by Stuart Keane
*****
Kimberley Palmer shoved a handful of soggy French fries into her mouth and chewed hungrily. The noise echoed around the restaurant as she slurped at her oily fingertips, and appreciative noises emitted from her unsightly maw. She wiped her slippery lips, smearing the grease across the back of her chubby palm. She glanced across the table and smiled, her full, grotesque cheeks resembling that of a hamster.
Roy Knight smiled back as he worked on his ice water. The chilled contents clinked against the glass as he lifted the drink to his thin, defined lips. "You alright there?"
Kimberley nodded and grinned, her crooked teeth smeared with squashed potato.
"Good," Roy replied, as he lifted a crispy onion ring from his untouched meal. He took a delicate bite, the tempura batter crunching, and placed the remainder of the greasy hoop back down onto his plate.
"Can I have one?" Kimberley spluttered, with her mouth full. A geyser of soggy potato landed on the table beside him. Roy sighed.
Why don’t you say please, fat bitch?
"Sure," he said, breathing calmly. He couldn’t say no to his heavily pregnant girlfriend in public – it wasn't worth the hassle – so he nudged the plate in her direction. It squeaked against the table surface.
What sort of a boyfriend would do that?
A long-suffering one, with a partner whose disgusting eating habits haven't changed in five years, second mouth or not. I doubt the kid is actually getting anything from her mammoth intake, greedy cow.
Now, now. No need for that. That's your kid!
Some kid. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to slow cook the fucker, and dip it in the full fat mayo over there.
Stop!
Roy aimed his steely, unemotional gaze at Kimberley, the only look he could give her that didn’t result in a verbal castration, or a public berating, or her unleashing a tirade of bitter vehemence in his direction. He'd learnt the crucial look many moons ago, cherished it, and utilised it whenever he could.
Right now, Kimberley disgusted him. She was repulsive, abhorrent.
It had been the case for the past five years.
He'd been so close to escape nine months ago, a hair's breadth away.
So close to walking out, to leaving his fat, abusive girlfriend, and his miserable existence, behind. To leaving behind memories of triple pizza dinners, bi-weekly trips to the supermarket that resulted in trollies full of Pepsi, an American style fridge freezer stocked with tubs upon tubs of butter, jars of mayo, ice cream, and all manner of chocolate bars. He doubted that anyone had ever yearned for a lettuce before, but Roy had done so, on multiple occasions.
He needed out. And he was so close.
Which is when she had dropped the bombshell.
She came home an hour early on that fateful day, a rare look of absolute joy etched on her plump, red face. Her breath heavy and laboured from exertion – the result of a brisk walk from the suffering Ford Kia that resided on the driveway to the house, eleven short steps in total –, she breezed into their house while Roy was placing his suitcase in the hallway, packed for pastures new, preparing to give his farewell speech.
He never got the chance.
The second he saw her and noticed the ecstatic grin on her face, he knew something was wrong. Or right, depending on your point of view.
He felt his empty stomach dropping. His heart began to thump in his tiny chest, a slight inclination fluttering in his mind's eye. He knew what she was going to say before the fateful words leapt from her lips - the signs were there.
"I'm pregnant."
And thus, his escape was foiled.
He couldn’t leave a pregnant woman, he didn’t have it in him.
Some strange nobility still existed inside of Roy Knight.
So, he stayed.
Was it a mistake?
Yes and no, he thought. Yes, you're stuck with her. No, you’re about to become a daddy. Who knows, it might be the spark your relationship needs. After all, you did have sex just weeks before you planned to leave.
A weak moment.
The biggest mistake of my…
No, it wasn't. Life usually throws you lemons and oranges, but this was a total peach.
For once. Deal with it, live with it. Man up!
Roy flashed a smile at Kimberley, in an attempt to keep the meal civil. He drank some more water, and picked up the remainder of the onion ring, his appetite waning. He pushed it into his mouth and began to chew.
"Roy?"
He glanced at Kimberley, disinterest on his face. She'd stopped eating. He did a double take, thinking he was mistaken. Nope, she'd put down the fork. He shook his head at the minor miracle, and expected Jesus to appear beside them at any moment. Was the rapture about to happen? He composed himself, "Yes?"
"I think it's time…"
Roy said nothing at first, confused. After a second, "Time?"
"Time."
Again, Roy looked dumbfounded, as if missing the point.
"The fucking baby's coming!"
Roy felt a sudden spike of nerves. "Shit."
"Yes, shit. Call me a fucking ambulance."
Roy slipped the mobile phone from his pocket.
*****
Hannah herded the children into a group in the foyer, and placed a finger to her lips. With a sharp hiss, one that had no desired effect, she turned and approached the counter. A white sign with red and blue letters, reading Pentwyn Leisure Centre, stood proud behind the reception area, high above a young female concierge.
Hannah sighed, as she always did when going through the rigmarole of buying swimming tickets. The faint aroma of chlorine tingled her nostrils and ushered a resistant smile onto her face. She looked at the concierge. "Five tickets, please."
"Adults or children?"
"Five children. Please."
"I need to make you aware of ongoing maintenance work. Some pools may be closed during your visit this afternoon."
Hannah nodded. "That's absolutely fine."
"Are you swimming, ma'am?"
"If I was, I would have said six tickets, not five."
"I can’t let you in without a ticket."
"Why not?"
"Adults have been known to swim for free."
"I'm teaching the kids to swim."
"Which means you'll be in the water. Rules are rules."
"This never happens. Teachers go for free, usually."
The customer service assistant shook her head. "Not as long as I've been here."
"What, for all of five bloody minutes. I've never seen you before. You're what … fifteen at most?" Hannah sighed loudly. "Right, six tickets, one adult, five children and a fuc … flipping partridge in a pear tree, alright?"
"There's no need for that tone, ma'am."
"Yeah, well, there's no need to be a difficult arsehole either."
A couple of people in the queue chuckled at the comment. Hannah felt a little better, watched as the customer service person blushed a furious red and hurriedly punched in her order. She handed over the tickets with a smirk, and Hannah escorted the five children through to the locker rooms.
With hands held in a chain, so none of them got lost, she ushered the group of children past the green shutter doors, to a quiet corner, away from the half-naked adults and returning swimmers, who dripped all over the floor. The sweet smell of chlorine permeated the air, the perfect scent to the joyful sound of unmitigated splashing and people enjoying themselves. A brief essence of delicious fried food hung in the air.
Hannah promised herself a portion of chips following the lesson.
I think you've earned it.
She moved the children to a row of large changing stalls and commandeered two of them. "Right, who's looking forward to swimming today?"
Mia put her hand up. The others paused, looked at the girl, and then followed suit, and Hannah wondered if the unnurtured sheep mentality of a child was playing a part in their decision, as if putting a hand up in response to her quest
ion was in some way indicative to a reward of some sort.
Fat chance.
"Good. Right, I need you to get changed, just like we always do. When you're all finished, come outside and wait here for me, okay? I'll be in here," she finished, tapping a solo stall opposite.
"Hannah?"
She turned. "Yes, Mia?"
"What's an arsehole?"
Hannah blushed a furious red and chuckled nervously, suddenly uncomfortable. The next few hours immediately played out in her mind's eye, full colour with stereo sound. She fully expected Mia's parents to berate her for this, since Mia was always willing to share new discoveries and words with anyone in her sights. Hannah sighed and answered truthfully, just as her parents would have. "An arsehole is a nasty person, Mia. And a grown ups' word for your bum."
At the mention of the word bum, Mia flinched and blushed herself. A giggle escaped her young lips. The other children chuckled too.
"Go get changed, okay?"
She divided the boys from the girls and ushered them into the stalls, keeping them separate. They disappeared without argument. The doors clunked shut and a snick indicated that the doors were now locked.
"Heaven spare me," Hannah commented. She entered another stall, removed her swimming costume from her bag, and slipped off her top.
EIGHT
Jeremy Markos placed the documents into his briefcase and paused, surveying the empty office before him. He was making work for himself. There was no requirement to take the documents home, for all of his daily tasks could be accomplished in a mere two-hour time frame while sat at his near-useless desk. Today, he'd been distracted by more pressing matters regarding Fiona, which had left certain tasks unfinished, so he considered completing his work from home.
Just do it tomorrow. You have six spare hours, after all.
No, I'll do it tonight.
There's no need.
There's every need.
For Jeremy, it was the overall image that mattered. He knew it better than anyone, but a cinema manager's job was hardly luxurious or important in the grand scheme. In his role, one he had been proud to hold for six years, he rarely recalled a day where he actually put in a hard day's work.
A cinema practically run itself. The handling of the films remained the projector's responsibility, the retail area fell to the exterior management teams, and the receipt of deliveries and building maintenance were left to his lower-paid workers. He hardly had, or wanted, a say in anything other than signing a few documents, managing his inbox, procuring new film posters for the foyer, and drinking his preferred brand of coffee. And that was unlikely to change in the future, but he couldn’t reveal this to his workers, or hint at it to his management team. An easy day's work was better than actually working, after all, and he had to set an example.
Besides, his 'hardworking' portrayal was something he liked to show off to his miserable workers, his minions. Every day started in the same way; he climbed from his Audi, walked into the building wearing an expensive suit and carrying his briefcase, and disappeared into his office for the duration. It set a standard, gave them an example from which to lead. According to feedback from his assistant managers, he knew that some workers feared his reappearance from the office, dreading him like some kind of corporate closet monster.
And then there was the other side of that coin.
One day, that could be me, he thought, imagining his workers watching him as he entered his place of business. He imagined, no, he knew that some workers pined for his role, and made it their life goal.
Foolish morons.
He forced this façade on them so they could not rest or hesitate in his presence, not to deliver hope that, one day, it could be them taking his place. Working long hours for minimum wage and even more minimal self-satisfaction was the perfect summary of his business, and rarely did it lead to promotion. His business was based on constant lies, it feigned an existence and a secured place in the management structure that simply didn’t exist to regular employees.
His whole role was a lie; he was cinematic royalty to his unknowing workers, but in real life, he was nothing, a puppet for the cash-rich people above him. Even the briefcase was elaborate – for it only held paperwork that would sit there doing nothing, three pens and his half-eaten lunch. In the whole six-year span of his career, he'd never carried anything important in it.
Jeremy stared at his briefcase, the thought bouncing around in his frazzled mind.
What do you do, really?
You're a fake, a liar. A fraud.
That's why Fiona is leaving you.
You're not the man she thought you were.
He slammed the briefcase shut and snapped the locks together. He slipped his coat from the back of his chair as the buzzer on his desk squawked, startling him. Jeremy frowned and glanced at the clock. 15:02.
With annoyance in his voice, he tapped the button on his phone. "Yes?"
"Sir, I have a Marilyn Foster here to see you."
"I'm not expecting any visitors –"
"A Detective Inspector Marilyn Foster. She said its urgent."
Jeremy felt his mouth open, and he laid his briefcase onto the table. He slowly replaced his coat, pushed down into his seat, licked his lips, and pushed the button again. "Can I ask what this is concerning?"
"She didn’t say."
"Well, ask her. I'm a busy … busy man."
Silence. Then, "She needs to speak to you about your wife."
*****
Roy Knight found himself staring at the battered floor of the rocking ambulance. The buzz of multiple electronic devices, and the chaotic clamour that only the interior of an emergency vehicle can muster, surrounded him, and became a blistering blur of static noise, sounds that meant nothing and found no precedence in his crumbling world. At that exact moment, one thing mattered.
Him.
For nine months, he'd fought a constant mental battle, and struggled with his weak conscience. He wanted out of this relationship, that was certainly clear, but no matter the degree of his torn thoughts or personal peril, he didn't have it in him to pack his bags and ditch his pregnant wife. No woman deserved that, not even Kimberley. Despite the regular beatings and the constant criticism, and the resulting misery that was pushing him into a pit of dark despair, he simply couldn’t do it.
For nine months, he fought that ongoing battle.
For nine months, the realisation that he would become an abused father went unnoticed; ever-present, but remained hidden behind more pressing issues in his fractured mind.
And now, those issues were gone.
He was on the home-stretch. His baby was coming.
It's now or never.
You should stay. Face parenthood together, it'll bring you closer.
Bullshit.
You know that's not true.
His thoughts and opinions would never matter, not while Kimberley was controlling things. He raised his head from between his knees, looked up, and groaned at the swelled mass beneath the sheets, the gurning face above, one that bared jaundiced teeth and cried tears of pain and anguish, and reeled at the agonised screams that ricocheted off the interior of the ambulance. His girlfriend's stubbly face was a thing of either natural beauty or tremendous horror, and he didn’t know which to categorise it in.
Before him, he saw his girlfriend, a woman he once considered beautiful.
The love of his life.
He also saw a monstrous being, one evolved through years of excess and greed, a hideous beast that denied him an actual existence, one that dominated his personal space and rendered him nothing but a futile passenger. He was living her life, in the way she wanted. His own life was nothing but a simple afterthought.
Roy stood up and looked down on his partner.
He felt a swell of pride, and a needling pang of guilt. Bravado warmed his insides as his head butted the roof of the vehicle, and seeped quickly through his veins. Gone was the innate fear that usually controlled him; a
s he looked down on Kimberley, he felt something new, different. A strange feeling of impending freedom.
You're really doing this now?
She deserves nothing less.
She ruined you.
Roy breathed in and closed his eyes, composing himself. He opened them just as Kimberley spat at her husband. The gob of phlegm stabbed him in the cheek and dribbled down his face, rocking him to his core. He nearly lost his balance, but remained rooted to the swaying spot.
"You're fucking useless," she sneered. "I'm giving birth and you're supposed to stand by my side. Hold my hand! Get over here, now."
"I can't, dear." He shook his head, disappointed in his instant weakness and dejected that she had treated him so pitifully. The baby was his, too. She realised that, surely? He continued, "We're in the ambulance, heading to the hospital. There's no room."
"I don't care."
"The paramedic has to stand beside you, to check you're okay, until we get to the hospital." Roy placed hope in his sudden lie, and saw the look on the paramedic's face. The woman gently nodded and checked Kimberley's pulse.
"She's doing fine, sir. Not long now, and we'll be giving birth to a beautiful baby."
"Beautiful? Yeah, right…"
Roy slapped a hand to his mouth. He trailed off as the paramedic gasped in his direction, and shot him a callous glance. Kimberley didn’t seem to notice as she raised her arm and reached out a hand for her boyfriend. With hesitance, Roy reached out and took the hand in his with a beaming smile, his anger subsiding.
See, not all that –
Kimberley shoved his hand away. "Fuck off, Roy. I want a cheeseburger. I need food."
Roy felt a scorching heat surge up from deep within. His body became slack and wobbly, as if the life had been kicked out of him, and he slumped to the seat beside the paramedic. The sensation blossomed and gnawed at every healed broken bone or bruised muscle from his years-long archive of 'accidents.' It consumed him and quickly pushed him to a dark precipice, one he'd never encountered before.
He came to a conclusion.
He was done.
Done.
