by Amy Lloyd
They settled into their routine, Sam cleaning the rooms that Dennis had cleared, winding cobwebs around a duster, using an old toothbrush around the yellowed light switches. No matter how much she cleaned it all looked soiled, the dirt and misery soaked deep into the surfaces. All the wood felt soft and tacky to the touch, as if it were rubbing off on to her own skin until she was covered in the same invisible layer of filth.
The sound of a car outside made her start. This time there were two of them, Officer Harries and the same young cop in an immaculately pressed brown uniform, walking slowly to the door. She went outside before Dennis did and the young man tipped his hat and smiled perfunctorily.
‘Morning. Is your husband home?’ Dennis came from behind her and squeezed her shoulder with one hand, sending bolts of pleasure and anxiety through her back.
‘What now, guys?’
This is about last night, Sam thought. And she looked at everyone, deciding what she would do or say if they asked her where he had been.
‘We had reports of some gunfire here around four-thirty yesterday afternoon. You know anything about that?’
Sam breathed out in relief.
‘Nope.’ Dennis shrugged. ‘You hear anything, babe?’
‘Nothing.’ Sam raised her shoulders elaborately, palms up. It was an absurd gesture, she realised.
‘Got some kids who were pretty shaken up. Said you fired a couple off into the air when you caught them snooping around.’
‘Sounds like it could have been a lot worse. What about the whole Stand Your Ground law? Maybe they should be more careful where they mess around. Some people around here take that kind of thing very seriously.’
‘You got a licence for that weapon?’ the younger cop chipped in.
‘I’m just speaking hypothetically, of course. There’s no weapons here. Maybe those kids got lost. They could have been at some other house around here.’
‘No other houses out here. Not for a couple of miles.’
‘Well, maybe they’re just telling stories.’
‘We can get a warrant, Dennis,’ Officer Harries said. ‘Or you can let us in and we’ll just take the weapon. I know your dad might’ve had more than just the one he used to shoot himself with.’
‘Look, we’d love to have you guys in but we’re kind of stretched today. Maybe another time?’
‘We’ll see you again, then. Just be safe, now.’ Harries looked at Sam, and gave her a small nod.
When they’d gone, Dennis slammed his palm against the wall of the house, over and over, until the cracked window spat out a shard of glass on to the porch. ‘You see? They just want me back inside. They can’t let it go.’
‘Maybe we should get everything sorted as quickly as possible and just leave. Look at how stressed it makes you.’
At this Dennis became agitated. He reeled off a long list of chores that needed to be finished before they could run him out of town, told Sam she was being unsupportive, and started to dismantle his bed in his old room with a renewed ferocity, muttering under his breath about funeral directors and coffins and goddamn reverends. He brought his boot down on to the frame, snapping it in two, and threw the pieces to the side. Sam picked them up and took them to the dumpsters, which were nearly full, stopping for a moment to think again how her life had changed so much in one year and how different it could have been.
Sam had often thought that if Mark had been interested and available from the start she wouldn’t have pushed so hard. They had almost nothing in common, and she remembered with bitterness the hours she’d spent watching him play Call of Duty, talking into a headset while she marked mock exams on her lap beside him. He was no Dennis; he was pudgy and indistinct. There were a billion Marks, walking around in their faded movie memorabilia T-shirts, Jaws and Star Wars and Back to the Future, brown hair kept short, telling women they didn’t want a relationship but really, Sam knew, just holding out for something better to come their way. And something would because women were so stupid. They thought a man like Mark would appreciate them more, that because he was dull and ugly he would love them just for loving him. But it wasn’t how it worked; she knew this now. Even the fat and boring ones thought they were entitled to more.
With Dennis she felt more secure. Women mostly seemed invisible to him, even the truly beautiful ones who moved like cats around him while he spoke. There was only Lindsay who seemed to hold something over him. Lindsay, whose old eyeliner was smudged beneath her new eyeliner, whose face was mapped with hairline wrinkles, the smell of stale smoke trailing her as she walked. They shared some history, something old and buried deep, but she felt it. She felt it the way she could feel the train before it arrived, an energy that travelled through her bones.
Sam walked around to the back of the house and took a seat on an old, rusted chest freezer. She looked out into the dark woods. It was like a whole different world. She considered the way Dennis had grown up, how his life had been on pause for over twenty years while he’d been on Death Row. There were times when she forgot he wasn’t something to be worked out, a narrative to be unravelled, but a messy, confused person. Just as she was.
‘You ready to go to dinner?’ he asked, making her jump.
‘Sure.’ He held out a hand so she could pull herself up. Inside she grabbed her bag and rooted around for the keys.
‘Here,’ he said, shaking the keys from a finger. ‘Seriously. What would you do without me?’
Twenty-eight
Lindsay arrived on Sunday evening while Dennis and Sam were laying out plates of carrot sticks and hummus for the premiere of the first episode. It felt, to Sam, like the first time they’d done something that a regular married couple would do. It was the kind of scene she remembered from her childhood, watching from the stairs as her mother and father laid out plates of party food wrapped in cling film. But the illusion was shattered as Lindsay leaned on her horn in the driveway until Dennis jogged out to speak to her through the car window.
When he came back he was carrying something inside a brown paper bag. It rattled. Dennis peered inside and exhaled, before wrapping it back up. When Lindsay came in she put down two six-packs and hugged Dennis tightly. From over his shoulder she opened her eyes and looked at Sam for a second before closing them again.
Dennis disengaged himself and walked quickly through the living room, his footsteps disappearing to the right, to the bedrooms at the back of the house. Sam continued placing bowls of nuts and edamame on the coffee table around Dennis’s MacBook. Today they would premiere the first episode of The Boy from Red River; the rest of the series would be released the following Friday. Carrie had called to say how sorry she was they couldn’t be at the premiere. Sam knew she meant it. The rest of the production crew had barely called at all since the incident on Today’s Talk. Sam thought of how quickly they’d tired of their Death Row pet.
Dennis came back without the bag Lindsay had given him and sat between Sam and Lindsay on the sofa. As they watched the preview he held the sickly grey kitten, wrapped in a hand towel, milk formula hanging in drops from his chin.
‘You think he’s gonna make it?’ Lindsay said, extending a finger to stroke its forehead.
‘Maybe,’ Dennis said.
‘If he isn’t doing better by tomorrow, we’re taking him to the vet,’ Sam said, using the corner of the towel to wipe its chin.
‘Well, if you’re looking for homes for the others, I’m game. Think a couple of kittens would be great. Teach the boys some responsibility.’
‘There’s four left to choose from; go take a look.’
‘Do you know which ones are boys? I don’t want them coming home pregnant one day.’
‘No idea.’
‘You have to get them neutered, either way,’ Sam said.
‘No point if they’re boys,’ Lindsay said, tipping her head back and pouring in some cashews.
‘Uh, yes, there is,’ Sam said. ‘Everyone has to get their cats neutered. That’s how it works. O
therwise some other cat is going to come home pregnant and get dumped like this one.’
Lindsay rolled her eyes. A powerful sense of righteous indignation rose within Sam and suddenly she felt as if this was her cause, this was what she had always truly believed in. ‘You can’t have the kittens. You’re obviously not responsible enough.’
‘Ha! Fuck you! I’ll just get them from the fucking pet store, then. Sorry, Dennis, I’m not responsible enough for your kittens.’
‘She’s kind of right though,’ Dennis said, and the smirk faded from Lindsay’s face. ‘Sorry, Linds, but you’re kind of the problem.’
They watched in silence for a while. The first episode, to Sam’s disappointment, was mostly focused on the core details of the case. It didn’t feature anything about their relationship or any of the footage she’d shot with Carrie. Suddenly, young Dennis’s face filled the screen. It had the flickering and bleached look of old VHS home videos.
‘Oh my God, Dennis,’ Lindsay said in a hushed voice. ‘You look so young …’ She leaned closer to the laptop. It looked as though she might reach out to touch it. ‘It’s so … it’s so …’ Lindsay started to cry. She covered her face in her hands. Sam didn’t know where to look.
‘Don’t cry, Linds,’ Dennis said. He tucked the kitten under one arm and hugged Lindsay with the other.
‘I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. This is so stupid,’ Lindsay said, her cries emerging like hiccups.
‘I’m here now, aren’t I?’ Dennis said. Sam wished she hadn’t been so mean to Lindsay about the kittens. She wished she knew what to say now.
‘I know,’ Lindsay sniffed. ‘It just freaked me out for a second. When I think about how long you were …’ She lowered her head again and continued to cry.
Sam looked for tissues to offer her but realised they didn’t have any. She left the room and returned with a roll of toilet paper, apologising as she handed it to Lindsay.
‘It’s fine. Thank you,’ Lindsay said. ‘I’m so embarrassed.’
‘Don’t be,’ Sam said sincerely. ‘I do this kind of thing all the time, right, Dennis?’
‘She’s not lying,’ Dennis said. ‘She cries over everything.’
Lindsay forced out a laugh. ‘It’s crazy though, right?’ she said. ‘I thought you’d never be here again. And here you are.’
The credits rolled over a piece of moody piano music and black and white images of Holly Michaels and the river and Dennis’s mugshot. Lindsay and Sam applauded and Dennis grinned.
‘It’ll be huge,’ Sam said.
‘What have people been saying about it?’ Lindsay asked. ‘You know, on Twitter.’
Sam had purposely avoided looking all day and was instantly irritated with Lindsay for bringing it up. Dennis got his phone and started to read through the reactions. As Sam had expected, there was a lot of negativity.
‘It’s only the first episode,’ Sam said. ‘And they used so much old footage. It’s just that people were expecting something new. Wait until the rest of the series is released.’
‘Listen to this one!’ Dennis said. ‘“This is the whitest story ever told.” What does that even mean?’
‘Ignore that,’ Sam said.
‘OK, what does being white have to do with anything?’ Lindsay said. ‘I’m sorry, but that’s just racist.’
‘Right?’ Dennis said.
‘Not really,’ Sam said. ‘Wait, what are you typing?’
Dennis was tapping at his phone furiously. ‘Nothing,’ he said.
‘Seriously, don’t respond!’ Sam pleaded.
‘Why not?’ He looked at the screen for a moment and pressed once.
‘What did you say?’ Lindsay asked, giggling.
‘I asked her what being white has to do with it.’
‘Delete it,’ Sam said. ‘You don’t get it. She isn’t saying that—’
‘She replied!’ Dennis said. ‘“Check your privilege.”’
‘She can’t explain it because it’s bullshit,’ Lindsay said.
‘Just say you understand what she’s saying but … What are you writing?’
‘“I was the poorest kid in town, my dad beat me, but I am privileged?”’
‘Oh God,’ Sam said.
‘He’s right though. You don’t think he’s right?’ Lindsay said. ‘Does this shit look like privilege?’
Dennis continued typing. Sam got her own phone and read as he posted: ‘One year I was the only white guy on my block in Death Row. Not privilege.’
The girl replied: ‘Uh, my point exactly. Please get out of my mentions.’
Dennis tweeted on his own feed: ‘No such thing as white privilege where I am from. Stop bringing it up. If you don’t like me, don’t watch #BoyfromRR.’
‘Dennis,’ Sam said, losing her patience. ‘You need to delete that! Now!’
‘Forget it. I’m allowed to have my opinion on the shit they say.’
‘But you don’t get it!’ Sam said.
‘I don’t think you get it,’ Lindsay said. ‘Dennis came from nothing.’
Lindsay left when the beers ran out, bored of watching Dennis bent over his phone. To Sam’s disgust she climbed unsteadily into her beat-up truck and crawled out of the driveway into the dark back roads, honking her horn goodbye.
‘It’s just what people do here,’ Dennis mumbled without looking up.
‘She could kill someone!’
‘Probably just another drunk.’
‘I don’t want to drive here at night again, not if they’re all off their faces like this.’
‘Whatever.’
Carrie called him repeatedly. Nick called. But Dennis rejected all of them and continued to argue his point. But the more he fought, the more he lost, and he couldn’t understand it. He was like a thirsty man drinking from the sea and Sam couldn’t make him stop.
Dennis carried on late into the night until his battery eventually ran out. He tossed the phone across the living room. It bounced off the inflatable mattress and skidded under the TV unit.
‘Sleep on it,’ Sam said, rubbing his shoulders. ‘Look, in the morning it won’t seem so bad.’ She hoped that was true, that it would blow over or that Nick would have the right words to make amends for the evening’s madness.
Dennis picked up the kitten and tucked him back under his arm.
‘It’s not that I don’t understand what you’re saying,’ Sam said. ‘But I think you don’t understand what they’re saying either. In a way, you’re both right. You don’t need to take it so personally. They don’t know you.’
‘I’m not taking it personally,’ he said irritably.
Dennis stood and made his way to the bathroom. Sam followed, still trying to reassure him as he sat on the edge of the bath, watching the water run. He looked tired. Sam felt a rush of love as he kissed the kitten on the head and slid him into the front pocket of his hoodie.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Sam lied. ‘Tomorrow there will be something else everybody will be mad about and no one will remember any of it.’
Dennis smiled wearily and ran his toothbrush under the water.
‘I love you,’ Sam said.
‘I love you too.’
Sam went back to the living room and started to take off her make-up. With a hand mirror she inspected her pores and her eyebrows, plucking errant hairs as she found them. She checked her phone and wondered why Dennis was taking so long.
‘Den?’ she shouted. ‘Are you coming to bed?’
He didn’t answer.
‘Dennis?’ She got up and looked towards the bathroom, the door slightly ajar. She knocked with one knuckle. ‘Dennis?’ She pushed it open. The sink was full, the faucet dripping. Dennis stood with his back to her, facing the bath. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, gently touching his shoulder. He jumped and something fell into the tub with a soft thud. ‘What’s—’ Sam recoiled. The kitten was still, his body limp, lifeless. ‘What happened?’
‘He died,’ Dennis said. ‘I was holding
him and he just …’
‘But he seemed fine. I mean …’
‘His breathing got worse. I was holding him and he was struggling. Eventually he just – stopped.’
Sam tried to look at the body but Dennis moved in front of her.
‘Is he wet?’ she asked.
‘What? I don’t know. Don’t look at him, you’ll upset yourself.’
‘He just stopped breathing?’
‘Yeah, after a while. Like I said, he was struggling. It got worse before he stopped.’
Something didn’t feel right. Sam had thought the kitten was getting worse but she didn’t think it would happen so fast. Unless he’d been sicker than she’d thought.
‘I feel terrible,’ Sam said, starting to cry.
‘We did the best we could,’ Dennis said. ‘This happens.’
He hugged her and as he did he turned her, so she wasn’t facing the bath. As he twisted her hair around one of his fingers she felt the cuff of his hoodie against her cheek, damp. She shivered.
‘Do you think we were selfish? Trying to keep him alive so long? I’m worried he suffered.’
‘What else could we have done?’ he asked.
‘The vet could have put him to sleep,’ Sam said.
Dennis let go and looked at her, suddenly his face tight with anger. ‘Put him to sleep?’ he said. ‘How would that have been any kinder?’
‘At least he wouldn’t have suffered,’ Sam said uncertainly.
‘How do you know that? How do you know it wouldn’t hurt? Would you have let them just put me to sleep?’
‘That’s not what I was saying …’
‘You don’t know if that hurts. You don’t know that it would have been kinder than …’
Than what, Sam thought. What had happened? She looked back at the body in the tub but Dennis pulled her back into him and hugged her tightly.
‘I’m sorry we couldn’t save him,’ he said. ‘We’ll bury him tomorrow. You go to bed; I’ll find somewhere to keep him until then.’