THE LIFE OF RILEY
Surtsey Ana Krakatoa
Copyright © Text Surtsey Ana Krakatoa
The author asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
CHAPTER ONE
Tulse Hill, London, 2nd June 2008
Inside a house conversion project in southeast London a young man finishes plastering a wall. He pauses, taking a moment to admire his handiwork. Momentarily, he hesitates. His eyes glaze over as if his thoughts have taken him to another time and place. The faint sound of a radio returns his attention to the here and now. “Cholera, to nic nie rozpoczął.” He jumps down from his trestle, rushes over to his plaster-splattered old radio/cassette player, retunes it to another station, and turns up the volume. He turns a plastic bucket upside-down, sits on it, and listens intently to the broadcast.
“ . . . We’re past the midpoint in this world championship final, and young Jackie Riley is riding like a woman possessed. It’s all over for the American; Sianna Phillips will have to be content with the silver medal. She’s in danger of being caught by the young Brit. Jackie Riley powers her way down the home straight. By the end of this race she will be the World Individual Pursuit champion. The gold medal is hers. In every round she’s destroyed the competition. She’s 0.7 seconds inside of world record schedule. Her race is against the clock now. Off the banking, into the back straight. She’s flying, still powering away. She’s . . . OH MY GOD!”
“Shit.” He lets the float fall from his grasp and raises his hands to his head. “Co do cholery się stało? Co do cholery?” And then he’s silent, sitting on his upturned bucket listening to the unfolding drama.
A colleague enters the room and places a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “How much did you lose?”
“Fifty pounds.”
A young woman lies unconscious in a bed in a hospital room. She has various tubes attached to her body. A monitor measures her heart-rate, blood pressure, and respiration. An unopened lilac envelope sits on the cabinet beside her. In the doorway, a doctor clasps his hands whilst talking to a middle-aged couple in sincere and sober tones. “We’ve done all that we can. She’s stable. She’ll need several more operations.”
“Will she walk again?” asks the woman.
The doctor lowers his head further. “There was extensive muscle bone and nerve damage. I didn’t even think we’d be able to save the right leg . . .”
The woman bursts into tears, and turns to the man, burying her head into his chest. He embraces her.
“Sorry.” The doctor shakes his head. “There was simply too much damage. The nervous system . . .”
“Is there no hope,” asks the man.
“Sorry,” replies the doctor.
CHAPTER TWO
Ladbroke Grove, London, 11th November 2009
“Mr Marcin, you were saying?” Jackie leans forward in her wheelchair and slides the driving licence back across the coffee table.
“Thank you.” Marcin returns the licence to his wallet. “Is not Mr Marcin, is Marcin Luzik – like the licence says. I no like Luzik. One day I will change. Call me London, my friends they call me London.”
“Please, Mr Marcin, continue detailing your experience.”
“Back home, in Poland, I look after my sick mother for eight years, from fifteen to twenty-three. When she die, I have nobody left, except maybe my cousin, Anouska. She live in Krackow. I leave my home and come to London. Always I think I want to come to London, all my life from I am little boy, I want to come to London.” He chuckles. “My friends give me nickname – London, because I talk about London my whole life.”
“Why did you want to come to London so much?”
“I want good life.”
“It’s not that great.”
“Is shit life.”
“Oh, I see. I don’t suppose it’s for everybody. Now, what was wrong with your mother? What illness did she have?”
“Chronic heart disease and a muscle atrophy - doctors say. She spend five years in wheelchair - like you.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Is okay. Is not your fault. I cook food. I wash clothes. I clean house. I take Matka to toilet. I wash her. I do everything.”
“I see. I don’t actually need that much help. The duties are simply keeping the place clean and tidy and helping me get around, shopping, stuff like that.”
“Okay, I can do, no problem,”
“Have you actually done any care work in England?”
“No, in England I am plasterer, good plasterer.”
“A plasterer?”
“Yes, make good job.” He shuffles along the leather sofa, closer to her. “Was plasterer until I meet girl, here in England, Helena. We have good time in beginning but it not work out so good, and she leave. So I try live alone in flat, but London is so expensive. Bloody hell.” He shrugs. “Is too bloody expensive. Every week . . . work, sleep, rent – no money left. The next week is same. Work, sleep, rent – no money . . . Is shit life, I think.”
Jackie frowns, and backs her chair away a half turn.
“Every week is the same – so I say.” He slaps his thigh. “Marcin, is time for you to go home. But then I see you advertise on gym notice-board, you have job with room. Is miracle.”
“Yes, I was surprised when you rang. I’d totally forgotten about that. I was amazed that the stupid card was even still up. I only went to that gym twice. It was a silly idea really. The receptionist convinced me I needed help – she put it up.”
“Anyway, I here now, and I see you. I think wow, is destiny. You are big star like Jamie Somers.”
“Excuse me? Jamie who?”
“Jamie Somers, Bionic Woman. I watch on cable TV.”
“Oh, right.”
“You are like superstar. I see you on the TV two times in velodrome, and then you come to my country. You win junior world record in individual pursuit race. And then later, in World Championship final I am listening to you on radio. You are kicking bottom of other woman when this accident happen.” He points to her legs. “I think is too bad sometimes. Is bloody bollocks, no?”
“Yes, er, no. . . . I can tell you – I wasn’t exactly thrilled.”
“One stupid person, they throw plastic bottle onto track, and your legs turn into train wreck. I think is shit.”
“Believe it or not? I think it’s pretty shit, too. . . . Mr Marcin, I find your use of the English Language is very, erm - interesting.” Jackie pulls the blanket up a little higher on her legs. “Tell me, where did you learn to speak English?”
“I learn speak from cable TV. Nothing else to do but stay home with Matka and watch TV. She watch all day everyday. She love ER, Desperate Housewives, Heroes . . . I like watch Bionic woman.”
“Really.”
“And Baywatch, I never miss Baywatch.”
“Right.” She rolls her eyes.
He leans back into the sofa making no attempt to disguise his blatant study of her.
Jackie folds her arms across her chest.
“You have pretty brown eyes but they are very sad,” he says.
“Shall we continue?”
“Is good thing you wear helmet when you crash,” he says.
Puzzled, she offers him a questioning look.
“Protect face. Face is still very very beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She clears her throat. “Yeah, nice face, shame about the legs.”
Marcin stood. “You like coffee?”
“I drink coffee – why?”
“You have?”
“Well, yes, there’s some in the kitchen but . . .”
Before she finishes her words Marcin is already in her kitchen. “I make for you. Polska coffee, special recipe from Matka.”
Jackie finishes her coffee, and places the cup on the table, next to Marcin’s. “Mr Luzik, I really must get on. I’ll have a think and let you know.”
“Okay.” Marcin stands, sharply. Taking Jackie by surprise, he takes her hand and shakes it, scoops up the coffee cups, and heads toward the kitchen.
“Don’t! . . .” She closes her eyes as she hears the noise of the cups against stainless-steel, and finishes her sentence in a mutter. “ . . . put them in the sink.”
Marcin bounds through the lounge. “You can call me anytime – day or night. I go now, no need for you to come to door.”
“Mr Marcin, I . . .”
The front door opens and closes. She waits, stuck in her pose, listening. The lift doors open and close, then, the sound of the motor starts up, and slowly fades away. Peace and normality have returned to her home. She takes up the paper containing Marcin’s details, folds it neatly into quarters, and places it on her lap, before wheeling herself into the kitchen. After executing a deft three-point turn in the confined space, she reverses her chair onto the pedal of the bin, takes the paper from her lap, crushes it in her fist, and disposes of it. She looks over to the sink and groans. Another manoeuvre is required. She parks her chair adjacent to the sink, stretches across, and hauls herself up. She spies the two cups and the teaspoon. Gripping the edge of the worktop with her right hand, she reaches for the cups with her left hand. As she retrieves the cups she the chair moves beneath her. Terror fills her eyes before they close in resignation. “Bollocks.”
The chair whizzes backwards, toward the washing machine.
Jackie flies in the opposite direction, back towards the lounge.
The cups head skywards.
Jackie lies flat on her back, looking at her distorted reflection in the stainless steel pedal bin. A smile appears, and breaks into laugh. The laughter gives way to tears.
She remains still a while, thinking, staring at the kitchen ceiling but seeing nothing. Eventually, she pulls herself up to a sitting position, and her tears stop abruptly when she notices a large chunk of a broken cup embedded into her foot. She nonchalantly pulls it out and drops it into the bin, before dragging herself through the broken crockery to recover her chair.
CHAPTER THREE
Before the month is out Marcin has moved into Jackie’s third floor flat. Reluctantly, Jackie has employed him to be her carer, a temporary measure. He arrives with two suitcases, nothing more.
“Take your things straight through. Your room is the first door to the right. The next one along is mine, and the bathroom’s at the end . . . and, Mr Marcin, can you try to keep all your belongings in your room at all times?”
“For sure.”
“And, Mr Marcin, please don’t ever leave anything in the kitchen sink. I can’t reach the kitchen sink. Put things in the dishwasher.”
“London, call me London. Yes, I will remember.” Marcin goes through to his room as directed, places his cases on his bed, and returns to the lounge. “In my room is exercise bench and weights. I can use? Or you want me put away for safety?”
“Sorry?”
“Jackie, I . . .”
“Mr Marcin! If there’s one thing I hate it’s over-familiarity. You are my carer. We are not friends. My name is Miss Riley.”
“Yes, Miss Riley.”
“And, don’t get too comfortable here. I’ve only agreed to give this a month’s trial.”
“Yes, Miss Riley.”
“And no, you cannot use the equipment. It all needs to go away. I’m going to sell it. You can take it down to the garage for me.”
“But is almost new. Why you don’t use?”
“Yeah, well. I bought it when I had some stupid fantasy that I could still get my gold medal by going to the Paralympics. There’s a racing wheelchair down in the garage as well. It cost me a fortune. It’s all got to go.”
“Okay, you are boss. I do now. Where is garage?”
“Come, I’ll show you.” Jackie swivels her chair around and heads for the front door.
Marcin places his hands on the grips her wheelchair.
She turns and slaps his hand sharply. “If I want help, I’ll ask for it.”
“Yes, Miss Riley.”
Jackie opens the cupboard housing the electricity meter. She unhooks a small set of keys. “You’ll need these. Come with me.”
After removing the two substantial padlocks and unlocking the mortice lock, Marcin hoists up the garage door. “Wow, is like professional gymnasium in here.” He looks around, in awe.
“Well, it’s all got to go,” replies Jackie, reaching for the specially lowered light switch.
“Why you have exercise bike and rowing machine?” He diverts his attention from her legs before she catches him looking.
“It comes as a complete set. They don’t do a special kit for cripples.”
Marcin examines the poly-gym. “Why you not use?”
“I used to ride a bike, and I was bloody good. Now, my legs are useless. Pushing a wheelchair in a freakshow for cripples, just isn’t the same. It’s embarrassing.”
“We have saying in Poland – Donkey he say horseracing is for dumb asses.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“If try to put donkey in horserace, donkey knows he will finish last, so donkey say race is rubbish. You give up everything very easy, Miss Riley, too easy. You have no spunk. It is gone. You want to be victim rest of your life.”
“I am not a victim, and I’m not a quitter.”
“You join gym. You quit gym. You buy equipment. You want sell.”
“You’re not here to psycho-analyse me. I’ve shown you where the garage is, now lock it up and let’s go.”
“You wanted to be big champion like Tammy Grey?”
“It’s Tanni Grey . . . and yes, she’s marvellous . . . Come on, we’re going.” Jackie tries to turn her chair around to leave but Marcin bars her way.
“But you just say she is freak in freakshow.” He pushes her wheelchair backwards, deeper into the garage.
As the chair rolls gently backwards, Jackie opens her mouth to speak but finds no words.
Marcin surveys the contents of the garage. “How much you sell?”
Jackie stops her chair and applies the brake. “Whatever I can get for it. It’s just sitting around gathering dust.”
He nods and scratches his chin. “I buy from you.”
“With what?”
“I use deposit I get back from flat. If more, I pay from wages.”
“What will you do with it?”
“I keep here. Use for exercise. I sell before I go back to Poland.”
“No, it can’t stay here. I need the room.”
Marcin looks across to the Silver VW SUV parked opposite with the orange permit displayed in the window. “For what?”
“To park my car.”
Marcin points. “This car?”
“Yes, that’s my car.”
He laughs. “This should be painted red. Is not car, is bus. No room for you to get out of bus; use crutches to get to back door, open back door, and get wheelchair out. Garage is too small. Bus is too big. It not work.”
Jackie erupts. “I want all this shit gone! Do you hear me? Do you understand plain English?”
“I think you have bad temper. Tanni Grey is strong woman. She never gived up. She have many medals. You are strong woman. I think you can do this, too. You are also marvellous woman.” Marcin picked up Jackie out of her wheelchair.
“Get off me!” She hammers her fists into his chest. “Put me down!”
“You try.” He deposits her onto the bench of the poly-gym, releases the brake, and pushes her wheelchair across the garage using his foot. “You can do this. You are strong woman.”
“Bring me back my chair!”
“I go up to flat to get other things . . . You stay here. Have fun.”
“Do I look like I’m laughing?”
“You try. Make big effort.” Marcin turns and walks nonchalantly out of the garage, pulling the door closed behind him.
Marcin returns an hour later and opens the door. It has been raining.
Jackie hasn’t moved from where he left her. “How dare you lock me in here? You are here to help me! You know, I don’t think this is going to work out.”
“For sure, it work out. I help you be strong woman.” Marcin looks over to her wheelchair. “Door was not locked. Is not difficult for you to get to wheelchair. If you wanted to, you would have. You love to complain.”
“Just bring me my chair – now!”
“Miss Riley, you are very stubborn woman.”
“When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”
“Brr!” Marcin rubs his arms with hands. “Is getting cold. Exercise – very good way to keep warm.” He places two small dumbbells onto her lap. “I go now – cook dinner for Miss Riley.” He closes the door behind him.
“Stop calling me Miss Riley!” she shouts through the closed door. “It’s annoying.”
He pops his head back around the door. “Is your name. You say not call you Jackie – we are not friends. You want for me to make up pet name for you . . . like . . . er, Betty?”
She doesn’t reply, but sets her face into a scowl.
He closes the door.
She listens to his footsteps vanish. “Yeah, you can call me Betty – try it. Don’t be surprised at what I’ll call you.”
It’s late into the evening when Marcin pushes Jackie into the lift. Her face is red and sweat patches can be seen around her armpits. The pair do not speak or make eye contact on the way up. The doors open. He reverses her out of the lift, across the hallway, and into the flat.
Jackie, with a scowl on her face, eases herself from the wheelchair to the chair. “I need to shower. I must stink.”
Marcin sniffs the air. “Is true.” He hands Jackie an envelope with her name written on it.
She takes it and rips it open. “What’s this?” She pulls out a handful of twenty-pound notes.
“I go to bank, get money. Is down-payment.”
“Are you stupid, or deaf? I said no!” She hurls the bundle of notes at him. The notes separate and fall onto the carpet by the dining table.
Marcin looks at the money strewn over the corner of the lounge. “You pick up. I’ll go and serve you dinner.” He heads off into the kitchen. On his return Jackie has fallen asleep. He gently lifts her from the chair, carries her to her bed, and spreads a blanket over her. He hovers over her sleeping form. “Goodnight, Miss Riley - smelly. . . and stubborn. You are a stubborn and smelly, like goat.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The month has barely begun yet Christmas lights decorate the windows of the flat opposite Jackie’s. Marcin is relaxing, face down on his bed, singing, writing a letter in Polish. His television is tuned to MTV Base, and is turned up loud.
In the lounge, Jackie is watching an old DVD of the Tour de France. Distracted by the music coming from Marcin’s room, she curses, pauses the recording, and grabs her crutches.
Marcin does not hear the knock at his door.
Jackie pushes the door open. “Can you turn that down?”
Marcin continues to scribble at his paper.
“Oi disco boy! Turn it down!”
Startled, Marcin reaches for the remote and mutes the sound.
“Thank Christ for that.”
“Why, you not like hip-hop music?”
“No – I don’t. But it’s not the point. I’m trying to watch television.”
“Hip-hop music is the best. You should listen some.”
“It’s racist, sexist noise, full of anger and hate.”
“Is like real life, then, no?”
“Just keep it down.”
Marcin sits up. “You want that we should go down to garage for exercise.”
“No.”
“What shall we do?”
“Nothing – I want to watch the television.”
“You want to watch same DVD you watch yesterday and day before? Is this your life?”
“What else can I do?”
“Maybe get a life.”
“I had a life. It’s all over now – they took it away.”
“Anger and hate – listen some hip-hop music. Is right up your road.”
“You don’t know what it’s like, people look at you.”
“I see man in Ferrari – I look him. I see hot chic with nice booty – I look her. What is problem?”
“One is envy, the other is attraction. People look at me with pity in their eyes, it’s not the same.”
“Did you ask the people who are looking? If not, how you know what they are thinking? Come, we go to shop. I get headphones to listen hip-hop music without disturb you.”
“I don’t want to go out.”
“Lady, you know what your problem is? You are in love.”
“With who? Are you mad?”
“You are in love with feeling sorry for yourself. You love to hate your life.”
“No, I do not. You try living my life. See how much you like being a cripple?”
“I would love to have your life. You have trophies, medals, name in record book, memories – you have good life. You have life of Riley.”
“I’d rather have the use of my legs.”
“I know – I make joke. I find on the Internet. Life of Riley is happy, easy life. But life is hard, I think. I wonder why you want make it harder?. . . Come, we go for fresh air.”
“I don’t want to go out. It’s cold.”
“I get you hat.”
“I thought we were only parking here while you went to the shop.” Jackie stops outside the pub entrance. “I don’t want to go in there. I want to go home.”
Marcin pushes her through the pub’s double doors. “Today I don’t cook. I take break from being housemother. Today we eat dinner here in restaurant. Is two for the price of one. Is good bargain, no? . . . Miss,” he calls to the waitress. “We need table for three.”
Marcin reads the name on her tag. “Abka, you are also from Poland?”
“Tak.”
The two converse briefly in their native tongue before Jackie makes a point of clearing her throat. The waitress seats Marcin and removes a chair from the table to make way for Jackie’s wheelchair. “Do you want order now or wait for the other party?”
“We don’t have party. Is just me and her,” says Marcin.
The waitress frowns, takes their order, and leaves.
“Why did you ask for a table for three?” Jackie asks.
Before she can react, Marcin stands, scoops Jackie out her wheelchair and sets her onto the adjacent seat. “You sit. Today is normal day. We act like normal people. I, man. You, woman. We sit and eat together. Wheelchair can take break for little bit.”
“What’s your point?”
“We see who looks over here. Maybe they think wheelchair is mine? Maybe they think wheelchair is yours? Maybe they believe person in wheelchair died of food poisoning, and coroner take – who knows? But I think nobody cares – no body looks.”
“Took – not take. It would be past tense. And I wish you’d stop doing that.”
“What I do?”
“You keep picking me up and moving me to where you want me like I’m a rag doll or a scatter cushion, or something. I don’t like being touched.”
“You are boss.”
The waitress returns with the meals. Marcin whispers something in Polish into her ear. She nod, leaves, and returns with a bottle of wine.
Jackie raises an eyebrow. “You can’t drink, you’re driving?”
“Eat your food,” he says, filling her glass. “Like you say, I am driving.”
“You want me to drink – alone?”
“Even for a woman, you complain – a lot. Too much.” He half fills his own glass. “I drink little bit if make you happy . . . One little drink will not kill a person. Now eat up. Don’t forget to leave room for ice-cream.”
“Please, don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”
During the meal, Marcin encourages Jackie to speak about her cycling achievements. He constantly refills her glass as they converse. The more she relaxes and lets her hair down, the more wine he pours.
The waitress collects the plates and the empty wine bottle. “Would you like another?” She holds the bottle aloft.
“No, thank you.” Jackie places a hand over her wine glass. “I’ve already had too much. I’m beginning to feel quite light-headed . . . Actually, I must use the little girl’s room. If you could just . . .”
Marcin reaches over and pulls her crutches from the holder in the back of her chair.
“Thank you.” Jackie takes some items out of her handbag, and hoists herself up using crutches.
“Abka.” Marcin calls the waitress back. “Is that Tyskie I can see over there?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, you must bring a pint for my friend. Is very good beer from our country.”
“Is it strong? I’ve really had quite enough alcohol,” says Jackie.
“No, is not strong. Is like . . . shandy.”
“Okay, I’ll brave half-a-pint then. Can you watch my bag for me?” Jackie disappears in the direction of the toilet.
He turns to Abka. “Half pint is for child. Is my money. Bring full pint for lady.”
“Ona będzie pijany,” says Abka.
“Yes, she will be drunk. I want her drunk. I think she is not so miserable when she is drunk.”
Abka laughs and the two converse in Polish until Jackie returns.
The waitress reverts to English. “One Tyskie, and for you, sir?”
Marcin scans the bar. “I will have a drink also. But I not drink piss water like her. Do you have clear beer, Wody gazowane?” He winks.
“Yes, sir, of course.”
“Well, I will have only half-pint. I am driving. So I must drink like child.”
“You two seemed to be very friendly and chatty. Did you ask her what time she gets off? Are you coming back to meet her later?”
“Ha-ha. Is nothing like that. It is good to talk with people from the old country.”
“I believe you, thousands wouldn’t.” Jackie eyes the back of Matka as the waitress returns to the bar.
Abka returns and tries to set the drinks on the table without intruding.
As Marcin moves Jackie’s handbag out of the way he catches Abka’s arm. The contents of the bag spill on to the table. “You travel light. Not much luggage, he says returning a small purse; chewing gum, a contact lense case, and small pack of tissues to the bag. He reaches into the bag. “Wow, big rock,” he says, holding a ring up. “Very beautiful.”
“Put that back,” Jackie snaps.
“Sorry.” He tosses the ring back into the bag and slides the bag back to Jackie.
“What an earth were you doing in my bag? Have you no manners?” she says, dropping her compact inside and fastening the zip. “Show some decorum.”
Marcin frowns. “I move bag. I do in front of your eyes. I see ring. I look.”
“Well you shouldn’t go into people’s bags.”
Marcin sighs. A brief uncomfortable pause ensues. “Why you carry ring in your bag and don’t wear?” he says.
Jackie takes a healthy swig of her drink. “You should try minding your own business.”
The uncomfortable pause reasserts itself, and develops, first to a long moment before it threatens to become and age.
Jackie downs her pint in two hits.
Marcin breaks the silence. “Be careful. Is quite strong. You will be drunk.”
Jackie offers him a theatric, sarcastic smile. “I am legless. I may as well be legless.”
“And I am plasterer. Should I get plastered?”
“Boom boom.” She pushes the empty glass in Abka’s direction. “Fill me up.”
Abka turns to Marcin. “Sir.”
“Not for me. I must drive.”
“Of course.” She smiles.
“It look like an engagement ring to me,” says Marcin.
Jackie sets about her fresh pint, taking a large mouthful before slamming the glass back onto the table. “Who’d want to marry a cripple?”
“Tammy Grey is married. Christopher Reeve is married. They must be engaged before married, no?”
“It’s Tanni, not Tammy . . . and Christopher Reeve is dead. Steve didn’t die. He just played his get out of jail free card?”
“Steve?”
“Yeah, Steve – bastard. We were engaged for a couple of months. We were going to get married after the World Championships. I’m led to believe that he did visit me a couple of times. I never saw him after that. One morning I woke up in hospital to find a ‘dear John’ on the bedside cabinet.”
“Dear John?”
“A goodbye, and thanks for the memories, letter.”
“Oh.”
“This stuff’s not bad.” She enthusiastically gulps down her lager, emptying the glass.”
Marcin, observing, raises his eyebrows.
“I don’t blame him for bailing on me. I can’t. It’s not what he signed up for, life with a cripple. We were dancing when he proposed. You know, standing up – dancing.”
Marcin rubbed his eyes. “We should go now.”
“One more for the road.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Jackie lies sprawled out on her bed like a starfish. The room is spinning. The sound of her own heartbeat pounds, echoing inside her ears, reverberating around her brain. The three-pointed light-fitting above her bed whirls around like a carousel. “Make it stop. I feel sick.” She tries to sit upright.
“You are wasted.” Marcin pushes her back. “Lie down before you fall down.”
“Please . . . God.”
“Tomorrow, you will have ugly dirty bastard hangover.”
She reaches up and grabs his arm. “Please, I beg you. Make it stop.”
“You are begging me?”
“Yes.”
“There is trick I learn in Poland, but is secret.”
“Please . . . “ Jackie leans over the side of her bed.
Marcin moves the bowl to catch more of the contents of her stomach. “Grilled chicken breast not look so good second time around.” He holds the bowl at arms length as he takes it next door to the bathroom.
“Don’t leave me.”
“Am not leaving you. I am here,” he calls over the running water.
“Please make it stop. I’ll do anything,” she says, slumping onto her back.
“I am here now.” Marcin passes her a towel. “You will do anything?”
“Anything.”
“Interesting proposition from drunk woman,” he mumbles before taking back the towel from her and wiping the vomit from her chin. “I want you to make promise.”
“I promise. I promise.”
“You not know what is yet.”
“I don’t care.”
He moves closer and places a hand onto her forehead. “From tomorrow you promise to train in garage every day.”
“Yes, just make it stop.”
“You promise to train for Olympics?”
“But it’s so hard.”
“Promise.”
“Yes, I promise.”
He slides his hand down to cover eyes. “Relax, breath deeply, and slowly count backwards from fifty.”
“Forty-two,” are the last words to come from Jackie’s lips before she passes out.
Marin creeps out of the bedroom. He pauses at the door. “I know is hard.” He whispers to the comatose Jackie. “But I make sure you don’t be alone. I train with you every day. I be training partner.”
Jackie senses the change in the light and somebody moving around her but doesn’t immediately open her eyes. She groans and rolls onto her back. A fizzing sound startles her. Her eyes fly open. “What is that?”
“Plink, plink, fizz. Alka Seltzer gives you whiz. Ha-ha. I learn from TV – it works.” Marcin finishes opening the curtains and opens the window. “I have question for you.”
“Go on.”
“Who is Jeremiah?”
“Excuse me?”
“On way home you tell me many times – Jeremiah was bullfrog, and he was good friend of yours. Is childhood pet?”
“Forget about it.”
“Drink your fizz so you can get whiz.”
“What? . . . piss off. Hang on . . .” Jackie wrinkles her brow. “The fizz that gives you whiz? . . . Where do I remember that from? . . . Are you trying to be funny?”
“Alka Seltzer. It will fix your head, no?”
“The fizz that gives you whiz, that’s Refreshers – children’s sweets. It’s a TV advert with an old granny zooming around in a wheelchair.”
“I go shop. I get you some.”
“Sod off.” Jackie becomes aware that she’s that her top half is covered only by her bra. She pulls the duvet up to her neck. “Where’s my shirt?”
“In washing machine. You vomit. Is not nice. I wash later.”
“You can’t just do things like that. Don’t ever undress me. I told you. I don’t like being touched . . . and what are you doing in here? You can’t come into my room whenever it suits you. Weren’t you taught to respect people’s privacy? Show some decorum.”
“You say before. What is mean, decorum?”
“It means get of my room!”
“You are boss.” He edges towards to door. “Hurry up, drink your drink. We are late.”
“Late for what?”
“It is time for you to go downstairs for exercise.”
“No it’s not. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Last night you promised to do training everyday.”
“I did no such thing.”
“You ask me to make room stop spinning – we make bargain. You promise.”
“Sorry, I don’t remember any of that. I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Yes, you promise me you will pick up the money, and you will train everyday.”
“You liar. I never said anything about picking up any money. All I said . . .”
“So you remember the conversation, then. . . . Hurry up.”
CHAPTER SIX
The trees are bare now. The mid-morning sun barely makes it above the horizon in the cloudless winter sky.
Jackie, in her sports chair, is circulating the gritted tarmac footpath around the park. Marcin jogs alongside her on the snow covered grass.
“I’m cold,” she says.
“Is not really cold, not like home in Poland.”
“What do you mean not cold? I can see your breath as you speak.” She stops on the path and holds out her gloved hands to him. They are soaked, and covered with grit. “My hands are bloody freezing.”
“We go around two more times, then we go home, drink brandy.”
“I’m never drinking alcohol again. Drinking got me into this mess.”
“Yes, you were very drunk.”
“And how dare you drive my car when you’ve been drinking. I shudder to think what could have happened.”
“One drink cannot kill a person.”
“One? You had more than one.”
“I think maybe I teach you some Polish so hat does not get pulled over face again. Wody gazowane is soda water.”
She looks down at her trainers. “You bastard. You tricked me. I shouldn’t have to do any of this . . . and it’s wool over eyes, not hat over face.”
“I never make you drink. You choose to drink because you think I drink. Is good, I think you still have competitive nature.”
“ . . . and I’m still bloody freezing!”
“You pick up money yet?”
“I said I didn’t want it. It’s your money. You pick it up.”
“I give you money in your hand. You don’t want? You return money to my hand. Is polite.”
“You’ll have a long wait.”
“Two more times around, then you go home, have cup of tea and hot bath . . . I help you.” He begins to push her chair.
Jackie shakes her head, grasps the wheels of her chair, and stops it. “I don’t need your help. I can do it myself.” She resumes pushing.
Marcin starts after her but stops almost immediately to answer his phone. He speaks jovially in Polish for a few moments before ending the call. Jackie hasn’t got very far. He jogs and catches her. “Two laps – fast,” he tells her. “I wait for you here.” He dials a number and resumes his previous conversation.
CHAPTER SEVEN
After the dawn chorus, an urban fox takes the shortcut home through the shrubs between the flats, causing the leaves to rustle. The pigeons take flight. A grey squirrel scurries up a fence and leaps onto the garage roofs. The trees are in bloom. Inside the converted garage-cum-gym Jackie is bench-pressing, a determined look on her face.
On the other side gym, Marcin is riding the exercise bike while counting Jackie’s reps. “Four, wax on. Five, wax off.”
“Are you taking the piss?”
He pulls his earphones from his ears. “Sorry?”
“Never mind.”
He gestures for her to continue. “Come on, no slacking. . . Six, wax on. Seven, wax off.”. . . He backs out of the open door. “Do not stop. I run up to flat to take leak, back soon.”
Jackie pushes the bar up three more times, puffs out her cheeks, and stops. Marcin has left his phone on the ledge on the poly-gym. She stretches and moves it across to the stool. Her fingers touch the screen and the display lights up, revealing the open phone-book. The name Abka tops the list. She purses her lips, shakes her head and returns his phone to its original location.
At the end of their day, just before the onset of dusk, Marcin wheels Jackie into the lift. “I see you wear earrings today – very pretty.”
Jackie makes no reply.
“Why you put on today?”
She shrugs.
“Is good thing. If you leave too long, hole will close up.”
“That’s an old wives’ tale.”
“Yes I suppose old wife would know about these things.”
She blinks long, shaking her head. “You were sent to try me. Mary, mother of Jesus, what did I ever do to deserve . . .”
The lift doors close.
“You pick up money yet?” he asks.
“No, you pick it up. You’ll have to pick it up eventually. I pay you to keep the house clean and tidy. When’s the last time you vacuumed?”
“I vacuum carpet this morning. I use attachment, go round money. Is easy.”
“You are being childish.”
“The pot and the kettle are black.”
After spending the best part of the day in the gym, Jackie and Marcin sleep. Their respective beds are pushed up tight to the dividing wall. Jackie is asleep on the left-hand edge of her bed, as far away from Marcin as possible, facing away from him. Marcin is asleep on the extreme right-hand edge of his bed, as far way from Jackie as possible, facing away from her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The sun burns brightly, high in the sky. In the overgrown shrubs surrounding the flats, an army of industrious bees find rich pickings in the overgrown wild blackberry. The garage door is open to its full extent. Jackie is working hard, doing pull-ups in the relentless heat.
Marcin is rowing in the rowing machine, sweating profusely, while counting Jackie’s reps. “Ninety-nine, paint fence. One hundred, paint fence.”
“Do you have to do that?” Jackie, exhausted, slumps back on to the bench.
“Enough for today.” Marcin slaps his thigh and extricates himself from the rowing machine. “Today you do good workout.”
Jackie, eyes fixed on the ceiling, asks a question. “How long have you been here?”
He pulls his phone from the pocket of his jogging bottoms and checks the time. “We start two o’clock, so today is four hours.”
“No, I don’t mean today . . .”
“Oh, you give me job in November. I here seven months.”
“No, I mean how long have you been in the UK?”
“I live London . . . five years in summer.”
“Is that when you get your residency, this summer?”
He casts her a condescending look. “Poland is member of European Union. I not need residency.”
“Does that mean that you can stay in this country as long as you like?”
“For sure, but I think I go home soon.”
“Why would you want to go back to Poland? You’ve already said you’ve nobody there.”
“I not happy here.”
She struggles to hoist herself into an upright position. “When do you think you’ll go?”
Marcin strolls over to the bench and pulls her fully upright by her arm.
“Thanks, I’m knackered.”
“I go home after you pick up money from floor.”
She raises an eyebrow. “That’s never going to happen. You’ll die here.”
“Okay, I go home when Miss Riley qualify for team. I happy then.”
“Which team?”
“UK team for Paralympics.”
“I didn’t say that I was going to enter. I never agreed to that.”
“Yes, you promise when you were drunk, but I let you off.”
“Too right.”
“But I think you must enter. Is the only way you can get better in your head. Your head is very sick right now.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my head!”
He touches her temple. “Strange things going on in there.”
“What’s the point in qualifying? I’m not going to win.”
“No, I don’t think you can get gold medal.”
“Cheers, thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Maybe no medals for you, but there are many prizes. If I was athlete, like you? And I stand in big stadium like Olympic or national stadium with all crowd cheering me. And on the TV people all around the world are watching me. I think that would be best feeling ever. Just to be there. I think maybe, I have won already. I would be so happy.”
“That’s not winning; coming first, being the best, that’s winning. Please don’t give me any of that, it’s not the winning it’s the taking part, bollocks. That’s just for losers.”
“Maybe you are loser. Maybe I am loser, too. We do not compete. We sit in armchair in front of TV and eat donuts while we watch.”
“I am not a loser. I want to win!” she screams.
“Before, on bicycle, you take winning for granted. I see you in velodrome with crowd on feet cheering, and then you crash, and there is only silence, and one millions of people are worried about you, because they care about you.”
Jackie swallows, her eyes begin to moisten. “I am not a loser. Please don’t call me a loser,” she mumbles.
Marcin picks up his hoodie and pulls it over his head. “The girl who get gold medal and win world championship that day, I cannot remember her name. I don’t know if anybody does. Does anybody care? Maybe her family and friends, who knows?” He shrugs. “But I think most of the world not remember.”
“Sianna Phillips.”
“Of course you remember her name. In your head you think she beat you and take your medal.”
“She did.”
“Your head not think straight. Ask people who is faster rider? Who is better rider? Same answer, everybody say. She never win. You lose because of accident. You real champion, everybody know this. You think because you don’t have medal to prove, make difference? You have nothing to prove to nobody.”
In their separate rooms; Jackie sleeps in her bed, tight up against the wall, facing away from Marcin. Marcin is fast asleep in his bed, the chord of his earphones wrapped around his neck, tight up against the wall, facing away from Jackie. Only a 100mm of stud wall separates them.
CHAPTER NINE
The leaves are brown now, and they have fallen from the trees. They lay dead or dying on the ground. The sky is coloured using a palette of greys. Behind the garage door, Jackie is pumping hard, working up a sweat, doing incline presses.
Marcin busies himself doing press-ups while counting Jackie’s reps. “One-hundred and ninety-four, sand floor. One-hundred and ninety-five, sand floor.”
Jackie grunts, straining. “Shut up!” She lets the bar fall.
“You not finish yet.” Marcin approaches her bench. “Five more please, Miss Riley.”
“I can’t. I’m too tired.”
“Sure you can – push . . . one-hundred ninety six. . . . push again. One-hundred ninety seven . . .”
She struggles to push the bar. Her arms begin to shake.
“Push! Push! Push! One more – big push! You can do it!”
“Idiot!” Jackie bursts out laughing and lets the bar fall back into its receptacle. “I’m not trying to give birth, you realise that, don’t you?”
“Miss Riley, is first time I see you laugh.”
Jackie’s face returned to its semi-permanent scowl. “Let’s get back. It must be about lunchtime. We’ll eat, then get straight back at it.”
“You pick up money yet?”
“No.”
“Then no training this afternoon.”
“Why not?”
“All work and no play makes Jack a mean girl. This afternoon - we go out.”
“No more drinking.”
“We not drink.”
“Where are we going then?”
“We go to see what we can see.”
Marcin saunters along Portobello road pushing Jackie at a leisurely pace. The air is filled with sounds of hundreds of voices, different languages. Different types of music plays, coming from various sources.
“Why are we here?” she asks.
“Why not? Is good place, many people here.”
“This market is full of tourists. I’m not a tourist. I don’t want to be here with all these people.”
“These people probably don’t want to be here with you, either. But they just get on with it. Look around you.” He stops the chair.
“What?”
“Nobody is looking. You and your disability is not the centre of their lives.”
“I don’t think that you realise what life is like in this infernal contraption – It’s horrible.”
“Is the only option for you.”
“You don’t understand.” She takes him by the arm. “Crouch down beside me . . . . What can you see?”
“Just people.”
“That’s why I hate crowds, okay. I can just see people. I’m surrounded by people. I can’t see around the people. I can’t see over the people, and the people can’t see me. I’m not in their eye line.”
Marcin remains crouched next to her. “I can see how this is a problem. But you just have to get over it and stop complaining.”
“I’m not complaining.”
“For sure, first you complain that everybody is looking at you. And then you complain because nobody can see you. To me, is not make sense.”
“You’d have to be in my position to know how I’m feeling.”
“Look.” He points over to a woman buying some material from a stall. She is holding on to a little boy with her left hand, a younger child sits in the pushchair next to him. “I don’t see them complaining.”
“I’m not a child.”
“Then stop behaving like one. Come, we make the best of day.” He stands, and resumes pushing her. He begins to chuckle.
“What’s so funny? Why are you laughing at me?”
“I not laugh at you. I laugh at situation. When I was little boy I used to love to come to market. Always have good time.”
“Why’s that funny?”
“Is not funny. But when I was little boy I was same height as you.”
Jackie’s phone rings. She answers it. She barks at the caller, telling them in no uncertain terms that she doesn’t want to upgrade her plan. “They’re the only calls I ever get.” She switches the phone off. “I’m not popular like you.”
“Give here.” He takes the phone from her hand and examines it. “Is old model now.”
“It does the job. Nobody ever calls me, or haven’t you noticed.”
“You have headset?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh.” He scrolls through menus on the phone. “You have no music. Why you have no music?”
“It’s a phone, not a jukebox.”
“What sort of music you like?”
“I used to like all sorts.”
“But not hip-hop.”
“I hate to admit it, but yes, even hip-hop.” A brief echo of joy lived in her mind’s eye for a magical moment.
“You cannot stop like music – is impossible.”
“I hear music, then I want to dance.” She looks down into her lap. “Then I hate the music.”
Marcin stops at a phone accessory stall. “How much for Samsung headset?” He holds up the phone to the stall-holder.
“Eight pounds.”
“And a two-gig card?”
“They’re six pounds.”
Marcin pulls a ten pound note from his pocket and offers it to the stallholder. “Eight and six equals ten.” He winks.
“Go on then.” The stallholder quickly takes the money, drops the items into a bag, and passes it Marcin.
“Push self for a moment.” Marcin begins to disassemble Jackie’s phone.
“Where are we going?”
“Anywhere, you choose.”
“I could murder a coffee.”
“Well, find coffee shop then.”
Seated outside the café, Marcin returns Jackie’s phone and gives her the headset. “Present,” he says.
“Thank you. What am I supposed to do with these?”
“Listen music.”
“I told you. I don’t want to listen to any music.”
“Poor Miss Riley. Will you stop feeling sorry for yourself? Some of us want dance all the time but we cannot because we will get thrown off tube train or arrested.” He pokes her temple. “Learn to dance inside head. Like everybody else. Look around you.”
Jackie notices how many people outside the café are wearing headsets. She checks her phone before pushing it into her bag. “What did you do to my phone?”
“I put memory card inside. We go home and find good music from Internet.”
“How much do I owe you?”
“Is present. Is nothing. “We find music tonight. Only one rule . . . no Barry Manilow!”
“That might be the deal-breaker. You gotta love Barry. Everybody loves Barry.”
“You like him? Barry Manilow is shit.”
“I was joking.”
He smiles. “Miss Riley, finish latte. We go home to surf.”
“Okay.” She places her handbag on her lap.
“First, need to piss. Be right back.” Marcin disappears inside the café.
Jackie looks up at the clouds, and fearing rain, begins to slowly wheel herself back in the direction they came. She gets no more than a few yards before a man runs past, trying to snatch her handbag from her lap. But Jackie has a tight hold of her bag, the strap is wrapped around her wrist. Her chair twists around slightly during the attempted snatch.
Expecting no resistance, the mugger becomes unbalanced and grabs onto her chair to prevent himself from falling.
Jackie clenches her free fist and punches him in the nuts.
“Argh!” The mugger grabs his crotch. “Fucking bitch!” He draws back a scabby fist.
Jackie cowers, expecting the worst, but the man appears to jerk backwards sharply.
“Beat it,” says Marcin, releasing the man’s collar.
“You need to stay out of people’s business,” replies the man, fronting up to Marcin.
“Why’s that, mate?”
“You might get yourself fucked up.”
“Is it?” Initially Marcin pulls back slightly from the mugger’s torrid breath. In his peripheral vision he notices the mugger reaching deeper into pouch of his hoodie. Marcin erupts, lunging forward, and with a powerful double-handed shove sends the assailant careering into a fruit and vegetable stall. The assailant tries to recover his feet but Marcin is right there, standing over him, gesticulating wildly, aggressively. “You want WHAT with me!” He forces the mugger back to the ground and pushes his foot hard into his chest. “I’m telling you straight, homie – don’t fuck with me!”
“Leave him.” The stall-holder steps to the confrontation. “He’s just a junkie.”
Marcin releases the pressure on the junkie’s chest, and lowers his voice slightly. “Today I have bad day, don’t make me take it out on you.”
Jackie’ already away, wheeling herself in the direction of the car.
Marcin turns and follows. As he approaches he can see her shaking. He catches, and walks along side her.
“I don’t need a bodyguard, you know that, don’t you?” she says, looking straight ahead.
“I know.”
“I was coping with the situation I didn’t need you coming along like Macho man to rescue me.”
“I know.”
“Good. I don’t need rescuing.”
“I didn’t come to rescue you from him, I come to rescue him from you.”
They continue on in silence until they reach sight of the car.
Jackie stops abruptly, turns her chair, and faces him. “Mr Marcin, you scare me. I don’t know if I trust you. You erupted, all that violence and the things that came out of your mouth. ‘homie’? You called him, ’homie’. I didn’t know they had homies in Warsaw.”
“Was only a stupid crack-head. Want easy money for drugs. I just try to scare him. So he not make trouble.”
“But you sound like you used to be a gang or something. Like there is some dark side to you.”
“I not be in gang. I only watch hip-hop video of Ludacris on Youtube Is one of my favourite, and, Hear the drummer get wicked, also is absolute best ever. I show you when we get home.”
“I think you have serious mental health issues – you scare me.”
Jackie is fast asleep in her bed, tight up against the wall, facing Marcin, her new earphones still in her ears.
Next door, Marcin is asleep in his bed, tight up against the wall, facing Jackie.
CHAPTER TEN
Jackie is lapping an athletics track in her racing wheelchair. Her long evening shadow chases her.
Marcin runs alongside her. “Faster, Miss Riley. Remember – eye of tiger.”
“Idiot.” She puts her head down and accelerates away.
Marcin sprints, trying to catch her. He is unable to keep pace with the flying Jackie Riley. He stops, hands on hips, watching her, tearing down the straight and around the top bend. A knowing smile appears. “I think she is nearly ready,” he says to himself before jogging across the infield to the finishing line.
Jackie is slumped forward in her chair, struggling for breath, her head bent forward, almost to her knees.
“Miss Riley, are you okay?”
“Absolutely creamed,” she spoke without moving.
“I think is too much information,” he replies.
Jackie’s mind briefly takes her back to her able-bodied days. She’s in a busy bar with Steve and a group of their friends. Everybody is laughing, drinking . . . enjoying themselves. She remembers wanting to get away because she felt horny.
She lashes out at Marcin.
He jumps back, avoiding her wild swing.
She returns to the upright position. “Cream-crackered, rhymes with knackered. You idiot! It means I’m tired.”
“Whatever. You are boss. I push you to car because you are ‘cream-crackered’”
For once Jackie doesn’t object.
“Today you push very fast on the track,” he says. “I think you enter race soon and make qualify.”
“Do you really think so?”
“We try on weekend with stopwatch. If fast time, you get proper trainer.”
“Yes, but you’ll still be training with me as well, won’t you?”
“I don’t need to train. I think I do too much training already. Following Riley regime make me fitness freak.”
She looks him over. “You do look a lot fitter. But there’s nothing wrong with being fit. Isn’t that what you joined that gym for in the first place?”
“I never join gym. I go only to ask for job. Maybe I do need do exercise but only to get rid of beer-belly” He slaps his torso . . . “I happy now. Have sexy six-pack. I finish. I think in few months I go home, back to Poland.”
She returns her hands to the wheels, accelerates, and swivels her chair around to face him. “Why?”
“We go home now. We talk later.”
Marcin takes the dinner tray from Jackie’s lap. “You want I should make coffee?”
“I don’t think I have room. I’m absolutely stuffed. That was gorgeous.” She takes his arm. “Question? Why are you going back to Poland?”
He removes her hand from his arm. “I care for you one year. You happy now. You don’t need help from person. Only one cleaner for two hours every week. You needed goal. You have goal now. Eyes are sparkling again. Now you need real trainer to help you, professional trainer.”
“But what about you? Why are you going back to Poland?”
He rubs the stubble on his jaw. “London is busy place, but can be lonely, too, I think.”
“You don’t have to babysit me every evening, you know. You can go out with your friends.”
“For sure, but is not only about friends. I save all money you pay me. When I go back to Poland, maybe I find nice Polish girl?”
“Oh, yes. Sometimes I forget other members of the human race are active in that department.”
“Is not about department of sex, I promise Matka. When she is gone, I will find nice girl, and don’t waste my life.”
“If you picked up the money off of the floor you’d have even more, buy yourself a really pretty whore.”
“Whore? I not want whore. I want wife. I want family – is wrong for me to want?
“I’m sorry – I never meant that. It came out wrong. I never meant to . . .”
Marcin nods slowly. “Okay, if money still on floor the day I leave, I pick up, for sure.”
“It’ll be there – trust me!” Jackie wheels herself into her room and slams the door behind her.
Asleep in her bed, Jackie dreams. She’s with Steve. They are walking through a meadow, in the summer, holding hands. They stop by a beech tree and embrace. He tries to kiss her.
“You’ll have to catch me first.” She begins to run.
He chases her. They are both laughing as they run. As she scales the three-rail fence at the edge of the golf course he manages to grab her foot but she kicks free, leaving her trainer in his hand. She continues to run. He’s right behind her. She can hear him laughing and calling to her. He’s getting closer. She cuts across the green.
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