Deadly Eleven

by Mark Tufo

  ‘Still a weirdo.’

  Michelle sighed. ‘He might be thinking the same about you. Look at it from his point of view, Scott. The folks here all know each other and they all know this place. Right now we’re the strangers.’

  The family’s improvised lunch was just about sufficient. They ate in the kitchen, all sitting around the rickety table they’d inherited from the house’s former owner. It started to feel reassuringly normal. ‘It’s like we’re on holiday,’ Phoebe said.

  ‘Except you’ve got school tomorrow,’ Scott reminded her.

  ‘And you’re supposed to enjoy holidays, remember?’ Tammy said.

  Michelle shook her head. ‘Give it a rest, Tam.’

  ‘You know what I mean, though?’ Phoebe explained. ‘It’s like when you’re stopping in a caravan, and it’s home, but it’s not home? You get it, don’t you Mum? You’ve got all the same people around you and all the same stuff, but it’s not home. Feels like it by the end of the week, though.’

  ‘Remember when we went to the Isle of Wight?’ Scott said. ‘You two bottled it in the haunted house at that fair, remember?’

  ‘I was only ten,’ Phoebe protested. ‘It was scary.’

  ‘You should have seen your faces,’ he laughed, remembering the way they’d both coming running back out through the entrance, barging through the queue still trying to get in. ‘Priceless. You scared one woman half to death!’

  ‘You were just as bad,’ Tammy said. ‘You wouldn’t even go on the rollercoaster.’

  ‘I wasn’t feeling great. It was those chips. They didn’t agree with me.’

  ‘Yeah, right. I think you bottled it.’

  ‘We all ate the chips, Scott...’ Michelle said and he glared at her. The girls laughed and he had to admit defeat.

  The conversation faltered. Michelle looked for a volunteer to help her wash up, but the girls were suddenly conveniently busy. They made their excuses and went up to their rooms, the idea of unpacking their belongings slightly preferable to dealing with dirty dishes. Only George remained, playing on the floor around Scott’s feet as Michelle cleared the table. ‘What did you say that for?’ he asked.

  ‘Say what?’

  ‘The thing about the chips.’

  ‘Oh that,’ she said, shoving a handful of wrappers and scraps into a black sack. ‘I was just messing about. I know you weren’t well that day.’

  ‘So why did you say it? Made me look stupid.’

  ‘Sorry, love. I didn’t mean anything by it.’

  He got up quick, his sudden movement startling her momentarily. She was worried she’d offended him. He disappeared, only to return a few seconds later with paper, a pen, and his toolbox. He put the toolbox in the middle of the half-cleared table and took out a tape measure, then started studying the wall between the kitchen and the dining room, tapping it with his knuckles and peering into greasy nooks and crannies which looked like they hadn’t been cleaned out in years. Michelle worked around him.

  ‘It’s not going to be that big a job,’ he said.

  ‘What isn’t?’

  ‘Knocking this wall through. Remember what I was saying about opening the kitchen out into the dining room?’

  ‘I remember. Can we afford to do it?’

  ‘Afford to do what? It doesn’t cost anything to put a hole in a wall, Chelle.’

  ‘No, but it’ll cost to make it all good again.’

  ‘A bit of boarding up and plastering, a lick of paint, that’s all. I reckon I can have it done in a fortnight.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘Let me show you.’

  ‘Can I just get the washing up sorted?’

  ‘It’ll only take a second.’

  ‘Okay.’

  She put down the plates and walked over to where he was standing. He started gesticulating like an excited kid, drawing imaginary lines on the wall. ‘I’ll take this much out, then you’ll have double the space in here. Be perfect, won’t it? I might put in another rad and shove a couple of extra sockets in here.’

  ‘We could do with more plugs.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. Not sure yet, though. I might just wait and get it done when I get the house re-wired.’

  ‘But like I said, can we afford it?’

  ‘Will you stop going on about money all the bloody time? Christ, you’re like a broken record.’

  ‘I’m just worried, that’s all.’

  ‘I already told you, the money we spend on the house is an investment. So it’ll probably cost a few grand to get these things done, but they’ll all add to the value of the house.’

  ‘I know that. We don’t have a lot to play with though, remember? There’s no rainy day fund anymore.’

  ‘Can’t you see what it’s going to be like? Try and visualise it, Chelle. Getting rid of this wall will really open up downstairs, make it feel more like a home. It’s too dark as it is, too many doors, not enough light.’

  ‘I know. I can see it. It’s just that—’

  ‘I tell you, it’s worth borrowing to get this done. We could take out a small mortgage on this place, release some of the equity.’

  ‘Who’s going to lend us money now, Scott? Come on...’

  ‘Stop being so bloody negative.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m all for being positive, love, but we also need to be realistic. If I wasn’t being positive I wouldn’t be here, would I?’

  ‘I’m going to cost it all up, see what it’ll take.’

  ‘You don’t listen to a word I say, do you?’

  ‘I do. Your problem is you don’t have any vision. Just try and picture it all done. It’ll be amazing. I’m going to start looking for work tomorrow and once we’re more established I’ll get myself set up again and start doing a few building jobs on the side.’

  ‘I thought you said you were done with running your own business?’

  ‘Did you not hear me? On the side. I’ll do stuff on the quiet. Cash in hand. This house will be beautiful.’

  ‘I don’t doubt you.’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’

  She sighed and leant back against the table, choosing her words carefully. ‘If you started on the kitchen, how long do you think it would take?’

  ‘A couple of weeks if I’m working on it full-time. Might as well sort the wiring and the plumbing at the same time.’

  ‘But what if you’re working?’

  ‘Don’t know. A month or two, I guess. Evenings and weekends.’

  ‘And once you’ve started, the kitchen will be pretty much out of action?’

  ‘Not for the whole time. That’s going to be inevitable to an extent, though, isn’t it?’

  ‘So what do I do about cooking? I can’t cook in the middle of a building site.’

  ‘We’ll eat out.’

  ‘We tried that this morning.’

  ‘What the fuck’s wrong with you? I’m trying to get this family back on its feet, you’re just putting up obstacles.’

  ‘It’s just there’s a serious lack of McDonalds, Pizza Hut and Burger King around here. We’ll struggle without a fully functioning kitchen for a couple of days, never mind a couple of weeks or months, and I’m sorry if I sound like a broken record, but I’m really not sure we can afford to do all the stuff you’re talking about doing in one go. I think we need to take our time, plan things carefully, save up...’

  ‘And I think—’

  Tammy burst into the room, mobile phone in hand, seething. ‘Shit.’

  ‘What’s your problem?’ Scott asked, annoyed he’d been interrupted.

  ‘This stupid bloody house, that’s my problem.’

  She was gone again before either of them could react. Michelle followed her daughter from room to room. ‘Tam, slow down,’ she said, but Tammy was having none of it. She barged past her mother and went out the front door, slamming it behind her. Scott followed her out and chased her down the side of the house. She was coming back the other way now. He tried to stop her but s
he side-stepped him. ‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Can’t get a signal,’ she yelled, holding up her phone as if it was going to make a difference. She stared hopefully up at the small screen, willing the ‘Searching’ message to disappear, desperate to see some signal strength.

  ‘Have you tried upstairs?’

  ‘Of course I’ve tried upstairs. I’m not stupid. I’ve tried everywhere.’

  ‘Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?’ he shouted. She stormed off again, as much to put some distance between her and Scott than anything else.

  ‘Just leave her,’ Michelle said. She positioned herself between the two of them and put her hands on Scott’s chest. ‘Please, love. She’s only doing it because she knows she’ll get a reaction.’

  ‘Too right she’ll get a bloody reaction. I’m sick of the way she behaves. She’s not the only one who’s having to make adjustments, you know.’

  ‘I know... you’re right. But cut her some slack. Let her get used to the way things are now...’

  ‘I’m not putting up with it. We’ve had this crap non-stop since we sold the old house.’

  ‘Yes, and we probably will a while longer yet. She’s hurting.’

  ‘So am I.’

  ‘Yes, but you’re thirty-seven, she’s not quite seventeen. We just have to give her some space.’

  ‘She can have all the fucking space she wants around here. There’s nothing but space.’

  ‘Come on, love. Leave her to it. I’ll go and see to her, then I’ll come back and make us both a cup of tea. Okay?’

  ‘She needs to sort herself out. Bloody prima-donna.’

  ‘Let me talk to her, Scott. Please.’

  Half a bar appeared, then a whole bar, then two. Tammy was well away from the house now, walking along the road into Thussock. She dialled out, desperate not to lose the precious signal strength. The call was answered quickly. ‘Dad? Dad, can you hear me?’

  ‘Tam? I was just thinking about you. How’re you doing? You settled in yet? What’s the house like?’

  It all came flooding out. She couldn’t help it. ‘I can’t stand this bloody place, Dad. The house is vile and there’s nothing to do here, and all I want is to go home...’

  ‘Whoa, whoa... slow down. We talked about this. You knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but you need to be with your mom and your sister and George and—’

  ‘It’s not them though, is it? It’s him.’

  ‘Come on, Princess, we talked about this too. I know you don’t get on and I know he’s had his problems, but he’s trying. You just have to give it some time.’

  ‘Can’t I come and stay at yours?’

  ‘You know you can’t. I’m not around much at the moment, and I can’t leave you on your own. Anyway, listen, I was going to try and call you later. I’m in Switzerland for a few days in a couple of weeks. I thought I could arrange to fly back into Edinburgh instead of Heathrow, then I could come and spend a few days with you and Phoebe. I’ll have to check with your mum first, but I thought it could be good. You can show me the sights.’

  ‘There aren’t any.’

  ‘Well you’ve got about ten days to find some, okay?’

  ‘Ten days... I don’t think I’ll last ten more hours here.’

  ‘Of course you will.’

  The phone crackled. She stopped walking. ‘Dad? Dad... you still there?’

  An anxious pause, several seconds too long. ‘I’m still here.’

  ‘The signal’s rubbish up here. I don’t get it. We talked all the time when you were working in Kenya.’

  ‘And Nigeria last winter.’

  ‘It’s just this place.’

  ‘Hey, are you ready for school tomorrow?’

  ‘Suppose.’

  ‘You seen it yet?’

  ‘Saw it this morning.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And what am I supposed to say? It’s a school. School’s school.’

  ‘Big day tomorrow, though. Hope it goes well.’

  ‘Just as long as it goes...’

  ‘Come on, Princess, cheer up. It’s not that bad.’

  ‘It is that bad. Honestly, Dad, you won’t believe this place when you see it. It’s a dump, and the people are all retards and chavs.’

  ‘They can’t all be retards and chavs, I don’t believe that.’

  ‘Like I said, wait ’til you come here.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it. I’ll try and give your mum a call later, sort things out. But Tam, just try and be positive, okay. I know it’s hard, but—’

  ‘You don’t understand.’

  ‘I can’t hear you... you’re breaking up. Tam...? Tammy?’ She could still hear his voice, but he couldn’t hear her. Then he disappeared altogether. Three bleeps of disconnection sliced through the silence, emphasising the separation. She just stared at the phone thinking it worked in Kenya and Nigeria... why not in fucking Thussock? It made it feel as if her dad was further away than ever, almost like he was on another planet.

  She’d walked as far as the wooden bus shelter. She sat down on the uncomfortable bench inside.

  ‘No buses for another twelve hours or so, love,’ Michelle said, startling her. She’d followed her from the house. She gestured for her daughter to shuffle up and sat down. ‘Get to talk to your dad?’

  ‘A bit. Signal went.’

  ‘He okay?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Do you want to talk?’

  ‘No, I want to go home.’

  ‘We are home.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  Michelle swung her feet under the seat, the tips of her toes scuffing the gravel. It was impossibly quiet. From here the side of the shelter obscured the house belonging to the twins they’d seen earlier, and the curve of the road had hidden their own place. She realised that apart from the shelter and the road, she couldn’t see anything else man-made. The isolation was useful. She could talk freely here. ‘It’s all a bit shitty, isn’t it?’

  ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Why are you apologising, Mum? It’s not your fault.’

  ‘I feel responsible. I helped make the decisions.’

  ‘No you didn’t. This was all down to Scott, it always is. Stop making excuses for him.’

  ‘I’m not. Look, Tam, I know it’s hard. I think it’s probably harder on you and Phoebe than the rest of us.’

  ‘You reckon? I don’t. I think you’ve got it toughest.’

  ‘Me? How?’

  ‘Phoebe and me still have a way out. I know Dad’s not around much at the moment, but he keeps saying he’s going to jack his job in so we’ll be able to spend more time at his, and there’s uni and we’ll get our own places eventually. But this is it for you, Mom. You’re stuck with Scott.’

  ‘Come on, that’s not fair. Don’t say that.’

  ‘I just wish you’d never married him. Things were fine before he came along and you and Dad split up.’

  ‘The two things weren’t connected, Tam, and you know it. Your dad and I just grew apart. It happens. We still get on, though, and that’s just about the best we could have hoped for in the circumstances.’

  ‘Spare me, Mum, I’m not a kid anymore. I’ve heard this a hundred times and I get it – you fell out of love and now you’re just friends. I don’t have an issue with any of that. It’s Scott I have a problem with. He treats you like shit.’

  ‘That’s not true. He’s been under a huge amount of pressure since—’

  ‘It is true.’

  ‘For all his faults though, Tam, I love him. He infuriates me and he does some bloody stupid things at times, but I love him. Besides, we’ve got George. You think the world of your little brother.’

  ‘I do, and none of this is his fault. When he was born Phoebe and I used to think having him would make everything okay and bring us closer together, make us feel like a real family.’

  ‘We are a real family.’<
br />
  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘Come on...’

  ‘Anyway, I’ve realised I got it wrong. Having George didn’t bring us all together, it just stopped you and Scott from falling apart.’

  ‘That’s rubbish.’

  ‘It’s not.’

  There was no talking to Tammy when she was in this kind of mood. Michelle just put her arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. She didn’t know what to say for the best and so said nothing. There were no right answers, no easy solutions. Christ, with Tammy pulling her one way and Scott the other, it was a wonder she hadn’t been torn down the middle.

  After a few seconds, Michelle stood up. She reached out her hand and pulled Tammy out of the shelter. The twins were working in their garden across the road. They’d changed now, both of them wearing matching baggy jeans and complementary T-shirts. ‘You were right earlier,’ Michelle said, watching them. ‘They are a bit weird.’

  Tammy laughed and wiped her eyes. ‘I don’t get how they’re happy wanting to look the same? If I had an identical twin I’d want us both to look completely different.’

  ‘Jeez, two of you... imagine that. I struggle enough with just the one.’

  ‘Shut up!’ Tammy said, leaning against her mum.

  Michelle was about to speak when a car shot past them. The driver braked hard, then put the car in reverse and came skidding back towards them. He wound down his window. ‘Youse two ladies all right here?’

  Michelle and Tammy looked at each other, both struggling with the accent. Michelle subtly positioned herself in front of her daughter. She didn’t like the look of the man in the car. Unshaven, with a horrible, wiry ponytail and wearing a grubby denim jacket and faded football shirt, he looked like he’d been wearing the same clothes since the mid-eighties. His car, a battered old Ford-something-or-other, might have been impressive twenty-odd years ago, but it definitely wasn’t now. The paintwork was patchwork, and the knackered exhaust made it sound more like a tractor than a car. The bodywork was spattered with mud, like it had recently been taken off-road. Inside was no better. The floor and dash were covered in all kinds of crap, the back seat full of DVDs and drinks cans, and the rear windscreen was more stickers than glass.

  ‘We’re fine, thanks very much,’ Michelle replied. He kept trying to look around her. She couldn’t tell if he was trying to eye her up or Tammy. Probably both, she thought.