‘When was that?’
‘This morning’s news.’
‘Shit. Abel probably bumped into Malcolm ranting over them undercutting him on milk. Malcolm snapped and slayed everyone there, Abel included. So, it’s over?’
‘Let’s hope so. It could have been a copycat they killed.’
Dan returns the hammer to the glove box.
‘I’ll still give this guy a talking to. Although I agree, I doubt I’ll need to beat him to death with that useless thing.’
He gets out and walks to the front door. He doesn’t appear nervous whereas I’m jittery and jumpy. Like an exciting movie is starting. I also feel a tiny bit aroused. It’s a side of Dan I don’t see. He has passion and, in a way, he’s protecting us. That weight training is paying off, too. I noticed while we ate pizza that his biceps bulged as he placed each piece in his mouth.
From where we’re parked, I can look into the house when the door opens. A frail lady with crazy white hair is not who I expected. She’s so small that when she steps forward, Dan has to look vertically down at her.
She points a crooked finger up at him, and even from here, I know she’s told him to piss off. Dan turns with an incredulous expression. The postman arrives in the doorway. I’m still not sure what to call him. He takes the woman’s hand and guides her back into the house. When he returns, he wears a big smile.
He talks animatedly for a minute, oblivious of Dan’s angry visage. The lack of response from Dan ensures it sinks in and his face becomes expressionless. It’s the same impassive look he wears when delivering the post. Dan slips into full ranting mode. He points across at me, and I see the postman’s hand rise. Dan grabs it and leans in toward him. I’m holding my breath.
The gesticulating carries on for a further minute and, gradually, Dan’s shoulders drop. An odd grin sneaks on both faces. They shake hands and the door closes.
Dan enters the car and releases a whoosh of air.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘I guess. He apologised for taking the things. He reckoned I said he could have them. I’d tidied the perfume bottles up and left them downstairs. He assumed they were out for him to take.’
‘Did he try and hit you?’
‘I don’t think so. I think he thought I was going to whack him. Must be his training. He’s such a finely coiled specimen, his body responds automatically.’
I feel terrible laughing. ‘I bet Pete watched The Karate Kid when he was younger and wanted to take lessons. Instead, he was frog-marched to cubs. Then, too many episodes of the A-Team warped him. He has become a deadly weapon.’
‘His mother had venom. She weirded me out. After he guided her back to the lounge, he said it’s her property, and she has dementia, so he moved back in to take care of her. She lives on the downstairs floor as the stairs are too much for her. She did say to thank you for the underwear although next time she’d prefer something more modern.’
‘How rude! He’s still been in our house though. What did he say about that?’
‘He said the door was open, so he helped himself. To the toys and perfume that is. He denied the theft of your sturdy undergarments. I felt bad for him, looking after his mum must be hard. He did ask me if I wanted to go up to the first floor to look at his collection.’
‘Oo-er. What does that mean?’
‘God only knows. Maybe he has a selection of the city’s ladies suspended on meat hooks up there. Like a human abattoir.’
‘Yeah, I can see it. Or he takes his honeys there for love of a tapir kind.’
‘That’s not something I’d recover from seeing. Come on, let’s get going. I feel deflated about everything. We might as well drop you off at your parents’ house.’
‘Let’s leave the kids there for a while.’
‘What do you want to do? I could eat ice cream.’
I have to leer at him, lick my lips in a comely manner and squeeze my boobs before he gets the message. Men really are simple beings. Slow learning, too. Even Bailey would have learnt to read the signs by now. I know I’m giving him mixed messages, but I don’t care. For me, there’s a sense it may be our last time.
The drive home is uneventful. I can’t help staring up at Mike’s window when I get back.
‘What would you use curtains like that for, Dan?’
‘You mean apart from sinister reasons? I should think it’s a dark room.’
‘For developing pictures?’
‘Yes, all psychopaths are the same. He’ll want mementos of his sick acts to prolong the fantasy. Mike takes photos of his victims and the foul things he’s done to them. You can’t upload them to Snapfish for obvious reasons.’
‘I’ve never heard him mention an interest in photography, have you?’
‘No, nothing. Although they’ve said Abel’s gone, I’d still love to have a snoop in there.’
‘Promise you won’t, Dan. Please.’
He leans out of the car before I can read his face.
Chapter 68
The cyclists
Cyclists. Demons in spandex. I hate them all. The silver-haired six will be my victims. They’ll need new shorts after today. Saying that, it was hard getting my hands on a gun. I stuck knives into two scumbags until that drug dealer let me borrow his, and ammunition is scarce. Blanks were easier to find, and they should suffice. Fear is more effective than murder. The living spread the word faster than the dead, and it’s less dangerous for me.
You could set your watch by these guys. Seven o’clock they will glide through this underpass. Like a flock of angry geese. They go straight to the pub and stand around in their outfits thinking they own the place. I overhear them discussing the merits of the house red and want to ruin their comfort.
There's an escape route through the allotments if necessary, but I hope at least one of them will need CPR after the firework display. I should be able to wander away at my leisure. They come into view and I note there are more than six this evening. Excellent.
I light the Catherine wheel I pinned to the wall, and retreat to the far end. The six rockets nestle at my feet. Four seconds fuses, so I touch them with my lit cigarette. The sparks in the dark from the first firework are shocking, and the leader falls off his bike. As the rest come through the smoke, I step into view, raise my pistol and fire five blanks at them. I imagine false teeth falling out of their horrified faces. The rockets take off and scream into the gang like scorpion missiles from a helicopter gunship and my victims clatter to the floor.
Out of the wreckage climbs a man. Big, strong, and raging. I bolt up the bank and enter the allotments. It’s darker than I remember and the ground is treacherous. I curse my choice of footwear as my work shoes slip and slide. Incredibly, the old fart is still after me. His cycling trainers find purchase where my steps fail. I plunge into a freshly tilled patch and fall to my knees. He stops at the edge and clenches both fists.
Close up, he’s younger than I thought. Perhaps he was one of their sons. The enormous muscles in his legs bulge as he stamps towards me. Revenge is his business, but so is it mine. And I have a gun. The final round was in it when stolen. I pray it works. With a blast that surprises me and shocks him, I despatch the bullet to his heart.
Chapter 69
Dan
A week later
There’s been something nasty floating around the house, and, for once, Bailey isn’t responsible. It’s my mood. Olivia has been over on numerous occasions but it isn’t the same. It feels like the end of a holiday romance when you know you’re going separate ways.
I’ve been on my best behaviour, but, I’m a man. A slovenly one at that, and I couldn’t maintain the high standards. Therefore, the bickering has begun. I believe a certain amount of arguments are inevitable when you look after young children. They wear you out. They grind you down. They are relentless.
My mum was right when she said you can’t have anything nice when you have kids. The LCD TV has what looks like nine mallet marks on the screen.
Any night time scene is completely black. The sound levels have a mind of their own. Yet, still the children pray to their cartoon gods.
The fridge has been yanked back on its hinges so many times, it will only stay closed if I tape it that way. I’ve lost so much stuff by our sticky-fingered magpie son I forget what’s missing. I found him wearing female sunglasses and stroking his hair with a strange brush. He said he found them in the garden. On top of that, we’ve found poops in beds, wardrobes and even our shoes.
But, there’s no malice to him. He’s being a boy. However, it’s unreasonable to expect your fuse to be anything but non-existent after a day with him. In comparison, Grace is the golden child. Although she does wind him up when she thinks no one’s watching and is becoming prone to manic outbreaks of divadom. They go to bed and what’s left of you hunts for oblivion on the sofa. Romance is gazed at on the television, or read about in a magazine.
Olivia asked to see that picture of her in black and white. I had to tell her its location was a mystery. She was upset. I hope she wanted me to have it to remind me of her. When she does things like that, it makes me confident for our future. I expect her to change her mind and take me with her. Explain that she can’t live without me. She hasn’t.
It’s too late now, anyway. The removal vans are booked, an apartment rented, school places reserved, and flights paid for. Olivia came over and involved me in where the children would be educated. As for the rest, I’m not even a fly on the wall.
The doorbell startles me, and then Beau surprises me.
‘Hi, Beau. She’s not here at the moment.’
‘That’s fine. It’s you I want to have a chat with.’
‘Oh, step inside then. Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘If you’re happy to cover your work clothes with hair, Bailey’s waiting in the lounge for a playmate.’
‘Cool.’
I wonder what Beau wants. It’s unlikely to be good news. Perhaps, both my children are his. He’s here to tell me he’d like to adopt them. The reason Olivia has gone off sex is because she has so much fantastic stuff with him. He feels sorry for a wretched soul such as me and has come to end it. When I return with the drinks, he’ll be lurking behind the door, and bludgeon me to death with that rock-hard Thomas the Tank Engine toy I’m forever stepping on.
The kettle boils and brings me back to planet Earth. I hear him wrestling with Bailey in the lounge. Two docile creatures together. I hand him his drink.
‘There you go. What’s up?’
‘I’ve been playing golf nearby and thought I’d pop by with a proposal. This is informal and, of course, far from being set in stone, but I might have some good news for you.’
‘Okay. What did you have in mind?’
Olivia had told me Rachel’s joke about me scrubbing shite and vomit off the floor of i-BLAM’s new office toilets. Not so amusing for me although Olivia was close to a breakdown when she repeated it.
‘What do you know of FinTech?’
‘About the same as I know about skiing.’
‘I didn’t know you skied?’
‘I don’t.’
‘Ah, I see. I’ll explain. Fintech is the great leveller in the banking field. It’s nimble and has minimal overheads and commitments compared to traditional finance companies. There is expansion at an incredible rate all over the world. The Office of the Mayor of London for example, claims 40% of the London workforce comprises financial and technology services alone.’
He keeps talking, and it is English, but every third word isn’t in my vocabulary. It sounds dodgy to me. He mentions ‘On-boarding’ and ‘Payment gateway’. Is that porn? Underbanking sounds painful, too. I bet the dentist next door does it already. “Right madam. I’ll underbank you while you’re unconscious, I’ll probe your payment gateway and participate in some thoroughly fast on-boarding”.
Just as I stop listening completely, and wonder if I could measure his top lip, he offers me a job.
‘When we’re up and running, we’ll start a call centre there, and I’ll need someone to manage it.’
My eyebrows hit the ceiling. I’d be sceptical, but this is Beau. I try to run the reasons and implications of what he’s said through my mind.
‘Doesn’t it matter if I understand little about Fintech?’
‘You have experience of managing people. It’s a service. The guys on the phones will know the tech stuff. You only need to oversee them. Ensure we hit our KPIs, service levels, that kind of thing. The technical side will get picked up in time.’
‘Sounds great. I don’t know what to say.’
‘Say you’ll consider it.’
‘I will. I will.’
‘Well, that’s fab. I better run.’
He and Bailey climb off the sofa. They are both sad. Bailey because Beau’s leaving, and Beau because his trousers have a million hairs on them.
‘Were you aware my fiancée was mugged?’
‘Felicity? Was she jogging?’
‘No, it wasn’t Abel, if you’re thinking that. I suppose they could have been mimics. A bunch of lads did it outside the office, late at night. The police keep saying that crime levels are now at record lows, but it doesn’t feel like it when you’re the victim of what’s remaining.’
‘No, I guess not. Congratulations on your engagement by the way. I always thought you fancied Olivia.’
I regret saying the words as they slip out. He’s offered me a job, and like an imbecile a few seconds later I’m stirring up trouble. Beau doesn’t seem to notice.
‘She’s a great girl. You’re a lucky man. I’d never jeopardise our working relationship. Besides, Felicity and me aren’t into sex at the moment.’
‘You’re not?’
‘No, Felicity and me are celibate. We think sex complicates things. I need to focus on my business right now. It’s not forever. How much time is wasted on relationships when you get too involved on strategising, analysing, and agonising over love.’
He’s lost me again as I fondly remember the perspiring Spandex-clad Felicity picking up a stray shuttlecock. Jesus, what a tragedy. He looks cross as he continues.
‘Everyone’s sex-mad. If you took drugs, sex and prostitutes out of the equation, the world would be a better place. I’d wipe them all from the planet.’
Bailey and I wave him and his sports car off as it hurtles up the road. I want to thank him for confirming it isn’t just me. It may be that I’ve a few loose marbles, but in this city, everyone’s mad.
Chapter 70
Dan
After Beau is out of sight, I stand and stare back at our house. It’s strange to think we won’t be living here. We’ll be leaving many memories behind. Although it might be for the best, we had great times, too.
I allow myself to reminisce on our lives here. I expect long Christmas scenes or complete birthday parties to flood into my mind. Yet, like fireworks on a dark night, flashes of the past light up in my head. Two children giggling in the bath, Grace asking for the fifth time how long dinner is, a little boy’s face around the door in the morning, a lounge resembling a bombsite, tears and jokes, fun and laughter.
There is no way I can stay in London after Olivia’s gone. I’ve decided that I’ll go travelling for a few months. I want to see India. In this day and age, internet cafés will be everywhere, so I can easily stay in touch. I applied for the visa online and it arrived in a few days. I’m deserting the dog, but Olivia’s parents have agreed to take Bailey in the short term.
The rat-race beat me. I lost sense of who I was. I became everything I swore I’d never be. A victim. I joined the haunted ranks of lifeless victims circulating this strange place. I could feel no pleasure. My breaths were shallow. I wasn’t living. I’d sacrificed my soul for the daily commute.
The old Dan is more or less back now. I see the world. There is beauty and pleasure in everything around us. We need to stop to enjoy it. Before, I was in such a rush to go nowhere, I
couldn’t taste my food or smell the air. Not that you’d want to do too much of that in the centre here, but you know what I mean. I can’t wait to find open spaces. We all deserve solitude and peace. Dare I wish to live a life without the accompanying sounds of the modern motor car twenty-four hours a day?
I received an email from Ian. He’s still going to Brazil but not with the girls. He partied with them for a weekend and by the Sunday he couldn’t take any more. He has since heard that the local ladies in the seaside resorts in the north of Brazil want to snare rich foreigners and have few morals. He said he will be in hog heaven. I try not to think what that means.
I didn’t hear from Charlotte again until yesterday when I got a Facebook message. It simply stated, ‘Remember me’. I certainly won’t forget what being with her taught me — I’m not twenty-five any more.
My phone rings as I walk back down the drive. It’s Olivia.
‘Hi, honey.’
‘Hi. Sorry to be abrupt but I’m at work and I need to collect the last few bits from the house. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. I haven’t got my key, so you’ll have to let me in when I get there.’
‘No problem. I’m packing my stuff today, so knock when you arrive. The kids are playing nicely upstairs.’
It’s the school holidays, so the children are staying overnight. By nicely, what I mean is I can’t hear them. They could have beaten each other into submission but I’ve found it best not to disturb them unless absolutely necessary.
‘Just a quick question, Olivia. Did you ask Beau if he could find me a job?’
There’s an infinitesimal pause. How depressing. Olivia has resorted to begging for jobs for me. On the plus side that means she is thinking of our future. In fact, that’s good news. It’s confirmation we’ll only be separated for a few months, before we begin the next phase as a family.
‘No, why has he offered you work?’
‘Kind of. A possibility of one anyway.’
As we talk, I notice Mike has left one of the downstairs window open.
ABEL'S REVENGE_A gripping serial killer thriller like no other Page 22