“Over there” proved to be a prefabricated two-storey block of council flats. With no other way of locating his tormentor, he began ringing doorbells and facing irate residents, most of whom were in the middle of eating dinner. One of them even swore and spat at him, but by now he was used to that kind of behaviour. Trudging along the cracked, flooded balconies like a demented rent collector, he suddenly recalled a name mentioned in the phone call – Patty. Hadn’t she checked out the cyclist’s damaged shoulder? At least it was something specific, a person he could ask to see.
After being abused in four more doorways, he was nearing the end of the first floor with only a few apartments remaining when a young Asian man with dragons tattooed on his arms pointed to the flat at the end of the corridor.
“She’s married to a Mexican guy who plays weird music all night,” he complained.
Leaning against the garbage chute was the bicycle that he had hit, now repaired.
“That’s the one,” said Michael, thanking him and setting off. He stood before the door and read the printed card wedged next to the broken bell.
“You’re back sooner than I expected,” said Ramon del Tierro, faith healer, opening the door at his knock and ushering him in. “I didn’t think you’d come to me for at least another week.”
The hallway was in darkness. Mariachi music was playing in one of the bedrooms. The flat was slightly perfumed, as though someone had been burning incense earlier. Ramon was slighter and smaller than he remembered, pallid and unhealthy looking. His left eye was milky, blinded. He led the way to a small, smartly decorated lounge and waved him to a seat. Michael didn’t want to sit. He no longer considered the situation absurd. He just wanted an answer, and an end to the hatred.
“You did this to me, didn’t you?” The tightness in his voice made him realise how much anger he was holding back.
“Did what? Tell me what I did.” Ramon shrugged, faking puzzlement.
“You made me – made everyone detest me.”
“Hey, how could I do that? You soun’ like a crazy man. You want to know how my shoulder is? Thank you for askin’, it’s gonna be okay.” He turned away. “I’m gonna make some coffee. You wan’ some?”
“I want you to tell me what you did, damn it!” Michael shouted, grabbing a scrawny arm.
Ramon glared fiercely and remained silent until he released his grip. Then he softly spoke.
“I have a gift, Mr Townsend. A crazy, pointless gift. If it had been second sight or somethin’ I might have made some money from it, but no. When I come into contact with strangers I can see what makes them happy or sad. Sometimes I can sense what they fear or who they love. It depends on who I touch. Sometimes I don’ feel nothin’ at all. But I felt it with you. An’ I made you see how life can be when you don’t have the one thing you value most. In your case, it’s your popularity. I took away your charm. You’re no longer a likeable guy. I just didn’t think it would screw you up as bad as this. I guess you must love yourself a whole lot more than you love anyone else.”
Michael ran a hand across his face, suddenly tired. “Why did you pick on me?”
“Because I can, and because you deserved it. Now, what you gonna do about that? Go cryin’ to the police, tell them nobody likes you?”
Fury was rising within Michael, bubbling to the surface in a malignant mist. “What do you want?”
“I don’ want nothing from you, Mr Townsend. You got nothin’ I want.”
“You sabotaged my job.”
Ramon shook his head. “No sir, I did not. Anythin’ that’s happening to you is happening ’cause people just don’t like you no more.”
“Then you can make it end.”
The healer considered this for a moment, scratching at his chin with a thumbnail. “I guess I could, but I don’t want to. See, it’s better for you to relearn yourself from scratch. Won’t be easy the way you are now, but just makin’ the effort would turn you into a better person.” Michael knew that if he moved too close he would lash out at Ramon. His temper was slow to rise but formidable to witness. Now he clenched his fists and advanced on the little Mexican. “You get this fucking thing off me straight away, you filthy little spic, or I will beat you unconscious and burn this shit hole down with you in it, do you understand?”
“Now you’re showin’ your true colours, Mr Townsend.” Ramon took a step back, wary but not nervous. “A soul like yours takes an awful lot of fixin’. Tell me what it is you want.”
“I want you to make everyone love me again,” he said, suddenly embarrassed by the realisation of his needs.
“That I can do.”
“How soon?”
“In a few seconds, with just a touch. But you won’t like it. Consider the other way, I beg you. Relearn. Begin again with the personality you have now. It will be more difficult, but the rewards will be much greater.”
“I can’t do that. I need this to happen tonight.”
“Then it will have to be the hard way. Come closer to me.”
Michael walked into Ramon’s outstretched arms. Before he had time to realise what was happening, he felt the thin-bladed knife that Ramon had pulled from his pocket bite between the ribs traversing his heart. The fiery razor edge sliced through the beating muscle, piercing a ventricle and ending his life in a single crimson moment.
* * *
So many people turned up at St Peter’s Church that they ran out of parking spaces and had to leave their cars on the grass verges lining the road. The funeral service boasted eulogies from the senior partners of Aberfitch McKiernny, from friends and relatives, from his colleagues and from his adoring wife. Everyone who went to the burial of Michael Everett Townsend volubly agreed; the man being laid to rest here was truly loved by everyone.
THE MERRIE DANCERS
ALISON LITTLEWOOD
It was after nightfall when I first saw my new neighbour, though I didn’t know when she had decided to go out into the garden. I’d been busy unpacking boxes and telling myself I should be grateful for what I had, and it was dark when I went to draw the curtains across the window. She was in a wheelchair, nothing but a hunched, shadowy shape against the shrubbery. I might not have seen her if it wasn’t for the movement of her feet, kicking continually at the blanket covering her legs. I thought of Parkinson’s, of restless leg syndrome, other illnesses I couldn’t name and knew little of. Had she been taken ill just now, or was it of long duration? Did she need my help?
I felt bad that I didn’t know. I’d never met her before, though Mum had lived in this house for some years. I’d left home as soon as I was eighteen, anxious to experience all that London had to offer, and only came back when she got ill. I’d chosen to look after her, though I hadn’t wanted it, and by the time I reached her it was already too late. Now I was here, it was as if I couldn’t leave again – couldn’t be so ungrateful as to abandon her a second time, even though she was already gone.
The old lady next door tilted back her head to stare up at the stars, shielding her eyes as if they were too bright, and I just made out the smile that touched her lips. It seemed suddenly terribly romantic. She was old, infirm, perhaps couldn’t even walk, and yet there she was taking in the night air and dreaming, while I was twenty-four and acting as if my life was already over.