He gasped, swallowing lungfuls of air as he awoke. He was trapped in cloying darkness. Suffocating. Something was pushing in from him on all sides. There was a weight on his legs, his body. His chest. His heart was beating an erratic pattern in his chest.
Which means I’m still alive, he thought, apropos to nothing.
Of course he was. Why shouldn’t he be? It had been a heavy night, but not that heavy.
He forced the duvet off him, the material sticking to his sweat drenched skin. He felt like hell. He thought about kicking out, forcing whatever weight still lay on him off him. A muffled laugh from beneath the thrown back duvet.
Christ, he thought, closing his eyes. He was going to throw up. He was surprised he hadn’t yet. Unless he had the night before and it was on the floor on what was once her side. He would be able to smell it if that was the case. Or at least she would. The giggling mound.
“Vi,” he said as evenly and calmly as he could. “Good morning sweetheart.”
The mound giggled and wriggled in response.
“Any chance you could give your dad some space? Just for a moment.”
More giggling. More wriggling.
Get off me because I swear to god I’ll fucking throw up on you.
“Please darling, daddy is tired and not feeling too well.”
A shocked gasp, then the pressure on his body diminished, the weight on his legs going. A whump as she rolled on to the floor, then a frenzy of footsteps down the hall. He allowed himself a moment to close his eyes again. The sun was too bright. He had forgotten to shut the curtains, and the sun was streaming through the window. He may not be able to smell the telltale ammonia infused stink of booze vomit, but he could at least lie there and reveal in the funk from his own body. Middle of summer, and the nights had been humid and sticky. He normally partially circumvented this by opening a window or two but, again, because he passed out in nothing but his own smelly underwear the night before, he hadn’t bothered. As a result, funky odour time.
He groaned and let his arm fall from the bed, idly brushing his fingertips against the carpet. A little tactile feedback to bring him to earth. His hand brushed against something cold and smooth. Something cold and smooth that rolled a little and clinked against something else cold and smooth. He moved, shifting his weight towards the side of the bed and lowering his arm further. There were quite a lot there. Not small bottles either. How Violet had managed to miss them when rolling off the bed was a mystery.
Another groan and he lay back again. It had been worth it. She had been so impressed with his finished cover piece. Her words like aural champagne, and the promise of the remaining manuscript “soon”, as she was so keen to see it done. They had dinner together, yet she had returned to her own home. This time. Adam was sometimes able to palm Violet to a friends house for the night but as he had been unable to, then he had come home alone, paid the babysitter, and continued his celebrations at his own pace. After all, he was due it. He had done a fucking good job. She had said that she didn’t realise just how much potential he had in him. She thought initially she was hiring an illustrator.
“But I’ve hired an artist,” she said, taking a sip of her own champagne, although it had been the first and last she had drank. Adam had finished her share when she was collecting her coat from the cloakroom. “You’re an actual visionary, able to articular not just the words I’ve given you, but everything in between.”
Adam had said nothing and instead taken another drink, hoisting his glass aloft and letting her bring hers towards it for a small clink.
They had chatted a little and then he
said it
What did I say?
“Fuck,” he said softly. He had. Shit. Now he would have no choice but to honour the arrangement.
Running footsteps, the door swinging open again. He had pulled the covers above his head but they were tugged away. His eyes were still closed. Something cold on his forehead. The feel of a small wet hand. A matronly tut beside him, then something wet. She must have gone to get him a cold cloth.
“You’ll be okay in a minute poor daddy, on your day as well,” another tut, making her sound comical in how grown up it was.
She’s growing up so fast.
Wait.
You’ve thought that before.
“On my day?” He spoke softly, afraid of giving himself a worse headache than he already had.
“It’s your day silly!” A giggle like a hot knife through the glass of his brain. “I made you a card in school!”
“Thanks sweetheart, I’ll get it later. When I’m up. I’m sure it’s lovely”
Please leave me alone. Then: Maybe she’s forgotten. Could she have forgotten?
“That’s okay, you can open it whenever you like.”
Shallow breathing. She was building up to something. He didn’t speak. Let her ask. He wasn’t about to put his foot in it if she had forgotten and was going to ask something completely innocuous instead.
“Daddy…”
He didn’t answer. Instead lay with his eyes closed.
“Daddy…” she asked again. Her voice a slight tremor.
“Mmmhmm?”
“Are we going to go?”
He heard the bottles clink on the floor next to him. She was moving nervously from foot to foot.
“To where?” He thought he may as well try it.
“The wildlife park. Member? You said we’d go today because it was your daddy’s day and you said we could see the tiger.”
Dammit.
“Yeah, we’re still going,” he replied flatly.
He wouldn’t have been able to get out of it anyway, even if Violet had forgotten (and what eleven year old was going to bloody forget a thing like that). He wouldn’t have been able to get out of it because -
“Is she coming too?”
“Yes.”
“Really? You promise?”
“I said so didn’t I?”
That did it. Despite the ire and frustration and fatigue and everything else in his voice, the reaction was instant. The cold cloth was pulled away and his forehead down to his chin was smothered in kisses. “Thank you daddy she’s going to love it!”
Small hurried footsteps diminishing into the hall and down. Her bedroom door slamming closed. She would be already getting dressed. Choosing the things she wanted to take. The things she wanted to show off.
He swung his legs out of bed. No getting away from it. Steadying himself, he went to the en-suite, throwing the shower on cold and stepping in, gasping as the icy needles pricked against his skin.
“Are you busy tomorrow?” He had asked her. “I need to see you.”
She smiled in response. “I’m needed in the gallery. There’s a new exhibition happening. Lon wants me to give it the once over to finalise hanging positions for some of the larger pieces.”
He had seen the advertisements for it.
“Couple of Trent’s pieces there,” he said
“Is this going to be something?” Her voice matched his in tone almost perfectly. She continued to smile, despite her eyes betraying a different emotion.
“Just an observation.”
“He’s gone, Adam. He doesn’t even see his daughter.”
Another drink. “Can I see you after?”
“I don’t know if we -”
“Please.” There was no way to keep the desperation out of his voice, so he didn’t try. “Daphne, please. I can take Vi to her friends again and -”
She shook her head. “I don’t know when I’ll be finished. I thought you said you were taking Violet to a wildlife park?”
“Yeah.” He tried to sound nonchalant. Tried to sound as though he hadn’t been trying to forgo the trip.
“In that case, can I ask you something?”
Here it comes.
Don’t pretend you wouldn’t lick the shit from her shoe if she asked you to.
“Shoot. Anything.”
“I’ve been so busy of late. I never do anything for her. She needs…something. For her. Would you take her? Her and Violet seem to get on so well. They could be sisters. So alike. Same age too.”
“Of course. I’d love to. This trip will be for her too. If you drop her off about eleven.”
“Perfect. Thank you Adam. Thank you for doing this
for Ivy
He stepped out the shower to his alarm. Half past ten. He had set it just in case. One of the few bits of foresight he had possessed. He hit the top with the palm of his hand and when it didn’t cease, he angrily swatted it against the wall, knocking the batteries out the back. He stood there, dripping water on to the carpet, the bed. Everywhere. Momentarily unsure what to do next. Everything was wet.
He went back to the en-suit and dried himself off. By the time he was downstairs making coffee, Violet was munching her way through a huge bowl of cheerios, talking about twenty things at once. In front of her she had her favourite book (something about a tower in a forest) and her stuffed tiger. Her card for him lay on the table but he vowed to open it when they returned, already hearing the car door outside and the trill ring of the doorbell. It was an old doorbell, a large bass bell inside it’s wooden housing. He would miss this house when the fucking thing sold, but not that doorbell. It sounded like an old telephone.
Violet threw her spoon across the table - cheerios flying everywhere - and ran to the door. There was no point in Adam going. Daphne would have just dropped her daughter off and sped off to the gallery.
He looked down the hall. The girls already out of sight, the sound of the television in the living room. Some music programme or other. The inane overly processed vocals merging with the samples. Without hesitation, he opened the bread bin and took out the short bottle of malt from behind the loaf, uncapping it and pouring a generous measure into his coffee. It wouldn’t hurt. He just needed a quick pick-me-up after the previous evening. Anything to keep the hangover at bay. He caught sight of the old phone on the counter as he did so. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t got rid of it. Perhaps he thought it would make a good first phone for Violet. It’s not like he needed it any more. No more need for subterfuge. He had her. At least, he thought he had her.
He hoped he had her. Although sometimes it seemed as though she was more interested in the work he was still doing for her than him.
Hell, who was he kidding. Most of the time.
He knocked back most of the coffee and added another large measure of the malt to the dregs, finishing them off as well before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips must have been dry and cracked, spots of blood on his skin.
He wouldn’t be able to put it off any more, and went to fetch the girls from the living room, leading them out to the car. Despite their friendship, Violet insisted on sitting in the front with him, Ivy behind his seat. He fastidiously made sure her seatbelt was on and fastened securely, not taking any risks. He stopped a couple of times, feeling a little dizzy, wondering if he should have had that hair of the dog.
It’s never done you harm before. You’re fine.
“Daddy come on, we’re going to miss them feeding her.”
He finished securing Ivy in her seat and minutes later they were on the coast road to the Wildlife Park, both girls singing along to the radio at the top of their voices. Adam was feeling increasingly more uncomfortable, not able to just the sun visor properly to keep the unrelenting sun out his eyes. The sun itself was reflecting off everything, every sign, every passing car. It hurt his eyes and forced him to squint. More than once he had forced himself to steer back in to this lane, blaming the sun but knowing that it could well be how he was feeling.
You’re coming don with something, you’re fine.
The singing was as unrelenting as the sun.
He switched radio station. The girls protested but he was having none of it. There was a news report. The war.
“The Prime Minister met for talks with Minister Denys Ivanov again today for more talks on furthering the peace process, talks that are expected to last -”
He switched it off, putting a CD in instead. Led Zeppelin. Much better. More moaning from his passengers.
“We all get our turn,” he said, smiling for the first time since climbing in to the car.
The Wildlife Park was a good drive and one that he had done before. He normally enjoyed the narrow winding road with the view of the ocean on one side, the only thing separating them a thin crash barrier. This time it made him feel uneasy.
Five miles to go. The large sign with a picture of a huge tiger baring it’s fangs at the side of the road. He thought the tiger had been painted to look friendly but personally found it the opposite. If he got face to face with something like that, he didn’t doubt it would just eat him the fuck up.
Something large approached him in he rearview mirror, bearing down on him. A truck, the sun glinting off the chrome bumper. It was one of those long snouted vehicles you only saw in American TV programmes, but were found more and more on UK soil. This one was being driven aggressively, and in no time at all it was mere feet behind. He could read the logo above the driver’s windscreen.
FLEET TRANSPORT
“Fuck sake,” he muttered, glancing uselessly in the rearview mirror.
“What is it?” Violet said, getting up in her seat and turning around.
Something was wrong. She shouldn’t have been able to move so freely.
Did you check her seatbelt after Ivy’s?
“Fucking hell, Vi, put your seatbelt on!” He leaned towards her, trying to force her around.
She turned, eyes wide. “What?”
“Your belt! Put your belt on!”
“I have got it on, I -”
His reactions were too slow. Dulled by drink. He didn’t look back up in time. Didn’t grab the wheel in time.
The car hit the crash barrier and spun twice, moving across to the oncoming lane and back again, the truck ploughing in to the back of the car and forcing it over the barrier and down the embankment towards the water. It was over in moments.
Adam came to, the sound of the waves close by. He felt funny. He felt wet.
Why am I wet?
Focus. The smell. Petrol. Strong in his nostrils. Oil. The steering wheel was too close. Water on his lap.
He turned to his left, to check his daughter was okay, but her seat was empty. Her door was closed and was pushed into the seat, which was mangled and covered in bits of broken glass, the water swishing them to and fro. The tiny pieces each reflected the sun like glitter. He followed his gaze around to the front window that was no longer there. The dash was covered in a substance that also glistened in the sun.
Glistened red in the sun.
Violet. That was where she had gone. Towards the sun. Towards the ocean. Across the bonnet that was like an accordion, smashed against and then over the rocks that broke the waves. Her jacket was on the rocks. One shoe. The other shoe was in the footwell. The trainers he had just bought her. There was something still in it. Something that coloured the water it floated in.
He continued to turn, his head moving as though it was on a spring.
She had her seatbelt on. That’s the one I checked. She’ll be okay behind me.
The truck had followed them down, or at least the cab had. It had stopped because the car had stopped, but not before it had ploughed into and through the back. Part of the engine had come out through the front of the grille, which had in turn gone through the boot, the back seat, and the small girl that had been sitting singing happily in the back seat. She was glued up against the rear of his own seat. Once pretty features an amalgamation of flesh and machinery.
His numbed and stupid brain tried to make sense of what he saw, but all he could do was turn slowly to the front, look down below the wheel, and wonder how there was room for his legs amongst the engine parts of his own car.
Darkness soaked into his vision, a single sentence accompanying him into oblivion.
Thank you Adam. Thank you for doing this for Ivy.
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