Fatal Choices

by Anne Morgellyn

  ‘I love you too, Louise.’

  11

  A week or so after the car was stolen, I received a communication from the man who had attempted suicide in it, aided and abetted by Dr Schlosser. At first, I thought Dr Schlosser had passed on our address, but this puzzled me because I had only given him my phone number. All became clear when I read the letter:

  Dear Mrs Androssoff-Moon,

  I got your address from the enclosed. I picked it up when I was in your car and must have put it in my jacket. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was told the car was hired. I had a shock when the police turned up and said it was stolen. I am very sorry for all the inconvenience this must have caused you.

  I’m playing in Montreux over the festival. I don’t expect you’d want to contact me, but if you do, I’m at the Pension Anna. My mobile number is 44-7765818000.

  Yours sincerely,

  Drew Joffey

  The enclosure was an invoice from the infant school, advising me that the fees must be settled in advance by the end of August. It must have fallen out of my bag when I was putting Nicky into his car seat. I had wanted to find this man, and now he had got in touch with me. My head said I should let him be, but my heart I told me I ought to make some kind of response. I put the letter in a drawer.

  When I told Androssoff about it, he told me to leave Joffey to his demons and move on.

  ‘I wish I could move on,’ I told him. ‘We know why I can’t, don’t we?’

  ‘I’m here for you and Nicky. I’m here now. Punish me all you like but I think you should sort out your priorities.’

  ‘I have always been there for Nicky. I’ve brought him up. How dare you?’

  ‘You’re working yourself up again about things you can’t change. OK, I had sex with Naomi, once, for about ten minutes, five even – let’s call it seven. It was just a reflex. No, I shouldn’t have done it. Yes, I should have thought about you, but in that particular situation, I wasn’t guided by my brain. I’m here now.’

  He was taking Nicky out for their TGI Friday reunion. I no longer thanked God it was Friday. In fact, I dreaded the weekend. The sleepless nights were making me as tetchy with Nicky as with his father. It always started with Naomi but now there were developments, a sonata of bad memories. There was the one that left me with a pile of rejection issues after my mother sent me away when I wanted some of the tomato soup she was serving up to my brother in a sort of annexe in the primary school where she was working as a supply teacher. There was the one when I was slapped by Eddie Kronenburg when he thought I’d blown the whistle on him, and the one when August Stockyard drugged me and shut me up in a mausoleum with Eddie’s embalmed corpse. Then the relentless da capo: Naomi was hurting Daddy. Androssoff slept on through all this, which was so unfair because he was the one who had triggered these torments. He had written me up a script for sleeping pills but I hadn’t had it filled. A soaring motif sounded in my head above the appassionata: I loved him so much. I loved him so much.

  I decided to call Drew Joffey to thank him for returning the invoice. He had a slow, smooth voice, a little hoarse maybe. He sounded like a North Londoner. He was coming to Geneva to collect something; maybe we could meet up for a coffee.

  ‘That is if you want to,’ he said.

  I said I didn’t see why not, though I knew very well why not. We arranged to meet at the cafe at the Gare Cornavin, where I’d questioned Dr Schlosser. Joffey said he would be carrying a red rucksack with a lot of stickers on it, and that he walked with a stick. I gaped at him when I saw him limping across the station concourse. He was a Doppelganger for Androssoff, only older and more worn. His collar-length hair was grey but he had the same rough beard on his chin and neck and the same unreconstructed biker style. The only significance difference was that he was shorter.

  ‘Drew?’ I said.

  ‘Thanks for waiting.’ He shook my hand and leant his stick against the table carefully before he sat down. ‘The train was ten minutes late, would you believe it? They’re supposed to run like clockwork.’

  ‘You’re here now,’ I said.

  He gazed silently at me, scratching his beard with the knuckle of his right hand, just like Androssoff. The waiter appeared. I asked for green tea. Drew ordered espresso.

  ‘You said you had to collect something.’

  ‘Yeah, a guitar.’

  ‘You’re a musician?’

  ‘I’m just filling in for a guy who can’t make it out to Montreux. I knew if I hung around there long enough, I’d get a gig.’

  ‘Have you played there before?’

  ‘Practically since the beginning.’ He rubbed his beard. ‘Yeah, I remember it in ’71 when the casino caught fire. Frank Zappa was up. You know the Deep Purple song, Smoke on the Water?’

  ‘You played with Deep Purple?’

  ‘I’ve played with them all: Ian Gillan, Robert Plant, Hendrix, Zeb Tree. I’m a sessions man. That was my bread and butter. When you’re in the music business, you’ve got to stay visible so nobody forgets about you. With all this hospital treatment I’ve had, I couldn’t keep it up. I couldn’t go on the road anymore. I was living with a lady friend in Kilburn, then she got run over by a fire engine and her son kicked me out of the house. The Social couldn’t help because I had eight grand in the bank – I shouldn’t have told them about that. That was all my savings after forty years in rock and blues. Then I had an idea. I decided to spend it at the Charon Clinic.’ He delivered this monologue in a deadpan way, with just a hint of irony.

  ‘Was it your heart?’ I asked.

  ‘No, a brain tumour.’

  ‘I’m sorry. You look well to me. I mean – here you are.’

  ‘Alive and kicking, yeah. I’ve been in a very dark place. At least I got my money back, minus expenses – that was for the dope and the administration fee. The doctor didn’t charge, and they didn’t bill me for the car hire. Did you get your car back?’

  ‘It’s been impounded while the police carry out some enquiries.’

  ‘Yeah, some criminal gang. I heard. They nick cars to order.’

  ‘I don’t need a car here. I think we’ll sell it.’

  The waiter brought over the drinks.

  ‘Let me,’ Joffey said, reaching into his jacket and handing over a ten franc note. ‘Your car saved my life. I’d be dead by now if the police hadn’t turned up at the crucial moment and taken me to hospital. They checked me over and said I had a good few years in me yet so I shouldn’t give up. I’ve had so much treatment, it has to mean something or what was the point? So I’ve decided to live it up a bit.’ He leered at me. I felt myself blushing.

  ‘I didn’t mean to take your letter,’ he went on. ‘It was on the back seat. It was kind of automatic. The doctor was in the front, getting the gear ready. You know they call it NaP? That killed me – well, it nearly did if it hadn’t been for Officer Plod tap tapping at the window.’

  ‘Was the booster seat still there, or had they taken that out?’

  ‘I don’t remember a car seat, no. Tell me about yourself. Who is Louise Androssoff Moon? Unusual name.’

  ‘My husband’s half Russian. He’s a pathologist,’ I added, unnecessarily.

  ‘Good for him. I never was married. I sowed plenty wild oats in my time though – I often wonder if some of them grew up. Have you got kids?’

  ‘One boy.’

  ‘Yeah, I saw the invoice - sorry. He’s at private school?’

  ‘He’s starting next term. He’s at Kindergarten now.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘I’ve got to pick him up soon. Where are you collecting your guitar, is it here at the station?’

  ‘No, it’s at the jazz cafe at the airport. A mate of mine works there. He brought it over from London.’

  ‘Do you find music a ... a consolation?’

  He chuckled. ‘I suppose I do. I never thought I’d play again when I got the tumour. I lost my hand-to-eye co-ordination, couldn’t even see the fucking strings – pardon my French.’
/>
  ‘Is it an electric guitar?’

  ‘Yeah, a Strat – a Fender Stratocaster. It’s nearly as old as I am. I’ll have to get hold of an acoustic too, in case I end up busking.’

  ‘Where would you busk?’

  ‘Here if they’ll let me. Maybe in Paris. I don’t want to go back to London.’

  ‘It seems a precarious way to live.’

  ‘You could say that. You mean at my time of life? I’ll be sixty four next year. All the best people die young in this business – Hendrix, Tim Buckley, Freddie Mercury. Then again, look at Jagger – look at Keith Richards. It’s a miracle he’s still alive.’

  ‘I had a friend who used The Charon Clinic,’ I said. ‘I’d like to find out why – I mean, I know why, but I’ve been thinking about how he got into that state, and if something could have been done to talk him out of it.’

  ‘I don’t know. I’d have gone through with it too if I hadn’t been prevented. You reach a certain point. You convince yourself there’s no point in going on any longer.’

  ‘But you have had an amazing change of heart.’

  ‘I was misinformed about how long I had left, that’s why. What was wrong with your friend?’

  ‘He had Huntington’s disease.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s a degenerative brain disorder, but it must have been in its very early stages because nobody guessed he was ill, not even my husband. He seemed fine. He was at our home five days before he killed himself. I had no idea he was planning it – he looked and acted just the same as usual. He was a brilliant scientist. We went to live in New Zealand so Chas, my husband, could work with him. After he died, there was nothing left for us there, which is why we’re in Geneva. Actually, Chas works in London during the week.’

  ‘That’s some commute.’

  ‘Not really, there are plenty of planes from City Airport. It’s not far from the hospital where he works.’

  ‘He must be earning a packet to afford all that. You said he was a psychologist.’

  ‘Pathologist. We’re comfortable, I suppose. Buz – my friend who used the clinic – left my son some money for his education. Quite a lot of money.’

  ‘Good for him. You’re a good mother then?’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’

  ‘You’re a caring person, I can see that. I hope we can stay in touch.’

  ‘Well, I’d like to hear you play sometime.’

  ‘OK, it’s a date. I’ll call you when they’ve firmed up the set.’

  ‘I think you’re an inspiration,’ I blurted. ‘You’re very brave.’

  ‘Don’t make me laugh. It doesn’t work like that. I’d be where your friend is now if it hadn’t been for the police.’

  ‘My God – at the bottom of Lake Zug.’

  ‘I don’t get it?’

  ‘That’s where they dump the crematorium urns. Did you know about that when you signed up for the – you know?’

  ‘I paid them to handle all that – the after-care they call it. I can laugh about it now but it made no difference to me then. Anyway, I got my refund.’

  ‘There’s going to be an enquiry into the Charon Clinic,’ I said. ‘Have they asked you for a statement?’

  ‘Only about what I was doing in the car. I went over that with the police, then again with the shrink in the hospital. I’d rather put it behind me, to be honest. It was a pretty heavy experience.’

  ‘What turned you round? I mean, you could have just gone out and tried again. I’m sorry, I don’t know how to express it. I can’t imagine what you must have been going through.’

  ‘I just felt I’d been given another chance. I had the refund – the clinic doctor brought it to the hospital. There’s no guarantee I won’t go down with something else, but I don’t worry about that any more. I know it’s not going to be a picnic. Six thousand euros don’t last long.’

  ‘I could help tide you over maybe.’

  ‘Why should you do that?’ he asked curiously. He reached across the table and touched my fingers. ‘You’re a handsome woman. You’ve got beautiful eyes and beautiful skin. Your husband is a lucky man.’ He curled his fingers round my hand.

  ‘I’m a lucky wife.’

  If only he knew.

  ‘I might come and tap you then, before I go to Paris. Jesus Christ, I don’t even know you. I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m not a beggar. I’m not destitute.’

  ‘Of course not. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’d better be going, I’ve got to collect my son. Please, don’t get up.’

  He was already on his feet leaning forward to kiss me on the cheek. I felt the bristles of his beard. He had a faint odour of tobacco, mingled with perspiration. I wondered how he took care of his clothes.

  ‘It is nice at the Pension Anna?’

  ‘It’s all right. Cheap and cheerful. I’ll let you know when I’m playing. You can come and visit me.’

  I glanced back at him as I walked away across the concourse. He sat on before the empty espresso cup, not looking in my direction. He didn’t seem haunted or suicidal or desperate in any sense of the word. His personal remarks had made me a little uncomfortable. But I had offered to tide him over. What did he think of me?

  12

  He called to tell me the gig was billed for the forthcoming Saturday. At first, I wondered how I could get to see it without telling Androssoff, but, thinking it over, I concluded that there was no reason why I shouldn’t tell him. I had nothing to hide and nothing to fear except his sarcasm – and I’d had fifteen years of dealing with that. I began by telling him I knew someone who was playing at the jazz festival and did he think we might take Nicky along. Perhaps he’d rather take Nicky on a boat while I was at the concert. A family outing, anyway, by the lake. A step in the right direction.

  ‘Who do you know who plays jazz?’

  ‘Electric blues, actually. His name’s Drew. He’s played with Jimi Hendrix.’

  ‘Who the hell’s is he?’

  ‘Surely you’ve heard of Jimi Hendrix ...’

  ‘I don’t mean him. You know you I mean.’

  ‘He’s the man who nearly killed himself in our car, the assisted suicide.’

  ‘You haven’t met up with him, have you? Have you, Louise?’ He was very angry.

  ‘I met him last week at Cornavin. He doesn’t have horns and a tail. Actually, he looks a lot like you. He wears a biker jacket, though I don’t suppose he rides. He walks with a stick.’

  ‘You didn’t take Nick with you?

  ‘Nicky was at Kindergarten. I wanted to meet him. I wanted to ask him about his experience. I thought it might help me to understand why Buz ...’

  ‘You got it straight from the horse’s mouth then.’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that. He said he would have gone through with it too if the police hadn’t turned up. He seems to have had a complete change of heart. He’s got something to live for now. He must be a good musician. He’s played with all sorts of famous bands.’

  ‘So he says.’

  ‘He seemed genuine enough. He’s obviously got the contacts to get a gig at Montreux.’

  ‘And what happens after the gig?’

  ‘I’d just like to see him play. He’s obviously had some hard knocks.’

  ‘I bet he has. I bet he’s got a real sob story.’

  ‘It’s a kind of affirmation, isn’t it, that he chose life instead of Natrium Pentobarbitol?’

  ‘Only you, Louise, could possibly see it that way.’ He looked at me suspiciously. ‘This looks to me like a slippery slope, and you’ve got form for that, for these loser obsessions. Why should you care about this man?’

  ‘He was about to kill himself in our car. He had a brain tumour.’

  ‘That’s not a death sentence – not necessarily.’

  ‘He was misinformed about his prognosis. Fortunately, he had the chance to reconsider. What gets me is that Buz didn’t have the chance to do that. You know I’m following t
he Charon enquiry. I want to see if they’ll cross-examine the director about the time-scale. Buz can’t have had any counselling.’

  ‘Buz wouldn’t want counselling. He was a scientist. He didn’t have time for all that psychoshit.’

  ‘He often talked to me about my counselling work. Stop making him in your image. He might have been seeking my help in a covert way. He wasn’t very forthright, was he?’

  ‘No, he fucking well wasn’t.’

  ‘So if he’d had the chance to talk it over with someone.’

  ‘He obviously didn’t want to talk it over, just like he didn’t want to tell me he wouldn’t be facing the funders. He didn’t even send me a copy of his fucking paper. He made a decision, a rational decision based on what he knew about his condition. He knew what was coming to him, and bearing that in mind, I think his decision was perfectly rational.’

  ‘Nicky still misses him. I miss him. Nicky might enjoy the concert.’

  ‘I don’t want my son anywhere near this man. He’s volatile – he could be some kind of paedophile for all we know.’

  ‘That’s like the pot calling the kettle.’

  ‘I’m not even going to answer that, Louise. I think you should bring Nick over to England for the holidays. We can spend a week in London while I finish up at work, then we’ll go down to Devon to stay with Stasia.’ This was Androssoff’s sister who ran a country house Bed & Breakfast for new-age types near Totnes.

  ‘I can just picture it,’ I said. ‘You out on the bike, Nicky digging sandcastles while I struggle to make conversation. Stasia has never liked me.’

  ‘What evidence is there for thinking that? She’s never bad-mouthed you to me. Nick needs to get to know his aunt. You were quick enough to nominate her as his guardian when you were getting paranoid that time about us both being killed in a car crash.’

  ‘I only nominated Stasia since he has no other family.’ The remnants of my own family were either senile or unspeakable; in any case, they had all stopped speaking to me years ago. I didn’t want Nicky brought up by them, not after the job they had done on me.