by Matt Hilton
‘I want to speak to you.’
‘You’re not coming in.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m not letting you in.’
I stared at the door. Then I craned so I could look through the glass at the top. It was too opaque to make out anything except a blur of colour as she shifted. I heard the security chain rattle in place: I took it she wasn’t taking it off.
‘This is ridiculous,’ I snapped, rapping my knuckles against the glass. ‘Open the bloody door.’
‘I told you yesterday you weren’t seeing the kids while you’re like this.’
‘That’s the thing, Catriona. I don’t know what you bloody mean.’
‘You’ve started again,’ she said.
‘Started what? Oh, wait! You said I was obsessing again. What the fuck are you going on about?’
‘All those texts, Jack.’
‘That’s the thing. It wasn’t me who sent them. I can prove it if you take a look at my phone.’ I pulled my mobile out of my pocket. It was dead. After I threw it across the room I’d retrieved it and checked for damage, it was fine. I’d used it to call work. But now the screen was dull black, lifeless. I pressed buttons but it didn’t power up. Dead battery, I assumed. Not that it mattered; Catriona wasn’t prepared to check it out.
‘Just go away, Jack. Mark will be here any minute.’
I snorted. Was that supposed to be some kind of threat?
‘He’d better not have my kids,’ I snapped.
Catriona didn’t answer, but her silence told me everything I needed to know.
‘He’s never going to replace me as their father!’
‘Jack, just go away.’
I banged the door again. ‘Open the bloody door, Catriona. We need to get this sorted.’
‘There’s only one thing needs sorting. Go to your doctor, Jack. Tell him it’s happening again.’
‘What the hell do you mean?’
Again silence reigned.
‘Catriona!’
‘You haven’t been taking your meds. Your behaviour is growing erratic. Don’t you see it yourself, Jack? It’s the same as last time. When you wouldn’t stay away from the bloody cemetery.’ Catriona made a noise like a long, stuttering sniff.
Now it was me who was lost for words.
The silence was palpable. Gusts of frigid breath wreathed my face.
The security chain clattered as Catriona eased open the door. She peered out at me from between the doorjamb and door, a space of only a few inches. Tears made her eyes red.
‘You don’t remember, do you?’ she said.
I still had no words.
‘It’s what finished us, Jack. Jesus Christ, you wouldn’t stay away from her. You thought more of her than you did me or the kids.’
‘You’re talking about Naomi?’ I finally managed to say.
‘Yes. Who else? You spent all your time sitting by her grave begging for her to come back to you. You don’t remember any of that? “I want you, Naomi. I want you”. It’s why we broke up.’ Catriona forced a little iron into her stance. She dashed the tears off her cheeks. ‘I couldn’t compete with a dead girl, Jack. I put up with it all that time, but I couldn’t take it any longer. I had to put the kids before our problems. I couldn’t take care of you as well, not while I was second best in your eyes.’
It was true that I’d visited Naomi’s grave on occasion, I couldn’t deny it, but it was two or three times at most. I’d asked her to give me a sign that she could hear me: when she remained tight-lipped I gave up the ghost, literally. ‘It wasn’t me who treated anyone as second best,’ I reminded her.
‘You did, Jack. You were obsessing about Naomi. Constantly.’
‘Talking about obsessing, you soon jumped into bed with my best mate. How long had you been planning that?’
‘It wasn’t like that and you know it.’
‘What was it like then? You didn’t fucking hang around, did you?’ I caught myself tugging repeatedly at my earlobe and dropped my hand by my side.
‘We’d been split up for more than a year, Jack. You’d been…away. I had no idea if you’d ever come back again. And even if you did, how would you be? That’s the only reason I got with Mark. You know that.’
Mortar shells were exploding inside my skull, the ringing concussions mentally staggering me with each revelation. I shook my head, but it didn’t help clear it.
‘More than a year? What are you talking about? We only split up when I caught you humping Mark!’ Even as I made that proclamation, something uneasy wormed its way through my chest. An image flashed through my memories, one where I was sitting motionless in an upright vinyl-coated chair, peering at walls that were an institutional mauve colour. I didn’t recognise the chair or the room. I blinked hard to clear away the fog.
‘After your breakdown…’ Catriona stopped.
She must have recognised the look of panic that almost tore me in half. She shook her head morosely.
‘Jack, please, I can see you’re confused. It isn’t for me to tell you all this. You need to go and see your doctor, OK?’
‘I’m not going anywhere!’ My voice came out harsh, and I lurched at the door, pounding it with the flats of my palms. The chain held, but the door rattled wildly back and forth. Catriona squeaked in dismay. ‘Tell me what the fuck you’re going on about or so help me I’ll…’
I’d do what?
I tell myself that it was frustration that motivated my aggression. Confusion maybe. Definitely panic. I slapped my palms against the door again. Yelling wordlessly. The security chain held, but I recalled fitting it: it was a cheap thing bought at a flea market, with only tiny screw fixtures. If I wanted to I could easily burst my way inside. Catriona must have come to the same conclusion because she threw her shoulder against the door to close it. I pushed against her. ‘Let me in!’ I commanded.
‘Jack! Jack! Stop it!’
‘Let me in, for God’s sake!’ I withdrew my palms to give another shove, except Catriona was quicker and slammed the door to. There was a clack of the bolt being thrown. Futilely I pounded my palms on the door. I took a kick at it but my foot merely skidded off, leaving a dirty footprint, and a jolt of pain in my knee. I swore savagely.
‘Go away! Now, Jack, or I’m going to call the police.’
‘Call the bloody police. I don’t care.’ I gave another kick at the door but with much the same paltry effect as before.
Mark’s timing was impeccable. He pulled up directly on to the drive alongside me just as I went to the lounge window and peered in, banging my balled fist on the glass to attract Catriona’s attention. I spun to glare at him as my old friend got out of the car. He was biting his bottom lip, wary, and kept the open car door between us.
‘What are you doing here, Jack?’ he asked, trying to sound reasonable.
‘What am I doing here? Don’t forget it’s my fucking house. That’s my wife inside, not yours.’ I approached him, and he surprised me by slamming the car door and coming to meet me. We stood only feet apart.
‘Jack,’ he said, again reasonably. ‘There’s no need for any trouble between us.’
‘Is that right? You’re screwing my wife and I’m supposed to take it lying down?’ I made a fist, but it hurt too much. I flexed my fingers. Mark noticed, and took a half step. Not away. His hands curled into fists.
‘You need to get out of here,’ he warned.
‘I’m going nowhere.’
Mark craned to see past me. Behind me, Catriona had opened the door again. She still hadn’t released the chain. ‘You all right, Cat?’
‘I’ve called the police,’ she replied. ‘They’re on their way.’
Rounding on her, I hollered, ‘Let them bloody come! I haven’t done anything yet.’
‘You’re not going to do anything full stop,’ said Mark. His tone was no longer reasonable. I quickly turned to face him, and was late. Mark grabbed hold off my jacket and pushed me towards the path.
‘Get your fucking hands off me,’ I snarled, yanking out of his grip. Mark held up a warning finger.
‘Go away, Jack. Last warning.’
‘Why? What are you going to do?’
Catriona made a cautionary noise for Mark’s sake. But it seemed that my old pal had suddenly found his balls. He stepped up directly in my face, our noses only inches apart. The tendons in his throat were taut.
‘I’m telling you, Jack. Don’t try me. I’m not a young girl you can beat up.’
‘What?’ I shoved him in the chest, but he barely shifted. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Mark,’ Catriona cried. ‘No. Don’t.’
But Mark was on a roll. ‘We all know what you did, Jack, even if you won’t admit it.’
‘You what?’ Again I pushed Mark in the chest, this time with a bit more of my weight behind it.
Mark shoved back and I almost tripped over the edge of the path. I staggered to find my balance.
Mark came after me, shoving again. ‘That night Naomi died? Those bruises on her face? They weren’t a result of the crash and we all know it. You were hitting her, weren’t you, you fucking coward? Are you going to hit me? Go ahead. I’ll have you arrested, but not before I knock you on your bloody arse first.’
Another mortar shell exploded in my vision. I screamed like a wounded animal and went for him. Mark caught me in a headlock, under his elbow, and he pushed me down. He might have punched me with his free hand, but I can’t be sure now. We kind of scuffled along the path, and then I was free, but backpedalling towards the gate. Catriona was screeching at Mark to come inside. I swore at him, told him to listen to her, but Mark wasn’t having anything of it. He took another couple of steps after me, his hands coming up.
I swiped at him, but he danced back. He loaded up a kick, but I too skipped back.
‘Get out of here, Jack. I mean it.’ Mark stamped his foot, and I jerked back. ‘If you don’t piss off I’m gonna get you done for assault.’
He was the one who got me in a neck lock and got a few digs in, not me. He must have read the expression on my face because he added, ‘You came at me first; I was only restraining you.’ He flung a gesture in Catriona’s direction. ‘I’ve got a witness.’
‘Of course you do!’ I spat back. ‘And it wouldn’t be the first time she betrayed me.’
‘Get out of here, Jack. Last time I’m telling you.’
I swore, ranting like someone not right in the head. In a fit of frustration I bent to the drive and grabbed a fistful of gravel.
I didn’t hear any sirens, but suddenly faint blue lights were bouncing off my old house and Mark’s parked car. I glanced around and saw two police officers scrambling from their car. One of them was huge, and he adjusted his equipment belt as he came towards me. The other was a blond female, her slim form swathed in high-viz yellow. She had her hand poised over her CS gas canister like some old time gunslinger. I looked at her, saw the warning in her gaze and allowed the gravel to trickle from my fingers. It was kind of pathetic when I think about it.
Everything was a whirl after that. I proclaimed my innocence, while Catriona and Mark countered me with allegations. It didn’t matter what I said, because there was only ever going to be one bad guy here. Next I knew I was sitting in the rear of the squad car, handcuffed, arrested in order to prevent a further breach of the peace.
32
The Twisted Truth
According to the constitutional laws of England and Wales, a breach of the peace is not an offence punishable by either fine or imprisonment, and thankfully the intention of the police officers was to only remove me from the scene before an actual criminal offence could be committed. Actually, once we were clear of the housing estate where Catriona lived they grew more relaxed in my presence, and lightened up on the stern voices and looks they’d cast my way earlier. Their duty was complete once I was no longer in a position to continue the breach of the peace; therefore I was now just an ordinary Joe in their eyes. The big cop made it clear he understood it took two to have an argument, and didn’t hold my behaviour against me. Then he grew officious again stating that I should not return to Catriona’s house or I would be arrested and taken to the nick next time. He warned me that if there was a next time I would be dealt with under the Public Order Act, and this time I could expect a day in court. I’d cooled off by then and made him a solemn promise to be a good boy. They dropped me on the corner next to my house, where the cuffs were removed.
‘What about my car?’ It was still parked on Catriona’s street.
‘It’ll be safe there, sir,’ said the female cop. ‘Don’t go to collect it today; just stay away. Do you understand me?’
I nodded, but I was pissed off. ‘I need it to get to work tomorrow,’ I explained. Not that I’d any intention of going in, but they didn’t need to know that.
‘Call for a taxi,’ the female cop said. Then they drove off.
Taking a furtive glance around, I checked out the level of attention I was receiving from passers-by in the street, but if anyone noticed me getting turfed out of the police car nobody let on. Either they hadn’t noticed, or were prudent enough to keep their noses out of my business. Maybe they thought I was a hardened criminal and had no desire to attract my attention. It was laughable if they knew what had actually gone on. Now that the fire had gone from my belly I was mildly embarrassed and I made a quick two-step dance to get off the street. I unlocked my front door and went inside, placing my back to the door as I took in the still atmosphere in my house. From that position I could see all the way to the back door into the yard. Something caught my eye.
On automatic I walked the length of the vestibule, bypassing the kitchen, parlour and rarely used living room, until I was standing adjacent to the entrance to the basement beneath the stairs. After the paranormal investigation on Sunday night, I had replaced the plyboard covering to block the opening, but while I was out the board had fallen and was lying flat on the floor. As I bent to pick it up, my muscles protested. The scuffle with Mark had been brief and hardly a full-blown fight, but I’d apparently used muscles I wasn’t used to. I grunted as I hauled up the board and went to place it over the basement entrance.
Something stopped me.
Out of the corner of my eye I thought someone stood over me, their arm raised as if to strike me in the back of the head. But as I turned the image was gone.
Shaking off the vision as an after-effect of my brawl with Mark, I propped the board against the wall to one side of the opening. Then I peered through the hole, craning my head left to see down the short flight of stairs. It was the proverbial black hole. I couldn’t make out even the faintest glimmer of ambient light, but little wonder seeing as I’d re-secured the hatch over the coal chute. Yet that didn’t strike me as odd, but the wind blowing in my face did. It was gusty enough make me blink, and screw up my face. If there was nowhere for light to get into the basement, well, in my opinion there shouldn’t be any way for a draught to get in either. The breeze lessened, but the aroma it carried grew. I put a hand over my nostrils and mouth against the sickening stench of mold, decay, and rot. There could only be one place the stink was coming from: the wedge-shaped room at the far end of the basement. I hadn’t gone in that small room since the incident with the shadow figures. Even when the big brave Steve had entered the room during the investigation I’d stayed back in the Victorian scullery. I wasn’t about to enter it now.
Grabbing the plyboard, I rapidly secured it over the hole in the wall, and kicked the bricks into place to keep it upright. I backpedalled away, then swung round and headed for my kitchen. I filled a glass with water and downed it in one. I refilled the glass, using it as a prompt to go fetch my medication. My pills were in a drawer in the parlour, and I fished out packets of Naproxen and Lansoprazole and downed two of each. Placing the packets back in the drawer I noticed another box shoved at the back. It was white with a printed label, unlike the prescriptions you get from a pharmacy, and m
ore like those unbranded boxes prescribed at a hospital. Frowning, I picked up the box and checked the label. It carried my name, and my old address, but the lower right edge had been picked off so there was no hint of what sort of pills it had contained. I shook the box. Empty.
I was about to toss the box in the waste paper bin, but it got me thinking.
“Are you still taking your medication, Jack?” Those had been Catriona’s words. “You need to go and see your doctor.”
Unease washed over me like a cold, wet blanket.
Studying the label again, it told me nothing extra. I pulled open the flap and checked inside. The box sounded empty when I shook it, but I hoped that maybe there was one of those folded sheets of instructions inside that would hint at what kind of medication the box once held. There was nothing.
“After your breakdown…” Catriona’s words again.
A shiver wormed its way through my bowels as I considered the importance of what she was about to say.
Then Mark’s accusations impeded in my mind: “We all know what you did, Jack, even if you won’t admit it…That night Naomi died. Those bruises on her face. They weren’t a result of the crash and we all know it. You were hitting her…”
I studied my damaged knuckles as though the nicks and grazes were proof of the crime. A whirl of images spiralled through my mind. They took away my strength and I slid down, my bum on the floor, my back against the drawer unit.
‘Oh, God…’ I moaned as I remembered that night.
‘Jack, slow down.’
‘No. You wanted home. I’m taking you fucking home.’
‘You’re acting ridiculous,’ Naomi cried.
‘I’m not being a dick. You’re just being a fucking bitch.’
I swore at her, called her a fucking whore. Naomi cried out in alarm as I hammered at the steering wheel with my hands, shouting maniacally. The car had slowed, and I jammed my foot on the accelerator, shooting through another red light, and forcing the traffic on green to brake. Horns blared. I stuck up my fingers, leaning out the window to scream insults at the drivers of a van and a truck. ‘Come on you bastards, you think you can stop me, then fucking try it!’