stick. I’m so sorry you’re hurt and I really, really, appreciate you trying to help.’
Pierce nods, accepting her thanks graciously. She really does have a lovely pair.
‘But they’re not going to send an ambulance, not for a broken shoulder. That’s classed as a non-emergency.’
‘I’ve broken my shoulder! I’m in pain here!’
‘I know you are Pierce and I’m really sorry.’
‘This is an emergency, I need pain relief and I need it now.’
‘The hospital won’t see it like that. Look, I’ll phone a taxi, I’ll pay for it. I’m very grateful for what you tried to do. You can’t take anything, not even an aspirin, they might have to operate if the fracture is complicated. They have to see you first. And…
‘And? And what?’
Pierce gives an involuntary shiver.
‘I think you should brush you teeth.’
‘Eh?’
‘If they smell the drink off you they’ll assume the worst and leave you waiting. I know, I’ve heard this story a hundred times from my students, trust me.’
Pierce has gone quiet. Really he would like to cry. They might have to operate. And they’re going to make him wait just because he’s had a few pints. They’ll treat him like he’s a jakey and have no respect and do a shoddy job or let students practise on him. They might put metal pins in him. If things go wrong anything could happen. He can’t move it now, what if he loses the use of it? He’ll be left with a useless withered thing. Disability might raise his poetry profile but for fuck’s sake! Really he would like to cry.
‘Will you come with me, Daphne?’
*
Daphne is at the window every time she hears a car pull up. Pierce has been gone four hours. She feels guilty about not going with him but she wasn’t dressed. Dressed or not, it was the least she could have done for the poor guy. In between running to the window she makes a pot of camomile tea. Normally this relaxes her but with every sip a wave of self-loathing breaks over her and makes her back sticky with sweat.
The leaf is too far out of reach anyway. But even if she could reach it, what would she do with it? Take it to Donnie? And that would make everything alright? She should have gone with Pierce to the hospital; she owes him. Pierce, stupid and irritating as he is, rescued her in Asda and broke his shoulder thinking he was saving her from suicide.
On the windowsill she had thought about suicide. But only for a moment, less than a moment, a fraction of a millisecond. From a sitting position it would be easy just to slide forward a bit, lift herbum, until her weight carried her off the ledge and down, flying through the air. It would be a short flight. Three seconds max, she reckoned, before impact.
It would be a messy business, her body burst like a melon. She wouldn’t make a pretty corpse but this appealed to Daphne’s sense of the dramatic: all the more sickening for Donnie to look upon. She wouldn’t oblige as a beautiful Ophelia, she’d make for him an ugly distorted thing, a pile of slimy cartilaginous muck, no longer recognisably human.
With such extensive damage putrefaction would be all the quicker, but this wasn’t a bad thing. Apart from a bit of theatre at the funeral Daphne didn’t want to hang around in earthly form. Compared with her constant exhausting state of anxiety the Big Sleep was an attractive option.
But then there was no guarantee that he would show up at the funeral. And if he did, would he bring the wife? Surely not, that would be the final insult. Apart from in Asda she had never even met the woman, never been introduced. And anyway, even if he didn’t bring her she’d certainly comfort him when he came home. It might bring them closer together. She’d kiss him and reassure him that he mustn’t blame himself. Once he’d shed a few tears and she’d made him a nice cup of tea they’d realise that perhaps it was for the best. Poor Daphne was obviously crazy.
And Mum would have to come back from
Pierce nods, accepting her thanks graciously. She really does have a lovely pair.
‘But they’re not going to send an ambulance, not for a broken shoulder. That’s classed as a non-emergency.’
‘I’ve broken my shoulder! I’m in pain here!’
‘I know you are Pierce and I’m really sorry.’
‘This is an emergency, I need pain relief and I need it now.’
‘The hospital won’t see it like that. Look, I’ll phone a taxi, I’ll pay for it. I’m very grateful for what you tried to do. You can’t take anything, not even an aspirin, they might have to operate if the fracture is complicated. They have to see you first. And…
‘And? And what?’
Pierce gives an involuntary shiver.
‘I think you should brush you teeth.’
‘Eh?’
‘If they smell the drink off you they’ll assume the worst and leave you waiting. I know, I’ve heard this story a hundred times from my students, trust me.’
Pierce has gone quiet. Really he would like to cry. They might have to operate. And they’re going to make him wait just because he’s had a few pints. They’ll treat him like he’s a jakey and have no respect and do a shoddy job or let students practise on him. They might put metal pins in him. If things go wrong anything could happen. He can’t move it now, what if he loses the use of it? He’ll be left with a useless withered thing. Disability might raise his poetry profile but for fuck’s sake! Really he would like to cry.
‘Will you come with me, Daphne?’
*
Daphne is at the window every time she hears a car pull up. Pierce has been gone four hours. She feels guilty about not going with him but she wasn’t dressed. Dressed or not, it was the least she could have done for the poor guy. In between running to the window she makes a pot of camomile tea. Normally this relaxes her but with every sip a wave of self-loathing breaks over her and makes her back sticky with sweat.
The leaf is too far out of reach anyway. But even if she could reach it, what would she do with it? Take it to Donnie? And that would make everything alright? She should have gone with Pierce to the hospital; she owes him. Pierce, stupid and irritating as he is, rescued her in Asda and broke his shoulder thinking he was saving her from suicide.
On the windowsill she had thought about suicide. But only for a moment, less than a moment, a fraction of a millisecond. From a sitting position it would be easy just to slide forward a bit, lift herbum, until her weight carried her off the ledge and down, flying through the air. It would be a short flight. Three seconds max, she reckoned, before impact.
It would be a messy business, her body burst like a melon. She wouldn’t make a pretty corpse but this appealed to Daphne’s sense of the dramatic: all the more sickening for Donnie to look upon. She wouldn’t oblige as a beautiful Ophelia, she’d make for him an ugly distorted thing, a pile of slimy cartilaginous muck, no longer recognisably human.
With such extensive damage putrefaction would be all the quicker, but this wasn’t a bad thing. Apart from a bit of theatre at the funeral Daphne didn’t want to hang around in earthly form. Compared with her constant exhausting state of anxiety the Big Sleep was an attractive option.
But then there was no guarantee that he would show up at the funeral. And if he did, would he bring the wife? Surely not, that would be the final insult. Apart from in Asda she had never even met the woman, never been introduced. And anyway, even if he didn’t bring her she’d certainly comfort him when he came home. It might bring them closer together. She’d kiss him and reassure him that he mustn’t blame himself. Once he’d shed a few tears and she’d made him a nice cup of tea they’d realise that perhaps it was for the best. Poor Daphne was obviously crazy.
And Mum would have to come back from
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