Homecoming
Jonathan Kent
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
HOMECOMING by Jonathan Kent
First edition. December 1, 2016.
Copyright © 2016 Jonathan Kent.
Imprint: Independently published
Check out Jonathan’s other titles including:
Meadowbank - book 2 of the Shael Chronicles
Also available - The Waiting Room: A short story
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Homecoming
Chapter 1
By all accounts the human mind is a many layered and complex muscle and one that has never truly been understood. Why are certain things remembered or forgot? How is it possible that someone can recite a whole Shakespearean speech, but forget to put the rubbish out on a Monday morning? What exactly is the point in having a brain with a bigger capacity than any computer processor, but forgetting a loved one's birthday? And how is it possible that something right at the front of your thoughts; something you had been thinking about the entire way home on your sixty minute drive from work, could just vanish from your mind? Perhaps we’ll never know, perhaps our minds are just a little too complex for us puny humans, or perhaps it’s just easier to put it all down to fate. If that is the case, then fate was certainly playing an ugly game that June afternoon on David Strutter.
‘Oh shit!’ Dave shouted to himself and swerved left at the roundabout instead of the right he was indicating. A huge 4x4 let out a blast from behind and Dave caught a glimpse of the driver motioning a rarely seen Dick Head sign as he pulled away. ‘I can’t believe I forgot.’
It was June 13th, a Wednesday, nothing special other than the fact it was about ninety five degrees and he’d been stuck in the car for twice as long as he normally would be. His back and ass crack were dripping with sweat and every now and then he felt the odd trickle from under his armpits making its way down south. As usual he was running late, his business partner had double booked another client and left Dave to pick up the pieces, make the apologies and generally lick ass. This wasn’t something he particularly minded doing (ass licking was a day to day occurrence in his job anyway), but he and Jenny, his wife, had been going through a rough patch these last few months and he wanted to make the effort, or more importantly make it look like he was making the effort, of getting home on time for once.
Jenny was pissed at his crazy working hours and pissed at him for not seeming to care how it was affecting their marriage. Mainly though she was pissed at Simon. Simon Giles was Dave’s business partner and Jenny had never liked him, in fact she made it obvious she detested the man. She was behind Dave one hundred percent when he suggested leaving the old firm and going freelance, but was less than enthusiastic when she learnt it was Simon Giles he was going into business with. Simon had never married and appeared to have a different girlfriend each week, Jenny felt that Simon was always checking her out – or checking out her rack, as she put it.
Dave and Simon worked in the local town as freelance financial advisors. They had formed the company four years ago with the catchy title of Giles & Strutter Financial Solutions. Giles was clearly the more ambitious of the two but that’s not to say that Dave wasn’t into the business. On the contrary, the first few years were fantastic. The money was good, he and Jenny got that detached house they had their eye on and they went on that second honeymoon they were always talking about. Life was generally good.
Jenny then fell pregnant with their second boy Aaron in 2004 and just when Dave thought things would settle down into more of a steady routine, Simon wanted to up the ante and expand the business. He wanted to open another office in the neighbouring town which he would run, leaving Dave to run the first branch by himself. Simon was the driver; the go-getter. It was his idea to form the company in the first place and to steal all the clients from their old firm. It was his idea to go door to door and deal with after hours private meetings. It meant they had lots of clients but the more they took on, the more and more it ate into any home life Dave had. With Simon now in theory doubling Dave’s workload, Dave could see no end to his and Jenny’s fights.
On this particular day, Dave had promised to get home at a decent-ish hour and was actually not doing too bad. He had rushed the last meeting with a couple from the other side of town. A couple that Dave felt were going to be bankrupt in less than a year, but yes of course he would still arrange their £200,000 mortgage. He got into his car and had actually been on the road by 5:15pm. A quick thirty minute drive across town and bob’s your live in lover, in before 6 o’clock. Job done, good boy Davey get yourself a lolly on your way out.
But things hadn’t gone exactly to plan. Every car in town seemed to be out enjoying the late afternoon sun and taking great pleasure in driving as slow as possible. There also seemed to be twice as many holes being dug in the road than there were this morning. On top of that, he had just remembered the strange answer machine message his father had left him a week ago.
‘David, it’s….….your father,’ the message had began. ‘I need to ask you……..a small……….favour,’ the message had rambled like that for over two minutes, but the general gist was they were going on a trip the next day and wondered whether Dave could drop in on the old house and pick up their post a couple of times whilst they were away.
They were due back tomorrow and obviously he hadn’t been round once. So he thought a little detour on the way home wasn’t going to make him much later than he already was.
It was this little memory nugget that had slipped out and then slipped back in just as he had been turning for home which caused his last second change of direction. If the memory recall had been two seconds later then Dave would have made the right turn and would have put his parents’ house off until the next morning. But as it was, fate played itself out and Dave turned left.
Chapter 2
‘Can I help you?’
‘Er…..No,’ said Dave, not really registering where the voice had come from. ‘I’m OK thanks.’ He tried the key again but the lock wouldn't budge.
‘Are you sure you don’t need help there, young man?’ came the voice again.
Dave spun around, flustered, and faced the old busybody that had interrupted him. Even though they lived not twenty minutes away on the other side of town, Dave couldn’t remember the last time he had been to his parent’s house. A year? Eighteen months? Could it be as long as two years? Aaron was coming up to four this year and he knew his parents had only seen him a handful of times. So it could have been that long. One thing for sure, he hadn’t used his old front door key for a lot longer and it wasn’t doing a particularly good job at opening this door right now.
‘Honestly, I’m fine. It’s an old key that’s all. Just take a second.’ He had never seen the old guy before, but presumed he must be a neighbour or something. The man was old, really old. He was wearing big thick glasses that made his eyes bulge like some black and white cartoon character. He had huge protruding ears and stood leaning on an old battered walking stick at the end of the driveway.
‘Those lot have gone away. No point bothering ‘em,’ he said in a strong West Country accent; watching Dave’s hands the whole time.
‘Yeah I know. They’re my parents. Asked me to drop by and pick up their post. Is that OK?’ Dave bristled. Getting the third degree by some old todger had not been part of the plan.
‘No point in getting all shitt
y with me there sonny. You could been anyone for all I know,’ the old boy came back.
‘Look mate,’ Dave sighed. ‘I know you're trying to do your neighbourhood watch type thing. But this is my parent’s house. My name is David. David Strutter, and my parents are John and Lily Strutter. They are away on holiday and asked me to pick up the post a couple of times and make sure the old place is OK. OK!’
‘Aint seen you up here before, not doing much of a job are ya!’ the old man said. ‘And your key don't seem to be working.’
‘I don’t see why I’ve gotta answer to any old fuckin…,’ CLICK. The key turned and Dave felt his body relax. ‘There you go. Works just fine.’ Dave opened the porch door and went in.
He gave the old guy an overly cheerful wave and watched him hobble off down the street. Later on, he would remember the old guy muttering about banging doors and shouting in the night. But at this point it didn’t register. He was just glad the door had opened just then. Dave was usually quite a mild mannered guy, but after the day and the drive he’d just had, he really wasn’t in the mood.
When he was growing up he always remembered the house keeping very cold in the summer. Today as he entered it was no different. Cool air hit his face which brought back a flood of childhood memories. Memories of coming home after Football or Cricket in the fields that ran along the back of the estate. He grabbed the pile of post from the porch and walked down the hallway towards the kitchen. Dodgy pictures from his dad’s amateur photo days littered the walls and the same old garish red carpet lined the floor.
It was always disconcerting going back to your childhood home. You spend so much of your life in this one place with so many memories both good and bad. Memories that are hard to shake even after so many years have passed. Memories that are mixed in with your new life. Being back in the house brings a greater clarity to what you remember. This is where the fish tank was. This is where the BIG vase was broken in some stupid indoor golf game. This is where dad first lost it after Katy died.
Dave shuddered and shook the thoughts from his head. A lot of water had passed under the bridge since those days. A lot of harsh times and even harsher truths had come out. Losing his elder sister Katy when he was only ten and the way his dad had reacted - slowly at first and then with ever increasing mood swings and violence - had left a mark on Dave that still reared up from time to time. It had lessened over the years, especially since he’d been with Jenny. He had poured his heart out to her, blaming himself – not for Katy’s death, no-one saw that coming - but for letting his dad get the way he had. Jenny had been the tonic he needed; had made him think clearer and made him realise those childhood demons could be locked away and controlled.
Just drop it. He told himself. Don’t bring that stuff up. Not here. Not now. Not again.
He put the post on the kitchen work surface in two piles; making it look like he’d been there at least a couple of times. He glanced at the oven clock; 18:13.
Must phone Jenny. Let her know what I’m up to.
For some reason, telling her that he was at his parent’s house, doing a chore as it were would make everything OK. She’d go easy on him and tell him that it did need to be done but hurry home anyway. He didn’t think it would quite go that way, but it would certainly ease things. He walked back down the hallway where the phone was hanging just inside the front door. A white board hung to the right with various emergency numbers stencilled on it. Dr Rushdon; Hair Motif; Plumber; and at the bottom, scrawled diagonally in a corner and just under the number for the guy they used to cut the hedge twice a year, was: Dave & Jenny Home.
Lower than the Hedge Guy, he thought. That’s about right.
He picked up the phone and listened for a dial tone. Dead. Nada. Nothing. He toggled the receiver a few times, but still nothing.
Come on Dad, I’ve heard of turning off the electric when you go away, but the phone lines? Come on! Dave chuckled to himself. He didn’t even think it was possible, but his dad had done weirder things in the past. He checked the connections and toggled the receiver a couple of extra times for luck. Zip.
They had another mainline phone in their living room, but that was dead too.
Shit.
The idea of phoning from his parent’s house had appealed to him and would have added more credence to his story, but as this was now not to be, he would have to phone Jenny from his mobile in the car as he was leaving. He went back to the hallway, closed the kitchen door and gave the front room one last look as.
All looks OK to me, he thought. Creepy, but OK.
He went back to the porch, had a look up and down the street for any signs of Old Todger Face and silently latched the front door behind him.
The heat outside hadn’t abated one bit. The sun was lower in the sky and he had to squint as he approached the car. He tried the handle. Locked. He tried his pockets. No Keys.
Shit.
A clear mental image of his car keys sitting next to the piles of post on his parents work surface sprung to mind and he let out a low, slow groan.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake, what else are you gonna throw at me?’ he rolled his eyes to the sky and banged his fists down on the roof of his car. His mind raced.
Right, what now? No car, no phone, six mile walk across town. Options. Options. Options.
For a split second he did seriously consider walking across town. Yes, he would be hour’s late home, but at least he had a decent story to back himself up. Jenny had a second set of keys and he could pick up the car in the morning. He also considered asking a neighbour to use a phone to call Jenny, but after his run in with Old Wrinkly Ass this wasn’t his favoured option. He could have walked and phoned from a telephone box on the way but he had no change. No, the option that came clearer to him was perhaps the most illogical one available. But in his mind it made perfect sense. Walk round the side of the enormous hedge, find a way through (he knew there were holes in it from being a kid), once in the safe confines of the garden he had ample time to find an open window to break in, pick up his keys and be home in less than half an hour. No harm. No foul. The windows on the back of the garage had never shut properly and he had clear memories of being locked out as a kid and clambering in.
Perhaps being at the old place and all those memories coming back had given him a burst of youthful enthusiasm, because two minutes later he had clawed his way through the hedge (scratching both his arms quite badly in the process) and was standing in the middle of his parents immaculately mowed lawn. The sight he was greeted with however, was not what he was expecting. For some reason, right in the middle of the garden, right where his mother’s lovely decorated floral rockery had been for the last thirty years, was an absolutely huge hole.
Chapter 3
Dave’s elder sister Katy had died at the age of thirteen one August afternoon during the school summer holidays. Dave’s parents were devastated and his relationship with them from that point on was dramatically different. Katy had always been a rebellious and tempestuous girl, constantly arguing with her mother and siding with her father. At times they were like an impenetrable fortress; all private jokes and indecipherable conversations.
Dave was much closer to his mother. She was the one who took him to see ‘Star Wars’ when he was only five; reason enough one might say. But she was also his point of contact in the house; she helped him with his homework; with his computer games; bought him that first vampire novel that scared the shit out of him and let him stay up late when his father was working to watch late night horror films (not on a school night obviously!). She was in fact a good friend. Maybe it was because his Father gravitated towards Katy more that she felt she needed to be closer to Dave, if that was the case, she never let it show. Dave felt real love from his mother, a love that remained even after the death of his sister changed the dynamics of the house.
Katy’s death was one of those stupid freak accidents that happen from time to time. Totally unbelievable if they were to appear in a horror nove
l, but eerily tragic in real life. The family that lived opposite his parents lived for and loved cars. In fact, if Dave didn’t know any better he would have sworn they were the Ford family - Mr & Mrs Ford with their three lovely daughters; Fiesta, Escort and Sierra. In truth their real names were the Dawson’s. They did actually have three daughters but they weren’t at all lovely (the middle daughter, Sophie, was in Dave’s class at school. She was one of those far too good looking girls – and she knew it). She also had a real mean streak that Dave, being the quiet lad he was, stayed well clear of.
On that stormy August day Mr Dawson and his fat brother Scott, were fixing an old Ford Granada on their driveway. As far as Dave could recall they weren’t proper mechanics and didn’t work for any garage. They just always had different cars on their driveway which they spent most of their days taking apart. Mr Dawson – first name Ian – was sitting in the driver’s seat revving the car whilst Scott tinkered with the engine.
Katy was across the street talking to the Dawson’s eldest Natalie outside the house. Somehow (and a lot of this Dave picked up from scattered conversations during the long days and weeks that followed) whilst the car was in full rev, Ian leant on the gear stick and the car shot across the street, jumped off the kerb and smacked right into the corner of his parents’ house; crushing Katy between car and house. She was killed instantly – the car virtually severing her in half on impact.
Although Dave rarely went out on the front lawn to play – the hedge surrounding the huge back garden provided plenty of enclosed space – he knew he was lucky. Even at ten years of age he knew what had happened and knew it could easily have been him. Dave and his mother were in the back garden when they heard an enormous crash followed by a car horn. To this day Dave can still hear the horn continuously sounding in a mournful tone signalling to anyone nearby that something really awful had just happened and everybody should quickly, come take a look.
Homecoming Page 1