[2018] Abel's Revenge

by Ross Greenwood

  It appears I was a little over-optimistic and misjudged her state of mind. We round up the happy children and wander to the car.

  ‘Hey, man.’

  I look up to see who’s blocked our path. It’s the homeless guy of the junkie couple. He looks like he’s had a rough time of it.

  ‘Not seen you for a while?’

  ‘Slim pickings here when it’s cold. It can be decent when the families are back with the better weather.’

  ‘Where do you go in the winter?’

  ‘We have squats all over the city. Some warmer than others.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Got any spare change for food?’

  ‘I have the next best thing.’

  I slip Olivia the keys behind my back and she swiftly shuffles the kids away. There’s only one item left in the cooler, and it’s his. Lucky guy.

  ‘What do I do with it?’

  ‘You smoke it.’

  I leave him scratching his head and holding a large pork pie.

  Grace and Charlie are strapped in when I return. I pull into the light traffic. The children cheer when they hear they are sleeping at mine. I worried they might not be keen. Olivia kisses me when she gets out of the car. Half lip and half cheek. That’s progress. She gives me a ‘look after my children’ glare when she arrives at her front door. Half serious and half joking. I suppose that’s progress, too.

  I have to sing in a loud voice to stop Charlie falling asleep on the way home. When we pull up, I give them a serious talking to, army style.

  ‘Now, Grace and Charlie. Listen up. You are not to tell your mummy that our house is in a state. Okay?’

  We step inside together.

  ‘It’s really messy!’ says Grace.

  ‘Yes, that’s true. It’s a secret.’

  ‘Secrets cost money,’ says Charlie.

  I’m not sure where he learnt that. However, he is correct.

  ‘Pizza anyone?’

  Chapter 60

  Olivia

  The next day

  Weather-wise, it would be hard not to have a more different day. Whereas yesterday was balmy, today is barmy. The dusk is oppressive despite being early evening. The low, heavy, black clouds brim with rain, and a harsh wind beats people off the streets. As always, public transport struggles on days like these. I was about to ring for a cab, but Dan told me that the main road out of the city had flooded.

  The weather must be why we resemble miserable third world cattle as the carriages limp through the outskirts. When I get off at my stop, queue for the barriers, and step outside, the taxi line is frightening. Dan said it could be bad on wet nights. I stick up my umbrella and plunge into the night. I understand Dan’s complaints now. It’s been a torrid, exhausting experience, just getting home. Imagine doing that journey to work, then doing a full day, knowing you have to repeat it on the way back.

  The Dan conundrum distracted me in the office. Beau could see I wasn’t present, squeezed me on the shoulder, and left a cake at my desk when I nipped out for a walk to get my thoughts straight. I haven’t spoken to anyone about it as I need to decide. The facts are out there. He’s making an effort. There’s no doubt of that. Yesterday, I knew him again. He made me feel normal and special. Fortunate, even.

  There was also a glimpse of the woman I want to be. Who aspires to be a sour-faced moaner who is always on the look-out for problems? I want to be carefree and good company. I need to be able to relax and enjoy life. When was the last time I had a few drinks with Dan? When did I become so uptight? That said, one of us has to remain capable of driving if something happened to Grace or Charlie.

  There are many reasons why I shouldn’t take him with me, but the main concern is his drinking. Stress can do that to someone I suppose, and I’ve had a snapshot of his miserable routines myself tonight. I could still go to California for a year, or even six months, and let him completely find himself. Although, that’s a risk. He could find someone else.

  I’ve never been away from my children for more than an odd night. This morning, I missed their funny games and unbridled optimism. By leaving alone, I’d be denying him that for a long time. Grace and Charlie would lose their father. The drinking and messiness aside, they are learning important things off him as well. I would be responsible for the loss of that.

  No doubt something will occur which will cement my choice. I hope that leads to taking him. It’s strange to be so analytical about such a serious and heartfelt subject. I suppose that’s what having children does to you.

  Dan sent me a jokey email containing ten things a man wants in bed, but I know him. He agrees with it and is making me aware he isn’t the only one who should change. He forgets he needs to be pleasant to get me in that frame of mind.

  After I leave the bright lights of the station, I sense the dark’s embrace. A gust sprays dirty, freezing road water over my legs. Due to the things on my mind this morning, I forgot to pack my trainers for the walk home. My skirt is too short for the wind. Something else I didn’t consider first thing.

  I get a sense of being followed immediately. Yet, when I turn, there’s nobody there. I consider going back to the taxi rank but it’s exposed to the ruthless elements. Was it my imagination? It’s the type of night when terrible things happen. I try to walk faster, but I can’t without fear of injury.

  I lower my head and focus on the paving slabs. One foot in front of another. There are many ridges and crevices with malevolent needs. Another flurry twists me around and almost tears the umbrella from my grip. The part that matters is ripped and useless. Except, perhaps, as a weapon.

  I turn back once more. The streetlights only reach their immediate vicinity. There’s nobody near me. There’s one other person on the street and they are so far away I can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman. A seemingly driverless solitary car sluices past me and delivers a wave over my high heels.

  An icy chill has me by the throat, but I can only continue. I’m ten minutes from my house in one of the busiest cities in the world, but I am alone. I pick up the pace once more and cross the road, checking behind me.

  There is still another on the street with me. They are closer now but only a dark mass. It’s the same person as their silhouette is identical. Did they run to close the gap? Fear moves my legs and I stumble but keep my feet. I turn a corner and march onwards.

  It’s unlikely they mean me harm but my rational part has disappeared with my calm. My breath shortens, and I regret the bag of crisps I ate on the train. Be strong, I won’t be a victim. I force myself to stop. Whoever it is will walk past me. It’s my imagination. I’ll still be in control.

  My heart pounds with the same intensity as the now torrential rain. The gloom draws ever closer. I imagine a man. He’ll be around that bend any moment. My fingers tighten on the handle of my useless umbrella.

  Then, nothing. No one appears. I will myself to loosen my grasp, and my breathing slows. I slow to a trot. At the next bend, my pulse is nearly back to normal. I don’t want to glance over my shoulder but I must. I regret it.

  It is a man. I can tell by his gait. The visibility is so poor, I can’t see exactly what he’s wearing, but I know his clothes are black. A gust stretches his scarf out. His hood looks like a cowl. Realisation drains the strength from my legs. It’s him.

  The wind blasts me across the road and onto a doorstep. I look up and Abel stands at the corner I’ve left. I turn and search for a bell. There isn’t one, so I bang my hand on the door. Next to the heavy rain it sounds like a slap. A curtain twitches and a kindly-faced lady peers out, haloed in warm light.

  I stand with my back to her entrance and wait for safety to come. He’s still at the corner, waiting, watching.

  Incredibly, the rain intensifies further and leaps off the asphalt as though it’s landing on a molten surface. A bus speeds along the avenue and briefly lights up Abel. There are no features to him. No eyes.

  I turn to hammer the door once more, and this time it’s a weak
smack. She knows I’m out here. The truth dawns on me. She isn’t coming.

  I step off the pavement and stand in the road, shrieking at him.

  ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

  He walks toward me and my head spins. Panic engulfs me. I trip up the street with my brain incapable of coherent thought. I gasp as I remember Dan. His face is a beacon in my mind. Cowering in poor cover provided by a tree, I pluck my phone from my coat pocket, and hit dial.

  I beg the heavens for him to answer. I stare through the torrent and can’t see Abel. I twist around the tree, and he’s there – barely thirty yards away on the other side of the road. Rivulets run down my face, making my vision blurred. Yet, his clothes are baggy and tattered. Water pours off him like evil. He is the embodiment of the darkness inside of me.

  I hear a muffled voice answer through the earpiece.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Dan, please…’

  Chapter 61

  Dan

  I’m getting the hang of this child raising lark. The key is to get them outside as early as possible and knacker them. Before they demolish the house. We visited the park again as we had such a good time yesterday. I found my pie uneaten on the ground and told the homeless guy off. He regretted leaving it, but said he lacked the dentistry to tackle something so dense. The day deteriorated fast, and we were home by lunchtime.

  I drove them to an activity barn in the afternoon. Bastards charged me to enter, too. Was I going to be playing in the ball pit? I think Charlie pissed in there, anyway. Serves them right.

  Then you feed stodgy food into them, so we had a pasta bake. I messed it up somehow, but covered it in cheese and they ate it. Next, into the bath, splash around, tidy up downstairs while they’re doing that. Cartoon and ice cream and up the stairs for a story and bed. To my surprise, I enjoyed the reading part.

  Usually, I can’t stand the monotony. This time I focused on the children and their enjoyment. Olivia was right. I felt involved and even glowed a little.

  I debated getting a bottle of wine for Olivia’s arrival, but I might have drunk it by now. I’m supposed to be impressing her, not seducing her. I’ll see if she wants a takeaway.

  I hear my phone ring from the other room and debate whether I can be arsed to answer it. It might be Olivia, so I better had.

  ‘Dan, please. Help me!’

  ‘Olivia? What’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s Abel.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘He’s staring at me from across the road.’

  ‘Where the hell are you?’

  ‘Turpin Street. I was walking home, and Abel followed me.’

  ‘You walked home in this weather? Why?’

  ‘Dan, I’m scared.’

  I can hear her teeth chattering.

  ‘What’s he doing? Has he attacked you?’

  ‘He’s waiting for me. Glaring at me. Should I ring the police?’

  ‘I’ll come and get you. You’re only two streets away.’

  ‘No, don’t leave the children.’

  ‘Shit. Look, they’re in bed. I’ll wait in the middle of the road. You’re around the corner. Just fucking run. I’ll see you in thirty seconds.’

  ‘I’ve got high heels.’

  ‘What?! Take them off. Leave them.’

  ‘They’re my favourites.’

  I can hear her sobbing. I bellow.

  ‘Olivia, we’ll buy new shoes. Remove them, drop them, leave everything. And run. This is what you’ve been training for. All those nights of hard work. All those calories counted. Run, run, run. Run to me. Run for your children.’

  There’s a clatter and the phone goes dead. I assume she dropped it.

  Jesus, women. Worrying about her shoes.

  I pull my trainers on and barge through the door. The rain is absolutely pouring. I’m drenched in seconds. It’s so hard it stings my bald head. I charge up the drive.

  The glare from a car’s lights blinds me for a second and then the road is empty. I stand in the middle and peer through the rods.

  She appears as if from nowhere. She drives hard up the white lines, arms and legs pumping, with a determined mad desperation on her face.

  ‘Quick,’ I roar. I dash towards Olivia and she almost knocks me to the floor as we meet. Her body shudders.

  ‘Come on. It’s okay now, I’m here, and you’re safe. Let’s get you inside.’

  We stare back down the street. No one’s there.

  Chapter 62

  Dan

  As I steer her towards the house, Mike comes out of his.

  ‘Hey, is she okay?’

  We both ignore him and leave him drenched and open-mouthed. He looks forlorn until his face hardens into a snarl that tells of revenge.

  I trip over Bailey who made it as far as the front door in his quest to help. He never liked the rain.

  I grab a dry towel from the radiator which I forgot to move to the airing cupboard. God knows how long it sat there as it’s crispy. It is nice and warm though. I dry her off as best as I can, but she’s water-logged. Gently, with her shoulders still heaving, I remove her clothes. I leave her in the now-soaked towel and run up the stairs to get another.

  She follows me up with giant leaps. Confused, I look at her as she walks straight past me and into Charlie’s room. She then reappears and enters Grace’s room. Olivia comes back and I encircle her with the biggest towel we have. I pull her trembling body into mine and rock her from side-to-side.

  She’s a tough broad and recovers fast. That’s just as well because I’m drenched too. I run a bath and she slides into it with a sob. I’m unsure why as it’s not something I’ve done before, but I light candles and place them in there. After she gets in, I leave the door open and play quiet music in the background.

  She surprises me in the kitchen an hour later. I didn’t hear her come down the stairs. No harm seems to be done. I pass her a hot chocolate and she giggles.

  ‘Very dramatic.’

  It’s typical of her to laugh. She’s so robust and resilient. Only now do I respect such admirable qualities. Such necessary assets in order to be a good mother. I remember the health worker asking her if she felt low or depressed after the birth of Charlie. She replied she didn’t have time for any of that. Yet, on odd occasions, I would catch her drying her face. The real troubles can be the ones we fail to acknowledge.

  We sip our drinks together in silence. She has a duvet around her shoulders from upstairs. I wear her dressing gown, so look my best. She finally talks.

  ‘Should I dial 999?’

  ‘I wasn’t there. Did he hurt you, or say anything to you?’

  ‘No. Nothing. He wasn’t even close enough for me to describe him. Maybe it was all in my head?’

  ‘No. You said he was staring and waiting. Do you think it was him? It could have been another weirdo on the Abel bandwagon. I wouldn’t tell the police though. You don’t want the authorities thinking you’ve been imagining things.’

  Her eyes note the items on the kitchen table. Her rising smile is a welcome sight.

  ‘You found them.’

  ‘Yeah. I jogged back and fetched them. The phone might not work again, and the umbrella isn’t up to much, but you have your shoes.’

  ‘Come here, you.’

  As we kiss, hands find their way into her dressing gown. She pulls me up the stairs.

  Chapter 63

  The prostitute

  Carly stares at the people carrier, willing it to stop. She is frozen. The air hangs solid around her, permeating into flimsy clothing. She’s used to it now. In fact, Carly struggles to remember a time when she wasn’t cold. Even when her landlord lets them have the heating on, she shivers. It’s as though her veins flow with coolant as opposed to warm blood.

  The gnawing of addiction refocuses her mind, and she undoes her jacket to display her wares. She feels loose teeth as the chill clamps her jaw shut. Her pimp will be along soon, demanding the money. Her cut is heroin and a damp bedsit.
She knows not to hide it, or she’ll have to blend her food.

  Carly can’t quite believe she has only been here eighteen months. That naïve runaway is long gone. A hand comes around and covers her mouth, she leans back unsteady on her heels. She doesn’t struggle as Damon laughs. He’s been doing that from when they were girlfriend and boyfriend. He was a big, strong, beautiful man when he found her. She'd never met anyone like him before. He was a rainbow, mixed from the best of men. His crumbling frame shows that to be a lie. Hard drugs have no mercy.

  ‘Hand it over then?’

  She does, and he glares at the notes. He should be happy as she’s tired from the roaring trade. Abel has scared off all but the most desperate street workers, but the demand is ever-present. Nevertheless, if Damon didn’t control her every moment, she’d be elsewhere. Perhaps even home. She remembers the clumps she received from her alcoholic mother. Carly couldn’t wait to escape. Ironic that she ended up in a similar place.

  The strange men don’t bother her anymore. She endures their antics until she can return to the oblivion she yearns for. She has to give credit to Damon. The transition from lover to master was so smooth she barely noticed. Now, she makes good money, but still can’t satiate their burgeoning habits.

  Anger rises on Damon’s face as he pockets the cash. However, the vehicle she saw earlier pulls alongside and distracts him. His cruel grin greets the customer as the window glides down. There will be time for violence later.

  ‘You looking for fun?’

  ‘I need to party. Back at mine. You know, a bit of music, some drugs, just don’t want to do it on my own.’

  Carly examines his face for clues. She’s become expert at identifying those who blur the line between pleasure and pain. He thumbs behind him and she notices three other hookers in the gloom. Their emaciated frames look comical, like children dwarfed by their seats on the way to school. She knows them all, knows them well. They are the only friends she has. They grin back.