“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Liar,” she smiled. “It’s horrible, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely disgusting.”
We both put down our mugs and stared at the fire. Candy lit a cigarette and smoked it thoughtfully for a while, blowing long streams of smoke into the heat of the flames, then she turned to me and said, “You know that song you played at The Black Room…the one you sang at the end?”
“Yeah…”
“Did you write that?”
“Mostly, yeah…I mean, we worked it out together—”
“But you wrote it?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it about who I think it’s about?”
“I don’t know,” I grinned. “Who do you think it’s about?”
“Come on, Joe—don’t mess around. It’s embarrassing…”
“What is?”
“You
know
…if I told you that I thought it was about me and it turned out that it
wasn’t…
God, imagine how that’d make me feel.”
“You think it’s about
you?
”
She glared at me.
“Yeah, all right,” I admitted. “I wrote it the night I first met you. I didn’t really know you then, so I’m not sure it means very much—”
“It does to
me.
God, when I heard you singing it…and the
way
you were singing it…Christ, Joe…I can’t
tell
you what it did to me.”
“You looked good dancing to it.”
“I
felt
good.”
“Me, too…”
Neither of us spoke for a while. We both just sat there, staring into the fire, thinking our thoughts. The room was quiet. The candles burned…the flame light flickered…silent colors played on the walls…yellow, red, blue, orange…
“I’m sorry,” Candy said. “It should have been better than this.”
I looked at her. “There’s plenty of time yet.”
“Yeah…” she said, lowering her eyes. “I wanted to say thanks…”
“What for?”
“The song…everything. What you’ve done…what you’re trying to do…I don’t know—just everything, I suppose. I’m sorry. I’m not very good at saying what I mean.”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
She looked at me for a moment, her eyes dimmed with sadness, then she reached out and brushed my cheek with her finger. “You’re sitting too close to the fire,” she said. “Your face is all red…”
I held her gaze. “You’re changing the subject.”
“I know.”
“We need to talk about things.”
“I know.”
“Look,” I said hesitantly. “It’s up to you what you do. It’s your life…I’m not trying to get you to do anything you don’t
want
to do…” I sighed, wishing I could just say what I meant instead of talking
around
things all the time. I looked at Candy. She was staring into the fire again. I said, “I can’t do this on my own. You have to help me to help you.”
“How?” she asked.
“I don’t know…Just
tell
me things. I don’t know what you’re thinking. I don’t know how you feel about anything. I don’t know where you
are.
”
“Neither do I,” she said quietly. “I’ve never had to think about this before. I’ve never had to talk to anyone about it.”
“About what?”
“Drugs,” she said slowly, looking at me. “Heroin…I don’t think about it…As long as I’ve got it, there’s nothing to think
about.
It’s just a requirement, like oxygen. You don’t think about breathing, do you? You just do it. It’s only when you
can’t
do it that you realize you can’t do without it. That’s why it’s so hard to talk about, Joe. I can’t
imagine
not
doing it, just as you can’t imagine not breathing. But I know I have to…I
have
to stop doing it. There’s nothing left for me if I don’t.” She was sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms clamped tightly around her legs, and she was rocking slightly, backward and forward, trying not to cry. “I’m scared, Joe,” she whispered. “I’m so
scared.
I don’t know if I can do it…”
“It’s all right,” I said, moving over to her. “It’ll be all right…”
“No, it won’t,” she said. “It’s going to be really bad—”
“Yeah, but once it’s over…once you’re all right again…”
She was crying now, really bawling. I moved closer and put my arms around her. Her head was buried in her knees and her shoulders were heaving and she was gulping out words in breathless sobs.
“I don’t…dunno…I don’t…”
“You don’t know what?” I asked gently.
“It’s like…It’s like…I dunno…I c-can’t remember…” She shook her head, then took a deep breath and straightened her back, trying hard to calm herself down. “God,” she said, wiping her eyes, “this is so bloody
hard.
” She looked at me. Her lips were quivering and her face was streaked with makeup. When she spoke, her voice was still frail, but not so breathless as before. “It’s not just giving up heroin that scares me,” she explained. “It’s everything else. It’s like…I’ve been stuck in this place for so long, this place where everything’s numbed and dead and you don’t have to think about anything or care about anything…and I can’t remember what it feels like to be
outside
this place. I don’t know what it’s like to be normal anymore…having to
deal
with things, having
feelings
about things, being
myself
again…” She sighed heavily and looked down
at the floor. “It’s a different world, Joe,” she said quietly, “and it scares me to death.”
After that we just sat there for a while, holding each other in the candlelit silence. The fire began to burn down, the exhausted logs crackling and hissing in the dying embers, and as the cold night air started creeping into our bones we held each other closer, sharing the warmth of our bodies. Candy was resting her head on my shoulder, and I could feel her breath whispering faintly on my neck. It was hypnotizing—the steady rhythm, the heat, the touch—like a wordless lullaby. Gradually, she began to drift away, and as her breathing became faint with sleep, I closed my eyes and let myself sink down into the darkness.
Sometime later, in the small hours of the morning, I woke up to find Candy in the throes of a nightmare. Groaning and whimpering, her body twitching, her eyes and fists closed tightly in pain…
I nudged her softly. “Candy…Candy…wake up.”
Her head shook from side to side, and she let out a tiny little yelp.
“Wake up,” I repeated, this time taking hold of her hand.
Her eyes jerked open and she stared at me, blinking in confusion at the remains of her dream.
“Whu…?” she mumbled.
“It’s me,” I said, “Joe…you were having a nightmare.”
“Joe?” she said.
“Yeah…are you all right?”
She rubbed her eyes, shook her head, yawned widely, then started rubbing her arms. “Christ…it’s cold.” Her voice was sleepy. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s still early…”
“Too cold,” she mumbled. “Let’s go to bed.”
“Bed?” I said stupidly.
She ignored me and started to get up, wobbling slightly on her legs. I reached out to steady her, then got to my feet.
“I’ll take the back bedroom,” I muttered, avoiding her eyes. “You can have the main one.”
“I don’t want to sleep on my own,” she said.
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do…what I
ought
to do…what I
wanted
to do…I didn’t know anything. All I could do was look at her.
“Just come to bed, Joe,” she said simply.
I still didn’t know anything as I blew out the dying candles and followed her into the bedroom. I stood and watched as she got into bed without undressing, and then I clambered in beside her.
You don’t
have
to know,
I thought to myself.
You don’t have to know anything.
The sheets were cold, the dark of the night ever-silent, and as we lay down together and closed our eyes, everything drained away into nowhere.
We didn’t do anything.
We didn’t even kiss.
We just fell asleep, fully clothed, holding each other in the darkness.
W
hen I opened my eyes, the room was bathed in daylight and Candy was sleeping quietly on my arm. I didn’t know what time it was, but it felt quite late. Birds were singing outside the window, the air was cold and fresh, and away in the distance I could hear the faint
chunk-chunk
of someone chopping wood.
I couldn’t move my arm.
I looked down at Candy. She was still fast asleep, sucking dreamily on her finger, and her head was still resting heavily on my arm. I lay still for a while, studying her face, her discolored eye, wondering what she was dreaming about…and then I set about retrieving my paralyzed arm. I didn’t want to wake her, so I tried just giving it a gentle tug…but nothing happened. My arm was completely numb. I tried flexing my fingers…but still nothing happened. I didn’t
have
any fingers. All I had was a lump of dead meat sticking out of my shoulder with some pointy bits stuck on the end.
I lay still again, thinking about it.
Maybe you ought to just wait,
I told myself,
wait for Candy to wake up…
But I didn’t want to do that.
It might be awkward…
So I tried again. This time, instead of trying to use my dead arm to move itself, I leaned to one side and used the weight of my body to start dragging the arm from beneath Candy’s head. It felt really strange at first, as if I was moving something that didn’t belong to me, but gradually, as the arm began to move and the blood had begun to flow, I started getting some feeling back—a pleasant tingle in my fingertips, a prickling sensation in my arm—and then something else happened, something
not
so pleasant. As the blood rushed into my arm, a thousand red-hot needles started jabbing into my skin, electrifying my flesh, and I froze in an instant, gritting my teeth against the pain, trying not to scream.
Candy, meanwhile, was still sleeping.
She’d taken her finger out of her mouth now and was lying there with her lips drawn back against her teeth and her tongue lolling loosely against her gums. It wasn’t the most beautiful pose in the world, but there was something strangely appealing about it, and as I waited for my arm to stop zapping, I found myself staring at her face again. I wondered what it was that made it so beautiful—the proportions, the shapes, the textures, the bones beneath the skin…? Or was it just me? My eyes, my vision, my expectation…
My thoughts.
After a while, her eyelids began to flicker. I thought she was about to wake up, and I suddenly realized how embarrassing it would be if she opened her eyes and
caught me staring at her…but before I could do anything about it, she breathed out a breath of stale air, chomped her lips, and rolled away from me to lie on her side.
I lifted my senseless arm from the pillow, rubbed some life into it, then slipped out of bed, grabbed some clothes, and padded off to the bathroom for a long hot shower.
About an hour later, I was in the kitchen making some coffee when Candy appeared in the bedroom doorway. She looked terrible. Her eyes were bloodshot, the bandage on her wrist had come loose, and the flimsy T-shirt she was wearing did little to hide the lurid bruising around her midriff. As she shuffled sleepily across the room, all bleary-eyed and bedraggled, I couldn’t help thinking of a punch-drunk boxer, struggling to live with the morning after the fight before.
“Morning,” I said breezily. “Do you want some coffee?”
She ran her hands through her tangled hair and muttered something under her breath.
“Sorry?” I said.
She yawned. “What time is it?”
“Just past twelve. Do you want some coffee?”
“What?”
“Coffee,” I said, waggling a cup at her.
“Yeah…in a minute.”
She stood there for a moment, frowning and mumbling at the floor, then she turned around and shuffled back into the bedroom. I stared after her, wondering what she was doing—Getting dressed? Getting her makeup? Getting back into bed?—but then she came out again, and I knew immediately what she was doing. She was
heading straight for the bathroom, not shuffling anymore but walking with a purpose, and she was hiding something behind her back…
Getting what she needed.
I didn’t know what to do about it.
I didn’t know what I was
supposed
to do.
Get angry?
Stay calm?
Say something?
Do nothing?
I suppose what I really wanted to do was scream at her, tell her to stop, tell her to
think
about what she was doing…
But I didn’t.
I didn’t do anything. I just stood back and watched as she went into the bathroom, closed the door, and locked it. The snap of the lock left me cold. It killed me. Emptied me. That simple little sound said it all—that I was nothing, that she didn’t want me, that she didn’t need me.
All she needed was heroin.
And I hated it.
I hated its power, its attraction, its control.
I hated the way it took her away…
From herself.
From me.
From everything.
I
hated
it.
It took some time for the rest of the day to get going. While Candy was busy in the bathroom, I made some toast and drank some coffee…washed up the cups and plates…sat around for a while…made some more
coffee…and then I got up and spent some time just wandering around the cottage.
I don’t know if it was because of my mood, but as I looked around the empty rooms, nothing seemed to feel right. There was something missing, but I couldn’t work out what it was. It wasn’t a physical absence, as far as I could tell—there was nothing actually
missing
from the rooms. It was more of a sensuous thing. Something to do with memories…memories of me and Gina…Mum and Dad…family holidays…different times…
That was it, I think.
The memories weren’t that old, but for some reason they seemed hard to find. They weren’t missing—they were definitely there—they just weren’t
here
anymore. Even when I came across things that
should
have meant something—a dried-up daisy chain at the back of a drawer, some of Dad’s books left on a shelf, forgotten shoes and abandoned clothes—I couldn’t seem to
place
them. I recognized them, I knew what they were, but that was all.
I had no sense of
attachment
to anything.
It was kind of sad, really.
I tried not to think about it as I went into the bedroom and unpacked the bag that Gina had prepared for us. I sorted the clothes from the food, put the clothes in the wardrobe and the food in the fridge…and when that was done, I decided to check the electricity. It turned out that the mains switch
was
turned on after all. The only problem was a dead lightbulb in the front room. I should have known, really. I’d just had a hot shower—I’d been standing there staring at the glowing red light of the power
switch for about ten minutes…Of
course
the electricity was on. I just hadn’t realized, that’s all. My mind had been focused on other things.
Anyway, I changed the lightbulb in the front room, and then I checked all the other bulbs…and put all the candles away…and I was just trying to think what else I could do to pass the time, when my cell phone rang.
It was Gina.
“Hello?” I said.
“Joe? Is that you?”
“Yeah—”
“I can’t hear you…”
“Hold on…the reception’s no good.” I went outside and sat down in a battered old chair on the veranda. “Is that better?” I said into the phone. “Can you hear me now?”
“Yeah, fine,” Gina said. “So, how’s it going? Is everything all right?”
“Yeah, not bad…”
“How’s Candy?”
“She’s OK…we talked about things last night. You know—giving up heroin and stuff. I think she’s going to give it a go.”
“I thought you’d already talked about that?”
“Yeah, I know…I just meant she hasn’t changed her mind or anything. She still really wants to do it…”
“Really?”
“Yeah…”
“That’s great.”
“I know…It’s a bit scary, though.”
“Well, it’s bound to be. I mean, it’s a really big thing—physically, mentally, emotionally…everything—it’s going to be hell for a while. For both of you, probably. That’s
why I said to ring us if you need any help. If you can’t get hold of me, give Mike a call. He’ll be happy to help. Any time, night or day, it doesn’t matter…just pick up the phone—OK?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Oh, and by the way, before I forget, Jason called again this morning. He wants you to ring him—says it’s urgent.”
“Right…Has Dad been in touch?”
“No, not yet. What do you want me to do if Jason rings again?”
“He won’t. Don’t worry about it—”
“I’m not. How’s the cottage?”
“It’s OK. I’m out on the veranda at the moment…It’s really nice.” I was looking around at the woods as I spoke, taking it all in—the winter trees, the brambles, the wide-open skies…
And it
was
really nice: cold and empty and miles from anywhere.
“Did you sleep all right?” asked Gina.
“What?”
“Did you both sleep all right?”
“Uh…yeah…”
“I’m not being nosy…”
“Yeah, you are.”
She laughed.
“Nothing happened,” I said. “We’re just friends, OK?”
“Yeah? I’ve heard
that
one before.”
I didn’t reply. I didn’t know how to. It wasn’t simply that I didn’t want to talk about Candy and me—although, admittedly, I didn’t—but the main thing was, I just didn’t know what to say. I didn’t
know
what we were. We weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, we weren’t lovers…but then we
weren’t
just good friends,
either. We were something else. We
had
something else. I just didn’t know quite what it was.
“Joe?” said Gina. “Are you still there?”
“Yeah…”
“Are you pissed off with me?”
“No…”
“I didn’t mean anything…I wasn’t trying to be funny. I was just being your sister, that’s all.”
“I know—it’s all right.”
“I
like
Candy. She’s a nice girl. And I know you really like her…I just want you to be careful—OK?”
“Yeah, I will…I
am.
It’s OK—honestly. It’s not a problem—”
Just then, the cottage door opened and Candy came out onto the veranda. She was dressed in a thick green sweater and her little black hat, and as she stood there in the morning light, sipping black coffee and smiling at me, nothing else seemed to matter anymore. Confusion, sadness, anger, hate…it all just drifted away in the wind. Everything was all right again. I was all right. Candy was all right. We were all right. Nothing could have been better—the weather, the world, the way that I felt…my body, my heart, my presence of mind…
In the skip of a heartbeat, it was all just
right…
The way it’s supposed to be.
“I have to go,” I told Gina. “I’ll ring you tomorrow, OK?”
“Oh…OK,” she said, a little surprised by my abruptness. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah,” I assured her, glancing at Candy, “everything’s perfect.”
And it was, for a while.
After we’d hung around doing nothing for an hour or so, we put on our coats and locked up the cottage and headed off toward the estuary. As we strolled through the woods, arm in arm, ambling slowly along the pathways, the skies took on a dim gray light that chilled the air with the promise of dusk. It was still only midafternoon, but I could already sense the coming night. It was there in the shadows, in the heart of the woods, creeping ever closer, like an unseen beast, stalking the frailty of the day…
I knew it was coming.
I could feel its dark breath.
But it wasn’t here yet.
The cottage isn’t far from the estuary, and it wasn’t long before the woods began thinning out and the path started winding down through low-lying cliffs toward the narrow shores of sand and mud that run along the waterside. Everything was quiet. The tide was still, the wind had dropped, and the waters of the estuary were high and silver-gray.
We sat on a bench at the edge of the woods and looked out over the estuary. I watched a kingfisher skimming by, its metallic blue sheen mirrored in the silver surface, and then it was gone, like a flashing star, and the estuary was still and quiet again.
“What’s on the other side?” Candy asked me.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, gazing across the water at the barren fields and tumbledown barns in the distance. “Farms, I suppose…”
“Where’s Orwold?”
“Back there,” I said, pointing over my shoulder.
“Is it far?”
“Not really…a couple of miles.” I looked at her. “Why do you want to know?”
She squeezed my arm. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to run away. I just need to get a few things, that’s all. Is there a shop in the village?”
“Yeah, I think so. We can walk back that way, if you want.”
“OK.”
We were silent again for a while. Candy lit a cigarette and smoked it quietly, and I just sat there, staring at the emptiness. The sun was going down, rimming the horizon with its paling light, and the first faint colors of dusk were beginning to paint the sky. The atmosphere reminded me of our day at the zoo, when it was late afternoon and the schoolkids and tourists were heading back home and the animals were slumbering and Candy and me were wandering quietly around the far side of the zoo…
And I wondered if we were on the far side now. Away from all the people, away from all the chaos…
Was this our place where secrets could be shared?
I looked at Candy, thinking,
Secrets, truths…or nothing?
She looked back at me, her eyes adrift in a haunted mist. “I’ll do it today,” she said quietly. “When we get back…I’ll take a last hit, and then that’s it. No more.”
“Are you sure?” I asked her.
“Yeah,” she whispered, wiping away a tear. “I’ve had enough, Joe. I don’t want to be like this anymore.”
By the time we’d made our way up through the woods and along a little road into Orwold, the daylight was dying and the village shops were all closed. Candy was starting to get increasingly grouchy.