by Jason Ayres
“I haven’t got it, and you know it,” replied Kay. “I don’t get paid until next week. I’ve put a huge amount of overtime in this month, so I’ll be more than able to cover it then.”
“That’s no good to me, love,” said McVie. “I’ve got expenses to pay. I’m planning a big trip up to Scotland next week for Hogmanay and I need some spends.”
“Please, Mr McVie,” pleaded Kay, despising herself for having to grovel to this disgusting man. “Cut me some slack. I’ll be able to give you 800 quid next week. Maybe I could do a few shifts in the shop downstairs for you to make up the rest.”
“Why should I need you to do that?” said McVie. “I’ve got plenty of migrant workers that are willing to work for under the minimum wage. No questions asked, no tax, no National Insurance.” He paused, eyeing up Kay’s body. “You know you may be an ugly cow but you haven’t got too bad a body for you, considering your age. How old are you? Fifty?”
“I’m forty-three, and what’s that got to do with anything?” Kay was incensed at his comments.
He moved closer, invading her personal space once more, forcing her to shrink back towards the bed.
“You know you wouldn’t be too bad if it weren’t for those teeth. Turn around and show me your arse again,” he demanded.
“You can fuck off,” replied Kay, finally snapping and raising her voice. “What the fuck do you think I am?”
“Come off it, love, don’t be shy. I’ve seen you bringing all sorts of dodgy fellas up here over the past few months. If you can’t pay me the money you owe me, then you can pay me in kind. You might be putting on a bit of weight, but I’m not fussy. You’ll do.”
“You must be bloody joking!” shouted Kay. He was still moving towards her, a disgusting look of lust in his little piggy eyes that bulged out of his pudgy face. As she backed slowly away, she reached the edge of the bed and now tripped, falling backwards, spreadeagling herself on the mattress.
“Yes, that’s the idea, sweetheart. Come on, come to Daddy, you know it makes sense. Two hundred short, you say? Well, let’s call that four shags and a blowie between now and when I leave for Scotland next week, plus the 800 quid you’ve got coming next week and we’ll call it quits until next month.”
With that, he bellyflopped down onto the bed, trying to pin her down underneath him. Fitter and slimmer than him, she just about managed to wriggle out of his way and jump up. Running across to the window, she wrenched it open, part of the rotting wooden frame coming away in her hand.
“Let’s get something clear,” she said firmly, trying to disguise the fear in her voice. “No matter how desperate I get, I have no intention of selling myself for money, and especially not to a disgusting pig like you. Now you’ve got ten seconds to get off that bed and get out that door, or I swear I’ll scream rape out of this window.”
Kay meant every word, and felt strangely euphoric as she said it. Perhaps she had brought some of her youthful fire back from her recent trip to the past. She had not felt this strong and energised for a very long time. Whatever the reason for her newfound bravado, her forceful stance had the desired effect.
Wheezing as he winched his gargantuan frame off the bed, McVie looked furious, but with relief she saw that he was cooperating. For one horrible moment there she had thought that he really was going to force himself upon her.
He walked towards the door, but when he got there he turned back, unable to resist having a final dig.
“You think you’re a big, brave lassie, but I can have you anytime I want. Right now, I’ve got other fish to fry.”
Under other circumstances, this might have seemed like a reasonable pun, assuming he was referring to the chip shop, but Kay was in no mood for jokes.
“Just get out,” she ordered.
“Don’t fret. I’m out of here – for now, but this isn’t over. Oh, and I suggest you get yourself a nice, warm jumper, because you’re going to need it. That heating’s staying off and it’ll be the electricity next.”
With that, he turned on his heels and clumped back down the stairs.
The rush of adrenalin she had felt during the confrontation was now fading, supplanted by relief of the sort that made her burst into tears. Composing herself, she went into the bathroom and did her best to make herself presentable. As she had explained to the angel, there was someone that she was hoping to see tonight and she wanted to make a good impression on him.
She felt hungry, and on any other night would have gone downstairs to get some chips. Despite the scene she had witnessed downstairs earlier, she knew that Anna would give her an extra-large portion of chips. She had formed quite a rapport with the young Polish girl who was one of the few people around who seemed to have any time for Kay these days. But tonight she decided to give it a miss.
Going downstairs could mean running into McVie again, and she didn’t want to do anything that would get Anna into trouble. She wouldn’t put it past McVie to sexually harass her as well after the conversation earlier. He really was an absolute bastard. Not the same type of bastard as Alan, but a bastard all the same.
She seemed to attract them in all shapes and sizes. Did she have some sort of tracking device buried somewhere inside that enabled them to home in on her? It certainly seemed that way and it had been going on ever since that fateful night of the summer ball when she had taken up with Glen a quarter of a century ago.
But tonight was going to be different, because there was one man who she knew was different. His name was Richard Kent, a retired policeman whom she had known since her schooldays. She had had a crush on him then, and she still had it now, though she had reluctantly accepted that nothing was ever going to come of it. He was married and had firmly rebuffed all her advances towards him.
She hadn’t pushed it. She wasn’t a homewrecker, despite her recent behaviour and after the experience of having her teeth punched out it would be very foolish of her to make the same mistake again. She had only seen his wife, Debs, a couple of times but those were enough to show Kay that she wasn’t someone to get on the wrong side of.
On one of those occasions, just a couple of weeks ago, Debs had made a scene by turning up at the pub one Saturday lunchtime and dragging him out over some unfulfilled promise to take her Christmas shopping. Another time, he had stayed in the pub so long one afternoon that she had brought his Sunday dinner down to the pub and slapped it down on the bar in front of him.
No, Mrs Kent was not a woman to be trifled with. But that was OK because nothing was going to happen between Kay and her husband – at least not in this place and at this time. But what Kay had in mind would be taking place in the past before Kent had even met his wife. Not only that, it would not even be in the same universe.
A few weeks ago, Kay and Kent had got talking in the pub. He was in there a lot these days since he had lost his job, and they had rekindled their friendship that dated back to schooldays.
That night they had a heart-to-heart conversation about the end-of-term ball and the turn of events that had led to her ending up in the disastrous relationship with Glen. Emboldened by alcohol, she had worn her heart on her sleeve and told him everything.
When she revealed how Glen had manipulated her into being his ball date and explained how deep down she had wanted to go with Kent instead, she could see that she had caught his attention.
Since that conversation she had noticed a distinct change in the way he was around her. Before he had clearly found her attentions irritating towards her, but his attitude had now softened considerably. She knew this wasn’t in an amorous or lustful way: he had made that quite clear. What he had done was go out of his way to be friendly towards her, asking her how she was getting on and offering her advice on her troubles.
Perhaps he felt sorry for her and was trying to make up for her disappointment in the past. Whatever the reason, something had definitely changed between them, and it was a welcome change. Apart from him and Anna, she couldn’t think of a single other per
son she could even begin to class as a friend. She had plenty of other acquaintances in the pub, but they weren’t real friends, just fellow drinkers down on their luck normalising each other’s behaviour as they drowned their sorrows together.
During her boring day lugging packages out of the stockroom at work, she had been given plenty of time to work out a plan for her next trip back into time. Ever since that conversation with Kent in the pub, her thoughts had frequently drifted back to that ball and how things might have turned out differently.
That night with Glen had been the point when the seeds of her problem had been sown. She had lost her virginity to him that very night, underneath the slide in one of the kids’ playgrounds on the new estate. It had all been very undignified and unsatisfactory. She had accepted it at the time as most girls said the first time wasn’t anything to write home about, but with Glen, things didn’t improve with practice.
She didn’t know much better at the time, having no one else to compare him to, but she suspected things were not quite right. Sex with him certainly wasn’t the mind-blowing experience that the articles in her More! magazines suggested it should be.
How different might that first time have been if it had been Kent who had taken her home that night? Well, she was going to do her utmost to find out. But before she did, she wanted the chance to talk to his present self again about the events of that day. In particular, she wanted to ensure that he would have gone with her given the opportunity. From what he had said before, she was pretty sure he would have.
She cleaned herself up as best she could with no hot water available, put on some lipstick and tried to make her hair semi-presentable. It wasn’t perfect but it would have to do. Ignoring the rumblings in her stomach, she rushed through the chip shop, managing to avoid being spotted by McVie who was busy counting the money in the till. Then she was out through the door, heading for The Red Lion on another chilly December night.
Chapter Seven
December 2018
It was busy when she got to The Red Lion, but not so much as the previous night when the dance floor area at the top had been so rammed that she had struggled to fight her way through to the toilets.
Down at the front of the pub, where the older regulars gathered, she could see the usual suspects at the bar. Kent was there, deep in discussion with a couple of others. Further up the pub, on the right-hand side, she could see a bunch of teenagers who were often in the pub playing pool. To the left of them, the dance floor area was pretty quiet but it was only half past seven. The disco wouldn’t be starting for over an hour yet.
Sidling up to the bar, she picked up the gist of the conversation that was going on. Andy, one of the pub’s regular alcoholics was talking about the news story that had been on everyone’s lips the past few days – the double murders in Oxford and Kidlington.
“Where’s Inspector Morse when you need him, eh?” remarked Andy, before lifting his freshly poured pint to his mouth to take a swig of lager. He didn’t quite hit the target, which was surprising because it wasn’t as if he hadn’t had enough practice. As a consequence, a few drips dribbled down his chin and onto the ancient denim jacket that he always wore. Kay wondered how many he had had today. She knew he started at lunchtimes most days and had clearly been on a mission judging by the wet patches all the way down both the jacket and his matching jeans.
“I’m sure the police are on the case,” replied Kent.
Kay knew all about the murders. There was a radio in the back of the warehouse at work. It was tuned into the local radio station and she had heard updates on the hourly news bulletins, in between the bland, predictable playlist and amateurish adverts for local businesses.
The first murder had taken place six days ago in the Summertown area of Oxford, followed four days later by a second in Kidlington. It hadn’t taken a genius to work out the murders were connected. Both the victims were young, Eastern European women, and both had been raped and then knifed to death. The whole grisly affair had shocked the community, and the press had been all over it. It hadn’t taken them long to come up with a nickname for the suspect once the connection between the two murders had been revealed – the somewhat unimaginative “Christmas Killer”.
“You were the police until not long ago,” said Andy to Kent. “What would you have done?”
“Well, we would have made door-to-door enquiries, taken forensic evidence from the scene…” began Kent, before Andy interrupted, not really interested in the content of Kent’s answer, only in dismissing it.
“So bugger all, then,” said Andy. “Well, I just hope the Oxford police do a better job of it than you would have. Good job these murders weren’t in this town – the residents would be scared shitless if you were still in charge.”
Ever since Kent had lost his job, Andy had been sticking the boot in. Kay thought he could do with some moral support.
“That’s a bit harsh, Andy,” said Kay, seizing her chance to enter the conversation. “I thought he was the best head of local police we ever had.”
Andy looked up, registering her presence for the first time through his booze-laden eyes. “Oh, it’s you. Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you? Everyone knows you’re desperate to shag him. Though God knows why: I doubt whether he’s even up to it, look at the size of him. I doubt whether he can even find it these days.”
“Actually I’ve lost a bit of weight recently,” said Kent defensively. “I’m under eighteen stone now.”
“I thought so,” said Kay, looking at him closely. He was definitely looking slightly less flabby and a little more toned. “Have you joined a gym?”
“I just had a bit of a re-evaluation of my life recently,” he replied. “After I lost my job it would have been easy to let myself slide into middle-aged sloth and eaten and drunk myself into an early grave. I guess I just realised I’m only forty-two, and I’ve plenty to live for. So I’ve started exercising and cut down on the post-pub food.”
“You say that, but you’re still knocking back the booze,” commented Andy.
He really was an irritating pain in the arse, thought Kay, constantly interrupting other people’s conversations. She was not going to be able to have the discussion she wanted to have with Kent while Andy was there, interjecting his snide remarks at every opportunity.
She would have to get him away from the bar. Andy wouldn’t follow them: once he got on his bar stool he was practically superglued to it for the night. But first she needed a drink. In the few minutes since she had entered the pub, it had started to get very busy and, distracted by the conversation, she had taken her attention away from the bar. She seriously had to get that first drink of the day inside her.
There seemed to be only two barmaids on duty and they were buzzing around at a serious rate of knots trying to keep up with the sudden influx of customers. Some were waving notes across the bar in impatient attempts to catch the bar staff’s attention. That wouldn’t work, thought Kay. In her experience bar staff hated that.
She would have to face the bar and try and catch someone’s eye if she was ever to get a drink this evening. She turned away from Andy and Kent temporarily and concentrated on the business in hand, eavesdropping as they continued their conversation.
“You can hardly talk,” Kent was saying. “If I was going to put a bet on anyone in this pub drinking themselves to death, you’d be an odds-on favourite.”
“I’d die happy, though,” said Andy. “Anyway, stop changing the subject. I want the inside info on these murders. Are the police anywhere near catching him?”
“I don’t know why you think I’m privy to that knowledge, Andy,” replied Kent. “As you so gleefully point out at every opportunity, the police have decided to dispense with my services. Much as I’d appreciate the extra cash, sadly they have not been on the phone begging me to come back to help them crack this case.”
“Now there’s a surprise,” remarked Andy sarcastically. “But still, you must still be in touch with y
our old colleagues. What about that new D.I. Benson? You could ask her, couldn’t you?”
“Why would I want to?” asked Kent. “It’s not something desperately eating away at my soul. Besides, it’s not on her patch. She’s responsible for this town, not what goes on in Oxford and Kidlington. She probably knows no more than I do.”
“Which is nothing, by the sound of it,” said Andy. “I don’t like her anyway. She tried to do me for dropping a fag end outside the pub a while back. Didn’t make it stick, though, did she? I was too clever for her.”
As was so frequently the case, Kent was becoming irritated by Andy’s endless piss-taking so he decided it was time to put the boot on the other foot.
“Why are you so interested anyway? Anyone would think you had something to hide. Have you?”
“I’m not the murderer, if that’s what you’re implying,” answered Andy defensively. “Anyway, I’ve got an alibi. I was in here when both of them took place.”
“Wow, really? I never would have guessed,” said Kent, turning Andy’s earlier sarcasm back at him. “Do you ever go anywhere else?”
Kay had finally managed to catch the eye of one of the barmaids, a young, punky-looking girl with dyed pink hair. Taking hold of her first drink of the night, she lifted it to her lips and took a large, glorious swig of vodka and Coke. She immediately felt better as the strong alcohol slipped down her throat. It was time to get on with what she had come here to do.
She had heard every word of the conversation between Kent and Andy. Despite having her eyes firmly fixed forward towards the bar, rather than on them, it hadn’t been difficult to pick up on Kent’s irritation with Andy. Turning back towards him, she could see from the annoyed look on his face that he had had enough, so now seemed a good time to intervene.
Catching his eye, she spoke. “Richard, can we talk in private for a minute?”
He looked a little startled by this. Perhaps it was because she had used his first name. Everyone else just called him Kent. And he wasn’t the only one to notice this.
