by Woods, Karen
*
Dalton scanned the timetables; his eyes were squinting tightly together. “Manchester, Manchester,” he mumbled under his breath. His eyes were closing slowly and his body jerked up quickly when he realised he was falling asleep. Making his way to the pay phone he dialled the number of Fallon’s house. Her phone number was engraved in his mind, he didn’t need a piece of paper... His body was melting and he was struggling to stand up, his head was wobbling all over the place. Dalton licked his dry cracked lips as he prepared to speak. This time if Beryl answered, he was going to speak to her, he was sick of saying nothing. He took a deep breath and held his hand around the phone booth to steady his legs. The sound of a ringing tone could be heard. Dalton covered one ear with his hand as the intercom announced another message for the passengers.
“Come on answer,” he cursed.
His foot was held at an angle kicking at the floor. All of a sudden, as if by magic, the station became quiet. You could hear a pin drop. Dalton checked his watch; it was nearly two o’clock in the morning. “Hello, is that you Beryl.” The voice at the other end of the line sounded angry.
“Yes, it fucking is. Who the hell is this calling at this time of the night?” Dalton swallowed hard and coughed to clear his throat. This was it; the moment he’d been waiting for had finally come. His words seemed trapped inside his mouth.
“It’s me.... Dalton.”
There was a long silence before Beryl answered. “I don’t give a flying fuck whether it’s the Queen of England. What the hell is your game phoning me at this time of the night?”
Dalton blew a laboured breath. “I know it’s late Beryl, but I just needed to speak to Fallon. Is she there? Please put her on.”
Fallon’s mother must have realised at that exact moment that Dalton was her midnight stalker who’d been phoning her for months. At first she thought her husband Bob had another woman and she was the one making the calls, but now she realised it was Dalton making the calls all along, she let rip. “Well, you dirty no good bastard. So it’s you who’s been phoning me all this time.” Dalton was trying to defend himself but she wouldn’t let him get a word in edgeways. “Listen you, and listen well. Our Fallon wants fuck all to do with you, so stop phoning her. She has her own life now and it doesn’t include you. She’s got a boyfriend, and she’s happy. So fuck off mithering her.”
Her words stabbed deep into his heart and his body started to fold into two. “No, she can’t have. I still love her. What about all the letters I’ve written her, surely she must see now that it was all a bad mistake. Please Beryl, help me, I’m desperate.”
“I’ve got all the letters you’ve sent” Beryl cackled, “Did you think for one minute I would let her read them? Get it into your thick head, you stuck up cunt, she’s gone from your life and she’s never coming back.” She chuckled to herself. “What’s the matter ay, do you want a bit of rough again? Aren’t the London women good enough for you anymore?”
Dalton was holding his throat, he was suffocating and his head was sinking onto his chest. “Please Beryl, I know what I’ve done, please, just tell her I’ve rang.” But it was already too late, the line was dead, Beryl was gone.
Dalton fell to his knees and dragged at his hair in desperation. People were walking past him now and they looked at him as if he was a couple of butties short of a picnic. “Fallon, Fallon,” he sobbed. Desperate, Dalton fell asleep in the train station. He couldn’t find the courage to board the night train to Manchester. He was a familiar sight to the workers there now, and on one or more occasions he’d sat down with the night staff and poured his heart out to them. Walking into the morning light, he watched commuters bustling through Euston. In his hand he clutched the necklace he once shared with Fallon. It was never far from his side. His hair was stuck up all over the place and he was constantly sniffing, he sounded like a pig. The station clock was directly above his head, it was six-thirty in the morning.
Above the din Dalton could hear a man shouting at the side of him. He slowly made his way towards him. The man was old and looked like a tramp. Covering his nose with one hand he bent his knees down to the soap dodger. “Are you okay pal?”
The man looked at him, his eyes seemed vacant and he stank of stale beer. Dirt was engraved in his fingernails and you could see the yellow stains of the cigarettes he’d smoked over the years “Have you seen my Bella,” he asked. “She said she would meet me here, but she’s not turned up again. I bet she’s in bed with that soldier again.”
The down- and- out was jumping to his feet now and Dalton was sorry he’d even asked. The old bloke was squeezing his hand with force and Dalton was panicking. He yanked it away and rubbed at it as if he’d contaminated him. “Ay, what are you doing, let go of me, will you?”
The tramp flung his hand away and gritted his yellow teeth together; spit was hanging from the corner of his mouth. His hot rancid breath was in Dalton’s face. “If you see her, the old hag, tell her I’m not waiting anymore, she can fuck off.” Dalton studied the desperation on the face in front of him. He rubbed at his arms with speed. He was anxious and not sure of his next move. The hairs on the back of his neck were stood on end and his face seemed to drain of any colour. Was this how he was going to end up? His mind had been tormented by Fallon ever since she’d gone and sometimes he thought he was losing the plot, she was on his mind constantly. Dalton started to run away from the man. With a quick look over his shoulder he saw a vision of himself in years to come.
*
Kirsty stood at the living room window watching the surrounding area for any sign of her husband, she was nervous. She knew he would be home soon. This wasn’t the first time he’d stayed out all night and it was second nature to her to wake up with no one by her side in bed. Her father Ted had slept over and by the look on his face he wasn’t happy. Marching the front room he kept blowing his breath. “So does he do this often?” Kirsty twisted her head away from the window and her eyes welled up. She couldn’t hold her emotions any longer. A lump appeared in her throat and she was struggling to hold her tears back.
Her Dad’s voice was loud and she knew he meant business. “So!” he yelled as he clenched his fists.
She nodded her head slowly and kept her eyes low. “He’s done it a few times Dad, but I know I’m the one to blame. We’ve been arguing,” she fidgeted with the brass ornament sat on the windowsill.
“Well, when Mr Lover boy gets home, he’s got me to deal with this time. If he thinks for one minute he’s getting away with treating my daughter like this, he can think again.”
Kirsty looked desperate and bolted up from her stake out near the window. “No, Dad. You’ll just make thing worse. Just leave us to it, will you.”
His voice shook the room and Connie ran from playing in the corner to her mother’s side. “Watch this space lady. I made him, and I’ll fucking break him. I should have known he was a worthless piece of shit, by his own thieving father. No good the lot of them.” He stood with his hands on his hips and bent his knees slightly. “I mean, I helped Brian and gave him chance of a better life, and look what he did. No love,” he sighed. “Enough is enough, the minute he walks through that door,” he shot his eyes to the doorway and his nostrils flared as he continued. “He’s getting a piece of my mind, so do yourself a favour and don’t try and stop me.” Kirsty knew her old man meant business. He’d done exactly the same with her previous boyfriends and kicked them to the curb when they’d stepped out of line.
The sound of the front door opening could be heard. Ted was up out of the chair as if he’d shit his pants. Darting his eyes at his daughter he stomped to the living room door. “You stay here, don’t move. Do you hear me?” He slammed the door behind him. Dalton held his head low; he knew by the look on his father-in-law’s face that he was in deep shit. “Morning,” Dalton whispered. He bent down to take his shoes off and a fist surged into the side of his face making him lose his balance.
“You cheeky bastard, I’ll
give you good fucking morning.” The sound of rustling could be heard as Ted pounced on Dalton. He straddled on top of him, his face was dripping with sweat and the poor fucker looked like he was going to have a heart attack.
Dalton was wriggling about underneath him trying to break free. “Get off me Ted. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Ted’s hot breath could be felt on his face and his gritted teeth looked fierce. “It stops now, do you hear me?” Dalton turned his head to the side; his bottom lip was pumping bright red. Ted screamed again and he was nose to nose with Dalton.
Kirsty shot into the hallway and looked horrified when she saw her Dad’s fist pummelling into her husband’s face. “Dad, get off him you lunatic. What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she sprinted to his side and started dragging at his hands but his grip was too tight and she was struggling. “Get off him. I told you I don’t need your help. We can sort this out ourselves, just leave it Dad.”
Ted stood over Dalton and spat into his face as he started to get up from the floor, he was breathless. Dalton stumbled to his feet and he was ready to charge at the old man. Kirsty was hysterical; she knew her husband was ready to bang the old man out. “Dalton, no, please stop it.” Connie stood at the doorway and she was upset, she stood chewing on the cuff from her cardigan. The men were like gun-slingers at dawn and neither of them was flinching. Dalton walked to his daughter’s side and scooped her up in his arms.
“What’s that on your face Daddy,” she asked as she watched the blood trickling down his chin.
“Oh, that’s nothing that sweetheart. It’s just your Granddad being a knob head.” Kirsty held her father back; he was ready for round two, he was chomping on the bit. She was stood in front of him on her tiptoes gripping his arms tightly. Dalton snarled and left the hallway. Ted sank his hands onto his knees; he was finding it difficult to breath. He wasn’t as fit as he used to be. He was blowing from his mouth trying to regain his breath, his body was trembling. After a few seconds he stood up straight and growled at Kirsty.
“This isn’t over. I’ll be back later. Who the fuck does he think he is treating you like this. I’m an old man yes, but over my dead body will I let him take the piss out of you” The sound of the front door slamming could be heard. Ted was gone.
Kirsty stood for a few minutes gathering her thoughts; she was dragging her fingers through her hair pacing about, she didn’t know what to do for the best. The shit had hit the fan this time for sure. She knew more than anyone that her Dad wouldn’t let this go. No way in this world; he was a feisty old bastard and always stuck to his word. Her feet seemed glued to the carpet and it took a few seconds before she made her way into the front room. Dalton was stood looking frantic in the mirror. Pulling at his lips, he turned to face his wife. “What the fuck was all that about?”
She opened her eyes wide, and held her hands up in the air. “He stayed here last night, and he knows you didn’t come home. What did you expect? You know what he’s like.” Dalton shook his head, he was up shit strasse now and he knew more than anyone that he’d have to lick some serious arse if he wanted his wife’s forgiveness. After all he had his job to consider, without it he’d be on his arse and back to square one. Dalton raised his eyes to the ceiling and began to try and make amends. He squeezed his head in his hands as he marched about the front room; he knew he had her full attention. Dalton could win his wife over, he’d done it so many times in the past and this wasn’t going to be hard.
“Well, if the old cunt would have waited a minute before pouncing on me, he would have known where I was.” Kirsty was hanging on his every word; she believed everything he was telling her, she was so gullible. Part of her knew he was a lying, cheating bastard but she chose to turn a blind eye to her husband’s infidelity. She still loved him with all her heart, he was her world. Dalton stood looking out of the back window and began his story. “Chris was a right nob-head last night; he was off his head. I saved his life you know.”
She was at his side and grabbed his hand. “Why, what happened. Is he alright?”
“We only walked out of the pub and two guys jumped on him,” he closed his eyes and his chest was rising rapidly as he continued. “I was alright at first but the shady fuckers turned on me too.” She was pulling at his arms examining every inch of his skin, she couldn’t see any bruises. Dalton clenched his fist and sank to the floor; he knew he had to pull something out of the bag now to make her buy his story. “Chris was curled up in a ball on the floor and there was nothing I could do. They were beating fuck out of him, and he was helpless. Do you hear me, fucking helpless?” he looked up at her and forced a single bulky tear from his eye.
Kirsty looked down at him and within seconds she was knelt by his side with forgiveness in her eyes. “Oh Dalton. Is he alright, where is he now? Is he in hospital?” Dalton sprang to his feet. He looked troubled and his words were stuttered.
“No, I had to take him home. If he would have gone to the hospital, the dibble would have got involved.” Kirsty looked distraught; she twisted her fingers rapidly, she was nervous.
“So why didn’t you phone me then and let me know you were alright? We had a blazing row you know, and you stormed out of here without saying a word. Didn’t you think I’d be worried? Because, I was you know!”
Dalton saw his chance to get back into the circle of trust, and held nothing back. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s just, you piss me off so much, and I didn’t think it was important.”
Kirsty shrieked. “You didn’t think that I deserved a call. I was worried sick. I’ve not slept a wink all night.”
His arms draped over her shoulders. “Come here, I’m sorry. I just didn’t think. I’m here now aren’t I?”
His job was done, she’d bought it. Kirsty pottered about the front room as Dalton sank onto the sofa. “Do you want some breakfast? I bet you haven’t had a bite to eat have you?” He smirked and stretched. She disappeared out of the room. Blowing his breath he looped his arms over his head and reached towards the TV remote. He was out of the woods. Dalton seemed in a trance as he gazed at the screen. Fallon was lying heavily on his mind, and he knew he’d lost her forever.
“Dalton,” Kirsty screamed as she held a plate of toast out in front of her. He stared at her for a few seconds, he was miles away. “Dalton,” she yelled. “Are you listening to me? You seem like you’re in a world of your own. Do you think you should go to the Doctor’s? You could be suffering from post traumatic shock. I’ve seen it on the TV loads of times.” Dalton licked his bottom lips slowly, he could hear her words but they just weren’t registering. He held his head back in his chair and shook his head, he was back. “I said can you hear me?”
Dalton nodded, “Yeah, I was just thinking about poor Chris. God, what’s up with some people in this world, they must be tapped in the head.” He sat munching his toast. Kirsty sat beside him, she looked anxious.
“Will you phone my Dad and sort things out? You know what he’s like. He just gets a bit hot-headed sometimes.”
“Fucking hot-headed! Are you taking the piss? The man’s a crank. Why should I lick his arse? He was the one who attacked me, are you forgetting that?”
“I know, I know, but please, for me. For Connie’s sake, just sort it out.” Dalton sat back and sucked his teeth.
“Right I will, but remember I’m doing this for you and Connie, no one else.”
Kirsty hugged him. “I do love you Dalton, and I’m going to try my best to stop arguing with you. I just need to grow up don’t I?”
“You sure do,” he nodded. Dalton lay on the sofa, his eyes closed. The vision was the same as every time he was drifting off to sleep, he could see Fallon’s face. His hand gripped his heart and he just lay staring into space.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Beryl sat waiting for the postman at the kitchen window. Dalton had been sending letters for the last few weeks and she knew he was due to send another today. The front gate opened making a scraping sound on
the concrete. Beryl looked anxious as she stood by the front door waiting for the mail to come through the letterbox .Fallon was in bed and she was due up any minute. Beryl knew she had to be fast. Three envelopes slid through the letterbox and landed on the threadbare carpet. She scooped them up in her hands and hid them away inside her pink housecoat. The sound of someone moving about upstairs startled her. Beryl ran into the front room and sat down looking flustered. Clashing noises from the kitchen could be heard, Fallon was up.
“Mam, why don’t you wash these pots at night and then they won’t be piled up every morning,” Fallon was in a mood and her face was like thunder.
“Oh, just leave them will you. When I’ve had a brew I’ll wash them.”
“I’m just saying that’s all, you make so much hard work for yourself.” Beryl never replied. Fallon leant on the kitchen side and waited for the kettle to boil, she was picking at her eyes. “Mam, do you want a brew?”
“Go on then cock, put me an extra sugar in it. I’ll need the energy to wash those pots later.” Fallon giggled and shook her head; she loved her mother’s quick sense of humour. A quick look in the cupboard was enough to let her know that there was no bread left to make any toast. Her face dropped as she trudged inside the living room to greet her mother.
“Mam, there’s no food in again. I’m starving. It’s my day off work so I’ll come with you to Asda to get some shopping.”
“What with? I’ve got no fucking money,” Beryl stressed as her eyes shot to the window. “And, unless there’s a money tree growing in our garden, I’m pot- less.”
Fallon plonked down on the sofa, she was thinking. “Mam, I’ve got some money spare, so I’ll sort it out. When are you going to learn that my Dad can’t be trusted to go and cash his giro?”
Beryl lit a cig up and passed one to Fallon. “I know, I know,” she hunched her shoulders as she blew smoke from her mouth. “You know what Fallon, I can’t be arsed anymore. I’ve given up on him. He’s just a piss- head. I think he’s an alcoholic. Well, I don’t think, I know. The wanker wakes up every morning and he shakes like Elvis. Not just a little quiver let me tell you, he proper vibrates like he’s having a fit.” Beryl sat forward shaking her shoulders. “I thought he was dancing at first, but no, he was rattling from head to toe. I passed him a drink of water but he knew himself what he needed. The cheeky bastard had a half bottle of Whisky hid away under the bed. He just rolled over and necked most of it. He’ll be dead soon, you know.”
