“He’s gone,” he said dully, tears streaming down his face.
17
We said nothing. And the world had become nothing but that room. My life had become this in an instant. I swayed, a dull pulse running through my body. As it passed through, I acknowledged my injuries – the heat on my cheeks and the cuts on my face and scalp. But it was only a pulse, I didn’t feel it properly. Everything felt remote. Everything felt ruined.
“We have to call the police,” I said again.
Richard looked past me and wiped his tears away with an arm. His eye twitched as if to say – that’s one option.
“I don’t know Vicky,” he said, his voice low and unsure, “Christ, I just don’t know.”
“Why did he…” I started, looking down, unable to finish the question.
“We got into a thing about you, he was drunk…he lost it… he gets like this sometimes… got like this.”
He began to cry again, into one hand. I stood and watched him, unable to do more. I tried to prevent myself from passing out. I could feel my own pulse hammer away in my neck, like it was making a hole, ready to let me bleed out across the room.
Then Richard suddenly strode past me across the room, his expression unreadable.
“Have you got a plastic bag?” he asked, feverishly searching as he went.
“Yeah, why… I mean – we shouldn’t move anything,” I tried.
He found one, then knelt down beside Ivan, carefully raised his head, setting the bag underneath. There were some cuts across Ivan’s head that had bled a little, but there was surprisingly little blood.
“Until we decide what to do, we should avoid getting blood on the carpet.”
He was sounding calmer, which alarmed me more.
“Jesus, Richard, there’s only one thing we can do here.”
He stood up and his eyes were wide, watery – but composed.
“I don’t want my husband to be dead. But he is.”
His voice broke then.
“I didn’t mean to hurt him, but I thought he might kill you, Vicky!”
“I know, I know, and… thank you for helping me,” I said feebly, clumsily, while hugging myself for comfort.
Richard sighed heavily and looked out towards the terrace. The night was black and still. There was very little noise coming from outside. He lowered his voice.
“He’s dead and we do have a choice what we do now. Look Vicky, you don’t want him found dead in your room. You don’t want the police accusing you of all sorts. And someone with his… connections. You see? Christ, I don’t know,” he said and turned away, dabbing at his eyes.
“I don’t know either, Richard.”
“It won’t bring him back,” he said with his back still turned, his voice empty.
My eyes burned and a few tears pricked at them too. I was sore as well, especially my scalp. It felt as if I had gone to get highlights, but the hairdresser pulling my hair through the cap had been on steroids.
“They’ll think we did him in Vicky. They’ll say we had an affair. He’s dead in your room.”
He paused.
“They’ll know about the burglary too,” he added and held my gaze.
So they knew.
I looked away. Then I sat down on the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” I offered weakly.
“What for?” he asked.
“Everything.”
He moved away from the body and sat down on the floor a little away. I crossed my legs and sat down too. I felt exhausted and overcome. I would have done anything to make it all just go away. There the three of us lay: an unholy ménage à trois.
There was silence.
That was until Ivan began to cough.
What the actual fuck?!
We both jolted at once. My heart jumped out of my mouth, somersaulted in the air, then went splat on the floor.
“Fuck me,” I hissed, looking desperately to Richard.
Richard just stared at Ivan, his own eyes dilated, disbelieving.
It had begun with a few murmuring coughs, wet and strained. Then he started to squirm, like some mangled animal the cat had played with and brought home. There was a dreadful wheeze and gasping noise emanating from him. As he moved, I could see his caved in face more clearly. It was hideous. Was he even conscious? Was his body just reacting, with nothing left of the person? The ghost in the machine? That’s what I had learned about at Uni. Surely the mind and body were distinct. But what about now – where was Ivan in all of this?
I turned away from the blood and horror. He writhed and then somehow pushed himself onto his back. I couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or not. The disgusting noises became worse, even more strained. I slid back against the foot of the sofa, hiding my face with my hands, my knees hitched up for comfort. Richard eventually jumped up – still staring wide eyed at his husband. One hand covered his mouth, his eyes still wide and staring. Slowly he backed away and stumbled into the bedroom. Ivan continued his dreadful gargling.
“Richard, Richard, don’t leave me!” I whispered feverishly after him. A moment later, he returned purposefully back into the room. With both hands he was carrying a cream pillow from my bed. My eyes bore into it.
“Richard?” I asked helplessly.
He knelt down beside him.
Richard turned to me, fresh tears streaming from his eyes.
“It has to be done,” he said firmly.
I didn’t stop him. Was it for a kindness, for mercy? Was it just to end that terrible rattle? I don’t know
He pushed the pillow down firmly and it instantly began to muffle the hideous choking noises. But then came a worse noise, a desperate noise – a fight for life. Maybe Ivan was still in there somewhere. I saw the muscles strain in Richard’s arms as he
