Wreckage

by Niall Griffiths

  NURSE

  She’s maybe not cut out for this job. She’s maybe too sensitive, that’s what Carl, her boyfriend, says; he says that she should find something else, or if not that then she should learn not to bring her work home, to leave it at the hospital gates. To keep the two worlds separate, homelife and worklife, not let the one affect the other. She suspects that this is simply because her work stories bore him but nevertheless he has a point, she feels; for example, look at this – she’ll lose sleep over this tonight and tomorrow night and maybe the night after – this scene through the wired window of the recovery room in the Intensive Care ward:

  Like an octopus the woman with all those tubes in her and her head the size of a white pumpkin wrapped in all those bandages. She hasn’t moved for hours not since the emergency surgery to close her skull and remove bone splinters from her brain she hasn’t moved but is still alive. A Vegetative State that may become Persistent. Robbed by two thugs is the story, they came into her post office in the little village and whacked her with some blunt instrument and stole all the takings four thousand pounds and are probably out in the pubs now living it up and laughing and boasting and waving all the money around while here she is in a coma. And her husband, Emrys the nurse heard the sister call him, he’s sitting by her and holding her hand and even through the closed door his weeping can be heard. He presses his wife’s unmoving hand to his cheek and lays his head on her breast and clasps her one hand in both of his and this nurse can hear his desolate sobs and knows she’ll hear them in her pillow for several nights to come, more if the woman remains catatonic, more and more and more if she dies which she might, still.

  Leave it at work, Carl will say tonight, hunched over his takeaway jalfrezi and not taking his eyes off Holby City because he fancies Lisa Faulkner and also Angela Griffin. Leave it at work. Don’t bring it home with you, but what the fuck she thinks would a carpet fitter know of the sorrow that stalks the world? Of the terrible threat more terrifying in its randomness than the static stagnant sump that can be a human heart? Maybe she’s not cut out for this. Maybe she should find another job, one with less potential to upset; embalmer, perhaps. Undertaker. Nothing, nowhere is safe.

  And what would a man who fits carpets know, or for that matter an old woman who tends a post office. What could anybody know of this. What, truly, could anyone expect.

  These are not questions, the nurse thinks; these are not questions. She moves away from the window before Emrys can turn round and behold her staring face.

  DARREN, ALASTAIR

  D: FUCKIN FUCKIN FUCKIN FUCKIN

  A: Jesus … me fuckin ed, man … me ed …

  D: FUCK YER FUCKIN ED YOU FUCKIN CUNT YOU FUCKIN BRAINDEAD BASTARD SHITFERBRAINS YOU FUCKIN –

  A: How? How is this my fault, Darren? Look at me, lar, cunts wellied me n all, didn’t thee? How is –

  D:Yeh shoulda been fuckin lookin out for me, yeh fuckin prick! Leavin me to look after the swag the fuckin state I was in … what’s in yer fuckin ed, ey? WHAT THE FUCK’S IN ERE ALASTAIR!

  (A rigid finger poking bone: THUNK, THUNK.)

  A: Argh, Darren, don’t, lar! It fuckin herts, man!

  (THUNK THUNK.)

  D: Don’t see how it can, like, when there’s nowt but fuckin shite in there.

  (THUNK THUNK.)

  A: Gerroff! It’s all swollen!

  (THUNK THUNK.)

  D: Wannit swollen some more, do yeh? Ey? Is this what yeh fuckin want?!

  A: Arrgghh! Gerroff! Am sorry, Da, just stop fuckin hertin me, will yeh!

  (Patter of rain on shellsuit material. Honk and diesel rumble of a passing black cab.)

  D: Utter fuckin knob’ed. No lie, man, yerrah fuckin balloon’ed, honest to fuckin God. Nowt in your skull but shite, lar, am tellin yeh. This is the last fuckin time we’re ever gunner be seen together, me n you, believe. The last fuckin time. Count yerself lucky am not stampin yer friggin brains all over the fuckin road an djer wanner know why?

  A: It’s not my fault, Darren, honest to God, I –

  D: Answer the fuckin question, dick’ed.

  A: What question?

  D (big sigh): Am not bootin yer skull up n down fuckin Lime Street cos yeh know why? Cos you, yeh fuckin halfwit no-mark sacker fuckin shite, are gunner go n tell Tommy what happened. Aren’t yiz?

  A: But, but why, tho? A mean you said yerself, T don’t know about the postie. He don’t know about the money, does he? An you said he doesn’t need to, didn’t yeh? Remember? We weren’t gunner tell im about it, were we? That’s what you said. Remember? In Wrexham?

  D: Aye, yeh, I did. So in that case …

  A: Darren, no! Don’t fuckin hit me, lar! Look at me, I got fuckin wellied n all! Can’t fuckin see even outer this one eye!

  D: So make the most of havin at least one werkin one cos yer not even gunner have that in a coupla seconds. Yeh ready? One, two …

  A: Darren! No, mate! I, I fuckin saw them! I saw who it was! Two scallies! Them two neds that was playin pool before! I know what thee look like!

  D: Do yeh?

  A: Aye, I fuckin saw them! We can find the cunts, lar! Get ar money back! It was them two, tellin yeh! Thee adder fuckin pool cue! Al reckernise em, honest!

  (Panting. Rain patter. Traffic.)

  D: Am just about managing to keep me fuckin temper ere, Ally.

  A: I know, Da. An fair play to yeh. But honest, I can remember what thee look like. I saw them. Same two little gets that was playin pool before fuckin bushwhacked us fuckin both I saw them lar. Came outer the station wither pool cue, like.

  D: Did thee?

  A: Yeh. I saw them, man. No lie. Thee were behind yeh. Jumped yiz from the back, like.

  D: Softshites.

  A: Is right, man.

  D: An yer’d reckernise em again, would yeh?

  A: Oh aye yeh, too fuckin right. Know them faces anywhere.

  (Rain patter. Traffic.)

  D: One condition, yeh cunt.

  A: What?

  D: I said, one condition.

  A: Aye, what is it?

  D: That yeh leave the little cunts to me. You find em, call me an keep hold of em til I get there.

  A: Sound by me.

  D: We split up.

  A: Yeh.

  D: An yer’ve got til this time tomorrer, wharrever fuckin time it is. We don’t find em in that time then am holdin you responsible an yer know what’s gunner happen then, don’t yeh? Don’t yeh?

  A: Al fuckin well find em, Darren.

  D: Aye, well, yeh fuckin berrer had.

  A: Where yiz goin?

  D: To get me fuckin ed seen to. It’s cut open, in case yeh haven’t fuckin noticed.

  A: Wharrabout me? Am bleedin as well, arn I?

  D: Yer’ll be doin a lot more than fuckin bleedin, you don’t find the two little cunts that jacked us. So fuck off inter town an find em.

  A: But me ed, lar …

  D: Fuck off, Alastair. You know what to do. A: Aye but me ed …

  D (high-pitched, whining): ‘Me ed, me ed …’ (Voice getting fainter as he walks away.) Fuck off, Alastair.

  A: But am bleedin. It herts.

  D (even fainter):You herd me, Alastair. Fuck off an find em.

  (Rain pitterpatter. Diesel engines. Rooroo of a pigeon. Somewhere in the city a siren sounds.)

  EMRYS

  Oh my God look at you

  Look at what they’ve done to you

  My own lovely woman

  My own wonderful wife

  that first moment I met you at Denbigh show you were on a horse such grace I thought never before had I seen such grace I bought you gin in the beer tent and your cheeks were flushed and your hair matted with sweat from the helmet such a colour it was all golden and your eyes happy and so blue and you were laughing and I bought you gin I remember now I cannot even see your eyes so long ago this was how long must be forty years forty years and in all that time

  How can our lives be changed like this


  So instantly

  So for the worse

  Nothing will ever

  Nothing will ever be the same again

  You beautiful woman

  What have they done to you

  and this skin of your hands so soft still I hear your heart-beat the last time you lay like this in a place like this stillborn the baby was and I thought you would die you cried so much I thought your lungs your heart would burst and never again you said oh never again and I never told you that the doctor said there could never be a never again because there was damage he said and tried to explain but I didn’t listen I didn’t want to know it was a woman’s concern and none of mine but the way you cried and the amount you cried and then how the tears suddenly stopped in an instant and you said that by the end of the year you’d be running the post office in Cilcain and by God you were you

  Evil they must be evil

  That’s the only explanation

  Blame society blame their parents

  All such shit

  I will do something

  I will DO something

  I will get even

  Someone will pay

  and so much hardship you went through that time when the wheat failed and when they came and shot all the sheep because of the foot-and-mouth and you never shed one tear in fact since that time the stillbirth time I never saw you shed one tear as if a lifetime’s worth gushed forth in that one night and was replaced by what replaced by steel in your determination you ran the post office you worked on the farm you rarely sat still life was an adversary to be overcome unique you are never met anybody else like you and the hardness in you when you shot the foxes and drowned the kittens and the softness in you when you reared the baby badger found in the barn and you were always there behind the counter guarding people’s savings you were you ARE this wonderful woman this wonderful wife never looked at another woman in that way you were always all I ever needed please don’t die on me please don’t die and leave me alone I don’t know what I’d do without you I would die too I would follow you please recover please wake please LIVE

  God

  how could You let this happen

  God

  she was one of Yours

  how much need one person be put through

  wrung dry and that’s not enough for You

  You want more

  demand more

  I’ll give You more

  more

  blood

  more

  weeping

  this life this life

  tell me what to do

  I am old, make it easier

  please make it easier

  please please please please take it back take it off us this suffering this pain I cannot bear it this cannot be endured I am not strong enough nobody is please take this off me let her stand let me stand let both of us leave here on our feet please this is enough I cannot take any more my heart it will shatter it will burst I hear it cracking I feel it crumble watch look I

  please

  I will get even

  please

  show me a sign

  what do I do

  someone will pay

  wake, please

  wake

  DARREN

  —Ow! For fuck’s sake, man!

  —It’s disinfectant. Got to clean the wound.

  This fuckin doctor one’s takin the fuckin piss, lar. Feels like the cunt’s gorriz whole friggin hand in there …

  —Will you sit still?

  ‘Will you sit still’: listen to the fuckin blert. Not im who’s sittin ere with his friggin ed split open, is it? ‘Will you sit still’. Fuck off, knob’ed.

  —Does it need stitches?

  —No, I don’t think so. It’s shallow, just a surface wound, really. Bit of glue should do it.

  —Glue?

  —Yes, we can use a type of glue on superficial wounds such as this.

  —Like fuckin Araldite or somethin?

  —It’s a special compound used first in the field in Vietnam. Binds the skin together very nicely. Not easy stitching the scalp on account of there being very little flesh up there to suture so glue and a couple of Steristrips should sort you out.

  Glue? Just shows yeh, ey? Just glue yer friggin swede back together, like. Stick a birrer UHU on it, there y’go lad, sorted. Birrer Bostik.

  —Still fuckin herts.

  —Yes, well, it’s going to, isn’t it?

  —Yer not gunner give me any painkiller well?

  Listen to im; scoffin cunt:

  —I’d have thought that all the alcohol in your system would be doing a great job of deadening any sensation.

  Ooooooohhhhh. Gobshite ere.

  —I’m not bevvied, pal.

  —Maybe not now no but you reek of alcohol. And this is a typical alcohol-related injury, I’ve seen it a thousand times before. Stumble, did you? Catch the back of your head on the corner of a table, mantelpiece or something?

  Smug fuckin cunt. I don’t answer the get, don’t give the arsehole the satisfaction. Just lerrim get on with his job, bendin over me ed like the nitnurse at school an I can smell all them hospital stinks comin off his white coat, like, them kinda disinfectant mings, like. Two fuckin hours I’ve been smellin that shite for, waitin for this poncey bastard to fix me ed. Two fuckin hours, man, stuck in that friggin waitin room holdin a fuckin J-cloth to me ed that the nurse gave me an all the fuckin low-life no-marks around me, them junkies, them alkies, one ahl cunt spewin up Brasso an another ternin friggin blue. Two fuckin hours, man, believe that shit? Whole thing’s fucked up, lar. Whole thing is pure fucked up. Somethin’s gorrer be done. Fuckin disgrace it is. NHS my hairy fuckin hole.

  An there’s gunner be two more ozzy beds needed, soon, isn’t thee? Oh aye yeh. Two ozzy beds or two more fuckin grave plots, like. Pure not gunner get away with this, man, them two cheeky fuckin neds. That Ally’s gunner fuckin find em an am gunner give em a bit of thee ahl Saudi Arabias, like, take their thievin friggin fingers off one by friggin one, sloooowwwlly. Eye for an eye, lar, only fuckin way. Too right. Tie the little gets to chairs, nail their hands to planks, out with me ahl mate Stanley and …

  Never fuckin skank anythin again. Won’t fuckin be able to. Can’t fuckin wait, man, I pure cannot fuckin wait.

  An maybe that friggin Alastair needs a sortin, n all. Somethin not quite right about all this, it pure ain’t sittin right with me, likes. Somethin fuckin shady about that dozy bastard, as regards to this friggin caper. I could see it in his eyes, or his eye, at least, thee other one bein all swollen n closed up an everythin. A beauty, that shiner of is; neds must’ve caught im a right fuckin cracker. Maybe al just close up is other one. Or no, cunt’s been snidey so give is fuckin snipe a slice

  let the punishment fit the crime

  let the punishment fit the crime

  an de-beak the fuckin knob’ed. Bet he was plannin this all the way across Wales, that bastard. Don’t trust the twat. Never av. Norraz thick as he likes evryone to think he is, he –

  PAIN

  —Ow Jesus Christ!

  —Just one last swab, make sure it’s clean.

  —OW!

  —There you go. All done. Don’t wash or comb your hair for a week or so and try to sleep on your front. And don’t scratch it.

  —Not friggin likely to, am I?

  Cunt’s not gettin a friggin ‘thanks’, no way; fuckin sure he was enjoyin that, man. Didn’t avter be that much pain, likes, did thee? Fuckin Brillo pad that felt like, lar, no lie.

  Givin it toes out of ere, likes. Need a fuckin bevvy, a sit-down, sort through me options, like. Get me ed straight. It’s chocka. I toy with thee idea of skankin some droogs, any fuckin droogs, from one of the medicine cupboards like, but only for a minute an then I think fucks to it cos I’ve got a fuckin thirst on me plus there’s a couple of no-marks to find an teach a lesson in fuckin respect. Then of course there’s money to spend, oh aye, can’t friggin forget that, man. If there’s anythin left
, like, which there berrer fuckin ad be …

  But vengeance, lar, there’s vengeance to commit. For a start, like. An after that:

  Happy, happy days.

  ALASTAIR

  Norraz bad’s I thought it’d be really … swellin’s gone down a bit an I can see outer me eye again … nose ain’t bust either I mean it herts to fuckin shiters like but there’s no crunch when I twist it an it ain’t bruised that bad … gorrer headache like but av ad one of them permanent like since I got a kickin in the Copperas Hill bridewell that time … pig cunts … coppers, lar; bad, bad scallies, tellin yeh … can’t trust em … just like them little cunts, them two neds … little fuckers, man, eh? Little fuckin toerags … can’t trust anyone these days, man … no fuckin way … thought ad be able to trust them, like, a mean thee were just kids still, but oh no, oh no … start young these days thee do … pure cannot trust any bastard, man … dead sad, like, irriz … dead sad …

  Should clean the cut like, but d’yeh think there’s gunner be any soap in these skeezy bogs? Like fuck, man … landlord ain’t cleaned these bogs in years … thee pure friggin hum, man … yeh can almost taste it, like, in the backer yer throat … so I use a birrer yocker insteader soap, like, just spit a birrer gob on me finger an rub it on the cut … boss germkiller, like, yocker … natural … like that ahl advert, for Domestos or wharrever it was: Kills all known germs. THUNK. Dead.

  Thunk.

  Dead.

  That fuckin Darren, lar … he’s gettin it … notten fuckin surer, man, believe, I tell no lie, I shit you not … he’s gettin iz … an them two neds, like … notten, no one’s gunner fuck up me plans ere, like … least not two fuckin scally kids an a complete friggin ed-the-ball like Taylor … no way … gunner do what’s gorrer be done … gunner do it, man …

  Jesus, why does evrythin fall to bits like this? What goes wrong with it all? Yeh av all these plans an other people makem all fall to shite like an it’s as if there’s somethin wrong everywhere … as if under evrythin is this great big fuck-off giant badness, like … like a curse, aye, that’s wharrit is, a curse … anythin good yeh try an do an always somethin bad comes along and fucks it all up … always … mean I ad it all werked out in me ed, like, an now look, it’s all in fuckin bits, lar, bits … gorrer sort yerself out ere, Alastair … get this shite friggin sorted, like …