DEATHLOOP

by G. Brailey

  “Change,” said Justin.

  Back at the cottage as they got ready for bed, Veronica was subdued. “What made you go to see Barbara Quinn anyway?” she said, as though she’d been meaning to ask but never got round to it.

  “Justin thought you might have got it wrong.”

  “And did I get it wrong?”

  “Okay, right, here’s what I have concluded with all this,” said Zack, perching next to her on the bed and taking her hand, “we can do one of three things, one we ignore the soothsayers, just dismiss it as dangerous garbage and get on with our lives, two we accept Russell’s theory that no matter what we do we can’t cheat our own death and therefore indulge ourselves as much as we can in the knowledge that we won’t be around much longer anyway, or three we accept Barbara’s theory that free will allows us to avert our fate by going our own separate ways.”

  “So what’s your preference?”

  “The first one of course,” said Zack, up on his feet again and prowling, and in an attempt to lift the gloom that had settled over them, a change of gear. “He’s great Justin, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, he is,” said Veronica, “mad about you of course.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Oh come on, he can’t takes his eyes off you.”

  “Frightened I’m going to run off with the silver, that’s all,” said Zack, pulling his shirt off and chucking it at a chair.

  “What is it about you, Zack Fortune?” said Veronica, “you’re like a magnet to people… everyone loves you.”

  This comment, as flattering as it was, fell between them like a sack of cement. From subdued, Veronica now looked disconsolate, as though she was about to burst into tears.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Too much wine I expect.”

  “Tell me.”

  Veronica looked at him, took a breath to speak, stopped herself then tried again. “How will I ever keep you?” she said.

  They were on opposite sides of the room now which seemed appropriate as a huge chasm had opened up between them. Although Veronica’s comment was flattering, it was also predictable and Zack would have preferred not to hear it.

  There was something within Zack that made him balk at emotional security. Secretly he knew that he had felt much more alive at the thought of losing Veronica, at the thought of Susan’s revelations driving a wedge between them. If the boat didn’t rock, Zack always felt it his duty to rock it. So the ripple of panic he had felt earlier was now building up to a threatened tsunami. What would they do out here in the sticks? How would they spend their days? And more to the point, how would he get on living in someone’s pocket? He had always insisted on space and time alone, but now here they were thrown together in an unfamiliar environment with no distractions and with a vacuous domestic routine threatening to stifle him.

  Zack allowed himself a surreptitious little smile. They had been in their safe haven less than 24 hours and already he was nostalgic for storms. He left Veronica’s question unanswered because actually there was no answer. Neither of them could foresee what was round the corner and the way things had panned out lately, Zack decided that was probably just as well. But Veronica had picked up on all his uncertainty and he knew she had.

  “We’re all right aren’t we, Zack? You and me?”

  “Of course we are, we just need a bit of time to recover, that’s all, we’ll be fine.”

  But the following day saw them put all their reservations on hold. They had breakfast in the garden, and Veronica insisted they made a check list of things to do. The vegetable patch was overgrown, she said, and some of the creepers were running riot. Zack went along with all this because he realised Veronica was making an effort, so he would make an effort too. The day passed pleasantly enough, although mid-afternoon Zack made an excuse to drive into Chipping Norton, leaving Veronica to take a nap. As soon as he was able, he phoned Sam.

  “What’s wrong with your phone? I’ve been calling.”

  “I switched it off, it has a habit of bringing me bad news.”

  “So how’s things?”

  “Fine,” said Zack, knowing that Sam would pick up on the evasion straight away, and he didn’t disappoint.

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” said Zack, trying harder this time, “great cottage, great little spot, a huge garden that runs down to the river.”

  “And heavy traffic by the sounds of it…”

  “Yeah, well, I’m just in town for a few things, that’s all.”

  But they both knew why Zack was in town, because he needed the distraction of life all round him to stop him brooding too much on who he was and who he knew he should be and the vast expanse in between.

  “But I miss you, I miss you like mad, already.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” said Sam, gloating.

  “Well I don’t know about that, but listen… call me…”

  “Keep your bloody phone switched on then.”

  “I’m up in court next week, I’ll come over.”

  During Susan’s lunch hour at the juice bar, Susan called Tracy’s office, telling the receptionist she was Veronica French.

  “Veronica?” said Tracy, surprised, as they had never spoken, “how’s things, how are you?”

  “A lot better thanks.”

  “And Zack?”

  “Oh fine… you know…”

  “So you don’t mind him carting you off to the Cotswolds of all places?”

  “Not at all,” said Susan, with barely a hesitation.

  “It all sounds a bit twee for my taste.”

  “It’s great, we love it here.”

  “And Justin’s done the honours has he?”

  “Sorry?” she said, her mind racing.

  “It is Justin isn’t it, have I got that wrong?”

  “Yes… you were just breaking up that’s all… anyway, Zack’s having trouble with his phone, so we thought maybe you’d like to take my number instead, just in case.”

  “Sure,” said Tracy, jotting Susan’s number down on a scrap of paper.

  “Probably best to text me should you need to, reception is not that good here.”

  “I’ll do that, give him my regards won’t you.”

  “Course, oh and thanks for everything.”

  A little thrown by the conversation, Tracy brooded on it when the phones went down. She tried Zack’s mobile but when it clicked off it seemed to confirm things, so she copied the new number into her client list and got back to work. More pressing for Tracy was her inability to speak with Jason, she decided to set off for Holloway later that day to try and track him down.

  Susan considered her conversation with Tracy extremely useful. She was curious to know what Zack and Veronica would do following her release from hospital. Susan suspected they might go away for a while somehow, and now she had a rough idea where.

  On the night she had let herself in to Zack’s flat, she had discovered an old address book in his bedside cabinet and taken it, thinking it might come in handy. Now she realised how fortuitous that decision had turned out to be. Most of the names and addresses had been crossed out, but some weren’t. At the Internet café Susan discovered that Creed Mill Bridge was a picturesque market town three miles east of Burford, in the Cotswolds. She decided to give Justin a call to see if she could find out anything else.

  “Hello, is that a Mr Justin Dunsmore,” she said in her official voice.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “This is Hannah.”

  “Hannah? Hannah… sorry….”

  “From Brideswell Bookshop…”

  “Oh, right…” he said, just as confused.

  “A Mr Zack Fortune gave us your number, at least, I hope I’ve got that right, it is Fortune isn’t it?”

  “Well, yes, probably…”

  “He ordered some books and gave us your address, although he mentioned that might change…”

  “It has… he’s at Windbourne Cottage… sorry,
can’t talk, I’m on my way out…”

  Tracy found Jason’s house easily enough, dominating a short cut that ran at right angles to the Holloway Road. Some bright spark had had the idea of painting the house a sickly pink at one point, so it stood out, as all the other buildings in the street were traditional red brick. Drooping curtains blanked out each window and litter congregated on the path and the porch blown there by a conspiring wind, as though providing a service to the community. An old car battery lay on its side just inside the broken gate, and a rusty pram was propped up under the ground floor window on guard duty.

  Tracy was at the front door considering the bewildering list of bells when it flew open revealing a huge ungainly adolescent, headphones clamped on his ears, who barged past her and off up the street. Tracy stepped inside the hall and took the stairs. A baby was crying somewhere, a girl shouted and a television blared. Elsewhere hip hop music pumped out, its base rhythm throbbing up through the floorboards, causing Tracy’s feet to vibrate in her shoes. She found Jason’s door and knocked, bringing movement behind it to an abrupt halt.

  “Go away, Packie! Just fuck off out of it for the last time!” he screamed as the door flew open.

  She saw the shock register on Jason’s face, then the panic as he brought the door almost closed again, peering out at her through the crack.

  “Hi Jason, can I come in?”

  “No you can’t come in, no one can, it’s not allowed.”

  Just then, from across the landing another door opened and an Asian boy poked his head out.

  “What’s wrong with you, man? Stop fucking screaming all the time.”

  “Shut your gob, shitface,” said Jason.

  “No you shut yours, wanker, or I’ll do it for you.”

  “Let’s go down to the car,” said Tracy, “come on.”

  Jason followed Tracy down the stairs and in his haste to keep her from his room, for the first time in months he stepped out into the street in his t shirt. Tracy clocked the dirty bloody bandages round his wrists and was working out what to say.

  “Why haven’t you got back to me?” she said as they got into the car. “Please don’t do this if you want me to represent you.”

  Jason looked at her and she knew what he was thinking: that he didn’t want her to represent him and he never had.

  “And what’s this?” she said, nodding at his bandages as Jason gazed off into mid distance and folded his arms, blanking the question.

  “I know what I’m doing,” he said, quietly.

  “Really?”

  “I do it all the time.”

  “Well you shouldn’t do it all the time, if you hit a vein you’ve had it.”

  Jason sniffed, ran the back of his hand under his nose.

  “I think we should get you some help, don’t you?”

  “There is no help.”

  “Yes, there is.”

  “No one wants to know.”

  For all her years of dedication to the legal process and for the brilliant mind that she had honed into a not insubstantial tool for the benefit of earning a not insubstantial living, right at that moment Tracy could think of nothing that would make this any better, she tried, but could come up with nothing at all.

  “There must be someone you can turn to,” she said finally, “someone who can give you some support.”

  “Think I’d be living in that shithole if there was?”

  “I could give social services a call.”

  Jason cocked his head on one side and almost smiled. “Fuck off,” said Jason, patiently.

  A silence fell between them, Tracy breathing in Jason’s smell, a combination of tobacco, alcohol, sweat and penny sweets, both in their own way affected by being here, alone, next to each other.

  “So who patched you up?”

  “Eileen found me, a barmaid called Eileen.”

  “Just as well…”

  “I went to see her that night and the following morning, and at lunch time, but they said she don’t work there no more and not to keep going back, but she does work there, I know she does.”

  “You need to talk to someone, Jason.”

  “I used to like talking to Zack Fortune but he’s dumped on me like everyone else.”

  “Okay, so what about friends?”

  “There’s Kelly…”

  “Well that’s good…” said Tracy, surprised.

  “She’ll be up later after she’s had her tea.”

  “And where does Kelly live?”

  “Oh, you know, around… we’re getting married soon although I’m not sure I’ll fit in with her lifestyle.”

  “Why won’t you?”

  “She’s an airline pilot, flying long haul from Heathrow, so marriage might not work out on that basis.”

  Tracy stifled a smile, which wasn’t difficult because none of this was funny, it was tragic.

  “Anyway… we’ve finally got dates for the hearing,” she said, handing over a sheaf of documents. “Look through those and get back to me, meanwhile, I’ll put in a few calls and try to find you somewhere to live.”

  “No point, I’m moving to Miami soon so I can swim with dolphins every day.”

  Tracy watched him get out of the car and shoot back into the house without another glance. She remained where she was for a while, trying to shake off the gloom.

  Tracy felt completely impotent faced with the assorted problems presented by Jason Heart. She could possibly prevent him from being eaten up by the system this time, but inevitably he would carry on careering through life like a bucking bronco at a gymkhana, blind to the devastation in his wake, bewildered by the anger his lack of personal responsibility continued to generate, unable even to comprehend the concept of personal responsibility as none had ever been shown to him.

  And in that he was not alone. Detention centres were overrun with just such kids, on a perpetual doomed search for emotional shelter, for somewhere they belonged, for someone who cared, their frustration at not being able to achieve this exacerbated by the knowledge that it was something others had gifted to them at birth, requiring no effort on their part at all. It was damage limitation now with Jason, and that’s all it would ever be till the day he died.

  CHAPTER 29

  For a week Zack had attempted to keep his panic at bay, and had for the most part succeeded. He had made a huge effort to give in to the indolence and was gradually winding down, something he had never been able to do before, even on holiday. Without saying anything to Veronica, he went out for a good part of the day alone. Veronica didn’t question it, and anyway she had now managed to paint a little with her left hand, so she was occupied when Zack went off on his sorties.

  Once or twice he scored cocaine to share with Justin, and Veronica did notice his sudden wide eyed enthusiasm when he got back to the cottage on a couple of occasions, but she didn’t mention it. She was pleased that Justin lived so close by, knowing full well that she was no substitute for the camaraderie Zack enjoyed with Sam. Veronica was happy at Creed Mill Bridge and she wanted Zack to be happy there too.

  As Zack’s day in court loomed he found himself looking forward to his trip back to town, and rang Sam to arrange a meet. Zack had decided to defend himself. He didn’t really need Tracy now or the barrister she had recommended because he presumed it would be a slap on the wrist and a fine and he was right. He agreed to pay £2,000 plus costs. It was the final complication crossed off his list and he left Highbury Magistrate’s Court feeling a stone lighter.

  “So that’s it?” said Sam, in The Two Bells an hour later.

  “Indeed it is, the final chapter,” said Zack raising his glass, and hitting it against Sam’s.

  “You look so much better, mate,” said Sam. “I know I rubbish country pursuits, but if it produces these results…”

  “It’s dull out there, no question, but maybe dull is what I need at the moment.”

  “How’s Veronica?”

  “Making progress… she’s found a way to
paint now so she’s happy about that.”

  Sam looked at him, sensing trouble. “And you’re okay both of you?”

  “I suppose we are, but hey… you know me…” said Zack, with surprisingly little conviction.

  “Christ, don’t tell me you’re actually content.”

  “Would that surprise you?”

  “Well yes it would, leopards and spots comes to mind for some strange reason.”

  They swapped smiles, mulled this over for a moment or two.

  “And how’s Justin?”

  “He’s okay, he’s given us space but he’s there for a bit of madness when I’m so inclined.”

  “Ah…” said Sam, looking hugely relieved, “now that’s more like it.”

  Two days later, over breakfast in the garden, Veronica asked Zack if he thought it a good idea to look out premises for a gallery.

  “Round here you mean?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “It’s not permanent, Veronica, all this,” he said, “is it?”

  “It could be.”

  “We’d miss town, I mean we miss it now…”

  “We’d get over it.”

  Veronica loved it at Windbourne Cottage and felt no desire to be back in Thornhill Square, or pumping out the cellar at Puddlewell Lane. It felt like she was on holiday and she didn’t want the holiday to end.

  Although she could barely remember what happened on the day of her accident, she could recall spikes of fear and an urge to get away. Everyone seemed to think that Susan had pushed her down the stairs, but Veronica could not vow that Susan had pushed her, but what she was doing on the stairs in the first place was still a mystery.

  Since their conversation at her hospital bed, there was the little matter of Zack’s proposed confession hanging over them and Veronica was keen to get it out of the way. That night after dinner Veronica felt recovered enough to bring the subject up.

  “I got the impression you didn’t want to hear all that,” said Zack.

  “And I got the impression that you needed to say it.”

  “Okay, but I warn you, it’s not pretty.”

  “I gathered that.”

  Zack was about to start speaking, stopped himself, regrouped, then tried again. “I treat people badly, especially women…”