Very Nearly Dead

by A K Reynolds

  To divert my thoughts from alcohol, I took a book into the front room and tried to read, but found I couldn’t because I was too fidgety, so I switched on the television. I put it on just in time to catch the local news show.

  The first story which aired got me sitting straight up in my seat, because it was about one of my old muckers from school – Stuart Foss. He’d been present at the incident we’d all been covering up for eighteen years, and he was dead, just like Charlie, and seemingly he’d died in a similar way to Charlie. He’d been found by a neighbour in his own home, where he lived alone. He hadn’t been seen for a while, and someone had noticed a bad smell coming from his house. The neighbour who discovered him broke in and found Stuart slumped in an armchair. It was too early to tell what’d killed him – but I was willing to guess it was the same drug which had killed Charlie, and – I was becoming more certain of this – which had been used in the attempt on my life.

  It made me wonder whether something I’d feared for a long time was at last happening: namely, that Seth was eliminating all the witnesses to the incident we’d both been involved in, to ensure his own safety. If so, I could be next in line for the chop. I’d been lucky once. I was unlikely to have the same good luck the second time around.

  What was prompting him to do it now, after all these years? Presumably something had spooked him, made him think that one or more of us couldn’t be trusted to keep his – or her – mouth shut anymore. The baseball bats Charlie and I had received would be a typical Seth touch. He’d always been one for pranks of various kinds. I wondered if he’d sent one to Stuart.

  The rest of the day passed in a frenzy of cleaning, tidying, dusting, clothes-washing, and ironing to keep my mind off things. By 5.30pm I’d cleaned everywhere, including the kitchen cupboards, skirting boards, and even behind the books on my bookshelves.

  When I was done with housework I felt hungry and opened the fridge, intending to get something to eat. Then I had a thought: my provisions had the potential to kill me if there was, as I suspected, a poisoner out to get me. I resolved that while I was at home in future, I’d eat nothing I kept in the house unless it came out of a virgin packet, and drink nothing unless it came from a bottle which hadn’t been opened. If I half-finished a bottle and left it, I wouldn’t drink it.

  As most of my meals were ready meals, and I generally finished a bottle of wine once I’d opened it, this resolution didn’t necessitate any drastic lifestyle changes on my part.

  I also decided that if I ate or drank anything while I was out and about, I’d keep an eye on it to make sure it wasn’t tampered with.

  For added protection I’d start using the lock the previous owner of my house had installed on the bedroom door. I’d always thought of her as a paranoid bitch, but now I felt more in tune with her way of seeing things.

  I fished a shepherd’s pie ready meal from the fridge and checked the packaging. It looked sound, so I microwaved it and got it eaten.

  While I was washing up, an all-too-familiar panic gripped my insides. It was something I’d had many times before, a sort of floating anxiety which would catch me unawares and put me totally on edge. I needed a drink to sort myself out. I reminded myself about my pledge to stay dry, if only for a day, put on my coat, and wandered out into the dusk, in the hope a walk would help me calm down.

  The walk didn’t do the trick, and by the time I was passing a bar known as The Alma – the window of which showed how pleasingly illuminated the interior was – I was gagging for a drink. It was impossible for me to walk past the door, so I pushed it open and went inside. It was buzzing with the after-work crowd. The hubbub of excited conversation in the air gave me an instant lift, but it didn’t lift me enough, so I sidled up to the bar and bought a half-pint of a rather warming stout, perfect for this cool spring night. Just one, I told myself, that’s all I need to keep sane. One became two, two became three, and after that I was on the red wine.

  I tried to keep my pledge to myself to make sure my drinks weren’t tampered with, but I doubt I watched them too closely because the rest of the night passed by in a crazy whirlpool of events, none of which I remembered when I woke up. Which was why I was surprised to find myself sharing a bed with someone else. I found out when he moved and woke me up. At least I was in my own bed – I knew, because the freshly-laundered sheets smelled of the fabric softener I used.

  As for the person in my bed, I had no idea who he was. I was curled up on my side and he was in a spoon position behind me, one arm over my body. His hand began moving, stroking first my arm, then my belly. I rolled over to face him as it didn’t feel right being groped by a stranger.

  The man looking at me had a smooth, firm face devoid of the ravages that only experience can inflict, and I realised with a shock he was at least a decade younger than me. He was good-looking, too, with chiselled features and clear blue eyes, which made me wonder if I wasn’t so much of a dog as I was accustomed to thinking I was.

  His name came to me from somewhere in the drink-clouded recesses of my mind. ‘Listen, Jake, I don’t think we should be doing this,’ I said.

  He smiled and I had to admit to myself he had a winning smile.

  ‘Doing what?’ he asked.

  ‘You know,’ I said, trying to strike a balance between dignified and easy-going, ‘sex.’

  His smile broadened into a filthy grin. ‘That’s not what you said last night.’

  I felt myself reddening like a naïve virgin. ‘Last night I was drunk,’ I snapped. ‘Today I’m sober and my head’s throbbing.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘no worries.’ He got out of bed and as I watched him put on his black boxer shorts, I couldn’t help but notice how lean and muscular he was, not to say desirable, and wondered if I’d had a good time with him. I wished I could remember.

  ‘I’d like to see you again when you’re in a better mood,’ he said, pulling on his jeans.

  ‘Not so fast,’ I replied then I fed him the classic line: ‘I’m old enough to be your mum.’

  He shook his head, laughing. ‘No you’re not, I’m older than I look.’

  He pulled his T-shirt over his crew-cut head and put a check shirt over it, unbuttoned, with a navy jacket over the shirt.

  ‘How old are you then?’

  ‘Nineteen,’ he replied, as he put on a pair of Vans, completing his ensemble. It was a good look, particularly the trainers. I’ve always had a weakness for Vans.

  But what was I doing with a man – I worked it out – fifteen years my junior? – I’d become a cradle-snatcher, and flattering though it was in some ways, it was embarrassing in too many others to contemplate.

  I rolled my eyes.

  ‘You insisted on locking the bedroom door last night,’ he said, turning the key. ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘No reason. It’s just a silly habit of mine. When you’re a woman living alone, you can’t be too careful.’

  ‘I’ll call you,’ he said as he left the bedroom.

  ‘What?’ I shouted after him.

  ‘I’ll call you!’ He shouted, descending the steps. ‘Last night you gave me your number!’

  I lay there for a while wondering who, or what, I’d gotten myself involved with, and what I was going to say if he carried out his threat to call me. Probably thanks, but no thanks, or something of the sort.

  Then it hit me that I was a jobless alcoholic who’d run down her victim and left him lying in the road, and was being hunted by someone who – it seemed – was intent on killing her. I spent the next ten minutes sobbing uncontrollably before I somehow pulled myself together.

  Jake had woken me up earlier than I would’ve wanted, but I couldn’t sleep so there was no point staying in bed. I got up and stood under the shower. I could only hope I’d find the courage to face the rest of the day, and survive whatever evil it might bring.

  7

  Way Back When

  I lay awake in the spare bed next to Kylie’s, worrying that I’d never be ab
le to properly kiss Tony or any other man, and even if I crossed that hurdle, I wouldn’t be able to have sex with him. Then what? He’d tell my friends and they’d laugh at me. Or some of them would, anyway. Others would pity me. I could never let that happen. But how could I avoid it? Finish with Tony now before it all gets out of hand? I liked him too much.

  There’s nothing for it, I told myself. I’ll have to carry on seeing him. But I have to minimise the fall-out if it goes horribly wrong, lead a separate life with Tony. I won’t ever introduce him to my friends. I knew he’d understand, because people from his school and mine never mixed, being sworn enemies.

  It’ll ensure he won’t be able to tell my friends anything about me if we split up. The worst that could happen is rumours might reach them which I’ll deny.

  Hopefully Tony isn’t the sort who’d kiss and tell, or not kiss and tell in my case. He doesn’t seem to be. But you can’t be too careful.

  The following morning I woke up before Kylie, in spite of the fact I’d taken ages to get to sleep. I lay in bed fretting about things until she opened her eyes, put her hands over them, and said, ‘My head, oh my God, my poor head. What have I done to it?’

  ‘Headache?’

  ‘I’ve got the mother of all headaches. Can you go ask my mum to give you some paracetamol for me, please?’

  I went downstairs and found her mum in the kitchen, cleaning. Everywhere was spotless.

  ‘Er, can I have a couple of paracetamol and a glass of water please?’ I asked.

  She looked at me and frowned. ‘For you or for Kylie?’ she asked.

  I opened my mouth to say ‘for me’, to keep Kylie in her mum’s good books as far as possible, but before I could get the words out of my mouth she shook her head and said, ‘Don’t tell me, I already know.’

  She gave me two paracetamol and a glass of water which I took upstairs. Kylie sat up in bed, put the paracetamol in her mouth, and eagerly rinsed them down with the contents of the glass. ‘I have this feeling,’ she said, putting the glass on her bedside table.

  ‘What sort of feeling?’

  Her eyebrows knitted together forming furrows on her forehead. ‘About Seth. I like him, but I wonder if he’s cheating on me, and if I should finish with him.’

  I sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Where’s this come from?’

  Her eyes glistened with tears which weren’t quite ready to run down her face. ‘Sometimes he says he can’t see me, and when I ask why, he clams up. It’s as if he’s hiding something.’

  I’d often wondered if Seth was a player. He was always so self-assured, as if he thought he could have any girl he wanted just when he wanted her. But I didn’t want to tell Kylie how I felt – she might tell Seth and he’d think I was trying to put her off him, and then he’d freeze me out of his gang.

  ‘You’ve never mentioned it before.’

  ‘I wanted to pretend everything was good, but I can’t anymore, not after last night.’

  ‘Why? What happened last night?’

  ‘He was so evasive. There’s something else.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I didn’t want to have sex with him but then I got drunk and we ended up in bed together.’

  This revelation saddened me and I decided to risk sharing with Kylie some of my misgivings about him. ‘Kylie, you like Seth but he has his faults. He might not be right for you. If he’s not making you happy, you shouldn’t have sex with him. You should end it.’

  She nodded. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I should. I tried to last night, but couldn’t get the words out. I love him too much. I’m in too deep.’

  I knew how she felt. I’d fallen into a deep well of my own I couldn’t get out of. My secret had hold of my legs and was dragging me down deeper. There was no escaping it. I wondered if Tony might be able to stop me from drowning but it seemed a forlorn hope, especially when I saw him next, and he asked me a tricky question. ‘So who do you hang out with at school?’

  It should have been an innocent enquiry, but to me it was the stuff of nightmares. I was desperate to keep my two worlds separate – school life, and life with Tony. If ever they should become known to each other, me and Tony would have to split up because of the risk management issues associated with Tony getting to know my friends.

  So I concocted a lie, based at least partly on the truth to make it plausible. ‘Hardly anyone, as I have an evening job at a supermarket, and I spend a lot of my time on my homework because I want to do well in my exams. So I don’t have much time left over to see people – apart from you, of course.’

  In fact, I met with my friends on those evenings I wasn’t seeing Tony or working, and rushed through my homework before going out. I never once broke a sweat over it. My marks weren’t too good, but I didn’t give a monkey’s. Scraping a pass would be good enough for me. I was pretty sure that further down the line, I’d be able to make a supreme effort and get some half-decent A level results. They were what counted.

  ‘Who are the people you don’t often get to see?’

  Christ, he was persistent.

  ‘You know, Kylie. I see her as often as I can.’

  This seemed to satisfy his curiosity about my social life, thank God. He turned to another subject, ‘Do you fancy coming back to my place? My dad’s away for the weekend, and my sister’s gone out for the night.’

  I desperately wanted to say yes, but instead what I said was, ‘I do, but you have to understand–’

  He cut me short. ‘We’ll just listen to music. I’ve got the latest Stereophonics album.’

  I managed to look him in the eye. ‘Thank you, Tony.’

  He arched his eyebrows. ‘You don’t have to thank me.’

  We left the pub we were in, and I linked his arm during the short journey to his house. My mind was in a turmoil. What would we do when we got there? He’d said we’d just listen to Stereophonics, and I was okay with that. But what if he wanted more? And what if I said no? What then?

  We turned off the street onto his garden path, and as we traversed the few yards leading to the front door, I felt as if I was walking the plank. He turned and grinned at me before unlocking the door, and I responded by forcing my lips into an uncertain U-shape.

  ‘You don’t have to look so worried,’ he said. ‘We’re just two people enjoying each other’s company.’ He pushed open the door and stood back to let me in. I stepped into the entrance hall. It was an actual hall, albeit a modest one, rather than a cramped lobby like the one in the house my parents owned.

  I looked into the front room. It smelled of vanilla. My eyes roved the walls until I detected the source of the smell – a plug-in air freshener.

  ‘Would you like a coffee?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Follow me.’ He led me to the kitchen at the back of the house. ‘Take a seat. Make yourself at home.’

  I sat at the table trying my best to enjoy the situation. At least the pressure was off for now. He was busy making coffee, and I didn’t have to worry about physical contact for the time being. I prayed that if it was on the agenda, my flesh wouldn’t crawl. I tried for a moment to imagine Tony touching me in an intimate way, and squeezed my legs together, but couldn’t get excited. At least I didn’t feel altogether repelled by the image. Maybe that was progress.

  ‘Let’s go to the other room,’ he said. ‘It’s more comfortable there.’

  We went to the front room. It was furnished with a large two-seater sofa and an even larger three-seater. I wanted to sit in an armchair I could occupy on my own, but no such item was available. Then I conjured up an image in my mind of Tony in an armchair, me sitting on his lap, and shuddered, wondering what’d made me think of it.

  After a moment’s hesitation I chose the three-seater, imagining I could put more space between me and Tony if I sat there. He placed an occasional table near me and put our coffees on it, then switched on the sound system and put on some music, which I hardly noticed, being in a tizz.
r />   He sat next to me, so close we were touching, reached behind me, and put his arm around my waist.

  ‘Relax,’ he said, and I realised I’d stiffened up.

  We sat there for a while, and I allowed myself to rest my head on his shoulder, all the while telling myself, This is what normal teenagers do. The music stopped and I realised we must’ve been sitting in that position at least half an hour. Tony stood up.

  ‘I’m going upstairs to get a book I want to show you,’ he said. ‘Back in a mo.’

  His feet pounded on the steps as he ran up, and when he got to the top there was silence for a few seconds, after which I heard knocking on a door. Then I heard him say, ‘Sarah, are you in there?’

  He sounded concerned, knocked harder, and shouted, ‘Sarah! Are you okay? Sarah? Sarah!’

  Another silence.

  ‘Sarah, answer me! Please answer!’

  Another brief silence.

  ‘Sarah, I’m going to kick the door open if you don’t answer right now!’

  I wondered what could possibly be going on. The thunderous crash of a door being kicked open interrupted my thoughts and made me jump.

  ‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! Sarah!’

  The tone of Tony’s voice alarmed me and I felt frightened for him. It was my cue to run upstairs. I found Tony in the bathroom, crouching over the bath, which was half-full. He had both hands in the armpits of a naked woman – presumably his sister, Sarah – and was holding her up, out of the water. Her head was lolling forward on a limp neck; her black hair was plastered to her scalp. I caught a glimpse of her pretty face. It had an unearthly pallor and was soaking wet. Her expression was peaceful, and her eyes were as dull as the grey tiles covering the bathroom floor.

  ‘Help me get her out,’ he said. ‘We’re going to have to stand in the bath to do it.’