Ginny was sitting in her little navy blue car with the engine running. She was smiling and waving. She looked happy, cheerful, much like Dr Hindson. Tom assumed it was an act. Ginny would be just as worried about Sarah as he was. They were all just trying to make him feel better. He looked forward to being alone. He didn’t feel cheerful and he didn’t want to be around people who were acting so goddamned cheerful.
He would have liked to tell Ginny that she didn’t have to pretend for him. She could relax and be miserable. But he didn’t have the energy to fight the pain that he feared a new bout of trying to speak would bring on. So he sat in silence, looking out the window at the sunny morning. Ginny hummed and chattered about anything and everything. The sunny day. She pointed out people just coming home from the night of festivities, and the debris by the sides of the road as they drove along the parade route. Tom leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. He wanted to block out all evidence of the night before.
He didn’t open his eyes until the car stopped. He expected to see Toft Monks before him. Instead, he was in the driveway of an apartment block he hadn’t seen before.
‘Wewarrrwe?’ he tried to say.
If Ginny understood him she gave no indication. Without answering she was out of the car and around helping him out of his seat. He held on tightly to the car door, noticing the plastic covering it, as if it had just rolled off the factory floor. Perhaps it was to protect the door from vomit. God knew it’s what he wanted to do. Did Ginny often carry vomiting passengers, he wondered inanely. Ginny chattered on, fussing about him, talking constantly in a stream of soothing sounds that left Tom no place to interrupt, even if he could have.
‘You just have to take it easy. You’ve got a lot of healing to do. We’ll get you inside. Get some food into you. I spoke to the nurses and I know exactly what you need.’
The effort of standing up sent new waves of pain through Tom’s head and he gasped. He would have sat straight back down again but Ginny had shut and locked the door behind him. She was gently pushing him towards the entrance. Tom could hardly see for the blinding pain in his head. He looked forward to sitting down. He focussed on the thought of the pain-killers in his pocket. Not long now and he could take them. Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, he followed Ginny up the stairs and into her apartment. He walked in, dimly aware of baby blue everywhere, and collapsed on the couch by the balcony doors. Ginny opened the doors to let in the breeze.
‘Relax, Tom, take off your shoes. I’ll get you a drink.’
Tom wasn’t fussed about his shoes. He wanted those pain-killers and spilled the bottle on the coffee table in his haste to get to them. He shoved two in his mouth with an unsteady hand and swallowed. He figured it would take about fifteen to twenty minutes for them to work. He would have to work at slowing down his heartbeat till then, to try to stop the throbbing.
Ginny bustled about the kitchen, opening the pantry and removing two heavy-bottomed crystal glasses.
‘I think we both need a scotch,’ she said. Her eyes were unnaturally bright, the pupils dilated.
She fetched the bottle and splashed it into the glasses. She set one down on the coffee table for Tom and took the other back into the kitchen, placing it on the bench while she rummaged in the fridge.
‘Pureed vegetables. Mmmm. Sounds like baby food. The nurses said that was the best thing for you.’
Tom looked at the scotch. It was a bit early in the day for him but then again what better way to ease the pain of his bruises. He took a careful swig. It was awkward, trying to get his teeth far enough apart to tip the scotch into his mouth. Ginny saw the trouble he was having and brought him a straw. Tom took a large sip of the scotch. He felt it warm the back of his throat. It felt good. He took another.
‘I’ll just change out of these clothes. Make yourself comfortable.’
Ginny’s voice floated to Tom from a long way away. He focussed on the pain in his temples and he tried to find the core of it, to go into it. He settled back into the cushions. Kitty eyed Tom with interest from her safe spot under the dining chair. It wasn’t often they had visitors.
In the bedroom Ginny opened the cupboard and removed a long black satin sheath. She slipped out of her jeans and top. She unhooked her bra, fumbling clumsily in her excitement, and pulled the sheath over her head. It fell about her body in sensuous folds, lightly skimming her breasts and hips. She had played this scene out many times before. In the bathroom she brushed her hair, smiling seductively in the mirror and pouting at her reflection. She applied bold red lipstick and heavy black mascara. She felt wanton as she floated back into the kitchen, her movements graceful and sensuous.
‘Your glass is empty. Let me get you another,’ she called, picking up the bottle and gliding across the room.
Tom grunted in response, his eyes still closed against the harshness of the daylight. He hoped the pain-killers would kick in any minute.
Ginny topped up Tom’s empty glass, looking out at the view.
‘There’s Toft Monks. I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen it from this angle?’ she said with a laugh.
Toft Monks. The words floated across Tom’s consciousness. His home. Where he lived. With Sarah.
Ginny returned to the kitchen. She bustled about happily, boiling vegetables and adding seasoning with a flourish. She climbed the stepladder in the pantry and pulled down the canteen of silver cutlery. She laid two places at the dining table, with two wine glasses of fine-cut crystal. It had just gone midday but in the centre she placed a lighted candle. Onto two large white plates she served mashed pumpkin and potato.
‘Please come and sit down,’ she said to Tom.
Tom looked up. For the first time since he had entered the apartment he looked at Ginny. She looked different. Very different. For a moment the world slipped. It was the culmination of the alcohol, the pills and the stress of the past twenty-four hours combined with a vision that just didn’t make sense. It didn’t compute in Tom’s brain. He looked at Ginny with complete bewilderment. What the hell was going on?
Ginny saw his expression and interpreted it through her own mad perception of the world. She looked beautiful. She knew it. Tom had never seen her like this. He was clearly overcome. Ginny’s angular features softened as she looked at him.
‘Your vegetables are ready, Tom, darling. Don’t let them get cold.’
Tom’s aching mind raced. This was Sarah’s best friend. It was the middle of the day. She had candles and wine on the table, she was dressed like she was going to a nightclub and she had a peculiar look on her face that made Tom very uncomfortable. He shook his head. He suddenly understood a lot.
Ginny had looked at him like that before, he realised with a shock. It had made him uncomfortable then too but he had brushed it aside. It had no relevance for him. He recognised it now for what it was. Longing. Yearning. Lust. She wanted him. He was sickened. The scotch, the pain and the look on Ginny’s face swirled about inside him and he felt the bile rise in his throat. Before he realised what was happening he was throwing up on Ginny’s carpet.
Ginny was all worry and concern as she rushed to his side. The smell of bile filled the small apartment. Ginny didn’t seem to notice as she fussed about Tom, wiping the vomit from the carpet, and from where splashes had landed on his shirt and trousers.
‘I think you’ll have to take those off,’ she said, struggling with Tom’s shirt.
Tom found Ginny’s small hands clutching at his body to be unbearably invasive. They felt like insects, crawling over him, trying to get to him. He brushed her away but she was insistent, pulling his shirt out from the waistband and starting to undo the buttons.
Something snapped inside Tom’s throbbing head. He caught both Ginny’s hands and held them firmly. She was kneeling in front of him, between his open legs. It hurt Tom too much to speak. He studied her face. She smiled at his scrutiny.
‘It’s normal, Tom, for you to throw up. After what you have been thro
ugh,’ she said. Her voice was soft and seductive. She didn’t seem to mind Tom holding her wrists.
He was suddenly uncomfortably aware of the physical contact. It was distasteful to him. Ginny sitting so close and looking up at him with that peculiar expression turned his stomach. He dropped her hands and tried to stand up. Ginny thought he wanted to use the bathroom and moved out of the way.
‘It’s through here. I’m sure I’ve got something you can put on while we wash your clothes.’
Tom wanted to get out of there. The small apartment. The stuffed cat looking at him wherever he was in the room. The smell of vomit. The baby blue walls and carpet. Ginny in a slinky gown. It was obscene. Tom picked up his bag and started toward the door. Ginny realised what was happening and her voice changed.
‘You can’t go,’ she wailed.
Tom moved towards the door.
‘Tom, you aren’t well. You need to be looked after.’
Ginny threw her arms around Tom’s back and pushed her body into him. He tried to shake her off. She was small but determined while Tom was weak and, under the circumstances, they were an even match. She dug her short nails into Tom’s chest. They stayed like that for a moment, swaying together as one.
Ginny couldn’t comprehend what was happening. She had played this scene over and over in her head and it always ended up with them making love on the couch, or in the bedroom, or in the shower. Sarah was out of the way and this was how it should it be. Tom and Ginny should always have been this way. Tom couldn’t leave. That just wasn’t how it was meant to be.
‘You can’t leave, Tom. No, no, no.’ Ginny started to babble, her thoughts pouring out in an almost incoherent stream. ‘We can be together now. I love you. You know that. I know you love me. It’s taken a while, but now we can be together.’
Tom felt horror, repulsion. What was she saying? Something very, very wrong, something insidious was going on here that he didn’t understand. He just knew he didn’t want to be a part of it. He had to get away. ‘I’ve always loved you. We can be together now.’
He gathered his last vestiges of strength and flung Ginny’s arms off him. Ginny screamed as Tom propelled himself forward, wrenching himself free of her grip. Ginny kicked out her leg and hooked her foot around Tom’s calf. Then she yanked his leg sharply. The movement was so unexpected Tom was thrown completely off balance. His arms flailed about, trying to find something to hold onto as the room whirled about him. He grabbed vainly at Isabel, knocking her off her perch. She spun in the air, landing upside down, her frozen legs making it look as if she were cycling on her back. Kitty, who had been hiding under the table keeping as far away from the vomit as she could without leaving the room, hissed in fright at the sight of the dead cat staring glassily at her from the floor. Tom hit the floor at the same time, his head landing hard against the table leg with a sickening thud. Tiny slits of iridescent blue light swirled about his peripheral vision and for the second time in two days he passed out.
Ginny stood and looked at him. Poor Tom. He was just exhausted. What had Sarah done to him? She shook her head. Thank God he was here where she could look after him. He looked awkward. He was lying on his side, head jammed against the leg of the dining table and his legs splayed. Ginny tried to straighten him. She pushed him onto his back with his legs out in front of him. He didn’t look so good. Fresh blood was oozing from the cheek dressing and his skin was a ghastly grey.
Ginny took both his feet in her hands and tried to haul him across the carpet to the bedroom. Tom was a dead weight that would not budge. Ginny unbuttoned his shirt and eased his arms out of the sleeves. She propped him up to take it off his back. Then she undid his belt and fly, easing his jeans over his hips. He was wearing boxer shorts, big red ones with little Donald Duck cartoons all over them. Ginny hesitated. Should she or shouldn’t she? She giggled to herself. Then she removed them too. He had been wearing those clothes for nearly two days now, she reasoned. She was sure he would be happy to wake up to clean clothes.
Ginny threw Tom’s clothes into the washing machine on her way to the bedroom. She took her pillow and a blanket off the bed and made a bed around Tom on the floor, gently laying his head on the pillow. Then she peeled off her own clothes and snuggled down next to him, spooning her body around his. She lay one arm across him, delighting in the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the springy hair beneath her palm. She could feel Tom’s warmth. With the lightest touch, Ginny gently stroked his chest. It was broad and muscular, firm beneath her fingertips. She nuzzled into his neck, inhaling his scent. He seemed so peaceful, so happy. She imagined he felt safe and protected with her body entwined around his. She moved her leg across his thigh, slowly, sensually rubbing it up and down.
Her hand moved down to his stomach. It was hard and tight, just as she had known it would be. Ginny made little circular movements with her fingertips, tracing the name Tom lightly across his abdomen. She felt a slight stirring against the inside of her thigh. A ripple of pleasure ran through her body. It was all the encouragement she needed. Tom wanted her. He was as filled with desire as she was.
Ginny moved under the blanket and made her way slowly down Tom’s body, kissing him gently, lovingly, following with fascination the line of hair from his chest, down to his belly button and into the mass of wiry pubic hair. She took him in her mouth, caressing him with her tongue, loving him. She felt his passion grow and her own rose to meet it. She moved her groin against his ankle and rubbed herself against him. Tom started to convulse and Ginny felt an explosion in her mouth. She savoured his taste and lost herself in her own rolling waves of pleasure.
*
Thel tried to get a couple of hours’ sleep but it was useless. She had so much to think about. Tom. Sarah. Hal. The quiet darkness of her friends’ apartment magnified her thoughts. She was relieved when morning finally dawned. She watched the sky slowly fade from inky black to purple, to deep blue and then finally to light, cloudless blue. It was going to be a lovely day. She could see that but she couldn’t find any room in her heart to appreciate it. She felt heavy and sad as she dressed. How could this ever be made right?
In the hospital’s reception area she stood for a moment drawing deep breaths, trying to transform her mood. She would be no help to Tom like this. A mural covered one wall. It was bright and childlike, showing children of all ages, smiling and playing. She focussed on a big balloon that one child held. It was bright bold yellow, cheery, like a fresh daffodil. Yellow always made Thel feel happy. She stood and stared at the balloon, absorbing the cheerful colour. After a few moments she walked into Tom’s room.
The bed was empty. She assumed they had moved him out of casualty and went to ask the nurses at reception. Dr Hindson was standing nearby and heard her inquiry.
‘He checked out a few hours ago,’ Dr Hindson told Thel. ‘His girlfriend took him home.’
Thel felt an immediate rush of panic. ‘Sarah? Sarah came and took him?’
The way she phrased the question and her manner seemed odd to Dr Hindson.
‘I guess so, a dark-haired girl. Late twenties,’ she said.
‘That’s not Sarah.’
‘I’m sorry. That’s who he left with,’ said Dr Hindson. Her beeper rang and she excused herself. When she turned back the woman had gone. Dr Hindson wondered for a moment what family drama might be going on but her beeper rang again and immediately she was absorbed in the next crisis of her day.
Thel walked straight to the public telephone and called Hal.
‘He’s gone,’ she said. ‘He left hours ago. But he’s not at his flat because I just phoned there.’
Hal heard the panic in Thel’s voice. ‘Stay where you are. I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
*
Tom felt the naked body beside him and snuggled into it. It was Sarah. Beside him, just like it used to be. He sighed and held her close, drifting off into a dreamless sleep. It was dark when he woke. His head throbbed. He thought he was in his own bed, und
er the blanket. Then he registered the carpet beneath his back and the sensations didn’t add up. He was lying on a strange floor and there was a dark head on his chest that clearly wasn’t Sarah’s. He wondered where he was and how he had got there.
He had barely moved a muscle but Ginny sensed he was awake. She lifted her head and smiled lovingly at him.
‘Hi there,’ she said.
Tom’s mind reeled. He jolted upright, knocking Ginny aside, as he struggled to get to his feet. He was shocked to find he was naked.
‘Wassgoingon?’ he slurred.
Ginny laughed with delight. He looked so comical standing there, clutching the blanket to him. After what she felt they had shared she was touched by his modesty.
‘You must be starving,’ she said happily, moving into the kitchen.
‘Wherrmyclose?’ asked Tom.
‘Oh, don’t you worry about that,’ said Ginny. ‘I’m washing them for you. They will be dry soon. Meanwhile, why don’t you put on that dressing gown?’
Tom looked in horror at the fluffy white bathrobe lying over the chair.
‘Wohmyclose.’
‘Now, Tom, don’t argue. Just relax and let me look after you.’
Tom felt horribly vulnerable, physically and emotionally. He felt he had lost all control of his environment. It was like reading a book where someone had pulled out crucial pages and he couldn’t piece together what was going on. Too much information was missing.
Somewhere along the way Ginny had become unhinged. That much was abundantly clear. She was fussing about in the kitchen humming to herself as she tied an apron around her naked waist. That he had to get out of there was blatantly obvious. The rest he just couldn’t make sense of. Somehow he had to get his clothes and get past Ginny to the door. Reluctantly he took the bathrobe and put it on. It was way too small. He fought the rising nausea.
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