Toothache

Sol can either go to the dentist, or play poker with an old friend
August 26, 2006

It was a Monday, early June. In the kitchen of Smyth's the Belfast bookmakers, two men sat on late lunch. Sol, forty-four, with a long face, a small mouth and a chin with a dimple that he hated, was rooting in his lunchbox for the treat Iris would have included. He found it and pulled it out.

"Ah, Twix again," said Maurice, the other man.

He pointed at the single finger in its shiny wrapper that Sol was holding. Maurice was sixty, had a bony face and small grey eyes.

"Strictly speaking that can't be a Twix; not if it's just one finger."

"Why not?"

"Cos Twix is 'two' in Latin."

Maurice was a twat but Sol never argued with him. In prison, he'd learned, if nothing else, to get along with just about anyone.

"Twix isn't Latin: it's a made-up word, mate." Sol tore the end off the sleeve and pulled out the brown veined bar.

"Like a small penis, isn't it?"

"No," Sol said calmly.

"So, best moment of the day then?"

"What?"

"When you put that in your mouth?"

"No. There are others."

"Like when you get a kiss, or a ride even?"

"Maurice, I'm not going to dignify that with a response," said Sol.

He bit the end off the bar. The chocolate and biscuit crumbled, melded and spread though his mouth. Then he felt a sharp pain.

"Christ!" He dropped the Twix and put his hand to his cheek.

"What is it?"

Sol screwed up his face. "Sore tooth."

He began to probe with his tongue. His wisdom tooth and the next one along were fine but when he touched the third, a really big one that he had a vague memory of being drilled and filled years before in a procedure that lasted a whole afternoon, a line of pain shot from his gum to his cheekbone.

"Jesus!"

"Which one?" asked Maurice.

"The big one, top right, half way along."

"Oh, I had that one out."

Maurice tugged at the side of his mouth to reveal the gap, long yellow teeth on either side, and a stretch of red, wet gum. The sight was faintly obscene.

"Abscess," Maurice continued, "and when the dentist yanked it out, the nerve came too. It was a big worm, all white and bloody, as long as your hand."

"I don't want to know," said Sol.

Maurice looked like he was about to stand. Sol hoped he was going. But instead he leaned forward.

"Listen mate," said Maurice. "I don't suppose you'll be wanting the rest of your Twix, will you?"

That was pure Maurice.

"No mate, help yourself."

"Cheers." Maurice popped the stub of it in his mouth. "Lovely," he said. "As good as sex."

"If we could put you in a bottle and sell you," said Sol, "we'd be rich, you know."

Maurice left. Sol rinsed his mouth with warm salt water then went to his station in the betting shop below. Gavin, the manager, gave him two Panadol. The pain receded. He took another two Panadol at the end of the afternoon. By the time he stepped into his house that evening, it was hardly noticeable. He could live with it. He closed the front door behind.

"Is that you?" Iris called, as she always did.

"I don't know," he shouted back, which was how he always replied.

He went into the kitchen where she was making their tea.

"Good day?" asked Iris.

"Yeah, all right, just a bit of toothache." Sol touched the tooth through his cheek.

"Nasty?"

"Well it was, not so bad now."

His second wife had a lot of blonde hair and very blue watery eyes and wore a gold chain with a sovereign attached around her neck.

"You don't want to let that ride," she said.

"No," he agreed.

"You lose a tooth, you don't get another. Cup of tea?"

"Why not?"

She swirled the kettle around to check it had water and pressed the switch, then she kissed him on the top of his head the way his mother would when he was a boy and he got in from school.

In the kettle the water started bubbling.

Sol slept surprisingly well. The next morning he felt only a twinge in his tooth. Still, he decided to be careful. At breakfast, he took his toast without jam and chewed it on the left hand-side of his mouth. He drained his tea cup and stood.

"I'll make you that appointment," said Iris.

She sat on the other side of the table eating bran flakes, naked under her quilted dressing gown. She never wore anything in bed. She did not even own a nightdress. Sol, on the other hand, always slept in pyjamas, a habit he had acquired when he was a working criminal and the police would frequently raid the house where he lived with his first wife, Betty and their kids, in the early morning.

"I don't think I really need the dentist," he said. He touched the tooth through his cheek. "Seems okay."

"No harm Mr Crawford taking a look. Does any time not suit?"

He circled the table and considered what to say. Now was the perfect opportunity. Why not tell her? Friday afternoon definitely did not suit. Deek's party started at five and Gavin had said he could leave work early.

He was behind Iris now, looking down on her wild hair. It excited him that she was naked under her dressing gown. He slipped his hands under the lapels and cupped her breasts. They were small but soft and lovely.

"What are you doing?" she said, pushing him away, laughing.

"Giving you a loving caress."

"Oh, is that what you call it?"

Deek's party; this could be a really good time to get it out of the way. No, better leave it for now.

"Right, I'm off." He took his lunchbox from the work top. "Anything nice in here for me?"

"Course there is," she said. "There always is."

He went out and closed the front door behind carefully. He went down the path and out the gate, closing it quietly too. Iris had trained him not to bang when he went out or came in.

It was an awful thing but he had to face it: many short sentences plus a long one of seven for armed robbery, a tough man, good in a scrap, believed by his peers to be fearless, and he was actually frightened of his wife. Thank the fuck no one knew.

All that day the tooth hardly bothered him at all. There was just the odd throb now and again. He left Smyth's in good spirits. On the bus he got his favourite seat at the back. On the journey home he watched the city streaming past, paying particular attention to girls in their summer clothes, their short skirts, their halter tops.

He got out at his stop in sunshine, and walked round to his street. As he stepped into his hall Iris called from the kitchen, "Is that you?"

""I don't know," he said and closed the door quietly.

His went straight to the hall table and the phone where his wife did her admin. There was a Post-It with "Dental appointment for Sol" written by Iris in her big looping writing with a big pink tick on it.

He went through to the kitchen. Iris was at the sink, the cold tap running, and she held an egg under the streaming water.

"I predict egg mayonnaise for tea," he said.

Iris snorted and rubbed one of her thin wrists under her nose.

"I got you the last appointment on Friday," she said.

As he registered the information he felt his stomach going tight. Why was he so lame?

"With the dentist," she added.

The shell came away with a gentle soughing noise.

"Have you forgotten? You've toothache."

"What?"

"Aren't you listening? I said, Friday. I got you the five o'clock. Last appointment of the day."

"Oh."

"I got it so Gavin wouldn't get upset about you leaving too early. Aren't you pleased? I thought you'd be pleased."

She added the egg to the plate with the other shelled eggs. Their white flesh was almost blue.

"Ah," he said carefully.

"The side of your mouth is twitching," she said.

It was. He could feel it. He attempted a smile to cover it, even though it was too late of course.

"Come on, spit it out," she said.

"I met Deek the other day."

She knocked an egg smartly against the rim of the stainless steel sink. He heard the shell cracking. She knew Deek. He was a retired housebreaker and an old friend of Sol's from prison. Deek was also best man at their wedding. In his speech, which was all fiction, Deek told the guests that on the stag in Amsterdam Sol had helped out on a porno called Ready, Steady, Cock, which he described as an everyday tale of a lady chef who liked to swallow. Iris was appalled: Deek was one of those men, she decided, and she told Sol this, who had to pull every occasion down to their own level. Everything he came near he dirtied.

"Deek's having a few mates over," Sol continued, "for a few beers, and a bit of cards. That's on Friday."

"Is that so?" It was fantastic how much disgruntlement she packed into three simple words.

"Yeah," he said, "and I was thinking of going."

This was not true. He actually felt he must go. His old friends, the ones who'd be there, were whispering that Sol was stuck-up these days. Since he got out of jail and married Iris, they reckoned he didn't want to know them. He'd become a snob. That really hurt. At Deek's he planned to show everyone he was still the same old Sol. Iris, of course, hated him to have any contact with the old crowd.

"Haven't seen Deek in ages," he said. "And I'd like to. And he is, well was, no, sort of still is, a friend."

The last sock of shell came away from the last egg.

"Really?" said Iris.

She put the egg in the cutter and then folded the wires over. An instant later, the egg was in slices.

"So that's a deal," he said.

She tipped the slices from the cutter into a bowl filled with mayonnaise. He noticed their plates with lettuce and beetroot already laid out. He could smell the vinegar the beet had come in, sharp, metallic.

"Really, was that what we were doing?" she said, 'making a deal?'"

"About Friday," he said, "yes."

"We haven't negotiated anything," said Iris. "I simply told you I made you an appointment on Friday at five, and you told me you're going to Deek's."

She sliced the other eggs, brusquely.

"The thing is," he said, "Deek's thing starts at five. And if I have a jab my mouth'll be sore and I'll be dribbling. A proper idiot."

She swirled the egg pieces in the mayonnaise then began to chop them vigorously. Then she sprinkled cayenne pepper on.

"I'm not interested in your party problems," she said.

He paused to give her the impression he was thinking and then he said, "No, you're right. Better to go and get the tooth seen to. I'll go straight on to Deek's after the dentist and just say a quick hello."

They ate with the television on. This saved them having to talk. She went to bed first and, when he followed, a few minutes later, she was on her side, her back turned towards the middle. He got in and stroked her bare shoulder but she did not respond. He sighed and noisily turned his back on her.

On Wednesday night when Sol went to bed, he again found Iris with her back turned towards the middle. He curled around her and folded an arm over her body and pressed with his groin in order that she could feel his erection. She said nothing. He rolled away and went to sleep.

On Thursday night he whispered, "Shall we make love?"

"No thank you," said Iris.

He went to sleep and dreamt he was in a Scout hut with all the employees from Smyth's. They were putting on a play and Maurice was king in a gold crown. Sol had just a small part: he was Maurice's page.

When Sol woke on Friday morning the tooth was throbbing a little more. He took two painkillers with his tea at breakfast and several more through the course of the day. When four o'clock came Gavin called out to him, "Oi, you can piss off to your party now you crazy bastard."

He went to the toilets to have a pee before he left. He found Maurice washing his hands.

"Will you get a wee kiss at your party?" said Maurice, grinning into the mirror over the sink.

"It's a poker night, strictly for the boys," Sol said.

He went over to the urinal.

"How's that tooth," Maurice called.

"Still sore."

"You want to get that seen to," said Maurice.

"Yeah."

Forty minutes later, Sol stood in front of a thin Victorian house, one of a terrace in a square. There were three steps, bowed like a butcher's chopping board, a black front door and a polished brass sign: Mr James Crawford, BDS (QUB)

He touched his tooth with his tongue. There was a thread of pain but it was quite bearable. He was keen to see the boys. And, fuck it, he didn't want jelly lips.

He turned on the spot and sprang away along the pavement. A pretty girl went by, humming to herself. He felt in control and certain of his destiny and reputation. A few cans and a few hands. He'd a couple of hundred he was willing to lose in his back pocket, all of it in ten pound notes. He had his taxi money in his shirt pocket. Taxi at eleven. Home by midnight.

Just round the corner from the dentist, he entered the grubby room from which Eazy Cabs operated. He gave a blonde woman with a barbed-wire bracelet tattooed on her upper arm the address.

"Driver eight," she said, "maroon Vauxhall."

Driver eight, a fat man who smelt of peppermint, repeated Deek's address back to him when he got in.

"Just let me out on the Woodstock," Sol said.

Driver eight eased into the traffic and through the window Sol saw the clean summer sky overhead. He felt a surge of confidence and he suddenly felt certain he was going to win.

The driver let him out. He bought a litre bottle of vodka and two cartons of orange juice in an offy, then strolled to Deek's street. All the houses were semi-detached and had white pebble-dash fronts. Outside Deek's he could hear party hubbub, and through the front window he saw people standing about, drinking from cans. He went in and made himself a vodka and orange in Deek's kitchen. He circulated, taking care not only to talk to everyone but also to say something funny to everyone. At six, made careless by the several vodkas, he bit into a carrot stick. The pain in his tooth flared up. He drank several more vodkas. As the hours wore on and he drank more, he forgot about his tooth.

At ten the poker game started. The stakes, moderate to begin with, soon rose as excitement and a determination either to recoup losses or to capitalise on a winning streak took possession of the players. Sol didn't do well at the start, but around eleven things changed. He decided to put off calling a taxi. He did not regret the decision. By midnight he was doing very well indeed. He didn't often get a run of luck like this. Four hundred so far. Fantastic. After this he could weather what ever happened when he got home.

At some point, he had lost track of time but he had finished the vodka, he knew that, and he had switched to tequila, he knew that too, a row broke out. Someone called Leo accused him of cheating. Sol felt invincible. Leo was a sore loser who needed manners put on him. Sol told him to fuck off, got up and went into the garden to take a piss beside the little brown shed. When he finished, Sol found Leo was standing behind him. He had not noticed before but Leo was very large and very powerfully built. He was also aware of his toothache. The pain was pounding now. Leo was pointing his finger in Sol's face and was agitated. Leo's size and power bore in on him again. Sol's hand snaked along the side of the shed and he was relieved to find something cold and hard that fitted well in his hand. It felt like a piece of scaffolding. Sol felt safer. He could afford to be unequivocal now.

He pulled the scaffolding bar out and held it like a sword. He wanted to keep the big man at bay. But Leo refused to back off. He was still accusing Sol of cheating and then began to call him a snob. Sol took a swipe. The bar connected with Leo's temple.

The big man started to buckle. The movement struck Sol suddenly as somehow like a genuflection, but one that had gone horribly wrong. Then Leo was on the grass, lying very still, with one leg crooked at an odd angle under the other and Deek was at his side saying, "Easy boy," and the scaffolding bar was being prised out of his right hand.

The following morning, hungover and dry-mouthed, Sol was charged with murder and remanded into custody. His tooth by now was raging with pain and a week after he arrived in the jail, the decay was drilled out and the hole was filled. Nine months later he was sentenced to life with a recommendation that he serve a minimum of fifteen. Iris disowned him and divorced him: she took his money and his house. On the other hand, Betty started coming to visit him. One week, when she didn't have the children, she even mentioned she'd like to try again with him, if he was game. He thanked her—he was genuinely touched—and counselled they wait until he was out.

Six years into his sentence, Sol woke one morning feeling groggy and tired. He shuffled down the wing to the recreation room and put two pieces of pan loaf into the toaster and depressed the lever. As the timing mechanism clicked away, he became aware of a dull pain on the right side of his mouth, the upper gum. He touched the tooth, the big one, gingerly. Pain darted across his cheek.

He left the toast cooking and went down to the office at the end of the wing. A young prison officer called Henderson, whom he hardly knew, was sitting at the slanted counter just inside the door writing something in a ledger.

"Excuse me, officer, I need the dentist," he said.

Henderson did not look up. His face showed he didn't like being disturbed.

"Toothache, here, this one." Sol pointed at the tooth. "I've had trouble with it before. And I'm in a lot of pain. I've got this Open University essay to do for next week," he added hastily. He hoped Henderson was one of the officers who approved of education. "I'll never manage if I've this pain."

"The dentist is off," said Henderson without looking up. "See the MO at nine."

The MO gave him two unbranded pain killers to take that morning and two for the evening. He took the second pair at eight, just after he was locked for the night. An hour later he sat on his bed, his tooth screaming, and stared at his essay question:

"'The Colosseum, with its spectacles of cruelty, was where Romans found balm for their considerable grievances and, without its crucial function as a safety valve, Roman society would have been much more volatile, and social agitation much more likely.' Explore the truth of this statement. Your essay should include reference to and quotation from the Latin texts in your study pack. Essay length: 1,500 words."

In the corridor outside he heard footfalls which he recognised as the night guard's.

"Excuse me," Sol called out.

The night guard stopped outside his door.

"I'm being killed by toothache here," Sol called, "you wouldn't have any painkillers?"

"I'll see what I can do."

The night guard went away and came back.

"You're in luck," he said, pushing a blister under the cell door.

"Thanks mate."

Sol took two immediately. The pain didn't disappear but it eased. He started his essay. He worked on through the night. Every time he felt the pain drawing near, he took another tablet and the pain would withdraw. By dawn the following morning, he had a passable first draft written and all the painkillers from the blister pack were gone. When he got into bed he heard rooks cawing in the exercise yard. That was the last sound he heard until he was woken, a couple of hours later, by the key turning. The door swung open. He saw Henderson in the doorway.

"What time is it?"

"Eight."

"I feel terrible." He felt the pain surging in his mouth. "And I've still got toothache."

"Never mind that, you've got a drugs test."

These were mandatory, random and could not be declined.

Sol got up and the runner took him to the testing centre. He was strip-searched, held for an hour in a bare cubicle and then required to produce a sample in a cup in the toilet while an officer stood at the open door and watched him.

The next day, Sol was on his bed copying his essay out. His tooth was still rumbling and he had just taken two more of the useless tablets that came from the MO. He still had no appointment to see the dentist. But he'd the essay written and, bad and awful as he felt, he could concentrate enough to copy it out.

Henderson appeared in his cell doorway.

"S.O. Harper wants to see you, now."

He went downstairs. Senior Officer Harper was sitting behind his desk in his office. He was a dapper man with white hair and a neat goatee beard. Harper ran the block, one of eight in the jail.

"You failed," he said.

"What?"

"Your drugs test."

"That's impossible!" Sol didn't smoke blow or take Es or trips. He didn't do drugs at all. He was nearly fifty-one for Christ's sake.

"I don't do drugs. You know that."

"Codeine," said Harper, sharply.

"Codeine?"

"That's what the report says." Harper squinted at the piece of paper in front of him.

"You had codeine in your urine."

Jesus! The fucking blister pack from the night guard. Oh Christ.

"You know the regulations," Senior Officer Harper continued. "Codeine is a banned substance unless it's prescribed and looking at your medical sheet," he waved another piece of paper, "I see you've had painkillers, yes, but there's no codeine on your script. You've fucked up, mate."

Sol was standing but he wanted to sit suddenly. He had worked hard to become an "Enhanced" prisoner. Now he would be dropped to "Basic," even lower than "Standard." His wage would be slashed. He would be locked at 4.30. Worst of all, he would lose his television and video recorder, without which he couldn't continue his OU course. This was a catastrophe. He felt panic rising, plus a desperate need to explain. He opened his mouth.

"Don't," said Harper, "you know the rules. Drugs, without a script, you're down to Basic, no exceptions. Now go back to your cell, get your head down, get some good reports and work your way back up."

"There's a programme about the fall of Ancient Rome on tonight that I've got to watch and record."

He tried to keep the pleading out of his voice but he realised he'd failed. He felt suddenly like crying.

"You should have thought about that before you got toothache," said Harper, bleakly.

When Sol got back to his cell he found Henderson there. The officer had unplugged the television and the video and he was folding the wires up. He stuffed the two remotes and the wires into his pockets, then picked up the units and left without a word. Sol sat on his bed and looked at the space on his locker where they had stood until just now.

From the Twix that started this to Rome, there was a direct line of connection. That was life. When you got to the end of something it all made sense. If only it was the other way round though, and you could see where something was headed from the beginning. Wouldn't that be wonderful?