Man of Ruin Read online

  “Thanks!” I said, pushing 1B.

  “That’s alright,” she said.

  It was only a momentary ride down to 1B. She noticed the wetness of my jeans and shoes and I could see she was about to say something when the door opened.

  “See you!” I said, running as fast as I could into the car park.

  *****

  I ran to the bus stop and waited anxiously for one to pop along, not even daring to think, really, just wanting to get away from the hospital. I hardly had a plan for the morning, let alone the rest of the day or, indeed, my life in general now. I dared not look back, fearing a bunch of angry hospital staff in hot pursuit.

  I was very relieved when a bus arrived only moments later. I got on it and headed to the High Street.

  I sat up top and front and watched the suburbs roll past, trying to just chill out.

  So, Dave, now what? I tried to think about what my options actually were.

  Then my phone rang. Christ, I thought, looking at it with a groan. It was James again.

  Reluctantly, I answered.

  “Hi, James . . .”

  “How’s he doing?” came the gruff question.

  “Yeah, he’s alright.”

  “What’s the prognosis?”

  “They’re not sure yet. They have to run tests.”

  “Right. Doesn’t sound like he’ll be out anytime soon.”

  “No,” I agreed. “Looks like he might have hit his head when he fell.”

  “Shit.”

  “I know—”

  “And it’s all your fault of course,” he said, catching me off guard with a half-joke delivered in a harsh tone.

  There was an awkward silence.

  “Me?”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “Look, mate, it was an accident.”

  “Yeah, but it’s still your fault. Remember, I know.”

  He was laughing now, the bastard. It was very funny to him, the whole situation, yet still he managed to be all pushy. I sighed. There was no point in denying anything. On the other hand, I didn’t want to grant him the satisfaction.

  “Can I speak to him?” said James.

  “Speak to him?”

  “Yeah, the twat’s not answering his phone. I guess he’s got a good excuse. Go on. Put him on, would you?”

  “I can’t.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Er . . .” I hesitated, always a mistake when dealing with James.

  “You’re not with him.”

  “No.” I sighed again. “I had to leave.”

  “You left him there all on his own?”

  “I had to!”

  “Why?”

  I was fairly sure he knew now and was just winding me up, wanting to pry out every last detail as he always did.

  I took a deep breath and croaked the words. “I needed to pee.”

  “Needed to—” he said, then cut himself off with the most raucous, horrible laughter I think I’ve ever heard.

  I didn’t like James; I admitted this fully to myself in that moment. We were more friends by association. Yeah, sometimes we had a laugh, I suppose, but usually it was not directly between us. There would be others around all sitting in the pub getting pissed up and joking about football or something. Put us in a room, just me and him, and things became awkward.

  “You think it’s funny?” I said while he was still laughing.

  “Yeah. It is,” he said, finally calming down. “Right, Davey. You have to come meet me. Now.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean why? Why the hell not? You got somewhere better to be? Like the hospital maybe?”

  “Hang on a minute—”

  “Just come and meet me, alright? We need to talk. Meet me at the park cafe round my way, alright?”

  Ugh. I felt sick thinking what kind of shit he was going to pull on me. Sod him. I didn’t want to see him, yet the way he was talking only reminded me how poorly I really knew him. He was unpredictable. So perhaps I should do what he said, play his game, at least for now. God knows what he might do otherwise. It was stupid to assume that things couldn’t get worse; that would be based on nothing but dumb hope, a refusal to face the facts. Granted, perhaps meeting him would make it worse too. I just didn’t have a clue.

  “Davey?”

  “Yes, alright. See you in twenty minutes.”

  I took the pleasure of putting the phone down on him. What with the day I was having, I needed to take all the little pleasures I could get.

  *****

  James, in his black puffa jacket, was sat at a table out in front of the cafe in Hope Park in that sprawled way he always did, the chair on its hinges, his legs out straight, slouched, looking at something on his phone with what always looked to me like a sadistic grin. He hadn’t seen me from across the field. I watched him swipe left and right and continue with his grinning. Then he reached for his can of Coke. As he lifted it, he saw me approaching. His grin turned to something else: recognition, a nasty kind. He nodded, and I gave him a little wave without smiling.

  “Alright, James,” I said, taking a seat.

  He looked at me with wonder, though there was a hint of the usual mockery in his eyes.

  “Davey,” he said. “Well, well, well . . .”

  I laughed for a split second, out of the back of my throat.

  “Want a drink?” he said.

  “No thanks,” I said. Was he trying to wind me up? “Better not. Don’t want any more . . . accidents.”

  “Had another one, did you?” He laughed.

  I shot him a look.

  “You did, didn’t you?”

  I shook my head and simply looked elsewhere. Across the park, at the sky, at the birds and the clouds.

  “What?” he continued mercilessly. “The hospital?”

  I could be crap sometimes. This was one such time. I kept looking into space. I had thought that not answering would somehow work as a denial or at least throw him off.

  “Oh my God, Davey. You do have a problem, don’t you?”

  “Piss off, would you?”

  He was in hysterics now.

  “What happened? You didn’t cause any major damage, I hope. That’s my taxpayers’ money you’re wasting there.”

  Having had enough, I shook my head and made to get up.

  “Oh, don’t be like that,” he said, sitting straight now. “Come on, sit down. I’m only messing with you.”

  I sat down, slumped, looked out over the field, the kids all playing footy, enjoying their Saturday mornings kicked out of bed by tyrannical fathers.

  “Good,” he said. “But I am getting you a drink. A nice big one. No arguments. This is James you’re talking to, remember?”

  He stood up, put a hand on my shoulder as if to keep me in my seat, and trotted off to the cafe.

  The bastard. I could have left. Should have left. But I didn’t. I just felt as if the universe was shitting on me, as if it had some kind of horrible plan for me. And at this point in time, I had no answers, no strategy, nothing I could think of to do in response. Not even just to get up and get away from bloody James. Plus, I was thirsty again. The bastard.

  “What do you want, James?” I asked him after I’d taken my first sip of the Dr Pepper bottle he put in front of me.

  I put it down and realised it was one of those little round coffee tables that never balanced properly, always tottering with the least pressure or weight, wobbling and spilling your drink if you so much as placed a finger on it.

  He sat down and just grinned at me in that sickening way of his.

  “First things first. I want to see you in action.”

  “In action? You make it sound like I’m some kind of machine.”

  “Well . . .” He raised an eyebrow.

  “You already saw. Last night.”

  “Yeah, but we were all pissed up. You know, when I woke up this morning I thought it had all been a dream. But nothing like it could be so crazy and so . . .
vivid. I just kept replaying it in my mind. It wouldn’t go away.”

  “Tell me about it . . .” I muttered.

  “But still, I want to see again. Sober. Just to make sure I’ve got it right.”

  I sighed.

  “I don’t need to go right now,” I said.

  He laughed.

  “You will soon. Come on, drink up. There’s a good little spot I’ve got in mind, just up there on the hill. A clearing in the trees.”

  Jesus, he really had been thinking things through. Not another bloody spot with trees. He was right, though; I would need to pee again soon. And the park was as good a place as any. There was no getting away from him just yet. He’d stick to me like a dog.

  So I decided that the best thing would be just to get it over with as soon as possible. The sooner he got what he wanted, the sooner I could ditch him. It was approaching late morning, so I was hungry too. I ordered a burger, some crisps and a big Mars bar. I scoffed it all and drank down the Dr Pepper.

  Feeling better for eating, it was as if the whole thing had been timed to perfection. As soon as I finished the last bite, I was primed and ready for my next urination.

  “Come on then, James,” I said with a sigh, standing up.

  He looked up from his phone. “You ready?” he said, far too excited about the whole thing.

  “Yes, I’m bloody ready. Now are you coming or not?”

  I marched in the direction he’d indicated. I could hear him scrambling to catch up.

  Up on the hill was what I can only describe as a clump of trees disguised as a small wood. From elsewhere it gave the impression of being larger than it actually was, due to the way the trees were lined in rows. But once you got anywhere near it, you saw it for what it was—a small collection of trees designed to give the park the impression of being a proper, country-style park, which it most definitely wasn’t, situated right in the centre of Crawley as it was. I suppose they didn’t name it “Hope Park” for nothing.

  Within this “wood” was a small clearing housing a large trunk which lay in the horizontal. When we got closer to it, I saw that someone had sculpted the exposed, sandy-coloured end into a series of detailed, gargoyle-type faces wearing various expressions of joy, happiness and laughter.

  “Right, Davey,” said James. “Let’s see you get your piss all over that then.”

  “What?”

  “Go on. I want to see what happens. If I saw what I think I saw last night, then all those smiles will soon turn to frowns.”

  I was genuinely worried about James.

  “They won’t just turn to frowns . . .” I muttered.

  “Well go on then. What are you waiting for? I thought you were bursting.”

  I scratched my forehead and looked around, determined not to ruin someone’s beautiful artwork on purpose.

  “Look, James, I’m not a flipping vandal, alright? So far, any damage caused has been purely accidental.”

  “Davey! Don’t be such a boring twat!”

  “Nope,” I said. “I’ve got a better idea though.”

  I had spotted the shine of water on the other side of the clump of trees. Ignoring James (and enjoying having this power over him), I strode over to it. It was a smallish pond, ten metres wide at best, and it was perfect, obscured by surrounding trees, even if they didn’t have any strength in numbers. Plus, there was no one around at the moment. I unzipped.

  “Pissing into a pond’s not gonna show me anything!” whined James. He obviously had not been there this morning to see the toilet water pop and fizz. There was nothing normal about that!

  So I peed into that pond, and lo and behold, James was mighty impressed.

  “Jesus Christ, Davey!”

  He put a hand on his forehead like he was witnessing a miracle.

  As the shining green pee hit the water, there was an immediate and very strong and distinctive sound. More than a fizz, there was a whistle to it this time, like the sound a kettle makes when it’s boiling. Perhaps, I surmised, because of the sheer volume of water. But there was obviously something different about this water too, because this pond-infused smoke had an eerie green swampy tinge to it in addition to the usual wispy yellowness. Both of us caught a whiff of this and immediately started retching. The foul stench was how I imagine the smell of putrid dog food or a Bolognese that’s been sitting in the sun for days. The greenish-whitish smoke rose thickly, obscuring everything that stood behind it, and James and I were pleased when I finished what turned out to be a fairly longish pee sesh.

  “Right, happy now?” I zipped up and turned to James.

  His face was white, like the bedsheets of a nun. He was staring down at the pond.

  “Jesus, Davey . . .” he muttered, his voice full of reverence.

  I turned and saw what had so impressed him. The water where I had peed now had a golden, oily layer to it, interlaced with thousands of tiny, fluffy, shiny little crystals reflecting light from the cloudy sky. More than that, there were a series of thin brown objects floating in amongst it like corks.

  With a weight in the bottom of my stomach, I realised these were fish. Dead fish. Fish killed by the poisonous power of my urine. If we were drunk, it would have been funny, but in the sober light of an autumn day, it felt like the coming of the apocalypse.

  CHAPTER 5

  FOR WHAT FELT LIKE AGES I stood, staring in horror at the litter of dead fish floating before me. Their skins had been decimated, bones exposed, eyes popped, scales flaking off, turned a grimy brown. The smell was overpowering, a funk of burning and rotting flesh. It made me gag, but I was so shocked by what I had done, I couldn’t even manage to puke. I was stuck to the spot, fascinated, terrified. Was this it? My future? Doomed to witness repeated destructions of my own making, again and again, simply by performing the most natural and unavoidable of bodily functions?

  “Davey.” I felt the slap of James’s hand on my shoulder. “This is amazing.”

  “What?” I said. “No, it’s bloody well not.”

  He laughed to himself. “Don’t be so serious. It’s only fish.”

  I shook my head.

  “Look, Davey, I can see you’re upset, not thinking straight at all, and that’s understandable.” He leaned in close and whispered. “But listen, this could be your ticket, you know.”

  I ripped his hand from my shoulder and turned to face him square on.

  “What d’you mean?”

  The corner of his lips curled suggestively.

  “Well, you’ve got something special, you know,” he said. “Something no one else’s got. Just got to figure out how to use it to our advantage.”

  I wrinkled my nose, sceptical to say the least.

  “Oh, Davey, you’re so naive! You could do whatever you wanted with this!”

  “All I want is to be able to take a piss without destroying something or hurting someone . . . or killing something.”

  “Come on now, Davey, you could do a lot better than that. Just think about it. People would pay good money to see you mangle another climbing frame.”

  I heard the words, but for a moment I couldn’t really believe he was saying them. His face was earnest, no longer smug. He was genuinely trying to entice me, to sell me his big idea. I felt as if I should either collapse onto the ground into a ball of tears or leg it as far as my feet could take me, Forest Gump style.

  “Jesus, you’re serious, aren’t you?” I said, understanding why he’d been so keen to get involved. “What? You want me to be some kind of freak show?”

  “Not a freak show, Davey,” he protested. “Well, sort of, I guess. Just use your imagination, would you?”

  I put my hands in my pockets, waiting to see what his imagination would come up with.

  “Alright,” he said, waving his arms. “How about Britain’s Got Talent?”

  “Oh yeah, sure!” I laughed. “I’m sure everyone would love to see me take a pee on live TV!”

  “They wouldn’t have to see your—”


  “See my member? No, they wouldn’t, ’cos I’d never bloody do that!”

  “Well, why not? You could make millions.”

  I laughed again, so dismissively it was bound to wind him up.

  “I never had you down as an idiot, James, but who do you suppose is going to pay me millions to wee on stuff? Doesn’t sound like the most lucrative activity, does it?”

  “You just need to be creative is all I’m saying!”

  We were both shouting, and suddenly, there came this moment. There we were, staring sternly at each other, breathing hard, almost ready to get physical.

  “Okay, how about this then, Davey?” he said, rehashing his hushed tone.

  I raised a hand to shut him down—

  “No,” he said over me. “Hear me out—”

  “Why don’t I just bloody leave right now?” I muttered to myself. “Find myself a desert island and piss into the sand—”

  “Robbery.”

  He said the word, just that single word. My mouth fell open. All I could do was look at him in disbelief.

  “I’m serious! With pee like that, you could break into Fort Knox.”

  “For Christ’s sake, that’s it.”

  And I turned and walked away. I could sense his searing disappointment with me, but he didn’t follow, and I didn’t give a shit.

  By now, the morning had grown into midday. The cloud cover was thick and grey, and there was a strong chill in the wind. I trudged across the park, the grass crunchy and icy underfoot. The world was not what it once had been for me, not anymore. This was a Saturday morning; I should have been pigging out at home in my flat, blasting my way through a PS4 session or binging boxsets or wanking or doing whatever I fancied to relax on my weekend. I should have been thinking vaguely of the shower I was going to take at some undetermined point of my own choosing, of the meal I would have later that afternoon, maybe a burger or KFC or both, then maybe a stroll to the pub, a few beers, or maybe go to the cinema. Or maybe both. Maybe all of that and more. Maybe some popcorn and a milkshake from that place I love where you can ask them to put anything the hell you like in there—Mars Bar, Snickers, Maltesers, one of each, four of each, whatever. In that place, the customer was always right, and this was the weekend after a long week of mind-numbing work in the call centre that was slowly eating away any prospects I may have had for a fulfilling career. I deserved to indulge.