Painkiller (30 page)

Another wave of pain. My face crumples in agony. ‘Why are you doing this? Why are you arguing with me? You’re just making it worse.’

‘Oh of course!’ He pushes his cup and saucer off the table. ‘Can’t have a discussion, or I’ll elevate your pain levels!’

‘I’m doing this for you too. Don’t you understand?’

Dominic has something in his eye. ‘No you’re not. You’re just thinking of yourself.’

‘No. I’m not going to be yoked to this useless body for the rest of my life, and neither will you. This way you get a chance to find another life.’

‘This is
exactly
what Mum said to Dad.’

‘What?’

He hesitates.

I say ‘What?’ again.

‘I… Look… You thought my mum just died. Everyone thought she just passed away in her bed. Well that doesn’t really happen with cancer. She asked Dad to kill her, and when he refused she took pills, tried to take her own life. She didn’t succeed, so he gave her what she wanted. Let her take all the pills she wanted. Fed them to her when she got too drowsy.’

‘That’s terrible. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because Dad didn’t want anyone to know, because I only knew because he got drunk at the wake and told me. He was a devoted Catholic, and it tore him apart. The worst thing was, she was getting better.
She was getting better
, the doctors said, and if she just could hang in there…’

He laughs, and snot bubbles inside his nose.

I let him compose himself and then I say, very softly, ‘That’s really sad, Dominic, but that was your mother’s decision, and I’m sorry your dad found it so hard to abide with her wishes. But it was her life, and this is mine. The best you can do is prepare for life without me. Something your dad singularly failed to do.’

‘Me? Hah! Me! Prepare for life without you? Me? Dominic Wood?’ Dominic’s mind is scrambling now. He’s just saying words; any words.

‘You’ll be OK. You’ll be fine.’

‘Me? Look at me! I’m useless! I’m the worst advertising consultant in the world! I can barely pay the mortgage… I need you… I just… need you.’

He stands up, swaying slightly. ‘I’m going to get drunk. I don’t care if it’s ten in the morning, I’m going to open a can. And I’m going to watch you, and stop you.’

He goes into the kitchen and comes back with a can of beer, which he chugs defiantly in front of me.

‘This is ridiculous.’

‘So you say.’

‘I thought you would be supportive.’

‘I am. I’m helping you through this, so you can realise your mistake. There will be other treatments, other operations. You’ll look back on today, and you’ll laugh.’

‘I don’t want to do that.’

‘Tough.’

‘You’re not being fair.’

‘Neither are you.’

The room falls silent for a long, long time. All the ticking clocks have been removed from the house, because I can’t bear listening to them, so there is no sound but the faint drone of cars outside and the swish of beer in Dominic’s can.

But I can hear things. I can hear the sound of myself thinking; thoughts mashing together in my head.

And I can hear the sound of my Angry Friend breathing, close to my ear, like an animal. Laughing at me. Daring me to deal with him. Like I deal with all the others.

(
Give him an ultimatum
)

‘You’re right,’ I say at last. ‘I can’t leave you like this. It’s not fair…’

His eyes glisten with hope. I feel so bad when I see that hope, but it’s my life, and I have to go through with this.

‘… not when there’s the life insurance policy.’

‘What insurance… Oh. You mean the one your dad took out on you, just before he died…’

‘That’s right. I’ve kept it going all this time. It’s massive, Dominic. If I die you get almost half a million pounds. If I die you will never have to worry about a thing. You can pay off the mortgage. Go round the world. You can look after yourself.’

‘But I don’t want to…’

‘But if I commit suicide you get nothing. Life insurance companies are a lot like your church, Dominic. Suicide doesn’t count.’

A look of horror slowly floods his face.

‘So you have to kill me. Break into the house and shoot me, or something. Make it look like I’ve been attacked by a random burglar. Then you’ll get the money. Then you’ll be all right.’

He rocks back on his chair, almost falls. He shakes his head like a wet dog, as if I have poured something unpleasant on him from a great height. Which is true, I guess.

‘That’s sick. I won’t do it. I refuse.’

‘I’m not
arguing
with you, I’m
telling
you, as a courtesy. This is what’s going to happen, whether you help to kill me or not, I can get someone else to do it.’

‘Who?’

‘I know people. I’ll get someone else to help me,’ I said at last. ‘You won’t stop me.’

‘Who?’ Dominic looks afraid, shattered. But I’m already working out the logistics in my mind.

Tears blur into my eyes but I blink them away, and the memories keep coming.

‘She really loves – loved – me, you know, but she always thought me a bit weak. A bit pathetic. Advertising is a game played by sharks and she always thought me a bit of a dolphin, paddling about, grinning like an idiot.’

He stopped, and tapped his mouth, as if he was thinking. ‘And she was right. I’m terrible at it. I’ve always done my best, but it’s never been quite enough – or not nearly enough.’

‘All right, fine.’ Geoff wasn’t interested in self-pity. ‘So, let’s say for the sake of argument, that she asked you to kill her.’

‘That’s what happened.’

‘And you really refused. You really said no to her.’

‘Of course I did.’

‘Even though that’s what she wanted, and you’d get half a million quid into the bargain? It sounds pretty tempting to me.’

‘Of course I said no! Life is sacred. Hope is always with us, and life is a gift that shouldn’t be thrown away lightly. Anyway, I love – loved – her with every fibre of my being and I couldn’t bear to have her leave me. You understand.’

‘So you kept on saying no.’

‘Of course I did. But Monica being Monica, she never took no for an answer. If she put her mind to it, it was going to happen. No question.’

He looked up at the ceiling and gathered his thoughts.

‘She contacted one of her clients. Larry French. I’m sure you know the name.’

‘Oh yes, I know the name.’

Geoff knew of Larry French. Every man in the Met had a story, or knew someone who had a story about Larry French. And after they’d told you the story they’d tell you he got off bloody lightly.

‘Larry met with her. He saw how bad she was, and he saw how sincere she was about dying, so he agreed to help her. It took some persuading, as he’s not a fan of voluntary euthanasia.’

‘Unless that voluntary euthanasia involves grassing him up to the police.’

Dominic barked with laughter. ‘That’s funny. I like you, Geoff.’

‘So Larry agreed to help her die.’

‘Yes. He did. But I know my wife. I’m wise to the way her mind works. I was recording all phone calls in and out of the house. Was that paranoid of me? Spying on my own wife?’ Dominic didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I suppose it wasn’t paranoid at all, as I did find out she was planning something. So what do you think I did when I found out what she was planning?’

Geoff exhaled. ‘I don’t know. Confront Larry?’

‘That’s one thing. He said he understood how I felt, really he did, but at the end of the day it was her business. He said “he owed her one”. Guess again.’

‘Call the police?’

‘You know I didn’t. And I couldn’t have lived with myself if Larry got into trouble. Larry’s a reformed character. He was – is – a good man.’

Geoff snorted with laughter. ‘Good!’

‘Whatever you think of him, he’s been loyal to my wife. He could have gone to any one of the big talent agencies, but he stayed with Monica when all the others went. That’s what Monica thought was the measure of a man; the one who stays on deck with you when the ship is sinking. So, what, I should put him back in jail for planning to do what my wife wanted him to do? Granting her wish, however appalling? No. I couldn’t have lived with myself. Guess again.’

Geoff shrugged. ‘Haven’t a clue.’

‘But you know very well what I did next, Detective Inspector. That’s how you and I met.’

‘We’ve been driving for ages,’ I mumble. ‘You can stop for a rest if you like.’

‘It’s only been twenty minutes,’ Niall says. ‘And I’ll feel more comfortable when we get to Dover.’ He flicks his eyes up to the mirror. ‘We took a risk stopping once. I don’t want to stop again… I’ve seen those movies where they pull into gas stations and the owner has Wanted posters behind the counter and someone always recognises them, and it turns into a huge chase, and that’s how they get caught. That’s always the fugitive’s fatal mistake… dropping off for a breather in a sleepy roadside café.’

I give a sleepy giggle. ‘I don’t think they have Wanted posters in Costa Coffee.’

‘All the same…’

I lift my head wearily. ‘I don’t want to take the excitement out of our big adventure, but we’re not actually Bonnie and Clyde.’

‘I assaulted your husband.’

‘He assaulted you first.’

‘Monica…’

‘Trust me. We’re consenting adults on our way to starting a new life together. And I want – no, I need – to walk around and move about.’

He digests what I just said.
Consenting adults.
The first indication that we are together, properly together. That I am with him, now, for the rest of my life.

What else can he do? He flicks the indicator lights and pulls into a car park surrounded by logos.

I lean my head on the table and listen to the sounds of the coffee shop, and I doze. I can taste blood and vomit in my mouth.

Down the rabbit hole.

Then I wake up, I am back in bed, cleaned up and in my pyjamas, and Dominic is watching me. He’s sitting backwards on a chair like a detective preparing to interrogate a suspect.

I almost scream but I realise I’m half dozing, half waking, and the memories are so clear in my mind that, to all intents and purposes, until I wake up properly, they’re real.

I’m on my own again, and then the doorbell rings.

I’m lying on the floor, my usual pose, and I stretch my arm out to click my specially rigged intercom.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello, is that Mrs Wood?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s Detective Inspector Geoff Marks and Police Constable Trevor Bradbury. Can we come in?’

‘Is there something the matter?’

‘Can we talk to your husband?’

‘Dominic?’ I said. ‘Why do you want to talk to him?’

‘Is he here?’

‘No.’

‘Will he be long? Can we come in and wait?’

I don’t know what to say. ‘Ahm…’

‘Mrs Wood, we’d like to speak to your husband. Can you open the door?’

‘No.’

‘Are you refusing to open the door?’

‘I’m not refusing anything. I’m sorry, but I can’t move. I have this condition. Chronic pain. I can’t get up off the floor.’

There’s silence from the intercom, until one of them says: ‘Mrs Wood, you must have visitors sometimes. There must be a way to let them in. If you can’t let us in, then we’ll just have to go and look for him at work.’

I hesitate, then say, ‘There’s a key in the lamp by the door.’

The door rattles, and there are two police officers peering down at me. The PC’s baton is dangling over my face. He’s tall and scared-looking. The other has a ginger moustache, but his face is not right for it.

‘Are you all right, Mrs Wood?’ says Ginger Moustache.

‘I have chronic pain, everything hurts. Just moving my eyes in your direction hurts.’

‘Your husband left you on your own like this?’

‘He has to. He has to go to work.’

‘When will he be home?’

‘Soon. What’s all this about?’

I don’t know what happened, but I think I blacked out. The tall one is gently tapping my face.

‘Mrs Wood? Are you OK?’

Then there’s another rattle of the door. Dominic is staring at the two policemen in our front room.

‘Is everything all right? What’s happened? What’s happened to my wife?’

The taller one looms over me. ‘I think your wife just blacked out. Are you OK now, Mrs Wood?’

I nod.

Dominic is looking intently at them. ‘What are you doing in my house?’

Ginger Moustache steps forward. ‘Are you Mr Dominic Wood?’

‘Er… Yes.’

‘We’d like to ask you a few questions, sir, if that’s all right.’

An uncertain smile spreads across Dominic’s face. ‘I don’t know. Is it? Can I ask what this is about?’

‘It concerns a conversation heard in a pub.’ The policeman’s eyes flick from Dominic to me, and then back again.

My husband shrugs his shoulders. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m sorry, you’re going to have to explain yourselves better than that.’

‘Perhaps we can talk to you outside, sir? In private?’

‘Dominic? What’s wrong? What do they want?’

‘Nothing.’

‘We’d just like to have a few words with you, sir.’

‘Fine. Ask me here.’

‘I don’t think you’d want us to do that.’

‘Don’t tell me what I want.’

I am getting angry now. ‘Dominic! Tell me what they want!’

They ignore me, of course; Dominic and the detective practically stand over me while they go nose to nose. I might as well be dead.

‘So you’re refusing to come with us, sir.’

‘Of course I am. I’m not going anywhere.’

Ginger Moustache deflates with a huge sigh, and then draws himself up to his full height. ‘Fine. We’re arresting you on suspicion of soliciting to murder. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

Dominic moves away and the taller policeman stands in front of him. ‘You have to come with us, sir.’