Free Painkiller by N.J. Fountain Page A

grinding my teeth to a fine powder… One more never-ending process I can deal with, especially if it produces results like this. How much do I owe you?’
    ‘Call it a free sample.’
    ‘Well, thank you. You don’t know how much this means. I am so grateful.’
    Of course I burst into tears. The release. The kindness. It was impossible not to. He cautiously entered the changing rooms and held me, patting my shoulder very gently like my mum used to.
    ‘I would advise you to let me do this to you regularly. My rates are very reasonable.’
    And so I let him do it to me regularly.
    I took his mobile number, he took mine, and we met up every two to three weeks. He put me through the blissful agonies of deep-tissue massage, then his ‘payment’ was to let me buy him a sparkling water in the hotel bar afterwards.
    I got to know a bit about Niall. He liked extreme sports like rock climbing and paragliding. He was single. When he said that, a spasm hit me, as if my entire body tensed up for battle, and a klaxon in my chest sounded. I told myself it was just another pain spasm.
    He enjoyed acting, but he never thought he was quite good enough at it. He said it to provoke a reaction, and when I said nothing, he caught my eye. ‘I take it from your silence you agree.’
    ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘My silence means I can’t remember a great deal. I remember you got a lot of work. You were always working…’
    ‘Not really the same thing.’
    ‘If it’s any consolation, if I was your agent you were probably a very good actor. I never took on rubbish.’
    ‘Yes, that’s what you used to say to me. “I never take on rubbish.” You use to say it all the time – well, whenever you saw me. That was your motto.’
    ‘Did I say that? I suppose I must have done. I can’t remember that either.’
    He snorted. ‘That was your catchphrase! You can’t even remember your catchphrase? Weird…’
    He was starting to irritate, acting like I was a curiosity. Like some of the friends I used to have, who used to poke me with their words, hoping to see me wince.
    He continued. ‘The last time you said it to me, I was really down. I didn’t get a part, and I thought I’d done very well in the auditions, and you emailed me and told me that to keep my pecker up, that I was really good, and you didn’t take on rubbish, and to keep trying, no matter what obstacles were thrown in my way, and it really made an impression. I even printed the email out and… I… well…’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I framed it.’
    ‘You framed it?’
    ‘Ah. Yes.’
    ‘Did you hang it up?’
    ‘Um. Yes.’
    I was enjoying myself now. ‘You’re kidding. Please tell me you put it in your toilet.’
    ‘You’re embarrassing me. Let’s talk about something else.’
    ‘Like what?’
    ‘Like… How did you get this way? How did all this…’ he gestured at my body, like I was a prize in a quiz show, ‘how did this happen to you?’
    ‘I had an accident.’
    ‘Yes.’
    He waited. He had a big ‘and…?’ expression on his face.
    I thought about it. I was in such joy from the easing of the pain, I didn’t feel like dwelling on it here. It felt so… negative. Backward-looking. I didn’t want to talk about it. Not in this place of miracles.
    ‘No,’ I said at last. ‘Not here. I don’t really want to talk about it. I hope you understand. It doesn’t matter any more.’
    ‘OK. I’ll not mention it again.’
    ‘Good.’
    He didn’t pursue it but just said, ‘So you didn’t have a kid, then.’
    Wow,
I thought.
This was pain. An old kind of pain. Nothing to do with nerve pain. A good old-fashioned emotional punch-in-the-gut.
    Oblivious, he continued, ‘I just heard you were going on maternity leave, that’s all. That’s why I thought you disappeared from the agency. I must have got the wrong end of the stick. Do you have children?’
    ‘No,’ I said, too quickly. ‘So let’s talk about something else. Please.’
    He pulled a face like a slapped