Avaline Saddlebags

by Netta Newbound

  She’d done okay at first and had been lucky she was able to intercept when Will tracked down the prosthetics to Max’s shop. But that had been her only mistake until Darren, and thankfully she’d managed to get out of it by saying the shop had no CCTV or records. That hadn’t been a lie as she’d stolen the box of dicks when visiting there one evening for a meeting—she was a shareholder in all of Max’s companies. What had she been thinking? Had she planned to rid the area of all transsexuals? What would that have solved? Her problem would still exist. Max, or Maxine as he now wanted to be called, would still exist.

  She drove to the doctor’s surgery, making the appointment by the skin of her teeth. But the receptionist told her they were running behind. She’d been lucky to get a cancellation in the first place when she’d rung first thing this morning, so she couldn’t complain. She took a seat and waited.

  Her phone rang several times. Bloody Dylan! Why wouldn’t he leave her alone? She told him she’d go to the doctors and she’d kept her word. He was acting like her father not her boss, and she already had one waste of space father, thank you very much. She didn’t need another.

  “Layla Monahan,” the receptionist called.

  Startled from her thoughts, Layla sprang to her feet. She was living on her nerves and wasn’t too far gone to know this couldn’t continue. She needed help—and fast.

  The doctor, a pompous looking old fart she’d never seen before, didn’t even look up from his computer screen when she entered, which irritated her. “Take a seat, please.” After a short while, he took off his glasses and turned to her—a bored expression on his face. “What can I do for you?”

  She wanted to smash his teeth in. How dare he treat her like this?” She glared at him, not saying a word.

  “Miss…” he checked the screen, “… Monahan?” Suddenly his expression changed to concern, or was he just uncomfortable at her odd behaviour? No doubt people didn’t confront him very often. Doctors made a habit of intimidating their patients. She’d seen it before, countless times. But she wasn’t going to stand for it.

  “I came here for help—of course I did—doesn’t everyone?”

  “Ye-yes.” He nodded, sitting up a little taller in his chair. “How can I help you?”

  “I don’t like you. I don’t like your attitude. Let me give you a few home truths, shall I?”

  He nodded. “If you like.” He fiddled with his tie self-consciously.

  “When a person has crashed, hit rock bottom, and needs help, the last thing she wants to do is admit it—to lay her feelings bare for all to see. Doing this is hard even when presented with a gentle, caring face to confide in, but being faced with a pig-headed, uninterested prick like you, I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than tell you a thing. I suggest you work on your attitude, doctor.” She stood up with such force the chair toppled backwards crashing into the bookcase behind her.

  “Take note of my name. When you next hear it, remember, you could’ve made all the difference.” As she stomped from the room, she heard him chasing behind her.

  “Ms Monahan, come back. I apologise if I made you feel like that. It was never my intention.”

  “Shut it! I’m not interested.” By then they were out in reception and everyone had turned to look at them. “Good luck to the next person booked in to see this fucker.”

  She stormed from the building. No Medication. No sick-note. No better off at all.

  Still fuming, she got into her car and slammed her hands on the steering wheel. Why was everything so bloody difficult? Max’s confession had started her problems and now, bit by bit, her entire life was cascading downhill fast like an avalanche, and she couldn’t see a way out of it.

  Max seemed totally oblivious to the mayhem he’d caused. Wrapped up in his own world, he didn’t care about the effect his actions were having on his family.

  After starting the engine, she did a three-point turn and headed across the city to Max’s new house. She would show him. Let’s see how he dealt with her confessions for a change.

  Her phone rang again. It was her mother. She contemplated ignoring it but what if something was wrong with one of the kids? She accepted the call. “I’m driving, Mum, what’s up?”

  “Hiya, love, I was just wondering what time you’d be back?”

  “Don’t know. I’ve got stuff to do. Why, is something wrong?

  “No, not at all. I was just wondering where you are, is all.”

  “I’m going to see Max. We have things to discuss.”

  “Oh, you don’t wanna do that love. You know it’ll only end in another row. Just come straight home and I’ll make you a nice cuppa.”

  “No row, Mum. I promise you. This time I intend to sort out this shit once and for all.”

  “Okay, well if you’re sure, I’ll see you when you get back.”

  “Can you pick up the boys for me if I’m not there in time?”

  “Yeah, of course. Bye, love. Take care.”

  Max’s car wasn’t parked in the driveway of the fully furnished house he rented.

  Layla parked down the street and then doubled back on foot. After searching for a few minutes, she found the spare key under a rock in one of the plant pots beside the front door.

  No matter how many times she’d warned him about security, she knew he’d never change. The beeping of the alarm sounded as she opened the door and punched in a sequence of numbers, hoping he’d chosen the same number they’d always used. The beeping stopped.

  Once inside, Layla scanned the ground floor, searching for signs of Max having a partner. If he had, would they be male or female? She had no idea. It was pointless looking for evidence of another woman, there were lacy knickers drying on the radiator and silk scarves hanging on the coat rack, but that didn’t mean he had another woman, did it? Then, on the other hand, any male items could be his too. She had no clue how it all worked.

  Upstairs, in the master bedroom, she found her answer. The unmade bed had only been slept in on one side. That made her feel a little better. She sat on the bed and reached for the crumpled pillow, dragging it to her, and hugging it to her chest. She buried her head into it and inhaled his scent.

  She felt as though her broken heart had been ripped from her chest and smashed to smithereens. How could he do this to her? Had their entire marriage been a sham?

  Pulling the phone from her jeans’ pocket, she dialled Max’s number.

  “Layla,” Max said—or was it Maxine? His voice had a certain softness to it when he was in character. But she just wanted to talk to her husband.

  “I’m at your house. We need to talk.”

  “I’m pretty tied up right n—”

  “We need to talk NOW, Max.”

  “Okay, the key is—”

  “I know where the fucking key is. I’m sitting on your bed. Hurry up.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “You’ve got five minutes before I start swinging your golf club around the display cabinets you love so much.” She glanced at the three glass cabinets filled with Star Wars figurines—his pride and joy. It didn’t surprise her that he had them in his bedroom. He loved them more than he’d ever loved her and the kids. Of that, she was certain.

  “You wouldn’t,” Max boomed, the soft voice forgotten.

  “Try me.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Less than five minutes later, she heard a car pull up and high heels click-clacking across the driveway and into the house.

  “Layla? Where are you?”

  “In your bedroom.”

  He thundered up the stairs, sounding like an all-in wrestler—not a bit lady-like. As he burst into the room, he scanned the cabinets for any sign of damage.

  “Don’t fret. I haven’t touched them—yet.”

  She thought he might pass out in relief. “That’s not funny, Layla. I almost killed myself to get here.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be funny, Maxwell. I was deadly serious. Now can you
get that ridiculous outfit off? I want to talk to my husband.”

  “I’ve told you, I’m Maxine now. The doctor said I have to live my life as a woman or they won’t consider putting me forward for surgery. Max has gone, so whatever you’ve got to say, spit it out.”

  “I have no intention discussing anything with you while you’re dressed like that. Have some fucking respect for me and the life we once shared.”

  He shook his head and sighed heavily. “I don’t want to discuss anything with you, Layla. I just want to see my children, like we agreed in mediation.”

  “You left them, remember,” she screamed.

  “There was no way I could’ve stayed, you know that. It was too hard dealing with your hurt on top of everything else I was going through.”

  “All along it’s been about you, Max! You made all the decisions. Neither me, nor the kids, who you say you love so much, had any say in the matter.”

  “It’s not a lifestyle choice, Layla.” He sounded frustrated. “Even you’re not naïve enough to believe that.”

  “Just look at the state of you, Maxwell.” Layla pointed at him. “All dressed up like a pantomime dame.”

  “My. Name. Is. Maxine,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “No. It’s. Not.” She hissed. “You’ll always be Maxwell to me and Dad to our children, no matter how much you want to play dress up.”

  “I’ve always been Maxine.”

  “You can pretend to be who you like in your own time, but not in front of the kids. They already have one mother, they don’t need another.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Did you read the book I gave you?”

  “No, I didn’t read your fucking perverted book, and have no intention of doing so either. Now, I’m warning you, Maxwell. Don’t push me, because the mood I’m in, I’ll smash every last one of those pathetic figurines and your face with it.”

  “Okay, okay. But let’s go downstairs first.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. Now, get out of that stupid fucking outfit, wipe that shit off your face, and act like a man. I need some normality before I’m able to discuss the future of my children.”

  “No! This is me. Get used to it.” He put his hands on his hips and eyed her defiantly. “We’re getting divorced. I’ll no longer be your husband so you can forget it. Nothing you can say will make any difference. I’ve made up my mind. I’m going for full custody.”

  She got to her feet and walked towards him. “Seems ironic that the imminent removal of your balls has allowed you to grow a pair, doesn’t it?”

  He was about to open his mouth to respond when Layla sucker punched him in the stomach. He groaned and bent double.

  She expertly positioned him with a series of light foot taps before going in with a front kick to the chest.

  He flew backwards, and smashed into the first cabinet, sending shards of glass and his beloved figurines scattering around the room.

  She watched him scrambling about on his hands and knees, skirt up around his waist, while frantically trying to retrieve each precious item. He was so far gone he hadn’t even noticed the large triangular piece of glass protruding from his temple or the jagged flap of skin on his forearm that was squirting blood all over his pretty peach-coloured blouse.

  Forty-Three

  I banged the steering wheel then pressed my hand against the horn. Adrenaline coursed through my body.

  “Move, dickhead,” I yelled, as a delivery van pulled to a sudden halt, ignoring the siren.

  Janine held onto the dashboard again, as I manoeuvred around the van.

  “Dylan, slow down for Christ’s sake or we’ll end up in an accident.”

  “We don’t have time. For all we know, Max could be lying dead and what then?”

  “We don’t know Layla’s intending to harm him.”

  “What else would she be going around there for?”

  “She might need to discuss the kids, or the house, anything. Just slow down, please.”

  I didn’t listen to her and zoomed out of town, toward Woolton. “Why didn’t I see it?” I was furious with myself. Some detective I was that I didn’t notice my own partner massacring innocent people right under my nose. “Fuck,” I said, out loud.

  “None of us saw what was happening, Dylan. She covered her tracks well. You can’t blame yourself.”

  “Those poor girls. I could have stopped her.” I was wallowing, I knew it, but I’d carry the guilt with me forever. Kimberley’s face flashed into my mind and I felt sick. Why had Layla chosen her? Was it because I’d introduced them? It had to be.

  “Enough, Dylan, just focus on the road.”

  “I need to call her again.”

  Janine picked up my phone.

  “Press redial then turn the speakerphone on.” It started to ring, and I willed her to answer. “Come on, Layla, answer the friggin’ phone.”

  Voicemail clicked in again.

  “Let’s just focus on getting there in one piece, okay?” Janine said looking as anxious as I felt.

  Layla pulled her vibrating phone from her pocket and shook her head—Dylan again. What is that man’s problem?

  She turned back to Max who was still frantically grasping for the figurines and collecting them in a pocket he’d made from his skirt. He seemed unaware of the glass shredding his fingers.

  The scorn she felt for him soon turned to anger once again and she stepped forwards and kicked the underside of his skirt, sending the stupid toys flying for the second time.

  “No!” he cried. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “You!” she screamed into his face. “You’re what’s wrong with me. Don’t you get it?” She twisted and kicked him again—the arch of her foot connected with his nose and a satisfying crack reached her ears.

  He cried out and began sobbing like a baby.

  “Shut up!” she screamed. The state of him appalled her. He was a pathetic excuse for a man. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? “I don’t believe I took everything you did to me out on all those innocent people. You’re to blame for every one of them, Max. You and you alone.”

  He froze with his hand pressed to his face and stared at her, wide eyed, clearly petrified. “What are you talking about? You’re fucking crazy—you know that?” His fingers touched on the shard of glass protruding from his head and, with an anguished cry, he yanked it out.

  “I’ll show you fucking crazy.”

  Dragging him to his feet, she attempted to remove his clothing, but he spun around and made a run for the door.

  She was behind him in an instant and drop-kicked him in the centre of his back.

  He landed with a thud and skidded along the polished wooden floorboards of the landing, stopping just before the top of the stairs.

  In an instant, she was beside him and grabbed at the skirt, tearing the fabric with ease.

  “Stop, it. Please, Layla. I’m begging you.” His words sounded distorted because his face was smooshed up against the floor.

  “You had your chance to put this right, but you chose not to.”

  “Put what right? I’ve never done anything to hurt you intentionally. I just needed to be true to myself.”

  With the skirt lying in tatters beside them, she noticed the French knickers. They were harder to accept than the skirt had been. She remembered all the times he’d bought this style of underwear for her. Had he been buying it for himself all along? In a rage, she tore them from him too—his flaccid penis springing free. Then she lifted his right leg, and flung him, toppling arse over tit, down the stairs.

  Her phone rang again from where she’d left it on the bed. As she returned to the bedroom, some movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention outside.

  Forty-Four

  Layla’s heart sank when she saw three, armed response vehicles and several armed officers dotted along the road. She jumped back from the window as Dylan’s car drove past.

  “Fuck-fuck-fuck!” She’d known she didn’t have long, but sh
e hadn’t expected it to be this quick. Running back to the stairs, she groaned to see Max had managed to wedge himself halfway down them. The idiot couldn’t even fall down the stairs right. Furious, she ran down behind him and kicked him the rest of the way.

  As he landed on the hall tiles, she realised he was surprisingly quiet. “You’d better not be dead, you fucker. Not yet, anyway.”

  A thick smear of blood streaked down the stairs and now began pooling underneath him. It was coming from his arm.

  “Wake up, Max.” She slapped his face.

  No response.

  “Wake up, you fucking freak.” She needed him awake for this next bit. “We don’t have much time.” She dragged him by the leg into the kitchen. Conscious of the blood, she didn’t want to stain the living room carpet.

  He groaned, coming to. “Layla, stop this before it goes too far.”

  “You still don’t get it do you? It’s already gone too far. Those fuckers outside are here to arrest me. But not until I’ve finished with you, they won’t.”

  “Arrest you?” His voice was barely more than a whisper. He was such a wimp. Once again she wondered why she hadn’t seen it before now.

  She rummaged in the drawer next to the sink and chose a filleting knife from the selection.

  “Why do they want to arrest you, Layla? What have you done?”

  “Never mind that for a minute.” She dropped to her knees beside him and smiled. “Why did you put me and the boys through this, Max?”

  “You know why,” he breathed, closing his eyes. The blood pouring from his arm hadn’t let up and rivulets of it ran between the tiles creating a grid of bright red square canals leading away from him.

  “Tell me again, I need to understand why you decided to do this.”