Follow the Leader

by Mel Sherratt

  Kelvin scoffed. ‘When are you ever not in a mood?’

  ‘Is this still about last night?’ Suzi pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘I said I’d make amends by going out with you this evening, didn’t I?’

  Kelvin had wanted to take her out last night but she’d fallen asleep as soon as she’d come home. When he’d finally rung from the club to see what time she would be there, thinking she was already on her way to him, it had been too late to take the boys to their gran’s. He’d come home fuming, hence the row.

  ‘You make it sound like a chore,’ he cried. ‘Is it too much to ask that you spend some time with me?’ Kelvin leaned on the table as he stared at her. ‘Honestly, I don’t know why I bother.’

  Suzi noted the change of clothing and the smell of fresh aftershave, a clean white shirt. Kelvin always looked handsome in a rough and rugged way – round face, bald head, deep-set eyes and a boxer’s nose. But right now, she was too irritated to care.

  ‘Do you want me to come over to the club later or not?’ she asked, eyebrows raised.

  ‘As long as you don’t start an argument. We can do that here for free.’

  ‘Here we go,’ she sighed. ‘Making excuses up because you don’t want to spend any money. You’re such a cheapskate.’

  Kelvin’s face contorted. ‘Don’t ever call me a cheapskate.’

  ‘But you are. Most men whose wives earn a lot of money would just enjoy the fact, but you,’ she leaned closer and pointed at him, stopping very close to his eye, ‘you just wallow in your own self-pity.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’

  Kelvin glared at her for a moment longer and then reached for his car keys. ‘I’m going back to work, before I say something I’ll regret. I’m not staying to listen to your garbage.’

  Suddenly realising he was about to leave, Suzi relented. ‘Don’t go, Kelvin.’ She grabbed his arm as he walked past. ‘I’m sorry. I was only having a laugh.’

  Kelvin shrugged her hand away. ‘Too late. I’m gone.’

  ‘Kelvin!’ She followed him quickly to the front door. ‘Wait!’

  ‘I’ll be back around ten. Entertain yourself until then because I certainly don’t want to.’

  Before she could stop him, he was gone.

  ‘Well, fuck you,’ she muttered under her breath. She went back into the kitchen and poured another drink, whiskey this time. Now that tasted much better.

  The doorbell went a few minutes later. Suzi knocked back the drink and stormed back to it, yanked it open. ‘If you think you can –’ She stopped when she saw it wasn’t Kelvin. ‘Yes? What do you want?’ she added, half expecting the man standing there to thrust some handheld electronic contraption at her so that she could sign for a parcel.

  ‘Hi!’

  Suzi didn’t reply.

  ‘You don’t remember me?’ The man feigned hurt.

  ‘Should I?’ She peered at him.

  ‘It’s me, Matt – Matthew Thompson.’ He raised a hand in greeting. ‘We went to the same high school, were in the same class, actually.’

  Suzi paused. There had been a Matthew Thompson in her class at school but she would have remembered if it was him, wouldn’t she? He’d been one of the nicer-looking boys at Reginald High. Or would she remember him? Look at how different she looked nowadays with her fake breasts, lifted eyes and Botoxed forehead and lips. Images change through the years, as well as people.

  As he stood there expectantly, she decided to play along rather than look stupid.

  ‘Matt!’ She smiled, beckoning him in. ‘Come on through. How the hell are you?’

  ‘I’m good, thanks.’

  ‘I didn’t recognise you at first,’ Suzi looked embarrassed.

  ‘Well, I suppose it has been a while. You don’t look any different, though. Still as gorgeous as ever.’

  She laughed coyly. ‘Still the joker, I see!’

  Suzi closed the front door, and led him into the living room. As she watched Matt taking in the expensive décor and furniture, she couldn’t help but get a warm feeling. Not many of the gang from school had made anything of themselves and, despite earning her money glamour modelling, she had used her assets wisely – even if they had been enhanced to double D cups.

  She stood in front of the fire, leaning on the marble surround to steady herself. Christ, that wine had gone straight to her head; she could almost hear a tune beating inside it. She checked the time: six thirty. If she didn’t offer Matt a drink, she could get rid of him quickly. Then she could get ready to go out that evening. If Kelvin was at the club, then she wasn’t going to wait around for him. She’d call Tom: he would always have time for her. She gave Matt a faint smile: she’d give him twenty minutes, half an hour at the most.

  ‘So . . . ?’ she raised upturned palms.

  Matt pulled out a framed photograph from a plastic supermarket carrier bag. The photo was of three rows of children in school uniform – the back row standing, the middle one sitting on a bench and the children at the front sitting cross-legged on the floor.

  Suzi stared at the photo. ‘Ohmigod,’ she shrieked, ‘is that us?’

  Matt nodded, his eyes crinkling up. ‘Ugly-looking bunch, weren’t we?’

  She studied the rows of faces, boys and girls she’d grown up with but hardly ever saw now. Suddenly, she brought the picture frame closer, eyes widening as she recognised herself.

  ‘That’s me, there, with the pigtails!’ she laughed, pointing at a girl in the back row.

  ‘Yes, that’s you.’

  ‘How old were we – about twelve?’

  ‘Yes.’ He moved closer. ‘Can you tell which one I am?’

  Suzi stared again, sliding her index finger along the row of faces. She could remember Matt from school, although, glancing at him now, nothing about him seemed that familiar. He seemed a little shorter, his eyes were dark, miserable-looking even, and he was very lean, almost puny. Mind, after the surgery she’d had, who was she to question appearances? Everyone changed with age and once men lost hair, like Matt had, it was hard to tell one from the other, especially after so many years.

  She pointed to a boy on the photograph. ‘Is that you?’

  He shook his head. Smiling, he pointed to another boy. ‘That’s me.’

  ‘Really?’ Suzi looked again, then let out a gasp. ‘Is that Mickey Taylor?’

  ‘Yeah, terrible news about him, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I couldn’t believe it, still can’t. I mean, what’s the chance that you’ll know someone who was murdered? It gave me quite a shock, I can tell you.’

  ‘Yeah, me too. I hope the police catch the bastard who did it. They don’t seem to have many leads though.’

  Suddenly having found a common ground, Suzi didn’t feel threatened by Matt anymore. Since leaving school and becoming famous, she often had people contact her, mostly through social media as it had become more popular over the years. Maybe he’d liked her Facebook page and was a fan of hers but didn’t want to say.

  ‘Do you fancy a glass of wine?’ she offered, the thought warming her. ‘You’re not in a hurry, are you?’

  ‘That’d be great, ta. I’ll sit myself down, then, shall I?’

  Minutes later, Suzi came back into the room with two glasses of wine, handed one to Matt and then sat down in the armchair opposite him. She curled her feet up to her side.

  ‘Can you remember much about him?’ she asked, taking a sip.

  ‘About who?’

  ‘Mickey Taylor.’

  He shook his head. ‘He wasn’t around much when I was there.’

  Suzi grinned. ‘Yeah, that’s right. He was always getting into trouble for skiving off. I can’t believe he was so successful. I always thought he was a bit of a thicko.’

  ‘You shouldn’t always judge a book by its co
ver.’

  ‘I suppose not.’ Suzi paused. ‘I used to go out with him, you know.’

  ‘Did you?’

  Suzi nodded. ‘Well, I had a few dates with him, until that bitch Kath Clamortie got knocked up by him. Imagine if she hadn’t. Me and Mickey, we could have earned a fortune together. We’d have been like Posh and Becks round here then, both having done well for ourselves. The golden couple!’

  ‘Maybe, but he did okay without you anyway.’

  ‘But imagine how much more successful he would have been with me behind him too! I must admit, he never gave the impression that he had it in him to run something as good as Taylor Made Pottery Factory. I had no idea it belonged to him until I heard it on the news. It’s a huge place. Fair credit to him – he did well for himself clearly.’

  ‘You sound a bit annoyed.’

  ‘Do I?’ Suzi sighed. ‘It’s been a long day.’

  ‘I bumped into Patrick Morgan a couple of weeks ago – can you remember him?’

  Suzi frowned while she searched her memory. ‘Patrick Morgan. Patrick Morgan. Oh, wait! Yes, I remember him now. He was the class punch bag.’

  ‘What?’

  She giggled. ‘You know – the one that got punched from every direction. Everyone made his life hell, poor bloke. Us kids could be so cruel. How was he?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Patrick. How was he when you saw him?’

  ‘Oh, doing well. Married, three kids, big house. He has his own company now too. Loved telling me how rich he was.’

  ‘Well, I never would have thought.’

  ‘Why? He was clever too.’ He cleared his throat. ‘From what I can remember.’

  ‘But not clever enough to give Johnno what he wanted.’ Suzi shook her head. ‘The times he took advantage of him, stealing his homework and either spoiling it so Patrick had to redo it, or copying it off as his own. The English teacher – God, what was her name? – kept fobbing him off as clumsy with all the excuses he came up with.’

  ‘He showed us up, though, didn’t he?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Not many of us went on to make anything of ourselves when we left school. But Patrick did okay for himself.’

  ‘I did okay for myself too,’ Suzi snapped.

  ‘By stripping and showing everyone your tits?

  Suzi gasped.

  ‘I’d hardly call that setting the world on fire with your intellect and skills.’

  She stood up unsteadily, putting her glass down on the coffee table with a bang. ‘I think it’s time you left,’ she retorted. ‘My husband will be back soon.’

  He stood up too. Suzi didn’t have time to move before she felt the sting of his hand across her face. Her head reeled to the right. Cold eyes stared at her, almost hypnotising her. She couldn’t stop the fist that crashed upwards into her nose, then into the side of her mouth. Disorientated, she staggered backwards, flailing as she fell onto the floor, crashing into the coffee table. In a second, the room disappeared into blackness.

  Chapter Eight

  Patrick took both of Suzi’s hands and dragged her through to the kitchen at the back of the house. Removing the binding he’d brought with him from his pocket, he pulled a fancy chair out from under the table and hoisted her on to it. As her head flopped forward, he tied her arms behind the chair back and one foot to each leg at the front. When satisfied she was secure, he slapped her around the face.

  ‘Wakey, wakey!’

  Suzi lifted her chin slowly, then, seeing him in front of her, she tried to stand up. She wriggled her hands and feet. Then she screamed.

  Patrick swiped his hand across her face again. ‘Please be quiet,’ he told her. ‘You don’t want to alert your neighbours, now, do you?’

  ‘What do you want?’ she whispered.

  Patrick placed his hands on her knees, smiling when she whimpered. ‘You really don’t remember me, do you?’ Then he frowned, slowly shaking his head from side to side. ‘That’s a shame.’

  ‘Please!’ Suzi thrashed about some more. ‘My husband will be home soon.’

  ‘No, he won’t be back until around ten. Isn’t that what he said as he was leaving?’

  ‘Wh – what?’

  ‘You know he’d much rather be at work than here with you, don’t you? He doesn’t want to come home to your nagging and your self-absorbed ways. He doesn’t want to be left looking after your kids while you swan off here, there and every fucking where. Does he know about your extra fun at the gym?’

  ‘How do you –?’ Suzi began to cry. ‘Have you been following me?’

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself.’ Patrick stepped back. ‘I was only doing it to suss out your routine. I needed to learn your moves so I could figure out the best time to do this.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Whatever I want, really. Such fun!’

  ‘Please, let me go. I’ll do anything, give you anything. I can –’

  ‘My name – it isn’t Matthew Thompson,’ he interrupted. ‘You really don’t remember me, do you?’

  Suzi shook her head manically.

  ‘The years of torment you and your gang of friends put me through. You’ll never know the anguish of being the odd one out, will you? What did you just call me back then, when you were going out with Mickey Taylor or whoever else you were slagging it about with? The class punch bag – of course I remembered. I know because I’ve retained every fucking WORD! And you’re going to pay for what you did to me. You and Whitty and Johnno and all the gang – you’re all going to pay for it.’

  Suzi began to thrash around in the chair. ‘Please, let me –’

  ‘We’re playing a game, you see. You started it way back in the playground when we were ten. Follow the Leader – you remember? You ran off with my homework and I chased after you, behind the sheds where I couldn’t see who was waiting for me. But you knew who was there, didn’t you? And you knew that no one could see what they’d do to me. No one would be able to stop them, unless it was too late.’

  ‘We were just kids! We weren’t aware of how it would affect you.’

  ‘Liar.’

  ‘I do remember. We were always on to you.’ Suzi was crying hysterically now. ‘It must have hurt you so much. I’m truly sorry!’

  ‘LIAR!’

  ‘It was just games!’ She sobbed. ‘Stupid, childish games.’

  Patrick clenched his fists. ‘You think I was playing games when I rammed a knife in Mickey Taylor’s stomach two days ago?’

  Tears fell from her eyes again.

  ‘I made sure Mickey knew who I was before I killed him too.’

  ‘What . . . It was . . .’ She screamed again.

  Patrick moved forward and straddled her. He grabbed her chin. ‘Shut the fuck up or I will make things much, much worse.’ From his pocket, he pulled out his knife and flicked it open. As she whimpered again, he pressed the blade across her throat, barely touching her skin but enough to make her understand that the threat was real.

  Suzi sobbed uncontrollably, struggling to catch her breath.

  It was then he felt her body given in. He glanced down, saw a puddle forming and laughed.

  ‘You’ve pissed yourself, just like I used to do when I was scared. Tut tut – such a naughty girl. You’ll have to be punished for that.’

  ‘What do you want with me?’ she sobbed.

  ‘I want . . .’ He placed the knife down on the floor. Then he moved his free hand slowly down her neck, over her chest, lingering to squeeze her breast before ripping open her blouse.

  ‘No, please,’ she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment.

  ‘Open your eyes.’

  ‘No! Please, I’ll do anything.’ She began to wriggle again. ‘Anything you want. Please, not that.’

  ‘Look at me!’

&nbs
p; She opened her eyes. He smiled: finally, he had her full attention. She wasn’t going to scream; she wasn’t going to struggle. She was going to let him do whatever he wanted because she thought that he would leave and she could then get on with her life.

  Oh dear. She was in for a surprise.

  He picked up the knife again, ran the blade down her chest and held the tip against her stomach.

  ‘I don’t want you,’ he told her. ‘I just wanted you to know that I could have you.’

  He plunged the knife deep into Suzi’s stomach. Patrick heard her gasp, watched her face contort with the shock and the pain. Before it completely took her breath away, he stabbed her again. Ah, the power he felt. It was almost orgasmic as he thrust the knife in again and again.

  Suzi coughed as blood filled her mouth, but now she couldn’t look at him.

  Pretty soon, she had no strength to cry out. Her head dropped.

  Patrick sat still while his breathing returned to normal, the sound of his heart beating in the still of the room the only thing he was aware of. He grabbed a handful of Suzi’s hair and pulled her head up. She was almost ugly close up, smoker’s lines around her mouth and dark circles under each eye, yellowing teeth, signs of her hair thinning from too much product. He bet her skin had suffered from all the crap she must have had to wear on it. It was a vicious circle – add more to look good but make the skin suffer so it reacted badly. And although her eyes were devoid of anything now, the light in them had probably gone out a long time ago. He wondered when she’d last had fun in her life, a real belly laugh with friends, when she wasn’t swanning around like a diva. He didn’t feel any sympathy for her.

  He let her head drop again and wiped the blade of the knife clean on her bra, red smears on virginal white. She’d broken a fingernail too, he noticed; boy, she wouldn’t like that, little Miss Perfect.

  When she was Sandra Seymour, she had been such a bitch to him at school. Always trying to get him alone and then lure him to where the other boys would be able to get him. Unseen, they’d kicked him, punched and tormented him. They didn’t care what they did as long as they weren’t caught. And then when he went home with bruises, he got more from his old man for not sticking up for himself.