Chapter 12 – a warning and a reward – Katy’s vanishing – risky business

It used to be the Smoking Room, the walls stained nicotine yellow, then a room for dumping odd bits of junk and stationery. After the Change staff turnover rocketed and some bright spark came up with the idea of painting it magnolia and transforming it into the Quiet Zone. That’s the way to deal with work stress. Stick your staff in a cupboard with an armchair, the world’s smallest couch, some pot pourri and a water feature.

The mini-fountain was trickling away making me very aware of how full my bladder was as Sheena waved me over to the couch. I didn’t bother nipping to the toilets as the temptation to stay in there would have been too strong. The Slorach sat bolt upright, making the comfiest chair in the building look as though it had been constructed from razor blades. Pulling her pink cardie around her tight, she did this pursing thing with her lips and it took me a few seconds to work out she wasn’t having a stroke but trying to look sympathetic. 

‘So…Cathy…,’ and I wondered if this was what a vet sounded like to a pet about to be put down. ‘About yesterday…I thought it might be a help to talk through what happened. It must have been dreadful …very distressing.’ She shuddered, as caring as Hannibal Lecter looking for a plaster for someone with a cut finger. ‘You haven’t discussed what happened to Mr Robertson with anyone else, have you? Because I would certainly understand the temptation to do so even though it would be a serious breach of client confidentiality.’

So that was why I was there. Not due to any genuine concerns about my mental health but because she was worried I’d go blabbing to the Courier and SACS would end up in a bigger mess than the time the Vicious Midden’s claim didn’t go through. Ever been in an actual shit-storm? Not pleasant. 

I took a deep breath, near choked on the scent of Persian Vanilla. 

‘No, Sheena. I haven’t gone spilling my guts out to anyone. Not because I was too fussed about all that confidentiality nonse – ah, stuff but because I didn’t want to go over it again. The sight, the smell of it…I mean the stink, honestly, would take a darn sight more than the pot pourri in here to cover it and the staining -’

‘Yes, yes, there’s no need to go into detail. But I’m glad you’re being discreet. And I’m sure I can rely on you to remain so.’ She leant forward and I had the horrible thought she was going for the CD player on the floor next to her, to switch on some whale music or wind chimes. 

‘Because discretion will be of the utmost importance in the next few weeks, Cathy. You’ll have seen on the news the Fantoosh, the Phantom Fantoosh, has planned an Initiative. A grand initiative, one of the finest occasions that Scotland has seen for many years. A celebration of those with Abilities…the Gathering,’ she paused dramatically, seemed put out when I didn’t burst into applause. ‘And because so many individuals with Abilities will be involved, SACS will play an integral role deciding who will attend.’ 

Oh, funny how the night before the Fantoosh hadn’t mentioned there would be a selection process. ‘Wait, choosing? Who gets to go and who doesn’t? Isn’t that a bit fuc’ – don’t swear, Cathy, don’t swear – ‘…a bit unfair.’

The Slorach tutted. ‘The cynics may see it that way but I prefer selective. Rannoch Moor is a site of natural beauty and scientific interest, numbers have to be kept down somehow.’

‘Hmm…I suppose. Still sounds a bit dodgy though, I mean -’ but she raised a hand in a way that reminded me of Cruickshank reaching for his inner pocket. 

‘Cathy, I am telling you this in the strictest confidence -’ and she peered around the room, checking a caseworker hadn’t secreted themselves behind a throw cushion. ‘The Fantoosh himself will be visiting SACS in the next few days to provide us with guidance. And you, Cathy, you could play a vital role in ensuring the smooth running of the Gathering. You are an experienced, capable caseworker although yes, your timekeeping does leave something to be desired. There could be overtime involved. Bonuses. You wouldn’t want to do or say anything that might jeopardise that, now, would you Cathy? By speaking to the wrong people. Telling them things you shouldn’t.’

The Slorach’s lizard eyes narrowed. ‘I mean, the extra money, it could come in handy. What with the care your mother needs and your father not being around to -’

‘Yes, alright, Sheena, I get it. Keep shtum, don’t do, don’t say anything stupid.’ It tells you how sick my subconscious was that I immediately followed this by saying something stupid. ‘Is that what “Passed for Review” means? Is it to do with the Gathering?’ 

The temperature dropped so quickly I was surprised that bloody waterfall didn’t freeze solid as the Slorach’s hands clenched into fists and I wondered at the irony of being punched to death in a Quiet Zone.

‘I’m sorry, Cathy? Passed for…passed for what exactly?’

‘Well, see, that’s what I was wondering. Review. Passed for Review. I saw it on Davey Robertson’s record, looked as though you’d maybe passed the case higher up but there weren’t any notes or anything and none of the others knew anything about it so-’

‘Others? You’ve discussed this with others?’ 

‘No, not discussed but I did mention it to Alan just because, y’know, Alan’s a stickler for those sort of things and you know I’m rubbish with team emails, thought maybe I’d missed something or -’

‘Happy here?’ the Slorach asked and I stopped. Not so much because of the question but because of the pure anger in her eyes. Anger and something else. Fear?

‘Whu – ah, sorry, I don’t see -’

‘It’s a simple enough question Cathy. Are you happy here? Do you enjoy working for SACS?’ 

‘…happy? That might be putting it a bit strongly. I’m not -’

‘But you’d agree that there are worse places to work, wouldn’t you? It’s not as if you’re dealing with criminals or…students every day, are you?’

‘No, but I don’t see how -’

‘And of course, it is much better to work here, with relative job security, a decent enough salary, than to not have any work at all. Wouldn’t you agree? Especially in your situation. Especially with others dependent upon you.’

In the quiet that sunk around us I became aware of this soft creaking noise then realised it was me, my hand gripping the arm of the couch so tightly I was making it complain. 

Sheena sighed, her head tilting as if she’d discovered a child who’d stuck its hand in a fire and hadn’t decided whether to skelp it or give it a hug. “Passed for Review” is a short-term exercise linked with the Gathering. It’s no longer in practice and you’ll appreciate, what with the publicity surrounding the Fantoosh’s event, it would be somewhat indelicate to mention Mr Robertson in this context. We wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardise that or our own positions. Would we Cathy?’

‘…no.’

‘Good. Good Cathy,’ and the Slorach smiled a raptor’s smile. ‘I’m pleased we’ve had this little chat. And I’d like to remind you that the Agency is here for you, Cathy. The Agency is always here for its caseworkers. We like to take good care of them.’ Yeah, I thought as she ushered me out. The sort of care that sees you smeared across your bedroom.

*

I nearly broke my keyboard unlocking my computer I was that furious. When I saw another email from Lindsay part of me wanted to delete it unread. Fuck ‘em, I was thinking. Fuck the lot of ‘em. The Slorach and Davey and Katy Bloody Bird-brain McLeish and the Fantoosh and everyone. I was sick of being bothered, sick of caring.

Then I looked out the window and a seagull flew past. Gliding away, off somewhere else without a thought and it reminded me of Katy and her feathered followers. The contrast between the freedom of that bird out there and how she and those birds were trapped in that room with Lindsay trying to help…

I lifted up my headset, clicked open the email.

Hey Cathy, wasn’t sure about sending this one on to you cos, well, you’ll see why. Feel a bit bad sending it, gave me nightmares!! But then you’re tougher than me, not sure why it upsets me, nothing really bad happens in it but…I don’t know what to make of it. I’ve got an idea but you know what this place is like, you can’t go saying things if you haven’t got proper evidence!! If you could make sure you delete it after, that would be great!!! Let me know if you need any more help,

Lindsay

PS the Bird in it, you’ll know the one I mean, we took it to a sanctuary but it died after a fortnight. They couldn’t get it to eat and the noise it kept making…they said it was like it was pining. The noise it made…that was the thing I remember the most. Sorry! Not very cheery! Hope it helps tho!’

The quality of the video was worse than the first but that had more to do with the shaking of the person behind the camera than the camera itself. We were in someone’s hallway, Lindsay’s voice calling out, ‘Katy? Are you – is it alright if we…?’ and although nothing was happening I started to get this feeling of dread. It reminded me of Davey’s flat. A muffled rustling noise was coming from behind the door a few feet away and I put my hand up to my mouth to stifle any noise I made as Lindsay’s hand appeared, reaching up to push that door further open. 

‘…Katy?’ God love her, Lindsay kept going and I suspected it was the camera that got her through it, her knowing that it was her job, her responsibility to keep recording this, no matter what was waiting for her. 

That rustling, whirring noise again, the sound of wings. The door eased open revealing a living room that was a tip, pictures on the walls skew-whiff, the camera panning round quick to take in what was left of the front window, broken glass and ripped curtains, and there were wee birds, sparrows mostly, flying about with nothing like the calm of that seagull a few minutes ago. They were panicked, darting, flying into the walls, the ceiling, trying to get away from this creature, this thing that was trying to sit but it kept falling over on the carpet in front of the fireplace.

Although Lindsay called it a bird in her email, that only suggested what it looked like. Yes, it had a beak like a pelican’s and a long neck like a swan’s but it wasn’t holding its head up properly. While the other birds weren’t chirruping or tweeting this thing was trying to make a noise, a mewling that sounded as if it was trying to tell you something, the sound so awful you didn’t want to listen. It was covered in grey feathers and those were maybe knees tucked under its chest and it tried to raise its head again and the camera zoomed in on its eyes and I wished to fuck it hadn’t because those eyes weren’t the eyes of a bird, they were human –

– which is when I closed it down and decided I really, really needed a fag. 

*

When I got back I filled the rest of the day with ordinary stuff, trying to ignore the prickling sensation in my shoulders, the feel of feathers pushing their way up through the skin. I waited until the office was empty, the row o-f fluorescent lights above my head the only one left on, the rest of the place dark. I eased open my pedestal’s top drawer, feeling all Bond-like, and pulled out a pen drive. 

Ages ago Ish gave away free promotional stuff when the Heroes thing had started, including a few pen drives with a whole load of gigabyte space. I felt only slightly guilty when I slipped it into one of the USB sockets on my PC. After no alarms went off and I hoped a flashing red light hadn’t started up on the screen of some IT watchdog somewhere, I slid the video clip of Katy over on to it, deleted the original email. Then I brought up a few more records for my list of names and copied those ‘P.F.R.’ marked documents over too. 

Then – ‘Fucking hell!’ My desk phone rang, scaring the shit out of me. For one horrible, bowel-loosening moment I was convinced it was the Slorach but then I saw the caller ID, muttered, ‘You wee shit!’

‘Colin? Whaddya want? This had better be good, better be a bloody emergency!’

‘Woooooaaaah! Hey, sis, jus’ like, y’know, chill. What, you not been takin’ your pills or summat? And who’s this “Colin” dude of whom you speak? At the moment I’m a flowin’ in full Chunky Funkster mode, y’hear me?’

‘Jesus Christ Colin…I sure as hell hope you don’t go speaking to Social Services like this because if you do Mum’ll be in a home as soon as you can say, “Welcome to the Mothership”’.

Colin chuckled while I held the handset, shook it with both hands, pretending it was his neck.

‘Hey sis, you really need to get yourself along to one of my nights, listen to some cool choons, get yourself relaxed. I can get you some things to get you relaxed -’

‘Colin, remember this is a government phone-line, your calls may be recorded for training purposes,’ which was bullshit but it had the desired effect, his accent becoming more ‘Colin frae Dundee’ than ‘Chunky Funkster Here to Shake Yer Booty!’

‘Eh, oh, right, so, anyway, was just phoning to say that because I’ve got one of those shows I’m heading out along to Gordon’s – I mean – the Orgasmatron’s to go through his collection so if you get in and I’m not in -’

‘Wait, what, you’re what? But you know I’m not going to be there, I told you I’m meeting Ish tonight in, what, ten, no five minutes and the reason I’m meeting her tonight and the reason why we haven’t arranged the carer to come round is because you told me that you would be there to -’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know that, and it’s fine y’know, it’s cool cos Karla’s able to make it for an hour or so -’

‘It’s cool?! how much is that gonna cost, eh? You paying for the extra help? And what’s Mum going to do in the rest of the time? I can’t believe you’re ruining my -’

‘What you talking about? Nothing’s ruined, I’m only nipping down the road I’ll be back by ten and Mum, she’s fine, you know she’s been doing alright, she said she could do with the peace and quiet to get my costume sorted.’

‘Colin that is not. The. Point. Of course Mum says she’s going to be fine but she isn’t, is she and – what? What the fuck…a costume? You’ve got her sewing your costume?’

There followed muffled phone passing sounds and then Mum was on though still sounding muffled probably because Colin was holding the phone against her head because I could hear the chatter of the electric sewing machine which SHE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE USING BECAUSE IT PLAYED HAVOC WITH HER HANDS.

‘Mum, what are you doing? You’re not, you’re not doing his bloody cape for him, are you?’

‘Cathy, language! And would you stop fussing! Colin’s just next door practically, if anything happens I can send him a text and you’re not going to be out too late, are you?’

‘Well no, I’m not now, not if I’m going to be worrying about you trying to make it along to the toilet and collapsing or scalding yourself in the kitchen or -’

‘Right, well that’s that settled then – Colin – sorry! Och, stop fussing and just hand me that other reel will you – and Cathy, we’ll see you when we see you.’

‘But Mum, no, put Colin -’ but I was pleading against the dial tone. I stared blankly at the handset before slamming it back on the phone, resting my face in my hands for a while. Then I remembered the pen drive, snatched it out of my computer, stuffed it in my jeans pocket and knew it was time to get the hell out of there.