Pure Angst

by Stephen Scarcliffe

  “You choose. Take the money an run. Or you get that stick.”

  Jack looked back at his son with an expression of bewilderment. “Is this for real? What ye gonnae do wae that? Return the favour? You really have lost it eh? One too many bloody drugs. Move on. Get bloody well over it eh! Go on, take yer money an fuck off! Cause Ah’m no goin naewhere. Ye wantae talk about what Ah’ve put yer mother through, what about you? Runnin aboot the area fae the age ay twelve. Tannin windaes, stealin. Lifted every week, all the rumours about yer exploits wae the rest of the bams from the area. Dole dosser, drug dealer, blade merchant! Ah was the one supportin her as she cried intae her pillae every night about what her only son had become. Ye dinnae ken that side dae ye!? A somebody, ha! You’re nothin! Ye hear me!? NOTHIN! Ye never were!”

  Jack grabbed the stick and stood up with authority, glowering over Billy like he was still that helpless twelve year old.

  “Ah should give you a fuckin hidin jist like when ye were a laddie. Fer darin tae come in here an shout the odds at me!”

  Billy felt it come rapidly like a spear through his chest. That old fear, that unwelcome companion that he hadn’t spent time with in so long. Maybe it was the surroundings, maybe it was that dreaded stick, back within the old man’s grasp as he stood poised over him, ready to strike like a rattlesnake. It was all rushing back with a vengeance, forcing his heart to race as he felt himself shrink inside. Then the face of that young boy flashed through his mind. Falling into the dirt underneath the bridge. Sitting there helpless beneath the domineering spectre of a father figure who had crushed his spirit in such disgusting and despicable fashion.

  Billy wasn’t that boy anymore. He wasn’t helpless, afraid, or bullied by anyone, not least the coward standing over him, who need not hold any power, not these days. He stood up and grew in stature as he looked down on a father that was now a good couple of inches shorter. He stared a hole right through his angry skull and watched him slowly wilt back into his decrepit frame. A bully. That’s all he was. That’s all he ever had been. Nothing but a fucking coward. Unable to stand the heat the moment it was turned back on him.

  Billy grabbed the stick, wrenched it from his grasp and watched the venom evaporate from his father’s eyes as he realised the power he had once held was long gone. With one hand Billy shoved him back into his seat. With his other hand Billy dragged his jumper up over his head and dumped it on the seat behind him. He took a step forward and tensed his arms and shoulders, his eyes wild as he stood over the old man, forcing him to look up.

  “Gimme a fuckin hidin aye? Like when Ah wis a laddie? Ah’ll save ye the bother.” He gritted his teeth and took the stinging blows as he whacked himself with all his might, in the ribs, over the shoulder, across the neck. The pain was worth it, worth every second of terror that he could see in Jack’s face as he flinched and jumped again and again.

  “SEE!? Nae bother tae me!! NO ANYMAIR!!”

  Billy stood right above him and pressed the sharp end of the stick hard into Jack’s chest.

  “Maybe Ah should just drive this right through your black heart. Dae ye a fuckin favour. Put ye oot yer misery.”

  “Awrite! Awrite! Ah’ll take the money an leave! Ah’ll never come back, ye’ll never see me again! Just settle doon eh!?”

  He continued to apply pressure as Jack gripped hold of the hand rests, eyes bulging, frozen into his seat at the mercy of his only son.

  “SON!!”

  His mother’s yell brought him quickly to his senses. He hadn’t noticed her coming in. His eyes met with Jack’s in a moment of recognition that he had been saved just in the nick of time. The smell of pure fear was enough to leave Billy satisfied, yet he wasn’t sure whether he would have been able to stop himself had his Mum not walked through that door when she did. He dropped the stick on the table and turned around.

  Angie looked even more tired and worn out than Jack, her wiry hair ravaged by a forty a day smoking habit, her sagging eyes full of anxiety, spirit broken long ago by such a toxic attachment.

  It needed to end.

  “Dad’s leavin, Mum. For good.” He turned back to Jack. “Aren’t ye Dad?” There was a pause as Jack looked down at the envelope. “WELL!?”

  “Is someone gonnae tell me what’s goin on here!?”

  “Yer son wants me tae leave. Don’t ye son? Well, I think we should let yer mother decide.”

  “Mum, he’s a bully and a coward. Ah cannae bare tae see him grind you down any longer. Look at me Mum. It needs tae end. You know it does.”

  She looked back at him helplessly, before breaking down and falling to her knees.

  “Well well.” Said Jack. “Look what you’ve done. Haven’t you put her through enough? I think you should leave. Stay out of our lives.”

  His sneering expression tore at Billy so much he had to look away. He turned his back on him and offered comfort to his mum, placing a hand on her back as he felt her body tremble under the weight of it all.

  “Don’t you want this Mum. A new start. A chance at happiness?”

  She looked up at him helplessly. “I don’t know anything else, Son. This is my life. Fer better or worse.”

  Billy felt his heart sink.

  “You heard her. She’s made her choice, now away ye go an leave us in bloody peace will ye?”

  Billy watched the old man shrink back into his chair as he turned and stalked towards him, grabbing the stick again as he went. “Just remember this you twisted fuck. If I ever see so much as the smallest mark on her face again. If I even see a hair out of place at your hands then there won’t be any more threats. I’ll kill you stone dead right where you sit.”

  After flinging on his jumper, Billy snatched the envelope from the table and offered it to his Mum as he passed her.

  “This is for you Mum. Ah want ye tae hold ontae it and think about what I’ve said. It’s never too late. Ah love ye Mum.”

  She squeezed hold of his hand, filling him with a glimmer of hope.

  “She doesn’t want yer drug money. We don’t want yer drug money. Take it an go. And never come back, ye hear me?”

  Billy felt his whole body tense up again as it swallowed up the doorway.

  “You’ve been warned. And you should thank Mum fer walkin in when she did. Next time you might no be so lucky.”

  As he walked away from the old house he stopped and looked at the stick. He snapped it over his knee and dropped it on the pavement. Time to let go of the scared wee boy that cowered in the corner all those years ago. To let go of the ghost that had followed him all these years, just like that wee laddie disappeared into the night, not for a second looking back, freed from the shackles of an evil tyrant. It was time to shed the skin and move forward with fatherhood in sight. And with it a chance to break the cycle.

  About the Author

  Stephen Scarcliffe spent ten years as a singer-songwriter for Edinburgh rock band The Number 9’s before turning his main focus to crime fiction writing. He grew up in and around north Edinburgh, where his novel is set, lending authenticity to the story and its characters. When Irvine Welsh provided positive feedback for one of his early short stories after a chance meeting in the mid-2000’s it planted a seed that has now grown into Pure Angst, the first of a three-part book series.

  Read more at Stephen Scarcliffe’s site.