Roadrage

by M J Johnson

  He continued, "She kept the new dress on. Blue, with a green trim at the neck and hem it was. She was pleased with it. I caught her admiring herself in the mirror on the back of the sun-shade. I told her she was vain. She laughed and said it was a woman's prerogative. We took a narrow road that wasn't sign-posted that we reckoned would bring us up into Langton Green. We planned to head towards Penshurst. Neither of us had taken that route before.

  "There was a sign to say the road narrowed up ahead. I wasn't going fast, about thirty, maybe thirty-five. There was a Water Board trench dug out along Jules' side for about a quarter of a mile. We drove down into a dip and came to a sharp bend around an old bridge. Then we started to climb up a gradient. There was another bend a little way ahead. I saw Jules fidget with her seat-belt. 'You okay?' I asked. 'This bloody belt is cutting me in two,' she said. Then as we approached the bend, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her release the catch."

  Gil stared at the mug before him on the table, "I've seen Jules repeat that action a thousand times in a thousand different nightmares."

  Sally nodded, understanding the reason behind Gil's often troubled sleep.

  "I shouted 'A car! A car!' But it wasn't a car, it was a pick-up truck. It hurtled around the bend … strange, you can tell in a split second the other driver hasn't seen you. His wife was beside him in the passenger seat. They were arguing with each other. I slammed my foot on the brake. I caught sight of Jules fumbling to re-connect her seat-belt. The wife saw us first. She screamed. I saw the blind panic in his eyes, the sheer terror in hers … it must've been a mirror image of the expressions on our faces.

  "The crash was inevitable. No escaping it … a deep trench on our side and a wall on the other. I recall the screech of brakes ... the impact and the irresistible force … being propelled forward. I must've reached out my arm to try and protect her. I remember the sound of breaking glass, of metal grinding into metal … the smell of burning rubber ... but I don't remember her flying into the windscreen ... or the screams of the Owens children as their father's truck bulldozed into us before it overturned in the ditch."

  Sally possessed no words to console after hearing such an atrocity. There were tears in her eyes. There were none in Gil's; he had wept so long and hard there was nothing left.

  "Jules' baby?" she asked quietly through her sobs.

  "Jules died instantly. They did an emergency Caesarean … the baby ..." Gil faltered, "... our son ... dead too … too late."

  "You were conscious?"

  "I was knocked out for a few minutes, concussed, my left arm was broken, a few cracked ribs. I was trapped in the wreckage and had to be cut free. I was black and blue with bruises but none of my injuries were serious. The rescue took an age."

  "What about the pick-up truck? You mentioned children?"

  "A boy six and girl eight, sitting in the back of the truck, no belts, nothing. They were crushed when the truck turned over."

  "Oh, God! But you weren't to blame."

  "The inquest exonerated me of all blame. Geoff Owens had been drinking and was over the limit. He was convicted of causing death by dangerous driving."

  "He deserved it."

  "He received a life ban from driving and a five year prison sentence. He was released after two and a half years on parole."

  "That can't be right. He caused the tragedy and got off so lightly!"

  "I never thought he got off lightly. He and his wife witnessed the death of both their children. Mrs Owens became more and more distraught. Six months into Owens' sentence she took an overdose. Paracetamol. She was discovered and revived but there was a delayed reaction. The poor woman died of liver failure a few days later."

  THIRD

  19 January – 13 February

  1

  Gil was grateful to Sally for not overwhelming him with questions about the crash, or for attempting to fix him emotionally. Rationally, he had always known that he was not to blame for the accident; unfortunately, the mental processes of those who survive traumatic events don't always conform to cool, clear logic.

  After they returned to bed for what remained of the night, Sally held Gil tightly in her arms. Once certain he was asleep, only then did she allow herself to drop off and catch the final hour.

  2

  Monday 19 January

  I know so much about you.

  You are shockingly honest. You donate ten percent of everything you earn to children's charities, which you do anonymously. Even your tax returns are legit, probably more than could be said of your average politician.

  I know your likes and dislikes: favourite foods, places to eat, taste for Arts and Crafts furniture, music, art, even the types of book you read. I know more about you than anyone living. Through your diary I've had access to the darkest reaches of your mind, the desperate times, and how close you've come to ending it all.

  If I wanted to, I could embezzle an enormous amount of money from your bank accounts. However, I'm not a common thief, and this is not about anything as vulgar as robbery.

  There is a superb plan forming in my mind. You'll appreciate the necessity of preparation. Over the days ahead I'll be turning more and more of my attention away from you directly, Gil. I'm going to be busy. I'll be wearing my most appealing smile and will have to exploit everything I've ever learnt about how to win friends and influence people. Tee hee hee!

  You'll find out later, when it's time.

  For now, all you need to know is that the package I'm putting together for you is quite a masterpiece.

  3

  The week passed quickly. Gil and Sally stayed in touch by texting and speaking on the phone for at least an hour each evening.

  On Tuesday, during their nightly chat, Sally suggested, "Roz and the girls keep telling me I must take a night off."

  "Sensible idea."

  "I could come down tomorrow evening, or you could come up?"

  "I'll drive up, that way we'll get extra time together. Megan will take Spike."

  He met her at six at the company rehearsal rooms near Highbury and Islington tube and they ate before going on to see a film. They spent Wednesday night together in Sally's tiny room at Roz's place in Streatham. Work permitting, they hoped to do the same the following week.

  On Saturday night, Sally managed to escape the clutches of Macbeth relatively early, which enabled them to get out for a drink. On Sunday Megan invited them to lunch. Gil was delighted to observe that whatever reservations Sally and Megan had initially had about each other appeared to be resolved and they now got on like a house on fire.

  'Women!' thought Gil.

  4

  Sunday 25 January

  I've been very busy on your behalf. I wish I could fill you in on the details. But I love a surprise!

  I don't suppose you've missed me, though? Tut, tut, how ungrateful!

  But then, you don't know I exist, do you?

  You soon will though.

  Time perhaps to start with a little mischief.

  5

  Another Monday morning came round. It was becoming routine for Gil to start the week by lugging a suitcase out to Sally's car.

  "Seems like you've got a busy week ahead," he said. At breakfast he'd watched her prepare a formidable list of things to do.

  "Don't remind me. The Tech looms ever closer, followed by the Dress and previews. Don't know how we're going to cope."

  "You'll cope. Doctor Stage and all that!"

  "Oh Gil," she said, nestling into his shoulder, "I don't want to go. I'd much rather stay with you." She was play-acting, looking helplessly up at him with her big brown eyes.

  "And then I'd have Klaus breathing fire down my neck. He'd insist I'd taken you hostage."

  She deposited a kiss on his lips, then got into her car and started the engine. Spike, who had been sniffing around the borders, suddenly realised he was required and rushed across to rest his front paws against the base of the driver's seat. "I hadn't forgotten you Spikey," she said patting
his head, "I'll see you in a few days."

  Gil picked Spike up and tucked him under his left arm. "See. You have two male admirers at this address."

  She laughed.

  Sally closed the car door and blew a kiss before accelerating out of the driveway, slowing briefly for a final wave.

  Once out of sight, Gil looked down at Spike. He took his companion's forlorn expression to be brotherly solidarity; rather than a statement on the humiliation of being a dog sandwiched between an elbow and an armpit. Spike, barely twelve inches from ground-level in his socks, always reckoned himself to be six-foot-four.

  6

  Monday 26 January

  7.06 am - Sally leaves. Off to sew a few wimples I expect. I assume she is staying with Roz. You inform that she does this when productions get busier.

  7.48 am - Newspaper boy.

  9.19 am - Postman.

  9.26 am - Megan.

  12.50 pm - Megan leaves.

  12.56 pm - Gil and Spike take off.

  Approx 1.05 pm - I enter your house. Three things to do:

  1 – Download new entries to your diary. And copy any new files for 'Pete's Pirates' (yawn!).

  2 – I want to see your attic. See your portrait of Julia. I wasn't sure where to find the key before I read:

  'March 4, 2001 … because I kept mislaying the key, I've screwed a cup hook into the doorframe to keep it safe. Not being renowned for my DIY skills, I felt quite proud of myself. Jules, of course, took the piss!'

  3 – A little job to do in the garden.

  I suppose what I'm about to do could be described as an unnecessary act of pure, pre-meditated malice. Quite wicked!

  7

  It was before dawn on Wednesday when Spike's symptoms emerged. He'd been a bit listless the evening before but Gil hadn't taken much notice. However, now there could be little doubt something was seriously wrong. Shortly after 4.30 am Gil was woken up by his dog vomiting on the bathroom floor. He put on the bedside lamp, and went into the bathroom to see what the matter was. The sight was pitiful. Spike, eyes half-closed was swaying on his legs with barely enough strength to stand. He had just expelled the contents of his stomach, but what frightened Gil most was the sight of the blood in it.

  He kneeled and stroked him gently, "Poor Spike."

  He observed there was bright fresh blood around the dog's tail and hind legs.

  "Back in a minute, Spikey," he said, recognising that he needed to get help. As he walked through the bedroom he noticed a patch of watery blood on the duvet where Spike had been sleeping.

  Gil kept important numbers on the notice board in his office. His fingers were trembling as he dialled the vet's number. It rang half a dozen times before it was picked up.

  "Hello ..." began a male voice, clearly just surfaced from sleep.

  "Jim? It's Gil Harper."

  "Mmm."

  "Spike's been sick, there's blood in it … and bleeding from the backside ..."

  "I'll meet you at the surgery in ten minutes."

  Gil put down the phone and went back to the bathroom. Spike, lying down, eyes still half-open, expressed no recognition at his master's return.

  He stroked the dog and explained, "I'm going to take you to the vet to make you better, Spikey."

  Gil got dressed in under a minute. He rushed downstairs, retrieved his car-keys from the kitchen table, grabbed a jacket from the hall and sped outside into the dark. It was freezing and he shivered as he fumbled with the key to open the garage door. Once he'd started the car he backed out. He left the engine running with its passenger door open. He rushed upstairs again, took a blanket from the linen cupboard on the landing and placed it alongside Spike, avoiding the vomit.

  "I'm going to lift you up and put you on this blanket. Okay, Spikey?"

  The dog made no response as Gil transferred him, folding the blanket's corners around him securely before raising the bundle. He carried Spike carefully downstairs and set him down gently on the passenger seat.

  He reached the veterinary practice nine minutes after making the phone call.

  Jim Cooper was backing into a space in the practice's car park as Gil was arriving. He parked directly opposite the vet's car. Jim came across, Gil lowered his window. "Give me a minute to do the alarms and switch on the lights," Jim said.

  Gil's attention was divided between watching Jim open the surgery and listening to Spike's panting which was rapid and shallow.

  The vet indicated with a wave through the surgery window to come in. Gil carried the sick animal through the waiting room, past the reception and dispensary, into an examination room beyond. Jim, an acquaintance rather than a friend of Gil's, was in his mid-thirties. He possessed boyish good looks and a genuine empathy for animals and their people. He was something of a local pin-up for middle-aged females with pets. "Hi," he said.

  Gil placed the blanket on the table-top and lifted Spike out from it. The dog attempted but failed to rise to his feet.

  Jim looked keenly at the dog's eyes and into its mouth. Spike put up no resistance. His eyes were bloodshot and his gums were bleeding.

  "How long's he been like this?"

  "I heard him being sick, just before I called. He was a bit quiet last night, a bit under the weather I thought," said Gil, starting to feel he'd been irresponsible.

  Jim Cooper went on to re-assure him, "Dogs get off days like the rest of us. Anyway, it's impossible to tell until the symptoms appear."

  "You know what it is?"

  "Yes," said Jim. The vet's swift response caused something to clench in the pit of Gil's stomach. "Ninety-nine percent at least. Looks like rat-poison."

  "Rat poison!"

  "It thins the blood, literally leaks through the capillary walls." Jim gently pulled back the dog's lips to reveal Spike's bleeding gums. His finger traced the line of a capillary to illustrate the point. Spike's gums were anaemically white and the capillary was bright red. "Any idea how he came into contact?"

  Gil shook his head.

  "Been walking somewhere different?"

  "We vary our walks, but they're all places we've been a hundred times." Gil needed to know the prognosis, "Can you do anything?" he asked, dreading the reply.

  "I can't make any promises. The treatment is vitamin K. I'll give him a shot."

  Gil had been so distracted by Spike's condition during the conversation that he hadn't noticed that Jim had already prepared an injection.

  "There's a chance it won't work?"

  "Afraid so. Sorry. It depends when he ate it, how much, and how long it's been in his system."

  "I see ... thanks for seeing us so fast."

  "It's my job," said Jim with the look that had won him the devotion of the local ladies. "Can you hold him?"

  Gil put his hands across the dog's back to steady him. Spike had been known to become uncharacteristically fierce in veterinary situations with needles about. On this occasion, however, he didn't so much as flinch or signal he was even aware that anything was being done to him.

  8

  Wednesday 28 January

  4.40 am - Dear me, you are up early!

  I knew the greedy little tyke wouldn't be able to resist my 'treats'. While you're taking 'baby' to the vet, I'm going to take the opportunity to spell things out for you.

  IF YOU DON'T SPOT MY TRAIL NOW I'D RECOMMENDGETTING YOUR EYES TESTED!

  9

  Gil didn't know what to do with himself once he got back from the vet's. He was reminded of Spike everywhere in the house. It was going to be a long day until 5 pm, when Jim Cooper suggested he ring the surgery.

  Gil needed to talk to someone. He rang Sally just after seven. He woke her up.

  "I'm really sorry, I thought you'd be awake," he said.

  She could tell by the sound of his voice that something was wrong, "I set my alarm for ten past because I foolishly got hooked into a game of Monopoly with Roz and John last night and didn't get to bed until midnight."

  Sally was upset to hear the n
ews. From a position of indifference to dogs she'd become quite attached to Spike.

  "He's so special to you, Gil. I'll drive back. I should be there around nine."

  "Please, don't, you're too busy and ..."

  "I don't want you to be on your own."

  "Megan will be here shortly."

  "Promise to ring, soon as you hear?"

  Gil promised. Their conversation led on to the question of where Spike might have picked up poison.

  He had almost the identical conversation with Megan three hours later.

  "So it could only have been Oldbury Hill or Knole Park?" pondered Megan.

  "It would have to be one of them."

  "Poor boy," said Megan, who, not given to displays of emotion, blew her nose discreetly on a tissue. "C'mon Gil. It's not doing us or Spike any good sitting around, getting maudlin. We've got plenty to do."

  As he generally did, Gil heeded her advice. Megan set to work immediately. He didn't notice at the time that she came to him with an inordinately large number of queries that morning.

  Gil attempted to get creative with Pete's Pirates, but it required too much effort. At eleven he went downstairs and made a pot of tea, poured cold milk into a jug, found a packet of chocolate biscuits and together with crockery returned with it all on a small tray stacked high. Megan was on the telephone so he deposited the tray on an empty area of her desk and went to the window to stare out at the bright crisp morning. He wasn't looking at anything in particular. It was impossible not to picture Spike out on patrol in the garden.

  At first he thought it was a brown pebble lying on a border, before noticing another, then another. The pebbles were spread around the borders at spacings too equally distanced to occur naturally. He felt a strange tingling in his scalp and along his spine and allowed his legs to follow where instinct led. He returned to his own room, unlocked the French windows and walked down the fire-escape to the patio.

  What had looked like pebbles at thirty feet he now recognised were dog biscuits, the kind that has a hard-baked outer casing and a soft meaty centre. He picked one up and held it in his palm for a moment before turning it around for examination. He saw the soft centre had been partially removed then replaced. He examined half a dozen of the biscuits; they were all the same.