I AM HERE TO KILL YOU Page 6

  I'm certain he hasn't told me everything about that evening.

  "So where's your party today, Kat?"

  I smile. He is teasing. This is a flicker of my old husband. We both joke at the formality of our gatherings. "As you know, Raymond, this is hardly a party."

  "Will Apinya be going?"

  "Guess so..."

  "Did I tell you Bernard joined us at the pub the other week? Left his train set at home. Apinya must have let him off the leash-"

  "Bernard? That's not like him..."

  "Think he was making an effort to fit in. It did seem a bit of an ordeal. Got the impression he wanted to get one of his books out!"

  "What a darling."

  "Anyway, where you off to? I'm proper jealous. You girls always have so much fun."

  I slap his arm. Even after all these years of marriage, I'm surprised how firm my husband feels. His arms (and legs) are like tree trunks. You'd need an axe to chop him down. He had a reputation when I first met him, and he still does. He went to the football every week. It is no secret that the football was a sideshow. My husband (boyfriend at the time) went to fight. The rest of the community (quite rightly) said he was a hooligan. I took a more pragmatic view - he only fought other men who wanted to fight him back. It was a release, a form of escapism.

  Everyone says he gave it all up to protect me instead. They're partly right, I guess; they just have no idea what happened to make up his mind.

  "We're just meeting down the river. A few drinks. Some food. I doubt I'll be long..."

  His mouth is a perfect circle. I deliberately fired out the words, uttered them like I'd pressed the fast forward button, hoped that he wouldn't take them in. Who was I kidding?

  "Down by the river? Are you joking? Whose smart idea was that?"

  I look away. "Rose."

  "Rose? Why? She knows what happened to your parents. That's why she tried to drag you back to Church when she first arrived in the town. We both know that's why she formed the damn group in the first place, so you could both grieve-"

  "I'm sure it was much more complicated than that..."

  "I don't like it."

  I take my cup to the sink. Move away. Talk to his back. "I can't live in fear all of my life, Ray. I can't keep running from all my bad memories. There are too many. I need to live my life..."

  I imagine his face behind me, eyebrows meeting in the middle. He agrees wholeheartedly with these words. For him. Not for his precious, delicate wife. Feel the fear and do it anyway, that's what he thinks. He told me as much about his fighting days. But he's a big, grown bear of a man. He'd hate his mates to know he was scared of anything. He'll just be amazed these words have come from my mouth.

  "Just take care of yourself, okay? If it gets too much then make your excuses and come home. I'll be waiting for you."

  I turn now. Part of me loves my protective husband. I tie my arms around his neck and rest my forehead against his. "I'll be fine," I say, my words trembling.

  Bernard

  "Remember I'm out later, Bernard..."

  I look up at my wife. Judging by her widened eyes, lines must appear on my already creased forehead.

  "I did tell you," she says. "It's the social with the group."

  "Oh yes. Sorry, I forgot."

  "I won't go if you don't want me to."

  "I do want you to."

  "Charming, Mister."

  I smile to Apinya's back; she is already loading the dishwasher. She does everything so much quicker than me.

  "So where are you going?"

  "Picnic down the river..."

  "What? You do know that's where Katherine's parents died? How is the poor woman going to cope with that...?"

  Apinya turns around. Digging her elbows onto the worktop, her hands cup her ears. "Oh my God. What the fuck? How did they die?"

  My ears prickle. Apinya is not aghast. She is not horrified. She is fascinated. I feel I'm gossiping. What choice do I have? I have to tell her now.

  "Nobody knows. Not for sure. They drowned. The detective at the time suspected foul play, but nobody is sure why. They closed the case with no suspicious circumstances. Basically, it was either an accident, or they took their own lives in some sort of suicide pact..."

  "Suicide pact? But why would they top themselves?"

  "Well, I don't know. But you need to consider that their son, Ben, who was Katherine's older brother, was murdered back in the eighties, and naturally that hit them hard-"

  "Murdered? Here? In this town?"

  I put my two hands up to tone down her excitement. "No. He moved away. To Rhondda. Nobody talks about it. We don't want to upset Katherine..."

  "How terribly fucking exciting," Apinya says.

  "Promise me you won't ever mention it...?"

  Apinya narrows her eye in mock offence. I stifle a laugh. Returning to the dishwasher, my wife's muffled voice asks what I'll be doing when she's out. I tell her not to worry about me, that I'll sort something out.

  "You could catch up with one of the guys you went to the pub with the other week. Who knows? Katherine's husband, Ray, might be at a loose end, too?"

  I examine my fingernails. How do I explain that I don't think we have that kind of friendship, that if I keep turning up unannounced then I'll probably outstay my welcome? I've never really been one of the boys, even when I was in school, and I'm not convinced that will change any time soon.

  "I don't think they go to the pub in the day," I say. "We don't have a Wetherspoons. And besides, I think I fancy doing something different."

  Apinya doesn't ask any more questions. Instead, she skips upstairs to make herself look beautiful.

  I scan through the numbers on my phone. Reaching the bottom of the list, I start from the top again. I try to think of somebody who'd appreciate me contacting them, who'd actually be excited to do something with me today. What about...? No, it has been so long and besides, she'll be at the social with Apinya. I glance to the ceiling, to the sky above. I'm not religious - don't believe in the afterlife - but even I can't shrug off the feeling Dad is looking down at me, shaking that freckled forehead.

  All of this - the house, the money - is because of him. I don't advertise it, but I don't deny it. My dad was the real deal. Scratch under the surface and it doesn't take long to discover I'm just a pretender. Dad founded the accountancy firm in the town and then he set one up in Cardiff and then another in Swansea. He handed the firms to me, and I just kept them going, kept the money coming in. Then, as soon as Dad was six feet under the ground (which was a lot sooner than most people expected), I sold the company. I didn't dare do so when he was still alive, of course. That would have been far too courageous. The kids hated this decision almost as much as they hated my decision to marry a young Thai bride who, they said, was clearly after my money. What sort of a silly old man are you, Dad? They didn't see it as my money, did they? It was Granddad's money. I frittered away Granddad's money on my own pleasures.

  My thoughts are interrupted by Apinya twirling in a violet dress in the middle of the living room. I suddenly feel like an overprotective father letting her daughter go on her first date. Just how much leg does she need to show? I thought they were gathering for a picnic down by the river?

  "You look sensational," I say.

  Her white-toothed smile tells me that was exactly what she wanted me to say.

  "Sorted something out?"

  I nod. "Yes. Should be going hiking a bit later."

  I probably will, do, too. I like the idea of being in the mountains, looking down at the tiny town below me, building up a sweat.

  I don't see the point in telling her I'll be going alone.

  Rose

  What is that stench? It has been lingering for a while, rank, stale and rancid, an uninvited guest. I've been aware of it for a while - minutes, hours - I think, but I've tried not to give it any attention. My eyes move around the room. My head remains forward; my body remains motionless. I don't need to know. It doesn't
change anything. I crinkle my nose. I am the smell. These are yesterday's clothes. I haven't bathed or brushed my teeth today and, come to think of it, I'm not sure I did yesterday, either.

  Who cares? What does it matter?

  I normally enjoy sitting by the window in the front room that overlooks the street. I like to people watch. I'm a nosy little Madam. People are natural when they don't realise someone's watching them. It is like taking a photograph when they're not looking. I don't want to see the outside world today, though. I don't want to see smiling faces or hear laughter and chatter. The curtains are drawn. I can tell it is a blue, cheerful day outside, but in my world, everything remains grey and cloudy.

  Morbid thoughts often invade my mind. Usually I push them away, but today I can't be bothered. I want to face reality. How long could I sit here on my own, in this little terraced house, before anybody noticed I was dead? Would Mrs Thomas next door knock on the door or call the police before she smelt my decaying body? Or would one of the group wonder where I was? Maybe Katherine?

  We have history, of course; we have a connection. More so than even she realises. Yes, I hope Katherine would miss me.

  The clock on the mantelpiece tells me it is five past eleven. For some reason, the time reminds me of the day. Saturday. There is no morning group today. They are meeting socially instead. I shake my head. She'll be there. I hope they have fun.

  I should go for Katherine. I suggested the river so she faced her torrid memories. Time has passed. I hoped it would help both of us. The venue seems ridiculous now. Cruel. What would Ray think? He can be so frighteningly overbearing, so watchful.

  Still, I just can't face going.

  My head rotates, moving from wall to wall. The white paint is flawless. I enjoyed putting on the overalls, getting my hands dirty. The walls are bare, just an expanse of white. Didn't anybody think it was odd that there were no photographs in this room?

  I turn to the chest of drawers in the corner of the room. This is an antique. The delivery men questioned whether I really wanted to take it with me to the new house. I gave them a look, and they quickly struggled to load it onto the lorry. Strange, but now it is here I never touch it. Whilst the house smells of polish (or it did, until I started stinking it out), this chest of drawers gathers dust.

  I don't even think before I do it.

  My knees dig into the carpet. Pulling open the drawer, my hand drags it out. I am out of breath when I sit back down. I sweep the front of the blue photo album. The palm of my hand is black. Opening the album, she stares straight at me. Her eyes sparkle, her smile is alight.

  I haven't seen her in years.

  How did Sheena know about her? Why-oh-why did she talk about her?

  Lowering my lips, I kiss her sweet, adorable face. Then, I slam the book shut.

  Looking to the curtains, shut tight, I think it is about time I let some light into this room. After all, I've got things to do, people to see...

  Katherine

  Today is the kind of day that believers look to the heavens and gasp in admiration. My mum carried a pocket Bible with her everywhere, hidden away in her handbag. My dad, on the other hand, didn't need to carry his - he knew the teachings word-for-word. Today is the kind of day my parents, were they still alive, would have looked up to the unblemished blue sky and praised the Lord.

  I'm no longer religious, of course. How could I be? Deep down I know my older brother would still be alive today were it not for religion.

  Sometimes I wonder how it happened, when it began. I was so proud to be Ben's little sister. My friends giggled and played with their hair when they talked about him. When they came to the house, they checked for his muddy trainers at the front door. Is Ben here? Whatever the situation, he was the coolest kid in the room. He must have noticed their smiles, must have noticed their exaggerated laughs to his unfunny jokes, but he always remained relaxed, he always took it in his stride. The boys in my year literally fought over some of my friends, but my handsome older brother didn't need to; he had them wrapped around his little finger.

  If only it was that straightforward.

  My thermal socks remain dry as my trainers sink into the soft, dewy grass. I've unzipped my cardigan. Occasionally, I've shielded my eyes from the plucky late-September sun. I glance to the River Wye flowing to my side, then look away, managing to blank it out. People-in-the-know will expect me to be nervous returning to the river. They don't know I sometimes walk down here in the mornings, that I've trained myself to calm the memories. They don't know anything.

  “Well, this is nice,” I say, actually meaning it.

  I feel like I'm on stilts hovering over Apinya's tiny dancer's frame. She is as delicate as a newborn chick. Does she sleep with that smile on her face? No wonder Bernard is so happy these days. He's won the lottery with this one. Mind you, she hasn't done too bad out of it, has she? I can't imagine she had a life of luxury in Thailand (she told the group as much), and now she is Lady of the Manor, living in that beautiful mansion on the outskirts of town, reminding me of Josephine Baker in her castle. I'd probably live in a permanent state of euphoria, too.

  My flimsy cardboard plate is piled high with cheese and ham sandwiches, curled crisps and sausage rolls. Apinya seems oblivious to the long table filled with food (in my mind there is a big finger pointing at it saying 'eat me'). Seemingly, it offers no temptation, no lure. Biting into a sausage roll, I tell myself I'll starve myself tomorrow, that maybe - quite possibly - I'll never eat again.

  Apinya darts away with surprisingly long strides, ignores what I said. She returns with an opened bottle of white wine and two plastic cups. “Nice? This is my idea of Heaven. I'm out in the beautiful Welsh countryside, surrounded by my favourite girls. What is there not to love?”

  I should pop whatever happy pill she's taken. Do they prescribe this stuff on the NHS? How does she do it? The women from the group aren't 'my girls'. I've been a member of the group since the beginning, and she's only been part of the town for a couple of years. But then, even in the group, we're like chalk and cheese. Apinya embraced everything about the group. She is a kid at Disneyland racing from ride to ride. I need to be prodded with a stick. Even then, I've never opened up about the memories that taunt me, about my real regrets. How could I? Rose enthusiastically thanks me for my contributions; she is an expert at hiding her disappointment. I know what she wants to talk about. She knows it isn't going to happen.

  Swivelling my neck, I note that attendance is good. Maybe twenty women. Funny that the numbers go up when drinks are involved. No men, of course. Plenty of smiling faces. Rose will be happy. Resentment claws at my throat. Where were these smiling faces when the heating broke that bleak overcast afternoon in December? The only three you can rely on - through rain and (literally) snow, are myself, Apinya and, of course, Rose.

  “Where's Rose?” I'm suddenly aware she isn't here. Rose usually arrives at these gatherings first, setting up, making sure she welcomes everybody.

  “I was going to ask the same thing...”

  We both turn around. I take a second look. It's her. Sometimes I can waste a day figuring out where I've seen somebody before, only for it to hit me they served me at Sainsbury's or Asda. I know this woman. But then, who could forget her? Platinum blonde hair falls to her chest. The blue, faded jeans appear sprayed to her long legs. My eyes taper at her narrow hips and tiny slip of a waist. I stifle memories of myself as a young woman - as a different person - thirty years or so ago.

  “I'm Sheena. Between you and me, I'm a bit of an intruder here. This is quite a big thing for me, you know? I've come to a couple of meetings, but slipped away early. Not had the balls to actually say anything yet...”

  She even has a gap between the top of her legs. I can't see it, of course, but she'll possesses the kind of pert, upturned arse that causes heads to turn. Wonder if she's been in any of the local pubs Ray goes to yet? I push away the image of a plump eight-year-old girl with ruddy cheeks and dull, lifeless
hair - I was supposed to be the ugly duckling that turned into a beautiful swan. Well, I did - for a while. I despise myself for scanning this woman's body, searching for imperfections - what has she ever done to me? It's not her fault. Washboard tummy. Glowing skin. Smiling, I shake her outstretched hand. Her smooth skin is soft like velvet. I introduce myself, my upper lip quivering. Apinya embraces the woman like she is a long-lost friend from the shitty streets of Bangkok.

  "Isn't Rose amazing?" Sheena coos. Her sky-blue eyes widen. "Don't know how she does it. Sets a really calm, welcoming vibe, doesn't she? Was going to pluck up the courage to actually speak to her today. But like you said, I can't find her anywhere..."

  A tinge of guilt hits me. Why have I never thought of Rose through these rose-tinted eyes? Because I'm reassured that she is older, larger, less attractive than I am? Of course Rose takes on responsibility for the whole group. She rarely gets the support - or the credit - she deserves. Still, I'm taken aback by Sheena's unabashed admiration; it's like she's meeting the pop star whose poster has been on her bedroom wall since childhood.

  Apinya shrugs her shoulders. "I know she's missed the last couple of meetings because she wasn't too well. Thought she was better, though. I just assumed she was coming."

  I did, too. Took it for granted. I never really worry about Rose; she is always alright, even though - blatantly - she is never quite right. Unzipping my handbag, I make sure they're both aware I'm sending Rose a concerned text.