When Doreen opened her wavery gla.s.s front door and greeted them, Kate wanted to laugh at how normal she looked. She was a grey haired, friendly-faced lady in her mid-fifties, a little stout around the middle, wearing a nondescript blouse, gla.s.ses on the end of her nose, and a pleated woollen skirt.

'Come in, come in,' she said, ushering them through a narrow hallway and into a small living room too cluttered with furniture: a large velour three-piece suite fought for supremacy with an over-large dining table and eight chairs. In combination with a swirly carpet, the overall effect was somewhat claustrophobic.

'Do you live around here?' Doreen asked, pointing Kate towards the armchair, and gesturing for Paul to take a seat at the dining table. She herself settled on the sofa, with her back to Paul.

'I don't,' said Kate. 'I'm just staying in the area with my um with Paul here.' She found she couldn't quite bring herself to say 'my boyfriend', and hoped Paul wouldn't think it was because she didn't want to think of him that way. The truth, she realized with a shock, was that she did too much to articulate it. She blushed.

'You didn't mention on the telephone what it was you wanted to see me about. How can I help you?'

Kate glanced at Paul. 'It's...kind of complex,' she began. 'I mean it's possibly not something you'll have come across before. I'm not sure that you even will be able to help me.'

'Go on,' Doreen said.

'Well. We've got reason to believe that oh, it sounds mad but we think...'

She stopped. Suddenly the whole idea seemed preposterous. 'Paul, could I talk to you a minute outside?'

Doreen raised her eyebrows. 'I a.s.sure you, Kate, anything which takes place inside these four walls will remain confidential, if that's what you're worried about.'

You might not be so sure about that when you have Sampson coming after you with a gun, demanding to know what went on in here, thought Kate, shuddering.

'I'd still like a quick word first, if that's OK,' she said.

Paul stood up. 'Could we go out into your back garden? Sorry about this. But like Kate said, it's rather complicated.'

He sounded casual, but Kate could tell by the set of his shoulders that he was frustrated with her. She followed him out onto a tiny patio that comprised Doreen's garden. There was barely room to stand out there pots of different shapes and sizes crowded round the edges, overflowing with rampant foliage and elaborately flowering shrubs. It was as cluttered as Doreen's living room. Through the fence next door, they could hear the sound of a couple bickering over some domestic issue. A plane flew overhead, on its way in to land at Heathrow, drowning out the neighbours' voices 'What's the matter?' Paul asked, under cover of the aeroplane noise. 'I thought we'd agreed what you were going to say?'

'I can't,' Kate hissed back. 'She'll either think I'm insane, or she'll call the police, and if that happens, Sampson will definitely kill us before the truth gets out. How is she ever going to believe that I've been "reconditioned"? It sounds like some c.r.a.ppy B movie!'

'It's not her job to believe you or not believe you, it's her job to hypnotise you to see what you remember. Don't tell her about the reconditioning, or even about the CRU. Just tell her you've got a memory blackout about the events of the summer of 1990. It's perfectly understandable you blocked it out because of the trauma of the fire and Stephen's death.'

It sounded more logical when Paul put it that way.

'OK,' Kate concluded, more quietly now that the plane had pa.s.sed. 'Sorry. I just panicked. I guess I'm nervous about the whole thing anyway; about what might come up.'

'Don't worry,' Paul said, squeezing her hand. 'I'll be right here. And I think you're fantastic to do it.'

She smiled at him, and kissed him lightly on the lips. 'Thanks. Sorry, again, for going all wobbly on you.'

Doreen didn't appear to be perturbed by Kate's eventual explanation, once they were all reinstalled in their positions in the living room. She nodded gravely, as Kate spoke of Stephen's death in the fire, and how she, Kate, had barely any recollection of what happened in the weeks before or after. That she felt it would benefit her to remember, so that she could finally move on, now that she and Paul were an item. She talked merely of 'the place' they had both been staying during that week in summer, making it sound more like a hotel than a scientific research centre, and of how, although very ill, she had escaped with some friends down a corridor as the smoke closed in on them. How she was sure she'd seen Stephen being brought out afterwards, but then been told he had died inside the building, and that this information had confused and haunted her. That she had been in hospital for some time afterwards, with no further memories of that night.

Paul nodded encouragingly at her from his seat at the table, and Doreen made a few discreet notes on a pad of paper on her lap.

'I see,' Doreen said. 'I am sorry to hear your story, it must have been very painful for you, to have blocked it all out for so long.'

'So, do you think you can help me?'

'I'm sure I can, now that you've decided you want to uncover this hidden information. Your brain has been shielding certain things from you, and I will just try to allow you access to them. It's not complicated really. You just need to relax, and focus on the words I say. Your brain will do the rest. Are you comfortable? Shall we begin? I'm going to record this, so you can listen to it afterwards. Right. Here we go, then. Close your eyes please.'

Kate obliged, hearing the click of a dictaphone being turned on. Then Doreen's voice, lower in pitch than her conversation had been, slow and soothing and soporific. This will never work, was Kate's last conscious thought. I'll be asleep in minutes, especially after all the s.e.x Paul and I had last night....

Some time later Kate had no idea how much she opened her eyes, expecting to find herself curled up in the enormous king-sized bed she'd shared with Vern in the house in Boston. She felt warm and drowsy and utterly relaxed, like the best lie-in in the world. A split second afterwards, her eyes relayed the information to her brain that in fact she wasn't in any bed, but in a strange house surrounded by too much cheap furniture, and Paul was staring at her with concern and what looked like shock.

He tentatively walked over to the armchair where she was sitting, and, squeezing himself in next to her, embraced her.

'Oh G.o.d, Kate,' he muttered into her hair. 'You were right. There was something going on. We can find out now. Thank you so much, you're so brave, you've always been so brave...'

Kate blinked and pushed him away slightly. 'What happened? What did I say?'

Paul hugged her again. 'It's on the tape. We'll listen to it later.' He stood up, extracted a crumpled wad of notes from his jeans' pocket, and handed it to Doreen.

'Forty five pounds, isn't it?'

'Thank you. Do you need a receipt?' Doreen asked politely, putting the money into the drawer of a small desk next to the sofa.

Paul shook his head, smiling. 'I don't think I'll be able to write this one off against tax.'

'Here's the ca.s.sette,' Doreen said, popping out a micro-ca.s.sette out of the dictaphone she had used to record the session, then inserting it into an adaptor which she gave to Kate. 'I hope you find it useful, Kate. I must say... I'm surprised at what came up. It well it wasn't the sort of thing I'd a.s.sumed it would be. But it must have been important for you. And I'm quite sure that it will help you in coming to terms with your loss. If you need any more sessions to go into it in even more depth, do telephone me for an appointment, won't you?'

'Thank you,' Kate said, somewhat bemused. She felt completely woolly-legged, and mellow, as if she'd either had a large joint or a very good ma.s.sage; but this was gradually being superseded by a sharp growing desire to find out what she had said. 'Um ... is it normal, that I can't remember what I said? Or does it mean that I'm, like, still blocking it out?'

Doreen looked over her gla.s.ses at her. 'No, whatever came out while you were under means that you aren't blocking it. However, it's fairly unusual for you not to recall anything you said. Unusual, but not unheard of... You don't remember anything at all?'

Kate thought hard. 'Well... at one point I thought I was dreaming, about... about a forest, lying down in dark trees, and overhearing something...'

'Yes,' Doreen said. 'You talked about that. Two men, conversing. Shortly before the fire.' She looked oddly at them both, as if she knew there was more to it than they'd divulged.

Kate glanced at Paul in near-panic. What had she said? Who were the two men?

'I'll play you the tape as soon as we get home,' said Paul, exaggeratedly looking at his watch. 'We must be off, actually, if we're to avoid the rush hour. Thank you so much, Doreen, for seeing Kate at such short notice. I'm sure she will find that really helpful.'

Vernon had used to talk about Kate to people as if she wasn't there, and Kate reflected woozily on how much it had wound her up. But, somehow, now that Paul had done the same, she felt merely protected. She liked it. She slipped her hand into his and smiled at both him and Doreen.

'Thank you,' she said to Doreen. 'I do feel better, weirdly, even though I don't yet know why. It was...very relaxing.'

Doreen showed them both to the door, and they walked back to Paul's car in silence, Paul clutching the ca.s.sette. He unlocked the doors, and they climbed in, and stared wordlessly at one another.

'For f.u.c.k's sake,' said Kate urgently, 'What did I say? Tell me!'

'Listen for yourself,' Paul replied, slotting the tape into the car stereo, thinking that it was lucky his car was so out-of-date. 'But it was very, very interesting...'

CHAPTER 34.

Dazed by Vernon's visit, Miranda was unable to shift herself from her position on the bottom stair. She watched Amelia skip up to the front door in response to the chime of the doorbell, her emotions tumbling over one another like socks in a tumble drier. Guilt because she had allowed Vernon to take Jack. Resentment, because Kate was too busy having a good time with her new boyfriend to answer her phone. Anger, because Pete was boozing with his pretty colleague and hadn't been here to protect her and Jack. And beneath all that, the craving for another gla.s.s of wine. No, sod that. She wanted the whole d.a.m.n bottle.

Amelia opened the door and Miranda heard a man say, 'h.e.l.lo. You must be Amelia.'

The next thing Miranda knew, Amelia had rushed happily inside clutching a pink Care Bear. 'Look, mummy, look.' Behind her stood a handsome man. But although he was handsome, he wasn't attractive. It was his eyes, she decided, as she pushed herself to her feet and realised that she ought to be very scared.

'Where's the boy?' the man asked in a low, even voice.

Amelia had already run up the stairs to show the Care Bear to her brother not that he would be interested in such a girly toy. Miranda felt sober now. All her maternal sensors were buzzing, screaming red alert. This man was far more dangerous than Vernon. Her voice shook as she replied, 'Get out or I'll call the police.'

The man took a step closer. She noticed how big his muscles were beneath his shirt. How strong his hands looked, spiderwebbed with thick veins.

'I want Kate's son.'

'He's not here.'

Sampson lifted his chin and directed his gaze up the stairs, moving towards Miranda. She pulled herself up to her full height all five foot six and tried to turn herself into a human barrier.

Sampson grabbed her by the neck and flung her aside. She flew into the wall, smacking her head on the frame of the living room door. She fell to her knees but, driven by fear for her children, was on her feet again within seconds, chasing Sampson up the stairs. She tried to grab the back of his shirt, to pull him back just keep him away from her children but it was like trying to hold onto a train.

He walked straight into George's room, staring down at George, who looked up from his Playstation with confusion. In the game, he was playing a killer cyborg, and when he saw the stranger enter his bedroom it was as if the video game character had become real flesh and metal. Amelia grinned gappily at the nice man who had given her the teddy bear. But then she saw her mummy's face as she tried to get around the man, and she started to cry, the bear instantly forgotten.

'Where's Jack?' Sampson said.

Miranda scooted round him and grabbed George and Amelia, protecting them with her body, pushing them into the corner and standing in front of them.

'I told you, he's not here.'

Sampson stared at her, reading her face. Then he reached past her and grasped Amelia by the arm, pulling her past her sobbing mother as if she were as light as a feather. Amelia punched him with her little fists but the blows were like puffs of air. He held her facing outwards, so Miranda could see her terrified face, and said, 'Where is he?'

Miranda reached out for Amelia and Sampson swatted her away.

Calmly, as if bored by the whole situation, he said, 'If you don't answer my questions I'll kill your daughter.'

Miranda tried to console her child, 'It's okay Milly, just keep quiet and everything will be fine. It's okay, darling.' She wished she believed her own words. She felt like she was about to start hyperventilating. She always told the children, when they woke up in the night, that there was no such thing as monsters. Now, she realised, that was a lie.

Sampson said, 'Where is Jack?'

Struggling to keep control of her breathing, Miranda replied, 'His father took him.'

'When?'

'About five minutes before you got here.'

'Where is he going?'

'I don't know.'

Sampson turned Amelia to face her and put his hand around the little girl's throat.

Miranda gasped, reached out, pulled her hands back. 'They're going to the airport. He's going to take Jack back to Boston. Please, let her go. You're terrifying her.'

Sampson ignored her plea. 'What kind of car is he driving?'

Miranda shook her head. 'I don't know. It was grey, I think. I didn't notice.'

George spoke up, in a subdued voice. 'It was a silver car. The one with the sticking out b.u.m. It's called a Megan, like a girl in my cla.s.s is called Megan.'

Sampson turned his attention to the boy. On the screen behind him, soldiers were crouching with huge guns amidst a firestorm of smoke and bullets. 'A Megane?'.

'A Megan. I saw it out the window.'

Sampson nodded. He paused for just a moment, then put Amelia down. She ran into her mother's arms and Miranda squeezed her more tightly than ever before. Surely this b.a.s.t.a.r.d would go now, leave them alone. Then she could call the police, get them to protect Jack. But it was almost as if Sampson read her mind.

'Your boy is going to have to come with me.'

'No!'

'Yes.'

Miranda started to cry again. This was too much. Why couldn't George just have kept quiet? Even in this crisis, he couldn't help showing off. She tried to plead with Sampson: 'I promise I won't call the police. You can take my mobile, disconnect the phone. Tie us up. I won't call the police.'

'I don't believe you. And I need him to help me find the car.'

Miranda started to cry harder. Where was Pete? Why the h.e.l.l wasn't he home? What had she done, to invite this monster into her and her children's lives?

'Come here.' He beckoned to George, who reluctantly stepped forward. 'What's your name?'

'George.'

He turned to Miranda. 'If George behaves, he'll be safe. As soon as I find Jack, I'll let him go. He'll call you to let you know where he is. But if you call the police or try to follow me, I'll kill him. Then I'll come back here and kill your whole family. Understand?'

Miranda nodded tearfully.

Sampson crouched down and put his hand out. Miranda soon realised that he was giving her something.

'This is Kate's mobile phone. When she comes here, give the phone back to her and tell her I will call her. Tell her that if she calls the police or involves anyone else, I will kill whichever child I have with me: George or Jack.'

He stood up and looked down at them. 'Remember call the police and pay the price.'

Miranda nodded again.

'George. Come with me.'

Sampson walked out of the room and George followed him, looking back once at his mother and sister, who held on to each other, unable to speak.

At the bottom of the stairs, something caught Sampson's eye through the living room doorway. George followed his eye. 'That's Billy Jack's robot.'

'Bring it.'