I AM HERE TO KILL YOU

by Chris Westlake

  What excites you, Sheena?

  What frightens you?

  What makes your life worth living?

  With his fingers laced and his chin perched on his thumb, he barely even nodded his head. His eyes encouraged me to keep talking. When I was in a room with him, the rest of the world ceased to exist. I fell in love the first time we met, even though I knew my affections were inappropriate. The implications were much greater for him. Only much later did he confide that he felt the same way. Who could have imagined that, seven years later, he would be there, and I would be here, living in a town I never knew existed?

  The wooden porch provides shelter; the faded light is like a blanket over my head. My arm brushes away a fly. I take a cursory glance at my left wrist. Pushing open the sturdy door, my immediate world turns an even darker shade.

  My flat shoes are soundless against the tiled floor. The musty scents bring back childhood memories. Navy blue books, torn at the edges, pile high on a metal trolley. Only a glimmer of early-autumn sunshine filters through the stained glass windows; it does little to lift the gloom. Despite this, I can't help but be drawn to the quiet, to the confined solitude. This is the perfect place to hide away from the chaotic world we live in. My jaw drops. Jesus stares down at me from the cross. What does he see?

  Does he view me as a kindred spirit?

  I know what to expect. I may have spent the last handful of weeks in relative isolation, but I've been busy. I've studied the routines. There are only two of us in the church. Normally, at this time of day, there is only one. She sits on her own, three rows from the back, a cardigan hanging from her stooped shoulders.

  "Rose?"

  Untangling her hands, she lifts her bowed head. Up close, her grey, lined face looks like it has been used as a dartboard. She blinks at me like wind has blown dust and debris in her eyes. Of course, I am not significant to her in the way she is to me. Yet. My wide, practiced smile is calming. Her foggy eyes suggest partial recognition. Her lips crease into a smile. She sees me as a friend, and not a foe, just like the spider.

  Everybody sees me as a friend. Even my enemies.

  "I'm so sorry, Rose," I say. "I didn't mean to startle you. I just saw you here and I thought it would be rude not to say hello. Gosh, it feels like I know you and yet you probably don't even know who I am, do you...?"

  She knows that her startled face most likely appeared rude. She has a few false starts before she gets her words out. "I do recognise your face, dear. I just can't quite put my finger on it. Oh, I know now. You've come to the group, haven't you? I don't think you introduced yourself? I apologise, I don't yet know your name, and yet you know mine..."

  "Sheena Strachan."

  "Well, Sheena, welcome to the village. And welcome to the church."

  "That's very kind of you, Rose."

  We both turn forwards. Rose clasps her hands together but then pulls them apart again. I sense her blowing air from her mouth. She is a lady of routine, and her routine has been interrupted. How can she possibly focus on her prayers with me hovering over her, a moth drawn to the light?

  "Do you come here often?" I ask. I'm aware this sounds like a chat-up line.

  "Every day. Same time. It is kind of my thing."

  "I admire your commitment to the Lord."

  "Thank you, dear."

  I lean back in the pew, stretching out a long, naked leg. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have disturbed you, should I? Sometimes I just can't help myself. I had no idea this was a special time of day for you."

  Rose is apologetic now, realising that maybe she has been overly brusque. After all, this lovely young lady is new to the village; she is probably lonely. I release a subtle smile as Rose holds up her hands, assures me that this is God's home, that everyone is welcome here, she has no more right to be here than I do.

  "I'm sorry to hear that your husband passed," I say.

  Her tired eyes narrow, and I picture a question mark drawn in the middle of her forehead. "Sorry, I heard about it in the village," I say.

  Rose smiles. "Don't worry. It's fine."

  "Was it a long time ago?"

  She sagely nods her head.

  "Before you moved here?"

  "That's right. Yes."

  Her heavy-hooded eyes seem to lighten. "So how are you settling into the town, Sheena?"

  "Oh it's such a lovely place. Everybody is so friendly. Not that I've actually spoken to that many people. I can be a bit shy, if I'm totally honest with you."

  I can feel her warming to me. She probably thinks this is an ordeal for me, that I'm pushing myself to engage. "So what did you think of the group?"

  I gush. "Oh, I thought that you were absolutely brilliant."

  Rose exposes a row of mustard teeth. "You do flatter me."

  "Not at all. The control you had over the group was incredible."

  From her strained, rasping laugh, I don't know if she smokes, but she certainly used to. I glimpse her stained fingertips. "Control? I'm not sure that is the right word for it, dear. But thank you."

  "The group idolises you. The women would do anything for you. Anything."

  She looks at me nonplussed. Am I being serious? The lines on her forehead vanish. Surely this nice young lady wouldn't joke with her in this way? "Most of the women respect me, for sure, which is nice. I'd hate to control them, though. Truth be told, I try to do as little as possible. I merely encourage them. I try to let them do it all for themselves. Work things out. Let them give me the answers they already know. I find that is much more effective."

  She's aware I'm looking at her with adulation, like she is the guru of all things wise. Her dead skin shows some life.

  "If I'm honest, Rose - and I do try to be honest - I wasn't quite so impressed with all of the group-"

  "Really? What do you mean? Who?"

  I hold up the palms of my hands, tell her that it is nothing really, that maybe I shouldn't have said anything. "Don't get me wrong, they're a lovely bunch. You're very lucky in that way. I just got the impression some of the women are in it for themselves..."

  The colour fades from her cheeks. I'm not sure if she's shocked, or aghast. "I hadn't noticed. Maybe I'm blinkered, been too close for too long. They say it sometimes takes an outsider to see what has been there all along..."

  "I just don't think some are as committed to the cause as you. Some of the women looked like they're there just to fill some time, for something to do. You've given up a lot of time. You deserve better than that..."

  "Maybe you have a point, dear. Attendance is up and down. Women come and go."

  "Do any always attend? Are there any you know you can rely on?"

  Rose doesn't hesitate to reply. "Well, Katherine is an angel-"

  "Katherine?"

  "Yes, she sits at the back. Pretty lady. She came to the first meeting twelve years ago, and she's been coming ever since. Never misses a meeting bless her. And there's Apinya - of course - she's been good as gold, ever since she joined the village..."

  I laugh. "Oh yes. Apinya did stand out somewhat."

  "You could say she is an outsider here, but she's slotted right in with no problems at all."

  "An outsider? Oh, I relate to her then," I say.

  I stand up. Tell Rose that I've taken up far too much of her time, that I'll speak to her in the next group meeting. I lean down to lightly embrace my new friend. My mouth lingers close to her ear, brushes against it.

  "Don't forget to pray for your daughter too, Rose," I whisper. "We both know who's really to blame for that now, don't we?"

  Her body physically flinches. She turns, ready to fire out questions, but she faces my back, and I'm nearly at the door, bracing myself for the brightness outside.

  Bernard

  Whilst I've always adored my home comforts, I can't deny the sudden urge - the need - to get out of the house, to be around other, breathing people. Subconsciously, part of me just wants to show Apinya I have a life she isn't part of. Certainly, she's entire
ly aware of my past life - she only has to look at the pictures on the walls - but I long to convince her that I have a present, a future.

  Empty, defeated eyes return my gaze in the full-length bedroom mirror. Who is this stranger? Stretched, zigzagging crows-eyes meet in the middle. Are my teeth a shade darker? How am I going to show Apinya I have a present and a future when the stranger looking back at me in the mirror looks unconvinced?

  I sling my usual cuff-linked shirts to one side of the metal rail. This is the attire I'd choose to wear, and so instinctively I know it is inappropriate. Too smart. Too formal. Too stiff. What are the clothes I'd wear when I rough it, when I'm in the garden or when I visit the tip? My hand delves deeper. My nose crinkles, like I don't quite recognise that smell. Yes. These look more promising. The faded blue tee-shirt has a couple of holes beneath the armpits where moths have eaten their breakfast. With my arms stretched upwards, I stumble like a punch-drunk boxer as I struggle to get my head through the hole. I unroll the tee-shirt down over my protruding belly. Perfect. My pristine brown leather shoes remind me of a delightful temptress, luring me to slide them on my feet. I grab hold of a pair of running shoes, long ago disposed to the back of the cupboard because the soles had come away. Ruffling my fingers through my hair, I try to hide that I combed it earlier in the day. I need to fit in.

  Downstairs, a barefoot Apinya widens her eyes and pulls her hand to her mouth when she sees me. She is even more beautiful when she does not wear make-up. Rather than covering imperfections, she merely covers her fresh-faced beauty. For the last few weeks or so she has treated me like a king, waiting on me hand on foot. I know I overreacted, that my thoughts at the time were irrational.

  "Where are you going, sweetheart? It's the middle of the week."

  "To the pub, darling. I just fancy a quick pint."

  She is right to raise her eyebrows. I never tell her I'm just popping to the pub for a quick pint.

  "Is it a fancy dress party?"

  I fight my irritation. She isn't trying to be funny. She genuinely thinks, from looking at what I'm wearing, that there may be a fancy dress party at the pub. Still, I don't answer her. My straight face tells her that no, it isn't fancy dress. I peck her puckered lips and head out of the door before she can ask any more questions.

  Entering The Swan, I feel like I'm walking around a holiday resort in my Speedos. I don't linger at the door, and I don't look around, but instantly I can tell there aren't any women in the establishment. I can almost smell the male testosterone. I'm the only person at the bar and yet still I struggle to get served. I try not to look at my reflection in the mirror. I know I won't be able to resist grimacing. Thumbing the pockets of my jeans, I longingly eye the dry white wine.

  "Pint of Carling, please."

  Leaning against the slippery bar with the pint in my hand, I flinch at the sharp nectar. Do people intentionally drink this? Do they drink it because they enjoy it or do they drink it to get drunk?

  "Don't see you in here much, Bernie. Have you come to invite me to one of your much-celebrated dinner parties?"

  I smile at the trio huddled around the table. "Alright, Geraint." I nod at Dave and Ray. "Just fancied a quick pint, chaps..."

  Dave and Geraint are here every night, as far as I can tell. They are part of the furniture. Apinya is close to Ray's wife, Katherine, yet, as far as I'm aware, she doesn't really know her at all. Ray is a regular, a drinker, but I don't think he comes here as much as the other two.

  The three men eye each other. It feels like I'm here for a dare. Geraint leans forward, ready for another bite. "Just come from the garden, Bernard? You been riding around on the mower of yours again?"

  My waved hand is dismissive. "Oh these things? Just threw on any old clothes."

  The Three Amigos stare at me. I'm an exhibit at the zoo. In my limited experience, men horse around by hurling abuse at each other. I need to fit in. "I save my best clobber for when I take your mum to the Bingo, Geraint..."

  Maybe this wasn't the right thing to say? Geraint's eyes widen. His fists ball. I glance at the door. Can I get there before he does? I suck in a mouthful of stale air. Ray slams his fist against the table. The table shakes.

  Ray starts laughing.

  "You didn't expect that, did you, Geraint? They don't call Bernard the Archbishop of Banterbury for nothing, you know. Pull up a pew, Bernard."

  Geraint's face softens. My body no longer feels like it needs oiling. Sliding a chair towards the table, I make sure my throat remains far enough away from Geraint's outstretched arm, just in case. I open up my chest, try to look like this is my natural habitat, like I'm a monkey hanging from a tree.

  "Still into your trains, Bernard?" Dave asks. "What was that group you said you were a member of again?"

  I lower my voice. "The Engine Shed Society. I'm one of only 340 members."

  Dave's lips can't hide mischief. "I'm genuinely surprised by that, Bernard. I'd have thought the Engine Shed Society would have had millions of members."

  I shake my lowered head as the men break into laughter. I stare at the floor and wait for them to change the subject.

  "She was here again last night, Ray, when you were playing Happy Families with that gorgeous wife of yours..."

  Dave leans across and stamps his thumb against Ray's forehead. Dave is single. Always has been, as far as I'm aware. I'm not sure if this is a lifestyle choice or because he can't attract a woman. He wears his leather jacket well. The silver ring in his left ear goes with his long salt and pepper hair. There must be a woman in the village who'd take him in. I'm sure Dave wouldn't mind staying in and playing Happy Families with Ray's wife. Most of the men in the village have a soft touch for Katherine. Not many of them would be brave enough to say that to Ray, though, not unless it is in jest.

  "Who's that then, Dave?" I ask. "Who was here again last night?"

  He turns to me with a wolfish smile. "This newcomer to the town. I overheard her tell Mike at the bar her name was Sheena. You'd love her. She's a cracking piece of skirt."

  Sheena? I've not heard that name before. I'm not sure whether to be complimented or offended that, apparently, I'd appreciate 'a cracking piece of skirt'. Presumably, Dave thinks I have a good choice in women, which is something.

  "Ordered a gin and tonic, like she's in Hollywood or something..."

  "Proper posh," Geraint says.

  "Sits over in the corner," Dave says.

  "Did she say anything to you? Has she spoken to you yet?" I ask.

  "Only with her eyes."

  "You should have seen what she was wearing," Geraint says, smiling.

  Nobody says anything for a few seconds. I sense another opportunity. "What was she wearing?" I ask.

  Geraint slaps me on the shoulder. "I'm glad you asked, Bernie. That was another thing. She was dressed for a night out, not for this dump. She had on this long white dress. She looked stunning, so she did."

  The three men stare into space, seemingly absorbing this information.

  "I can only think she's here to pick up a guy," Dave says. "Why else would she come to the pub on her own?"

  "She's got my interest," Geraint says, wiping his lip.

  "But you're married?" I ask.

  Geraint glances at his two comrades. "Wasn't looking to get the wife involved, Bernie. Unless you and Apinya are interested in some freaky shit? Now, where's my car keys...?"

  The three men laugh. I'm buoyed by the attention. "Seriously," I say. "It must be difficult for women joining the village. We do tend to live in a goldfish bowl in Pontbach, don't we? Maybe she's just looking for friends?"

  "Friends with benefits?" Dave asks, tapping the bridge of his pointed nose.

  "Or maybe just friends..."

  "Did Apinya struggle when she came over from China?"

  "Thailand."

  "All the same."

  "She did find it difficult to acclimatise to the new way of life. But now she's fine."

  "She certainly is fine,"
Dave says.

  "Anyway, I'm just saying that next time she's here, maybe you should try and talk to her? She might just be lonely. Make her feel welcome. I'm sure she'll appreciate that."

  "Have you ever thought of becoming an Agony Aunt, Bernard? Auntie Bernie? Maybe I'll take your advice," Dave says.

  I finish my drink. I perceive the men are impressed by my speed. I contemplate getting another, maybe buying a round, but I could see myself coming back late, drunk and abhorrent. I don't fancy another night sleeping in the guest room - I'm on a roll, and that spare bed tends to give me horrific back pains. I decide to make this my last drink.

  Rising to my feet, I shake the craggy hands. "I've enjoyed the company, gentlemen. Maybe I'll come back in a few weeks to see how you got on with that young lady, Dave?"

  "I'll give you all the gossip," Dave says.

  Walking back to the house, I blow out hot air. It feels like I've just finished a Best Man speech I've been dreading. I'm glowing with satisfaction.

  That wasn't so bad, I think.

  Saturday 22nd September 2018

  Katherine

  I've lost count of the group social gatherings I've attended. Social beavers? Hardly. I've been a member of the group for twelve long years. Even if we only met up three times a year then that would be thirty-six events. Ooh, Matron. It is not even like we enjoy these events. Why do we meet at all? Is it because that's what normal, healthy people are expected to do, because we're all just trying to fit in?

  I flinch when Ray kisses the nape of my neck. I hadn't even noticed him enter the kitchen. I glance at the cup of tea stewing on the table.

  "Fancy a brew, darling?"

  His smile has many cracks. He shakes his head. Even though it's not gone ten in the morning, I sense he fancies something stronger. My husband is hardly an open book. Wear his heart on his sleeve? Hardly. You have to crack him like a coconut to reveal any genuine emotions. But recently things have progressed to a whole new level. Now his body is there but his mind is on a completely different planet. Of course, I've asked him if he is okay and - of course - he's reassured me he is. I've tried to pinpoint when things changed, and the closest I can get to is that Saturday night he returned from the pub to pick up tissues for some young, intoxicated girl.