I AM HERE TO KILL YOU Page 7

  Aprinya breaks the silence. Reaches for a third cup. "Look on the bright side, though. With one less head, it just means more wine for us ladies!"

  I'm sure Sheena will make her excuses. She'll say she's a disciple of the Gwyneth Paltrow Goop! lifestyle, something like that. I turn away, ready to avoid any embarrassment, but when I turn back, Sheena is holding out her hand, like the poor thing hasn't drunk anything for a week. I put my phone back in my handbag.

  "So you're from out of town then, Sheena?" Apinya says, winking. "Like me."

  "Yes, I'm from London, a proper cockney. Left that life behind me, though. Moved here a couple of-"

  "Why here?"

  Sheena stifles a smile at my question. "Fancied a complete change, somewhere nobody knows me. This fitted the bill perfectly. So picturesque. So idyllic. Nobody is a stranger..."

  "But what will you do for work? For money?" I ask, heat rising to my cheeks.

  "I'm sure something will pop up," she says, like she's talking about a bus.

  I turn to Apinya, smiling. "Bet she has a rich husband hidden away somewhere, paying for everything..."

  "Yes, I hid him under the floorboards."

  I join in with the laughter. Secretly, I'm impressed by the quick reply. I glance at Apinya. Doesn't she think it was a strange decision to move from London to Pontbach? It's different for me. I've lived here all my life. Why would you want to jump from the big sea, with endless possibilities, into a goldfish bowl, where the same things happen day after day? Why would anybody willingly make that choice?

  "I think it's amazing," Apinya says. "So brave."

  Sheena smiles warmly.

  “You really think the meetings were good?” I ask. “It is just – you know – you didn't stay for long...”

  It's been a long, long time since I thought the meetings were good, since I believed in their purpose. Regardless, Sheena appeared and disappeared like a phantom. How can she think they were good? She gazes down at the grass, riddled with nettles and rabbit holes, then looks up at me, holds my eyes, like she's reading my thoughts. She won't like what she reads.“I know, you're right. I feel bad about that. It was disrespectful of me...”

  My hand brushes her arm. Did Apinya really just give me a disapproving look? “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that...”

  "It's just tough, isn't it? Being the newbie. I'm not the most confident at the best of times. There were so many women there who'd probably spoken plenty of times. I guess I was kind of overwhelmed. I told myself beforehand that it was best to just jump right in, but that didn't happen. Did feel like a dirty voyeur though, just quietly sat in the corner watching all of the action..."

  "Pervert."

  Apinya doubles at the waist with laughter. Sheena continues talking. "Guess all of us ladies are there for a reason, aren't we?" she holds my look. "We all need help, though it may come in different shapes and sizes. For me, it was enough just to be in the same room as the other women. Strength in numbers, yeah? Doesn't really matter that the group has no real, defined objective, as such...”

  Apinya raises her glass. Strength in numbers, she says. Three plastic cups push together. Imaginary clink. We both reassure Sheena, say the right things, tell her that - yes - just going to the group is the first step to recovery, what she is doing is fantastic.

  People know why I go to the group, or at least they think they do. Some of the women's trauma is etched on their faces. Others have physical bruises. They must wonder about Sheena, though. She must appear like the fairy godmother, here to show us how wrong we are, here to show us the right way. My busy eyes flick over her body, searching for an imperfection, for something to justify hating her less. God only knows I have plenty of reason to hate her. My lips curl at the corners. Finally. There is a blemish on Sheena's left wrist - barely noticeable - a couple of sore, red scabs. She is human. She bleeds. Probably fell over. Unless - just maybe - somebody did it to her. I don't think it would be that rich boyfriend hidden away in London. I loosen my imaginary grip of her neck.

  "You've barely been to a few meetings and already you've picked up that we don't have any real objective," I say, smiling. Am I stirring the pot? I do feel mischievous. This dreadful wine is going down very easily. Apinya tops up my glass every time I take a sip. Feels like a gust of wind could knock me over. Need to be careful. Don't want to end up like my parents.

  “Oh, don't get me wrong," Sheena says. "I didn't mean that as a bad thing..."

  "But you're right, though. We don't have an objective. Why not? I've been going to the group for twelve years now. Sometimes I forget the reason I went in the first place."

  Sheena places her hand on my arm. Her face is twisted with concern. "You've probably chosen to forget, Katherine. Deep down, none of us truly forget..."

  Apinya chips in. There are two of them now, and one of me. “The group wouldn't be the same without you, Kat.”

  “Exactly,” Sheena says, turning to Apinya, her face wide with glee. I know my face reddens. It has been a while since people paid me compliments. "You've been going twelve years? That's an achievement in itself, don't you think? This group is part of the community. As soon as I moved in, people started telling me about it. No way do all of the women live in the town. Some of those must travel from nearby villages..."

  "That's true," I say. "They do."

  "Just think how many women you've helped in that time."

  My feet wobble on the uneven surface. Wine trickles down my hand. "Impossible to tell. Women come and go. They just disappear. We don't have a tracking system. We don't phone them to check they're alright. And if they did get better, was this because of us, or despite us? Maybe if we were more organised, if we did have a clearly defined purpose, then we could help more women...?”

  I look around, suddenly aware I've raised my voice. Women have deserted their plates and their cups and turned to me. Could it be that somebody has actually said something slightly controversial? I should feel uneasy. I don't. I do exist outside my own little home, regardless of what Ray thinks.

  Apinya whispers, “Think we all get mad sometimes, Kat. Not sure this is the time or the place, you know-?"

  "I just mean-"

  "Like Sheena said, it can't be all that bad now, can it, or you wouldn't have been going all these years, would you?"

  "I didn't say it was bad-"

  "I'm sure you have plenty of other things you could be doing instead. And remember, Rose doesn't get paid for the work she does-"

  "I know that-"

  "She is a volunteer. She gives up her own time. Sometimes I'm sure she'd prefer not to listen to a bunch of middle-aged white women droning on about their first world problems-"

  "Oh, just call me Karen-"

  "If anybody thinks they can do a better job, then they should go right ahead and put their names forward, darling..."

  "I'm sure there isn't."

  I glance away until I'm free of prying eyes. Did Apinya sense my ego inflate and decide to pop it with a needle? Bang. Like a balloon. Apinya is suggesting I put my name forward. Rose isn't getting any younger. Her health isn't great. One day she'll need to stand down. Sure, people will be sad. They'll be a party with sausage rolls and crisps, just like today. And then she'll soon be forgotten, just like my brother. I'm the obvious replacement because I attended the first meeting. Should I be punished for this? We're both painfully aware, despite my sudden bravado and my criticism of Rose, that clearly I couldn't do a better job. I'm a backbencher shouting criticism at the person who has dared to stand up and do something. They know I should have kept my mouth shut.

  “Maybe Kat has a point, Apinya.”

  We both turn to Sheena.

  “I mean, you're both right. The group is disorganised, but I wouldn't have come if it was militant. Far too scary. And, frankly, I want to be Rose. She does do an amazing job, and nobody could have done any better. So selfless. Such a trooper. A real inspiration...”

  Apinya has one eyebrow raised. We
both know it is her turn to have her bubble burst. Sheena has built her up, put her on a pedestal, ready to push her off. Sheena turns to me now. Jesus, she is no longer an ostrich with her head buried in the ground. She is not quite flying in the sky, but she's rising.

  “But just listen to Kat's passion. Clearly she's fanatical about this group-"

  "Not as much as Rose," I say. Do I look like I'm crawling out from beneath the bus I've just thrown myself under?

  "Rose has been running this group for twelve years. That isn't easy. The devotion was bound to wane at some point. She is only human, after all. I mean, she hasn't made it today and she hasn't told anybody, either. Maybe I'm just an outsider looking in, but Kat's words sure hit home. Maybe the group could do with some new stimulus. Last thing I'd ever want to do is to step on Rose's toes, but I think maybe you ladies could help her a bit. You've both got great ideas. Truth be told, I think she'd be grateful...”

  Apinya eyes me. We've both been cornered. We wait for the other to say something. I'm an expert at this, waiting for somebody else to speak so I don't have to. Apinya breaks first. "I can help a bit more if it takes some pressure off Rose."

  Two pairs of eyes zone in on me now. "Me too, of course. If you think it will help."

  Sheena holds out her arms and the three of us hug. Maybe the wine is talking, or maybe it's because I'm wanted, but I feel kind of exhilarated.

  We pull apart. The lines from Sheena's face disappear. "I have the feeling this could be the start of something amazing," she says.

  Thursday 27th September 2018

  Bernard

  I can't deny it; part of me got a perverse kick out of Apinya looking like the sad dog for a change.

  This life wasn't intended. In my daydreams, during my more and more frequent idling moments, I pictured bumping into my English Rose in the library or at the coffee shop. The more I lingered at these establishments, however, my certainty that this would never happen grew. Whoever would have thought that women these days don't fall over themselves for tired, middle-aged, paunchy men? My bodywork was none too great and it wasn't clear how many miles I had left on the clock, either. The younger models looked much more appealing.

  And so I turned to online dating. My inbox bubbled over with messages from beautiful women. I couldn't believe my good fortune. This was all too good to be true. And it was. Who would have thought that robots were so advanced? Who would have imagined so many damsels in distress needed a SIM card to phone their dying mother? Admittedly, not all of the women were fake. Some were genuinely horrendous, taking the opportunity to belittle the way I looked, my age, the fact I was born a man.

  And so, my mouse stirred, and I flicked to different, alternative websites.

  Looking back, the website seduced me. Suddenly, the clock turned back a century. Thai women, apparently, prided themselves on keeping an immaculate home, on looking after their husbands, on staying beautiful. This wasn't right, I thought, typing in my details. This was degrading, I considered, handing over my credit card details. This wasn't real, I contemplated, as I said hello to a lithe, delightful young lady. And yet, I mused, this distorted reality appealed infinitely more than anything else on offer.

  The villagers think I'm naive, that I'm a victim; I knew exactly what I was doing.

  I've never been that husband. I don't ask Apinya to keep an immaculate home. I don't ask her to look after me. I don't ask her to do anything. And I don't love her because of her undeniable beauty. I love her because she stops me from being alone.

  And so, whilst I don't set a curfew - I don't own my wife, for God's sake - I just assumed she'd be home on Saturday evening before dinner, definitely before six or seven o'clock. After all, the ladies were only meeting for an afternoon drink down the river. She said it was a picnic. I returned from my hike, with my thighs crying out for forgiveness, hours earlier. How many afternoon drinks could they possibly consume? Admittedly, it took me a while to notice she wasn't home. By about eight I started to fret. Maybe she'd fallen in the river? Perhaps she lay in a ditch somewhere? I left it until about nine; I didn't want to be an overbearing husband. It passed my mind - was Kat home? What was Ray doing? I messaged Apinya, asked if she was okay, if she was safe. No reply. I messaged her every hour until just gone eleven. My ears twitched when the key scraped down the front door. She missed steps as she scrambled up the stairs. The wooden banister creaked as, presumably, she clung onto it for dear life. No hello to me, sat in the living room? Whilst that irked, I presumed she was intoxicated and, ultimately, I was just relieved she was home, that she was safe.

  Next morning I cooked a fry-up. Was this sadistic? I don't know. Honestly? I couldn't stop myself. Wandering into the kitchen in her dressing gown, eyes half-shut, I swear to God she turned a shade of green when she smelt what I was cooking.

  "Good night?"

  "Ummm."

  Four days have passed; we're strangers living in the same house. I'm perplexed why. I never mentioned the night out and, frankly, I don't disapprove. Am I jealous she's out having fun? For sure. I only managed an hour or so down the pub the other week and even then, I was a zebra mingling with the horses. My wife, however, needs friends. She needs a life away from me. We both do. Something has changed, though. Who was she out with? Has somebody said something about me? My dear wife is going through the motions with me, saying what is expected; her heart and mind, however, is elsewhere. I've always wondered, underneath the superficial layers, if she hates me. That feeling has only intensified.

  I don't even know where she is now. She wasn't lying in bed next to me when I woke. Maybe she went for a run? It's still only mid-morning. What is the accepted protocol with these things? When is a loving husband expected to get concerned?

  Sat in the dining room, looking out at the garden, the doorbell makes me jump. I glance at the mahogany clock. 11:20. The postman has already been (no mail). Maybe it is a delivery company? Maybe it is a sales call? Loneliness has torn my heart from my chest, but still, the thought of any human contact right now makes me nervous.

  Opening the front door, I'm conscious that I take a second glance. How rude must that look?

  "Rose," I say. "What - I mean, how are you? Do come in..."

  Frankly, she looks no better than I probably do, which calms my nerves somewhat. Apinya's youth and looks have always unsettled me, made me feel inferior. Inside the house, she perches on the edge of the sofa, eyes rotating around the room like a four-year-old girl on her first day of school. She's lost weight. Considering that she's always been what I'd politely call rotund, I'd expect this to be a positive development. However, the skin hanging from her chin makes her look like a Basset hound. The darkness under her eyes is as pronounced as birthmarks. She truly doesn't look well at all.

  "You do look well, Rose," I say.

  She growls like a revving motorbike. She always did have a way of telling me I was talking nonsense. I smile.

  "Cup of coffee? Still milk and two sugars?"

  She nods. "Some things never change, Bernard."

  Her eyes fix on the family portrait on the wall. Returning with two cups of steaming coffee, I'm aware that Rose has barely uttered a word. I don't mind, it just befuddles me. Surely it is standard convention to explain why - after all this time - you've turned up out of the blue? Sitting down next to my guest, I cross one leg over the other in the way Apinya tells me is not very masculine (but then Apinya is not here, is she?). Luckily, Rose doesn't give two hoots how I look.

  "I haven't been attending the group, Bernard."

  "What? Since when?"

  "Hasn't she told you?"

  I shake my head. She doesn't look surprised.

  "But you made that group. You are that group. You talked about it all the time. Quite incessantly, to be honest, over and over-"

  "I get the point-"

  "But what happened?"

  "Who knows? I'm not sure myself. They're probably already trying to dethrone me, like witches around a cauldron,
not realising I don't even want to come back..."

  We sit in silence. I don't want to pressurise her. Thoughts well in my head, though, and I'm desperate to turn them into words. Who are these witches? Is Apinya one of them? And, more significantly, just how must Rose feel now the most important aspect of her life has been removed?

  "You still make the best cup of coffee ever, Bernard," Rose says.

  This is a deflection technique. Like I said, I'm not naive. Still, I fall for it hook, line and sinker. My ego inflates. Often it was just the two of us in the office, and I took pride in making her coffee. It was my way of showing I appreciated her. Officially, she only worked in an admin role, but she put her heart and soul into that job. My biggest consideration when deciding whether to sell the business was the effect it would have on Rose. I'll never shake off my guilt. It was the right decision for me but - undoubtedly - the wrong decision for her.

  "So tell me what's happened. I don't understand."

  Rose puts her cup down on the side table. Seconds pass. She isn't going to answer me, is she? She is going to finish her coffee and then leave me like she never came here at all.

  "Have you noticed a change in Apinya, Bernard?"

  "Apinya? No, I don't think so. She is still as delightful as ever. Still the life of the party..."

  "Bernard..."

  She knows me better than anyone, even though we haven't spoken for months and months.

  "She's been a bit distant recently. Something is on her mind but she isn't telling me. And she went out on Saturday and didn't come back until late. And she was really drunk. But that is kind of charming in a way..."

  Rose shakes her head. She doesn't think it is charming. "The group social. Of course. I bet she had something to do with that..."

  "She...?"

  "Bernard, have you heard of a woman called Sheena?"

  Sheena? Oh, of course.

  "I've never met her, but I confess she intrigues me. I popped to the pub the other week for a pint - like us guys do - and the chaps talked about her. Sounds like she's made quite an impression."