by Moody, David
‘Don’t be. There’s nothing to worry about.’
‘The girls tell me things...’
‘Well they shouldn’t.’
A heavy silence. The two of them staring at each other across the dark room, just the creaks and groans of the tired old house around them. Jeremy cleared his throat. ‘I care about you, Michelle, so I’ll ask once more, then I’ll shut up. Are you sure you’re okay? Are the girls going to be all right here?’
‘Tell you what, Jeremy,’ Scott said, ‘why don’t you just save us all the trouble and shut up now? Seriously. I’ve put up with your bullshit all night, and I’ve had just about enough of your fucking noise.’
‘Scott, don’t...’ Michelle protested.
Jeremy held his head in his hands. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it, Scott. I just need to know. For the sake of my kids...’
‘Jeremy was just—’
‘Shut the fuck up, Michelle,’ Scott ordered. ‘Don’t you take his fucking side.’
‘I thought we were all on the same side,’ Jeremy said, quickly getting to his feet and positioning himself between Scott and Michelle, hands raised. Fuck, how he hated confrontation. He could smell the scotch on Scott’s breath from here. ‘Like I said this morning, just put yourself in my shoes. I’m worried about the girls.’
‘And like I said this morning, everything’s fine.
‘Maybe I still need convincing?’
Scott grabbed Jeremy’s collar and pushed him back against the wall. Michelle tried to force herself between them. Jeremy kept his hands raised in submission, refusing to fight back. ‘Then let me convince you, fucker,’ Scott hissed.
‘Scott, please,’ Michelle said, trying to separate them. ‘This isn’t helping anyone.’
He remained tense for a few seconds longer, then let go and walked away. Jeremy straightened himself out, adjusted his glasses and smoothed his hair, breathing hard but trying not to let his nervousness show. ‘I should leave.’
‘You don’t have to go,’ Michelle said.
‘I think he fucking does,’ Scott told her.
Jeremy didn’t hang around. He tried to tell Michelle it was okay and that he’d try and talk to her tomorrow, but Scott wasn’t having any of it. He handed Jeremy his coat and blocked his way to any other part of the house but the front door. Standing out on the step, Jeremy turned around to try and make one last situation-saving apology, but the door was slammed in his face.
He stood next to his car and could already hear Scott yelling at Michelle. But what could he do? Part of him wanted to go back inside, but would that just make things even worse? He’d come back and try again tomorrow. Michelle was a good mum. She’d always look out for the kids. He tried to hold onto that thought.
He looked up at the house and smiled and waved to Phoebe who was watching from her bedroom window. Don’t let her see, he told himself, don’t let her see...
22
It wasn’t even eleven, but it looked like the entire town had already gone to bed for the night. Christ, Jeremy thought as he drove, how could anyone stand living in a place as soulless as Thussock? He drove the short journey back to the Black Boy, hoping he’d come across somewhere more interesting to stop en route, because the idea of spending the rest of the evening alone in the cramped little box room above the pub lounge didn’t bear thinking about. He travelled constantly and he’d stayed in some pretty shitty places and lonely hotel rooms around the world, but this was grim by anyone’s standards. It reminded him of a week he’d once spent living on his nerves in Azerbaijan.
The room seemed stuck in the late eighties. There was no Internet, and it would probably be better to take your chances and shout from the window rather than risk the temperamental mobile coverage. The landline in the room was corded – Christ, when did I last use a phone that wasn’t cordless? – and he hadn’t been able to get a picture on the small portable TV when he’d tried earlier. He’d only wanted to catch up with the news headlines and it was only after a frustrating twenty minutes spent checking cables and fiddling with the aerial that he realised it was because the TV was an old analogue set, useless since the switchover to digital. And that, he decided, summed up Thussock perfectly: an analogue place stuck in a digital world.
With nothing else to do, the bar of the pub seemed the only option. He parked on the road outside the scruffy-looking building (damn place didn’t even have a bloody car park) and locked the car. He stood outside for a few moments, listening to the silence. Ah, maybe he was just in a bad mood after the ruckus back at the house. There was a lot to be said for the peace and quiet. There was no other traffic, hardly any other noise at all, in fact. The pub wasn’t far from the station and he remembered thinking the clattering of the railway would probably keep him awake all night. As it was, he couldn’t recall hearing even a single train since he’d arrived. Thussock was too quiet, if anything. He was almost relieved when he saw two helicopters crawling across the sky in the distance, taillights blinking, almost in unison. And far away he heard the low rumble of a truck, airbrakes hissing. Life goes on elsewhere...
There were only two other drinkers in the bar tonight, a couple of men in their late fifties, both reading newspapers, sitting right next to each other but barely speaking. They acknowledged him, but that was the extent of the interaction. The landlord kept himself busy, dividing his time between the bar and the TV Jeremy could hear blaring in one of the backrooms. The noise was muffled, but he could tell it was some kind of comedy programme. Every so often the volume would swell with the laughter track, the noise sounding out of place.
It was so bad he nipped upstairs and fetched himself a book to read as he drank his pint. It was that or paperwork, and no matter how bad it got, he decided, there was no way he was resorting to doing office work in a pub at this time of night. His dedication to the company, whilst strong enough to keep him travelling all these years and intense enough to have been the cause of many of the rifts between him and his ex-wife, still had limits.
At least the beer was good. Thussock’s own, no less, produced less than half a mile down the road. Ever the optimist, Jeremy was glad he’d found something positive to take with him from his time here. He’d try and pick up a crate or two before leaving. What happened at the house is getting you down, he told himself as he finished his first pint and got up for another. Things aren’t that bad. What other reason could there have been? Was it a local curse or something equally ridiculous? Was this one of those bizarre isolated communities you saw in horror movies? Abandon hope, all ye who enter Thussock...
The second pint went down even better than the first. The drink was going straight to his head, but that wasn’t a bad thing. He’d needed a drink all evening, all day if he was honest. He didn’t let them see, but he found being with Tammy and Phoebe almost as hard as being away from them. He hated leaving them more than anything. If I had my time again, he said to himself, sounding like an old man on his death bed, I’d never have let things get as bad as they did. He reminded himself that it hadn’t all been his fault. He and Michelle had grown apart naturally, their individual priorities and desires slowly changing the longer they were together. In the end their marriage had become a passion-free arrangement of convenience. He’d told her repeatedly that he’d done all the hours and all the travelling for her and the girls, of course, but he’d been blind to what they’d actually needed from him. The status quo at home had continued for longer than it should have. When it became clear that their close proximity but lack of interaction was having a negative effect on the girls, they’d separated then divorced soon after. No hard feelings. Regular and informal access. The best of a bad situation.
Third pint before closing time. That was what he needed. He got up again and checked his change, deciding that if there really was a curse of Thussock, he’d been well and truly blighted today. The other two drinkers had disappeared, though he couldn’t remember them going. The TV in the other room was still blaring. It sounded like a
war movie now, all guns and noise and stirring music. Whatever it was, it seemed to be holding the landlord’s rapt attention. Watching the film was clearly more appealing than coming back and serving his one remaining customer. Either that or he’d fallen asleep in front of the box. Jeremy rapped the edge of a coin on the bar several times and coughed loudly, but his noise wasn’t having any effect. He doubted anyone could hear him.
There was a girl standing next to him. Where the hell had she come from? He physically jumped and swore with the sudden surprise, then immediately apologised. ‘Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of me.’
‘Sorry,’ she said, her voice quiet, little more than a mumble.
‘I think he’s nodded off in there,’ Jeremy said, his composure returning, gesturing in the direction of the TV noise. ‘If he’s not back in the next two minutes, I’m just going to help myself.’ He was half joking, but he thought he would if he had to. They could just add it to his room tab.
The girl didn’t move. She was just standing there, leaning against the bar, looking at her own reflection in the mirror behind the row of optics. Jeremy tried not to stare but he couldn’t help studying her face. She was very young and attractive, her skin pale against the vivid purple of her jacket. He noticed that her legs were bare. She was either wearing the shortest of skirts or nothing at all below the waist. He looked at her face in the mirrors again, caught her looking back at him. Her lips were full and red, inviting... he stopped himself. What the hell did they put in that beer? He made himself look elsewhere and rapped the coin on the bar again. Bloody hell, he thought, get a grip... you’re old enough to be her father.
‘Can you help me?’ she asked, and there was something about her light, breathless voice which cut straight through him. He felt an immediate concern for her, an inordinate need to protect.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I’m really cold.’
He turned to look at her, taking a couple of subtle, shuffling steps back to increase his distance and not give the wrong impression. She did look cold. She was shivering, but that was hardly surprising given her lack of clothing. He felt uneasy, not knowing what would be worse: helping this girl and risking being accused of being a pervert, or leaving her shivering. Sod it. Look at her. Poor kid’s freezing.
Jeremy fetched his own coat from where he’d left it on the bench behind the table where he’d been sitting. He offered it to her, then carefully draped it over her shoulders, not wanting to make too much contact for fear of her – or anyone else, for that matter – getting the wrong impression. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and she laid a hand on his and smiled the briefest of smiles.
‘Do you want a drink?’ Jeremy asked, hearing himself say things he knew he shouldn’t. ‘I could get you a tea or coffee if you’d rather? Warm you up? I’ll go to the kitchen and make it myself if no one comes to serve me in the next thirty seconds. This is a joke. It this what it’s always like here?’
He was rambling. Nervous. Excited.
She chewed her bottom lip and nodded.
‘You’re funny.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I like you.’
‘Thanks again.’
‘I’m still really cold.’
She was watching him intently now. She shifted her weight from foot to foot and when she moved he caught a glimpse of the rounded cheeks of her bare backside. He felt himself getting hard. Christ, he felt his heart burning for this kid now. He knew it was wrong on every conceivable level, but he wanted her so suddenly and so desperately... A comfort fuck with no strings – that’d do him the world of good tonight. She looked to be a similar age to Tammy, a little older, perhaps, and clinging onto that thought gave him a few brief seconds of clarity. But she smiled at him again and the burning – the wanting – returned, even stronger than before.
She moved along the bar, closing the gap he’d opened between them. Eyes locked. He focused on the sounds of her breathing. He could smell her. Almost taste her...
‘I’m staying here tonight,’ he said, screaming at himself to shut up but unable to stay silent. He felt awkward and clumsy... dirty. ‘I’ve got a room upstairs if you want to...’
She didn’t give him chance to finish. She lifted herself up on tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the lips. Then again. He felt her arms wrap around him. Then once more, with even more passion this time. She slipped her tongue into his mouth, slightly rough but completely perfect. And he reciprocated, no longer able to hold back. They kissed harder now. Full-on.
Jeremy broke away and glanced around. No one here. No one watching. She took his hand and led him over to the corner of the room. He tripped over a chair, only just managing to stay upright, the sudden unexpected movement almost bringing him to his senses. Almost. He was thinking he should definitely stop this, that this was just about the worst thing he could possibly do on every conceivable level, and yet he couldn’t do anything but go with everything this girl was doing. He couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop.
‘I don’t even know your name,’ he said between kisses, the girl still chewing his bottom lip.
‘Heather,’ she said, pushing him back onto a leather-padded bench behind a table in an alcove. The bench was too narrow and he slid off, crashing onto the floor and sending the table and another couple of chairs flying. He cracked his head back but the pain faded into insignificance compared to what this perfect girl was doing to him. He’d never done anything like this before, not ever. And Christ, it felt so good and so right... inevitable. He fumbled with his fly but she was already there and their fingers fought to be first to unzip him. He could feel her feather-light touch now, and the sensations were almost too much to stand. Lips still locked, limbs still entwined, she pulled out his dripping cock and guided it between her thighs. He grabbed at her jacket and unzipped it, revealing her completely naked body beneath it. Why isn’t she wearing anything? The question rattled around his head for the briefest of moments until he realised he didn’t care. Was this a set up? Something to do with Scott? Some unfathomably crazy local tradition? Was she going to rob him? Frame him? Kill him? No, she was just going to fuck him.
His fully erect cock slipped deep inside her and they fucked harder than he’d ever fucked anyone before.
23
Scott was still in bed, sleeping off the combined effects of the scotch Jeremy had brought around last night and the absolute fucker of an argument which had continued long after he’d gone. Michelle had almost drunk all her wine and she felt like finishing the last dregs this morning, rather than sober up. Her head was pounding, both as a result of the booze and how hard Scott had hit her this time. He’d slapped her right across the face back-handed, hard enough to loosen a tooth. She swallowed down a bilious sob: a nauseating mix of hangover and fear. Getting back into something resembling the drunken state she’d ended up in last night seemed like a good idea, an easier option. Far easier than dealing with the inevitable aftermath this morning.
Same old routine, she told herself, checking her face in the mirror for marks. Different argument, but the same old routine.
She didn’t know how much longer she could keep repeating this cycle, but equally she didn’t know how to get off. The pressure builds, his behaviour gets worse, then he hurts me. That time he punched her in the face and knocked her out cold, that time he shut her hand in the door, that time he grabbed a handful of hair and smacked her head against the wall... she was his release valve. Hurting her made him feel better. But when he told her he was sorry and begged for forgiveness, she believed him. Every bloody single time she believed him.
She decided she’d enjoy the early morning silence for a short while longer, then go and wake him up for work. He’d be full of apologies and remorse again, no doubt, blame it on the booze or on her or on Jeremy... anyone but himself. It’ll never happen again, I swear, he’d tell her like he always did.
She knew what Scott was. She’d known it for a long time. It still made her laugh
that she was the one getting help! Her counsellor had been helping her identify her own faults and start working through them so she could better deal with Scott’s. The pills, the therapy... all necessary because there was a part of her which still wanted this to work. Needed it to work. She had loved Scott to begin with – honestly, genuinely – and maybe she still did. She still believed there was a chance she could get those feelings back despite everything he’d put the family through. This move, this house, this place: all just temporary setbacks. That’s what the therapist had said when she’d told him she was moving away.
The house was in a real bloody state. An absolute bloody pigsty. It pissed her off how it was all left to her again. The division of labour in this family was so bloody unfair. She gave, they all took. No, wait... that was unfair. The girls helped when they could, regularly looking after George so she could get on with everything else. This morning, though, this kitchen seemed to perfectly sum up hers and Scott’s relationship. She worked hard to keep it clean and comfortable, he’d just come along with a sledgehammer and knocked a fucking huge hole in the wall.
Jeremy might have had his faults, but at least he’d tried. He’d been pretty good around the house, actually, and had enjoyed cooking. But even that had caused issues because when she wanted something quick and easy out of a packet to feed two hungry kids, he’d wanted to cook a wholesome three-course meal from scratch. They’d learnt to adapt to each other and everything had become a joint effort. Shame, then, that the spark had been snuffed out somewhere along the way. They’d ended up more like brother and sister than lovers. Looking at him last night, she struggled to remember what she’d ever found attractive about him.
It’s got to be me. It must be something I do. I must be the one who always messes it up. I never give them what they want. Jeremy wasn’t happy, Scott’s never happy, the kids are always complaining... it must be me.
