No Way to Say Goodbye - Anna McPartlin [56]
Sam remained silent, not wishing to engage with her despite his outrage. She won’t notice me. Who? Mary? Why should I care? I don’t want her to notice me. I’m on the fucking floor, for Christ’s sake.
Suddenly Penny was on her knees leaning over him, and her hand was reaching to stroke his face. Painfully aware of his vulnerability, he pushed her away so that she fell back. She giggled and attempted to get back to her feet. “I think you need to stop drinking,” he said. “It doesn’t suit you.”
She appeared to sober up briefly and hurt was evident but suddenly her face changed colour and her hand flew to her mouth.
Oh, my God, thought Sam, I’m going to be vomited on.
She got up quickly and staggered to the downstairs loo. He heard her evacuate the contents of her stomach, then the flush. Minutes later she was back, wiping her face as though nothing unusual had occurred.
“You seem fine,” she said, “so I’ll leave you to it.” She let herself out of the front door before he could answer.
Mary came in after midnight and was careful to be quiet – she didn’t want to wake Sam if he’d managed to fall asleep. She had come to notice that his sleeping patterns were as erratic as her own. He spent much of any night awake, staring blankly at the TV, while upstairs she tossed and turned until she pulled a book from under her bed and lost herself in it for a while.
She had also noticed that he was not taking his prescribed pain medication. It was never going to make the difference between him recuperating or not but she wondered why he chose to hide it under his mattress rather than take it or, indeed, simply refuse it. She had found the stash, having taken the opportunity to change his bedding while he was in the loo, but hadn’t asked about it. She didn’t need to open any can of worms – life was hard enough.
It had been a long day and tonight she fell asleep instantly.
Mary was standing on an empty street. A red light glowed above her head, reflected in the rainwater pooling by the grating at the side of the road. She was wondering what she was doing there until the teenage boy with the hood concealing his face came around the corner. He was running as before and she sensed his heart beating hard. He turned in time to see the boys following. She called to him but he couldn’t hear her.
She ran out into the road with her hands up to stop the boys but they ran through her. She turned as one grabbed the hooded boy and pushed him to the ground. She watched helplessly as the blows rained down. The gang divided. Three kicked and punched him while he attempted to protect his head. A large boy, built like a bear, loomed in the middle distance. He was holding an empty vodka bottle like a tennis racket and screaming that it was his turn. Another boy was leaning against a car watching the beating and it was obvious that he was the rabble’s leader. He was surrounded by darkness. He turned to watch the large boy dance with the bottle. His slash-like mouth bled into a grin and he called to the three who were kicking. She heard him laugh as he pointed at the bear with the bottle.
“Look, Topher’s excited!” he sneered.
She looked around wildly for help but the street was otherwise empty. Somebody please come. Somebody save him. She ran until she saw a man and woman and willed them to turn to where the boy was being attacked but they got into a car and drove away. Oh, God! She ran back in time to hear the gang’s leader say, “Give Topher a go.”
The boy-bear moved in and the others made way for him, leaving the hooded boy on the ground, too injured to run. She felt his broken knuckles clutching at his face and his body curled into the foetal position to protect his balls from the oncoming onslaught – and woke with a start.
She was shaking, and her heart was racing, her pulse too. Her hair was damp and a migraine was coming on. She could hear the TV murmuring faintly through the floor. She needed to take a pill but she