by Amy Cross
"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.
Book 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 Hyder
abad. 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 seem 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".
"Working on what?"
"Can we talk about something else?" There's a new sense of tension in his voice, and I realize with surprise that I've managed to bring the 'old' Mark back. "I'm sorry," he adds." It's a complex situation, but you'll just have to trust me. I've got everything under control. I just need a day or two more, and then everything'll be okay".
"Sorry," I mutter. "I didn't mean to -"
"It's fine," he replies quickly. "I understand that you're curious, but the whole thing is very complicated. We can't just walk away from the game. No-one's supposed to be able to leave. I've been planning ahead, though, and the game is always susceptible to change. I'm certain that both Mr. White and Lady Red are going to come around eventually". He pauses. "They have a choice. They can either let the game die, or they can accept the need for change. They know that there are no other options, and I'm just waiting for them to make their decision. There's a deadline, and they know exactly what they have to do. Just let me get on with handling things".
"Sure," I say. "Just promise me one thing. Promise me you'll explain the whole thing to me one day. Like, years from now. Promise me you'll fill me in on all the details. Even if you have to wait until we're an old gray couple with grandchildren, promise you'll..." I pause as I suddenly realize how many assumptions I just packed into that sentence. "When it's all finished, I mean. I want to know the story of the game".
"You might not like it," he replies. "From what I understand, the game has been pretty dark in the past".
"I can handle dark".
"I'll tell you about it one day," he adds, with a hint of a smile. "But you really might have to wait until we're old and gray".
As our food comes, we sit in silence. I feel as if our conversation has reached a point at which we're both just assuming that we'll stay together. I haven't quite decided whether or not I'm going to answer his proposal tonight, and there's definitely still a part of me that's worried I might be heading into this whole thing way too fast. The smart thing might be to take a step back, spend some time away from Mark, and look at things rationally before making a commitment. At the same time, my heart attack has altered everything, and now that we seem to be on the verge of leaving the game, I can't stop thinking that everything has changed.
Jonathan Pope
1901
"The fever's getting worse again," John the Pig says as he leans over Henrietta's emaciated body. "She's burning up. It comes and goes, but I can never get rid of it entirely. It's as if it's coming from within. I don't know much about the female body, but I'm certain this is no ordinary condition". He turns to me. "She's dying, Mr. Pope. We need to -"
"Not yet," I say firmly. "Keep trying to soothe her".
It has been many months since I first brought Henrietta to the King's Arms. In that time, she has not recovered her old self once, not even for a moment. John the Pig has done his best, and to his credit he appears to have learned a great deal about the female body. He might be disgusting, disreputable creature, but he seems more than able to apply his knowledge to the matter at hand. I heard many years ago that he was on track to become a leading surgeon before falling into a life of addiction and alcoholism, and finally I am coming to believe such a tale. Beneath the crusty, foul-smelling exterior, John the Pig is an intelligent man who seems to actually care about his patients.
"It's getting to that point we talked about," he says as he mops Henrietta's sweaty brow. "I warned you -"
"Not yet," I say again.
"You keep saying that, but I'm telling you, it's time! We have to decide what to do about the baby!"
"The baby's going to be fine".
"The baby's going to kill her". He pauses. "The baby's going to drain all the blood from her body, and then once she's dead, the baby won't last much longer. You have to make a decision".
Looking down at Henrietta's swollen belly, I realize that he's right. The child has been growing and growing, to the extent that it almost seems as if he's drawing sustenance and strength away from his mother's body. So far, it would seem that the baby is healthy, but it's clear that Henrietta is not in the right condition to give birth. John the Pig has warned me on many occasions that by not making a decision, I risk losing both mother and child. Henrietta seems close to the point of death anyway, and although we're a little early for the birth, I'm starting to wonder whether I should agree to a forced labor. At least that way, the child might have a chance.
"Let me explain this to you," John the Pig continues, "in terms that you might actually understand. At first, this was a fairly normal pregnancy. Mother and child were working in harmony. When the woman became sick, however, their relationship changed. They're in opposition. The child draws everything it can from the mother, and the mother fights back. If this continues, they'll kill one another. The only godly thing to do right now would be for you to allow me to cut her b
elly open and retrieve the child. There's a good chance it could survive".
"But you'd be killing Henrietta in the process," I reply, barely able to comprehend the loss of this strong, proud woman. Since I first became aware of her, I've always seen Henrietta as one of the strongest people who has ever lived. She has a reputation across London for being a firebrand and a political orator, and there were times when I allowed myself to believe that she might be invincible. It's such a shock, therefore, to find her now in such a terrible state. I can't help but feel that this is partly my fault. If I'd never taken an interest in the game, if I'd never been drawn into the role of Mr. Blue, this perfect, brilliant woman would still be okay.
"A life for a life," John the Pig replies. "Either way, she dies. The only question is whether the child lives". He pauses. "If you're worried about what you'd do with it after it was out, I have connections. I can find a decent home for the baby. Sure, it won't grow up in a palace, but it'll have food and water, and a roof over its head. What can you offer it, Mr. Pope? Do you truly believe you can look after a child alone? A man such as yourself might make a decent father, but you'd be a damnably awful mother".
"I can't decide right now," I mutter, heading to the door. "I need time. I can't..." My voice trails off as I try to make sense of the conflicting thoughts that are rushing through my mind.
"You have twelve hours," he says.
I turn back to look at him.
"Maximum," he adds. "I'm not setting the deadline. She is. She can't last much longer. In twelve hours, it might even be too late. You have to find a way to make it settle in your mind, Mr. Pope. There's no alternative. She's as good as dead. Just give the word and I'll save the child".