The Debt & the Doormat (37 page)

‘You freshen yourself up sweetheart.  You’re gonna fucking love this,’ he snarls, smirking as he reaches out and strokes my breast and begins to remove his belt. 

‘O..OK, I will,’ I stammer, throwing his hand off and slamming the door shut, locking it as fast as I can.

I sit on the toilet seat and sob, my whole body trembling.  How could I have been so stupid?  I’m one of those stupid cows you see on Crime Watch that walk down dark alleyways alone at night.  I’ve brought this all on myself.  I get my phone out and call Jazz again. 

‘Hey, this is Jazz...’

Fucking voicemail!  OK, think, think!  I call Izzy again, but no answer.  I would call Oliver, but I know he’s on a stag weekend in Bournemouth.  I can't call Richard or Henry.  I just can't.  They think I’m an idiot as it is.  They’d probably just shout at me.  There’s only one person I can call and I really, really don't want to call him.

I type in his name and he picks up after two rings.

‘Hello?’

‘R...Ryan,’ I stammer down the phone in between sobs.  ‘I’m...I’m in trouble.’

‘What's wrong?  Where are you?’ he says, his voice full of concern.

‘I don't know where I am!  I’m at this guy Tom’s house and he just...well...I just get the feeling that he won't let me go.’

I can't seem to say what I suspect might happen if I unlock this door.  That would make it too real.

‘Poppy, what are you talking about?  Just walk out the door.’

‘He’s locked the door.  You don't understand.  He’s being really forceful.’

‘Poppy, you need to call the police.  They’ll be able to trace your call.’

‘No!  I don't want the police.  What could I say?  I think someone might try it on with me, but I’m not sure.  They’ll just laugh at me.  Can't you just pick me up?’

‘But if I don't know where you are?’

‘Please,’ I beg, the sobs thick and heavy on my chest.

‘OK, calm down.  Look out of the window and describe to me what you can see.’

I pull back the blind and open the top window so that I can see out.  The fresh air on my face reminds me again that this isn’t a horrible nightmare.   

‘I’m somewhere near Harrow.  We were in the car for about five minutes.  Um...I can see a church tower and there’s a train station next to it, but I can't see what the name of the station is.’

‘Did you pass Homebase?’

‘Yes!  Yes, I remember a Homebase.’

‘I think I know where you are.  Stay there.  I’ll be there soon.’

He hang ups and I press my ear to the door, trying to sense whether he’s still lurking outside.  I think he’s gone.  Not that it means that I’m leaving this toilet.  No way. 

About ten minutes later Tom knocks on the door.

‘What’s the hold-up sweetheart?’  He sounds even more wasted.

‘Um….I’m just getting ready.  Be out soon.’

Please God, Ryan, find me and be quick.  Another ten minutes later I hear a knock at the door.  That can't be Ryan.  Can it?  How would he know what house I was in?

I hear a few loud shouts and my stomach flips even more nervously.  What if he’s called some friends?  What if they all think they’re going to have a party with me?  I lean over the sink and pull my hair back as I heave violently.  Footsteps creep up the stairs.  Someone’s coming up the stairs.  They’re coming to get me.  That pathetic lock won't hold it.  They’re going to get me.

I frantically open the bathroom cabinet trying to find some sort of weapon.  My shaking hands throw the contents into the sink.  I sift through it all until I find some small nail scissors.  They’ll do.  I clasp it in my hand, ready to stab them in the eyeball.  I’m ready.  I’m tough and I’m ready.  Someone bangs loudly on the door and I instantly cower away from it, no longer feeling brave.

‘Go away!’ I shout as aggressively as I can.

‘Pops, it's me,’ Ryan calls.

‘Ryan?’

I open the door to find him flustered, his curls in every different position.  I throw myself into his arms, not caring how desperately pathetic I look.  He pulls me close into his chest as I break into angry urgent sobs.  I’m finally safe.  His strong arms will protect me. 

‘Are you OK?’ he asks, stroking my hair.

I nod unconvincingly, not even breaking away from his chest to look at him. 

‘How did you know which house it was?’ I ask, breaking myself away from him for an instant, before throwing myself back into his arms.

‘Jazz phoned home saying her battery had died and had we heard from you.  I asked if she knew this Tom and she gave me his address.’

‘Oh.’

He pulls back and points to my clenched hand.  ‘What's with the scissors?’ he asks raising an eyebrow, smiling.

‘It's a weapon, obviously,’ I say wiping my nose. 

‘What were you planning on doing?  Manicuring him to death?  Come on, let’s go down.’

‘I don't know,’ I hesitate.  ‘Are you sure we’re safe now?’

‘Pops, it's over.  Come on.’ 

I walk very slowly behind him down the stairs, straining my head to hear anything, but all I get back is an eerie silence.  I peer around the corner and see Tom and his friend on the floor, cradling their heads.  Blood is coming out of Tom’s mouth and his eyes are red and puffy, as if he’s been crying.   

Ryan walks over and takes Tom by his neck, dragging him towards me.  I flinch back.

‘Tom’s got something to say to you,’ Ryan snarls.

‘I’m sorry Poppy.  I didn’t mean to,’ Tom cries.  His shirt is ripped and he looks pathetic.  But that doesn’t stop me wanting to run away from him.

‘Can we just go?’ I ask Ryan, wanting to leave this nightmare behind.

‘Course.  Come on.’  He guides me out to the car, wiping tears from my face.  ‘You’re safe now.’

*                            *                            *

‘Can we get a McDonalds?’ I ask, my stomach growling as we queue up in the petrol station.

‘In a minute,’ he snaps.  ‘God, you’re like a child sometimes.’  He smiles.

‘Well I’m very sorry!  But I’m starving.’

He rolls his eyes.

‘Jazz is probably eating by now,’ I say under my breath, my stomach growling.

‘Have some crisps then.’  He grabs some off the shelf and hands them over to me.

‘Oh yeah, thanks.’

I rip the bag open and stuff some in my mouth, letting the strong flavour of salt and vinegar take over.  My God, it's like I haven’t eaten in years.  Let alone something this delicious!

‘Mmmmm,’ I moan before I can stop myself.

‘You OK there?’ he says, looking at me, his mouth twitching in amusement.

‘U-huh,’ I say, my mouth full.

‘I can't believe this queue.’

‘EVERYBODY GET FUCKIING DOWN!’ a gruffly voice shouts from nowhere/

‘What the?’

But I’m already being pulled to the floor by Ryan.  I look around and everyone’s on the floor, the whole queue.  A man behind me is praying, his eyes closed, rosary beads in his hands.  Who the hell carries rosary beads around with them?  The woman behind him is crying.

Whereas I still don't know what the hell is going on!  I try to look towards the front but I can't see anything, shelves of car oil blocking my view. 

‘What's going on?’ I whisper to Ryan who’s got his arms protectively around me.

‘Some kids are robbing the place,’ he says, not looking at me.

Oh my God.  I’m one of those people you see on the news.  I’ve been a victim of crime.  I thought there was more chance of you getting hit on the head with a coconut or something like that?  I was sure I’d heard it on the news?  Or maybe it was something Jazz had read in one of her stupid magazines.  It probably wasn’t a fact at all.

A woman in-front with frizzy hair turns to face us, tears streaming down her face, her whole body shaking so uncontrollably that her teeth chatter.

‘Don't worry,’ I whisper holding onto her hand.  ‘It’ll be over soon.’

Since when did I get so calm in an emergency?  But then I suppose, I have already had a pretty traumatic night.  Maybe I’ll never be scared again.

But then I think of Jazz.  What if she comes looking for us?  What if she gets involved in it all and ends up getting shot?  Or kidnapped or something?  Oh my God!  Now my teeth are chattering.

‘Hey,’ she says, suddenly seeming a little calmer.  ‘Aren’t you the guy from the paper?’

I follow her gaze and realise she's staring at Ryan.

‘Yes!  You’re the man who saved the granny from those muggers!’ she says, getting all excited.

His expression changes quickly as we both realise what she’s talking about.

‘No!  No, he’s not,’ I shout.  ‘He gets that all the time, don't you Ryan!’ I laugh nervously.

‘Yes, it is you!  Ryan David or something like that?’

Why did I say his name!  What an idiot.

‘What are you waiting for?  Go up there and help out,’ she says eagerly.

‘What?’ he says, staring back at her as if she’s mad.

‘Everyone,’ she whispers to the others around us.  ‘This guy has dealt with this kind of thing before.  He’s going to help us.’

‘Oh thank Jesus in heaven,’ the man with the rosary beads says. 

‘No!  No he’s not!  He’s staying here.’  I desperately look from face to face as I hear the men’s raised voices get louder.

‘Poppy.  It’s fine,’ he says, his face seeming afraid but determined.

‘No it's not!  Don't you fucking DARE!’  I cling onto his arm like a child.

He’s trying to get up!  He’s actually trying to stand up!  He’s fucking insane.

‘Just promise me you’ll stay here,’ he says, looking at me seriously.

‘No!’ I whisper loudly, holding onto his arm so strongly I’m sure I’m cutting off his circulation.  ‘No!’

‘Just stay here!’ he barks, throwing me off him.  He walks away, past the shelves, until I can't see him anymore.

‘Stay here.  Do what he says,’ the frizzy woman says to me.

‘Are you fucking crazy!?  This is your fault!  I’m going after him.’  I get up, zoning in my hearing to him attempting to reason with them.  He hasn’t got a chance.  People that rob shops aren’t normal people you can have a conversation with.  You can't just get them a tea and tell them to calm down dear. 

‘No!  He said to stay here.’  She clutches onto both of my arms, restraining me.  ‘He knows what he’s doing.’  She smiles reassuringly.  She’s crazy!

‘No he doesn’t!  This is all my fault you stupid bitch!  He doesn’t have a –‘

But I stop mid-sentence.  I stop because I hear a gun shot. 

For a second I’m frozen.  My body trembles, my stomach dropping.  My throat contracts, my tongue going numb.  I look from face to face.  First at the frizzy woman, who’s frozen still, then at the man praying.  Please no.  Please no! 

Before I can think I jump on top of the woman, shaking her with all of my force.

‘WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE!?’ I scream, shaking her violently.  ‘WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE!?’

I get up slowly, my legs complete jelly, and try with all of my force to walk towards the front of the shop.  The thugs have gone, but in their place is a small crowd of people that a second ago were queuing with me, waiting to pay for petrol.

I try to run over to them, but my body’s not working.  My eyes begin to sting with tears and I put my hands out in front of me, as if to try and help myself forward, but they’re shaking so violently.

‘R-r-r-yan,’ I stammer.  

As soon as I’ve said his name something jolts inside my body.  Ryan!  I run over to him, pushing the people roughly to one side and find him on the floor, sitting up.

‘Ryan!’ I cry, crouching down to him.

He’s holding onto his shoulder and there’s red blood dripping down from it, through his t-shirt.

‘Oh my God.  Oh my God.  Someone call a fucking ambulance!’ I shout, my voice not coming out as loud as I want.

‘Ryan, are you OK?  OK, stupid question.  Are you...are you alive?’

‘Of course I’m alive,’ he says, rolling his eyes.  ‘I’ve just been shot.’

‘
Just
been shot?  You’ve been fucking SHOT Ryan!’

‘I’m fine,’ he smiles.  The blood is draining from his face, telling me he’s anything but ok.

Oh my God.  He’s bleeding to death right in front of me. 

‘I can't hear anyone calling that fucking ambulance!’ I shriek at everyone.  They just seem to be staring.

‘Someone’s called it.  They’re on their way,’ a man with an afro shouts.

‘Great.  Don't worry Ryan.  I’m here.’  I take off my jacket and put it to his wound.  ‘Lie down will you.’

I practically push him down flat on the floor and press the wound with all of my might, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.  Just like they do on Casualty.   

‘Here, let me take over,’ the afro man says.

I let him, as he’s clearly stronger than me.  I lie down on the floor next to Ryan and grab hold of his face.

‘Hold on Ryan.  They’ll be here in a minute.’  I wipe a tear off my face.  ‘Just hold on.’

‘God!’ he says, rolling his eyes.  ‘You sound like an actress from one of those action films.’

‘What?  Trust you to be an arsehole even when you’ve been shot.  I don't know how to act!  Normally people don't get shot around me.’

‘I’m surprised,’ he says, smiling weakly, but then seeming to suck in the air from pain.

‘Oh my God,’ I sob.  ‘Please just hold my hand.’

I clasp my fingers through his and gaze into his big brown eyes.  They seem to be getting weaker, the life being sucked out of them.  He’s trying desperately to be strong, but I can tell he’s hurting.  He squeezes my hand tighter and starts breathing deeper and slower.

‘Don't worry.  They’re almost here,’ I whisper.

‘OK.  It...It kind of hurts,’ he says weakly.

‘Of course it hurts, you idiot.  You’ve been shot.’  I smile and rub his cheeks with my other free hand.

He doesn’t say anything back.  His face is almost pure white.   

‘Excuse me miss,’ someone says to me, budging me out of the way.

I turn and see that it's two paramedics.  I didn’t even hear them pulling up.  Was their siren even going?

‘What's your name son?’ the grey haired one asks.

‘It's Ryan.  His name is Ryan.’

‘Yes thank you miss,’ he says, annoyed.  ‘But I need to talk to him.  We need to find out how coherent he is.’

‘Oh...sorry.’

‘Ryan.  How are you feeling?’

‘It hurts,’ he says weakly.  Shit, it must be bad.  He’s not even being sarcastic or giving a witty response.

‘Don't worry mate.  We’ll have you at the hospital in no time.’

‘Why can't we go now!?’ I scream.  ‘Why the fuck are we waiting so long?’

‘Please miss, calm down.’

‘Sorry.  Just hurry!’ I cry desperately. 

They load him in the ambulance and I automatically jump in with him.

‘Would you like your girlfriend to go with you?’ he asks Ryan.

‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ he croaks.

Oh.  So he can get shot and be on his death bed, but still he manages to let people know I’m not his girlfriend. 

‘You want me to come with you, right?’ I ask, already making myself comfortable on the end of his bed.

‘No.  You should drive my car home.’

‘Oh...right.  OK.’

I slowly jump out, in total shock, as one of the men slams the door and it drives off, sirens blaring.

I can't believe this.  Ryan’s been shot and he wants me to drive his car.  What kind of mental person gets shot and is still rational enough to ask someone to drive their car home?  Who cares about the car!?  If I’d been shot I’d be asking for people to call my love ones and a priest, dramatically confessing all of my sins and telling people I love them.  But I mean...a car?

I get in the car and start the engine, but then I realise.  I don't know which hospital they’ll have taken him to?  I take my phone out and ring home hoping Jazz will be back by now.

‘Hello?’ Jazz answers.

‘Hi,’ I stammer.

‘Hey babe, where are you?’

‘Um...Jazz, I...’

‘What?  Where abouts are you?’

‘Something’s....something’s happened,’ I finally manage.

‘What?  Are you OK?’ she says sounding panicked.  ‘What's happened?’ Izzy says in the background.

‘OK, I don't want you to panic.  Promise?’

‘Yeah, of course babe.  What's happened?’

‘Ryan’s...he’s been shot.’

‘WHAT?’

‘He’s been – ‘

‘I fucking heard you the first time!  He’s been shot!  Where the fuck is he?’

‘He’s just gone in an ambulance to the hospital.’

‘Oh my God, which one?  And why aren’t you with him?’

‘That's why I was ringing you.  He’s gone in an ambulance but I don't know which one.’

‘Oh, OK.  Don't panic.  They’ve probably taken him to Hammersmith.  We’ll meet you there.’

*                            *                            *

‘Hi.  Ryan Davis.  Where is he?  He was brought in with a gunshot,’ I say to the sulky looking receptionist. 

‘Was he in an ambulance?’ she says through chewing gum.

‘Yes of course he’s in an ambulance!’

‘Please don't use that tone with me madam.  What relation do you have to him?’  She eyes me suspiciously.

‘I’m...I’m his fiancée.’

‘Oh, OK then,’ she says, suddenly friendly.  Thank god I lied.  ‘According to this he’s up on the Elizabeth ward.  It's floor 4.’

But I’ve stopped listening to her.  I’m already running towards the lifts.

‘Ryan Davis?  He came in here with a gunshot wound?’

The nurse looks back at me blankly.  ‘I’ll try and find out’ she says, disappearing. 

I grab another nurse as she walks past. 

‘Please!  I’m trying to find Ryan Davis.  He’s been admitted for a gunshot wound?’

‘I’ll try and find out for you,’ she says, also disappearing.

You know what, fuck this.  I’ll find him myself!  I wander around the rooms, sticking my head round the curtains.  I manage to find everything but him - a fat naked man, a nurse and patient making out, but not Ryan.  Where the hell is he?

I go into another room with two empty beds and sit down on one.  This is useless.  I’ll never find him.  I throw myself back on the bed, tears escaping thick and fast and cradle a blanket or something to my face.  Actually, it smells.  I sit up and hold it away from me to see what it is.  Damn NHS.  It's probably a blood stained cloth that they’ve left here.  But it's not.  It's Ryan’s bloody t-shirt.  Well, a bit of it anyway.  It's been cut in half.

But where is he?  The bed’s empty.  A sickening feeling creeps over my entire body.  It's like it knows something bad is coming.  Oh God.  I want so desperately to know if I’m right.  Because the pain of not knowing is killing me.  Nerves appear in my stomach, intuitions way of telling me I’m right.  It's true. 

A nurse walks round the corner and I grab her. 

‘Tell me it's not true,’ I beg.  ‘Tell me!’

She looks awkward and apologetic.  She stands back.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, dropping her head to the floor.

‘Sorry?  Sorry for what?’  I want to hear her say the words.  ‘Is he...dead?’

‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’

OH.  MY.  GOD.  He’s dead. 

The shock blinds me for a moment and I pray I’ve misunderstood.  It must be wrong.  She must be wrong.  But I know.  I know it's true.  It's happened and there's nothing I can do about it.  My throat starts to close and my chest tightens.  A dull aching thud appears on my chest, suffocating me.  My throat is being strangled.  Strangled by grief. 

Breathe, Poppy.  Breathe.  But all that comes out is a noise.  A weak little noise, almost a silent sob.  The tears start falling down my face and my whole body begins to tremble.  My lips are wobbling and my whole body starts to convulse as the sobs come thick and fast.  I’m sobbing so hard and so fast I can't breathe.  But I don't want to breathe.  I want to die. 

‘No!’ I scream hysterical as I fall to the floor. 

I sob so hard that I heave.  I’m going to vomit.  Grief is taking over me.  Intense grief, taking over my entire body, making me heave.  I want to be sick.  I want to feel the pain I’m feeling.  I want to wallow in my own sadness.  I want to die.

‘Rachel?  Is everything OK?’

I look up and see the red head Irish nurse from earlier.

‘She’s just upset, Ann.  Let her be,’ she says, ushering her out of the room.

‘Let her be?  Why?’

‘She’s just lost her husband.’

‘No she hasn’t’ she says, shaking her head at her.

‘Yes she has’.  She turns to me on the floor.  ‘You’re Mrs Walsh aren’t you?’

‘Mrs Walsh?  No.  I’m here for Ryan Davis,’ I say in between sobs.

‘Oops!  Wrong room!  So sorry.’  She turns and runs from the room.

‘Wrong room?’ I say at the Irish nurse.  ‘You mean...he’s not dead?’

‘No dear.  He’s in the next room.  Come on.’  She lifts me up from the floor, my legs like jelly.   ‘I’ll take you to him.’

When I walk in the room he’s sitting up in bed in a horrible hospital gown with Jazz next to him.

‘Ryan!’  I run over to him, practically throwing myself on the bed.

‘What took you so long?’ Jazz says, looking at me wildly.

‘They...they told me you were dead!’ I shout, snot still running down my face.

‘You’re joking!’ she says.  ‘You should sue!’

But I’m not listening. 

‘Ryan, are you OK?’  He still has a face as white as a sheet.

‘I’m fine,’ he says, looking away annoyed. 

‘What happened?  Have they operated on you?’  I look around for a nurse.

‘Excuse me, nurse!  When the hell is he going to be operated on?’ I shout frantically.

‘Poppy, I’m fine.  I don't need an operation.  It just grazed the top of my shoulder.  The bleedings stopped and they’ve just put a bandage over it.’

‘A bandage?  But...you’ve been shot.’

‘Poppy, I’m fine.’

‘I’m going to speak to a doctor.’  I leave the room and grab a nurse.

‘Excuse me, but I want to speak to you about Ryan Davis’s injury.’

‘I’ll send a doctor out to you.’

I wait around tapping my foot.  I mean, what the hell do I pay my taxes for if a doctor can't even see me and tell me what's going on with him?

‘Ah, are you Ryan’s fiancée?’ an Indian doctor says to me.

‘Yes,’ I say trying to act smug.  That's how engaged people act isn’t it?

‘Well, Ryan’s been very lucky.  The bullet just grazed the top of his shoulder.  We don't need surgery and we’ve managed to stop the bleeding.  He can go home in the morning.’

‘Oh thank God.’  A big sigh of relief escapes my lips.

‘No problem,’ he smiles.

‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’

I consider telling him about his thick nurse that told me Ryan was dead, but then I decide to leave it.  Karma and all that.  It's probably good karma that he didn’t die if you think of it!