Chapter Eight She slipped the balaclava over her head. She had just heard the door downstairs being opened, and closed. Darren, her boyfriend, was on his way up. Felicja counted his steps. He was very close now to their apartment door. Felicja placed the knife in her mouth; she held it lightly between her teeth.
Darren entered and saw Felicja.
–Nice one.
Felicja watched his eyes. She lay back against her pillows - when her phone buzzed.
She jumped.
–Shit! she said, or something like that – the knife was still in her mouth. She took it out and stared at Darren. Her face was hidden but Darren could still detect the anger.
–Don’t look at me, he said.
She knew she wasn’t bleeding because she’d made sure the sharp edge had been facing away from her mouth. But she put her fingers to her lips, and looked. They were fine – no blood. But, still, she felt foolish – and angry.
Darren had gone into the kitchen.
–I did this for you, Darren! she shouted.
–Back in a sec! he shouted back.
She heard him open the fridge door, and remembered the text that had made her jump.
It was from Dee.
Cme.
Felicja texted back.
Whre?
Darren was still in the kitchen.
Hse.
Felicja answered.
Wil hit grnd runng.
When Darren came back with a can of Heineken and a cheese string, Felicja was putting on her jacket and searching for her notebook.
Darren couldn’t hide his disappointment.
–You’re not going?
–Yes, said Felicja. –I am going.
Getting into the jacket was difficult. The stitches in her arm hurt quite badly. She gave up the search for the notebook; she’d find it later. She just wanted – needed – to go, now.
–Goodbye, Darren, she said. –Enjoy your beer.
–What happened your jacket?
He pointed at the bloodstains, and the white padding that seemed to be pouring out of the slit in Felicja’s sleeve, where Monica’s knife had torn it.
–Oh that? said Felicja. –It is not so very important. A bitch did it.
–A bitch?
–A bitch with a knife. Goodbye.
Darren’s bike was locked in the hall, and Felicja didn’t want to go back upstairs to ask for the key and face more questions. So she walked. She ran – she tried to run. She slid on the ice and laughed and almost fell.
Dee’s strange sons stood at the door, like very skinny versions of the two fat boys in Alice in Wonderland. They stared, terrified, at Felicia.
She removed the balaclava and walked past them, into the house.
–Dee? she called. –You are here?
She found Dee in the kitchen, reading her notebook. Felicja’s notebook.
Dee looked up at Felicja. Her face was neither bruised nor scarred. She stared at Felicja for quite some time.
–Dee –
–Shut up.
Dee looked back down at the page.
–Listen, she said.
Then she started to read.
–Biffo’s feathers had been washed from Dee’s hair in the shower but the hot water had done nothing to remove the anger that made Dee’s face look so sharp and lethal, and so very beautiful.
Dee stopped reading.
–You wrote this?
–Yes, said Felicja. –I was –
–And I’m mad too, am I?
–I did not –
–Have you any idea how this makes me feel?
–I am sorry.
–Sorry?
-Yes, Dee. I am very sorry. I do not –
–Oh, shut up.
Dee shut the notebook, with a small bang. She stared at it, and looked as if she was deciding where to throw it, how to destroy it.
Felicja would stop her; she was ready to jump. She knew – she understood it now: this was why she’d climbed the walls, why she’d followed Dee and murdered her neighbours. So she could write about it.
Felicja’s knife was in her jacket pocket.
Dee looked at her.
–So.
–Yes, Dee?
Dee held up the notebook.
–There’s more of this?
–Yes, Dee.
–Christ.
–I have a blog.
–It’s fucking fantastic.
–I am – what did you say?
–I read this, said Dee. –And I felt, wow.
–You felt wow?
–I felt very fucking wow, said Dee. –I felt, I don’t know, vindicated. And –
She whispered.
–Cool.
She laughed.
–And sexy. Again. God.
She laughed again.
–But we can do better than a fucking blog, Felicja.
–I do not understand, said Felicja.
–A book, said Dee. –Come on. A movie. My story.
She sat at the table.
–Let’s get started.
–But Dee, said Felicja. –Are Maeve and Monica still alive?
–Who cares? said Dee. –Yeah, they’re fine.
She patted the notebook.
–They’ll love this, she said.
–You think so?
–I know so, said Dee. –I’ll call them. They can come over and help us.
–I do not understand, said Felicja.
–I know you don’t, said Dee.
She smiled.
–That’s why you’re so perfect.
THE END
© Roddy Doyle 2010
