‘You’re shagging me? Am I not shagging you?’
‘Paul, stop being an arse; you know what I mean.’
‘Not really. Words are important. You’re implying that you’re in charge, as always, Tilda.’
‘Stop psychoanalysing me, for God’s sake!’
‘She worked it out! What can I say? She’s smart. Maybe here wasn’t the best place to wash dirty laundry,’ he said, smirking.
She scowled at him.
‘OK. You win. I’m ready. When are we leaving?’
‘The car is here.’
Paul wiped his brow.
‘Calm down, Paul. Didn’t I tell you I’d protect you? We must find out who did this and then we can go home.’
Her words didn’t make sense. Paul was sure they knew already who did it.
‘But Sandy told me…’
‘Never mind what Sandy told you. She twists things to get what she wants; Christ, we all do that, don’t we? You must stop believing people just because they make promises.’
She went to him and stroked his temple, just the way he liked it when the red mist descended in his head.
‘I don’t want to drink it anymore. I’ve had enough. I’m tired, I get blackouts…’
‘Oh, Paul, you’re in good hands. You’re the strongest of all of us. We’ve learnt so much from you and you will be rewarded like we said. It’ll all be over soon. You shouldn’t believe Sandy; she’s lost her youth, and she resents the company’s new direction. She’s worn out. Tired of it all. She’ll be retired soon. We’re getting rid of old wood.’
Paul stared at her and she glanced at the bottle by his bed.
‘How many is that now?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. Three or four bottles a day over two weeks.’
She smiled. ‘And no side effects!’
‘I just told you…’
It was as if she was ignoring him on purpose, but then he questioned if he’d told her anything at all; perhaps he’d dreamt it. His head felt thick, and he knew he needed to get off it. He stared at her and his eyes felt heavy, then he felt an overwhelming rage throttle him from the inside.
‘Paul…’ she said. She held her hands up and he stepped towards her. She slapped him across the face, and he stopped, then questioned what he was doing so close to her and her face looking as though he’d hurt her.
He stopped and held his hands up to his face, which was burning up.
‘I need to get off this shit, Tilda, it’s killing me.’
‘Don’t be dramatic, Paul; have you been drinking with it again?’
‘No… I never drink with it; I don’t drink booze anymore, I swear…’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell them.’
She patted his hand and then held him in her arms, and he allowed her to keep him there. Suddenly everything felt normal again and the welling up of destructive energy inside him subsided.
Paul thought her voice was funny. It was as if she was accusing him of something. Jamie warned him about this. But he wasn’t guilty. He hadn’t done anything. She was making him think he had.
