by Matt Shaw
He scooped Alexis up into his arms and carried her through to the bedroom, placing her down carefully on their bed. Her face instantly bloodied the pillow as it touched the white case. Chris kept telling her, whispering in her ear, again and again how sorry he was and how he hadn’t meant to hurt her. Tom appeared behind him, standing in the doorway again.
“Fetch me a bowl of warm water and a flannel. Can you do that?” Tom nodded and walked from his sight. Chris turned his attention back to Alexis. He lifted her limp hand from where it laid next to her side and gave it a tender kiss before apologising once more. By the time he carefully placed it back on the bed, Tom reappeared with the requested bowl of water and flannel. Chris took it off him as soon as he was close to do so. He set the bowl on the floor, next to where he was kneeling, and started to mop the blood away with the flannel; turning the bowl’s water red within seconds - all the time saying how sorry he was.
Tom sat on the edge of the bed.
Present Day:
Look After our Own
I was sitting on the edge of the bed looking at Fred. His face was battered; bruised and swollen. A few of his teeth had been knocked out. His jaw clearly broken (although in the process of being ‘fixed’) and it was looking likely he’d lose the sight in his left eye. He was mumbling something as Charles tried to feed him some soup through a straw.
“Try not to say anything,” Charles told him. He pulled the cup of soup away from his mouth and waited to see if Fred gave any sign of wanting it back within reach.
James was watching from the corner of the room. He hadn’t even been here a day yet and here he was being confronted by an injured family member. Hardly the best of welcomes but it does prove one thing to him.
“We look after our own here,” I told him.
“What happened?” James asked.
“We’re not sure. He just showed up on our doorstep like it. Been a long-standing family member for over a year now. Went out one day, came home like this.”
“Shouldn’t he be in a hospital?”
I smiled at James. His concern for his fellow brother - even at this early stage - was nice.
“He’s in the best place, surrounded by his family. Two of your sisters are nurses; they bring him the pain-relief they’ve managed to get from their place of work and have made him comfortable. The rest is down to him and the miracles of the human body fixing itself. Progress is slow but - and I’m sure your brothers and sisters will agree - he is looking a lot better than when he first showed up.”
Charles caught my eye with a little wave, “I don’t think he wants anymore of this.”
“You need to eat in order to keep your strength up,” I said to Fred. He shook his head at me. “Well we can’t very well force him to eat it,” I told Charles. “Take it away. Maybe he will want it later, we can always reheat it.”
Charles walked from the room as one of my daughters came in. Chantal; one of the nurses. A pretty girl with long blonde hair and a look that could seduce many a man without much hassle. She smiled at James as she walked past, the two hadn’t been formally introduced, and checked on the patient. I gave her a wink as I stood up and walked over to James.
“If you haven’t guessed,” I told him as I led him from the room to give nurse and patient some privacy, “we all do our little bit to help out around here. We do not have any dead wood. Each person has their own ability - or trade - that they bring to the family. We have electricians, plumbers, nurses, mechanics… Name a trade and there’s a good chance we have someone who knows it. The question is,” I stopped and looked at him, “where do you fit in?”
“I don’t really know yet.”
“Something for you to think about,” I told him. Each person had to pull their weight. We were a close family with much love for one another but that didn’t mean we tolerated freeloaders. At this stage, a few years since we started this family, we haven’t had anyone try and take us for a free ride yet but I was always conscious of the fact there could be a first time. It was important to lay the law down before it reared its ugly head. “Perhaps we could have a meeting in the morning and you could let me know what you think,” I finished.
He nodded.
“I’ve been called a Jack of all trades before.”
I smiled at him, “The full saying is a ‘Jack of all trades and a master of none.’ Whoever said that to you clearly didn’t appreciate your efforts. There is no need to give me an answer now. We shall talk in the morning. Until then you can walk around, do whatever you choose, and get to know the rest of your family.” I stopped, “But not too intimately. We’re not incestuous here. We found that, in the past, it complicates matters. If you’re feeling the need - longing - for satisfaction you must speak to me and arrangements will be made. Do you understand?”
He nodded again.
He’s going to fit in well here.
“Shall we say nine in the morning?”
“That’s fine.”
I smiled at him before walking away, leaving him to his own devices.
#
The next morning, I was sitting in the office going through the household expenditures in my little red book when there was a knock at the door.
“Come in!”
The door opened and James walked in nervously. I had forgotten we’d arranged a little chat this morning. I closed the book and set it into the top drawer of the desk, shutting it away from unwanted prying eyes.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Good morning.”
“Please take a seat.”
He sat down opposite me and I feigned a smile. The accounts didn’t look after themselves and - truth be told - I’d sooner be figuring them out than having this conversation right now but it’s not his fault I am busy. It’s entirely my fault I had forgotten inviting him to come and see me. I can’t appear rude - certainly not to a new member of the family whilst they’re trying to get their feet under the table, so to speak.
“How did you sleep last night?” I asked him as he took a seat on the other side of the table.
“Well. Thank you.”
“The bed was comfortable?”
“Certainly more so than the floor,” he said.
He smiled at me and I smiled back. A silence filled the air for a couple of minutes.
I killed the silence. “About what we spoke of last night? Have you had any thoughts as to where your strengths are?”
“I haven’t had many jobs,” he told me; a look of uncertainty on his face. “I was talking to Charles and he said the same but he explained how he managed to make something from his passion of cooking.”
“Indeed he has. He’s a good cook too. Certainly considering his lack of tuition in it. Some people just seem to have a knack for it. Just as well really. I can’t cook even if my life depended on it. When I was younger, if I was alone, I tended to just go without or eat something simple like toast and pasta. Thank God for people like Charles. I think you’ll be saying the same come the traditional Sunday Roast.”
“Well I can’t cook either. My wife - before she left me - she tended to do that kind of thing. She went and I ended up living off takeaway or microwave meals.”
“No proper nutrition in those.”
“Well no.”
“So what do you do? You said you haven’t had many jobs - let’s start with them… What jobs did you do?”
“I’ve worked in retail.”
“Not many tills dotted around the house,” I smiled at him.
“Customer service, I did some telesales.”
I shook my head, “We don’t have many outgoing calls. As I’m sure you can appreciate, we’re pretty much off the radar out here. As I told you before - we like to keep ourselves to ourselves.”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
The look on his face suggested he was starting to draw a blank. I looked at him and mentally started questioning what he had been doing with his life. I can understand that not e
veryone had it easy and some people are forced down paths not filled with many opportunities but - from where I was sitting - he was literally a waste of a bed. Killing one man is not enough to keep you living within the family. Everyone - as mentioned before - needs to play their part with no exception.
“I really don’t know.”
I watched as a tear fell from my Son’s left eye, rolling down his cheek. My mood was conflicted; on the one hand, one of my sons was upset and yet, on the other hand, here was a forty-something year old who had nothing going for him. No wonder he was desperate to become a part of this family.
“Where did you live?” I asked him, offering an olive branch.
“I’m sorry?”
“Before here. Where did you live? Did you live in a house, an apartment, on the streets?”
“All of the above.”
“I see. Well then - in any of those accommodations - did you ever own a garden?”
He nodded, “Yes.”
“Did you maintain it?”
“I did. For the most part.”
“So there is a skill you have; you can garden. A lot of the younger members of the family have no love for gardening. I’m sure you’ve seen we have some fairly extensive grounds around our home that need tending. How would you feel about that?”
“Would it be enough to earn my keep?” he asked.
“They’re fairly large grounds. I’m more than positive it will be enough.”
He smiled at me.
“Is that a yes?” I asked him. I needed to hear the words from his mouth. If this wasn’t good enough for him then he would have to go; one way or the other.
He nodded, “Yes. Please. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. And if that’s the case you can start today. I have a little job for you out there,” I told him. The accounts can wait a minute until I get another little problem dealt with. I walked from the office with him following close behind me. We walked down the corridor, into the main hall, and out the front door before circling around to the back of the house.
He stopped in his tracks when he spotted where we were headed.
A handful of family members were standing around a mound, to the side of the garden and next to a row of trees. The mound being Fred, covered in nothing but a white sheet - the same sheet that had been on his bed the previous night.
“What is this?” James asked.
“This is Fred,” I told him, “the unfortunate chap you met yesterday.”
“I thought he was getting better?” he asked.
I shrugged, “Apparently not.” I turned my attention to the family members standing over the body, paying their last respects; specifically to Steve as he was the one who had the shovel. Steve paid his way in the house by being the mechanic for our fleet of small cars. Because they’d been running smoothly recently and he hadn’t had much to do, I had tasked him with the job of putting Fred to rest. No need now we have a gardener. “Steve!” I called out.
Steve turned to me; a strapping grease monkey in his early thirties. “Boss?”
“I’ve told you before - don’t call me that. Steve meet James. James meet Steve.” The two nodded to each other seemingly incapable of actually saying hello to one another. “Steve you will be pleased to hear that James is our newly appointed gardener. You may hand him the shovel and go back to doing what you do best - nothing.” He knew I was teasing him. He was good at looking after the cars. We knew this because there weren’t any problems with them. He deserved the luxury of laziness occasionally. Besides - with Winter coming up - I’m sure he’ll soon have his hands full.
Steve grinned as he handed the shovel over to James, “There you go mate.”
“Thanks.”
I turned back to James, “Now we get a lot of foxes out here, and badgers. Rats too. You’re probably going to want to bury him quite deep. And once that is done, why don’t you see if you can fashion the poor man some kind of headstone too? Nothing fancy - can throw something together with whatever wood you can find in the surrounding trees.”
James nodded and looked back to the body.
I thought it prudent to mention, “He is the first we’ve lost here but - with the world we live in - I’m sure he won’t be the last so it would be nice if we could perhaps think about some sort of burial area. That way, if we lose anyone else, they can at least be together. I think that’s important.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you James. You’re a good man.” I smiled at him and headed back towards the house leaving him with his task. Those damned accounts won’t do themselves.
36 Years Earlier:
A Guilty Man
The telephone was ringing from the apartment’s hallway. Tom was sitting on the sofa watching the television. It was a Tuesday morning, around 8am, and most children his age were already at school or - at the very least - on their way to their classes. Tom had never been enrolled in the educational system though and, even if he had, he hadn’t been taken in. He looked towards the ringing telephone, unsure as to whether he should get up and answer it. His uncle was in the bedroom with Alexis- the bedroom door shut.
Tom had woken up, during the night, and presumed everything was fixed between his aunt and his uncle now. It had only been a couple of days since Chris’ temper had gotten the better of him yet - last night - he’d heard his uncle whispering once more, along with the sounds of the squeaking bedsprings. No wonder he had slept in this morning, Tom thought, must be tired.
He hopped up from the sofa and walked towards the doorway leading through to the hallway; his eyes fixed upon the constantly ringing telephone. He looked over his left shoulder to the bedroom door. He approached it and opened the door with a twist of the handle. He expected to see his uncle in bed with Alexis - both of them peacefully snoozing despite the piercing shrill of the phone but - to his surprise - he was sitting on the floor with his back against the bed; a pile of money to the side of him and several notes clutched in his hands. Alexis looked to be sleeping.
“Telephone is ringing,” Tom half-whispered. “Should I get it for you?”
“No. You leave it. It’s not important. Okay?” Chris didn’t look up from the money he was counting out.
Tom sat down on the floor too with his back against the doorframe. The phone continued to ring. Chris didn’t know who it was but suspected it was Alexis’ work place calling her to find out whether she was going in for the day, or not. Chris hadn’t called in sick for her. For all he knew she wasn’t in the same job she was back before he had been incarcerated.
“What are you doing?” Tom asked.
Chris ignored him. In the hallway, the telephone finally stopped ringing.
Chris finished counting the money and stacked it all up in a neat pile. It was just under one thousand pounds in denominations of tens and twenties. He jumped up and put it on the side before going over to where Alexis laid upon the stained sheets. He watched her as she quietly wheezed through her bruised mouth. Her face looked terrible and scared Tom. The bruises had all come out now and looked angry. Her lip was split, nose cracked and there was a cut across her eyebrow which didn’t look good either. Chris stroked the side of her face and a bolt of pain shot through her. She opened her swollen eyes - not that it was obvious she had done so - and looked directly at him. She coughed, and flinched, before trying to say something.
“Wait a minute,” said Chris. He grabbed a glass of water from the bedside cabinet before carefully lifting her head from the pillow so that she could take a sip. She took a sip. He put the glass back on the side and lowered her head back down on the pillow. “How are you feeling today?” he asked her. He knew it was a stupid question. It was obvious from the sounds she made with each breath that she was in pain. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid question.”
She tried saying something but her voice was quiet. Chris leaned down close to her mouth.
“What’s that?” he asked. “I’m right here baby. I’m not going anywhere.�
��
He strained to hear as she whispered again, “I fucking hate you.”
He sat upright and looked at her, unsure of what to say. Deep down he deserved the comment, he knew he did, but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to hear it.
“I am sorry,” he said. He’d lost count the amount of times he’d said as much to her. “I can make things better. I promise. And it won’t happen again. I swear to God it won’t.”
“I want you out of the house,” she whispered; her voice raspy and broken.
“We can fix this,” Chris reassured her.
“I want you both out of the house,” she whispered again.
Chris turned to his nephew. He was watching from the doorway. A look of worry etched onto his face. Chris wondered whether he’d heard what Alexis had whispered. He stood up and walked over to the boy, extending his hand down to where he leaned on the wall in order to help him up to his feet.
“Let’s get you some breakfast,” he said.
Tom stood up without taking Chris’ hand. The two of them left the bedroom with Chris closing the door behind him.
#
Chris walked into the apartment with a bag of shopping in each hand and a newspaper tucked under his arm. He was wearing a black suit with a white shirt and blue tie; the tie was loose around his neck as though he’d tugged it away in a hurry. The shirt was untucked with the top button also undone. Considering he had left the apartment looking smart, he’d come back in a state. Tom met him in the living room doorway. He too looked a mess with his hair ruffled up and bags under his eyes from where he’d not been sleeping properly on the sofa. His clothes, the same he’d been wearing since his uncle collected him from the trailer.
Chris went into the kitchen and dropped the bags on the floor muttering something about them being heavy and that - of all the days he decides to grab some food - the elevator wasn’t working. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of change which he placed on the kitchen counter next to an ever-shrinking pile of money. Another muttered breath about how it doesn’t seem to last long. He leaned on the work-top and sighed heavily. When he’d left the apartment he’d been upbeat and positive; ready to seize the bull by the horns and get the job he’d been offered an interview for. His positive attitude having changed from the moment he first sat down opposite his potential new boss; an older man in his sixties who started the whole process by stating how he remembered the vicious assault. From that moment on, Chris felt the interview was nothing but a formality to keep the government happy and - in actual fact - there was no way he’d be offered a job.
