"The Sympathy Society" - читать интересную книгу автора (Masterton Graham)

СSarah,Т he whispered, reaching up and touching her hair. СI had this nightmare that you were dead. It seemed completely real. You don't have any idea.Т

She didn't reply, but very, very slowly closed her eyes.

СSarah, talk to me. Don't go to sleep. I have to tell you all about this dream.Т

Her eyes remained closed. The colour gradually began to seep out of her cheeks. Her lips were almost turquoise.

СSarah - listen to me - Sarah!Т

He tried to take hold of her shoulder to shake her, but his hand seized nothing but blanket. He sat up, shocked, and it was then that he realized that only her head was lying next to him. Her severed neck was encrusted with dried blood and part of her windpipe was protruding on to the sheet.

He made an awful moaning noise and half-jumped, half-fell out of the bed, tangling his feet in the sheets. His head struck the edge of his bedside table and his plastic water-jug dropped on to the floor, along with his book and his chocolates and his wristwatch.

A nurse came hurrying over. СMartin! Martin, what's the matter?Т

She helped him up. He tilted on to his feet, and twisted around to stare at the bed. Sarah's head had vanished, and he knew that it hadn't really been there at all. It had been nothing more than a nightmare. He sat down on the side of the bed, feeling shocked and bruised. The trouble was, it was worse being awake. Sarah was dead and he was alone, and he could never wake up from that, ever.

Back at the flat, with the blinds and the curtains drawn, he sat at the kitchen table and smoothed out the page from the Evening Standard that Jenny had given him. He had read the advertisement for The Sympathy Society again and again, and every time he read it he had been left with an odd feeling of unease. СUnlike all other counselors, we can offer you what you're really looking for.Т How did they know what he was looking for? How did they know what anybody was looking for?

He ate another spoonful of cold spaghetti out of the can. That was all he had eaten since he came out of hospital. He didn't have to cook it, he barely had to chew it, and it kept him alive. It seemed absurd, to keep yourself alive when you wanted so much to die, but he didn't want to die a lingering death, through starvation and dehydration; and there was always a chance that somebody would find you, and resuscitate you, and feed you with drips and tubes. He wanted to die instantly, the way that Sarah had died.

After almost an hour, he picked up the phone and dialed the number in Buckinghamshire. It rang for a long time, with an echoing, old-fashioned ringing tone. Eventually, it was picked up. There was a moment's breathy pause, and then a clear voice said, СMiller.Т

СI'm sorry. I think I must have the wrong number. I wanted The Sympathy Society.Т

СYou've reached The Sympathy Society. How can I help you?Т

СI've, er - I saw your ad in the Standard.Т

СI see. And may I ask if you have recently been bereaved?Т

СAbout six weeks ago. I lost my partner. She-Т He found that he couldn't get the words out.

Mr Miller waited for a while, and then he asked, with extreme delicacy, СWas it sudden, may I ask? Or an illness?Т

СSudden. It was very sudden. An accident, while she was on holiday.Т

СI see. Well, that means that you're very suitable for Sympathy Society counseling. We don't counsel for illness.Т

СI've had some psychiatric counseling on the NHS. It hasn't made me feel any better, to tell you the truth.Т

СThat doesn't surprise me. Psychiatrists, on the whole, have a very conventional view of what it is to be "better".Т

СI don't quite understand what you mean.Т

СWell, if you're interested in us, why don't you come to see us? It never did anybody any harm to talk.Т

СHow much do you charge?Т