The Story Collection: Volume One

by Matt Shaw

  It was taken by the lake; I used to take them down there for long weekends - before things changed between him and me at least. They were always nice; the weekend breaks. We’d go down on the Friday and pack up the camping gear late Sunday afternoon, before coming back for warm baths and a proper meal. Ready for the rat-race again on the Monday morning.

  The smile fades from my face.

  Why did everything have to change? I miss those weekends. I feel my left eye start to fill with a tear. Shake it off. Don’t be so stupid.

  I hear him - in the other room - loudly typing again.

  A scream forces it’s way from the pit of my soul and I throw the picture across the room - shattering the glass against the wall.

  Freeze.

  He’s still typing.

  If anything - the typing is louder.

  He didn’t hear me.

  Breathe.

  Safe.

  Don’t disturb him.

  Don’t wind him up.

  As soon as I realise I haven’t disturbed him - a feeling of stupidity washes through me. Stupidity and regret. I walk over to the broken picture frame and pick it up. Broken. At least the picture isn’t damaged. I don’t know what I would have done if the picture was damaged.

  It’s not like I have many of these left anymore.

  I start to pick the glass up, resting each shard in the centre of the frame. Get the bulk cleared up and tip it into the bin. A good hoover will get rid of any pieces that are too small to see or pick up.

  A moment’s lapse in self-control.

  Stupid.

  Still, it could have been worse. He could have heard it.

  It could have been a lot worse as my tired imagination starts to act out how different the scenario could have been had he been a part of it.

  A knock on the door breaks my concentration and I nick my finger on a glass shard.

  “Shit,” I didn’t mean to swear as the blood starts to trickle slowly down my finger. Just suck the wound, it’s not deep and the bleeding will stop. “Idiot,” I mumbled as I put the finger in my mouth.

  Another knock on the door.

  “I’ll get it.” I spin round and jump when I see him stood in the doorway.

  I didn’t even hear him leave the study. Too preoccupied in what I was doing. Before I have time to answer, or explain about the picture, he has left my sight - on his way to the front door.

  I hope it’s not Phil.

  I hope it’s not Phil....

  7.

  “I heard a scream and wondered if everything was okay?”

  Looking at the two of them together, from the safety of the other room - I’m mentally willing Phil to turn around and leave. Leave before it gets worse.

  “Is everything okay?” Phil asked.

  “You must be Phil.”

  They shake hands. Is that a good sign? I can’t see his face. It’s hard to judge his mood. Please leave, Phil. Just go home. He isn’t turning around....

  Phil tries to look past my other half but is blocked.

  “What can I do for you?”

  Phil repeated himself, “I heard a scream...”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Definitely a scream....”

  “I live here.”

  “Even so....”

  “Yes?”

  “Is everything okay then?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought I heard something break.”

  “How close were you exactly?”

  I feel like I should go out there and break them up but I know it will only make things worse for me, in the long run. I just need to stay in here and keep quiet. Let him talk to Phil. It might make Phil leave us alone - just as he wanted.

  “So you’re the author..... it’s nice to meet you...”

  There’s the slightest of pauses between the two of them.

  “Please, I’m being rude... come in.”

  Don’t Phil. I can’t see his face but his tone is enough. Definitely enough. Don’t come in.

  “Thank you,” said Phil, as he stepped in. The door closed behind him.

  They both head in this direction. I’m unsure as to whether I should stay or go. Go and keep my head down or stay and get caught in the potential cross-fire.

  I stepped away from the door just as it was pushed open and the pair of them walk in. I smiled at Phil but he ignored me, having already spotted the broken picture frame on the side.

  “Well, that explains the noise I heard,” he said as he crossed over to view the damage.

  I took the opportunity to step out of the room, into the hallway - pulling the door to, as I went. I didn’t close it, though. Not all the way. Enough of a gap so I can listen out for any trouble.

  What if he hits Phil?

  “What happened?” asked Phil. I can hear the shattered glass sliding across the frame so I can only presume he’s picked it up.

  “It broke.”

  A fair statement.

  I hear Phil put the frame to one side.

  “I can probably get another frame, for you?”

  “No need. We’re re-modelling anyway.” The hostility is oozing through his tone - how can Phil not hear it? Or does he hear it? Is he trying to get a reaction?

  There’s silence.

  I wish I could see into the room.

  No.

  I don’t.

  I don’t want to know what they’re doing.

  “I read your story,” said Phil.

  “Rebecca mentioned you’ve written a book....”

  “Yes.”

  “I haven’t read it.”

  “Not many people have,” laughed Phil.

  If I was in there, I’d tell him he was just being modest but nothing is said. I can sense the tumbleweed.

  “Loads of people have read mine.”

  “Yes, they have,” Phil agreed. He had no choice but to agree - most of the world read it. A huge success. “Are you working on anything at the moment?”

  I can sense the tension.

  A cheap shot.

  He is trying to get a reaction.

  “I’m taking a time-out. I want to get it right.”

  “Understandable.”

  “Don’t want to let my fans down.”

  “Of course....”

  “Rebecca was saying you wanted to talk about the story?”

  Phil didn’t have time to answer.

  “....Or were you just saying that - as an excuse to come round and chat to her?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Are you fucking her?”

  “We both know that’s not the case - I can assure you....”

  “See, we haven’t fucked for a long time. Very long time, I can’t remember the last time to be precise but.... yeah - long time. Maybe I could write about you two - a happy relationship. Learn something from the two of you and...”

  “I can assure you nothing is happening - and you know that.”

  “So what do you want then? You keep coming over? You heard a scream? You heard it from where - your place? See, I have a problem with that - I didn’t hear it and I live here...”

  “I was walking past. I just wanted to hear your story, have a chat - get to know you...”

  “I see.... it’s me....”

  “You?”

  “Me you wanted to fuck.”

  “I think we’ve got...”

  “We’ve got nothing, mate. But you have to leave. And, if I see you around here again - I’ll fucking kill you.”

  “I think you need to calm down....”

  “I need to do nothing, you arrogant prick. Don’t tell me what you think I need to do.”

  I should go in. I know what’s coming. Phil won’t be able to calm him down - anything he’ll say - anything at all.... it’ll just antagonise the situation further.

  I have to get involved. I can’t let it happen.

  “Please go,” I begged as I walked through the door.

  “See, no one wants you here. Fuck. Off
.”

  Phil looked at me, a sympathetic look in his eyes.

  “Please,” I said, again.

  Phil didn’t say anything else. He simply walked from the room. We didn’t follow him - just stood there, looking at each other.

  “There you go, I’ve met him. Happy?”

  No.

  Not really.

  Far from it.

  8.

  Running...

  Thick woodland.

  Pouring rain.

  Cold.

  Fear.

  Very fearful.

  Someone’s behind me.

  Turn around - no one there.

  Not looking where I’m going, I trip up. Face first into the mud.... look up....

  The clearing.

  The lake.

  No.

  Not again.

  Crawl towards the lake.

  Fear.

  “Please, no.... please, no....”

  I know what’s coming.

  I know.

  It always comes.

  The same outcome.

  Eyes open.

  Awake.

  I don’t even remember getting into bed. I roll onto my side, tears in my eyes... he isn’t next to me. He must be downstairs again - no doubt, sat at his typewriter.

  I roll onto my back and throw back the duvet.

  I’m fully dressed? Was I that tired? My head aches.

  “Not fit....”

  Who said that? Look around the room, I’m definitely alone. Who ever it was - they’ve gone quiet. The rest of the sentence mumbled off into something I couldn’t make out.

  My head is pounding.

  Did he hit me?

  Slowly I sit up and wait for the room to stop spinning. Ugh, I feel sick. Must be coming down with something... I just want to lay back into the comfort of the mattress and let it swallow me up but, I suppose I best go and face the music - see what he has to say for himself.

  Maybe my little time out - maybe my sleep - maybe it was enough for him to calm down... and I’m sure Phil won’t be coming back anytime soon so that must have made him a little less grumpy.

  I swing my feet from the bed and they land, gracefully, on the floor.

  Wait a minute. Need to shift the feelings from the dream. Whenever I get upset, I always dream the same dream; a recurring nightmare. Always starts with running, a feeling of proper fear coursing through my veins. Fearful for my life or someone else’s... I’m not sure. The dream never ends. I always wake, first. Just before I get to the lake.

  I don’t know why the lake features in the dream - a spot of such happiness for the two of us and I’m not sure why I’m so fearful, in the dream.

  I stand up.

  Okay.

  Slowly I make my way down the stairs - towards the study.

  I can’t hear him; he must be sleeping or just staring at the typewriter again. As I get closer to the study’s door, I can’t even hear him mumbling to himself - or snoring, either.

  I open the door.

  Empty.

  What?

  He hardly ever leaves the study. I step into the room and can’t help but notice all the paper that’s left on the side of the table - he hasn’t popped out to get anymore, which would have been my first guess as to where he is.

  Oh God!

  What if he’s gone to see the neighbour?

  No.

  He wouldn’t.

  Phil left.

  He won’t be back.

  Although - I have said that before and he still came back...

  This time was different though.

  This time it wasn’t me telling him to leave. He’d be a fool if he tried to come back. Pretty sure he’ll be aware this invite is revoked...

  I notice a stack of paper, filled with words.

  How long was I out for? It seems as though he’s been busy...

  I walk over, to get a closer look - see what he is writing...

  “What are you doing?”

  His voice boomed from the doorway, just as my fingers had touched upon the paper, and I couldn’t help but jump.

  “I was just curious...”

  “Curiousity killed the cat.”

  I turned to face him. He was leaning against the door, a glass of water in his right hand.

  “You’re not normally so secretive.”

  “Neither are you,” he replied.

  Don’t argue with him. He’s unusually quiet but I sense he has the capacity to blow at any second.

  “It’s going well, though?” I ask of his work.

  “Yes.”

  I smiled, “Good.”

  “Was there anything else?”

  He stepped out of the door way, allowing me the opportunity to leave.

  I should take it.

  I should take it but I don’t.

  “I think we need to talk,” I mumbled.

  I can hear my brain screaming at me to stop. Shouting at me to leave the room.

  No.

  I won’t.

  We need to fix our relationship. Make it right before it gets any worse. Can it get any worse?

  Don’t say it.

  Things can always get worse!

  I sit down on the sofa.

  Things can always get worse - I just hope they don’t.

  “You think we need to talk?” he said. He didn’t move from the doorway.

  His eyes.

  They’re black.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “What do you think we need to talk about?”

  “Stuff.” I shrugged. I wished I hadn’t opened this can of worms. Can’t turn it back. Can’t change it now.

  “Stuff?”

  “Stuff.”

  “Any stuff in particular?”

  Back out.

  Get out.

  I should have judged his mood better. Judged it better, before trying to talk to him.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said.

  Get out.

  “Of course it does. You sound upset. It matters. So. Come on. Let’s talk.”

  His tone of voice hasn’t changed.

  His eyes are still as black as the midnight sky.

  Find something light to talk about; something easy to discuss.

  He’s looking at me; waiting for my answer.

  “Okay, I’ll start,” he said.

  I feel my body tense up at the thought of what he’s going to say.

  “I find you a little bit irritating,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Irritating.”

  9.

  She shrinks down into the sofa.

  That’s typical of her. She insists on these little talks, from time to time and then.... soon as we start - she clams up and leaves the talking to me.

  “I don’t understand,” she whimpers.

  Whimpering. Dogs whimper. I don’t like them - dogs... Annoying. Especially when they whimper.

  “You know I’m busy when I’m in here. You know I’m writing. You know. Yet, you still feel the need to come in here and bother me. Even when you sit in the corner of the room, reading one of your books.... you’re interrupting me....”

  “Sorry.”

  “Like that.... Interrupting me. You know the pressure I am under - to write a new story.... to grab the world’s attention, again. You know the pressure. Everyone is waiting. Waiting to see what I’m going to come up with next. I can feel their eyes on me. I can feel them talking about me.... talking about me and watching me - waiting. I can’t keep them waiting any longer. You know I can’t. Yet, you insist on interrupting me....”