knew I had to shut up or lose her. But all I could do was go on and on about how I needed her and
how I feared for her. Every word I said was killing us, sending me further from her. Her eyes were full of pity. I rambled to a halt, my chest heaving and my tears blinding me.
She spoke softly now. “Danny, we need a break. From each other. Just let it go.”
“No, oh no. Please…”
“We must…”
“We mustn’t. Don’t do this.” I gripped her arms. I couldn’t let her go. If we parted now, it was for good.
“I have to. I have to go. Just give it a few weeks. Don’t call. Don’t come round. Just give us time.” She pulled free and was already turning away. I should have held
her, hugged her to me till the madness left us. But all I could do was stand like a dummy, watching her go. Watching the best thing in my life walk away from me.
I don’t know how I got home, but I picked up a bottle of Red Label on the way. I threw my jacket off and loosened my shirt. I got a jug of water and a glass and sat them
beside my chair. I took the first gulp without water and felt it rip my throat. I gazed at my bed and saw us, saw her, tumbled and lovely on the cover. I couldn’t accept this was the end.
I’d find a way. I’d drop all this shit about followers. She thought I was mad. Maybe I was. Maybe this was one of the side effects of the head wound. Prof Haggarty would know.
That’s it; I’d call him and ask his advice. But that would be tomorrow. Right now there was nothing more I could do than wait to get drunk.
TEN
Either I hadn’t drunk enough or drank too much, but it didn’t make me happy. And for a guy who once had problems with his memory, I found it pretty hard to forget
every turn of her body and every shift and shadow of her mobile face. I slept, but the dreams were bad; some of the old camp ones crept in and scared the shit out of me. I felt the big boulders
piling up all round me and I couldn’t get past them and they kept moving slowly on top of me to hem me in and smother me. I kept waking up gasping for air, and retrieving the quilt that
seemed to be having nightmares of its own.
I was glad of daylight, though it brought a mighty headache. I had a raging thirst and gulped at the water pouring from the tap. I threw more water on my face and fought back the nausea. I
needed to do something, anything, but it was too early to try Haggarty. I made a big bowl of my father’s patented hangover cure: porridge. Still in my singlet and pants, I cleaned the flat
from top to bottom, realising as I did how long it had been since the linoleum had seen a mop. I played the wireless as loud as it could go until the pips went for nine o’clock, then walked
through to my office on the still-damp lino to place a call to Professor Haggarty.
“Vivienne, it’s Danny McRae. I need to talk to the Prof. It’s important.”
I could hear her sucking her teeth at my use of her first name. “Professor Haggarty is with a client. He couldn’t possibly be interrupted. You have an appointment next week.
I’m sure it can wait.”
“Viv. I said it was important. Can you please get your boss to call me back? I must talk to him.”
I swear she sniffed. “I can’t promise. It’s most unusual. I will speak to the Professor when he has a moment and see what he says. But his diary is very full.”
Full of more important people than me. I retreated to my bedroom. It was tidy but it still held after-images of her. I scrubbed myself raw over the sink, using the nail brush like a scourge as
though I could rub her impression off my skin. I banged around making tea and toast, though I had no appetite for either after the porridge. I went hunting for the cat with a slopping bowl of milk,
but even she had abandoned me.
Finally Haggarty called back. The lovely Vivienne put me through, but she sounded as though it was costing her blood.
“Right, man. How the hell are you? Are you in bother, now? Tell me about
how I feared for her. Every word I said was killing us, sending me further from her. Her eyes were full of pity. I rambled to a halt, my chest heaving and my tears blinding me.
She spoke softly now. “Danny, we need a break. From each other. Just let it go.”
“No, oh no. Please…”
“We must…”
“We mustn’t. Don’t do this.” I gripped her arms. I couldn’t let her go. If we parted now, it was for good.
“I have to. I have to go. Just give it a few weeks. Don’t call. Don’t come round. Just give us time.” She pulled free and was already turning away. I should have held
her, hugged her to me till the madness left us. But all I could do was stand like a dummy, watching her go. Watching the best thing in my life walk away from me.
I don’t know how I got home, but I picked up a bottle of Red Label on the way. I threw my jacket off and loosened my shirt. I got a jug of water and a glass and sat them
beside my chair. I took the first gulp without water and felt it rip my throat. I gazed at my bed and saw us, saw her, tumbled and lovely on the cover. I couldn’t accept this was the end.
I’d find a way. I’d drop all this shit about followers. She thought I was mad. Maybe I was. Maybe this was one of the side effects of the head wound. Prof Haggarty would know.
That’s it; I’d call him and ask his advice. But that would be tomorrow. Right now there was nothing more I could do than wait to get drunk.
TEN
Either I hadn’t drunk enough or drank too much, but it didn’t make me happy. And for a guy who once had problems with his memory, I found it pretty hard to forget
every turn of her body and every shift and shadow of her mobile face. I slept, but the dreams were bad; some of the old camp ones crept in and scared the shit out of me. I felt the big boulders
piling up all round me and I couldn’t get past them and they kept moving slowly on top of me to hem me in and smother me. I kept waking up gasping for air, and retrieving the quilt that
seemed to be having nightmares of its own.
I was glad of daylight, though it brought a mighty headache. I had a raging thirst and gulped at the water pouring from the tap. I threw more water on my face and fought back the nausea. I
needed to do something, anything, but it was too early to try Haggarty. I made a big bowl of my father’s patented hangover cure: porridge. Still in my singlet and pants, I cleaned the flat
from top to bottom, realising as I did how long it had been since the linoleum had seen a mop. I played the wireless as loud as it could go until the pips went for nine o’clock, then walked
through to my office on the still-damp lino to place a call to Professor Haggarty.
“Vivienne, it’s Danny McRae. I need to talk to the Prof. It’s important.”
I could hear her sucking her teeth at my use of her first name. “Professor Haggarty is with a client. He couldn’t possibly be interrupted. You have an appointment next week.
I’m sure it can wait.”
“Viv. I said it was important. Can you please get your boss to call me back? I must talk to him.”
I swear she sniffed. “I can’t promise. It’s most unusual. I will speak to the Professor when he has a moment and see what he says. But his diary is very full.”
Full of more important people than me. I retreated to my bedroom. It was tidy but it still held after-images of her. I scrubbed myself raw over the sink, using the nail brush like a scourge as
though I could rub her impression off my skin. I banged around making tea and toast, though I had no appetite for either after the porridge. I went hunting for the cat with a slopping bowl of milk,
but even she had abandoned me.
Finally Haggarty called back. The lovely Vivienne put me through, but she sounded as though it was costing her blood.
“Right, man. How the hell are you? Are you in bother, now? Tell me about
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