by Kevin Brooks
“What do you think?” she said miserably.
“Sorry…I meant did you need a drink or anything?”
“Got any vodka?”
“Uh…no…just tea and coffee. Or there’s hot chocolate—”
“No alcohol?”
“No…sorry.”
She sniffed hard and blinked her eyes. “How about a TV?”
“Yeah, there’s a black-and-white portable somewhere. Do you want me to set it up in the bedroom for you?”
“Yeah, I suppose…” She looked at me. “Sorry…I’m feeling like crap. I’ll take some aspirin and go back to bed.”
“I’ll bring the TV in—do you want your magazines?”
She didn’t answer, just shrugged and stared at the floor. Her hand was resting on the back of the sofa. I gave it a gentle squeeze, but she didn’t respond. Her skin felt cold and clammy.
“Go on,” I said. “Go back to bed.”
She lifted her gaze from the floor, nodded blankly at me, then went back into the bedroom.
Ten-thirty: I was tired and bored and lonely. I wanted to do something, but I didn’t know what. I knew there were a few old books around, and I’d seen Dad’s chess set earlier on, and I was pretty sure there was a dusty old radio somewhere…but none of it appealed to me. I didn’t want to read. I didn’t want to play chess. I didn’t want to listen to the radio.
I glanced over at the bedroom door. TV light was flickering in the darkness, and I could hear the sound of a late-night film drifting faintly in the air. I listened hard, trying to guess what it was, but the volume was too low to make sense of anything.
Why don’t you join her in there? I asked myself. She won’t mind. You wouldn’t have to talk or anything; you could just sit there together, quietly watching the film…
I got up and went over to the window.
Outside, the night was still angry. Gusts of rain were peppering the glass like showers of spiteful needles, and the wind was still raging away at the trees, stripping their branches and casting the leaves into the air. The trees didn’t look too bothered, though. They’d seen it all before.
I closed the curtain and went back to the sofa.
She’s probably sleeping, I thought. The volume she’s got the TV on—that’s a sleeping volume. It’s the kind of volume that says: Do not disturb; please leave me alone.
I lay down on the sofa, closed my eyes, and listened to the wind.
Ten-forty-five: I was half-asleep when I heard Candy calling my name. I was half-dreaming that I was back in my room, sitting on my bed, playing my guitar…lost in time, lost in the music, lost in another world…and I thought for a moment the voice was Gina’s. But then I heard it again, more clearly this time, and I got to my feet and headed for the bedroom.
“Joe…” Candy called out again. “Joe? Where are you?”
“Sorry,” I said, stepping hurriedly through the door. “I didn’t hear you. What’s the matter? Are you all right?”
She was scrunched up in bed under a tangled sheet. Her body was drenched in sweat. The portable TV was balanced on the bed beside her, its cold white light flickering silently over her face. Her skin looked puffy and swollen.
“I can’t sleep,” she said. “I’m too hot…what time is it?”
“About eleven.”
“Shit…when’s this wind going to stop?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t like it—it’s too loud. I can’t get to sleep.”
She groaned and rolled over onto her side. The sheet came loose, and I saw that she’d changed into her nightgown. It was damp with sweat and rucked up around her legs.
“Can I get you anything?” I asked her.
She moaned into the pillow.
I said, “Do you want some water? It might cool you down.”
“Wanna sleep,” she muttered. “I just wanna sleep…”
I felt pretty useless, just standing there, not knowing what to do. I wanted to make things better, but I didn’t know how, and I didn’t know how to deal with my ignorance. What should I do? Should I say anything else? Should I wait for Candy to say anything else? Should I stay…or should I go?
After thinking about it for a while, I left the bedroom and went back into the front room. I checked the fire, made sure the cottage was locked up, then grabbed all the cushions off the sofa, fetched some blankets from the airing cupboard, and went back into the bedroom. Candy had buried her head under the pillow and was moaning quietly. She kept kicking her feet, trying to untangle the knotted sheet, but all she was doing was making it worse.
I tried not to make any noise as I placed the cushions on the floor next to the open door. I wasn’t trying to hide my presence, I just didn’t want to advertise it. I sat down and took off my shoes, then lay down on the cushions, pulled up the blankets, and tried to get comfortable. It took me a while, but I finally got myself into a position that wasn’t too lumpy or cold but still gave me a reasonable view of the bed.
It was a good enough place to be.
I could see Candy.
I could hear the wind in the trees.
I could close my eyes and feel the movements of the night rippling through my spine. I could listen to the sound of my heart, the sound of my blood, the sound of the machine beneath my skin. I could open my eyes and stare at the TV lights strobing on the ceiling, imagining the flashes of a storm-lit sky. Or I could just lie there, perfectly still, doing absolutely nothing.
The night passes slowly when you’re awake. I think I dozed off once or twice, but most of the time I just lay there listening to Candy as she tossed and turned and whimpered and cried. She couldn’t keep still for a second. She was either too hot or too cold. She was sweating…then shivering. Sweating…shivering. Hugging herself. Bashing the pillow. Swearing…cursing…shouting…screaming…spitting…coughing…sniffing…sobbing…
Suffering.
It wasn’t pretty.
Sometime in the early morning, around four o’clock, she groaned and sat up and started getting out of bed. Every little movement seemed to fill her with pain. Her hair was all knotted and her face had aged—she looked like a crazy old woman. As she rolled out of bed and staggered toward the door, clutching her belly, I could hear her muttering under her breath.
“Shit…Christ…shit…”
“Do you need a hand?” I asked quietly.
“Uh?” she grunted, squinting down at me through her bleary eyes. “What’s that…?”
“It’s me…Joe,” I said, sitting up. “Do you need any help?”
“I need a shit,” she said blankly.
Her face was drained. There was nothing there—no recognition, no awareness, no self. Her eyes were cold and empty. She stared right through me for a moment or two, then wiped her nose with the back of her hand and stumbled off to the bathroom.
Over the next few hours she was in and out of bed like a yo-yo. She must have gone to the bathroom at least half a dozen times before she finally managed to settle down and drift off into a restless sleep. Dawn was beginning to break by then, and as the gray light of morning crept across the yawning sky, I knew that sleep was beyond me.
I slipped out of the bedroom and made some coffee, then went out onto the veranda and watched the sun rise over the woods.
Sunday morning, nine o’clock: I was in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, and Candy was crying.
“It hurts, Joe,” she sobbed. “I’m so cold…everything hurts. I can’t stand it…I need something…please…”
I gave her some aspirin. She popped them in her mouth, took a drink of water, then suddenly started retching. I didn’t know what to do. She was doubled up in pain, clutching her stomach, choking and spluttering, her eyes and nose streaming with moisture…
All I could do was sit there and watch.
“Oh God…” she cried, “oh God, oh God, oh God…”
This went on for some time—retching, crying, shivering, sobbing—and I did my best to comfort
her. I gave her more blankets. I put a bowl by the bed so she wouldn’t have to go to the bathroom every time she was sick. I kept her supplied with tissues and water…
I nursed her, basically.
I’m not sure it helped her that much, but at least it gave me something to do, which was a lot better than sitting around feeling scared to death.
Midday: I was starting to feel the lack of sleep now. My chest was tight, my eyes were sticky, and I kept forgetting stupid little things. I’d fill the kettle, then forget to turn it on…or I’d open a cupboard, then forget what I was looking for. I kept drinking coffee to wake myself up, but all it did was rattle my brains.
One o’clock: I made some tea and toast and took it into the bedroom. Candy was sitting up in bed smoking a cigarette. Her face was almost white and her eyes looked unnaturally big.
“How are you feeling?” I asked her.
“Great,” she said. “My skin’s on fire, my head’s throbbing, my belly hurts…I can’t keep still…I can’t move…” She sucked on her cigarette and stared at me. “I feel great.”
“Do you want some toast?”
“No…I want to feel better.”
“How about some chocolate?”
She didn’t answer, just glared at me. I put the tea and toast on the bedside cabinet, then looked around for the stuff she’d bought from the petrol station. I found the plastic bag on the floor, picked it up, and placed it on the bed. Candy said nothing. Her eyes had hardened and she was staring at me with the nastiness of a vicious child. I didn’t know how to deal with it. I couldn’t deal with it.
“I’m going out for a breath of fresh air,” I told her. “I’ll only be out the front, so if you need me, just shout—OK?”
She still didn’t say anything, and as I turned around and left the bedroom I could feel her eyes burning into my back.
Outside, the wind had dropped and the day was bright and cold. I walked across to the edge of the clearing and sat down on the ground beside a bare oak tree. Years ago, the tree had been struck by lightning. Its trunk was scarred and black and its roots jutted up through the leaf litter like the half-buried limbs of giants. I sat back and closed my eyes. The air was thick with the smell of the woods. As I sat there, breathing deeply, I could almost taste the tang of rotting leaves and wind-freshened grass, and I only wished it would clear the stink of confusion out of my head. But I knew it couldn’t. There wasn’t enough fresh air in the world for that.
I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, flipped it open, and thumbed the speed-dial number for home. There was no answer. I tried Gina’s cell phone, but it was switched off. I thought about ringing Mike, but for some reason I didn’t feel like talking to him, so—for want of anything better—I called home again and checked the answering machine.
There were two messages—both of them silent. The caller had waited for the beep, kept quiet for a few moments, then hung up.
I didn’t like it.
It bothered me.
Forget it, I told myself. It’s probably just Dad, checking up on you.
No, I thought, he wouldn’t ring without leaving a message.
All right, then…how about Jason? It could have been Jason—
No chance. He’s already called twice and been blanked. He’s too vain to risk it again, isn’t he?
So it’s a mistake, then…a wrong number, that’s all. Someone rang the wrong number and didn’t know what to say…
Yeah? So how come they called twice?
I didn’t know the answer to that.
I stared across at the cottage and wondered what Candy was doing. Was she sleeping? Being sick? Crying? Was she still mad at me? Why did she get mad at me in the first place?
Did it matter?
I didn’t know the answer to that one, either.
I looked at the phone in my hand and thought about Jason again. I knew I ought to ring him. I didn’t want to, but no matter what I thought of him, he deserved an explanation of some sort, and so did the rest of the group. The recording session was coming up soon, and I’d run off and left them without so much as a word.
That wasn’t right, was it?
It wasn’t fair…
But it wasn’t here, either. It was somewhere else, and somewhere else didn’t matter anymore. Somewhere else was nowhere.
I closed the phone and got to my feet and went back into the cottage.
As I opened the door, Candy was just coming out of the bathroom. She’d combed her hair and was dressed in jeans and a sweater. For a fleeting moment my heart lifted and I thought that everything was going to be OK. She was feeling better…she’d got over the worst of it…she was on her way back to normality…
But then I saw the look on her face, and I knew I was wrong. It wasn’t a face of normality; it was a face of desperation.
“What are you doing?” I asked her.
“Don’t ask,” she said, walking straight past me.
I shut the front door and followed her into the bedroom. It was a mess. All the cupboard drawers had been emptied out and the contents strewn all over the place. The bed had been moved, the mattress turned over…She’d even searched my bag. Now she was scuttling around the room, grabbing clothes off the floor and shoving them into her bag.
“What are you doing?” I repeated.
“I said…don’t ask.”
“I just did.”
“Well, don’t.”
I watched her as she packed. She looked terrible—everything about her was pained. Her face, her lips, her cheeks, her eyes…her neck, her legs, the shape of her body…her pale white skin…
God…her skin.
I remembered the first time I’d seen her, the way she’d stood there looking at me, the way she’d cocked her head and smiled, the way her rippling skin had turned me to stone…
It didn’t turn me to stone anymore: It just scared me. It was too white, too sweaty, too cold…like milky plastic left out in the rain.
“You can’t do this,” I told her.
“Do what?” she said, zipping up her bag.
“You can’t just give in to it—”
“No?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because…”
“Because what?” she sneered, turning to face me. “Come on, Joe…I wanna know why. Why can’t I give in to it? Because it’ll make me feel better? Because it’ll make me feel human again? Because it’ll get me out of this shit hole?” Her voice was icy and cruel. “Let’s hear it, Joe…come on—let’s hear your reasoning.”
I looked at her, trying to see beyond the sickness. Trying to see Candy.
“You wanna look?” she spit. “Is that it? You don’t want me to go cos you want something to look at—”
“You’ll die,” I said.
“I’ll what?”
“If you leave now, you’ll go back to Iggy, and one way or another you’ll end up dead. If he doesn’t kill you, the drugs will. And if the drugs don’t do it, your lifestyle will.”
“My lifestyle?” she snorted. “You’re worried about my lifestyle?”
“I’m worried about you.”
“Yeah? What do you know about me? You don’t know anything. You’re just a cute little rich boy looking for thrills. You don’t know shit.”
“I know you’re not leaving.”
She stared at me, her eyes spiked with hatred.
I said, “You don’t want to go back. You pretend you don’t care, but you do. You’re just scared, that’s all.”
She laughed again, cold and hard, but this time it didn’t ring true. She was having to make herself sound ugly.
“I’ve had enough of this,” she said, picking up her bag. “I’m going…and don’t worry about Iggy. I can get by without him—”
“How?”
She shrugged. “That’s my business.”
“Yeah? What are you going to do for money? How are you going to get your drugs?”
“I don’t know…I’l
l manage. I don’t need much, anyway…just enough to stop hurting. Then I’ll sort something out…”
“Right,” I said.
She glared at me again, then shook her head and started walking toward the door. I stepped in front of her and shut it.
She paused, looking at me. “Get out of the way.”
I said nothing.
She moved toward me until we were standing face-to-face, staring into each other’s eyes.
“Get out of the way, Joe.”
“I’m not letting you go,” I said.
“You can’t stop me.”
“I can try.”
She was doing her best to control herself now, but she wasn’t making a very good job of it. Her face was tight, cold with sweat. I could see the nerves twitching under her skin.
She licked her lips. “Please don’t do this. It’s not worth it. Just open the door and let me go.”
I couldn’t speak anymore. I was shaking so much inside that the words just wouldn’t come out. Candy was silent, too. Her breaths trembled, sour and stale on my face.
“What do you want?” she hissed. “What do you want me to do? You want me to beg? Is that it? You want me to get down on my knees—”
“Don’t,” I said.
“Well, get out of the way, then. For God’s sake…I have to go. I need to go. I’m dying here…You don’t understand…” She moved even closer, pouting her lips and lowering her voice. “Please, Joe…please…?”
I shook my head.
She put her hands on my shoulders and stared into my eyes. For a moment I thought she was going to kiss me. I started moving away, but then her grip suddenly tightened and her eyes went cold, and before I knew it she was lurching forward and kneeing me hard in the groin.
The pain exploded in a white-hot roar. The pain…God! It was everything. Ripping through me, emptying my lungs, crashing me down to the floor. I couldn’t do anything. I was senseless, a sobbing heap…groaning, crawling…I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t hear…
Do something.
Breathe.
You have to breathe…
Suck it down…
Feel it…
The floor…
Eyes…wet…
Back…
The door…
At your back.
The door…moving against your back.