Beneath the Blood Moon

by Darren Wills

  “Guess what, babe? Just had a call. We’re buying all of Ackworth’s paintings.”

  “Fantastic babe. A good day, then.”

  “Yes, and you know what that means. I’m going to New York.”

  “That’s brilliant.” I looked at her with an attempt at smiling, before the curve of my smile straightened more genuinely. “What am I saying? How will I cope?”

  “You will cope very well. You’d better.”

  “When are you going?”

  “Dates haven’t been finalized yet. About ten days there.”

  “How many weekends?”

  Laura picked up her phone obviously was checking her calendar app. “Only one. Miss me loads.”

  “Great marriage, this. I have to look after myself for a miserable ten days, while you go sunning yourself Stateside. And they say women have it tough!”

  “Hey, perhaps you’ll appreciate me more if I’m not around. This could be really good for us. Just don’t fuck up this time.”

  I shook my head with a tight firmness. “No chance.”

  “And don’t drink!” At this point her eyes had become intense and her demeanor betrayed a serious worry I knew she would have, one that needed putting to bed.

  I sat down on the settee and I picked up the remote control, switching off the TV that had been silently shown some wildlife programme. “Things are already good for us. You don’t have to go on.”

  “I know, but I will anyway.”

  “And I won’t ever fuck up again so there are no worries on that score.”

  Laura stood up and stared down at me. “OK, don’t get sulky. I know and you know. Everything ends if you fuck up again.”

  “I won’t.” I could feel a sharp edge of irritation in my voice, which should not have been there, since she had every right to repeat and every right to insist.

  “Don’t get grumpy.”

  I put down the remote and looked at my wife. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired.” I stood and moved towards her, holding her hands. “I want you to do well in your job, sweetie. It’s just…you know. I’ll miss you.”

  “Well, that’s good. Keeps you on your toes.”

  I grinned. “I take it we’re having a takeaway tonight.”

  With the folder held close to her chest, she stood up and moved to face me, looking down. “I can’t be bothered cooking. Dad loves Indian food like you, so I’ve ordered some. Three Balti’s and a Jalfrezi.”

  I made sure that I gave no sign of disappointment and forced a smile. “Well, I think I’ll get a quick bath. Papa’s coming and I don’t want to make my usual bad impression.”

  “Don’t even joke about that. You’re getting there slowly. Just takes time.”

  “I don’t mind that. I’m so good at being patient I should be in hospital.”

  “Is that the best you can do for a joke?”

  “Makes my students laugh.”

  “I bet. Bottom set, by any chance.”

  “Ha fucking ha.”

  “Anyway, apart from that, just be very careful what you say. And make sure there are no references to our sex life, hidden or otherwise. No dirty asides, Shakespeare. Spare my blushes. At least till they’re gone.” Her eyes were again looking deep into mine, a clear sign that she meant it.

  “Not even one joke?”

  “Not even half of one. You need to win some brownie points, not black marks.” She paused. “I enjoyed our walk today.”

  “Me too. Want to do it again tomorrow?”

  “OK. I’ll do it. Make it five at the five bar gate for a walk and talk. God, I’m so poetic at times.” She laughed. “Maybe I should be an English teacher.”

  “I’d stay where you are.”

  Laura smiled. “Perhaps you’re right. Anyway, it’s bath-time for you. They’ll be here at eight.”

  While we spoke, the right-hand window on the back wall of the living room was raised open for ventilation, allowing a gust of fresh summer air to enter the house and, looking at it all retrospectively, for our secrets to escape. At the time, we just could not imagine that anybody would hear us and were sure that nobody would want to hear us.

  * * *

  An hour later, the doorbell rang. For one of us it was the announcement of a welcome arrival whilst for another it was the signal for an evening of hard work after a day of hard work. Laura ran downstairs and opened the door with what would be a massive smile on her face. I continued to vigorously brush my teeth in the bathroom, standing there apathetically, with no inclination to rush. I gritted my teeth.

  Subsequently, within the next hour, largely due to Laura’s preparations, all four of us were sitting chewing some kind of fat after eating spicy culinary delights. The end result was a variety of chicken bones or ribs on every plate, with everything else having been mopped up by all four diners. Only one, Laura, had a substantial amount of rice remaining on her plate, but she was on that perpetual diet where it was always good to leave food. In truth, George and I probably both needed to diet more, but neither of us left anything. Isn’t that always the way?

  Lillian, a gentle woman in both appearance and personality, was doing a lot of the talking. “And anyway, I was in the Market and I bought a load of fish. I even bought swordfish and calamari, for a change.”

  “Calamari. I can’t stand calamari.” George, a formidable man both mentally and physically, looked at Laura and his wife as he spoke.

  “It’s quite tasty, fried.” I said

  “I expect it is,” he said, looking at Laura, then turning to his wife.

  “You could always have it with chips and mushy peas,” Laura offered.

  “Suppose I could,” he said, smiling and looking at the pictures on our wall as if they were suddenly fascinating.

  “Dom and I went on a lovely walk today. Didn’t we, Dom.”

  I nodded.

  “Lillian smiled. “That’s nice. Where did you go?”

  George was playing with something on his plate with his fork while Laura gave her mother the details.

  Of course, they knew all the miserable details of our past year. Laura and Lillian were close, like sisters, and Laura, at her lowest ebb, had confided in her mother and had naturally been well-supported. Essentially, they knew that I had played away. Understandably, I had become the villain of the piece and it would be a while before we could all be comfortable in each other’s company.

  “Well you don’t come to us all that often, so we wanted to make sure you’d be bigging us up after eating the food.”

  Awkwardly, I tried to make an enthusiastic supportive sound. Inside, I felt a really hopeless desperation, as though there was a demon hiding away inside me. I just wanted to make everything good for Laura. “That’s right, babe. Let’s get a reputation.”

  George gave me a quick meaningful look that made me more uncomfortable. He switched his attention back to Laura with a smile that might just have been forced. “Well, the food was nice. I hope it’s as nice as this next week.”

  “Thanks, Dad. When do you two fly?” She had a nervous smile on her face.

  Lillian spoke first. “We’re off on Wednesday,” Lillian said, showing the same unfelt positivity.

  “Are you excited?”

  “I am. I’m going to spend all week sitting in the sun while George works. If I can bear it, that is. It’s so hot out there.”

  “I’d spend more time inside if it was me,” I said.

  “I might end up doing that. Thank God for air-conditioning.”

  Laura and she had talked of nothing else in their three telephone conversations over the past couple of weeks. As you might expect, Laura loved the fact that her dad painted portraits for a living. I was jealous of him. Everything I attempted with a brush looked unrecognizable and barely worthy of a seven-year-old. George, on the other hand, was a hig
hly skilled artist and was paid substantial money for his efforts. For the past three years, his clients had mainly been wealthy Arabs and interest in the quality of his artwork was spreading by word of mouth, as it always had, with the wealthy out there queuing up to be his next subject. “I know I’m cheeky, but how much this time?” Laura asked.

  George hesitated before speaking. This alone was a signal that it was a seriously lucrative deal. “Enough for our next ten holidays. As long as I paint it right, of course.”

  “Christ, Laura. I’ve changed my mind. You can buy me a set of paints and a brush for my birthday. I’m going to be an impressionist.”

  “You don’t even know what impressionism means,” Laura said. Lillian managed a faint half-laugh, probably out of politeness, whilst George maintained what might have been interpreted as a dignified silence. Hey-ho. Any jokes I made were bound to fall on stony ground these days and, thankfully, the clock was ticking, so they would be gone soon.

  August jumped onto Laura’s lap. “August! How are you, baby?” Laura began stroking the cat like he was a welcome escape from the tension of the evening and the cat’s eyes closed pleasurably in response.

  I decided at that point to take an initiative. “George, I need to talk to you about something. On the decking perhaps?”

  Laura looked up at me, a concerned look on her face. I gestured with my hand that this was cool, and that I wasn’t challenging him to a duel or a fist fight. In all truth, I would have lost either of those. I noticed Lillian giving the same look to her husband. He just looked blank-faced and picked up his drink, looking grim-faced, as if he would have welcomed a fight to clear the air.

  I felt like a gunfighter without a gun. The two women were left looking at each other, with matching facial expressions. Don’t worry, I signaled, this time with a wink, but with no confidence.

  Facing the cloudy sky and beyond our fence, the park, I sat down and gestured for George to follow suit.

  I cleared my throat then began. “I need to talk to you about stuff. I know you’re pissed off at me and it needs to be sorted.”

  “Sorted?” The silence was allowed to continue for a while before he broke it. “You shat the bed big time. What do you expect me to say about that?”

  “I know. She didn’t deserve it. Don’t think that I don’t know that. The truth is, I was in a mess.”

  “That’s no excuse.”

  “I know. We were having problems, largely my problems. I did something very stupid. I’ll always regret it.”

  Stone-faced, he was still full of anger. “She should have left you. Judy would have left me if I’d pulled a stroke like that.”

  “Perhaps she should have. Perhaps I would have in her shoes. But she didn’t.”

  “And I haven’t a clue why she didn’t. I urged her to get out.”

  “Well we’re recovering. In fact, we’re better than ever.”

  “What does that mean? You seemed happy last Spring.”

  “What it means is that you don’t need to come here with the face on because I’m still with Laura. And treating me like a pariah just makes things unpleasant. You don’t need to punish me, believe me.” I kept a humble tone in my voice.

  “You’ve got off lightly if you ask me.”

  “You’re joking? I’ve suffered for it. Suffered big time.”

  “How is it big time? In what way? She never moved out.”

  “She didn’t need to. I felt so bad. I hated the pain she felt. Laura knows that. She accepts my regret and knows that my promises are solid.”

  “Solid? Don’t make me laugh.”

  “Come on, George. We’re trying to get over it. We’re trying to show you that we’re getting over it. We want things to be normal.”

  “How can I trust you? How can I trust you not to go shagging somebody else the next time you’re on a night out in town and Laura’s not around. Like when she’s in America soon. You’ve been a cheating bastard once, so why not whenever it suits?”

  “It never suits.”

  He shook his head. “And to think we believed in you.”

  “You can still believe in me. I’ve been through hell at the thought of what I did and the fear of losing Laura has driven me crazy.” As I said this, I studied his face, looking for acceptance. “All I ask is that you at least appear to put aside what happened.”

  “That’s very easy to say.”

  “Yes. I know. I know you can’t put it aside in your mind and how much it must hurt. I’m totally sorry about that. I’m not a mug, but I know I’ve been one. Laura is the best thing that could ever happen to me.”

  “The best by far.”

  “I know. It was just a mistake. A terrible, terrible thing I did. I…”

  He raised his hand to stop me. “Well, time will tell. We believed in you, and you let us down. I needed a man to look after my daughter and give her a nice life.”

  “I know, and she’s having a nice life now.”

  “OK.” George paused, took a drink, a larger one than he usually took, whilst not taking his eyes off me for a split-second, and a few moments passed before he continued. “Let me sum things up for you. We’re off halfway across the world next week. I can’t forgive you very easily. To be honest, I wanted to batter you to the ground. But I’ll give some ground, give it all a chance when we return. I want to feel better about you being with my daughter. I really do. Just you make sure you’re a decent man for her and I might end up not despising you so much.”

  “Thanks. That’s all I need. Just watch this space.”

  An Uncertain Midnight

  As a child I had never needed to sleep with the light on. I was always comfortable in the blackness of night and generally, both as boy and man, slept soundly through whatever kind of night it was. My imagination did not reach into the darkness for something gruesome. My mind was sure that there was no bogeyman, no beast from the crypt, and, as I had grown older, I had come to realise that most crimes were committed in broad daylight anyway.

  On this night, there was no wind, so very little was physically being disturbed, and everything around me had a calmness and serenity that was totally soothing to a man sitting alone with his thoughts and a newly-poured drink. I thought I was more hopeful, somewhere just above middle in the negative/positive spectrum, believing that overall, life at the moment presented opportunities and pleasures, if not quite perfect. Whatever was going to happen would happen, and I would make the most of it.

  To consider the night’s events and the harsh but not hopeless exchange with a man who had come to despise me, I had resisted the warmth of our home to sit in the cool darkness outside. In an attempt to be totally relaxed, I considered being exposed to the elements to be therapeutic. More practically, I had a white plastic bag of rubbish in my hand that was destined for the large black bin at the side of the house, but which I now placed down on the decking while I ensconced myself in the chair that George had sat in earlier, facing outwards at the restful flower beds and beyond. Tonight was only the sixth or seventh time I had sat outside so far this summer. I wanted to enjoy it.

  Positively, the weather had been pleasant for most of the past month, but not enough to prevent us being ensnared by convenient diversions such as sex, Netflix and Facebook, alongside my not-so-clandestine love affair with music, when I would just sit upstairs in my culture room with the volume cranked up. However, it was always nice to sit outside. Whether it was a patio or a beer garden, it was funny how the warmth of these months suited both eating and drinking.

  Laura, having gone up to have a bath, had left her handbag on the table and the glass of red wine was alongside it. This was typical Laura. She was unsettled after a difficult evening. Consequently, she wouldn’t fancy her chances of getting to sleep any time soon, so she had sought solace in the bubbles and water. I had opted for one last JD and coke, albeit a treble. Event
ually, I would retire to bed. Maybe then there would be some intimacy, dependent on Laura’s ability to sleep after bathing, or else I would console myself with another chapter of my Stuart McBride novel to lead me to slumber. I had had plenty to drink, so either would be fine, with the latter probably being easier.

  As I sat there with my hand cradling the glass, August came up and sat there staring. He was usually much friendlier towards Laura than me, probably because she had spent more time on him since we’d got him and had been the first to pick him up at the animal rescue centre. Do cats, like most humans, genuinely love anyway, or do they just want their needs satisfying?

  “Here boy. Come to daddy.”

  August didn’t move. August rarely moved when prompted. Being a cat, he had the right to consider the request for a while, when he could either assent or resist. I took a substantial swig from the tumbler. This was Friday night. I could cope with the hangover in the morning. Although no good at painting or do-it-yourself, I was still an expert when it came to becoming intoxicated.

  Having clearly given the matter some thought, August gingerly moved forward and jumped up onto my lap. He settled quickly and within a minute or two, we were both purring.

  I could have considered this. My beloved wife was happily bathing upstairs, happy that the evening seemed to have progressed ok with no conflict. Our cat, the only animal I had to think about at this moment in time, was in my lap, willingly receiving some affection that was possibly good for both of us while I was able to enjoy my favourite tipple, with the moon shining down approvingly from somewhere, although I couldn’t see it from where I was sitting. All this was happening like a rebellion against under a calm black sky. How could I not be happy with my life at this moment?

  I gazed up at the blackness and realized it hid the whole universe from view and was something magnificent but not necessarily benevolent.

  Suddenly, something didn’t seem right. I sensed a disturbance.

  The universe might be ok from this chair, but something closer to home was irregular. My relaxed state had gone, and only August continued to purr.