Painkiller (20 page)

‘Seriously?’

Bradbury looked at Geoff with his steely ‘I’m the boss’ gaze. ‘Yes, seriously.’

‘I mean, it does look like his IC1, granted, but it also looks like Wood, too. Shouldn’t we just follow it up on the off chance? We have a duty of care to Mrs Wood…’

DCI Trevor Bradbury looked like Geoff had asked him for a snog.

‘A duty of care, DI Marks? On the off chance? Are you completely mad?’

‘I mean, we don’t know for certain that he
is
this Russian low-life Cooper’s been after…’

‘You mean, cast doubt on Detective Superintendent Cooper’s key piece of evidence? Would you like to tell Derek you’re going to scupper his case? Tell him, “Oh don’t bother, Detective Superintendent Cooper. Don’t bother with your… Vlad the Impaler sort… that you’ve been after for two years, because we actually think the man in the footage is an advertising executive from Kensington who plays sex games with his sick wife”? Would you like to have a word with him now, Geoff? He’s in a car screaming towards Crouch End, but I’m sure he’s OK to pull over for a chat…’

Of course Geoff didn’t want a word with DSu Cooper. DSu Cooper was only slightly less thuggish than the crims he collared.

‘No, sir.’

‘No, sir. Good, sir. Well done, sir. Now get on the phone and make nice with the public. There’s a good chap.’

Geoff left the office with his tail between his legs, seething. That was that, he thought. Leave it to Derek to sort out. Perhaps Golden Boy was right. There were a lot of pale, pudgy guys in the world.

Perhaps Trevor
had
let his imagination run riot. Geoff knew why he did. The incident with Dominic and his wife disturbed him. Disturbed them both. Subconsciously, Trevor just wanted closure.

Geoff rang the number again, and left another message. ‘Hello. This is Detective Inspector Geoff Marks for Mrs Monica Wood again. Sorry to bother you, but the object in question has been identified as belonging to another person. Once again, sorry to bother you. Many apologies. Bye.’

Somewhere in the house, the phone rings. And rings. And then cuts off. Neither of us mention it. Niall does not break his gaze.

His eyes are scorching me, burning me as badly as the capsaicin. I feel stabs of pain in my arms and legs. The tension (
fear
)
is making my body react.

‘I appreciate what you’ve done for me…’ I start to say.

‘You need looking after. If your husband won’t do it, I could. I will.’

‘You have no right to put this pressure on me. I’ve not led you on. I made things quite clear.’

The
ker-chunk
of the front door breaks the spell.

‘Meeses Moaneeka? You are here?’

‘Jesus! It’s Monday! What is she doing here?’

(
You stupid idiot. Don’t you remember? You got her in today, to change the sheets, because you knew you’d be having the treatment
)

Don’t call me an idiot. This is the cleverest thing I’ve ever done.
 

‘Get out!’ I hiss. ‘Get out of here!’

‘How?’ he says, stupidly.

‘Through the door!’

‘But she’s —’

‘The
back
door!’

Niall runs around like an idiot in a farce before leaping into the bathroom – just as Agnieszka enters.

‘Meeses Moaneeka?’ she whispers. Her voice is so powerful, when she lowers it to a whisper it trembles, like a caged monster striking the bars. ‘You OK?’

‘Yes, I OK.’

‘I change sheets now? You get up?’

She walks cautiously into the room, one foot. Two feet. In the pebbled glass of the en-suite bathroom, I can see the dark fuzzy shape of Niall behind it.

My Angry Friend.
 

‘Can you do it in a moment? I need to… to get something… Before you change sheets.’

‘You want something? I can get you.’

‘Hmmm…’

I so rarely ask for anything that she pounces on my ‘hmmm’.

‘Anything you want? I get you, no problem, Moaneeka. You say, I get.’

‘Well… I would give away my fortune for a bar of chocolate. I don’t think there’s any in the house.’

‘You want chocolate?’

‘I’ve been craving the big creamy bars, the organic ones by…’ My brain fails me. ‘It’s a pair of names. Two names, like Holland and Barrett, or Bradford and Bingley, Simon and Garfunkel…’

She nods with recognition, the understanding nod of one chocaholic talking to another. ‘I know eet. I get from shop op the road? No bother.’

‘Oh, could you? Take the money from the tin by the kettle?’

‘I will be no time. Fifteen minute. Then I back.’

And she hurries out of the bedroom.

No sooner has the door clicked shut than there’s soft footfall in the bathroom.

Niall appears. He stares at me dispassionately, for too long. Suddenly terror squeezes my heart. I realise that he knows exactly how long he’s got before Agnieszka comes back. Fifteen minutes.

(
My Angry Friend
)

‘I said leave.’

‘Not before I explain myself.’

He’s obviously not moving so I jut my chin out and raise an eyebrow as if to say ‘well?’

‘I asked you which Monica you are now, and I did it for a reason. I think you sometimes forget. I knew you before that accident.
I knew you
. I remember you had a real spark, a… a determination, to get anything you wanted, and a ruthlessness to get rid of people who held you back.’

‘You don’t say.’

‘Even with the pain, you have a real fire in your eyes. What I’m trying to say is, it’s not the pain that’s changed you, not some… accident. That didn’t change you. It’s the drugs. It’s the drugs that… they’ve made you meek. And I’m not sure Dominic thinks he can cope with that sparky woman coming back. All I can say is, I think I can. Cope with it. That’s all.’

‘I think you’re deluded,’ I snap. ‘Utterly deluded. Just like that bullshit about being trapped into having a baby. No one trapped you. No one gets trapped by people who love them.’

‘No?’ and he looks pointedly at me.

‘Fuck off out of my house!’ I shout.

‘That’s her,’ he grins. ‘There’s that Monica right there.’

And, satisfied with his final riposte, he leaves.

Damn!
 

Niall’s trainers thumped angrily down the stairs.

Damn damn damn!
 

He forced himself to be calm.
Remember, she has pain. She doesn’t know what she’s saying half the time.

Be that man, Niall. Be the strong, wise, gentle man that she needs. That’s why you have transformed yourself.
 

That is why you have brought yourself into being.

For her.
 

It occurred to him with a shock that he had driven her back home without even asking her address. He wasn’t supposed to know where she lived! How did he have her address in his satnav? That was a problem.
Think, Niall!

That was it.
He saw her details on her hospital form, while she was getting her treatment. It would be on there.
Yes, that was extremely plausible.

He had to admit, he was a very clever man. More suited to her than the man she’d married. It was obvious her husband couldn’t cope with her. He was slowly disintegrating, melting like a snowman in the sun, and it was just a matter of time before Niall replaced him.

Niall noticed the telephone by the door. A blinking light with a ‘2’ in red neon. He remembered that the phone had rung and then stopped. It was a message from her husband, no doubt, desperately trying to glue the shreds of his marriage together. Well, Mr Monica Wood would get no help from him.

He jabbed ‘erase’ and the messages disappeared.

The days go by and I’m left alone to dwell on what Niall said. Fortunately the searing heat carries on raging through my body like a forest fire, and crowds out any unwelcome thoughts.

The heat slowly disappears, which is a great relief. Crawling up and down the stairs and retrieving ice packs is not fun. One morning, I realise something important has happened. I get out of bed, and with a surge of excitement I realise that the pain caused by the burning patch is the
only
pain.

And now it’s dying down.

It was that simple. I was expecting something more dramatic. Perhaps I imagined I’d rise from my bed with a shower of sparks like Frankenstein’s monster… But no, the only thing that accompanied my epiphany is birdsong, the faint hiss of the dishwasher and the truculent burble of Radio 4 in the kitchen.

I need to say something; I have to say something. I have to give this momentous event some kind of fanfare.

‘It’s gone.’

And, louder:

‘The pain has gone.’

I say it many times, alone, in the house, using different permutations of the same sentence (the pain has
gone
, the pain
has
gone, the
pain
has gone…) as if saying the words might help me to make some sense of what has happened.

‘My Angry Friend has fucked off.’

I stare at the tiniest parts of myself; my (ridged) fingernails, the (grey) hairs on my wrists, the tiny (arthritic) whorls on my knuckles. It’s as if I can’t make sense of what happened, not all at once, so I have to start small.

My knuckles. There’s no pain in my knuckles.
 

My fingers. There’s no pain in my fingers.
 

I work thoroughly around every part of my body. Legs, buttocks, breasts and thighs. I find myself holding my hands in front of my face, and staring at my arms and legs in disbelief.

I’ve gone for so long knowing nothing but pain, my own body feels like that of a stranger. It feels like being drunk in reverse, where my fuzzy, unfocused world has given way to a sharper, stranger reality.

I drive into town. I don’t use a disabled space. In fact, I make it a point not to use a disabled space. In fact, I walk over to the disabled space and
dance
on it. I
stamp
on it! I
jump
on it! I flick rude gestures on it. An old woman walks past and looks at me, and I know what she’s thinking, and I don’t care.

The pain; it’s not gone away, not completely, but I’m finding that I can bring my daily intake of painkillers down without becoming a dribbling puddle of misery. I can move without my Angry Friend treading in my footsteps and kicking at my heels. I can speak and think without him jabbing his finger in my ear.

Oh God.

It’s worked.

Now to tell Dominic the truth.

On the third day, Dominic comes home from Swindon. I hear the door go, the huff-scuff on the mat, and I run to him. I actually
run
to him.

‘Hello, you,’ he says.

‘Hello, you.’

‘Sorry it took longer than I expected. I feel like I’ve been gone years.’

‘Yes, I feel that too.’

He looks at me, up and down. Appraising. His eyes are narrow. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Really good. Great, in fact.’

‘I’m glad. I was worried about you.’

Is it my imagination, or is there an edge in Dominic’s voice?
 

‘Don’t worry about me. I can look after myself.’

‘Of course you can.’

‘How was the
Apprentice
audition?’

‘What?’ He struggles to work out what I’m getting at. Then the penny drops and he waves his hand. ‘Oh. The job went to some blonde from Guildford with legs up to her armpits.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’m not. The whole procedure was so hideous, I just kept thinking “do I really want to work with these people?”, so I think it was a lucky escape for me.’

‘If you’d only realised earlier, you’d never have had to go to Swindon for a whole week.’

‘That’s true.’

He bends down and kisses me on the cheek. I see a huge jagged blur on the edge of my vision.

‘What’s happened to your ear?’

He moves away and frowns. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Your ear. It’s all ragged at the bottom. It looks like you’ve had stitches.’

He feels the side of his face. ‘I know…’

‘So what happened?’

‘Don’t you remember?’

I’m confused. ‘Remember… What?’

‘You did this. Don’t you remember?’

‘I did?’

‘The evening I cooked for you?’

‘What about it?’

‘You were being my sous-chef, and you had a spasm. You brought your arm up fast while you were doing the carrots and nearly sliced my ear off.’

‘Jesus!’

He winces.

‘I mean… my G— Blimey. I’m sorry.’

‘That’s OK. The blood gave the chilli con carne some extra pep.’

‘You bled?’

‘All over the place. These things happen.’

‘But they shouldn’t. I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s
fine
…
It was just a few stitches. That’s all…’

‘Didn’t we make love afterwards? I don’t remember any blood. I must have nibbled your ear. I always nibble your ear…’

‘It was painful. I stayed above you with my arms straight. Don’t you remember?’

‘I… think I do… I’m sorry about that.’

‘You said. It’s fine.’

‘Let me make it up to you. Let me show you something amazing.’

‘Have I told you about my new drugs?’

‘No. No you didn’t.’

‘Dr Kumar put me on a new combination of drugs.’

‘Right. I wasn’t told about this.’

‘It was at our last appointment. Dr Kumar added a new one into the mix and, well…’

(
It’s easy to lie
)

‘I don’t want to give you false hope… But I feel it’s really having some kind of positive effect.’

‘Oh great. Really great. What’s the name of the new drug?’

Stupid. I should have thought of that.
 

‘Oh… oxy-gabba-something. I’ve got the box in the car. Would you like to see it?’

‘Show me later.’

As you’ve probably guessed I’ve decided not to tell him about the capsaicin.

I can’t let anything spoil this.
 

This joyous wonderful feeling.
 

‘Just watch me.’

I touch my toes and run up the stairs and back down again. His eyes follow me with bug-eyed disbelief.

‘See?’

‘That’s incredible. I’ve not seen you do that since before the accident.’

‘I’ve always had good days and bad days. You know that.’

‘But…’ He doesn’t ask questions. Perhaps doesn’t dare, or perhaps the spell will be broken. But his mouth manages to form a ‘how.. ?’, before he realises it’s a stupid question to ask. He’s already been told ‘how’.

He doesn’t take his eyes from my face for a second and finally says: ‘But how long have you, has this…?’

‘About three days. I didn’t ring you on the first day because, you know, but on the second day, I thought “this is really holding”, and it’s the third day now, and I’m still feeling really good.’

He stares at me and says, ‘On the third day He rose again…’

‘Dominic. Don’t go all Jesus on me. I’m not Jesus.’

He’s not listening. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he mutters.

‘Let me prove it to you,’ I say. ‘Last one upstairs is a rotten egg!’ And I charge upstairs, and it’s my turn for my feet to go
thud thud thud.

The moment we get into the bedroom we fall upon each other, tearing at each other’s clothes. I push him back on the bed and straddle him, something I haven’t done in five years. We mash our bodies together, treating each other like pieces of meat, and I wonder if my moans are reaching the neighbours. I don’t care if they do.

This is my body.
 

I want to show him I’m better,
I think,
but I also want to show him that I love him, and I’m not going to run off with another man, not Niall, or any other type of man, just because I’m able to walk to the car without screaming or passing out. I am Dominic’s wife and always will be.

There is nothing for him to worry about.
 

And then, as the sunshine slowly drains from the sky, we fall asleep.

I would have thought, now I had lowered my dose of painkillers, the dream would go. But it doesn’t go anywhere. If anything, it looks more vivid. It’s as if an old painting has been restored, and the layers of dirt and dust have come off, revealing vivid blues and reds and purples.

I’m back on the top level of the car park, on the roof, high above everything else, and now I can see the tops of the houses, the little green squares of garden, a school with children milling about and fighting on the climbing frames. I see them as clearly as if I’m awake. I can see men inside the cranes, high above the skyline, their hands pumping the controls and moving their huge machines back and forth. I realise they’re trying to fix London, but it’s a never-ending task. There’s always something more to be done.

Niall is there, clearer and closer and more intense. He shouts, ‘Posture, Monica! You have a backbone!’

‘I’ve got a backbone!’ I shout back. ‘I’ve been fighting for five years!’

‘You don’t get it, do you? I’m your only way out of this! Use me! You have to show him you have what it takes! You have to show him you have a spine!’

He stares at me, and then his face folds in disgust.

‘Oh what’s the use,’ he says. ‘Watch me.’

And he pitches off the edge of the building. Dumbfounded, I run to the edge and look down. There’s Jesse’s car, and it’s still circling, looking for a parking space, but I can see the car park attendant below, the round-faced man with the thin blond hair and the undernourished ginger moustache. He’s standing there again, looking up at me, in his black uniform with his luminous tabard, but now I can see it much more clearly.

He’s not a car park attendant. He’s a policeman.

‘Is that everything, Monica?’ he says. ‘Is there anything else you want to tell me?’

This time I do more than nod. I say: ‘No, officer. Nothing.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m quite sure. I don’t know what you want me to say.’

Disappointed, he turns and walks into the hospital.

I turn, and the cloud is resolving itself; thin arms, slender legs.

‘Hi, Mon. This will hurt me more than it’ll hurt you, yeah?’

Angelina strides towards me, elegantly turned out in her long black winter coat. She stretches out black fingernails, and her hand presses my chest.

‘Bye-bye, kitten…’

And she shoves me, and I’m staggering backwards, and I’m falling over the rail, and down, and down, and I can see the cars parked in the lower levels as I fall past them.

And then I’m on the floor, in the road, and I can’t move, and Niall is bending over me.

‘Shit. Are you all right?’

But I can’t answer him, because I’m dead.

Dominic is flickering in and out of consciousness; my shout of terror has pulled him out of sleep, and his body hasn’t decided whether to go back under or not.

‘Wha, hmmm, huh?’

I stay very still and very quiet, and soon his breathing becomes low and regular. In… out. In… out. I pull on my dressing gown and go downstairs, staggering, moving too fast, like I’m on the moon. I’m automatically moving like the pain is weighing me down, and I’m constantly surprised at how light everything feels.

I go to the study. Now my mind is freed from battling with the pain, it’s hungry and restless. I’m insane for knowledge. I want to look at Dominic’s computer again, to see what else he’s hiding in there.

I press on and the computer erupts with a chime.
Too loud!
Our bedroom is right above the study. I turn down the volume, in case I’m caught out by more lustful moans from Dominic’s secret library.

Up comes Dominic’s tiger, and I key in the dreaded word: ‘pain’.

The box shakes: no.

I worry I’ve got the caps lock on, but no. I put the caps lock on and try again. No. Then turned the cap lock off, and try again; all those futile things you do on computers when you know the problem is somewhere else.