Felix Shill Deserves to Die
Page 34
‘And toes.’
A burst of nervous laughter falls out of her.
‘And toes, yes – and toes. I know… I mean, I’m sure that’s bound to help you sleep easier.’
She opens her hand to reveal a small plastic cap.
‘But, ah, just in case you need something more, I’ve brought you another fifty milligrams of Cadonex.’
The two grey pills go on the bedside table and she fills a glass with water.
I think about palming them, or hiding them underneath my tongue, but Dr. Morton’s far too long in the tooth to fall for that. She’s watching them like a hawk.
There’s no way out of it.
Down the hatch. One at a time. Like swallowing thistles.
‘Excellent, they should knock you out for a good four or five hours,’ she says, sounding calmer. ‘If you get yourself some sleep, I’m just going to pop home for the afternoon. But don’t worry, I’ll be back in later tonight to see how you’re coming along. Maybe then we can have that chat that we were discussing? A few of my colleagues would love to meet you.’
She’s looking questioningly in my direction. Not looking me in the eye. Shifting on her feet.
I don’t move.
‘Wonderful,’ she says abruptly. ‘Right, now, you get some rest, Felix, and I’ll speak to you later.’
A last pat on the top sheet and she’s gone.
I watch her leave. It’s not like I have anything better to do. She’s stopped at the orderly’s desk. Saying something to the head nurse. It’s making her already robust expression solidify. Now they’re both looking across at me. Dr. Morton is smiling, trying to look reassuring, warm. Head nurse is about fifty degrees colder. This part of her job is all about enforcement. Just the way she likes it.
I smile back.
What to do? What to do?
A few more words and Doctor Morton exits stage left. The head nurse stares me down.
The pills have cleared my throat. The clock’s ticking now.
‘Smug bastard.’
‘What’s that?’ I turn to the man with the oxygen mask. He’s speaking to everyone and no one – in between gasps – but since I reacted, I am now his audience.
‘Can you believe this?’ he says.
‘What’s that, fella?’
‘The Prime Minister.’
‘Oh, no, sorry mate, I wasn’t listening.‘
He waves a thumb at the screen. ‘Bugger was nowhere to be seen yesterday. Dead in the water, he was, but yet again he’s managed to squirm his way out of it.’
‘Why, what’s happened?’
‘Well, you know that plane that blew up on Thursday night?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Yeah, well they reckon they’ve caught the guy what done it?’
I wonder how guilty I’m looking right now. Trussed.
‘Have they really?’
The man nods. Clamps the mask to his face.
Could do with some of that oxygen myself. Stop my heart racing. That fucking Cadonex will soon kick in if I don’t get it under control.
Once he’s doused the flames with oxygen the man continues.
‘They’re saying now that it was sabotaged by one of the aircraft engineers – it wasn’t a bomb or a missile at all, it was an inside job.’
‘Inside job?’
Seeing me so shocked is making the man nod in a more exaggerated manner. Encouragement is the last thing he needs. Makes him draw deeper and deeper. Better calm him down.
‘But I don’t get it. If they’ve caught him, then why is it the Prime Minister’s problem?’
The man’s all frowns. ‘Where you been for the last few days? On another planet or something?’
‘Yes, something like that.’
The man remembers where he is. ‘Oh, yeah, right. Well, thing is, ever since the crash he’s been as quiet as a mouse. Ain’t made a peep…’ Another gulp. ‘…And the news has been having a field day… they’ve been saying that he’s been silent because he knew about the threat all along and... and did nothing to stop it happening… and… ’course… he’s not been denying it, has he?’
‘Till now, you mean?’
The man rolls his eyes, which looks frightening in his condition.
‘Well, if you believe what they’re saying… the bloke that they’ve pinned it on been working at the airline for years… he’s just been made redundanthe... was pissed off at the way that they’d treated him–’
‘So there was no way that the Ministry of Defence could’ve ever predicted it.’
‘Exactly… it’s unbelievable, I tell you... that smug bastard’s got more lives than a sack of cats… still, if you stand back far enough… you can hardly blame him…’
‘What do you mean?’
The man is staring at the bedclothes now. At the body lying beneath them. Talking into the mask. His words hollow.
‘Just looking out for himself, ain’t he? When all’s said and done, that’s all any of us can hope for… the short time we’re here… look after you and yours… s’difficult enough as it is… manage that… rest’s a bonus.’
He’s tapering off. Poor bastard. What a way to uncoil. Just sitting there, staring into the middle distance of your memories.
Enough about him, though. I’d better get my own arse in gear. If I’m not careful there might not even be a middle distance for me. If the good Doctor is lying to me then then an eight by nine cell will be all the distance I get to see. And if she’s telling the truth the only difference will be the padding on the walls.
But what to do?
Time’s passing me by. The soluble walls are dissolving. The drug’s being slowly released into my blood stream.
What to do?
What to do?
What the fuck to do?
Just then I hear a hard crack as the doors to the main entrance are flung open against the hospital walls, followed by the high pitched screaming of small children.
Visiting time.
‘Hello, Grandpa,’ one of the children squeals with delight.
The old man lying slumped in the bed next to me springs back to life. The crushed and lifeless expression on his face is gone, replaced by what I can only describe as the epitome of joy. It reflects the mood of the children perfectly.
Yeah, but what to do?
They’re embracing. Telling him how much they’ve missed him. About the things they’ve been doing over the last few hours: all the toys they’ve played with, the silly things their fathers have done, and the sights they saw on the way here. The minutiae of their tiny lives. Look at him. He’s lapping it up. Loving every single minute of it.
‘What are we going to do when you get out, Grandpa?’ one of them asks.
‘Yes,’ the others chirp excitedly, ‘what are we going to do? What are we going to do?’
What are we going to do?
The man casts a quick glance at a woman who is about his age. His wife, I’m guessing. She’s well used to wearing a brave face.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he replies.
But I do. Oh yes, suddenly I know exactly what I’m going to do. I’ve known all along.
I was blind, but now I see.
This is my chance. All this activity around my neighbour’s bed, it’s the perfect distraction. The head nurse can hardly see me through the crowd. Now or never.
Loosen the sheets. Roll on to my side. Reach down.
Jesus, that hurts.
Come on, I know it’s here somewhere.
There! That’s it.
Lift the linen bag and check the contents. Shoes. Trousers. Jacket. Money. So far so good. Remove the money and stuff the jacket inside the bed. Too bulky for what I need to do. Might do some good as a decoy though. Nothing to lose.
Onto my feet. Pull the curtain just enough to screen me. Head’s getting lighter. Need to get moving.
Empty a pillowcase. Fill it with my clothes. Screw it tight. Hold it against my left side. Colour’s almost a perfect
match against this bed gown. God bless the NHS budgets, that’s all I can say. God bless their bulk buying.
Teeter across the ward. Feel naked in this thing. The head nurse only looks up when I’m at the desk.
‘Just going to the toilet before I have a sleep.’
She studies me for a moment. ‘Don’t be too long. Doctor Morton needs you in good shape for later.’
‘I know. I won’t be.’
‘Second door on the left.’
‘Thanks.’
Through the door. Quick check behind. Then past the second door on the left. Can’t risk it. Need somewhere quieter. Got to push my luck a little further.
Through the intestines of St Thomas’s. Scanning all the doors.
Locked.
Locked.
Locked.
Keep trying. On and on. Closer towards the exit. Be in the bloody car park in a minute. Round the last corner and there’s the main reception.
And Doctor Morton!
Shit.
Duck back behind the wall of the corridor. Inch out. Careful now.
She’s talking to the receptionist. Looks agitated. Then a security guard enters the fray. They’re talking. She’s pointing towards me. They start in my direction.
Shit!
Nearest toilet’s in the reception area and there’s nothing behind me except more locked doors.
Slap, slap, slap along the corridor. Dive down here. Fucking feet are freezing.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
What’s that? Power cable underfoot. Snakes across my path. One end leads to an industrial floor buffer, which is being put to good use by some janitor. But what about the other? Track it back to a store cupboard.
Strange. The door looks closed. Must be ever so slightly ajar.
It is!
Slide in. Back to the door. Nose to the ceiling.
‘…been paging you for fifteen minutes, where on earth have you been?’
‘On the other side of the hospital, doctor. We get some interference over there sometimes, you know?’
‘Interference, sure. Well, whatever, we need to hurry. Just remember, we need to make sure that this patient remains within the confines of the hospital. He is in an extremely fragile state. If he were to leave here then I don’t know what he might do. Is that clear?’
The security guard mutters his understanding. Their voices fade.
So she was on the level. The good doctor was looking out for me all along. If I wasn’t so doped up I might feel ashamed at having doubted her, but my head is like porridge.
Hey, that means that she was telling the truth about Carl too!
How do I feel about that? Relieved, sure, for my own sake. That burden of uncertainty, which has been slowing me down since it happened, seems to evaporate in a heartbeat. But still, there is an unmistakeable part of me that is disappointed.
Fuck it. Shake my head. Need to focus. Get out of here. I’ve got three minutes before they reach the empty bed. If I’m lucky. Three minutes.
Forget the underwear. Jeans. Jumper. Boots. Out.
Straight into the path of the janitor.
Run, Felix. Run away now.
He grins at me. His skin is every shade of flesh imaginable, like burnt toast that’s been scraped in a hurry.
‘You was lucky there, son,’ he says.
‘Lucky?’ I repeat the word back to him like an empty vessel.
His smile broadens. All of a sudden I know it’s going to be all right.
Painless.
’There’s a pay phone a short distance along the road,’ he says. ’Turn right outside, you might still make it.’
He pats me on my way.
Drift along the corridor. Through reception. Everyone gathered around the TV. No one notices me. Or the tears.
See, they’re wrong. About last night, I mean. About the suicide. That was not my first attempt. It’s been going on for much longer than that. Truth be told, I’ve been trying to kill myself my whole life.
Well, no more. I know now. I know what I have to do.
I need my wife. My baby. My family. I need them in my life now more than ever. And even if we are destined to separate, I can still play my part. Half a father is better than no father at all. Without them, I’m as good as dead. Without them, this futile and lonely walk in the dark that I am forced to endure, has no meaning. That’s the real reason I jumped off of that bridge. Why I’m hurting like I am. I could never think beyond them. Without Katharine, without Amelie, I’m nothing. I’m like the moulting trees outside.
Cold.
Desolate.
Lifeless.
Autumn will come for me one day, in the same way that it comes for everyone else, but there’s no need to bring it on ahead of time. Not when there’s still some living left to do. Still a little summer left to enjoy.
Ahead of me are the automated doors of the exit. I can smell the fresh, sweet air of a new life. In that split second, all the screaming, all the noise and commotion around me falls silent. Everything I ever knew, everything I ever was, is gone. But I’m not afraid. There’s no room for fear in my life any more. This is a new beginning.
I smile.
A billion light bulbs burst at once.
12.45am, Friday, December 20, 1985
The atmosphere around the school that day was charged. Just one afternoon of classes left and the pupils would be free to enjoy two whole weeks away from school. Though in some cases the celebrations were starting early. A gang of boys wearing replica Father Christmas hats were running around singing festive songs at the top of their voices. Kalila moved to the side of the pavement to allow them past.
‘Sorry,’ one of them called out. ‘Didn’t mean to disturb the young lovers.’
Embarrassed, Kalila looked down at the warm fingers that were curled between her own. She didn’t allow Felix to hold her hand very often, not so publicly anyway. But today was an exception. She wouldn’t deny him such a simple pleasure on their last day.
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ Felix shouted back. ‘Come back here and say that.’
Kalila pulled him on. ‘Leave it, Felix. It’s not worth it.’
‘Well,’ he started to say, but promptly did as she asked.
They walked on a little further in silence. Their conversation, which was usually nothing more than a constant string of compliments from Felix, had been exhausted long ago. Today, however, Kalila was compelled to try for something more substantial.
‘Do you ever think about the future, Felix?’
‘What?’ Felix laughed mindlessly, provoking a glare.
‘I’m serious,’ Kalila said. ‘Do you never give any thought to what you’ll do once you leave here?’
‘Not really,’ he shrugged, fully aware of how pathetic his answer made him look in her eyes.
When Kalila sighed Felix knew that he needed to do something to mend her opinion of him quickly. If he didn’t then it might spoil what was left of this, their last opportunity to be together for a couple of weeks. He squeezed her hand.
‘I do think about the future,’ he said, and suddenly is tone was uncharacteristically serious. It drew Kalila’s attention.
‘I think about it all the time, Kal. But I don’t worry about qualifications or a job or anything like that. When I think about the future, all I wonder is how much of it I’ll be able to spend with you.’
Kalila felt a pain at the back of her throat. His sincerity was too much for her. Afraid that Felix might finally get to see how she felt, Kalila ran away.
‘What’s wrong?’ Felix called after her. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Need the toilet. I’ll be back in a second.’ And she disappeared into the low building of the art department.
She could feel the cold tears on her face. How could he do this to her? How could he make it so difficult? Hurt her so much? It wasn’t his fault, of course, but he was being so sweet. Kalila covered her face and cursed the day that she ever met him. This was unbearable.
Why couldn’t he have started an argument? Made it easier for her?
She leaned back against the wall. Closed her eyes. It hurt so much.
Why did she have to go?
She had asked that question so many times over the last few weeks and each time she had received the same answer.
It was her duty.
She could hear her uncle saying the words now. Over and over. Repeating his mantra. “Your duty to the family.”
Her resolve hardened.
You just need to be strong for a little while longer, she told herself. Just a few more hours and it will all be over. Felix Shill will be history.
She wiped her face. Straightened her hair.
Duty.
Reaching out for the lock, something caught Kalila’s attention. Near her foot was a marker, a permanent red marker presumably left there by one of the many idiots who defaced the schools walls. She picked it up and checked to see if it still worked. It did.
Why not? she thought. After all, who was going to catch her?
Holding the felt tip a few inches from the wall she paused for a second. What should she write?
It needed to be something which would signify and solidify her resolution. Something that was the complete opposite to how she was really feeling. The worst insult imaginable. And so, in her ever perfectly weighted and balanced hand, she wrote,
Felix Shill deserves to Die.