Drink With The Devil

by David Woods

Garry gulped his drink and said in a high pitched tone. “That’s rubbish. The staff respect a firm boss.”

  “I’m just saying you may be trying too hard.”

  Garry poured another large brandy. “You’re saying I’m rude?”

  “Not exactly.”

  He swallowed the drink in one large gulp. “If that’s what you think, you can run the bloody place on your own.”

  “Oh, Garry. Don’t be silly.”

  He filled his glass again and his eyes were blazing. “Now you listen to me, you bloody silly woman. I’m not silly or rude, and I’ve done my best for that damn company of yours.” He drained his glass.

  Jane got up and tried to prevent him filling it again. “Please don’t drink any more.”

  “Christ. Now I drink too much.” He pushed her away and poured a large full glass.

  She sank to her knees in front of him. “Oh, Garry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  He sneered at her and spoke again in a high pitched tone. “Get up, you stupid cow.”

  She rose slowly. “Please forgive me, but I don’t like to see you drunk.”

  “I’m not drunk.” He sank the glassful and Jane went to take the glass from him. “What are you doing? I want another drink.”

  “You’ve had enough.”

  He tried to grab the glass and stumbled forward.”You bloody woman, give me that glass.” He lunged at her, striking her face with his fist. She screamed and fell on to the settee, blood trickling down her chin from a split lip, and she was stunned into silence.

  Garry leered at her and then grinned, his face red. “I’ll teach you who’s boss. Now get up and pour me a drink.”

  Jane was very frightened. She got up, wiping her mouth and poured the brandy, giving it to him before retreating to an armchair.

  He stood unsteadily drinking while she watched nervously. Having drained the glass, he sat on the settee. “Come and sit here.”

  Jane said nothing, but got up and slowly sat beside him.

  His voice was a slurred whisper. “Now be nice to me.” He put his arm around her shoulder, his other hand fondling her breast, and leaned towards her, kissing her mouth. She was filled with disgust as his saliva trickled down her chin mingling with blood from her painful lip, and wrenched herself free before running from the room. Garry shouted after her and then collapsing forward on to his face passed out, staying there until morning. When he awoke he was cold and felt ill, just managing to reach the bathroom before being sick. Looking at himself in the mirror, he shuddered when he remembered his behaviour the night before.

  Jane was awake when he brought in a cup of tea and eyed him nervously as he approached. He smiled weakly as his unsteady hand spilled the liquid into the saucer. “I’m very sorry about last night, and I promise not to hurt you again.”

  “So I should think. I’ve never been so frightened in all my life.”

  “Please forgive me. I’ll do my best to be nice to you and the staff.”

  “Very well. If you’re really going to try.”

  “I’ll try. Just for you.”

  He tried to be reasonable to the staff the next day, and was polite without overdoing it. In the evening he was about to pour a glass of brandy, but checked himself just in time. Jane was still nervous and sat on her own, but soon responded when he made an attempt at conversation. After an hour she cuddled up to him on the settee and whispered,

  “Why can’t you always be nice to me?”

  “I don’t know, but I promise to try.”

  * * *

  Jim walked away from the cell that had been home for the last four months, shaking hands with Oliver and promising to contact him on his release in a few months time. The outer door clanged shut and he stood for a moment looking up at the sky. His gaze was interrupted by a shout from a parked car. Jean Wilks was a voluntary prison visitor who had promised to help him find lodgings and work; a married woman in her mid thirties with a nice kind face and mousy hair, and with a husband who worked in the City. She was left at home and bored, but had a small car and enjoyed visiting prisoners who needed help. Jim ran across to the car. “Hello Jean. This is very good of you.”

  “My pleasure. I wondered if you’d look different outside.”

  “It feels really good to be out.”

  They drove through the traffic with Jean telling him how things had changed in the last eight months, and Jim feeling on top of the world and chatting about what he would like to do in the future. When they pulled up outside a terraced house in Kingston-upon-Thames, Jim jumped out with his small bag of old clothes. He was introduced to a short round-looking lady with a red face and broken teeth, which she displayed when she smiled at the sight of him.

  “Hello. You must be Jim. My name’s Rosie.”

  Jim towered over her and shook her podgy hand. “Hello, Rosie. It’s very kind of you to put me up.”

  “It’ll be a pleasure to have someone to cook for. My old man died four years ago and my kids never bother to visit.” She showed him a small room at the back of the house, which was neat and tidy with a single bed, dressing table and wardrobe.

  Jean waved goodbye. “I’ll come and see you in a few days.”

  “Okay. And thanks for all your help.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Rosie cooked a huge meal that evening and, just seeing the mountain of food on his plate made Jim’s eyes water. He had never tasted such good food in his life.

  The next morning he was up at dawn and ate a cooked breakfast, which Rosie had waiting for him. He ran down the street following Jean’s instructions and ten minutes later walked on to a large construction site. He waited outside the empty site office for five minutes until a burly looking man wearing a trilby hat arrived and stared at him.

  “Blimey mate, you’re keen, ain’t yer?”

  “Well, I’d really like a job.”

  “The office don’t open for another ’alf hour.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “Better come in and sit down, then.”

  Jim waited and saw workers arrive, and a small queue formed outside. When the trilby-hatted man returned he looked at him.

  “What d’you want to do?”

  “Labouring, please.” Jim said politely.

  “Stand up.”

  Jim stood with his head just short of the low ceiling. The man grunted. “You fancy ’od carrying?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, you fill a ’od full of bricks and carry them up a ladder to the brickies.”

  “Yes. That sounds fine.”

  “Right. You can start straight away.”

  Another man showed him where to work and handed him a hod, a pole with a three-cornered wooden box on the top.

  A bricklayer shouted down from the scaffolding. “Come on. Get some bricks up ’ere.”

  Jim grabbed the hod, filled it with bricks and almost ran up the ladder. The man, a short ruddy faced character, snatched a brick from the pile and said, “What’s yer name, mate?”

  “Jim. What’s yours?”

  “Ian. But yer won’t be ’ere long enough to get to know me.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Cause after a week of ’od carrying, you’ll be off.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “I bet you a quid you won’t last more than a week.”

  “You’re on, mate.”

  By lunchtime Jim was tired and his limbs ached. Ian kept shouting down to him, “For Christ’s sake get a move on.”

  By the time he had finished that evening Jim was in a bad way, with hands nearly raw, legs feeling like lead and his arms and shoulder aching badly. Rosie took one look at him. “Oh my God, Jim, you need a bath.”

  The bathroom was an outside extension of the kitchen and Jim soaked while his meal was being cooked. Blisters had formed on his feet and they hurt, but the bath soothed the aching and he managed a large meal before collapsing in an armchair. Rosie found a pair of thick gardeni
ng gloves and socks, which he wore the next morning.

  Ian looked at Jim’s pale features. “You won’t last the day out.”

  “Oh yes I will.”

  “Right, get those bricks up on that scaffold.”

  He worked hard all day, just managing to keep the bricklayer supplied with bricks and mortar. He limped home to discover the blisters had burst and he felt even worse than the first day. Rosie’s gloves had saved his hands, but his arms and legs still ached badly.

  The next three days were similar to the first two and, when he collected his wage packet on Friday night, he was relieved to have two days off.

  As soon as he got home he said to Rosie. “Now, how much do I owe you?”

  “Nothing. The first week’s on the house.”

  “That’s very generous. But I must pay you.”

  “I want you to go out tomorrow and buy some clothes.”

  “You’re very kind.”

  She grinned. “It’s a pleasure to have you here.”

  He walked the short distance to the shops, buying a pair of heavy boots and working clothes, and then spent the rest of the day doing odd jobs around the house.

  On Sunday morning Jean Wilks called in to see him and found Rosie in the kitchen.

  “Hello. Where’s Jim?”

  “In the bathroom, fitting a new tap washer.”

  “How’s he settling in?”

  “Very well, my dear.”

  Jim came in and they drank coffee together. Jean looked at him. “I must say you do look tired.”

  “I haven’t worked for so long. I’m bound to find it tiring at first.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Well, I know it’s a bit of a cheek, but will you take me to the hospital?”

  “Good heavens. Are you feeling that bad?”

  Jim laughed. “It’s not for me. I want to visit someone.”

  “I’m not busy at the moment. Let’s go.”

  The private hospital was not far away, just outside of town, and Jim had been looking forward to seeing Angela for so long. He knew she was still in a coma, but the thought of seeing her face again filled him with excitement and love for her. Jean looked at his beaming face. “Well, who’s the lucky lady?”

  “Angela. But she’s very ill.” He gave her a brief account of what had happened, leaving out the part about killing a man.

  Jean just smiled, knowing the full story anyway.

  They pulled up outside a large house which had been converted to a hospital. Jim went in dressed in his new working clothes and large boots, which made him look even taller. A young nurse smiled. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve come to see Angela Osborne.”

  “Are you a relative?”

  “No. A friend.”

  She walked away and spoke to someone in an adjoining room. Jim’s heart sank, thinking they would not let him see her, but the nurse returned smiling. “I’ll come with you,” she said.

  He heaved a sigh of relief and followed the slightly built girl, who opened a door to a room with one bed in the centre. There was an abundance of floral displays from both relatives and friends. When Jim saw Angela’s white face, a lump appeared in his throat, and tears came to his eyes. “Can I sit with her?” he croaked.

  The nurse saw his reaction and quickly placed a chair as close to the bed as possible. He could not take his eyes off her face as he sat down slowly. “Oh my poor Angela.” His voice shook as he held her lifeless hand, oblivious to all else around him. Tears ran down his cheeks as he said: “My dearest Angela, I love you so much.” He stopped to wipe his face and then spoke more clearly, his deep husky voice recalling every detail of their last meeting in the wood, and then telling her over and over again how much he loved her.

  The nurse sat in one corner, spellbound by this display of uninhibited emotion and love. She clasped her handkerchief to her mouth to stop herself making a noise, as she could not stop tears coming to her eyes. She wanted to get up and kiss him, but did not want to break the spell. It was as if a god of love was sitting there, pouring out his heart to a lifeless girl. Suddenly they both gasped as Angela’s eye lids flickered. Jim felt her hand gently squeeze his, and then relax but he carried on talking.

  “Come on my love, wake up for me.”

  Her eyelids moved again and her lips parted, but neither Jim nor the nurse could understand what she uttered.

  There was silence for a second, the door opened and a man wearing a white coat came in. The nurse looked up and whispered. “Doctor, look at Angela.”

  He looked at her eyes and then at Jim. “Please carry on talking.”

  He stood back as Jim talked to her for another five minutes. Angela moved her head towards him slightly and whispered very faintly, “Jim?”

  He nearly choked with emotion and croaked. “Yes, my love. It’s me.” The doctor spoke quietly. “Be careful. Don’t rush her.”

  Jim kissed her hand and got up slowly. He left the room but glanced back as he shut the door to see her staring at the window. His whole body shook as he tore himself away from the room. He had decided long ago it would not be fair to expect her to love him, but after what had transpired he left with mixed feelings. He was approaching the car when he heard footsteps running after him. The nurse grabbed his arm and when he turned to face her, he saw tears still running down her mascara-smudged face. She hugged him and then stood back. Jim was bewildered. “Are you quite all right?”

  She spluttered. “I’ve never seen or heard anything so beautiful.” Jim was stuck for words.

  She dried her face and spoke again. “You can’t just leave. After all you may have saved her life.”

  “I owed her that and now it would be best if I went.”

  “Why? I don’t understand.”

  “Because I think she would regret it if I stayed.”

  “Fair enough. But please tell me your name.”

  “Sorry. I must go.”

  The nurse watched as Jim and Jean drove away. Jean had watched the nurse pounce on Jim and was laughing. “Well Jim. You certainly made an impression on that pretty nurse.”

  “She was a bit overwhelming.”

  “I could see you were getting on well with her. How long have you known her?”

  “I don’t know her.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “No, I’m not. I never saw her before to-day.”

  Jean gave him a look of disbelief. “Oh. How was Angela?”

  “Much better. I think she has a chance of recovery.”

  “I thought you were going to be in there all day.”

  “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting so long.”

  “It was worth it, seeing you have a cuddle with that nurse.”

  On Monday morning Jim arrived at work feeling refreshed and energetic. He shot up the ladder with a load of bricks, his legs feeling much fitter as the boots cushioned the bite of the rungs. He had a large pile of bricks waiting when Ian arrived and grinned at him.

  “You owe me a quid.”

  “I give in. You win. Here you are.” He handed over a grubby pound note.

  “Thanks. Now you can lay bricks as fast as you like.”

  “Right. I bloody well will.”

  That evening, straight after work, Jim rang the hospital and was told there was a slight improvement, but that a full recovery could not be certain.

  Chapter Nine

  The telephone rang in the hall as Garry burst through the front door with Jane, following an evening meal at a local hotel. “Who the hell’s that at this time of night?” He snatched up the receiver. “Hello.”

  “Is that Mr. Osborne?”

  “Who wants me at this hour of the night?”

  “Doctor Riley here.”

  “But we only visited the hospital yesterday.”

  “Yes I know. But I’ve got good news for you. Angela has recovered consciousness.”

  “Good heavens. That’s fantastic. How did it happen?”


  “She had a visitor, who talked to her and she responded.”

  “Who was the visitor?”

  “A man who didn’t leave his name.”

  “Really. That’s funny.”

  “Yes. Will you be coming to see her?”

  “Yes, of course. Straightaway.” He put the receiver down and shouted to Jane,

  “Angela’s recovered. We must go to the hospital.”

  “That’s wonderful. But I think you should go by yourself at this stage.”

  “Okay. Don’t wait up.” He ran out to the car and drove away, puzzled as to who supplied the miracle cure.

  The doctor met him outside the private ward, and warned him not to expect her to recognise him instantly. “Her memory will be hazy for a while, so be patient.”

  “Okay. I’m just so pleased she’s recovering.” He went in to find his sister sitting up in bed looking at all the flowers surrounding her, but when she saw him she looked away, without any signs of recognition. He sat down. “Hello Angela. How are you feeling?”

  “I don’t know how I feel. D’you like my flowers?”

  “They’re beautiful.”

  “They are nice, aren’t they?”

  “Angela, this is your brother, Garry,” said the nurse sitting the other side of the bed.

  “Garry. My brother? I can’t remember my brother.”

  Garry smiled at her. “Never mind. I expect it’ll come back to you soon enough.”

  “Yes. I suppose so. The doctors say I’ve been asleep for a long time.”

  “That’s true. Far too long.” He stayed for half an hour trying to communicate with her, but found it hard going with her vague responses. He said goodbye and left to find the doctor in charge waiting for him in the reception area.

  “Doctor, who was the man who visited my sister?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What d’you mean, you don’t know?”

  “What I said. He wouldn’t tell us his name.”

  “D’you let any Tom, Dick or Harry in here to see her?”

  “If they satisfy us they’re friends, we do.”

  “That’s a pretty poor way of going on.”

  “Why are you so upset? He probably saved Angela’s life.”

  Garry calmed down. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. What did he look like?”