ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS 5 страница

‘How do I look? ’ she said suddenly.

Patrick looked her up and down, then shrugged. ‘I don’t know. ’

She glared, but it was wasted on him.

The door was opened by a dumpy woman in jeans and a big cardigan.

‘Alex, ’ the woman said warily.

‘Hello, ’ said Patrick firmly. He had prepared his opening lines and didn’t want to be diverted. ‘I need information about Mr Galen. Can I come in? ’

The woman looked at Lexi. ‘Are you going to cause trouble? ’

‘No, ’ said Patrick.

‘I was talking to Alexandra. ’

‘Who’s Alexandra? ’

‘She is. ’

Lexi crossed her arms and fidgeted, and Patrick leaned away from her to avoid accidental contact.

Lexi finally said, ‘No, ’ and the woman opened the door and let them both in.

The house was about ten times bigger than any house Patrick had ever been in.

The dumpy woman looked at him and said, ‘I’m Jackie. ’

‘I know, ’ said Patrick. ‘Your ceilings are very high. ’

‘Yes, they are, ’ she agreed with a strange look.

She led them into the front room, and an old mongrel hauled itself off the rug in front of the blazing fire and gave a token bark.

‘Ssh, Willow. Friends. ’

Willow wagged apologetically and came over to lick Patrick’s hand.

Patrick smoothed the dog’s head. ‘Soft, ’ he said.

Jackie smiled and pointed to the couch. ‘Have a seat. ’

Patrick sat down, but Lexi didn’t. Instead she wandered around the room, looking at things as if taking an inventory.

The room was like something from a magazine. Art Forum or something else. It had decorated ceilings and pale-pink walls, and a big white fireplace.

On the mantelpiece was a photograph of Jackie and a man with a snowy mountain and blue sky behind them. The man was smiling with teeth Patrick knew very well. It was Number 19, on holiday.

Patrick tried to imagine him in this room now, but couldn’t make him alive. Every time he tried, a cadaver clicked bonily into the room on zombie legs, or lolled, stiff and orange, on the couch, leaking fluids on to the chocolate leather.

‘How are you, Alex? ’

Lexi shrugged.

‘You look well. ’

‘What’s that supposed to mean? ’

‘Nothing. ’

‘Yeah, right, ’ said Lexi.

‘Are you going to introduce us? ’

Lexi shrugged again, but said, ‘This is Patrick. ’

‘How do you do? ’ said Jackie.

‘Do what? ’ he said.

‘Excuse me? ’

‘Ignore him, ’ said Lexi. ‘He’s … you know. ’ And she made her fingers whirl around the side of her head.

‘Oh, ’ said Jackie. ‘Well, I’m glad you came, Alex. ’

‘Are you? ’

Jackie flinched and Patrick noticed that Lexi had picked up a small china ornament – a shiny stag on a knoll of purple heather. He also noticed that the French windows at the back of the house had a pane of cardboard where the glass had been broken. It looked uglier from the inside than it had from the garden. He wished now that he hadn’t handed Lexi the stone. He didn’t know why she had done it; Jackie seemed nice – not what he’d expected. Somehow he’d thought she’d be wearing leopardskin.

‘How have you been? ’ Jackie asked.

‘I’ve been poor, ’ said Lexi.

Jackie’s lips went tight and Lexi pointed the stag at Patrick. ‘He thinks my dad was murdered. ’

‘What? ’ said Jackie.

‘He said he needs to insult the living. ’

‘Consult, ’ said Patrick. ‘To find out why somebody died, you have to consult the living. ’

Jackie stared at them both, apparently lost.

‘You’re the living, ’ he explained to her. ‘I’m consulting you. ’

‘What’s this all about murder? ’ she said. ‘Your father died because of a car crash, Alex. His car skidded on ice. You know that. You came to the hospital. ’

‘But they said he was getting better. Then he just died. ’

‘He got pneumonia and that led to heart failure. You’d know that, too, if you’d been there, like I was, twice a day, every day for months. He was so vulnerable. ’

‘That’s not what Patrick says. ’

‘I don’t give a shit what Patrick says! He wasn’t there. Who the hell is Patrick, anyway? Why is he here? ’ Jackie turned to him now; her voice got louder and her throat was going red.

Patrick guessed she was definitely upset about something.

‘Tell her, Patrick. ’

‘Yes, tell me, Patrick! ’

Patrick said, ‘Can you stop shouting? I can’t think while you’re both shouting. ’

‘Oh, for God’s sake! ’ snapped Lexi. ‘Patrick found a peanut in Dad’s throat. ’

‘What? ’

‘There was a peanut in his throat. We’re allergic to peanuts. ’

‘I know that. ’

‘I know you do. ’

‘What’s that supposed to mean? ’

Lexi shrugged balefully.

Jackie looked at Patrick. ‘How did he—’

‘He’s a medical student—’

‘Anatomy, ’ Patrick corrected her.

‘Whatever. He found a peanut during the … thing. ’

‘Dissection. ’

‘Yeah, during that. Patrick says that’s what killed him, not pneumonia. ’

‘Could have killed him, ’ said Patrick, but she ignored him and stood over Jackie.

‘I didn’t even know he’d left his body to science or whatever the fuck it is they do. Is that even true? ’

Jackie nodded silently.

‘How could you let them just … cut Daddy up? ’ Lexi’s voice broke.

‘Why are you shaking? ’ Patrick said. She didn’t answer.

Jackie stood up, but didn’t go anywhere. She crossed her arms, then uncrossed them, then crossed them again. She bit her lip and Patrick saw her eyes go shiny.

‘It was his choice, Alex. He made it years before we met. I could only respect it. ’

‘Did you give him the peanut too? ’

‘Of course not! Don’t be disgusting! Nobody did; he was being fed through a tube. ’

‘I don’t know, ’ said Lexi. ‘Maybe you got sick of visiting him twice a day, every day. ’

‘Yes, I got sick of it! I won’t lie. It was horrific. Someone you love gurgling and crying and wearing a nappy. The smell in that place! I held his hand and stroked his hair and chose his favourite music and he never even knew who I was! I spent two hours a night with him and another two crying in the car park. I cared about Sam every second he was alive, which is more than you can say! ’

‘You fucking cow! ’ Lexi hurled the deer against the pink wall. It burst into white shards that rained down on the dog, which leaped to its feet and started to bark.

‘Get out! ’ said Jackie.

‘You’re the one who should be getting out! This is my dad’s house! You’re the fucking gold-digger keeping everything for yourself! ’

Patrick felt they were getting off the point. ‘What about the peanut? ’ he said, but nobody seemed to hear him.

‘Is that what this is really about? ’ said Jackie. ‘The money? Because you’re wrong. We bought this house with our money. ’

‘And what about my money? I would have had it by now if it wasn’t for you! ’

‘And you would have drunk it, too! ’ yelled Jackie. ‘Sam knew that! We both did! ’

‘That’s none of your business! ’ Lexi screamed at her.

‘You’re hurting my ears, ’ said Patrick, which was true. He covered them with his elbows.

Jackie ignored him. ‘How is it none of my business? You did nothing but make him miserable. Running about God knows where, drinking God knows what, sleeping with God knows who. ’

‘It’s my life, ’ yelled Lexi.

‘You were fourteen! That made it his life, too. ’

‘Bollocks. He never cared. ’

‘He always cared. ’

‘He cared before you came along. That’s when everything went to shit. ’

‘I’m sorry your mother died, Alex, but don’t you dare blame me for something that happened before we even met! Our door was always open for you. It’s not my fault if you were too blind drunk to find it. ’

Patrick stood up. ‘You’re too noisy, ’ he said. ‘I’m going. ’

Nobody noticed. He left the room and Willow followed him gratefully to the door.

He heard them yelling at each other all the way down the driveway.

When Patrick got home, Jackson and Kim were sitting together on the couch, watching Grand Designs.

‘Where’s Lexi? ’ asked Kim.

‘With her stepmother. ’ He couldn’t be bothered to go into details.

‘Hey, ’ said Jackson, ‘have you been wearing my shoes? ’

‘Yes, ’ said Patrick. ‘But they’re too small. ’

‘Not for me, they’re not! ’

Kim said, ‘Did you find out who murdered Lexi’s dad? ’

‘Not yet, ’ he said, and went upstairs.

He sat at the window with Netter’s Concise Neuroanatomy open in front of him and watched the Valleys Line trains pass through the darkness in short, illuminated worms. He wondered whether Lexi and Jackie were still shouting at each other over the dog’s cowed head. Shouting about love and money, when death was all that really mattered.

Finally, at around midnight, Patrick curled up on his bed. Tomorrow he would have to come up with another way to find out what happened to Number 19.

Consulting the living was a big fat waste of time.

IT HAD BEEN almost a week, but everyone was still talking about Patrick punching the porter.

‘Remember that time he punched me? ’ said Scott, with the point of his scalpel in Bill’s cerebellum.

‘He didn’t punch you, ’ said Rob.

Dr Spicer said, ‘Watch what you’re doing there, Dilip; you’re going to sever the artery. ’

Scott shrugged. ‘All I’m saying is he’s the violent type. ’

‘He’s not, ’ said Meg. ‘The porter grabbed him first, apparently, so that’s why he couldn’t press charges. It was self-defence. ’

‘It wasn’t self-defence that time he punched me. ’

Rob sighed. ‘He didn’t punch you, he deflected you. Stop making such a bloody meal out of it. ’

Scott sulkily wiggled the scalpel back and forth in the grey matter. ‘He should be in prison, not here with normal people. ’

‘Very compassionate, ’ said Rob. ‘Remind me never to get the flu around you. ’

‘Or a boob job, ’ said Spicer.

‘Has anyone seen him? ’ asked Meg.

‘Patrick? ’ said Dilip. ‘No. ’

‘I hope he’s OK, ’ said Meg.

‘Whatever, ’ said Dilip, then sighed. ‘I’m glad we’re almost finished with the dissection; I have never seen such a boring brain. ’

Meg wondered idly what Patrick’s brain would look like. She imagined thousands of convoluted little boxes with locks and labels on them, and smiled to herself.

‘What’s so funny? ’ said Rob.

‘Nothing. Just thinking. ’

‘How’s the reading going? ’

‘OK, I suppose. I think she likes it. ’

‘How can you tell? ’

‘I can’t really. Sometimes her hand twitches, but …’ She ended the sentence on a shrug.

‘What’s this? ’ asked Spicer, so Meg explained about Mrs Deal.

‘If she’s aware of anything at all, ’ Spicer said, ‘it must be the highlight of her week. ’

‘Do you think they are aware of what’s going on around them? ’

‘I’m sure some are, ’ he said. ‘But I’m not sure that’s always a good thing. ’

Meg nodded. She knew what he meant. They’d all done rounds in the neurological ward, shocked into silence by the horror of both the endless inertia of those who might never emerge, and the rage, pain and frustration of some who already had.

‘What are you reading to her? ’ asked Dilip, bringing her back to the present.

Meg reddened slightly. ‘Well, I did start Ulysses, but neither of us liked that, so now we’re on some rubbish that I found on her bedside table. ’ She didn’t tell them that it was The Da Vinci Code, or that she could hardly bear to put the book down between sessions, even if it did make her feel intellectually dirty.

She also didn’t tell them that when the book was finished she hoped never to go back to the coma ward.

‘I’m sure it’s not easy, ’ said Dr Spicer, as if reading her mind. ‘Good for you. ’

‘Shit, ’ said Dilip, ‘I’ve gone through the artery. ’

Talk of the devil, thought Meg. At the foot of the long ramp down to Park Place was Patrick.

‘Hi, ’ she said. ‘How are you? ’

‘I got expelled, ’ he said.

‘I heard. For hitting the porter? ’

‘No, before that. ’ He then cut her off before she could ask a follow-up question. ‘You have to do something for me. ’

Meg arched a sarcastic eyebrow. ‘Of course I do. ’

‘Good, ’ he said. ‘You have to take photos of Number 19’s mouth and oesophagus. ’

Too late she realized her sarcasm had been wasted. ‘I can’t do that, Patrick. We’re not allowed to take phones or cameras into the DR. You know that. ’

‘Then give me your code and I’ll do it. ’

‘I can’t do that either. ’

‘Why not? ’

‘Because then I’d be expelled too. ’

‘It’s an emergency. ’

‘How can it be an emergency? Bill’s already dead. You’ll be asking me to do CPR next. ’

‘That would be stupid, ’ said Patrick. ‘This is not. ’

‘Why? ’

‘Because I think he was murdered. ’

‘Who? Bill? ’

‘Yes. ’

‘Murdered? ’

‘Maybe. ’

‘I don’t understand. ’

‘OK. ’ He shrugged.

‘No, I mean, explain to me why you think that. ’

‘OK, ’ he said again. ‘He was allergic to peanuts and was being fed through a tube, but he had a peanut in his throat when he died. ’

‘OK, ’ said Meg, nodding agreement.

‘That makes no sense unless someone gave it to him, ’ said Patrick. ‘Anaphylactic shock could have led to a heart attack, which is what’s been listed as the cause of death, but that’s just how he died, not why. ’

Meg frowned at him. ‘How do you know all this? ’

‘I found out his name and spoke to his daughter. She’s inherited the nut allergy; that’s what made me think of it. But when I went to look at the peanut, it had gone. Someone took it and that means they’re hiding something. There’s only one dissection class left – then the bodies will be taken away and then I’ll never know what happened. That’s why it’s an emergency. That’s why you have to help me. ’

Meg stared at Patrick in amazement. ‘You found out his name? ’

‘Yes. Samuel Galen. ’

‘And you spoke to his daughter? ’

‘Yes. ’ Patrick wondered if she was hard of hearing.

‘How? ’

‘It’s not important. I can’t get in to do it. You have to help me. ’

Meg was astonished into silence. How had he found out the cadaver’s name? How had he spoken to the dead man’s daughter? She shuddered at the thought of that social interaction. It all sounded crazy and, from anyone else, she would never have believed it. But Patrick was compelling. Not his words, but him. His usually blank expression was gone. He was flushed and alive. Even his eye contact was better as he begged her – in his own way – for help.

Looking at him, Meg felt her defences slipping. Still she stalled. ‘What is it you’re looking for? ’

‘There were cuts in the mucous membranes of the throat, remember? ’

‘Yes. ’

‘At the time I thought Dilip had made them because he’s so poor with incisions. But now I think perhaps they were made ante-mortem. ’

‘So you think the person who took the peanut could be the same person who put it there in the first place? ’

Patrick stared at her so intently that Meg mentally kicked herself for sounding keen and involved when she was loath to be either. She looked into his eyes and felt a little shiver – before she realized that he wasn’t even seeing her. He was looking right through her to the solution on the other side.

‘Maybe, ’ he said. His face split into the first smile she’d ever seen from him, and Meg knew with a sinking heart that she was about to do exactly what he asked. She made a last-ditch effort to get something out of it for herself.

‘I’ll do it on one condition. ’

‘OK, ’ he said.

‘You have to go and read to Mrs Deal. ’

‘Who’s Mrs Deal? ’

‘She’s a woman in a coma. There’s nothing to it. ’

‘What do I have to do? ’ he said warily.

‘Only read to her. ’

He frowned. ‘Out loud? ’

She smiled. ‘If you want her to hear you, yes, you have to read out loud. ’

‘Read what? ’

‘A book. ’

‘Does it have to be a long book? ’

It flitted through Meg’s mind to say, ‘It doesn’t matter, ’ but then thought of poor Mrs Deal at the mercy of Patrick’s choice of reading matter.

‘It has to be over two hundred pages. It must be fiction and it must be popular. Off the bestseller lists or a classic. But it can’t be about war or some boy-rubbish like that. Or sci-fi. ’

‘No war, no sci-fi. ’ Patrick nodded sombrely, and Meg realized she could give him specific instructions and he would carry them out with the precision of a computer. For a cruel second she almost demanded Pride and Prejudice from him, but pushed it aside with an inner giggle.

‘If I do that, you’ll take the photographs? ’

‘I will take the photographs. ’

‘OK then, ’ he said reluctantly.

‘Do your best, ’ said Meg.

‘I always do my best, ’ he said seriously.

She laughed and stuck her tongue out at him and he blinked.

‘I’M PREGNANT, ’ SAID Tracy, and Mr Deal finished chewing a mouthful of steak, leaned back in his chair and looked at her. Tracy felt her smile falter and worked at it harder, despite the shaking inside her.

Mr Deal – Raymond – was a meticulous man, who felt no need to gush or to pander. She found him hard to read, but she also knew that if she pushed, he would take even longer to give. It was annoying, but strangely exciting, too.

He cleared his throat and sipped his red wine. ‘How far along are you? ’

‘Far enough. ’

‘Are you going to keep it? ’

Of course I’m going to keep it! This is the plan!

‘If that’s OK with you? ’ she said carefully.

He cut another piece of steak. He ate his meat blackened and bloodless. ‘Of course, ’ he said.

‘Are you sure? ’

Why are you checking? she asked herself. Why are you giving him another chance to say no?

Mr Deal finished that mouthful, then dabbed his mouth with his napkin and leaned across the table to kiss her cheek. ‘Of course I’m sure, ’ he said. ‘It’ll give us something to put on the kiddy toilet. ’

Tracy felt a giddy rush. Suddenly she couldn’t have stopped smiling if she’d tried.

They went to his bed after Newsnight and she did things to him she’d never done before. Not only because she thought she should, but because she wanted to.

Later – back at the house she still shared with less fortunate girls, she lay awake half the night with excitement. And when she went to work the next day, she was astonished to find that it did not seem quite so repulsive to wipe old Mr Cutler’s pooey bottom, or so arduous to tip cold soup between Mrs Aldridge’s drawstring lips.

Of course, she couldn’t wait to give it all up and never work another day in her life, but in the meantime, it felt almost rewarding.

When a buzzer sounded just as a few of them had sat down with a cup of tea, Tracy surprised herself by bouncing up and saying, ‘I’ll get it. ’

Sally, who was the voice of the ward, said, ‘What’s with you today? You in love or something? ’

Yes, thought Tracy with a thrill at the realization. Somehow, somewhere, she had fallen in love with Mr Deal, and in the blink of an eye, everything had changed.

She had changed – and it felt wonderful.

IT HAD TAKEN Sarah an hour to find the matches. She didn’t smoke and she didn’t have a gas cooker and she didn’t even know why she had matches, but she knew they were here somewhere, and got through most of the second bottle of Vladivar looking for them.

Now here she was, under the gibbous moon as frost formed on the roof of the Fiesta, trying to burn down the shed.

It was a lot harder than she’d expected it to be.

When she’d stumbled out into the frigid night air, she’d thought that a single match held close to the rotting timber would be enough to see the whole thing burst into flames.

Not so.

She’d gone through half the box, squatting beside the corner of the shed in her nightdress and wellingtons, turning slivers of pale wood into scorched twiglets. Once she’d dozed off, mid-arson, and burned her fingers.

She wove back to the house and got the letter, then came out and tried again, but striking the matches and holding the letter was close to impossible. Three things and only two hands. She swayed and cursed softly and dropped the box, then the letter, then the box again – before finally finding herself with the letter in one hand and a lighted match in the other, and bringing the two together.

The corner of the paper caught and for a moment Sarah could re-read it by an orange glow.

Dear Mrs Fort, I very much regret to inform you that I have had to ask Patrick to leave the School of Biosciences …

She squatted again and fed the paper under a splintered edge. The flame curled languidly around the wood, warming it slowly, as Professor Madoc’s words turned into black flakes that floated upwards as if by magic.

‘Come on. Come on, ’ she muttered and rested the side of her face against the rough planking. ‘Come on, shed, you can do it. ’ She giggled and opened her eyes. ‘Yes! ’

The orange tendrils were feeling their tentative way up first one panel, then the next.

She stood up and backed away. She shivered. She wasn’t even wearing a coat. Or socks. Inside the rubber boots, her feet were numb.

The fire had a grip now. It found the vulnerable corner and clawed its way upwards.

Sarah released a long, emptying sigh. Why hadn’t she done this years ago? All she’d needed was Dutch courage and half a box of matches.

The corner of the shed was properly alight. Crackling. It would not go out now. It started to throw out heat, and she enjoyed that until sparks spat at her and she took a wavering step backwards.

I very much regret …

Patrick would be coming home soon and they would have to start again. Almost from the beginning. All the progress halted. Maybe reversed. She was exhausted by it. Exhausted by him. She didn’t want it. She wasn’t sure what she did want, but she knew that forwards was better than backwards, even if the destination was unknown.

‘Out of the way! ’

Something pushed her aside and she stumbled to one knee, her palms in the gravel; the gravel in her palms.

An animal hiss made her look up to see that the dancing flames had been transformed into ugly grey smoke and cinders, which billowed across the gravel and made her cough.

Weird Nick turned towards her, water still spurting from the garden hose in his hand. ‘I got here just in time, ’ he said, and stood, flushed and panting, waiting for his plaudits.

‘Yes, ’ she said dully, and wobbled to her feet.

‘What happened? ’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. ’

‘Oh, ’ he said.

He was Patrick’s age but looked older, slightly chubby, and wearing the kind of tinted spectacles she always imagined perverts did.

Sarah brushed the grit from her hands and was suddenly very cold. She noticed his gaze drop briefly to her breasts and folded her arms across them.

‘Well then, ’ said Weird Nick, gesturing with the hose so that it made an arc of broken silver droplets in the air. ‘I’d better go and turn this off. We’re on a meter. ’

‘Sorry, ’ she said. ‘Thank you. ’

‘No problem, ’ he said. ‘Any time. ’

Any time my shed burns down. She only had two neighbours – Weird Nick and his mother; why did both of them have to be so bloody helpful?

‘Night, Mrs Fort. ’

She waved a vague hand and watched him follow the hose back towards his mother’s house like a slim green umbilical cord.

She thought she might be sick. The smoke and the vodka and the disappointment.

Ollie was on the back step, barring her way so she couldn’t fail to pet him. She stepped over him into the kitchen, and retched over the sink. Nothing came up. She laid her forehead on the cold steel of the draining board and cried a little, then went to bed.

When she got up the next morning, she left behind a ghost of grey ashes on the sheets.

FROM THE CORNER of her eye, Meg watched Mrs Deal’s finger drub mechanically on the bedspread.

‘Can you stop that! ’ Meg said sharply, then added, ‘Please. It’s driving me mad. ’

Immediately she felt a rush of guilt. Mrs Deal’s lashes did not flicker over her white crescent eyes. There was no forgiveness and no reproach. The finger paused – and then started again. Tap and stop, tap and stop.

Shit.

Meg closed the book.

‘We’ll go on next time, Mrs Deal. We’re almost at the end. After that my friend Patrick’s going to come and read a new book to you. I bet it will be nice for you to hear another voice. I don’t know what he’ll be reading, but I’ve told him no war and no sci-fi. ’

She stood up and wound her scarf around her neck.

‘Anyway, I’ll bring him in and introduce you. And check on the book he’s chosen in case it’s crap. You know what men are like. ’

She put the book back on the table and looked down at the thing that used to be Mrs Deal. She was only marginally better than dead. It was easy to imagine her as a cadaver in the dissection room. She would be more swollen, more orange, but essentially the same.

Apart from that finger.

Angie came in and smiled at Meg, then checked the drip on the young man in the next bed. His name was Robert and he was only twenty-five, but his hands were becoming claws, the wrists turning at weird angles and his short brown fingers pulling inwards, despite the efforts of the physiotherapist Meg had seen working on him. She never saw anyone else at his bedside, although there was a huge dusty leopard lying under it, so someone must have cared once.

‘You’re doing a great job, ’ said Angie, and came over.

‘Am I? ’ said Meg. ‘Sometimes it feels pointless. ’

‘Never, ’ said Angie firmly. ‘It’s never pointless. And Mrs Deal deserves it; she’s such a good patient. ’ She leaned down and stroked the woman’s brow.

‘I imagine they all are, ’ said Meg, looking around.

‘Oh, you’d be surprised! ’ said Angie, with a quick roll of her eyes. ‘Some of them emerge stark staring crazy. ’ She held out her left hand to show a crooked finger. ‘One of them broke that. It’s still swollen. ’

‘Really? ’ said Meg in surprise, and looked around. ‘Which one? ’

‘He died, ’ said Angie. Then she lowered her voice. ‘I wasn’t sorry. ’

Meg said nothing. It seemed like a terrible thing for a nurse to say.

Angie read her face. ‘I know it sounds awful, but Mr Attridge was in a shocking state. Really distressed. And he wasn’t going to get much better. Sometimes dying is the easiest thing. ’