ABEL'S REVENGE

by Ross Greenwood

  She repays me by sneezing in my face afterwards. Have I ever been completely healthy since Grace started at playschool? Despite the obvious malady, her cheeks bloom and her eyes sparkle. I’m not sure what happened to me. Where did my strength go? At night, I drop into bed and die of exhaustion. By the next day, I’ve been reanimated, but not one hundred percent. Each time there are new fault lines. Regardless, I slog on.

  The kitchen announces Dan’s diet over the last few days. There’s a selection of beer cans and wine bottles, miscellaneous takeaway boxes, and an empty bottle of tomato ketchup. At least he is getting one of his five a day. I’m gobsmacked that he hasn’t tidied up knowing I was coming. It has the look and smell of a teenager’s bedroom. I daren’t go in the actual bedroom. Who knows what might lurk in there.

  I’ve been collecting various personal items over the last few weeks, and the odd bit of furniture. Strangely, a box of half used perfumes has disappeared from where I left it in the hall. I’d promised to give it to my mum as she enjoys trying new scents, yet only ever buys the same old Avon perfumes she’s been getting for years. More underwear has gone walkabout, too. I hope Dan isn’t selling it although I wouldn’t be surprised.

  I’ve decided to rent the house furnished. Between Charlie, Dan, and Bailey, anything of value has been devalued long ago. I grit my teeth as I notice a new stain on the hall carpet. I’m shocked to hear heavy feet plodding down the stairs. Bailey, who is not allowed upstairs, makes an appearance. How could I have forgotten him?

  ‘I miss you, Baby Bailey,’ says Grace.

  He’s so pleased to see us that his back end is swinging into a right angle. His brown eyes implore me to come home. With impeccable timing, Dan turns up in his badminton gear sporting a haunted expression.

  ‘Daddy!’

  He scoops her up and squeezes her, but his eyes flit.

  ‘Nice of you to turn up. Hell, Dan. You’d be sixty minutes late for happy hour at the playboy mansion.’

  ‘Please don’t give me any grief, I’ve had a terrible experience.’

  ‘Have you been doing taekwondo with the tapir?’

  ‘Very amusing. I’ve been playing badminton with Felicity. She said she wanted to do me one on one, then show me the steam room.’

  The twinge in my gut is unwelcome and betrays my feelings, even though I know he’s joking.

  ‘What’s got your knickers in a twist then?’

  ‘I’ve been doing the odd workout with Malcolm in his home gym. He’s funny when he isn’t scaring you. To be honest, I’m short of friends. If it wasn’t for noodlehead next door, Malc, and Pete the postie, I would go days without talking to anyone.

  ‘Anyway, I should have disappeared straight away because he was ranting and raging about his missus. He reckons her and the kid have gone missing, or left him, or something. He was all over the shop because the Dairy told him they’re stopping deliveries due to the cancellations. The more he worked out, the more furious he became. That’s the angriest I’ve seen him. Finally, he announces he will give them a piece of his mind, yanks the door knob to go back upstairs, and it comes off in his hand.’

  ‘Oh no. Trapped in Malcolm’s mausoleum. With Malcolm.’

  ‘Yeah. You know how everyone’s paranoid. I suspected he might be this Abel, killed his wife, and I was next. Scary shit. We’d had a good workout and I felt pooped. I’d have struggled to defend myself against Charlie. The expression on Malc’s face was so ferocious that I backed up and smacked my head on the wall. He stared at me then like I was the crazy one.

  ‘Two hours we were down there as neither of us had a phone. I wanted to come back and tidy before you arrived. He found an old tool kit which concerned me as he waved the screwdriver around, or the gutting implement that my mind told me it was. In the end, he did a mad war cry and drove his foot through the door as though it was made of polystyrene. I ran home.’

  Maybe the time away from him has made me immune to his stories, so I haven’t much compassion for him or his tale. I think I left the last crumb of that with the goldfish. I suppose I expected to come over and find him begging for me to return. Perhaps, he’d be tearful over the break-up of his family. I try to match the tanned, relaxed, handsome man I met all those years ago, to the pasty, unshaven, ill-looking wretch in front of me. It’s impossible.

  ‘Go and watch television, Grace. While Mummy and Daddy talk. What did you want to discuss, Dan?’

  He appears to have forgotten asking me to come over for a chat. His laptop is open and on the side. He shuts it with a suspicious glance over his shoulder.

  ‘Umm. Sorry, I’m still distracted.’

  He looks up as though he’s missing an item on his shopping list. Then a small dim light comes on in his brain.

  ‘I wanted to know if this is it? I struggle with the fact we were a family a month ago, and not much has changed, yet now we aren’t. Are you really taking my children all that way from me?’

  ‘Why don’t you Skype, text, and write? You may even find your relationship improves. We’re only going for a year to start with, but we’ll come back for holidays here. Maybe you can visit.’

  ‘That’s it. So, we’re single? Will you be on Tinder and the rest, and hook up with whoever you fancy?’ Dan grimaces as he contemplates the question.

  The tears aren’t far away. He’s right. I hadn’t thought of those implications and it doesn’t sound great. However, he was always reasonable when he talked rationally. It just wasn’t often.

  ‘Yes, if that’s what you want to do. I guess nothing’s stopping you, Dan.’

  ‘Isn’t that typical of you? Making it out to be my fault for breaking up the family. It wasn’t me who stopped having sex. You nagged me so much that I dreaded coming downstairs in the morning.’

  ‘I tried to instigate sex with you twice recently, and you declined.’

  ‘I was tired, and then I’d had the kids all day and wanted to sit in a dark room on my own. Surely you know what that’s like.’

  ‘Work and childcare are both easier and more enjoyable if you aren’t hungover.’

  ‘You’re a stuck record looking for an excuse to split up. Ah, I get it. Now, you’re free to date Beau!’

  ‘Don’t bring him into this. He’s been brilliant.’

  ‘I bet he’s whispering in your ear. Saying you deserve better. I bet Beau’s not his real name either. Is it Teddy, or something else geeky? These privately educated types are all the same. The prefects sodomise the younger ones, and then it’s learned behaviour. When they’re older, they bugger the next generation. That’s where the stiff upper lip comes from. No squawking when you receive your initiation.’

  ‘What are you ranting about? He attended a normal state school. No funding, no silver spoon.’

  ‘Rubbish. Why then does he sound like the love child of Oliver Twist and Mary Poppins?’

  I know he’s looking for a reaction. He will get one.

  ‘I stopped having sex with you because you’re a drunk. I only want to make love when I’m relaxed. Stroke me, not poke and paw me. I nagged you because you’re slovenly. You’ve no pride. Look around you. I pushed you to spend time with Grace and Charlie because they adore you. When I came back today to see you, I’d hoped you’d changed, so I’m the idiot.’

  ‘I haven’t got much going on to make an effort now. Where’s my purpose?’

  ‘Unbelievable. You still don’t get it. Your children are your reasons for living. If you can’t do it for me, do it for them. Become involved, take them places, draw with them, speak to them. It’s easy. It might not be exciting but the reward is their company.’

  He looks surprised, but I’m not finished.

  ‘You’re playing at life. This isn’t a game, this is real. Our children are real. Their lives are important. I can’t hang on any longer hoping that you’ll wake up to that fact. I’m a fool for waiting this long. We should be happy and having a good life. Instead, you’re tainting it for the children, and poisoning it
for me.’

  He stands there impassive. Are none of these strikes landing? Am I talking to a stranger? I should know I’ve already lost, yet still I shout.

  ‘Get pissed then. Go see your friends and dig out your backpack. Try and find an existence with no responsibility or commitment. Don’t you understand? That life’s gone now. It’s over. You’re too old. Teenagers won’t want to hang around with you. You’ll be the butt of their jokes; ‘The traveller that can’t handle real life’. You’ll be the one you used to ridicule. They will pity you. Meanwhile, your children grow up without a father.’

  He looks pained and finally takes a step toward me.

  ‘No, don’t. It’s too late.’

  Chapter 41

  Abel

  The streets are empty as I look for victims. Do mothers now use my name as a threat? The day has been mild but the temperature plummets and every home hides in despair. Yet, there’s a bay window on the corner with open curtains. Yellow light spills onto the street. Do they know no fear? I stand outside and stare in. At the table, bent over a book, is a tired man in a worn, woollen suit. I crack a smile. Sometimes they make it too easy.

  I pull over my hood, raise my scarf, and knock. Not too hard, I’d hate to disturb the neighbours. He takes his time coming to the door, but when he arrives he swings it wide, lighting me up like a hero on stage. I must resemble a presence from the pits of his memory.

  ‘Evening, can I help you?’

  He’s looking at me through rheumy eyes with no emotion. His antipathy throws me.

  ‘I’m lost. Erm, is Turpin Street near here?’

  ‘Turpin Street? As in Dick Turpin? Yes, it is. Now, it might be two roads along, on the left. Or is that right? You forget everything important at my age. Come in. I have an A-Z street map. Don’t mind the mess, I get few visitors nowadays.’

  He lets me enter as easily and enthusiastically as welcoming in the new year. Even up close his tired face shows no recognition. The house smells old. Dust frosts the surfaces. He shuffles along, and I imagine it collecting at his feet like a sorry snowplough. I place my hand on the cosh in my pocket. It feels heavy and warm.

  He edges past a large table covered in books in the centre of the room. There’s a war theme to them and the television has a loud black and white film playing. He opens a sideboard and roots among the drawers.

  ‘Forgive me, I’ll try to be quick. My eyesight is terrible these days, but I’m sure it was here.’

  I loom behind him and notice the movie blaring out is recent, it’s just the set that is ancient. My own functioning vision picks up photos of sailors and ships on the walls, many with a proud young man forefront. I spot a medal inside a small display case on a stand.

  ‘Here you are. This is it. I recognise it from the binder around the edge. You’ll have to read it. My magnifying glass helps but I’ve used it too much today and I’ve a splitting headache.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I flick through the pages, pausing to turn the television off before I get a migraine. ‘Were you in the Second World War?’

  His laugh is a wheeze. ‘How old do you think I am? I served all over. The Middle East mostly. I loved the Navy.’

  ‘You live here alone?’

  There’s a small pause and a shrug. ‘Yes, I was too busy for a family. Too much fun to be had, and I wanted to see the sights. My memories are my comfort. I do have a daughter from a brief liaison many decades ago. Nice girl. She rings every year and I receive a card on my birthday most years.’

  ‘Do you let anyone in at this time of night? I could be a burglar, or worse?’

  ‘When you get to my age, things don’t matter much. Besides, I say drink with the devil. Come on, let’s have a rum.’

  He moves through the door with more haste and I hear the clinking of bottles. I pick up the magnifying glass on top of a tank picture and hold it up. If the power was any greater, I could see through the brick cracks and into the neighbour’s lounge.

  He returns with a grumbling cough and delicately pours a whopping measure into two glasses. From behind, his bald dome surrounded by grey hair makes his head resemble an egg in a nest. Prime for cracking. What a pointless, lonely existence. I’d be doing him a favour.

  Finally, his face shows emotion as his jowls quiver in anticipation while he passes me my drink with a shaking hand. The inscription on my glass reads, ‘The Time Flies When You’re Having Rum’.

  His expression softens. ‘To absent friends.’

  I expect him to chink glasses, instead he downs it in a steady gulp. It feels important to do the same, and my own eyesight falters. ‘I better go.’

  ‘Sure, sure. One for the road?’

  We end up chatting for a while. He led an interesting life. An existence where he didn’t tend the home fire, so he’s paying for it now. He has so many things he wants to discuss he hardly knows where to start. I let him talk.

  Later, he walks me out despite being visibly tired. He musters a smile.

  ‘You be careful out there. You don’t want to bump into that Abel.’

  I wonder for a moment if he knew all along. He chuckles but his face is open. This poor man is thankful for tonight. He’s had a rare and unexpected pleasure. I consider what I came to do. I will be gracious. Maybe I’m not a lost cause and the good in me still has influence. He places a hand on my shoulder at the door.

  ‘Please visit again. Any time you want. I’m always in, and I’ve always got drink.’

  ‘You try and stop me.’

  The door closes, slowly, reluctantly. I know I will never return here, and so does he.

  Chapter 42

  Dan

  A week later

  When I arrive at Café Bleu, I suppose you could call it my local, it’s busy. It is so different, it’s as though I’m entering inside for the first time. As I struggle to the bar, I realise I’ve only ever been here on midweek nights. That’s why the staff were bored. Now, the place is rammed. The music pumps and even at my age, I can feel the vibe running through the place.

  I’m glad I put extra effort in tonight. By that, I mean I visited a department store and bought a new pair of jeans, shoes, and a shirt. It was a daunting experience. Why the hell are there fifty choices for everything nowadays?

  I remember when it used to be Levi’s or the shop’s own brand. Zip fly or button. I tried some skinny-fit jeans and couldn’t get them past my thighs, never mind my gut. The coat prices were extortionate, so I decided to keep the one I already own. I must remove it sharpish. If it smelled any more of dog, I might as well have bought Bailey in here, draped around my shoulders.

  I can’t spot Ian and suspect he’ll be late. My shoes pinch but luckily only when I walk. I join those queuing at the bar and, after a ten-minute wait, leave with two frothing drinks. I’m not surprised to find the beer is more expensive on a Saturday night.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket and I check and see a text from Ian. ‘We’re in the corner’. That’s not incredibly handy as I suspect there will be four of them. The crowd in here heaves as though it’s breathing, so I edge and nudge my way through the massed ranks almost in a dance. I smile when I guess the right corner. I’m ecstatic to find they have seats.

  ‘This is Charlotte, and Kathy.’

  ‘Hi, Dan,’ they sing.

  Two girls, at most in their early twenties, kiss me on the cheek at the same time. They glide past on high heels. It’s been many years since that sort of thing happened. Ian raises his eyebrows.

  ‘They’ve gone to powder their noses.’

  I’m not sure if this means they have gone to check their lipstick, or hoover up drugs. I conclude it doesn’t matter either way.

  ‘Are these the like-minded travellers?’

  ‘Kind of. Charlotte is the receptionist at our company. Kathy is one of the PAs. They’re thinking of going to South America for six months. They want to see Brazil.’

  Brazil was a country we always planned to visit. The idea of the carnival and five
days of drinking and dancing isn’t as appealing as it used to be. Not unless they spread them out over a month.

  ‘You know there’s nothing keeping you here, now you’ve split up?’

  ‘Apart from the kids.’

  ‘I thought they were going with Olivia?’

  He’s right. I’ve been so focused on the Olivia problem that I keep forgetting that my children will be with her. They’ll be gone, and I’ll be homeless. I have few options. One is to go back to the home town and the house where I lived with my parents. My shoulders sag at the prospect.

  ‘Olivia says I’m too old for travelling now.’

  ‘What? She’s messing with your head. You’re never too old. You might not survive on three hours of sleep and a few paracetamols anymore, but what else is there?’

  ‘Olivia disagrees with you.’

  ‘People like us, we need to travel. See new things, meet other travellers. This city is one of thousands of huge treadmills around the world. Everyone should get on them every now and again, to earn money and experience it. Then you appreciate life all the more away from these soul-sucking places.’

  ‘Well, Olivia’s confirmed she is going to California with i-BLAM.’

  ‘i-BLAM! No way.’

  Ian collapses into theatrical laughter, and I fear he’s already powdered his nose.

  ‘Yeah, mad isn’t it? Beau’s new name for the company.’

  ‘I reckon her boss has named it that, as that’s what he’ll do to Olivia when he gets her over there.’

  ‘Hmm. You reckon. He has more pressing things on his mind. I think it stands for Banking, Loans, Asset Management. Or should I be pleased he didn’t call it i-PEE, or i-JIZZ?’

  ‘Perhaps, they’re subdivisions. Anyway, here’s the heads-up. Kathy has been flirting with me for weeks, but our place isn’t keen on interwork relationships. Now I’m leaving soon, I don’t care. She’s chubbier than I’d usually go for, but her hair is so perfect, I can’t concentrate on anything else. I know little of Charlotte. You’ll have to see if you still have the patter.’