Loss by Loss (v5.0) (mobi)

Author:Loss (v5.0) (mobi)
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2010-06-30T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

THERE WAS LESS THAN A week till Christmas. I got my first card of the year – from my mother. I put it on the string above the mantel with the fifty or so that Debs had received. Time was when we got cards addressed to the both of us; not any more. It would take a while before it registered that we were a couple again. I wondered if we would last that long.

Debs wasn’t herself. There’d been tears, shouting. She knew I wasn’t about to let up on the case; she understood I couldn’t. It came as a heartscald to her, because it was a red-flag warning that the Gus of old was still with us. Much as I wanted to change, much as I’d made promises and real progress, my old self was still there. Like Yul Brynner’s faulty android in Westworld, you couldn’t kill him with an axe. Just kept coming back at you. Again and again.

I’d pledged to keep up the sessions with the shrink, but I doubted their worth. I wasn’t sure all this psychobabble wasn’t just dredging up more hurt, exposing me to memories and emotions I’d buried for years. My past had been something I’d kept locked away, sealed in a jar. When it did present itself it took another kind of jar to wash it away. I wasn’t sure all this introspection wouldn’t have me reaching for the sauce soon. I felt the pull of it growing stronger by the day.

The dog came over to me on the couch, jumped in my lap. I patted his head, said, ‘Least I still have you, boy.’ The words seemed to pump me up. I didn’t want to lose Debs again, after all we’d been through. I didn’t want to go back to that lonely place, the late-night lock-ins, the obliteration of drink, the longing for a new life. I had another chance, but did I deserve it? Christ, it was more than Michael had. The thought wounded me. The old Presbyterian guilt rose. Was God toying with me? Giving me a glimpse of happiness to make the return of misery more painful than ever?

I felt sure of only one thing: I couldn’t go on like this. Something had to give. And soon.

My thoughts spiralled away from me, then my mobi began to ring; brought me back to earth.

Picked up. ‘Hello.’

‘That you, Gus?’ I half recognised the voice. ‘It’s Mr Bacon.’ My former boss on the newspaper, Mr Bacon – or Rasher, as I called him. He went on, ‘I was sorry to hear about your loss, Gus . . . so very sorry.’

I didn’t want to hear this; I knew at once why he had rung.

‘You got the scoop, then . . .’

He gave a little cough. ‘Erm, that’s not why I called at all. I just wanted to say . . .’

I wasn’t buying his bullshit. Hacks have little compassion when there are headlines involved. He was using his best ‘in’ to get a comment.

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