Connections by Hilary Bailey

eyes. “I’ve got Jason,” Fleur said, moving forward.
    â€œCouldn’t take it, eh, Jase?” Dominic said to the dog. To Fleur he said, “I got him off an addict. He’s seen it all before, when he was a lot younger. Didn’t like it.”
    â€œHe’s a very clever dog,” Fleur remarked. She added, “How’s Vanessa doing?”
    â€œI think she’ll be OK,” Dominic said. “I couldn’t go with her. Hospitals make me come over faint. I can’t do anything about it.”
    â€œPeople always say that,” Fleur said dourly, “as if they thought there was a whole race of other people who love hospitals, can’t get enough of them, go round visiting patients they don’t even know just for the experience.”
    â€œWell, thanks,” said Dominic.
    â€œThink nothing of it.” She turned to go. She relented. “Come over to the wine bar. I’ll get the manager to give you a brandy.”
    He hesitated. “I’d rather go to the Findhorn. Come with me. Money’s not a problem.”
    No, thought Fleur, crossing the road with him. Money isn’t the problem. It’s where it probably comes from that is. For all she knew it was Dominic’s trade that had put Vanessa’s life in danger. She couldn’t think why she was going with him, except that somehow that was what you did after an event like that.
    She stood beside him while he bought the drinks.
    â€œWhat was all that about?” said Patrick from behind the bar. He had evidently seen the whole thing through the pub windows.
    â€œDon’t ask,” said Dominic. “Just don’t ask.” This seemed to explain enough to Patrick.
    Fleur and Dominic sat down. “Contrary to what you might be thinking,” Dominic said, “I don’t deal in what Vanessa had. I never have. A bit of blow, all right, when I needed to – never smack, or anything. Van got that stuff on her own.”
    Fleur wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. A silence fell.
    â€œI’d better go and ring the hospital,” he said.
    â€œThey won’t know anything yet, probably.”
    â€œMake me feel better,” he told her. He went to the phone, Jason following. Fleur sat there gloomily, planning to leave as soon as he got back.
    â€œShe’s OK. They’re waiting for the doctor,” Dominic reported when he returned.
    â€œThey know what to do without a doctor,” she said. “Look – I’d better go.”
    But he was speaking, quickly: “She was getting off it. The local doctor’s very good – she was in a programme. She was down to a bit of methadone a day. Then this. Joe and me were out working. She must have got down and lonely and went out and scored somewhere. Probably on the Yarborough. If we’d been around it probably wouldn’t have happened.”
    â€œShe made her own choices,” said Fleur.
    Dominic looked at her disbelievingly. “That’s what people like you say, isn’t it? ‘She made her own choices.’ You don’t know anything about Van, do you? You don’t know what choices she ever had to make. You don’t know a thing. You just come out with your little clichés so you don’t have to worry. It’s all somebody else’s fault.”
    Fleur got annoyed. “Come on, Dominic. No one held Vanessa down and stuck a needle in her arm.”
    â€œDo you know what?” he said. “You don’t know anything. I hope you never have to find out, the hard way.”
    â€œYou know everything, of course.”
    â€œA little bit more than you do, that’s for sure.”
    â€œWhat the hell,” she said, standing up. “I’m going.”
    â€œSit down,” he said. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m just worried, that’s all. It’d be a help if you stayed,” he admitted.
    Fleur sat down. “Has