Chapter 3 – while I cannot love myself I will use something else

Paul Benite sat up in bed. Today he was going to go home. The last month had been a nightmare of surgery and drugs.

Inside all the pain and restless sleep was the news that he was now HIV positive. He was struggling to come to terms with the scaring on his face and neck the news about his terminal condition was simply too much for him to deal with. His mind raced with a thousand if-onlys every night. In a single moment, he no longer had the majority of his life ahead of him it was now behind him.

The insurance payout would be great of-course but the inquiry could be hellish. His department was sure to be dissolved.

Life could really deal you some duff hands to play.

Mark Brown had been in technical support for much of his working life and just like that, they had sacked him. He was to be denied compensation because he failed to follow guidelines.

His life was over.

He stood in his bedroom and glanced over the note one last time. Everything was fine, just fine for what he had planned.

He walked out of the bedroom without looking back.

It seemed very dark in the shed. The wood holding back the soil from the hole bowed and seemed to strain against the weight.

He lay at the bottom of the hole and felt sleepy and yet he held on. He held the rope determined not to let it go.

Slowly the darkness enclosed his mind and the rope began to slip through his fingers. The pin pulled from its hole and the board fell away allowing the soil to tumble gently over the sleeping body of Mark Brown.

Outside, a convertible shot past and its driver was unaware of the passing of a very promising worker. All that was on Paul’s mind now was the validity of the potential cure for HIV that John thought he had found.

In the morning, he would go into work and see what the state of affairs was. Nevertheless, tonight he would need a damn stiff drink and maybe a good movie.

The moon shone like a giant eye squinting down at him as he pulled up outside his house. The building looked so grey and lifeless.

There was almost no mail waiting on the mat so Paul guessed his sister had been round to keep an eye on things. It was cold inside; the heating had not been on for a month. The fridge was empty but for a few beers and some strong cheese.
Paul dumped his bags on to the kitchen table and thanked his luck that the nurse with the sexy smile had advised him to pick-up some shopping on the way home.

Ignoring the rest Paul took the bottle of whisky and the rental movies with him into the front room. He was going to watch up to three “carry on” movies before going to bed and passing out. Maybe he would not even go to bed but just pass out where he sat when inebriation overtook him.

He through the videos on to fireside rug and picked up a glass which he filled with a large portion of single malt.

“Cheers!” he said saluting his reflection, “bottoms up you ugly basterd.”

The room swam as the Paul came-to. He was lying on the rug in his boxer shorts and the phone was ringing. “Get lost” he said and passed out again.

Later he sat up and held his head for a moment.

“Hair of the dog?” he asked and drained the half full glass on the coffee table.

By midday he felt a lot better but needed to replace both the bottles he had now emptied. “A quick trip to the shop!” he said to his reflection in the hall.

He fixed a drunken stare on his own reflection and asked: “Why are you so naked?”

Later he came to sitting on the toilet with a half eaten apple in his hand. He thought the apple on the floor and staggered out of the bathroom.

My head is swimming, he thought, I must still be drunk. Better-not let this opportunity go to ruin.

Later still, he woke up and painfully fixed himself a coffee.

God, he thought – I am going to have to shave or grow a beard.

“That’s not such a bad idea,” he said to the world. “I will cover my face in hair and hide my ugliness.”

It seemed a long time later he was making another coffee.

The world had failed to answer his monumental decision to grow a beard but the coffee helped him to focus past the pain.

“I stink of BO!” He suddenly said. “I smell like I haven’t washed in a week. What damn day is it?”

He pulled himself out of the kitchen and into the front room. It would have been impossible to count the bottles that littered the floor and table.

“How long was I…” he asked but already he didn’t want to know the answer. His face told a story of sufficient growth to say that he had already grown a short beard.

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed. “I need to get to the lab.”

The sun was beating down outside with a bright intensity and it hurt his eyes despite the sunglasses. It was possible, he thought, that he had never been this hung-over before not even after the party at the end of his final year at university.

The car started on the second attempt like an ill omen. He ground the gears for a moment and then pulled away in second. Must get to lab and find out about our magic cure, he thought.

Nothing else mattered.

He roared up the road swerving to avoid a pedestrian and made for the labs.

“Bloody dick-head” shouted Jackson Dent to the retreating car. That had been Mr Benite’s car, he thought.

“But Mr Benite is a smoothed face good looking guy and that was some ugly scared up old dude with a dodgy beard.” Said Jackson in answer to his thoughts.

It did not matter any way. It was a gloriously mild day with bright wintery sunshine and a stiff breeze – Jackson’s favourite weather for going out in.

Today Jackson decided was a luck day. His mind was clear and he was going to win that chess championship. It would be good to show them all how good he was. He was going to cane the shame into every man and woman, boy and girl. He was going to be proven the best player in the world!

His head down Jackson was looking at his shoes. In his mind the pavement was a chessboard and he was the knight moving into position. Suddenly another peace moved into view, he had been captured!

“Idiot!” shouted Angelina Borden from where she had landed on the floor.

“Oh-my-gosh! I’m so sorry,” said Jackson reddening as he noticed her lack of knickers.

“Get out of my way then, fool!” shouted Angelina pulling herself up. Idiot simpleton, she thought as she walked away from the embarrassing scene.

Angelina Borden was wearing he best perfume and her smartest dress. It was a slightly skimpy number designed to take advantage of her ample assets and to show of plenty of leg. She found that this was a good way to distract office workers and she had found that they tended to work harder for her while at the same time somewhat underestimating her. This suited her just fine and she hoped that this would work on stuffy-old bank managers.

Jackson continued on his way but his mind would not come with him. His thoughts stayed with the woman he had literally bumped into. The one without any knickers on. It was all he could think of. How could he win that chess match now? His purity of thought had been shattered.

What he needed was some good-for-you sugar in the form of some chocolate and a coke.

He only hoped it would work. Maybe later he would be able to find out her name.

Angelina brushed herself off. She felt quite bad; she had been particularly cruel to the boy. He had only been daydreaming and she had called him all sorts of terrible names.

He was probably a nice guy. Maybe if she saw him again she could apologise.

She turned left onto the high street and moved slowly through the crowed pedestrianised area. She went through her script in her head once more. She was sure she could get an overdraft it was just a case of keeping calm.

She opened the door of the bank and stepped inside. She did not notice the man she brushed past.

The nameless man stood outside the bank for a moment his thoughts focused on the bosoms he had just passed but as the seconds passed his mind returned to shadows.

There were no correct actions open to him and he stood in the sunshine and felt it shine on him. A small memory of sunshine as a sign of bad times tried to flicker but it died as he reached a decision - he would walk to the lab and wait for the night.

“…do you perhaps require a loan Miss Borden?”

Angelina was completely confused. She’d come to ask for an overdraft but found that this request had caused confusion.

“You have over one hundred and sixty thousand pounds in your account Miss Borden, if you envision a time of financial hardship we can arrange a loan to help you out.” Said the bank manager.

“I don’t… I mean where did… how much?” Angelina asked him.

“Is something wrong Miss?” he asked as he looked at her records. “We wrote to you six months ago to say that the endowment policy had matured, three weeks ago we wrote to inform you about the child investment scheme had to be closed.”

“The what?”

“According to these records you mother had opened an account to save money for you. It was due to be cashed years ago.”

“My mother died when I was twelve” she said.

“I’m sorry to hear that Miss Borden.” He said. “Of course, your regular saving has added to that amount.”

“But…” slowly the facts began to sink in. She had worked overtime to make ends meet. Therefore, she had socialised less. She could not remember what she used to do other than work. She must have been sitting on a small fortune, too tired to realise it.

I could quit that stupid job, she thought.

“Is everything alright Miss Borden?” asked the bank manager “Can I do anything to help you?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, “I think I’d like to find out about starting my own business.”

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