Sharp scratch, p.24
Sharp Scratch, page 24
Next, I came to the collection. I laid out the two new mementos on the pink glass tray. It felt good to secure them at last. Peace descended upon me as I arranged them in neat chronological order. At last the relics stood on their private altar. All was in its correct place in the universe.
Smiling, I lifted another gilt-framed photograph off the wall and held it close to my eyes, devouring every detail. Christie is on the left, still ungainly in cheap nylon and a hideous haircut, her expression rigid and awkward. Yet there is happiness, invisible yet radiant, suffusing her nineteen-year-old face.
And on her right-hand side, pushing in very close to her body, with her arm clasped around Christie’s waist, is her first and finest love. She is smiling so radiantly that the bottomless pupils of her eyes seem to penetrate the camera’s lens and connect with my own even now. It is interesting, too, that more than twenty years later the smooth vitality of her youth shines like polished silver.
I have come to understand that in our lives we can meet a single person who transforms us and whose spark of life can kindle a blaze in even the dreariest of existences.
I shivered in the unheated room. Replacing the photograph, I was renewed. The essence of the youthful Felicity Jardine never fails to renew my purpose.
Entitlement
Question 48: I will never be satisfied until I get everything that I deserve.
A. True
B. Uncertain
C. False
High score description (option A.): Inflated and pervasive sense of deservingness, self-importance, exaggerated expectations to receive special treatment without reciprocation.
Monday 14th March
She was determined about one thing: the general manager selection day must run exactly to schedule without any hitch or hold-up. By eight-fifteen on Monday morning Lorraine had set up the Personnel interview room for the psychometric tests. Diaz slipped in, shutting the door quietly behind him.
‘You all right?’ He was hovering, scrutinising her. She was dressed more smartly than usual, in a tight black skirt suit from Richard Shops, in the vague hope of acquiring some gravitas. The last thing she needed was this interruption. She backed away, unsettled by his nearness.
‘I will be so glad when today’s over with,’ she said with feeling.
She surveyed the four individual tables and chairs, each laid out with a sharpened pencil, working-out paper and eraser. The prospect of standing in front of the final four suspects made her stomach turn over.
‘How was Oxford?’
‘Good, in that I passed the exam. Not so brilliant in terms of what Doctor Lehman told me. Her briefing on psychopaths left me sleepless most of the night.’ She caught sight of the clock. ‘God, it’s nearly twenty past. I should be greeting everyone. I honestly haven’t got time now.’
‘So when will you have the results?’
‘The panel assemble at half nine. Tour of the hospital at ten. The tests are eleven till twelve-fifteen. Then Harvey’s insisted I fax them to be scored while everyone has lunch.’
‘So the results could be through by what – one o’clock?’
She felt herself blanch as she gathered a few stray papers. ‘I’m sure they’ll all be absolutely normal,’ she insisted.
He stepped closer and his eyes studied her face. ‘Relax. You’ll be great.’
Relax? Easy to say it. Today had to run like clockwork. She was trying to get past him when he reached for her hand and squeezed it. It felt comforting but she shook him off.
‘Listen, Lorraine.’
‘Not now, please.’
‘You need to know something. Brunt’s got a new lead on Raj Patel. We found something in the taxi tender file. Could be fraud. Brunt’s going at it like a bull in a china shop.’
The news made her feel suddenly sick. ‘It can’t be Raj – though the idiot might have got caught up in something stupid. I’d stake my career he didn’t kill Rose.’
‘Well, who did then?’
‘I may be wrong, but I’ve got an idea.’
He exhaled impatiently. ‘We’re under massive pressure to make an arrest. You’ll need hard evidence to counter the paper trail Patel has left behind him.’
With lips tight, she nodded and then thrust past him to get on with her job.
Downstairs in the boardroom, the interview panel had gathered in an obsequious circle around Marcus Challinor, the man rumoured to have the ear of Mrs Thatcher. Lorraine slipped into a corner of the room and watched the middle-aged men in suits as they mingled stiffly. The great man from Westminster was a preening individual with a slab of silver hair above a loose-lipped face. His voice was very soft, so that Lorraine had to pick up a few empty cups to get within eavesdropping distance. He was midway through an account of the Prime Minister’s plans to rationalise the health budget.
‘All a matter of eliminating waste, you understand. Of running a tight ship.’ There was a moralistic edge to his opinions. Hospitals, especially in the northern regions, were frittering taxpayers’ money on the undeserving sick who did nothing to help themselves. His audience replied with a chorus of ‘absolutely’ and ‘splendid’, and other emollient sounds.
Mr Challinor was also unhappy about the media attention the two murders had attracted. ‘How difficult can it be to make an arrest? How do you suppose the PM feels reading all these negative accounts in the press?’
No one felt able to summon an appropriate response.
Challinor lifted his coffee to his lips and visibly winced. ‘I am safe drinking this, I hope? No arsenic today?’
Too late, everyone realised this was a joke, albeit in appalling taste. A chorus of fake laughter erupted.
‘On second thoughts, I’ll pass on the coffee,’ he said, wrinkling his nose and putting his cup down.
Norman and Harvey nodded solemnly. Lorraine watched, cringing. It was ridiculous, this kow-towing mood.
For a moment Challinor admired his own shiny gold cufflinks and said, ‘Those other hospital sites, who are recruiting general managers from the open market, have had some excellent applications. Military men, merchant bankers, those sorts of fellows. That job profile you’ve put together—’ He looked for Harvey. ‘Won’t do. Too airy-fairy. It’s a new broom you need, not the same old dreary mop. Get the gist, do you, Wright?’
As Harvey nodded, she noticed a flush of anger beneath his golfing tan.
Ten minutes later Harvey found her. ‘There you are,’ he hissed. ‘For God’s sakes find some decent coffee. Attention to detail, Lorraine.’
From the corner of her eye she noticed Challinor jerk his head up, spotting her for the first time.
With a joyful sense of reprieve, Lorraine slipped out of the room and into the corridor. Before she had walked half a dozen steps a heavy hand dropped on her shoulder. Harvey had followed her. ‘Any news from the police about this manhunt yet? It’s a PR disaster.’
Treacherously, she chose not to share the confidential update on Raj. ‘Not that I know of.’
‘Hopeless. I take it you heard Challinor’s opinion of the profiles. He wants a tough character. Military-style. Give him what he wants. And it won’t hurt to crack a smile, Lorraine. A pleasant one, not a sarky one. Be nice to him.’
Yeah, and I’ll slip into something more comfortable while I’m at it, she was tempted to reply. Instead, she said, ‘I’m just off to fetch Mr Challinor a decent cup of coffee.’
‘And have you got the certificates?’
‘I’ve got Doctor Strang’s and Raj Patel’s replacements.’ She searched her satchel and found the newly reprinted certificates. She had looked at them only briefly and both looked so fresh and colourful she hoped they were genuine. ‘The Hospital Secretaries Association is defunct so Norman can’t replace his. And Felicity says there’s some sort of printing delay at the Royal College of Nursing.’
Inside Norman’s deserted office, she raided his VIP cupboard and found a jar of Nescafé and a packet of chocolate Hobnobs. Passing the boardroom again, she swung into the kitchenette and checked that everything was lined up ready for the next break: decent coffee, clean tray with lacy cloth, fresh milk, bowl of sugar, plate of biscuits.
The sound of the door latch made her look round. Challinor was standing at the threshold emitting sweet cologne. He looked at Lorraine with bemusement. ‘So you’re the coffee girl?’
‘I’m Lorraine Quick, Unit Personnel Officer. I’m administering the psychometric tests today.’ Then, indicating the Nescafé, she added, ‘I’ve just been hunting down some coffee for you.’
He smiled, showing square yellow teeth. ‘Good girl. I was beginning to wonder if caffeine existed up here.’
‘Well, the best coffee place around here is the Kardomah in Manchester.’
Challinor continued watching her, his pinstriped girth blocking the door.
‘Mmm. Perhaps you could spare the time to show me the sights?’ His voice had assumed an oily texture. ‘I’m staying at the Midland Hotel tonight. A drink at this famous café perhaps? A chat about career opportunities?’
Smile, Harvey had told her. The best she could manage was a grimace that spread stiffly across her face. ‘Oh, I am sorry. It’s band practice tonight. I can’t miss it.’
‘A band? Would that be a brass band?’
Fuck smiling. She allowed herself a perplexed frown at his stupidity. What a tosser. ‘No. A new wave band.’
‘Ah, pity.’ He was looking at the opening to her blouse. ‘I could see you in some sort of – tasselled outfit.’
‘Right,’ she said coolly. ‘I’d better go upstairs and get the tests started.’
The reptile didn’t even move out of the way. It was the old trick. She would have to press her body against his to escape.
‘Would you please excuse me?’ she said very loudly. ‘I can’t get on with my job unless you let me get past.’
Faking Good
Question 49: I am never bothered by stress when I think of all my responsibilities.
A. True
B. Uncertain
C. False
High score description (option A.): The test-taker may intentionally be presenting a socially desirable picture of themselves, deliberately giving false answers, ‘faking good’.
As the hand of the clock reached exactly eleven, she stood in front of the four candidates in the interview room and spoke clearly from her notes.
‘From now on, please do not talk amongst yourselves, but ask me if anything is not clear. We shall be doing three tests. A numerical test, a verbal test and a personality test. First, locate the numerical test in the blue booklet. Please print your name on the answer sheet provided. This test is designed to assess your ability to work with numbers. Each question has six possible answers. One and only one is correct in each case.’
‘Time is short, so work as quickly and as accurately as you can. There are a total of twenty-five questions and you have twenty minutes in which to attempt them. Is everyone clear about how to do this test?’
No one spoke. Everyone had picked up their pencils. ‘Please turn over the page and begin.’
As she uttered ‘begin’ she clicked on a stopwatch.
The invigilation period was her first chance to take a proper look at Raj. He had turned up looking a bit of a dork in a shiny suit with a blue silk tie and matching handkerchief puffed up in his pocket. She wondered if he had already been interrogated that morning; he was sweating in the way that paunchy men often did when under pressure. Sitting beside him, Doctor Strang soon had his head bowed and his pencil busy. Norman had got off to a bad start. He dropped his pencil twice and got in a fluster as he retrieved it. He had turned up in some sort of regimental tie and an ancient double-breasted pinstripe. As for Felicity, she was frowning but working steadily. Her navy-blue skirt suit had over-sized military brass buttons. The ageing cleavage was peeping out thanks to a low-cut ruffled blouse. Lorraine wondered what Challinor made of her display.
In no time the numerical test was over and she swapped it for the verbal ability test, giving another short speech and then timing the session to the second. This time Raj was in difficulty, his bitten fingernails disappearing into his mouth. She wondered if the test might be discriminatory if the candidate had been educated in Delhi. Even worse, a few questions seemed designed to upset anyone placed under police suspicion.
Then again, Norman was also squirming and continually adjusting his spectacles. No, surely fidgeting was normal? According to Doctor Lehman’s analysis, if the killer was present he or she would be entirely unperturbed.
Doctor Strang was sitting in the posture of the class clever-clogs, hunched defensively, his elbow curled secretively around his work. Felicity was more poised, erect and precise, her auburn coiffured head very still as she worked down the sheets.
Lorraine had to steady her nerves as the start time of the third test approached. Here it was at last, the PX60, a series of seemingly random questions that might nonetheless catch a malign personality. Lorraine dealt out the booklets and answer sheets and then introduced the test, consciously slowing her breathing and hoping her voice wouldn’t shake. This was the most important introduction of the three tests. Unsurprisingly, candidates were often deeply resistant to what looked like a mishmash of inane statements. Her tone of voice and choice of words were crucial in gaining the candidates’ confidence.
‘The next and final questionnaire is an objective test devised over many decades of psychological research. Most of the questions have no right or wrong answers because people have the right to their own opinions. All you have to do is answer what is true for you. Please read the examples and think about how you would answer them.’
The four preliminary examples were uncontroversial and, to her relief, no one asked any questions.
‘Very well. Give the first, most natural answer that occurs to you. Please turn over the page and begin.’
Lorraine sat down again in a hot wave of relief. Downstairs Diaz would be waiting for these results. So would Doctor Lehman over in Oxford. And then there was Harvey, who was ill-tempered and snappy this morning. She guessed Harvey knew about her forthcoming disciplinary and might even have instigated it. He was slippery; he hadn’t got to his dizzy position by exercising openness and honesty.
For a long time, the wall clock seemed stuck at eleven fifty-nine. She noticed the candidates were less stressed by this test, perhaps because she’d told them there were officially no right or wrong answers. Her mind wandered back to Harvey. She had sent him a test but he had not returned it. Sitting in the overheated room, she asked herself for the first time, why not?
Time crawled on until the clock displayed fourteen minutes past noon. Felicity appeared calm and good-natured, waiting to be dismissed. Doctor Strang and Raj were hastily checking through their answers, while Norman was still working feverishly. Now that she was here, about to mark the tests, it felt ludicrous to harbour any suspicions of these familiar colleagues.
‘Please stop writing now,’ she announced. ‘Lay down your pencils and close your booklet.’
She managed a shaky smile. ‘Please leave your scoresheets. You are free to go. Lunch will be served in the doctors’ dining room.’
Lorraine was alone with the answer sheets. Rapidly she hand-scored the numerical and verbal tests, fearing that if the personality test told her anything too dramatic her powers of concentration might fail her. The numerical test results were roughly as she’d expected:
Raj Patel 96
Victor Strang 92
Norman Pilling 65
Felicity Jardine 51
‘Good for you, Raj,’ she muttered to herself. She made a note to remind Harvey that Raj and Doctor Strang had both performed exceptionally well, placing them within the top 2.4% of the population in numerical ability. Felicity’s score was little better than an absolute average. To be fair, she had probably not been taught maths with any competence. Now those disadvantages were biting back at her. It was certainly a moot point whether she had the ability to argue complex budgets with the medical fraternity.
The verbal tests were slightly more surprising:
Victor Strang 92
Felicity Jardine 74
Norman Pilling 72
Raj Patel 46
Raj had performed very badly. She had no idea of his first language and could have kicked herself for not finding out if special norms existed for candidates for whom English was learnt later in life. The remaining three, especially Victor Strang, had all scored respectably well, indicating no problems with communication and persuasiveness. Her mind flashed back to Felicity’s carping about Norman’s declining mental capacity. According to this objective test she was dead wrong. He still had well above average ability in verbal communication.
At last she laid out the answer sheets for the PX60 personality test in a line across the table. She had arranged with Doctor Lehman to fax the scores straight to her, to be computer marked, but now the moment had come she couldn’t wait that long to find out. If she scored them by hand, a secret preview would take no more than ten minutes.
