Cath Staincliffe - Looking for Trouble

‘Come on, you wanker.’ A shout.

I waited for the next blow. Nothing. Sick boiled up and spurted from my nose and mouth. It was nothing to do with me. I wasn’t there.

I was wet, the pavement was wet. I was lying on the pavement. He must have gone. I opened my eyes. The left one swam red. I closed it. I could see quite well out of the other. A tuft of grass growing between the paving stone and the kerbstone. And just there, a neat white turd. How come some dogs do white ones? There were feet. Two. In Mickey Mouse socks with ears that stuck out at the side and red plastic sandals.

‘What yer doin’?’ A high piping voice. ‘Yer’ve been sick. Have you got a nosebleed?’

I tried to lift myself up but nothing worked.

‘Can you get Diane?’ My voice worked. It sounded so ordinary. ‘She’s at number twenty-three.’

‘Alright.’

I closed my eye.

‘Sal? Oh my god.’

‘I brought you some flowers,’ I said, ‘but I don’t know where I’ve put them.’

Things were a bit hazy after that. All I wanted was to dive into sleep, where the hurting couldn’t follow, but they kept waking me up. Lifting me into the ambulance, making me stand up for the X-ray, asking me to look at lights, turning me over to stitch my ear and cheek. They kept me in overnight. I was mildly concussed.

Comes from having your head stamped on.

At some point, I’d agreed to report it to the police. The following morning, people started crashing trolleys around at six am. By the time a policewoman arrived at nine-thirty, I was ready for another night’s sleep.

Her questions made me feel wobbly. Added to that, I couldn’t give a decent description of my assailant – young white man dressed in casual clothes. Nothing memorable, no memory of the make of the car – maybe it was maroon or blue. No, I didn’t know him, no, nothing was stolen. But…I told her about the threatening phone-call, the paint. I explained that I thought Smiley had me beaten up, to warn me off. I told her to pass it all on to Detective Inspector Miller at Bootle Street. She raised her eyebrows at that. Name dropping again.

‘Perhaps you need to take out an injunction against this man?’

Yeah, then I’d really feel safe. I nodded. Closed my eyes. Go away. Let me sleep.

There were a dozen of them round my bed. The one with the receding hair-line muttered something at me, plucked the chart from the bottom of the bed and fired questions at the others. When they moved on, I called a nurse over.

‘When are they sending me home?’ I asked. ‘Do I need to see the doctor?’

‘You just seen him.’

‘But he didn’t tell me anything.’

She nodded. ‘I’ll see if I can find out for you.’ I heard her exercise sandals clop against the lino, as she made her way back to the nurses’ station at the end of the ward. I was just dozing off again when she returned. ‘We’re keeping you in for another night,’ she said. ‘Just a precaution.’

‘What have I got, apart from the stitches?’

‘Three broken ribs, bruising to the coccyx, superficial lesions.’

I knew she meant cuts. ‘What about my eye?’

‘Burst blood vessel – it’ll soon sort itself out. Looks worse than it is. The stitches will come out next week, the ribs just need a bit of time.’

I asked for more painkillers and got them. And slept. They woke me up and plonked a plate in front of me; grey curls of flesh, yellow re-heated mash.

‘I’m a vegetarian.’

‘Well, there’s nothing down here,’ retorted the woman with the trolley.

‘Nobody asked me,’ I explained feebly.

She banged the plate back on the trolley. ‘There probably won’t be any left now,’ she complained.

Well, it’s not my fault, fuckface.

A few minutes later, a new plate was slammed down on my tray. The same yellowing potato accompanied now by a watery cauliflower cheese. The cauliflower had disintegrated into a grainy puree and the sauce had a sharp, sick smell. I was hungry but the smell made me gyp. As soon as she was out of sight, I put the tray on my locker and curled up under the covers.

Early afternoon. Ray came, bearing some wholemeal bread, fresh cheese and a bowl of three-bean salad glistening in its dressing. Plus a carton of freshly squeezed orange juice. Heaven.

‘You didn’t bring Maddie.’

‘At school. I thought it’d be best to carry on as normal.’

I bit off some bread. ‘What did you tell them?’

‘That you tripped and banged into a wall.’

‘That old favourite.’

‘And I told my mum you were mugged. You okay? Looks nasty.’

‘It hurts. These are really sore,’ I pointed to my cheek and my ear, ‘and I’ve three broken ribs.’

He nodded. ‘We came down last night but you were out of it.’

‘I don’t remember much about last night.’

‘So what really happened?’

As I told Ray the sequence of events, I found myself getting angry, outraged at the injustice of it.

‘The fucking bastard, he rings me up, issues threats, so I do what he says. I don’t go near and what happens – he still does me over.’

‘But it wasn’t him – this Smiley bloke?’

‘Not in person, no. But I bet he set those goons on me, without even giving me a chance to do what he wants.’ I was getting aerated; the people at neighbouring beds began to cast glances my way.

‘You must report it, Sal.’

‘I have.’ Injured tone. ‘I gave a statement this morning.’ I concentrated on the salad for a while. Then I asked Ray to bring Maddie in for visiting that evening.

‘But you’re coming home, aren’t you? That’s what the nurse just told me.’

‘No, they said they wanted to keep me in another night.’

‘Hang on.’ Ray walked down to the nurses’ station and came back with one of the nurses I didn’t know.

‘I thought I was staying in,’ I began.

‘Well, as there’s been no complications, Doctor’s happy for you to be discharged this afternoon.’

‘When was that decided?’ I asked. I was puzzled at the sudden change.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘I’ve just come on shift. But if a patient’s doing well enough, doesn’t require any special treatment…’

Light dawned. ‘You need the bed, don’t you?’

She avoided the question. ‘If there’s any concern, you just ring in. And you’ll have your out-patient’s appointment next week. Excuse me.’ She smiled brightly and escaped.

‘Don’t tell me you want to stay here.’ Ray was appalled.

I shrugged. ‘At least someone else does the sheets and clears the rubbish up. Oh, shit.’

‘What?’

‘Can you ring Nina Zaleski for me? The number’s in the address bit of my diary, in my bag.’ Suddenly, I was confused. Where was my bag? ‘I don’t know where my bag is, Ray, I didn’t take it to Diane’s.’

‘Calm down, I’ll find it. So, I ring this woman and say…

‘I left some rubbish at the side of her house. Tell her not to chuck it, I want to go through it.’

Ray had a peculiar look on his face. I laughed, then gasped as the stitches tugged round my cheekbone.

Ray would come back for me at five. I told him where to find my clothes.

‘My mum’s offered to help out for a couple of days.’

‘Oh.’ My stomach dipped with disappointment.

‘She means well,’ he said.

Maybe. Well, the kids would enjoy it and Clive would go all smarmy.

‘The meeting, last night, Clive…’

‘He didn’t show.’

‘What?’ I didn’t even get the satisfaction of having stood him up. ‘This isn’t on, Ray. We should just give him notice.’

‘And lose all the money he owes?’

‘You think he’s going to pay?’