by Amy Cross
I shake my head.
"We could always try cutting it out of her. I know it's a bit drastic, but I heard you can do it sometimes. You just cut the belly open, reach in and pull the thing out. Granted, it's a rather shocking approach, but I reckon the Devil sometimes gives us few choices".
"No," I say. "She'd die, and so would the child. It's too soon".
"But it'd be an interesting experiment," he replies. "I mean, if you ask me, she's going to die anyway, which means the kid's got no chance. If you let me do a little cutting here and there, I might be able to save one of them, and even if I can't, I'll know better for the next time I have to deal with such a thing. I mean, the best way to learn is to get stuck in, right? Dig around a bit, see what's connected to what, that kind of thing. It's so much easier to learn from a real live body rather than a corpse, you know".
"You won't be cutting her up," I say firmly. "Whatever's wrong with her, it's not caused by the child. It's caused by something else. Emotional distress, perhaps. You have no idea what has been happening to her of late".
"Emotional distress?" he replies, frowning. "What's that?"
"It's in her mind".
"Oh". He pauses. "I don't really do that kind of medicine. I'm more into cutting things up and sticking them back together. I know it's fashionable to talk about mental problems, but I don't reckon there's anything to it. People just need to get on with stuff, that's all. A bit of fortitude never hurt anyone".
"Henrietta has been through a great deal of turmoil," I tell him. "She's not like us. She has a breaking point, and I'm afraid she's reached it. She had to do something that caused her a lot of pain, and I'm not certain she'll ever be able to recover". I pause for a moment. "She destroyed something that was precious to her. It was the right thing to do, but she was overcome by a feeling of immense guilt. She broke down, and I don't know if she'll ever recover".
Shrugging, John the Pig walks through to the bathroom and starts washing his hands. Frankly, I don't know why he bothers. Even up here in the living quarters, the King's Arms is a squalid and disgusting place, and I'm quite certain that by bringing Henrietta here I must be exposing her to all manner of new dangers. Then again, I have no choice: I'm still wanted by the police for the murder of Henrietta's husband, and I can't risk another trip to the gallows. Bringing Henrietta to the King's Arms was a desperate measure, but I've reached the point of desperation and right now I have no idea what to do next. It's not as if I can leave her here, but it'll take a number of months before the child is born, and even then she won't be able to move immediately. There's also the matter of her sanity, which I fear might be lost forever.
"Women are more trouble than they're worth," John the Pig mutters as he dries his hands. "I swear to God, they have limited uses, and even then there's not much a woman can do that a man can't replicate by himself. Apart from conceiving a child, of course, but then I've never really seen the point of such a thing. Why should a man want to bring more poor fools into the world? You walk down to the river, you'll see kids dying in the mud. There's no point adding to the problem". He pauses for a moment, eying me suspiciously. "So do you want me to see what I can do?"
"I don't have much money," I reply. "Everything has been wiped out. All I have is..." I pause as I realize that it's all gone. "I have nothing," I say eventually, shocked at my own downfall.
"You can pay me in other ways. You're not averse to killing a man from time to time, are you? I've got plenty of enemies, and sometimes they turn up and try to put the pressure on me. With a man like you on my side, I could maybe scare them off a little more easily. Of course, you might have to smash a few skulls together from time to time and get rid of some bodies, but I'm sure none of that is exactly new to you, is it?"
"I'll do whatever it takes," I tell him. "You're right when you consider me to be an amoral man. If you need a man killed, I'll gladly do it. If it means that Henrietta and the child might survive, I'll do anything".
"There's one important question," he adds. "You might not like it, but I've got to ask. If it comes down to it, and if I've got to make the choice between one of them or the other, which should I save?" He waits for me to answer. "Should I save the woman and let the child die, or should I save the child and let the woman die? If I have the choice, that is".
"I..." Pausing, I try to work out what to say. "Save the child," I reply eventually. "The child is innocent. The child's mind is free from the torment that afflicts Henrietta. You must try to save them both, but if a choice must be made, the child's life should be prioritized". Even as the words leave my mouth, I'm overcome by a sense of profound shame, as if I've just betrayed Henrietta. Still, I can only hope that she would understand my decision. After all, she said herself that the child's life is of more importance than either hers or mine.
"I think I've got a book somewhere," John the Pig replies, shuffling past me. "It's got a chapter on women's bits. I should probably read up. I don't mind telling you, when I lifted her skirt just now, I got a right shock. I need to check if she's normal down there, or if she's some kind of mutant. There were all these flaps. I never knew it could be so fucking messy".
"She's a woman," I reply. "Nothing more, nothing less".
Once John the Pig has headed downstairs, I make my way to Henrietta's room. Laid out on the makeshift bed, she's gripped in the jaws of a powerful fever. Sweat is running across her face and down onto her chest, and although she wails and moans, she shows no indication that she understands where she is, or even who I am. I lean down and kiss the side of her face, but she merely lets out a gasp of pain. Clutching her belly, she rolls onto her side and squeezes her eyes tight shut. It pains me to acknowledge the truth, but I can't shake the feeling that no-one could ever recover from such a terrible state.
"Good night, my darling," I whisper, before heading back over to the door. I take one final glance back into the room before stepping out into the corridor. We might be free of the game, but it's clear that she's now in the grip of a powerful illness. I hope that the child might survive, but I fear my dear Henrietta might be lost forever.
Elly
Today
"How are you feeling?" Mark asks, standing in the doorway.
"Better," I say, sitting on the end of his bed. "I feel kind of normal. No pain. No sweating. No anything. Definitely not like I've just had a heart attack". The truth is, I've been sitting on the bed for a while now, trying to feel some kind of problem in my chest, and there's nothing. I feel completely normal, and I can't help wondering if there was a terrible mistake at the hospital. Perhaps they mixed my notes up with another patient? I'm Elly Bradshaw! I'm in my early twenties! How the hell could I have had a heart attack.
"Well, you have just had a heart attack," Mark replies, "so you need to take it easy. If that makes me sound harsh, then fine, I guess I'll just have to sound harsh. Do you want to call your mother? Maybe she -"
"No," I say firmly. "I tried from the hospital. She's busy. I think she's on holiday. She's got this new boyfriend, and I think they went off somewhere. And before you say anything, yes, I know it's very sudden. It's not like my Dad's been gone for very long". I pause for a moment. "Did you have any luck tracking down Jess? I'd kind of like to talk to her".
"I'm still working on it," he replies. "I've sent out some feelers, but it might be a day or two before I get any information back. I'm using a few unorthodox channels, if you know what I mean, but I'm confident I'll be able to find her. You just need to be patient". He walks over to the bed and sits next to me. "We don't have to go out to dinner tonight, Elly. We can stay in. Isn't that what normal couples do? We can watch a film. I can cook. We can -"
"No," I reply. "I want to go out. I want to get back into the stuff we used to do". Pausing, I realize that there's another reason I want to go out: I'm scared to be alone with Mark. I know that if we're alone, I'll feel compelled to answer his proposal, and I know for a fact that I'm not ready for such a big step. Not tonight, anyway. "I
'm not dying," I continue, forcing myself to smile. "I know a heart attack's a pretty big deal, but I can't just sit around in bed for the rest of my life, can I? I mean, life goes on, and I'm not an invalid"
He stares at me for a moment. "Are you thinking about your father?"
I frown. "Why would I be thinking about him?"
"He had a heart attack," he replies. "It's only been a few months since he died, and I thought that maybe it was still weighing on your mind".
"No," I say, before trying to change the subject. The last thing I want to do is talk about my father's death. "So are we going to start getting ready? I just want to have a relaxing night out and not think too much about the stuff that's happened over the past few days. Is that okay? I need to clear my mind".
"I'll make a reservation," he replies, before standing up and heading through to the main part of the penthouse.
Sitting alone, I realize that I'm in far too deep to just turn and run. I still don't entirely trust Mark, but I don't distrust him either. Frankly, I feel as if this whole thing could go either way, and I hate the thought that I might end up accidentally losing this guy simply because I'm too paranoid to give him a chance. It's still totally possible that Jess has simply fucked off and not bothered to let anyone know, and it's also possible that Mark's ex-girlfriend Chrissie has just gone off and got on with her own life. I need answers to those questions, and I keep reminding myself to stop being too naive and trusting. At the same time, I love Mark. There, I said it. I shouldn't love him, but I do, even if I haven't said the words to him yet, not properly at least.
Slowly, I put my fingers in my ears and close my eyes. After a moment, I can hear my heart beating, and it sounds kind of normal, even if - every few seconds - I can also hear a faint fluttering sound.
Part Six
Romance
Elly
Today
"I can have one drink," I say with a smile.
"No," Mark replies firmly. "You really can't".
We're sitting at a window table in one of the most popular West End restaurants. This is the kind of place that requires a reservation months in advance, yet Mark was able to get us in with a simple phone call. Every time I dare to glance at our fellow diners, I spot another politician or celebrity, and a couple of paparazzi are parked nearby, waiting to take photos of anyone noteworthy who happens to emerge. Mark and I aren't celebrities, of course; no-one wants to take photos of us, even though the truth about our lives would probably make front-page news if it ever emerged. No, we're able to pass pretty much unnoticed while the press are taking pictures of rock stars and media figures, and it feels kind of good. It's almost like we're spies, slinking through the shadows while everyone else is looking the other way.
"I feel fine," I tell him.
"You're on three different types of medication," he points out. "Have you read the instructions?"
"No, but -"
"I have. Two of them specifically say not to consume alcohol".
"That's just guidance -"
"You could die," he says firmly. "Do you realize how close you already came? If you'd got to the hospital another ten, fifteen minutes later, you wouldn't have made it, Elly. I'd have lost you!"
I sigh. Although I want to argue with him, I know he's probably right. I deliberately didn't read the instructions that came with the pills I was given, because reading the instructions would somehow have made the whole thing more real. There's definitely still a part of me that doesn't want to face up to the fact that I had a heart attack, and I guess I should be grateful that Mark, at least, is keeping track of these things. In fact, it's kind of strange to note how carefully he's looking after me. It's almost as if he actually, genuinely gives a damn about me. As I struggle to work out how I really feel about him, I can't help but take into account the fact that he's truly trying to keep me safe. That, in itself, is something of a surprise.
"Can I have pan-roasted duck?" I ask after a moment, looking down at the menu. "It's cooked with a little white wine, but the alcohol should burn off, right?"
"That might be acceptable," he replies, smiling.
"I feel fine," I say again. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm not some kind of fragile little doll. I won't break if I take a knock".
"I'm not going to let you put yourself in danger," he says. "I'm sorry, Elly, but I care about you".
We sit in silence for a moment, each staring at the menu. The weirdest thing about this whole dinner date is the fact that I feel, for the first time, as if Mark and I are a real couple. I'm quite certain, for example, that if anyone else here tonight noticed us, they'd just think we were out for a meal. They'd never guess anything about the game, or about Mark's secret identity, or about my recent heart attack; they'd just see a couple having a slightly stilted and awkward date. I guess Mark and I aren't quite at the stage yet where we can happily and easily chat all evening, but we're getting there. As I look at the menu, I suddenly realize that if he asks me to marry him again, I think I'd accept. A shiver passes through my body, and I feel as if I'm on the verge of a significant threshold. I just need to make contact with Jess first, to make sure she's okay. Screw that Chrissie woman. Jess is the only one who's important.
"I think I've tracked your friend down," Mark says suddenly, almost as if he was reading my mind.
"Jess?"
He nods as he closes his menu. "It took a bit of work, but fortunately I have some friends in high places. It seems that after she left us, she traveled to Glasgow. She took the train and ended up staying in an apartment somewhere in the city center. I have the address written down somewhere. Are you aware of her having any friends up there?"
"Yeah. There's a guy named Stuart she knows".
"From there, she appears to have gone to India".
"India?"
"She's been there for three days now," he continues. "As far as I can tell, she doesn't have a return ticket booked at the moment. Surprised?"
I stare at him for a moment. "She was always talking about going out there, but she didn't have the money. I don't..." I pause. "She and Stuart had this on-off thing, and he was doing pretty well with his start-up, but I still didn't think..." Taking a deep breath, I realize that it's just about plausible. If Jess turned up at Stuart's home, upset and in need of help, it's possible that they decided to make things a little more formal, and I guess he might have decided to celebrate by buying them a trip to India. Sure, it's not the most likely story in the world, but I can just about see how the pieces fit together. Crucially, it's enough to allay my concerns over Jess's safety. If she's in India, I can stop worrying.
"I even have the name of the hotel they're staying at," Mark adds. "It's in Hyderabad. Do you want -"
"No," I say quickly, figuring I shouldn't act like I'm too suspicious. Besides, the last thing I need to do is freak Jess out by trying to contact her right now. Things were left pretty weird between us, and I figure we should leave it a while before we speak again. It sounds like she's got things more or less back on track. She doesn't need me.
"I'm sorry if I seemed suspicious the other day," I continue eventually. "I didn't mean to come across as some kind of asshole".
"It's fine," he replies. "You were just worried about your friend. It's a noble sentiment. To be honest, I'd be more concerned if you weren't worried about her".
I smile awkwardly. This new version of Mark seems to be more understanding than the old version, and more willing to listen to what I've got to say. I still can't quite dismiss the idea that it might be a charade, but I'm edging toward acceptance of Mark's new demeanor. It's not as if he could have just plucked that story about Jess out of thin air; he clearly did check into what happened to her, and I have no doubt that at this very moment she's out in India, sunning herself on some beach and having a great time. I wish things had been left a little better between us, but there's plenty of time to sort everything out. At least I know that Mark didn't do anything to hurt her. Suddenly, all those fears s
eem to be over-hyped and crazy.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks eventually.
"You," I reply.
He raises an eyebrow.
"This," I add. "Everything. The whole situation. I'm just... struggling to take it all in".
"Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
"I swear to God," I reply with a smile, "if you don't stop asking me that every five minutes..."
Once we've ordered, we sit in silence again. I keep telling myself that silence isn't such a bad thing, and that I should embrace the fact that Mark and I can be like this. At the same time, I'm starting to obsess over the little details. If we end up getting married, will there be long, empty silence when we're at home? What if we have children? Does Mark even want children? Do I want children? Do I want to get tied down right now, when there's still so much more of the world to explore. The heart attack has reminded me of my mortality, and while I'm tempted to lunge at the first chance of stability I can find, I'm also tempted to go the other way and try to dive into the chaos of the world. I have all these conflicting impulses, and I'm struggling to find a through-line that might lead me to a final decision.
"What about Mr. White?" I ask eventually.
"What about him?" Mark replies, visibly bristling at the mention of the name.
"Where is he? Where's Lady Red?"
"I guess they're doing what they always do. They're not exactly likely to broadcast their activities to the world. As far as they're concerned, there's no need for either of us to know what they're doing".
"But aren't they interested in us?" I wait for him to answer. "Are they really going to just let us walk away from the game? Are they going to just let everything drop?"
"It's not quite like that".
"So what is it like?"
"I'm working on it".