An Ocean Apart (41 page)

“Barrymore Street, please.”

“West Village?”

“Yeah.”

The cab sped off and took the lights on Park Avenue at yellow. By the time he had stopped at Fifth Avenue, Jennifer was shivering uncontrollably and her head felt as if it were undergoing a rhythmic pounding from a sledge-hammer. She tapped on the dividing glass, and the driver flicked it open.

“Yup?”

“Would it be possible to turn down the air-conditioning, please?”

“Hell, lady, it's roasting outside!”

“I know, but I don't think I feel too good.”

The driver shrugged his shoulders and reached forward and turned a knob on his dashboard. The lights changed to green and he slewed the car round into Fifth Avenue, throwing Jennifer sideways in the seat. She put her hand to her mouth, feeling bile rise from her stomach and a choking sensation at the back of her throat. She reached forward and banged on the glass.

“Stop, please—now!”

The taxi pulled over to the side of the street and Jennifer pushed the door open before it had time to come to a complete standstill. She leaned out and threw up violently into the gutter, the whole scene witnessed by some passers-by, who instinctively withdrew to the far side of the sidewalk, uttering muted groans of revulsion. She closed the door again and fell back in the seat. The driver turned round slowly and eyed her.

“You been drinking, lady?”

Jennifer shook her head weakly.

“'Cos if you been drinking, I won't have you in my cab.”

“I haven't been drinking. I think I've eaten something.”

“Well, for Chrissakes, don't throw up in my cab,” he said, thumping his foot hard down on the accelerator, desperate to get her back home before she had a chance to do just that.

By the time they reached the traffic lights on Forty-third Street, Jennifer had had him pull over two more times, each session more violent than the one before. Her head now felt as if it was going to burst and she had to bend forward to try to relieve the unbearable ache in her stomach. Christ, she felt ill—it must have been the … she felt a sudden rush of pressure building up in her bowels—oh, no, please, God no, not that as well!

In her crouched position, she bent forward and knocked on the glass, and with a shake of his head, the driver immediately pulled over to the sidewalk again.

“No, no, don't stop. I just want to know where we are.”

“Just coming up to Forty-second, lady.”

“Well, could you turn left here, please.”

“Left? But I thought you wanted to go down to the West Village.”

“No, please, turn left. I want to go out to Leesport.”

The driver spun round in his seat. “Leesport? You mean Leesport on Long Island? I can't go all the way out there. This is my busiest time!”

“Please. You have to. That's where my home is. I'm ill. Please. I'll pay you double the fare, I promise. Just take me there.”

She slumped back in the seat, and for a moment the driver stayed where he was, staring at the ashen face of his passenger in the rear-view mirror. Then he pressed down his foot and sped away from the kerb, taking a left onto Forty-second Street towards the Midtown Tunnel.

*   *   *

Jasmine placed the cup of coffee on the table in front of David and sat down opposite him. He stared at the steaming cup, then slowly looked up at her.

“You see why I couldn't tell you when Benji was around,” she said quietly.

David let out a long sigh. “Yeah, I certainly can. Just as well that he's staying with Sean tonight.”

“Exactly. Mind you, I reckon it'll do him a lotta good staying with Sean again. You kinda pulled off something of a mini-miracle turnin' that one around, didn't you?” She took a sip of her coffee. “So what should I do about this goddamn mess?”

David shook his head. “I don't know, Jasmine. I really don't. I mean, I don't honestly think that we, or should I say you, can become embroiled in something that's not really your affair.”

“Well, it
is
my affair, because I don't want to see Benji hurt.”

“Yes, I understand that, but … well, Jennifer and Alex are adults. They have to sort it out for themselves. I mean, have you any idea whether Jennifer suspects anything?”

“No. As far as I know, she thinks everything's pretty much hunky-dory. Not that I ever talk about that kinda thing with her.”

“Well, that's it, Jasmine. You've hit the nail on the head. You don't talk to her about that kind of thing, because it's really not your job. No, that doesn't sound right.” He paused. “Look, you are probably the most loyal friend that she has, but this is her own very personal relationship.” He pushed his chair away from the table. “I don't know. Maybe I'm barking up the wrong tree here. It's just that regardless of how well I knew a person, I wouldn't have ever wanted them to give me advice on something that concerned only myself and…” He tailed off, suddenly realizing what he was saying and, feeling his face instantly flush, he cast a quick glance at Jasmine.

“And what, David?” Jasmine asked quietly, her coffee-cup half-way to her mouth.

David looked at her stony-faced, struggling desperately to try to think of a way of diverting their dialogue away from the trap that she had inadvertently sprung on him. At that precise moment, the front doorbell rang three times in quick succession, and both turned simultaneously to look at the clock on the wall.

Jasmine frowned. “Who on earth would be callin' at a quarter to ten?” She got up from her chair and hurried off through the house. David stayed where he was, watching until she had left the room, then let out a long sigh of relief. Jesus, he'd nearly blown it that time. That was the past unconsciously weaving its way into present circumstances, and he had been caught completely unawares.

“
DAVID! COME QUICKLY
!”

The urgency in her tone made him jump up violently from the chair, making it fall with a clatter to the ground. He ran quickly to the hall to find Jasmine and a red-faced overweight man gently placing Jennifer down on the bottom stair and leaning her limp figure against the banister. She was ashen-faced, her pale shirt spattered with a yellow liquid that made it stick to her skin, and a nauseating smell permeated the whole area.

“What's happened?” David asked, glancing from one to the other.

The man turned and started walking back towards the door. “The lady's sick, sir, that's what's happened, and she's made one hell of a mess inside my taxi. Jeez, I didn't want to do the run, but she said she'd pay me double, and now I've gotta clean out the inside of—”

“All right,” David cut in, holding up his hand. “Let's get one thing at a time. Just tell us what happened first.” He looked over to where Jennifer sat slumped against the banister, clutching her arms around her stomach, a look of near-delirium set in her eyes. Jasmine had sat down beside her, a frightened look on her face, her arm around Jennifer's shoulders.

“Picked her up outside a restaurant opposite the Inter-Continental. New place, I think, so can't remember the name. Said first that she wanted to go to the West Village, then she was as sick as a dog about three times, and then made me bring her out here. She said she'd eaten something that didn't agree with her.”

David looked at Jasmine. “Sounds like food poisoning. You'd better get the doctor fast, Jasmine.”

“I can't leave her sittin' here, David. I gotta get her to bed.”

“And I gotta get back to the city,” the taxi driver interjected. “I gotta clean out the mess in the back of the car, and that's gonna take the best part of the night.”

“How much is the fare?” David said, taking his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.

“A hundred bucks, and that only covers the fare. As I said, I gonna have to—”

Jennifer let out a groan and keeled forward, throwing up a stream of liquid yellow vomit so forcefully that it covered her skirt and three feet of the floor in front of her, making Jasmine jump to the side to avoid being hit.

David had a shiver of recognition at Jennifer's plight, the whole scene sparking off a vision of instant déjà vu, as if a window, hitherto closed tight within his brain, had suddenly been opened.

“You must be prepared for the worst with chemotherapy, David,” Dr. Spiers had said to him. “It can have some pretty unpleasant side effects. She'll be depressed, frightened and very sick, but you must just give her your support, David, all the support and all the love and all the gentleness that you can.”

This was all too familiar to him, and God, he'd had enough experience of it to know exactly how to act. It was like a switch being turned on in his brain, and he moved forward to take control of the situation, his actions as if on autopilot.

He handed his wallet to Jasmine. “Pay him two hundred, then get hold of the doctor as fast as you can.”

Jasmine rose to her feet. “But what about Jennifer, David? I gotta get her to bed.”

“I'll do that.”

She looked at him warily.

“Don't worry,” he said, putting his hand reassuringly on her arm. “I know exactly what I'm doing.” He turned to the taxi driver. “Thanks for bringing her out. We really do appreciate it.”

The taxi driver dolefully grunted his acceptance of David's thanks and headed towards the front door followed by Jasmine, who still wore a look of worried uncertainty on her face. David skirted round the liquid on the floor and squatted down beside Jennifer.

“Listen,” he said quietly to her. “I'm going to get you upstairs now. Do you think you can manage?”

Jennifer raised her head to look at him, her eyes barely focusing on his face. He placed his hand under her armpit and gently raised her to her feet, but her legs seemed too weak to carry her weight and she slumped forward against his chest. Wrinkling his nose at the smell of her clothes, he pushed her limp body away from him, and placing one hand round her back and the other behind her knees, he lifted her up in one swift movement and carried her up the stairs as fast as he was able.

Once on the landing, he suddenly realized that he had no idea in which direction her room was. He called down to Jasmine. “Which room is it?”

“Turn right and second on the left. Are you sure you can manage, David?”

“Yeah.” He walked along the corridor and pushed open the door and, having pressed the light switch with his elbow, he carried Jennifer over to the bed and laid her upon it.

“Not down,” Jennifer said weakly, trying to get herself back into a sitting position. “Feel sick like that.”

David helped her back upright and felt an involuntary retch shudder through his body, caused by the putrid smell of vomit.

“Okay, try and stay like that for a moment. I'm just going to run you a bath, and then we'll get you out of those clothes.” He looked over to a door that led off the bedroom. “Is that the bathroom?”

Jennifer nodded weakly, too ill to complain, and followed him with her eyes as he walked across the room to the bathroom.

Having turned on the taps, David grabbed a towel and returned to the bedroom to find Jennifer holding tight to the front of her blouse, a look of helplessness on her face. David leaned forward in front of her, resting his hands on his knees.

“Jennifer, you're going to have to trust me. I promise you, all I'm going to do is get you into the bath. Jasmine can take over after that, but I don't think she can manage to do the lifting work by herself.”

The kindness in David's voice was too much for Jennifer. Her face suddenly creased up and she burst into tears, leaning slowly forward so her face rested on his arms.

“This is so … degrading,” she said between sobs.

“No, it's not, Jennifer,” David said, putting a hand under her chin and turning her face up so that she was looking straight at him. “There's nothing to worry about.”

“It's not that,” Jennifer said, pulling her face away from his hand and looking down into her lap. “I think that it may not be just the sick.”

David squatted down on his haunches so that he could look up into her face. “Look, I promise you, I couldn't give a damn. I've seen a lot worse than anything you can show me.” He paused. “I don't mind, Jennifer, if you don't mind.”

Jennifer sniffed and nodded her head.

“Come on, then, let's get those clothes off.”

Jennifer let go of the front of her skirt and put her hands to the side, and David calmly began to undo the buttons. He pulled the shirt off round her shoulders and let it fall to the ground, then, undoing the clasp and zip at the side of her skirt, he lifted her up enough to slide both that and her half-slip down over her legs.

At that point, he heard Jasmine's voice talking to him as she came up the stairs and along the corridor.

“I called the doctor, David. Thank God he lives just down the street. I reckon he should be here any min——” She walked into the room to find Jennifer sitting on the bed in her bra and pants, with David standing in front of her. “David! What are you doin'? You shouldn't be—”

David looked over to her and held up a hand. “Jasmine,” he said in a quietly controlled voice, “could you just go and turn off the taps? The bath will nearly be overflowing by now. I'm going to get Jennifer into the bath and then you can take over.”

Jasmine looked quickly at Jennifer, who turned enough to give her a brief nod. She went into the bathroom and turned off the water, swirling it around with her hand to check the temperature. Then, standing back from the bath, she found a position from where she could get a clear view of what was happening in the adjoining room.

“Right, now I'm just going to put the towel round you and get everything else off, okay?”

David flicked open the towel and wrapped it round Jennifer's shoulders, then, reaching round her back, he undid her bra strap and pulled the bra free, letting it drop to the ground beside the shirt. Having inched her forward enough to slip the towel underneath her bottom, he gently rid her of her pants, and wrapping everything up into the skirt, he threw the soiled bundle over towards the door. Then, pulling the towel tight around Jennifer's body, he hoisted her up from the bed and carried her towards the bathroom.