I AM HERE TO KILL YOU

by Chris Westlake

  We all know what it is like to be here for the first time. Sheena had made the need to make every newcomer feel welcome crystal clear - to acknowledge their arrival, make them feel important, like they actually existed. Like many things Sheena suggested, I wasn't too sure. Surely it was a big enough ordeal to pluck up the courage to come to the group for the first time anyway? Sometimes you just want to dip your toes in the water, test the temperature. Sheena made another valid point, though. We need to know who the newcomer is. We need to know we can trust them. We can't risk them spreading our private conversations with outsiders.

  I glance at Sheena. Her eyebrows expand into rainbows. The eyes are expectant. I suck in air, puff out my cheeks, then blow the air right out again.

  “Welcome to the group,” I say, standing on tiptoes and looking to the back of the room. My voice is an octane too high. “It's fantastic to have you here. We were all newcomers once, weren't we ladies? I'm sure we all remember how difficult it was, don't we?”

  The guffaws of approval make our little group sound like the House of Commons. Sheena nods her approval. The poor girl's cheeks redden, look so scorching you could fry an egg on them. The girl smiles. Says thank you.

  “I'm Kat. Is it okay to ask your name?”

  “Tess. Hi.”

  “Hi, Tess,” the whole group says. Feels like I'm back in kindergarten.

  Glancing at the floor, I count to three. It is as though I am gaining courage and strength from somewhere. When I look up - address the room - I speak louder and clearer. "We're all here for a reason, Tess. Something - or some things - have happened in our lives to bring us to seek solace. We've all made the brave decision that we no longer want to suffer in silence. We think of ourselves as a little community. A family. We want to speak up, and stand up. Seek support from others who've suffered the same, or similar. Would you agree that's the reason you're here today, Tess?”

  There is a pause as Tess takes all of this in. She leans forward in her chair, face red and hands white. Slowly, she nods her head.

  The room is alight with smiling, approving faces.

  “Well, congratulations for finding the strength and courage to be here today, Tess,” I say.

  "Congratulations, Tess," a chorus of voices say.

  I wait a few seconds, wait for the applause to subside.

  “We all know how difficult it is to share in the group. It can be terrifying. But we find the longer you leave it, the more it grows and builds in your head, until it becomes a dark, fretful cloud, like the Boogeyman at the bottom of the bed..."

  The room laughs at this, especially Apinya, who snorts wine from her nose.

  "I've had a few Boogeymen in my bed," one of the older ladies says. The laughter becomes hysterical.

  "But am I right, ladies?" I ask.

  One of the women turns around, holds Tess's gaze. "She's right, babe," she says. Tess nods again.

  "With this in mind," I continue, a peacock with its tail up, "we normally offer newcomers the opportunity to share their story as soon as they join the group. There is no pressure, of course, and you can say no if you're not quite ready..."

  Tess bows her head. Silence. My eyes flick in the direction of Sheena; they just can't help it. She raises her eyebrows. In her mind, there is pressure. She's challenging me to pursue it. If I don't today, then Sheena will have a quiet word with Tess in the next meeting. She'll be disappointed if she has to, though.

  "So what do you think, Tess...?"

  When Tess looks up, her eyes are wide and childlike. I wonder just how old she is. Twenty? Twenty-one? Her hands press down against her knees, maybe to stop them shaking. The faces in the room - generally wrinkled and creased - turn to zone in on her. She is a bird with a broken wing that just can't fly away. Just tell them all to fuck off, I think.

  “Okay,” the girl says. "I'll share."

  The smiles in the room are an advert for Colgate.

  “Well, that's just fantastic,” I say. I long to climb over these vultures, hungry to feed on a story, and give the girl a motherly hug, squeeze her real tight. “Just go ahead. In your own time. If it becomes too much, then - please - just stop.”

  Of course, nobody else wants it to become too much; nobody wants her to stop. This girl is new; she is fresh blood. Everybody in the room has heard the same stale old stories from all the other stale old women.

  “I think I was molested,” the girl says.

  There are shakes of the head, pitying murmurs around the room.

  “Think?”

  The eyes turn from the girl, to Apinya. The glazed eyes, the way her head sways unsteadily on her neck, like it might topple off, has become more and more familiar. No doubt, Apinya has drunk more than a glass or two of wine.

  “Sorry, I'm just curious..."

  "Curious about what?" I ask.

  "Why she only thinks she is molested. Why doesn't she know?"

  "Isn't think enough for you, Apinya?"

  I'm aware of the tremor in my voice, of the rising anger. That was the type of question a man might ask, not a fully-fledged member of the group. Apinya looks away. Even she must know she's overstepped the mark.

  "It's okay," Tess quickly says. "I've been asking myself the same question, again and again, every day..."

  Silence fills the room. We wait for her to continue.

  “I was drunk. My memory is vague. Sometimes it feels like my mind is playing tricks on me. Sometimes it feels like I'm making things up. But deep down I don't think I was molested, I know I was..."

  Fat droplets trickle down her puffy cheek.

  “Tell us what happened, Tess. It sounds truly awful. Only if you feel up to it..."

  “It was my fault..."

  "You were molested. How on earth was it your fault?"

  The faces turn back to me. Their lips are pursed, the eyes narrowed. They have a point. I sound angry with this poor, brave girl. How dare I? I am angry with this poor, brave girl, but not in the way they think. I want to shake her, tell her that there is no way it is her fault.

  "Kat is right. You are the victim, Tess. The only person at fault is the man who did this to you."

  Tess looks up. She holds Sheena's eye, stood at the back of the room. Sheena smiles at Tess, and then she smiles at me. My fairy godmother, fighting my corner.

  I want to stab her with a pen.

  "I know it wasn't my fault," Tess says, "but it kind of feels like it, you know? I was so drunk. If I wasn't drunk, then it wouldn't have happened. So I keep blaming myself. Does that make sense?"

  I speak softly, breaking up myself. "It does, sweetheart. We all have these thoughts. But you need to listen to what Sheena said. You are not at fault..."

  She holds my look. "I know. I've been dwelling on it for weeks. That's why I didn't come forward straight away..."

  "You're here now, and that's the important thing," I say.

  "Well, I got drunk, and I can't change that now. My friends left me, were nowhere to be seen. So much for girls sticking together, looking out for each other. That's partly why I thought this group might help. I have no idea how I got there, but I ended up sat on the pavement, surrounded in sick. Some man came to help me-"

  "How did he help you?" I ask; the words spit out of my mouth fast and urgent, bullets from a machine gun.

  "Asked how I was, what he could do to help. I'm sure there were two of them. They seemed to care-"

  "They're the worst types," one of the women shouts, venom in her voice. "They gain your trust and then they attack-"

  "Let the girl talk," I say.

  "One of them left. The nice one. But he came back, I'm sure. And then it felt like they were no longer on my side, that they were no longer looking after me. I remember there were hands on my body, in places I didn't want them to be. I was too scared to push them away. I just closed my eyes, waited for it to stop..."

  "Where did the nice man go?" I ask.

  Tess looks to the ceiling. Is she trying to remember? "Oh
yes. He went to get tissues. For the vomit."

  "Did both men touch you?" I ask.

  Tess looks down. The seconds pass slowly. She looks up, seems to hold my gaze.

  "I honestly don't know," she says. "At least one of the men touched me. Maybe it was two. Does it really matter?"

  "I guess not," I say.

  But the room is spinning, and my legs feel like they are giving way. I hope the women in the room, who now look to me as their leader, don't notice the film of cold sweat on my forehead, or my shaking hands.

  To me it matters more than anything else in the world.

  "Thank you for sharing, Tess," I say.

  The voices in my head are silenced by the sound of clapping.

  Friday 9th November 2018

  Ray

  That's him in his dirty, outsized joggers, looking like he lives in a cardboard box. We're coming from opposite directions, but we're both heading to the same destination; two ships on a map. His sunken head is oblivious to the surroundings, to the people passing, to those brushing up against him. I slow my pace so that we join at the same point. Looking up, he catches my blank face. I let him wait. Nod. He jerks his head. I open my hand to let him into the cafe first.

  "What do you want?" I ask.

  What is that dumb expression? He's not sure if I'm offering to buy him food or just a drink. He's a greedy son-of-a-bitch, and so if he can get some free grub out of me then he will. On the other hand, he really doesn't want to piss me off, does he? He stoops his head forward, tries to work out the best way to raise the conundrum.

  "Er- what you getting, Ray?"

  "Full English for me," I say. "Can't be beaten."

  His face brightens into a smile. "I agree. Same for me, please."

  I open my body to him. My expression must be as I intended, because he takes a step back. "You cheeky little bastard," I say. "I was only offering to buy you a brew. You want food from me, too? After what you did?"

  He holds out his calloused hands. "Not at all, Ray. I just thought you were offering, that's all. My bad. Just a black coffee for me please, mate. And I proper appreciate it, you know."

  I hold his look just long enough for him to twitch. Shaking my head, my face breaks into a smile. "You always were a daft bugger, Rob. I'm fucking with you. Now go and sit down you silly sod and I'll get the order in."

  With his hunched shoulders and tiptoed steps, he reminds me of a dog caught shitting in the garden (not my garden because he'd be scarpering). And to think, this is the clown who thought he could take me on. Maybe I'm a hypocrite - I've always despised bullies - but I'm getting a kick out of having the upper hand, of making him pay. After making the order, I sit down close enough for my leg to brush against his, daring him to move away. I want him to know that, if I wanted to, I could reach down and squeeze his balls. The drinks arrive. I pour some sugar in, stir the cup, blow cold air on the coffee. Rob wriggles next to me. He'll be waiting a long time if he expects me to talk first.

  "So I just wanted to say, Ray, I'm really sorry about what happened at that lady's house. I was well out of order, and I know that now."

  "You need to treat women with respect. That was somebody's daughter. Somebody's mother. Somebody's wife-"

  "I know. You're right. I'm sorry."

  "Is that all you have to say?"

  "Er-yes. That I'm sorry, like."

  "Apology accepted."

  I lean over to the next table, grab a copy of The Sun, browse the cover. I start whistling the Jaws theme tune.

  "So are we good?" Rob asks, turning his body so his stale coffee breath wafts against my cheek.

  I keep looking forward. "We're good."

  "So I keep my job? I can keep working for you, Ray?"

  I turn to him now. We are so close that if I puckered my lips, I could give him a kiss. I raise one eye. "You said there was one thing. You apologised. You never mentioned anything about your job."

  "Right. It's just I was hoping if we were good then there was no reason I couldn't keep working for you."

  "So you only said sorry to keep your job? Is that the game you're playing? You're not really sorry?"

  "No! I mean, I am sorry, Ray. I'm not playing no game. I just want to work for you, too. I love you, Big Man."

  Raising an eyebrow, I open the gap between us. Turning away, I pretend to be deep in thought. This is a mistake. Two gorgeous women walk into the cafe. My jaw literally drops. One of them is Kat's friend and Bernard's wife, Apinya. She returns my nod with a smile.

  I have never spoken to the second woman, never even been in the same room as her before, but straight away I know who she is.

  I turn back to Rob. My thoughts are scrambled. "I'm sure we can sort something out," I say.

  Sheena

  I've never known anybody quite so giddy with her husband's credit card clasped in her hand as Apinya, and I've known some pretty formidable gold diggers in my time.

  Of course, the high street is nothing compared to Oxford Street or Mayfair. In a way, though, it is quite splendid. I always did get a thrill out of dirtying myself in grubby, dimly lit pubs and seedy sex shops. The shops here are tiny and compact; I'm a slip of a woman but occasionally I have to walk sideways to navigate the aisles. Apinya is determined to depict the pampered wife. Whilst the brand names are laughable, she still manages to buy the most expensive shoes and handbags. The shop owners have palpitations when she enters. They recognise her as Bernard's wife. They look me up and down too, sharks circling a turtle or (and this always makes me laugh) a surfer they mistake for a turtle. My initial excitement begins to wane (and I'm just stifling an almighty hippopotamus yawn) when I spot them entering the cafe. With that scalped skull and wide shoulders, it can only be one man. Instantly, a piece slots into place. Idling for a few moments by admiring my reflection in a shop window, I give them time to settle.

  "Fancy a drink, Apinya?" I ask.

  Apinya's eyes glaze over as she takes in the flaked paint and the cracked window. I grab hold of her hand to stop her running in the other direction. She crinkles her adorable nose, like she whiffs the sewers. Swinging her arm, I take a skip.

  "Come on," I say. "It will be fun. Who knows what - or who - we'll find inside..."

  Apinya stops mid-step when she spots Ray huddled close to another guy in the corner. His heavy chin drops. Apinya's smile and fluttering lashes undress him. I'd already figured this was one of her weaknesses. That poor husband of hers must be worn out. She has an insatiable eye for the men. I wanted to test her, and she passed with flying colours. No man is off the radar, even if he belongs to one of her best friends.

  I turn to Apinya.

  "Why don't we ditch the coffee? Have something exciting?"

  Apinya's smile broadens. "The pub?"

  Oh my, I think; I could easily take advantage of her sense of adventure. I smile to the shapeless lady behind the counter. "Why don't we try one of their delicious milkshakes? Now that would be fun..."

  Apinya deflates. She'd like nothing more than to waste away the afternoon sipping champagne. The girl has been watching too much Sex in the City.

  Milkshakes in hand, Apinya makes no pretence of sweeping the plastic chair before sitting down. Just what lowlife does she envisage sat there before her? She does make me giggle. She is great fun.

  Damn it, I'll probably miss her when she's gone.

  She sniffs her upturned nose. How long has it been since she lived in the slums? Too long. The glass flute filled with strawberry milkshake is nearly as big as her elfin face. Like a kid, she bends the plastic straw to use it. No wonder her mind is a frazzled mess - nothing but fluids ever enters her body. Ironically, she looks like she'd swallow rather than spit. If she swallowed her chewing gum it'd be her meal for the day.

  Her glass flute slides across the table. She smiles. She's resigned to the fact we aren't moving anywhere else any time soon. She may as well enjoy it.

  "This is fun," she says .

  I nod, showing her I'm
impressed she understands my thinking. I decide to stencil an imaginary halo above my head. "I'm so bored of the whole coffee culture," I say. "It's just so untrendy these days. So pretentious. All these wealthy people sipping overpriced coffee in chains stores that get away with not paying taxes. It's good to support your local establishments, that's what I say."

  I can tell Apinya has never even contemplated this before. "Oh yes, I so agree," she says.

  I take the opportunity to drown out the sound of Apinya slurping milkshake through her straw. I lean forward, my elbows sliding on the damp table.

  "So tell me about this husband of yours, Apinya. He sounds fantastic. I gather that he is very wealthy."

  Apinya sits up straight, seemingly growing in stature. Does she sense admiration? Or is it envy?

  "He is very rich. I don't like flaunting it, but I can't deny that."

  "So how did you two lovebirds meet?"

  "Oh I wouldn't ever say we've been lovebirds, Sheena. Certainly not from my side. I'm not really into all that romance crap. We met on the internet, on a website for singles seeking similar things..."

  I don't need to ask what kind of website. Of course, I didn't need to ask how they met, either.

  "How very modern," I say.

  She raises both her eyebrows.

  "So who was the guy you smiled to when you walked in?"

  She slaps her forehead with the back of her hand.

  "Oh, I'm sorry, I should have said. That's just Ray, Kat's husband."

  I lower my tone, make it a whisper. "Kat needs to keep that one on a tight leash."

  Apinya nearly spits out the milkshake. "Seriously?"

  I nod. My face is a blank canvas. "He's handsome. A big guy, too. Bet he could do some damage in the bedroom. Maybe I underestimated her."

  Apinya shrugs her shoulders. The smile on her lips is sly. "Guess so."

  "There's one main problem with that, though."