Her body shook, her legs trembled, her nerves were precious plates in unsteady hands about to fall to the floor. She must somehow keep a lid on it all.
A medic in a white coat came out. The crowd waiting in A & E became alert. ‘Angela Phillips?’ the white coat said. ‘That’s me,’ she mumbled and they all stared at her, a sick, grey-haired woman
‘This way,’ she was told. Fifty pairs of eyes followed her out of the cramped room.
/
‘You records say your liver’s failing.’
‘The GP said that perhaps…’
‘For years you’ve been told to give up alcohol.’
‘Said that perhaps if I had…’
‘Are you still drinking?’
‘I’m trying not to.’
‘Your body is damaged. Badly.’
‘Said that if I had an organ transplant, then…’
‘Can be I clear? You’re still drinking?’
‘It helps me.’
A sigh from across the table. Angela sensed her story must seem squalid and familiar to the registrar.
‘I’m giving you these tablets for the pain. You ought to have them on your prescription.’
‘I’ve run out.’
‘Are you selling them?’
Angela became distressed. Did she really look so unsavoury? She drank; she didn’t commit crime.
‘Try and drink a little less each day, maybe?’ the woman said, her finger jabbing.
‘I want to get better. I’m off work. I’m going to lose my job if I don’t get better. I really want to.’
The registrar tapped something into the computer, then nodded in a way that said: we’re done.
/
Back in her flat, the tablets having dulled the ache, Angela sipped the cheap sherry. She loved its sweetness, she loved the buzz. Soon she’d be happy, the world would stop holding her by the collar, pushing her to the floor.
Frankie Morris? Was he in the room with her? Banging her head on the floor, his hand over her mouth? Don’t scream or you’ll regret it! Morris had raped her and broken her collar bone. That memory, like being in a prison cell day after day. It was years ago but it still kept turning up, an unwanted visitor. Sip some more sherry. Take yourself away to somewhere better.
/
‘We’ve got to let you go. I’m sorry.’ The manager had been understanding with her till now. His face was hard, as if angry with her for making him do this. ‘The absences are way too many.’
If she’d been in the manger’s place, she’d have done the same. She was a waste of space. She looked at the long line of supermarket tills where she’d worked. If she ever came back here, if she wasn’t ashamed, it would now only be to buy alcohol.
Back home she considered putting her head in the oven and turning the gas taps on. No! Cling on. You want to see your granddaughter grow. The sherry was soothing, she wasn’t totally useless, was she? She’d get through today anyhow. God, the sherry was good. So good.
