The Butcher's Daughter

by Jane E James

  Barely able to stand, Frank relies on the bar to keep himself upright, but his beer sloshes everywhere, making the counter wet and slippery. Every time he takes a swig from his pint, his elbows are in danger of disappearing from under him. He already has a split lip from the last time his face encountered it. Wiping blood from his mouth and smearing it drunkenly across his face, Frank slams his empty glass down with such force it shatters, causing more faces to turn and glance in his direction. When Frank spots Bob Black’s grinning face among the crowd, his temper increases.

  ‘Had enough of this damn place. I’m getting out,’ Frank mumbles incoherently.

  ‘Shush, Frank. They’ll hear you,’ Barbara hisses from across the counter.

  Staring over at the stony-faced regulars, Frank thumps his fists on the bar. ‘So what if they do. I don’t care. I don’t care anymore. Do you hear me? Do your worst, I tell you.’

  Frank’s tirade causes him to lose his balance and unable to stop himself, he tumbles heavily to the floor, where he lies in a prostrate heap, still mumbling.

  ‘Sixteen years!’ Frank chokes back an angry sob and covers his sweaty face with his hands. ‘It’s too much to ask of any man.’

  Sensing that an unnatural silence has settled on the pub, and that all eyes are on him, Frank peers through his fingers at the regulars who have come to crowd around him. They won’t want to miss seeing the big man cry. He can guess what they are thinking; that they never thought they would live to see this day. Bob has pushed his way to the front, his boot inches away from Frank’s head. Dazed as he is, Frank watches the bloodstained boot tapping restlessly on the floor and guesses Bob would love to aim it at his skull. The mood in the pub has changed and sensing he is in real trouble, Frank tries to pull himself up, but his body has never felt so old or weary, and he sinks back down again with a sickening thud. That’s when something falls out of his pocket onto the floor.

  They see it before Frank does. He hears their gasps and sees them take a few uncertain steps backwards but it is not until Bob has it in his hand that Frank realises what it is. His head might be spinning, his vision blurred, but he would be a fool not to recognise his own necklace or the fact that the landlady’s face above him is bleached with fear at the sight of it. Bob’s cronies have formed a menacing circle around him, their faces twisted with anger and suspicion. If Frank wasn’t in trouble before, he is now.

  ‘You been hanging out with them dirty gypsies again, Frank?’ Bob demands, shaking the charm necklace in Frank’s sweating face.

  ‘He wouldn’t. Not after last time. You wouldn’t. Would you, Frank?’ Barbara sticks up for him yet again. Frank wonders why she bothers. Truth be told, she’s always been sweet on him, even before he married Viv, but she couldn’t hold a candle to his wife. Not then, not—

  Putting in a super human effort to sober up, Frank fakes an unconvincing laugh. ‘I’m drunk. I don’t know what I’m saying.’

  When Frank sees that this isn’t working, he experiences a sickening but familiar fear, the kind he’d forgotten existed. Trying a different approach, he appeals to his lifelong rival, hoping for clemency.

  ‘You know me, Bob,’ Frank wheedles.

  ‘That’s right, Frank. I do,’ Bob hisses cruelly, without a glimmer of pity.

  The House By The Sea

  Natalie

  The lights went out over an hour ago and the only half-decent candle I managed to light is threatening to go out too. Soon, I will be alone in the dark. The house, silent before, seems to have come alive, groaning and whispering, filling my head with ghostly voices that are impossible to shut out. That’s why I am cradling the flickering flame with my hands, as if it were more precious than life itself.

  Knowing that if I don’t find a torch, I am going to have to spend a night in this house without any light, it occurs to me that I needn’t be alone; I could go to the gypsy camp instead. There, I would be safe. From what, or from whom, Natalie? Jumping to my feet, I wonder why I did not think of it before, but my sudden movement causes the candle to go out, exactly what I did not want, damn it, and I am thrown into a world of moving shadows. A shiver of fear runs down my spine as I imagine I hear the familiar slaughterhouse sounds—Drip. Splat. Drip. Even so, I manage to fumble my way across the darkened kitchen, feeling for the cardigan I left hanging on the back of a chair. The night has taken a chilly turn and it is always cooler down on the beach.

  When I reach the door, I see a face, twisted and blurred in the glass, looking back at me. Instinctively, I scream and jump backwards, my hand clutching at my racing heart. At first, I think it is my mother come to find me, because the face looks as if it has been there some time. My chest continues to pound with fear even when I realise it is Daniel.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,’ he says, letting himself in.

  Although he is smiling, I can tell this is not the same polite Daniel, who on his previous visit, would not step foot on the porch without first being invited. I also get the impression that he had every intention of scaring me. That this is exactly what he is here for. Because of this, I make up my mind not to let him see my alarm. His being here at night, without my father’s permission or my consent, makes me nervous.

  ‘It’s a bit late to be running around in the dark, don’t you think?’ he states disapprovingly.

  Every word sounds like a threat coming from him and I take a few paces back; put some distance between us. Playing for time, I slip on the cardigan and fiddle with the buttons, while I try to figure things out. Why is he here? What does he want?

  ‘The power went out,’ I offer, hoping to appear as casual as he does, although in the end my trembling fingers give me away. ‘So I thought I’d go and find my father,’ I lie unconvincingly, but rather than let me by, Daniel blocks my way. I am tall for a girl but he still manages to tower over me.

  ‘He’s in the pub,’ he states with authority. ‘And he won’t thank you if you go looking for him.’

  Daniel is right of course, and I nod in the dark to show that I have understood. ‘I would invite you to stay, Daniel, but—’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about you all day,’ he interrupts, cracking his knuckles at the same time. A horrible intimidating sound, as if he might use them on me.

  He is right beside me. Much closer than I can bear. I am surprised I did not smell him sooner. He reeks of blood, sweat and death. The smell is on his clothes, his breath, his hands—which are in my hair. Freezing at his touch, it’s all I can do not to slap him.

  ‘I’m booked in for a life-saving liver transplant tomorrow,’ he sniggers unpleasantly in my ear, ‘but I could always get out of it if you’d agree to come out with me instead.’

  ‘I am not sure that’s a good idea, Daniel.’ I am forced to speak my mind. I am my father’s daughter when all is said and done. Daniel is not stupid. Even he can read a direct put down and he is quick to lose his temper. I feel him, rather than see him, step away from me.

  ‘You seemed pretty sure the other night. You were up for it as much as—’

  ‘I was not up for it.’ My raised voice matches his. I must put an end to this. I should have done it sooner. Then I remind myself that Daniel is not the ordinary guy I first took him for. He is dangerous. It would not be wise to upset him any more than is needed.

  ‘We had a nice time, Daniel,’ I say more gently. ‘But I don’t think I want to do it again. Now I must go and find…’

  Deliberately side stepping him, I walk determinedly towards the door, but he grabs my arm and pulls me towards him, his stinking breath hot on my face. I try to pull away, but he is much stronger than me. Pushing his face into mine, I can’t believe I once found him attractive, our noses almost touch. This close, I can see that his eyes are full of hatred.

  ‘You’re a mental case,’ he hisses cruelly. ‘You don’t know what you want.’

  I am angry, rather than afraid, and as a result I find the strength to thrust him off. I don’t know who this surprises
more, him or me, but he backs off all the same, wary of me now. In the dark, we circle each other like sparring partners.

  ‘You killed the gypsy’s dog. I know you did. Don’t bother denying it.’

  ‘I put it out of its misery,’ he sneers. ‘What? You don’t believe me?’

  I shake my head furiously at him. What kind of fool does he take me for? Deciding that I am through being lied to, I go to the door and pointedly hold it open.

  ‘And now I’m putting you out of yours. My father doesn’t like you. I don’t like you. And if that makes me a mental case, then I’m relieved to hear it.’

  Little Downey Beach

  Up ahead, I can see the campfire burning. I am drawn to it like a lone wolf lured by the moon. Beside me, the waves break gently on the shore and the smell of sea salt in the air reminds me of Jed and our time spent together in the water. When I am almost upon the campsite, I pause in the shadows to watch the brother and sister from a distance.

  Merry hugs the fire, while the baby claws at handfuls of her long hair. Jed, deep in thought, has his head bent low. I get the feeling that, like me, he likes to mull things over, but disguises this aspect of his personality behind a sarcastic smile. Just like Daniel, I can’t help thinking. But Jed would never hurt me the way Daniel did. Nor would he harm any animal, let alone an injured frightened one.

  I was wrong before, about the chicken on the chopping block. Jed didn’t kill it. I know that now. Either I secretly wanted to think ill of him or I made the whole scene up in my head. This is what can happen when I forget to take my mediation. I should know better. Isn’t Dr Moses always warning me about stuff like that. Shuddering at the memory of Daniel’s hands on me, I rub my arm where he grabbed it and imagine I can still feel his fingers digging into my skin. Tomorrow there will be bruises. I hate that he has left a mark on me, as if I somehow belong to him.

  Before walking into the warm glowing world the gypsies inhabit, I wipe my tear-stained face in the hope that Merry and Jed will not notice that I have been crying. They glance up when they see me approach but neither seems alarmed or surprised. Rather, it is as if they have been expecting me. Merry hitches along the large piece of shipwreck debris they are sitting on and gestures for me to join them. Straight away, I figure out what Jed has been doing—whittling at a wooden carving of a dog, while his real dog rests its head in his lap. It opens its sleepy eyes fleetingly when it sees me, then closes them again. I do not blame it. I would not move from my place if I were it. Jed smiles at me with twinkling eyes, but goes on with his carving, leaving Merry to do the talking.

  ‘I’ll make some tea,’ she says, as if this is her answer to everything, and I realise then that my red eyes have not gone unnoticed, at least by her. I am grateful for her silence but my gratitude does not last long, because before I can argue with her, she has placed the baby in my arms and disappeared into the caravan. I have never held a baby before and it shows. Afraid of squeezing it too tightly or dropping it altogether, I imagine I must look awkward holding it. Jed seems determined not to help me out. He goes on with his whittling.

  ‘Can’t keep away, huh?’ He throws me an amused smile.

  ‘I like being out here. It’s peaceful.’

  ‘That’s Merry for you. She has that effect on people.’

  He is inordinately proud of his sister, I can tell, and I feel a pang of jealousy that I know is unwarranted. Merry has shown me nothing but kindness and hospitality and doesn’t deserve to come under my spiteful radar.

  ‘Not just Merry,’ I reply hesitantly, almost wishing my words unsaid. ‘I am sorry about your dog.’ I try again. ‘What was its name?’

  ‘It was just a dog. Didn’t have no name.’ Jed grimaces, not once looking up.

  I do not believe him. I am not sure I am meant to, but one glance at his hardened jaw convinces me to change the subject. Even here, with Jed, I am at the mercy of men’s moods.

  ‘Does the baby have a name?’ I try out a smile on him, but he doesn’t look up to catch it.

  ‘Merry calls it Darkly.’

  ‘Unusual.’ I pull a face, thinking what a strange pair they are. We are both silent for a while, each of us gazing into the fire, no doubt seeing something completely different there.

  ‘They suit you.’

  He is smiling at me again, all traces of his brooding mood gone, but I have no idea what he is talking about.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Babies. You look as if you should have a lot of them.’

  My face reddening has nothing whatsoever to do with the heat from the fire but I cannot listen to Jed talking about babies without… Then, I realise I am being stupid. There is no hidden meaning to his words. He is simply speaking his mind.

  ‘I would like that,’ I reply, smiling back at him to show that I mean it. For some reason, it is important he believes me, although it does look as if I cannot tell one end of a baby from another. ‘I always wished I’d had lots of little brothers and sisters to take care of.’

  ‘Be careful what you wish for,’ Jed warns, no longer smiling. I watch his eyes involuntarily dart to Merry’s baby, before dropping away again.

  His words hang in the air between us. Whatever can he mean? I glance at his bowed head, but he refuses to meet my eye, just goes on with his whittling, the knife slicing through wood and sending splinters of it into the flames. Then I look down at the baby whose bright blue eyes are looking back up at me with an easy kind of acceptance; as if it already knows me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Jed was suggesting—but even I know that babies are born with blue eyes and that this one will develop the same green eyes of its mother in time. When I see Merry coming out of the caravan, juggling three steaming mugs in her hands and looking as young and beautiful as ever, I know I am being ridiculous.

  As soon as the herbal tea is handed around, Merry relieves me of the baby, pausing in her juggling of it, to glare at a spot on my neck.

  ‘You’re not wearing your lucky charm necklace.’ She tuts.

  ‘No. Sorry.’ Guiltily, my hand goes to my throat. ‘I must have forgotten.’ I cannot bring myself to tell her that I would never wear anything so macabre.

  ‘You must wear it, Natalie. Look. See.’ Merry pushes her hair to one side so I can see the charm necklace around her own neck. It is like the one she gave me, only more elaborate.

  ‘The villagers can spit at me or throw things but nothing can hurt me while I wear this,’ she emphasises, as if she truly believes it.

  The House By The Sea

  The silence between us, as we climb the steep sand trail up to the house, is anything but awkward. Few people can stay silent for so long, but I like that we allow our expressions to do most of the talking. I am looking at him now, sideways on, wondering if he is thinking the same as me—that I don’t want this walk to end; but when the lights in my father’s house came back on again after only an hour, I no longer had an excuse to stay at the campsite. Yet when I stood up to leave, I sensed Jed shared my disappointment. Things got better when Merry, with a knowing gleam in her eye, insisted he walk me home.

  Merry might be on my side, but the dog isn’t. It throws me jealous looks as if it considers me a serious contender for its master’s affections. This action alone tells me more than Jed ever would. To reassure it, I reach down to stroke it, only to find Jed’s fingers are already there, in the soft folds of the dog’s fur. I leave my hand there, and so does he, which is equally telling. His skin feels leathery and warm, not cold and sweaty like Daniel’s.

  When I imagine Jed’s hands on my body, I feel myself blushing, which makes me glad of the dark, but I am not the slightest bit ashamed. Unable to bear it any longer, I am about to tell him how I feel, when I realise we have reached the whitewashed building. Shame hits me then, like a bolt gun between the eyes, and I can hardly breathe for thinking of my mother. Instead of helping her, of trying to solve the mystery of what happened to her, I have been thinking only of myself. How could I have let my de
sire for a man get in the way of that.

  Guiltily snapping my hand away from Jed’s, I rake my hand agitatedly through my hair, ripping through knots. The pain is not enough but it is better than nothing. Meanwhile, Jed has come to a stop beside me, surprised by my sudden rejection of him. I don’t have to glance at him to know that he is looking at me in a questioning way. The dog too.

  ‘Why did you come back here?’ he wants to know.

  I get the feeling he already knows the answer to this but wants me to say the words out loud anyway. Perhaps he is right. That is exactly what I need to do. I look over at the whitewashed building again and feel myself shudder.

  ‘There are things I have to know,’ I tell him.

  ‘Your mother,’ Jed guesses intuitively.

  Finding it hard to tear my glance away from the barred window where I first saw her, I wonder if she is in there now, watching us. She could be cold and hungry. Should I go to her? I ask myself for the hundredth time, but the same numbing fear prevents me. As Jed guides me away from the building, I question whether she is there at all or if she exists only in my imagination. But Jed saw her too, I remind myself, and he is as real as I am.

  ‘They told me she was dead and for a long time I believed them,’ I admit to Jed, who is sitting next to me on one of the dusty steps leading up to the porch.