A Lovely Way to Burn Read Online Free PDF Page A

water. The surface of the liquid trembled and it was difficult to raise the glass to her mouth. She remembered that there was some Valium at the back of the cutlery drawer, left over from when her mother had died. Stevie found the packet, swallowed two pills, then climbed into the shower and turned the water up as hot as she could stand it. She closed her eyes and raised her face to the spray, letting it drench her hair, trying to empty her mind of everything, except the sensation of the water pounding against her flesh.
    Later, she wrapped herself in her towelling dressing gown and telephoned the station to tell them she was sick and wouldn’t be able to appear tonight, and very possibly not the following night either. Then, to her surprise, she was sick, gut-wrenchingly, jaw-stretchingly, horribly sick. Her bowels clenched and she realised that her body was determined to expel everything from its system.
    When it was through Stevie drank a little water, pulled on an old pair of pyjamas and climbed into bed. The room seemed to tip and she saw Simon’s face again. His mouth had been slightly open, his lips pulled back, showing his teeth. Another wave of nausea washed over her. She ran to the bathroom, only just making it in time.
    A long, sleepless day was followed by a feverish night punctuated by nightmares. She became part of a floating world, a place without edges or gravity, where nothing was bound to the earth and objects and people drifted free of time and place. She saw Joanie and Derek, dressed up for a night on the tiles, and knew that they too were dead. The new security guard put his hand up her skirt and whispered that she was a stuck-up bitch and he was going to give her another one, just like the other one. The sun turned orange and a voice in her head, that wasn’t her own, told her it meant that she was going to die.
    Some time in the early hours Simon walked into her bedroom. He was wearing the doctor’s coat she had never seen him in and was fully restored. She noticed the red Biro in his breast pocket and the careless line of ink above it, where Simon had replaced the pen minus its cap. He gave her a smile, and then opened the door and left. It was these details that spooked her when she woke: the line of ink, the closing door.
    There was vomit smeared, nuclear yellow, on the pillowcase. Stevie pushed the pillow under the bed and stumbled to the kitchen, the dreams still tugging at her consciousness. There was sick in her hair, but she was too weak to shower again. She tried to comb it out with her fingertips and then stuck her head under the tap. The cold water scalded her skin. She drank some and immediately threw up in the sink. Her ribs ached worse than when she had been swept overboard during a white-water raft race and tumbled half a mile downstream, slamming against riverbed boulders all the way. The memory of the water, its centrifugal force, made Stevie dizzy and she threw up again.
    She found a plastic bowl, set it by the bed and continued to retch into it long after she had forgotten to try and keep herself hydrated. She slept again and woke to the knowledge that she had soiled herself. Stevie dragged the sheet from the bed, wiping herself as clean as she could with its hem, and crawled on to the bare mattress. There was a noise in her head like a telegraph machine in some old movie, and she realised that her teeth were chattering. Recent nights had been too warm for anything but a sheet, and she had packed her duvet away weeks ago. Now she pulled it from the blanket box at the end of the bed and drew it over herself, not bothering to find a cover for it. A telephone was ringing somewhere far away, but it seemed more remote than her dreams, and it didn’t occur to Stevie to answer it.
    The next time Stevie soiled herself she cried, but all she produced were dry sobs she didn’t have the energy to maintain. She kicked the duvet from the bed and pulled on her dressing gown. Her movements were