Moderate Violence (22 page)

“Well, this time you got a bit too near it,” said
Doctor Mandani. “Any further and it could have been a lot worse.”

Jo considered this while the doctor took her pulse. “People
have bled to death from that artery, haven’t they?” she asked her.

“They have. Now shush, I’m counting.”

Jo thought a bit more while she waited. “When can I go
home?” she asked when the doctor released her wrist.

“Tomorrow, maybe. I’ll come and see you in the
morning.” The doctor wrote in Jo’s folder, slotted it into the pocket at the
bottom of the bed and put her pen back in her pocket. “It’s visiting time now. But
afterwards I want you to go to sleep.” She smiled briefly. Her teeth were small
and even. “See you tomorrow.”

Jo closed her eyes, hoping no one would visit her. She
couldn’t stand the thought of Holly and Pascale trooping in with pinched faces,
each thinking they were the one Jo had treated worse. The truth was, she’d
treated them equally badly, reducing them to labels on the backs of DVDs, in an
insane attempt to convince herself she was in control of them.

“Coo-ee!” It was Tess. She plonked a bouquet of roses
on the bed and kissed Jo. “How’s my darling girl?”

“I’m all right. I’m sorry about your boyfriend’s
clothes.”

Tess smiled happily. Her hair was held back by a pink
headband that matched her skirt. Her lipstick was an exact match too. “Oh, I
shouldn’t worry about that. Mark can afford plenty of new ones.” She widened
her eyes at Jo. “Did you like him? He’s sweet, isn’t he?”

Unexpectedly, Jo felt a rush of affection. “Yes, he’s
sweet, Tess.”

“And he was
so
competent,
when we came home and found you…you know.” Tess’s eyes sparkled with pride. “I
was in a state, as you can imagine, but he just took off his tie – a silk one,
designer – and made a what’s-it-called out of it – ”

“A tourniquet,” supplied Jo.

“That’s right. And he’s paid to have the bedroom carpet
cleaned, too. He’s just such a darling. You do like him, don’t you?”

Trevor was right; Tess would never get it. “I
absolutely adore him,” she said.

“Oh, Jo!” Tess’s eyes filled, but she blinked the tears
away. “By the way, Holly and Pascale send their love.”

“Are they here?” asked Jo. A small wave of panic lapped
at her. “Trevor said he saw them downstairs in the café.”

“I saw them too. I said they could come up to see you
after two o’clock, but Holly said they thought it was better if it was just me
and your dad, I can’t think why. I mean, they’re your best buds, aren’t they?” She
shifted discontentedly in the chair. “I don’t know why they bothered to come to
this vile place if they don’t want to see you. Anyway, I’ve given you their
love, like they asked.”

Good old Holly, thought Jo. Always sensible. Always
aware of how other people feel. The concern she and Pascale felt for Jo was
clear to everyone except Tess. It wasn’t that
they
didn’t want to see
Jo
, it was
that
Jo
didn’t want to see
them
, and Holly knew it.

“I expect they’ll pop in later,” she said, to placate
her mother. But she knew they wouldn’t. The world the three of them had
inhabited for so long had fallen over.

* * * * * *

The bit of sky Jo could see from the window
had turned purply-blue, and she had switched on the light above her bed, when a
nurse brought her a pink envelope which had been left for her at the nurses’
station.

The envelope bore the words ‘Miss Joanna Probert’ in
very familiar writing. Jo had witnessed that writing’s creation, over the last
11 years. She had seen it through line-ignoring almost-letters, through a
twelve-year-old’s experiments with curls, loops and circles over the i’s, to
the teacher-pleasing clarity she now saw so often, and sometimes copied.

She tore open the envelope. Holly had written three
words on the pink paper. One of them was the S-word Jo had never been able to
extract from Toby. The others were ‘Call you?’ She must have gone home from the
hospital that afternoon, sat down at her L-shaped desk, agonized over those
three words, then come all the way back to deliver the note, and get the bus
all the way home again. Alone, without telling anyone. Somehow, the trouble she
had gone to was comforting.

Jo sank back against the pillow, the note in her hand. Poor
Holly. Jo had labelled her ‘Fairly adult’, when all the time she was
floundering in waters she shouldn’t have stepped into, like a child who
couldn’t swim. She knew she would forgive Holly for not telling her about Toby
straight away. She almost had already, really.

Thinking about Holly made Jo think about Toby. Accepting,
denying, accepting and denying again, perhaps for years. Universal viewing,
suitable for all? Maybe not. His face appeared, his grey eyes dark, the pupils
large. They bore into her, full of the desire to be forgiven. But how could she
forgive him? He had admitted the truth to Holly, but he hadn’t told
her
.

Things might be clear, but they were no less hurtful. Toby
had tried to be Jo’s boyfriend, but he hadn’t given up his clubbing friends, or
spent time with
her
friends. He’d
stuck up for Jo about the mystery shopper, but now it was obvious why he’d been
prepared to take such a risk with his job. He’d known Gordon wouldn’t sack him.

She’d told him she loved him, but he knew she couldn’t
have really. That’s why he’d changed the subject. And deep down she’d known she
didn’t. Especially after what he did in the taxi. In hindsight he’d tried to
have sex with her in a place he knew she would refuse to do it, so that he
didn’t have to do it either. He’d acted aggressive and disappointed, when
really he must have been relieved. And he’d told her that ridiculous story
about being drugged and getting his phone stolen to cover the night he’d been
with Mitch. Maybe she should have worked the whole thing out.

She started to think about Toby’s mum and dad. His mum,
a willing servant, didn’t seem to know or care what Toby was doing, and his dad
was never there. How had Toby felt, being left as the ‘man of the house’? Jo
had never considered the male perspective before. A man was expected to work,
earn, support, protect, defend. Active verbs, as Mr Gerrard would say. Action,
that’s what men’s lives were about. It was like sex. If the man couldn’t do it,
it didn’t get done.

But supposing you didn’t
want
to be the man of the house and the head of a family? Supposing
you didn’t
want
to have sex with
a woman and produce children, and live with them forever-and-ever-amen? But if
your mum and dad, and everyone else, expected you to, you would try to be what
they wanted, wouldn’t you? You might even go out with a girl who was too naïve
to understand.

As Jo lay in the hospital bed with the pink tent of
Holly’s note on her chest, sleep began to enclose her. Her eyelids heavy, she
reached out and retrieved her phone from the bedside cabinet. She wrote the
three letters of ‘Yes’, and sent the text to Holly’s number. Her leg throbbed;
they’d give her some painkillers if she asked, but she decided not to. Sleep
seemed like the better option. Sleep brought oblivion, and oblivion killed pain
better than any pills.

* * * * * *

Jo was sitting in a garden chair among
cushions with Blod on her lap, letting Tess show off in front of Mark by
fussing over her and bringing her a drink with a little umbrella in it. Mark
had an ironic way of looking at Tess which she hoped meant he wasn’t
overestimating her. Maybe he was content just to have his ego massaged, or
regular sex, or both.

He pushed himself out of his chair when the doorbell
rang. “I’ll get it,” he said. “And I’m going to stay indoors, Tess, OK? Got
some work to do.”

Tess nodded happily. Mark was some sort of broker. Not an
insurance broker, something to do with financial institutions, Tess had told
her proudly. It sounded to Jo like he might, indeed, come up with some dosh.

Holly emerged from the house. Jo watched her cross the
lawn and sit down in the chair Mark had vacated. She looked like she usually
looked, blonde tendrils in place around her face, smile ready, eyes full of
that what-you-see-is-what-you-get expression. Jo knew now, though, that you
didn’t always get what you saw. “Hi, Hol,” she said.

Tess stood up and gathered the empty glasses. “Well,
I’ve got things to do,” she said lightly. “And you two need to talk!”

That’s right, Tess, state the
obvious.
Neither Jo nor Holly replied.

“Would you like a drink, Holly?” asked Tess. “It’s so
warm today.”

Holly released the awaiting smile, though not widely
enough to reveal her funny tooth to Tess. “No, thanks. But it
is
hot, isn’t it?”

Didn’t Holly ever give up trying to charm parents? Maybe,
after so many years of practice, it came automatically.

“Anyway,” said Tess, turning to Jo. “Call if you want
anything, darling, I’ll be in the kitchen.” She turned back to Holly. “You
won’t tire her, now, will you? She’s had a Very Bad Experience.”

Holly’s smile didn’t falter. “Promise,” she said.

Tess started towards the house, and Blod jumped off
Jo’s lap to follow her, hoping, as ever, for a snack.

When Holly looked at Jo her smile had become more
tentative. “I’m so – ” she began.

“Look, you don’t need to apologize,” interrupted Jo. “You’ve
done that.”

“I wasn’t going to. I was going to say, I’m so glad
you’re out of hospital. They’re full of bugs
and
they don’t even have hot doctors like on TV. ”

“The doctor I had was very nice-looking,” said Jo, “but
she was a woman.”

Holly’s smile tried to broaden, but the small talk
wouldn’t hold. Jo sensed what was coming and tried to head it off, “I don’t
care what happened, Hol.”

“Well…” Jo could see that Holly was fighting dismay,
but what had she expected? That telling Jo what had happened would make it
un-happen? “Look, I just
knew.
But
I couldn’t tell you, could I?”

“Why not?”

Holly’s troubled look intensified. “After what you told
me that day by the lockers I went into the shop when you weren’t there and
asked him about it. He sort of just gave in and told me about Gordon and
pleaded with me to keep it secret.” She glanced at Jo. “He stayed at Gordon’s
at weekends sometimes. You were suspicious, weren’t you?”

“No,” said Jo. “I just thought he had this group of
friends he didn’t want me to be part of. I thought he was ashamed of me, because
I was only sixteen and couldn’t get into clubs. We never even went to Press
Gang because he said he didn’t like it.”

“Well, he had a reason,” said Holly. “That guy behind
the bar, the one with the tattoos, had been one of Toby’s…er…lovers, and they
fell out.”

“Oh.” Jo wished they
had
gone to Press Gang, and encountered the ex-lover. It would have saved a lot of
trouble. “Well, go on, then. What did you say when he asked you not to tell
me?”

“I refused. You know what I’m like, I can’t stand lies
– but he said he really wanted to make things right with you, and he was going
to dump Gordon and stop going to Mitch’s and all that, and be a proper
boyfriend. He
promised
, Jo. And
you seemed happy. You said you loved him! But…” Holly looked stricken at the memory.
“This dumping Gordon, it didn’t seem to happen. On Monday night, when you
turned up at his house, I’d gone round there to moan about it. But he fobbed me
off, saying that Tuesday would be the last time ever, promise, promise. And you
know how persuasive he can be, and how…I don’t know, how
all right
things sound when he says them. But
then, on Tuesday, I couldn’t stand it any more. I went round to his house to
tell him I wasn’t going to cover for him any more, and he’d have to deal with
the consequences. I said I wouldn’t leave unless Gordon came with me, but they
went upstairs anyway. I sat in the house not knowing what do and then you knocked
on the door. You were so worked up, but I was worked up too. I just didn’t know
what
to do.”

The two girls, one each side of the table, their faces
shaded by the umbrella, looked at each other silently for a long moment. This
really
is
the final scene of a
movie, thought Jo. The symmetrical, meticulously-set-up shot of the two
characters, the slanting sunlight, the deep shadows, the lush, mid-August
foliage. The slow pull back, to reveal the garden, the street, the city. And
then the credits.