Does the big bloke give her a nudge with his huge elbow? The picture is too grainy. I try zooming in again, squinting at the frozen image, but it makes no difference. I fast-forward through the bit where the other patients rush to her aid, whilst the bloke just sits, not moving a muscle. I see the light change to the left of all the action, then another man appears, but his back is turned. Dammit, I just can’t tell.
I pick up the second DVD and poke it into the machine.This one is too sharp, too close up – I can see the hairs on her old-lady chin, the weave of her tweed suit. I sit back, frustrated, twisting my head one way, and then the other – I’m stiff from hunching over this damned computer for too long. Come on, come on! I need to call in soon…
The last DVD is much better, the angle is just right. This time, I can see the other patients in the waiting room unbutton the woman’s coat, loosen her scarf and lift up her feet, propping them up on a pile of old magazines. She comes round slowly, and they help her to a corner seat and give her some water. They huddle around her, patting her hand, fanning her with a magazine. The big bloke remains statue-still, glued to his seat.
The consulting room door opens a crack – I pause the recording, scan the rest of scene, holding my breath. No, everything is OK – all eyes are on her. I hit the ‘Play’ button again and watch as the doctor approaches the bloke in the chair. They each nod, reach out as if to shake hands. I hit ‘Pause’, zoom in, then hit ‘Play’ again. The big bloke does one of those double-handed shakes, the kind that says ‘I’m the boss’. Yep – the deal is being done. Money passes one way, a tightly wrapped package passes the other.
I hit ‘Redial’ on my phone. He answers right away.
‘Hey, Rico – it’s Marcus. Yep, just watched it. No problem, my man, no problem. All good.”
I hang up, pop open a bottle, take a deep swig. The DVD runs its course. The little old lady, now left to her own devices stares straight up at the camera. I zoom in. She winks, and smiles.
Horatio Smith spends every day telling fibs. This habit is woven throughout the fabric of his days, weeks and months just as threads in a tapestry form a picture. Indeed, if you follow each of the stories Horatio tells, it will tell you a great deal about the man who lives in the attic in the house at the end of the street.
We don’t have time to unravel the entire warp and weft of his fabrications today. No. Horatio is in a great hurry, which is unusual for him. A man who is six feet tall and spindly is not built for speed. He is designed for lounging, for unfolding himself gently and deliberately from his old wing-backed chair, which is positioned just so to the left of his fireplace. In his fertile imagination, the grate burns merrily with logs that have been gathered from a nearby wood and seasoned to perfection. In reality, a two-bar electric fire takes pride of place in the Victorian grate, its electric cord snaking around the chimney breast to a socket which is fixed slightly askew to the plaster-clad wall. Oh, and by the way, there is no ‘nearby wood’. If you peer out of Horatio’s grimy dormer window, all you can see for miles are rooftops. His is not a rural retreat. Continue reading “Tapestry”→
Freya Writes... 