Naive Retribution

by Dawson, H A

  ‘Imogen and Crystal presented me with a gift the other day for being a new dad. It was a nappy changing kit - there was a facemask, rubber gloves and room deodorisers, as well as a few other stuff. It was very funny . . . just the kind of thing Imogen would do.’

  ‘Sounds a bit childish.’

  Luke lowered his gaze. ‘I thought it was rather touching.’

  ‘Who’s Crystal?’

  Luke thrust a piece of egg into his mouth.

  She stared, waiting.

  ‘Just a old friend.’

  ‘A girlfriend?’

  ‘Yes . . . she was.’

  Sarah carried on eating, keeping a straight face. Not wanting to allow her an opportunity to ask questions, he started to babble about the gift. Her expression was one of disinterest and disdain, so he swallowed his words and tried to think of something more impressive to say.

  ‘Are Crystal and Imogen friends?’

  ‘I suppose they are.’

  There was a sudden realisation in her eyes as she smiled. It was disconcerting. Having thrust the remaining egg into his mouth, he stood up and turned towards Ava.

  ‘Don’t,’ she said.

  ‘I just want to look at her.’

  ‘No you don’t, you want to cuddle her.’

  ‘And why’s that so bad?’

  Disgruntled, Sarah thrust back the chair causing it to scrape against the floor, stood up, and stooped to gather the dirty crockery.

  ‘I hardly get to see her.’

  ‘You see her every day.’

  ‘Only for a short while,’ Luke said.

  ‘Just let her sleep, will you? I haven’t the energy to argue.’

  She was tired. It was obvious. Reluctantly, he did as he was told.

  ‘Hold me.’

  He weaved around the table and she sank into his arms. She seemed vulnerable, like a little girl. It was out of character.

  ‘I do love you,’ she said.

  ‘I know. I only want to make your life easier. What can I do to help?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Sarah pulled free and sank onto the hard-backed chair. ‘I’m knackered. I need to sleep.’

  Crouching down, he clasped her cool, coarse hand and withheld his suggestion to stay over. She was a determined woman and his efforts had already proven futile. He needed another plan and searched her expression for a suggestion. Catching his gaze, she heaved a sigh. Her eyes were unusually watery, and grey pouches had formed beneath, extending to the lines on her ashen face.

  ‘Don’t be angry with me,’ Sarah said.

  ‘Why would I be?’

  ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

  Her expression was serious and his heart skipped a beat.

  ‘There’s a function to do with work in a few days. I wasn’t going to go, but I decided a night out would do me good.’

  ‘When is it?’

  ‘Saturday, but Luke,’ she hesitated, catching her breath, ‘I’ve asked a colleague to accompany me. I was hoping you’d look after Ava.’

  ‘Sure.’ His eyes danced; he would have an entire evening alone with his beautiful daughter.

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  ‘Of course not. I love being with Ava.’

  ‘No, I mean about me taking someone else. You wouldn’t know anyone. I thought you’d be bored. It just seemed like a better option.’

  ‘That’s fine. You should take whoever you feel the most comfortable with.’

  She pressed her fist against her face, hiding her expression.

  ‘In fact why don’t I have her for the night? Then you won’t be worried about getting back.’

  ‘You’d do that?’

  ‘Of course. Anything for you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She kissed his hand. ‘I don’t deserve you.’

  Luke smiled. ‘Of course you do.’

  The radio was a soothing tinkle in the background as Luke edged through the city streets to his office. It was approaching ten o’clock, and the early rush into the centre had ended. It improved his journey to work, and he did not have to endure the usual stresses and strains of battling with the frantic workers. The only problem he foresaw was finding a parking place.

  He was right; the road outside his office was taken. He carried along the street, heading to the main highway, and weaved in and out of the side streets, searching for a gap. He was away from the centre and traversing the streets next to the town houses and flats, but there was little available and his frustrations were rising. Just as he was losing hope, he spotted a gap in between the cars. It was a tight fit, but after careful manoeuvring, he managed to park. He switched off the engine, checked the rear seat for any stray objects that should be removed from view, and exited the car.

  In an almost cloudless sky, the sun beat down, caressing his face. The office was a couple of blocks away, with his thoughts still on his daughter, he arrived in quick time. The office phone rang just as he arrived.

  Stepping through the reception area and with his head low, he listened to Imogen’s bubbly tones as she chatted on the phone. It didn’t sound as though she was speaking to a client, but he never could tell, and remembered when he had once criticised her lively manner, believing it to be a friend. She swiftly put him in his place, telling him the call was in fact related to a case, and due to her effervescence, she had acquired key information. Not willing to be put in a similar situation, he kept his back turned and prepared his mug for a coffee. Within seconds, she ended the call.

  ‘Morning Luke, good breakfast with Sarah?’

  He spun around with a smile upon his face, but upon seeing her outfit, his jaw dropped. She was wearing a loose-fitting grey dress with a high neckline, nothing like what she would normally wear, and it was out of character.

  ‘Well?’ she persisted.

  ‘I . . . er . . . yes. Ava played up last night so Sarah was a bit tired.’

  Imogen nodded and switched documents on her computer, bringing up something to do with the Jade Horton case.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Why would it be?’

  ‘You . . . you look different.’

  ‘Different better or different worse?’

  The kettle boiled. He turned his back and poured the water in his mug. ‘Just different.’

  ‘I thought this dress was more appropriate for work. What do you think?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

  He headed around the desk and looked to out of her eye corner. She seemed okay. Her face had a healthy glow, and there were no signs she was upset by anything. He placed his coffee on a mat and sat on his swivel chair.

  ‘I can’t have you ogling me all day,’ she said, ‘it’s not right.’

  ‘I don’t . . . I wouldn’t.’

  He caught her eye. She raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘Have I made you uncomfortable? I never meant-’

  ‘Chill! I’m joking.’

  Luke stared. She didn’t sound as if she was joking; she looked serious. He would have to watch what he was doing in future. His wandering eyes could land him in all kinds of trouble.

  ‘Honestly Luke, you’re so gullible. Now, tell me about Ava. Was she happy to see you?’

  ‘She was. She stopped crying as soon as she saw me. Sarah thinks I’m a natural.’

  ‘Makes a change! I thought you normally had the opposite effect on women.’

  ‘Ha ha. Very funny.’

  ‘Just you wait until she’s older, she’ll have you wrapped around her little finger.’

  ‘Like all women do.’

  Imogen laughed. ‘You said it.’

  ‘I’m going to be looking after her at the weekend,’ he said. ‘Sarah is going to a works do.’

  ‘What kind of do?’

  ‘A dinner and awards ceremony. She’s going with someone from work.’

  ‘Why isn’t she taking you?’

  Luke selected his email program from the list of icons, and shuffled to
his right, hiding from her curious stare. ‘I won’t know anyone.’

  ‘So? You’re capable of mixing aren’t you?’

  ‘It’s not my thing. I’d prefer to stay at home and be with Ava.’

  Unconvinced, Imogen held a puzzled expression.

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘Whatever you say.’

  Trying to retain a nonchalant expression, Luke processed his emails. Her words had aroused his curiosity and it had sparked an unsettling feeling regarding Sarah’s motives. Did it matter if she didn’t want him there? Did it mean she cared any less? He decided not, reasoning that he was happy not to attend, and reminding himself of her colleagues’ unappealing characteristics and their over-powering self-important behaviour.

  ‘We trust each other,’ Luke said, ‘we have a mature relationship.’

  Imogen folded her arms and raised her eyebrows.

  ‘It’s true. Unlike you and Mark, Sarah and I can have different interests and still be there for each other.’

  ‘That must be nice.’

  Noting her restrained response, Luke passed her a questioning gaze. She appeared not to notice, and looking troubled, tapped something into her computer. After a few moments, she sprung into life.

  ‘Now, about the Jade Horton case, do you want the good news or the bad news?’

  He straightened his back and focused his thoughts. ‘Go on.’

  ‘The bad news first then. Jade wants to end the contract.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I couldn’t talk her out of it.’

  Irritated, he twiddled a pencil between his fingers. ‘So what’s the good news?’

  ‘You’ll like this. I’ve found out who Kath saw Jade hanging around with after the tragedy.’

  ‘You mean the lad who helped the gardener?’

  She grinned, ‘that’s right.’

  ‘Yesterday afternoon, when I roamed the streets, I spoke to Charles Washburne. Can you believe it, he still works in the area?’ She paused waiting a response. ‘Anyway, he remembered the lad. His name’s Joe Dobbs.’

  Luke wrote the name on a scribbling pad. ‘Have you tracked him down?’

  ‘I have. I’ve found quite a bit about him.’

  ‘Really?’

  Imogen nodded. ‘You’ll like what I’ve found, unless you’re going to do as Jade says and end it all.’

  ‘When have you known me to abandon a case?’

  ‘Cool, because I’ve already told William what’s happened. He gave me the go ahead.’

  ‘That’s a bit presumptuous,’ he said smiling.

  ‘I know you only too well.’

  He grinned. He loved her efficiency.

  Chapter 23

  Dylan slung his back over his shoulder, stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets, and tucked in behind a group of girls heading towards the school doors. Taking little steps in their shiny black shoes, their movement was unhurried, irritatingly so. He considered barging past, but up ahead, leaning against the corridor wall, were a group of antagonistic boys, and they were already gearing themselves up to cause trouble. It was in their eyes and their swaggers.

  The heaviest of the boys, one of the underdogs of the group, was motioning to the others that he intended to stick his leg out to trip up one of the girls. In the exchange that followed it became apparent that the conversation had turned sexual such were the hand gestures and hip movements, yet still the girls did not notice. If they were so stupid as so walk past the group with no forethought to the threat that was posed, then they got what they deserved. Wanting to witness what was sure to be amusing, Dylan slipped into the side and waited.

  The girls had stopped moving. Absorbed entirely in their conversation, they huddled into a group, whispering and giggling. Vanessa, who was considered one of the most beautiful girls in the school, was facing him, although paying him no attention, and she flung back her hair and batted her eyelids in a nauseating manner. She was artificial, and was more like a plastic doll than a human being, and had carefully glossed skin, sticks for legs, and a shallow attitude.

  Dylan looked back to the boys. Someone in the other direction had caught their attention, and they were taunting with vitriolic remarks. He knew it was a girl but he could not see who it was, and since they were goading her for her studious nature and stuck-up attitude, he thought it might be someone he knew personally. However, her problems were not his concern. Believing her to be somehow deserving of the punishment, he kept his head low and followed Vanessa and her friends to the exit.

  ‘Son-ya,’ one of the boys mimicked, ‘Son-ya.’

  Dylan spun around. It was her, his dream girl. Instinctively, he flung his bag on the floor and ran towards them. ‘Let her go!’

  ‘Says who?’ The boy turned around and an amused look settled on his face.

  ‘Run,’ Dylan said to Sonya.

  She hesitated for a moment, kicked one of the boys in the shins, and raced past the lingering pupils at the exit.

  ‘Aw, it’s his little girlfriend,’ the boy said, dragging him by his collar to the wall.

  ‘Doubt he has it in him . . . too much of a fairy,’ someone replied.

  The boys guffawed. Dylan tried to wriggle free as the torments continued, but to no avail. He was propelled backwards, his head cracked against the wall and a fist landed on the side of his face, forcing his glasses to the ground. He was helpless, and had to tolerate the beating, punch after punch, until his stomach was sore and sickness rose to his mouth. He crumpled to the ground.

  The space surrounding him quickly cleared, and through swirling eyes, he sees a teacher. She encouraged him to seek out medication. He refused; he had endured far worse in the past and wanted only to get out of the school building. On unsteady legs, he lifted himself to his feet.

  Shuffling out of the building, with the teacher’s pitying stare pressing into his back, he scanned the grounds for Sonya. It was difficult to see without his glasses, but since she didn’t approach or call out, he decided she was not around. Clutching the broken frame, he stomped away. It was a small blessing that the glass hadn’t smashed, he wasn’t in the mood to receive more punishment from his mother.

  The bitch! It was all her fault. One way or another she always managed to ruin his life, and her behaviour in the pub had been especially unforgivable. It was hardly any wonder Sonya didn’t want a bar of him. He certainly wouldn’t have spoken to her if the situation were reversed. He kicked an empty drinks can into the road and wished his mother dead. Sonya too.

  If his parents’ treated him like an adult, praised him occasionally and were civil to his friends, then he would be accepted at school. He would have someone to hang around with, he would not be labelled as a dork, and everyone would respect him. Even the in-crowd would be begging for his attention; he would be the favoured boy.

  He hated them all, each and everyone, and dreamed of better days. One day he would live alone and then he could do what the hell he liked. But first, he must plan his retribution. It was a soothing thought.

  Having spent the best part of an hour nursing his bruises and meandering the streets, Dylan decided it was time to head home. He had put it off for as long as he felt able, fearing another scolding, but aside from being hungry and thirsty he was driven to Maisie, and imagined her scruffy little face, welcoming eyes, and lolling tongue.

  Almost home, he strode along a neighbouring street, passing the posh houses with extensive gardens and large conservatory’s, and peered into the rooms. A fat chinless woman with a neck the size of a tree trunk was scowling at him. Irritated by her silent provocation, he pulled a face, making certain she knew it was directed at her, and awaited her response. Her horror was amusing. She mouthed something, shook her head, and wobbled from view.

  He trudged along, kicking stones littering his path and tearing leaves from nearby bushes, and arrived on his street. In the distance, there was a solitary barking sound. It was a recognisable sound, screechy and powerless; it was beautiful. He re
moved his hands from his pockets and quickened his steps.

  Maisie had seen him and was bouncing at the gate. Her exclamations were frantic and shrill, and her eyes wide with pleasure. Standing at the other side, he watched with amusement. She spun to her left. She leapt into the air. She spun to her right. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Yap. Yap. Yap. Her tongue dripped with moisture and her eyes were globular. She would not settle, despite his commands, and so he slipped into the yard. Her paws landed on his sore midriff. He yelped and doubled over.

  ‘Maisie, no!’

  Her incessant antics stopped and she tilted her head, settling in a reluctant crouch. He crowded her body, stroking her soft adorable fur and planting kisses on her muzzle, and her tongue extended, wetting his cheeks.

  ‘Good girl,’ he said.

  He stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder, and motioned her to follow him inside. Her tail was wagging, her enthusiasm swinging her body. He opened the door. Pricking back his ears, he listened for his mother’s irritating wail. She was in the living room, his father too. He tiptoed through the kitchen and passed the door. Dawn leapt into view.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  She focused on face. ‘What’s happened to your glasses?’

  ‘They’re in my bag.’

  ‘Where! Let me see!’

  He slung it onto the table, opened the buckle, and extracted them, covering the broken bit with his hand.

  ‘Why haven’t you got them on?’

  ‘No reason,’ he muttered.

  He placed them back into his bag. She was staring, watching his every move. It was oppressive, disconcerting, and he feared her imminent outburst. He lowered his head and rushed past, heading for the staircase.

  ‘You’ve been in another fight.’

  ‘Have not!’

  ‘I wasn’t born yesterday, I can see the bruise on your face.’

  He raced up the stairs.

  ‘Don’t lie to me.’ She stomped after him. ‘What did you do?’