by P. D. Viner
“Come on, you silly old cow.” She pulls up on the frame. The distance is narrowing; she is almost there. She makes it to her bed and stops to rest. She listens hard: is someone coming? No. Geronimo! She is off again. Step after step, her legs almost useless, her arms trembling with the exertion. The phone, she can see the phone.
“Think about prison,” she hisses to herself as she crosses the final yards to the phone. She grabs at it and nearly tips over. The old woman next to her whimpers and turns over. The skeleton merely lies there. Patty flips the phone open, praying to a non-existent God for some battery power.
“Yes!” The time flickers at her. 12:57 a.m. She dials a number she has not called in many, many years, but will never forget. It rings.
“Come on come on come on come on come on come on come …”
“Hello?” His voice is sleepy.
The years stretch into eternity.
“Hello? Is somebody there?”
Patty finds she’s mute. She had no idea what a profound shock it would be to hear his voice again, really hear him, not just the constant echo of him in her head.
“Hello?” he repeats. “I’m going to hang up now.”
“Jim,” she says in a voice that sounds a thousand years old.
There is silence, just his breath. Patty thinks she would have been happy to have listened to that breath for a year and a day, but her toothpaste will be here any moment.
“I’m in trouble. I need your help. Please go to my house; there is a spare key taped inside the blue recycling bin in the alley, to the left of the front door. I need you to go in and get me a change of clothes, including underwear and shoes. Bring them, in a bag, to the Royal. I’ll meet you by the toilets next to X-ray; remember where they took your mum when she broke her hip. Meet me there at exactly three a.m. Don’t park in the car park, park in a side street. Then take me home. I’ll explain it all, I have to go now.”
She flips the phone closed and sets it back down on the cabinet. No one seems to have heard her. There is no alarm, no pointing finger, no searchlight. She spins the Zimmer round and heads off back to the toilets, faster than before. Her legs are hers again. As she gets to her own bed, the nurse returns.
“Oh. I thought you were going to wait for me in the loo,” she says, a little peeved.
Patty snatches the brush and paste from her and charges for the toilet, this time slamming the door and locking it. The nurse is shocked for a second and then runs to the toilet and bangs on the door.
“Let me in. Right this second, or I’ll call security to take the door off.”
“I will be out in one minute but I want some privacy,” Patty screams through the door. She angrily brushes her teeth until her gums bleed. Then she sits on the toilet seat and weeps.
TWENTY
Monday, December 20, 2010
Jim slides the key into the lock as if he owns the place and pushes the door open—he quickly steps inside. Behind him, Dani hesitates.
“Come in quick,” he hisses.
“Do you think it’s okay—can I come in?”
“You’re not a vampire. Get in quickly, we don’t want a nosy neighbor calling the police.”
“But …”
“Sorry.” He closes the door on her. He pulls a torch from his pocket—he flicks it on and the beam falls on a small mountain of pizza flyers and minicab cards, as well as three days’ worth of newspapers. Jim scoops them up as Dani walks through the door.
“That was rude,” she says, waving the torch away from her face.
“We looked suspicious and a bit crazy, plus we don’t have much time. We need to get your mum in less than an hour.”
“It was still rude to slam the door in my face.”
“I didn’t slam it. I closed it.”
“Thanks for the apology.” She walks off to explore downstairs.
Jim takes the pile of junk mail and newspapers into the lounge where he drops them on a small table. He shines the torch around the room, trying to keep the beam away from the windows. The room is almost bare. One chair and the small table.
“Nunnery chic,” Dani says walking in.
“She seems quite minimalist,” Jim agrees. “Not much to show for a lifetime,” he thinks.
“I’m going upstairs to find some of her clothes.”
“I can be fashion consultant.”
“No, you wait here—I’ll be quick.”
He walks upstairs, holding the light down to the floor. He has no idea where her bedroom is, so pushes randomly at a closed door and it slides open. He raises the torch and the light hits …
“God.” The air is knocked out of him. His hand shakes. The torchlight skitters across the wall. The wall—in all its glory, recreated just as it had been in their house all those years ago. Though now it’s even bigger, with more Post-it notes and more pictures. The day Dani arrived at Durham—so happy. Home at Christmas, her birthday … then those other pictures of her, his child defiled. Dead. So pale and yet beautiful. The same as she is now—the same as she is downstairs. Full of life. He feels sick, doubles over.
“Dad?” she calls.
“Dani, don’t come up here,” he shouts back, his stomach cramping. “Don’t come …”
“What are you going to do? Slam the door in my face again?” She floats through the door. “I can go anywhere. I’m the Ghost of—” She sees the photos, sees herself: her hands tied, her body bare, the bruises covering her arms and legs. Post-it notes scream “torture,” “multiple rape,” “feces and urine.” Around her the air seems to turn tar black.
“Dani …” Jim reaches out to her, he tries to scoop her into his arms—if only he could hug her—but she dissolves. The torch blinks out, there is only black—the shadows seem to suck all life from the air.
“Dani, Dani, please come back.” But there is nothing. The torch flickers once again—the beam catches her image one last time. Dead.
Jim takes a final look at the hateful wall. “Oh, Christ, Patty.” He walks backward out of the door, closing it gingerly, as if there’s an unexploded bomb inside. He pauses for a moment, unsure of what to do. Then slowly he moves to the next room, her bedroom.
Inside there is just an unmade bed, a tatty old wardrobe and a few boxes. The bed makes him feel sad. Sad and old. It all feels intrusive and voyeuristic, especially going through her clothes to put together a bag for her, but he does as she asked. He is also saddened by the fact that he recognizes every item of clothing. Hasn’t she shopped in twelve years? With the bag ready, he closes the door and goes back down.
Dani sits in the living room. He would have missed her but for the slightest sigh as he passed the doorway. He strains into the darkness and makes out her faint shape.
“I’m sorry, darling.”
“Not your fault. You did warn me.” She pauses. “Why don’t I remember?”
“Did seeing the pictures …?”
“No. Maybe. I can see flashes.”
“Faces?”
“I … yes.”
“Do you recognize them?”
She opens her mouth to speak, but it all seems too unclear. She closes it again.
“Can you describe them?”
“No. No, it’s all deformed, hazy—like I’m seeing everything underwater.”
“Maybe … maybe that’s best.”
She shakes her head slowly. “All I remember clearly is hearing your voice far-off, and then opening my eyes and I was me, but not myself anymore, not whole. I felt scared and so alone.”
“Never alone.”
“Really?” She shakes her head sadly. She feels alone so often.
“Let’s go and get your mum,” he says softly.
“Okay.”
He drives to the hospital. He remembers not to park in the hospital car park but doesn’t trust the side streets. Instead he pulls over on the main road close to a bus stop. There won’t be any buses tonight. The drive had been more than a little scary for him; Dani had loved it. From th
e moment she’d yelled “shotgun” to the final skid into the curb, it had been like a roller-coaster ride. He would not have gone out in those conditions for anyone else.
“I’ll go in alone.”
“Dad!”
“Wait at the car, please.” He turns on the radio for her and gets out into the icy wind. He walks toward the hospital slowly, a little like a penguin as the snow shifts under his feet. He feels guilty about asking Dani to stay in the car, but he doesn’t want her with him while he confronts Patty. He’s starting to get worried about why she’s in the hospital—in his mind he visualizes the wall once again. Is Patty still obsessed with finding Dani’s killer after more than twenty years? What might she have done? The snow begins to fall once more. He can’t move.
“Are you okay?” Dani calls from the car. Jim turns and waves to her, though he doesn’t trust his voice. “Shout if you need me,” his daughter calls out.
His mouth feels like black pepper has been ground into it as he walks slowly inside. Right inside the door is a desk that, during the day, is manned by volunteers. Of course, at this time of the morning it’s empty. Lying on the top is a pile of maps with a handwritten sign saying: PLEASE TAKE. On the board behind the desk is a list of the departments and the buildings they occupy. Jim looks for the department of psychiatry. He’s relieved to see there’s no unit or secure ward listed. He remembers waking from the nightmare—how scared he was for her. Have faith, he thinks, and heads toward the X-ray department. He knows the way—he has been to this hospital many times over the years. His mother died here, he had his prostate poked here. Now what?
X-ray reception is closed when he arrives. The air seems to fizz with the smell of bleach and the ageing institutional lino floors seem tacky as he walks on them. He sits in the central bank of chairs, probably the only time he’s ever managed to get a seat here. Normally patients stand three or four deep waiting for their close-ups. To complete the zombie-movie aesthetic, the strip light above him flickers. He checks his watch: 3:02.
“Maybe it’s a joke,” he thinks with no conviction. Then he hears footsteps from behind and turns. He doesn’t recognize her for a second. She’s thin—marathon runner thin. It shocks him a little.
“The clothes, Jim, for Christ’s sake, we don’t have much time. Is that it?” She snatches up the bag and heads for the women’s toilet in the next corridor.
Jim watches her go. Only a few seconds—but he knows she isn’t mad. She’s Patty—she looks older, leaner but … “Christ.” The intelligence flares in her eyes. She’s illuminated from within. He realizes that, after all this time, he desperately wants to hold her.
Patty storms out of the toilets after a minute. She throws the bag, Jim isn’t sure if it’s to him or at him. She looks angry.
“What the hell were you thinking?” She indicates her body.
Jim looks down at her and blushes. The clothes he picked out make her look like a clown.
“You …” He wants to say: “You used to be taller, fuller, more …” but he dries up. She is thin and bird-like, angular and pointy … and amazing. And angry.
She walks toward him and her head leans as if to kiss, but instead she hisses, “Go out the Warren Street exit and I will meet you on the corner by Wimpy.”
“Patty …” he starts but she’s already heading away. Jim watches her stride purposefully away toward the main exit. She walks quickly but erratically, correcting herself as she veers slightly from one side to the next. Then she turns the corner and is gone. Jim feels like he’s in a dream. He looks at the sign above him; the Warren Street exit is on the other side of the hospital. He needs to head into the belly of the beast—Accident and Emergency. He gets up and goes forward. Corridors wind and turn like in a maze, then suddenly the corridor opens out onto a full room of men clutching arms and heads, girlfriends with hands covered in gore and children asleep on laps. Except for the red flash of blood, all is pallid and miserable under the glare of strip lights. Everywhere, people seem to huddle and wait for help. That’s what hospital emergency departments are at night: a sodium-lit purgatory.
As he walks through, hollow eyes look up, pleading with Jim to diagnose, advise and administer drugs so they can get home to bed. Everyone looks so desperate. But all Jim can do is shrug apologetically and try to avoid stepping in the fresh drops of blood. They look like scattered breadcrumbs leading the lost back home. Jim looks around—why is there no one with a mop at this time of the night?
Close to the exit Jim sees a man with green skin, eyes that are a huge black void, hair matted with blood, kicking a vending machine.
“Where is my fucking Coke?” the man repeats over and over. Each time the searching question is underlined by a thump to the Perspex cover. “The hospital is a place for philosophers,” Jim thinks. “Where indeed are our fucking Cokes?” Jim stops and gently hits A11 on the machine. The mechanical arm moves, trundles across and delicately plucks a red-and-white can from the shelf and drops it into the chute. Jim nods. He can’t heal anyone but he can at least deliver some succor. The automatic door slides open and he walks out into the night. The door slides back and he can just hear the man.
“I wanted Diet Coke.”
The street is empty and cold, still snow-spewed as it continues to fall. The car is on the other side of the hospital—Jim hopes Dani is okay, he wishes she were with him now. He crosses the treacherous street and can see the restaurant. He approaches the Wimpy with caution. He can’t remember the last time he saw one; he thought they’d gone out of business years ago. They seem to be something from a bygone age—before the Whoppers and Big Macs came and swept them away. He assumes Patty will be in the doorway, but as he gets level, it’s empty. No one inside; just enormous close-ups of meat. It reminds him of the hospital. The mixed grill looks like pictures he’s seen of men eviscerated in war and they make him feel a little queasy. Where is she?
Then he sees her pushed into the doorway of an off-license. She’s rocking slightly on her heels, back and forth, looking tightly wound. He opens his mouth to shout but stops. Instead he moves slowly, his hands outstretched, showing he has nothing in them, as if he’s approaching a dangerous animal. Patty catches sight of the movement and instinctively pulls into the shadows.
“It’s okay, it’s me.”
She relaxes a little and steps forward.
“What’s up?”
“It’s good to see you, Jim.” Her voice is husky with intense tiredness. She smiles and he feels like he’s twenty again. “What took you so long?” The years melt away. She’d said those exact words the first time he kissed her. He’d been gathering his courage for weeks. Finally the dam had burst and he had launched himself at her in the clumsiest way. Instead of a clean kiss they had bumped chins and clattered teeth.
“If we’re going to do it, then let’s do it properly,” she had said and grabbed his jacket, pulling him to her and … fireworks.
“Patty …”
“Can we get to the car? I’m cold and you didn’t exactly bring me winter clothes.” She sounds exhausted but her prickliness has melted away.
“I’m parked a little way away. Have my coat.” Jim peels off the jacket and holds it open so she can slide inside. He feels her move against him—brittle, bird-like. A memory hits him hard—that first night—the curves and full breasts, the weight of her as she lowered herself onto him with her hands on his chest—taking his breath away. He can’t help himself as he puts the jacket around her—he pulls her into him and closes his arms around her like he did all those years ago. Then, she melted into him like syrup—tonight she pulls away and her face is a mix of rage and fear.
“I … Sorry. I was just …”
She doesn’t make any reply, just shudders a little from the cold. Jim motions with his hand toward where the car is parked and she moves off. Nothing is said as they walk. Clouds roll by, mostly unseen in the dark night until the moon is revealed just for a few seconds. Jim slides back through the years: he is
walking with Dani, right on the spot where he is now. They are crossing this same tarmac strip. How old is she? Eight? They have just visited her gran, who is dying. They walk in silence. Her small, warm hand in his. She’s deeply thoughtful, then she looks up to him and asks: “Where do we go after we die, Daddy?”
“The next right,” he shouts to Patty, who is ahead of him. His hand seems a little warm, clammy as if it has held a small, sticky little mitt. The moon disappears once more as the clouds roll by. Ahead, Patricia strides forward.
“Just there, on the left. Red Saab.”
The moon skids back and Jim can see Dani sitting on the bonnet of the car. She smiles broadly and waves, happy to see him. He waves back to her, not thinking. Patty turns and sees him; she jumps.
“I’ve got this bad shoulder. I was just stretching it.” It’s a terrible lie. On the car Dani laughs.
“I’ll open it.” He pulls out the little leather fob and for a second it feels like a small hand rests in his.
Where do we go after we die, Daddy? The air seems to carry the echo through the decades.
Dani slides off the bonnet and walks over to her mother, looks directly into her face, but Patty sees nothing and climbs into the passenger seat. The clouds scud past once more and the moon is so bright, it feels like daytime for a second, then it fades to black as the clouds roll past again.
Jim climbs into the driver’s seat. He can see Dani in the rearview mirror, leaning forward on the backseat, her face blank. Jim wonders what she’s thinking, the three of them together after all these years. In the backseat Dani sighs and then yawns. Patty silently stares out of the window. Jim pulls away from the curb, the wheels skid but he slowly moves forward, heading to Patty’s house. The roads are clear of traffic and the main roads are pretty well gritted. After ten minutes he allows himself a sideways look at his wife. She’s closed her eyes, might be asleep.
“Do you remember Monty?” Dani asks from the backseat.
