[2018] Abel's Revenge

by Ross Greenwood

  He glances below with a puzzled expression and when he looks up, I lean over the table and plunge the final screwdriver in and out of his stomach. I sit again. His eyes are wide, the question obvious.

  ‘You are a dishonest man, Terry. Because of that, today, you die.’

  He curls up in pain and then lifts and throws the desk at me with a howl. I wasn’t expecting that, but I’m ready. His frantic gaze looks for an escape that doesn’t exist. He opens his mouth to shout, but instead bends over in agony. The word “Son” comes out as a gasp. The mechanic, I guess.

  ‘He won’t be much help. He has a few holes in his radiator.’

  Terry's preservation skills, to my surprise, are admirable. He tries to run past but slips to the floor. A stab in the shoulder is his reward. He shouts out in pain and rolls onto his back and away, splashing around like a dying fish.

  ‘Are you sorry, Terry?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I release you from the burden of life.’

  His gaze follows the approaching bloody screwdriver. His chin raises, and he spits straight into my eyes.

  The next moment I’m aware of is when my hand slips from the weapon, leaving it embedded in the top of his head. Have seconds past, or minutes? Judging by the pulpy body at my feet, it's the latter.

  I’ve had my revenge, but searching my thoughts, I feel no different. The zip sticks as it slides down my splattered boiler suit, but frees with force. After taking out my hoodie and putting it on, I fold the incriminating garments into my backpack. Spotting a panel full of switches, I sink the garage into darkness. With a quiet whistle, I leave without a backward thought.

  Chapter 57

  Dan

  Two days later

  It’s two days since I sent that text asking for her back. Olivia and I have had a few chats on the phone. She’s coming to the house this morning with the kids to have a further talk and take a walk. She says it’s up to me to decide where we go and what we do. In the past, I’ve directed us towards somewhere with a play area for them and a bar for me. Even if it was only eleven a.m. Do they have big plastic slides, giant Jenga, and a climbing frame in the last chance saloon?

  I leap from the bed sheets when a car stops nearby and look out the bedroom window to see if she’s arrived early. I don’t need to pull the curtains as I didn’t close them. It’s like those weird functionless cushions she leaves on the bed after making it. They’re both pointless and time consuming.

  The street is empty and looks peaceful. Summer is coming, and the sky is bright. Pete the postman has his shorts on and hops from door-to-door. He appears to have grown a ponytail overnight unless he had it hidden. Ian always said never trust a man with a ponytail. I think it was to do with people like that having no shame. It could be a clip-on one, or a pet ferret. I hope not. Either would make him weirder than I thought.

  There is something of the sixties about Pete. The decade rather than his age. He’s light and jolly, the same as how you see the Beatles singing on old newsreels. Maybe that’s what makes him good at martial arts. I feel like Scrooge throwing back his window on Christmas day. Instead of singing for a large turkey, I could drop a stinky sock onto him. He looks straight up at me.

  ‘Morning, Dan. Great weather.’

  Hmm. He doesn’t miss much. He’s right though. When Olivia arrives with the kids, I will recommend we take a walk in the park. They have a new sand and water feature. Best to enjoy it quick before the cats ruin one and the rats get to the other. There’s also no alcohol allowed, so that removes any temptations to break my two-day hiatus.

  Worryingly, it’s been a struggle to stay clean. It doesn’t help not having a job. There’s plenty at stake here though. If I’m unable to quit for this, then I have a real problem.

  I’ve had a lot of time to think about what to say. I practised in the mirror like I was rehearsing a speech. Now I’m stone-cold sober, I understand I gave up on us. I don’t remember when, so can only assume it was a long while ago.

  That said, I’m not the only one with blame. I hope Olivia will accept her share. She needs to make changes as well. I can’t sell myself short, or we’ll go to California with a suitcase full of trouble. We could take it as hand luggage and get it out on the plane.

  The city appears to be recovering from its malaise. Is it returning to normal, or might it be a lull before the real storm? There are people pruning their hedges and mowing their lawns. Has the promise of summer pulled them from their fortresses? Of Abel, we hear little. The media have new targets. Foreign wars, corrupt politicians, and bronzed bodies dominate the headlines once again. Of Malcolm the milkman, there has been no sign either.

  The dog and I scamper down the stairs with an enthusiasm neither of us have shown in the last year. I flick my eyesight to woman-mode and analyse the cleanliness and general condition of the interior. Ten minutes later, I’m showered, shaved and dressed.

  Bailey and I have cereal and toast. I can’t ever remember to buy dog food. I’ve reached the stage in my life where lists are necessary. However, to my credit, I prepared the picnic last night in case the weather held. I leave the house with it and stand there waiting for her to arrive. It would be for the best if she doesn’t go inside.

  I tie Bailey to the gate and take a few deep breaths of the air. A shadow flicks past one of Mike’s downstairs windows. I want her back, but I can’t deny seeing his face when she turns up will be the icing. A plastic water bottle rolls down the street, blown by the breeze, so I catch it and place it in the recycling bin. Despite my recent abstinence, there are still many signs of an affection for alcohol.

  I tried to sneak a few into Mike’s bin but when I opened his, I found it full to the brim with empty wine bottles. He must have had some party. God knows when as I heard nothing. Perhaps he misplaced my invitation.

  The windows in Mike’s house are open. The whole street is doing the same to blow away the stale winter. One of his curtains isn’t billowing like the rest. I edge closer and stand on a pile of bricks I promised to move in 2014. There is little movement because the curtains are secured to the wall and stitched together in the middle. There is a thickness to them that tells of letting in no light.

  The brown beast containing my family turns up at that moment. Olivia gets out and stands before me. She looks great. She blushes. I know when she’s apprehensive, nervous even.

  ‘Hi, Olivia.’

  I give her a slow kiss on the cheek. I bet Mike’s watching. Whilst holding both her arms, I declare my intentions.

  ‘Let’s go to the park with the new kiddies’ play area. I’ve done a picnic.’

  Olivia is suspicious.

  ‘They have new swings and a weird horse thing the kids can knock their teeth out on. They’ll love it.’

  She always was a sucker for enthusiasm.

  ‘Are we walking?’

  ‘No, let’s drive and save our energy for the fun stuff. I’ve change here ready.’

  She’s confused. Usually, there’s no way I’d pay their shameful parking prices. My teeth clamp at the prospect, but I would prefer her not to be near the house and the desolation within. That, as the joke goes, is the lesser of two weevils.

  She also knows getting a three-year-old boy to go for a walk without ruining the experience is tough. She smiles and returns to the car.

  Before she gets in, I touch her shoulder and murmur in her ear.

  ‘Look at the window on the right at the top of Mike’s house. Notice how the curtains don’t move.’

  ‘Oh, yeah. That’s weird.’

  ‘They’re secured by tape.’

  I wait for her eyes to widen in shock. They don’t. I explain.

  ‘He wants no one seeing in there. It’s where he takes his victims.’

  ‘What victims?’

  ‘The joggers he’s been accosting. He’ll have a dentist’s chair in there, with straps. That’s where he performs his experiments.’

  ‘Do shut up.’ She gives it a second gla
nce.

  ‘It is odd though, isn’t it?’ I reply.

  ‘If you say so. I reckon Abel was the milkman,’ she adds. ‘You said you haven’t seen him or his wife for ages.’

  ‘No. I even popped over to see if he was okay but nobody was home. The milk just stopped. Way before the date it was supposed to finish. The dairy tried to charge me for it too, the serpents.’

  Olivia gives me a spooky look. Her voice is a whisper. ‘My guess is they’ve arrested Malcolm. We haven’t see him because he’s in prison being questioned. They found his wife. He divided her into three-hundred different yoghurt pots.’

  ‘Gross.’

  ‘I’m in a playful mood.’

  ‘Now you say that, I bought a pack of cheap bacon off him before he disappeared. The kids loved it.’

  Olivia slaps my arm. It feels like old times.

  Chapter 58

  Olivia

  I watch him place the so-called picnic in the back of the car. He’s either bought particularly heavy vol-au-vents, or there are bottles in there. He has a backpack, too. Does he plan to sleep there? Still, it’s nice to see him. He looks fresher-faced. Or maybe fuller-faced. When he was ill he somehow managed to look gaunt and chubby.

  I’m pleased he’s made an effort with his appearance. Being clean shaven is a big deal for me. If he has one day’s stubble and I kiss him, my skin will erupt the next morning.

  ‘Daddy!’ the kids say as he opens the door.

  He gets in the driver’s seat. I like that. I always prefer him to drive when the children are in the car. Otherwise, I find it hard not to look around at them. I’m forever finishing a journey and finding Charlie has undone his seatbelt.

  I untie Bailey from the gate. That must mean Dan rates the picnic as a higher priority than the dog. The children are trying to tell him everything from the last few days all at once, at the same time. We find a space and Dan grudgingly pays for a ticket. The grimace on his face as he examines the tariff is worth the entrance fee alone.

  The park is a different place to the one of a few months back when Abel was everywhere. The kids see the new council-built wooden castle and run on ahead. Dan takes my hand. We say nothing. I hope he is thinking the same as me. There will be much that needs to remain unsaid if we’re going to reach the other side of where we are.

  I can tell it’ll be a good day because when we get to the picnic section which overlooks the kid’s play park, someone vacates a nice bench and seats. Dan sets the huge cooler on the top with relief.

  ‘Drink?’ he says.

  ‘What have you got?’

  He gets two litre bottles of mineral water out and hands me one. That’s why it was so heavy. Dan is over the first hurdle.

  ‘I don’t suppose you brought any cups?’

  ‘No, Dan. Pass it here.’

  I take a sip. At least it’s cold. The kids return full of enthusiasm.

  ‘There’s a sand and water bit,’ Grace says. ‘Can we take our shoes off and paddle? We should have bought our buckets and spades.’

  ‘Sorry, honey. I didn’t bring anything like that.’

  Dan clears his throat next to me. He opens the backpack as though he’s a confident magician and pulls out their sandcastle making equipment. He also retrieves two pairs of socks and a couple of towels. To my amazement, he reveals their beach shoes.

  ‘Who are you, and what have you done with my boyfriend?’

  He smiles, then bellows out after the running children.

  ‘Watch out for needles.’

  We have one of those days which people without youngsters might not appreciate. Usually, even if you visit an expensive theme park, it’s a trying experience. You are hectored. It can be for a wide range of things; an ice cream, more ice cream, sunglasses on, sunglasses off, more money, it’s my turn, he hit me, she pushed me, I need a wee, I’ve had a wee, play with me, carry me, I want to go home five minutes after arriving.

  Today, we have none of that. They come back on a regular basis, even though we can see them. We hear their laughter from our table. They eat the food placed in front of them, even though most looked like it came out of a vending machine. They have one ice cream and no tears. Bailey lies in the shade.

  The woman’s face next to us is a picture when Dan presents the cheesecake (still frozen) and flourishes a foot-long carving knife. There are no beers. The water, two tins of corned beef and an entire watermelon (mouldy) made his load hefty.

  We are a family, even if it is just for one day. That said, we are here to talk, so before the afternoon wanes, I begin.

  ‘Your text. What does it mean?’

  The kids choose that moment to return to type.

  ‘Mum, I’m hungry.’

  ‘Eat more picnic.’

  ‘No, I want a hotdog.’

  It was too good to last, but we had a decent run. The stall is next to the toilet which is worrying, but at least close by. Grace seizes the note I give her, and they run off shrieking.

  Chapter 59

  Dan

  Olivia has asked me to explain my text. She’s querying my behaviour over the previous five years. Where do I begin?

  ‘I’m not sure what happened to me, not really. This city stole my identity. I forgot to appreciate you and the kids. In a way, I self-medicated. I should have left that job, but I had no confidence for another. It felt as though I was punch-drunk and couldn’t see a route out. I suppose I didn’t want to let you down, either.’

  ‘How many times did I say leave that place, and you wouldn’t listen?’

  ‘You were always shouting at me.’

  ‘You need shouting at. You all do. That’s how I prevent us living in chaos. What about the drinking?’

  ‘I’ve stopped. I’m not daft enough to state I won’t have more, but since I left my job, I don’t need it in the way I did. I want to be present. We’ve both been missing days like today. Sitting here, chatting, watching the kids. It’s what I gave up for. That, and you.’

  ‘We’re leaving soon, Dan.’

  I feel pathetic. I know begging isn’t the answer, but I say it regardless.

  ‘Can’t I come?’

  ‘Have you ever thought it was me that made you unsettled?’

  ‘I think you could have put in more effort.’

  The scrunch of her nose indicates her displeasure.

  ‘In what way, exactly?’

  I take a deep breath.

  ‘I had a poorly-paid job I hated, in a city I disliked, with an indifferent woman, in her house, where I didn’t have sex. Could you see why I might have been unhappy?’

  ‘It might be the same there. It’s still a big place.’

  ‘I won’t have that job. I’ve woken up, or even grown up. The time and space to get my thoughts together was what I needed. Besides, our children will be the main ones who suffer if we separate. They won’t understand why we don’t want to live as a family. Were we that miserable?’

  ‘I was for a while. I understand what you’re saying. If we’re going okay, and it’s up and down, but not too low, perhaps it is sensible to have another try. Should I ask Beau if I can stay for a while to see if we can make it work?’

  Shit. I’d hate to remain in this dung hole any longer than necessary. After my fantastic picnic, I hoped to have smashed through her barriers. Particularly with that delicious cheesecake. I’ve done a great job today. There wasn’t much in the cupboard but I cunningly bought a few bits from the petrol station. ‘I thought we were having fun.’

  ‘We are. This isn’t real life though, is it? The hard work starts with the mundane and the routine. That’s where you struggle. You want to enjoy everything whereas sometimes you have to crack on. You need to be a robot to get things done.’

  ‘I disagree. If that’s okay? Can’t you choose to be happy? That’s why I struggle with you sometimes. You’ve been funny, dry, sarcastic, relaxed and witty today. Great company. You look pretty and you’ve made an effort, but I only see that side of you
on the odd occasion. I can’t remember when I saw the loving, affectionate, vulnerable Olivia. When you’re in full automaton mode in the morning, getting the kids ready, the house has a terrible atmosphere. Can’t you be nice and efficient?’

  ‘I haven’t time to pander to your ego. I work, raise the children and do all the jobs for the family which not only do you not do, you aren’t aware of.’

  ‘That works both ways. I don’t see you changing lightbulbs, or sorting out the insurance.’

  ‘Mike changed the last bulbs that blew. We’d have been showering in the dark if I’d waited for you. Have you ever cleaned the bathroom? Or the dishwasher, fridge or washing machine? Do you think the elves provide the children’s clothes and shoes? Does Amazon kindly deliver presents for the other boys and girls as and when needed? I don’t recall you wiping the skirting boards either.’

  Damn. What’s happening here? We’re way off target, I’m losing the argument and her mouth is set.

  ‘That’s true. The old Dan didn’t do those things.’

  She laughs. ‘Nice recovery.’

  ‘You must admit, to a certain degree, you placed the house’s cleanliness above my happiness.’

  She considers. ‘I suppose so. I do want to have sex too, you know, but it always feels as if I have one more task to do. When everything is done, only then can I relax. You’re often unconscious by that point.’

  ‘If you weren’t such a jellyfish giving in to their multiple story requests in the evening, we’d have more naughty time.’

  ‘I agree, but they won’t be young forever. I don’t want to miss a thing. Looking after small children shouldn’t put you in the mood to have sex, anyway.’

  Now, it’s me who chuckles. She continues.

  ‘Sorry but I need to get my skates on, Dan. I’m out with Rachel tonight because she’s going back soon. I’ll come to the house after work tomorrow. If you drop me off, you can keep the car and I’ll catch the train. Banish the kids to bed and we’ll have a proper chat. I’d kind of made my choice. It’s hard to know what to do.’