Serious People

by Shea, James A.

  Charlie O’Neil was uncomfortable right know.

  He had always felt uncomfortable in hospitals. This was true even in the modern private establishment he was currently standing in. He glanced down at his sleeves again, thankful for their length. It was something about the smell of a hospital. There was something about how all their corridors looked the same. It was the feel in the air of hopelessness.

  The interior of the building was expensively laid out with gleaming black flooring and pearl white walls. There were general works of art and paintings placed at deliberate points along the wall to incite thoughtful contemplation. Charlie knew a poor attempt to distract a simple mind, when he saw one, so it was wasted on him.

  O’Neil despised hospitals. He had felt his strength seep from his body the moment he walked into the place. Now, after the hours he had spent there, his strong body felt like it was beginning to buckle and bend under after all the stress and exposure to the place. Charlie knew his body had already started to lose its natural athleticism in the last few years. He was blessed with a youthful face for a man in his early fifties, and this was something he took great pride in. Though his once dark hair was now littered with grey streaks, he thought it still looked good and there was no sign of receding. More of a worry to him was that no matter how many hours he spent in the gym, a growing stomach rested over his belt.

  All these vain worries paled into insignificance now. He’d swap his hairline, his peter pan like looks, the money, the power, everything he had, to save her. He’d kiss the feet of the doctor, if he promised to save her.

  “Sit down Charlie. You’ve been here all night,” Robert said.

  “I can’t,” Charlie replied, looking down the corridor for the doctor.

  “Do you want me to get you a coffee or something?”

  “No, I’d prefer you stayed here,” Charlie said without thinking.

  Robert looked back his friend. Charlie instantly regretted his words. He could see how uncomfortable Robert was with him displaying such a need for support.

  “I mean, go if you want, I’m fine here on my own,” Charlie said, trying to regain his pride.

  “It’s cool. We’ll wait together.” Robert said. He picked up a magazine from the coffee table next to him. It was Country Life; Charlie knew this was merely a prop to try and defer any more uncomfortable conversation.

  Charlie looked enviously at Robert. Three years younger, his body and demeanour displayed every bit of it. Robert had never been stupid enough to settle down, let alone fall in love with someone. He was every bit the man he had been when they had started out together; unlike Charlie, who was broken.

  The rumours had started soon after he married Jackie. “O’Neil’s gone soft; he doesn’t even make the decisions in his own home, he wasn’t half the man he used to be.” He’d killed people at times, in a deliberate attempt to stop these rumours.

  Robert lifted his gaze from the magazine. “Jackie will be fine. Six months from now, Charlie, we’ll all be in the villa in Spain laughing about this. You’ll see.”

  Charlie sunk into a seat opposite his friend, “How’s business been?” he asked.

  “Up and down, you know.” Robert replied.

  “I was looking at the accounts yesterday. They were looking light.” Charlie said, folding his arms.

  Robert looked up from his magazine and failed to stop a smile from intruding onto his lips. “You’re right. Some of our collections haven’t been made. I’ve got Mickey on it. He'll straighten it out.”

  Charlie nodded in agreement.

  “I’ve paired him with Seamus O’Driscoll,” Robert said waiting for a response.

  “Where do I know that name from?” Charlie asked.

  “He’s the ex-boxer; you know had the British title fight a couple of years back.”

  “That kid could punch,” Charlie said, with an approving nod.

  “He lost his license after a bit of silliness, so I thought I’d throw him a branch,” Robert explained. “He’s also an ex-squaddie; well rounded you know.”

  “Brains?”

  “The cunt’s as thick as shit!” Robert said, with a smile.

  “I bet Mickey’s tearing his bloody hair out if he’s trying his coaching shit!”

  “He’s a grumpy shit at the best of times!” Robert agreed.

  “A good guy though, I trust him more than anyone else apart from you and…” Charlie’s voice starts to break before he can finish the sentence.

  “Yeah a good guy,” Robert said.

  Charlie looked down at his hands, which had become exposed from him sitting down. Robert opened the magazine. Charlie glanced at Robert to see if he had noticed his shaking hand and was pleased to see him feigning interest in the magazine in front of him.

  Charlie looked down at his hands and willed them to stop shaking. However, this seemed to only make the tremble worse. The silence was broken by the sound of expensively heeled shoes on hard floor; Charlie looked up at a young man approaching them.

  “Must be the doctor,” Robert said looking up from his magazine.

  “Dressed more like a merchant banker,” Charlie commented, scrutinising the expensive suit the young man was wearing.

  The man stopped in front of Charlie and offered his hand. The only evidence of his employment was the hospital ID tag hanging from his neck.

  “Mr. O’Neil I presume? My name is Dr. Haig; I am your wife’s new consultant.”

  “Looks like it pays you well,” Charlie replied, looking the man up and down.

  The young doctor forced a smile.

  “Come down to my office. I would like to talk through with you in more detail your wife’s case.” Dr. Brown gestured to a door further up the corridor.

  Charlie stood up, hoping his large frame might intimidate the young doctor. He stepped closer so as to emphasise the point. Part of his mind believed that he could force the young man to work every hour to save his wife, out of the sheer fear of returning and having to face the large frame of Charlie O’Neil with any other news.

  “Please Mr O’Neil, come with me,” Haig said, seemingly unmoved by O’Neil’s show of strength.

  “Anything you want to say you can say here.”

  “Are you sure? Your wife...” Haig said glancing towards Robert.

  “Talk doctor!” Charlie said, not hiding the anger inside him.

  O’Neil suddenly caught himself. What if the powerful being that ran the world—God or whatever they were called—had seen his show of aggression? What if this lead to divine retribution and worsened Jackie’s condition? What have I done?

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to…”

  “Mrs. O’Neil’s prognosis is not good...” The doctor began, taking a clipboard from the door to the room next to where Charlie was sitting.

  Charlie’s head started to whirl. She must be OK, she has to be OK, I can’t go on if, if…

  “We have tried a variety of tests...” Dr. Haig continued.

  Charlie could barely hear the doctor explaining his wife’s varying symptoms, the different tests, the courses of action they had both already tried and were now preparing. It was as if the doctor was not speaking but merely mouthing the words.

  She must be OK, she must be OK. Take me God, take me instead!

  “..I’m sorry Mr. O’Neil; but we are beginning to wonder what the next best course of action is?” The doctor looked at Charlie for a response. “Mr. O’Neil?”

  Jackie, my poor Jackie. Charlie’s hands started to tighten into fists.

  “Mr. O’Neil?” the doctor said, looking at Charlie concerned. “Did you hear what I said?”

  Charlie O’Neil could feel his body start to sway. His feet suddenly felt so light that he barely knew he was standing; his mind was whirling. Everything suddenly started to go black. All he could think of was her, all that mattered was her being well.

  He suddenly came to; a moment seemed to have passed. Robert now had hold of him.

  “Are yo
u ok mate?” he heard his friend ask.

  “Mr O’Neil are you alright? Did you hear what I said?” the doctor repeated.

  “You are wondering what to do next?” Charlie said, looking back at the doctor, who quickly focused back on his clipboard, away from Charlie’s glare. “You are wondering what to fucking do next! Well I get it! You’re fucking useless, you’re powerless, weak, pointless!”

  “Sir, there is no need for this kind of language," the doctor said stepping back. “We…”

  “Charlie! They’re doing all they can—aren’t you Doc?” Robert said, turning back to face the young man.

  “Yes... Yes of course we are!” the doctor said, looking shaken.

  “And that’s what you’ll continue to do, until you make Mrs. O’Neil better!” Robert continued. He was now facing Charlie again, trying to calm him.

  “Of course that goes without saying...” The doctor said, controlling his own outrage.

  “Then thank you.” Robert turned his gaze back to the Doctor, with a hint of venom in his look.

  The doctor seemed to take the hint and stopped speaking.

  “Now Charlie, why don’t you go, and spend some time with Jackie? I’ll stay out here with the doctor, and he can fill me in on what exactly your money’s being spent on.”

  Charlie nodded and walked towards his wife’s door. He stopped momentarily, as if summoning the strength required for the task of entering the room. He took a deep breath; Jackie needs me. He focused and turned the handle. She must see me as the strong man I am. If I’m not strong—now—then what can I offer her?

  I’m Charlie O’Neil.

  Charlie O’Neil walked into the room and took in the shocking image that lay in front of him. It was the same image he had left behind an hour before; but that did not soften the blow.

  His beautiful wife, Jackie O’Neil, lay on the bed. There were tubes going in and out of her body seemingly everywhere; tubes that were connected to a row of complex looking machines positioned next to her. Above her head, a machine beeped constantly, displaying her heart rhythms on a monitor. Charlie became momentarily fixated on the screen. It was as if the machine somehow knew it was being watched, as if it would now take the opportunity to stop, or display some uneven rhythm.

  Charlie looked again at his wife, trying to ignore the monitor. It was days from her fortieth birthday, but she could easily still have passed for at least ten years younger than that, even in her current condition.

  Charlie looked at her face, and it had an almost translucent paleness to it. He had to steady himself on his feet. A tear ran down his face. “Jackie,” he said.

  Jackie started to wake, as if roused by the sound of her name. Charlie sat down by her bed, hurrying to take hold of her hand.

  “Charlie?”

  “Hello Princess,” Charlie smiled back at his wife. Her eyes were still beautiful, still full of life.

  Jackie looked at him. “Have you been crying?” she asked.

  “What? You joking?” Charlie said, and then almost unconsciously wiped his face.

  Jackie smiled knowingly. “I was having a lovely dream!”

  “What were you dreaming about princess?” Charlie said, trying to smile as well.

  “About when we first met—remember it was at that concert,” Jackie said testing her husband’s memory. “What was that great band called?”

  “I don’t remember them,” Charlie replied, faking irritation. “I just remember they were too bloody loud.”

  “That’s only because you were busy trying to do some dodgy deal with someone,” Jackie reminded her husband, still smiling.

  Charlie felt ashamed. He looked down.

  “Always doing some deal, even on the day we met! You, Robert and Mickey, your two little soldiers,” she added.

  “I’m sorry,” Charlie said, not looking up.

  “Don’t be sorry. That’s who you are; I always knew that.” Jackie replied.

  “You deserved a better husband,” Charlie said, looking back at his wife.

  “You were like Prince Charming the night we met. You seemed to be in command of everything,” Jackie said, her eyes filling with tears now. “You’ve given me everything a girl could want.”

  “That’s because you’re my queen. I would give you anything in the world,” Charlie said trying to fight the emotion.

  “I’m sorry I never gave you a child Charlie,” Jackie said, a tear falling to her pillow.

  Charlie looked back at his wife.

  They had never discussed the subject before; although it had crossed his mind many times. After all, they had frequently not used any form of protection against pregnancy. But they’d never knowingly tried to conceive—or at least so Charlie thought—until now. Now, he looked at his wife and realised that he must have been too busy to notice.

  He looked at his wife unsure of what to say.

  “I remember you trying to dance that first night,” Jackie smiled. “I don’t think I’ve seen you dance since.”

  Charlie smiled back at his wife. He remembered the night well. He had been transfixed on her from the moment he saw her; and because she was on the dance floor meant that he hadn’t thought twice about dancing as well. All he could see was her, making everything else grey into the background. He was there doing a deal, and it was a big deal at that. But, as soon as he saw her, nothing else mattered. When he thought back on that night, he wasn’t now sure what were his memories and what his imagination.

  “I reckon we could make that work,” Robert had said, about to shake hands with the older man who, together with Charlie and Mickey, he was standing with. Yet he stopped as he saw Charlie move away. “Charlie, where the fuck are you going?”

  “I’ll be right back,” Charlie replied, moving towards the dance floor.

  She looked like Michelle Pfeiffer’s more beautiful sister. She was with some friends, but still shone out like a star, surrounded by empty space. Charlie had watched, transfixed, as the small black dress she was wearing clung to every angle of her body. In a moment he was dancing beside her; he’d barely consciously moved between her friends.

  “Shit, you’re Charlie O’Neil,” he heard one of her friends say.

  Jackie’s eyes fell on him and he felt like he had just been born. Her eyes were beautiful; they had a sparkle in he had never seen before.

  “Who? Are you some kind of film star?” he could hear the beautiful girl say.

  “You ain’t heard of me?” he asked, suddenly desperate for her recognition. It was as if every bit of infamy and local talk about him had been built towards this point. Just so this girl should know his name. As if this moment was the whole point and purpose of his reputation.

  “No?” she smiled.

  “He’s some big time gangster,” another of the beautiful girl’s friends explained.

  “Oi! Charlie, what the fuck?” Robert shouted from the side of the dance floor, hands in the air in disbelief. Mickey, standing next to him, looked equally confused.

  “Is that your gang?” the beautiful girl asked, almost mockingly.

  Anyone else who had dared used this tone with him would be on the floor, but her words brought a smile to his face. It was as if his firm now meant nothing to him—it was all a joke in comparison to being near her.

  “They don’t look very scary,” she said with a laugh.

  “You’d be surprised,” he replied.

  “You like the music?” she asked, gesturing to the band on stage behind them.

  Charlie was barely aware of them, barely aware of any music.

  “They’re pretty shit,” he said.

  “What?” the beautiful girl said, looking shocked. “They’re fucking great!”

  Was that how it went? One thing he knew for sure was he spent the rest of the night by her side—and then as much of the next twenty years as he could. She was his angel; the only part of his life that was clean, untouched.

  “My John Travolta,” Jackie said, stroking Charlie�
��s hand, pretending to be oblivious to the tremble. The monitoring device continued to bleep, but no longer had his attention now.

  He looked at his wife closely, holding her gaze for what seemed a long time. Jackie was still the same girl; the sparkle was still in her eyes, despite her condition. And all that mattered was her. He gripped her hand, hoping the energy in his body would somehow enter hers and fight away everything bad, everything that was infecting her.

  “Listen, enough of this depressing talk!” Charlie said, breaking the silence. “It’s your birthday at the end of the week, and we are going to have one hell of a party!”

  “Charlie, I’m in the hospital,” Jackie reminded him through a grim smile.

  “We’ll smuggle you out for one night,” Charlie replied.

  “How will you do that?”

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I'm a gangster,” Charlie said, sitting back in his seat. He felt more comfortable now. “Some say that I run most of London,” he said, with pride in his voice. Somehow, gripping her hand had had the opposite effect to that which he intended; it was he that had been re-energised.

  Jackie laughed.

  “And I’ve got an even better idea; I’ll get that band to play at the party,” he continued, looking pleased with himself.

  “You said you don’t even remember their name?” Jackie said. “You said they were shit!”

  “Wild n’ Weird,” Charlie boasted. “I remember everything about that night.”

  He could feel the power returning to his body now. Making Jackie smile had brought the old Charlie back—his angel had saved him again.

  Chapter Three - John Blake

  “Is that the lot?” Emma asked, calling from inside the house.

  John Blake peered into the back of the empty van. I guess that’s me committed then, he thought, as he closed the van doors. And he walked into the house that he was now going to call home, nodding approvingly as he looked around. It was a well-maintained house, decorated by a mind driven by a minimalist nature just like his own.

  Emma leant over the banister. “Are you looking for man tasks that might need doing?” she smiled as she walked down the stairs.