Читать книгу Danny Yates Must Die - Stephen Walker - Страница 8

Lucy said hi.

Danny woke, to find his flatmate sat doing piranha impressions by his bedside. The twenty-one-year-old wore a second-hand Bay City Rollers T-shirt. Beneath each Roller’s nose she’d marker penned a Hitler moustache. Fresh Faced Roller had two. Bad Hair Day Roller had three; one for his nose, one in place of each eyebrow. Roller Who’s Name No one Remembers had no moustache; Lucy’s pen had run out by then.

Explaining to Danny who the Rollers were, she’d once named them as, Uncle Bulgaria, Orinoco, ‘A couple of others,’ and Madam Choulet. They wandered around Wimbledon Fortnight tidying things up when no one had asked them to, and were therefore like your mother. Danny’d always felt she’d got it wrong somewhere.

She flicked a peanut in the air, mouth catching it, head stationary, her tongue clicking on contact. Cold, forward gazing eyes – and lower jaw jutting to catch each nut – gave the killer fish effect. But it was how he’d always seen her.

‘Fancy a peanut?’ she asked, not tipping her giant-size bag his way.

‘I’m allergic to peanuts,’ he said, still weak.

‘Oh, yeah.’ She chewed. ‘So you are. You’d’ve thought I’d have considered that before buying them you.’ She sounded as though she had.

‘Where am I?’ he asked.

‘Looks like a chip shop to me.’ Flick. Click.

Groggy, he looked around at jade coloured walls, at doctors, nurses, trolleys, opened screens, closed screens and beds. A machine by his side blipped. A clear plastic tube fed purple liquid into his arm. This isn’t the hospital they usually take me to.’

‘Nah,’ she said. ‘This was your first calamity in the north west of town, so they brought you here. Congratulations, you’ve now had life or death surgery in each of Wheatley’s four big hospitals. How does it feel?’

‘Wheatley General?’ Again he looked around, this time seeing danger everywhere; behind those screens, in those beds, in that adjacent corridor which had no door to separate it from this recklessly open ward.

‘Yup.’ Lucy confirmed the location.

‘But this is Boggy Bill territory.’

‘Yeah,’ she snorted, the ring through her pointy nose glinting. ‘The laughs I’ve had over that video on those Sad but True shows.’

‘But what if he knows I’m here?’ Heart thumping, he sat up, throwing back the sheets. He looked at the floor for his shoes. His clothes, where had they put his clothes? ‘I’ve got to get out of here before …’

‘Lie down.’ She pushed him back down onto the bed then held him there, ‘You’re going nowhere till the doctor’s seen you.’

‘But …’ Again he tried to rise.

And again she stopped him, either not understanding or not caring about the situation’s urgency. Hard grey eyes stared into his. She gave her, ‘Don’t argue with me, Daniel,’ look.

He stopped resisting, and she reclaimed her seat, pulling it closer to his bed. It scraped over tiles, making a noise like a braking lorry. The ward’s other occupants looked at her then returned to their own concerns. She ignored them, retrieving the peanut bag from the floor, where she’d dropped it. And she asked, ‘Why would he come for you? I’m sorry to break the news to you but I’m sure there’s better people in this place to bump off.’

‘Like who?’

‘Like the Financial Director. If I was Boggy Bill, he’d be the first to go. Jesus, I’m not even Boggy Bill and I want to punch that bloke’s lights out. And is the Financial Director dead? No. He’s in the car park, walking his Dougal dog.’

‘But you’d like to punch everyone,’ said Danny. ‘Boggy Bill picks his targets with surgical precision, planning for months ahead, biding his time, awaiting the right moment to burst from the trees and grab you.’

She frowned. ‘Boggy Bill does?’

‘All the time.’

‘The Wheatley Bigfoot?’

‘The Wheatley Bigfoot.’

‘A creature with only one word in its vocabulary?’

‘Yes,’ he tried to make dwindling conviction sound like growing conviction.

‘And that word is …?’

‘We don’t need to go into that.’

‘Yes we do, Daniel.’

He shuffled slightly in his bed, turning red, finally saying the words, ‘Tamba-lulu.’

‘Tamba-lulu. And what does that mean, Daniel?’

‘No one knows.’

‘Do you think Boggy Bill knows?’ she asked cynically.

‘No one knows.’

‘And that’s a cunning planner of revenges, is it?’

‘Don’t mistake a lack of formal education for stupidity.’

‘Are we talking him or you?’ Shaking the bag, she emptied a handful of nuts into her palm then swallowed them. ‘Do you reckon Boggy Bill’s cross-eyed? He sounds the type of monster who would be.’

‘He’s no laughing matter for some of us, Lucy.’

‘So why would he choose you as his prime target?’

‘Because of my brother.’

‘And how would he know who your brother is?’

‘He’d know.’ He glanced round meaningfully, as though the thing was about to leap out from behind a closed screen or appear in the doorway, cunningly disguised as a nurse come to administer his bed bath. His blood froze solid at the realization that he’d been lying there for God knew how long, and at any time. Bill could have walked right in and torn his head off, giving its blood curdling cry of, ‘Tamba-lulu?’ which could be frightening, if uttered while your head was being bashed against a wall.

‘Danny, you’ve been here all this time. If he was coming for you, he’d have done it by now. I refuse to believe he’s blessed with patience, even if he did exist, which he doesn’t.’

‘He exists alright. Brian assured me.’

‘And if your brother said the world was hollow and inhabited by a secret sect of Aztec rabbits?’

‘He did.’

‘He did?’

‘Yeah.’

‘When?’

‘In a letter yester … I mean the day before my “accident”. He felt someone should know the truth, in case the rabbits came for him with their obsidian blades.’

‘And you believed him?’

‘Not necessarily,’ he conceded grudgingly. ‘Brian may have a tendency to fantasize. But I like to keep an open mind. And let’s face it, if anyone’d know the world was hollow, he would. Brian’s been everywhere.’

‘Everywhere except the planet Earth.’ Flick. Click.

Danny scanned the walls for a calendar. There wasn’t one. A clock on the far wall told him it was 2:30 in the afternoon but not which afternoon. ‘How long have I been here? I was in the–’

‘Six months.’ She consumed half the peanuts in one go.

‘Six months?’ he said in disbelief.

‘Pretty cool, huh?’ Munch munch munch. ‘I never knew anyone who’d been in a coma before – least, not for six months.’ Swallow. ‘Course, my flatmate before you – Keith – he was dead. But who could tell? But you, Danny, you’ve gone for it big time. Me, I’m proud of you. I may not look it but I am.’

‘Six months?’

‘Everyone at Poly wants to meet you, especially Annette Helstrang from Occult Pathology. She wants to dissect you; after you die, of course. Remember Annette Helstrang?’

He didn’t; and didn’t want to.

‘You met her once. She frightened you. She dissected Keith, put him in this hu-u-u-u-u-u-u-u--u-uge pickling jar.’ Lucy did a full stretch One That Got Away gesture. ‘Then she put him on display in her living room. She did a great job. You should see him, Dan. He never looked better.’

‘And for six months you’ve sat here, waiting for me to recover? Lucy, I don’t know what to say.’ Visions of Blackfriars Bob frisked, waggy tailed, in his head. And it had taken something like this for Lucy’s true feelings to show through? Her lies and insults, the practical jokes that only she found funny, her over pushiness, her casual fraud and theft, they didn’t mean a thing, not really, not when it mattered. And maybe the two of them could have a future as flatmates, one that didn’t involve her always trying to trample all over him whenever she was in a bad mood.

He took her non-peanut-flicking hand, squeezing it tight. ‘Thanks, Luce. I won’t forget this.’

She snatched her hand away. ‘Yeah; like I’ve nothing better to do than sit around waiting for you. I told you when you first moved in with me; don’t expect me to run round after you just coz I’m a woman; no washing for you, no ironing, no cooking. Coma watching was out too. Don’t believe me? Check the contract.’

‘But, then …?’

‘I only just found out you were missing. The hospital got in touch. You’d been plain “Anonymous” till two hours ago. I suppose that’s nothing new for you. You started muttering my name and address. They figured you probably weren’t, “That cow Lucy Smith,” so they called me. Anyhow, I thought I’d better come round and see you.’ She flicked another nut.

He frowned at her. ‘You didn’t notice I was missing for six months?’

She shrugged. ‘Osmo said something about it a few times but, I dunno, I suppose I wasn’t listening. Maybe there was something more interesting on TV; Home and Away or something.’

Danny was beginning to recall something. ‘There was a girl at the shop …’

‘With spotty hair?’

‘Tangerine,’ he corrected.

‘Huh?’

‘Tangerine; tangerine dreadlocks, big thick ones with lemon polka dots.’

‘Whatever.’ Flick. Click. ‘She’s dead.’

‘What!?!’

‘You killed her, Danny. The building fell right on her, squashed her like a polka dot lemon. It was only coz she’d thrown herself over you that you survived.’

Danny stared, numb, at the ceiling. In his mind’s eye it gave way; just a crack at first, a tiny thing spreading, like black lightning, from one wall to the other. Then it was a torrent of falling masonry, chunk by heartless chunk beating the life from the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen – as though hurled by a mad god lacking the sense to know who should live and who should die.

This couldn’t be right. He thought she’d have time to get out before the building collapsed, leaving him to face the fate he now knew he deserved. Deserved because she was lovely and brave and witty and clever – and innumerable other things he’d never know about her – while he was nothing.

What was he supposed to do now, with a life that had been spared for no reason? He didn’t know. He just knew he felt empty and stupid and useless. Most of all he felt nothing because he didn’t know what to feel. And that was what he hated himself for most.

Croaky voiced he asked, ‘How did she …? ’

‘How did she get home? She walked.’

‘What?’

‘She walked. You know, used her legs. Maybe she got the bus later. I dunno.’

‘How could she walk if she was dead?’ he asked, completely lost.

‘She’s not dead.’

‘You just said she was.’

‘I lied.’

‘Why?’

‘Teach you a lesson.’

‘What lesson?’

‘Not to go demolishing buildings on young ladies. In case your mother never told you, it’s bad manners.’

@!%%$*@@&$*!!! ‘So, what the hell happened to her?’

‘According to the emergency services, when they reached the scene, she was with you. She’d dragged you from the rubble, given you mouth to mouth, performed emergency surgery with her credit card and boot laces, then kept you going with heart massage till they arrived. Seems she’s some sort of hotshot doctor.’

Lucy retrieved a Gladstone bag from by her feet, placing it on her lap. Click, she opened it, pulling out a sheet of paper. ‘On my way in I grilled the ambulance crew in question. They had a little trouble – her having been fully clothed when they met her – but, using hypno-regression, I got ‘em to construct this photofit of her chest. It’s a bit vague but I think it captures the essence.’

She studied it further. They’re pretty good, though way too small for my purposes.’

And she held the picture for him to see. Indistinct, it reminded him of the flying saucer photos which sometimes appeared in The Wheatley Advertiser, only the exhibitor seeing in them what they purported to depict.

Lucy pointed out assumed areas of interest. ‘As you can see, they’re equally perky, which is unusual. Normally one’s perkier than the other. Why do you reckon that is?’

He shrugged blankly.

‘Of course no photofit’s entirely reliable. I’ll need to get some proper pictures.’ She made a note, paper on lap. Lank, green hair hanging over one eye, she murmured along as her biro wrote; ‘One … must be … as perky as … the other.’ The pen stabbed a full stop. She slotted the photofit back into the Gladstone, clicking it shut, placing it by her feet.

Danny contemplated the girl’s use of mouth to mouth resuscitation. ‘She kissed me?’

Lucy stuck the pen behind her left ear. ‘Only coz she had to. I’m sure she must’ve pulled a face while doing it. Anyway, how are you? You okay?’

‘I think so.’ He mentally checked; toes, feet, legs, fingers, arms, neck, head. There was no discomfort nor disconcerting numbnesses. The small of his back itched. He scratched it. It wouldn’t go away but that was all right, itching rarely happened to dead people. ‘I feel a bit weak,’ he said, finally finding something to complain about.

The tube in his arm slurped. He looked at it, concerned. ‘Lucy?’

‘Yup?’

‘What’s that liquid?’

She pointed at it. ‘This?’

‘Yeah.’

Leaning forward she scrutinized the tube. She unhooked it from his arm, stuck one end in her mouth and took a long hard suck on it that gurgled like a straw drawing on the bottom of a near empty glass. She reaffixed it to the tap on his arm.

He stared at the tap. He stared at his flatmate, horrified by what she’d just done.

‘Ribena,’ she shrugged and, bag in hand, left – swiping someone’s grapes on her way.

Danny frowned at the tube.

Ribena?

Boggy Bill had been replacing his blood with Ribena?