by J. A. Baker
21
Peggy
Peggy stares at the text. She’s read it at least half a dozen times. Reading it again won’t change anything. Her fingers hover over the screen as she wonders whether or not Alec has received the same message. Maybe. Maybe not. It’s been such a long time since they’ve seen any of their friends. She tries to remember when they were last in touch with Polly and Ashfaq or Rob and Olivia. Too far back in her memory to put a date to it. But Rachel has been in contact with them all. Visited them asking about Sheryl. And now, according to Polly’s message, the police are starting to take her claims seriously. Sheryl’s business as a counsellor can no longer function without her. Patients have started complaining when she hasn’t turned up for appointments. Some claimed they received messages cancelling their scheduled time but others have been left high and dry when she simply didn’t turn up. And according to Polly and Rachel, something isn’t right.
Have you or Alec heard from her? Polly asks, because this is really worrying isn’t it? Not like Sheryl at all …
A knot forms in the pit of Peggy’s stomach. What is she supposed to make of this message? What is it they actually want from her? She stopped socialising with them some time ago and isn’t sure what it is they need her to do. The sound of the wall clock booms in her head. Her own ticking time bomb. Peggy watches as the second hand moves slowly towards the seven. Where is Alec? He should have been home an hour ago. He’s been working long hours since getting this new position but even by his standards this is extraordinarily late. She thinks of his driving, how his speed increases when he’s under duress. If he has received this message and is currently in the car powering his way along the dual carriageway … Peggy stands up, blocks it all from her mind. This has nothing to do with her. Why is Polly trying to make it her problem? She’s already spoken to Rachel and told her what she knows, told her about the last time she saw Sheryl. What more do they want from her? Peggy slumps down again at the table and watches the hands of the clock as they slowly rotate.
It’s 7.30 p.m. when Alec finally spills through the door, a sprawl of angry limbs and frowns. He reeks of drink. Peggy feels her stomach flip. This is a bad sign. Really bad. Alec never drinks after work. Ever. He must have got the text. What other reason could there be for his current state? She nibbles at her fingernails and tries to stem the uneasy feeling that is churning her insides up. What now?
He slams his briefcase down on the table sending Peggy’s neat pile of papers into a sprawling jumble.
‘Sorry,’ he mutters, ‘bad day. What are we eating?’
Peggy feels her armpits prickle. With the worry of the message she has forgotten to cook anything. She considers lying, telling him she threw it in the bin since he is so late back. Easier than having to put up with the mood that will no doubt ensue if he’s left without any food. Eating was the last thing on her mind. Unlike Alec, she isn’t controlled by her stomach and its constant demands for sustenance. A sandwich is usually enough to keep her going. There are days lately when she hasn’t even had that.
‘Thought we would have a takeaway?’ she suggests quietly. ‘I can go out and get it.’
The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. She mentally plans out the route, checks the time. The place will probably be empty. It’s midweek, a cold and blustery night. Most people will be at home doing their own cooking. Or at least she hopes so. Regardless, she’s offered now, too late to take it back. She stares at Alec. He’s in no fit state to go, red eyed and possibly over the limit. ‘I could do with the drive out,’ she says, hoping he doesn’t spot her lies. It’s down to her to go. There’s no way he can go back on the road smelling like a brewery. Alec losing his license would just be the final nail in their coffin. She watches him, hoping he’ll fall for it. His expression is unreadable, his eyes locked and dark, full of frustration and fury.
‘Yeah, whatever,’ he replies, ‘Chinese?’
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Peggy tries her best to wade her way through the mountain of glutinous food piled in front of her. The smell of the dark brown sticky mound of meat makes her want to wretch. Soy sauce is always too salty and she ends up drinking gallons of water for the rest of the evening. She watches as Alec shovels it into his mouth, flecks of chicken sticking to the corners of his lips. Her stomach threatens to heave. They’ve barely spoken since she got back and Peggy’s skin is on fire, her mind full of itches that she can’t scratch. She tries to formulate the words in her head, put them into a coherent sentence but her brain won’t function properly. She can’t seem to find a way of saying it out loud, of asking what he thought of the message. If he got it, that is. Maybe she is being targeted? She can’t think why. Perhaps because Polly and the rest of the group feel slighted by Peggy’s withdrawal from their social circle? Surely not? She was hardly the epicentre of their group of friends to begin with. Always on the periphery; an outsider looking in.
‘Not hungry?’ Alec asks, eyeing the untouched food on her plate.
She stabs at a slice of green pepper and forces it into her mouth, its slimy texture sliding down her throat, greasy and brackish. Her eyes water as she swallows hard and does her best to keep it down.
‘Want to pass some of it over here then?’ he says, the folds of fury etched into his face beginning to smooth out with each consecutive bite.
Peggy passes him her plate and watches as he devours another meal. She doesn’t know how he can do it. Hollow legs. That’s what her dad used to say when, as teenagers, she and Beatrice would quite literally eat their parents out of house and home. Like a swarm of locusts they used to descend on the kitchen, stripping the cupboards, bread bin and fridge until they were almost bare.
‘Everything okay?’ Alec asks as he dabs the corner of his mouth, pushes his plate to one side and leans back in his chair, finally satiated.
‘Fine,’ Peggy replies, thinking immediately that that is the wrong answer. People only say they’re fine when they are anything but. ‘I’m good,’ she smiles, ‘just a bit tired. How about you?’
She sees the change in him, a barely noticeable twitch of his eye, the way he tugs at his collar and twists his neck. Something has definitely happened. Alec runs his fingers through his hair and stands up to take the plates over to the sink.
‘He came to see me today.’
Peggy’s blood freezes in her veins. Who came to see him? Ashfaq? Rob? Why would they go to see him at work? Or was it at the pub? That would explain the smell of alcohol. He called into the pub on the way home. Not like Alec though. Not like him at all.
‘Who did?’
‘Who do you think?’ he asks as he stares out at the sea, his back turned to her. The tap is turned on and the water gushes into the sink, splashing against the crockery, spraying up the tiles, a fountain of misery.
‘I don’t know,’ she replies cautiously, the atmosphere thick with disquiet and foreboding.
‘Him,’ Alec mutters, his shoulders hunched as he rests his hands on the edge of the sink. ‘Barry fucking Wilson, that’s who.’
Peggy’s heart crawls up her throat, ‘Your dad came to see you? Where? Where did you meet him?’
‘In the car park at work,’ he growls, ‘tonight as I was leaving.’
‘Jesus,’ is all she can manage. The sides of her face feel slightly numb as she tries to take it in, ‘so what did he have to say?’
‘Not a fat lot,’ Alec replies as he begins to scrub at the pots. Peggy watches, wishing he would stop. This is important, they need to sit down and discuss it; leave everything, forget about domesticity and tidiness and focus on his father. She stares at his back, rigid with anger, watches his controlled movements as he tries to bridle his rage with mundane chores. It’s understandable. Barry was violent, a monster by all accounts. The last thing they want is him coming here causing trouble, ripping what little they h
ave left of their marriage apart. Peggy feels a headache coming on. Her mother’s recent letters and now this. She feels like her entire skull is being compressed, her brain squashed inside it, shrivelling up like a walnut, rolling about; a small, hard stone knocking against bone. A dull pain settles behind her eyes, the start of something colossal.
‘That’s why I’m late in,’ Alec adds. ‘I went to the pub afterwards. Tried to clear my head.’
‘Did he go with you?’ Peggy is on her feet, small bursts of pain popping behind her eyeballs.
‘What? Go with me?’ Alec splutters, turning around to face her, ‘I’m bloody sure he didn’t. I wouldn’t socialise with him if he was the last man on earth. Not a fucking chance.’
She nods and pulls at her sweater to straighten herself out, to give her something focus on to stop the eruptions in her skull from making her vomit. She needs space to think, somewhere dark and silent, ‘I’m going to have a nap if that’s okay?’
‘You all right?’ he asks quietly.
‘Just a bit worn out, that’s all. Too long sitting staring at a computer screen,’ she lies.
Peggy feels his eyes on her, sees him smile slightly and for one awful minute she thinks he might say he’s going to join her. She isn’t in the mood for sex. Not now, not after the day they’ve had. But he doesn’t. Instead he dries his hands and heads over to the drinks cabinet in the dining room where he scoops out a crystal tumbler and a bottle of whiskey.
‘Purely medicinal,’ he smiles as he opens the bottle and pours himself a large slug.
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It’s part of her dream. It has to be. The bed sheets are crumpled at her feet and she is freezing. She leans down, grabs at them and sits motionless, listening. Cold fingers trail down her spine. Her scalp prickles. There it is again. A thumping sound - repetitive, relentless. The door. A heavy, authoritative fist is banging on their front door. Again? And at this time of night? Peggy stands up unsteady on her feet, her vision clearer, the pain now more of a residual, dull ache across the top of her head. She visualises Rachel standing there, windswept, forlorn, demanding more answers. She scans the room and looks at the clock. It’s only 10 pm. She went for a lie down at what - eight? Probably nearer nine actually. Straightening out her clothes and pulling at her tangled hair, Peggy heads downstairs, her mind a whirl of fear and confusion.
Alec is standing at the foot of the stairs when she gets there, his face a tight wad of turmoil and bewilderment. His hair is ruffled and his clothes are askew. He has fallen asleep in the chair after one too many. Peggy hopes his temper holds as he turns the handle and opens the door.
Something catches in her chest as two burly looking men step forward out of the shadows and speak, ‘Evening, sir. My name is Detective Constable Rollings and this is PC Evans. May we come inside? We’d like to talk to you about an incident that took place earlier this evening regarding a Mr Wilson,’ the taller of the policemen says. His fair hair is slicked back from his face and his jowls wobble about as he speaks.
Alec stands to one side and motions for them to enter, his hand making a low sweeping gesture. Peggy stares at him then back at the officers who make their way through into the living room as if they are regular visitors here and have called round for a casual chat. She tries to catch Alec’s attention but his eyes are glazed and he seems trance like. She hopes to God he didn’t finish the entire bottle. Her legs refuse to work properly as she follows him and takes a seat on the sofa. Perching her bottom on the edge, her knees begin to knock together clumsily. She wraps her arms around them to stop the movement and does her utmost to steady her breathing. The two officers perch on a chair each, their black uniform and long angular legs an incongruous sight against the soft, cream leather of the couch.
‘So, what’s all this about?’ Alec asks and Peggy finds herself inwardly heaving a sigh of relief. His speech isn’t slurred. He isn’t angry at being disturbed. He has snapped into action, an air of professional calm about him, an aura of serenity that, if the truth be told, she finds rather disturbing, considering their current predicament.
‘Can you tell me where you were this evening, Mr Wilson?’ DC Rollings says, his eyes narrow and unreadable. Peggy’s insides shift.
‘I was here?’ Alec replies looking around and gesturing with his hands as if to say, where do you think I was?
‘All evening?’ the other policeman adds as he taps his fingers against the leather of the chair. Peggy wants to shout at him to sit still, to stop pawing her furniture but instead sits mutely, the veins in her head throbbing, electricity coursing around her body, small shocks of fear jolting through her limbs.
‘I came home after work, had a Chinese takeaway and watched television.’
He’s lying. Peggy feels a familiar thrum start up in her head. Why is he lying?
‘You didn’t meet up with a Mr Barry Wilson at any point then?’ Rollings asks.
Peggy watches as Alec’s shoulders droop and he rubs his fingers through his hair wearily, ‘Yes, I did meet up with him. But that was at work. I was only with him for a few minutes. I dropped him off at the end of Albion Terrace. Then I went to the pub.’
‘So, you weren’t here all evening?’ Evans murmurs, a hint of sarcasm present in his tone.
‘I was only at the pub for a couple of halves,’ Alec says despondently. He stares down at his feet, ‘no harm in that is there?’
‘There might be if you’ve tried telling us you were here all evening when you weren’t,’ Rollings replies sardonically.
‘I thought you meant once I got in after work. I was home by seven thirty ’ Alec mutters, his poise and self-assured persona disappearing into the ether. Peggy finds herself pitying him. His air of confidence didn’t last long. Hardly surprising under such dire and difficult circumstances.
‘You haven’t asked us why we’re here,’ Evans chips in. Peggy is incensed. How dare they?
‘You haven’t given us a chance to!’ she snaps. Why are they so hell bent on humiliating him?
‘Mr Wilson was admitted to hospital tonight with serious injuries which were sustained during a violent assault. He said you were with him prior to the assault being carried out.’
Peggy watches Rollings’ mouth move, sees the glint in his eye. He’s enjoying this, loving every minute of it. A man was attacked tonight. A pensioner beaten half to death. And he thinks Alec did it. She swallows hard, sure her fear can be detected by everyone in the room. Her eyes mist over and her fingers tremble. She stares at Alec waiting for his response. The pause seems to go on and on, the tension between them thick and tangible until at last Alec speaks, his voice a hoarse whisper,
‘You think I would physically attack my own father?’ he manages to say at last.
There is another long silence and Peggy has to stop herself from standing up and ordering them both to leave.
‘Well, would you?’ Evans is staring at him, challenging him, goading him. Peggy wants to slap his face, bring some colour into those pale, lifeless cheeks.
‘So, what has ‘my father’ told you about the attack?’ Alec hooks his fingers in the air as he says the words my father. Peggy winces, wants to tell him he isn’t helping his case. The police don’t take kindly to scorn and derision. They can dole out plenty but don’t take it well in return.
‘The attack is a blank to him. The last he remembers is being in the car. With you. His son.’
Peggy stands up abruptly, the lopsided smile on Rollings’ face suddenly too much to bear. This whole thing is a farce. Barry Wilson is setting him up. He has to be. Trying to frame his own son. Unless … Peggy quashes the thought. Impossible. Unthinkable. Alec hates him. But not that much. Please don’t let Alec hate his own father that much.
‘It wasn’t me,’ Alec says quietly, ‘which I’m sure forensics will be able to prove beyond any reasonable doubt.’
‘You don’t seem particularly upset about your father’s condition, Mr Wilson. Don’t you want to know how he is?’ Evans’ voice filters over, a wave of disdain directed at Alec.
‘Ah, I’m pretty sure you guys know all about the man you keep referring to as my father,’ Alec tips his chin forward. A small act of defiance. They know. Both he and Peggy are aware that they know. And if they don’t, thinks Peggy, then she has every right to throw them out of her house. Such incompetence doesn’t deserve their support or co-operation. She stands up and stalks around the living room, anger and frustration boiling up inside her.
‘We do indeed. A troubled existence for both of you. You have every right to bear a grudge. I know I would,’ Rollings says leaning forward conspiratorially, ‘in fact if he were my father, after what he did, I would want to kill him.’
‘I think you need to leave. NOW.’ Peggy is standing over PC Evans. He looks up at her, unperturbed by her manner, his face a picture of innocence.
Rollings stares over at them before nodding to his colleague. They both stand up. The creak of leather echoes around the room as the chairs readjust to a state of emptiness.
‘Don’t do anything too rash like leave the country, Mr Wilson,’ Evans says and Peggy has to stop herself from running over to him and slapping the self-satisfied smirk off his face.
‘Stay where you are.’ Rollings’ voice booms around the room as he tugs at his jacket and straightens his collar, ‘we’ll see ourselves out.’