by R. S. Higham
Paul groaned and grabbed at his stomach.
“But they’re usually quicker, you wanted pepperoni, right?”
“It’s my fave.” He said laughing to himself. James didn’t know why but kids sometimes do that.
“What have I missed?” James asked referring to the film.
“Just an old fashioned New York.”
“The monkey not been on yet?” He joked.
“What if he’s normal size but the world is small?” Paul giggled.
“What if he’s just dreaming it?” James’s mouth curled into a smirk.
“The monkey?”
“Yeah, monkey’s dream, right?” They both broke into laughter.
34
At half past six the pizza man came, by now both boys were salivating like fat, greedy mutts. James jumped up at the sound of the doorbell and ordered Paul to get the plates out ready. Paul heard James thank the man at the door and saw the steamy cardboard boxes float into the kitchen and land on the marble effect counter. The first one James opened was Paul’s and it was soon snatched out of his hand and out of sight. James’s chicken and pepper smelled divine though Paul would disagree, anything green was foul in his opinion, except boogers, James had caught him chewing those greens on a number of occasions. The sweet aroma filled his nostrils and made his stomach claw to get out and get at it. He ripped open a pot of dip and drizzled it all over; life’s too short to dip in as you go. He joined Paul on the couch who, being twelve, was a slow eater and was only half way through the first slice. It was a tad too hot but neither of them could wait for it to cool.
Afterwards James dumped the empty boxes in the bin and rinsed the greasy plates in the sink; Paul was having trouble keeping his eyes open. James checked the clock, it was only half eight but it had been a long day and to be perfectly honest he was feeling a little bush wacked himself. It was already pitch black outside and he didn’t want to take the bus with a child past nine o’ clock, he called his mother to ask if she’d come pick him up but there was no answer.
“Let’s get you home, then.” He said as the credits rolled down the screen.
“Already?” Paul said rubbing his tired eyes. “Can’t I stay here?”
“No, sorry. Not tonight.”
“Why not?”
“I’m busy tomorrow.”
“Can’t you take me in the morning?”
“I’m busy in the morning, I’m sorry you have to go home you can sleep another time.” James wanted to sound sincere but his patience was almost as bruised as his mental state. Paul didn’t say another word and slowly slipped on his coat, the buses run every twenty minutes so in the next five or so there should be one pulling up at the stop down the street, but there was no great rush, they were late nine out of ten times. By the time he’d finished tying his shoelaces and buttoning up his coat it was twenty two and James was on pins. He ushered Paul out and locked the door, they were down the stairs and out in the black evening in record time. They reached the stop before the bus and had a minute and a half wait before its smoggy exhaust flooded the steamy, freezing air. James paid as Paul skipped through the empty bus to the back seats and looked out of the big window. He was being playful and had woken up a bit now but he could tell Paul was still being a little frosty with him. For a while Paul was content riding without conversation and drawing patterns in his breath of the glass. James would usually tell him it’s covered in germs and to stop but he just didn’t have the energy to care anymore, which was sad because he loved that kid and would do anything for him, just not today. In forty minutes or so he’d be his mother’s problem, although he had long grown out of acting up in public or crying over going to bed early but soon he’d become a young man and have a new world of things to disagree with his parents over. Just as James had. Thinking back was nostalgic, it was horrible then, but sort of funny now how he had argued with his mum and dad over the smallest most trivial things, like how often he should wash his underpants and how impossible it would be to fix his bike without getting oily (his mum still thinks it’s possible) but he knew Paul would have a different experience, no laid back dad who would say “he’s just being a lad” nope, he’d have the full force of his mum nagging in his ear. She always wanted a girl, or at least that’s what James thought, who would have seven sons unless they were trying for a girl? If she had got one the second time round James would bet his life she wouldn’t have had any more.
There was nothing to see out of the window save for his own pale face staring back at him. His whiskers were getting out of control and soon he’d need a hedge trimmer to shift them, he’d never grown a full beard before, he looked quite good. “Maybe I’ll try a new look.” He thought to himself as he rubbed his chin, half-jokingly, of course. “What dya think?” He asked to Paul sparking his attention. “Should I grow my beard out?”
“You look like a tramp.”
“Charming!” That was that then. “Wanna play on my phone?”
“That’s ok.”
The forty minutes dragged by but there was more misery to come when he was forced to talk to his mother. It was a five minute walk to her house from the bus shelter, and in the blackness James wasn’t too comfortable with Paul especially after his knife attack but this was the outskirts of the city, it was generally a lot safer.
The house she lived in was nothing more than a shack, a run down, pastel blue, shutters-hanging-off, paint-chipped shack. James almost considered getting the next bus back and taking Paul with him; almost considered, but before the idea had time to bake he was knocking on his mother’s doorstep dragging behind a sulking boy in a shrunken coat. He waited only a moment, the ripples in the dirty blinds let him know she’d seen them. She answered in a dinner-badge laden, pink housecoat and a cigarette hanging from her rouged lips. A shell of the woman who had raised him, Jerry had made her into his own domesticated housewife.
“Mother.” Said James pushing Paul forward gently.
“What are you doing back?”
“Bringing Paul back.”
“Isn’t he staying with you?”
“He hasn’t even got pyjamas, mum, or a toothbrush.”
“You coulda lent him all that.”
“And” he continued. “You practically dropped him on my doorstep, I have plans, I’m busy, you didn’t even ask if he could stay.”
“You’re his brother, I didn’t think I’d have to ask.”
“Well you do.” He turned to leave. He looked back at Paul but he was already inside. His mum flicked her cigarette onto the ground and slammed the door behind her. “What happened to this family?” He wondered, fifteen years ago he would never, could never imagine living in such a dilapidated part of town in a cardboard house. He had been admittedly snobbish about his comfortable upbringing and wealthy neighbourhood as a teen and tended to look down at those less fortunate although he didn’t like that part of himself very much. Now it was different. He was living in a tiny apartment wrapped up in a horrible nightmare where his life was literally at steak. His parents had worked for everything they had and he expected to get the same from doing nothing, following some pipe dream. At least he could say he was a published author, but that had little meaning to him now. The next bus wouldn’t be here for about ten minutes, he would have to sit tensely in the dark hoping he wouldn’t run into another lunatic. There was another person he could see waiting at the same stop. “Brilliant” he thought, but that guy would most likely be thinking the same thing. He walked over smiling. The man smiled back. He was old-ish, greying hair etcetera, James couldn’t tell much in the garish white street light. He stood away from the man, wishing he’d sat down straight away since it was getting more awkward each second. No, he had to stand now. “Why does there always have to be someone here when you want to be alone?”
They exchanged glances, shuffled awkwardly and remained in silence.
“I don’t bite.”
“What?”
“I said I don’t bite.” The ol
d man was smiling at James.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean come and sit down, take the weight off.”
“Oh, sure.” James sat down next to him. “going far?”
“just to my sister’s, she’s not been too well lately.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“it is one of the things you have to get used to with age, friends and family get ill and die.”
James didn’t know quite what to say. Did the old man want sympathy or was he just trying his hand at philosophy?
“but you don’t have to worry about that, not yet anyway.”
“Are you sure about that, old man?” But he just smiled and nodded. The number 17 came spluttering round the bend and the old man hobbled onto it putting a hand up to James as it pulled away. For the next 10 minutes James switched from twiddling his thumbs to checking the bus times on the electronic screen, the number 25 was late. Adding to that the rain had started again and drummed on the shelter roof. The wind temperature was below freezing and James rubbed his arms and shook his legs vigorously to stay warm. Through the scattered clouds James could count the twinkling stars and could make out faint reds and greens and clusters of galaxies. Then he looked back at the clock, only sixty seconds had passed, he even considered going back to stay with his mum, it would be after ten before he was home. Just as he stood to leave the number 25 came coughing into view and looked as though it was about to expire. The driver never apologise for the delay but they seldom do, James wanted to say something but couldn’t muster up the guts and so shuffled to the back and settled down for 40 minute journey. The window in front of him was broken and let in a cold draught. James slumped in his seat and rested his head on the back. His feet throbbed and his eyes were heavy, he soon fell into a light sleep.
35
The bus shook him awake just moments from his stop. He pushed his thumb on to the button, the ding sounded and bus stopping lit up. He dragged himself off the seat and, still dazed from sleep, felt his way to the front of the bus.
“Thank you.” He said to the Neanderthal in the driving seat who grunted in response. The same stars hung over the city and for a moment James wondered if space was all a lie and the sky was just a hologram made to make us think it was real. Impressed by his train of thought he wondered if he’d finally got his creativity back. “I wonder if that’d make a good story.” He thought. He smiled to himself as he realised he was talking to the old James, the one he wished he still was. A funny, imaginative, quirky James. They were three words he definitely would not use to describe him now. A depressed, guilty and grumpy James was more likely. He found himself snorting at his observation. “What do you think you are, a poet? Stop being so melodramatic.” He rolled his eyes. The long day and extra-long bus journey had caused him to ramble. “All I need now is a hot bath and a massage although the latter seems unlikely.” He fumbled in his pocket until he withdrew the key to his apartment; the inside stunk of pizza and was not a welcoming sight. It needed a major clean up. James opened all of the windows letting in the howling winds that slammed two of them shut. “Jesus!” He shouted “Where did that come from?” The lights started to flicker as the wind shook the building. He decided a bath was off the menu, he couldn’t relax with this noise. He undressed until he was down to his boxers and vest and slipped into his freezing cold bed; but as he lay there he couldn’t keep his eyes closed despite how tired he thought he’d been. He sat up. There was a book on the bedside table, some crime novel, but it wasn’t exactly gripping stuff, he could survive not knowing if Cindy and Mark would work out their relationship issues before prom and even then one was going to be butchered by the Prom-night Slasher, the suspense was not knowing which one. If you can call that suspense, but it read well on the back that’s why he bought it and it was only five dollars. Besides, with his complete lapse of creativity anything would be good for him to read. It wasn’t exactly boosting his energy, he’d rather make toastie and watch some T.V. He went over to his miniature bookcase and scanned it for something more appealing. There were a few horrors, some classic ones that brought back happy memories as a student when he first got into reading. He pulled one out. A collection of short H. P. Lovecraft stories. A thirty pager wouldn’t drain him too much, he could manage a short Lovecraft. He got back into his bed, his feet curling as they reached the chilly bottom, and flipped it open to the contents page. There were some good ones, he chose; ‘Dreams in the Witch-House. ‘
After a couple chapters he was completely out. He woke up at three A.M with drool soaking the pages. He wiped his mouth and checked the time. He could still hear the wind thrashing about wildly and could only imagine the damage it must be doing. He looked out into the street; a few branches littered the road. He slid into the kitchen with his fur slippers and made a pot of coffee. He was out of milk and low sugar. He didn’t mind it black though. It was a good blend and had a sweet subtle taste. “I really should drink this more often.” He thought.” Hot chocolate can get a bit sickly.” “Oh God.” He said. “I’ve become an adult.” He threw his head back and laughed. “You’ve cheered up.” “Yep, looks like I have.” “Probably because Stacey has forgotten about you.” In truth he had partly forgotten about him. “Let’s hope so.” “So you don’t want revenge anymore? You don’t care that Kate’s killer walks free?” “If the chance to get him presents itself I’ll take it, but I’m done making bad decisions and paying the price.” Finally he was talking sense, it was all well and good being valiant but self-preservation was now top priority. He didn’t know if Stacey would ever be back to finish him off, it was clumsy to leave a witness alive, James could easily identify him. If he thought he was already doing time for the murders then that would give him the advantage but James wasn’t so sure he did. He checked the calendar, it was the funeral in ten hours – he counted on his fingers. After one more gulp of coffee he poured the rest down the sink and got back into bed for some more sleep, he’d have to be refreshed for the funeral it would be a disaster if he couldn’t stop yawning. It was light when he next woke up. Already past nine o’ clock. James hardly believed he’d slept so well especially after his mid-night coffee. He only had time to quickly get a shower and eat a plate of beans on toast before it was time to comb his hair, have a shave and try on his old suit. It fit perfectly, he hadn’t gained a pound since he bought it twelve years ago for Paul’s christening. He fastened his best watch, a Hugo Boss, and did a time check. There was over an hour until the funeral started but he wasn’t confident he knew where the crematorium was, he also needed to rent a vehicle. The rental place was ten minutes away by car, double that on foot, and he was short on time. He went down into the lobby as the bus was driving past the glass doors. He ran after it, shouting in vain for it to stop. Fortunately it did at the traffic lights and James reached the bus stop with seconds to spare. He paid for his ticket and sat down at the front since he wanted to be on and off as fast as possible and the bus was practically empty anyway. After ten minutes of tapping his feet and checking his watch (now only forty minutes until it started) he was becoming more anxious. He had never been good at judging time; it was his pilot Father who was the expert time manager. When it came to a stop outside Orville’s garage he power-walked off the bus and over to the desk rooting in his back pocket for his last remaining hundred. He really needed to start earning some cash, Ricky wouldn’t turn a blind eye for much longer and he was using his emergency fund to pay for the car. After a few minutes of ringing the bell and muttering under his breath Jerry Orville finally appeared from behind a makeshift plywood door that led into some cluttered storeroom.
“Yeah?” He barked, his breath smelling of tuna fish.
“What car can you give me for this?” He put the money on the desk.
“A little banged up Ford for one day only.”
“I’ll take it. I’ve rented from you before and I’m kinda in a hurry so, It’s James Jones I signed some paper last time so you s
hould have that around here somewhere.”
Jerry thought of the two cops who were asking for James. He wiped his nose, not sure whether to ask him about it or not.
“OK. But don’t try anything, I want that car back here ASAP.” He threw the keys at him and James caught them, thinking what a weird thing that was to say, then again, he was a weird guy. He opened the door and ducked in. There were a few crumbs on the seat and the floor was dirty but he didn’t care, he just wanted to get there on time. He knew it was a few miles up from the hospital but after that he’d have to follow the road signs. He set off. After a while he came to the first sign, it was brown and simply read; Crematorium it was pointing to the left. James followed and came to a nicer part of town with lush green trees, tall hedges and every garden was immaculate. It was the richer side of town. The one James was drawn to when he moved here thinking the whole city would be like that. Ocean Apartments, who would have guessed it was a scumpit? He shouldn’t have made an offer before actually going to see it. He could see a church steeple in the distance and headed for it, it would be close by. He parked at the church and saw an old woman sitting on a bench in the graveyard. He went over to her to ask for directions.
“Excuse me,” he said, “is the crematorium round here?”
“Just behind the church, right around the corner.”
“Thanks.” He said as he turned to leave.
“Wait a moment.” She said. He turned back to her. “Are you here for Kate Silver?”
He couldn’t help his look of surprise. “Yes, how did you –?”
“It isn’t at the crem, young man. It’s here, me and you are early. Did someone give you wrong information?”
“Oh, I… actually I think I just assumed. How dumb is that?”
“At least I have an excuse, I’m old. You haven’t an excuse for doing dumb things.” She was smiling and James knew she was only teasing him.