Entering the room, I closed the door quietly behind me. The smell of cigarettes and coffee instantly pummelled my nose. Godsake! Didn't the man believe in cracking a window to let in some fresh air? I turned round, taking in the tiny room at a glance. There were no windows. That explained a lot. How could Gideon stand to work in an office with no windows? The man himself was poring over some papers on his desk. He leaned back in his chair the moment he heard me move further into the room. Now I was close to him, I saw he had short black hair, carefully shaped around his face and ears like it had been measured using a ruler before being precision cut. His face and jaw were square, his lips thin like he was too mean to show any more than he had to. This was the closest I'd been to him. Too many other people had been in the way at Rebecca's party.
I stood. He stared. He stared. I stood.
'Have a seat, Tobey,' said Gideon, his eyes narrowing.
I sat.
'I'll get right to it,' he began.
No chance of a cup of coffee then?
'This thing between you and my sister has to stop.'
Or a chocolate biscuit or two? No? Oh well!
'Rebecca and I are just friends,' I began.
'I'm not interested in your view of your relationship,' Gideon interrupted. 'Rebecca is getting too attached to you and I won't have it.'
I sat back in my chair. 'Don't you think Rebecca is old enough to make her own decisions?' I asked.
'Of course not. Rebecca is totally naïve. She thinks everyone is who or what they say they are.'
Now just what did he mean by that?
'With me, what you see is what you get,' I replied.
'Tobey, this isn't a debate. You're to leave my sister alone. Quite frankly, she can do a lot better.'
'We're just having the odd meal together or trip to the cinema,' I tried. 'We're not doing any harm.'
'I don't want to hear it. I'm telling you to stay away from my sister.'
'And what does Rebecca say about all this?' I said.
Gideon looked me up and down, like he was seeing me for the very first time. 'Tobey, you don't want me as your enemy. You really don't. If you don't back off, you're out. And I can make it impossible for you to get any kind of job, anywhere – and that's just for starters.'
'I know that, Mr Dowd.'
'So what's it to be?'
I shrugged. 'No contest.'
Gideon smiled for the first time since I'd entered the room. 'I knew you'd make the right decision. You may go back to work now.'
Gideon bent his head, returning to his papers. I stood up and started to unbutton my waistcoat. It was only as I was pulling it off that Gideon noticed I was still in his office.
'What d'you think you're doing?' He frowned at me.
Saying goodbye to my university fund.
'You told me to choose between my job and Rebecca,' I said, laying my waistcoat on Gideon's desk. I took off my bow tie and placed it on top of the waistcoat. 'So I've chosen.'
Gideon's eyes narrowed. 'Tobey, you've just made the biggest mistake of your life,' he said softly.
No chance of a job reference then?
I left the room.
forty-three
Hi, Callie,
How're you feeling today? You look much better, babe, like you're only sleeping. A sleeping beauty. Godsake! I'm getting frickin' mushy. But at least most of the tubes going into your mouth and into your veins have now gone. That's a good sign – right? So you must be getting better. You're just not . . . waking up. Not yet. But you will. You have to.
I miss you so much, Callie. So much. I wish you were awake so I could tell you everything that's happened since you were . . . you were brought into hospital. I need to talk to you. You're the only one who'd understand what I've been going through, what I'm trying to do. Trouble is, I'm not sure who I am any more. I need you to remind me.
Now when I look in the mirror, a stranger stares back at me. I only feel like I'm me, the real me, when I'm in this room with you. I can't help wondering what you would say or do if you knew what I was up to. Would you try to stop me? Or would you urge me on? Six months ago, I would've said I knew the answer. Now I'm not so sure.
Your hand is warm in mine. We kind of fit together, don't we, Callie? Like a two-piece jigsaw puzzle.
Oh my God! You squeezed my hand. I felt it. You definitely squeezed my hand. Open your eyes, babe. Please, just open your eyes and look at me.
Please.
OK then. Small steps. Maybe you're not ready to open your eyes yet, but you definitely squeezed my hand.
Small steps.
Promise me something, Callie. Promise me that when you do open your eyes, you'll recognize me. I couldn't bear it if you of all people didn't recognize me.
forty-four
The body of Ross Resnick, the manager of the well-known restaurant – Thanks For The Memories – was found in woodland this morning by two campers. Although Ross Resnick had been missing for over a month, initial forensic examinations revealed that he had only been dead for three or four days. The cause of death has not yet been established. Ross Resnick's wife, Louise, recently . . .
I switched off my phone. I didn't want to read any more news. I stared out of the bus window, watching the rest of the world pass by without a care in the world – at least that's how it felt. I was on my way home and I couldn't wait to get there. I just wanted to crawl into bed and hide away.
I no longer had a job at TFTM, but it didn't matter because the object of that exercise was to make contact with Owen Dowd. Working there and earning some extra money had just been a bonus. Meeting Rebecca had been a windfall. An innocuous date or two had turned into my sure-fire way of getting information about her family. I'd made a couple of deliveries for McAuley, but nothing I couldn't walk away from. At least that's what I'd told myself.
But now McAuley wanted more from me. He wanted to know the identity of the copper owned by the Dowds. I'd dangled that carrot in front of him because it was all I had. But all I'd gained was McAuley snapping at my heels for more. And I didn't have any more, nor the first clue how to rectify that.
And Ross Resnick was dead.
I didn't even know the man and yet somehow his death weighed heavily on me. Was he the one making all that noise in the upstairs room when Dan and I had visited McAuley's house? I'd suspected then, as I suspected now, that it had been him. And if Ross had been the one upstairs, he was probably bound and gagged and worse.
What else had they done to him before he died?
It didn't bear thinking about, but I couldn't get the question out of my head. I told myself all this was just guesswork on my part. I told myself a lot of things. But inside I knew Louise Resnick's husband had been alive and in the upstairs room when I heard the scraping noise. Could I have prevented his death if I'd just phoned the police? Ross was no saint – he worked for the Dowds and they were just as bad as McAuley. But did anyone deserve to die the way he had – in pain and alone? Before Callie got shot, I'd've said an emphatic no.
Not any more.
And that scared me.
Once I got home, I headed straight for my room. I stripped off and crawled into bed, knowing that I'd have trouble sleeping. And I was right. Sleep and I remained strangers. I lay awake for the best part of the night, trying to see beyond my desire for retribution. Maybe Gideon was right about my making a mistake . . . And what about Rebecca? She was OK, much nicer than I expected her to be. What right did I have to drag her into the middle of all this? Especially as Callie was getting stronger every day. She'd squeezed my hand earlier, I was sure of it. If only I could clear my head of the image of Callie looking down at me, blood spilling out over her chest, then maybe I could let all this go. Maybe.
I had to find a way to walk away. I wanted to be around when Callie woke up. She needed me, almost as much as I needed her. I groaned inwardly as I thought of the day's events. Ross Resnick had lost his life. I'd lost my job. My problems were trivial by comparison.
I'd quit my job at TFTM . . . Even now, part of me couldn't believe what I'd done. When I walked out of Gideon Dowd's office, I'd practically broken my arm trying to pat myself on the back. But now reality had set in. I mean, dramatic gestures were all very well, but what if Rebecca bowed to her brother's demands and decided not to see me again? Why did that thought bother me so much? It wasn't as if I was attracted to her or anything, but I liked her friendship. Or was it something more basic than that? Did I really like her friendship, or was it just useful? And if the answer was the latter, what did that make me? A man on a mission? Or a user like everyone else?
Rebecca always picked me up after work to drive me home so she had to be aware that I'd lost my job, but she hadn't tried to phone me. Maybe that was the end of that, but I didn't want to think so. She liked me, really liked me. That was flattering in itself. And I liked her company. So I'd give her a day and if I didn't hear anything, then I'd phone her for a chat. Perhaps I'd invite her out to dinner or maybe a film. No big deal.
And if she said no?
I'd dance across that bridge if and when I got to it.
I finally fell asleep, my head full of Rebecca, my heart full of Callie Rose.
I awoke the next morning far earlier than usual, and I still had no answers.
Let it go,Tobey.
Walk away from the Dowds and McAuley and that world – before it was too late. I headed straight for the shower to try and make sure I got my share of the hot water, but I needn't have bothered. Mum's bedroom door was open so she'd already left for the day. And there was no music or TV blasting so Jessica must've gone to college. Sweet! I had the house to myself, just the way I liked it.
I got myself a fresh towel from the airing cupboard and headed towards the bathroom. I glanced down at my pyjama bottoms doubtfully. Should I put them in the laundry basket or did they have another few days of wear left in them? I decided to keep wearing them. These ones were just moulding nicely to my body shape. I opened the bathroom door. Jessica was sitting on the floor, her back against the bath tub.
'Godsake, Jess. Suppose I'd walked in here naked? I thought you'd . . . gone . . .'
On the lowered toilet lid sat Mum's best teapot, plus a cook's blowtorch from one of the kitchen cupboards. A faint coil of smoke, like a dying mist, emerged from the teapot spout.
What the hell . . . ?
'Jessica . . . ?' My whisper of disbelief somehow got through to her. Her eyelids fluttered open and she looked at me, her pupils the size of pinpricks, her gaze unfocused.
Jessica opened her mouth to say something, but the words got lost somewhere in her head. She blinked twice like her eyelids weighed as much as her entire body, then she closed her eyes. She slumped over and would have hit the floor if I hadn't been there to catch her. Propping her up with one hand, I took the lid off the teapot with the other. A dark-brown stain coated the bottom of the pot. An unfamiliar smell wafted up to greet me. Vinegar . . . I looked at the cook's blowtorch and the teapot and my sister, and only then did I realize what I was seeing. And even then I still couldn't believe it.
What had she taken? From the look of it, Jess was smoking junk. But she couldn't, she wouldn't be that stupid. I looked round the base of the toilet then checked the bin. A crumpled piece of paper, like a waxed sweet wrapper, lay on top of all the other rubbish. She hadn't even tried to hide it. I picked up the wrapper and gingerly raised it to my nose. There was no smell to it. I guessed you had to burn the stuff to get the vinegary smell. I'm sure we were told at school that heroin gave off a sweet smell. Maybe it depended on the type. The inside of the wrapper was sticky, gummy beneath my tentative finger. What had Jessica mixed this stuff with? Crumpling up the wrapper, I dropped it back in the bin, vigorously wiping my fingers on the legs of my pyjamas.
Jessica was using. How long had she been doing this? And how had both Mum and I missed it? Should I phone for an ambulance? Was this a normal state for a drug-taker or had she overdosed? I tried to think back to the drugs education lessons we'd had when I was thirteen. Wasn't it harder to overdose by inhaling junk rather than injecting? Harder, yes, but by no means impossible. I hadn't paid much attention to the lessons at the time. I was sure I'd never be stupid enough to chase the dragon or inject or snort or any of that other stuff, so why bother listening? Now I wished I'd listened to each and every word the teacher had said. Was Jessica going to be OK? I had no way of knowing. The teapot sat there, mocking me. Me and my deliveries.
'Jess, open your eyes. Come on, Jess. Just open your eyes,' I begged.
I shook her and gently patted her face. Her eyelids fluttered open, a spark of recognition in her eyes. Without warning, she launched herself at the toilet bowl. The torch clattered to the floor and I only just caught the teapot as the toilet seat was pushed up out of the way before Jessica puked her guts out. Squatting down, stroking Jessica's back, I pulled her hair back off her face. She closed her eyes and slumped back against me. She was out of it again.
My sister was still breathing and her pulse seemed steady, but that was it. That did it. Time to phone for an ambulance. I couldn't take the chance of Jessica having a bad reaction to the stuff she'd inhaled – or vomiting again whilst she was unconscious. My thoughts must've communicated themselves to my sister, 'cause she opened her eyes. Coffee. Should I make some coffee? No, that was for hangovers. Godsake! Exactly what use would coffee be to my sister now? I wasn't thinking straight.
'Jess, listen. When did you use this stuff ? Five minutes ago? An hour ago? When?'
I might as well be talking Martian for all the good it did me. It couldn't've been that long ago, not if the smoke was still coming out of the spout when I entered the room. I checked Jessica's arms. No needle marks. At least she wasn't shooting up. Yet.
Mum. Should I phone Mum? That's right, Tobey – this is all Mum needs to brighten her day. I wouldn't phone her unless it was absolutely necessary. But suppose Jess collapsed whilst I was dithering about desperately trying to make up my mind what I should do? Godsake, what did I know about drugs and all that stuff?
Don't shoot me, I'm only the delivery boy.
Just let my sister shoot up instead.
It was useless to say sorry and even more useless to think it, no matter how heartfelt. I looked at my sister and it was like every blood cell had turned into tiny shards of razorsharp glass which were now dragging their way through my veins. Useless or not, I had to say it.
'Jess, I'm sorry.'
I checked her pulse and breathing again. Slow but steady.
'Jess, open your eyes,' I ordered when she tried to slump again. 'Jess, look at me.'
Godsake. How much of the stuff did she inhale?
I thought of all those half days in and full days off Jessica was always claiming to have. Is this what she'd been doing with all that time at home? Did she still have her job? Or did she just spend her days inhaling Meadowview Oblivion – or MO, as it was known around here? Two friends I'd known since primary school were addicted to MO, but I never for one second thought my sister had joined them. I still couldn't quite understand how I hadn't noticed what was going on. But then, what did I expect? I'd been so wrapped up in other things, I wouldn't've noticed if she'd sprouted another head in the last few weeks. Guiltily, I remembered that I hadn't even bothered to wish her luck in her exam – even though I'd known how important it was to her that she passed.
What should I do?
If I phoned for an ambulance, Mum would find out. But maybe that's what my sister needed – for Mum to find out and help her. My head was spinning. What to do for the best? Jess's eyes were open, she was looking at me.
'Jess, I'm going to phone Mum.'
Jess slowly shook her head. 'No,' she whispered. 'Please.'
'Jess, she needs to know.'
'No. Promise.'
I started to shake my head.
'Promise,' Jessica urged.
'OK,' I replied reluctantly.
'Promise.'
'I . . . I pro
mise.'
'Y-you should . . . sh-should be asleep.' Jess's eyelids kept fluttering shut.
And I would've been if I'd still been working at TFTM. Getting home late from that job meant that I slept until past noon each day. Was that what Jessica had been relying on? She wasn't to know that I'd lost my job. Early to bed meant early to rise. Too early as far as my sister was concerned. I sat on the floor with her, cradling her in my arms as I waited for her to come out of it. There was nothing else I could do.
Deliveries.
forty-five
When my legs threatened to die under me from sitting on the cold bathroom floor for so long, I managed to stand up and half carry, half drag my sister to her bedroom. She was totally lethargic. Laying her on the bed, I covered her with the duvet. I sat down next to her and kept watch all morning. The house was so quiet, it didn't feel right. Jessica went from fitful sleep to long moments when she didn't appear to be breathing at all. I had to keep getting up to take her pulse or put my ear to her nose to feel her breath against my skin. It was only around midday that she finally started sleeping normally. I had to risk leaving her alone so I could have a shower and tidy up before Mum came home, but I popped into her room every few minutes to check on her.
I vacuumed the whole house, tidied the kitchen and the bathroom and scrubbed out the teapot. Mum only broke out this particular teapot once or twice a year, but I didn't fancy the idea of any of our elderly relatives getting high or, more likely, poisoned. A teapot . . . Godsake! Just what did my sister think she was doing? All I could do was hope that Jessica hadn't peed the bed or puked or done anything else that would be a dead giveaway. Whilst she was asleep, I searched through my sister's wardrobe, then her chest of drawers. In the right-hand corner of her bottom drawer, at the back, were two more wrappers. I opened one up. It contained a grey-brown lump, about the size of a chewy mint. Even though I'd heard all about the stuff – and who hadn't, living in Meadowview? – I'd never seen it up close and personal like this before. I tried to remember all I knew about this stuff, the different kinds manufactured around the world. It was sticky, highly addictive, extremely potent – that's about all that came to mind. The wrapper shook in my hands. I searched around for more paper wrappers in Jessica's bottom drawer, but there were no more. Heading for the bathroom, I emptied the contents of the two wrappers down the loo, dropping the wrappers in after them. I flushed the toilet, but whilst the contents disappeared, the wrappers didn't. It wasn't going to be that easy. A second flush, and then a third, and the waxy wrappers still wouldn't go down. They just floated on top of the water. I ended up having to stick my hand down into the toilet bowl to retrieve them before Mum came home and saw them. I washed my hands over and over for a good five minutes afterwards, but they still felt dirty. I sat on the toilet lid for ages, just trying to think straight.
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