My Best Friend Has Issues (19 page)

‘No!’ I yelled and threw myself in front of Chloe. Conejo was propelled with tremendous force not off the terrace but against a solid surface: my head and shoulders.

The puppy yelped and hit the terrace floor with a sickening thud. I thought her back must be broken but miraculously she quickly found her feet and ran away. My forehead, having taken most of the force, was stinging.

‘For fuck’s sake, Chloe! You shouldn’t play around like that, you could’ve killed her!’

‘Who says I was playing?’ she yelled.

Chloe was pulling the dirty shoe off with her fingertips. When her foot emerged it was stained brown. There were little parcels of soft turd deposited between her toes.

‘If I thought for one minute…’ I began.

‘If you thought
what
?’ She shook her head violently on the word ‘what’. ‘If you thought for one minute, it’d be a whole lot longer than you usually spend thinking,’ she sneered.

Chloe was getting good at sneering. She’d had plenty of practice lately. It was becoming her default facial expression, but when she shot me one of her super-sneers I realised she was actually mirroring my expression.

‘It’s not you,’ I said defensively, ‘it’s the dog poo, it’s disgusting, it’s grossing me out.’

‘Oh!’ she fired into my face, ‘You too, huh?’

‘You weren’t really going to do it, were you?’

Chloe hopped across the terrace towards the maria to where the hose was.

‘Tell me you weren’t going to boot a puppy off the roof,’ I yelled. ‘Tell me!’

Despite being on one leg, she turned on me, all attitude: eyes blazing, chin jutting, dog shit oozing between her toes.

‘The dog’s okay, no harm, no foul. I’m the one whose foot is covered in it and whose five-hundred-dollar shoes are ruined!’

‘No foul? You kicked her; you deliberately dropped her and kicked her, hard. I saw you. For God’s sake, she’s only a baby!’

Chloe put her head down and concentrated on washing the shit off. She held her foot over the drain and hosed water across it. We watched it break up and slide into the drain. Then she turned to rinsing out the shoe. On hearing the running water Conejo came out of hiding looking for a drink. Chloe filled the dogs’ bowl from the hose. The puppy stood beside Chloe waiting for the bowl to be filled and then happily lapped the water. Chloe stroked Conejo, Conejo didn’t seem to mind.

‘I know, I know,’ whispered Chloe, ‘Yeah, I know. What can I say? I was angry, I do crazy things sometimes, I can’t help it. Cooped up to much in this apartment, it’s not good. I’m a bad person.’

‘You’re a crazy bitch,’ I said sadly.

‘Yup, I know.’

Conejo turned away from the water and licked Chloe’s hand. I felt exhausted. I stumbled back to bed and left them on the terrace. Chloe came into the bedroom and shook me awake.

‘Alison. I’m gonna go get your letter now.’

Eyes half shut, I squinted at her but didn’t say anything.

‘I’ll get the letter, okay?’

‘Okay.’

I turned away and pulled the sheet over my head. I didn’t want to see her.

I was glad when she left the flat. I needed a bath, I felt dirty, like I smelled bad. While I was running the bath there was a knock at the front door and my heart sank. It must be Chloe, she must have forgotten something, her keys most likely.

It was Señora Garcia from downstairs.

‘
Eres
Donaldson?’ she asked me.

She was holding an envelope. I was only wearing a T-shirt, which I pulled down over my legs as best I could. Señora Garcia smiled shyly. We were both embarrassed at my state of undress and our lack of communication. Gradually I understood that she had received this envelope, my envelope, in her mailbox.

‘
Si
, Donaldson!’ I said enthusiastically, pointing to myself. ‘
Muchas gracias, Señora, muchas gracias
.’

When I closed the door the first thing I checked was the postmark. It had only been sent out yesterday.

Chloe had been right; it probably had been processed through a mail room. In the last few days I’d begun to harbour some uncharitable, perhaps even paranoid thoughts. I’d begun to think that Chloe was withholding my letter. Once or twice I’d come close to actually accusing her. I blushed at the memory. Thank God I hadn’t.

The letter was headed up EAC. Despite telling them nothing, the doctors were on to us. Those pills we took, that’s what they were called. I went and found the pills to check but I was wrong, they were called ECA. As I read the letter closely EAC seemed to refer to
enfermedad de la arteria coronaria
. Coronary was heart, wasn’t it? They said things in American films like
he had a coronary
, didn’t they? There were four paragraphs that meant nothing to me but near the bottom of the page the last paragraph had my name in it, Señorita Donaldson, and other medical looking terms, some I recognised some I didn’t:
Estres psicological
– that sounded psychological.
Isquemia silenciosa
– no idea what that meant.
Angina pectoral
– some kind of angina, obviously. Angina, was that serious?

The last and final medical term jumped off the page and slapped me so hard I gasped:
infarto miocardial
.

I knew that one: myocardial infarction, it had to be, it was too close for it not to be.
Infarto miocardial
/myocardial infarction was nothing less than a heart attack, I knew that for certain. I knew because that’s what it said on my dad’s death certificate.

So I really did have a heart attack. Until I actually saw it written down I’d never quite believed it. It was another thing, in my bored and paranoid bedridden state, I’d thought Chloe had invented. Nobody at the hospital told me I’d had a heart attack, I’d only
Chloe’s word for it. Thank God I’d managed to restrain myself from blurting out any of these crazy suspicions.

Now I felt guilty. Everything Chloe did was to make me happy. Even now she was running around trying to find Dr Fernandes and spending hundreds of bucks for my benefit. She’d given me her home, her money, her clothes, her unconditional friendship. She was the only friend I had in this city. She had looked after me and never complained once. Okay, the cooking and cleaning had fallen off a wee bit and the thing with the dog, well that showed the kind of stress she was under.

Lying in bed all day, somewhere between waking and sleeping, had done strange things to my mind. Earlier that morning I’d nearly asked Chloe if she’d lied about the heart attack. She’d have had every right to throw me out in the street there and then. No more Barcelona penthouse apartment for me. No Berkeley. I’d come seriously close to misjudging Chloe. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

By the time Chloe got back I’d cleaned the kitchen and baked an apple pie to welcome her home. It felt good to be on my feet again. I’d wanted to cook a nice meal for her but the only things left over from her healthy eating shopping frenzy were some wrinkled apples. I didn’t feel strong enough to go out shopping, the stairs were a bit daunting, but I didn’t want to miss her coming home so I improvised. The pie looked fantastic, really American, but Chloe didn’t even see it. She was too busy screaming about the article in
Metro
.

‘She was here!’

Chloe threw the newspaper at me.
Metro
was a free newspaper, the same as they had on the Cumbernauld buses, except this was in Spanish. It was open at the arts section and I scoured the page looking for a clue as to what she was ranting about. The main feature seemed to be about the guy in the photo with the paintings behind him.

‘I went to find Dr Fernandes but they told me he’s on vacation and on the way back I saw this: that’s him, Rafael Gomez, that’s her boyfriend!’

Chloe viciously stabbed her finger at the man in the picture.

‘Sorry Chloe, I’m not getting it.’

‘My mom’s boyfriend, she came to Madrid with him for the opening of his new exhibition. She set it up.’

‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it?’

‘Read it. The show opened to the public on Friday night. Rafael Gomez flew back to L.A. on Saturday, it says so right there.’

‘Sorry, I…’

‘Well, has she called? Has she called me? Has she? She flew all the way to Europe, she was in the same country, a few hundred miles away and did she call? Did she?’

‘Maybe she’s still in Spain; maybe she’s coming to Barcelona to surprise you.’

‘Oh yeah?’

Chloe pulled out her phone and pressed number one, the speed dial for her mum’s home number.

‘Let’s test that theory then, huh?’

She put it on hands-free and we listened to the phone ring. She let it ring for ages, I counted thirty-two. Normally it activated the answering machine after ten rings but for the last week her mum’s phone had just been ringing out. We were up to forty-six.

‘She’s not there, Chloe.’

‘Hello?’ said Chloe’s mother’s sleepy jet-lagged voice.

‘You fucking whore,’ Chloe snarled.

‘Chloe?’

‘I know you were in Madrid, I read it in the news.’

‘Oh honey, it was such a hectic schedule, I didn’t have a minute. It was crazy…’ She tailed off. Chloe’s mum didn’t sound like she was even convincing herself.

‘I hate you,’ said Chloe, still in her psycho voice.

‘No you don’t, darling, you’re just upset. I’m so sorry you’re disappointed.’

Chloe dropped the phone and flopped down on to the couch. She was snivelling and mushing her face so hard with the heel of her hand that she made black mascara circles around her eyes.

‘Chloe?’

Chloe looked at the phone as if she didn’t understand the noise coming out of it, as if she’d forgotten who this disembodied voice belonged to.

‘Chloe, are you still there? Speak to me, you’re scaring me now, honey.’

I picked the phone up. I looked to Chloe for instruction but she wouldn’t look at me.

‘Chloe doesn’t want to speak to you at the moment.’

There was a little acid in my tone, I couldn’t help it.

‘Oh, okay. It’s Alison, right?’

‘Right.’

‘Well thank you, Alison, I’ll call her later, when she’s feeling better.’

‘Yeah, you be sure to do that,’ I said stiffly, and cut her off.

I sat beside Chloe on the couch and rubbed her back. Comforting each other was all we seemed to do these days. I was keen to have her translate my letter but I had to let her have a moment.

‘I’ve got something that’ll cheer you up.’

She didn’t respond. I went and got it anyway.

‘Ta da!’

I presented the apple pie with a flourish and put it down on the coffee table in front of her. I went back to the kitchen for plates. When I came back she seemed to have perked up a bit. She was examining the pie.

‘Nice work.’

‘I made it as a thank you for looking after me so well.’

‘Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?’

‘Well, maybe you can tell me. The letter came today.’

‘Huh?’

I showed her it.

‘I don’t know what all this stuff here is, hopefully you do, but I know what infarto miocardial means.’

‘Yeah?’ Chloe took the letter from me and scanned through it.

‘Yeah, myocardial infarction, it’s how my dad died.’

Chloe finished the letter and put it down.

‘So? What does it say? Do I have to continue with the bed rest?’

Chloe picked it up and read it again. I could see her mind was not on it but I had to know.

‘Yeah, no more bed rest. It doesn’t say much, it’s just for your records, it says you should give it to your regular doctor.’

‘But no more bed rest?’

‘Uh, no.’

Chloe didn’t seem entirely sure. Her answer seemed too pat. I wondered if she was telling me what she thought I wanted to hear.

‘You’re sure? I’m supposed to start work soon. It might be dangerous if I…’

‘I’m sure!’ she yelled.

‘And what about the medication?’

‘I don’t know. I’m not your doctor. It says you’re to give the letter to your doctor. Stop bugging me, will you?’

‘Excuse me, I was only asking.’

Neither of us spoke for a few minutes. Chloe broke the silence.

‘Nice looking pie,’ she said.

It was the nearest I was going to get to an apology. There was no point in keeping up the huff. I didn’t have to stay in bed any more, which was something to celebrate. I was going to be able to start my new job after all, that could only be a good thing. When she was in a better mood I’d ask her to help me find a regular doctor here in Barcelona. I’d just have to wait till then. Everything, it seemed, even my health, had to depend on Chloe being in a good mood. I had to keep smiling.

‘Cheers.’

I handed Chloe the knife to cut the pie.

‘You can do the honours.’

‘Every kid loves apple pie, momma’s apple pie. My mom never baked a pie,’ Chloe moaned, ‘she wouldn’t know how.’

I thought it was the beginning of another self-pitying rant against her mum but she went quiet. She’d progressed immediately to the sulky stage. Chloe pricked the middle of the pie crust and a little steam escaped. She pricked it again and more came out. Slowly and methodically she began pricking holes all over the top of my nice pie, ruining the look of it. Then she began randomly thrusting the knife sideways into the pie and pulling upwards, making a mess.

I shouted, I couldn’t help myself, ‘For God’s sake! You’re making my apple pie into a dog’s dinner!’

This only made things worse. She started angrily hacking at the pie now, chopping it to pieces. She treated me to her new psycho stare and, with the ghoulish mascara rings around her eyes, it was pretty convincing.

‘Chloe,’ I said, serious and grown up, ‘give me the knife.’

She threw it petulantly towards me. It landed on the floor and dripped apple pie gunge. Juegita, always the opportunist, came into the room and sniffed at it but even she turned up her nose.

‘I’m sorry about the thing with your mum but you didn’t have to destroy my pie. You’re twenty-three, Chloe, you don’t need your mum.’

‘I do,’ she wept.

‘No you don’t.’ I said softly but firmly. ‘Remember when Juegita first had the pups? Remember how she constantly fed them, letting them suck at her day and night? Because they were tiny babies and they needed her. When they got bigger they could eat solid food but they still wanted milk, remember? But she wouldn’t give them any more. She growled and bit them and chased them away. She had to, so that they’d learn to fend for themselves. That’s her job. D’you understand?’

I smiled at Chloe. I thought that had gone rather well. I’d just made it up on the spur of the moment but I’d surprised myself with such wise insight.

‘Thanks for that, Alison,’ Chloe said quietly.

‘It’s my pleasure.’

‘Thanks for that charming parable…’

Her tone wasn’t clear, was she being sarcastic?

‘That pearl of doggy wisdom, that sentimental baloney.’

She
was
taking the piss.

‘You have no fucking idea,’ she said.

Chloe jumped up off the couch and stood over me. I didn’t like the way she was trying to intimidate me so I stood up to and faced her down. She quickly gave in. She lifted the pie and started to walk away. Before I had time to congratulate myself on standing up to her bullying, she turned and launched the pie straight at me. As it flew through the air I just managed to dodge it. It hit the wall behind me and slid down. As it slid it left a slimy trail of pale yellow, the colour of vomit, down the wall. Some of it lodged in a giant crack in the plaster as it passed.

‘Good one, Chloe, that’ll be a treat for the fucking cockroaches!’ I screamed. ‘I spent hours making that pie. Well I’m not cleaning it up. You threw it, you can clean it,’ I yelled.

‘You know what?’ Chloe said, ‘I’ve had it with this shit.’

She rushed into the kitchen and started banging about. She came back with a black poly bag and began stuffing the dogs’ bowls and toys into it.

‘Oh Jeezo,’ I said, ‘what are you playing at now?’

‘I gave that dog a home, her and her pups, all pissing, shitting eight of them. Well you’re right; a time comes when they have to fend for themselves.’

‘You know I wasn’t talking about the dogs.’

‘Sure you were. They can fend for themselves on their own fucking time, down on the street. Let’s see how long they last.’

‘Look, calm down. We’ll have to find homes for the pups in a few weeks’ time, we’ve talked about that, but not yet, they’re not ready, you know that.’

Chloe clipped Juegita’s lead on to her collar and the dog danced with glee at the prospect of being taken out. The puppies caught their mother’s mood and joined in.

Even at this stage, although I could see she was furious, I hoped I could jolly her along, cajole her out of her rage. Cajoling had been become my method of managing Chloe.

‘Come on, you’re over-reacting. You love Juegita, I know you do.’

‘Love?’ Chloe spat in my face. ‘I don’t love anything. Anything or anyone.’

Chloe, no more drama, please? We’ve had enough for today. It’s too exhausting.’

‘Don’t fucking tell me what I’ve had enough of!’ Spittle flew out of her mouth as she screamed. ‘I know what I’ve had enough of! You can take your cutesy doggy lecture and blow it outta your ass!’

‘Listen to yourself. You’re behaving like a spoiled brat.’

‘Shut the fuck up and stop telling me how to run my life. Like you know any better.’

‘I know better than to kick dogs.’

‘I’m taking these dogs: my dogs! Not yours! I’m taking them and I’m dumping them, the same way I’m dumping you. This is my apartment, missy, and when I get back I want you and your cheap nasty little Wal-Mart backpack outta here!’

‘Oh! Nasty! Nasty is it? You weren’t saying that when you were so desperate for me to move in,’ I shouted. ‘Poor little Chloe, all alone in Barcelona, desperate for a friend. But you don’t know the first thing about friendship. You torment people for your own sick twisted fun.’

‘What people?’ Chloe scoffed.

‘People! My friends for starters; my friends and a defenceless wee puppy. People and dogs. Dogs are people too. I’m sick of your petty cruelties, Chloe. You’re a heartless, selfish bitch. You’re fucking dangerous, you are. You and all your carry on and all the grief you give me. You’re what caused my heart attack!’

‘I wish you’d had a fatal heart attack, I wish you’d had a massive coronary and you’re face had turned blue, because right about now you’d be where you should be: in a box in the cargo hold on a plane back to fucking Scotchland!’

‘Well that’s nice. And by the way, you’re not dumping me, I’m dumping you,’ I shouted, hurling my keys at her. ‘I can’t stick it any longer. I’m sick of your neediness and your constant bleating, oh, mommy doesn’t love me!’ I put my hand to my brow and struck a melodramatic pose. ‘Oh, I’m an artist don’t you know, that’s why I’m such a nutcase, I suffer for my art! Art, which, by the way, is SHITE! A five-year-old mongoloid could do better. Well I’m not your fucking therapist. I’m sick of your tantrums, I’ve had it and I’m leaving. I’m dumping you Chloe, just like mommy did!’

Chloe picked up the keys I’d thrown at her and put them in her pocket. She stood in the doorway with Juegita straining at the leash to get out and heaved the poly bag over her shoulder. She’d obviously not seen a mirror recently. With her eyes still ringed in black mascara, she looked like a zombie. Ordinarily I wouldn’t have let her leave the flat like that but fuck her. Her face reflected her mental state. She was mental. I hoped the mossos, the local police, would catch and physically restrain the psychotic bitch.

‘You think because you’re rich and spoiled and your mummy doesn’t love you,’ I told her, ‘you think that makes it okay for you to hurt people. Well it doesn’t. You can’t play with people’s lives Chloe.’

‘Really?’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘I think you’ll find I can.’

With all the shouting the dogs had become excited. In the mayhem of howling and barking and eight wagging tails rushing out the door, Chloe, with her zombie eyes blazing, screamed at me: ‘Now get the fuck outta my apartment!’