“Mum, I need to have a serious talk with you,” Asher said.
“No man should be without a woman to look after him,” Toni continued as if he hadn’t spoken, and Asher felt his frustration mount, “And who best to look after you than your mother?”
“Mum,” he protested, voice rising.
“Don’t you raise your voice to me, young man,” Toni snapped, pointing her finger at him, “You’re not too old to be –”
Asher groaned. He had not expected to this to be easy, but in the conversations he had rehearsed in his head, his mother had at least kept quiet whilst he spoke. Now he realised that he had been deluding himself, and that his chances of her sitting silently whilst he explained things to her was just wishful thinking.
“Please, just sit down. I’ve got something important to tell you.”
“Oh Lord, no, you’ve got a girl pregnant, haven’t you?” Toni said, voice rising, as her hand clutched at the crucifix around her neck and she shook her head, “The shame, oh God, the shame. How am I going to face everyone at church, with two children having bastards?”
“I haven’t got anyone pregnant,” Asher said, and Toni paused, eyeing him suspiciously, before sighing in relief, shoulders slumping.
“Thank the heavens. So what do you need to tell me that is so important? You’ve found a girlfriend?”
“No, I haven’t got a girlfriend and I don’t want to find one.”
“What do you –?”
“I’ve got a boyfriend,” Asher said, squaring his shoulders, relieved as the words left his mouth, though his throat felt painfully dry. Toni froze. “Mum, I’m gay.”
“No,” Toni said, her voice faint.
“I’m sorry,” Asher said, trying to keep his voice resolute. He looked at Toni, but she remained motionless, her hand gripping the crucifix tightly. Asher leant forward, “Mum?”
“I don’t accept this, Asher.”
This was what Asher had been afraid of.
“I can’t change, mum. I’ve tried to, believe me, but this is who I am,” he said, his voice imploring, “I’m sorry for telling you like this, but Charley said –”
“Charley knows?” Toni said, head swivelling to face him, eyes wide, and a look of dawning comprehension appeared on her face, and she shook her head. “Oh Lord have mercy, she’s corrupted you. This is her fault; her sinful ways gave you these perverted ideas. I should have known something like this would happen –”
“It’s not her fault. She’s supported me and –”
Toni laughed, her head nodding fervently, as she paced the carpet, wagging her fingers as her mind scrambled frantically.
“I’ll bet she’s supported you,” she said, looking manic, “trying to move judgement from her to you, but I won’t allow it and –”
Asher sighed. Of all the reactions he had anticipated, this had not been one of them.
“I’m in love mum,” he said, his voice level. “His name’s Carl.”
Toni stopped. She looked at him, fear clear in her eyes. She shook her head.
“Eugh, stop!” she said, frightened of his words. “Enough of this filth, I –”
“Please, just listen to me,” Asher interrupted, desperate to explain himself, “I tried to change, I honestly did, but I can’t. God made me this way and –”
“Don’t blame God for this abomination, don’t you dare,” Toni shrieked, eyes wide and fingers clawing at her hair. “I’ve heard enough of this filth, if you refuse to renounce –”
“I’m happy,” Asher pleaded, standing and moving towards her, “can’t you just be happy for me?”
“No, I’ll never condone such perversion,” she said, backing away from him, her lips curled back in disgust as she surveyed him. “I’m leaving, and you’re not to contact me, or your sisters or brother. Especially not your brother.”
“Mum, please –”
“Don’t call me that,” Toni snapped, hurrying to the door, clutching her bag to her chest and shaking her head. Asher followed.
“You’re going to disown me, just like that?” He asked, feeling a defiance within himself that surprised him. Toni surveyed him, and Asher persisted, “Because of something I have no choice over? Because I’m accepting that God made me different?”
Toni looked him up and down, the disgusted look still written in every line on her face, and as her eyes reached his she diverted her gaze.
“You’re dead to me now,” she said coldly, and turned to the door.
Asher remained rooted to the spot as the door closed firmly behind her. He didn’t run after her or call out for her.
His heart was aching from her cruel words and her rejection, but he wouldn’t let her views break him. Her reaction had proven to him that he was meant for better things than her prejudices, and if she could not find it in her heart to accept him, he could no longer find it within his own to accept her.
* * *
Bolton sat on the sofa staring at the television, but he was paying no attention to the images flashing across the screen.
His mind was consumed with thoughts of the task that Uncle Jasper had given him. In the days since their last meeting, Bolton had found himself chasing thoughts through his mind, talking himself in and out of what he had been told to do.
He knew that Uncle Jasper was testing him, and he also knew that he would keep true to his word and transport him to a world of luxury that he could scarcely imagine if he succeeded in killing Ritchie. He sometimes fantasised about this world, how his life would be so drastically different from the world he had so far inhabited. Charley would want for nothing, she would never have to lift so much as a finger for the rest of her life, and their unborn child would have everything that he and Charley never had, from the best schools to the most expensive toys and the most extravagant parties.
Whenever he thought of his child, however, his conscience inevitably reminded him that this would only be possible if he were to commit murder, and what kind of father would that make him? Would he have wanted a murderer for a father? This would bring him to thoughts of his own childhood, of walking to school when his mother couldn’t spare money for the bus fare, and of the days they’d had little more than bread and milk to survive on until the next wages came in. This would start him thinking of how much his life could change if he did kill Ritchie, and the thoughts would continue in this vicious circle of desire and guilt, giving him the headaches that seemed so frequent that he could barely remember the days he had nothing to stress over.
“Are you feeling all right?” Charley asked from the doorway, bringing his dinner in on a tray and placing it on his knees. “You look kind of pale.”
“I’m all right, babe,” Bolton lied. The last thing Charley needed was more stress, especially at eight months pregnant. “Just feeling tired.”
“You shouldn’t work so hard, it’s not good for you.”
“I’ve got to, otherwise we can’t afford the rent on this place,” Bolton said, feeling his irritability surfacing again, as it so often seemed to do these days. “Then you’ll be back at your mum’s, and I’ll never hear the end of it. And then there’s the baby, I’m not going to be able to buy anything if I don’t work and –”
“Ok, ok, I’m sorry,” Charley said hastily, sitting down beside him and stroking his arm. “But you can’t tell me you aren’t stressed, because I can see it written all over your face, and you haven’t been sleeping –”
“For fuck’s sake, can’t you just drop it?” Bolton said, banging his fist on the tray and sending the plate of food clattering to the floor. “Of course I’m stressed, I’m working all hours and it’s a fucking stressful job.”
“I know it is, but –”
“How the hell would you know?” Bolton shouted, temper rising rapidly, “You spend all day sitting around chilling out and enjoying the money I’m bringing in, whilst I’m –”
He stopped himself. He couldn’t tell Charley the truth. She looked at him questioningly, her eyes
wide, and he felt guilty for raising his voice, and for ruining the meal she had cooked for him. Then the guilt turned to anger. Anger that she was adding to his guilt and frustration, when she should be supporting him without question. He dropped the empty tray onto the coffee table and rose to his feet.
“Where are you going now?” she asked, her voice pleading.
He felt a stab of annoyance, even now she was trying to make him feel bad for leaving her, for losing his patience, for not giving in to her every want and whim.
“Out,” he replied.
* * *
After clearing up the mess from dinner, Charley sat down on the sofa and fought back tears of frustration. She knew something was going on and she wanted to understand, to help, but Bolton wouldn’t let her and that frustrated her.
She was scared. Things were getting worse, they were barely speaking, they barely even saw each other, and she knew that their relationship was reaching breaking point.
Even though she understood that Bolton was stressed from work, she couldn’t work out why he was so quick to get angry and seemed to resent her so much. She had wanted him to find a good job, but not at the expense of their relationship. She would give up the flat and the money to live in a bedsit, just as long as she and Bolton were a happy family with their baby.
She jumped when her phone began to ring, and she checked the caller. Leigh-Ann. She rejected the call and stared at the television. She couldn’t face explaining what had happened to Leigh-Ann and then listen to her friend’s lecture which would no doubt follow. She considered ringing Asher, but she knew he was going through his own problems. She had heard that Asher had told Toni about his sexuality, and neither was talking to the other. She had found herself caught in the middle, torn between Asher and Toni. No, it was best to keep her family out of her own problems. She didn’t want to cause any more drama, not when there seemed to be so much already.
She considered her father, but dismissed the idea. He hadn’t even met Bolton yet, and she didn’t want to turn him against her boyfriend before they had been introduced.
No, there was nothing for it. This would have to be something she dealt with alone.
Her phone beeped. A text from Leigh-Ann. Charley ignored it and felt tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She heard a car door slam outside and rushed to the window, hopeful that Bolton had returned, but it was just a neighbour.
She returned to the sofa and burst into tears. She didn’t try and stop them but let her chest heave with the sobs. She had to be strong for the sake of her family and for her relationship, but she was alone now, and nobody could see her misery.
* * *
Bolton paced the floor in Dante’s bedroom, ignoring his best mate’s concerned eyes.
“Listen, mate, you’ve got to tell me if something’s wrong,” Dante said, his voice a little too impassive to be natural. Bolton glanced at him, before averting his gaze. Dante sighed, “I’m guessing it’s something to do with Charley, right? You said earlier you were going to have a night in with her, and now you’re here, all worked up and agitated.”
“You want a fucking medal?” Bolton snapped, “You going up for the brain of Britain award?”
“There’s no need to take it out on me, mate. Any problems you got going on with her are with her, not with me. I’m just trying to figure out what I can do to help.”
“Try rolling a fat joint, that’d be a start.”
“Sure thing,” Dante said.
Bolton continued pacing in silence, whilst Dante rolled. He could feel his own anger emanating from his body in waves and any guilt he’d felt earlier was fast disappearing. He knew his anger was making his thoughts irrational, even dangerous, but he felt a fierce satisfaction at this. Charley knew nothing about his work, but it was her fault. She had pushed and nagged, and now she’d gotten what she wanted. She was financially secure and that was obviously what mattered to her. As far as she was concerned, he was just a means to an end. As long as he brought home big money, and kept it coming, he could work himself to the bone and she couldn’t care less. Any concern she had, he thought, was not about love, or about real worry. The only reason for her behaviour was that she was concerned he was going to back out of his job, stop bringing the money in, and then she’d have no use for him.
He loved her, but he despised her at times too. She wanted money, and she would get it.
“I’ve been thinking about what Uncle Jasper asked us to do,” Bolton said, still pacing. Dante looked up, but kept quiet. “Well, asked me to do.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Bolton said, turning to face his best mate. “I think we should do it tomorrow.”
Dante raised an eyebrow.
“Really?”
Bolton nodded.
“Yeah, what’s the point in waiting?”
“Fair enough,” Dante shrugged, finishing rolling the joint. “It’s just I didn’t think you were that keen on the idea. Thought you’d wait ‘til the last moment to get it done.”
“I changed my mind.”
“I can see,” Dante said, sounding amused. “You reckon we can arrange it that quick?”
“Yeah,” Bolton nodded. “And Uncle Jasper ain’t going to complain. He wants it doing, and he doesn’t want a big scene. It’s a win-win situation, the sooner the better.”
Dante offered him the joint and Bolton lit it, pulling the smoke in and savouring it. He felt his muscles begin to ease and his mind start to clear.
Yes, Charley clearly wanted the money to keep on rolling in, and Bolton knew there was only one way that this could continue. He would have to kill Ritchie. And he wanted to do it as soon as he could arrange it. The thought still terrified him, but if it was the only way forward, he wanted it over and done with before his conscience caught up and the guilt returned.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The following day, Bolton battled with his conflicting emotions over the job that had to be carried out. He swung from angry determination, to stomach-churning terror, to cold fear, and exhaustion.
He was unnerved by Dante’s excitement at the prospect of what lay ahead that evening. The thought of Ritchie’s murder seemed to exhilarate him as much as it worried Bolton, and he found himself wondering how he had never noticed his best mate’s true nature before now. Then again, he told himself, he had hardly been an innocent in all of this. He had agreed to kill him, he was the one who was going to strike the final blow, and yet he had not turned tail and run into the night, but remained, trying to convince himself that he was doing the right thing. And if not the right thing, then he was doing what was best for his future. For him, for Charley and the baby, for their future. They would be made for life, and this thought sustained him when his nerves threatened to get the better of him.
That morning they had met with Uncle Jasper and planned a strategy for dealing with Ritchie. Bolton wanted to make it a quick kill. He didn’t want to prolong the ordeal, for either him or Ritchie, but Uncle Jasper had insisted that Ritchie suffer before he died.
With Dante offering suggestions, they had eventually formulated a plan. Uncle Jasper would arrange to meet with Ritchie, and Bolton and Dante would follow Ritchie as he left, to find out where he was keeping the stolen money. At this point they would inform Uncle Jasper, and incapacitate Ritchie. Uncle Jasper would join them at Ritchie’s hiding place, and Bolton would perform the necessary under Uncle Jasper’s watchful eye, and then they would dispose of the body and head home.
After the plan had been agreed upon, Bolton found the day slip by quickly, and was relieved when, mid-afternoon, Dante suggested they have a few beers to steady their nerves.
Holed up in Dante’s bedroom, Bolton sipped his beer and puffed on a joint, and felt his nerves begin to ease.
“You looking forward to it?” Dante asked, after their second beer.
“Not sure, you?”
“Yeah, man, this is going to be awesome,” Dante said, licking his lips.
Bolton eyed him for a moment, and Dante’s eyes narrowed, but Bolton looked away. When he chanced a glance at him again, Dante was drinking his beer and winked when he caught his eye. Bolton smiled in return, but couldn’t shake the feeling that his best mate was doubting his ability to perform their entrusted task.
Charley tried to ring him several times, but Bolton didn’t answer. He couldn’t bear to hear her voice. He had stayed at Dante’s last night, and had spoken to her briefly in the morning, only to tell her that he was working all day and wouldn’t be home until really late. She had protested and told him they needed to talk properly and spend time together, but Bolton had insisted he had to work and hung up.
Hearing her voice, he had doubted his plans. He knew that Charley wanted money, but he wondered what she would think of him if she discovered what he planned to do. She wouldn’t understand. She liked the money, but didn’t appreciate that certain sacrifices had to be made in order to bring it in. To work in this occupation, Bolton had learnt, you had to forget your morals and do what was necessary. Charley would try and talk him out of what he was supposed to do, but Bolton knew that she’d be the first to complain when the money ran out. No, he was making a decision for the both of them.
They needed money and he was being offered the chance to make lots of it.
“Nearly time,” Dante said, stirring him from his thoughts. “We’d better make a move soon, we don’t want to be late and miss Ritchie.”
“Good idea,” Bolton nodded, but his stomach shuddered.
Bolton watched as Dante packed the tools which Uncle Jasper had supplied them with into a satchel, then followed him downstairs and out to the car. Dante lowered the bag into the backseat and went round to the driver’s seat, whilst Bolton settled himself into the front. He tried not to think of what was soon to happen.
His phone rang and he rejected Charley’s call, then turned his phone off. No distractions. Dante nodded and did the same.
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