Chapter Three

The Oxford Office of Ophthalmic Health was a well hidden institution. Even for people with good eyesight. Many had walked past its unassuming entrance, but few had given the place a second glance, and fewer still had ever dared to venture inside. Those who were tempted, were ultimately discouraged by a faded, yet strangely intimidating sign on the old oak door which read, quite simply, ‘Beware of the Stoat’. The menacing creature depicted below was, in fact, a weasel, but few knew the difference. Especially without glasses.

The building’s unwelcoming design was deliberate. The Oxford Office of Ophthalmic Health was not a public institution, not a clinic, not even a professional body for those involved in the various branches of eye care. It was a special operations unit. A shadowy, undercover team of troubleshooters, operating under the radar of the National Health Service, and beyond the jurisdiction of any medical association. Its work was veiled in secrecy, as was its membership. Few even knew of its existence, although myths and legends abounded. The name of the Office was whispered in hushed tones amongst the higher echelons of ophthalmology, and to this day, eye surgeons, registrars and retinal consultants could occasionally be found huddled together in the corners of dimly lit rooms, quietly whispering that one forbidden word: “OOOH...”

For those who knew where to look (and there were few who did), the headquarters of OOOH could be found in a quiet backstreet, not far from the main Oxford branch of Lidl. It was a seven storey building, two of which were above ground, the others being constructed below the surface, partly in an effort to maintain secrecy, but mainly to keep the rooms dark enough for eye tests. There were no external signs declaring the nature of the building, or of those who worked inside. Grey men in black suits with brown shoes and read newspapers could occasionally be seen entering through side doors at odd hours, but nothing and no one ever aroused suspicion. The colourful clientele of the neighbouring Lidl provided a useful distraction from the nondescript men and women frequenting the office block nearby.

A large and reassuringly expensive black car with tinted windows was now speeding through the streets of Oxford, making for that building. At the wheel was Ivor Snellen. In the passenger seat, Bobby Macula.

Snellen turned to Bobby momentarily, and spoke. “Do you know Oxford at all?” he said. “Did you go to college here, by any chance?”

“I didn’t attend university,” Bobby said. “I was out there in the real world. Working hard. Earning a living. Feeding turtles.”

“I thought a degree was a requirement for most screening programmes?” said Snellen.

Bobby answered matter-of-factly. “A degree,” he said, “much like the notion of honesty in a job interview, is merely ‘desirable’.”

“I see,” came the curt response.

Silence followed the brief exchange. Bobby still felt somewhat shell-shocked to find himself in that car. Three hours earlier, he’d been quietly conducting a retinopathy screening clinic in the heart of East Anglia. How he’d come to agree to abandon both that clinic and his patients, and climb into the car of a man he’d met just minutes earlier, he had no idea. He suspected that the mysterious Ivor Snellen may have used some form of powerful and instant hypnosis on him, although, if he was honest, he’d always been easily led. As a child, he’d entered the homes of many strangers, and rarely found the puppies and kittens they’d promised to show him.

He should, perhaps, have learnt his lesson by now, but there was a part of Bobby which had always felt there was more to life. Something out there which he’d never quite discovered, and never fully seen, which was always just out of reach. He wasn’t quite sure how to find that special something, but he had a feeling that if it was ever going to be attainable, it would require some degree of risk-taking, of spontaneity, of impulsion. It would require him to stand up and be counted. To throw caution and convention to the wind. To say ‘Yes! To hell with common sense, I WILL come in to see your puppies!’. Although, with hindsight, he regretted saying that to Ivor Snellen in a hospital waiting room.

Nevertheless, it was that impulsive decision which had brought him to Oxford. That, and the black limo of Ivor Snellen. Bobby looked up. An illuminated sign appeared on the horizon, like the glorious light at the end of a long, dark tunnel, growing ominously larger as the vehicle sped towards it. The sign read ‘Lidl’.

“Almost there now,” said Snellen.

Bobby breathed deeply, a slight flutter of nervous excitement growing in his stomach. He didn’t know what lay ahead (apart from the Oxford branch of Lidl), but he had a feeling it might just change his life. If nothing else, he was going to be in trouble for walking out of a clinic without wiping down the surfaces and signing the infection control record. He wasn’t even sure he’d shut down the computer. There was, he decided, a very real chance that he might never be able to return.

Bobby resolved to live in the moment. The future was as uncertain as it could ever be, and the past was unchangeable. He’d made that impulsive decision, and he had to live with it. For now, he told himself, he would simply have to take things as they come. He took another deep breath and examined the interior of the car, attempting to ground himself by focusing on the minutiae of his surroundings. The leather trim, the walnut dash, the green Christmas tree air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. His eyes moved slowly from one to the next. The ivory gearstick knob, the leopard-print steering wheel cover, the grey-haired old lady eating barley sugars in the back seat.

Bobby shook his head despairingly and turned to Ivor Snellen. “I still can’t believe you brought her along.”

“You talking about me, love?” said Mavis Clutter from the back seat.

Bobby ignored her. “I thought I was the only one who could help with this matter of grave importance?”

“You are,” replied Snellen. “But I felt she might come in useful. She has...” He paused for a moment before continuing. “... abilities that you and I don’t.”

Bobby found that hard to believe, but he said nothing. The car swung left into a narrow backstreet, and Snellen brought the vehicle to a halt. Pressing a button on the dashboard, a light began to flash, and a grey garage door in the side of the building next to them slowly rolled upwards. Snellen waited for it to open to its fullest extent, then drove the car inside and turned off the engine.

“Right,” he said. “Let’s go.”