Chris Collett - [Tom Mariner 01] (22 page)

‘So, tell me the worst.’ She was daring him to.

‘It seems she is some kind of call girl,’ Mariner said, with reticence. ‘Eddie was very specific about wanting a girl who would come to his place. And she fits the description his neighbour gave us of his “girlfriend”.’

‘Oh.’

‘It could easily be a story he was working on,’ Mariner said, quickly.

‘But you don’t really think so.’ She was beginning to read him like a book. Mariner didn’t like that much.

‘It just seems odd that no one at the paper knew anything about it.’

‘Darren knew about it though, didn’t he? He said he thought that Eddie was working on some story on his own initiative. Maybe Eddie had found something really big and didn’t want someone else getting to it first.’

Mariner was loath to disillusion her. He could understand her unwillingness to believe that her brother would pay for the services of a prostitute. Fortunately, Jamie chose that moment to wander into the kitchen, saving him the trouble. Ignoring Mariner, he tugged at Anna’s arm.

‘What is it, Jamie? What do you want?’ she asked. She took out a bundle of pictures and spread them out on the table. ‘What?’

Jamie scanned them until he found the picture he was looking for, picked it up and gave it to Anna.

‘Good. Jamie wants Hula Hoops? Say, loops please.’

‘Loops,’ said Jamie.

‘Please,’ Anna prompted, waiting patiently.

‘Please.’

‘Good. Good talking, Jamie.’ She went to the cupboard and got out a packet, opened it and gave it to him. With a brief transient smile, Jamie took them and retreated back to the lounge.

Mariner had watched the whole exchange with interest.

‘So that’s what all those pictures are about,’ he said, thinking back to the line drawings in Eddie’s house.

‘They help Jamie to make sense of what goes on around him. He finds pictures easier to understand than words. It’s why he had the picture of the girl. Kay, Kerry or whatever.’

Meaning that the girl had been a feature of their lives. Suddenly, Mariner saw her understand that fact, and she didn’t like it a bit.

As a distraction, Mariner picked up one of the longer strips. ‘So what’s this? A whole sentence?’

Anna shook her head. ‘That’s Jamie’s timetable. It helps him to predict what’s going to happen next during each day.

He finds it hard to handle change, so the pictures act as a kind of early warning system to let him know what’s coming up.’

Mariner studied the pictures. ‘Okay, the breakfast cereal, the car and the day centre I understand, but I don’t remember it snowing today.’

‘It’s not snow, it’s a snowflake.’

‘Of course.’ Clear as mud.

‘A snowflake stands for “something unexpected”,’ Anna explained, with exaggerated patience. ‘Eddie and Francine were trying to get Jamie used to the idea that sometimes there are events you can’t predict, that you have to be prepared for the unknown. That’s what the snowflake means. Something unknown is going to happen. I wasn’t sure what we were going to do this evening; hence the snowflake.’

‘Clever stuff,’ said Mariner. ‘You two are beginning to behave like the odd couple.’

‘Yes, well, as long as he doesn’t get too comfortable,’ retorted Anna immediately. ‘I’ve started looking into long term residential care for him.’

‘Oh.’

‘Unfortunately, I’m coming up against the same thing as Eddie. They want to use medication if necessary.’

‘So, why bother? He seems pretty settled here. I’d have thought…’

‘My God, don’t you start!’ she cut in, accusingly.

‘Start what?’

‘Trying to make me feel guilty.’

Although it was obvious that she didn’t need his help. ‘I wasn’t…’ he began.

But she wasn’t listening. ‘And if one more person tells me how “wonderful” Eddie was with Jamie, I’ll strangle them with my bare hands. There, I’m confessing to that one in advance.’

‘I’ll make a note of it,’ Mariner said, evenly, holding her gaze.

She kept eye contact, but he could see the inner struggle going on, as she fought to keep a lid on her emotions. ‘I just want to get on with my life,’ she said, her voice breaking ever so slightly. ‘Is that so unreasonable?’

‘Of course not,’ said Mariner.

‘You have no idea what it’s like. Only two weeks ago I had a job, friends, a social life. I did all the things that normal, independent adults do. I got up, went to work, stayed late if I wanted to, went to the pub afterwards if I wanted to, ate what I liked, saw who I liked. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t blame Eddie for seeing a prostitute,’ she went on. ‘There’s bugger all opportunity for any other kind of love life with Jamie around. He’s been with me less than a fortnight and I’ve become a social pariah.’ In a visible effort to hold it all together, she pushed back her chair and strode the length of the kitchen to bang down her mug in the sink. When she spoke again her voice was a whisper.

‘I can’t go back to that. I should, but I can’t.’

Mariner watched a single tear escape in a wet trail down her cheek, before she turned away from him, pretending to be fascinated by the view from the window that she saw many times each day. But he could see from the movement of her shoulders that the battle had been lost. Mariner felt he ought to do something, but he wasn’t sure what. He’d never been much good at this stuff.

Prepared for rejection, he went over to her and rested his hands lightly on her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘I really didn’t mean to…’

But the rest was left unsaid as she turned and clutched at him, all the pent-up stress and emotion of the past days pouring out in great wrenching sobs, her head pushing into his chest, while Mariner held her, breathing her in. Sod professionalism, he thought.

After a while her crying subsided and she stepped back from him, rubbing angrily at her eyes. ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry, that was stupid.’

Mariner could think of several words to describe the experience, but stupid wasn’t one of them. ‘It’s been a tough time,’ he said, inadequately.

She managed a short, staccato laugh. ‘You can say that again.’ She took a gulp of air. ‘The irony is,’ she went on, ‘that this is the last thing in the world Mum and Dad would have wanted. They knew first hand what hard work Jamie is. They never intended for either Eddie or me to have to take care of him. Look out for him, yes, of course, but not wash him, dress him, feed him, clean his teeth, day in, day out. They didn’t expect that of us. It’s always people on the outside who make the judgements.’

‘I wasn’t judging you,’ said Mariner truthfully.

‘Oh, it’s not your fault…’ She tailed off, exhausted and spent. ‘Sorry, I’ve made your shirt wet.’ She patted the damp patch and Mariner thought her touch would burn a hole in his chest.

‘That’s all right, I’ve got another one at home,’ he said casually, stepping away so that she wouldn’t notice the effect she was having on him.

‘Not in that colour I hope.’ Mariner took the weak attempt at humour as a good sign.

‘’Fraid so,’ he said. ‘Do you keep any brandy?’ She told him where and Mariner found it and poured her a generous measure.

‘I was wrong about what I said before,’ she said, taking it from him and leaning back against the kitchen units.

‘What?’ Mariner sat down again, finding that he couldn’t quite trust his knees to support him.

‘About Eddie being a martyr. It wasn’t his problem, it’s mine. I was the one who felt guilty, about leaving him to cope with Jamie. At first I could use my marriage as an excuse. By the time it was over I’d convinced myself that Eddie didn’t need my help, he had it taped. He and Jamie were a team.’ She fixed her gaze on the glass she slowly turned over in her hand. ‘When Jamie was born, Eddie was old enough not to mind,’ she said. ‘He was the grown-up, responsible one who helped out whenever he could. Jamie responded to that. He’d do things for Eddie that he wouldn’t do for anyone else. I suppose in a funny sort of way I was jealous of their special relationship. I’d always resented Jamie like hell, because until he came along and wrecked everything, I was Daddy’s sweet little girl. That’s why I was determined that it wasn’t going to happen all over again. Perhaps I still am. I’m the selfish one. I’ve had enough of autism and what it does to you. I just want a normal life.’

‘Nobody can blame you for that.’

She looked up at him, her eyes shining brightly. ‘No. But it doesn’t stop me from blaming myself.’

To his considerable relief, Knox and Jenny had already retired when Mariner got home. So, safely alone, Mariner got out the dictionary and looked up PSTIs in the abbreviations section. It wasn’t listed. He tried the word potent, ‘cogent and strong’ it said, so little to be learned there.

Then, almost unconsciously, his eye slid down the page to ‘impotent’. It didn’t make for comforting reading.

‘Powerless; helpless, decrepit; wholly lacking in sexual power, unable to copulate or reach orgasm.’ Hmm. Not all bad then. He didn’t have any problem with reaching orgasm, just as long as no one else was involved. With the right woman, at the right time it would be resolved. It was just a question of finding the right woman. He refused to allow himself to speculate on whether he already had. God he’d wanted to kiss Anna Barham so badly tonight, and that was a new and worrying experience. Never before had he been tempted to overstep that particular professional line.

And there had been no shortage of opportunity. Right from his first week in the job on his first solo call-out when he’d been asked to attend a domestic, and the door had been answered by a young woman in a negligee so sheer it needn’t have been there. Only when she insisted on encouraging his attentions had he realised it was a set-up. His initiation into the squad, that no one would let him forget for months. Since then, unlike Tony Knox, he’d kept everything well under control, until now. This deprivation was beginning to impact on everything.

Crawling up to bed, Mariner passed the small hours in a restless sleep and by the time the birds began singing, he’d resolved to at least phone the doctor. He wouldn’t be offered an appointment for weeks anyway, so he’d have time to prepare.

‘If you can you pop down to surgery in about twenty minutes, Mr Mariner, we’ve just had a cancellation.’ The receptionist’s response the following morning wasn’t the one that she’d given during his nocturnal rehearsal, and he almost bottled out. But surely it couldn’t be that big a deal.

In his head it had all gone pretty smoothly. A brief chat with the Asian guy he’d seen last time But things weren’t going Mariner’s way. Dr Suliman was on holiday, and in his place was a young female locum, fresh out of sixth form, judging from her youthful appearance, and a fully paid-up member of the Spanish Inquisition to boot. ‘How can I help?’ she asked.

Her innocent gaze fixed earnestly on him, and all of Mariner’s careful, mentally prepared descriptions of the problem deserted him. ‘I can’t get it up,’ he blurted out, with rather less eloquence than he’d intended.

‘Is the problem erection, ejaculation, or both?’ she asked, as if she was offering him a choice of pizza toppings.

‘Erection,’ Mariner said, shrivelling inside.

‘Since when?’

‘About a year.’

She looked up. ‘You’ve waited a long time before seeking help.’

‘I thought it would get better.’

‘Mm.’ Despite her youth she seemed to have heard that one before. ‘Take off your jacket and roll up your sleeve, would you?’

It seemed a novel approach, but Mariner did as he was told.

‘How old are you, Mr Mariner?’ she asked, slapping a strip of inner tube around his exposed bicep and pumping it up until all circulation to his lower arm had been staunched.

‘Forty-three.’ Compressed air escaped with a hiss.

‘I see. That’s fine.’ He took that as a comment on his blood pressure and not his age. ‘Any other health problems?’

‘Not that I’m aware of.’

‘You’re not on any medication?’

‘No.’

‘How’s your peeing?’

Mariner looked blank.

‘Bladder control okay, steady stream and all that?’ the doctor prompted.

‘It’s fine,’ said Mariner, not knowing what else to say.

‘And is your difficulty in achieving an erection, or maintaining it?’

‘Maintaining it.’

‘Okay then, let’s have a look.’ A look?? ‘Take off your things and get up on the couch please.’ Mariner wanted to ask if this was strictly necessary, but presumably she wasn’t just doing this for fun. Presumably. Feeling vulnerable, with only his shirttails to protect his dignity, Mariner hoisted himself on to the couch, praying that he wasn’t about to be caught in a lie. He needn’t have worried. Her cool, latex-sheathed fingers had an intimidating effect.

‘Well physically everything seems in order,’ she assured him. ‘We’ll need a urine sample to rule out diabetes, but that’s unlikely if you’re getting no other symptoms. You can get dressed.’

But after he’d pulled on his clothes there were further questions. They started innocuously enough. What was his occupation? Was it often stressful? Had he felt particularly stressed during the last year or so? No more than usual.

That seemed to disappoint her, so she tried a different, more intimate tack. Did he masturbate successfully? Well, yes. Was there a pattern to when he lost his erection, was it always at the same point during intercourse? Yes, just prior to penetration, he just—collapsed.

Ah. Was he in a stable relationship? No, his last one finished just over a year ago.

‘Tell me about that,’ she said.

Despite reservations about the relevance of this line of questioning, Mariner found himself pouring out the whole sorry tale about Greta. It had started off so well until she moved in with him and started holding him to account for every minute of his day. He felt physically sick, even just thinking about it, as the memory of that final evening replayed itself in his mind.

‘Dinner won’t be long,’ Greta had chirped from the kitchen the second he’d walked in the door. He groaned inwardly. After a harrowing day spent interviewing a seventy-two-year-old woman who’d been brutally beaten in her own home, he needed space to get normal again. To this end he’d retreated to the bathroom, but he hadn’t yet got around to fitting a lock and Greta had pursued him there, wrapping her arms around him as he leaned over the washbasin.