Consequences

by R. C. Bridgestock

  There was no response, but Chubby appeared thoughtful. By the look of his gaunt face and the sight of his pronounced ribs he probably hadn’t eaten in days.

  ‘Well, what do you think Chubby? I’m going to have a drink, so shall I get her to get you one too?’

  ‘Okay… just a drink...but I’m staying here...don’t think I’m coming down...don’t think I won’t do it,’ he said in a calmer less convincing voice.

  ‘Coffee okay?’

  Chubby Connor rubbed a grimy hand across his brow as he looked at Dylan and nodded. ‘Three sugars.’

  Dylan sighed; he knew he’d made progress. ‘Tracy, radio up for some hot coffee as a matter of urgency… I don’t care where it’s from. Just reinforce its urgent,’ Dylan said looking over his shoulder. He was feeling the cold; there was definitely no global warming in Yorkshire.

  Tracy stared at him wide eyed and then screamed.

  Dylan turned back. ’Shit.’ he shouted, running to the railings. Chubby Connor had gone over the edge.

  Chapter Two

  Bartlett’s Academy for girls was the cream of the schools in West Yorkshire, and Liz and Malcolm Reynolds were delighted when their only daughter, Gemma Louise had been accepted. Dropping her off in her new school uniform had been a proud moment and Liz brushed away a tear, wishing that Malcolm could have been there too. She’d stopped off at Tesco on her way home to obtain the supplies of champagne and strawberries for the afternoon tea party she’d organised for Sunday. Singing softly, she pushed the car door shut with her knee and juggled with a heavy box, as she walked the few yards to her front door. Fumbling with the key in the lock she could hear the telephone ringing. She wasn’t expecting a call but the persistent jingle made her instinctively rush. Precariously, she rested the corner of the box on the telephone table and snatched the phone off its cradle.

  ‘Hello?’ she said. ‘Damn. Why does that always happen?’ she cried, and quickly rang 1471. Listening to the ringing tone, she smiled at her reflection in the mirror, running her fingers through her newly highlighted hair. She bent closer to the glass to look at her whitened teeth. Wearing the mouth tray of whitening gel had been a bit of a pain but the results were...wow. She giggled, inspecting them closely. Boy was she fortunate to have kept her looks from her photographic modelling days after all she’d been through.

  ‘The caller withheld their number. Thank you for using this service.’ Liz dropped the phone in its holder. She lifted the box and placed it on the worktop in the kitchen. The telephone rang again. Stopping in her tracks, she swivelled on one foot, glancing heavenward to the chandelier and totted back in her high-heeled boots to pick up the phone.

  ‘Hello?’ she said, resting the receiver between her jaw and her fur collar as she flicked through the post.

  ‘That’s better Lizzie…you’ve gotta be quick gal…you never know when it’s going to be important,’ said a man’s mellow voice.

  ‘Who is this?’ No one called her Lizzie but Malcolm.

  The caller dismissed her question.

  ‘Gemma Lou looked very smart this morning in her smart new uniform, didn’t she? Mmm…just lovely.’

  ‘Pardon?’ she said, as her gut involuntarily clenched. A hot flush crept through her body and her hand tingled. The man’s voice was quiet, thick but crystal clear. She racked her brain to put a name to it or a place to the accent. He didn’t reply but she could hear his heavy breathing. Liz realised she was squeezing the phone tight and saw the reflection of her white knuckles in the mirror. Who was this creep, this loony? Some ‘paedo’ they warned people about? How did he know their number, her name and, more to the point, Gemma’s? In his silence questions ping-ponged around her head. The mirror in which she had just admired herself now showed her frightened expression. She turned her back on it.

  ‘What?’ she said, her mouth dry. ’W…what did you say?’

  ‘You.’ Liz jumped at the growl. ’You heard what I said. Listen, I’m not a crank. Gemma must get her looks from you coz it definitely ain’t from Mal.’ He sniggered. ‘At the moment, she’s at school. Do as I say and she’ll remain there.’ Goosebumps appeared on Liz’s arms.

  ‘What do you want?’ she asked, not recognising her own voice as it rose in pitch. ’Speak to me…or I’ll hang up,’ she demanded.

  ‘Don’t fuck with me….’ he snapped, ‘or, little lady, you might just live to regret it. I’m watching you.’ Liz’s eyes flew around the room. There were no windows in the hall, which was the centre of their opulent Georgian home. So where was he watching from? She ran to the door and turned the key with desperate, trembling fingers. Had she opened any windows in the house? Were the deadlocks on the back door? She couldn’t breathe.

  ‘Liz…Liz look, just be a good girl; take off that fur coat…it does nothing for your figure love. Go into the lounge and sit down on your nice new leather settee. You need to calm down.’ She stood rooted to the spot in disbelief. Where the hell was he?

  ‘Do it.’ he screeched. She jumped.

  ‘I’m sorry…please, please, just don’t hurt us.’ She keeled over as if she had been punched in the stomach, trying to disentangle her self from the coat’s sleeves. She was sobbing now, quietly. She staggered, dropped the fur coat to the floor in the sitting room wanting so much to just hang up the phone, but not daring to disobey.

  Liz loved her lounge. An elegant Chinese rug sat in the middle of the solid oak wood floor, and upon it stood three huge beige Italian soft leather sofas. She’d chosen gilt Laura Ashley light fittings and lampshades with crystal droplets. The sun coming from behind a cloud suddenly burst through the full wall of windows that were framed with plush deep red velvet curtains making the room feel snug, until now. She stumbled like a zombie and sat on the edge of a cushion. Should she hang up? Drive to the school? Ring the police? Thoughts raced through her head, but she was under his control.

  ‘I’ve done what you’ve asked.’

  ‘I know…’ he whispered.

  Liz’s eyes scoured the room out through the windows to the garden beyond. Where was he?

  ‘What do you want? Why are you doing this?’ she asked.

  ‘Be quiet and listen.’

  Liz held her hand to her forehead trying desperately to think what would be best to say. She daren’t move; like a rabbit in a car’s headlights, she was frozen.

  ‘Firstly,you tell nobody about my call, do you understand…no one at all, because I’ll know.’

  ‘Yes...yes,’ she said. She gulped. Tears threatened. Where was Liz, the strong, confident woman who had coped with so much, she asked herself.

  ‘Later this morning you’ll contact your bank manager at Lloyds.’

  ‘Yes...but...but how do you...which?’

  ‘Never you mind,’ he interrupted, ‘...you just tell him that you’re calling to warn him that you’ll be with drawing a substantial amount of cash...soon. The amount and the day you’ll confirm, when I’ve decided.’

  ‘But...I can’t. My husband deals with the money… you’ll have to speak to...’

  ‘You stupid, stupid bitch,’ he shouted so loud in her ear that she almost dropped the phone. ’Don’t try playing games with me. We both know that he won’t be home for a long time yet, now don’t we? Not even on day release.’ Liz gulped hard. Who the hell …? How did he know so much?

  ‘Do as you’re told, or next time it won’t just be the Koi. I’ll be in touch. And remember, I’m watching you.’ The phone went dead.

  ‘What do you mean? Wait.’ she shouted. The dialling tone burred in her ear. Liz raced along the hallway to the downstairs bathroom and bolted the door. She was safe. Her head was reeling. She leaned forward, grasping the basin and looked into the mirror. What on earth was she going to do? She felt nausea rise within her.

  ‘Gemma,’ she said as she lifted her head remembering what he’d said. She turned and threw up in the toilet bowl.

  Wiping her mouth of vomit and still gasping for breath from the retching, she re
alised she had to pull herself together.

  Liz unlocked the door, her stomach swirled, she felt dizzy and her heart pounded. Thoughts raced around her confused head. What if he’d already got to Gemma? Why the hell hadn’t she noticed someone watching her? There was no time to try to work it out, Gemma was her priority, and first and foremost Liz had to find out if she was okay and still at school. Her senses on high alert, her maternal instincts taking over, she headed for the knife block that sat on a worktop in the kitchen and snatching a stainless steel meat knife from the stand with one hand, she picked up the phone that was hung on the wall above.

  Calm down, calm down, she told herself, as she stood in the corner that had full view of the doors and windows. Giving in to her shaking legs, she slid to the floor, her back resting against the kitchen units. She desperately needed to control her breathing or she knew she would faint. Was he still watching her? Her lips trembled, her eyes stung with hot tears that jumped afresh into her eyes and carried the remainder of her mascara down her face, and with them the make-up she had applied so perfectly, earlier that morning. Hanging her head, she could see her hair was tipped with vomit and her clothing was crumpled. She looked as she felt; no longer did the thirty-six year old look a million dollars in her expensive designer outfit, far from it. Hugging her knees to her chest she bent her head in between her legs and stared at the marble floor as if she had never seen it before.

  ‘Get a grip...come on, ring the school’. As she looked up, the brandy bottle opposite drew her like a magnet. She clambered to her feet. Leaving the phone on the work surface she fumbled with the screw cap of the bottle with shaking hands - Dutch courage.

  ‘Shit, come on.’ She struggled with the cap. Liz gulped the cognac, spilling more down her silk blouse than she managed to swallow. Coughing and spluttering, she slammed the bottle down and heaved a sigh. It seemed to bring her to her senses, or dull the pain, she was unaware which. She pressed number 5 on the phone, which she’d programmed, for Gemma’s school. ’Come on, come on,’ she tapped her foot impatiently, tightening her grip on the handle of the knife.

  ‘Good morning, Bartlett’s Academy for Girls’, said a high pitched, beautifully spoken lady.

  ‘It’s...its Mrs Reynolds from ‘The Grange.’ I’m ringing to see if my daughter’s...okay?’ Liz’s teeth were chattering. ’When I dropped her off she wasn’t feeling well...too well...you see. I can… do you want me to come for her?’

  ‘I’m sure if she was ill we would have contacted you Mrs Reynolds. It’s probably first day nerves...but wait, one moment. I’ll go and check to put your mind at rest.’

  The line went dead for what seemed like forever. Liz could hear children’s faint, muffled laughs and squeals in the background.

  ‘Come on...come on...come on …’ she said, prodding the tip of the knife into her leg until she drew blood. ‘Ouch.’ She jumped and hit the button on the oven with her head. The timer beeped loudly. Her heart leapt.

  ‘Fucking hell.’ she screeched.

  ‘Pardon? Mrs Reynolds...are you there?’

  ‘Ouch, er...yes...sorry,’ Liz grimaced.

  The Secretary continued nonplussed, ‘Gemma’s fine. Whatever it was that was troubling her this morning seems to have passed.’ Liz exhaled loudly. The words spun in her head ‘She’s fine… She’s fine.’ There was a buzzing in her ears.

  ‘She’s painting away at the moment, not a care in the world.’

  Tears of relief streamed down Liz’s cheeks and she let out a cry.

  ‘Mrs Reynolds, are you okay?’

  Liz bit her lip. She placed the knife on the floor and put her hand over her mouth to smother the sobs. ‘Yes, yes thank you...thank you …Oh...it’ll be me who picks her up this afternoon...no one else.’

  ‘You have a nice day now.’

  ‘Wait...don’t...please don’t let her go with anyone . . .’ Liz sobbed into the mouthpiece but the phone had already been replaced at the other end.

  The house was still; Liz could hear a train rattling in the distance, the burr of a motorbike, a siren; the normality of the outside world. Strangely, she was soothed by the familiar noises that usually annoyed her living on a main road. Above her the small window in the kitchen was open and she thought she heard the latch on the gate click. Liz held her breath and again sunk to the floor. The wind chime tinkled; usually a sign someone had nudged it as they passed on the block paved path to the back door, or was it just the breeze? Eyes staring and hand once more tight around the knife, she crawled on all fours across the kitchen floor. She cowered on her haunches for a moment slowly daring to raise her head above the worktop. She was sure she could hear footsteps outside. Her hand holding the knife shook uncontrollably and she grabbed her wrist with the other to steady it. A tingling sensation trickled through her upper limbs as her heart banged in her chest.

  ‘Who is it?’ she called. Straining, she could hear a dragging sound. ’What the hell...oh, my God, oh, my God,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’ve got a knife.’ she shouted. She stopped. She listened. ‘I’ve got a knife,’ she screamed.

  Chapter Three

  Dylan’s stomach flipped as adrenalin rushed around his body. Before peering over the wall he prepared himself to see Chubby’s body splattered on the ground below or floating down the river.

  ‘Fucking hell’. Dylan’s heart pounded and his whole body trembled. Chubby Connor was squatted on a ledge on the other side, clinging to the railings.

  ‘Next time I won’t jump onto the ledge.’ Chubby said, seeing Dylan’s face. ’You care don’t you?’ he continued, surprised.

  ‘Care, I’ll bloody kill you myself when I get my hands on you. You...you bloody fool...course I care. You nearly gave me a frigging heart attack.’ he stammered.

  Chubby sniggered. ‘We used to do it as kids, as a dare.’

  ‘Well you’re not a kid now, get back over here.’ Dylan said, leaning heavily on the wall.

  ‘You okay? You look terrible?’ Chubby said pulling himself back onto the bridge. Instinctively, Dylan reached over and grabbed him like a striking snake...breaking all the rules of negotiation, adrenalin undoubtedly giving him the strength to drag Chubby to the floor beside him, where he landed with one almighty thud.

  ‘Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again...do you hear, you stupid, fucking bastard?’ Dylan said, straddling Chubby, his clenched fist was centimetres from his nose.

  ‘Shall I handcuff him, sir?’ shouted Tracy. Dylan nodded, unable to speak momentarily as he took a deep breath. ‘Yeah,’ he said, eventually. ‘We don’t want him back up there do we? There’s a knife of his just over there too,’ he said pointing to the offending object lying yards away from them on the road.

  Dylan rolled off Chubby and sat with his back to the pillar, his head in his hands between his knees trying to stop his body from shaking. Reality had hit home and Dylan knew only too well that Chubby’s body weight, light as he was, could easily have pulled him over too, if he’d decided to leap.

  ‘We’ll sort things out Chubby, there’s no need for all this,’ he said, lifting his head.

  ‘You think so? You wouldn’t say that if you’d found your girlfriend in bed with yer best mate.’ Chubby said solemnly as a tear rolled down his cheek.

  ‘So that’s what all this is about?’ Dylan stood. Emotionally charged, Chubby told Dylan how he’d gone to court to see about his suspended sentence and the community work he’d been expecting to get as punishment for his crime, maybe even an ASBO. The hearing had been cancelled so he’d returned to the flat, which he called home, when he wasn’t ‘inside’. When he walked in the bedroom he’d seen his best mate Billy in bed with his girlfriend, Carly. He’d lost it big time and given Billy a good hiding and Carly a slapping as she’d tried to intervene. The police had been called so the neighbours had screamed, as they banged on the flat’s door, so he’d legged it. Chubby knew he’d broken his conditions and he wasn’t prepared to go back inside, which is why
he had ended up on the bridge. Dylan let him talk.

  ‘have they complained about the assault?’

  ‘Police were called…so I haven’t a cat in hells chance have I?’ he shrugged.

  ‘You sure they’ve complained? If they haven’t you’ve been up there for nowt.’ He could tell he was giving Chubby food for thought as all three walked slowly towards the police car.

  ‘Tracy, will you check with Control and see if Chubby is wanted for anything, or if any complaints have bin made against him this morning? He’ll need a new place to stay, perhaps a probation hostel.’ Tracy turned and spoke into her radio. The men were silent. Beneath his calm exterior Dylan was still in shock at seeing Chubby ‘go over’. Minutes later Tracy confirmed.

  ‘He’s not wanted and there’s no complaints been made against him. When I get back to the nick I’ll make some phone calls to his probation officer and see what can be sorted out, sir.’

  ‘See...everything’s alright. Now go with Tracy back to the nick, and you behave for her,’ Dylan said, sitting beside him for a moment with the police cars door open wide. Tracy brought a blanket out of the boot and placed it round Chubby’s shoulders. The kid was shivering uncontrollably.

  ‘I don’t want to see or hear of you threatening suicide again. Do I make myself clear young man? Nothing or no one is worth it.’

  ‘I can’t face going back inside,’ Chubby said, shaking his head.

  ‘Well you don’t have to worry about that today...so keep your nose clean from now on and it won’t be an issue will it? Look, I’ve got to go, so do as you’re told.’ Dylan put a reassuring hand on Chubby’s shoulder before Tracy gently closed the door.