I smiled at the young, greasy kid perched on a stool behind a plastic screen on reception. He didn't smile back.
"I was just passing," I said, "and I wondered what the building work was all about? Have us lucky locals got anything new to enjoy at our leisure centre?"
The boy arched his head. He eyed me like I'd maybe escaped from an institution.
"Building work?"
"Yeah. You know. What the workmen were here for before Christmas."
He folded his shoulders. "There hasn't been any work done here since I started."
"How long you worked here?"
"Two years."
I turned around and pushed open the glass door. I didn't need to turn around to know the kid's eyes were burning into the back of my head.
On the way back, I questioned whether I was losing the plot. That guy from the pub, the dirty bastard that touched up the young drunk girl, definitely said he was working on a job at the leisure centre. Why would he lie about that? My mind started working overtime. I started questioning everything. Coincidences? Of course they happen. But how outrageous do they need to be before you smell a rat? Kat told me that the guy in the white van appeared almost as soon as she left the house. Was he waiting for her to leave the house? And when I picked up the newspaper the other week and read about the poor girl who was stabbed in the town centre - in daylight - a picture of the sweet, young, drunk girl stared back at me.
Somebody had planned all of this.
Or was I paranoid? Maybe I was losing it?
Back home, I paced up and down in our bedroom. Downstairs, Kat remained oblivious to my presence. This wasn't just a bad day for Kat. She had changed - morphed into virtually a different person - over months and months. Catching my reflection in the full-length mirror (the one Kat absolutely hates) my overhanging brow and flaring nostrils reminded me of an angry bull eying a red flag. Kat's phone stared at me from her glass bedside table. More and more she's left it hanging around recently, almost daring me to look at it. Was that coincidence, too? I've always left it untouched. The lure, though, was like an ice-cold pint of lager to an alcoholic. Picking up the phone, I was stupefied that there was no password. Did she trust me unconditionally? Or was it a trap? I threw the phone down onto the bed. If she trusted me that much, then what sort of a man did that make me to snoop through her phone? I just couldn't resist, though. I retrieved the phone from the bed.
The incident with the white van man hounded me. She shared details of the incident with me when I returned home from work. She said that she located the white van, parked on his drive, and she called the man. My mind tries to think back to the approximate date and time of the incident. It was the middle of the day, for sure. It was a few months before Christmas. Probably in October. Kat doesn't call that many people. She isn't a social butterfly, or at least she wasn't back then. With the phone back in my hand, I swiped through the call history.
That was it. Digging a pen out of the drawer, I made a note of the telephone number.
I've lived with my plan hidden away inside my skull for days before I've been able to do anything about it. I set my alarm an hour early this morning, but even then, I wait, staring at the clock, counting down the minutes. Pulling on my jeans and tee-shirt, Kat begins to stir from beneath the duvet. She looks at me, eyes almost stuck together.
"Have a nice day, sweetheart," she says.
Stroking hair from her face, I plant a kiss on her forehead.
I push a mint into my mouth as I pull away. I want to get to him before he leaves the house. From the sequence of events, it didn't take a genius to work out which village Kat went to. I pass the sign within twenty-five minutes. With the sun just beginning to rise and residents pulling apart their curtains, I crawl along the streets in my own van. Up and down. Back and forth. And then I stop.
Glancing at the piece of scrap paper, I check and double-check the number on the van. I probably think the same words my darling Kat did.
Bingo.
Parked up on the other side of the road, with my backside pushed high along the seat, I stare at the house, and I wait. Whilst I wait, my anger wells inside my chest until I fear it may explode. This guy set me up. He groped and abused that sweet girl. But that is the least of my venom. You know what really makes my blood boil? This filthy bastard spat over my darling wife. How dare he?
The front door pushes open. A man appears.
Tony.
His liver-spotted hand is already outreached, ready to open his van door, by the time I get to him. He glances up, probably expecting to see the postman. No such luck. He takes a step back when he sees me on his drive, with my shoulders wide and my chest pumped out.
"Ray," he says. "This is a nice surprise. Wh-what you doing here?"
"Shut the fuck up and get in my van."
I don't need to glance back to know he is following me, a playground bully sent to the headmaster's office.
Throughout the drive, I stare straight ahead. My companion, on the other hand, has ants in his pants. He shuffles in his seat. He stretches out his legs. Pulls them back again. Tangles his fingers together. Untangles them.
"Ray? What's this all about? Where are we going?"
I don't move a muscle in my face. I don't say a word.
I park up in what, to the untrained eye, probably looks like an industrial estate. Pushing open my door and planting my foot down on the uneven ground, I sense Tony glancing from side to side as I circle the van. I pull open his door. He shrinks within the depths of his seat. I recall his bravado when he took me on at pool. The way he flexed his muscles and downed his drink. I smirk. Not so tough now, are you?
"Out."
Pulling at his collar, I give him a helping hand. With his back pushed up against the brick wall and my face just inches from his, I notice that he is a few inches taller than me. Like that matters.
"Did you spit over my wife, Tony?"
"I don't know what you mean, Ray."
My left fist ploughs into his ribcage. His feet leave the ground as he releases a high-pitched yelp. Spit dribbles hang from his mouth. I push his chin back up with the flat of my hand.
"Shall we try that again, Tony?"
His darting eyes look around. His face breaks into a pleading grimace. "I'm sorry, Tony. It was nothing personal. I meant no harm to you or to her. I didn't want to do it."
"If it wasn't personal, then what was it?"
Silence.
He becomes another few inches taller than me as my hand grips his crotch.
"I was paid to do it."
"That's a good boy," I say, releasing the hold. "Now we're talking."
His frown turns into a smile. Did he think we were becoming mates?
"Did the same person pay you to abuse that girl? And did they pay you to stab her? I read all about it in the newspapers."
He paused for a moment, before nodding his head.
"Why?"
"I have no idea. I assume it was some sort of crazy vendetta."
"Give me a name."
He visibly shrinks. "I can't, Ray-"
"A name..."
"You may as well kill me now."
I raise one eyebrow. He fears whoever put him up to this more than he fears me. The poor bastard. This must be bad. I don't want to kill him, though. I have killed one man in my life, and I swear to God it was an accident. He was only a young kid, with his whole life ahead of him. We were scrapping at the football. I landed a punch to the side of his face. The boy fell forward. His skull cracked against the edge of the pavement. My whole world froze when I spotted blood flowing from his ears. I was never convicted, because the police didn't know which of us did it. Not a day passes without it haunting me, though. Whatever this vile man has done, I don't want to kill him.
"Take off your clothes," I said.
"What? What are you going to do with me?"
"Take off your clothes or I will kill you."
I struggle not to laugh as he kicks off his shoes an
d hops on one foot, trying to remove his trousers. He reminds me of a toddler getting undressed on his own for the first time. Eventually he stands in front of me naked, his two hands cupping his balls. Slowing down my movements, I pick up his discarded clothes and put them in the van. I'll throw them in the tip later.
Turning around I eye both my fists, like they have protruding claws, like I'm Wolverine.
"Run!" I say.
I give him a boot up the backside as he turns and flees, his bare feet hot against the tarmac. The poor sod doesn't realise there is a primary school just up the road. One of the teachers is an old football ally of mine. He knows he is coming.
Tomorrow morning I'll be reading about a naked man exposing himself to a group of school children. Returning to my van, I allow myself a smirk.
They don't like sex offenders in prison, do they?
Wednesday 14th August 2019
Rose
My head peers over the wall. My eyes admire the meticulous, freshly mowed lawn. In autumn, the soggy grass is smudged brown from the flattened conkers. A few tiles are missing from the slate roof. No wonder there is a horrendous draught in the winter - from here, the smeared, dirty windows appear wafer-thin.
I'm flooded with nostalgia when I spot a group of women leaving the building. We used to be close. We used to be friends. They head off in the opposite direction. They don't notice me. This is planned. I don't want to draw attention to myself. Finally, I shout out to a lone woman.
Her lined face looks up. Creases form from her eyes. I am the last person she expected to see, even though, just a year ago, I was the first person she'd see, sat at the front of the room. She stops walking. Her hands drop to her ample hips. Her thin lips curl at the corners. She doesn't see me as a foe. She sees me as a friend.
"Moira," I say. "I was wondering whether we could have a quick chat?"
Saturday 17th August 2019
Bernard
Clearly, Sheena wasn't lying when she said Apinya told the group I hit her.
Naively, I actually felt good walking to the rugby pitches hand-in-hand with my wife. I'd put on my knee-length shorts and smothered my face in sun tan lotion. Even though it was a boiling hot August afternoon, a welcome breeze swept through the air. Usually the fete is a great opportunity to catch up with people I don't get to see often. Spirits are usually high. Nobody takes themselves too seriously. I don't find any need to feel self-conscious. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I was genuinely looking forward to a social gathering.
This enthusiasm quickly vanished.
I was a marked man. My name was mud.
Admittedly, some women didn't blank me; they greeted me with a scowl. I felt daggers in the back of my head from all directions. I may as well have walked around with no pants on. The welcome breeze disappeared. The stifling heat made me itch. I looked around for a friendly face - maybe Ray or Dave or Geraint. Either they weren't here, or they saw me first.
I made my excuses and left within the hour. Apinya didn't ask any questions. She didn't try to persuade me to stay. Pecking my lips, she merely promised she wouldn't be too long.
When Apinya returned home about three hours later, with a melting ice cream in one hand and pink candy floss in the other, she announced that she didn't fancy the barn dance this year. Thank goodness. I simply couldn't tolerate anymore negativity today. Apinya said that she'd arranged to go to Sheena's flat with Kat for a girl's night in. She made it sound like they were teenage girls going to a sleepover. At first I didn't believe her, but then I questioned my doubt. After all, her lover was dead. He was found floating on top of the river. Who else would she be meeting?
Of course, I don't trust her. The autopsy did not find any suspicious circumstances; that female detective wasn't so convinced, was she? And if I didn't kill him, then who did? What sort of person was capable of committing that act? Maybe the sort of person to tell everybody her husband was a wife-beater?
Sitting on the sofa, surrounded by my gadgets and antiques and commissioned paintings, I can't remember the last time I felt so painstakingly low. Has somebody reached inside my chest and pulled out my heart? I rub my forehead with my middle fingers, before sinking my head into my open hands. Whilst I'm relieved that nobody else is around, the solitude is intensely lonely.
My mind fills with horrendous questions. What do I need to do to rebuild my life? What do I need to do to rebuild my reputation?
Not finding any answers, I'm almost relieved when the doorbell rings.
Katherine
I wasn't even supposed to be here this evening.
Ray raised both his eyebrows but remained silent when I told him I wasn't going to the dance, that I was heading to Sheena's house instead. He knew I hadn't been myself lately, anyway. Rob didn't mean anything to me (I barely knew him), but a floating body at the river - that was bound to bring back haunting memories. Ray is a loving, caring husband. I knew he wasn't going to argue with me. He merely pulled together a pained smile and told me to go and have a good time.
Forget me, though. Something hasn't been right with Ray, either. Whilst I stared absentmindedly at the TV on Saturday afternoon, he was a bunny on coke. He thinks I barely noticed him leaving the house. He used to do this when he was a football hooligan. And does he think I don't know he checked my phone? Sheena says men think it is their prerogative. He wouldn't have found anything on there, of course, but that's not the point. It's just so unlike him. What exactly is going on with my husband?
Stood in the entrance to the barn in my gorgeous red dress, I had wanted to remain inconspicuous, but the women from the group caught my eye. Some of them nodded their head. Others smiled. I knew I looked good. I hadn't felt this confident since I was a teenager. This was my moment. My eyes stopped working the room and fixed on my target.
I didn't need to seek his attention. Even though his arms were wrapped around his wife, his eyes fixed on me. I can't deny I felt a pang of excitement. Admittedly, part of the thrill was that he was taken, that he was a forbidden fruit. His wife remained completely oblivious to what was going on, to the fact her husband lustily eyed another woman. Me. Despite our scheming, despite our ill-intentions, my smile wasn't forced. I couldn't hold it back. I didn't need to gesture with my hands, or with my mouth. Our fleeting relationship isn't built on words. He hasn't uttered a single word to me. No. I merely pulled my head back, just a few inches, then I turned on my heels. I know all of the women from the group trailed Grant's movements as he left his wife to her plastic cup of warm wine and dutifully followed me out of the barn.
The control I had over him exhilarated me. His eyes couldn't stop wandering all over my body. Jesus. My skin tingled. I felt a hot flush to my chest, creeping downwards. I didn't need to poke my tongue inside his mouth. It wasn't him (as such) that excited me. It was the pure, unequivocal power, the thrill of knowing that this young, handsome man lusted after me, that he would do anything to taste me, to savour me.
The three of us agreed the plan after last Saturday's meeting. We waited for the other women (the Pawns, as Sheena sometimes calls them) to vacate before we huddled together in the room and conspired. Sheena widened her eyes as I took the initiative. Apinya nodded her head. She'd go along with anything so long as Sheena approved the idea.
I was merely the lure. I was the temptation Grant just couldn't resist. Me! And so I enticed him to the smaller barn, on the outskirts of the farm. I pushed him inside. Sheena and Apinya waited inside for him. I stayed outside. Initially he wouldn't even notice I wasn't there. He wouldn't complain, though. How could he? He was alone with two sensationally beautiful women.
I convinced Sheena and Apinya that I couldn't face tying him up, that I couldn't muster the strength to set the hay on fire. That way, in my warped mind, I was merely an accomplice to the crime. I wasn't the killer. I expected them to protest, to malign me. It was quite the opposite. Apinya's eyes expanded into saucers. She wanted to kill him. Sheena's reaction, of course, was not
so blatant. She merely lowered her eyes. This was the best she was going to get from me. She had always doubted me.
She still thought I was the weakest link.
They reappeared from the barn and into the light with beaming smiles, high on the euphoria of what we were doing. We had come this far. There was no turning back. I couldn't show my doubts. I couldn't show my fears. I wrapped my arms around the two women and joined in with the delirious giggles. The smoke inside the barn was just beginning to build, to spread. The fire was just beginning to get out of control. The screams were beginning to become wild and uncontrolled.
"Let's split," I said. "Let's not bring any attention to ourselves. We don't want to be seen together, do we? We should meet there."
Worried creases appeared around Apinya's eyes. They softened when Sheena broke into a smile.
"Good plan," she said.
I was leading the way.
Apinya
The first time I killed was only a handful of weeks ago. Even though I had planned to kill Rob, when it came down to it, he gave me no choice. If I didn't kill him then he would have killed me. It was merely self-defence, right?
Initially I was traumatised by the enormity of what happened. I was a killer! Sat in the churchyard with Sheena afterwards, I longed to pinch myself. Was this a dream? Was this an hallucination? This can't be me we're talking about. Even Sheena was horrified when I told her I'd killed Rob. Apparently she only wanted me to scare him away. She didn't say that though, did she? Of all the people in all of the world who I thought would understand, it was in Sheena. When she didn't, I knew I was in trouble. But then her attitude changed, didn't it? The more I told her, the more impressed she was. Our roles switched. She looked at me in awe! Amidst the terror and the looming fog, I sensed bravado.
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