nothing I have to say to you will be a comfort in your situation.’
Comfort? What the fuck was that? ‘Trust me, Fitz, I’m as good as I’m ever going to be… Better wear your thick skin too – don’t think I’ll have anything complimentary to say about your lot. Been some serious shenanigans hereabouts. Fucking serious.’
He sighed; clicked off.
I held my breath for a moment; sighed back.
Chapter 16
I GOT DRESSED; IN THE same clothes I came in with. My shirt, a nice blue Superdry that Debs had bought for me, was covered in blood. Worse, it stank of rank puke. The front of my 501s had collected some claret on the thighs and knees, probably where I’d writhed in agony on the pub floor. I must have looked like a butcher’s mate, some junior workie not long enough in the job to have gotten the overalls in. The only item of my get-up that wasn’t looking the worse for wear was my Docs. Okay, they were cherry, same colour as the blood-laden barf, but those boyos were hardy; the bonny fechtirs had seen some action in the past and knew how to handle it. Wished I could still say the same about myself.
I strolled out of the ward, down the corridor to the pharmacy. I clutched at the doctor’s scrip; seemed policy to get the thing filled out. I wasn’t about to take any chances on a return to this place. Sure, there was as much chance of the Second Coming as me swearing off the sauce – I could feel the crave already – but screwing the nut, if not deadbolt tight, was on the cards now. Deffo. Things were starting to look serious, not just on the health front. But the way this case was stacking – with Fitz and Hod and Amy showing an interest – I’d need to start pulling out the stops. Christ, I’d need to start pulling my weight. People were relying on me. I’d involved a shower of folk I cared about and needed to protect… even if it meant putting myself to the sword in the process.
The pharmacy wifey was old time, but fighting it. Had the look of one that had dragged herself up from sitting behind a counter in the Co; a chemist shop was big time for her. Could see her having once spent her nights playing dominoes down the British Legion, night at the Mecca bingo maybe. Now she’d be on the line dancing; glue-gunning sequins on her hubby’s cowboy shirts and drinking bourbon and Coke. She had what Fitz, and all our Celtic cousins across the Irish Sea, call ‘notions’. I didn’t like her one bit, could see she was going to give me grief.
Said, ‘I have this prescription from Dr Scott.’
She pretended to be busy with something, tapped a few random keys on the PC notebook in front of her, trying to look important. I was waiting for a hand to go up, a finger to the lips, maybe a ‘Sshhhh’. What I got was nothing. I wasn’t even worth consideration. She let me stew for a full minute, then eyed me with derision. She clocked the blood on my shirt front. I looked away, tried to close my jacket but the zip jammed. Cursed inwardly as she pinched her lips at me. I could see the deep radial lines drawing from the thin crease of her mouth out towards her nose and cheeks. Was there a face more worthy of a slap? Christ, I didn’t think so, but I wasn’t playing into her hands.
She spoke: ‘Oh, you do?’
‘Yes… I do.’
That needled her. If she had any more power than taking the bit of paper off me and handing it to the pharmacist, you could be sure she’d be at it. Drawing in the big guns to fire me out of the place is just the kind of crap her sort are all about. Why waste your energy helping folk out when it’s far more enjoyable to piss them off… that’s their philosophy. Christ, I wondered if there was a manual for this mob to work from.
She took the scrip, looked at it. Looked back at me. Paused. Made an O of her mouth. Closed it. Slid her lips into a semi-smile, curling up the corners. She did that looking to the top-left eye movement of the sarcastic, then turned down the corners of her mouth. It was all for show, all designed to make me think she knew what the fuck it was the doc had written down, as if it meant anything to me whether she did or not. I didn’t credit her with the intelligence even to be able to read. Did she seriously think I gave a flying fuck about the few deadened sparks firing in her napper that passed for something approximating thought? She was a drone, one of a million like her, all programmed to play the same role. Folk like her are here to remind us that the good can’t exist without the bad: everything in this life is a contrast, including the people you surround yourself with. I felt sorry for her family.
Got motioned to a plastic chair by the wall – was the same stamp as the ones we had in the sixth year common room. Made me think of Debs. Again. Didn’t want to go there. Didn’t want to think about the fact that I’d left another voicemail message on her phone that had been ignored. Didn’t want to think about what she was up to. How she was coping. If she’d moved on. Found someone else. It was a heartscald to think of all Debs and I had been through, but I knew it was over now. There was no road back, the bridges had been burned. We’d tried again, and failed. I knew, in my heart, it was all down to me. I had let her down and I had to accept that. So I did. But it didn’t stop me caring. Wondering if she was going to be okay. Nothing would stop that.
Lately, there’d been a part of me looking on from Debs. There’d been an awakening, a realisation that life had to go on. Whether I wanted it to or not wasn’t part of the deal. It was like an animal instinct in me – a call for survival. My conscious mind was telling me I was finished, but my subconscious was working to a whole other set of rules. I was being pulled one way and then the next. I knew it: I was fighting myself. The answer, though, the only answer if I was being honest, was moving on. But what did that mean? Starting over? Finding someone else? I knew there would never be anyone to replace Debs. I’d known once that I would never even contemplate it; but here I was doing just that, it seemed.
‘Angus Dury.’ The old wifey called out my name, managed to make it sound like something she’d trodden in.
I stood up, smiled at her, said, ‘That’s me.’
The smile cut no ice. She peered down at me with a look that said,
In the car park the sun was shining down like it meant business. I could hardly recognise the place. The brightness bleached out the landscape; the buildings and spires shimmered into insignificance. I watched the blue cloudless sky for a few moments and felt transported. Had I really just come close to death? Had I really just left a hospital and been told I’d be lucky to see the year, maybe the month, out? Did I want that for myself? My mind didn’t seem my own, I felt controlled somehow by thoughts that weren’t mine. I wanted to get my shit together. I wanted to enjoy sunny days, the wonder of life. The joy of being alive. But was that really there for me? Had it ever been? Could it ever be?
My phone beeped – was a text, from Amy:
Christ.
What had I said?
What had I done?
Had an idea what the answer to both those questions was: sent the girl mixed messages. She’d always carried a torch for me; I must have been an idiot to contact her in the first place. Dr Scott’s look flashed back to me, one that said,
Maybe I knew exactly what I was playing at. I tucked the phone back in my pocket. This whole business with Amy needed more thought.
A car pulled out in front of the hospital; a horn sounded.
‘By the holy, ye look rough as all guts, Dury.’ Fitz was on top form as ever.
I approached the passenger’s door, got in. ‘You all right?’
He eyed me curiously. It was a look I couldn’t remember seeing on his face before, a strange mix of compassion and shock. ‘Are ye feckin’ all right? Jaysus, Dury, I had no idea…’
I played it cool: ‘What you on about?’
Fitz looked away, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘Are ye sure it’s okay for you to be… y’know, gaddin’ out and about? Sure, ye look a bit worse for the old wear, son.’
The concern cut me. Fitz was showing me up; I didn’t know whether to be unnerved or straight-out worried. Said, ‘Trust me, mate, I’m firing on
