The Year I Went Pear-Shaped (22 page)

Closing his eyes, Gordon tried to forget the situation and just concentrate on sex. They kissed again, more forcefully this time. As she opened her mouth wide to let his tongue in he heard a noise from the other side of the bedroom door.

His eyes flew open. She’d heard it too and pulled away to swing around but it was too late. Someone had crashed through the door and leapt onto the intruder, knocking the gun out of her hand.

Screaming, the woman fought back but she’d been caught off guard and wasn’t strong enough to gain the upper hand. Gordon watched helplessly as the two figures struggled, throwing each other around the bedroom. The attacker held onto the advantage, kicking and punching, they dealt blow after blow to the woman’s head until finally she lay on the ground unconscious and bleeding.

Heaving with the effort of the fight, the mystery attacker flicked the switch on the wall and flooded the room with light.

“Anita!” Gordon cried. “Oh Jesus, thank fucking Christ, but quick, Darla’s been shot, phone an ambulance.” Without a word, Anita picked Darla’s mobile phone up off the floor and dialled.

With the ambulance on the way, she turned to Gordon. “Do you know where the keys to your handcuffs are?”

“Try that bag.” He replied, pointing to the woman’s bag in the corner of the room.

Looking to where he was pointing, Anita snatched the bag from the ground and upended it, dumping the contents on the floor in front of Gordon.

“You see if you can find them, I’ll look after Darla,” she said and moved over to kneel in front of her friend who lay still as her shoulder bled.

“Aw Honey,” Anita whispered, stroking Darla’s hair and noting her glazed eyes, “what have you got yourself into you silly girl?”

Taking a knife from the pile in front of Gordon, she started cutting the ropes that were holding Darla to the bed.

“I’ve found the key!” Gordon cried.

“Good, unlock yourself, get them on that bitch over there and then phone the police.”

As he followed her instructions, Anita turned back to Darla and yanked off the tape over her mouth.

“Ouch, sorry about that Darl.”

Then she pulled the pyjama top gently back over Darla’s breasts and did up one button. Half conscious, Darla murmured incoherently.

“Back in a minute,” Anita said to Gordon as she raced out of the bedroom and up the hallway to her own room. Yanking her doona off the bed, and noting the hole in the window, she ran back and carefully placed it over Darla.

“She’s lost a lot of blood, she’ll be getting cold,” she said by way of explanation to Gordon.

“What else can we do for her?” He asked.

“I don’t know, I’m scared to move her. I’m really wishing I’d done that damned first aid course now. I guess we’ll just have to wait for the ambulance.”

The next ten minutes felt like ten hours as Anita and Gordon waited for the ambulance and tried to make Darla as comfortable as possible. Finally, they heard the faint sound of a siren.

“Gordon, get downstairs, open the front door and turn all the lights on. Bring the ambos straight up here. I’ll go to the hospital with her, you stay here and wait for the police.”

As Gordon ran down the stairs, Anita held Darla’s hand and whispered softly about how it was all going to be ok while trying to ignore the huge pool of blood soaking into the mattress.

Chapter 48: The Cavalry

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes were blurry flowers. Masses and masses of blurry flowers. They were coming at me from all angles. The room was stuffed to heaving with flowers of every kind. Had I been taken hostage by a florist? In the seconds that it took for my vision to focus, my sluggish brain began to whirr into action like an old laptop pulled out from the back of the closet for the first time in months.

Looking around it didn’t take much to figure out that I was in a hospital bed. I also appeared to be attached, by way of a needle in my arm, to some kind of plastic bag hung over a clothes rack on runners.  I tried to move but a white hot needle searing through my shoulder made me gasp with pain and quickly put an end to any kind of movement.

As my brain warmed up, the tape of my memory flickered in my mind’s eye like an old film reel and the events leading up to my first ever hospital visit started playing back.

“Jesus.” I said out loud to myself as the full horror sunk in. Who the hell was that woman! That psycho bitch who shot me and was going to kill me. Fucking Hell.

Sinking back into the pillow, I closed my eyes and realised I was damned lucky to be alive. I cried myself back to sleep.

The next time I woke it was pitch black and silent. I had no idea what time it was but guessed it was about 2 or 3am. My memory was coming back in tidal waves and I realised how close I’d come to death. I thought about the crazy woman and about Gordon. I also thought about my Mum, Joseph, and my Dad. Then I thought about my job on the magazine. Everything that had brought me to this point in my life. Depression clouded my brain. I was sick and tired of myself. I had wasted so much time waiting for things to happen. Waiting for something or someone to happen to me. The same thoughts kept running through my head. ‘What was the point? What was the whole goddamned point? And what was I waiting for?’

Chapter 49: In the Wards

“Darla? Darla Love, are you awake? You’ve got people wanting to see you.”

Dragging myself back to consciousness, I slowly opened my eyes again. This time, amongst the ocean of flowers was also a smiling, pudgy face inset with turquoise blue eyes, framed by shiny black curls which were fighting to escape from the crisp, white hat that vainly attempted to keep them in check.

“Mmmmmawake.” I mumbled as the face took shape and I realised there was a body beneath it.

“Good! Welcome back Darla, I’m Cheryl, your nurse,” she smiled at me warmly and got about the business of pulling back curtains, opening windows, replacing water jugs and putting more flowers into vases.

My mind wandered as I slipped in and out of half sleep.

“Lozzafowwers.”

“Mmm, you do have lots of flowers! Hundreds of them, we’ve almost run out of vases. You’ve got lots of boxes of chocolates and a fair few bunches of grapes too. All your standard hospital gifts, you just have more than most people, still I guess you’ve been through more of an ordeal than most people.”

“Nicefowers,” I burbled, fighting the powerful urge to fall back to sleep by concentrating on the petals of the roses closest to me.

“Yes, they are nice,” Cheryl continued. “Most of them are from your friend Gordon, or Dr Ramswell as we’ve been calling him around here. Just between you and me, we’re big fans of his around here. He’s been spending so much time here, waiting for you to come round, that we told him he should start working for us. We were joking of course but he took us seriously and he’s been going through the wards just chatting to the patients. The old dears love him, they’ve been watching Love on the Wards for years. He pretends to take their pulse and tells them that they’re very, very naughty girls for not eating all their pudding or whatever. You should hear them! Seventy odd most of them but he has them giggling like teenagers.”

She let out a tinkling laugh, thank God, because it meant she had to take a breath and my brain had a chance to catch up with her tongue.

“He’s very keen to see you Darla but then so are a lot of people!” Nurse Cheryl continued, clearly in training for the Talking Non-Stop Olympics. I closed my eyes and let her voice wash over me.

“The police told me they wanted to talk to you as soon as you were conscious, there’s a couple of them in the waiting room now, but don’t worry, I’ll give you a couple of hours to pull yourself together...and I might just let Dr Ramswell sneak in for a quick word first.”

Gordon? She was going to let Gordon in? That was all the incentive I needed to shake off the sleep bug.

“Can I have some water?” I croaked.

“Of course Dear, let me pour you a glass.”

Taking a jug of water from the side table next to me, Cheryl poured a glass and carefully handed it to me. Using my good arm, I gripped my fingers around it and slowly brought it up to my lips. The cool water tasted delicious. My mouth was as dry as sandpaper and it felt like I hadn’t had a drink in months.

“How long have I been here?” I asked after a couple of sips.

“A few days. I won’t lie to you Pet, it was touch and go. You were losing a lot of blood fast. If your friends hadn’t got you here so quickly, there’s almost no doubt that you’d have died.”

Jesus.

I turned away from her as I felt my face hotting up and a flood of tears threatened to break. I took a deep breath.

“Are they ok? Anita and Gordon?”

“They’re both fine Love, it’s you who took the bullet in her shoulder.”

“What about the other one? Did they get her?”

“The crazy woman? Yep, the police have her and I don't think she’ll be back out on the streets anytime soon. But look, I’m going to find Dr Ramswell so that he can tell you the full story. He’ll be wandering around somewhere, probably in the cafeteria having another cup of coffee.”

And she was gone. Five minutes later she popped her head around the door again and, in the voice of a Play School presenter, said, ‘look who I found!’ She held the door open and in walked Gordon. Even though he looked like he hadn’t slept in 12 years, he was still the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. I smiled at the sight of him.

“Ok you two, you’ve got ten minutes. Then I want you to disappear Ramswell,” she said with fake severity, “so I can tell the police she’s just woken up, ok.”

“Yes Sister,” he said, hitting her with a classic Worsley, heart-melting cruise smile as he came over and sat in the chair beside me. Cheryl blushed, giggled and closed the door behind her, leaving us alone.

For a few seconds we just looked at each other then he took my hand and said, “hi”.

“Hi.” I replied.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve just spent 24 hours straight on the scariest rollercoaster in the world which only stopped because I fell out of it from the highest point.”

He laughed gently. “Well, you’ve certainly had a few ups and downs, that’s for sure. Do you remember everything?”

“Mostly.  It’s been coming back in waves. There are still a few black-outs but that’s fine by me, I don’t think I want to remember it all, from the bits that I can recall, it was hideous. I think I’m going to need therapy for about 20 years to get over it,” I said, only half joking.

He gave me a small smile. “Yeah, it was pretty fucking awful. I’m so sorry Darla, I’m sorry that you got dragged into all this because of me and I’m so, so sorry that I blamed you for the stalking.” His eyes welled with tears.

“Don’t worry about it Gordon,” I said, trying to sound casual. “It’s not your fault and if I took a long hard look at myself then I’d realise that in a way I was stalking you, I just wasn’t doing as professional a job of it as that crazy woman.”

I paused and looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

“I really want to apologise for all that,” I continued. “The stupid shrine, the lies about my pretend boyfriend Brad Timberlake, it was all so childish.”

He smiled. “Ah yes the mysterious architect, I’d kinda guessed he was fictional actually.”

Oh God the shame of it!

“Yeah, I invented him so that you wouldn’t think I was after you.”

He cocked an eyebrow at me and smirked.

“I know, I know, I’m the epitome of all things tragic. Don’t think it hasn’t occurred to me how similar some of the things I was doing were to the antics of the crazy lady. It’s all been good fodder for a bit of serious self-examination, which is about all I can really do at the moment, stuck here all day and night. Anyway, I don’t want to think about me anymore, tell me how you are and tell me who the hell was that psycho murderer?”

“Well, according to the police, her name’s Andrea White. She’s a butcher. A total nutbag of the first degree. A sad history though, not that I’m feeling very sympathetic, but she was in and out of foster homes up until the age of 16 apparently, a victim of abuse, torture and other nasty stuff at the hands of various family members.  She’s well and truly taken care of now though. She’ll be in a jail for the criminally insane till she’s 105.”

“Wow. It’s all a bit much to take in to be honest.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s like something straight out of a really bad made-for-TV movie. She had a little henchman too by the way, some fat guy who, to put it kindly, isn’t the brightest bulb in the lamp. He was waiting outside your house the whole time ready to run in if she needed a hand, he even had a pager on his belt so all she would have had to do was press a button. The police found him lurking about the garden with a tin of petrol and a box of matches when they turned up not too long after the ambulance took you away. He was going to help her torch the house afterwards. Anyway, Warren, that’s Detective Jenkins, said he squealed like a stuck pig as soon as they started questioning him. He told them the whole story from start to finish then begged them not to tell his Mum.”

“Bloody hell,” I said, unable to think of anything more appropriate. Questions were pounding into my head like hail on a windowpane but the biggest mystery I still couldn’t figure out was how Anita ended up rescuing us.

“And what the hell was Anita doing storming into my bedroom at 2am like some sort of Jackie Chan when she was supposed to be looking after her Gran in Ashfield?”

“Ah yes, that’s a bizarre one. It was all because of your landlady, Margot. She called Anita just before midnight. Anita said she was hysterical, crying and yelling, barely coherent and mumbling a lot of stuff that Anita couldn’t understand but insisting that she get home immediately because you were in terrible danger.”

“Jesus, thank God for Margot and her wacky baccy dreams.”

“Yeah, well, at first Anita tried to calm her down and reason with her but it was no use the old woman just got more and more hysterical so Anita grabbed her car keys and headed straight over. That’s the gist of it but she can tell you the whole story herself.”

“Christ,” I said, “when I think what would have happened if Anita hadn’t turned up, I feel sick. That psycho was going to kill us Gordon, she was deadly bloody serious.”

“I know,” he whispered, looking down at my hand and giving it a squeeze. “Darla, I...look, I, ah, don’t know how to say this, but this whole thing has made me realise how much you, um, mean to me...”

At that exact moment, Nurse Cheryl swept back into the room, her crepe soles squeaking up a commotion on the lino.

“Sorry guys!” She chirped brightly. “It’s time for Darla to get some rest, you can see her again later Gordon.”

“Sure, course, thanks Cheryl,” said Gordon politely while I was inwardly screaming like a banshee. So bloody, bloody typical! Just as Gordon was about to tell me how much I meant to him. He might never bring the subject up again. The universe really did appear to have it in for me.

“Darl, we’ll talk more later ok? You take care.” He leant over and kissed me on the forehead before backing out the room and mouthing ‘see ya’ as he closed the door.

A wave of fatigue swept over me.

“God, so tired.”

“Yes, it’s all the drugs,” Cheryl said. “You need to sleep some more Pet.”

“Mmmm yabaseep,” I burbled.

“Ok, you go to sleep. I’ll tell your parents and the police that they’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

With visions of Gordon and I riding into the sunset, him in a billowing white shirt and white trousers, me in a long gypsy skirt and revealing blouse -- plus sturdy bra for the horseriding -- I closed my eyes. About a minute later I opened them again and found my mother and Joseph in chairs on either side of me. Apparently it was already tomorrow. Mum’s eyes were puffy from crying and even Joseph looked worried. Jesus, that was a turn up.

“Hi guys.” I croaked.

Mum started crying again and Joseph’s eyes brimmed with the threat of tears.

“How are you Angel?” She asked.

“I’m gonna be fine Mum, don’t worry. It’s just a matter of getting better now, the worst is over.”

“The police told us what happened and your friend Gordon filled us in with a few more details. I can’t believe this has happened to you.”

“Well, shit happens Mum.”

“But why you Darla, you’ve never hurt anyone in your whole life.”

“Yeah, well, you can tiptoe through life not saying boo to anyone and not being out after dark but there are no guarantees that shit won’t still find you. It just found me this time.”

“I know Darling but this is particularly big, ah, stuff, you got into...” (Mum couldn’t use the word ‘shit’ if her life depended on it) “...most people manage to get through life without being held hostage and shot by psychopaths you know Dear. Well, in this country they do.”

I smiled, “yeah, I know, it totally sucks Mum. Still, it could be worse, the psycho might’ve succeeded and you’d be visiting me in the morgue now, not the hospital.”

“Don’t even say that Darla! It’s too awful to think about. Now listen Darling, I know it’s probably too much to think about now but Jo and I want you to come and live with us once you’re out of hospital ok? We want to look after you.”

Joseph nodded solemnly and mumbled something about that being absolutely right. Well, would wonders never cease?

“Thanks anyway Mum but no, I want to go back to my place. I’m too old for you two to be fussing after me. Anyway, we’d drive each other mad in about 24 hours. Joseph and I would be fighting again within two minutes over whether I’d eaten the last biscuit in the tin or whether I’d looked twice at a loaf of bread. It would be bloody awful.”

The two of them looked at me in stunned silence.

“What do you mean Darla?”

“Oh come on Mum, I spent my entire childhood battling with Joseph, I’m not going to do it anymore. And you’d only be on my case all the time about some diet I should try, or how many calories I’d had that day, what I weighed that morning...I can’t do that anymore Mum.”

“We only wanted you to watch what you ate Darla,” Mum said quietly. “You’re the one with the weight problem.”

“Mum, I don’t have a bloody weight problem.” I said as forcefully as I could without moving my shoulder. “The only problem I have is you two going on and on about how I’m not good enough, not thin enough. Well, I don’t want to hear either of you comment on how I look or what I weigh ever again. I am a normal, perfectly good looking girl who has a helluva lot more to worry about than how many calories I ate at lunchtime. I’d done a bit of thinking in the last few days and I really think there’s a lot more to life than obsessing about a bit of extra fat around my midriff, ok?”