Painkiller (29 page)

He killed her! He must have killed her!
It was the only logical conclusion.
He had to go! He had to get out of the country!

Niall got a job on a cruise liner. He wasn’t able to get ‘fat hippy’ parts any more, but there was always a vacancy for a shipboard trainer to work off the pina coladas and five-course breakfasts.

From the moment Niall met Lorraine he loved her, deeply and unreservedly. From the split second he finished the morning step class, and peered out and saw her on the front row, with the legs, the leotard, the headband, the lipstick, he loved her. He sensed, no, he
knew
that the woman would be waiting in the bar afterwards to buy him a drink, to tell him how good he was.

Over a couple of mimosas, Lorraine told him her life story – well, the last three months of it. She worked for a publishing company (full of people shallower and more annoying than her), and she was (slumming it) on a (tacky holiday) cruise to get over Dennis (ratbag) who looked after non-fiction, and who, ironically, wouldn’t know the truth if it kicked him in the bollocks (Dennis’s non-fiction titles included ‘lying tapeworm’ ‘lying slime bucket’, and ‘lying cheating bastard’). Siobhan (cow) had got an invitation to Glyndebourne (posh cow) and stood her up days before they set sail; so Lorraine came on her own (to find a man) as an act of defiance. She said a lot – a LOT – of other stuff, about scuba diving in coral reefs and swimming with dolphins and snowboarding and the types of (classy) holidays she usually went on when she was in a better frame of mind, but Niall didn’t really pay attention. Mostly he drank cocktails and watched her delicious lips move.

Watching the shapes they made.

Trying to count her teeth.

They didn’t see much of the Greek islands. They stayed in Lorraine’s cabin for most of the voyage, exploring each other’s inlets, and by the time the ship docked in Portsmouth, they’d decided to live together in her very expensive flat in Hampstead, and she’d designed wedding invitations and worked out a space for the cot before he’d managed to unpack his suitcase.

That was the start of the whirlwind; and what with the drama of constant sex, earning money from every acting job he could find, running around buying nappies, bibs, buggies, and oddly shaped plastic bottles, Monica’s broken body seemed like an hallucination, a fever dream, a piece of flotsam from his imagination that had tried to convince him that it was real.

Nine months after Lorraine told him she was pregnant (over a lunch of asparagus tips and pomegranate juice) he had gone out into a hospital corridor because had a splitting headache, and he needed to take a break from Lorraine’s shouts and pleadings for the bastard baby to leave her body.

He went to lean on the window sill and watch the ambulances park. At that precise moment, as his wife’s screams reached a crescendo and Peter made his first tiny mewling cries on the planet, he saw Monica’s husband drive into a space, open his boot, take out a couple of walking sticks, open the passenger side door and help Monica struggle out of the interior.

It was
her.

She was alive!
 

He went back to the old routine, following Monica back and forth from the hospital, his car gliding back and forth down her road like a shark. He found out the names of her doctors, and rang up the clinic (putting on a rather good impression of Monica’s husband though he did say so himself), and bit by bit found out what had happened, and then he focused his efforts on getting back into Monica’s life. Lorraine and Peter all but evaporated from Niall’s consciousness. Before Peter could walk, Niall was out of Lorraine’s flat and living on his own.

And then he made himself a new role. He became ‘Niall the osteopath’. He boned up on techniques, took a couple of classes in deep tissue massage and reflexology, and then soon it was time for opening night. When she lay on the bench in the gym, pinned there by her pain like a pretty butterfly to a board, that was the moment. It was time for lights, camera…

Action!

And now, as he watched her fiddle with a sandwich carton, he was mesmerised. He could scarcely believe he was back where he belonged, after all this time. The arrangement they had made, so long ago, was coming to pass. Over these past months he’d come to think that he’d done Monica a favour, pushing her down those steps. Because without that, without her pain, and her struggle, she wouldn’t have known who was
really
there for her.
He
wasn’t some fair-weather friend. All of Monica’s fair-weather friends had gone, and —

No, when he thought about it,
really
thought about it, he had to admit it. Thanks to him, everything turned out for the best.

For her.
 

‘How is he now?’

‘He’s had a bit of a hissy fit, but he’s just sitting quietly now.’

‘I’ll be right there. Has he asked for a lawyer?’

‘No. Which is odd. Someone complains that much, you’d expect them to want legal counsel the second they’re asked. He’s a weird chap, isn’t he?’

‘You’ve got that right. I’ll be right over.’

Dominic had his head in his hands. Geoff heard him saying something under his fingers, he thought it was swearing, but after about the fourth time, he realised Dominic was saying ‘Thou shalt not bear false witness’, over and over again.

‘Interview commencing at three thirty-six p.m. Present are Mr Dominic Wood, DI Marks…’

‘And DC Webb…’

Geoff stretched over his chair and leaned onto the table.

‘Can I remind you that you’re under caution, Mr Wood?’

Dominic nodded, but didn’t remove his hands from his head.

‘Now… Mr Wood. Remember me?’

He eased his face over his fingers. Geoff was finally seeing him close up and in the flesh after four years. It was definitely the same guy Geoff remembered. About two stone heavier, greyer, with a thinning crown, but he recognised him. That smug little ‘I’ve got a secret’ grin of his was unmistakable.

He crossed his arms and looked at Geoff, for a long long time. ‘Yes, I remember you. You were there. You arrested me last time. You had that really bad moustache.’

Geoff’s hand went to the empty space where his moustache used to be. ‘If you want to take a trip down memory lane, Dominic, yes it was me who pulled you in. When you tried to get a bloke in a pub to kill your wife —’

‘Yes, and my wife told you at the time —’

‘— and you
persuaded
her to cover for you. You didn’t fool me for a moment. And now you’ve been nicked for trying to do her in again.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

DC Sally Webb tried to have a go.
She’s new, and keen
, Geoff thought.
She’ll probably be giving me orders in a couple of years
. ‘Dominic. Do you understand why you’re here?’

He said nothing.

She continued. ‘We have recovered footage from a CCTV in Woolwich.’

Still nothing.

‘A man in a car park, buying a firearm. Have you ever been to Woolwich, Dominic?’

He looked at Geoff, smiled, and said: ‘I’m not here because of some stupid footage from some stupid camera, am I? She got you to put me in here. My wife put me in here. Didn’t she? She’s put you up to this.’

‘Let’s talk about Woolwich, Dominic,’ says Sally.

‘Let’s not.’

‘Do you want to see the tape?’

‘Not really.’

‘Suit yourself. Can you tell us who it was who sold you the gun?’

He ignored Sally and looked at Geoff again. ‘Monica’s lovely, isn’t she? She can wrap anybody round her little finger. Big strapping lad like you would be no bother.’

Geoff had had enough.
Time to cut to the chase.
‘I put it to you, Mr Wood, that you were buying an illegal firearm with the intention of doing harm to your wife.’

‘You think you’re saving her life.’ He looked at Geoff with pity. ‘I’m sure that’s what you think. You’re probably very taken with her. Probably even a bit in love with her. That’s what happens when they all meet her. Everyone wants to protect her. Including you.’

He placed his hands on the table and pushed himself away; almost as if the cheeky bugger was getting ready to leave. ‘I imagine that’s what you think, isn’t it? You think you’ve saved her life. Well, actually, you haven’t.’

He actually gave a little laugh. ‘Quite the opposite. By bringing me here you killed her. As surely as if you fired a gun in her face.’

We drive into the night.

Niall is not speaking. I’m wondering if he’s still cross about me going into the house, but he’s tapping nervously on the steering wheel. I think he’s still shaken by his encounter with Dominic. He’s not glancing across every two minutes. He’s stopped trying to squeeze a conversation out of me.

My head is lolling across the back of my seat, the little red dots of the brake lights on the motorway are becoming fat and distorted, as my eyes close and their luminescence filters through my eyelashes.

I’m drowsy; I have so many memories now, and without the painkillers they look new and fresh, crisp to the touch, so I’m skipping through them, light as a feather. I can’t help it. Perhaps it’s the morphine. They flood into me; almost as overwhelming as the pain.

I can see myself dancing out of drama school having given the finger to Mr Favreau Of The Wandering Hands; setting up my agency in the tiny room on the first floor in Greek Street with the green door, the faulty buzzer and Germaine and her furtive clients on the second floor. There I am, standing in the rain, white silk plastered to my body, throwing my bouquet outside a church somewhere in Fife, then having a slurred argument with Dominic’s parents over empty bottles of Krug and crumbs and dirty paper plates; something about sex before marriage.

Something like that.

I’m in a hospital room, watching my father’s red-flecked eyes staring up at me; me looking dispassionately down at him; feeling nothing.

My mind frolics back to the day, that Christmas Day, the day I got Jumpy the rabbit. The same day he escaped and found his way under the wheel of Dad’s car.

Squeak. Crunch. Silence.

We had had Christmas lunch, and we were leaving to see Granddad and Nanny in Devon, and Dad was going out to get petrol for the car; his caramel-coloured Morris Marina, which still smelled faintly of the milk that tipped over in the boot that summer; the car that disgorged its cargo of pornographic videos on my little red shoes.

I was in the garden on my trike when I heard the squeak; I rounded the corner and saw the car; the blood; the tiny quivering heap of fur on the drive. I screamed, and I didn’t stop screaming when Mum charged out of the house and carried me into the house. She took me to my room and ran downstairs to get me some warm milk, and in that minute I looked frantically out of the window and saw my dad go up to the shed and get a spade.

I had to go out and see, and I ran out.

I can see Dad again, walking away to the back of the garden. I can see the mark on the wrist where his watch used to be (he’d taken it off to time the turkey in the oven) and his shirt peeping out from the back of his trousers. I can see the still-twitching remains of my rabbit in one hand, his shovel in his other hand.

And then walking back with just the shovel.

‘Sorry. It was for the best, trust me, little lady,’ he said. His hand rests for two seconds on my shaking shoulders. ‘He was in a lot of pain.’

And that was all he said about it. And that was all I said to the nurse when I left his hospital room. It seemed poetic to me, even though I was the only one who knew what it meant.

‘Interview suspended at twenty-two twenty-eight. DS Webb, why don’t you get us some tea.’

‘Are you sure, guv?’

‘We’ll be fine. We’ll both be just fine, won’t we, Dominic?’

Sally flicked her eyes to Geoff, then to Dominic, and back again. ‘OK…’ she said slowly. ‘I won’t be long.’

The door closed, and the moment she left, Dominic spoke.

‘Thou shalt not bear false witness,’ he said. ‘Do you know what that means?’

‘It’s about lying. Funny you should bring it up.’

‘A bit more than that. It was originally about lying in a court of law. Hebrews took a very dim view of that. It was usually punishable by death. Nowadays we take it to mean any kind of lying… I wonder if
you’re
prepared to lie in a court of law, Detective Inspector? I wonder if it’ll come to that?’

‘You’re trying to play games with me.’

‘I wish I was. I’ve taught myself how to lie. I’ve said all sorts of nonsense, to get what I want. I’m good at it. I’ve lied to Monica, for years now.’

Dominic pressed his hands flat against his face, and Geoff realised he was crying. ‘Such a terrible burden. Such a terrible exquisite burden…’

Geoff slammed his fist on the table, making Dominic wobble like a jellyfish.

‘It’s a beautiful performance, Dominic,’ he snarled. ‘Really Oscar-winning stuff. But that’s all it is, just a performance. We know you wanted to kill your wife. We’ve got evidence. Footage. Eyewitnesses…’

‘Evidence? You want evidence? Oh, you can have some more evidence if you like. Have more evidence. Check out my computer’s browsing history. Check out Ed’s Sheds. I’ll give you my passwords. That’s where I found my contact. The one who sold me the gun. I’m going to walk out of here, because I failed. It was just a big game, but it’s over now, and I failed. None of this means anything now. It’s all for nothing.’

‘It’s not a game, Dominic. It’s very serious.’

Geoff pushed his face forward so he was nose to nose with Dominic, and Dominic pouted with an expression of injured innocence. Geoff felt that if he even blinked, his subconscious mind would strike, and he’d open his eyes to find Dominic lying at his feet with his head caved in by a chair.

‘Just get to the fucking point,’ he snarled. ‘Tell me what you want to tell me. You obviously want to unburden yourself. So just tell me what you want to tell me, OK?’

‘Is the camera on?’

‘No, the interview has been suspended. You saw me turn it off.’

‘I’ll talk to you now. Just you. No witnesses. No camera.’

‘No deal.’

‘If you want me to make a proper confession afterwards, on tape, I will. I promise.’ He grinned. ‘But I don’t think you will after you hear what I have to say.’

‘I’ll take you up on that bet.’

‘I’m sure you will.’

‘So… It’s just us. So tell me.’

He shrugged. ‘Why not?’

He raised his hands in surrender.

‘Are you ready?’

‘Tell me, Inspector. Have you ever had a loved one who just wants to die? Someone who just wanted to end it all?’

Even as the ‘no’ came out of Geoff’s mouth, an image of his dad swam into his brain; brave old Dad, who never asked him for anything, except one thing, and Geoff couldn’t give him that thing. And he walked out of the care home, and he felt his dad’s eyes watch him as he left.

‘I can’t say I have,’ he added.

‘Well I had someone. My wife wanted to die.’

Geoff laughed. ‘Oh, right. I get it. That’s your defence, is it? Very cute.’

Dominic continued as if he hadn’t even spoken. ‘She made her mind up. She wanted to die.’

Geoff laughed. ‘Most fairy stories start with “Once upon a time”.’

‘There’s no reason to lie any more. She planned it, worked out the drugs she would overdose on, and she actually wrote herself a suicide letter… well, she dictated it to a friend because she couldn’t write any more; the pain wouldn’t let her. All she could manage at the time was an undignified squiggle.’

He smiled. ‘Her friend Angelina is an artist, a good one, and Monica confided in her, told Angelina exactly what she wanted. She got her to make a suicide note, a perfect forgery, very elegant, perfect spelling, all in Monica’s handwriting, so she could leave it by her body. A proper goodbye.

‘But when it came down to it, Angelina lost her nerve and told me what my wife was planning.’

My memories are pin-sharp now, like my dreams. I feel like I’m standing on the top of a very high building and I can look down on my life, spread out before me. The scaffolding and the cranes have gone, and all the memories have been constructed.

I can see the tops of the curtains, and the light streaming in from outside, catching the fragments of dust and making them shine.

I can see the shape of Dominic’s nostrils as he looks down at me, flaring at me with disbelief. He is holding the pills I had prepared, safely out of my reach.

‘How did you find out?’

‘Angelina told me.’

‘That skinny bitch. I thought she was my friend.’

‘She is. That’s why she told me. She wanted me to stop you killing yourself. She doesn’t want you to die. I don’t want you to die.’

‘I want to do this. It’s my body, and I want to do it.’

‘You can’t think that.’

‘Why can’t I think that? My pain censors what I can do with my body. Please don’t censor my thoughts as well.’

‘It’s not you. It’s the pain talking. The pain is making you think differently.’

I exhale wearily. ‘Dominic, I
am
the pain. The pain is me. The body and the mind are inseparable, because the mind is connected to all the nerves and hormones and feelings. If I spent my whole life hungry, I’d be a different person. If I spent my whole life scared of being butchered in a backstreet in some horrible country, I’d be a different person. If I spent my whole life being tortured, I’d be a different person, and let’s not kid ourselves, I am spending my whole life – being – tortured. Fuck, when I had my periods I was a different person, and that was just a couple of days a month…’

He opens his mouth, but I’m too quick for him.

‘Sit down. On that chair.’

He sits.

‘I want to end this,’ I say. ‘I’ve been doing this for a year now, and the doctors say it’s not going to end. Even if something comes up, a treatment, it’s not going to change. It’s not going to change enough. I don’t want to live like this any more.’

Dominic was getting angry. ‘But what about me? Don’t I have a say in this? I love you. I need you in my life.’

‘Oh shut up! You stupid man! Don’t be so selfish. Stop flapping your stupid mouth and engage your brain for once in your life!’

He shuts up. I know I’m being cruel. But that’s who I am. I used to do it so I can get the results I want. I used to spend my life screaming at theatre producers, television directors, BBC accountants… Now it’s just Dominic. He gets the full force of my rage now, and it’s not fair, it’s really not fair, but that’s the way it is, and I don’t have the strength to change now.