His side had been done first. The easiest wound to clean, treat, stitch and bandage. Then the knife slashes to his arm. Again, relatively simple. But his left arm was proving problematic. It had been chewed to bits.
‘You should probably have a skin graft on this,’ Bracken had said. ‘Reconstructive surgery. It’s the only thing that’ll save it. Make it good again.’
‘I don’t have time,’ said the Golem. ‘I am working. Put me together again, send me back out there.’
‘You’ll be going nowhere for the next few days, state you’re in,’ Bracken said.
‘No,’ said the Golem, not arguing but stating. ‘Patch me up. Send me back. I am working. I have job to finish.’
Bracken waved his hand, shrugged. Not his problem. ‘As you wish … ’
He pulled the last length of thread through the Golem’s arm, tied it, cut it. Stood back. ‘There,’ he said. ‘Best I can do.’
The Golem stood up, looked at himself in the mirror.
‘I wouldn’t do that, you’ll be unsteady on your feet … ’
The Golem stood firm. Regarded his reflection.
More wounds to heal. More life markers on his body. More scars to carry. He could live with them. But Bracken was right. His left arm was a mess.
‘Bandage me up,’ he told Bracken.
‘That arm needs more than bandage.’
‘And it will get it. After I finish job.’
Shrugging once more, Bracken bandaged the Golem’s arm. The Golem kept looking at himself.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘Pills?’
‘What?’
‘Pills. You give me pills. You know the kind. You give before.’
‘Oh, now look … that’s not, that’s not a good idea … ’
‘Pills now. You know. The kind to make me strong. To make me not give in. The kind that make me feel no pain.’
‘I really don’t think that’s a good idea. You don’t … They’re dangerous. They could damage you when you take them. Hurt you.’
‘If they do,’ the Golem said, eyes hard and flat, ‘then I won’t feel it. Pills. Now.’
49
Mickey Philips had received the call over an hour ago. Murder in Jaywick. Get yourself there as quickly as possible.
Now he parked as near to the crime-scene tape as he could. Silenced the Fleet Foxes CD that had been playing and made his way to the barrier, warrant card at the ready.
Fleet Foxes, for God’s sake. It was something Phil had burned for him and left in the car, insisting he listen to it. He had played it once, under sufferance, then relegated it to the bottom of the glove box, treating it with the contempt he reserved for most of his boss’s music. At least he hadn’t launched this one out of the window on the A12. The same couldn’t be said for Neil Young’s Sleeps With Angels album.
But today he had enjoyed it. Especially ‘Your Protector’; that track had struck a chord with him. Played it three times. Even started singing along. And he knew why.
Anni. And the night they had just spent together.
As he walked, he thought back. They had sat together on the sofa in her living room. Glass of wine in her hand, beer in his. Budvar. Because she knew he liked it. He hadn’t noticed at the time, but afterwards he realised that she must have got that in especially for him in case he ever called round. That made him smile.
Anni had been curled in one corner, legs beneath her, Mickey at the other end. Trying to relax but remaining upright and forward instead. She had put some music on. Fleet Foxes.
‘Not usually my thing,’ she had said. ‘Phil downloaded it for me. It’s really grown on me.’
Mickey nodded. Sipped his beer, listened to the harmonies. Something about coming down from the mountain, being gone too long. It wasn’t bad.
‘I think he did me a copy too,’ he said. ‘Never played it.’
‘You should. You might like it.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, looking at her, ‘I might.’
‘After a hard day at work,’ she said, ‘glass of wine, this music, great way to unwind.’
‘Yeah,’ he said.
She placed her wine glass on a side table. Took a deep breath, let it out. Mickey watched her breasts rise and fall as she did so. He couldn’t help it. He put the can to his lips, noticed his hand was shaking. Swallowed hard on the beer, put it down too. His body was burning with desire mixed with a fear of rejection. He looked along the sofa at Anni. She smiled at him.
‘I can think of a better way to relax, though.’
She moved towards him. He thought of picking up his beer can again, draining it, just to take in some courage, but left it where it was. She had worked her way along until she was beside him. She placed her hand on his chest, ran her fingers down his shirt front. Her touch felt good.
She looked at him. Eyes locking with eyes. She smiled. Moved her head in towards him.
The first kiss. The first proper kiss between them. Her tongue was in his mouth, he met hers with his. Touching, exploring, mouth on mouth. Her lips so warm, so soft. Just like he had imagined. And he had imagined this a lot.
He pulled away. Looked at her. She smiled once more, eyes lit by an inner fire.
‘D’you think … ’ he said.
‘Yes … ’ Her voice breathy.
‘D’you think we should be doing this? What with … y’know. Everything that’s happened today.’
She sat back from him. ‘Don’t you want to?’
‘Yes, but … ’ He sighed. ‘The boss. Everything that’s happened.’
She sat back from him. ‘If you don’t want to … ’
‘I do.’
‘Come on, then.’ She leaned forward. ‘After today, I think this is just what we need.’
And she was back beside him, mouth on his, hands running over his clothed body, finding buttons, zips. Undoing them. Pulling his shirt off, breaking off from their kiss to slide her hands over his chest, smile.
He moved in to her neck, began kissing her there, hands slowly caressing her. Moving gently inside her T-shirt, down her chest …
She pushed herself against him. He kept caressing her. Her hands found the buttons of his jeans, began working them open. He kept his hands above her breasts.
Anni stopped what she was doing, looked at him.
‘You OK?’ she said, voice a near-whisper.
He nodded. ‘Yeah.’
‘You sure you want to do this?’
‘Yeah … ’ He frowned. ‘Why?’
‘You just seem … I don’t know. Like you’re holding back.’
‘Holding back? No, I’m … I’m not.’
‘Good.’
And she bit his neck. He loved it. Felt an electrically sexual charge run through him. His hands moved down to her breasts. She groaned, pushed her body towards him again. His strokes became slightly more urgent. She stopped once more.
‘Don’t you fancy me?’
‘What? Yeah, course … ’
‘Then show me. I won’t break, you know.’
He sighed. ‘I know, but … ’
‘What?’
‘I’m just … I’m sorry. I just … you’re someone special. To me. Very special. And you know … I respect you.’
‘Good. So you should. And you can still respect me.’ She smiled. ‘In the morning. But tonight, I want some fun.’
‘Permission granted,’ he said, smiling.
And from then on, Mickey didn’t have to be told twice.
50
After Mickey had left, Anni couldn’t get back to sleep.
She lay there in bed, replaying the events of the previous night over and over in her head. And they were worth replaying. She and Mickey had just … fitted. Not at first, though. Mickey had seemed reticent. She had found it quite sweet. But since sweet wasn’t the defining feature she looked for in a man — it wasn’t even in the top ten — she had gently but firmly shown him that that wasn’t what she wanted. And he had responded.