Painkiller (25 page)

This is a dream. I know it is. I can’t do any of this in real life.
 

I open my car door and say, ‘Angelina.’

Angelina spins round, and in a twinkling of an eye there’s a dainty can of mace in her hand, pointing right between my eyebrows. Her eyes. Wide.

‘Where the fuck have you been?’ I shout. ‘I’ve been calling you for months.’

Then she lowers her arm and clutches where she thinks her heart should be in her ribcage. She’s wrong. ‘Jesus! Mon! What the fuck?’

‘Sorry. Are you all right?’

‘Holy bollocks, Mon,’ she gasps. ‘I think I’ve just done a Piero Manzoni in my knickers.’

‘Can I come in?’

‘Make yourself at home.’

I lock up my car and we enter the gallery. The lights are off save for spotlights illuminating the faces of the sculptures. We’re being inspected by a hundred eyes.

‘I’m sorry I startled you.’

‘Startled me? I nearly ended up like Cedric here.’ She jerks a thumb at a mangled skeleton sinking in the floor.

‘Where have you been?’ I ask again. ‘It’s been months. I’ve been calling. The shop’s been closed…’

‘Sorry darling, but it was a whirlwind romance. Two days after I had my little art show, Howard came back into the shop, asked if I’d really split up with Clyde and threw himself and some Eurostar tickets at my feet.’

‘Howard?’

‘You remember Howard?

I shake my head.

‘Oh, you’d remember Howard. He owns most of the coastline of France. He invited me over for the summer to refurbish his new villa. I decorated his interior, and he decorated mine.’

I have no time for Angelina’s provocative statements. ‘I waited for the customers to leave. I needed to talk to you alone.’

‘Darling, if you wanted to talk to me alone, I’d kick the tasteless bastards out on the spot. You didn’t need to wait on the street.’ She slumps into a very expensive, very tatty chair. ‘So what can I do for you?’

‘I need to stay with you for a while.’

She blinks. ‘What?’

‘Just for a night. Two nights at the most. I just need to get my head together.’

‘Is everything all right between you and Dominic?’

‘Not really.’

‘Oh no…’ A long hand painted with black nail varnish snakes out and gropes at the trolley laden with spirits. ‘I really hoped you weren’t going to say that. What happened?’

‘I discovered something. About Dominic.’

‘Not crotchless panties
. Always
with the crotchless panties.’

‘Angelina, be serious for once!’ I snap. She stops mid-pour and looks at me, surprised.

‘OK, hon,’ she says levelly. ‘Talk to me.’

‘I worked out what is going on.’

Angelina twirls her fingers impatiently, beckoning an explanation from me.

I take a breath. ‘Dominic’s been trying to kill me.’

‘What? Mon, he loves you! He’s been standing by you for years. You’re making no sense. It’s the drugs. You said yourself they make you paranoid.’

‘I have proof…’

‘You’re joking with me.’

‘I
saw
the police incident report, he showed me a copy. Dominic went into the pub and tried to have me killed. They have witnesses. He said he wanted to kill me. I was a burden.’

‘Mon, be serious. Your mind is…’

‘My mind is what, Lena? Are you going to say I’m mad?’

The next thing I know, I’m waking up, and Angelina is standing over me, concerned. I can see the tiny fuzz of hair on her top lip, the hairs coated with make-up.

‘Are you all right, darling?’

I shake my head very slowly, and struggle to stand. ‘I’m… not good, Lena.’

The room goes dark and I’m suddenly in her arms, halfway to the floor.

‘Jesus, Mon. What just happened? You keeled over like a felled tree!’

‘It’s a long story, but I stopped taking my drugs.’

‘What? No wonder you look like shit! Why the hell did you do that?’

She doesn’t wait for an answer. She half carries me out of the shop and folds me into the car, and I can feel the car moving as it drives to her home. I can hear myself moan on every step up to her flat above the studio. I can hear the clatter of her platform shoes as she races into the kitchen to find the drugs she was given by Dominic.

My husband. My loving husband who did that wonderful, little thing for me. Who stood by me in those dark, dark times. Who researched all the treatments, all the drugs
…
 

I know life has been difficult
…
But murder
…
?
 

She’s back and some tiny pills are pressed into my hand. ‘Are these the right ones?’

I push them away, with difficulty. ‘I don’t want them.’

‘What? Darling…’

‘No pills. Not yet.’

‘What the hell are you doing? You told me…’

‘It’s not as bad as it seems. Not quite. I had that treatment.’

‘The one Dominic didn’t want you to have?’

‘Yes.’

She gasps, realising. ‘And it worked? The pain’s gone.’

‘Sort of. The pain did go but now it’s coming back. It’s coming back fast. God… It’s coming back very fast…’

She picks up the packet and kneels before me. ‘Then take the bloody pills, darling!’

‘Not yet.’

‘Jesus, Mon!
Why?
’

‘Because I’m not finished remembering. I reduced the dosage, and then I started to remember things… Listen, just… listen.’ I breathe deeply. I have to focus. Focus on beating back my Angry Friend.
I need to concentrate.

‘Dominic got arrested by this policeman, and when they took him to the station, he told them to ring me and confirm that it was a sex game we play with each other…’

Lena cocks an eyebrow.

‘I confirmed that Dominic was telling the truth.’

‘Well then. Panic over. What’s the problem?’

Christ. My Angry Friend is sitting on my body, pressing me down. I’m drowning.
 

‘But I don’t remember. Do you remember us playing a game like that?’

Angelina flaps her arms and twists her lips. She looks quite comical. ‘Well… How would I know? What you guys did inside your marriage is no concern of mine…’

‘It doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t sound like me.’

‘You said yourself: you don’t know what sounds like you sometimes. You don’t know what you were like. You’ve asked me if you’d had an affair, for God’s sake. And Dominic trying to kill you? Dominic? Does that sound right?’

‘I found a gun.’

‘A gun? A what? A gun? Where?’

‘In the house. In the shed.’

‘Show me.’

‘I left it… Stupid… I wasn’t thinking straight…’

‘Well, if it was in the shed… It was probably there to shoot rats or mice or something. Lots of gamekeepers have guns. My auntie Victoria’s man had a massive great —’

‘Angelina… you’re being very sweet defending him… but I’m not going back home… Not until this is sorted out. Not until I completely remember what happened… If you don’t believe me, then I’m sorry. I’ll just find someone who does. I’ll go to my sister’s in Surrey.’

Angelina stalks back and forth, over to the window, then back again. She throws herself into her chair. ‘Fine.’ She gets up again and stands, legs apart, her face a jumbled mix of concern and fury. ‘Fine, darling, if that’s the way you want it…’

She disappears into her bedroom. Noises float from behind the door; scuffling, cupboard doors banging. I hear a zipping noise. I wonder what she’s doing and the tension building in my body makes the room spin.

Five minutes later, Angelina comes in and drops her suitcase in front of me. ‘There. I’m packed. If you want to do this, then let’s do this.’

I look at her, dumbfounded.

‘Darling! You’re not thinking straight…’

‘That much is true.’

‘You don’t think when Dominic finds you missing, that my place is the
first
place he’ll look? And you don’t think your sister’s will be the
second
place? We’ll spend the night here, and we’ll go to a hotel in the morning, yeah? I know a scrummy little one in Knightsbridge which is very discreet.’

She’s putting on a big strong macho front, but tears are making her eyes glisten. She jabs a varnished finger in my direction. ‘But the moment that bloody stubborn little brain of yours unlocks the truth, then you’re knocking back those bloody pills like a rock star at the end of a forty-date tour. I will personally provide the funnel.’

And then she falls to her knees again, and hugs me, very delicately, encircling my body so very very gently with her long arms.

Her bracelets brush against my arm, and the world wobbles again, but I keep it together.

‘I don’t want you to go.’

And we both cry, for me, for both of us. For a lost past, and a lost future.

I can’t sleep, of course.

The bed is comfy, but my Angry Friend is all conquering. Without the drugs to sedate him, he’s roaming around my body with a bicycle chain and a can of paraffin.

The sounds of traffic are louder here. There’s also a party going on – not near – but I can hear it very faintly. I can hear the fuzzy echoes of ‘Crocodile Rock’, and ‘Rebel Rebel’ and ‘Waterloo’ – I’m guessing a middle-aged birthday party.

I’ve forgotten all of the lyrics, and I’m driving myself crazy, trying to remember what Suzie and Elton got up to.

I pull my eyes over to the clock. Eleven thirty. I’ve been staring into the blackness of the room and the darkness under my eyelids for an hour. Perhaps I should get up and get a milky drink.

There’s soft footfall outside my door. That clinches it. Angelina’s up, and I’m in the mood for a late-night chat. It will take my mind off the rats gnawing at my arms and legs.

I open the door and look around; the kitchen light isn’t on. Her bedside light
is
on, but there’s no one there. The bed is gaping and empty.

I breathe deeply. The chemical smells from her unfinished paintings downstairs are very strong here. Perhaps Lena needs them to go to sleep. They are very relaxing.

Without the drugs, my mind is starting to make connections. More and more connections. I suddenly realise why the chemical smell is so familiar.

It’s the same smell as my suicide note.

The oils. Painter’s oils.

What?
 

How is that possib—
 

A noise.

A woman’s voice downstairs.

I grip the guardrail and look down the stairwell, and there’s Angelina sitting on the bottom step, huddled against the banister. I can see two Chinese dragons on her kimono, snarling, claws out, fighting for space along her narrow back.

I almost call out, but something stops me.

‘It’s me. She’s here.’

I freeze.

‘She’s OK,’ Angelina whispers into her phone. ‘But she’s starting to remember things. She’s already gone to the police.’

She pauses, and then: ‘She’s fine. I don’t know… She’s just… fine. Yes… No, not everything… She’s talked to the policeman. Yes, that one… I don’t know… Well you tell me!’

She rests her head against the wall and sighs, a long sigh, listening to the jabbering from the other end of the phone. ‘OK… Just… listen to me… No, stop… I’m not covering for you… This is what you are going to do, Dominic… You’ve just got to get here now. Whatever happens… Yes! You’ve got to…’

I try to lift my hands but they seem to be welded to the guardrail. I lift up one finger at a time until they’re free, and then bunch them into fists. I hold them down by my side, trying to keep my arms rigid, but they are shaking so much I’m punching my own thighs.

I hold them out in front of me, and they are a blur in front of my eyes.

I have to pack, and I have to pack quickly and quietly.

I’m back in ‘my’ bedroom, rooting through the cupboards.

I empty my bag of everything I don’t need, and fill it full of everything I do. Clothes. Toothbrush. The mouth guard that my ‘friend’ has thoughtfully had made for me.

Slippered footsteps pass outside my door. I shove the bag under the bed and quietly slip underneath the covers, close my eyes and wait for the door to open, for someone to come.

I watch the handle turn. It moves slowly, down, down… And then it rises again. She’s changed her mind, and the light under the door flickers as the slippers move away.

Time to
Jesus I hurt
go.

I daren’t switch the light on, so I grope for my clothes in the darkness, feeling for knickers and jeans, shirt and jacket.
I can’t find my scarf
(
leave the scarf
)
I need the scarf
(
forget the bloody scarf
)
I can buy one when I get on the road to
… Where?

Down the narrow stairs. They’re fashionably minimalist; narrow polished wood, no stair carpet, so I half walk, half slide, careful not to overbalance. The bag is too heavy.

Far
too heavy.

I unlatch the door and the world collapses in on me. My head explodes, and I yell in shock, but I can’t hear myself.

(
You stupid woman. Of course there will be an alarm. Of course there will
)

It is a hellish sound, a computerised
whup-whup-whup
that’s designed to make burglars pray for the good old days of jangling klaxons. It wakes my pain as it would a sleeping child, and my Angry Friend screams out at the top of his lungs.

He screams in triumph.

The street is empty, but that won’t be for long. Already squares of light are appearing in upstairs windows. I have to go. I scrabble at the latch and run out, staggering under the weight of the bag and my pain.

Do I have time to get to my car? Let’s try, I need it. I can’t do public transport like this.

I’m running, but I can’t.

I think the bag is snagged on something. I look back and Angelina is holding the strap.

‘Mon, wait!’

‘Get away from me!’

‘You can’t leave!’

‘Oh I know that! You rang my husband, you bitch traitor!’

‘Please!’

‘You wrote my note! My suicide note! You want to kill me!’

‘It’s not like that! You need to listen!’