The Book of Revenge (6 page)

He watched as Liz looked around the restaurant. It was full of eighties memorabilia. Hits from the era played in the background and photos decorated the walls.

‘Cheesy isn’t it?’ he asked, wishing he’d chosen somewhere classy and sophisticated. Not that many such places existed in Bidbury. But he could have taken her to the little Italian Bistro or the restaurant in the posh hotel at the edge of town.

‘Yep, very...’ Liz grinned, ‘but I love it.’

‘Really?’ did she mean it or was she being polite, or worse just humouring him through some misplaced pity. He was pretty sure he had a luminous
L
for loser on his forehead.

He watched as her eyes paused at one of the photos. A couple of girls dressed in short RaRa skirts, with high heels and big hair. A fleeting sadness touched her eyes, quickly hidden but not fast enough for Matt to miss. ‘What is it?’ he said, concerned.

Liz shook her head and smiled. ‘I was just reflecting on the fact that I had a skirt just like that. Embarrassing or what!’

‘And the hair?’

‘Oh yes, especially the hair...’ she demonstrated with her hands just how big the hair had been.

Matt laughed. ‘Do I dare admit to having a mullet?’

‘Very cool.’

‘Yep, that was me.’

The waitress approached them and they both ordered burgers. Matt looked across the table at her and realised that he was laughing for the first time in weeks, maybe even months, possibly even years. He leaned forward, ‘so what did you and your big hair dream of? What did you want to be or do?’

‘Well I wanted to be in a girl band, but I couldn’t sing…’

‘Hmm, slight problem, but not insurmountable.’

‘But I couldn’t dance either,’ she said.

‘So you couldn’t sing or dance, not the best way into a band. So what was your back up plan?’

‘To marry George Michael!’

‘Oh dear…’

In the background the Wham song ‘Wake me up before you go go…’ started to play. Matt looked at her and she began to giggle. The waitress brought their burgers and he grinned at her, feeling as a giddy as a schoolboy on his first date.

Andrew was on the dance floor. He thought he was John Travolta, but actually he was just a drunken stumbling mess. He thought he was dancing with a couple of attractive, scantily dressed young girls. But he wasn’t. Every time they moved away from him, he followed.

One of the bouncers was watching him warily.

The girls were getting annoyed. He upped the tempo, doing his dirty dancing routine. His erratic gyrations made him lose his balance. He stumbled and fell onto one of the girls, grabbing her for support.

She shook him off in disgust and he fell to the floor.

The bouncer pushed his way through the dancers.

Andrew got to his feet and swung around to face the girl who let him fall. ‘Hey sweetie, that wasn’t very friendly.’

The girl’s friend butted in. ‘Piss off, pervert.’

Andrew’s temper flared. He raised his fist. But the bouncer was ready and grabbed him from behind. Another bouncer quickly joined the fray. Andrew was dragged away. He shouted after the girl. ‘Fucking tease.’

Andrew hit the floor, hard. The bouncers made no attempt to soften the blow. He picked himself up and vomited into the curb. He wiped his mouth on his shirt cuff and stumbled towards the road, trying to hail a cab, but the cabs wouldn’t stop.

Swearing and cursing to himself, Andrew staggered home.

Matt and Liz walked away from the restaurant. Matt was relaxed, the evening had gone well. They were at ease with each other; they walked close, but not touching. Her body language was open and he was encouraged. They reached the car park and Liz reached in her handbag for her keys. She pressed the remote and Matt opened the door for her. He looked down and into her eyes and without allowing himself time to think or reflect he leant forward and kissed her gently on the lips. She didn’t pull away, at least not immediately. Her lips were soft and warm and he wanted to stay like that forever.

But, after a few fleeting seconds she did step back.

‘I know I said only dinner, but I could be persuaded...’ he said.

Liz climbed into her car. ‘Goodnight.’ She said, closing the car door and firmly shutting him out.

Kylie was sound asleep. Curled up in the foetal position, the quilt pulled up high around her. The bedroom curtains were slightly open and light from the streetlamp outside flickered, casting eerie shadows.

A noise from outside and she was instantly roused, wide awake and full of fear.

She could hear his footsteps on the drive. In her head she could see him fumbling in his pocket for the door key. She heard the key in the lock and the door open and then slam shut behind him. She knew he’d go and see the mutt. He always did. No matter how pissed, he always petted Bruce the dog. The kitchen door closed and she heard him start up the stairs, heavy, drunken footsteps. She knew every creak and every groan that each step made, the third from the top was the noisiest. He was almost at the landing. She heard him stumble and swear.

Kylie pulled the covers tight around her. She looked across at the door, her chest of drawers were pushed against it. A small and ineffective barrier, she knew it wouldn’t stop him.

The footsteps paused right outside her door.

Kylie was trembling. She closed her eyes and wished herself away, anywhere, anywhere but there. If she believed in God she would be praying now. But she didn’t, so she couldn’t. No one could help her, not the school or the social worker who came snooping around last year, and definitely not divine intervention.

The footsteps moved on past and Kylie breathed again.

She lay back down and listened to him heaving in the bathroom. If there really was a God or any justice in the world, then surely her father should choke on his own vomit and die.

Matt was alone in the house, again. He wondered where his wife was. What she was doing every night until the early hours. And who she was doing it with! Then he wished he hadn’t. Some thoughts were best left well alone. He picked up the full bottle of whisky that was on the table beside him. He stared at it for several seconds and then with some reluctance and a surge of resolve he put it down and took himself off to bed.

But he couldn’t sleep. The demons that had haunted him for twenty years had gone into overdrive. Like a child who had feasted on cola and cake, his demons were hyperactive and wouldn’t give him any peace. He sat up and without turning on the light he pulled a bottle of pills from his drawer. He took two out and headed for the bathroom to get some water to take them.

Back in bed he lay down and waited for sleep.

But even with the tablets, it eluded him. He climbed out of bed and went downstairs. The whisky was where he’d left it. Full, unopened and taunting him with his weakness. He poured himself a large glass and drank it down in one go. Then cradling the bottle and the glass he headed back upstairs to his bedroom. He paused in the doorway; he thought he heard a noise, was Avril home? He walked across the room and glanced at the bedside clock. It was gone two am. How had his marriage come to this?

Matt sat down on the bed and poured another glass, he drank it swiftly. Then he stood up and walked to the window. He looked out and down to the drive. His wife’s car wasn’t there. Maybe she’d got a taxi home.

A noise behind him made him spin around and all his nightmares suddenly became reality.

The figure was all in black. Through his fear Matt half wished he’d put a light on so at least he could see his killer properly. But maybe it was better this way. Resignation washed over him. He wished he hadn’t had the whisky, he could feel its warmth surging through his veins, making him slow and sleepy. Matt’s eyes focused on the gun. It was pointed at his head. The gloved hand that held it was steady.

Matt thought about fighting. He imagined himself lunging for the killer and wrestling the gun from his hand. But even with his brain as slow as it was, he knew he would be dead before he’d even made the first step. It seemed the sleeping tablets were finally kicking in, his eyes were heavy and the world was spinning.

The gunman was waving at him to get on his knees. Just as well as he was pretty sure he was about to fall down anyway.

Matt knew he should be afraid, and he was, but probably not as much as he ought to be. All he really wanted to do was sleep. Even the adrenaline that was surging through his body couldn’t counter the effect of sleeping pills and whisky.

The killer lowered the gun and left the bedroom.

Matt couldn’t comprehend what was happening. Had the gun been fired? Was he hit? Was he dying or even dead?

His body collapsed onto the floor, he tried to keep his eyes open; he didn’t want to die alone. He heard footsteps. The killer was back, returned to finish him off. He tried to lift his head, but it was as heavy as lead. The figure leaned down and looked into his face.

Matt fought for clarity. He tried to focus, all he saw was a bleary image of his wife Avril with the look of contempt that he’d come to expect from her. His eyes closed and he slid into darkness.

Liz walked down the High Street. It was lunchtime, and the town was busy. Uniform were on a PR excercise; display a strong presence and pretend the police were in control. The public were getting twitchy with a killer on the prowl and the press were feeding the fear. So police officers were out in force in clean shiny uniforms and she was walking through the town centre as a representative of law and order. Of course catching a killer would be better served by all uniform being hands on in the investigation. But that was police politics for you. It all came down to perception.

She didn’t really mind. She would rather be walking and mingling than at a desk piled with paperwork or more house to house questioning. Her head was all over the place. She’d struggled all morning to get focused and motivated. If she were in the mood for being honest she would have to admit that the reason for her distraction was Matt. But she wasn’t ready for honesty and was pretending not to think about him at all.

A shopper approached and Liz looked up with a smile ready on her lips. The smile faltered. It was an elderly lady, smartly dressed and made up. She had clearly been a stunner once, but now looked faded with an air of resignation and sadness.

The lady looked at Liz. ‘Hello Beth.’

Liz took a deep breath. She knew that this meeting would come. She thought she was prepared for it, she was wrong. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I could ask you the same thing?’

‘I’m working…’ All Liz really wanted to do was run. Get out; get away, as far away as possible. Moving back to the town inevitably meant that her mother would hear about it. The WI had spies everywhere and her mother was queen of the cupcakes. But even so, seeing her mother standing in front of her was tough. The pain and the anger were as raw and powerful now as it had always been. Time did not heal. That was a myth. Time just masked the emotions.

‘I can see that. Can you take a break? We could have coffee.’

‘Just go,’ Liz said, desperately trying to keep a grip on her emotions. She didn’t want to create a scene.

‘That’s it? You can’t be civil to your own mother?’ The lady reached out to touch her arm, ‘please Beth…’

Liz looked into her mother’s eyes. She could see the pain and sorrow of loss and separation. The eyes were a watery grey, they used to be clear and blue like a summers day. A tiny slither of sympathy and regret stirred, she shook it away along with her mother’s arm.

‘I’m busy.’ She said and walked quickly away.

Andrew paced the shop floor. He was bored and restless. There was only one customer in the shop. An elderly man, Gemma could handle him. Without bothering to tell Gemma, he left the shop. He headed down the High Street towards the pub. He crossed the road and as he did so he saw Liz. There was something vaguely familiar about her. She was a stunner alright, certainly memorable. He wondered if she’d arrested him. He’d been picked up a few times, unfairly, when all he’d done was enjoy a few drinks. Either that or he’d seen her around.

She looked his way and their eyes locked and held. Just briefly, before she turned and walked further into the shadows, away from his view.

Andrew felt unsettled by the brief encounter. He couldn’t account for it. He definitely needed a drink.

The first thought that struck Matt, was that he was alive. The second was that he felt like shit. He was on the floor; he ached all over, which was bad enough, but nothing compared to the searing pain in his head when he tried to sit up. He looked down at his body; he was only wearing boxer shorts, easy to check for bullet holes or dried blood.

What the hell had happened last night?

According to his clock it was lunchtime, he’d be late for work, although that seemed to be the least of his problems. He picked up the bottle of pills and read the label. Big letters: Do Not Drink Alcohol...

Bugger, bit late for the information check now, he probably should have read the label before taking them. The doctor had prescribed them months ago, maybe even as long as a year ago. Insomnia had been his constant companion for years but the doc thought that his inability to impregnate his wife must be down to stress and lifestyle. He suggested gentle exercise, healthy diet, meditation, massage and sleeping pills. Of course the best route to pregnancy was sex. But they had both given up on that weeks ago. And even before that it had become sporadic and only when Avrils fertility charts dictated.