“No,” Bronwyn replied. “It was scary.”
“What about that lightning? Wasn’t it spectacular?”
Both children started to talk at once, competing for their father’s attention.
“Whoa! Quieten down, you two. I’ll be back in a minute. I’ll go and say hello to your mum, and then we can have a good talk about the storm.”
The children murmured their reluctant agreement. The sound cut off as Frank closed the living room door. Anne’s hands tightened around the tea towel, making her fingers turn white.
Frank walked into the kitchen, still wearing the black trousers, white shirt and blue tie from yesterday. He smiled.
“Morning,” he said in an unusually cheery tone.
“M-Morning…” she answered, looking down at the tea towel that she wrought between her hands.
Frank stayed in the doorway, keeping his distance, hands on his hips. He sighed.
“There’s no point putting this off. The longer we leave it, the worse it’ll get, I suppose…”
Anne stayed still, her back pressed up against the sink.
“I’m sorry.”
Anne dared to glance up.
Frank studied the floor, face tilted down.
“You’re…sorry?”
“Yes,” he said, voice hushed, probably to avoid the children from hearing. “I’m sorry I went off like that, and sorry I was stubborn enough to stay out all night.”
“Where did you go?”
Frank, for the first time, looked up and met her eyes.
“William’s.”
“Your brother?”
He nodded.
“But that’s an hour’s drive away! Why did you go so far?”
“I…I had nowhere else to go.”
“You didn’t have to go anywhere!”
She quickly shut up and swallowed as Frank regarded her in silence. She knew she’d crossed the line by snapping.
To her surprise, he nodded and let his head hang back down, chin nearly touching his chest.
“I was worried, Frank. The kids were scared last night through all the thunder and lightning. They were asking for you, and I didn’t know what to say!”
“I know, I know. I’ll make it up to them, I promise.”
Anne huffed and turned her back on him, continuing with the washing up as a cover for her action.
“Look,” he continued, “I know I was in the wrong. I was bang out of order and I truly am sorry. It’ll never happen again.”
“You said that last time.”
Frank sighed again and rubbed his temples.
“This time is different, I swear. Driving through that storm and then coming back through this wonderful sunshine, it’s like…it’s like it represents the change in me.”
“It’s going to take a bit more than a spot of nice weather to convince me that things are different,” Anne said, placing a cleaned bowl in the drainer.
“You want proof then, eh? Well, I’ll show you. I’m going to take the time off that Quackenbush offered.”
Anne turned around, away from the sink. “Really?”
“Yes, really. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s all been getting a little too much recently. If I take a break now, it might mean avoiding a burn out later.”
“Oh Frank, I’m so pleased.”
“Me too. There’s been an atmosphere between us recently and it all changes right now.”
An atmosphere? Anne thought bitterly. He calls beating me black and blue an atmosphere?
She gazed at Frank, and his sincere eyes seemed to make all her negative thoughts drift away. He appeared genuinely sorry for his actions.
Maybe it is a new start after all.
“So…are we…okay now?” he ventured.
Anne nodded.
“Thank you,” Frank said. “Thank you so much. You’re going to see a new me.”
I hope so.
“By the way, this came for you this morning.” Anne threw down the tea towel and walked over to the fridge. A pile of post sat on top. She pulled out a glossy magazine from between the various white and brown envelopes.
“Ah, this month’s Physics World! Leave it on the table, dear. I’ll read it later.”
Anne frowned.
“Are you sure? You usually can’t wait to sit down and flick through.”
“I really need a shower. Didn’t get a chance to have one this morning, what with leaving so early. I smell appalling, so don’t get too close!”
Anne shrugged and tossed the magazine onto the dining table between them.
“We’ll, it’s there when you want it. You need anything else before you head upstairs?”
Frank smiled.
“A coffee would be nice.”
2.
Frank turned the shower dial and an icy blast of water shot onto the white porcelain of the bathtub. He held his hand under the torrent, flexing his fingers and feeling the water gradually heat up. When the shower had grown a little too hot, Frank adjusted the dial.
He stepped back, arranging the shower curtain around the inside of the bath to stop any water from escaping. The curtain was semi-opaque and already looked like a steam-filled plastic tent.
He unfastened his tie and let it drop to the floor near to where his shoes and socks lay. After unbuttoning his shirt, he took it off, held it over his face and inhaled deeply through his nose.
Thank God, the smell’s going. Anne probably didn’t notice after all.
In fact, all that Frank could smell from the fabric was his own stale sweat, a result of wearing it over two hot days. He tossed the shirt onto the growing pile of discarded clothing.
His trousers and boxer shorts were pulled down together, and his bare feet slapped the linoleum as he stepped from them. After a quick check that all his grooming implements were in the holder by the bath – shower gel, razor, shampoo and conditioner – he stepped into the tub and under the pleasantly hot torrent of water. Remembering the shower curtain, Frank pulled it shut behind him.
The powerful spray hit him in the chest and then ran in streaming rivers down his front. He edged forwards, forcing his face into the water. The heat soothed his tight muscles and smoothed out his knotted brow.
The water did a good job of washing away the guilt.
He ran his hands over his face, briefly cupping them over his mouth to snatch a breath.
A loud crash sounded beyond the curtain.
He jumped back, nearly losing his footing in the slippery bathtub. The noise had sounded like the toilet seat slamming down.
He turned away from the steaming jet of water and poked his head through the gap in the shower curtain.
The toilet seat was indeed down.
Did I leave it up?
He checked that the bathroom door remained shut and he was sure no one had come in.
It must have been one of the kids. Or the dog, out on the landing. Christ, I hope that nothing’s been broken.
Happy with his deduction, Frank pulled the curtain closed again and stepped back under the shower.
We’ll need to have words after this. I’m not having the kids run riot. I’ll not allow them to do as they please all the time. Anne’s too soft on them.
He failed to hear them playing outside the bathroom, or the idiot dog barking, which it did too often in his opinion. Only the hiss of the shower nozzle and the echoing splatter of the water as it hit the tub accompanied his breaths.
Frank reached into the toiletry holder and withdrew a black plastic bottle of shower gel. He squirted a small amount of the clear green liquid into the palm of his hand and rubbed it into his chest, creating a thick lather.
BANG! BANG!
He froze as the noise thundered around the small bathroom.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Frank turned off the shower, reducing the heavy jet to a weak trickle.
“Bloody kids!” he hissed.
He turned to his side, intending to step out.
A small figure in white stood
inches away on the other side of the curtain, watching him.
Frank jerked back, his feet losing their grip on the slippery bath. His legs slid forwards and his arms flailed out, desperate for anything to hold him up.
The wet curtain slid through his lubricated fingers, the movement distorting the face of his silent observer.
It was the last thing he saw as his head connected with the raised side of the bath.
3.
“Who was it?”
Anne had half loaded the washing machine, and dropped the rest of the clothes on the kitchen floor. Frank’s voice had boomed from the lounge.
“I’ll not ask again,” he yelled. “Tell me!”
Bronwyn began to bawl, which started Betsy barking again.
Anne rushed out of the kitchen and knocked the living room door open.
Charlie and Bronwyn stood in front of the television which still played Saturday morning cartoons. Frank towered over them in a pair of red boxer shorts. They had turned a shade darker due to the moisture clinging to his body. His hair dripped as he shook his head, the droplets falling onto his glistening shoulders.
“You’re as thick as thieves, you two. Thick as bloody thieves!”
Charlie stared up at his father, flinching at every word spat at him. His eyes shimmered, ready to flow.
Bronwyn was a step beyond, looking at the floor. Her face had turned a deep red as she cried.
“Frank?” said Anne. “What’s going on?”
He gnashed his teeth together for a moment before turning his head to her.
An inch long gash ran along the side of his forehead, just above his right eyebrow. Blood had gathered in one thick stream, running vertically down his cheek and onto his jaw. The wound appeared a dry, rusty brown.
“Oh Frank! Your head.”
She instinctively went forwards, wanting to inspect the damage and see what needed to be done. She got as far as two steps before Franks’ hand shot out, pushing her in the middle of the chest between her breasts. She staggered back a few steps more out of surprise than from the force of the shove.
“Not this time,” he fumed. “One of these two,” he jabbed a shaking and crooked finger at the children, “will own up, and God help them…”
“Frank, what happened?” Anne asked, keeping her ground but not daring to approach him again.
“They’ll be sorry. Oh yes…”
“Frank,” she snapped.
Charlie’s bottom lip quivered.
Frank huffed through his gritted teeth.
“You want to know what happened?”
“Please keep your voice down! You’re upsetting the children,” Anne said.
“Fuck them,” he shouted. She jolted. “It’s one of them that caused this whole damn thing!”
Anne clenched her fists at her side.
“Frank, for the last time, tell me what happened!”
“One of these,” the finger of accusation began its jabbing again, “was fooling around in the bathroom. Banging the toilet lid and rushing in and out while I was in the shower.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure? Of course I’m bloody sure! I saw one of them through the curtain watching me. Watching me for God’s sake. That’s when I slipped and cracked my head.” He padded an open palm onto the wound and brought it down his eyes, checking to see if the bleeding had stopped.
“Come here, kids,” said Anne.
Charlie and Bronwyn needed no other invitation and ran out from under their father’s shadow to stand by Anne.
“That’s it, Anne. Take their side again. It’s me with a bleeding head because of them!”
Anne crouched and clutched Bronwyn to her chest, who buried her face into her mother, muffling her sobs. Tears flowed down Charlie’s cheeks, and Anne slid her arm around his shoulders.
“Don’t blame your clumsiness on the children.”
“But I saw one of them!” Frank bellowed. “Aren’t you listening to me, you stupid woman?”
Anne squeezed Charlie’s arm.
“Take your sister upstairs, Charlie,” she whispered. “Right now.”
Bronwyn fought a little as Charlie took her by the hand, wailing and trying her best to hold on to her mother. She had no choice but to let go and be escorted out of the room. Anne stood up.
“Get back here!” Frank yelled after them. “I’m not done with you yet!”
“Yes you are, Frank.”
“Dammit! Why do you always have to undermine me? You always take their side.”
“There are no sides. They didn’t go near the bathroom.”
“But I saw one of them, you dumb bitch!”
“Then why was the door locked, Frank?”
He’d worked up a full head of steam, but her words threw him off course. He frowned. “What?”
“I brought you up some clean towels while you were in the shower, but couldn’t get in.” Anne began to cry. Her adrenaline had all burned out. “So you tell me,” she said, her voice wavering and becoming high-pitched, “how the children could get into the bathroom when you had locked it from the inside?”
Frank’s bare chest rose and fell in gulping breaths. He stood staring at his weeping wife.
“You were probably so angry you didn’t even notice when you unlocked it, too busy wanting to yell at the kids,” she continued. “So much for the new you, eh?”
She looked up just in time to see Frank’s hand whip through the air before it struck her cheek.
Discipline. Overdue.
1.
Jenny always hurried getting ready for work, not that she was often running late or had a lot to do in the morning.
The mirror hated her, and the less she had to do with it, the better.
The thought of staring at her reflection as she dabbed foundation onto her saggy cheeks, or dragged a brush through her knotted hair, knocked her sick. She did just enough to make herself presentable to the outside world. The only heads she’d turned in the last few years had all gone the other way. At least by hiding this horrific visage under an inch of make-up she might get to work unnoticed.
Jenny had no problem once she arrived at the office. On a Saturday, none of the usual high class arseholes would be in. They’d be spending the weekend in Monaco or taking the yacht for a spin, she presumed. At least it would leave her free to do the cleaning in peace.
She had permission to go into work at any time at the weekend, as long as the cleaning got done ready for Monday morning. A typical Saturday would involve going in at around dinnertime. Jenny liked her lazy mornings in bed, so put off going to work until later.
After last night’s events, she wanted to spend as little time as possible in the house with the boys.
She yawned and peered at her dull reflection. The boys had turned in at around five in the morning. They had made such a din coming upstairs and crawling into bed, but at least the music had stopped, and Jenny finally sank into turbulent sleep.
She reached down, picked up a small cube of sponge and dabbed it in a pot of foundation powder. She had horrendous bags under her eyes, the skin having a slight bluish hue.
Lucky I haven’t got two black eyes. The rage that Jake was in last night… I never thought he had it in him.
She instinctively went to grab the ring hanging from her necklace, but the thin chain dangled empty between her fingers.
Jenny dropped the sponge and padded her nightgown, hoping the ring had slipped off and become hidden in the folds of fabric. After her quick search revealed nothing, she stood, expecting to hear the ring fall from whatever fleshy nook it had found.
Nothing.
She collapsed back into the chair in front of the dresser, already feeling the tears starting to well up along her lower eyelids. The ring had been her constant reminder of her past life, of a loving husband, two cheeky young boys and a happy household. She hated herself. She had lost it, her only true keepsake.
She held her face in her hands and wept. Her skin quickly
slicked with tears that tasted salty as they ran down her skin and to the edges of her mouth. Her ample frame shook with each wave of sobbing.
She considered not going into work and instead calling in sick. But her boss, Mr Evans, had already given her enough warnings about taking time off work. At least the ring gave her the strength to get through the day.
And now it’s gone.
Parting her fingers, she looked at herself in the mirror. Through some sick kind of perversion, she wanted to see how she looked here, at the very bottom.
Her skin appeared a messy collage of coloured patches. The skin beneath one eye still had a dark tinge, while the other had a stripe of light brown foundation running below it. Her cheeks burned deep red, making her forehead and chin look white in comparison.
Sniffing up the mucus pouring out of her nose, she wiped her eyes with the ball of each hand.
The small golden ring on her finger glistened in the strong morning light.
How the hell did it end up there?
She touched it, reassured by its presence.
That ring hasn’t been on my finger for years! I must have put it on in my sleep…
But part of her refused this simple explanation.
She swallowed as another idea crept into her head. Could one of the boys have snuck in and made a grab for it? Removed it from the necklace, but had a last minute change of heart and bottled out? Instead of risking waking her by having to mess around with the necklace again, just stuck it on her finger, knowing she would find it in the morning. She thought about this for a moment before dismissing it. If one of them had the nerve to try and steal the ring, it would probably be long gone by now.
She picked up a tissue from a box on the dresser and ran it across her face, soaking up most of the wet streaks. She rolled it into a ball, wiped her hands and let it drop. She strained as she pulled the ring from her thick finger, feeling the skin ride up with her effort, forming a painful barrier to the band’s motion. Gritting her teeth and pulling so hard she thought her finger joint would snap, she slid the ring free. She studied it for a moment, holding it up to her eyes and turning it between her thumb and forefinger.
“My precious…” she whispered with a small chuckle, her mood lightening.
Removing her necklace, she returned the ring halfway along the gold chain and replaced the whole thing around her neck.
The Collector Book One: Mana Leak Page 9
