Tony pretends to be sleeping in the driver’s seat. I watch his chest rise and note it’s going too fast. He opens an eye. I give him a grin.
‘Do you have plans on Sunday?’
55
Sunday
The Catch
It was a late one at the club and I’ve only had snatched sleep. Tony hung around until the early hours as well. He insisted it was no trouble to pick me up and is outside my place as agreed at seven a.m. We’re greeted by a bright morning without any breeze. A good day for fishing. Tony says nothing on the drive. No change there, although I detect a focus that isn’t always present.
Only one other car is parked up when we arrive. It’s a battered truck with a tarpaulin loosely pulled across the cargo box. I hop out and sneak a look underneath. There’s an umbrella and a few bait boxes. Anyone could own the vehicle, yet my gut says it’s Simon’s. Tony distracts me by getting out.
‘Shall I come with you?’
‘No, it’s fine. Wait here like last time.’
Again, he’s unhappy with that idea. ‘Do you have a weapon?’
That’s very perceptive of him. I haven’t said what I’m doing, yet he’s aware that it might be dangerous.
‘I won’t need one. I’m only going to talk to him. Stay in the car. I shouldn’t be long. He may not even be here.’
I stride down the slope. I wear my running gear with my newly blonde hair in a tied-up ponytail pulled through the back of a baseball cap. All this and wraparound sunglasses would make identifying me impossible. Have I dressed this way for anonymity? Or due to the fact I could need to run or fight?
I considered taking a knife, but that seemed extreme. Simon wasn’t the violent one. The view of the river from the top of the small stone bridge is marvellous. The water resembles a millpond. I jog to the other side and trot along the bank. Up ahead, the section where he used to fish is empty. Simon was a creature of habit so that’s disappointing. I decide to stretch my legs for a while. Tony can wait.
I pass a big shrub and Simon stands up with his rod. My steps tail off. I’m surprised by my stunned reaction. It’s been a long time but Simon’s journey must have been an arduous one. A scraggly beard and beaten up fishing hat can’t hide the lines on a weathered face. He hasn’t noticed me. I step down onto the gravel and stones next to the edge of the stream and stifle a laugh. Then I recall my serious business.
He has the biggest pair of waders on and doesn’t hear me as the water runs much faster than I thought. He sloshes into the river. It’s deeper than I imagined and he’s soon up to his waist. He stops and, with a flick of his wrist, plops his float on the far side under the overhanging branches of a leaning tree.
A flicker of anger has me on my tiptoes. Nothing has changed for him. Well, I’m about to ruin his day.
‘Simon!’
He turns around and immediately looks shifty.
‘Who’s asking?’
‘It’s Katie.’
He remains a statue. All I can hear is the drone of the cars on the motorway beyond us and the trickle of water at my feet.
‘I don’t know a Katie.’
I take my cap and sunglasses off but he knows who I am. Did the old man tell him someone was looking for him, or, perhaps, he’s always been waiting for a tap on the shoulder.
‘You are Simon Salmon, aren’t you?’
A barely imperceptible nod of his head confirms his identity. I realise that even though I imagined what he might do, I hadn’t expected him to remain silently in the middle of the river. There’s no rush, and he’s not going anywhere. After half a minute, he pipes up.
‘What do you want?’
To think, until that night we were friends. If I find better evidence of his guilt than this behaviour, I’ll be surprised.
‘I need to talk about what you did to me.’ Unbelievably, he looks behind him. I’m sure he would flee if the river wasn’t too deep for him to cross. ‘Feeling guilty, Simon?’
He opens his mouth, then closes it. He visibly wanes.
‘I’m so sorry, Katie. We shouldn’t have done what we did. I always liked you. But I had to have you one time before we went away. You were only interested in Bill. You kissed me once, and I hoped we’d be together. You just ignored me afterwards. It sent me crazy.’
‘That’s not an apology. You raped me, all of you did.’
He can’t hold my stare yet shakes his head. ‘It wasn’t like that. You seemed up for it.’
‘I seemed up for it? You ruined my life. Do you know what happened to me?’
‘It wrecked my life too. I felt so guilty. I had nightmares afterwards. But what could I do by then? It was too late. We had jobs to go to. Bill said to forget that night. I tried. It still haunts me. I’ve been married three times now. I can’t maintain a normal relationship. It messed my head up.’
I struggle to believe what I’m hearing. He is sorry, but only for himself.
‘Why didn’t you stay and see if I was okay? You left me on my own.’
‘We weren’t thinking straight. We’d had stacks to drink and all the drugs sent us mad.’
‘Drugs, what drugs?’
‘Ecstasy. We took loads. We put some in the drinks…’
Our faces fall in realisation at the same time. He shouldn’t have told me that. It explains so much, and it changes everything. My free-loving behaviour was out-of-character. No wonder I struggled to understand my actions. Not only did they fuck me, but they drugged me first. My blood boils with fury. My chest rises with each massive gulp of air. If I’d known the truth all those years ago, I wouldn’t have despised myself.
I’ve come for information, but I can’t get the words out. If I could touch him, I would pull the skin from his face with my nails. I pick his spare rod up and throw it at him like a spear. His seat follows, and then everything on the bank flies in. He backs up out of reach as a reel glances his shoulder. I grab a stone and it whistles past his ear making him flinch in shock. He is up to his chest and using his arms to stay upright.
Another big stone fits in my fingers as though it has been waiting since its creation for this sole purpose. Smooth, heavy, thick and flat, but almost perfectly round. Subconsciously, the way Tommy and I used to compete with each other, I crouch and fling it spinning towards him. It bucks on a slight wave and skims up at fantastic speed. Simon turns his head at the last moment and, with a sinister crack, the solid stone strikes him on the temple.
There’s no drama or shout. He simply sinks beneath the surface. A ripple of his coat and maybe his head catches my eye a few metres downstream. Then nothing. He’s gone. Self-preservation kicks in, and I search for witnesses. A man on the bridge stares straight at me. I gasp in relief as Tony waves and heads towards the car. It’s time for me to leave, too.
Tony has reversed from our space and has the engine running with my door open. He accelerates up the hill. What have I done? I didn’t want to kill again. It was an accident. I just wanted to lash out and scare him, but sweat runs down my sides and back. The healing tattoo there itches, and I resist the urge to rub myself against the seat like a cat. I consider the image; an angel and a demon. Which one am I?
56
Huntingdon Races
I have had a strange week. My thoughts kept returning to Simon. There’s been nothing in the local paper. Perhaps he survived and pulled himself out of the water further down the river. It doesn’t seem likely. If he’s dead, then I’ve killed again. That should disturb me but when I consider the reasons for losing my temper, notably the fact they drugged me, I’m pleased I did it. I am still furious now.
Today we are off to the races. Irina begged that we get dressed up. I think she expects Royal Ascot but we’re going to Huntingdon. I’m not sure what to expect, apart from a lack of royalty, but I haven’t popped her bubble because at least she’s come out of another funny spell.
She was away for a few days visiting a friend. Oksana covered for her in the club. Despite her heavy make-up
, Irina still looks tired. Strange that her trips are for a couple of days midweek but never at the weekend. She was vague and shifty when I probed further. Sounds like a married guy. Suspiciously, Tony was absent too.
Irina asked Tony to drive us. The train would have been fun, but Irina insisted on a pair of lethal heels that could double as a weapon. Walking in them is near impossible. Tony has been in our shadow of late but it’s more Irina that he circles. I don’t think they’re having an affair as he is as business-like with her as he is with me. He insists on staying with the car when we arrive.
We stagger in with Irina clinging to my arm for stability. I cling to her as I see other racegoers in jeans and parkas, but I notice men in suits and hats, and a lady in a wedding dress. The tannoy announces the first race is off in fifteen minutes.
‘Look, Irina. Horses.’
‘You say it in the same way as someone pointing out a dragon. I have seen these mythical beasts in front of us before, you know.’
A man leaves the fence and I glide to the front. Irina curses behind me. I glance back and note she should keep away from the grass in those shoes. The horses draw my attention. They are magnificent huge creatures, prancing around with bucking heads. Have I ever been this close to them? I don’t think so. The farm was arable so the only animals were chickens. Even the surrounding ones rarely had anything more than sheep. What kind of childhood is one where you haven’t ridden a horse? Someone nudges me. It’s Irina, six inches shorter.
‘I brought trainers too. I’m clever, don’t you know. Let’s get pissed.’
She strides towards an open bar leaving me behind. She appears odd with a short, figure-hugging, yellow dress and a pair of Nikes underneath. I catch her up and watch her wince as she hands over a note for two bowls of wine. She takes a big gulp and snickers like one of the horses I’ve been admiring.
We find a spot in the stands which looks out over the racecourse. It’s not as busy as I thought it would be. I guess most people are at work. Everyone’s friendly enough. I spot two sharply dressed Asian lads checking us out. My fake fur jacket isn’t as effective as the real thing. The wind curls around the grandstand and I catch Irina trying to sink into her similar coat.
The announcer talks more. I can hear it clearer from where I’m standing. I sense the hustle of people about me. The race starts and many flood from the buildings and make their way to the fence to watch. I hear a big ooh after a comment about a faller. I can’t see any horses.
Following the direction where others are staring, I pick up a group of about ten on the far side of the circular course. They bob up in the air and down again. Soon they approach the finishing post. The jockeys aren’t trying very hard. It’s all an anti-climax. There are a few shouts from the crowd. Then they jump the big fence in front of the stand. Cheers go up, cries too.
A jockey falls off a horse at the back and scrambles to his feet. He finds his whip and thrashes the turf with it. The rest are out of sight around a bend. I don’t think I’ve seen anything so real and exciting before. My heart dances in my chest. I pick the horses up as they come into view. Another rider goes down but this time the horse falls with him. More moans from the crowd. More excitement from the commentator.
They head to the finish line. They ride hard. Whips crack through the air while the commentator shouts the drama. The crowd hollers. I jump to my feet and join in. The grey horse beats a brown one. Three more brown ones arrive at intervals. I look at Irina, who is staring at me as if I’ve appeared by magic.
‘Bloody hell. That was brilliant.’ My eyes feel like saucers.
‘What were you cheering for?’
‘It’s thrilling. I got caught up in it all.’
‘I was going to say we should have a bet on the next one. I’m not so sure now because you might wet yourself. Another drink?’
‘Too right. My round. Now, how do you put a bet on?’
‘Ask them.’
I stare at the men next to flickering boards who are handing money back and forth. The two Asian men are in view. I pass Irina a twenty.
‘You get the drinks. I’ll explore.’
They watch me approach and my nerves flutter. I give them my best smile. Risks must be taken if I want to try new things.
‘You two boys got job interviews later?’
Their amused faces mean it’s game on.
* * *
Three hours fly by. I rip up my final losing ticket and throw the pieces in the air. I give Tariq a sleepy grin. What a brilliant afternoon. I’m skint and pissed. Tariq and his friend, Aziz, have been the perfect gentlemen. Tariq loves the racing too and goes all the time. They showed us around, explained things, bought drinks, and generally spoilt us.
Tariq laughed his head off at my enthusiasm. He said that’s what he was like when he first went. He had the only winner. I’m looking forward to picking one of those. They’re parked in a different car park to us, so we say our goodbyes at the exit. Aziz shakes Irina’s hand and laughs. She’s wobbling around again even though she still has her trainers on.
Tariq hands me a piece of paper. There’s an email address and a phone number on it. How sweet. He must have done it at the bar. He leans in, steals a kiss on my cheek, puts his arm over his friend’s shoulder and off they go.
Tony waves through the car window when we come into view. He helps me roll Irina into the back seat. I climb in the front but close my eyes after a few miles. It’s unlikely Tony will chat anyway but I want to re-run the day. It was so exciting, such fun, dramatic, but most of all, it felt normal. We joined the world in living life. There was flirting and drinks and nothing bad happened. Quite the reverse, even.
How many people spend their lives slumped by their television when they can be bothered to get out of bed? I missed out on my youth. I’ve a lot of catching up to do. I think about the note in my bag. Is that how it feels to be chatted up by a stranger? I liked it. But I doubt I’ll ring him. A tinge of foreboding arrives to shadow my silver cloud. I have three more men to visit. Who knows how this will all end?
57
The Twins
I decide to tell Tony what happened to me as we drive to see Jordan and Justin. I assume they still live in the same farmhouse. He absorbs the information with little emotion, only looking at me when I reveal they put drugs in the alcohol without telling me. I don’t paint my role up, or theirs down. It’s a torrid tale however you rearrange it. We arrive in silence.
I tell him to park up the road from the house, even though I don’t have a plan.
‘These are the twins that were there that night?’
‘If they’re still here. It’s been a long time.’
‘Two men. They live with each other?’
‘Justin is probably best-described as slow-witted. He wasn’t a big drinker or lover of drugs. I’m struggling to remember his role. He used to hang around more than anything else. Never saying much and doing less. Even Jordan ignored him. I suspect they grew up together and his parents told him to look after his brother. Maybe he did that automatically. Justin was a prime target for bullies. Jordan could be vicious though, so if people picked on his brother, it tended not to be for long.’
‘Take this.’
He removes an implement from the arm rest. The black decorated handle draws my eyes up to a silver push button. He pushes it and a four-inch blade fires out. He reverses the action and the blade springs back out of view. It’s beautiful and deadly.
I open the door and step out. When I bob my head down to check his expression, he again reaches to give me the knife.
‘Not today, Tony. There’s been enough killing.’
The sun beats down. I’m decked out in the same outfit as when I met Simon, and might be someone out for a run along the country lanes. Their driveway up towards the house looks the same. The old, rusting trough next to the gate remains. My skin prickles with familiarity after all this time.
The farmhouse hasn’t changed either; perhaps there’s a r
elatively new coat of paint on the woodwork. A doorbell indicates modernisation. The barn has a shiny combine harvester in it, although the tractor alongside could be the one we played on years ago.
I press the button. My body tenses. I recall Mai’s breathing techniques. In through the nose, fill the lower lung, then the upper, exhale through pursed lips. I still gulp when the door opens. A pretty woman of about thirty who’s also wearing big sunglasses stares impassively at me.
‘Yes.’
‘I’m looking for Jordan and Justin. Are they about?’
‘Justin doesn’t live here. Not for five years. Jordan’s away for a few days at a neighbour’s farm.’ She pauses. ‘What’s he done now, or not done?’
I feel sorry for this woman but don’t know why. I take my sunglasses off.
‘We knew each other a long time ago. We were friends, I suppose. I wanted to catch up. Nostalgia for old times.’
She removes her glasses. The fading bruises are a road sign to me after prison life. It’s a struggle for her to maintain eye contact.
‘Justin had a car accident, even though he’d been banned from driving years before. I never knew him when he was young but he was a committed alcoholic by that point. We kept a bed for him but wouldn’t see him for days. Jordan regularly found him asleep in ditches. He drove into a farm wall. He’s in the care home at Albany Walk. I used to visit, but he isn’t there. They wheel him out each day and he sits in front of the television and stares at it. They feed him by tube. He always was a daft bugger. I think the impact knocked the last bit of sense out of him.’
‘That’s sad to hear.’
‘There’re many nasty accidents on farms. Anyway, he was a waste of space. He caused a lot of problems for Jordan and me. He was supposed to help out, but we never saw him. Jordan struggles to run the place. It’s hard for him.’
Shadows Of Regret Page 19