On Sunday, when Shelley’s supply of drugs had dwindled to an unacceptable level, she got back on to Jay. She knew to allow up to a day for his arrival. Even when he said he was down the road, it could take up to twenty-four hours to get to her flat. Fascinatingly, the same journey could also take fifteen or twenty minutes, although that had only happened on a handful of occasions. She imagined how it would be if she ran her business like that. She’d have no clients. But then, there’s no client more desperate than a junky – that she knew too well.
Shelley picked up her ringing mobile. “Sick bitch is back in business,” Nicole told her.
“Do you know what’s going on? Why did the police take her?” Shelley sat upright on the sofa and popped a pinch of heroin into her spoon.
“No. She said she’d been away. I couldn’t let on that we saw her getting arrested.”
“Did she say anything about me?” Shelley sprinkled in the citric.
“She’s been calling you. She asked if you had a new number.”
“You didn’t give it to her, did you?”
“Of course I didn’t. But why don’t you want her to have it? We’re supposed to be acting normal.”
“I know but I can’t bear talking to her, keeping up the nicey-nicey act.” Shelley balanced the phone in the crook of her neck as she added water then cooked the contents of the spoon. “You told her I was on holiday?”
“Yes, everything you said. Are you coming to Final Touch with me this week?”
“Maybe next.” Shelley tried to ignore the dirt under her uneven fingernails. “How was court?” she asked.
“They’re gonna be sentenced... It’s over and I’m not gonna let those cunts in my head again.”
With Marianne back and Nicole finished with court, they could finally move on with their plan for the rapist client. They arranged to meet up later in the week, which gave Shelley time to enjoy her private party a little longer. Inconveniently, it would need to be broken up at some point though; she’d managed to drag herself out the flat on Friday for a visit with her mother, but she hadn’t seen her aunt for over three weeks.
Shelley had her fix, then lay back on the sofa. She flicked through the channels, stopping at the brawling on Jerry Springer. Watching the show, she decided her life could, in fact, be worse.
Her last hit had been too weak. Leaning forward, she dragged the wooden coffee table closer towards the sofa to cook up the next. As the quantities of heroin and crack were dangerously low, to ensure she didn’t run out before Jay arrived, she first measured doses for a twenty-four hour period. Less crack was required than heroin; although the initial high was stronger with more, the hallucinations were also increased.
Cautiously, she selected a good-looking vein on the inside of her elbow. If the weather was pleasant, she’d use her skin condition excuse for wearing long sleeves. Lying to Nicole would be hard, but she didn’t want to keep blowing the veins in her feet and the veins behind her knees required contortionism for which she couldn’t muster the energy.
She wrapped a belt around her arm and waited for the vein to bulge. When it looked ripe, she pulled the orange cap off the syringe and slipped in the needle. Drawing back, she watched her blood unite with the brown liquid in the barrel. The thrill of the needle consumed her. Gently, she pushed in the plunger and felt herself hurtling into the other dimension.
***
The buzzer sounded and Shelley roused. Slowly, she opened her eyes. The flat was bright with sunshine. She raised her partially dead arm from its dangling-off-the-sofa position and swung it up onto the coffee table to reach for her phone. A needle was hanging from the inside of her elbow. She plucked it out.
From her mobile phone, she could see that it was 10.02 a.m. on Monday. She deduced that she’d passed out sometime the day before. She didn’t know what time, but the fact that the curtains were open led her to believe it was before dusk. Passing out didn’t concern her; it was regular occurrence. What was most irregular was someone at her door so early in the morning.
“Who is it?” she asked over the intercom.
“Why aren’t you at work? Are you not well?”
“Auntie Elsie! What are you—? Come up.”
Shelley slammed down the receiver, ran through to her bedroom and ripped off the stinking tracksuit she’d been wearing since Friday night. As she changed into her pastel-pink, long-sleeved pyjamas, her mind raced with reasons why her aunt had arrived unannounced.
There was a knock on her front door. “Coming,” she called from the bedroom at the other end of the flat.
In the hall mirror, she caught a glimpse of herself. Her complexion was pale, uneven with spots, and her eyes didn’t look like her own. Reluctantly, she opened the door. “I don’t want to come too close. You might catch it.”
“I thought you’d be home.” Aunt Elsie leant forward to hug her. “I know you’re not one to skive.”
“Has something happened to Mum?”
“Not yet. I’m going over there later to try and make something happen. Something has to change.” Aunt Elsie took off her fuchsia anorak and marched through to the lounge then into the kitchen.
“Why are—?” Shelley began, then realised her question could be rephrased more politely. “What are you doing in Hampstead?”
“You weren’t at work.” Elsie held the kettle under the running kitchen tap. “Where’ve your teacups gone?”
“There’s mugs in that one, there.” Shelley pointed to the cupboard above the sink. As she lifted her arm, she felt it tremble. “How did you know I wasn’t at work?”
“Because you weren’t there. That’s why I came here.”
Adrenaline surged through Shelley’s body. She felt electrified. “You were in Foxtons?”
“I had a good mind to have a word with your boss too, swanning around like—”
“Did you? What did you say?” Shelley thought her time with the borrowed eyes was up. They felt ready to launch out of her sockets and into the sink where she’d averted them.
“I bit my tongue this time, but if he keeps it up, I won’t be doing it next time. They’re working you too hard. I knew this would happen. Look at the state of you, you poor thing.” She rubbed Shelley’s shoulder. “It’s not catchy what you’ve got. You’re run-down. It’s exhaustion. What did the doctor say?”
“What did you say to them?”
“What did the doctor say is wrong with you?” Elsie asked, not looking at Shelley but at the poster with black lettering, sellotaped to the side of the fridge. “Oh, this is good, positive thinking. Choose life. Choose a—”
“What did you say in Foxtons?”
“Not a lot.” Her aunt continued looking at the poster. “This isn’t nice at all. It’s full of swearing. Go in the lounge and I’ll bring in your tea.”
Shelley wouldn’t leave the kitchen. She couldn’t because her quivering legs had taken root through the tiles. “What happened in Foxtons?”
“Calm down. Don’t worry. I didn’t get you into any trouble.” Aunt Elsie shunned the poster and looked at Shelley. “I only spoke to the receptionist. Is it legal to employ people that young? Being new isn’t an excuse either, not to know who you are – it’s ridiculous. You have been to the doctor, Shelley?”
“Not yet. What did she say to you?”
“You have to see the doctor. Call him.” Aunt Elsie removed the lid from the cream tin labelled ‘tea’. “And I bet you haven’t had that allergy test done, have you?”
“Not yet, but I will... What did she say?”
“Who’s she?”
“The receptionist. What did she say?”
“You mean he. Haven’t you met him yet? How long have you been off?” Elsie poured boiling water into the purple mugs on the work surface.
“Only today.” Shelley thought quickly. “He must be a temp.”
“Call the doctor. Please, for me,” Elsie said.
When her aunt walked past her, Shelley’s formerly entrenched roots retracted from the black and white floor tiles. She followed Elsie into the lounge. Her shaking hadn’t abated and tea splashed out of her mug, leaving a puddle trail on the floor. She kept her eyes straight ahead, pretending not to notice as she walked over to the couch. She saw a needle lying underneath the coffee table. Before sitting down, she kicked it under the sofa with her bare foot.
Aunt Elsie sat next to her on the sofa and picked up Shelley’s brick-like mobile phone from the table. “Make an appointment. I’m worried about you,” Elsie told her.
“I’ll do it later. I promise.” Shelley convinced her aunt that it wouldn’t make any difference whether she called now or in the afternoon. The doctors’ surgery was always booked up so far in advance that she’d probably be better by the time she got an appointment.
Aunt Elsie went to make Shelley some toast. Thankfully, Shelley had brought herself some new bread for the freezer. The cold bank was well hidden in the sealed Black Forest gateau box, so Shelley didn’t fear its discovery – not until her aunt called out from the kitchen that she’d disposed of all the food past its best before date.
Shelley rushed into the kitchen and opened the tall, silver bin. Inside she saw her savings – thousands of pounds – buried under a box of frozen burgers and a bag of frozen chips, topped with two leaking teabags. The Black Forest gateau box, she hoped, would provide shelter enough to keep dry the hundreds of pairs of fifties inside. The notes would need to be left out to air to remove the bin-odour they’d be acquiring in their current habitat. And the cold bank container would need to be replaced – she’d been using the same one since she’d started working in 1994, just after Will died that summer. The cake had been bought for him, but he’d never got to eat it.
“I’ll replace your food.” Aunt Elsie rubbed Shelley’s arm, causing pain around the areas of blown veins and lumps. “Don’t be upset. I’m sure lots of people forget to throw out their old food.”
A tear rolled down Shelley’s cheek to the corner of her mouth. A cardboard box was a stupid thing to be sentimental over, she told herself.
After Shelley ate her toast and drank a second cup of tea, she followed her aunt’s suggestion of having a bath and changing her clothes to make herself feel refreshed. She didn’t waste any time relaxing in the bath as she’d been directed; she worried what her aunt might find if she continued her mission of reorganising the contents of her flat.
“Are you trying to be a Uri Geller?” Aunt Elsie asked when Shelley returned to the lounge.
Sure that she’d misheard, Shelley pushed the baby-blue towel covering her wet hair away from her ears and walked closer to where her aunt sat on the sofa. “Am I what?”
“Your dessert spoons are all bent.” Elsie waved her index finger at Shelley. “Really, at your age, you should know better.” She laughed.
In the kitchen, Shelley left the cold tap running while she checked her cutlery drawer. There were no dessert spoons – the single, essential piece of cutlery for an intravenous addict. She lifted the lid on the bin and there they were. Her silver spoons now joined the cold bank and the other rejects from the freezer, topped with several soaking teabags.
Shelley carried a glass of water into the lounge and sat next to her aunt on the couch. Inside she felt like a furnace. She needed a hit. As she fantasised about the fix, she suddenly remembered Jay was on his way, as he had been since she called him yesterday. Now that it was midday, he would most likely be awake, though when he’d turn up, it was impossible to know.
“I’m really tired. Do you mind if I go to sleep?” Shelley faked a yawn and stretched out her aching arms. I am tired. I will be asleep, in a way.
“You have a nap, and I’ll have it all tidy in here for you when you wake up.” Elsie smiled. “Then we can go for a walk and get you some lunch. You really should get some fresh air.”
“I’ll be fine on my own. You go and enjoy your day.” As Shelley stood up from the sofa, she knocked off a velvet cushion and exposed a bloody syringe. “How come you’re not at work?” she asked in an effort to distract her aunt while she grabbed the cushion from the floor and replaced it over the needle.
“There was a fire at the school. Didn’t Mum tell you? They’re saying it was arson. You should see the mess. We’re meant to be off for a week, but I can’t see how they’ll have it ready by then. At least I’ll be around for a few days to look after you.”
There was no chance for Shelley to have a hit in her aunt’s presence. Moreover, she worried what her aunt might find if she persisted with the tidying, how she would deal with Jay’s arrival if he came and how she’d retrieve his money from the bin. Staying in the flat was no longer an option.
“It’s a lovely May day. Let’s go for a walk now, then I can have my sleep after,” Shelley said enthusiastically. “You don’t need to hang around here. You should be enjoying your time off.” She picked up her handbag, this time being careful not to move the cushion when she stood up.
“I don’t have to go to Mum’s today.” Elsie picked up her fuchsia anorak from the back of the dining chair. “You need looking after too.”
“No. You should see Mum. Don’t let me stop you.” Shelley wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. She was dying to roll up the long sleeves of her red blouse, but she couldn’t expose the war zone on her arms.
“If you eat something, I’d feel better about leaving. I’ll treat us to lunch at The Coffee Cup,” Elsie said.
Shelley agreed. If her aunt saw her eat, she’d be more likely to leave – and while she was in the restaurant, she could sneak to the ladies’ room and call Jay with her request that he delay the delivery.