Mr Todd's Reckoning

by Iain Maitland

  I would most likely drop the knife as I brought it round from behind.

  Or he would see it. And know. And be quicker than me, drawing his own knife, and I would look down to see it sticking in my stomach as he pushed by me into the bungalow.

  “It’s an old air-raid shelter that’s been there since the war. We never knocked it down and filled it in. So it just sits there, really.”

  “I’ll fill it in for you, piece of piss, that.”

  (For God’s sake. Just go.)

  “No,” I reply. “You’d need a digger and we can’t get it round the back. The drive’s too narrow.”

  (I need to get him to go because, at some point, Josie will think he must have left and will appear suddenly at the kitchen door.)

  “No,” he says (“Naa-aah”). “Me and my brother could do that in a couple of days with wheelbarrows.”

  (I don’t know what to say to this stupidity, honestly I don’t.)

  “I’d rather not, not now. Thank you all the same. I’m not well. Need my peace and quiet… please.”

  (Go now, right now, before Josie appears.)

  He shrugs as if to say “Your loss, m-a-a-ate” and turns to the gate.

  As he opens it, he stops and reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small card, which he hands to me. It has his name and mobile phone number on it along with the phrase, ‘Building Servces’. The ‘i’ is missing.

  “If you see the bitch, text me.”

  I nod, pleased to see him leave.

  “There’s a reward. In cash.”

  I nod again, moving him towards the drive and away.

  “The slut stole almost ten grand in cash from me last week and I want it back.”

  SATURDAY 29 JULY, 3.43PM

  The three of us are now back in the living room. I know there is, at the back of the cupboard, a box of draught pieces and a board and so I take these out, thinking it might be a good way to keep the child busy and distract them both from wanting to play hide-and-seek. Josie starts explaining to the child – very, very slowly – how to play draughts. I sit quietly, patiently, with a gentle and encouraging smile on my face.

  Josie and the child sit on one side of the board on the floor.

  I am on the other.

  It is going to be hard going I think. Very hard indeed. With this difficult child.

  It begins well enough with the child seeming to understand how to play the game, nodding and smiling as Josie explains what’s what one more time. The child has a little go herself in a simple game of just a few pieces with Josie. She ‘wins’ and is then ready to play a proper game against me.

  So we start, the child and I, and I am playing properly for there is no point in playing any game unless you try to win – Monopoly, Cluedo, KerPlunk, whatever. I am not a believer in letting children ‘win’ all of the time. It is one of the (very many) reasons why children turn out to be so self-obsessed and have such issues with mental health these days; they all think they are the centre of the universe and cannot handle it when they find out they are just a tiny speck of nothing.

  Josie asks about Leon and what he said. “Did he suspect?”

  I summarise what happened. She gives me an admiring look. I do not mention the stolen money but I notice, for the first time, that Josie keeps her bag close to her even when she does not need it.

  I idly wonder what I would do with £10,000 in cash, a nice little windfall, that.

  The child doesn’t understand how to play draughts at all and is getting angry very quickly. She has quite a temper. I do not say anything and just sit here calm and relaxed as ever as she huffs and puffs as I push my pieces about, and scowls whenever I take one or more of her pieces off the board. She folds her arms theatrically.

  Josie leans forward and says, to the child, that they should play as a team against me. “Team Lily,” she says, “will beat Grandad!” The child seems to like this idea and looks at me with a know-all smirk that I would rather like to wipe off her face. But I press on to win the game. It will teach her an important lesson in life.

  “What will he do next?” I ask, and mouth “Leon” as Josie looks at me.

  “Never give up,” she replies. “He’ll break into our home soon, if he hasn’t already. Sitting there in the dark all night, waiting for us to come back. Stewing in his own juices, getting angrier.”

  “What will you do then? About clothes? You can’t stay here forever,” I add, as an afterthought.

  She thinks for a moment as she points to a draught and shows the child where to move it. “I’ve a little money. Maybe tomorrow, you could drive me somewhere, Colchester perhaps, and I can buy some clothes to keep us going.”

  “You’ve nowhere else to go?” I ask as I move a draught to counter Josie. I don’t know why I say it.

  “We feel safe here because no one knows we are here.” She looks at me and smiles and then adds, “Thank you… once Adey is back we will find somewhere else to live. Maybe Bury or Colchester. Somewhere further out where we won’t bump into Leon.”

  The child moves a piece, nonsensically.

  I do not reproach her.

  Just jump the piece and take it. The child looks at me angrily.

  “It’s looking nice out again,” says Josie, suddenly turning her head to look towards the garden. “And drying out. I don’t think it’s going to be as hot as it was. Just warm. For the rest of the summer. We can have picnics!”

  I nod. I know where this is going.

  “When we’ve finished this,” she says, “we must play that game of hide-and-seek.” She drops her voice and almost mouths the last three words but the child hears her and stands up, kicking the board away with her foot.

  “Lily!” admonishes Josie, but laughing, as if it is the funniest thing in the world.

  The child stands there, with her excited beaming face, clapping her hands.

  I am on my knees, picking up the pieces, putting them into the box, folding the board, tucking everything away in the cupboard. Deciding what to do.

  The three of us now stand in the living room, facing each other. Josie is smiling and happy and I cannot help but feel a surge of warmth for her. The ridiculous child is clutching herself. Between the legs. Nervous with excitement. I am standing there, a moment of quiet desperation, my thoughts churning over in my mind. Damned, whatever I do.

  “I’ll just take Lily to the toilet,” says Josie, breaking my thoughts.

  I follow them out, watching as they go into the bathroom, shutting the door behind them. Walk into my bedroom. To gather my thoughts. To bring myself to do what has to be done.

  I gaze out of the window, lost in my mind for the moment. I know I should really try to get them to go. But, with Leon out there, they won’t. And they will want to stay until Adrian returns. And he’s never coming back. If I tell them he’s stopped in Manchester or wherever, met someone else, what then? They might want to stay a little longer but I don’t think I want them to. Not now. I just want to be left alone. In peace. In safety.

  But then there’s this £10,000 in cash.

  I need money and I could drip out that sort of sum for quite some time.

  You know, it might make all the difference to my life.

  I turn, as I hear Josie come up behind me. Unexpectedly, she rests her chin on my left shoulder and I tense for a second as I can smell her scent and feel her close to me. I imagine her breasts brushing against my back. And then I relax, come close to enjoying the moment. I could almost turn and hug her. I could kiss her. But I know that if I turn, I will be in love with her forever and won’t be able to do what I must do.

  We stand there like that in silence for what must be 20 to 30 seconds.

  I hear her sigh and I can smell her sweet breath. I wait for her arms to slip around me as if we were lovers. And, if she does that, I know I will be doomed.

  She goes to speak but then stops and points out of the window. Somehow, I had not noticed the two women, one about 50, the other maybe 25, t
aping an A4 sheet of paper to a lamp post a little way down on the other side of the road.

  It is his wife and daughter, I believe. Putting up ‘Missing’ posters for him.

  We watch as they move to the next lamp post, still over the road but a little closer, and start taping a sheet of paper to it.

  And I wonder how long it will be until they get to the lamp post just outside here and whether they’ll know the significance of the bungalow in front of them. And what will happen if they do.

  SATURDAY 29 JULY, 4.09PM

  I contemplate the two women, one older, one younger, but clearly mother and daughter, working together with their envelopes and posters and sticky tape. They are slow and patient – methodical, even – in what they are doing.

  There is a grim kind of fascination watching them work.

  I am in the eye of the storm, the maelstrom all around me.

  I will, at any point, be swept away by it all.

  Slim and blonde and tidy in their blue jeans and white T-shirts; hairdressers or beauty therapists by the look of them. Studying them, I am not sure what he saw in her, dumpy and old before her time. I think it must have been love, whatever that might be.

  “Why do you think he left the car here?” asks Josie suddenly, stepping back from me. “Of all places. He must have been coming here, surely?”

  I turn my head slightly towards her and shrug with calm indifference. “I don’t know. I think she must have come back and fetched him.”

  “Why, though? Why didn’t he drive to the station to get a train to Manchester… or drive himself up? Why just abandon a nice car like that?” A pause before she adds, “It doesn’t make sense… and why has he not used any money? The police said.”

  I shrug again, realising she is thinking things over. Believing it all automatically at first. Now trying to make sense of my nonsensical story. Soon to have doubts. And then, eventually, piecing it all together. The truth of the matter.

  The two women finish taping a poster to the lamp post over the way. They step forward as an old man walking his poodle goes by them. They hand him a poster. He takes it reluctantly. Looks down at it. Looks up at them. They seem to be pleading with him. He shakes his head a little, tries to hand the poster back. Moves by them. I observe and assess as they talk between themselves for a moment, deciding what to do next.

  I feel that these women are relentless.

  That they will go on and on.

  Until they have uncovered the truth.

  Josie starts talking again. “Will Adey be with them, do you think? Your wife and Philip?” (Philip!)

  I shake my head, shrug, as if to say, I don’t know. I just want her to shut up.

  I need to think about these women and what they are going to do. They worry me.

  “He’ll call tonight, Adey, I know he will. It’s not like him to go off so suddenly without a word… saying goodbye. He’s… well… a bit clingy, actually. I’ll ask him then… I will ask him if Philip will at least contact his wife. She must be beside herself with worry.”

  I nod my reply, as if agreeing.

  Distracted by her incessant babbling.

  I need to keep a close eye on what’s going on outside.

  The two women are now moving up the road, on the other side, towards the next lamp post. I imagine they have posted these wretched posters from the bottom of the hill and are now going to the top, one lamp post after another.

  They will then cross over and come down this side of the road, working their way back to the bottom across from where they started. Then, all being well, they will go away and leave me in peace.

  That’s what I hope. And pray.

  I just need them to be gone.

  Away from here as soon as possible.

  “When will she come back, do you think? For the bungalow? For her half-share?” Josie prattles on, seeming to think she can say anything, this woman. That she has the right to ask these personal questions. On and on. Whatever comes into her mind. It angers me, but I stay calm as I reply.

  “They won’t come back,” I say steadily, “not now they’re together. It’s mine. This bungalow. It’s all paid for.”

  I think for a moment and then continue.

  “I’m just fine. I get a small pension, paid into my bank account, enough to tick over.” I pat my pocket and add, “I need to get some cash out of the ATM later. We could have fish and chips if you like.”

  I then think a little longer and finish my words.

  “I’m just going to enjoy the rest of my days here. I’m going to see out my time quietly… with my books and papers… writing my letters and…”

  “How can you be sure she won’t come back?” she interrupts, laughing and then adds, “she’ll want some money from the bungalow… once they’ve run out.”

  I don’t answer her. Ignore her.

  Instead, I carry on looking out of the window.

  Watch what is happening there.

  I see the next-door neighbour, the young trollop with the screaming girls, walking up from the right, the girls following behind her. She stops as she gets near to my gate and puts down the bags she is carrying. She stands upright for a second, then arches her back before saying something to the girls and bending forward to lift the heavy bags again.

  I watch the younger Rennie woman, who has taken the envelope full of posters and the tape and is walking up the other side, moving out of sight as she continues taping posters to the lamp posts. She will reappear in five, ten minutes.

  I note the older woman taking a handful of posters out of the envelope. She is now crossing the road and is approaching the next-door neighbour, who puts down her bags again to exchange greetings. I can imagine what they are saying to each other.

  The trollop studies the poster. Thinks for a moment. Shakes her head.

  The older woman looks up and down the road. Asks another question.

  The trollop nods her reply. Then turns and points to my bungalow.

  The older woman looks across as I step back sharply from the window. Josie stands there unmoving and says to me, “She’s seen us.” As if I didn’t know. There are more words between the trollop and the old woman and then the trollop turns to go with her children following along behind.

  The older woman waits until they have gone, glancing towards us once or twice as she does, and then looks back up the road where the younger woman has disappeared out of sight. She tucks the posters under her arm and reaches to take a mobile phone out of her pocket.

  “Do you think she’s calling the police?” I ask Josie, speaking as slowly and as calmly as I can.

  Josie laughs. “Why would she do that?” I’m not sure what to say.

  “Hang on,” she replies, “let me go and talk to her.” And, before I can stop her, she is out of the room, down the corridor and at the front door.

  “Hello…” she calls out, “… Mrs Rennie?”

  The woman, about to start pressing buttons on the mobile phone, looks up and I can see her mouth the word “Yes?”

  Now hell and fury is walking up the path and into my bungalow.

  SATURDAY 29 JULY, 4.16PM

  “Mr Todd?” she asks as I move and stand in the hallway facing her as she comes through the porch.

  Josie steps to one side.

  “Yes,” I reply, as calm and as mannered as I can be before the onslaught.

  She moves forward, three, four, five paces, and stops just in front of me. I can barely breathe. Am holding my breath. Then she says, “I’m Carol… Philip’s wife,” and she puts her arms around my back and pulls me towards her in a hug, her face next to mine, almost touching.

  I don’t know what to do.

  An unexpected turn of events.

  I can feel her body close to mine, just the slightest space between us.

  “There, there,” I mumble, not sure what else I should be saying. “It’s okay, come and sit down.”

  We move, the three of us, into the living room and Josie takes a
n armchair while the woman and I sit next to each other on the sofa. She puts the posters on the carpet and then reaches out and holds my hand, pulling me towards her again for another embrace. She struggles with her composure. I feel hot and flustered by this sudden turn of events. I am not sure what to do. Eventually she sits back, reaches for a tissue from her pocket and wipes her face and nose.

  “You poor man,” she says. “I know how you feel.”

  I nod, twist my mouth a little as if I am close to shedding tears.

  “I’d wanted to come and see you… once I heard… about Philip… and your wife. Di, one of the teaching assistants, knew you lived here but I wasn’t sure which one it was… your neighbour pointed out where you lived.”

  “It’s been a great shock,” I manage to say in a crackling voice. “Very upsetting. To have gone off like that.”

  “This isn’t the first time,” she says, her head slightly bowed. “He did something like this a few years ago. When he worked at his last place… with someone there. A younger model.”

  I nod, and smile slightly, encouraging her to go on.

  “He worked at… well, it doesn’t matter. He said it was a midlife crisis. I agreed to take him back if he sorted… well anyway, that’s how he came to be working at the school… as a teaching assistant.”

  “I see,” I add, not really sure what else to say.

  “He wanted a complete break. A fresh start. He could have done better. He was qualified. Well qualified. But it was what he wanted to do, work with young children. To inspire them.” She laughs and goes on, “We’ve struggled you know, with money. Quite a step down, money-wise. And now he’s gone. But he’ll be back when her money runs out, you watch.”

  Josie and I look at each other.

  She looks puzzled. At the woman’s assumption that my wife was a rich woman. Had money. That they are living on that.

  She goes to speak but stops at the slight shake of my head.