by Tanvir Bush
Her father had been right. She wasn’t a very nice girl.
She drops her hand again, and again flinches when there is no Chris. He will be coming home tomorrow, thank goodness. She has organised with Jenny, Mosh and that lovely man Euan Parnell a timetable for the next week. Chris will never be on his own when she goes to work or to Job Central or just the shops, not even for a second.
‘Is this seat taken?’
Alex’s heart leaps, and she looks up to see only a silhouette against the light. Even without the detail of the face she can tell it’s not Gunter.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I am just waiting for someone.’
‘Oh well, all right …’ The man hovers.
‘What?’
‘It’s just that there are four places and—’
‘Yes, he has children,’ snaps Alex. ‘Lots of them. And a dog. And a parrot in a cage.’
A parrot in a cage, Alex? Holy Monty Python, woman, get a grip.
The man sighs, shuffles off among the busy tables. Alex slurps her coffee noisily and gets the book out again. She isn’t sure how long she and the book can hold the hordes off. It is lunchtime, after all.
‘Alex Lyon?’
And there is another man, and yet another man who is definitely not Gunter. No, this man is Gunter’s father-in-law. This man is Dr Binding. She recognises first his voice and then his moustache, and then his eyes.
Alex actually feels her jaw drop. Slams it shut and nearly bites her tongue.
‘Ummm …’ Her mind is not able to deal with the various computations it has to go through to come up with a logical reason as to why Binding is standing … no – he has casually pulled out the chair and sits down … sitting across from her.
‘Alex, isn’t it? I am right? How nice to see you again.’
‘Hello, Dr Binding. Gosh … err … what a surprise.’
‘Is it a surprise, Alex? I suppose it must be.’ He doesn’t take off his jacket but just sits there, a large briefcase on his lap, staring over his moustache at her. ‘Are you waiting for someone?’
‘Well yes, actually, Doctor, I am.’ Alex scans around the café frantically. Gunter can’t bump into Binding! How will she warn him?
Binding doesn’t move from his seat. He reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a newspaper.
‘I’m sorry, Dr Binding … but I said yes. Yes, I am meeting someone so …’
He still doesn’t move. His eyes are light blue and a little watery as he watches her. ‘I take it you haven’t seen today’s paper?’
She shakes her head, and he pushes the paper across the table to her. She looks down but the print is just a blur. She shrugs at him with a forced smile.
‘Oh my dear … of course … sorry. How stupid of me. You just look so “normal”.’ He blinks at her. ‘You need me to read it?’ His voice is gentle but there is something underneath … surely not a hint of mirth?
‘That’s OK. I have magnification glasses in my bag. You can just leave it.’
‘I would rather you read it now.’
Alex is distracted, hardly listening. She scans the café quickly again. No Gunter. She hopes he has clocked the Doc and is standing somewhere out of sight. Should she tell the man to just get lost? That she is really busy? But it is rather obvious she is not. Her cappuccino is still half full.
‘Oh for heaven’s sake,’ she sighs and begins the handbag grapple. Alex always puts her keys and glasses in the same pocket, and they always find a way to fall out and hide themselves in the crevices of her large handbag. She has tried buying smaller bags but it made no difference.
As she fumbles, the doctor reads the title of her book. ‘Really, Alex? Addiction? You know I am a specialist? You should call me. I am sure I could help, especially by finding you a programme.’
‘I am reading it for a friend,’ she says hastily. Her voice is muffled because she is holding her sunglasses between her teeth. She has just found an old dog whistle she thought she had lost. Oh … and here is a cherry flavoured condom … what a bag of treasure!
‘And no dog, I see? Did something happen?’
‘No … just … no dog.’ Alex has found her magnification glasses and drops everything else into the dark recesses of the bag. She raises her eyes back to the doctor’s, slowly now, because Alex has finally twigged. Gunter is not here. Gunter is not coming. The Good Doctor has come instead.
‘My dear … you look a little pale. Shall I get you some water?’
Alex ignores him and snatches the newspaper, pushes on her glasses and blinks rapidly as the print swims into schools of sentences. It’s not the headline. It is further down the page. It’s in its own little block of writing … the third one from the top. The column on the right. Ironic? Or did someone else send the text about the table?
*
AWARD-WINNING POET INJURED IN FALL
The poet and writer Gunter Gorski (49), husband of the Minister for Health, Stella Binding, has been taken to hospital with serious injuries after falling from the second storey window of a hotel. A police spokesman has stated that Mr Gorski was visiting a friend in the West End’s Bismarck Hotel when he fell from the balcony. It is not known at this time how Mr Gorski managed to fall, but the police think it unlikely that it was a suicide attempt. Mr Gorski was evidently enjoying his evening, according to witnesses, said a police spokesman. He had withdrawn briefly for some air when he fell.
The Bismarck Hotel management insists that all appropriate health and safety notices are visible and that the balconies are inspected for safety issues each month. ‘Access to the balconies is not recommended for anyone who has been imbibing alcohol. It is clearly stated that anyone accessing the balconies does so at their own risk.’
Mr Gorski’s family have issued a statement saying: ‘Gunter is in a very serious condition and in a medically induced coma. We thank everyone for their kind messages of support and ask that we be given privacy while he is being treated.’
Alex takes a very, very long time to read these few short paragraphs. This is because her eyes are filling with furious tears and her heart is filling with a thump-thump-thump of unease. She has to pounce on each word as it tries to slip out of her focus, reading the article once and then again. She can feel the doctor’s eyes on her face. If she looks up now he will be smiling with mock kindness. She can sense it. The Good Doctor Binding must have found out that Gunter was meeting her with the CDD file. The Good Doctor Binding has played a blinder.
He reaches across the table as if to pat her hand and she snatches it away with a gasp. He pauses only for a second, then his hand carries on and drops, pulling the newspaper, dotted with Alex’s teardrops, back to his side of the table.
‘Ah Alex, I can see you are very upset, and it makes me feel glad that I made the effort to come to this meeting personally. You see, I checked dear Gunter’s diary after he was taken into the hospital and saw that he had arranged this meeting. I didn’t know it would be you, of course. There wasn’t a name, but I thought as it was on my way … I presume you were expecting to talk to him about the new book launch? Or did you know him … personally? He was a very “friendly” man.’
His tone is neutral, but Alex feels as if he has picked her up by the scruff of her neck and thrown her against a wall. A very ‘friendly’ man.
‘As I said, I am on my way to Cambright now,’ he continues. She can’t look up at him yet. She will not let him see her confusion. ‘We could take the train back together if you like. I presume you will be going home? Sadly a bit of a wasted journey for you, Alex. What a pity.’
Alex pushes herself back in her chair. He is just an old man, she says to herself. He can’t do anything to you in public. She makes herself smile and it fucking hurts. Must look pretty horrific too.
‘That’s OK, Doctor. You carry on. There are a couple of other people I wanted to interview in Petertown anyway. Terribly sad about Mr Gorski. Your daughter must be distraught.’
‘Sad times,’ says the
doctor. His eyes have narrowed. He must have been expecting a different reaction. ‘Well, I am sorry again to hear about your dog.’
I haven’t told him about Chris, though, she remembers with a shiver.
‘I suppose he won’t be able to work again either. That will be hard for you, my dear.’
She keeps the smile plastered to her face although her lips are suddenly very dry and catch painfully on her teeth She tastes a tiny iron droplet of blood. ‘Oh, my dog is fine,’ she lies. ‘He had a run in with another dog but luckily wasn’t hurt. It’s just I thought I’d give him a day off.’
She thinks The Good Doctor Binding looks flustered, but maybe she only imagines it. He is standing now, adjusting his jacket, has stuck out his hand. She pretends not to see it, keeps smiling and eventually he drops it. ‘Well, goodbye, Alex. Best of luck with it all.’
Alex nods. ‘Goodbye, Dr Binding, and I do hope Mr Gorski recovers soon.’ She pretends to go back to her book.
‘Oh, I doubt that he will,’ he says as he turns away. ‘I seriously doubt that.’
She waits, feeling the thumping in her chest, hearing the chatter of the café, seeing nothing but blurred lines on the page in front of her. She counts backwards from fifty. She will not bolt, even though her nausea is building. She will not bolt.
Gunter is in a medically induced coma. How lucky was the timing on that, Doctor? Alex has never done coincidence. She has, however, done conspiracy. She is on the last ten in her countdown nine … eight … seven … six … when yet another person taps her on the shoulder, making her jump almost completely out of her skin.
‘Jesus!’
‘Sorry, madam, but the gentleman left this for you at the counter.’ The speaker is a small, mousey teenager in a Café Coffee uniform. She has an envelope in her hand.
‘OK.’ Alex takes the envelope gingerly, as if it might contain anthrax. The girl scurries away, back behind the bar.
The envelope is still open. He must have licked the glue, but the envelope is old and it has only stuck in one corner. Inside is a scribbled note and two £50 notes. Alex pulls out the glasses again. The note says: ‘It’s not what you came for, but you might need a stiff drink when you get home. For the shock. B Binding.’
Somehow Alex’s legs are still working. She finds herself, bag and umbrella in hand, leaving … one step and another step. As she walks to the glass café door she passes a man going up to pay at the till. ‘I didn’t see no kids and where was the bloody parrot … ?’ he mutters sulkily.
Alex is still laughing when she gets on her train. In fact, she guffaws and chuckles and weeps all the way to Cambright and on to her local pub.
Back from Black
When Alex comes round she is in a strange bed, and her head is pounding. She inhales a revolting mixture of sweated beer and the hint of vomit. This is going to hurt, she thinks and opens her eyes. It does. Light is like a sharp object poking her eyeballs. She must have made some sound because someone says: ‘Here she is, awake at last … oh shit, her eyes – shut the curtain!’
Cooler dimness settles over Alex. She manages to open her eyes a little wider, though they water like a bitch.
‘Can you sit up?’ It’s Jules.
‘Jules!’ Alex croaks and bursts into hot tears.
‘I do seem to have that effect on pretty women,’ says Jules. ‘Helen is here too.’
‘Waaaa!’ sobs Alex harder.
‘Holy Mother of God, I thought she would be too dehydrated to cry!’
Jules snorts. ‘Crying is good. She is still traumatised. She needs water and painkillers and another sleep.’
Alex hears the whine of Helen’s chair and feels a cool hand on her own. ‘Here you go, Alex love. I am holding out a glass of water and one of my whopper pills. Under your nose. But you need to stop crying and sit up.’
Sobbing uncontrollably, Alex manages to push herself up on her elbows. ‘They attacked Chris!’ she sobs. ‘And they pushed my poet out of a window!’
‘Yes, love, we know. We know. Now here is the glass. Here you are. Careful.’
Alex spills a lot of the water but manages to swallow the large pink pill, and Helen and Jules coax her back down onto the bed again. Everything aches, and then it doesn’t, and she is asleep.
When Alex comes round this time she is still in the bed, only it is not so strange any more. She recognises it as one of the three beds for night staff at the LDA offices. They are in a bedroom off the clubroom bar, which is also handy for anyone who feels they need to drink and not drive their wheelchairs after dark. She is still terribly achy but feels much more herself. The room is cool and dim, not because of the curtain now, but because it is evening. She sits up slowly. There is a wave of dizziness but then she is all right enough to swing her legs over the side of the bed. Her hands seem slightly numb. She holds them up close to her face. Palm side is fine but when she turns them around her knuckles are red and hugely swollen. Uh oh … She is also mostly naked. On her knees are bloodied grazes that sting. She can’t see clearly, but when she touches them gently she thinks she can feel a bit of gravel. On her elbows too, apparently. One side of her face seems puffy and sore, and her left eye is even worse than usual, the eye socket tender.
Alex knows herself. ‘I was in a fight, wasn’t I?’
Helen is whirring quietly around Alex’s bed in her electric chair. Alex can see her shape as she gets closer.
‘Yes, but, honey … you should see the other guy!’
Alex tries a smile but her face is too swollen.
‘How’s the head? You need another pill?’
‘No thanks, Helen … not right now, but I might take one for later. Later? … Helen, what time is it?’
‘It’s 9 p.m., Alex.’
That didn’t make sense.
‘It’s 9 p.m. on Friday the fifth of July,’ Helen adds.
‘Friday … Friday! No!’
‘Yes love, you have been out for nearly twenty-four hours.’
‘But I have to get Chris!’ Alex is on the verge of tears again. She wishes she could punch herself in the face and is glad someone already has.
‘Shh, Alex. It’s OK. Yes. You had to get Chris but you couldn’t, so we got him for you. He is in the next room. He is in much better shape than you, actually, but I didn’t know how he would feel about seeing you semi-conscious and still drunk, so we settled him in the bar room until you came round.’
‘Chris?’
‘He is currently lying right outside the bloody door actually. He won’t budge, even with Jules trying to tempt him into the bar with a large chew, several toys and plenty of water … which is what you need. Here.’ She holds out a glass, and this time Alex gets it all down her throat. And another.
There comes a muffled bark. Grwooof!
Alex is weak for many reasons, but one is with relief. Chris. If she inhales, she could probably smell him. Chris! How wonderful! She begins to get out of the bed to open the door but pauses. She is beginning to remember things. She cannot help but groan.
‘Helen … things are coming back to me, but …’
Helen pauses next to the bed and looks at Alex, head cocked to one side like a little brown bird. ‘In a nutshell, you took a train to Petertown and instead of your poet arriving with a top- secret file about state-sponsored euthanasia, you were met by the remarkably creepy Dr Barnabas Binding. He showed you a newspaper article about your poet’s fall from a window. For some reason he gave you £100, which you, very foolishly in my opinion, decided to drink your way through when you got back to town. You were probably about £80 in when a man called … now let me see if I can remember what you said his name was … a man called … oh yep … a man called “Complete Twat” tried to pick you up. When you refused, he said he knew you from Job Central, and you were a crip fake scrounger. I believe you “took it out into the car park”. It appears you are quite the Muhammad Ali when in your cups. Luckily, when you were just £75 into the booze, you had called us.’
‘Oh yes, you did, sweetie. And thank goodness! Laverne was on reception and managed to get Jules and a security team to come and find you. Took a while as you were seriously slurring. They got to you just in time to stop you killing “Complete Twat” but not in time to stop the pub landlord barring you for life and calling the police.’
‘Wow!’ Is Alex a little impressed with her bad behaviour? She shouldn’t be. ‘Shit. I love that pub.’
‘I am sure they weren’t serious, Alex. It would appear you are one of their best customers.’
Alex is too deeply humiliated and shamed to be any more embarrassed. ‘The man had been a Complete Twat,’ she says, as little flakes of memory return. But maybe he had not deserved the beating. Alex sees better with her fists. It is both a blessing and a curse. Worse, she had enjoyed the fight, the cathartic outpouring of rage, the complete loss of physical fear. ‘I don’t remember the cops, though?’
‘No. Luckily you passed out as they arrived. We were allowed to take you away and get you cleaned up, but if “Complete Twat” or the pub landlord press charges, you will have to go in yourself.’
Alex’s head is clearing and she suddenly sees herself as Helen must see her. A middle-aged drunk with scabs on her knees and a black eye. She drops her head into her hands as panic rises. She needs a drink. Her grief and shame is a disgusting gelatinous lump of unshed tears. It chokes her. If she had a knife to hand, she would cut her own throat just to find relief from her self-disgust.
‘Alex.’ Helen leans forward and takes Alex’s head between her two cool hands. ‘You are one of the bravest people I have ever met. You are a warrior. But you are reckless. You must get the drinking under control or you will kill someone. Or yourself.’
And Alex knows Helen is right and leans her head against the sharp twigs of Helen’s clavicle and lets herself weep. After a while that mass in her throat has eased, and she feels almost refreshed.