One by One: A brutal, gritty revenge thriller that you won't be able to put down.

by Robert Enright

  “I actually feel like a pig. I’m stuffed.”

  “Well then.” She stood on her tip toes and kissed him. “Let’s go burn some of it off, shall we?”

  She grabbed his hand and turned to the stairs, leading him up to their bedroom. Their clothes were off before they even made it to the bed and they made love as passionately as they did eight years ago.

  Lucas lay next to Helen afterwards, his arm wrapped over her stomach as she pushed her back into him. He felt her stomach move up and down as she breathed, sleeping peacefully in the arms of the man she loved.

  He felt blessed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Christ, Helen.”

  Dressed in a smart black blazer, white shirt and a thin, black pencil skirt, Helen smiled at her husband as he reached into the boot of his car. He wrapped his fingers around the handle of the suitcase.

  “I thought you were only going away for one night?”

  “Oh ha ha ha!” She pulled a face at him, as he hauled the large suitcase out of the back of the car, overacting that it was too heavy. He was right though, although she would never admit it. She had packed her largest suitcase even though she was only staying in London for the one night. Lucas closed the boot of the car and Helen looked towards Preston Train Station.

  As one of the central points for commuter trains to and from London, it sat in the heart of Lancashire. Usually the main car park directly out of the front of the station was at a standstill, with too many cars trying to park in too few spaces. The foot traffic was usually even worse, the lines for the ticket machines stretching across the concourse and to the entrance doors. However, at six o’clock in the morning on a Saturday, Helen appreciated the calm and the quiet. She pulled her black coat, her ‘smart jacket’ as Lucas called it, over her shoulders, the early morning wind delivering a body shaking chill like an unwanted mailman. Lucas locked the car, and began following her towards the entrance of the large station ahead. She looked back, smiling at how handsome he looked in his new leather jacket, his broad shoulders pulling the jacket tight around his upper body.

  Lucas trundled towards the entrance where his wife walked in from the cold, the drag-along suitcase jittering over the uneven ground, wobbling in his hand. The doors automatically opened revealing an almost empty platform. The usual sea of commuters, standing around armed with coffees and newspapers, were nowhere to be seen. Instead, a few early risers were looking up at the large screens, scanning for information about their trains.

  A few cleaners were sharing a joke to the side of one of the platform gates. A large man was buying a coffee and a breakfast baguette from the only one of the numerous food outlets that was open, hoping to make a little extra from the first few travellers. Helen gave Lucas a kiss on the cheek as he came to a stop and she quickly walked over to the self-service ticket machine, her booking confirmation printed and firmly in her grasp.

  Lucas watched her walk for a few moments, revelling in her beauty and reminding himself how lucky he was, before turning his attention to the screens like the few others littered along the main platform.

  He located Helen’s train; she still had ten minutes before boarding. He turned, surprised to see her already returning with the tickets in her hand. He had never used the self-service machines and had no desire to. As Nick always said at work, he was medieval when it came to modern day technology, a statement he himself confirmed during a rather embarrassing trip with Nick to the local supermarket. After that incident, he refused to ever use a ‘self-service’ machine again.

  Well, that’s what happens when you spend eight years of your life.....

  Helen broke Lucas’s train of thought by kissing him on the cheek again, her blonde hair straight and her make-up spot on. She looked really good. Too good for him, Lucas told himself.

  “Right. Got my tickets, got my phone…” Helen was thinking out loud.

  “You’ve got half your wardrobe, too,” Lucas added and Helen gave him a playful look that told him he may be in trouble when she got home.

  “I have everything.” She let out a sigh of relief. “Good.”

  “Do you want a coffee or anything?” Lucas offered, nodding in the direction of the only open outlet. Suddenly, the smell of coffee and bacon wafting on the air became very strong and Lucas made a note that he needed to eat as soon as Helen got on her train. Helen shook her head.

  “No thanks. I’ll get one on the train.”

  She reached out and rubbed his arm, silently pleased that he was wearing the jacket she’d got him. He had worn it every day since she had given it to him earlier in the week and it pleased her that after eight years of marriage she could still surprise him. Lucas leaned over and gave her a kiss on the side of her head. She smiled warmly, leaning into her husband’s solid chest and nuzzled into him. He arched his neck down and kissed the top of her head.

  “I’m sorry I can’t come.”

  “Don’t be. I’m so proud of you. You’ll knock it out of the park today.” She gave him a reassuring smile, her pearly white teeth twinkling in the bright lights of the station[SM1]. A few more people carrying suitcases made their way towards platform ten.

  “I’ll give you a call after the conference. Let you know how it went.”

  “Oh please do. I’m upset that I can’t spend the weekend with you, but the fact I have to miss a conference about the advances in psychotherapy is unbearable.”

  Lucas grinned waggishly at his offended wife, who shoved him back. He reached out, gripping her elbows and pulled her towards him. Their lips locked and Helen tiptoed to push more love into the kiss.

  “Don’t you get lippy with me mister just because I’m going away for the night.”

  Lucas pushed his tongue out between his teeth, goading Helen into another push. He looked up at the screens, the words ‘Boarding’ were flashing next to Helen’s train. Helen held Lucas’s hand and followed his gaze.

  “Say hello to Mary for me, yeah?” Lucas smiled.

  “I will. But only if you go and make us both proud today.”

  “Deal.”

  She reached up and stroked the thin, brown stubble along Lucas’s jawline and then pushed her mouth into his. Lucas may not have been a fan of public displays of affection, but they were the envy of any passer-by who happened to look up from their tired state.

  She kissed him as hard as she could.

  He returned in kind.

  After a few moments, Helen pulled back and then wrapped her arms around him. He once again kissed the top of her head.

  “I love you, Lucas.” She relinquished her hold and took a step back, her suitcase standing next to her. It was the blue and white polka dot suit case that Lucas had bought her for their last holiday.

  “I love you too.”

  Lucas stuffed his hands into his pockets as she turned on her heels, pulled up the handle from her suitcase and marched over to the gates. She turned back, watching him standing and waiting. She blew him a kiss, drawing that handsome smile of his into the open. She passed through the ticket barriers, politely smiling at the attendant and then followed the few other travellers as they wandered down the side of the train to find their coach.

  Lucas watched her walk into the distance, checked his watch and then followed the strong smell of bacon pulling him towards his breakfast.

  The rain had decided to take the day off which Fletcher appreciated. It had been too wet recently, drenching the fine city of London and dampening the mood of its inhabitants. But the rainclouds had cleared just in time for Saturday, with rays of sun threatening to burst through at any moment. Still, despite the chill that flowed through the breeze, it had turned into a pleasant spring day.

  Fletcher checked his mirrors and then turned right off the main road, heading down a street with thin houses cramped too close together. Susan used to say London was overpopulated with houses too expensive to buy, filled with people who had too much money to spend.

  He himself had never given it much t
hought. He had always been happy and comfortable on the solid wage he received from the Metropolitan Police and was living comfortably off the pension he had spent years earning.

  It’s hard to struggle when he only had to pay for himself, a fact that he wished he could change every minute of every day.

  He took the next right, his new model Ford Fiesta taking the corner smoothly as well as the speed bump just after the turn. Years of driving a ‘panda car’ at high speeds had meant leisurely drives were a cakewalk, however he was always very diligent on the roads, having seen too many dead children who hadn't looked both ways.

  He stopped at the lights and could see the corner fence of Regent’s Park ahead. Suddenly, a nervous hand gripped around his entire body and he swallowed hard.

  It had been so long.

  Almost five years.

  The light changed to green, but Fletcher didn’t move. He stared ahead, trapped in a battle of pushing on to the park or turning around and letting things stay as they were.

  BEEP! BEEP!

  The impatient honking of the horn from the car behind jolted Fletcher like he had just been struck by lightning and auto pilot kicked in. Accelerator, clutch, second, third. Before he could make a conscious decision to stop, he was approaching the parking spaces outside the west entrance to the park. He rolled slowly down the long stretch of pavement against the park fence, eventually finding a space between a Jeep and a Clio. In one fluid motion he popped the car into reverse and swung it expertly between the neighbouring vehicles. He shut off the ignition, the car purring its way to gradual silence. He sat.

  Ten minutes passed.

  Fletcher focused on the dashboard, his eyes glued to the hazard button but his mind a million miles away. It had been too long, this was a bad idea. Thoughts kept running through his head, his own consciousness trying to convince him of the mistake he was making. But somebody had to make the first step and he felt it should be him.

  “Right then,” he muttered, exiting the car, and locking it with the electronic fob while walking towards the gates. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and spent the next few minutes battling with notion of just turning around. When he snapped back to reality he was standing at a crossroads a good thirty feet inside the park gates. He took a left turn, walking past large fields which were filled with groups of friends playing football and other groups lounging on blankets on the grass, enjoying each other’s company.

  He longed to have Susan back with him, holding his hand as they ambled, her delicate fingers locked between his own. If that was the case, then none of this would have been necessary.

  It had been five years since Susan had lost her battle to cancer and people would say that by now he should have moved on, made his peace with it. It wasn’t as easy as that. Susan was not just his wife, she was his everything. She was his first vision in the morning, his last at night. She was his voice of reason, the one who questioned how and why. And she was the rock of the family. As much as it hurt, he could admit to himself that he wasn’t the father he had set out to be.

  He walked down the pathway cutting through the fields, the bordering trees lightly frosted with blossom. He loved his daughters – that fact was never in question. However the awkward shifts he’d worked for years and the ugly side of the world he’d walked through had caused him to be distant. He saw the world for what it was and while he never showered Annabelle and Christine with love, he fiercely protected them. Now, grown up and with families of their own, they didn’t need protecting.

  And it made him feel redundant. He had nothing else to offer them.

  Suddenly, Fletcher stopped in his tracks. Further up the path he could see the entrance to the adventure playground, metal constructs with childlike blurs scattered all over them. The joyful sound of innocent laughter filled the air. Just outside the entrance gate, sat Annabelle. Her unmistakeable auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was wrapped up in a fleeced hoodie, a book open on her lap, resting upon the four months-worth of pregnancy. Fletcher suddenly felt sick, swallowing the lump growing in his throat and fighting back the tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

  Now or never, Fletch.

  Someone had to make the first step.

  He did, followed closely by another, until he was no more than a few feet from his daughter. Her beautiful face that resembled the mother that he had - and still - worshipped. It had been five years since he’d seen her, five long years since he’d wrapped his arms around his eldest daughter.

  “Annabelle?”

  The words came out, cracked and broken. Annabelle looked up from the pages of her book, the optimism immediately flooding from her face, replaced by shock. And pain.

  The silence said more than any words could and Fletcher immediately began regretting having made the journey. He shuffled his foot awkwardly, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Annabelle composed herself, stuffing her book into her handbag as she pushed herself off the bench.

  “You look well.” Fletcher offered with deep sincerity.

  Annabelle sighed.

  “You can’t do this, Dad,” she somehow mustered, her words struggling to breathe.

  “I just thought, I mean, it’s been so long…” Fletcher struggled to get the words, looking down at the floor. Annabelle looked on, hands on her hips, heartbroken to see the strong man she’d depended on for so many years in such a fragile state.

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” She shook her head. “But you can’t just turn up to try and build bridges out of the blue. You just can’t.”

  “I know. It's just been years since we spoke. Since we were family. I haven’t even met Laura.”

  “And whose fault is that?” Fletcher tried to hide inside himself as Annabelle continued. “You can’t just become 'granddad of the year' after so many years of absence. When Chris and I needed you, after mum died, you checked out. Not us.”

  “I know and for what it’s worth, my dear, I am so sorry.”

  Annabelle’s eyes began to water and she looked up to the sky, shaking her head. Clouds had begun to form overhead, the weather once again deciding to revel in its own unpredictability.

  “I know when Mum left us, it hit you hard. I understand that. I really do. Because it hit us too.”

  There was silence between them, the home truth resonating in the air that was beginning to bring with it an element of cold. The origins of a storm.

  “I can’t do this, Dad, not now.” She looked at her father, a tear gliding over her cheek. Fletcher wanted to reach out, wipe it away and let her know her dad was there. “Maybe one day, but not right now.”

  “Anna...”

  “I have to go.”

  Annabelle turned from her father, taking with her any hope Fletcher had of reconciliation. He watched as she strode towards the gates of the adventure playground, her hand moving up to her face. He knew it was to wipe away tears.

  Tears because of him.

  Unable to move, he saw the gate to the playground open and through it ran a vision that, had his heart not been completely obliterated already, would have shattered it immediately. Into Annabelle’s arms ran Laura, the granddaughter he had never met. Her blonde hair covered with a pink woolly hat and a thick, red coat protecting her body from the cold. She was the epitome of beauty. He could see them talking, the little girl curious as to why her mum was crying.

  All he could see was his beloved Susan, knelt down in front of a crying Annabelle all those years ago.

  The tears slowly slid from his eyes and down his wrinkled, weary face, as the realisation of the family he had isolated walked away from him.

  The tears were soon washed away by the unsurprising downpour from the sky above.

  By the time the final car had been rolled into the bay, Lucas was filthy. His overalls, originally blue, were almost completely black from oil. His face was stained, his hair damp from the sweat of a hard day’s labour. He rested his hands on his hips and looked out of the shutter of the garage. He shook his head as
hailstones decided to join the rain on its invasion of the planet.

  “This weather is fucking ridiculous!” Den broke the silence, approaching Lucas and handing him a cup of tea, the steam slowly rising and disappearing.

  “It’s only rain,” Lucas smiled, taking a sip from the mug and then silently cursing himself as he knew it would be too hot. “At least it pisses everyone off without prejudice.”

  “That’s not much of a silver lining,” Den joked, turning with Lucas back to the final car. They had completely checked and repaired four of Steve Harper’s luxury cars. Three Mercedes and a BMW 5 series had been serviced and were all parked in a row in the gravel-based car park out front. Lucas was excited about the final car, an Aston Martin that he couldn’t wait to get his hands on.

  “Right, shall we get this done and get out of here?” Den suggested, obviously tired from what had been a full-on day. Lucas gave him a disappointed look, but in truth, had really appreciated Den being there to help him. He had put in a lot of effort, which he knew would sit well with John. He’d got the job done.

  Lucas smiled and nodded, putting down his cup of tea. He thought of the night he had planned ahead of him with Alex.

  He thought of Helen and how he would miss her, even though she was only gone for one evening. He never slept well when Helen wasn’t next to him.

  Still, she had only gone for one evening.

  As Helen stood in the queue at the reception desk of the Euston Hilton in the centre of London, she couldn’t help but feel it was flashy for the sake of being flashy. A glass table sat in the centre of the foyer, a substantial, obviously fake, plant in a stylish bowl sitting as the centrepiece. The concierge was busy checking in a family of American tourists, all of whom had too many questions.

  The conference had been worthwhile she thought and Dr Steve Wilson’s lecture on the ripple effects of depression had been fascinating. She still had her note book under her arm, crammed with comments and contact details of the peers she had met during the networking lunch that Lucas mocked so frequently. She had made sure she’d removed the ‘Hello, my name is: Helen’ sticker from her blazer.