The Universe Versus Alex Woods (38 page)

The light was on in the window above the shop. I could see a bright, sharply defined line bisecting the glass where the curtains hadn’t quite been pulled to. Ellie was in, but that was as I’d expected. As long as I was quiet, it made little difference.

I’d already decided that the front door was unsafe. It was loaded with two sets of heavy wind chimes, which made enough of a racket to be heard through the closed door of the stockroom. It was less certain that they could be heard from upstairs, but I thought there was no sense in risking it. I tiptoed round to the back of the shop, then paused for reconnaissance just before I reached the small scrap of yard that was overlooked by the flat’s kitchen window. A stealthy glance revealed that the blinds were up, but the kitchen light was out. My dark-adapted eyes could make out a faint, sallow glow, but I concluded that this must be the overspill from the light in the hallway. I knew that the security light was going to come on the moment I stepped into the yard, and that it would be highly visible through the window above, but since it was hard to imagine even Ellie sitting in the kitchen with the lights out, I had to assume that she was safely elsewhere. The yard light would be on for only a minute, and I’d have to be desperately unlucky if she came into the kitchen and spotted it in that time.

Six silent paces took me to the lower back door. I paused only long enough for my eyes to adjust to the sudden glare that was now illuminating the yard, then slipped my key into the lock. The door creaked open and clicked shut, sending a small judder up my arm. It was the kind of stiff, heavy door that couldn’t be closed silently, but I thought I’d kept the noise to a minimum. I reasoned that in the muted gloom of the empty shop it probably sounded louder than it was, and unless you were listening out for it, or happened to be passing the top of the stairs at that very moment, it was the kind of dull, background noise that would pass unnoticed. Nonetheless, I was in no mood to hang about.

I took my torch from one pocket and the letter from the other and proceeded swiftly through to the front counter. I’d left the letter in an unsealed envelope in case I wanted to make any last-minute modifications before I placed it next to the cash register. But now, casting my eyes over it one last time, I concluded that there was nothing I could change or add. There’d be a time for full explanations, but this was not it. I slipped the letter back into the envelope and was just about to seal it.

The lights came on behind me.

I jumped a foot in the air, then spun to find Ellie standing in the doorway. She was holding in her raised right hand a high-heeled boot, which she’d later explain was the best weapon she could find at such short notice. When the security light had come on, and then when she’d heard the door go, she’d had very little time to react. It transpired that smoking by tea light at the kitchen table was one of the ways Ellie liked to ‘unwind’ in the evenings. But my incursion had put paid to that. She was once more fully wound.

‘Jesus fucking hellfire Christ, Woods!’ she said. ‘You scared the living
crap
out of me! What the hell are you doing here? Why are all the lights out? Why the fuck didn’t you come up and knock?’

I gawped and blinked like an idiot for a few faltering seconds. I didn’t know what else I could say or do; I removed the letter from its still unsealed envelope and handed it to her.

Gone abroad to help Mr Peterson die,
it read.
Please don’t worry.

From the amount of time she spent staring at it, she must have read it through at least a dozen times. Her mouth was open. Her facial expression was so frozen she might have been sculpted from ice.

‘Woods, please, please tell me this is one of those jokes I’m too stupid to get.’

‘It’s not a joke,’ I said. ‘We’re leaving tonight.’

I had no time to duck. Her right hand hit my cheek like a thunderclap. I sat on the floor, my ears ringing.

‘You fucking moron!’ Ellie yelled. ‘I know the old man’s as crazy as a fucking loon, but you! I thought you had at least a shred of common sense in that warped brain of yours! Good fucking God, Woods! What were you thinking? If he wants to kill himself, that’s one thing, but convincing you to help him – that’s just fucking sick!’

‘He didn’t convince me,’ I said flatly. ‘I had to convince him.’

Ellie raked her fingers through her hair and then started pacing back and forth like a caged animal, stopping periodically to shake her head and swear. Several times she looked like she was going to assault me again. Eventually, she stopped pacing and sat beside me on the floor, our backs pressed up against the counter.

‘You need to phone your mother right this second,’ she said.

‘I’m not phoning my mother.’

‘If you don’t, I will,’ she threatened.

‘You’re not phoning her either.’

She handed me the letter. ‘Woods, this is too fucked up for words.’

‘No,’ I said, ‘it’s not. It might seem that way right now, but it really isn’t. You have to trust me on this. We know what we’re doing.’

‘You don’t know what you’re doing! You don’t have a
clue
what you’re doing!’

I waited for a count of five and then looked her in her eye, which was barely a foot away. ‘Ellie, you have to listen to me. I’m doing what I
know
is right. And nothing you or anyone else can say is going to change my mind. I’ve thought about this – I’ve spent months thinking about it – and no one’s forcing me to do anything I don’t agree with.’

‘You’re going to end up in a whole world of shit.’

‘Maybe. That doesn’t matter, though. I’m doing what’s right.’

Ellie rolled her eyes in disbelief. ‘Jesus, Woods! How can you be so sure of yourself? You shouldn’t be so sure of yourself – not with something like this.’

I took several deep breaths. I knew I wasn’t going to falter any more. Ellie’s slap had knocked any residual hesitation straight out of my head.

‘Ellie,’ I began, ‘I’m sure of myself because I know that from this point there are two possible futures. In one, Mr Peterson is going to die four days from now, peacefully and with no pain. In the other, he’s going to die six months or maybe even a year from now, after many, many weeks of pointless suffering. He’s going to die bedbound and scared and in pain, and unable even to tell anyone how terrified he is. There’s a good chance that by that time he won’t be able to do so much as move his eyes. Mr Peterson’s not crazy and neither am I. We’ve chosen the way out that seems kinder to us. And if you think this decision is wrong, you don’t have to support it. You don’t have to do a damn thing. Just don’t try to intervene. Please. I’m asking you as a friend.’

I knew that it was the most compelling argument I could deliver, and I knew that I’d delivered it well, but still, when I’d finished I was shocked to discover that Ellie was crying. She’d turned her face from me and was sobbing into her sleeve. It was a reaction I was completely unprepared for, and I didn’t know what to do. I tried kind of smoothing her hair for a bit, but because her body was shaking, it was more like I was patting her on the head, the way you might a dog or a horse. I gave up and put my arm around her shoulders. She leaned her head into me, and after a few minutes, she’d stopped crying. All that was left was the occasional twitch.

‘Woods, I don’t know what to say any more. You’re a fucking saint.’

Then she pivoted her head and kissed me. Right on the lips. I was too surprised to do much. I was far too surprised to kiss her back. To tell you the truth, I didn’t really know
how
to kiss her back. In case you haven’t realized yet, when it comes to certain things, I’m irremediably dense. But the odd thing – maybe the thing that surprised me the most – was that Ellie’s kiss didn’t feel even remotely awkward. It wasn’t awkward for me, and I know it wasn’t awkward for her. Afterwards, she just settled straight back into my shoulder as if nothing at all had happened. And we stayed like that for I don’t know how long. My lower lip was warm and tingling. My left cheek was throbbing like I’d been stung by a wasp. And I’d lost all sense of time and urgency. I only came round when Ellie touched my left hand – the hand that was still holding the letter.

‘How long did it take you to dream up that masterpiece?’ she asked.

‘Six and a half hours,’ I admitted.

‘And you’re seriously planning to tell her like that?’

‘I think it’s the only way I
can
tell her.’

‘You’re putting me in one hell of a position.’

‘Yes, I know,’ I acknowledged. ‘I didn’t mean to.’

‘I know you didn’t.’

I thought things through for a couple of seconds. ‘It might be better if you just act surprised tomorrow morning,’ I suggested.

‘It might be better if you just trusted her with the truth.’

‘This is the truth. I haven’t lied to her.’

‘Stop being a moron,’ Ellie countered. ‘You know what I mean.’

A few moments ticked by. I stared deep into the glass of one of the four-inch diameter crystal balls that were stationed on a shelf at the back of the room.

‘I think I have to go now,’ I said. ‘I need to get to the hospital bef—’

‘
Don’t
tell me what you’re doing,’ Ellie interjected. ‘I don’t want to lie to your mother any more than I have to.’

She wriggled out from my arm, wiped her eyes and started straightening out her hair. I got up and sealed the letter, then placed it just to the left of the cash register.

‘Will you at least call her tomorrow?’ Ellie asked when I turned back towards the rear of the shop. ‘I think you owe her that.’

I didn’t say anything.

Ellie planted her hands on her hips. ‘She’ll want to know that you’re okay.’

‘Maybe I could phone you instead? Then—’

‘I am
not
going to act as your go-between. Don’t you dare call me unless you’ve called her first.’

I bit my lip. I knew that I needed to keep my head clear and focussed for the next few days, and a conversation with my mother was not going to make this project any easier.

‘Well?’ Ellie asked after a few more moments of silence.

‘I really need to go now,’ I told her.

If Ellie had still been holding the high-heeled boot at that point, I’m fairly sure she would have thrown it at me. Instead, she turned and walked back up to the flat without saying a word. I didn’t pursue her. There was no time and little point.

Outside, the evening air had got noticeably colder. As I hurried back to the car, the only part of me that still felt warm was my left cheek.

Thirty minutes later, thirty minutes behind schedule, I pulled up in a disabled bay twenty metres from the front entrance of Yeovil District Hospital. The fact that it was possible to park this close to the entrance in the late evening – something that was virtually
im
possible in the daytime – had been a key factor when we’d decided on our moment of departure. At this time, the whole hospital would be quiet. The foyer wouldn’t be congested with people. The lifts were more likely to be available when we needed them. There would certainly be fewer doctors on the ward. With luck, there’d be none. If it came down to it, we thought a doctor was more likely to stop us from leaving than a nurse or an orderly. Doctors were used to making swift, authoritative judgements.

Of course, our planned leaving time presented certain unavoidable problems as well. With the ward corridors empty, or close to empty, it would be much harder to slip past reception unnoticed. But Mr Peterson and I had already agreed that there was no time when this best of outcomes could be guaranteed. The overriding concern was that if we had to make a break for it, there’d be no physical barriers and no passing medical staff to halt our progress. For this reason we planned to make our exit just after 9.45, which was when the nurses did their final ward round before lights-out, leaving just one of their number to man reception. The nurses would be coming round with their charts and trolley-load of medications no later than 9.48, by which time we’d be all set to go, with Mr Peterson already loaded into the wheelchair for our fictitious trip to the lavatory. The moment the nurses moved on to the next room, we’d be on our way, with a window of at least ten minutes before they returned to reception.

It was all very clear and simple in my head, but after what had happened with Ellie, I was feeling highly alert to the potential for mishaps. Nonetheless, as I headed up to the ward, I was able to reassure myself by checking off all the accurate assumptions we’d made. Apart from a lone cleaner sweeping the floor at its far end, the foyer was dead. There was an unimpeded path from the automatic doors to the lifts, and when I reached the sixth floor, I was pleased to discover that the corridors leading to the ward were similarly deserted. There was one nurse on reception, and another in the adjoining office. The whole place was as quiet as a morgue.

Mr Peterson started scribbling the moment he saw me approaching the bed.

You’re late
, his note read.

‘I got held up,’ I explained.

Did someone hit you?

‘Ellie hit me.’

That figures. What about your mom? You told her?

‘It’s all sorted,’ I said evasively.

And?

I shrugged. ‘Well, I’m here, aren’t I?’

She’s OK?

‘She will be, I think. It’s just going to take a while.’

Thankfully, Mr Peterson didn’t grill me any further. There wasn’t all that much time. My watch showed that we had about fifteen minutes until the evening ward round.

Put this in my overnight bag
, Mr Peterson wrote. Then he passed me a second, larger note reading:
for charity
. I slipped it into the bag.

‘I think you’re going to be cold when we get outside,’ I said.

We’ve been through this. I can’t get dressed for a trip to the bathroom. How’s that going to look? My dressing gown will have to suffice. You can throw a blanket over me when we’re in the car.

‘You can’t wear a hospital gown all the way to Zurich,’ I pointed out.

We’ll find somewhere on the 303 to pull over so I can get changed. Did you get some sleep today?