Watching, Waiting: A SHORT Story

by Matt Shaw

  Copyright©2015 by Matt Shaw

  Matt Shaw Publications

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The characters in this book are purely fictitious.

  Any likeness to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  WARNING:

  This is a SHORT STORY.

  It is intended for the readers who are subscribed to Kindle Unlimited.

  It is designed to give you a short jolt of‘weird’or‘disturbing’before bedtime.

  If you are looking for a longer piece, please do NOT purchase any of the‘F*cked-Up Shorts’range.

  There are many longer stories available HERE

  About this title:

  Matt Shaw is known for his extreme stories. He enjoys pushing boundaries and making people feel uncomfortable with the words he writes. Usually. This is not one of those tales. This is a tamer one. There is not much blood and guts. Some tales just do not need it. There are, though, twists and turns aplenty…

  Watching,

  Waiting.

  Matt Shaw

  Tuesday

  12:45

  Blue skies. No clouds. A brilliant sun shining high. You can feel the warmth against your skin. One could be fooled into thinking it’s a beautiful day. I guess to some out there it is. To me the day feels just as grey as other days. For all intents and purposes it may as well be raining such is my mood.

  I took a drag of the cigarette hanging from my mouth and held it in my lungs for a while longer than usual, letting the nicotine ease my stress. I slowly exhaled as I flicked the butt to the side.

  “That’s littering,” my wife said. She always moaned when I threw my butts to the floor. I ignored her and sat back on the sheet we’d laid down upon the park’s grassy bank. She was sitting next to me with a small hamper of food between us; our attempt at a romantic picnic on this Summer’s Day although I’m not sure why I packed so much food. I had only eaten one sandwich and a biscuit and she hadn't touched anything. I presume she had eaten earlier. She probably wasn’t expecting me to drop a surprise picnic on her. So much for being spontaneous.

  “You aren’t hungry?” I asked her.

  I’d have to be packing up soon by the looks of it. If she wanted anything to eat, she would have to be quick or else she’d lose her chance. She answered by shaking her head before changing the subject.

  “Why are we here?” she asked.

  I looked back towards the tree line across the freshly cut field. Kids were playing football, people were walking dogs, groups from the nearby offices were enjoying alfresco lunches. I wasn’t interested in any of them. Only one person interested me and he was currently kicking a ball around. Watching the way younger kids were chasing after him, I’d hazard a guess to say it hadn’t been his to begin with. I realised my wife was still waiting for my reply and turned my attention back to her.

  “I thought it would be nice,” I said.

  “Nice?”

  “To spend time together.”

  “Well, yes it would be,” she said, “at least it would be if you were here with me.”

  “What are you talking about I am here.”

  “You’ve hardly spoken to me. You’ve just been staring over there. I have no idea where you are.” She followed my earlier gaze across the fields to where I had been staring. “What’s over there that’s so interesting anyway?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh I see,” she said.

  “What?”

  I turned away from her and glanced back across the field.

  “Getting a nice eyeful?”

  At first I didn’t know what she was talking about… Until, that is, I clocked what she’d seen. A group of teenage girls lying on the floor, not wearing a lot of clothes - merrily topping up their tans as though they hadn’t a care in the world.

  “I wasn’t even looking at them,” I defended myself. I actually wasn’t although I could see - from the look on her face - she didn’t believe me.

  “Then what were you looking at?”

  I looked back to what had originally caught my attention. I couldn’t tell her the truth.

  “I’m waiting,” she said impatiently.

  I laughed, “Okay, you got me, I’m sorry…”

  “I can’t believe you,” she shook her head in disbelief, yet she had a smile in place.

  “What?”

  “You bring me out for a romantic picnic, your words, and then you stare at girls young enough to be your daughter.”

  I laughed again, “It wasn’t like that. I just turned off for a moment.”

  She laughed, more so because she didn’t know what else to do given what I’d just told her, “That’s even worse!” she said. “You bring me out on a romantic picnic and then - I bore you so much - you turn off from me. Wow, you really know how to make a girl feel good about herself.”

  I started to put the uneaten food back into the hamper, along with the flasks of hot tea, “That’s not what I meant.”

  She didn’t move; just sat there watching me load the hamper back up. The food won’t go to waste. I’ll get it home and put it in the fridge. So long as I cover it all up, it should last a few days yet. Saves making myself something for work first thing in the mornings although it would have been nice to see her eat something.

  “Then what did you mean?” she asked. She raised an eyebrow, expecting an answer. I didn’t answer her. I stopped what I was doing and looked at her, unsure of how best to respond without getting myself further in trouble. This was supposed to be a nice afternoon out. Come here with the wife, enjoy a nice picnic and - of course - watch him, not that she knew that. She started to laugh, “I’m just teasing you.”

  “You’re a dick,” I laughed and - at the same time - breathed a sigh of relief. “Help me pack up.”

  “No, you’re okay, I’m enjoying watching you,” she said. She laid back on the cloth and rested her head on her hand, propped up by the elbow.

  “Thanks then!”

  “This was your idea. You said I wouldn’t have to lift a finger.”

  “Yeah well maybe if you had helped me make the sandwiches, maybe you would have wanted to eat one too… Last time I try and do something nice!” I said. She had literally touched nothing of the picnic. She said she’d eaten before I had surprised her with the idea. She had eaten but was more than happy to come along anyway and make the most of the warm sunshine. I stopped what I was doing long enough to admire her. She looked so pretty. Her crystal blue eyes shining in the brilliant sunshine, her long blonde hair seemingly more blonde with the sun beating down upon her head, her nose and cheeks already slightly red. And to think, we’ve only been here for about forty minutes. She catches the damned sun so easily whereas I can sit it in all day and still look like Casper the friendly ghost.

  “What are you looking at?” she asked, a playful smile on her face.

  I smiled, “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? Oh, charming!”

  “No, that wasn’t what I meant!” I quickly corrected myself, “You’re so beautiful,” I told her.

  I’m not sure how but her face seemed to get a little bit redder. She smiled and looked down at the pattern on the blanket we rested upon.

  “Shut up,” she went all coy.

  “I don’t say it enough,” I said, “but it’s true. You’re beautiful. I’m the luckiest man alive.”

  She tried to hide her embarrassment by being a smart-ass back at me, “You’re not so bad your
self,” she said. She smiled, as did I. She never was one to take a compliment. She often felt awkward or, if someone presented her with one, that the individual talking to her was having a laugh at her expense by being sarcastic but that wasn’t what I was doing. I meant it. I also meant it when I stated I never said it enough. I wasn’t one for saying things like that not that I am sure why. I guess I am one of those men who prefer to say it when he really means it so that the person on the receiving end of the compliment knew it to be genuine. If you say things too often - such as ‘I love you’ - then they can become redundant words; their true meaning lost. “Stop looking at me,” she said, getting embarrassed again.

  “I can’t help it,” I laughed as I resumed the packing up of our picnic.

  From somewhere over my shoulder, a child screamed out. On instinct I turned in time to see a football flying towards us. The lad I had been watching was smirking, a little further away than the child screaming out for the ball. He turned and started to walk off as the child, and his friends, ran over to collect their ball as it rolled to a stop on my blanket. I picked it up and threw it back to them before hurriedly continuing to pack our stuff up. The kids ran off in the opposite direction to the one who’d kicked the ball.

  “That’s not like you,” my wife said.

  “What’s that?” I asked, not stopping what I was doing.

  “Usually you’d have lectured them,” she pointed out. She was right. Usually I would have given them a ticking off or I would have told them to take their ball games elsewhere, away from the people trying to enjoy their picnics, or quiet lunch breaks, but there was no time. He was leaving which - in turn - meant we needed to leave too.

  “Accidents happen,” I shrugged. “Come on.” I jumped up, with the hamper in hand. As soon as she got to her feet I scooped the blanket up too, holding it between body and arm. My wife patted her clothes down both to get rid of the creases and any traces of the park - such as blades of grass.

  “What’s the hurry?” she asked.

  “Nothing. I just want to beat the traffic,” I said. Another lie and not even the best. It was a little after one in the afternoon and traffic wouldn’t be building up for another couple of hours at least.

  “Traffic?” she asked. I ignored her as I started off in the direction of the young lad; my eyes glued to the back of his head. Sixteen years old but he looks to be eighteen. I see him around quite a lot. His name is Travis. Usually you would find him the centre of attention - in a large group - of young lads all looking up to him and girls wanting to be ‘with him’. Looking on from the outside, you can see why that would be the case. Look into the group though, listen carefully to what is said, and you know it’s not for the best. Travis shouldn’t be a role model. Someone needs to tell him.

  “Excuse me!’ I called out after him.

  “What are you doing?” Kathy, my wife, asked.

  “I’m just going to have a quiet word with him.”

  “Just leave it. You said accidents happen. It was an accident.”

  I shook my head, “No. He intentionally kicked it at us. No point shouting at the kids who came to collect it because,” and I pointed out the fact that the real owners of the football had headed off in a completely different direction, “it wasn’t their fault,” I said. I had been watching. The two lads had been playing ball down on the open field, well away from people such as my wife and I. The only reason they’d come anywhere near us was because Travis had stolen the ball from them; just another older boy being a dick to the younger ones. Nothing that didn’t happen every day.

  “Well he’s gone now,” she continued, “does it really matter? And no harm was done.”

  “It’s the principle,” I told her.

  She stopped walking, “You’re so embarrassing. I don’t want to be a part of this,” she said.

  Fair enough, I thought. I continued after Travis, quickening my pace. I called out again, “Excuse me?” He still didn’t turn around. Perhaps I was being too polite for someone of his standing? “Oi!” I called out.

  Travis turned towards me, a look of pure hatred on his face. I don’t believe it was just me who received such a look. He was known in the town. He had an attitude problem.

  “You talking to me?” he hissed. I was instantly reminded of his namesake, Travis Bickle from the film ‘Taxi Driver’. Is that the direction this young lad is headed? Will he - at some point - grab some guns and go on a killing spree? God only knows. “Hey Granddad, you talking to me?” he spat again.

  “You just kicked that ball…”

  “What? Wasn’t me, mate.”

  He had no idea who I was. If he did then there was no guilt there, no compassion. Nothing. My heart skipped a beat and I felt sick when I found myself asking if he even remembered. I’m not sure which would have been worse; the fact he didn’t remember or that he didn’t care. I tried to dismiss the questions buzzing through my mind.

  “I watched you do it,” I said.

  “Got it wrong, mate, was someone else.”

  “I’m not your mate.”

  “Look just fuck off before we have a problem, yeah?” He made himself look broader by puffing his chest up. He was about sixteen years old, yes, but he was built much, much bigger which is probably what helped with his alpha-status with people of his own age. He didn’t scare me though. If he wanted to take a swing, he was more than welcome. I’d welcome it and consequences be damned.

  “Come on,” a woman said to my side. I glanced at her. She was ushering her young daughter away from Travis and I, offended by the language and wishing to shield her daughter from it. I can’t say I blame her, especially if things were about to kick off between us. I turned back to Travis. I felt my wife’s eyes burning into the back of my skull. She felt just as uncomfortable as the stranger beside me.

  I wanted to smash his head in. I wanted to keep hitting him until he stopped breathing. I wanted to stamp on his throat… So much I want to do. Here isn’t the place. Neither the place nor the time. I tried to wrap things up, “Look just watch where you kick balls in the future, yeah?”

  “Told you, mate, wasn’t me.” He smirked and turned his back on me. I looked around at the people close to us wishing – more than anything - that we would suddenly find ourselves alone and I’d be able to simply hit him in the back of his smug head. The problem with sunny days, though, is that the park is rarely empty. Certainly not empty enough to get away with swinging the first punch, especially at someone who’d be seen as a minor still, despite all he’d done. I watched as he walked away with that damned swagger he used, as though he were the main man. Kathy came up beside me.

  “Did he learn his lesson?” she asked.

  “Let’s go,” I headed off towards where we’d parked the car. Kathy followed.

  14:35

  I was sitting at my computer - in my home office - staring at the screen half paying attention and half in another world; a world where everything was better. Everything was different.

  “What are you doing?” Kathy asked, from the doorway.

  I clicked a button on my keyboard and the screen went blank, hiding what I was looking at. I swivelled around in my office chair and smiled at Kathy.

  “Just work,” I said.

  She was standing there in nothing but one of my tee shirts - some musical band shirt which stopped above her knees. She looked sexy.

  “Stephanie isn’t home yet, we have the house to ourselves, I thought you might want to come to bed with me,” she purred, a seductive smile on her face. Stephanie was our fourteen year old daughter. Ninety percent of the time, the perfect daughter. Ten percent of the time, a typical teenager. Kathy thought she wasn’t home because she was still at school but I hadn’t told her the full story, Stephanie was staying with a friend tonight and wouldn’t be home at all. What with organising the picnic and then rushing home, it had completely slipped my mind that Stephanie had told me she wouldn’t be home earlier. Kathy continued, “But, you know, if you�
�re working… I guess I can go to bed by myself…” She shrugged and turned from the room. I couldn’t help but watch. She must have been holding the front of the shirt as she walked away what with the way it hugged her arse so tightly. I couldn’t help but smile as I jumped to my feet and followed her down the hallway. I got to the bedroom door and froze.

  “What are you waiting for?” she asked from her side of our large king-sized bed.

  “I’m sorry,” I told her, “there’s something I need to do.”

  “Well can it wait?”

  I shook my head, “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  I turned and headed down the hallway to the stairs.

  “You’re joking, right?” Kathy called out from the bedroom. I can tell by the tone in her voice that she isn’t sure if I am being serious or not. When I leave the house, car keys in hand, she’ll know for sure and the confused tone will change to a pissed one. I can deal with that when I get back home though. She’d understand. She wouldn’t want me to leave the house, she’d want me to stay in, but she would know why I had to.

  I grabbed the keys from the hook, at the bottom of the stairs and left via the front door. There were five steps down to the drive. I touched only one of them in my haste to get to my waiting car. I pointed the key-fob to the metal bodywork and pressed it down, unlocking the vehicle in the process. The lights flashed as the central-locking clicked open. Seconds later and I was in the driver’s seat, sliding the key into the ignition. I gave the key a twist and the car spat into life. I can only imagine Kathy’s reaction not that I really have the time to be worrying about that. I need to do this. For my own sake if nothing else.

  Without a second thought about home, I pulled away from the drive and sped off through the quiet cul-de-sac where we’d spent the majority of our married life, ignoring one of my neighbours in the process as he stood there - in his drive - waving at me.

  Time was ticking on. If I wanted to make it, I’d have to put my foot down. It was a twenty-minute drive at the best of times and that wasn't taking school-run traffic into consideration. As I pulled up at the junction, ready to turn right, I mentally berated myself; I should have left earlier.