by J. A. Baker
He had let his mind wander over old memories as he made his way through town towards his parents’ house. After he left town in his late teens, he made the decision to cut all contact with everybody from his past and start life afresh in the big smoke. He didn’t want to be remembered as the poor kid from the cursed family; the one who wore the ragged second-hand clothes, the one whose father got into fights every weekend in the local pub, the one who spent his childhood avoiding the blows and punches that came his way almost every single day of his life. Who would want to spend the rest of their days saddled with such stories and memories? Anybody in their right mind would want to escape and start again, wouldn’t they? Which is exactly what he did. He was lucky that he had a decent brain and a bit of ambition. It stood him in good stead, gave him something with which to build firm foundations for a more-than-decent career in the world of IT.
And now he has ended back up here, in the place he vowed he would never return to.
He couldn’t quite believe it when he saw her in town. Of all the people to see, why her? That’s when he snapped. It had all came rushing back to him – that argument, that night at her flat. That hideous fucking disclosure…
He had been blinded by fury, blood filling his head, stars popping behind his eyes. She had been behind him and something had made him turn around and there she was, looking as radiant as ever, her long auburn hair bouncing around in the breeze. He had to admit, she looked amazing and had needed to remind himself how furious he was with her.
It didn’t take him long to shake off those feelings. They were superficial anyway; fleeting and shallow. Within seconds he remembered what she had done. And then the hatred had come flowing back, washing over him, drenching him. In no time at all, he was ablaze with anger.
She had turned and run away from him. He hadn’t expected that. As silly as it sounds, he had expected her to walk right up to him with a huge smile and act as if none of it had ever happened. He’s not sure how he would have reacted had she done just that. As it turned out, he dealt much better with the latter scenario where Eva turned and fled. It fuelled his anger, pumped him full of adrenalin, and by the time he reached her he had wanted to kill her; to wring her tiny neck with his bare hands and hear the delicate bones in her throat crack one by one.
He had no idea how fast she could be on her pins. He had been ready to drop, his muscles burning and throbbing by the time he finally reached her. At one point, he genuinely thought she was going to get away from him, that she was going to slip away somewhere and his marathon through the town would all have been in vain.
And then it happened; she fell. Down she went like a sack of shit onto the street, sprawled out over the road, her dignity rapidly disappearing into the ether. But even at that point, she still managed to pull it out of the bag and was up and on the move again as fast as she could despite the fact that she was obviously hurt. Her leg was damaged and bloody and she looked a complete mess, her hair matted and all over the place and her face bright red and dripping with sweat.
That’s when he made the decision to hide. He had got too close and needed to disappear. If he had stayed that near to her, within her line of sight, then there was a strong chance she wouldn’t have gone home and he would be clueless as to where she was living. So he had slipped into a doorway; a dart under a nearby awning, nothing too elaborate or mind stretching. Eva had been frazzled, too exhausted and in too much pain to give his sudden disappearance any great deal of thought. He could tell by the look on her face she wasn’t prepared to put much effort into locating him. Her expression said it all – she was just relieved that he was gone.
So he waited and watched to see where she went. She made it all so easy for him.
He didn’t have to stand and look up at her window once she had gone inside. That was just for effect, to unnerve her. To let her know who was boss. For once in their relationship, he was in charge. And it felt good. It gave him a surge of power to see her frightened. No more than she deserved after what she did to him. At long last, Eva Tweedie was getting what was coming to her.
Gareth sits in the cafe, his hands clasped around a mug of hot coffee. The chase after Eva has just about done him in. His sedentary occupation and too long spent in the pub instead of the gym has resulted in him being in the worst shape physically that he’s been in for many years. He chews on a bacon sandwich and takes a long gulp of the steaming coffee, screwing his eyes up as the scalding liquid coats his mouth and travels down his throat. He still needs to find somewhere to stay the night. He also needs to buy a few items of clothing and some toothpaste and other toiletries to see him through until at least tomorrow. He has to finish up here and head to the shops then make that visit to his mother’s house.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he finishes the sandwich and leaves the coffee. It was the texture of syrup anyway and had about as much flavour as watered-down mud. Living in London has spoilt him when it comes to decent beverages with its array of cafes and coffee shops that serve every type of drink you can think of.
He stands up, his chair scraping hard against the tiled flooring. A group of nearby children eyes him cautiously, sipping at their juice through multi-coloured straws, as he gives them a weak smile and brushes past, their silence and lowered eyes an indication that he is still giving off the vibes of a deeply agitated man. This is what it has come to – he is so rattled, so on edge that even the local school kids are scared of him.
Shaking his head in exasperation, Gareth heads outside, briefly tempted to go back in and let them know that this isn’t him; that he is usually a nice guy, a warm and friendly sort of man despite the fact that life has been pretty shit to him over the years, always making him work twice as hard as anybody else to make a go of things.
He doesn’t go back in. Of course, he doesn’t. They’re just kids. What would they know anyway? They would end up terrified of the crazy man who is desperately trying to convince them that he is an upstanding citizen and not the monster they think he is. So instead he keeps on walking, heading into the centre of town to do a bit of shopping before going to see his mother. That’s the bit he’s reluctant to do. It’s a duty, something he has to do to settle the demons currently dancing about in his mind, to ask all the questions that need answering. She has the information he needs and he won’t leave until he gets it. She owes him that much.
The house is empty when he eventually gets there. He still has his key. He won’t use it. He doesn’t want to use it. This isn’t his home now. If he is being honest, it never felt like home. Home should be a safe place, a haven from the outside world. Gareth’s home was a prison. School was his sanctuary, somewhere he could feel wanted and valued. And safe. Other kids developed tummy aches on a Sunday evening at the thought of school the following morning. Gareth developed tummy aches on a Friday afternoon at the thought of spending a whole weekend at home.
He knocks and rattles at the handle one last time in case she’s left the key in on the other side and fallen asleep in the chair. No reply. He knows where she’ll be and he’s not prepared to go there. The thought of it makes his skin flush with humiliation. He would sooner sever one of his own limbs than visit her at that place. He has no idea why she even does it. It’s pathetic, a woman of her age engaging in those sorts of antics. She is making a complete fool of herself and has done for many years. It’s about time she realised how stupid it makes her look.
He turns and heads off in the opposite direction. He’ll get a bed at The Royal down the road. A hotel that size is bound to have a couple of spare rooms. It’s way too conventional for any of the visiting Goths to consider stopping there. They’ll have vacancies for sure.
He keeps his head down, hoping he doesn’t bump into any old neighbours or school friends. He’s lost touch with all of them and that’s just the way he likes it. Memories of this place aren’t pleasant ones and he doesn’t think he has it in him to feign the social niceties required to engage in polite conversation
. He’s way beyond that. Time has done nothing to erase the horror of his childhood. He has simply learnt how to keep it well hidden, pressing it firmly down whenever it threatens to bubble up.
The walk to The Royal doesn’t take long and it doesn’t look overly busy as he heads into the main reception area. It hasn’t changed that much from the days when he worked here behind the bar before he upped and left for London as a teenager; starry eyed and desperate to get away.
He is about to check in when he feels himself being knocked sideways by somebody in a hurry. Scrambling about to keep his balance, he leans on a nearby wall, his hand spread across the flock wallpaper, his feet struggling to find purchase on the highly polished floor. He spins around to see a slim figure bound past him towards the main entrance muttering apologies in her wake. All Gareth can see is a trail of wispy red hair billowing out behind the mystery figure as she runs across the large vestibule, her feet a sharp tap against the ceramic tiles. He shrugs his shoulders and turns back to the desk, a wry smile touching the corners of his mouth. Retribution is swift. After all, he did the very same thing only hours earlier to some poor unsuspecting female at the train station.
Keen to appear casual after his ungainly collision with a complete stranger, he waits while the lady behind the counter checks for rooms; her tiny manicured hands tapping away at the keyboard, her heavily made-up eyes lowered in concentration. She allocates him to a small double with a side sea view and smiles as if she has just done him the biggest favour ever. He feels like telling her he would sleep in the cupboard under the stairs if that was all that was available, but instead stands quietly while she locates the key and talks him through the usual tourist style spiel about the magnificent views and the Goth weekend taking place. He smiles politely, his patience waning as time drags on, his teeth gritted slightly while she checks him in, in the most fastidious and meticulous way possible before eventually locating the key and handing it over. Gareth all but snatches it out of her hand and thanks her profusely. By the time he turns around, the main door is empty, the mysterious redhead gone and he isn’t sure whether to feel embarrassed or mystified by what has just taken place.
He takes the stairs, two at a time, forgetting the ache that has set in his legs after the run through town.
By the time he reaches the top, his calves are burning and threatening to seize up. What he needs is a hot shower to rinse off the grime of the mad gallop earlier. Once he’s sorted he’ll give some serious thought as to what his next move is going to be. Firstly he needs to speak to his mother. She should be home in a couple of hours. He wonders if she’s still on the gin or whether she’s changed her preferred tipple to something different since he last spoke to her. When he was a kid, it was anything she could get her hands on, but time has taken its toll on her and nowadays her ageing body can no longer tolerate the undiluted shorts she used to knock back with gay abandon. He hopes she is sober when he goes to see her but very much doubts it. People don’t change, do they? She is too set in her ways and, quite frankly, too addicted to suddenly give it all up, to turn over a new leaf and become a half-decent human being.
Throwing the bags of cheap clothes he bought in town onto the bed, Gareth stretches and yawns. Exhaustion has suddenly decided to show its face which is hardly surprising given the couple of days he has had. He tries to fight it, marching into the bathroom and splashing cold water on his face, even brushing his teeth and drinking a glass of cold water, feeling its trajectory as it travels down his throat to his stomach, a cold spike darting through his intestines. Nothing works. The tiredness is overwhelming, as if he has been hit with a huge tranquillising gun.
With eyes so heavy he struggles to keep them open, Gareth sweeps the bags off the bed and onto the floor, then drops heavily onto the taut white sheets and within minutes, slips into a deep slumber.
16
Celia
Celia rubs her shoulder, an ache already setting in where she accidentally bashed into that chap in the hotel reception. She had spotted him as she came down the stairs and knew he was there, but somehow managed to crash into him almost knocking him to his feet. She was too embarrassed to stop and apologise. Too embarrassed and worried about Eva.
She tries to shake off this feeling she has that something isn’t quite right with this whole Eva situation. It’s silly really. She has no hard evidence to go on that things aren’t as they seem, but all her life she has gone with her gut instincts and thus far, her feelings have served her well.
She takes a deep breath, the sharp air coating her lungs as she sucks in as much oxygen as she can. She had forgotten how blustery the wind is here; how it rushes in from the sea, catching you unawares and dragging the warmth right out of you. Such a beautiful view though, so she can forgive the gusts of wind that slap at her skin and whip her hair into her face, leaving it a tangled frizzy mess.
Stopping to stare out to sea for a brief moment, Celia recalls the time she and Eva had stood further up the road, hoping to see Eva’s family. How they waited and waited, Eva plunging deeper and deeper into despair, until at last even Eva herself could see it was a pointless exercise.
Celia shivers and makes her way into town, knowing exactly where she is headed. The address that Marie gave her is tucked deep into Celia’s jacket pocket. She dips her hand in and gently fingers the soft, curled edges of the small dog-eared card.
It’s only as she is walking towards the steps that will take her down to the main route into town that she realises how long it is since she has actually seen Eva. They speak on the phone regularly and text one another, and sometimes even use email, but it has been an age since they last met up and chatted face-to-face. They both have busy lives and even busier jobs so she supposes it’s to be expected. And of course there’s the distance between them. With over two hundred miles separating them, meeting up for a coffee is out of the question. For months, she has had to make do with texts and emails and the briefest of calls, but now the time has come for them to speak in person. She has had enough of being brushed off with excuses and given reasons why they cannot get together. It is all about to come to an end. Today she will see Eva, whether Eva likes it or not.
Hurrying past the cluster of schoolchildren who are busy sketching views of the Whalebone Arch and statue of Captain James Cook, Celia smiles sadly. It only feels like yesterday that she and Eva were young and struggling to find their feet in a terrifying new world, and now here they are – here she is – still looking out for her long-time friend, protecting her, trying to keep her out of harm's way.
Saving her from herself.
Celia pulls her coat tighter around her body and shivers, goosebumps prickling her scalp as she reaches the bottom of the steps. Winding her way around the curved road, she pulls her phone out of her back pocket and checks for any new messages and missed calls. Nothing. Exactly what she expected really but she always lives in hope. Feeling determined, she decides to give it one last try. It might not work but it’s better than doing nothing at all. She holds the phone to her ear and listens to the ringtone and then lets out a heavy sigh as the all too familiar answer machine kicks in, telling her to leave a message after the beep.
Perching on a nearby bench, Celia holds her mobile tightly in her hands and stares straight ahead wondering how much longer Eva will go on ignoring her. It’s all so pointless really as they both know deep down that she needs Celia, and that Eva’s life will empty and devoid of guidance without Celia by her side.
Her fingers ache as she grasps the phone, her knuckles shiny and taut with the effort. She has to get Eva back into her way of thinking. She absolutely cannot allow her best friend, the person she grew up with, the person she is closest to in the whole wide world, to slip away.
With freezing fingers she presses the keys, her jaw grinding painfully as she searches for the elusive words that will catch her friend’s attention and finally penetrate her steely resolve and get her to start answering the messages.
Eva, pl
ease answer my calls.
She clicks the arrow and watches her sentence float away into the ether. She already knows that a reply won’t be forthcoming. The message is too bland, too repetitious of the others she has already sent over the past few weeks. She needs to change her tone, be more ambitious with her words. She needs to let Eva know that she has had enough of her little games and to tell her that she is being selfish. Or she can just go and knock on her door and take her by surprise.
Standing up, Celia sends one last message, suddenly infuriated at being constantly stonewalled. She thought their friendship was stronger than this. It’s exhausting having to always be on the lookout for her, to watch the vulnerable friend who it would seem is hell-bent on going her own sweet way without a thought for anybody but herself.
On my way to your new flat. Why are you ignoring me?
Driven on by anger and frustration, and carried along by the tide of people, Celia is over the bridge and almost at Eva’s door before she knows it. Dragging out the card, she checks the address one more time, even though she knows it off by heart and has googled it at least ten times.
Wandering along the side street, she counts the numbers on the doors, wanting to be certain she gets the right one. She purses her lips. The numbers don’t run consecutively and many of them have annexes round the back and holiday lets attached. Jesus, all these tiny winding streets and higgledy-piggledy houses piled on top of one another. Why is this place so fucking confusing?
Feeling her anger building, she steps back and mentally counts them again, her eyes dancing along the rows of doors and windows, some modern, many refurbished, all of them exasperating and bloody confusing with their hidden numbers and unfathomable concealed entrances.
The noise catches her by surprise. She is so unaccustomed to its ringtone that at first she is convinced that it’s music from one of the arcades over the river or a child’s nearby toy, or anything at all, but not her phone. It’s the vibration in her pocket that finally alerts her to the fact that it’s ringing. Her palms are slick with sweat as she grapples with it and sees the name that is there right in front of her, flashing up on the screen. Eva.