Naive Retribution

by Dawson, H A

  The phone was in her hand. She stared at it, as the thought of Luke’s interrogation pounded her head. Suddenly lacking courage, she returned the handset to the charger and tapped the number into her mobile phone. She would use him only as a last resort. In fact, she could do the investigating herself. That way she would remain in control and could stop at any time.

  It was a fine idea, but who other than Kath would know anything regarding the family tragedy? Their family had had few visitors, they had little contact either with their neighbours or the postman. It had to be someone more remotely connected, someone with whom she may have confided, during those early days.

  There was only one person who fit into that category, and that was her ex-boyfriend. Joe Dobbs.

  ‘I’m popping into town to get a take away,’ Jade said, ‘What do you fancy?’

  ‘Curry or Chinese?’

  ‘I don’t mind. You choose.’

  ‘Get a Chinese. You pick. You know the kind of things I like.’

  She buttoned up her coat, grabbed her bag, and strode to the car, determined to maintain a confident posture. Driving at a steady pace, she could snatch a glimpse of anyone watching her movements, on her way she looked into properties, and searched for familiar cars in her rear-view mirror. No one appeared to be interested. Relieved, her taut body de-tensed.

  Pausing at traffic lights, she glimpsed at a group of youths in an alleyway making raucous comments and smoking and swigging beer. It reminded her of her time with Joe, and a tingle of excitement sped through her veins. It would be good to catch up after all these years, and she wondered if they would both feel the same lust that they had felt years before. Driven by an instinct to find out, she swung the car into the right-hand lane and headed along a road, away from the town centre.

  The road to Joe’s old home was quiet, and she made very quick progress, passing a large Victorian industrial building, a racetrack, and a prestigious concert hall. Her adrenalin was surging, and memories of drunken bouts, naughty sex, and drug-induced highs caused her cheeks to flush. Smiling, she turned down the heater and headed into a council estate.

  The layout was familiar, and the sight of the recreation ground quickened her pulse. It had been a preferred spot for their night-time activities, where they had played loud music, smoked weed, and frequently had run-ins with the police. They had been happy times.

  Having parked the car near a local shop, and with her expectations riding high and her body quivering with excitement, she strode along the street. There was no one around, and she felt a little disappointed that she had not received a welcome return. She told herself what the other locals felt was no concern; it was only Joe’s response that mattered.

  The enormity of her quest dawned on her, and her steps faltered. What would she say to him and what was she expecting from their conversation? It would be easy to spend time reminiscing, and laughing about the ventures, but that wasn’t her aim. She must force the conversation onto her family tragedy and then she could ask him what he remembered of the circumstances.

  William’s worrisome mind suddenly prayed on her mind, and as had been the case with Kath, she knew he would accuse Joe of being the stalker. Forcing her mind to his defence, it didn’t take her long to conclude that her ex wouldn’t be tracking her, as the only grievance he may have had, would have been her sudden departure after the birth of their stillborn baby, which she believed would not have bothered him for more than a few days. Jade like Joe, had always regarded their relationship fun and convenient, and initially her pregnancy had been regarded as an inconvenience. Neither of them had ever considered it a lasting relationship. Jade had nothing to fear.

  Her mobile sounded in her pocket. Assuming it was William, and feeling a sudden rush of guilt, she decided to ignore it, but within a few seconds, it sounded again. Feeling obligated, she lifted it free and looked to the message.

  It was from her stalker. ‘How do you know if your decisions are brave or foolish?’ it said.

  Her head jerked to the left and the right. She spun around, checking her rear, and she looked through the house windows. There was a scrawny man with torn jeans and a shiny jacket at the end of the street, but he paid her no attention. She looked again, all directions and more carefully this time, checking in more obscured locations. Still nothing.

  Her throat dried, her pulse quickened, and her feet stopped moving. She thought about the message and stared at the car, and she thought of the drawing of the dead body.

  A child's scream resonated.

  In a garden a distance away, a boy chased after a girl, and he had something in his hand.

  It did not register.

  Instead, for the first time in years, Jade remembered the pained cries of her brothers. They were amidst the flames, out of sight, making a last desperate plea for help. But the searing heat was a barrier she could not conquer, and the flames were insurmountable.

  ‘Jade, Jade,’ they cried in unison, their voices terrified and screechy.

  She was helpless and waited for death to take them. Their clothes were burning, their skin melting, and inside their young, innocent minds, she knew they asked why.

  Ultimately, they had been her responsibility. She had chosen her own life over theirs; she had failed them. She had chosen not to be brave.

  Jade slumped onto the cold, hard concrete. Her head was in her hands and tears streaked her face. Rocking back and forth, she prayed the gift of dissociative amnesia would return.

  Chapter 3

  Joe Dobbs straightened his back and swung open the school door, exiting the building. As usual, the boys were waiting, and the instant they saw him they jeered. It had become a habit, and they threw abusive comments, displaying a sadistic pleasure. Today they called him fudge packer and shirt lifter; it was nothing new.

  He tried to maintain a detached appearance and fought to keep the anguish from seeping into his eyes, but he couldn’t do anything to prevent his awkward gait from becoming more pronounced. It was an abnormality of birth, a result of his left foot turning inwards, and it was more difficult to control when his body tensed.

  As expected, the mimicry started and the guffaws were quick to follow. Joe wanted to silence his jerky movements, and considered slowing to such a pace that his disfigurement was not noticeable. However, regardless of how he walked, he believed they would still poke fun. So instead, and wanting to show confidence and determination, he flung the group a harsh stare and quickened his movements, striding away.

  ‘You can’t even stare at us properly!’ one boy said.

  It was true. He had a squint in his left eye.

  Closing his ears to the howling laughter and derogatory comments, he felt any comments in retaliation would worsen the situation, Joe headed it to his car in silence. The privacy was a welcome relief, but he was not yet out of their influence as the boys loitered on the edge of the car park blocking his way. He politely asked them to move , determined to appear calm and controlled, edged the car forwards. They did make way for his vehicle, but as a last show of power, they banged on the bonnet and made crude gestures with their hands. Then he was free.

  Driving away, Joe glanced through his rear-view mirror to the boys who had started to shuffle out of the school grounds, hands in pockets and legs apart, swaggering. Over the last couple of weeks, their remarks had been intended to be harmful and provoke a negative response, and they had succeeded; a curious and confusing mix of emotions, from anger to betrayal, had been aroused. For years, he had managed to forget. Not any more.

  The door slammed shut. Joe flicked on the kettle, placed a spoonful of coffee and some milk into a mug, and flung his brown, leather satchel onto the table.

  Footsteps sounded. ‘Make us a coffee, will you?’ Dawn asked ‘I’m knackered.’

  He selected another mug from a hook and added coffee, sugar and milk.

  ‘I’ve been on my bloody feet all day, cleaning up after that deviant. I’m going to give him what for when he gets hom
e.’

  ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘What’s he done?’ she screamed. ‘What hasn’t he done? I found mouldy sandwiches and a slimy black banana skin under his bed, and filthy, stinky socks that I had to throw out. I couldn’t move for his crap. He needs a bollocking.’

  ‘He’s just being a typical teenager. It’s hardly a crime being untidy.’

  ‘It is when I have to clear up after him. I’m not his bloody housemaid.’

  Joe passed her a coffee and sat at the table, opposite. She had been far worse than Dylan in her younger days, and had deliberately burnt holes in the carpet with cigarettes just to irritate her parents. But rather than reminding her, his comment would not be welcomed, he let her rant and opened his satchel and pulled free a wodge of inflammatory posters.

  She snatched one from his hand and stared at comments regarding his gay relationship.

  ‘Where did you get these?’ she asked.

  ‘Some kid put them on one of the walls.’

  Dawn reached in her pocket for a cigarette, and held an intense stare as he ripped the sheets of paper. Joe’s youthful experimentation wasn’t something he had every wanted to share with anyone, and he regretted how the events had transpired.

  A couple of weeks previous he had unwittingly humiliated a boy, Jake Matthews, in class, and the boy had taken it to heart. Retaliating, the boy claimed that Joe had molested him, and told one of the other teachers where and when the incident had taken place. What the boy hadn’t realised was that a CCTV camera was monitoring the location he had spoken of, and was forced to admit to his lies. As a result, the molestation incident was over, but that wasn’t the end of the matter. Word slipped free amongst the pupils and Joe’s reputation was in tatters. The situation would have been easy to handle if one of the more malevolent boys hadn’t started digging for information. Due to his persistence, the boy discovered that a father of a friend was an old associate of Joe’s and he had knowledge of his homosexual experience. It was devastated news for Joe, and when he first heard the gossip, his shame was crippling.

  ‘If you can’t take the heat get out of the kitchen,’ Dawn said.

  Joe jerked. ‘It wasn’t my doing.’

  ‘You’re just like that little deviant. Can’t accept responsibility.’

  Joe gawked. He hadn’t asked for any of this.

  ‘If you hadn’t done it in the first place, none of this would have happened.’

  ‘I was sixteen – Dylan’s age. A lot of kids explore at that age.’

  She stared, impassive. He hated her cold glare, and he could never work out what was coming next, whether she supported his comments or not. Not willing to pursue the issue any further, he gathered the torn pieces of paper into a pile, retrieved the waste bin from the corner of the room, and swept them inside.

  ‘Perhaps you should have kept it to yourself then,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, perhaps I should.’

  ‘I have no sympathy.’

  ‘I’m not expecting any.’

  She raised her cigarette to her mouth and inhaled.

  Why he had ever bragged about his encounter with an older man was beyond his comprehension, but in reality, it was an easy question to answer. Joe had had a difficult childhood and was bullied and beaten by his father. The man, his lover, was the perfect escape, and he liked him for who he was, never seeking out opportunities to disgrace him, always seeing positives in his weaknesses and strengths in his insecurities. Over time, Joe had started to believe he was a worthy individual, and his confidence had risen to levels never before encountered.

  For some reason, after the relationship had ended, he had wanted to share his breakthrough with those closest to him, but it was a stupid move. He should not have been driven by his swelling pride; he should have been more cautious and never trusted anyone with his secret. As a result, he was betrayed and publicly humiliated.

  All of his efforts to change from an insecure, self-doubting, bumbling youth to a confident man had been wasted. Devastated, a good friend, Dawn Forrester, came to his aid. With her help, Joe had ensured he could move forward, and eventually he let go of his destructive thoughts.

  He glanced to his wife. It seemed such a long time since she had shown support and understanding. ‘You were sympathetic . . . back then.’

  ‘I wanted to get in your pants! Isn’t that reason enough.’

  ‘So it was all an act?’

  ‘Don’t get righteous on me! We got revenge and you got what you wanted.’

  Joe looked to her, pensive.

  ‘I could never have dreamed it would work out quite as good as it did,’ she continued, smiling. ‘It was very satisfying.’

  ‘Don’t you have regrets?’

  ‘No.’ She flung him a harsh stare. ‘And neither should you.’

  Joe fidgeted with the handle of his mug and his eyes flitted.

  ‘I can’t believe what I’m seeing,’ she said, ‘you’ve gone all soft on me.’

  ‘No one must know what we did.’

  ‘How will anyone find out?’

  A movement through the window caught his eye. Dylan was crossing the road, heading to the house. Their eyes locked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied.

  ‘Think about it. It was a prank. We had intended to come clean.’

  Dylan opened the outer door, passed through the porch, and headed into the kitchen with his dog in tow.

  ‘And don’t try to put the blame on me,’ she continued, ‘if anyone’s at fault it’s yours, and yours alone.’

  Realising her son was at her rear, Dawn jumped from her seat and clipped Dylan’s ear. ‘Don’t you ever creep up on me like that, you little toerag.’

  ‘I didn’t do nothing!’

  ‘And don’t answer back.’

  He scurried past, his head low. ‘Dad knew I was there.’

  Dawn’s eyes darted to Joe. Joe stayed stock-still.

  ‘Don’t you go anywhere,’ Dawn continued. ‘I want a word with you.’

  Dylan stopped and glimpsed to his rear.

  ‘Who do you think I am? Your bloody maid.’

  Dylan lowered him head.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.

  ‘For what?’

  Silence.

  ‘I’ll tell you for what, that room of yours. I’ve spent all day cleaning up after you. It was a bloody disgrace. If you don’t start pulling your weight, you ungrateful little deviant, that dog of yours goes to the knacker’s yard.’

  Dylan’s face dropped, he muttered an apology, and motioned the wagging dog to move his bedroom.

  Dylan flung his schoolbag and coat onto the bedroom floor, and invited the dog onto the bed for attention. The little terrier, Maisie, rolled onto her back and twisted her body in delight, her tail wagging and her jaw loose. She squealed as he ran his fingers though her soft fur, across her stomach and up her ribcage. Then she leapt to her feet, craned her head, and placed a sloppy kiss upon his ear.

  Their reunion was over and the dog satisfied.

  Irritated that his privacy had been invaded, Dylan stared around the room. Magazines were stacked in the corner on the floor, and anything he had printed off from his computer or the Internet had disappeared. He looked to the waste bin. It was empty. She had no right.

  His shoulders slumped and his lips pouted. She was an interfering bitch and should not be delving into his possessions. What he did in his room was his business. It’s not as if he was doing anything immoral, and even if he had been why did it matter if he wasn’t bothering anyone? He needed a little bit of pleasure in his life. She should leave him alone.

  Frowning, he imagined a swift escape. Soon he could leave school and look for a job, and then he would find some accommodation. He would never have to see her again, never had to worry if she had been prying. He glanced to a drawer beneath his computer. At least he had had the commonsense to keep anything important under lock and key. Just to make sure, he tried the handle. It
was locked.

  Satisfied, he changed out of his school clothes, selecting a clean shirt and black trousers from his wardrobe, and spilled the contents of his schoolbag onto the bed. The small key slipped free. He looked to the drawer, pondered the contents, and placed it into a zipped section of his bag. Then he opened his mathematics book and retrieved a pen.

  The door was thrust open. ‘I hope you’re doing you’re homework,’ Dawn said.

  ‘Can’t you knock? I could have been getting changed.’

  She stared, refused to comment.

  ‘My book's open, isn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘None of that tone.’

  Dylan clenched his jaw. She rattled him, and his irritation lingered in his voice. He wanted to be a better person and did not want the world see his weakness, but it was difficult when he was in her company. Somehow, she always brought the worst out in him.

  ‘I got top marks in my computer assignment today,’ he said.

  ‘Stop your boasting. I don’t want to hear it.’

  ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

  ‘It doesn’t make you better than us.’

  She looked him up and down. Dylan averted his gaze and told himself he was better than her, there was no doubt.

  ‘Why can’t you wear jeans like other kids your age? You look like you’ve come from the fifties.’

  ‘I like these pants. They’re comfortable and smart.’

  Dawn puffed out. ‘No wonder no one wants to know you. It’s no fun having a son as a nerd.’

  ‘I’m not a nerd.’

  Her voice softened and she headed towards him. ‘You are a bit.’

  She stroked his head and placed a kiss onto his cheek.

  Cringing, he watched her leave.

  If anyone was to blame for him not having friends it was her. A few weeks ago, he had invited a friend back, but both boys had been subjected to her constant criticism. It was a horrid experience, and the next day, when Nathan announced that they couldn’t be friends and claimed they had nothing in common, it came as no surprise. Dylan knew Nathan spoke lies, as they had gotten along better than anyone else he had ever known, but he was helpless to change his friend's mind. Dylan could not change who his mother was, nor could he avoid her.