by Matt Shaw
“How was work?” she asked, seemingly content to avoid the emotional minefield for the time being.
“Not bad,” I said, hoping that I wouldn’t have to go Pinocchio on her again.
“Are you sure? You seem really….distant lately.”
Here it comes.
To avoid having to immediately answer, I put a forkful of that expensive fish in my mouth and chewed slowly, giving me time to think of something to say that was at least a little bit honest.
“I suppose I’m feeling the stress a little lately.”
Well done Martin. That was almost the truth. Jiminy Cricket would be proud.
“You shouldn’t work yourself so hard. I worry about you.”
I worry about the world that our baby will have to live in.
The words almost made it out, but as usual they got stuck in my throat, and I swallowed them back down with a sip of the (also overpriced) wine.
“I’m fine, really,” I said, even managing a genuine smile. Someone give me a best actor Oscar. “We just have a couple of big cases on right now and we’re stretched a little thin. Anyway, we didn’t come here to talk about work. Let’s just enjoy each other’s company.”
“Do you still love me?”
Uh oh.
I couldn’t chew my way around this one. It was a direct question, and she was staring at me, waiting for an answer. I knew that the longer I delayed, the worse it would sound, but my stupid tongue refused to move from the bottom of my stupid mouth. With what amounted to a tremendous force of will, I blurted out my stupid answer.
“Why would you even ask that?”
It wasn’t great, but it was the best I could do.
“You never say it, you barely show it. I sometimes wonder if having the baby has frightened you off.” Her lip trembled and she broke eye contact. I knew she would never cry, especially out in public, but she couldn’t quite hide the hurt, and that made me feel like an even bigger bastard than I did already. Without realising I was going to do it, I reached across the table and took her hands in mine.
“You and the baby are the best thing that ever happened to me. Don’t ever think otherwise.”
Alright. That wasn’t bad.
“Why can’t you say it? Why can’t you tell me you love me?”
“I do.”
“Then say it. Say the words.”
I
LOVE
YOU
Come on tongue. Just three little words. Hell, one of them isn’t even a word. It’s just a letter. You can skip out on the ‘I’ If you want, just say the other two words, pleaaase, you’re making me look bad here.
Ever stubborn, my tongue stayed where it was.
Bastard thing.
“Don’t be silly,” I said, managing three words even if they weren’t the ones I wanted to say. “I shouldn’t have to prove this to you. We’ve been together for so long, been through so much together. Surely that proves enough how I feel about you.”
“But why can’t you say it?”
She was getting frustrated now, and I was too. People were starting to glance over at us from neighbouring tables. I lowered my voice as I replied to her.
“I… I struggle sometimes to express my emotions, that’s all. It’s hard for me.”
“Even to me?”
“To anyone. There are things going on that you don’t know and…”
I had said too much. I was hoping she would miss it, but I was only fooling myself. She was a woman after all, and in my experience, they don’t miss anything.
“Things I don’t know? Are you seeing someone else?”
“Good god, no,” I said, even managing to laugh. It was the first genuine emotion I had felt for a long time, and it worried me that it felt more alien than the lies I had begun to surround myself in. “Absolutely not. I can’t believe you could even ask me that.”
She nodded, “I’m sorry, I just had to ask. You understand that don’t you?”
“I get why you asked, but you absolutely don’t have to worry about that. I promise you, I swear on our baby’s life. I would never be unfaithful to you.”
She believed me, and so she should. It was the absolute truth. Unfortunately, that conversation killed the rest of the night. We barely spoke as we finished our meal, then ate our desserts and had coffee.
There was a sense of irony that both of us were just going through the motions, desperate to get out of that restaurant and back home so we could at least stop pretending to be part of the upper classes. I got so desperate to leave that I barely flinched at the bill, which I think cost more than the GDP of some small countries. I just wanted to pay and get out of there. Neither of us spoke much when we got home. Lucy went straight to bed, I sat up for a while and felt sorry for myself, which was something I was getting good at. I really, really wanted to go buy some cigarettes, and even though I almost caved, I settled for a hot shower and early night instead.
What a mess.
I climbed into bed, trying not to disturb Lucy, but she turned to face me and put her head on my chest.
“I just want to feel like you love me,” she whispered in her half-asleep murmur.
Surely now, when it was just us in the privacy of our own room, I could say it.
“Will you say it if I’m nice to you?” she whispered, reaching below the sheets and taking me in hand.
As much as it was an unexpected turn of events, it seemed even my loins were ashamed of me, and like my tongue, decided to play dead.
“It’s late, we should get some sleep,” I said as I pushed her hand away and turned onto my side.
You bastard. You absolute bastard.
I wished for the bed to open up and swallow me down to the kind of hellish torture I surely deserved. As I lay there on my side, I had to listen to my rejected wife cry herself to sleep. The only thing I could think about, was how much I really, really needed a cigarette.
CHAPTER 9.
WEDNESDAY
I can’t remember the last time I phoned in sick to work. It’s not something that I tend to do. For some reason - given the way I am - I hate letting people down when I’m supposed to do something. Maybe that’s why I don’t want to let them down with my artwork. I want to give them something special - just like my father wanted to touch the world with his brush strokes. I know I’m a monster, my soul somewhat tainted by a comfortable darkness, but at least I’m a monster with morals. These people - at work - counted on me to do a job and I didn’t want to let them down. I didn’t want to leave them short-staffed. Didn’t have a choice though. I wanted to make sure the girl was okay. I wanted to make sure she was comfortable in my old family home. I snorted. Who would have thought someone would have finally been able to find some comfort within those walls. Certainly not me.
“Must have eaten something yesterday,” I’d told Gary when he finally came to the phone. He was fine when I told him. No doubt because I rarely did things like this. Made it seem that little more believable as opposed to someone who constantly called in. He just wished me well - a speedy recovery - and asked whether I thought I’d be in on the Thursday. I would be in tomorrow but I didn’t tell him that. I just said that I hoped to be. I figured if you were that ill - with a sickness bug - and you felt the need to phone in and tell them you weren’t going in then you probably wouldn’t know for certain whether you’d be better the next day. “Certainly hope so,” I’d said, “already bored of daytime television!” Gary laughed and told me to rest up before letting me get back to what he thought to be my bed. Little did he know. When I called him, I was talking on my mobile phone sitting in my car - parked up at a supermarket close to the other side of town. Not the usual shop I went to, because I didn’t want to risk bumping into anyone from work given the circumstances.
With the call finished I calmly slid the phone into my jacket pocket and stepped out of the car - more rain - before I ran towards the supermarket’s entrance, taking a hold of a basket as I walked in. Let’s get this done
. Keep her happy. Make her feel secure.
* * *
A couple of hours later, I was back at the family home. I let myself in, and saw the young lady standing at the far end of the hallway. The same nervous look on her face as I’d seen yesterday. I smiled at her, but not because I was trying to put her at ease. I did so because she hadn’t disappeared in the night; run off to somewhere else to hole up. Another sign that this is meant to be. A gift from God.
“Still here?” I said. She didn’t say anything, instead she just awkwardly shifted her feet. “That’s good.” I stayed where I was - I needed to win her trust to make things easier when the time came. Didn’t want to have to chase her after all. Not that she’d get far. I know this house, and the surrounding woods, like the back of my hand. There’s no way she’d get away. Even so - I wanted to keep things simple. “I wasn’t sure what you liked so I picked up... well... a fair amount actually. I mean there isn’t any gas, electric or even water here so must of it is things like crisps and biscuits and bread - you know - bits and pieces which might last a little longer...” I held up the bags to prove what I was saying was true.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked. Funny but I thought we had cleared this up yesterday. “What do you want?”
“What do I want? Nothing,” I lied. “You’re doing me a favour by staying here. I explained yesterday. And like I said - you can stay for as long as you need to. It gives me time to decide what to do with the place. You know, whether to sell it or whether to maybe move back in.”
There was a slight pause. One which was long enough for me to wonder whether I’d ever win her trust or whether I’d be better off just disposing of her now before she became a liability. “Do you need a hand?” she asked. I smiled. Perhaps winning her trust wouldn’t be as hard as I’d thought.
“Would be nice,” I said, picking up two of the bags. She came down the hallway then and straight past me, stepping from the house to fetch more shopping from the car. More surprisingly - and for the first time ever - I realised that I had entered the house without acknowledging the ghosts of my parents. I guess she really is doing me a favour by staying here. Already I feel more comfortable.
By the time the bags had all been brought in she seemed to be comfortable enough to stand close to me. At times she even stood close by with her back to me; a sure sign of trust if ever I needed one. The two of us were standing in the kitchen - emptying the shopping onto the work surfaces.
“How old are you?” I asked suddenly. I wasn’t able to ignore the fact she looked so young. Too young, for sure, to be on the streets as a runaway.
“I’m seventeen,” she said, “nearly eighteen.”
I nodded, “Just - with the school uniform... I thought you might be younger,” I told her. I felt relieved that she was of age. Had she said she were sixteen - or younger - I might have had to release her. I’m not entirely sure why I couldn’t have gone through with what needed to be done (if she were under the age of consent). I guess I have some morals after all? Not a complete monster. I guess I want her to be remembered as a piece of my artwork as opposed to ‘just another murdered’ child.
She explained the uniform, “I went to a posh school. You have a choice of continuing to study with them if your grades are good enough. You know - after you’ve got your GCSE marks through.” She went quiet. “My grades were the only decent thing about my life.” The pair of us fell into an awkward silence once more.
I extended my hand towards her. “My name’s Ian,” I lied. If you’d asked me why I had thought it necessary to lie to her, I couldn’t have told you. I guess I’d just grown used to calling myself by different names and Ian happened to be the name on the credit card I’d bought the shopping with. I guess my mind is trying to keep me in character incase people ever talk to me at a checkout. They might question as to why the name I gave was different to the one on the card I was handing over. Not that I’ve ever been in a position where that even had the slightest possibility of happening. I guess I just like to be prepared. God knows I’d spent enough time making sure as to not leave prints at the hotel. Would be stupid to get caught out now just because I was discovered using fake identification and credit cards.
To my surprise the girl shook my hand. “I’m Mandy,” she said.
“Well - I’m not sure what brought you to my house and it’s none of my business, but I’m pleased to meet you,” I said. I didn’t care about the details of her life - I was just happy that she was here. A true stroke of luck.
I emptied the last bag, a handful of candles which she could use to keep the place illuminated whilst we waited for the electricity, gas and water to come back on - something, I’m assured by the utility companies, which will happen within twenty-four hours.
I scrunched the empty bag into a small ball. “Hopefully there are some bits here that you like,” I told her as I took a step back from her. It was one thing being polite and trying to win her trust. It was another thing entirely to want to stay in close proximity. I am, after all, someone who grew up treasuring my own space. She didn’t answer. She just stared at me. A look in her eyes that I didn’t recognise. Without any warning she started to unbutton her white blouse. “What are you doing?” I asked.
She opened her blouse and revealed the cotton bra underneath. “Isn’t this what you want?”
I put my hand out and stopped her from stripping any further. At first I wasn’t sure that was what I wanted, whether I was going to stop her or touch her. Fuck her. Be inside her. Taste her cunt whilst it was still warm and alive. I was a little disappointed to find myself stopping her but I guess that’s what my subconscious wanted.
“That’s not what I want.” I reassured her. I’ll take her life, but I won’t take her obvious innocence. She started to cry and, before I knew it, I found myself wrapping my arms around her and holding her tight. She was shaking. “It’s okay,” I told her. “Everything is okay.” My lying is pure master-class and my mask is getting some good use today.
I can only imagine the shock on her face when I do finally get around to squeezing the life out of her.
* * *
I left the girl to prepare some sandwiches whilst I took a look around the rest of the house, having told her that I just wanted to make sure everything else was still structurally sound. Three bedrooms upstairs and a bathroom, a lounge/dining room downstairs along with a small study, toilet and kitchen. It was a fair sized property - definitely more than enough space for what I wanted it for - and could have been a nice place to raise a family if it weren’t for the bad memories. Just as I had initially thought about the hotel though - I can’t help but wonder whether people would sooner this house be pulled to the ground by the time I’m finished with it.
“I don’t understand why you don’t live here.” Mandy’s voice, from behind me, made me jump. I turned to see her standing in the doorway with two paper plates - which I had purchased along with the food - in her hands. “It’s a nice home,” she continued as she handed me one of the plates. I took it and sat myself on a dusty sofa. She sat next to me, making me feel a little like my personal space was being invaded, and took a bite out of her sandwich before continuing, “I mean it could do with a lick of paint here and there but - I’d like to live here,” she said.
“We’re all running away from something.” I didn’t want to go into the details. It wasn’t necessary. Just as she didn’t want to go into why she had run away from home. Me and her - we were both running away. The only difference was that I was still running long after my parents had died whilst hers were alive. She took another bite from her sandwich. The way she was chewing - I’m guessing she hadn’t eaten for a while. Probably half starved. Good. Means she’ll struggle less when the time comes. I’ll just have to make sure I kill her before she gets all of her strength back. Although, looking at her, it won’t be that much of an issue if I do have to take her on at her best. I’ll still snap her like a twig.
“What are you running aw
ay from?” I asked her. I knew she wouldn’t answer but I was keen to turn the conversation away from myself. I didn’t want to think about my parents - my mother who turned to alcohol to hide from my father’s violent mood swings. My father, an artist who’d spend his days and evenings painting away at his work which people would then just label as being of ‘poor quality’ before dismissing him completely. A failure in his chosen field.
He blamed me for taking away his creativity. Having to look after a son - whilst mum went out to work - took too much time and energy. Apparently killed his creative flow and passion. Before I was born his work sold. After I came along - no one wanted it anymore. And then mother - she’d come home from work drunk - she’d put the blame for the failing marriage and the way dad treated her solely at my feet too. Neither of them wanted me around. Neither of – shit! Stop thinking about it! I tried to dismiss the thoughts but struggled as their voices echoed through my head.
We didn’t want you, you know. You’ll amount to nothing. You know that don’t you? You’re nothing but a waste of space. What anyone could ever see in you is beyond us. We didn’t want you, you know. You’ll amount to nothing. You know that don’t you? You’re nothing but a waste of space. What anyone could ever see in you is beyond us. We didn’t want you, you know. You’ll amount to nothing. You know that don’t you? You’re nothing but a waste of space. What anyone could ever see in you is beyond us. We didn’t want you, you know. You’ll amount to nothing. You know that don’t you? You’re nothing but a waste of space. What anyone could ever see in you is beyond us... STOP IT!
Mandy’s voice distracted me from the poisoned thoughts, “My dad,” she said, her voice shaky, “he’d come to my room at night.” I could already see where this was going. Everything became clear to me; the reason why a girl so young had offered herself so freely to me because she thought it was what I wanted.
