Tonight, he wanted to go out. John normally drank at home, with the TV clicker and his thoughts for company, shunning the rest of the townsfolk whilst they cavorted with their friends and families. A chill wind blew through the town. It was quiet out, not that he’d had many other evenings out in Sunbury to compare it to. The town’s mood had changed since Sarah’s announcement; the chipper post-storm attitude dulled to a heavy, melancholic temper. Yesterday morning, he’d seen people joyfully hugging and kissing each other after two weeks’ isolation. Today, they did the same in condolence, saying things like ‘at least we’ve got each other’ and ‘I’m sure he’ll be back soon. I just know it.’ There were no hugs or kisses of either kind for him.
He wrapped a red-chequered scarf around his neck and put on his battered brown sport coat. It was all the rage when he had bought it, but now it mostly sat indoors gathering dust along with its owner. It was made for nights out, and nights out didn’t come around too often anymore. He wore the same dark jeans he’d worn all week, hand-washed once after the search of St Peters. They were comfortable and he reasoned most people wouldn’t notice he’d worn them two days running. And if he didn’t mind, and they didn’t notice, there wasn’t any real problem.
Three other people remained in the Horse and Duck; all sitting in the booths along the far wall, underneath two framed paintings of animals grazing in the fields. The bottle slid down his hand. The landlord poured him a tall glass of tap water. Landlords tended to know when the punters had had one too many. He peeled John’s hand from the bottle of Jack and placed his fingers around the cold glass of water. Drunks were good for business until they got out of control. Some just slid onto the floor in fits of giggles, whereas others told all the other patrons they loved them, always have and always will. Some would gladly redecorate the lavatories an unpleasant shade of their own lunch. And then there were the violent ones. The Horse and Duck didn’t get many of those, maybe because its landlord knew how to spot and sort them out before it got that far, often by serving up a cool glass of water.
‘Get this down ya, mate. You’ll thank me in the morning.’ The glass didn’t leave the bar and John took another swig of JD.
‘Another straight Jack.’ John’s efforts to conceal his slurring were futile when faced with an experienced landlord.
‘How about a Jack and Coke to see you off?’
‘Yeah. Fine. One of those.’ It tasted weak, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue. A woman sat down next to him. Her short, black leather biker jacket was far too clean to have ever been on the open road and, even if it had, her long, white flowing skirt would have only gotten caught in the wheels. Leather doesn’t hide the life it’s led; each crease tells so much about the wearer. All this one said was ‘hung in the cupboard; waiting for the occasional night out.’
‘Same again for me.’ She motioned to the barman with her highball in hand. The landlord’s expression said, so much for the drunk leaving anytime soon. ‘You’re John, right?’
‘Yeah.’ Women didn’t strike up conversations with him and certainly not beautiful curly redheads. He decided sticking to monosyllabic mumbles may be his smoothest move.
‘You were at the search earlier, right?’ She leant back a little and spun her chair towards him.
‘Yeah.’ Playing it safe would only hold her interest for so long; one word responses were for the handsome, quiet types and something an ill-groomed computer geek wasn't likely to get away with. He’d have to take part in this conversation soon, no matter how it turned out.
‘And you didn’t say hello? I’m shocked and heartbroken,’ she said, placing her hands on her chest, not that he needed any encouragement to look in that direction. With all his efforts spent on reining in his slurring, he’d lost control of his eyes. ‘Well, aren’t you gonna make up for it now?’
‘Hello.’ He stared straight ahead, making a special effort not to look at her breasts, not realising this was even more awkward until she began waving her hands in front of his face.
‘Well, you’re just being plain rude this evening, aren’t you?’ The landlord passed her a mojito. The Horse and Duck wouldn’t have served mojitos a few years back, but even in small towns, the market wants what the market wants. Landlords disliked the invasion of ‘bar culture,’ but would happily serve mojitos, Jaegerbombs and various kinds of Orgasms if it meant being able to stay open.
‘I’m err, just kidding, hi, I’m John. But you seem to know that already.’ He hadn’t spoken to many girls in bars, something he was certain she’d noticed. He’d been a nerdy kid, back in the days before being a nerd was cool, before TV shows made thick-rimmed glasses and being an introvert fashionable. He’d been a thin, spotty, insular nerd. He’d stayed in on weekends playing computer games under a ceiling covered in Airfix kits, and not the snap together ones either; he was building them with superglue way before the age guidance on the box allowed. His only contact with girls during those tender years were through his one school friend’s porn magazines or when Miss Simms bent down to help him with a maths problem, something he didn’t need too often. Here he was at forty-four years old having his first conversation with a female stranger in a bar.
‘Suzanne,’ she said, helping him along.
‘You were on the search too, right?’
‘Yeah. I don’t know why I went. I’m not speaking ill of someone who may be,you know, but I never liked him much.’
‘He’s not dead; he’ll turn up. I hear missing people tend to return within twenty-four hours. I know what you mean though.’
‘About talking ill of the dead or not liking him much?’
‘A little of both.’
‘Really? I’d have picked you as the churchgoing type.’
‘Hardly. I got married in a church. We used to go as a family, every Sunday, but after, after we weren’t a family anymore, I dropped the habit.’ He looked through his glass. Talking about it never got easier. As much as he hated it, he always brought it up first. Something about mentioning it before he was asked made him feel a little better. Mentioning the divorce cut all the small talk out, and when he mentioned that he worked with computers, it promptly ended.
‘Great, I pick the guy who starts on about his divorce within the first few minutes.’
‘Sorry.’
‘It was a joke, hun. A joke? Lighten up.’ She pushed him. He enjoyed the touch, even if it was through two layers of clothing. ‘I’ve been there myself; I know what it’s like.’
‘So, what’s your problem with Michael?’
‘I just gave you a hint. He frowned upon my divorce, amongst other things, and wasn’t shy in telling me about it. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not wishing him dead or anything, I’m just not going to cry myself to sleep about it, that’s all. And you?’
‘And I want another drink.’ The landlord was clearing tables on the other side of the pub. ‘When I came back, back from the city after the divorce, I spoke to him. I had questions that needed answering. He said everything was confidential, couldn’t tell me what I wanted to know. Asked if I still went to church and, when I told him I’d stopped, all he did was tell me to come back. I knew I was done with all that, but I kept going to see him anyway. There’s something comforting about it, that someone just cares, cares for caring’s sake. We talked about the divorce, Jenny, Josh - that’s my son - and it was nice for a while.’
‘A little like free therapy?’
‘A little like free therapy.’ He smiled. ‘After a while, I felt like I’d been taken in. Like I’d needed consoling so badly, I started to believe the things he said.’ She had a way of putting him at ease, an ease he hadn’t felt around a woman in a long time. He couldn’t relax around Jenny for at least the first year, always thinking she was too good for him and expecting to come home to her standing in the corridor with her bags packed. Suzanne’s dancing fingers on the crook of his elbow sent tingles through his arm.
‘So, what did you ask him that was so confidential?�
�
‘Things about this and that.’
‘Fine.’ She crossed her arms and pursed her bottom lip in the cutest way, like a kid without a lollipop at a sweets-on-a-stick convention. ‘It doesn’t matter now though, right? Divorce is common. It’s life’s way of telling you things just aren’t right and you need to go looking for your true happiness.’ She meant well, but sounded like one of those pop psychology guides found on the far corner of the academic shelf in Waterstones, the ones titled Every end is a new start or Find your happiness now: I did with a picture of a tanned, suited-up American on the cover, complete with a cheesy grin and a face you wouldn’t let near your kids.
‘Nah, all women are the same. They lie until they get their money, then they take it and run,’ he said, with a perfectly straight face, leaving her in doubt whether he was teasing, being deadly serious or letting the booze do the talking. Jenny hadn’t asked for any money, just custody of their son.
‘Oh come on now, you just haven’t met the right one.’ Page fifty-six of Master your mind, enrich your relationships, about a third of the page down. ‘Either way, divorce is tough.’
‘Yes it is.’ They clinked glasses.
‘I’m going to go out on a limb and say she didn’t deserve you,’ she said.
‘Oh come on. Any more clichés for me? Maybe there are plenty more fish in the sea? Or how about the first cut is the deepest?’
‘Hey!’ She pushed him on the arm. ‘I was trying to be sweet. Don’t laugh at me.’ She gave a little pout and turned her head away. ‘And that’s not a cliché; it’s a song.’
‘Now you’re showing your age.’ He didn’t know whether his confidence was coming from the booze or her naturally relaxing manner, but either way, it appeared he was successfully flirting.
‘The cheek. I’m still fit and healthy.’
‘You were outpaced by Tom through the woods and he must be just this side of death,’ he said, despite knowing they were both in the same camp on that one.
‘And what are you trying to say, young man?’ She winked at him. ‘Don’t be mean about Tom anyway, he comes across as a hard-ass, but he’s a sweetheart really. He helped me out no end when Billy was younger and I needed to work. Plus, I’ll have you know, I’m in better nick than most my age. Plodding through forests isn’t my thing. I prefer to keep in shape in the gym, or running on the beach wearing a lot less than clunky boots and thick jackets.’ The nearest beach was over fifty miles away, but it didn’t stop him conjuring images of her slender body running in a bikini, despite the impracticalities of doing so.
‘I’m trying to say sometimes us old boys will surprise you,’ he said, smiling at her and glad to see her smiling back. She removed her leather jacket and placed it on the bar-stool next to her, revealing a blue denim shirt with white popper buttons, the top two looking fit to burst. She sidled up to him. He was surprised at the words coming out of his mouth and remembered a poster he’d once seen that read, ‘Alcohol: Helping ugly people have sex since 1862’, and wondered if that one had been so accurate, what other words of wisdom he’d missed in the corner of that record store.
‘You’re not old.’
‘I’m older than you.’ He figured that was the stock charming response. She pulled away a little, but not before nudging him in the rib with her elbow.
‘Maybe you’re too old.’ Her eyes glanced at his crotch. He laughed in place of knowing how to reply to her overt sexuality, and his penis stiffened at the thoughts sliding into his mind. Not just of sleeping with someone for the first time in a long while, but at picking someone up in a bar of all places. Bars were not an introvert’s friend and, despite trying in his youth, he’d never mustered the courage to even talk to a girl in a place like this, let alone take one home. Especially one that seemed happy doing all of the work.
He swirled his drink around the bottom of his glass. She slid her foot up the rear of his leg, just inside the bend of his knee, and slowly moved it back and forth. She looked straight at him, smiling a wanton grin, but he didn’t look back. Jenny was at the bottom of that glass, the same place she’d been since the break-up. He’d thought about finding someone else. He’d fantasized about meeting another woman and having crazy, wild, anonymous sex. The thoughts always consisted of a slender woman, only around five feet tall. She’d be at home in her garden and as he walked past her low fence, they’d spy each other. Sometimes, she’d be in an office and they would see each other through the window. In either case, she would invite him in and they’d be fucking in seconds. He would only cum whilst taking her from behind. That was all in his mind. He knew where every step led and that whatever he said, or did, he got the same result: amazing and perfectly performed sex, with no other consequences or concerns to either him or the girl, who courteously disappeared once he opened his eyes, taking any social awkwardness with her.
‘I heard he kept tabs on all of us. People that went to church, at least,’ she said, checking the landlord was still out of earshot.
‘Tabs?’ He had a good idea of what she was getting at, just wasn’t sure how she knew.
‘Writing things down that people told him, told him in confidence in confessionals. All our deepest, darkest sins.’ She writhed her fingers towards him like they were sitting round a camp fire telling ghost stories. He played dumb, not wanting to get further onto Sarah’s bad side. She was the only hope he had of being able to read through the journals, so pissing her off wasn’t a good idea. ‘I say “our;” I never went to confession.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘He wrote down things people confessed in little books. No idea why, or what he intended to do with them.’
‘That’s some imagination you’ve got. Sunbury’s just not that interesting. If he was scribbling down our sins, they’d make for pretty dull reading.’ He turned around on the bar-stool and pointed to an elderly patron sitting near the back wall. ‘What do you think she’s into?’
‘Doris the Diamond Thief. An unassuming grandma walks into a jeweller’s, distracts the staff with claims of rampant incontinence, granting her access to the toilets in the back room, then boom, makes out like a bandit.’
‘Because the diamonds are all kept in cardboard boxes in the warehouse?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s not a clothing store.’
‘And it’s not your go. When it’s your go, you can decide. Right, that guy in the corner, plaid shirt.’ She swivelled on the stool, her knee nudging his thigh.
‘Don’t you know who that is? That’s Erdel the Phantom Groper. He comes here every night, eats alone. To onlookers it seems like a sad thing to do, but he’s just building up confidence before springing on his victims.’
‘Then what happens?’
‘There’s a clue in his name. His mother called him Erdel the Phantom Groper for a reason. Legend has it he pinches unsuspecting maidens on the bum and cartwheels away into the night.’
‘Maidens? Did he arrive here in the same time machine as you?’ They turned back to the bar, leaving Doris to plan her next heist and Erdel to silently spin off into the night.
‘How do you know about these notes?’ Only three people knew. He hadn’t said and Sarah wouldn’t have mentioned anything, which left only Sean, or someone Sean had told.
‘That would be telling. It’s not common knowledge and I’m certain my informant wouldn’t want their name tied to it.’
‘Your informant, Special Agent Suzanne?’
‘Says Sunbury’s newest deputy. You were in his place with Miss Marple earlier, so you must know.’ Word carried on the wind in this town.
‘There weren’t any secret books. Whoever you’ve heard from has a crazier imagination than you.’
Her lips pursed to speak, but she paused before opening her mouth. ‘You’re just covering it up for your new friend. Typical pig.’ She grinned and poked him in the ribs. He giggled like a tickled child. ‘Aren’t you? Aren’t you? Ticklish are you. I have ways of mak
ing you talk.’
‘Stop it.’ He knocked her hands away.
‘Ooooh, I’ve hit a nerve. I bet you’re in them. That’s why you’re denying it.’
‘I have nothing to confess.’
‘We’re all sinners in the eyes of the Lord.’
‘What’s gotten you so interested anyway? You’re not religious, so I’m guessing you never went to confession, so what have you got to worry about?’
She leant in; her breath tickled his ear. ‘I may have been the subject of a few.’ He shuddered as her tongue toyed with his earlobe. ‘Where’s she keeping them?’
‘I. I don’t know.’ He tilted his head away. ‘I don’t know anything about any books, or notes or anything.’ He wanted to stay, to let her nibble her way from his ear, to his lips, then down, down until she explored every inch of his skin. It’d been too long since he’d felt a touch like hers, but there was something he wanted more. If Sarah found out he’d told Suzanne about what they’d discovered hidden in the soil, she’d never let him read them. He still had a chance; if he gained her trust, she’d let him look through them. She would; he knew it. Suzanne’s fingertips stroked his arm down to his hand. She held it, rubbing his palm with her thumb.
‘Lighten up.’ He’d blown it. This chance wouldn’t come round again, a beautiful woman approaching him, chatting him up, and the one time it happened, he had other priorities.
‘We could be friends, maybe stay in touch. What’s your number?’ Always take the girl’s number; the guy maintains the power that way. He’d learnt that trawling Internet forums for dating advice after he’d graduated the divorce’s denial phase.
A Journal of Sin Page 6
