by George Rufus
Rob and Kate worked diligently all day, following up every lead, liaising with colleagues and going through every piece of information with a fine tooth comb. Kate felt an increasing need to break Ian into a confession, based on her theory he had lost his temper with his girlfriend on the moor and thrown her body on the reservoir. Rob wasn't buying Kate's idea, which he knew was based on the one outburst of Ian's she had witnessed at the station, when he reported his girlfriend missing. His gut feeling was telling him the poor young guy was innocent, frightened and wretchedly miserable.
As he drove home that evening, he mused again over all the ragging he had taken from the Plymouth detectives shipped in to support the ongoing cases and wondered how long it would take for his history to pass and for his story to be stale. There had to be a way to move it along. Perhaps dig it deeper underground by taking the plunge and getting a girlfriend. Except he knew she would have to know the ins and outs of his baggage and he wasn't prepared to suffer that.
He had already turned down the interested attentions from women who already knew about his previous marriage and his children. He just didn't know how to start over again and certainly knew he couldn't trust again. His friends regularly tried to fix him up with suitably selected woman with great intentions. But he couldn't' and wouldn't make the first step. There was no point. He had work, he had the boys and more importantly control of his life back again.
After putting his sons to bed later that evening, he settled down with a large glass of red wine to catch up on some recorded sport programmes, when the doorbell rang. With few late night visitors, he was surprised but even more so when he found the pushy brunette, Tessa, standing outside on the door step.
"Hi Rob, I was wondering if you fancied some company for an hour or so," she came straight out with. Fixing him with a broad smile and the eyes that ate him up in a brazen way, making him survey the ground and unable to return the smile or good humour.
"How did you know where I lived?" he blurted abruptly back at her, sounding so suspiciousness hurried, he again cringed at just how defensive he was.
"Jackie may have let it drop. I guess that's a no then," She forthrightly replied.
Realising how rude and abrasive he was, taking in the goodwill gesture of a bottle of wine she was holding and feeling a complete idiot for his reactions, he motioned her to come in and apologised, mumbling he was glad she had come and he was just surprised.
"Are you driving or can I pour you a glass?" he offered, immediately kicking himself for his police type question.
"I think I am allowed one'.
"Sorry, that came out all wrong," he said handing her a large glass to compensate.
He walked her through to his small, rather messy living room and hastily threw shoes, newspapers and school books onto the floor from the sofa to create a space for her to sit.
" So what do you do when you are not on duty?" Tessa asked, with another full smile, obviously ignoring his earlier rudeness.
" Well except for reading my visitors their rights with regards to alcohol intake, I try to spend time with my boys and occasionally watch sport", he said turning off the television, having just located the remote from under a cushion.
"Oops, I really did come at a wrong time, didn't I?"
Realising he had again put his foot in it again, by indicating he was trying to watch sport and she'd interrupted, he smiled back a pathetic sorry smile and caught her full in the eyes trying to explain he hadn't meant it that way.
They both laughed instantaneously and relaxed back in the sofa, though Rob was feeling her closeness more than a little unnerving and the smell of her perfume more intoxicating than the wine.As they chatted and she explained why she had moved to the area, he realised he was just a little transfixed by her lips as she spoke. He was so focused, he didn't notice she had asked a question and was awaiting a response.
"So what do you think?" She coaxed, smiling as if aware of the effect she was having on him.
"Sorry, missed that" he said, standing up to cover his embarrassment. "I think I may have heard one of the boys waking up, won't be a minute".
He felt ridiculous and knew he looked daft as he left the room, to go to the bathroom to recover his composure. This was idiotic, he was a grown man acting like a fourteen year old boy about to get to second base. He looked at himself in the mirror urging his mind and emotions, as well as other parts of him, to cool it.
He re entered the room, poured himself another drink, completely forgetting to ask his visitor if she wanted a refill, but found her wandering around the room looking at the various photos on show.
"Are these your sons?"
"Yes".
"Handsome boys, like their dad"
"Yes, I mean thanks,"
"Is this their mother?"
"Yep", he fidgeted uncomfortably. “We’re getting divorced, they don't see a lot of her."
"Must be tough, being a single parent."
With each comment making him falter, feeing more intrusive in case of where it may lead, he asked her if she would like a coffee. Hoping this would be a hint that that was the last drink prior to her expected leaving, she asked for tea.
Rob hastily filled up the kettle and turned to plug it in, bumping straight into Tessa, who had obviously followed him in and was stood right behind him in the small galley kitchen.
Using her arm to steady herself she grabbed him, at the same time he fell slightly onto her, their fore heads millimetres from touching but close enough to feel the physical pull of heavy need and flirtation. Eye contact was made for a second before she kissed him. At first his breath was taken away by the surprise but as her softness penetrated his lips, he responded like a man who needed to drink in every sensual moment he could before it was snatched away from him. Her hand circled around the back of his neck, touching the bottom of his hair very lightly. He hadn't been touched in such a gentle way for a long time. He had forgotten how warm breath so close to his nose and mouth felt. Her other hand was on his chest and he could feel her long finger nails brushing across his nipple. His desire shook him, he had not realised how much he missed the need for intimacy, in even a kiss, he felt such need that he wanted there and then, to have her completely. To drink in every sexual and physical need he had ever wanted. He had to pull himself off her with every reserve of restraint he could muster, once again embarrassed by his extreme response.
"Shit sorry, it has been a while," he blurted.
"No sorries necessary," she smiled, her cheeky grin and sparkling eyes, enhanced by her chin reddened by his unshaven face.
"Don't worry about the tea now,” she added, "I have what I came for, I'll be going."
He watched her drive off, locked the door and went to bed. Completely unable to switch off and sleep, he wondered what it is she had came for. He mused over the obvious and had a feeling it wasn't the last time she might come calling.
Chapter twelve
He remembered the times clearly when he had caught his neighbour's eyes staring at him and she had sneered, before looking away. In all the time he had lived with his father, not once had the old woman next door offered him so much as a smile, a conciliatory glance or the chance of refuge. She had done worse than that, she had sought out his father to moan about him, to ensure greater beatings.
On the rare occasion, he ever played as a kid in their small garden, he had once dared to climb the small apple tree at the end of the long strip of land and she had seen him. He had not been prying, he had been climbing as high as he could for the joy of feeling normal. He had been alone in the house and craved some normality. But she had seen him and that evening came knocking on the front door to complain to his father that he was peering over into her garden.
As he fetched the belt, his father kept for such beatings, his father reminded him that he was being punished for idling away time when he should have been working hard at the chores he had been given. His father did not care that they had all been done, only the
fact that the boy had been caught being idle. A sign of weakness and disobedience. The beating was so severe, that he did cry out in pain. The old woman must have heard, he walls were thin enough. She must have heard his suffering from the many other occasions when he raped, buggered and beaten. Yet she chose to inflict more suffering on him, on a whim.
She had also spied him rescuing a pigeon from outside the house one day after school, when it's wing was clipped by a passing car. He had seen her snooping from her kitchen window, the net curtains were twitching as she watched him cradle it in his arms and carry it indoors, while his father was at work. He had hidden it at the end of the garden in a plastic curver box, with an old dustbin lid over it for safety from prying eyes or foxes. He had kept it there for three days, bringing it tasty scraps to tempt it to eat and gain its strength. It was a beautiful bird, more like a collared dove. He enjoyed looking after it and felt a real connection with its need to be cared for by someone. He knew how vulnerable it felt and he wanted to comfort and it and meet its needs. He watched it getting stronger and stronger. He knew it appreciated the care he was giving it and he hoped it would fly back after it was recovered, so he could see it was still okay.
He came home from school on the fourth day, excited at the thought of releasing it. But it had gone and so had the box. He had felt sick at the thought that his father might have found it. He hunted high and low. Then he found the box was thrown at the back of the shed. He searched around on the floor to see if the bird was also inside. But he couldn't find it anywhere. Suddenly he had heard the old woman's voice.
"Vermin. Imagine encouraging them and their germs and filth into our gardens."
He had leant over the wall, realising with her venomous tongue, she must have had something to do with the birds disappearance.
"Get back over your own side, you gormless little bugger. At least your father sorted it out. Wrung its neck, he did, good and proper. Chucked it over the fence. Pity he didn't manage to get his hands on that sailor before your mother buggered off with him. Useless tramp!" She had tutted and trotted back down her garden path towards her black door, shaking her head in disapproval as she went.
She had to pay. She had to suffer. She had to feel vulnerable and then executed in the same way that poor harmless bird had and realise how he had felt, as he had waited for the beating that followed his fathers return.
He had to make her pay, so he could move on. Wipe the slate clean of all he was owed and start his new life. She was a face clearly etched on the slate scoreboard. He could never be the sunny, happy well-adjusted man he saw in his dreams of the future while she lived. She had seen and heard too much. She knew what he was because of what his father had done to him. He could never be free of the nightmares with her alive.
The only trouble with his plan to clear the past to make way for a future was the one thought that would never leave his mind.
Why did his mother leave him there to suffer. Why hadn't she cared. Why didn't she love him enough to take him with her. Why? Why?
The day after his father’s house had burnt down, the old hag next door had been rehoused. He had made it his business at the time to find out where she lived. He had made it his business at sixteen years old, to keep tabs regularly that she still lived there. Ten years on she still lived there.
His father had died on his sixteenth birthday, in the fire, that he had started. It was his birthday present to himself. It was what his father deserved. The only way he could pay back even a part of what he done. He had died in the flames of that hell hole, that had been his home. Prior to that he had removed one small rucksack of possessions, so that when he was not at home that evening, he still had his things and could move on. Too old to be put into care and too young to be rehoused. It was, as he had planned.
There was no investigation. Accidental death. His body was too burnt to trace the sleeping draught that had been drunk unwittingly. There was no traceable inflammatory accelerants used. The fire had begun by the careless drying of a towel over an electric fire in the living room. His father died sleeping, drunk in his armchair. Smoke inhalation and deep sleep the probable reasons why he didn't make it out in time. His son had luckily been out at the time, arriving home as the fire engines were trying to put out the blaze. The stacks of newspaper hoarded in the downstairs rooms had not helped entry into the house. The doors all closed, keeping the intensity of the fire in the room where it started.
The old woman next door had suffered smoke damage to her house and used it as an excuse to be rehoused to a smaller one bedroom housing association place. He knew exactly where she lived and he was going to make her pay her dues.
Then he would be able to move on. There were only a few more on his list after that. Then he would be free to live the life that he wanted. He would be repaid what he was owed with a clean sheet of health, his future lay ahead of him.
He stopped musing over his score board being wiped clean, when Roy his work mate and direct boss, tooted the horn on their gardening buggy to remind him to wash up before lunch. He washed up and as part of his daily routine, headed down through the grounds of the school to collect his and Roy's lunch, which they always ate back at he hut.
Entering through the back fire door, with eyes cast to the ground, he shuffled his feet, in silence, waiting for his presence to be noted.
"Oh there you are, this will be cold as. Why don't you speak up boy, " goaded the older dinner lady, passing him two trays on top of each other, balanced by metal plate rings protecting and keeping the food war.
As he trudged back up the hill, he dodged the smartly dressed children as they ran for the lunch queue, making again no eye contact but cursing their clumsiness and lack of care, under his breath. Roy was waiting in the usual place, with two steaming mugs of tea made and placed in the normal places on their outside bench.
"What have we got today then boy?" He asked kindly, not expecting an answer from his ever silent colleague. "Great roast pork, apple sauce and all the trimmings, with crumble to finish. My idea of heaven and yours?" He again asked, not expecting a mutter in response.
Intermittently, Roy paused while chewing his food to sigh, while his young work mate ate in silence. He always loved Roy's easy, calm company, though for the past week he had seemed agitated and not as easy going as usual. He was the boys only anchor in life, albeit the links were fragile, but their easy relationship served as a lifeline to a boy now man, who had seen and experienced such harshness. Roy was his only friend and the only one he needed. The simplicity of their work life, doing all the maintenance and gardening in the local prep school also gave him his accommodation. A small caravan hidden behind the large garage at the back end of the school, far away from the eyes of the fee paying parents, served as his home. Indeed, he loved his small space and it truly felt like the first home he had ever had. It was his, he felt no fear, he could do with it as he liked and no one came there uninvited. No one beat, abused or berated him. He was in control.
Roy had got him the job aged eighteen, after the temporary jobs he had held on local farms ended. Leaving him homeless, penniless and sleeping rough at the Tavistock bus station one night Roy had shown him the greatest random act of human kindness he had ever experienced and had looked after him ever since.
At first he had very warily accepted Roy's offer of a bed at his house for a few nights, only because he was starving cold and so dirty he was desperate. Then the old man had bought him some decent clothes, arranged a job alongside him and helped him secure his accommodation on the basis that he helped lock up the school late at night on the caretakers days off.
He owed Roy big time and though that did not sit easy with him, he knew he would repay him somehow because that was right and proper. Everyone should pay their dues.
They finished their lunch at exactly the same time every day and as creatures of habit, Roy returned the plates while he washed up the mugs ready for their tea break later.
The comfort in their
daily rituals was monotonous but reassuring. The pay was awful and he knew he couldn't do this forever but it served a purpose while he needed to stay in the area to collect what he was owed.
Then the account sheet would be balanced and he could go and live the life he had planned in his dreams. Couldn't he.
Chapter Thirteen
Agnes woke suddenly in the early hours of the morning, only to imagine she had heard the noise. It wasn't loud, it may have been a sigh, but there was something. She waited and listened. Nothing.
She rearranged her pillows, turned onto her side and sighed. She turned abruptly onto her back and stared into her pitch black bedroom, desperately encouraging her eyes to adjust to the dark.
She felt like someone was there but she could see nothing. Her heart banged loudly and painfully against her chest as she tried to get the courage together, to put out her arm and switch on the bedside lamp. The imagined dangers hiding in the unknown darkness prevented her, she strained her ears to hear or not to hear, a giveaway sound. Her own heavy breathing had to be stifled in order to hear anything. The longest time appeared to pass, though in fact it was a moment. She tried once again to believe that it was all in her imagination. She still searched the room with her eyes, half scared that their movement and the whites of her eyes would give her away to the imaginary threat in the room.
With her heart rate at an unhealthy pace, she reached out tentatively for the lamp.
Snap! Her hand was grasped, her chest was knelt on and she screamed out in terror.