Chapter 50
EDINBURGH
The Reader unlocked the padlock on the door and slid it open.
He had chosen this room since it had this door.
One that opened outwards would give her a chance to rush at him, and inwards, she could be hiding behind it, waiting to pounce.
That’s if she had managed to get herself free from the chain, which was long enough to let her use the chemical toilet and drink, but not long enough to reach the doorway.
There was also a bed for sleeping on and she would be comfortable on it. Mostly.
It was cool down here, away from the madness of the midday rush hour, people leaving their offices to go and get lunch.
He held a carrier bag in one hand with food in it.
The room was long and filled with shelving, but the nook at the back once had a table, though not any more.
Only a couple of the light bulbs worked, which made the room appear danker and mouldier than it truly was.
The walls were painted a light cream colour, but his red glasses gave them a reddish-pink hue.
He slid the door closed behind him and his footsteps echoed on the stone floor.
‘Help!’ he heard her shout.
He walked closer and stopped when he saw she was standing up, the chain still wrapped around the iron pipe that came in through the ceiling and went down through the floor. Which had to be the sewage pipes, they were so low down.
‘I told you before, you can scream all you like. Nobody will hear you. The walls are two feet thick, and your voice won’t carry all the way up the stairwell.
And as you can see, there are no windows.
You should just rest your voice and have a drink of water.
I promise you there’s nothing in it and the seal hasn’t been broken. Here, let me show you.’
He put the carrier bag on the floor and lifted the water bottle. After breaking the seal, he took a sip and smacked his lips.
‘It’s up to you, of course. I mean, you can take a horse to water, and all that. I also brought you some food from Greggs, and sandwiches from Morrisons. They do a good deal, you know. My favourites are the tuna mayo, so I added some in. Are you hungry?’
‘Fuck off. Shove your sandwiches up your arse,’ Moira said. She spat at him and missed.
‘Dear oh dear, Moira, love. That’s very antisocial.’
‘And what do you think this is? Keeping me chained up in here?’
‘It won’t be for long. This is going to come to an end soon.
’ He walked along and nipped behind a shelf where he had placed a folding chair.
He made sure it was out of Moira’s reach, and he sat down and picked up the carrier bag and started rifling through it.
‘You want an egg sandwich or a tuna one? I got both in case you don’t eat seafood.
I have Scotch eggs and little Melton Mowbray pies too.
I even bought you a bottle of Diet Coke. Less sugar. That’s bad for you.’
Moira sat on the floor. ‘Egg, please. Scotch egg. And the Coke.’ Her anger had subsided.
He passed them over, and he watched as she tore open the packet. He opened a tuna sandwich and wolfed down the two sandwiches.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m doing this?’ he asked after he washed down his own sandwich with a Coke Zero.
She ate a sandwich and had a drink. ‘Don’t you find it annoying that in the UK, the cap is stuck onto the bottle so you have to recycle it, but in the States, they do it the old-fashioned way and just let you take the cap off?’ She let out a belch. ‘Pardon me.’
‘You didn’t answer my question.’ He nibbled on one of the little pies.
‘I don’t want to know. But if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say my ex-husband put you up to this.’
‘Interesting theory, but you’d be wrong. I’ve never met him and have no intention of ever meeting him. No, this is all me, Moira.’
‘Why do you wear red glasses?’ she asked. ‘I was starting to think it was a disguise, but if it is, it’s not a very good one.’
He looked at her while he shoved the rest of the pie in his mouth and chewed.
Then he washed it down. ‘These are real. I have a slight brain injury. It affected my vision, so I need the red colour to stop my brain from frying itself through my eyes. Something like that. Red for inside, black in the summer sun, then back to red at all times when it’s not sunny.
Here, do you want to try them?’ He put a hand up to the left arm as if he was about to take them off, and she nodded and held out a hand.
He handed them over and she immediately broke them, bending and twisting the frame.
‘There. How do you like that?’ she said to him and threw the glasses away as far as she could.
He laughed and reached into an inside pocket of his jacket, brought out another pair and slipped them on. ‘They were old ones. My prescription changed slightly.’ He looked around, left, right, up and down. ‘That’s better.’
‘Okay, I give in; what am I doing here, Peter?’ Moira asked.
‘My name’s not really Peter. My real name is not important. The name you should be thinking about is Nancy. That was her name.’
Moira’s eyes grew wide, and her shoulders slumped.
‘And now you know,’ he said to her.