Felix Shill Deserves to Die

by Gareth Busson

  But she wasn’t. She was gone.

  There was one else to turn to.

  *

  Abandoning the Golf in a disabled space in the short-term car park, I made a dash for the departure terminal. A short sprint and I was falling through the doors, my lungs making every step a wheezing agony.

  A long queue zigzagged its way towards the check-in desk, but I paid it no attention. Instead, I lifted the red cabling that was shepherding the herds and approached the airline representative.

  ‘I’m sorry to barge in,’ I said, ‘but my plane leaves in about five minutes.’

  The burly attendant was unimpressed by my pleas and looked over my shoulder at the queue.

  ‘Does anyone mind?’ she asked.

  A long, tumour-inducing moment passed with no reply.

  Satisfied but clearly reluctant, the attendant picked up my documents. ‘Do you have any luggage to check in?’

  I shook my head and lifted my overnight bag. ‘Just hand luggage,’ I said.

  ‘Then you’re in luck, your flight’s been delayed by fifteen minutes. You might just make it.’

  I thanked her repeatedly, but her heavily made up face never rose from the screen. After a few minutes she looked languidly up at me.

  ‘Before I can let you go, I just have a few security questions that I need you to answer.’ She held my documents just out of reach, as though they were a prize and I a child who must first earn them.

  ‘Did you pack–?’

  ‘Yes, no and yes,’ I answered, and made a lunge for the tickets. Leaning over the desk jolted my stomach, almost making me throw up, but I was able to ignore the feeling momentarily. The priceless ticket was finally in my grasp. There was still hope.

  Leaving the woman cursing me, I took off. Through the crowds and on to the front of the security queue. Belt and shoes removed, I was mercifully spared by the metal detector. I left my loose change left behind in gratitude, then with shoes in hand, I ran.

  The other passengers looked warily at me as I took large, open mouthed gasps of air. My nausea was boiling dangerously close to the surface now. At any moment I expected the contents of my stomach to splash onto the carpet in front of me. I willed myself forward.

  The plane.

  Just make it onto the plane.

  Make it onto the plane and you can puke your fucking guts up.

  Across half the terminal. Round a corner. And there it was. In the distance. My departure gate. I could see the tail end of a queue poking out into the corridor.

  I slowed down to a trot. Slipped my shoes back on. Tried to relax. Against every odd I was actually going to make the flight. Then, through the white noise, I heard my phone ring. I dragged it out of my pocket. Blinked at the screen.

  KATHARINE

  I stopped walking. Doubled up to catch my breath. I let it ring a couple of times more, buying as much time as I dared, and then I picked up.

  ‘Hi,’ I panted. The offhand tone that I was trying to affect already felt desperate. ‘You alright?’

  ‘Not bad,’ Katharine replied.

  ‘I’ve been trying to call you for weeks.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘And I called around to your parent’s house.’

  More distant now. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess you know that already.’

  Don’t dwell on the negatives. She knows you made an effort. Move on.

  ‘How have you been? How’s Amelie?’

  Up ahead, the end of the queue had already disappeared. I started walking again.

  ‘She’s good,’ Katharine said, ‘she-’

  ‘I miss her. I miss you both.’

  ‘Yes.’ Katharine took a moment before she continued. ‘Listen we need to talk, there are some things that we need to get sorted out.’

  ‘What sort of things?’

  ‘There are certain arrangements we need to make.’

  Arrangements? That word sounded worryingly legal. Best to play it dumb.

  ‘About you moving back in?’

  ‘No, not quite.’

  Not quite? What did that mean? Against every impulse, I kept quiet, desperately holding out for a more information. But it never came. It didn’t need to. Katharine’s silence told me everything that I needed to know.

  She wasn’t coming back.

  I clutched my dripping forehead. It really was as bad as I feared.

  ‘What was it, Kath?’ My throat tightened. ‘What did I do to deserve this?’

  Katharine didn’t answer.

  ‘I’m not a bad husband, I’ve always provided for you, loved you. Haven’t I?’

  The only sound that came back from the phone was a short beep telling me that the battery was running low.

  ‘I suppose I might have been a little distant recently, but-’

  ‘Distant?’ she suddenly exclaimed. ‘It’s been like living with a ghost. We only see you at late at night and when you are around you’re completely detached. Ever since your mother died...’

  A lone boarding attendant stood at the departure gate. She waved me forward impatiently.

  ‘Alright, alright,’ I nodded and held her off for a moment.

  ‘See?’ Katharine said angrily, thinking I was answering her. ‘This is what it’s like.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t talking... Listen, Katharine, I’m sorry but now’s not the best time. I’m about to get on a plane. Can we talk about this when I get back?’

  She sighed.

  ‘Tell you what,’ I said, my voice breaking with strained enthusiasm, ‘why don’t we discuss it at the weekend?’

  ‘You mean at the christening?’

  ‘Sir?’ The gate attendant beckoned me.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No.’ Katharine sounded nervous. ‘No, we can’t discuss it then.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because...’

  ‘Sir!’

  ‘One second, please,’ I pleaded. ‘Sorry about that, Katharine, go on.’

  ‘Because...’ I could hear that she felt uncomfortable answering. ‘Because I don’t want to confuse Amelie. I don’t want her getting the wrong idea.’

  ‘Sir, the gate is about to close.’

  ‘Wrong idea?’

  A hollow voice broke over the tannoy system and reiterated the gate attendants point. In the background I could just make out Katharine’s voice.

  ‘...asked Steve from work... us and... she sees the two of you... wonder... father... is.’

  What the hell?

  ‘What? Steve? Steve, who?’

  ‘Sir, I must insist,’ the gate attendant demanded. ‘Unless you come right now then I will close the gate.’

  There was nothing else for it. In order to find my ticket I needed to lower my phone, temporarily breaking the conversation off with my wife. The gate attendant snatched the slip of paper from me, tore it in two and me handed back the smaller portion. When I placed the phone back to my ear, Katharine was gone.

  I stared at the screen in shocked disbelief. Despair set in. I felt frantic. This was too much for me to digest. Way too much.

  No time to call back now. Conserve the battery. Call back when I land.

  I turned my phone off and staggered toward the plane. As I did so, the tunnel of the connecting gangway corkscrewed away from me. I closed my eyes and tried desperately to slap the world sober. No use. My entire body seemed to be expanding and contracting at will and no matter how much oxygen I took into my aching lungs, I couldn’t regain my focus. My heartbeat was deafening. All around me, pink and blue snowflakes were exploding.

  Gripping the rail, I continued my descent. A few steps and then something burst inside me. Vomit filled my mouth. I choked it back, eyes streaming, glad that there was no one around to witness my state. When I tried to continue I found that my feet were welded to the carpet.

  Then a familiar wind took hold of my ankles.

  At first I tried to convince myself it was nothing more than a breeze blowing up from t
he seal in the docking arm, but when a sudden taste of salt covered the end of my tongue and I smelled burning herbs, I understood its true meaning.

  This was an aura.

  I fell back against the wall. All this stress. All this anxiety and fear. Suddenly it all made sense. I was about to have a seizure.

  The hot wind continued to creep up my body. It swept past my chest and then crashed into my head, exploding with a blush of yellow and pink.

  There wasn’t much time left.

  Every movement that I made walking back up the gangway seemed predetermined and over-animated, as if I were both the puppet and the master. Somehow displaced from my body, I watched myself walk past the boarding attendant and back out into the terminal corridor.

  On my way to the gate I had passed a toilet and now I clubfooted my way towards it, like a sedated astronaut. Heaving the leaden door open, the sanitary brightness of the room doused my senses. I was a flower bud at the point of bloom. About to burst open.

  The initial rush died away almost as quickly as it had arrived, giving me a chance to survey the room. A row of toilets stretched out ahead and on the end I saw what I was hoping for - a disabled cubicle. I made my way inside and threw the latch.

  Breathing was more difficult now. Shorter, sharper breaths. Disoriented. Removing my coat and tie was almost impossible. Then the colours around the edge of my vision began to subside.

  Here it comes.

  No time left to remove my trousers. Tell the rocks that the wave is coming. I lowered myself onto the ice cube tiles. Closed my eyes.

  Then it began.

  Most of what happened during the fit is a blur. It was noisy, violent and fast, almost as though I’d been strapped to the nose cone of the plane that, right at that moment, was taking off for Paris. All I could do was ride it out in painful darkness. That’s all you can ever do.

  When it did eventually subside my body fell unconscious.

  *

  It was twenty minutes before I finally came to. I hoped that the strands of hair hanging in my face were glistening with sweat and saliva, but I can’t be sure of what else I had been lying in. I lifted myself up, my body heavy, as though I were dredging it out from a pool of molten lead.

  The first thing I noticed was a sharp ache running along the front of my shins. During the fit, it seemed that I had kicked out repeatedly against the toilet bowl. Walking would be painful.

  I left the toilet and headed back to the main terminal. My nausea was gone, but now I felt hollow and utterly vulnerable. Most of the other travellers were too busy to notice the state I was in, but as I approached the metal detectors again, one of the guards saw me coming. He nudged a nearby colleague.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’ he asked, tilting his head to one side.

  ‘I need to get out of here.’

  ‘Have you missed your flight then?’

  ‘I think so. I… I suppose I must’ve by now.’

  ‘Can I see your boarding card then, please, sir?’ his female companion asked.

  I padded my shirt and trouser pockets.

  ‘I’m not sure where it is,’ I said. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

  ‘Well, we really do need to see that before we can let you out, I’m afraid.’ She seemed to take pleasure in informing me.

  I felt my face collapse into a near sob. I just wanted somewhere soft and warm. Somewhere to recuperate. Regain my confidence. I turned to the man.

  ‘Look, I’ve just had an epileptic fit in the toilet, I really need to get out of here.’

  For a moment the two of them looked surprised, then the woman came forward and placed a hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Are you sure, sir?’ she said.

  Faced with such ignorance, I felt my strength returning. ‘Well, either I was having a fit or it was the most convincing impersonation of a sherbet lemon that you’ve ever seen. See, I’m not in the habit of shitting myself.’

  When the woman stepped back, her colleague fired an angry look in her direction.

  ‘Come on, mate,’ he said, placing an arm around me. ‘I’ll take you back through.’

  As we made our way out I felt horribly embarrassed, just like I had all those years ago when they had led me away from the school. More than ever before, I wanted to get away from people. Once we were back in the main terminal the guard let go of my shoulder.

  ‘Are you going to be alright, mate?’ he said. ‘I mean, do you want me to take you to the medical centre?’

  I tried to look grateful. ‘No thanks, I just need to clean myself up and get some sleep. Where’s the nearest hotel from here?’

  He pointed to a far corner. ‘There’s a Hilton joined to the terminal by an overhead walkway. Less than five minutes away.’

  I thanked him again and slumped off in that direction.

  Ten minutes later and after an unforgettable walk, I was leaning against the Hilton’s mahogany reception desk. There was a stench all around me. Hardly surprising then, that the receptionist insisted I paid the deposit in cash.

  The room itself was carefully engineered to cause the minimum of offence, functional, neutral and utterly without personality. In the circumstances it was bliss.

  I cleaned myself off, left my dirty clothes in the bath, then slipped underneath the bed sheets.

  Unless I could think of a way out of this situation, my life, as I knew it, was over. I needed a miracle.

  What I got, however, was something altogether better.

  4.10am, Sunday, March 23rd, 2003

  For the first time in years Felix couldn’t find the right words to say. Tears as heavy as glass beads were exploding on the hospital floor beneath him and, although he tried his best to stem the flow with the back of his hand, they kept on falling.

  ’I’m sorry that I was such a burden,’ was all he could say.

  Bebe Shill looked across at her son’s sorrowful expression and, though it hurt to do so, began to laugh.

  ’Oh don’t, Felix,’ she said. ‘It has been a difficult journey for the two of us sometimes, but you know what? I wouldn’t’ve had it any other way. There isn’t a second that I’ve regretted.’

  Up to that moment Felix had remained composed, but this reply was too much. He felt his heart splinter, his face contort with pain.

  Bebe was fighting for every breath, but still she found strength enough to stretch out a hand and stroke her son’s face.

  ‘I know it hurts, sweetheart,’ she said, trying to soothe him, ‘but you have to listen, I have something important to tell you.’

  Felix came closer and looked deep into her eyes. In what little time they had left, he wanted to absorb as much of her as he could.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘When all this is over, I want you to watch out for the gollywog. I can’t stress that enough. You must look out for the gollywog. Do you understand me, Felix?’

  He nodded, though the words meant nothing to him.

  ‘Good, make sure that you remember. It’s for your own benefit and no one else’s. Do not forget that–’

  A spasm of pain shot down one side of Bebe’s body causing her to draw a sharp intake of breath. Fearing the worst, Felix leapt to his feet and looked around for a nurse.

  ‘Don’t fret, I’m alright,’ she said, touching his arm. ‘I haven’t finished yet, but I need a drink of water please, love.’

  Felix helped her sip a small mouthful of the liquid. It took a minute, but once Bebe was settled, she turned her wilting eyes back to her son. Her voice was fading.

  ‘Remember Felix,’ she said, ‘you’re my little egg. My little egg. You can be so many things, but you’re fragile, and you have to take care of yourself. If you’re not careful you might break.’

  Felix felt her cold hands loosen in his. In an attempt to keep her with him, he tightened his grip around them. It brought her back momentarily.

  ‘You must take care, my love,’ she whispered. Her eyes closed. ‘My Felix. My little boy…’

&nb
sp; Thirteen minutes later, she was gone.

  2

  Modern psychology suggests that people dream because they are venting emotions that, for whatever reason, have been suppressed while they are awake. If true, it would explain why I woke up the following day to find one foot lying on the pillows, and the rest of my body sprawled across the mattress. Finding my head twisted over the side of the bed, my first thought was that I must have been out drinking. But when I tried to move, I felt pain tear through my entire body and I knew straight away it was no hangover. As I lay there, memories of the previous evening started to return. I covered my eyes.

  What the hell was I going to do?

  I sat up and shifted carefully onto the edge of the bed so I faced the mirror. My every muscle felt torn, but apart from two thick purple bruises running the length of my shins, externally I looked fine. Most painful of all however, was my mouth. With nothing to stop me biting down during the fit, I’d taken large chunks out of my tongue and now it was swollen and agonizingly tender.

  I stumbled to my overnight bag and popped three painkillers. Just then, I heard a police siren outside. The sound struck a chord somewhere in my mind.

  Why did that sound so familiar?

  Then I heard another. And another. I made my way over to the window and saw a whole fleet of them passing by.

  Looking at this sudden burst of activity reminded me that, in spite of my ordeal, the world was still going about its business. And that meant people in my world were still conducting business too.

  I turned back to the darkened room and looked across at my phone which was still switched off. What messages were stored within its circuitry? What vitriol had AIM poured into it last night when I had failed to arrive? I was far too brittle to contemplate.

  My old Breguet Heritage lay on the bedside cabinet. I stared into the ornate watch face and tried to imagine what AIM would be doing at right at that moment. In Paris, around two hundred and fifty miles away, it was ten past eight. With the sales meeting scheduled to start at nine, he would be conducting of one of his breakfast meetings. He would have his troops neatly lined up behind a continental breakfast and one by one brief them on their part to play in the organisational manoeuvres that lay ahead. Interruptions were actively discouraged. If I were to call him at that moment, it would only make matters worse.