Influence (18 page)

‘No shit,
feels like I’ve been punched in the tits.’

‘What?’
said Amy sure she had misheard.

‘Nothing,
they were good though, don’t you think?’

‘Yeah, I’ve
seen them before. Not my kinda thing at all, but you have to respect what they
do,’ Amy said sagely.

‘It’s the first
gig I’ve been to,’ admitted Lizzie, beginning to shout as the next band took
the stage and started tuning up.

‘You’re
kidding me? But you love your music.’

‘I just
never had the opportunity, and the last few years, well they’ve been a bit of a
mess. Listen, you’ll know far better than I do, but are they supposed to sound
so…’ Lizzie searched for the words without sounding like she was insulting the
band ‘so all at once? I mean I can’t even really make one instrument out from
the other,’ Amy laughed knowing exactly what she meant.

‘It
is
very different from a CD, you get that even with the best bands. Usually it’s
far better than a recording but here it’s always the same; it sometimes starts
out okay but you can guarantee that every prima donna in the band will be
constantly telling the guy at the sound desk there to turn their mike or
instrument up claiming they can’t hear it. Before you know it they’re all up to
bloody eleven and it’s like noise soup.’

After the
intense performance from the first band the second had a lot to live up to.
They failed. They were mostly acoustic and entirely forgettable.

The third
band – Gutter Grin – were better. Lizzie was excited to see that the lead
singer was a girl, the only band to have a female anywhere in their line up.
They gave a solid performance and the singer had a good voice but lacked stage
presence, or it may just have seemed that way as she was upstaged royally by
the band’s bassist. Impossibly tall, and with side burns that would be the envy
of a Cornish farmer he owned the stage and the singer had to constantly be on
her guard for a flailing guitar head or dreadlock of which he sported four,
sprouting from the centre of his otherwise shaved head like a tropical plant.
As their last song drew to a close the bassist drew their particular crowd
close to the stage before leaping on to them. In a venue with hundreds of fans
closely packed it would have been a spectacular way to end a show and Lizzie
had seen many a wild stage dive on television, however, here at the Mill three
poor followers managed to keep him aloft for a few seconds before collapsing
under his considerable weight. It was simultaneously the most ridiculous and
most entertaining thing she had ever witnessed.

Amy’s
prediction had proved true and by the time Eric’s band came on the crowd had
dwindled to somewhere around half, with the majority now congregated at the
bar. Eric was the only redeeming feature of his band, and even then only
because he was good to look at. His own skill as a guitar player was at best average,
but Amy enthusiastically sang along and cheered raucously between songs. Lizzie
tried her best to support, not so much the band, but Amy who may have felt self
conscious with her otherwise solo appreciation efforts.

A broken
guitar string needed changing in between songs and Lizzie took the opportunity
to find the bathrooms. There was now a larger crowd in the corridor outside the
bar and within the toilets than within the bar itself with interest in the gig
waning, Lizzie had to push her way through. She parted bodies, almost all of
them far bigger than her, and opened the door to the ladies, something caught
her eye as she did so.

A pair of
eyes directed at her caught her attention. She stopped and looked back through
the crowd of loiterers searching. At first she saw only a sea of bodies, but
then they parted just enough for her to catch a glimpse of a hooded figure with
a familiar large frame, eyes just visible within the shadow of the cowl were
aimed at her. A surge of fear ripped through her, but her view was instantly
interrupted by a large girl stepping in front of her clearing her throat to
indicate she wanted Lizzie to move aside to let her into the bathroom. Lizzie
stepped back into the corridor and concentrated her gaze back across the swarm
of people, finding the figure, now with back turned making its way through the
crowd. She shuffled forward ready to pursue when again it turned to face her.
She stopped, heart pounding. The figure dropped the hood, as the boy underneath
was handed a tumbler of beer by a friend and laughed at some joke.

She fought
her way to the sink, splashed her face and looked at herself in the mirror. The
bright light of the bathroom made her realise she was a little drunk. She told
herself to get a grip, convinced she was, by reasons of paranoia or
inebriation, seeing things.

She found
Amy back in the bar just as Eric’s band were finishing a Nirvana cover, three
out of the four bands had at least one, including two tired sounding versions
of Smells Like Teen Spirit. Eric’s band finished their set to a vastly
diminished crowd, this however did not stop Amy delivering a rapturous, if
largely lonely ovation which Lizzie, at least, tried to match.

A glum
quiet replaced the noise of the bands and Lizzie’s ears whistled in protest at
the change.

‘They were
great,’ Lizzie lied. Amy screwed her face incredulously.

‘Who were
you listening to?’ They both laughed and followed the few remaining people out
into the cool night air. They were joined soon after by Eric and his blonde
limpet. ‘You guys were great,’ said Amy, patting her brother on the shoulder
and casting a glance at Lizzie. ‘Can we drop Lizzie off?’

‘Sure, but
I need to hang about for a bit and get the gear loaded up,’ said Eric squirming
as the blonde’s amorous arms disappeared into the shredded jumper.

‘Can you
wait for a bit Lizzie?’

‘Actually
I’m fine, it’s a short walk and I could do with the fresh air to be honest.’

‘You sure?’

‘I’m sure,
honestly, I’ll be home in less than ten minutes. But listen, thanks so much for
tonight, you’ve no idea how much I needed that.’

‘No, thank
you
for coming, I usually have to stand there on my own feeling like a right Billy
no mates. Do something again soon?’ said Amy pulling Lizzie in for hug, her
arms liquid from the beer.

‘Absolutely,
any time,’ she said.

They parted
ways and Lizzie couldn’t help having a good, cautionary look around as she set
off for home. She decided to stick to well lit areas and avoid any risky
shortcuts. It occurred to her that it had been the first evening since that
night in Oxford that she hadn’t found herself pondering it, dissecting every
second. Now that she was alone again however, her thoughts found their familiar
line of analysis and self-doubt.

She had
become obsessed with trying to apply reason to the events that night and a
ritual of reflection had become a bad habit. She would attempt to explain it to
herself; the candles, had there been some gas supply she had not seen? Her
reaction to the chanting, could that be explained away by some group hysteria
psychology? And the figure - could she have imagined the whole thing? Or
embellished it into something it wasn’t?

Perhaps it
was the alcohol, maybe the impaired hearing, or the reverie, but by the time
Lizzie heard the steps behind her, in a flat out run, it was already too late.

She barely
had time to turn her head when she was slammed in the back sending her
sprawling face first onto the concrete of the supermarket car park she had subconsciously
cut through. The pain of the loss of skin from her palms and her cheek barely
registered, only panic and flight instinct.

She
frantically tried to push herself from the ground, her feet slipping as they
fought for purchase. She had just managed to raise herself when the second blow
came, a punch to the side of the head. It sent her back to the floor, hard. She
felt her glasses smash into her face and fall in front of her in pieces. A
nauseating sensation flooded her head, all other senses were now locked down in
shock. But pain she could still feel, a vicious kick to her ribs confirmed
that. The boot lifted her into the air from her hands and knees position. She
landed on her back, all breath battered from her. She gulped, in vain, for air
and lifted an outstretched palm in front of her a plea, and an attempt at
protection. The figure loomed into blurry view.

Slowly.

No urgency.

He raised
his boot for the finishing blow, and as it crashed into the side of Lizzie’s
skull she knew in her heart, with sickening certainty, that this was the last
thing she would ever see.

Lizzie
opened her eyes in hospital. She knew instantly it was a hospital and she knew which
hospital, but since she was staring at the floor she didn’t know how she could
be so sure. The vinyl flooring looked nicotine stained, mottled yellow and
grey. The slow and even metronome beep of a heart monitor was the only sound.
She realised she was not in bed but on an uncomfortable plastic chair, the bed
lay before her, one impossibly thin arm hung from the side, wires and tubes
attached making the arm look like that of a string puppet. She knew to whom the
arm belonged.

There she
lay, her mother, skeletal and tortured. A rubber bag hung on display at the
side of the bed half filled with dark brown puss above a layer of blood,
separated by their gravitational weights like a macabre cocktail.

The light
was wrong, far too dim, it struggled to find the corners of the room, it felt
like emergency lighting all amber and poorly powered. Lizzie leaned forward and
took her mother’s hand, for a moment it collapsed lifeless limp and cold in her
own, defying the life confirming rhythm of the heart monitor, but slowly the
fingers curled around hers.

Lizzie
looked into the face of the woman and felt that familiar pain squeezing on her
heart. It was her mother, or at least she was there somewhere a ghost of her in
this living corpse. The woman’s sunken eyes found Lizzie’s and a smile turned
her tortured face back into that of her mum’s.

‘Lizzie?
How long have you been there? Sorry sweetie, I’m just so tired.’

‘I know Mum,
don’t apologise, just rest.’ The words came through her without thought, a
re-run of words exchanged already.

‘Listen
Lizzie, we need to talk about things.’

‘Not now Mum,
just you rest, let the doctors do their work.’

‘Lizzie,
you can be so stubborn, but remember where you got that streak from, we need to
have this talk. You know that.’ The determination in the woman’s voice took
every effort and Lizzie could no longer argue, to do so would be cruel. The
house Lizzie-‘

‘Mum I
don’t want to-‘

‘Lizzie,
you be quiet now. The house sweetie, is yours, but you must let your stepdad
stay there as long as he wants to.’ Lizzie’s eyes rolled.

‘Please
don’t call him that Mum.’

‘Fine,
you’re to let Derek stay there as long as he needs to.’

‘Okay Mum,
but you know I’m not going to stay there with him don’t you?’

‘That’s up
to you, Janice is coming back soon and I’ve asked her to organise things for
you if you’re determined not to stay.’

‘I can look
after myself Mum, and besides you’re looking better.

‘Sweetie,
I’m not better, and I’m not going to get better. You know that too.’ The woman
stared into Lizzie’s eyes trying to inject the realisation of the situation.

‘Don’t you
dare give up, you hear me,’ said Lizzie, tears streaming down her face. The
words came automatically, verbatim, this conversation, this last conversation,
was old, but the grief felt altogether new.

‘Lizzie,
come here,’ she stood and leaned over the bed to hug her mother. She wanted to
squeeze with all her might, but the frail woman’s ravaged body could not
withstand it. Her mother had always been a slight woman but nothing compared to
the bone filled gown she was embracing.

‘It’s going
to be alright,’ her mother’s voice was soft, she shifted over in her cot and
encouraged Lizzie up on to the bed to lie beside her, ‘you know for a while
there I thought I had lost you. At first I thought it was just teenage
rebellion, but the longer it went on the more I was scared I had ruined things
by bringing Derek into the house.’

‘It was my
fault Mum, just petulance, I’m sorry.’

‘You’re not
to say sorry for anything, you’ve come back to me, and I’m happy. That’s what
you should always remember.’ Lizzie’s mother stroked her hair, like she would
when she was young, at the funeral days from now, it is what Lizzie would
remember as the priest’s words drifted by her unregistered. Her mother would
sleep now, and she would not wake up. Lizzie lay with ambivalent emotion, happy
to be with her mum, and profoundly unhappy that she was about to taken from
her, again.

‘Lizzie,
you ought to leave all this council business alone, let the boy rest in peace.’
Lizzie recoiled in horror, sitting up suddenly almost falling off the bed, her
mother’s voice breaking from the script, and no longer strained and soft. Lizzie
moved to stand up, but her mother’s hand gripped her wrist with an impossible
strength.

‘I need you
to do one last thing for me sweetie,’ her voice was now strong, and angry. She
lunged for Lizzie hard, but her arms were stopped dead by the tubes and wires
like a manacled prisoner, her face turned into a vicious scowl, her deep dark
eyes suddenly wide with hate, her lips curled back over gnashing yellow teeth
as she screamed in Lizzie’s face ‘STAY THE FUCK AWAY, STAY THE FUCK AWAY, STAY
THE FUCK AWAY.’

‘Easy
Lizzie. Lizzie it’s okay. Try to relax. NURSE!’

She sprang
into a seated position, her ears filled with the blare of the heart monitor
going berserk. Sully’s hands gripped her upper arms. She tried to scream but
the pain in her head overpowered her. A nurse appeared from nowhere and did
something with her arm. The need to scream left her as a warm calm flooded her
bloodstream.

‘You,’ she
muttered, her jaw not quite sitting right in her head and making the word come
out funny.

‘It’s me
Lizzie, Sully. You’re safe, you’re going to be alright. Your aunt is here, she
just popped out.’ Lizzie looked around with drug addled eyes, trying to focus,
if it were not for the pain she would have assumed she was still dreaming.
Sully pulled a chair up beside her and leaned his hands on the side of the bed.
‘You gave us quite a scare there, you’ve been in and out of consciousness most
of the night.’

‘How did
you know?’ she asked, barely recognising her own voice.

‘That you
were here? I stopped by your house last night for a chat.  Your aunt was going
out of her mind, she’d just got a call from the police and was determined to
drive over here, but she’d had a few drinks, so I brought her over.’ He reached
for her arm, bur Lizzie wrenched it away.

She was in
a private room, she noticed. The light was correct now, harsh and clinical. Her
heart monitor was slowing like a decelerating car as the drugs did their work. Janice
burst into the room dropping her cigarettes and lighter on the floor.   

‘Jesus
Lizzie, you’re awake. What in God’s name were you thinking?’ Janice embraced
her and it took all of Lizzie’s strength not to cry out. The pain in her head
had been masking the agony in her abdomen, but now they swapped priorities, the
drugs did their best to defend her but she still struggled. Janice, suddenly
realising Lizzie’s discomfort, drew back and carefully placed her hands on each
side of Lizzie’s face. ‘Look what they did to you, Christ look what they did.’
This sent a surge of panic through Lizzie and the heart monitor aroused an
audible representation.

‘What do
you mean? What did they do?’

‘No no,
you’re fine, don’t worry, the doctor said it’s mostly superficial.’

‘Mostly?’

‘Fractured
eye socket was the worst of it he said, looks worse than it is,’ said Janice,
her hands were shaking.

‘Shit, how
bad does it look?’ Lizzie’s voice was coming back to her. She made to sit up,
but the pain was too much.

‘It’s not
that bad. Really.’ Janice lied. ‘Besides, forget how you look, what in God’s
name were you doing walking by yourself? After everything that’s happened, how
could you be so bloody stupid Lizzie?’ Janice’s voice shook like her hands,
grief and anger battled for supremacy. ‘I trust you to make sensible adult
decisions, that’s why I give you so much space, but then you do something this
fucking stupid?’

‘Easy Jan,
go easy on her.’ Maggie’s voice was uncommonly soft and reassuring. It drew
Janice’s attention to the tears rolling down Lizzie’s battered face.

‘Shit, I’m
sorry. I just got such a fright,’ said Janice. Lizzie took her hand.

‘You’re
right, it was stupid. I guess I just wasn’t thinking.’ Lizzie glared over
Janice’s shoulder at Sully. He stood there smiling at her.

‘Hey
kiddo,’ said Maggie breaking the awkwardness. She approached the bed and talked
as if she were addressing a sickly puppy. ‘Woof, those fuckers really did a
number on you,’ she said, much more like herself.

‘Mags,
for-Chrissake’ Janice scalded.’

‘Well, just
look at her, if I ever get my hands on those cun-‘

‘Two
visitors only please, she needs to rest,’ a nurse interrupted from the door of
the room. Sully lifted a jacket from the back of the chair.

‘I’ll go.
Lizzie I’m sorry this happened to you, but I’m very glad you’re okay. I’d still
like to talk to you, when you’re feeling up to it of course. Maybe come and
find me at my office at Pembroke College? Just ask and they’ll send you in the
right direction.’

‘Brian, I
can’t thank you enough,’ Janice stretched a hand out.

‘Sully, and
you’re most welcome,’ he said taking her hand briefly. ‘Talk soon Lizzie, look
after yourself and feel better okay?’ Lizzie said nothing, and Sully left.

‘He’s
wonderful, I remember you telling me about him. I can see what you were talking
about,’ Janice said to Lizzie giggling.

‘You trying
to make me jealous or nauseous?’ said Maggie taking the seat Sully had vacated.

‘So, what
did the police say?’ asked Lizzie, leading the conversation away.

‘Actually
they want to talk to you, there was a plain clothed office here earlier, says
he’ll come back. They think it was an attempt at a robbery, a gang thing maybe.
Did you see who did it?’ Lizzie thought back and could recall almost nothing,
only that thought - that it was all over, and it sent a chill down her spine.

‘I didn’t
see anything. It was over in a second. When can I get out of here?’

‘They need
to scan your brain, check that you still have one, that sort of thing,’ said
Maggie. ‘But if that’s clear you should be out tonight they said.’

‘We’ll stay
until they let you go.’

‘No, don’t
do that, really. It will probably be hours and I feel, well I feel like death,
but I know I’ll be fine. I’ll get someone to call you when I can leave. You
guys look like you haven’t slept. Go home for a bit, I’m okay, honestly.’
Janice looked to Maggie, who smiled and nodded approval. Alright, listen, Amy
came by earlier, she’s out of her mind with guilt and worry, I told her it
wasn’t her fault, but you should probably call her when you get home, I took
her number. We’ll bring you some clothes and your other glasses when we come
back.’

‘And a
cheeseburger,’ added Maggie.

The next
few hours were a blur of tests, scans and sleep. On returning from a CT scan
Lizzie asked the orderly, who insisted on holding her arm the whole way, to use
the bathroom. He deposited her at the door and waited for her to return. Lizzie
didn’t need to use the facilities she simply wanted a damage assessment in the
mirror. She could feel the swelling around her face and body and knew it wasn’t
going to be a pretty sight but she thought she would be prepared for the
reflection. She was wrong. She shuffled into view and looked at the miserable
beaten girl staring back at her. She shuffled forward, every step making the
image increasingly horrible as her eyes tried to focus without her glasses. By
the time she reached the mirror tears rounded the massive blackening bump below
her left eye and fell freely onto her gown. Her jaw, also taking on a dark
colour, jutted asymmetrically. She took a step back and opened her robe, she
was naked underneath it. An area roughly the size of a man’s boot distended on
her left side, it was currently red but she knew the blackness would follow
soon enough. She closed her robe, took a deep breath to steady herself and
splashed cold water on her face, forcing herself to stop crying.

The television
in the room received three channels, one of which had a slightly iffy signal
meaning the picture would scroll vertically every ten seconds or so and the
sound would cut out when it did. She watched and slept and watched and maybe
slept, the lines between wake and sleep were distorted like the station signal.
An afternoon soap opera turned into snooker, which metamorphosed into the
Antiques Roadshow in what felt like a blink. Lizzie reached over to the bedside
table for the remote to turn the thing off and saw a large grey haired man
sitting in the adjacent visitor’s chair. She guessed she was becoming immune to
shock as it would normally have made her jump out of her skin.

The man
snored softly, his chin rested on his chest and his arms were folded over his
large stomach. He wore a sharp suit and by the shine on the black leather shoes
he wore she guessed this was the policeman waiting to see her. She pressed the
red button at the top of the remote killing the signal, the change of
atmosphere was enough to rouse the man.