Trodds Lane

by Nick Roteman

  Peter had followed him into the bedroom. “Do you want to try out the bed, see if it’s big enough?” He said giggling like a little schoolgirl.

  “Come on you, that’s enough smut, I’m parched... come on, out, out, let’s go down, your mum’s waiting!”

  Peter giggled, “Spoilsport, I can wait.”

  The following day, the day before the funeral, there was nothing more she could do so Alice asked Tom if she could impose on him.

  “I need to just get out, a long walk in the woods, would you come with me; we can talk?”

  She turned to her son. “Could you stay here, there’ll be a few deliveries and such like; I just need to get out Peter dear, need some fresh air.”

  Tom was delighted to have been asked, Peter was not.

  Alice drove to Ockham common, a favourite for dog walkers, children and even horses, some ten minutes away just off the busy A3, and parked in the large car park. They walked for a couple of hours through the woods and along the sandy tracks, twice having to avoid a posse of horse riders out for a fast hack. Alice did all the talking, just unburdening herself, and Tom allowed her. It was easy to pretend to care.

  In fact, he did listen to some of it, and amongst other things learned she was over twenty years younger than Alan, and had originally been his secretary before falling for him, then falling pregnant, with Peter being the outcome. Alan had been a widower at the time and had readily married her. Being surprisingly candid, she sadly did have to admit to Tom, almost guiltily, that they had become just good friends for the last few years, but nevertheless their marriage was strong, and she had always loved him. Now without him she felt so very alone. Tom did his strong and silent routine, although actually he was thinking, planning, what he could get out of this visit.

  The funeral was well attended, and passed without incident, but Tom instead of staying on made a feeble excuse and readily left that night having had enough of being solemn and good; even the thought of some easy pickings had faded, he desperately needed some fun.

  Alice was so sweet and nice and yet so boring, like a half-chewed toffee, he decided grimacing. She dropped him at the local train station and he promised to ring her soon, but had little intention in truth of doing so, he wasn’t that desperate at the moment. He would see what other opportunities presented themselves, before perhaps revisiting her, she was not going anywhere.

  The following week, he actually received payment for a job he had done the previous month. Although it was a paltry £700 for a whole month’s hard work, he decided it was cause for celebration, when he sadly bumped into his landlord. Divested of all but £50, he decided after all to ring Alice; nothing else had presented itself to date, so he used that money to buy a train ticket back to Weybridge in Surrey, where she lived.

  Alice had been delighted to hear from him, readily admitting she was having a few problems understanding all of Alan’s shares and other financial matters. Tom announced that he was a bit of a financial expert, so would be happy to assist.

  The next day he arrived at Weybridge station at 4.30 in the afternoon with his extra-large holdall filled to capacity, prepared for a long stay.

  It only took him a day or two to realise just how wealthy she was to become, and having no reason to return to Bournemouth, he poured on the charm and willingly offered her his help. She in turn did her bit by asking him to stay on, and after a brief calculated pause, he readily accepted her invitation.

  Back in Bournemouth, Peter and Rachel who shared the flat above Freddy’s, and were both at the same university, frequently dropped in to see him and share a takeaway curry, their staple diet. This evening Auburn joined the three for supper in his kitchen cum breakfast room, but stayed slightly apart from them at the other end of the table, keeping her head bowed, although she carefully took in their whole conversation. Two things she loved were eaves dropping, and rummaging through other people’s things. Stella was always reprimanding her as to how rude that was, but she used to say in her defence it was the only way someone with her condition could really get to know who people were. It was so difficult for her to understand others, so she insisted, and Stella normally gave in, realising she would never convince her otherwise. She reckoned rather unkindly that a donkey was less stubborn that her Auburn, and being autistic was sometimes, just sometimes, a convenient excuse, but perhaps she was doing her a disservice, it was so difficult to tell what she must have to endure on a daily basis.

  One such conversation that evening had Auburn intrigued. Peter was moaning on about his friend Tom staying with his mother.

  Auburn just couldn’t help bleating out, “Are you one of them like Freddy? He gets all bitchy too if he is being ignored; you’re both just like little girls!” She tittered.

  Freddy was about to rebuke her when Peter cut in, “Hey it’s probably true,” he said giving a short laugh. “I am probably just jealous; hey you’re very astute Auburn!”

  “Yes I am aren’t I!” she responded grinning madly now and rocking back and forth in her chair. Then suddenly she stopped, pushed back her chair noisily and stood up, before promptly plopping down onto the wooden floor, with her legs crossed. She sat there before saying to the others, “Go on, go on, whose next? I can still hear down here but it’s so comfortable sitting on the floor, chairs are so restricting.”

  Peter and Rachel exchanged a quick glance while Freddy just shrugged and smiled, he was used to the ways of his cousin.

  More chat continued, this time with Auburn keeping herself in the conversation, even though the others were still at the table while she remained beneath it. Suddenly she tired of all this talk and withdrawing into herself, she commenced to hum an unrecognisable tune, quite happy in herself, the others for now forgotten.

  They on the other hand continued talking, their voices rising with laughing and gossip, before all of a sudden Auburn stood up, giving all of them a start and stopping conversation dead, and headed for the door. She paused in the doorway but without turning around uttered, “Goodnight and thank you all I enjoyed all that!”

  Peter and Rachel couldn’t help sniggering before bursting into laughter.

  Freddy just smiled. “I love her, she’s got such character,” he said, and Rachel and Peter had to agree.

  Auburn walked down the short hallway and straight into her bedroom and gently shut the door behind her. The first thing she did was grab her laptop off a side table and jumping onto her bed, sat cross-legged again, balanced the laptop across her knees and switched it on. This was her best friend; she could and often did spend all night on it in her virtual world, a world she understood. Through the net she had befriend a few IT geeks, these were her idea of real friends. It was easy for her to talk to them via email, but she avoided Skype that was too personal. Emails also afforded some measure of privacy and the necessary time element allowing her to write exactly what she wanted to say, without pause or embarrassment.

  Freddy decided with her gone, this might be the optimum time to explain about her idiosyncrasies to the other two. That done Freddy announced loudly, “It’s far too early for bed so how about we go to a club! Oh come on, yeah, yeah?”

  Peter stood up. “Yeah a few shots, a little boogie, sounds good to me, let’s do it.”

  He looked over at Rachel. “What you reckon, you ready to party Rach babe?”

  She nodded back enthusiastically. “Who needs sleep anyway!”

  “Sleeps overrated!” Peter giggled back, “let’s go to the Blue Lamp, they have a band every Thursday night. You can’t beat live music!”

  He suddenly frowned, “it is Thursday, isn’t it?”

  The club as usual was full of loud and happy souls desperate to drink themselves into oblivion and to hell with tomorrow. The club was not exclusively gay, but the majority were definitely of that persuasion, and they knew how to have fun. That night’s band had
done their set and gone by the time they had arrived, so the three took to the packed floor and soon managed to create their own little space as they leapt about uncontrollably. After about half an hour Rachel was the first to retire and seek further refreshment, happily leaving the boys to continue gyrating and leaping about together.

  After finally being served up at the bar, she sat down to watch the happy chaos around her. Watching Freddy she did have to admit he was incredibly good looking, and what a shame he preferred men did cross her mind.

  “Strike one for the boys,” she moaned softly.

  Peter went home to his Mother’s the following evening, Friday. He was still hung-over from last night’s excesses, but it had been worth every penny of it, he’d needed to let his hair down.

  Alice was off out shopping first thing on the Saturday, leaving Tom and her son still in their respective beds fast asleep. But no sooner had she shut the front door when Peter suddenly wide awake crept into the guest room, and got into bed with Tom.

  After they had pleased each other, Peter suddenly sat up in bed and glanced across at Tom, the smile fading on his face as he glared at him.

  “And what are you doing here with my mum?” He abruptly demanded. “My mum for goodness sakes Tom! Well, well, I want to bloody know?”

  “Nothing, nothing untoward, for goodness sakes I’m helping your mother with her finances, they’re very complex and I do know a thing or two about money, you know, that’s all.”

  “Yeah how to fucking spend it,” Peter swore. “You better be behaving that’s all I say!”

  Tom stayed cool, not rising to the bait and kept his voice level as he replied.

  “Your Mother is very sweet and deserves some help, I have some time on my hands, and I feel I owe it to Alan he was a good mate,” he explained.

  “Right anyway time to get up I think Pete, before she returns.” He warned.

  “Why afraid of what she’ll think of you if she catches us together? She ought to know the real you!”

  Peter thankfully left after Sunday lunch, by then even Alice was finding him hard going. She sat down on the sofa next to Tom and gently put her hand out towards him he took it and held it before drawing her closer to him.

  Tom returned to Bournemouth on Monday, full of purpose, something he had not felt in a long while. Perhaps doing some good wasn’t such a bad thing!

  ”But just the once, let’s not make a habit of this, yeah!” he called out pointing his index finger up to the heavens to emphasise that point.

  As he walked down the road and approached his flat, looking at the outside of it in the cold light of day, he realised what a dump he had been living in for the past three years. It was definitely time to move on, and up, he deserved better, much better.

  His flat was the downstairs of a two-storey house and the front door opened directly into his living room. He went inside and kicked the door shut behind him. Dropping his empty holdall on the floor, he glanced around the shabby living room. It hit him just how far he had fallen. It had crept up on him over the last, he had to think hard, exactly how long had he been living, no surviving in this awful manner? He reckoned it was probably the last eight years, so cunning had Father Time been in bringing him almost to his knees that it had taken the kindness of someone like Alice for him to suddenly realise how depressing his life had become; he really was a monumental failure. He wanted out at any price, he had served his time and some, and dear unsuspecting Alice was the one who held the key to him escaping. She had a small fortune readily available, and he was going to enjoy spending it, if he played his cards right.

  Suddenly feeling quite positive he set about packing up some of his possessions into the holdall and another he found in his closet, before sitting down with a strong drink to hand, which he downed before pouring another, the time had come to ring Peter.

  Peter walked into the South Beach Hotel, one of a hundred similar small hotels situated just off the seafront, and went straight up the stairs looking for room 22. He knocked on the door, and Tom let him in, an unopened bottle of champagne in one of his hands.

  “What’s this, a surprise for me, oh how super!” Peter cooed as he walked in.

  “A celebration of sorts yes,” Tom hesitantly replied. “Thought I should talk to you in private. Anyway we have a bottle of champagne and a box of chocolates to get through right.”

  “OMG! Well, well what is it, I’m really excited now? Tell me, oh tell me!” Peter said, his eyes wide and shining.

  Heading straight towards the king sized bed and plopping down on the edge of it he looked up, his face a picture of excited innocence as he beamed back at Tom.

  Tom opened the champagne and began pouring it into two champagne flutes.

  “I thought I should, out of courtesy that is, and because of our friendship, tell you....” He paused as he handed over one of the glasses to Peter.

  “Well cheers Pete!”

  Peter still grinning madly took a long sip. “Ooh delicious, you do spoil me!”

  Tom took a deep breath, and stared straight at Peter. Without showing any sign of emotion although his heart was beating rapidly, he continued. “Alice and I have been getting on really well together, we seem to have so much in common, and as she is alone in that huge house and I hate my flat, well... she suggested I should move in with her.”

  Peter’s face, a moment ago lit up and so excited, now visibly sagged; his eyes narrowed, the warm smile vanished. “You and my mum, you must be bloody joking Tom,” he stuttered. “You, you, I’m not bloody going to let you move in. No, oh no...” Suddenly the penny seemed to drop and he screamed back at Tom. “You fucking haven’t slept with her have you, you bastard, you tell me right now, have you?”

  His hands flew up and he held his head tightly between them. “Have you, tell me! Tell me!” he hissed through his fingers.

  “Look, calm down, nothing like that, I knew you’d deliberately think the wrong thing, which is why I met you here in private to try and explain.”

  He moved nearer to Peter in an attempt to calm him, or maybe shut him up, but before he reached him, he had jumped up off the bed. He stood there hands now on his hips glaring defiantly back at him. When suddenly he reacted and without further warning launched himself at Tom, screaming obscenities at the top of his voice, like the wail of a banshee.

  Tom with lightening reflexes, easily avoided his flaying arms, and grabbing hold of him threw him with some force back onto the bed. Peter bounced a couple of times on the bed before half sitting up, then rolling off it back onto his feet. Again he lunged at Tom, but again Tom foiled him, and easily grasping hold of his arms roughly pushed him back onto the bed.

  This time Peter rolled over one corner of it and landed on the floor with a nasty and painfully sounding thud.

  He sat there looking shocked absentmindedly rubbing his right arm, tears began to stream down his face yet still defiant he wailed, “I’ll tell her I will.”

  Painfully he managed to get back onto his feet. “I bloody will you know!” Sniffing back the tears, he glared at Tom. “And just you wait, I’ll also tell her you raped me and, and you’re nothing but a vicious nasty faggot! See how that goes down!” He hissed triumphantly.

  Pausing for another second, he suddenly chose to rush Tom again, desperate to at least hit him once.

  It was Tom who landed the one and only punch, a mighty right which put Peter soundly onto his bottom as he hit the floor once more. Sobbing and now with his tears mixed with blood pouring down his face, he still struggled to stand up and face his tormentor yet again.

  Desperately looking about him he spied a solid glass vase on the side table within his reach, and made to grab it. Tom on the other hand, thinking Peter had had enough of a lesson was temporarily distracted in refilling his glass, when the heavy blow landed on his right temple. Taken
totally by surprise Tom emitted a yelp of agony as he slipped to his knees, under the force of the blow.

  Peter was suddenly mortified at what he had just done, and dropped the vase, allowing his hands to fall back against his side as he stood there staring down at Tom still on his knees.

  This time it was Tom who struggled to stand up, but the red mist had landed and incensed by Peter’s pathetic action, and fortified by the pain, he suddenly lunged back at him. His huge hands wrapped easily around Peter’s thin neck, and pulling him up and off his feet with a vice like grip of iron, he squeezed and squeezed. Peter struggled in vain, his legs flapping wildly about like a panicked chicken but to no avail. Suddenly he had this amazing feeling flood over him as he squeezed the life out of Peter, and with a shudder he climaxed in his pants. Peter’s body had gone limp and Tom realising what he had done opened his huge hands and let the body slowly fall to the floor with a thud. He rushed to the bathroom to clean himself up, and naked, stared at himself in the mirror for some time relishing the moment.

  South Beach Hotel coming from another era in time had recently had a refurbish but the old style had been carefully kept. Each room on the second and third floors of the small hotel had a fire escape. Probably used mainly in the olden days for throwing down the daily laundry, from chambermaid to cleaner.

  As soon as it was dark, Tom dragged the body of Peter down the wrought iron steps of the fire escape and into Peter’s own car. He had had time to think and plan where to dump his body, a place where it would not be found for a very long while.

  Having disposed of Peter in his final resting place, he calmly drove Peter’s car back towards Peter’s house and found a residents parking space a couple of streets away, where he abandoned the car. He casually tossed the keys down a drain and unseen walked from there along the dark and dimly lit backstreets back to his own flat some way away. There was a pub on the corner of his street, which he frequented, so he popped in. There was no one inside he knew but he still had a couple of stiff drinks. He accepted he had a nasty temper, which often flew out of control, but he thought he would feel something more than this at what he had done, but no. in fact thinking about it had already made him aroused again. He enjoyed rough sex and on numerous occasions had beaten up one of his conquests but that was deliberate, even expected, but tonight he had crossed the line and as he downed his drinks he realised he felt no remorse, no guilt just a strange feeling of pleasure.