As Mandy lowered herself into an armchair, Dr Jenkins perched on the edge of Richard’s bed.
‘Let me explain. Coma patients are totally unresponsive; they don’t move or react to sounds and can’t feel pain. Their brains have simply shut down to deal with the trauma they have been put through, but research shows that they are still aware of their surroundings. The severe brain injuries Mr Taylor sustained in his accidentpushed him from a coma into a prolonged vegetative state, which is quite different. He’s unconscious and has no awareness of anything around him. However, parts of his body can still move like you witnessed: his arms and his eyes; he can yawn and may even utter the odd word, but it’s nothimin control of it. It’s a natural reflex. If it continues much longer – which we suspect it will – the chances of him recovering are virtually nil. I’m sorry Ms Griffiths …’
Mandy dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her top. ‘There was more to it than that,’ she said. ‘You said he’s not aware of anyone around him, but I’m sure he was – is – aware of me. It was only when I held his hand to my face that this happened.’
Dr Jenkins paused and frowned. ‘I understand you are Mr Taylor’s partner. You are both Matched, I believe?’
‘Yes, but I’d never met him before today.’ Mandy felt almost embarrassed. But she was eager to impress on Dr Jenkins the uniqueness of the situation. ‘I’m also carrying his baby.’
Dr Jenkins looked at Mandy with a confused expression, likely thinking she was mad.
‘It’s a long story,’ she added quickly.
‘Well, I have read about cases where patients respond to their Matches, and it can certainly become even more intense when a child is involved. Researchers believe it is because a pregnant woman’s hormones contain certain properties that can stir senses in the unconscious. However, it’s probably an exaggeration to call them restorative or healing. It’s not impossible, but it’s more of an involuntary chemical reaction than a cerebral one.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s not Richard, per se, who is responding to your touch. It’s his body – his receptors, his pheromones, his nerves, his muscles – recognising the feeling and the presence of its Match, rather than his brain.’
Mandy sank back into her chair, feeling deflated. For a moment, she’d let herself believe that the impossible had happened; that the power of their Match had woken the man she had been destined to spend her life with. But it was just their shared chemistry playing tricks on her.
When Dr Jenkins left the room, she spent another hour or so sitting in silence with Richard, her hands clasped around his, praying that his body might react to hers again. But there wasn’t even as much as a twitch. Then, giving in to defeat for now, she kissed him on the forehead and promised to visit him again.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said to her baby bump, as she made her way out of the building and back towards her car. She felt a twinge inside as the baby shuffled into a different position. Mandy knew the stress of the day was going to get worse before it could get better. After packing her clothes and belongings, she was going to confront Pat and Chloe, then disappear from their world of deceit for good.
Chapter 77
CHRISTOPHER
Amy wound her arm around Christopher’s as they plodded along the bleak, pebbled beach.
The grey skies, howling wind, drizzle and encroaching tide hadn’t put her off suggesting a long walk along Southwold beach back towards Aldeburgh, so they’d donned their thick jumpers and covered up with the matching blue raincoats they’d purchased from a shop in town.
They passed a paddock by the side of the path with three large, black horses sheltering behind a gate under a tree. Christopher remembered when he was a teenager he’d unlocked a similar paddock gate by the side of a busy road, just to see what might happen. He sat by a ditch on the opposite side and didn’t have to wait long as the travellers’ horses in the field bolted to freedom. It was the second one to escape that had collided with a VW Beetle, its head crashing through the driver’s side of the windscreen, killing both of them instantly. Ever since, he’d held a soft spot for horses.
‘Shall we go somewhere for a coffee and warm up?’ Amy asked, and Christopher nodded his head sharply. He despised being cold and he loathed long hikes. Unless they had a dog on a lead or a specific destination toreach, he didn’t see the point of just going for a walk. But he enjoyed spending time with Amy, and, as being outdoors appeared to make her happy, it gave him an equal satisfaction.
They made their way along the beach, past the brightly painted chalets, up a concrete ramp and along a high street framed by clothing boutiques, galleries and fish and chip shops, before choosing a cosy-looking café.
A young woman with wet hair and an irked expression pedalled furiously on an oversized bike to escape the drizzle, and, for a split second, Christopher pondered how she might look if he pushed her under a passing car. He used to fantasise about that kind of thing frequently as he travelled on the London Underground escalators. He’d look at the opposite side of the moving staircase and play ‘fuck’ or ‘kill’ with anonymous female faces, and it almost always resulted in more kills than fucks. However, Christopher hadn’t felt motivated to play since he’d met Amy.
Once inside the café, they sat by the radiator, draped their wet cagoules across it and waited for a member of staff to take their order.
‘I know you’re a posh city boy at heart, but this isn’t too bad, is it?’ said Amy, glancing out the window as the drizzle turned into a downpour and lashed against the glass. ‘Well, apart from the weather.’
‘No, it’s nice,’ Christopher replied, and he meant it. He couldn’t have given two hoots about the town, but he was appreciating her company.
‘It’s good to get out of London sometimes just to get your head together.’
Christopher knew precisely what she meant, although when she’d suggested taking their first weekend away together in her parents’ static holiday home by the coast, he felt something akin to anxiety. With just four women left on his list before he reachedhis goal of thirty, he didn’t need any further distractions. Distractions meant mistakes, and he’d already risked losing sight of the endgame by falling into a relationship. But his desire to spend an undistracted long weekend away with Amy was greater than his need to reach his target.
Christopher had contemplated finishing prematurely after Number Twenty-Six. At that point, he’d have still accomplished what he’d set out to do: sending a city of 7 million into panic and generating news headlines worldwide. The killings and the faceless madman behind them had fascinated everyone. ‘What are his motives?’ they asked. ‘How is he targeting them?’ ‘Is there a pattern to where they lived?’ ‘What is the significance behind the stencil mark?’
Christopher was the only person able to answer each question and on occasion it stymied him not to be able to do so or to take any credit for it. However, that was the sacrifice that needed to be made for his crimes to become a thing of legend.
‘Can I ask you a question, Chris?’ Amy said, as their whipped cream lattes were placed on the table. She appeared a little nervous.
‘Go ahead,’ he replied, as he arranged the mugs symmetrically. Her abbreviation of his name no longer seemed to bother him. ‘What’s on your mind?’
