I AM HERE TO KILL YOU Page 11

"Apart from our husbands?" I ask.

  Apinya hesitates for a moment too long. Maybe the drink slowed her reflexes. I doubt it. "Of course," she says.

  "Ever wanted to do something crazy?" Sheena asks.

  All the fucking time, I think, but then I usually curse myself for having these thoughts, for not acting my age, for not being content with all the wonderful things I have, for not living the life we agreed.

  "Like robbing a bank?" Apinya asks.

  "Something like that," Sheena says, looking ahead.

  "Like sleeping with another man?" Apinya asks.

  I sense Sheena's blue eyes looking at me, her lips moistening. "Yes," she says. "Like sleeping with another man. Or a woman."

  Apinya scoffs. "That is crazy," she says.

  From the movements next to me, I can tell what Sheena is doing. My head hopes I'm wrong. My heart hopes I'm right. I dare not turn to look at her. I don't know what will be stronger - my fear, or my excitement.

  My suspicions are confirmed by the sight of her naked, upturned arse running away from me. The splash makes me jump. Sheena disappears beneath the surface. I glance at the neat pile of clothes to my side. Apinya squeals like a girl at a concert. Sheena's face reappears, glistening with moisture.

  "Who's joining me?"

  Apinya pulls down her skirt and kicks off her heels and - again - I flinch at the splash. Sheena dived into the water; Apinya was much less graceful. She raised her knees to her chest like a kid at the swimming baths.

  "Come on," Sheena says, floating in the water.

  I laugh. "I'm alright. I'll just watch."

  "Pervert," Sheena replies. "Can't swim?"

  "I can swim," I say.

  "Maybe she's scared?" Apinya says, her teeth chattering. "You know? Maybe she has reason to be scared."

  "I'm sure Kat isn't scared," Sheena says. "Kat isn't a baby..."

  I should be scared. I should be terrified. After all, my parents drowned in this river twelve years ago. This river killed my parents.

  But I'm not scared.

  With my abandoned clothes at my feet, I long to disappear within the water as quickly as possible. My naked body feels huge and horrendous next to these slim, beautiful specimens. Closing my eyes, I jump feet first into the river.

  My head sinks below the surface. Water pours inside my open mouth. I kick and flail with my arms. The water is suffocating me. I keep going down, deeper and deeper.

  I'm going to drown. This was meant to be.

  My head shoots up from out of the water. I cough out the water.

  "Are you okay?" Sheena asks.

  I'm aware of her tender hands around my waist, moving to my hips. Blowing air out of my mouth, I open my eyes. I look up at the bright stars in the dark sky. A weight has been removed from my ankles.

  "It's been years since I felt this good," I say.

  Sheena smiles. I glance down at her lips. For a fleeting moment, I think she is going to kiss me. I have no idea what I'd do if she did.

  "Good. From now on, Kat, things are going to get a whole lot better. Do you hear?"

  I nod. I really do hear, loud and clear.

  Tuesday 30th October 2018

  Ray

  Shuffling around in the seat, I flick on the full beams and squint through the steamy windscreen. I'm tempted to give the screen a quick wipe with my hand, but I tell Kat off for doing that; I do try not to be a hypocrite. Pushing a mint into my mouth, I jolt the van into first gear.

  “The mornings are getting colder,” I say, aware of the steam emitting from my mouth, aware I'm not sounding too cheerful. I rub my hands together, balancing the steering wheel on my knee. “Fucking darker, too. I wish they didn't put the clocks back on Sunday.”

  Rob stretches out his arms, a bear waking up in the woods. “Tell me about it,” he says. “The alarm clock was taking the piss when it went off this morning. I thought it was the middle of the night. Turned it off by mistake, didn't I? Mum had to get me out of bed. Told her to fuck off. She didn't like that too much. Reminded me that she brought me into this world, that she carried me in her belly for nine months. I said that I thought I was adopted. My mum really doesn't get my sense of humour. Felt like I'd only just got in bed, let alone out of it again...”

  I smile. Weakly. Thinly. It felt like he'd only just gone to bed because he had only just gone to bed. It was only a Monday night in October; it wasn't New Year's Eve, for God's sake. The boy was making me feel old. When I'd knocked on the front door, his old dear appeared in her dressing gown, flustered and apologetic, cursing her good-for-nothing-son; he'd been out late again last night, stumbled up the stairs drunk as a skunk. Of course, I told her not to worry, assured her it wasn't her fault. Truth be told, I felt sorry for the old buzzard. I sat in the van and waited; flicked through my phone. It grated me that I'd dragged myself out of my bed at the crack of dawn just to sit on Rob's drive until he sorted himself out. I did the boy a favour giving him a job. He didn't have any qualifications, no real experience. I just wanted to give a local kid a chance. I inhaled deeply when Rob pulled open the passenger door, his eyes glued together, hair sticking up in a tuft at one side. I questioned whether I was being reasonable, whether I was just being a grumpy old man. The boy was young - twenty-two - just a year and a bit older than that girl I found drunk on the pavement. Honestly, I was a tearaway at that age. Rob is only hurting himself. I was hurting others.

  Glancing to the passenger seat, I see that things haven't improved. With his eyes closed, Rob rolls a joint as fluently as brushing his teeth. My smile broadens. Think I've been harsh. He's a good kid really. Harmless enough, I guess. Just lacking in direction, in ambition. He's just been brought up in the wrong generation, where it's normal to be glued to the phone, cackling at videos of dancing cats and singing dogs. How the fuck is that productive? Spends most of his spare time down the gym, admiring his 'guns' in skin tight vest tops. Only, because all his mates have biceps, just as big they don't have any novelty factor. Clearly the kid has no interest in his future. None of my business, of course, but I long to put my arm around his shoulder and have a quiet word; I'm just no good with that sort of thing. Kat is the talker. She's a woman, after all. I just feel bad knowing that, unless the world miraculously falls on his lap, he'll be doing exactly the same shit in ten, twenty years, only then he'll be bitter and twisted and hating the world, too.

  “God, there were some women out last night, Ray. They weren't wearing skirts; they were wearing belts. You'd have loved it. Must take you out sometime, drag you away from that gorgeous wife of yours, if she'll let you...”

  Staring intently at the road, I grin and say nothing. I try not to give him any further encouragement. Kat was out with Sheena and Apinya on Saturday night. But for a few days, she could have been one of these women he's talking about. I remind myself – again – that I was young once. Can't ever remember talking about women like that but – hey – times change, and I was no saint. Something gnaws at me: my boy is grown up now (luckily I didn't have a girl - how could I have coped with that?) and I can't help but think that these women are somebody's little girl.

  Rob's eyes widen as the black, metal gates slide open. I park the dusty, trusty white van next to the polished Jaguar E-Type on the drive.

  “This is a bit fancy," Rob says, bobbing up and down in his seat. "Must remember this place next time I go out on the steal. Rob goes on the rob. Get it? Cracking.”

  I jerk my head, pretend to be shocked; I know the boy is only winding me up.

  Rob's ashen face lightens when a woman in her early forties opens the front door wearing a knee length black dress and high heels. Somebody's little girl. It is eight in the morning and I'm barely out of bed, yet this lady is ready for a ball. Very easy on the eye. I nod my head and try not to look too menacing; the painted red lips widen.

  “Right on time, gentlemen. This is a good start. Come on in,” she says, angling her body so we can push through the door without brushing against her.


  I know from my stiff back and damp forehead that I'm out of my comfort zone. I'm a prostitute in a church in this gaff. I'm more at home in a place I can get my hands dirty and not worry about the consequences. I can smell the money. My feet sink into the deep burgundy carpet. I offer to take my dirty work boots off.

  “If you don't mind; that is very kind of you,” the woman says.

  She glances at Rob, indicating, without saying anything, for him to follow suit. Next to him I'm fresh out of the bubble bath. Rob hops on one leg, pulling at a boot. Thrusting out his hand and pressing it against the wall, he only just misses a marble dolphin statute. This is like a comedy sketch. I raise an eyebrow and snigger. What are young people like today, hey?

  The floor space in the hallway is as big as our lounge. Could have a decent kick around in here. The family portrait is up on the wall, there for everybody to see. Her husband is maybe a few years older, with grey hair and a soft, intelligent face. Reminds me of Richard Gere, which I guess can't be a bad thing. All the women love Tricky Dicky, don't they? The three children are all boys, probably all under ten, with beaming, colourful smiles. I can't help but compare; something heavy and unpleasant lingers in my throat. I look away but there I am, staring back in the monumental mirror; my bulky shoulders slumped, face worn and forlorn, my torn, dirty jeans unwelcome and out of place in this meticulous, beloved home. I catch my apprentice's reflection in the mirror, rubbing his red eyes, stumbling around like a drunk. I don't have a chip on my shoulder, but I'm aware of the class divide here. What must she think of us pair?

  Passing door after door, the woman leads us to an emptied room at the back of the house. I'm not sure what the room is used for – possibly a library or a play area – and she doesn't volunteer the information, either. She shows us what needs to be done – just extensive painting, money for nothing, really, something the husband could do if he didn't have cash to burn – then she dutifully offers us tea and biscuits.

  “If it's free, then I'm in,” Rob says, holding her smile.

  “That's cracking,” I say.

  We're prepped and ready for work by the time she returns with the goods.“I'll come back with sandwiches later,” she says. “Need to keep your strength up.”

  “That would be grand,” Rob says.

  I can't help but glance at the shapely, gym-toned legs as she disappears from the room, leaving us two brutes to it.

  We work fast and quietly, Rob probably because he has no energy to talk and me because I just want to get the job done. We paint the underlay in no time. If we keep this up then we could complete the job before the sandwiches arrive, and we'll be on our way home, with cash in hand and a possible recommendation to some well-to-do-friends.

  “What the fuck you doing?” I ask, woken from my trance.

  I'd kind of forgotten he was in the room; I'd been lost in my mind, thinking of going home early and surprising the wife, of possibly jumping into bed with her for an afternoon fondle, before the tiredness kicks in. I'm not keen on doing anything later (after ten at night) when all I can think of is sleep.

  “What's the matter? You said I could smoke.”

  “Did I fuck. I said you could smoke in my van, with the window open. You can't go around lighting up in somebody's house, you idiot. Look at this place. What if you set the fire alarm off? Or set light to an antique painting? She probably already has you marked as a potential arsonist.”

  “Why? Cos' I'm under twenty-five? That's ageist, that is...”

  My face must redden - I feel the burn - for Rob smirks; he's playing the class clown. He covers his chest with his hands, suddenly the victim.

  “Alright, keep your hair on, Granddad," he says. "I'll go outside and have a fag. I'm entitled to a break, Ray. This isn't slave labour. Regulations state I can have a break. You need to be aware of these things to make sure you comply with the national minimum wage.”

  I take a step closer, laughing. “I'll give you a break. I'll break your fucking legs, you numpty. Now go outside, take your break and then hurry back. We're on for an early finish, and the wife will be waiting for me.”

  Rob blows a kiss, skips out of the room. Enjoying the solitude, I kneel down and get to work on the skirting boards. Time passes. I turn to Rob. He isn't there. I remember he'd popped out for a fag. He was taking the piss now. How long had it been? Where was that little prick?

  Pressing my back against the wall, I pull on my boots. It was drizzling in the van this morning and I don't fancy damp socks. Gently, I shut the front door. I trot down the drive, between the parked vehicles, then venture onto the grass. Nowhere to be seen. I consider calling his name, but then, he isn't a dog and besides, I don't want to alert the owner he'd gone missing. Something wasn't right, though. The boy had taken the piss before, but not like this. Was he alright? Maybe he'd had a reaction to last night's excess?

  Kicking off the boots, I tiptoe around the house in my socks, hoping and praying I don't bump into the woman. I know exactly what I look like to her, despite her pleasantries. I scare her. I'm wide. High. Rough. Dangerous. What excuse would I give for loitering in the corridors on my own? She told me where the toilet was. I haven't shouted for her attention. I pick up my pace; my breathing quickens. I complete a full circuit, a complete tour of the downstairs. Beautiful house, I think, but still no sign of Rob. I look up. I have no choice.

  I climb the stairs, grimacing every time the floorboards creak. I reach the landing.

  There he is.

  He seems okay. His eyes are open, and he is standing up. The relief is replaced by a dull punch to the chest. I narrow my eyes, peer through the tiny gap in the door. I hope I've got it wrong. But no: that is the bedroom door. Her bedroom. The master bedroom. I look down. My face crumbles. Rob's dirty jeans are in a ball at his ankles. Both hands are down by his midriff. I inhale deeply.

  Pulling open the door, I grab the boy's shoulders and drag him out of the room. Rob trips and stumbles, falls to the floor. He kicks with his feet like he's an infant riding a bike, his face red and flustered.

  “Get your trousers on. Meet me outside.”

  In the front garden, boots back on for the second time, I pace in circles with my head down. I only look up when he appears in my eye line.

  “Sorry, Ray, it isn't what it looked like.”

  My neck muscles tighten. “My mistake. Must have got it all wrong. Silly me. So you didn't sneak into the woman's bedroom? You weren't watching the woman take a shower, with your cock out?”

  Rob shrugs his broad shoulders. Grins. “Okay. It is what it looks like. Can you blame me? She is smoking hot.”

  Don't you fucking dare smirk at me.

  The boy holds up his hands, keeps me at a distance. “She wanted it, Ray. You're too naïve to notice, too wrapped up playing the happy husband. But she gave all the signs. You heard the way she talked to us. The way she looked at us. She probably planned for me to watch her, was most likely getting off on it...”

  I shake my head. This kid watches too many adult movies. “She fucking smiled at us, Rob. She made us tea because she was being fucking nice. Just because I'm married, and just because I love my wife, it doesn't mean I'm a complete idiot. I see the signs, just like everybody else. And she gave no signs she wanted you to play with your cock in her bedroom, you dumb son-of-a-bitch.”

  “Her type are all the same...”

  “All the same?”

  The boy pumps out his gym-hardened chest. Spittle coats his front teeth. “Yes, Ray. They're all the same. They all fucking want it...”

  I turn my back on him. I'm taunted by the memory of pinning that guy from the pub, Tony, down on the pavement and pummelling his face. Had to stop myself from killing him. Brought back my blood-filled past, something I've tried hard to forget. Can't let that happen again. Just can't.

  His hand is on my shoulder, twisting me around. In my face. Teeth bared. Hands clenched.

  “Go on, Ray. Hit me. I know you want to. Only, I don't think
you're as tough as they all make out. You're an old man these days, all soft around the middle...”

  I clench my fist, pull back my arm. The boy flinches, closes his eyes. I don't punch him. Instead, I caress his forehead with gentle fingertips usually reserved for the wife.

  “Got a hair out of place there, sweetheart,” I say.

  Retreating towards the house, I shout, “I want you off the job. This job and the next job and every job. You're fired. You hear?”

  Turning around, I stop dead. Damn.

  The woman stands in her dressing gown on the doorstep, her big blue eyes staring me down, her face like thunder. How much had she heard? Was she going to call the cops?

  Then, her face creases. “Thank you,” she says.

  Wednesday 7th November 2018

  Katherine

  Apinya works the aisles, filling plastic cups with wine. This was Sheena's idea, and Apinya lapped it up. Coffee and tea were still available, but it was only optional. We want loyal women to come here, Sheena said, and we want them to enjoy it whilst they are here. A glass or two of wine won't do any harm and besides, it may lower their inhibitions, get them to tell the truth. I hadn't heard any of the ladies complain.

  We've made quite a few changes to the meetings over the weeks. For starters, we now meet on Wednesday evenings, too. Sheena has talked about increasing this to three meetings a week next year. We only want committed members. And why not? We're sharing our darkest secrets and we need to know we have total trust. We all agreed that, apart from authorised annual leave and sickness, if a member misses two meetings in a row then they're out. We're all in this together, after all. There are no passengers. Listening is not participating. Every woman needs to share on a regular basis.

  The door opens and all the heads jerk – in unison – to the right. A newcomer. The girl is young – maybe early twenties – and her pretty, plump cheeks look hot to the touch. Blue, watery eyes twinkle momentarily as she looks up at me; the smile is brief and forced. Head staring intently at the floor, she locates a chair at the back of the hall - the one I'd vacated -no doubt hoping to disappear into the background.