I Choose You Page 3

  ‘Everyone says that, when what they mean to say is he’s a nutcase.’

  The officer’s face coloured. ‘Some of his theories are . . . well, a bit, well, unusual.’

  ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to be polite, I know a lot of people think he’s an arsehole. You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the papers. Being in the police, I should imagine you know that.’

  The officer nodded, and Elise could see he was eager for them to leave so he could tell his unaware colleague about the social experiment Ray became infamous for. In 1986, he’d organised a Big Brother-style television game on a remote island – the first of its kind. One of the participants was removed and the others led to believe that she’d been murdered, prompting research into trust and paranoia. Unfortunately, one of the other participants actually died from positional asphyxia and Ray was investigated and charged with manslaughter, but he was found not guilty in court. Several of the contestants were so traumatised by the whole experience, they sued him.

  Later, making their way out of the apartment block and across the forecourt to their car, having finally managed to settle Buddy, both Elise and Nathaniel paused as they heard an all-too-familiar sound coming from the flower bed by the main entrance. It stopped, and then a few seconds later, it started again.

  Nathaniel wandered over to the location of the sound; rain was beginning to pelt down. In the dark, he could see a lit-up screen, across it the name ‘Alistair’ distorted by droplets of water.

  Ida’s phone, vibrating amidst the shrubs.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  That was the game. Shoot yourself or be shot. What would you do? There was a way out, a solution – isn’t there always?

  Sometime during the late seventies, when I was commuting to work on the train, I met Sidney Mitford, the man who gave me the idea for the suicide game. We often had strange but interesting conversations, but this one made a mark on who I was to become.

  ‘If you had to choose whether to shoot yourself or be shot, what would you do? What would your answer be?’ Sidney leant forward and stared at me, his elbows resting on the table between us.

  ‘I don’t quite understand what you’re asking.’

  ‘Someone has handed you a gun and the question is, will you shoot yourself or would you rather your assailant did the deed?’

  It was a few moments before I gave him my answer. Sidney was a barrister and he normally travelled with his clerk Frank, but on this particular day he was alone. In fact, there was no one else in the single carriage, unusual for a Monday morning.

  Sidney would often throw random questions across the table, designed to surprise and shake whoever was listening from their mundane thinking.

  My response was that I would opt to shoot myself, but then turn the gun on my assailant.

  ‘That’s not how the game works,’ Sidney said.

  ‘I didn’t realise we were discussing a game. Is this one of your cases?’ I enquired in a slightly mocking tone.

  ‘I wouldn’t tell you if it was.’ Sidney leant back, resting his hands on his lap.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Answer my question. Shoot yourself or be shot – you have sixty seconds to answer and it’s not possible to turn the gun on your assailant.’

  ‘I think I would choose to be shot. Possibly. Who wants to shoot themselves? I would say that, to the very last second, I would be hopeful they might change their mind, or I would be rescued. If I had already shot myself, I would be giving in. Fight or flight, I guess.’

  Sidney pondered on what I’d said and almost looked disappointed. I returned to my newspaper, unable to stop thinking about his question. Eventually, he spoke again.

  ‘That says a lot about who you are. How much you value your life. Is that the kind of person you want to be?’

  ‘Which person?’

  ‘The one who opts to be submissive. Where is the fight or flight in that? Did you think there might be a solution to your survival if you thought about it?’

  ‘But surely, with only sixty seconds to decide, how can I work out the solution?’

  He didn’t answer me, just raised his eyebrows.

  It was the last time I saw Sidney on that train journey – or ever, for that matter. Two weeks later, when I saw Frank again, he told me Sidney had shot himself. Frank didn’t mention anything about the game, but it hung in the air between us as we rocked to the vibration of the train.

  ‘Does anyone know why?’

  It was a while before Frank answered. ‘He left two letters to his wife. One was a statement of the facts of his life – an itinerary, if you like, of the significant events. It was quite sad in places but in the main, happy.’

  ‘And the second?’ I leant forward, eager to know what was in the other letter – and so, it seemed, did the couple sitting next to me. Both were pretending to be absorbed in their reading materials.

  ‘It was an obituary, of sorts. It was how Sidney wanted to be remembered, but also what he would have liked to do with his life had he taken a different path – his thoughts and aspirations.’

  We sat in silence for a few moments as I thought about what he had said. The couple next to me had forgotten about being impolite and were openly eavesdropping, having lowered their newspapers.

  ‘Can I ask where Sidney did it? Who found him?’

  Frank shook his head at the sadness of it all and glanced at the couple, who quickly looked away.

  ‘Sidney lived in a beautiful old house with a lake in the grounds,’ he said. ‘Just on the edge of the water was a large summer house he’d had built years ago. It was a Saturday, mid-afternoon, and, according to his wife, he poured himself a brandy and walked down to the lake – not an unusual thing for him to do on a weekend. Some moments later she heard a gunshot and Sidney’s dog was barking and scraping at the door to be let out. He would never go down to the lake house without the dog. She knew exactly what she was going to find. Terrible business.’

  ‘But I still don’t understand why.’ I was pushing a sensitive subject, but for some reason I needed an answer. I didn’t want to leave the train never knowing.

  ‘Sidney had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. All those dreams and aspirations would never unfold, and he’d written them down, so he would always have a record of who he used to be, so he wouldn’t forget, and neither would the people around him. They were things he could have done but never quite got around to. He used to be exasperated at how people arrogantly assumed they had all the time in the world, when in fact he was just the same as them. I think that’s what he was trying to say, in the hope his loved ones would conduct their lives in a better way.’

  ‘So it wasn’t necessarily a suicide note?’

  ‘Sidney’s wife believes he wrote those letters some weeks before and just happened to read them again before he died. He left them for his family, so they could remember the person he was and not the one he would have become.’

  We all sat back in our seats and there was silence for the rest of the journey.

  That story stayed with me. Sidney didn’t want to lead a life that, in his eyes, was diluted or poorly conducted, so he bravely ended it. This got me thinking about all the healthy people who waste their lives. What made them like that – and, given a choice, would they change their lives if they knew they might only have months left?

  That’s when the game started, when I began introducing people to death.

  There are only a few people who have survived the game; Magda King – as she is known now, under her married name – is one participant I remember well. She played the game in 1986, when I knew her as Magda Bradshaw. We stay in touch, partly because I’m fascinated by her but also because she isn’t dissimilar to me. She unexpectedly surprised me, and we share a lifelong secret like we’re on a perfectly balanced see-saw – one will not disclose the other, so we remain suspended in mid-air, in perfect balance.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THEN

  The floo
dlight on the front of Ray’s imposing Victorian villa lit up the driveway as he pulled on to the gravel. Behind the electric lantern, the house stood in complete darkness, not one window was projecting a warm glow, which Ray thought peculiar, seeing as when he’d left, Ida had turned on almost every one of them. She’d been antsy earlier, wanting food, wanting to know what was going on, it was her birthday, why didn’t anyone ever tell her anything? Ray had told her to wait there so she could let Miles in when he got back and, being a defiant teenager, he guessed she and Alistair had gone to the van in the park for chips, purposefully turning all the lights out because it was another thing he nagged her about.

  As he pushed the key into the front door and switched on the hall light, Ray picked up the phone and called Ida’s mobile. No answer, so he dialled Elise. He put his hand on the bannister and peered up the dark staircase as he waited for her to answer.

  ‘Dad?’ she said when she picked up. ‘We’re still at the apartment. Please tell me Ida is there at the house.’

  ‘It’s pitch black here, not a soul. I’ve tried calling her phone but she’s not answering. I’m going over to the chip van in the park, which is probably where I’ll find the little scamps. It’s like the bloody Mary Celeste here.’

  ‘Dad . . .’

  ‘Or maybe she’s gone to meet Miles at school – basketball practice finishes soon. I think she’s in a huff because it’s her birthday and no one is here yet.’

  ‘Dad . . .’

  ‘I’ll try her again, search the park and ring you back.’

  ‘We’ve found Ida’s phone. Out the front of ours, on the forecourt.’

  Ray fell silent for a few seconds, not quite understanding what Elise was implying. ‘Well then, she’ll be in the building somewhere, gone to one of the neighbours I should expect.’

  ‘We’d have seen her, Dad. She’d have come up to the apartment. I need you to check around and call me straight back. Isn’t Sonny there yet?’

  ‘No, he’s still at work, said he’d meet us at the restaurant if he was going to be late. I’ll call him. Try not to worry, I saw her before I popped over to yours, she was with Alistair and they were both absolutely fine. Call Alistair, he’ll have his phone. Ring me if you hear anything.’ Ray hung up and dialled his son Sonny’s number. There was no answer, so he left a message on his voicemail for him to call. Sonny lived with him and worked as a barrister in the city. It was rare he ever came home early, or even on time.

  The house was deathly silent, and Ray began walking through, switching lights on and peering briefly into rooms, calling for Ida as he went. It was a waste of time. Why would she have been sitting there in the dark? He made his way to the back door and out into the garden. Ida and Miles liked to work on projects in the old summer house and, as eerie as it was on a dark winter’s evening, it would be just the sort of place she might be, especially as she’d been in a strange mood that day. He would often find her in there when she was feeling tetchy or had something on her mind, scarf wrapped around her face, thick woolly mittens curled around a mug of hot chocolate. But Ray could see from halfway down the garden there were no lights illuminating the summer house. He walked straight to the back gate, reassured that it was unlocked and open, which gave him the thought that Ida and Miles were out in the park that ran along the back of Ray’s property. The children insisted on using it as a shortcut, but Ray liked to keep the gate locked, especially with some of the psychiatric patients who visited his house.

  Ray took wide strides across the usually green but now quite muddy park, the rain causing him to squint. He stopped so he could visually sweep the area, illuminated by the streetlights, but there was no chip van. And then he remembered it was Monday. The chip van was never there on a Monday.

  Ray went back into his garden, peering through the windows of the summer house on the way, just to make sure Ida wasn’t in there. But making sure she was absent was quickly turning into needing to find her, as the places she could be began to diminish like sand in an hourglass, his heart rate starting to rise. Elise and Nathaniel had been burgled and Ida’s phone had been found, her bedroom vandalised.

  Then, as he went inside and walked through the kitchen on his way to check upstairs, he saw Ida lying on the floor in the orangery. He paused, wondering why he hadn’t noticed her before. He rushed to where she was lying on her side, her back to him. Ray knelt on the stone floor and carefully gripped her shoulder, pulling Ida on to her back. Blood had seeped from her head, mouth and nose, but he couldn’t tell if she was alive or not. Ray gently lifted her small frame towards him, handling her like a newborn. A rasping gasp came from her mouth as he folded her into his arms. She was alive. She was still alive. He knew he needed to call an ambulance, but he was frozen to the spot. Ida stared at him, her lids drooping over her big brown eyes, fading and barely conscious.

  Ray grabbed a cushion from one of the chairs and put it under Ida’s head, carefully placing her in the recovery position, taking his coat off and laying it over her before he went into the kitchen to use his mobile. Somehow, he made the call for an ambulance, stuttering over whether they needed the police as well. He hesitated when the operator asked for his address, which he simply couldn’t remember for a few seconds, his mind filled entirely with visions of his granddaughter. He opened the front door as instructed and rushed back into the orangery, rested the phone on the table, and knelt down on the floor in front of Ida so he could hold her hand. He could hear the operator talking, asking him questions, but he didn’t answer. Ray stared at Ida, she at him, as he felt the life ease its way from her grip on his fingers, the light gradually fading from her eyes like she could see a dark spectre standing next to them, overshadowing the scene.

  Ray was barely aware of the click of a door, although later he would remember hearing it close, or open, he couldn’t be sure.

  Hearing the sirens in the distance, Ray left Ida’s side and ran out the front to guide the ambulance to the correct address. To his dismay, it drove past and had to turn around. As soon as Ray was confident they’d seen him in the entrance to the driveway, he ran back inside to be with Ida.

  The paramedics eventually found Ray in the orangery, where they all stared at the bloodstained floor, his black winter coat lying in a crumpled heap as though Ida had never been there.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THEN

  The scene Nathaniel returned to was very different to the one he’d left. Ray’s drive was now filled with two Scenes of Crime vans, three police cars and two ambulances. After the discovery of Ida’s phone, they’d received a call from Ray telling them to come straight over, there’d been an incident, and when they’d arrived, the police had ushered them straight into the drawing room, which was the first room on the left by the front door. Nathaniel had explained they needed to collect their son from school, and he’d been permitted to go with a police escort. He hadn’t wanted Miles to be dropped off by friends’ parents, who would see everything and want to know what was happening. It also gave him a chance to talk to Miles on the way back, although he wasn’t sure Miles was listening as he kept interrupting him to tell him about what had happened during basketball practice, in between exclaiming how cool it was to travel in a police car.

  ‘What’s going on, Dad?’ Miles was more excited than alarmed by all the vehicles with flashing lights, and hadn’t linked what Nathaniel had told him about his sister to the scene before him.

  ‘I don’t know at the moment, lovey, let’s go and find your mum.’

  What alarmed Nathaniel more when he arrived back at Ray’s were the people in white overalls he could see at the end of the hall. One of them looked up and then quietly spoke to their colleague. The enormity of the situation tightened his throat and chest.

  Nathaniel found Elise sat on the sofa, ashen-faced, her blonde hair dishevelled. She stood up when he walked in. Nathaniel went to embrace her, but she put her hands out to stop him.

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘What’s hap
pening? Where’s Ida?’

  ‘I don’t know. Dad said he found her on the floor, he went outside to guide the paramedics in and when he got back, she’d disappeared. They searched the house and garden but couldn’t find her anywhere. He says she was in a state.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Badly injured . . . she was unconscious when he found her.’

  Nathaniel nodded, shock rendering him momentarily speechless.

  ‘We have to wait in here until someone comes to speak to us.’ Elise reached out for Miles’s hand and pulled him towards her; Buddy was sitting in the crook of her other arm. ‘Have you explained what’s going on?’

  Nathaniel looked at Miles and nodded. ‘I’m not sure how much of it has been understood, though.’

  ‘I think we all feel like that.’

  ‘Where’s Ray?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not sure. The police wanted to ask him a few questions at the station. Why would anyone do this to her?’ Elise pulled a tissue from her sleeve and wiped her nose.

  ‘I don’t know. Let’s just wait and see what the police say. Have they said anything at all?’

  ‘No. They won’t tell me what happened to Ida or Dad. I heard someone say Sonny was there as well, but I haven’t seen him.’

  ‘You’ve been in here the whole time?’ Nathaniel asked, pacing the room, hands shoved into his pockets, trying to control himself and not be hysterical. He wondered if Elise was aware of the Scenes of Crime vans – what it all meant.

  ‘I know as much as you.’

  ‘I saw Uncle Sonny in the park earlier, but he ignored me,’ Miles blurted as he wandered over to the television in the corner and picked up the control.

  ‘We’re probably going to have to book into a hotel tonight. We won’t be allowed to stay at ours or Ray’s.’ Nathaniel was trying to ease the news for Elise, preparing her for what they were about to be told. Being a journalist, he’d seen these kinds of situations before. They weren’t expecting Ida to survive, and once it turned into a murder enquiry, everything would change very quickly.