*****
Turns out home (whatever that means) is only a few hundred yards away, a modern flat in a modern block with garages underneath (at least we can hide the car), but it’s quite cool actually, brickwork and glass and metal and stuff and yeah, I can see myself here. I wonder where I actually live. Good question, come back to that later.
Whoa, and there’s a lift, modern and with touch buttons and speaking voices and everything. We glide smoothly up to the second floor, not the penthouse, shame, but there’s time yet.
Hmmm. Not sure about the décor though. Sparse and modern and cool, this is what I was looking for, I bet that’s what my place is like, but this is all brown, you know, dark brown, and light brown, and medium colour brown, with brown curtains and brown floors, well I guess they’re wood, but brown sofas! I mean, come on. I’m sure there must be some rules about this somewhere, like the maximum number of brown things that you’re allowed in a room, or what happens if you let people with no taste decorate. I mean, and there’s….
“Are you all right, Mark?” her voice is soft and gentle, and I realize that I don’t even know her name.
“You look like you’ve never been here before… what am I saying! You’re still in shock, aren’t you. Look, make yourself comfy, let me take your jacket, and I’ll fix us a nice drink, your favourite. Then you can tell me all about it.”
Before I know it I’m slouched on the sofa. Yeah, okay, comfortable enough at least, I’ll give it that. And then she’s sitting next to me, leaning over me, I can smell her perfume, and she’s putting a drink in my hand, I dread to think how awful it could be, Bailey’s, or even worse something like Amaretto. But it turns out I do have taste. It’s whisky, not my favourite, of course, but whisky nonetheless. And with a shaking hand I raise it to my lips and remember how life can be such sweet joy.
“So…” she starts, “tell me what happened…. If you’re ready to, of course.”
Hmmm. Another sip. “Well, why don’t you tell me what you heard, first, love?”
She looks slightly bemused for a second, but then “Okay, of course, sure.” She’s got a decent body, actually, but she needs to wear different stuff, not all that kind of middle aged gear.
“Well, it was probably three or four hours ago, just after lunch. I got a call from the hospital. Someone I didn’t know, a woman, I can’t remember her name. She said you’d been seeing a patient, a John… someone. And that you suddenly had convulsions, suddenly you were on the floor, she said they only found you because you tripped and the patient screamed and she came running, and they managed to get you to a bed just in time and …”
She pauses and takes a sip of her drink. Looks like orange juice, I wonder what’s in it.
“…And well, and, restart your heart. She told me that your heart just stopped, without any warning.” I think she’s sobbing again. She takes in deep breaths as she continues, “and they ran all sorts of tests, but there was nothing wrong. It just stopped.” Wow, she’s looking at me dolefully, I’m not sure I can handle that sort of look too much. But really, I’m thinking, kind of strange that Jane didn’t tell me this. Ah well, another strange thing in a strange day.
“Mark?”
Oh, she’s been talking to me. “Sorry?”
“Is that how you remember it… that is, if you don’t mind…” and she waits, patiently sipping on her drink. Vodka and Orange? It’s a bit clichéd really isn’t it.
“Erm, well, to be honest, love, I don’t really remember any of it.” Well that’s true at least. My voice doesn’t sound right, and, that’s it, of course… I need a cigarette. I glance round the room hopefully in search of a pack, of an ashtray.
“Why do you keep calling me love… You never call me love. Call me by my name.” Oh God, her eyes are glistening again.
Well, there’s a problem with that, you see…
Think, think quickly, John. I could make a name up. What does she look like? Quite smart, a bit fussy, very straight. I’m thinking Julie? No, too young. Sarah? Maybe. Not sure. Vanessa! Yes, that sounds right, maybe Van for short, in fact that could be quite cool and if I get it wrong I could always say I mixed her up with…. No, maybe that doesn’t work. It’s a bit risky. Mind you, I can’t remember much, maybe I could just say I’ve forgotten. Just come out with the truth. That’s right. Great plan. In fact, maybe I should tell her the truth about all of it. Just say right out, what happened. I’m not Mark, you see, I’m actually John, John Paris, the guy in the hospital who’s dying, and somehow I got switched over – (yeah, I’m going to have to come back to that one, still not entirely sure about that) – and then, well, hey here I am. But then what if she kicks me out of my flat? I mean, it’s not great, but at least, well, flat and car and probably some cash if I can… maybe it’s her flat, actually that may make more sense, may at least explain the decoration, well that could be a relief at least. Christ, what if, maybe we’re married? Nervously I glance down, thank god, no wedding ring. Right decision time, what am I going to call her
“I really need another drink, l…” stopping myself just in time, “I’m really well, you know, stressed.”
“Oh of course, darling” she says and pats my hand, “let me get you one.” And she’s up with my empty glass, and disappears into the kitchen, I’m guessing.
Right. Any way of finding out her name? or better still, a smoke? Which one first? Her name! No, I need a cig. Right, go. But then suddenly she’s back, and hands me a fairly small refill. At least there’s no ice in it.
“So” she whispers, “call me by my name. Call me Vanessa.”
I am just too good.
Kings of the Night Page 7