imbalance in my brain chemistry, and fluoxetine often helped to balance it out" Neil continued.

"Yes, I know fluoxetine. At work I have to help patients take their prescriptions that they bring from home. Quite a lot of them take fluoxetine. It's the same as Prozac" Lara said.

"Prozac? Well why doesn't it say that on the box or any of the leaflets?"

"Sometimes the pharmacy gives you a branded medication, sometimes they give you a generic version. At work we have to learn both the brand name of the medications as well as the active ingredient" Lara explained.

"But everybody's heard of Prozac" Neil stated, his voice now tinged with a degree of frustration.

Neil sat forward on the sofa and cast the leaflet he had been holding onto the coffee table with a dismissive flick of the wrist, before slumping back, looking away from Lara and staring up at the ceiling. Lara had seen this kind of reaction before at work when she saw doctors speaking to patients; normally young men. It was a kind of shock and disbelief; denial even. Lara couldn't understand why Neil was having this reaction now, with her, rather than earlier with the doctor.

"So I'm on Prozac. Great!" said Neil, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You know I've got to take this stuff for at least 6 weeks?" he said, now shaking the small white box at Lara, which rattled with the sound of the pills inside in their blister packaging. The question was rhetorical. He needed to vent.

"I felt relieved when the doctor signed me off sick for another two weeks, but now I don't know what to feel. Can you believe that the doctor even asked me what she should write on the sick note? Stress, anxiety, depression or just mental health problems. I didn't know what to say. She put me on the spot. I said she should write stress"

Lara reached for his hand and squeezed it. She made a sympathetic face.

"They're doing some blood tests too. Could be an under-active thyroid. Won't know until next week, but that's more what I was expecting, you know? Something physically wrong with me"

"I hate to bring this up, but we had planned to have dinner with Russ and Katie tonight. Do you want me to cancel? I'll ring them and come up with some excuse" Lara gently offered.

"I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. I'm confused. I'm upset. I'm frustrated" said Neil, standing up.

Looking down into Lara's eyes as she sat on the sofa, she sensed Neil's care for her and his awareness of her feelings too, but his thoughts were in turmoil. He turned and went upstairs. She heard him kick off his shoes and get into bed.

Neil was asleep, fully clothed, when she joined him in bed a little later. She guessed that it must have been an emotionally exhausting day for him. Perhaps it was side-effects from the medication.

 

Next chapter...

 

#NaNoWriMo2016 - Day Three

10 min read

Poste Restante

Contents

Chapter 1: The Caravan

Chapter 2: Invisible Illness

Chapter 3: The Forest

Chapter 4: Prosaic

Chapter 5: The Van

Chapter 6: Into the Unknown

Chapter 7: The Journey

Chapter 8: Infamy

Chapter 9: The Villages

Chapter 10: Waiting Room

Chapter 11: The Shadow People

Chapter 12: Enough Rope

Chapter 13: The Post Offices

Chapter 14: Unsuitable Friends

Chapter 15: The Chase

Chapter 16: Self Inflicted

Chapter 17: The Holiday

Chapter 18: Psychosis, Madness, Insanity and Lunacy

Chapter 19: The Hospitals

Chapter 20: Segmentation

Chapter 21: The Cell

Chapter 22: Wells of Silence

Chapter 23: The Box

Chapter 24: Jailbird

Chapter 25: The Scales

Chapter 26: Descent

Chapter 27: The Syringe

Chapter 28: Anonymity

Chapter 29: The Imposter

Chapter 30: Wish You Were Here

 

3. The Forest

Matthew's dad owned and ran a bike shop. The 1980's had seen a craze for BMX bikes, which made the shop very commercially successful. The 1990's had been the era of the mountain bike, which was another boon for the profitable bike shop. Matthew had grown up riding and racing BMXs and in his teens he had transitioned to cross-country and downhill mountain biking.

18 years old and completing the final year of his A-level qualifications, Matthew was in the 6th form at the local comprehensive school. He had passed his driving test and now drove a battered pickup truck to school each day, which was a well known vehicle to pupils and staff alike. A rusted hole in the exhaust meant that it was particularly noisy, as well as being driven dangerously fast by the highly competitive Matthew.

Built around a deep river gorge, the city had some extremely steep roads and Matthew's school sat atop a high hill outside the city centre. There was only one main road that led out in the direction of the school, before the turn onto the approach road. It was a particularly grueling climb out of the valley to reach the school from anywhere but the surrounding towns and villages outside the city.

On Matthew's drive to school, he had noticed one of the younger boys cycling the same route as him each day, up from the city centre. This boy's mountain bike was a cheap model, but still a well respected bike for the money. Splattered with mud, the bike was clearly used off-road as well as the mode of transport that carried this boy to school each day.

As the September start of the new school term turned into October, and then November, Matthew was impressed to see this younger boy out in all weather, climbing the hill each morning on his bike, with relentless grit and determination. The fitness required to tackle such a climb was impressive.

One particularly frosty morning, Matthew passed the boy in his pickup truck and then decided to stop at the side of the road. He jumped out.

"Hey! Do you want a lift to school?"

The boy had eagerly thrown his bike in the back of Matthew's truck and they sped off up the hill. Matthew introduced himself, and the boy in turn introduced himself too. He wasn't even out of breath. That was how Matthew met Neil.

Matthew and Neil's friendship grew because Matthew's competitiveness was perfectly matched by Neil's fitness. Neil wasn't particularly interested in competing in any races and had never found a group of casual mountain bikers who could match his fitness. Matthew would never race to make friends; he raced to beat the competition. It was nice for Matthew to have a friend who wasn't a potential race competitor.

Neil had explored the mountain biking trails that could be reached by bike from the city, but had not been able to travel further afield. Paired up with Matthew, they were able to spend whole weekends driving throughout their home county and the surrounding counties, even crossing the Severn Bridge into Wales, in order to ride the very best mountain bike trails.

As mountain biking exploded in popularity, a lot of trails started to become crowded with bikers, many of whom were talentless and unfit. "All the gear and no idea" was the commonly heard criticism of these debutante riders, whose shiny and expensive steeds had barely seen a muddy puddle since being purchased.

Matthew and Neil pushed deeper and deeper into the Westcountry, trying to find new areas to ride, far away from main roads and packed car parks full of middle-aged men clad in lycra cycling clothing.

By chance, on a country lane the pair happened upon a forestry track that was not gated off, because it also led to an isolated cottage that could only be reached by this gravel track. The Forestry Commission who managed the woodland had left a maze of tracks and firebreaks open to be explored in Matthew's pickup truck. From autumn through to early spring the forest was empty and silent, with no logging, no horse riders, no dog walkers, in fact no sign of human activity at all. It was eerily quiet in those woods, where the soft leaf mulch of the forest floor and the tightly packed trees would deaden any sound.

The forest grew on the South-facing side of a hill. At the top, there was a steep ridge to the South, and to the North there was a plateau where the forest thinned and eventually turned into rolling farmland as the hill gently sloped away. The trees were coniferous, which meant that little light penetrated the evergreen canopy in the cold months of the year. Logging had thinned the forest on the lower flanks of the hill, where large piles of logs were stacked up. Higher up in the forest the trees were younger, but it was much darker, thickly wooded and dense in foliage.

This area was virgin territory for mountain bikers. There were no hikers or dog walkers to have to avoid crashing into. There were no horse riders whose animals might be startled by muddy mountain bikers suddenly emerging from the undergrowth at high speed. Matthew and Neil pretty much had it to themselves for the first winter that they spent, visiting that same spot almost every weekend, in order to build a number of their very own mountain bike trails through the forest.

As their eyes started to adjust to the darkness of the forest, the pair started working their way further and further up the side of the hill, where there were fewer tree stumps that could easily cause a wheel-buckling and bone-breaking crash if they strayed off the trails they had made.

One gravel track led high up into the forest, near the ridge at the top where there was a cliff-like soily bank. On top of this bank was a line of conifers that had not had their lower branches cut off, such that there was a wall of trees that particularly intrigued Neil. He decided to explore further, but had to walk a fair way along the ridge to find a part where it wasn't too steep to climb. He followed the ridge back until he was near the end of the track. He could see that some conifers were surrounding something, much like a hedgerow. Neil called down to Matthew, and got him to climb up and join him.

Neither of the pair particularly wanted to penetrate the dense row of trees, which they now walked around the perimeter of. The forest was still thickly wooded at this point, but these trees was clearly concealing something. Eventually, Neil's curiosity overcame his initial hesitation and he started to push through the branches. Emerging into a clearing within, Neil called out to Matthew.

"You have got to see this!"

With some difficulty, Matthew entered the clearing too, and the pair stood looking at a particularly grimy caravan that sat atop some tree stumps. The caravan's wheels were missing, but otherwise it was in one piece. On the caravan's roof were a considerable amount of fallen branches, the sides had a lot of moss growing on them and the windows were grey with dirt, sprayed by wind and rain.

"Do you think it's locked?" Matthew asked.

Without hesitation, Matthew reached out and tried the door handle. Some corrosion of the hinges and door seal meant the door did not open easily, but the caravan was clearly not locked.

Neither of them had the nerve to actually try and enter the caravan. What would they find inside? It felt like breaking and entering somebody's home. It felt wrong. It felt like they were intruding, trespassing.

Neil had an idea. He rubbed off some of the dirt at the top of the door, about halfway along. He now affixed a small square of duct tape that he carried in his backpack - useful for makeshift repairs in the wilderness - stuck across both the door and the door frame. The small square of duct tape above the door was hardly noticeable.

"Now we'll know if anybody else has opened that door, if we come back in future" Neil said.

Over the rest of the winter, the pair continued to ride in the forest, but they never went back to the caravan. It seemed like it was almost a taboo subject. They never discussed it again that year.

At the end of the school year Matthew started working for his dad at the bike shop. The pair continued to mountain bike together, although during the summer they hadn't been out very much. The warmer drier weather meant that the popular nearby trails were over-run with other people. Their favourite private spot was off limits because the Forestry Commission would be logging.

Early in October, Matthew and Neil drove to the forest they had been eager to ride in again since they had to leave in the spring. They hardly spoke on the long drive deep into the Westcountry. No plan had been made, but they were both thinking the same thing.

Without any direction from Neil, Matthew drove the truck as high up the forestry tracks as the truck would carry them. The pair walked up to the ridge of the hill, leaving their bikes in the back of the truck. Making their way into the clearing where the caravan lay, it was clear that they had one thing on their mind: had anybody else been using the caravan?

The duct tape lay intact, still glued to both the door and the frame, although it had been covered over with a layer of grime such that it was virtually invisible. Neil peeled it off to reveal a clean square underneath.

The pair used the caravan as a base at weekends and for longer trips during Neil's school holidays, sleeping in there during the long cold nights, but being careful to preserve the caravan's concealment and look of abandonment. They kept warm with extra thick sleeping bags and they avoided using torchlight when outside. There was a chemical toilet in the caravan, but with no way to empty it, they buried their bowel movements out in the forest instead.

When Neil left school and started at technical college, he and his friend started to drift apart. Matthew got a girlfriend and they spent less and less time together. By the time Neil completed college and got his job, their priorities had changed from mountain biking to other things. Neil was focussed on making a good first impression at work and Matthew was deeply romantically involved with the girl he had met, as well as taking on an increasing amount of responsibility at the bike shop.

When Neil visited the caravan again, he hadn't spoken to Matthew for 8 years. Lara had never met Matthew, although she had heard Neil occasionally reminisce about his mountain biking days. Neither Neil nor Matthew had told a single soul about 'their' forest and the caravan.

 

Next chapter...

 

#NaNoWriMo2016 - Day Two

10 min read

Poste Restante

Contents

Chapter 1: The Caravan

Chapter 2: Invisible Illness

Chapter 3: The Forest

Chapter 4: Prosaic

Chapter 5: The Van

Chapter 6: Into the Unknown

Chapter 7: The Journey

Chapter 8: Infamy

Chapter 9: The Villages

Chapter 10: Waiting Room

Chapter 11: The Shadow People

Chapter 12: Enough Rope

Chapter 13: The Post Offices

Chapter 14: Unsuitable Friends

Chapter 15: The Chase

Chapter 16: Self Inflicted

Chapter 17: The Holiday

Chapter 18: Psychosis, Madness, Insanity and Lunacy

Chapter 19: The Hospitals

Chapter 20: Segmentation

Chapter 21: The Cell

Chapter 22: Wells of Silence

Chapter 23: The Box

Chapter 24: Jailbird

Chapter 25: The Scales

Chapter 26: Descent

Chapter 27: The Syringe

Chapter 28: Anonymity

Chapter 29: The Imposter

Chapter 30: Wish You Were Here

 

2. Invisible Illness

The sense of dread and impotence had followed Lara around for her entire shift. Neil had showed no signs of improvement when she left him at home in bed, earlier that morning, to leave for work. She felt sure that he would still be in bed when she got home. He had turned his mobile phone off and she knew that he would let the landline ring until the answerphone picked up. There was no way of knowing how he was doing, but she had the sinking feeling that he wasn't improving. This was the fourth day in a row that he hadn't gone to work, and now she was starting to worry on his behalf about his job.

Lara had made a career switch to nursing, having previously worked as an office administrator. She was naturally caring and liked helping people. The office politics and limited scope to make a tangible difference in anybody's life had ground her down in the medium-sized company she used to work for, with its bloated management structure, endless bureaucracy and red tape. The National Health Service was no picnic, but working directly with patients and other front-line staff made the job far more rewarding than her previous career, where she had never met any of the company's actual customers.

Neil was a well respected and valued employee at the company he had worked for since leaving college. He was a CCTV and intruder alarm engineer, who travelled throughout the country, installing new systems, doing maintenance and repairs. Over the years, he had built up a lot of technical expertise and was now considered one of the most senior members of the team. He'd had the option to move into staff training or management, but he'd always preferred to remain "on the tools".

Most of Neil and Lara's circle of friends had originated from Neil's job, with Lara befriending the 'significant others' of Neil's male-dominated engineering friends. There had been a spate of weddings recently amongst the couples they knew and on Valentine's Day, Neil had proposed to Lara. They were engaged to be married some time the following year, although they had not yet started to plan the wedding.

Lara had received text messages from her female friends asking if Neil was OK, because their other halves hadn't seen him at work for a couple of days. What could she say? She knew it was unusual for Neil to be sick, but it wasn't at all clear what was wrong with him. He just seemed very fatigued and hadn't been able to face getting up or even phoning in sick. Lara had phoned his boss for him, while he buried his head under the duvet and pretended to be asleep.

It was easy to be sympathetic with Neil, because he was evidently going through a hard time due to something but the frustrating thing was that it was neither identifiable, nor would Neil go to the doctor to ask for a diagnosis. Through her own medical training, Lara knew there was nothing obviously wrong with Neil: no fever, no pain or discomfort, no nausea. In fact, no symptoms beyond the fact he looked tired, drained, stressed and somewhat afraid, in his facial expressions. She knew that he wasn't the type to complain about a bout of man flu.

The first couple of days that Neil was off work, she had attributed to the kind of duvet days when she herself would phone in sick, if she really couldn't face another boring day in the office. By the third day, she could hear her parents' derisory words about "yuppie flu" ringing in her ears, from her childhood in the 1980's.

The burden of having to phone Neil's boss each day had now escalated. He had politely but firmly reminded Lara that Neil now needed to go to the doctor and get a sick note, because he'd been away from work for more than three days. Neil knew this too, but hadn't acknowledged it. In fact, he'd made it subtly clear to her that he just wanted to be left alone. He didn't want her to open the curtains for him; he didn't want her to bring him food; he didn't want her to arrange for anybody to visit to make sure he was OK during the day. Little changed in his withdrawn demeanour from when she left in the morning for her 12 hour shift, to the moment he barely acknowledged her when she returned from work, except to say he was OK and he didn't need anything. The most animated that she'd seen him in four days was when she offered to phone in sick for him, which he said he'd be really grateful for if she did. She didn't seem to be able to do anything else to help. It was frustrating.

The drive home from work was very unpleasant for her. She knew the house would seem lifeless: no lights on. She knew that she would go upstairs to the bedroom in order to get out of her work clothes and see the motionless shape of Neil's body under the duvet, in much the same position as she'd left him in the morning. She'd know from the rhythm of his breathing that he was awake, but she would have to speak first. He would be polite, pleasant even, but somehow clipped and formal. The subtle cue was for her to leave the bedroom, turn off the light, and leave him with whatever he was struggling with. It cut her up to feel shut out, unable to help.

All of their normal rhythm and routine had suddenly disappeared, leaving a gaping hole in Lara's life. Their usual discussions about evening meals, cooking and eating together, watching videotaped television programmes or films, exchanging stories about their working day, planning the next social event, or talking about an upcoming holiday: all of this was suddenly gone, and Lara found herself eating on the sofa, alone, watching whatever was on TV at the time, but not really paying any attention to it.

The hardest thing was having nobody to talk to. Her parents had made their views about "work shy" people vociferously known and she didn't want to get into an argument, where she felt defensive about Neil having to take some time off sick. Most of their group of friends all knew each other, and she knew that by talking to even one friend, word would soon get around that something was wrong with Neil that was out of the ordinary. She dreaded to think what would be concluded in the speculative gossip at the dinner parties at each others' houses.

Lara started mentally preparing herself for friends dropping by the house to see if they were OK and if there was anything they could do. If there was nothing she could do, what could they possibly do? It would be easiest just to make excuses and try to shoo them away from the doorstep without even inviting them in. What would she say? How could she be polite and maintain the impression that their usual relaxed open house policy was in full swing, but at the same time swiftly get rid of any would-be visitors?

Despite a salary drop for Lara, the couple had still managed to get a large enough mortgage to purchase a modestly sized terraced house near the town centre that had plenty of space for entertaining guests. Under normal circumstances, Lara and Neil had a gregarious and welcoming nature and were given to spur-of-the-moment gatherings in their home with their friends. Several couples lived within walking distance, and impromptu cheese and wine, cards or board game nights were a common occurence.

The house had an attractive Victorian façade with a modern interior. The brick archway above the front door stated that the house was built in the 1870s. The previous owners had extensively renovated, building a bright open-plan kitchen diner extension at the back, and preserving a cosy but surprisingly spacious snug at the front of the house, with a cast iron fireplace and wooden fire surround. Furnished with carefully chosen second hand furniture that mixed shabby chic with pieces that could be mistaken for iconic vintage design, the house was punching above its weight for the meagre budget of Lara and Neil's income.

Decorating and furnishing their home had been a labour of love for Lara and Neil, and they were extremely house-proud and meticulous in how they had planned each room to accentuate the available space, light and few remaining period features. This hiccup in Neil's health was certainly no part of a master plan which had seemed to be going perfectly for the couple, up to that point.

Entertaining guests held a certain amount of desire for their friends to see their home improvements, and to show off their excellent taste in interior design and home-making. It was showy without being unpleasantly in-your-face. It was hard to dislike Lara and Neil as they weren't a couple obsessed with status symbols and oneupmanship.

Behind closed doors, the relationship was far from perfect. Neil's reluctance to turn down overtime and work fewer hours had led to Lara's desire to find a more rewarding career of her own. Financial pressures and resentment over each other's strong desire to satisfy their own needs and find fulfilment at work, had overspilled into many unpleasant arguments. Most of their friends chose to accept the happy, smiling, front that Lara and Neil presented at face value. Those who were closest to the couple could see the mask occasionally slip. The occasional unpleasant jibe; the twist of the knife; the obvious hints at an unresolved argument. There were issues that were festering, unresolved.

Nobody could say that they weren't a fully committed couple. They had been together a long time and had managed to come through a rather tempestuous and fiery initial period, before reaching a kind of uneasy truce. When in the company of friends, they were in fine spirits - and this was no act - but too much time spent alone with each other and trouble would inevitably erupt.

Neil was not self-indulgent in his convalescence, but he was completely unaware how isolated this left Lara, given the interconnected web of friends and connections to Neil's work that existed. Neil had no idea how burdened Lara felt, defending Neil's spotless record as a dependable hard worker, and as a sunny upbeat happy-go-lucky likeable social character. The man under the duvet in the dark bedroom upstairs would not want anybody to see him like that, and Lara knew it.

Whatever regrettable words had been spoken before, it was water under the bridge. Lara would not betray Neil in his hour of need.

 

Next chapter...

 

#NaNoWriMo2016 - Day One

10 min read

Background Info

National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) takes place every November, when aspiring authors attempt to write a 50,000+ word novel within 30 days. This means averaging 1,667 words per day.

My 360 odd blog posts to date have averaged 1,246 words per day, so it shouldn't be too much of a stretch for me to write a bit more each day and achieve the goal. Plus, I have the support & encouragement of all the other authors who are taking part in this challenge.

Since leaving school, I have done very little creative writing, so a whole novel may be rather more difficult than I anticipate.

Hijacking my blog for the next 30 days seems unusual, but the general advice to authors is "write about what you know" so you may find that my novel is a natural extension of my blog, in actual fact.

Anyhoo, the working title of my novel is "Poste Restante" and without further ado, I shall begin .

 

Poste Restante

Contents

Chapter 1: The Caravan

Chapter 2: Invisible Illness

Chapter 3: The Forest

Chapter 4: Prosaic

Chapter 5: The Van

Chapter 6: Into the Unknown

Chapter 7: The Journey

Chapter 8: Infamy

Chapter 9: The Villages

Chapter 10: Waiting Room

Chapter 11: The Shadow People

Chapter 12: Enough Rope

Chapter 13: The Post Offices

Chapter 14: Unsuitable Friends

Chapter 15: The Chase

Chapter 16: Self Inflicted

Chapter 17: The Holiday

Chapter 18: Psychosis, Madness, Insanity and Lunacy

Chapter 19: The Hospitals

Chapter 20: Segmentation

Chapter 21: The Cell

Chapter 22: Wells of Silence

Chapter 23: The Box

Chapter 24: Jailbird

Chapter 25: The Scales

Chapter 26: Descent

Chapter 27: The Syringe

Chapter 28: Anonymity

Chapter 29: The Imposter

Chapter 30: Wish You Were Here

 

1. The Caravan

Neil's consciousness sparked back into existence. This was not like waking up, as if he had been dreaming. This was not like coming round after an operation in hospital, under general anaesthetic. It was much more akin to a sudden re-ignition of his brain activity, after head trauma, perhaps after being knocked out cold by a punch or a blow to the head with some other blunt object.

At first, Neil's mind was confused; everything was jumbled up. He could make no sense of what was going on. His thinking was cloudy; cognition impaired. Then, the blurry mess and unfamiliar shapes that had previously filled his field of vision now came into sharper focus. He started to see things in his surroundings that he could identify, even though he still didn't know where he was or why he was there.

Neil lay on a bed at one end of a caravan. The bed filled the width of the caravan and extended all the way to the bedroom door, which was wide open. At the opposite end of the caravan was a dining table, surrounded by a U-shaped bench of seating, with windows behind. The bench was upholstered with a pink floral pattern. The table had a wood veneer, although it was clearly made of chipboard, exposed around the edge. A small kitchenette was on one side and a toilet and shower cubicle on the other.

The interior of the caravan was not in good condition. Mildew stained everything. The ceiling had dark black patterns where the permanent dampness had allowed everything that was water permeable to fester in the moist atmosphere. The carpet, which seemed to have been some sort of dark maroon colour originally, was soggy and stained. Mud was trodden into the pile of the carpet around the entrance to the caravan. The carpet had started to rot and there were patches of blue furry mould growing in places. A lightly coloured textured wallpaper peeled away from the walls in places, revealing a layer of polystyrene insulation, as well as the glue behind, which had now turned an orangey-brown colour as it had aged and dried.

The bedroom windows were covered by navy blue curtains. These had been neatly stapled to the wall below and at the sides, so that little light could penetrate through each of the three windows at the bedroom end of the caravan. Where the curtains hung on the curtain rail, a small amount of light crept in and it was clear that it was daytime.

The other windows had been covered with self-adhesive opaque plastic, which allowed light into the caravan, but you could neither see in nor out. The plastic had been applied with little attention to detail: there were air bubbles and the edge had been cut rather raggedly, exposing some of the clear glass near the white plastic window frames. Paper masking tape had been applied around the edges of the windows, to cover the gaps between the plastic and the frame. The large window at the opposite end of the caravan from Neil had newspaper stapled above the curtain-less windows, draped down so that it covered two thirds of the window. On the left hand side, a bedsheet had been stapled above and at the side of the window. The staples were haphazardly placed and the sheet had folds and creases in it, hanging hopelessly from the wall, and no use as any kind of curtain. The staple-gun lay on the dining room table, abandoned.

In places, there had been small craters scraped crudely in the polystyrene insulation of the walls, so that the thin aluminium exterior skin of the caravan was exposed. In each of these craters in the wall, a hole had been punched through the aluminium. Beams of sunlight shone into the dingy interior of the caravan through the holes. These beams illuminated swirling mists of moisture within the caravan, almost like the silken threads of a spider's web, heavy with morning dew and shining in the sun.

Clothes were scattered throughout the caravan. Some were torn, others stretched or unusually knotted; all seemed ruined in some way. There was the debris of habitation: discarded food wrappers, dirty plates and cutlery on the floor. There were many other objects made of bits of broken plastic, rubber and string that seemed to be the twisted, mangled and knotted remains of other things that had been dismantled, torn, bent and otherwise manhandled to the point that they were no longer clearly identifiable as anything in particular. Things were strewn all over the floor, with no discernable pattern.

There were many containers distributed around the caravan: plastic bottles were filled with fluid in various hues of yellow and orange. Then there were mugs, saucepans, bowls and glasses that were filled with orangey-brown liquid. A glass on a shelf near Neil's bed had a layer of red at the bottom, then an opaque layer that was milky pale yellow and the topmost liquid - which filled the majority of the glass - was clear and brownish in colour.

After his sight, the second of Neil's senses that returned was his sense of smell. His nostrils were assaulted by a strongly pungent but not putrid smell. The smell was extremely unpleasant, but not so much so that it was causing Neil any feeling of nausea. The smell had a kind of nasty allure, like a strong ripe cheese. There was the smell of mould, damp and decay of soft furnishings, mingled with the smell of bodily odour, and distinctly a smell of urine. Sweat intermingled with the general dampness in the caravan and ran down the walls in droplets. The windows were completely misted up with condensed moisture. The cheap sponge of the upholstery and bed had soaked up a lot of this foulness. Clothing and bedding had also absorbed some of the humidity from the air.

Neil's memory of how he found himself in this position now slowly returned to him. Things made little sense to him. They had found him; they had surrounded him; they had been readying themselves to storm his little stronghold and they would tear him from the private surroundings which he had attempted to create for himself. They had antagonised him; they had spent an incredible amount of time making noises and assembling themselves for the onslaught; the invasion of Neil's privacy, now that they had found him. They had hidden in the shadows and attempted to remail unseen, but Neil had seen them: fleeting glimpses, as he looked out of the peepholes. Counter-espionage: they were spying on him, so he would spy back at them.

Neil had no idea what their motivation was. Why was he so relentlessly pursued? Why were they so voyeuristic, wanting to intrude on his private world? Why were they so childishly antagonising? Why did they tirelessly toy with him, so close, but waiting and waiting before they made their move? He was angry with them. Quite rightly too. He had gone to such incredible effort to create a bubble of privacy, far away from anybody he could possibly disturb, or who might happen upon him by accident. He was in such a remote hidden location. How could anybody have possibly taken offence at his presence?

His final memories before he blacked out were of a night filled with terror and blind panic as the people he had tried so hard to avoid and evade were now making their final advances. All the dim shapes he could make out in the surrounding gloom of the trees were of figures, coming towards the caravan. He could see the movement of people in the shadows that danced on the ceiling and walls of the caravan. He could hear twigs snapping underfoot as they were stepped on. He could hear the sound of bushes being brushed past and branches being bent to make way for the advancing horde.

He passed out. When he came round they were gone.

Tentatively, he started to try and sit up and make his way to one of his peep holes so he could look out, but he realised he had blacked out with his leg jammed awkwardly underneath himself. His foot had gone to sleep. Incredible pain swept through his leg as the blood started to flow again and the feeling came back into his numbed limb.

There was momentary relief as the pain in his leg subsided, but then he was flooded with pain from multiple parts of his body. His hips ached, many parts of his legs seemed bruised and swollen, his back and neck were very stiff and painful; his body was covered with cuts and grazes, especially his knees and elbows.

In agony, Neil managed to prop himself up by the nearest of the peep holes and pushed his face up against the wall so he could look out. He saw nothing. Just trees. Where had they gone?

How long had he been unconscious for? It had been night time when he had blacked out and now it was daytime, but there was no way of telling whether it was the next day, or the one after that. He had lost all sense of time: days and nights had blurred into one.

Neil had spent a long time, afraid to leave the caravan. How long, he couldn't be sure, but he knew that they had laid seige to him and now his situation was desperate. He was dying in that caravan. He was so thirsty. He was in a great deal of pain. It was clear that there was a lot of blood in his urine. He felt so weak. He really didn't want to confront his persecutors and he had hoped that they would act first so that he didn't have to make the decision. Now he was confronted with the dawning realisation that they had won. Surrender was his only option if he wanted to live.

He collapsed back onto the bed to contemplate his next move, not at all able or willing to fully comprehend the staggering unpleasantness of the situation he was in.

 

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