Painkiller (31 page)

‘Can I at least give my wife something to eat before I go? I can’t leave her on her own for hours and hours.’

‘Fine.’

Dominic goes into the kitchen and makes a sandwich and a glass of milk for me.

‘What’s all this about? Dominic hasn’t done anything.’

‘I’m sure you’re right, Mrs Wood. But we have to ask him some questions. It shouldn’t take long.’

Dominic emerges from the kitchen, the tall policeman one pace behind him, and sets the tray down by my head.

‘I won’t be long, darling,’ he says. ‘Don’t wait up.’

‘Dominic!’

‘Don’t forget to eat. You need your strength.’ And then before I can even comprehend what is happening, he and the policeman are gone. I struggle to the window on my elbows, moaning and hissing through my teeth, feeling like a stiffening carcass that still retains the agony of its death throes. Somehow, I manage to wriggle my way up the sofa and look out of the window.

The tall one has just slammed the rear passenger-side door on my husband. Dominic looks at me with a grin, and gives me a cheery wave out of the window as the car pulls away.

I whimper back to the tray and find a tiny square of paper under the serviette. A note.

Two hours later and the policemen return, and they sit on the sofa, staring warily down at me.

‘Mrs Wood…’

‘Yes?’

‘Your husband has told us a story…’

‘About kinky games, yes.’

Ginger Moustache gives me a look.

‘We do like playing games, actually. He pretends to kill me.’

‘OK…’

‘Is that what this is about, officer?’

‘So the fact he approached four people in a pub, in turn, and offered money for them to murder you…’

What?
 

‘Yes,’ I say, my voice slurring in shock. ‘That sounds about right.’

‘That was all a bit of a joke between you, was it?’

‘Yes… Yes. That’s what it was. It was all a joke. A game we like to play.’

Eventually they bring him back home. Both policemen hover in the doorway, trying to leave but not quite managing it.

‘Well, I understand you may need distraction, Mrs Wood,’ says Ginger Moustache. ‘I can see you’re obviously in a bit of trouble, with your pain and all, but can you stop playing these silly games?’

‘I’m sorry,’ I hear myself say. ‘We’ll try and control ourselves.’

The tall one starts to move, but Ginger Moustache is still by the front door.

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

‘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 down the path to his car.

Dominic doesn’t talk to me. He has a shower, and when he emerges he hums an amorphous bright tune to himself. I listen as the tune wanders from ‘Here Comes the Sun’ to ‘Yellow Submarine’ and then finally meanders into the theme from ‘The Addams Family’. I know it’s his way of calming himself down, to tell himself and the world that everything is all right.

But everything is not all right.

Not all right at all. Fury consumes me.

‘Dominic, talk to me!’

‘Yes?’

His head pops around the door.

‘Dominic, if you don’t come and sit down here
right now
, and talk to me about what happened…’

‘If?’

‘Just bloody do it!”

He sat down.

‘You went to a
pub
? A
pub
? And tried to
hire
someone to kill me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

Dominic shrugs.

‘You went up to some people in a bar! You actually had money in your hand? Jesus!’

He flinches at the religious oath, and then he shrugs again. ‘Yes. Do you want some tea?’

‘Oh, of
course
!
Fuck, yeah! Let’s have some
bloody tea
!
That makes everything seem better!’

‘I’ll go and make a pot,’ he says brightly, and disappears off to the kitchen.

I’m incredibly angry. The tension is mashing my nerve endings together and tying them in knots. I fight to keep a clear head.

He returns with a big silver tray – a wedding present from my mum – and pours milk leisurely into a cup, acting like he’d just come in late due to signalling failures at Clapham Junction, rather than being driven home by coppers.

‘Can you get up from there, or do you want to use a straw?’

I look at him with narrowed eyes.

‘You got arrested trying to kill me? Why, Dominic, why?’

‘Guess,’ he shouts. ‘Just take a wild guess!’

‘No.’

‘Go on!’

‘No!’

‘OK, I’ll tell you,’ he says with sudden anger. ‘You’re going to get someone to kill you, and you just expect me to go along with it? You’re my wife, and I love you, and I don’t want you to take the easy way out and leave me.’

‘Can I —’

‘The
coward’s
way out, leaving me, and your family and your friends and me behind! In sickness and in health, that’s what I signed up for! So did you!’

‘I can’t just live my life for you —’

‘That’s what people do! That’s what we do! That’s what my mum should have done for Dad!’

‘I’m not your mum.’

‘But I’m my dad. I’m helpless, just like my dad. You know that. That’s why you think you have to leave me all this money. Because you have to look after me.’ He jabs a finger at me. ‘And
that’s
why I got myself arrested.’

‘I don’t understand, why…?’ Then I realise. Of course. ‘You wanted to get caught. You deliberately went out of your way to get caught.’

‘Exactamundo. I was about as subtle as a half-brick. Even then, no one reported me. So in the event I had to ring up the police and grass myself up.’ He stands up and points angrily at me. ‘If anyone kills you, I will look guilty as hell, and I will go to prison for it.’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘Tough. Your job as an agent is to give people offers they can’t refuse. Which you did to me. My job as an advertising consultant is to present fiction as truth. Which I’ve done to you.’

He brings his head down low until he is almost whispering in my ear. ‘If you get yourself killed, you will put me in prison. And I won’t get any of the insurance money. If you love me, are you prepared to put me there? Think on that.’

‘This isn’t over,’ I said. ‘I’m not finished. Not by a long way.’

Dominic grins with genuine affection. ‘Oh, Monica, my love. That’s the idea. This is so over now.’

‘So, just to be clear… you’re saying you asked that bloke in the pub to kill your wife. To make yourself into a suspect for her eventual murder?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s insane.’

‘I told you that it was the only way.’ He sounded very tired. ‘If my darling wife died, no matter how she died, I would put myself in the frame for it. I figured the only thing that kept her on this earth was her love for me. And I was right. She stopped thinking about trying to get herself killed. For a while. So I was right to make that sacrifice for her,’ he gave a sudden bark of laughter.

Geoff thought about this for a while. ‘OK. So that happened, what, four years ago? What happened then? And why did you start up again? Why buy a gun from a low-life in Woolwich?’

‘I’ll tell you why.’ He leaned forward, suddenly energised. ‘Because I prayed every day for a means for Monica and me to stay together, and four years ago, a miracle happened.’ He laughed. ‘Of course, God being God, he never gives you what you have in mind. He loves irony. He didn’t take away the pain. He took away her memory. She was put on a new combination of drugs that wiped out a year of her life. She forgot she wanted to die. She practically became a new person.’

Dominic could see the scepticism on Geoff’s face. ‘The mind is a very delicate thing, Geoff; most mass shootings in the US are down to psychoses brought on by prescription drugs: antidepressants and steroids. I know this, because since Monica got struck down, I’ve done research into it; a LOT of research. Funnily enough, I discovered that one of our neighbours was put on steroids by her doctor a few years ago, just for a few days, mind, and it changed her personality completely. She used to be incredibly careful with money, and she suddenly started blowing all her savings on cars, drink and gambling; she became a hedonist, and when she came off them, when she detoxed, she hadn’t a clue why she did what she did. She didn’t know what had got into her.’

He tapped his forehead. ‘People murder their kids, jump off buildings, or completely forget who they are under the influence of perfectly legal drugs prescribed by doctors. I
know
what they can do, and let me tell you, Inspector, there is NO drug on the market that doesn’t involve side effects, and most of those side effects are to do with mood altering and mind altering. The mind has a way of protecting the body, Inspector. It shuts down the memory of pain, when it can. Not just physical pain. Emotional pain. Every argument Monica and I had about her trying to commit suicide was gone. She became a new person, with hope, energy for the future… It was a miracle…’

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘That’s quite all right. Neither did I. At first, I thought she was putting on an act. I was paranoid she’d wait until my back was turned, I’d let my guard down, and she’d just go ahead and do it. I hired a private detective to follow her everywhere, log her every move. Here…’

He produced a card and flipped it at Geoff.

‘Here’s his number. You can call him. I gave him a reason he’d understand. I told him I was worried about my wife having an affair. He followed her around taking pictures, trying to catch her out, and I carried on hiring him as long as I could afford it, and then a bit longer than that. But by that time I finally believed that she no longer had the urge to end it all.’

He looked into Geoff’s eyes. ‘And of course, I’m sure you understand that there was no way in heaven that I would remind her that she once wanted to kill herself. Everything became as it was, and I’ve lived a lie ever since. I told her friends – Larry and Angelina – what had happened, and they were glad too, and relieved, because they didn’t want to live without her, either. So we all decided to live a lie.’

Geoff was sitting now, reading the card. He thought he knew this detective. A former copper. It would be interesting to hear his story. He looked up. ‘Then why start up again? Why buy the gun?’

‘Because it was the painkillers that took the memories away! The
drugs
that kept her from remembering. And a couple of months ago she’d discovered this new treatment; capsaicin. I won’t bore you with the details, but basically it’s very effective for short-term relief.’

He looked at Geoff expectantly.

‘Well?’ he said. ‘Don’t you see what that meant?’

Geoff waved his hand sarcastically. ‘No I don’t, actually. Please continue.’

He glared at Geoff like he was the stupidest man on the planet. ‘Short-term relief! She gets this treatment, and it works, just for a short time. So what happens? She comes off the drugs, and she
remembers what she wanted to do
. Then the pain returns and she wants to die again,
and the whole thing starts up again.
’

‘I get it. So, you bought the gun because you wanted to look guilty again.’

‘Absolutely. I also went home, to confession, and talked to my old priest about having these urges to kill Monica. I knew if she died in suspicious circumstances, and I claimed to have done it, he would find a way around the seal of the confessional and tell the police. Father Hancock’s that kind of priest. He’s flexible. Then, when the time was right, if Monica remembered, I’d tell her what I’d done. What I’d planned. I’d be ready for her this time.’

‘But – you didn’t
know
for sure that she would remember if she came off the drugs. You couldn’t have been certain any of this would happen…’

‘Of course I didn’t know for sure. I’m not stupid. This was all insurance. If she didn’t remember, then life would go on like before. I’d say nothing, my priest wouldn’t break the oath of the confessional… Everything would just be… As I say… insurance. In case she tried to do it again. I tried to be clever about making myself into a suspect.’

‘The gun wasn’t very clever, Dominic. We found out about the gun. It’s the reason why you’re here.’

‘The gun was a mistake. That was stupid, but it was out of my hands.’ He shook his head, marvelling at his own stupidity. ‘I did actually get hold of a gun, before. After you arrested me. I buried it in the garden…’

Dominic noticed Geoff’s expression. ‘Ah! Didn’t know that, did you, Inspector? I can be subtle too, you know. There are ways, even for a boring man like me. I buried it in the garden, as a possible discovery, more proof that I was a homicidal husband. So if Monica… If she… Well, I’d show it to her, to show how determined I was to take the rap for her death. But Larry took the gun away, so I panicked. I can’t believe that little idiot drove me into a car park and attacked me – right next to a CCTV camera! I would have thought he would have known the camera was there. The damn fool!’

There was a gentle knock on the door.

‘Hands full with tea things…’ said Sally. ‘Little help?’

Geoff opened it a crack. ‘Sorry. Can you give us a few more minutes, Sally?’

The expression on her face told Geoff she wasn’t completely happy about giving him a few more minutes with Dominic, but she gave a nod and left them alone.

‘It’s a fantastic story,’ Geoff said at last. ‘And you tell it very well. I’m almost convinced…’ He leaned on the table. ‘But there’s one problem. There are these little things called facts. Awkward little facts.’

He put up three fingers, and tapped one. ‘Fact one: your wife told me not a few hours ago that she thought you were trying to kill her…’

He tapped the second one. ‘Fact two: she was, even as I was talking to her on the phone, attempting to get away from you, afraid for her life…’

He tapped the third one. ‘Fact three: and the most important fact of all. If, as you say, she’d given up the plan to kill herself
before
she lost her memory, then why are you running around car parks buying guns? None of these facts fit. They don’t even suggest that you’re telling the truth. In fact, they suggest the exact opposite.’

Dominic shook his head and rolled his eyes.

‘I
didn’t
say she’d given up on killing herself. I said she’d stopped
thinking
about it for a while. I just
told
you
that Monica wasn’t the type of woman to give up. She’s a woman who carries on until she gets what she wants. I know her so well.’

He massaged his forehead with his fingers, as if trying to push the memories away. ‘That’s why she kept the suicide note, Geoff. I bet she hid it away from me so she could look at it every day and visualise her goal. It’s her method to stay focused on a task, keep to the endgame. And it always works because, well, here we are. I can see you’re still not getting it, Geoff, so let me put the last piece in. Just before she lost her memories, she thought up a way to outmanoeuvre me. A better plan.’

‘A better plan.’

‘She would force an alibi on me.’

‘What alibi?’

He spreads his arms wide. And Geoff understood.

‘This… is your alibi?’

‘I’m pretty certain it is, don’t you? Perfect alibi, don’t you think, me stuck in here with you, with you staring at me? And then, just in case I try anything clever, like me claiming I hired someone to kill her, she arranged things in such a way that I would never ever, ever, claim responsibility for her murder.’

‘And how would that work? What would stop you claiming responsibility?’

Dominic gave a sigh; a long sigh. ‘OK. It’s all too late now, so I’ll show you. I’ll show you what’s happening right now. And before I walk out of here, you’ll believe me.’

He brought a letter out of his pocket.

After a while, the orange electric night gives way to dawn, and we leave the roar of the motorway. The colours of the houses are brighter, and the sky looks cleaner.

It’s as if we’ve emerged into a different, brighter world.

‘Over there,’ I say. ‘That bed and breakfast. That’s where we’re staying.’

He parks and pulls our bags out of the boot, and arranges them carefully on the pavement; suitcases first, bags on top. Not for the first time, I marvel at how young he looks.

Such a child.

He looks like a little boy building a fort with sofa cushions. He finishes piling up the bags and looks doubtfully up at the bed and breakfast, at the grim fake-Georgian façade, encrusted with seagull shit. ‘It’s a bit grim.’

‘We’re going incognito. We are meant to be Bonnie and Clyde, remember.’

He grins. ‘Which one of us is Bonnie, and which one’s Clyde?’

‘I’ll let you know.’

‘Can’t wait.’

We enter the reception, and Niall is set on being the man, and checking in for both of us, but he is suddenly confused. ‘What name shall I say?’

‘We’re booked under Mr and Mrs Wood.’

A number of thoughts cross Niall’s face, but he accepts being ‘Mr Wood’ as a necessity, and checks us in. Soon we are in our room. It’s tiny, the carpet is faded, the bedcovers are threadbare, and the curtains are practically rags, but it’s clean and tidy. There’s a single sunflower lying on the desk. I wonder who decided to put it there.

Niall puts the bags down on the chair and stands there, staring awkwardly around him, looking at the curtains, looking at the carpet, not looking at the bed.

‘Nice,’ he says. ‘Bijou. Very cosy… I guess I’m on the chair tonight.’

He tries to make it not sound like a challenge.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I need to get my clothes off and lie down.’

‘OK,’ he says, ‘I’ll just wait outside the —’

The word ‘door’ is swallowed by my mouth, as I spin him around and kiss him hard, on the lips. After a second he responds and his tongue slithers past my teeth. His mouth is hungry, sucking on my lips and then exploring my face.

His arms come up to encircle me. He holds me too hard and oh, the pain.

(
The glorious, glorious pain
)

My scarlet coat is removed, and his fingers curl under the straps of my dress.

‘No,’ I say.

He starts to move away, stung with rejection.

‘I mean, no, not like this. Get your clothes off,’ I say.

There is shock on his face, but only for a split second. He falls back on his haunches and pulls off his shirt, revealing that tidy physique of his. Hair wanders up from his pubic bone, up through his abdomen and spreads out across his chest, like a river becoming an estuary and meeting the ocean.

He moves nearer to me, and his body blots out the light from the dusty bulb.

‘This OK?’ he says.

Then, without letting his gaze fall from my eyes, he wriggles out of his trousers and underpants. He comes closer. I can feel something brushing, bumping against my thigh.

‘OK,’ I say, ‘but not yet perfect.’

‘Oh?’

‘I want something more.’

‘I’m glad.’

He doesn’t expect what I say next.

‘I want you to hurt me.’

‘What?’

‘I want you to hurt me. I want pain. I miss the pain.’

‘You… miss the pain?’

‘I’ve been thinking about the pain, ever since it went. The pain made me what I am. Now it’s gone I can see it for what it is. A purifying thing. A purifying fire that’s held me and burned everything away from me, everything except what’s important.’

‘So, what’s important?’

I bulge my eyes at him and smile.

‘You mean… me?’

‘Of course I mean you. You appeared when I needed you.’

‘I know. I feel that too.’ He kisses me hungrily. I break away to speak.

‘You were there, just like the pain. You made life complicated, but made it better in the end.’

‘Yes,’ he says, nuzzling my throat.

‘You came to me, just like the pain, and turned my life into something real.’

His voice floats up from my right breast. ‘That’s right, I did. I came and then so did the pain, and we both…’

‘… you both made me feel alive.’

‘Exactly.’

‘I want to feel alive with you. Not like I was with Dominic. Prove to me that I’m alive. Hit me. Hit me in the face.’

‘What? No!’ He looks up and recoils, but I keep the moment going. I grab his hand and force it into my cheek. It connects with a dry slapping sound.