Tony Black - Loss

I fired up the shower, got it as hot as possible without removing skin and stood below the battering jets. The steam rose and filled the small bathroom and after a few minutes I felt its worth as my aching head began to ease.

Debs had removed all her shampoos and products and I had to make do with only a dried-out old sliver of soap but I persevered, scrubbed myself and hoped I would clean away more than the grime. I let the water soothe me some more, must have been under it for all of twenty minutes before I hauled myself back to the bedroom.

I dressed in a white T-shirt and a clean pair of Diesel jeans that had been bought for me by Debs. As I combed back my hair I spied the padded envelope from Fitz that I’d placed on top of the wardrobe. I took it down and went through to the living room.

I laid the little package on the smoked-glass coffee table and went into the kitchenette. As I boiled the kettle, I sparked up a Marlboro. The envelope stared back at me; I knew what was inside and I needed to face it. The kettle pinged.

I took my mug of Red Mountain and sat down. As I dowped my tab in the ashtray, I heard a key turning in the front-door lock.

‘Debs?’ I called out, stunned.

She came through to the living room with her Bagpuss keyring out in front of her. ‘Hi,’ she said. There was no sign of the suitcase.

‘You’re back…’

She shook her head. ‘No, not quite…’ She pointed to the dog’s cupboard. ‘Usual’s not settled at Susan’s, I thought I’d pick up some of his toys.’

It seemed a lame excuse; she was checking on me. It was a spot-raid to see if I was back on the sauce.

‘I see.’

She flinched, squeezed at the keyring, then shoved it in her pocket. Her eyes settled on the padded envelope. ‘What’s that?’

I told her, ‘I’m just building up the courage to open it.’

‘Oh, Gus… I’m…’

I didn’t want her sympathy. I didn’t want her to come back because she felt sorry for me. I ripped open the envelope. It was as I’d thought. Little plastic bags containing watch, wedding ring, car keys, a few pounds in coin, an empty wallet and a Nokia mobile with the screen smashed.

‘Not much, is it?’ I said.

Debs came over and put her arm around me. ‘I’m sorry, Gus. I really am.’

‘For what?’

She sighed, removed her arm, scratched at the palm of her hand. ‘I went to see Jayne, she’s all over the place… Dusting and scrubbing.’

‘I know. It’s her way of coping, I suppose.’

Debs raised her head. Her finger traced the line of her eyebrow. ‘She’s worried about Alice…’

I wondered what my niece had been up to now. I told Debs about the drinking and the message from Fitz.

‘Bloody hell,’ she said. ‘Did you talk to her?’

‘I tried, yeah, her phone keeps going to voicemail.’

Debs shook her head. ‘Phones are, like, so last century for teenagers… You need to leave a message on her Bebo.’

I was scoobied. ‘Her what?’

‘Bebo page… Social-networking site. It’s like Facebook for kids.’

I didn’t go anywhere near those sites, but I’d need to be a resident of Jupiter not to have heard of them, way the media obsessed over them. ‘Right, okay… I’ll do that.’

Debs eased back the corners of her mouth. It was a weak smile that I didn’t want to try to decipher. She stood up, walked over to the dog’s cupboard and took out Usual’s favourite plastic hotdog toy. I watched her fill a bag. As I peered over she tucked her hair behind her ear; the movement was all hers, so Debs — the familiarity of it stung me.

I stood up, walked over to her and placed my hand on the bag. ‘This is stupid, Debs… Why don’t you come home?’

She looked into me, sucked in her lips, and turned away. I thought she might cry.

‘Debs?’

A hand went up to my mouth. ‘Don’t, Gus… Don’t ask me that. It’s not fair.’

I didn’t know what she meant. ‘What?… I mean, why?’

She stepped back from me. She tied a knot in the top of the carrier bag, tugged it tight, spoke firmly: ‘I know you won’t stop, I know you’ll go on and on until you get an answer and I know I’ve no right to get in the way of that, but I can’t watch you do this to yourself any more… I just can’t.’

I put my hand out, touched her fingers. ‘Debs, come home.’

She jerked away from me. ‘No, Gus… Do you know what it’s like for me? I sit here and I wonder if there’s going to be a call or a knock at the door telling me you’ve went the same way as Michael…’ I put my arms round her, she pushed me away. ‘No. I won’t do it… I won’t wait for you to be killed, Gus.’

Debs elbowed her way past me, made for the door.

I called after her, ‘Debs… Debs…’ I darted into the hall; she was opening the door. I slammed the heel of my hand on it.

‘Gus, let me go.’

‘Debs, please…’

She pulled at the handle. ‘Let me go.’

‘Debs…’

The door edged open an inch. ‘Let me go!’

‘I’m sorry, Debs…’

She struggled with the handle, hauled back. Tears fell from her eyes.

‘I’m sorry, Debs… I’m sorry.’

I stepped away.

As the door slammed, I pressed my back to it. The wood was cold against my T-shirt. I slumped all the way to the floor. A chill draught blew just above the carpet as I curled over and held my head in my hands.

I lay hunched up on the floor until the draught from the stair started to freeze my spine. I knew I had to go on, hauled myself to my feet; but I knew also Debs wouldn’t be coming back. I’d hurt her again, perhaps more than I ever had. Her face had tensed at the thought of my grief and I knew she felt deeply for me, but she couldn’t help me. That was her revelation — Debs had sensed there was nothing she could do for me, because there was nothing I could do for myself. I had brought my demons to the relationship once more, and they had defeated us both.

I took the quarter-bottle of Grouse from my Crombie and walked through to the living room. I sat down and unscrewed the cap, placed the bottle in front of me. I smelled the whisky working its way to my nostrils; the mere scent of it triggered a sensation in my brain. I felt the wonder of it putting my thoughts to sleep already. I smiled, laughed. One sip and I’d have a legion of help to beat back those demons.

‘Dury, you piece of shit…’

After all Debs had done, after all her efforts, here I was.

I picked up the bottle.

My hands trembled as I brought the rim to my lips.

‘You fucking loser,’ I laughed out. The glass edge touched a tooth, I felt the whisky vapour rising into my throat. And I froze. My mind seemed to hurtle down another path.

‘No.’

I put down the bottle, stared at it and screwed the cap back on. I knew that one sip would have thrown me on the flames. One sip would have undone all Debs had put herself through for me. One sip would have let my brother’s killer off.

I straightened myself. Got up and grabbed my mobi from the mantel.

Dialled.

‘Fitz, what the fuck’s happening?’

He latched on to my tone. ‘Calm down, Dury, there’s a limit to what I can do.’

‘Limit… I gave you the gun, what have you done with it?’

He cleared his throat. ‘Would ye feckin’ watch what you’re saying, Dury…’ Fitz dropped to a whisper, ‘The boffins say the shooter’s a match… but.’

I clenched my teeth, felt my pulse racing. ‘But what?… I need a name, Fitz. Just give me a fucking name.’

A pause, his voice rose again: ‘We don’t have the prints tied up yet.’

He was bullshitting me, I smelled it. ‘I want the name, Fitz.’