Last Chance Saloon - Marian Keyes [115]
There was no point in sitting by his bed any more, human amulets, warding off disaster. His fate now lay with powerful drugs. Chemicals so toxic that the nurses administering them had to wear protective clothing. Medication with such savage side-effects that at times Fintan would rather die than endure the cure.
They each, separately, set about the enormous task of processing, bit by bit, such a huge bottleneck of emotion. JaneAnn took up almost permanent residence at St Dominic’s, where she negotiated with God, offering to take Fintan’s place if someone had to die. Timothy returned to Katherine’s flat, where he watched daytime television, smoked heavily and left his boots lying about, obscuring the floor. Milo walked for miles, visiting Harvey Nichols, the Museum of Mankind, the V&A and various landmarks and tourist attractions. The others went to work. It had seemed imperative to neglect their jobs while they stood guard over Fintan. But the worst had happened. And instead of making their jobs even less important, it suddenly seemed vital to regain control.
It was a bright, blue, cold October morning, and as Katherine left the hospital and drove up the Fulham Road in a taxi, she passed a woman her own age, walking along, swinging a plastic shopping bag through which she could see a carton of orange juice and a pint of milk.
Katherine watched, fascinated, turning back to look at her. The woman wasn’t particularly carefree-looking, she looked as if she wasn’t thinking about much at all. Katherine yearned to be her. There had been times when she’d strolled, swinging a bag of groceries. She must have done it hundreds of times and never appreciated the bliss of it, the utter joy of a life free from the stench of nightmare.
When she walked into her office, she was astonished by everyone scurrying around. Busy, busy, busy. They looked like aliens, chasing their tails. She’d been catapulted to the edge of life, where everything seemed warped, skewed and peculiar. What does any of it matter?
People nodded hello at her as she moved across the floor in a dream. When she got to her desk, she had to pause to check that it really was hers. All her thoughts and reactions were wrapped in Styrofoam, making them muffled and fuzzy.
Before she’d even sat down, her eyes sought Joe Roth. She knew she should stop herself but she hadn’t her usual strength of will to fight it.
He was on the phone, leaning back in the chair, playing a pen through his long, elegant fingers. The phone lay close to his face, up against the cheekbones that were like the long convex razor shells that littered the beach at Knockavoy.
She wanted him. That became the one crystal-clear thought in a blurred, unreachable world. Shining like a lighthouse through fog. She wanted Joe Roth passionately, violently. Inappropriately. Once again she wondered, in disbelief, How could I ?
The reason for all the frantic activity, it turned out, was that news had just come in that the account for Multi-nut Muesli had gone to a rival advertising firm. It was Joe Roth’s first failure at Breen Helmsford.
‘You win some, you lose some.’ Joe shrugged, with dignity, trying to keep the morale of his team up.
‘Not in this business, son,’ Fred Franklin said, brutally. ‘You win some, you win some. You lose some, you lose your job.’
Katherine should have been glad because Joe could easily be sacked for losing the account, but she wanted to go and give him comfort – lay his beautiful head in her lap and stroke her fingers through his hair.
‘Not your week, is it?’ Fred cackled at Joe. ‘What with your beloved Arsenal losing on Saturday.’
Better do some work, Katherine decided. She looked at the figures on her desk but they might as well have been written in Urdu. She turned her spreadsheet upside down to see if it made better sense and found Breda staring at her in alarm. ‘I’ll be with you shortly, Breda.’ Katherine tried to sound like a woman in control, ‘Just catching up here.’ Get it together, Katherine admonished herself. Joe Roth wouldn’t be the only one getting