Shades of Green

by Ian Woodhead

  She tried to avoid looking at the three empty pizza boxes thrown across Tony’s black marble work surface. God! That had really pissed her off. The boys took it in turns last night to guilt trip her into avoiding cooking and to order out instead, and after all that money they’d spent in the supermarket as well. She wouldn’t mind if they were the ones who were going to don the pissing aprons. What annoyed her even more was that she really enjoyed her pizza, eaten every crumb. Damien was the only one who hadn’t demolished his; he’d claimed he was too tired.

  Jen peeked into the living room; her brother hadn’t noticed she was there yet. She saw that the hateful necklace was still on the coffee table, thank God for that. She’d convinced Tony to take it off after he’d gone bat-shit in the supermarket.

  Jen coughed. The keyboard tapping stopped.

  “Jen?” shouted Tony. “Come on, hurry up, this gets better and better.”

  She padded into the living room and leaned over the back of his computer chair.

  “Well, come on. Spill the beans, what’s got you so excited?”

  He stood up and let her sit down then opened up another window on the PC.

  “Why don’t you see for yourself?” he said.

  The headline screamed ‘DEAD BOY FOUND IN THE WOODS’. She scanned through the article, unsure of what she was supposed to be looking at, until she read Alan’s name.

  After a moment she looked at her brother, horrified. “Jesus fucking Christ!”

  He nodded. “It gets worse.”

  She didn’t want to read anymore and looked away, feeling sick.

  “No bloody wonder Alan’s like he is. I couldn’t imagine the terror he felt when he woke up in the woods, tied up in that sack.”

  Tony didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled up another page.

  “The last one is six years old.” He gazed into her eyes. “Believe me when I say that it was well hidden.”

  Tony moved the mouse and pulled up another page. “Now this was uploaded just a few hours ago.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and spun her back to face the screen. Jen read with growing horror about the dismembered body found in Holburn woods this morning.

  She got out of the chair and headed for the kitchen, Tony grabbed her arm.

  “Leave him be.”

  She shook her head. “We’ve got to tell him.”

  “No. Look, it’s nearly three in the bloody morning, there’s nothing he can do that won’t wait.”

  “So what? We don’t tell him?”

  Tony shrugged and tapped the monitor, “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t know anyway. It’s not like the brothers have been in a great rush to tell us is it.”

  He had a good point there, come to think of it; nobody in Holburn had mentioned the incident even once. She came from London where it was the norm for neighbours to ignore each other. In Holburn, it was considered to be some sort of an evil crime if you didn’t know the comings and goings of everyone on your road. Something like this should have kept the local fishwives gossiping for decades and yet it was like everyone in the town had swept it under the carpet and forgotten about it.

  She picked up Tony’s Dalek cup and passed it to him. “You had better make me a drink before I go back to bed, then.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Pete was so relieved when the town centre sign came into view. He relaxed his iron-like grip on his steering wheel and tried to relax.

  But not too much, the last thing he needed right now was for his concentration to slip again. He turned into the supermarket car park and nudged his car into the usual space.

  Once the engine was off, he put his head back and let out a deep sigh. Jesus, he was going to walk home after work today, he didn’t think he’d be able to face driving back tonight. Just how close had he been to hitting those kids? If his phone hadn’t gone off at that precise moment, he would have painted that zebra crossing crimson.

  He should have stayed in bed this morning, at least tried to get some sleep, but that fucking dream just wouldn’t leave him. Good God, even the four-pack of lager he’d forced down his neck at five this morning couldn’t chase away the memories. He had spent another hour turning the spare bedroom upside down, looking for an old box of sleeping tablets that his dear ex-wife had forgotten to pick up. Christ knew what the neighbours must have thought.

  He counted to three then removed both hands from the steering wheel, trying to control the shakes that wracked his body. It took another few minutes before he dared unbuckle the seatbelt and climb out of the car. Pete rested his forehead against the cool metal roof after closing the door.

  He couldn’t move just yet as his poor stomach was still rolling about. He suspected the lager; he also suspected that if he’d had more than the four cans, there was a bloody good chance that he wouldn’t have stopped. He wished the fridge had been overflowing with the bloody stuff now, he may have fallen into a drunken stupor - perhaps even choked on his own vomit - but at least he wouldn’t have been in charge of a one ton killing machine this morning.

  He hoped those kids were okay. He should have stopped and checked instead of driving off like a frightened rabbit.

  Pete yawned, his jaw almost dislocating.

  “Fantastic.” he muttered. “Just bloody fantastic. Now I’m tired.”

  He hated Sunday. He never used to open on a Sunday until that tosser took over. He couldn’t see the point. Everybody in Holburn went to the local car boot sale, stormed the supermarket then finished off the day by drinking the pubs dry.

  Perhaps he could catch some shut eye in the shop. He’d only had one customer all day last week; it wouldn’t take two minutes to knock up a sign saying ‘gone for dinner’ There was no chance that Mr. Andrew Grayson would show up today, that fat bastard probably wouldn’t fall out of bed until sometime this afternoon after sleeping off a night of heavy drinking and fighting.

  He’d have to have something to calm his nerves first though.

  Pete walked out of the car park and in the general direction of the market. Despite being shut to the public, Margaret’s café still opened on a Sunday for the traders. He didn’t think a couple of cups of her caffeine infused brown muck would stop him from his snooze.

  Was his car still unlocked? For the life of him, he couldn’t remember. Not that he was that worried, nobody in their right mind would want to steal that piece of crap. Even his own daughter told him to pick her up on the bus.

  Still, it was his piece of crap and he’d be devastated if it went missing, so he spun around and hurried back just to be sure.

  Pete ventured back into the car park, looking over at the huge supermarket building, trying to remember what time they opened on a Sunday. He was sure that they’d have something to help him sleep. Bollocks to opening up the shop. He could stay in the café till they opened then piss off back home. Now that sounded like a better idea. They’d have a poster displayed in the window specifying the opening times.

  When his gaze settled on the store entrance his eyes snapped open. Oh my God!

  There was someone or something, on the roof, perched on all fours staring back at him.

  Jesus! What the fuck was it? The creature’s blazing crimson eyes drilled into his head. It felt like his very soul was being sucked out of him. Pete tried to rip his gaze away, he tried to move but he was glued to the floor.

  It reared back then hissed at him before leaping up onto the roof of the supermarket and disappearing. Pete blinked a few times before turning his head and spewing up over the bonnet of his car. He sank to the floor, wiping his mouth. Oh Christ, what was going on, was he still dreaming?

  Lumps of brown vomit dripped off the wheel arch and splattered by his hand. Pete jerked back, meaning to get into his car and getting the fuck out of here when his body was eclipsed by a large shadow.

  Pete screamed and scuttled back, his hand slipping in the warm vomit.

  “Jesus, Pete! It’s me for crying out loud.” The shadow kneeled down, placing his han
d on Pete’s shoulders, massaging them.

  “It’s Dave. Come on man, snap out of it.”

  He stared into his friend’s anxious face expecting his flesh to fall off at any moment. Dave lifted him off the floor then handed him a hanky. “Are you ok?”

  Pete nodded.

  “Are you sure? It looked like you went down with a bang just then; do you want me to call an ambulance?”

  He shook his head, wiping his hand clean.

  “You can keep the hanky.” Dave said.

  Pete looked over the roof of the supermarket, fearing that it would come back at any minute. He grabbed his friend’s arm and guided him onto the high street.

  “Come on, I’ll buy you a coffee at Margaret’s.”

  “What about your car?”

  At this moment in time, he couldn’t give a toss about his bloody car. He hadn’t even checked to see if it was locked. He looked back at the lake of crud cooking in the morning sun and doubted anybody would what to steal that.

  Pete stirred in yet another spoonful of sugar; he kept his eyes glued to the steaming brown sludge inside the chipped cup, not wishing to meet Dave’s gaze. His friend’s face had been full of questions, and knowing Dave, he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had answers. He took a sip and grimaced. Even with six sugars in, it still tasted bloody horrible.

  “Maybe you need more sugar?”

  Pete took another sip and this time, didn’t pull a face. “It’s fine,” he lied.

  Dave tapped the back of Pete’s hand. “Are you going to tell me what the matter is or do I have to beat you?”

  Despite knowing Dave was joking, Pete still shuddered. Finally, he gazed into Dave’s face and attempted to pull a reassuring smile. He doubted Dave would have allowed Andrew to walk all over him; the old man opposite him was definitely a figure of authority. It’s strange how similar in build the two men were, except whereas Andrew’s screwed up features seemed to show nothing but resentment and hate, Dave’s hawkish appearance made him look stern and aloof, but he treated Pete with consideration.

  “We could have gone to that new café, you know.”

  Dave quickly glanced over at Margaret. Pete presumed he didn’t want her to think that he was having traitorous thoughts.

  “Our Sandra took me last week, it’s a bit pricey but it tastes far better than this stuff.”

  Pete drank the coffee down and slammed it on the table.

  “Can you get me another one Dave?” He said, grinning, “And a couple of biscuits to take the taste away.”

  Pete waited for Dave to get to the counter. “Hey, Margaret, Dave says that new place will ruin you.”

  “Bollocks, I didn’t say that!”

  Margaret smiled at Dave. “Take no notice deary.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “None of my regulars would go to that horrid place.”

  She lifted a sugar bowl up into the air. “Their sugar is wrapped in little pieces of paper. Have you heard anything so ridiculous in your life?”

  Pete dug out a large brown lump sitting in the middle of his own sugar bowl and wondered just what century Margaret thought she was living in.

  Dave slopped his coffee down and threw a packet of digestives at him.

  “The skin on your cheek is rotting, Dave.”

  “Shut your face.” he looked back at her, who was busy wiping down her counter. “What did you go and do a thing like that for?”

  “Sit down Dave. You know you love it when the pretty girls show you a good time.”

  He picked up the brown sugar lump and threw it at Pete. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  Pete examined his left hand; he could still feel the nettle stings from the dream.

  “How’s Casper?” he blurted.

  “Asleep in his bed or at least he was when I left. Why?”

  “What about your kitchen?” he leaned over the table, almost knocking his cup over. “Have you cleaned it up?” he whispered.

  “What? Look, what’s this about? Why the random questions?” Dave was getting all flustered and confused. The rising colour in his cheeks almost matched the crimson lipstick mark on his cheek. Pete sat back and opened the biscuit packet. He took a bite before continuing.

  “I had a horrible nightmare last night, Dave”

  Dave almost choked on his coffee; he put the cup down and tried not to smirk. “Is this what this is all about? You having a bad dream. Good Lord man, I’ve been psyching myself up for you to tell me you have a terminal disease or something!”

  “You don’t get it, do you? This was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, it felt real.” He rubbed his eyes, “It feels like a true memory. I thought I was losing my mind.”

  “What you need, my friend is a good night’s sleep. Believe me, pal, I know what it’s like when the sandman forgets who you are.”

  He wished he hadn’t opened his bloody mouth now. He forgot that Dave had suffered from insomnia for most of his adult life. There was no way he was going to get him to understand.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said. Not believing a word he was saying.

  “And drinking this swamp water won’t do you any good either.” Dave stood up. “Come on, best get off now anyway. The place is filling up, I can’t hear myself think.”

  Was that a joke? Apart from some scruffy tramp in the corner, the place was deserted.

  The tramp doffed his hat, Pete looked away embarrassed. He scraped back his chair and finished off his lukewarm drink.

  “Now then, Ernest, don’t you go bothering my customers.”

  Pete turned around and came face to face with him.

  “Aren’t you going to say hello?”

  He tried to step back but the tramp had hold of his elbow. Pete looked back at Dave. He sensed something was wrong and hurried over. The tramp let his elbow go then grinned at Dave. The fetid stench escaping from his mouth almost made Pete throw up again.

  “Spare some change for a cuppa guv?”

  “Are you alright, Pete?”

  Pete nodded. Dave turned to the tramp.

  “Come on you, bugger off. Go play in the road or something.”

  The tramp squeezed past Pete, in a move made to look almost sexual. “You mind the boy. He’ll be the death of you”

  Pete could have sworn that his mouth didn’t move. He didn’t think the others had heard him speak.

  He left the café without looking back. Dave marched over to the counter.

  “Why did you let that smelly bastard in for?”

  She shrugged and carried on wiping the top. Pete wondered how she hadn’t managed to rub the pattern off the counter yet.

  “Who, Ernest? Oh he’s harmless enough, there’s nothing wrong in showing a bit of charity.”

  Pete watched him liberate a couple of apples when he shuffled past the fruit stall, he then went back picked up a banana and ate it in front of the stall holder, he didn’t even notice.

  “You can’t discriminate against people nowadays Dave, you should know that. Besides, it’s not his fault he’s fallen on hard times.”

  “You make it sound like you know him.”

  Margaret seemed surprised at Pete’s question. “Of course I know him and so does your friend here.”

  “I’ve never seen him before in my life!” Dave snapped.

  She seemed taken aback by his sudden anger. “Is your memory playing up sweetie? We all went to school together.”

  “I’ve never seen him before” he repeated. He looked at Pete almost beseechingly. The lip mark was now paler than the rest of his face. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

  Pete hurried to catch his friend. Dave was lying, he knew the tramp, it was written all over his face.

  “Hold on a minute.” he said. “I just need to stop by the shop first, it won’t take a minute.”

  “What the hell for?”

  He almost told him that he wanted to check to see if he hadn’t been burgled but he bit his lips. “I just want to se
e if the puppies are ok.” He said quickly. God, what a stupid thing to say, he didn’t even have any puppies.

  Dave was too wrapped up in his own little anger bubble to spot the lie.

  He stormed out of the market with Pete struggling to keep up. Oh this was getting stupid, what the bloody hell was he doing? He suspected that he was going after that tramp.

  “Oi! Will you fucking wait up?” he shouted. He knew all the market traders were staring at him, he could feel their eyes on his back but he didn’t really care.

  Dave did indeed stop in mid stride; he turned around and stormed over, his face bursting with repressed fury.

  “Dave?”

  He stopped before him; he looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel. Then his eyes seemed to lose focus and the face underwent a kaleidoscope of expressions before settling on bafflement.

  “Come on then, Pete we don’t want those pups to suffer,” he said, talking as is nothing had happened.