Matt Shaw

A Sting in the Tale: A Collection of Short Stories

A word from Matt Shaw

With so many collections out now, it is no secret that I enjoy the short story. I like the challenge of taking a reader on a little journey and yet still being able to slap them in the face with the potency of what happens. A tasty little sting in the tail that — even if they know it’s coming — gives them a buzz of adrenaline and brings a smile about their face. Even better, though, are the stings which completely blindside the reader and leaves them sitting there, open-mouthed and in a state of shock. When you get that reaction, you know you have truly succeeded in what you set out to do.

For me, the undisputed king of the short story is Roald Dahl. I know most people think of him as an author for children but he has an extensive back catalogue of adult stories too, including many shorts. If you are familiar with his work for children, you will know he has a darkness within him. And this darkness swallows all when he unleashed it upon his adult work; including a story of a landlady who murdered her guests only to then turn them into wax figurines which she catered for as though they still were living.

It is true that the short story is a hard genre to master and — whilst I do not claim to be anywhere near as good as Dahl — I only hope you still find enjoyment in what you’re about to read; short stories based on the lives and fears of some of my readers…

A Mother’s Love

1

Jade Velasquez was in the kitchen of her two storey home; a cigarette hanging from her mouth and a cup of coffee in her hand. She was sitting at the kitchen table, browsing through old family photos with tears streaming down her face. She was only thirty-five yet, looking at these pictures she felt older. A feeling brought about by the photographs; old family photos that seemed a lifetime ago. In some cases they were; pictures with her son Aidan, now eight but in the picture much younger, and her ex-husband — all of them seemingly enjoying a family day out.

Without looking back at the pictures, Jade struggled to remember the good times with her ex. They had been happy at some time, she knew that, or else they wouldn’t have got married and had a child together but those feelings had definitely passed. Now he was just someone she saw once in a while when he swung by to pick Aidan up. Fleeting visits that were just about long enough to be civil to each other without relapsing into their old argumentative ways. There had definitely been a time when she had loved the man but that time had long since gone. Now her love was reserved for another; Esslee. They had been together for five years now and she knew he’d always be there for her. Her rock. Her biggest supporter. The one man she could count on when times got tough. Times like now.

On the stove behind her, dinner bubbled away simmering gently. She was holding off from serving it for as long as possible. Esslee hadn’t got in from work yet and she didn’t want to start without him. She couldn’t wait much longer though. She knew Aidan was hungry and — even if he hadn’t been — it was nearing his bedtime.

Wiping the tears from her cheeks with one hand and stubbing the cigarette out with the other, Jade stood up and walked over to the kitchen window. She looked out into the dreary world beyond. Grey clouds blanketing the sky. Just another miserable day here in Port Orchard. Nothing ever changes.

She walked from the kitchen to the living room. The television was on. Some random Bruce Willis film playing quietly — an audience of one as Aidan sat watching the action on the screen yet seemingly not really noticing it. He too had tears in his eyes — some of which had escaped and started rolling down his cheeks.

“Is the film good?” Jade asked. Films weren’t really her thing. Given half a choice, she was the sort of person who preferred to sit down with a good book; preferably a horror, or a psychological thriller. Aidan shrugged. “It looks good.” Although, he didn’t verbally respond. Jade glanced into the corner of the room. Her two basenji dogs — Marvin and Hitch — were sound asleep on the far couch. Thank God for that. When she and Aidan had first got home, they had gone berserk.

Basenji dogs are one of the only breeds of dog that cannot bark but it did not stop them from making a God-awful howling noise if they were excited by something, which is exactly what they had done when Jade walked through the door. She didn’t know what the hell was wrong with them but at least they had settled now.

“How was school today?” she asked Aidan. He didn’t answer. She sighed and walked across the room to where he was sitting. She knew he was upset but he couldn’t stay upset all night long. It wasn’t good for him. “You know you can talk to me if you need to, don’t you?” she said. It had been a traumatic day for the pair of them. She understood that he might not have been ready to talk about it but she wanted him to know that — when he was ready — she would be there for him.

“Leave me alone,” he mumbled without taking his eyes from the screen before him.

“Your father and I only want what is best for you.”

“I said leave me alone,” he said, slightly louder this time but still not shouting.

As someone who had suffered from depression since she was sixteen years old, it was fair to say that sometimes she could be a little hard to live with. Her moods would often fluctuate. One minute they would be up and the next, they’d be down. At one point her depression had been so bad she had been rushed to the emergency room after self-harming. Most people would be embarrassed about it but she wasn’t. When asked, she often replied with the quote, what doesn’t kill us only makes us stronger. More recently, though, her moods had been better controlled with the help of medication. But when they did slip… they did so with devastating results. It was because of her moods, though, that she found herself more tolerant of others. At least, more tolerant of others when she herself wasn’t suffering from a bad day. Aidan rarely snapped at his mother though and, now that he had, Jade took the hint that he wanted some distance.

She stood up and walked back to the living room doorway. She sighed heavily and turned back to her son, “I am going to dish up dinner soon…” she said. “I was just waiting to see if Esslee was going to get home in time to enjoy it with us,” she finished.

“I’m not hungry,” he bit.

On screen — Bruce Willis blew another bad guy away with a snappy one-liner. Jade sighed again as another tear slipped down her cheek. She turned away and walked from the room, leaving her son to the film.

Back in the kitchen and dinner was still bubbling away. A chilli concoction that was in need of a stir. She picked up the wooden spatula from the side and stirred it — stopping the edges from congealing on the side of the pan as would usually happen when it started to burn.

Her cell-phone was buzzing on the side — Esslee’s picture on the display. She glanced at it but did not answer. Instead she left it ring off and go through to voicemail. The on-screen display showed twenty-five missed calls. Another message on the screen popped up; there were now six voicemails waiting for her to listen to. A second later and a text popped up on screen asking Jade to call him. All were ignored as she continued stirring the dinner. She figured that — whatever he wanted — he could say it to her face when he came home for dinner.

She scooped some of the chilli out using the spatula and gave it a taste. It was good. Spicy but not too spicy. Aidan didn’t like it when it was too spicy and he would often leave it. After the day he had had, she wanted it to be perfect. It wasn’t his favourite meal but it was definitely a contender for being in the top ten and she hoped it might perk him up a little. She set the spatula down and glanced back out of the window. Still no sign of Esslee’s car. Where the hell was he? Dinner would be ruined at this rate.

2

Aidan was sitting at the dining room table. A cup of water on a mat before him and a bowl of chilli — with some bread on the side — next to that. His cutlery was next to the bowl, untouched.

Jade walked into the room with her own bowl and drink. She took a seat opposite Aidan and realised he hadn’t eaten anything, “You didn’t have to wait for me,” she said. “Tuck in before it gets cold. I think we have waited long enough for this now, don’t you?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Don’t be silly. You haven’t eaten all day. You must be starving.”

“I don’t want it,” he said.

Jade put her own cutlery down and looked at her disobedient son. She wanted to yell at him to do as he was told. She wanted to snap that — if he didn’t eat — she would tan his backside. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, repressing the hostile feelings once more. She opened her eyes again and forced a smile, ever conscious that the damned black dog was snapping at her heels.

“You must eat something,” she told him.

Aidan sensed her growing frustration and lifted the spoon from the table. He buried it into the bowl of chilli and then — slowly — pulled it back out with the smallest amount of food on it. Jade didn’t move. She kept her eyes fixed upon her son until he shovelled what was on the spoon, into his mouth. He swallowed without chewing — not that that was an issue considering the pathetic amount he had tried.

“There. Isn’t that better? Now eat the rest up like a good boy,” she said.

“I don’t want it,” he said.

“Yes you do. It’s chilli. It’s your favourite.”

“No it’s not!”

“Oh? Then — tell me — what is your favourite?”

“Nuggets.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You hate nuggets.”

“No I don’t,” Aidan whined.

They both fell silent. He was staring at his bowl — too afraid to look her in the eye — and she was staring directly at him; her own eyes burning to the back of his skull. He was just being difficult. She knew he was. He was testing her. This often happened when he came back from his father’s house. He’d go liking one thing and then come home hating it and liking another. Some of the time, Jade was left wondering whether his father had put him up to it and — that actually — the opinion wasn’t his own after all. A pathetic way of trying to get one up on her.

“Well it is one of your favourites,” Jade said eventually. She shovelled more into her own mouth but kept her eyes fixed on her son. She hated it when he went to stay with his dad for more than a couple of days. Due to it being the school holidays, he had spent the last week with him. She should have expected trouble when his father dropped him back off but — after the events of today — she had let her guard down. She paused a moment to consider whether he was playing up because of the day’s events or whether it was because he had been with dad. A tough call — it could have been either.

“I don’t like it!” he shouted.

Jade swallowed her mouthful down and stared at her son. He didn’t usually shout out like this. This wasn’t him. He was her pride and joy and her biggest victory in life was teaching him empathy for all people and animals. This was his father’s doing. He must have said something to upset him, or to turn him against Jade. But what could that have been? They might not have loved each other — Jade and her ex — but, most of the time, they still managed to be amicable.

“You’re being ridiculous!” she snapped suddenly. “What has gotten into you?”

Before Aidan could answer, they both heard the sound of a key turning in the front door lock. Esslee was home.

“You wait right here and carry on eating your dinner,” Jade said. She got up and walked from the room. Aidan sat there, listening… Shaking.

“Why was the door locked?” Esslee asked.

Jade didn’t answer, “Where have you been? We waited as long as we could for dinner. We’ve had to start.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I did try calling you to let you know I was running late.”

“Where were you?”

“I just got held up at work.” There was a slight pause. “What is for dinner?”

“We’re having chilli,” Jade said.

“Nice. Hang on. Let me just get my coat off.”

“I’ll fetch you a bowl if you want to go straight through.”

Footsteps in the halfway. One set passed right by and the other set came into the room. Aidan looked over his shoulder to see who it was. It was Esslee.

Esslee smiled at Aidan, “Hello,” he said.

Aidan didn’t smile back. Nor did he take his eyes off Esslee as he walked over to the table and took a seat next to him. There was a slight pause as the man and boy looked at each other. Esslee glanced over the boy’s shoulder, back towards the door, and then looked back down to the boy in front of him.

“Listen, I’m going to get you out of here. Okay? But for now you just have to play along. Okay?” Esslee said.

The boy — not Aidan — nodded and started to cry.

“Don’t cry. It’s okay. Help is coming. I promise.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Jade asked as she came back into the room — a bowl of chilli in her hand for Esslee, along with some cutlery.

“Silly bugger bit his tongue,” Esslee said with a subtle wink to the boy.

3

Jade was watching the young child spoon his chilli from one side of the bowl to the other, without actually eating any. Esslee could see why she had brought him home. He did look like her son. They both had fair skin and brown hair and they both had similar eyes too — large and brown, just like Jade’s.

Esslee had known that something like this was going to happen. It had been brewing for a couple of weeks. First her own son went missing from the park area one day and then — as less and less information had come from the authorities looking into his disappearance — more and more of her meds had been forgotten.

The packets — tucked away in the medicine cabinet in the upstairs bathroom — had days of the week clearly labeled on them. The manufacturers knew it was important not to miss a dose so designed it in such a way as to help people who needed them. This packaging also made it very simple for loved ones, such as Esslee, to know when their partners weren’t taking what they were supposed to. Gradually — on a day to day basis — he had watched a decline in Jade’s mental state.

Even so — despite sensing something was brewing — he hadn’t expected this.

Not kidnapping.

“How was work today then?” Esslee asked Jade in an attempt to turn the attention away from the stranger sitting there, playing with his food — too afraid to eat it.

By day, when not kidnapping children who possessed a passing resemblance to her missing son, Jade worked long hours in the veterinary field as a technician (nurse) for small animals such as dogs and cats. Before all of this — her breakdown and her missing son — she had loved her job although she often saw things which broke her heart. Especially when it involved the horrific things humans could do to animals which then could not be saved. Those were the hard days but — the flip side of the coin — the days when their misfortune could be turned around and they could be saved… Well… Those were the days in which you would get a rewarding feeling not found in many other jobs.

“We saved a cat today,” Jade replied with a smile. “At first it looked as though it was going to be touch and go but then — just like that — the antibiotics started to work. We’re keeping it in the clinic over the weekend but, on Monday, all being well we’re phoning the owners to come and collect it.” She took a sip from her water.

“That’s great,” Esslee said. He turned to the boy, “Isn’t that great?”

The boy nodded. Esslee’s words playing over and over again in his head, just play along.

“And how was your day? Do anything interesting?” Esslee asked the boy.

The boy hesitated a moment, “I went to the park with some friends,” he said — his voice shaking; full of fear.

“The park? Those were the days — lazy days playing on the swings with my friends. Oh to turn back the clock once in a while,” Esslee laughed. He turned to Jade, “You ever wish you could turn the clock back?” he asked. A sly way of asking whether she wished she could go back to earlier in the day — before she had snatched the boy from the park. She looked at him blankly with vacant eyes. It was in this look that he knew it was too late. What little sanity had remained — after her son had disappeared — was now but a shadow.

Her answer, “Why would I want to do that?” was the icing on the cake.

Esslee pushed regardless, “Sometimes I get the urge to wind the clock back so I can redo things, you know?”

Jade shrugged, “I don’t. I’ve got my boy. I’ve got my man. What more could I want?”

Esslee swallowed a mouthful of food and tried to hide the guilt in his face. She didn’t have her man and she didn’t have her son. Little did she know but the authorities were waiting outside. Esslee had managed to talk them into letting him go into the house first to try and get the boy out, without causing a scene. Realising he hadn’t been involved with the kidnapping — and that it was a case of a broken parent doing something foolish — they let him in; albeit on a strict timeframe. If he wasn’t out within ten minutes, they’d be going in. Whether he managed to get the boy out, or they came crashing in — he knew the amount of trouble Jade was in. It didn’t matter that she’d had a breakdown. She would be doing time for this. The only question was whether it would be in a secure unit or whether it would be in a normal prison. He hated the idea of it but… He couldn’t think of it now. Now he just needed to get that boy out of there and out of harm’s way. He didn’t believe Jade had it in her to hurt him but, then, he didn’t think she had it in her to kidnap someone either and he had obviously been wrong about that.

He glanced at the clock hanging from the wall. Time was running out.

“Why do you keep looking at the time?” Jade asked. Heavy suspicion in her tone.

“I was just curious as to what the time was,” he said with a smile. “Just wondered if we had time to have a quick kick about, with the ball, before bedtime,” he turned to the boy and smiled at him too. “You fancy that?”

The boy nodded enthusiastically.

Esslee nodded down towards his bowl of chilli, “You finished?”

“Yes.”

“You haven’t finished yours,” Jade pointed out. She was right. Esslee had taken a couple of spoonfuls in total and had hardly made a dent in his dinner.

“I don’t get to spend time with Aidan much anymore,” he said, thinking on his feet. “I can reheat it when he goes to bed.”

“Well he can’t leave the table yet,” she said. “I have ice-cream for pudding.”

“That’s cool. We can go outside for a bit while you dish up.”

“Don’t be stupid, it will take me two seconds.”

Jade stood up and started clearing the bowls — starting with her own bowl and the boy’s. She took them out first.

“I’m scared,” the boy admitted to Esslee.

“She’s harmless. I promise. She’s just a bit confused at the moment. Anyway you have nothing to worry about, the police are waiting right outside. Okay?”

The boy nodded. His eyes welled up.

“Don’t cry,” Esslee told him, “everything will be fine you just need to be strong for a little while longer. In fact, wait here…” He picked his own bowl up and carried it through to the kitchen.

4

Jade was standing by the window. Her eyes were fixed on the glass, looking beyond, whilst her hand was digging out chunks of raspberry ripple ice-cream and dropping them into one of the three bowls she had lined up on the counter.

Esslee walked in and put his bowl on the side.

“I would have brought it out,” Jade told him.

“I know. I thought I would save you the hassle.” He tried to change the subject again, desperate to get the boy outside before the police came in. “Listen — he isn’t hungry at the moment. I think he is feeling a little under the weather. I’m going to take him outside and have a kick about in the garden for ten minutes or so. Fresh air might do him some good.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jade said. “Look — it’s drizzling out there and I don’t know where his rain-coat is.”

Esslee looked out into the garden. His eyes were drawn to the bushes surrounding the perimeter. More particularly, the uniformed men hiding in them — waiting, on the off chance that Jade came out of the kitchen door and tried to make a run for it.

“It’s not that bad out there. Come on, I think it will do him some good. You can come out too, if you want, you can be the goalie…”

Jade finished putting ice-cream into the final bowl and returned the tub to the freezer. She turned to Esslee, “Look — I don’t want him going outside. It’s late. It’s nearing his bedtime and he still has to have his dessert.”

“He isn’t hungry!”

“I don’t care! He hardly touched his chilli. He needs to eat something before bed and — the way I see it — ice-cream is better than nothing. Besides, what boy doesn’t want ice-cream whenever the chance comes up?”

Time was nearly up.

“He isn’t your boy!” Esslee snapped. He didn’t know what else to do. He knew it would be bad if the police rushed the house. In her current mental state, Jade was completely unpredictable. If he could have at least got the boy outside it would have got him out of harm’s way. If she followed, even better, there would have been less opportunity for her to hurt herself too. But clearly he wasn’t going to be able to achieve either.

“He is my boy!” she insisted. “He’s not your boy!” A truth even if it had been the real Aidan sitting in the other room. She continued, “And I don’t like the way you’re trying to tell me how to raise him.

Esslee noticed the pictures on the table and started shifting through them — looking for a more recent one. When he found one taken less than a year ago, he waved it under Jade’s face, “Look — this is your boy! Look! They’re different! They boy in there — he is not your son!”

“He is!”

“They look different!”

Jade grabbed an even earlier picture than the one Esslee had picked up and thrust it in his face, “And he looks different here too. It’s amazing how quickly they grow up.”

“Your boy is missing!” he continued, becoming more and more frustrated. Time must have been up now. They must be out there, organising how best to breach the property. It wouldn’t be long now. He figured he didn’t have anything to lose by reminding her what had happened to her own son. “You took him to the park,” he said. “Remember?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“You took him to the park. There was an ice-cream van. You went to get one for the pair of you. You left him in the park…”

“He’s in the next room!” Jade insisted.

“You got the ice-creams and walked them back to where you had left him. By the time you got there — he was gone. Is any of this ringing any bells? Please tell me you remember this.”

“I do remember!” she said. Esslee momentarily felt relief. That is, until she continued, “We had two ice-creams with a flake each. He had sprinkles on his with some strawberry sauce and I had mine plain. We ate them by the pond and then, when we had finished, we came home! I don’t know what has gotten into you,” she finished.

Esslee wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. See if he could shake some sense into her before it was too late. Too late? What was he thinking? It was already too late for her. Now it was all about damage control. If he got the boy out of the house with minimum fuss, the law might be more lenient on Jade and she might get the help she needed. If they had to come in, and things got ugly, she’d only be making it worse for herself.

“You were asking around. The other parents saw him run off into the woods!” Esslee continued pushing her, hoping that she would start to remember. “He was excited about something but no one could see what. He ran in and he didn’t come back. Does any of this ring a bell?” He paused a moment. Jade was looking at him blankly. “We scoured those woods with some officers and some other volunteers. All of us lined up until late at night — torches in hand. Calling his name.” He sighed. He could tell by the look on her face that he wasn’t getting through to her. She was too far gone.

She smiled and shook her head, “You’re being strange. He’s in the living room. Now — come on — before the ice-cream melts. Grab a bowl.”

Jade collected two bowls and walked through to the living room. Esslee just stood there a moment looking out of the window, shaking his head — hoping that someone could see his gesture and know that it was no good. If they wanted her, and the boy, they would have to come in.

“What are you doing?” Jade’s voice came through from the hallway.

Esslee spun around to see her. She wasn’t talking to him. Her back was to him. He walked over to her side and noticed the boy was by the front door.

“I thought we were going to play outside for a bit?” he said — his voice audibly trembling.

“We are, it’s fine.” Esslee butted in.

“No!” Jade snapped. She turned to Esslee, “No! I told you! We’re going to go and eat ice-cream. I’ve prepared it now.”

“He wants to go outside. I promised him. Come on… Don’t make me look like the bad guy here!”

“I said no!” Jade shouted. The boy flinched at the abruptness of her voice and started to cry.

“Come on, Jade, look at him…” Esslee paused a moment, waiting for Jade to face the boy who wasn’t her son. “LOOK AT HIM!” he shouted. Jade slowly turned and faced the boy. “He isn’t your boy. He needs to go outside because there are people waiting for him out there… Come on, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“What do you mean?” Jade started to panic. “Who is out there? Who wants to take my boy away?”

“He isn’t your boy!” Esslee said again — and he would keep saying it, if need be, until he was blue in the face. “The police. The police are out there and they’re here to take him home.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I’m not.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve already been talking to them,” Esslee confessed.

5

The boy was still standing by the door crying. He felt as though he was so close to freedom and yet so far. The single thought dancing through his head, wondering whether he’d be able to get out of there before she got to him.

“You’re lying,” Jade accused Esslee. “Why are you doing this?”

“You know why. He isn’t your boy. You act like he is but — deep down — you know. I can see it in your eyes.” Jade’s eyes were indeed red from where she’d been crying earlier. Had everything been okay — in her head — then she wouldn’t have wept. Everything would have been fine and she would have been smiling and full of energy and happiness. He could tell though, just from her body language, that she wasn’t fine. She wouldn’t admit the boy wasn’t Aidan but — deep down — she knew it to be true.

“You’re lying!” she snapped — her voice rising once more.

“Then open the door. Let him go outside and kick the ball around. If I am lying — there won’t be anyone out there.”

Jade looked at the door and then down to the bowls of ice-cream. She started to cry. Esslee was getting through to her. She did know the truth. She did know it wasn’t her boy standing there, also crying albeit for a different reason. She was sad, he was scared.

“We’re going to have ice-cream.”

“If he doesn’t go out now, they’re going to come in…” Esslee warned her. “He needs to leave the house otherwise they might think he is in danger and act accordingly. We need to do this the right way. I promise you, whatever happens, I will stand by you just as I have for everything else we have encountered during the last five years. But — for me to do that — you need to help yourself.”

“Well where is my boy?” she asked. A quiet voice.

“I don’t know. I wish I did but I don’t. We’re still looking for him. We will find him, I promise.”

Jade burst into floods of tears. Esslee approached her and put his arms around her. He turned to the boy and nodded for him to leave. The boy mouthed thank you and opened the door. Voices immediately started to call out to him. His name was Jack. They told him to hurry over to the officers. Some told him not to look back and others were reassuring him that everything was going to be okay. Meanwhile, another group of officers started to advance towards the house.

Esslee stood there, watching them coming. He too had tears streaming down his face as his mind started playing through what would happen next. They’d come in, they’d pull the two of them apart and they’d take her and arrest her, reading her rights. She’d be upset, of course she would, and she’d be screaming — both for her loss of freedom and her missing son. Esslee just hoped — under the circumstances — that the judge would be lenient on her. She doesn’t need to go to prison. She doesn’t need to be locked away like a wild animal. She just needs help. But that in itself was a problem; despite advances in medicines and science — people still didn’t really understand mental health and, a lot of the time, the people who needed proper help fell by the wayside and ended up being treated just the same as the real monsters of the world. Esslee knew for a fact that the boy’s parents would be pushing for a prison sentence. They wouldn’t want this woman on the streets; this crazy bitch who had snatched their son.

Jade pulled away from Esslee and wiped the tears away, “He’s dead, isn’t he?” She was referring to Aidan. His death was something she had feared since he went missing. There was no proof he was dead, though. The police had literally found no trace of him. He had simply disappeared. But the longer he was missing, the less chance he was going to be coming home again. They both knew this. It was obvious when you looked at crimes similar to this. The longer the person missing, the more chance that he or she was dead. They’d no longer be looking for a person but rather a body instead. Jade was still weeping as Esslee tried to calm her down. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” she said again.

“You don’t know that,” he said. “You can’t think like that. You have to just hope that he is alive — out there, somewhere and that — one day — they’ll not only find him but bring him home too.” It was horrible to think so negatively but Esslee didn’t believe anything that he was saying. Aidan might not have been his child but that didn’t make the thought of him dead any easier. It still hurt him to think like that. But he was a realist and couldn’t help it.

“Ms. Velasquez?” an officer had stepped into the building.

She looked up and saw him; instant panic on her face.

“It’s okay, honey, but you’re going to have to go with the man for a while. Just talk about what happened today at the park.” Esslee tried to break it to her gently.

“What? No!” She screamed and pushed past him, running up the stairs. Seconds later and a door slammed shut.

“Shit,” Esslee mumbled as three officers rushed after her. He followed.

“What room is this?” one of the officers asked as they crowded around a door.

“That’s the bathroom.”

“Is there anything in there she can hurt herself — or us — with? Do you have any firearms in the house?” the officer continued. His words immediately proving he thought of her as dangerous as opposed to mentally unwell.

“It’s the bathroom for Christ’s sake and — no — we don’t own a gun…”

One of the officers was knocking on the door, asking for her to open it. He didn’t sound kind. He sounded authoritative. This was not a man who was messing around but rather one who sounded as though he often got what he wanted.

“She’s under a lot of pressure at the moment,” Esslee explained. He started to tell them about their own missing child again — a story the officers had heard already — but no one was listening. That much was very obvious. All they wanted was to get into the bathroom and take her away before she hurt anyone else.

They all stopped at the sound of something smashing on the other side of the door. Esslee immediately pushed past the officers and started banging on the door, “Jade? Jade? What are you doing? Talk to me! Honey?!” She didn’t answer though. He could just hear her crying.

One of the officers — a large man — pulled Esslee out of the way. His colleague — without hesitation — kicked the door as hard as he could. The wood splintered around the lock and the door swung open. Esslee could see Jade standing there with bloodied hands. The mirror on the medicine cabinet was broken, shattered into pieces — some big and some small. One of the bigger pieces was in Jade’s hand. Tears still streaming down her face. The officers didn’t take the sight as one of a woman needing help but instead looked upon it as a woman about to threaten them. They pulled their weapons and started shouting for her to drop the glass shard. She was not listening though. She just was standing there, shaking her head and sobbing uncontrollably.

“I want to see my son,” she screamed suddenly. She raised the glass shard and plunged it into the side of her neck. The officers screamed for her to stop and lowered their weapons — rushing forward, finally seeing that she was a woman needing help. Esslee screamed for her to stop too but she didn’t. Before the first officer managed to get to her she’d dragged the glass across her neck, a jettison of blood pouring from the slit she’d cut. She fell into the first officer’s arms, gagging and choking, as the glass shard fell to the floor — shattering into many tiny pieces.

The third officer held Esslee back as the other two tried to save the poor woman’s life. One man held her throat, trying to stem the flow of blood but the artery was severed. There was no stopping it and all they could do was watch as Jade slipped away from them. Her final sight — not one of her son welcoming her — but one of panicked and upset faces desperate for her to hold on.

And so…

Within the week — when all preparations had been made — there was a funeral service. Not many people attended as most were too upset that they hadn’t been able to help her. They hadn’t seen what was coming on the horizon — that bastard black dog that had plagued Jade for her whole life and, at various points, tried to make her do stupid things had finally beaten her — driving her crazy in the process.

That day two caskets were buried in the local cemetery. In one of the caskets was the body of Jade — fixed up as best as possible by the undertakers running the service. The second casket was empty with the exception of Aidan’s favourite teddy bear and a small colour photograph of him and his mother sharing happier times; both of them smiling, both of them loving life.

Esslee watched as the caskets were lowered into the earth. He wiped a tear from his eye and hoped that — if Aidan was up there somewhere — they’d find each other.

T H E E N D

Plane Crazy

1

Kirsty’s last shift for a fortnight — working the tills at Tesco — was over with. Her bath was almost full to the brim with a Lush bath product fizzing away close to the surface of the warm water. Her husband, Dylan, was downstairs fetching her a much needed cup of tea. Her favourite pyjama bottoms were hanging over the radiator, ready to slip into as soon as she was dry from her bath, and 90s music filled the room — blasting from the small, yet powerful, speaker on the back of her iPhone. Tomorrow — six o’clock in the morning to be precise — she would be flying off to an exotic climate for some much needed rest and relaxation upon the sandy beaches of what most would call a paradise island and yet — despite all of this — she wasn’t feeling happy.

She leaned forward in the bath and reached for the taps. A quick twist and she stopped the flow of water before laying back down. The water swished back with her and splashed over the top of her neck and shoulders. She reached for her phone, taking it from the side, and killed the music. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes momentarily, trying to enjoy the peace and quiet. Ethan — her twelve year old son — was busy blasting through another level of Assassin’s Creed in his bedroom and Dylan was pottering about in the kitchen; hopefully searching out one of the many takeaway menus they had lying around to save her from having to cook when she got out of the bath. Despite her surroundings, the fact she was on holiday, and the obvious tranquility in the house though Kirsty was finding it hard to relax properly, or even be happy. Yes, she wanted to go on holiday. Yes, she was happy to be off work for a fortnight. And — yes — she enjoyed the quiet moments offered by the house but none of that helped to distract her from the thought that — tomorrow — Kirsty was going to have to board a plane…

There was a little knock on the bathroom door before it opened. Dylan was standing there with a cup of tea in his hands, “Here you go,” he said. He walked in and put it on the side.

“Thank you, manface!” If you had asked Kirsty, she couldn’t tell you why she called Dylan ‘manface’. It had just been one of those names — said once in jest — that seemed to stick. At first it bugged him a little but — now — he was so used to it he barely registered it and at six foot three, there were worse names he could have been called — such as ‘lanky’.

“And I’ve ordered a Chinese,” he said as he about turned back to the door.

“Our last meal, a special treat indeed!” Kirsty said.

Dylan froze momentarily before turning back to her, “Are you still stressing about tomorrow?” He sighed. He knew she hated to fly but they both wanted a holiday and — if you wanted a nice holiday — that tended to mean you needed to get on some kind of aircraft, if only for a few hours. Neither of them wanted a holiday in this country, although it would have been easier as it meant no flying and they would have been able to take Willow, their three year old labrador, as opposed to leaving her in the kennels for a couple of weeks. “How many more times? It is perfectly safe to fly.”

“Oh really?” Kirsty sat up, causing another mini-wave to roll to the other end of the tub and splash against the taps and bathroom wall. “Perfectly safe?”

“Well — yes — pretty much. I mean — yes — accidents can happen but they are few and far between.”

“What about that plane that got shot done over the Ukraine? Did you know they blamed that on the Russians? Yep. Apparently they aimed their anti-aircraft guns up in the sky and blew that plane to smithereens.” she said. “A commercial jet that — for some reason — they took a dislike to and, for the people onboard, that was that. Gone. Game over. Dead. No more. Thanks and see you later.”

“That’s one plane,” Dylan said. Immediately he regretted opening his mouth. Dylan sighed. He knew what was coming. Coming next was a barrage of recent events from the News; stories about plane crashes and planes disappearing never to be seen again — like something you’d see in an episode of ‘Fringe’ or ‘The X-Files’. He’d heard this repertoire so much now he could have mouthed along, had he had the inclination to do so.

“So okay that was one plane. Blown apart with innocent people onboard because the Russians decided to take them out. Fine. One plane,” Kirsty said. “What about the plane that disappeared overseas? One minute it was there and the next — vanished straight from the radars.”

“Maybe it was a broken radar as opposed to a faulty plane?” It was a glib comment intended to throw Kirsty off her ‘broken record’ of facts and figures.

“It never landed. They never found the passengers.” Kirsty continued, “And then of course there’s that plane that landed with everyone dead. Some deadly virus onboard which was changing the people from the inside out, making them come back as…”

Dylan shut her down, “That was a television programme and a book before that. You don’t get to do that one. To my knowledge there have been no real cases of a virus wiping out everyone on a plane before now.”

“Okay then — that pilot.”

Dylan sighed. He had seen this on the News too. It had been impossible not to see it. Every damned channel screamed about the tragedy and it was on the front page of practically every newspaper. There was a mentally unstable pilot who decided to kill himself by nosediving the plane straight down into the mountains. It would have been okay had it not been for the fact he was supposed to be working at the time. It wasn’t a private plane. It was a commercial jet and full of passengers. His self-destructive nature cost the lives of countless others. One day the selfish asshole woke up and something inside snapped and that was it. He had to kill himself but wasn’t content with just doing that — he wanted to take everyone else with him too, even though they were complete strangers to him. Dylan had just known that Kirsty wouldn’t be able to let that one go.

“He just woke up one day and decided — actually, you know what… I’m done with life. He killed everyone on that plane. Everyone! As did the people who crashed the planes into the Two Towers…”

“Also known as the Twin Towers unless there’s an extra scene that I missed in ‘Lord of the Rings’ and — honey — that was four years ago now. Heard about it happening since then? Come on. You’re panicking over nothing. Statistically speaking — you’re more likely to die on the way to the airport than on the actual plane…”

“Yeah — okay then — you know what?”

“What’s that?”

“Someone — somewhere — probably said that very same fact to one of the passengers on the crashed planes. Did you know it is extremely rare to get hit by lightning?”

“Yes.”

“Well people still get struck. Just because it is rare, it doesn’t mean it won’t happen to you.”

Dylan sighed, “Your cup of tea is getting cold.”

Before she had the chance to say anything, he walked from the room and closed the door behind him. There were only so many times he could say the same thing, “It’s okay — you’ll be fine… You’re worrying for nothing.” You see, that was the problem, Kirsty was a natural born worrier. If something bad could happen to someone, she would often stress that she’d be the one for it to happen to. In any given situation she would be the sort of person who’d fret about the worst possible outcome and it didn’t matter what you said to her. All you could do — to prevent getting into an argument about it — was walk away. He had no idea why she was like that and — truth be told — she had no idea why either. She was thirty-three years young and, in her life, she hadn’t even seen that much tragedy. Not first hand anyway. She just seemed to have a brain that acted as a sponge for all the bad things she saw, or read, in the media.

“Why can’t we go on holiday to London?” she called out. “We could visit the Tower of London again! And — you know what? — it’s only a couple of hours drive from Corby! No need to get on a plane!”

Dylan didn’t answer. He was already downstairs playing his guitar in order to help him de-stress.

2

Passengers were screaming as they fumbled over securing the masks over their head. Even the air stewards looked uneasy as the plane momentarily dropped from the sky again — hit by another heavy bout of turbulence.

Some of the overhead lockers had opened and spilled their contents on the people below; one man was hit with a case heavy enough to cut his head open and spark him out cold, much to the horror of those around — including Kirsty. She was screaming louder than the others despite everyone being just as scared as she was.

She had been asleep when the turbulence had first started; a slight shudder which had caused a ripple of nervous laughter throughout the economy cabin, followed by a stomach-turning drop as the plane seemingly bounced in the air. As the turbulence had continued and progressively got worse, she had woken with a start. The seatbelt signs had already been illuminated and even the cabin crew had taken their seats.

Outside the windows were black clouds. The plane flying through the middle of them. An electrical storm raging beyond, lighting the whole cabin up with occasional flickers akin to strobe lighting. No thunder though, as the plane danced in the sky — up and then down, down again and up and down and up and down and down and down and up. One passenger — seated on the other side of an equally panicky Dylan — threw up into his mask; dribbles of sick spewing from the corners and snaking their way down his chin as he choked again, repulsed by the stench and fact the sick was captured in his mask and spilling back into his mouth. The lady next to him couldn’t help but to vomit too as the plane dropped from the sky once more before finding its power again and increasing altitude.

The plane tilted to the side; right wing down and left wing up. A god-awful crack filled the cabin as the door flew off, spat into the dark skies beyond. A howling screaming of wind roared through the cabin as bags, trays and rubbish were all sucked out, soon followed by the sight of people — still secured to their seats — also being yanked out to their impending death. More screams, not that you’d hear them over the noise, as the plane started to go down — its nose pointing to the floor 10,000 feet below.

Kirsty screamed again. All sounds — other than a buzzing — stopped and the scene played on in near silence. Slowly, she opened her eyes. The master bedroom of their two bed house; a corner semi-detached in Northamptonshire. The alarm, by the side of her bed, was beeping — telling both her and Dylan that it was time to get up. Still with a raised heartbeat, she killed the alarm and turned to Dylan. He was already up and nearly fully dressed — a look of excitement on his face that their holiday, booked many months ago, was finally here. His face dropped the moment he noticed Kirsty’s expression.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I don’t want to go…”

I I

Dylan was driving the car. He had managed to convince Kirsty that her dream was not a premonition and so she was riding shotgun in the passenger seat. Their son was in the rear, asleep.

The problem with a flight being at 6am in the morning was that they had had to be at the airport a good few hours before they were due to take off. A situation made worse when you lived a number of miles away from where you were flying from — in this case London.

“We could stay in London for the week,” Kirsty pushed.

“I don’t want to stay in London for the week. I want to go somewhere warm with blue seas. London has neither of those.”

“But we wouldn’t need to fly,” she pointed out. “What about the aliens?” she suddenly said.

Dylan looked at her. Once again, he knew what was coming. He believed in aliens, she didn’t. Normally she liked to tease him about it but he knew she was about to try something else to stop her from having to get on the plane.

“What if they choose our plane as the one to abduct?” she continued. Despite not believing a word she was saying, she still managed to say it with a straight face so he gave her kudos for that at least.

“Then you would have to apologise to me for all the times you said I was an idiot for believing in them,” Dylan pointed out.

“Hard to apologise when we’re being dissected,” Kirsty pointed out.

Dylan was getting agitated yet still trying his best not to say something he’d regret — like telling his wife to stop being so damned pathetic and pull herself together. In a calm voice he continued, “Remember when we booked this? I asked you about the flights and you said you would be fine. We’re not going to cancel just because you’re starting to panic about it. You do know we would lose all the money, right?”

She sighed. She knew they’d lose the money but — now it was time to get on the plane — she didn’t care. She had a bad feeling about it, fuelled by the recent press stories she had read where planes had gone down, disappeared or had the flight disrupted somehow. They were still about an hour away from the airport and she could feel herself breaking into a cold sweat.

“Just keep thinking about the resort,” Dylan said. “How luxurious it is…”

It was luxurious too. White sand that you’d no doubt have to run across due to it being super-heated by the sun, crystal clear blue ocean of the stillest water. Deep blue skies without a cloud in sight. And the amenities too; lagoon-like pools, comfortable sun-loungers, hammocks stretched from tree to tree, a different restaurant for every night of their holiday, a high-class spa. The resort was the very definition of luxury.

“As soon as we get there, you can head off for a massage to de-stress. How’s that? And — I haven’t told you this yet — but I even booked us into the airport lounge and there’s a spa in there too. You can have a nice massage before you get on the plane; a little rub to ease away the tension before you board.”

It was a nice idea and Kirsty appreciated it but she knew it would be useless. She would only get tense when she was sitting on the plane, especially during the take off. A massage at the airport would be money wasted. What made the whole thing worse, in her head, was that — even if she survived the trip out there… She still had to come home again at the other end of the holiday.

“What do you say?” Dylan pushed her for an answer.

“Maybe.”

He wasn’t stupid. He knew he had his work cut out for him to ensure she got on that airplane. His father used to say ‘maybe’ to him a lot when he was growing up and it always meant the same thing — ‘no’. It was just easier to say ‘maybe’ than it was to say ‘no’. It stopped the conversation short and meant no further discussion was needed. Saying ‘no’ just invited more pressure from the person trying to convince you to do something you’d sooner not. With one eye on the road, he turned to Kirsty and flashed her a smile. She didn’t see; her eyes were closed as she pretended to sleep so as to avoid further conversation.

3

Kirsty imagined sitting in one of the cramped seats of the plane. Everything around her was happening in slow-motion. All sound was mute. Directly in front of her was the air-stewardess. Her mouth was open as she appeared to be screaming. Her eyes were wide. The pain and fear she felt was clearly etched upon her face as the flames licked away the skin, leaving red blisters and pealing skin with each taste of her flesh. Belted up, and fearing for her own life, there was nothing Kirsty could do other than to watch in horror in the knowledge that the flames would soon be consuming her flesh too. The only way out of it being, to tell the lady behind the desk — now — that there was a bomb in the suitcase she was weighing in.

She went to open her mouth but caught sight of Dylan’s smile. He was grinning from ear to ear as he spoke with the lady behind the desk; buzzing with excitement at the thought of going away on this trip.

“Next bag, please.” The lady pressed a button and the first suitcase disappeared down the conveyor belt.

Too late for that bag. Dylan lifted the second case up onto the belt and stood up straight. Kirsty felt her heart race as the adrenaline rushed through her body; her brain tempting her to shout out that this was the case with the bomb. She closed her eyes. If she couldn’t see where she was then, she figured, it meant she wasn’t really there. She felt a tap on her arm and opened her eyes. Dylan was looking right at her with a smile on his face.

He mouthed the words, are you okay?

She nodded and smiled back.

“Okay here are your boarding cards. If you’d like to make your way through security.” The lady handed over three boarding cards; one for Dylan, one for Kirsty and one for Ethan who was — himself — bouncing off the walls with excitement. Unlike his mother, he wasn’t scared of flying — not that he had been on a plane before. If anything, he was impatient for it.

“Thank you,” Dylan took the cards and the three of them set off for the security channel with him leading the way.

This was another aspect of flying that Kirsty hated; security. She had never done anything wrong, and was never carrying anything she shouldn’t have been but — whenever she was confronted with situations like this — she felt guilty. In her head she’d set the machine off and — in a panic — would turn and run from the guards. They would give chase, catch her and end up dragging her through to a private room ready for the strip search. Of course it never happened like that but it didn’t stop the rogue thoughts from running riot in her overly stressed brain.

“I’ll probably have a heart attack before we even get to the plane. You realise that, don’t you?” she said, catching up with Dylan.

“You’ll be fine.” He was a patient man but it was getting to the stage where he just wanted to be there now. If he was on the beach, with the water lapping at his toes, he would no longer have to listen to her moaning and stressing about the flight. He wasn’t scared of flying, if anything he actually enjoyed it, and yet — with her constant worrying, he was starting to feel uneasy. It was as though she was going to end up jinxing them with her negativity. Naturally he couldn’t tell her that. Not without starting an argument and — when she was stressed already — that was the last thing he wanted to do. “Ethan! Get back here!” he shouted suddenly. Ethan — overly excited — had run off into the security line-up. That was the one nice thing about Kirsty’s fear of flying; it meant she was so busy looking after herself that minding their son ended up being Dylan’s responsibility. He didn’t mind though and, for her, it was one less thing to worry about.

They caught their son up and Dylan took two plastic containers from underneath a conveyor belt. The two bags of carry-on luggage were dropped in to the tubs first and then their shoes, belts, phones and watches. It was ridiculous the amount you had to discard and the rules you had to follow when going through the security points but no one ever complained. Rather a few minutes of mild annoyance than someone walking onto the plane with a shoe packed with Semtex — something else that Kirsty often thought about when flying. This fear also brought about by a News story. A man who was caught trying to detonate his shoe in the plane’s toilets a few years ago. At the time, when Kirsty heard the report, she had found it funny but now she was presented with the task of having to get on the plane; it was her worst nightmare. Or — at least — one of her worst nightmares as the list was more than extensive and, thanks to depressed pilots and acts of terrorism and this and that… It was getting longer month by month.

Dylan went through the scanner first — without setting it off — so he could catch Ethan on the other side, before he had the opportunity to run off for more airport exploration. Ethan was second, again, without setting it off and then it was Kirsty’s turn.

She stood there a moment, waiting for the guard to beckon her through. Her legs were shaking and she could feel that her back was sweaty. She hated that she could get herself so worked up. She often told herself to stop being stupid. Something she found easy to say and yet failed to obey. It was like one part of her head told her to behave and that everything would be okay and the other part of her brain simply said ‘fuck you’. She’d even considered seeing a hypnotist to try and rid herself of these silly worries. Especially as, deep down, she knew everyone was right — compared to a lot of things, flying was relatively safe and you were more likely to die on the way to the airport than go down on a plane.

But someone has to be the unlucky one and die in a plane crash for it to be a statistic. How do you know it won’t be you? The nagging thought in the back of her mind right now.

“Yes please.” The guard beckoned her through.

She put on her best fake smile and walked through.

The alarm didn’t go off.

4

For someone scared of flying, such as Kirsty, it could be argued that sitting by the window — overlooking the runway — in the carrier’s lounge is a silly thing to do. It would only add to the apprehension of being on that plane yourself and going through the take-off procedures. Dylan insisted on it though and for two — good — reasons. The first being that Ethan wanted to sit there and it meant it would stop him from running around, exploring everywhere. The second being that Dylan thought it would be good for Kirsty to see so many planes take off, into the skies, with no issues.

“There goes another one,” he said as a fourth plane climbed into the air.

“This isn’t helping,” Kirsty pointed out.

“Why not? Look! All these planes taking off with no issues. You can see how safe it is.”

“Think about this — for every plane that takes off safely… It cuts down the odds for one failing. If out of, say, a thousand planes — one crashes… Well, none of these are crashing, are they? Which means it could be the next one. And if it’s not the next one, or even the one after that… Then it could be the one we are on.”

Dylan sat back in his chair. He didn’t know what to say to that. In some screwy kind of way, her logic did actually make some sense.

“I’m trying to help you here,” he confessed.

“I know you are. And I appreciate it but,” she sighed, “I just don’t like flying. Not everyone does.”

“Well how about next year we go on a cruise? Or — don’t tell me — that worries you too?”

“I can’t help how I feel.”

“Okay look at it this way then — if the plane does go down, you’re not going to know much about it.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she asked in disbelief that he’d even said it in the first place.

“No. I’m just saying — there’s little point worrying about it because, if it happens, it will be quick.”

“Be quick? We’d have to fall out of the sky first. I’m sure that won’t be as quick as you’d think it would be. And what if we landed in the mountains? No chance of rescue, no way out — we’d be forced to eat each other.”

“You watched ‘Alive’ again, didn’t you?”

“Not recently, no, but you get my point!”

“That was a film. A very good one too.”

“It was also based on fact. That could happen again.”

“It was?”

Kirsty nodded.

“Fine — okay — well we’re not flying over the French Alps so we’ll be fine.”

Kirsty sighed.

Dylan was starting to get frustrated, “I don’t know what you want me to do! We both wanted to come on this holiday. We both chose to book it. Now you’re being like this. We can’t not go as we won’t get our money back and — besides which — I want to go. I try and help you but you just brush everything I say under the carpet. What’s a man supposed to do?”

“I haven’t asked you to do anything!” Kirsty felt herself getting wound up. It wasn’t his fault, she knew it wasn’t, but she just wished he would shut up about the whole flying thing. She would deal with it in her own way, just as she always did. And if that meant picturing many ways to die painfully than so be it.

The pair fell silent as Ethan cheered at another plane successfully taking off. Dylan was just grateful their son hadn’t picked up on any of Kirsty’s fears. He couldn’t be dealing with two scared fliers.

An announcement came over the lounge’s tannoy system stating that their flight was ready for boarding. Ethan cheered again as Dylan stood up. He reached down and took a hold of one of the carry on cases before noticing Kirsty hadn’t moved.

“Did you not hear them?” he asked. “They called us.”

“It’s only just boarding,” she said, “we don’t have to be one of the first on, do we?”

Dylan sighed again, “Well no but we need to get to the gate at least. We don’t have to go straight on the plane but it might be a good idea if we’re close-by so, when they do make the final call out, we can run on.”

Kirsty stood up, “Fine.” She snatched the second bag from the floor and started walking towards the lounge’s exit. Dylan followed and Ethan charged ahead of the pair of them. Kirsty’s fear was starting to manifest itself into an irritable mood. Dylan knew not to take it to heart as she was just scared but it was something he struggled with from time to time. There he was, looking forward to going away, and there she was — snapping at anything and everything he said.

He kept telling himself, she’d be fine as soon as the plane was in the air. Once the take-off was done, she tended to calm herself a little. It helped that she was distracted by the inflight entertainment system. She’d only then start to work herself up again if there was turbulence or when the Captain announced they were pretty close to their destination. Then she started to stress about the landing.

I I

Dylan had led his family through the smaller security check-point at the gate. Whilst most people were boarding the plane immediately, they had taken a seat with their backs to the window. At least Dylan and Kirsty had. Ethan was running around, desperate to board the plane on which he’d be a passenger for the next eight and bit hours flight time.

“I might have found a silver lining in your cloud,” Dylan said. He turned his attention to Kirsty. She was sitting next to him. Her skin was pale and her eyes were shut tight. “Hey,” he tried again to get her attention.

She opened her eyes.

“Did you hear me?” he asked. “I might have found you a silver lining.”

“What’s that?”

“Okay well — the thought of being buried scares you, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“And the thought of being cremated also makes you feel uncomfortable.”

Kirsty already knew where this was going and was just glaring at her husband. Was he really going to be this stupid right now?

“Well think of this,” he said, “if the plane does go down — there’s a good chance they won’t find the body and — therefore — you avoid both burial and cremation.” Yep. That was exactly what she thought he was going to say. He noticed her lack of smile and gave her a little nudge, “Come on, I’m joking. It was just a little joke… You have to admit, it was a little funny.”

“You’re an idiot.”

5

“I’m sorry but we’re going to have to ask you to board the plane now,” one of the air stewardess came over. The gate was on the verge of closing now and most passengers had been accounted for. Kirsty, Ethan and Dylan had to get on the plane for fear of holding it up.

“Sorry, I don’t like flying.” Kirsty warned her, just in case she couldn’t help herself but to freak out.

“Come on, it will be fine.” Dylan stood up and extended his hand to his wife. She took it and he helped her stand. Her damned legs were shaking like leaves in a breeze.

Ethan had already run to the entrance of the tunnel that connected to the plane. He definitely had no fear when it came to flying.

Dylan helped his wife down the tunnel and onto the plane where they were pointed to their seats by the cabin crew, greeting people at the door.

“You’re just down there on the right,” the smartly dressed man pointed them down the rows of seats to the set of three against one of the emergency exits. Whenever they flew they opted for these seats. Dylan was six foot three and liked the extra legroom offered. Yes it cost slightly more than a standard seat but at least it meant he was going to be comfortable for the duration of the flight as he could stretch right out. He took the window seat, Ethan was put in the middle and Kirsty sat on the aisle seat. She immediately put her seatbelt on and closed her eyes. Her hands were clenched around the armrests.

“Honey we’re probably going to be here for about twenty minutes or so before we even taxi to the runway,” Dylan pointed out. She opened her eyes and the fear was very evident. He felt sorry for her, of course he did, but there was very little he could do and — he was right — they had both chosen to come on this holiday. It wasn’t as though it was something he had just surprised her with.

He reached into the side pocket, against the wall, and pulled out the menu and guide for the inflight entertainment, “Here — why don’t you take a look through this,” he offered. She took it without saying a word and promptly started reading through it.

“Oh great,” she moaned almost as soon as she opened the menu.

“What is it?”

“Tuna steak for dinner. Brilliant.”

Dylan couldn’t help but to laugh, even though he felt like an asshole for it. Kirsty hated fish as much as she hated flying. It didn’t matter as to whether it was alive or dead. For some reason, they just freaked her right out. She closed the menu and tossed it to one side before opening the inflight entertainment.

The plane started to move.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God…” she started muttering to herself.

“It’s okay. It’s all good. We’re just heading to the runway. Nothing bad happening.” He quickly changed the subject, “Any good films or games to play?” he nodded towards the guide. Kirsty looked back down to it.

They were both gamers at home — mainly on the Xbox — so he hoped there’d be something entertaining enough to take Kirsty’s attention. Sure, it wouldn’t be as good as the games they had at home but it would be better than nothing. Anything to distract her frayed nerves was better than nothing.

“They have Tetris apparently,” Kirsty said. She knew the games would be crap but she was now thinking similarly to her husband — anything to distract her was better than nothing. “And Pacman. Clearly all the latest here,” she mocked.

“I want to play games,” Ethan blurted out.

“Soon buddy, soon. Can’t pull the televisions out until we’re in the air,” Dylan pointed out.

The cabin crew all took their positions in front of the cabin — one on either side of each section — and started to run through the safety announcement. Whereas most people half listen whilst looking out of the window and thinking about where they were headed — Kirsty paid close attention. She watched how to put the life-vest on, she paid attention to where the emergency exits were (even reading how to open the door on the special leaflet provided) and even watched — with interest — how to disembark using the slide. If the plane was going to go down — and in her head it was — she was going to be prepared.

The plane stopped.

An announcement came over the tannoy; all cabin crew were to take their seats.

“Oh God…”

“Honey, it’s fine! You need to relax.” Dylan leaned across his son and placed his hand on his wife’s leg for comfort. He could feel how much she was trembling. Ten minutes, he thought, and they’d be in the air and she would start to relax a little. Ten minutes. “Oh — nearly forgot,” he said. He took his hand back for a moment and reached into his pocket. He pulled out three hard-boiled sweets. Keeping one for himself — he handed the other two to his wife and son. “If you suck them, it stops your ears from popping.”

The plane started to move and gather speed.

Kirsty snatched the sweet from her husband and unwrapped the clear wrapper as quickly as she could before dropping the sweet into her mouth. The ear-popping sensation was part of what made flying so bad for her. As soon as the pressure changed, she felt her ears go yet sometimes they would not go the whole way and would end up feeling blocked and uncomfortable. And — more frustratingly — she wouldn’t be able to hear for days until they sorted themselves out again. Although she didn’t believe it, sucking sweets was supposed to stop that change in pressure affecting your ears and so — whenever she boarded a flight — she’d ensure she had a hardboiled sweet of some description to suck upon.

The plane tilted back as the front lifted from the ground. A second later, the whole machine was in the air.

Kirsty sucked back as hard as she could…

And so…

Eight of the longest hours of Dylan’s life had gone by and — finally — the plane touched down upon tarmac once more. The plane sped down the runway with the brakes on full, gradually slowing the craft to a stop. Outside the weather was as you’d expect for the tropics; beautiful skies and brilliant sunshine as the perfect golden orb, high in the air, beat down upon the lands superheating everything. Paradise.

The seatbelt lights pinged off and the cabin crew busied themselves, helping people get off. No one was really saying anything and — if they were — it was in hushed voices. Dylan and Ethan remained seated with Kirsty who’d usually be so desperate to disembark that she’d be one of the first off. Not this time though.

Only when the rest of the plane was empty did Dylan get off with his family; first he and his son left — walking down the stairs hand in hand, then two of the cabin crew with the family’s carry on luggage and then the paramedics — stretchering out the body of Kirsty. The hardboiled sweet still lodged in her throat. Her skin so blue, her eyes so lifeless.

But the plane hadn’t crashed…

T H E E N D

The Last Will & Testament of Norman Fielding

I

At seventy-eight years old and with a net worth of around six million, Norman Fielding had earned the right to take it easy with his life. Days filled playing golf with acquaintances, watching gameshows and various programmes on antiques, going for walks in the lush forests on the edge of the land he owned, sitting by the lake with a good book and pottering around the house doing this and that. And ‘pottering’ was exactly what he was doing with his day today, despite the weather outside being so beautiful with its warm air and blue skies.

Norman was sitting in one of the armchairs in his main living room; a room filled with a large open fire, a 60” television screen hanging from one of the brick walls, comfortable sofa, separate armchairs, oak coffee table with a marble chessboard as a centre-piece. His eyes were fixed on the fireplace, specifically the mantlepiece above it. More specifically than that — his gaze was firmly upon the large clock.

Sitting in this chair, the angle was all wrong. He couldn’t see the clock face as clearly as he would have liked. Had someone asked him the time he could have given a rough answer but nothing more than that.

“That’s no good,’ he muttered to himself as he pushed his tired body up from the comfort of the chair. With stick in hand, he made his way across the living space to the clock. He turned it slightly so it was facing the armchair a little more; only the slightest of turns mind you — had he twisted it more so, it would have made it harder to see from the armchair on the other side of the room.

He walked back to the armchair and took his seat once more.

The time was one thirty in the afternoon.

“That’s better,” he mumbled.

And, with that, he pulled himself up from the chair once more and made his way to the second armchair. He took a seat again and looked upon the clock, content that he could still see the clock face unobstructed.

“Perfect,” he said.

Happy he could see the time from all seating positions in the room, he smiled to himself and let out a long, contented sigh. A job well done but when his butler came in — soon after — he realised that Norman’s time had come and all actions with the clock had been for nothing.

I I

The front door opened and Fred and Jude walked in, both dressed in black. Fred was Norman’s brother. He was eight years younger than Norman but seemed even younger than that — an illusion no doubt helped by having a much younger woman on his arm, in the form of Jude; a woman in her fifties.

“Jesus, look at this place!” Jude said. She had heard stories of Norman — his wealth and his home at least, told through the jealous whisperings of Fred. This was the first time she had seen it though as Norman and Fred hadn’t spoken for many years for reasons not disclosed to Jude. A dirty little family secret resulting in a fall-out of some description.

“It’s ridiculous,” Fred snapped as he removed his sodden coat. Damned British weather had seemingly changed. Last week it was brilliant sunshine and decent temperatures and now it was pissing rain and black clouds with the worst of the last few days being today; the day of the funeral where it so happened they all had to stand outside. Of course Fred blamed Norman, as though he had planned his funeral to coincide with a bad weather front coming in from the west. Part of him even wondered whether Norman’s choice of service was dictated to by the weather; a hot day and they’d all be inside watching him get cremated, a cold day and they all had to stay outside. “Completely unnecessary for just one person,” Fred continued, making reference to the house.

He was right of course. The house was ridiculous for one person. There were six bedrooms, three separate living rooms, a games room with a billiards table, a kitchen bigger than most people’s living room, four different bathrooms, a gym and even an indoor swimming pool built into the glass conservatory at the back of the property. All habited by Norman who had literally spent his time in the one main living area, the master bedroom or one of the bathrooms.

“And he didn’t have a wife or any children?” Jude asked. Because of the family feud, she actually knew very little about her brother-in-law. She knew he lived in a big house, she understood he was rich and that was about it.

Fred didn’t answer her question. He handed his coat to one of the five butlers and asked him, “Where’s the other guests?”

“They’re in the living room just through there, Sir.” The butler turned and patiently waited to be handed Jude’s soaking coat. Fred wasn’t as patient and headed through to the living room where his wife could come when she was ready to do so. He just wanted to get this over and done with so he could return to his life. Potentially — his much better off life…

I I I

Fred hadn’t spoken to Norman in a few years. He had put a business proposal forward to his well-off brother but it had been rejected. Not because Norman didn’t want to lend his brother any money, he just didn’t think it was a sound investment. Of course Fred took it to heart and thought his brother was just being tight. He had all that money and yet he couldn’t give some to his brother to help him out. But why should Norman? He had worked hard to get where he was. He had beaten off competition and he had fought through more than one recession and still managed to hold onto what he had built up. If he was going to lend money out, family or not, he wanted to be sure it was a sound investment. On this occasion, it so happened that it wasn’t.

As Fred walked into the living room, full to the brim with people milling around, he couldn’t help but wonder — had he stayed closer to his brother — whether he would have known anyone in the crowd of faces before him. As it stood, there were hardly any people he recognised. Could all these people be acquaintances from the last few years only?

“Fred, I’m so sorry for your loss!” a man approached with his hand outstretched. He was wearing an expensive looking black suit and a crisp white shirt with shoes so shiny you could see the room’s reflection within them.

“Thank you, that means a lot.” Fred shook the man’s hand despite having no idea who he was.

“Devastating news!” another man approached — his hand also held out.

“Thank you,” said Fred. Again, he shook, but he paid the two men very little attention. Instead his eyes were darting around the room, trying to find a friendly face.

Not all of the people in the room were strangers to him. He recognised Norman’s solicitor, there were distant cousins who had crawled out of the woodwork at the scent of free money, a few people who’d gone to school with both Norman and Fred many, many moons ago (and had managed to keep in contact throughout), Norman’s bank manager — the mean son of a bitch who’d been present when Fred had put forward his business scheme to his brother — and even some politician-type figures who’d, at some point or other, been backed by Norman when on the campaign run.

Fred couldn’t help but wonder how many people were here because they were genuine friends compared to those who were here because they’d been drawn to the possibility of being mentioned in the Will reading which would, no doubt, be happening any day now.

“Fred! Long time no speak! How the Devil are you?” Of all the people Fred didn’t want to speak to, it was the bank manager, Mr. Clack; the man who had more control of Norman’s cash than perhaps was necessary. The man, sitting in his office, phoning Norman every other day with new and exciting business opportunities.

“Very well, thank you.” Fred only had to be polite for today. Once today was out of the way, arrangements would be made which meant he never had to speak to Mr. Clack again and he couldn’t wait.

“I’m so, so sorry about Norman,” Mr. Clack continued, “he was one of the good ones.”

“Yes. Thank you,” said Fred. Of course Mr. Clack was sorry to see one of his clients pass away. Not only was he a sure-thing for an easy investor but it also meant — with him deceased — there was a good chance the bank could lose the business when they money gets divided between the remaining family members. And Fred knew this and suspected it was why Mr. Clack had come over to offer his condolences.

“So,” Mr. Clack drew a breath, “have they read the will yet?”

Fred simply smiled in response and walked away to see what other parasites had come along to see what they could get, or keep from losing. The gardeners were here, the chef who prepared Norman’s meals, obviously the butlers although technically they were still working, the bank manager, the solicitor, old business partners and clients. Bottom-dwellers, as Fred liked to think of them, all wanting to get their slice of the six million pound pie.

I V

“They’ll all be there,” he had told Jude as they drove from the service to the wake, back at Norman’s house. “They’ll all be there wanting to protect their potential cut. They’ll all be running around pretending to be sad but they’ll just be counting down the minutes until the reading. That’s what they’re really there for.”

Of course Jude didn’t get it, “Maybe they’re there out of respect? Maybe they want to say their last goodbyes?” she had replied.

Fred had turned to her with a look of both disbelief and jealousy on his face. He couldn’t believe she couldn’t see it; human nature at its most greedy. Yet he was also jealous of her; jealous that she hadn’t experienced it before. But then, of course she didn’t know it. Her family didn’t have any money. He just hoped this wouldn’t change her.

“They just want his money. If he didn’t have any there would be less than half the people at that damned service. Well they’re in for a shock,” he’d said, “because I won’t be letting them take anything that doesn’t belong to them. And Mr. Clack — his bank manager — he can get stuffed if he thinks he is keeping the business. That money is coming straight away from his care…”

Jude had smiled, “Do you really think he will leave us the money?”

Fred had snorted through his nose, “Well who else will get it? I am the only living relative.” He had made his own Will less than 6 months ago and — even though his brother hadn’t helped him with his project — he had left him a substantial amount of money. The rest went to his wife. It stood to reason that, with his brother being single and there being no other close family members, he would get a good proportion of what his brother had accumulated over his lifetime. Not that Fred planned to keep it all for himself. Naturally he would share it out as it was the decent thing to do. That being said — he’d ensure the people, who crawled out of the woodwork to try and get a sniff of the prize, would quickly be stamped back down to where they had come from with little chance of return.

Jude didn’t say anything else on the car journey. She just sat there, hoping Fred was right and that he wouldn’t be disappointed.

V

After saying a quick hello to a few of his cousins, whom he hadn’t seen since the last funeral, Fred finally managed to get a hold of the man he’d been wanting to speak to since the service began; Fred’s solicitor — Graham Pains.

“My deepest condolences,” Graham said as he shook Fred’s hand.

“Thank you, thank you… Listen…”

“I can only imagine the shock it must have come as,” Graham continued, interrupting Fred. “I was only speaking to Norman a couple of weeks ago. It’s a scary though, isn’t it? One minute you’re here and the next — gone.”

“Yes, it’s terrible.” Fred dismissed what Graham was saying, brushing it to one side with a metaphorical sweeping of a brush. He hadn’t sniped Graham out of the crowd for a conversation about the injustice of death and how short life was. He wanted to know whether Graham had the Last Will and Testament of his brother. More specifically, he wanted to know what it said. Graham — however — was unaware Fred had the potential to be so cold.

“It’s a sad, sad thing,” he continued. “It seems to be that time of the year. People seem to be dropping like flies left, right and centre. Did you know this is the fourth funeral this month alone and we’re not even half-way through.”

“It’s my second,” said another man of similar age. A complete stranger to Fred who’d overheard the conversation and — somehow — deemed it appropriate to join in. “It certainly makes you think about your own life,” the man continued. “I mean — my best friend dropped dead of a heart attack less than a fortnight ago. Poor bastard was going about the office, filing paperwork, and then — bam — out like a light. Admittedly it was one of those bulbs that flickers faintly for a while before finally going out but, yes, he perished on that very spot. Because of that — and without thinking of the consequences — I upped and left right there and then. My friend was always complaining about not doing enough with his life and — for him — it’s too late. Not too late for me though. I always hated that place and I can’t begin to tell you how amazing it felt just to leave like that. Truly amazing. Of course I didn’t think it through one hundred percent — now I’m in that stage of blind panic, trying to find a job before the next set of bills come in,” he laughed.

Fred cottoned on immediately. He didn’t recognise the man because he was a freeloader. Someone who had most likely bumped into Norman once — or twice — through work (possibly) and was here in the faint hope of getting some money from the estate. Clearly the man was deluded if he thought he was going to walk away with any of the prize pot. It would go to Fred, some to the cousins, some to pay off any outstanding debts, some more to Fred, pay the staff off, a little more to Fred and then — finally — the rest to Fred. People like this chap could go to Hell if they thought they’d be getting anywhere near it.

“How did you know my brother?” Fred tested the gentleman.

The man pretended to spot someone he knew across the room and gave them a little wave whilst mouthing the word ‘hello’. With that, he turned to Fred and Graham, “If you’ll excuse me — there’s someone over there that I simply must say hello to.”

Fred and Graham watched the man. He walked straight past the gentleman he had pretended to acknowledge and right out of the main room, passing a bored looking Jude — standing in the corner. It was exactly as Fred had suspected; a damned freeloader.

“That’s terrible about his friend,” Graham said finally.

Fred turned back to him, “Yes. Well. Clearly. Anyway. I was wondering…”

“I’m not sure quitting your job would be the right way to go though, if you were in his situation. It’s all very well saying you’re going to go off and live your life but — well — you do need to ensure your bills are paid, yes?”

“Yes. Obviously.” Fred quickly continued, “And it’s that I need to discuss with you.”

“Oh don’t worry — your brother and I were squared up long ago. There’s nothing owing on his account,” Graham gave Fred a little wink and smiled.

“No. That’s not what I was getting at,” Fred continued, “I was wondering whether you had a copy of the Will and when the reading would be?”

Graham laughed, “I know, I know. I was just teasing you. Yes I do have the Will and there will be a reading. In fact, seeing as you’re not the only one to ask the question — if it’s not in poor taste — we could do it later on?”

Fred bit immediately, “What do you mean I’m not the only one asking? Who else has spoken about it?”

“Oh you know how it is,” Graham said, “someone of wealth perishes and suddenly you find yourself surrounded by people all holding their hands out for what they believe they’re entitled to.”

“Yes I know but… Well… I’m his brother. Who else was asking?”

“You have the staff. Obviously they’re worried about their wages for the month, which is fair enough. Then there are his cousins. One of which he apparently owed money to and has done now for a few years. He was getting quite shirty rambling on about interest etc but I wouldn’t worry about him. There’s no contract that I know of and your brother and I have been doing business now for many, many years. They’re just trying their luck.”

“Great so I’m going to have to deal with imbeciles like this when we do the reading then?” Fred huffed, “Who said it?”

“Oh it really doesn’t matter. Like I said, there’s no contract so — if they’re not mentioned in the Will — they won’t get a penny anyway.”

“I have had enough of this,” Fred snapped.

Without any warning he jumped up on the settee and addressed the room, “Listen — whilst it is nice to see so many people here… What is not nice is the fact that some of you are here for the wrong reasons; not to pay your last respects but rather to try and freeload some of the money. Well listen up and listen carefully — you will not get a penny of it. As his only brother — and the closest family member he has — I won’t allow my brother’s wealth to be split between people who do not deserve it. Now obviously we haven’t done the reading yet but, when we do, I will tell you this much… I will of course be paying out money to the staff for hours worked, as part of your usual wage. You worked hard for my brother and I am sure he is grateful. You will not be getting more than what you’re owed though. This was your job. You are employees only. Nothing more and nothing less. But — with your final wage — I shall also take this time to wish you the best of luck in securing work elsewhere.” He paused a moment and listened to the rumbled moaning of the disappointed. “If my brother owed you money for any reason — this too will be paid back to you on receipt of a valid contract. No contract, no money. That is the way business works.” A few more people moaned. “To Mr. Clack — thank you for your years of service but my brother’s money will be transferred to another account with another bank. I have not used your establishment, nor do I plan to. Again, thank you for doing your best at steering him in the right direction, over the years, even if your direction wasn’t necessarily the one I would have opted for. Okay, if you fall into any of the above categories — now would be a good time for you to leave, thank you.” Fred stopped and waited.

One by one people slowly filtered from the room. Staff, Mr. Clack and a few other faces Fred didn’t recognise. It still left a room full of people he didn’t know though.

Fred continued, “Charities. I’m sorry but — at this time — we will not be making any donations. That may change in the future when I have gone through your policies and exactly what you do with the money obtained. I will not be harassed into this decision and nor do I need counsel as to how you operate. I will make the informed decision on my own. Thank you for coming. You know where the door is.”

A few more people left.

Fred looked around the room. There were still a number of people hanging around but he hoped these were the genuine people; those who were wanting to show support for Fred and Jude as well as pay their final respects to a man they had known personally and liked, or loved. Fred nodded a nod of satisfaction at a job well done and jumped down from the settee before walking back over to Graham, “Well that should make things easier,” he said.

Graham smiled, “Did you want to do this now then?” he asked. He reached into his pocket and withdrew an ivory coloured enveloped, closed via the use of a fancy looked red seal made of melted wax. Fred beamed. Of course he wanted to do it now. He was about to be the sole proprietor of six million pounds. Had he had his way, he would have done the reading first. At least that way he could have skipped on going to the service.

“I think it would be good to wrap these things up,” he smiled.

“Very well.” He ripped into the envelope. It wasn’t the way proceedings usually went but — technically — it was Fred’s choice when it happened. In this instance, Graham was simply the message boy. “If everybody could please take a seat,” he shouted out.

As the majority of the people in the room took a seat on whatever they could find, Fred walked over to the mantlepiece and leaned against it with an expectant look upon his face. Jude went and stood by his side. She too was smiling, aware that this was the moment her husband had been waiting for. He was going to be rich. They were going to be rich.

V I

Not many people cheer when they find out a loved one has died and yet that is exactly what Fred had done. He had put the phone down and let out the loudest cheer you could imagine. A roar so loud that it actually burned the back of his throat — and very nearly gave his wife, Jude, a heart attack of her own.

He explained to Jude what had happened; his brother had dropped dead whilst faffing about in his home and jumped immediately to the beautiful fact that they were rich. Even before the Will had been read, Fred had counted upon the money being his. And who was Jude to argue? Neither one of them had presumed that, considering Norman and Fred hadn’t spoken properly for a couple of years, the money could end up going elsewhere.

And yet…

V I I

“What?” Fred screamed out, causing Jude to jump. Slowly she took a side step away from her fuming husband. “Re-read it again! Check the name at the top! You did remember to bring the right piece of paperwork? This isn’t one of your other clients? You did say earlier that it wasn’t the first funeral you had been to this month. Did you get the paperwork mixed up?” He stormed over to where Graham was standing, addressing the room, and snatched the paperwork right from his hand. He turned his back on the watching eyes and scanned through the document once more; his eyes darting from side to side with startling speed and his heart pounding heavily in the back of his throat. “Fuck!” he screamed.

There — spelt out in clear English and black ink — it said it very clearly with very little room for misunderstanding; the whole estate was to be broken down and sold with all proceeds going to the local cattery.

“He doesn’t even like cats!” Fred screamed as he tossed the paperwork up in the air. “This isn’t right,” Fred continued, “I’m going to contest it. He can’t leave me with nothing! He can’t! We were brothers! He owes me this money, that selfish idiot! He owes me! You hear me?” People were looking at Fred with raised eyebrows but he didn’t care. He found the whole thing incredibly embarrassing and insulting to say the least. Since hearing of his brother’s death, he had already counted on that money. More than that, he had spent pretty much every penny in his head. He’d mentally purchased property overseas, a whole new wardrobe of designer clothes, expensive holidays, new furniture, more property, more clothes, a garage full of expensive to buy (and expensive to run) cars and all of the latest gadgets and tech. Everything he had ever wanted, he would now own. That was the plan at least. Instead, his brother screwed him. “We had a cat when we were growing up! He never fed him. He didn’t even pet him. And — let me tell you — when that cat died… I cried for about a week. Norman just asked mum when we were getting a puppy. No. No. This is a joke. This is wrong. This is…”

“A test.”

Fred fell silent immediately. He froze to the spot. The whole room was hushed. Had one dropped, you would have heard a pin fall to the floor. That was Norman’s voice. Slowly Fred turned around.

“Norman?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re alive?”

“That’s correct.”

“But… But… How? Why?” Fred spluttered as his face continued to grow redder and redder.

V I I I

Norman leaned down to the clock on the mantlepiece and looked closely at it. There — right in the centre — he could see the tiny hole in the face. Nestled on the other side, the latest in surveillance equipment staring right back at his face. With a buzz of excitement he hurried from the room and retired to one of the spare rooms; a room so infrequently used he often kept it locked.

Inside the room was a full set up of monitors — each capturing a different part of the house from the front door right the way through to the rear of the property. Wherever someone was, he would be able to keep an eye on them and — thanks to the audio recording equipment — he’d be able to hear them too. A cunning plan to see — and hear — what people really thought of him; a plan devised with the help of his solicitor when he admitted to struggling about what to do with his Will.

“There is one thing we could do,” Graham had said, “but you might think it somewhat extreme. It all depends on how desperate you are to ensure the money goes to the right person,” he continued.

Graham had helped Norman obtain the equipment and he even helped arrange the fake funeral and send out the invitations to the wake. Some of Norman’s most trusted staff — such as the butler — being on hand to help out too; the promise of a bonus payment in their monthly wage if they kept the whole thing secret. Graham — and some of the staff — had been instrumental in the keeping up of appearances and all for a very modest fee.

Norman didn’t mind paying the fee. It meant he got to see how his ‘guests’ behaved at the funeral. It gave him the opportunity to decide who to give the money to and who to cut from his life completely; clear the freeloading scum out, so to speak. And — with the final camera set up in the clock — it was time. All he needed to do now was ‘die’ and go away for a bit. The butler made the call to the families whilst Graham made the necessary arrangements with the funeral home and cemetery to ensure all were paid off and happy to go along with the scheme.

It couldn’t have gone any better. It was like a well-oiled machine. A well-oiled, well-financed machine at that.

I X

Fred was sitting in his beat-up car. Jude was sitting next to him. Neither were saying anything; both lost in their own little worlds, staring through the car windows. Fred’s mind was contemplating what he was going to do now. He had counted on that money to pay off some debts and live his life, never really finding his own success. He presumed that — one day — it would land in his lap. He just needed to be patient. That chance was gone now. His brother had made that very clear when he booted Fred — and the other freeloaders — from the house informing them they’d never receive a sniff of what he had to offer in the Will; superseded with a long lecture about how he’d been watching the reactions of the guests in the other room. Norman had referred to them all as parasites and bottom-feeders and then promptly kicked them out, telling them they were not welcome back. Fred had lost the money. Fred had lost his brother. The cash upset him.

Jude’s own little world — the one she was lost in now — had been much simpler when she had first met Fred. He had been drinking in the bar she waitressed at. He was as drunk as a skunk, moaning about his millionaire brother not helping him out with a business plan he had thought of. A drunken ramble wishing for his brother’s demise so he could inherit the money and do with it as he saw fit. Seeing the state he was in, Jude had helped him home that night and ended up staying with him — listening to stories of what he would do with that cash as his hands ran over her tight body.

Now — with no chance of the money coming their way — her mind consisted of the one nagging thought, How much does a divorce cost?

T H E E N D

Lost Love

I

“What’s wrong with you?” Steve asked between mouthfuls of his dinner, lovingly prepared by his wife Anne. He was talking to Frankie, his eldest daughter at nineteen years old. Steve had noticed she had been quiet all day. It was hard not to. They worked together in a vape/e cig shop and usually it has hard to get her to quieten down. But today she had hardly said a word. She had just kept staring at her phone whenever the shop was empty of customers.

“Nothing,” Frankie said.

The family was sitting at the dining room table; Anne and Steve — the parents — and the two children, Frankie and her younger sister, Billie-Jo. Frankie had been pushing her food around her plate for the last ten minutes; actions which hadn’t gone unnoticed by Anne or Steve.

Steve had had enough. She had been miserable in front of the customers and now she was creating a bad atmosphere at the dinner table.

“Nothing?” he pushed her. “You have a face like a badger’s arse and you’re saying there’s nothing wrong?”

“What does that even mean?” Frankie asked, irritated she was even having this conversation in the first place. She just wanted to be left alone to her own private thoughts. It was only because her mum insisted she ate something that she had even bothered to come down from her room.

“Shaun’s ignoring her texts,” Billie-Jo said with a smirk on her face.

“Shut up!” Frankie hissed. Billie-Jo stuck her tongue out at her, happy to have one up on her sister. Billie-Jo was your typical teenager. She hardly ever left her room, she hated school, was definitely mouthy but also had a good sense of humour — when she wasn’t being a wind-up merchant.

“His phone’s probably out of charge,” said Anne.

Just as Billie-Jo was your typical teenager, Anne and Steve were your typical parents. Steve was the big burly bloke who liked to take the piss out of everyone — usually with many explicits involved — and Anne was the calming parent who went out of her way to be nice to everyone. They were like chalk and cheese yet — somehow — as a couple, they just worked.

“Or he doesn’t want to talk to you,” Steve laughed. Frankie gave him a ‘fuck you’ look without actually saying the words. Her dad’s language was sometimes described as colourful but he still probably wouldn’t have been very appreciative if his daughter had sworn at him. He gave her a playful smile.

They had been dating a while now — Frankie and Shaun — and, although they might not have been able to talk every day, they at least shared text messages. She couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been in touch with her throughout the day. Even if he hadn’t been able to use his phone — for whatever reason — he still would have somehow got word to her, explaining his silence.

“Maybe he’s practising for a gig?” Anne offered another — kinder — suggestion than her husband’s.

Shaun was the singer of a band called ‘The Always’ — a band struggling to find their way in the world of mainstream music despite performing as many gigs as they could. By day his life was slightly less glamorous as he paid the bills by painting and decorating. The single thought keeping him going that — one day — his music would take off; an optimistic quality that Frankie both loved and respected.

“He’s not normally this quiet,” Frankie said.

“Well have you tried calling him?” Anne asked.

“Yes. It goes straight to voice-mail.” She paused for a split second before continuing with, “And yes I left a message!” She knew it would have been the next question from her mum’s mouth. Frankie put her knife and fork down. She pushed herself away from the table and stood up.

“You’ve hardly eaten anything,” Anne said.

“I’m not hungry,” Frankie replied.

“Leave her be. Won’t go to waste — dogs can eat it,” Steve said unsympathetically. He knew she’d eat when she was hungry. She wasn’t stupid after all. And if she wasn’t wanting to eat now — then he wasn’t going to force her. It would have only led to arguments which he couldn’t be bothered with. He also knew that Mia, their Siberian husky, and Alfie, their German Shepherd, would be only too happy to help polish the scraps off.

Frankie left the room, pulling her mobile from her jeans pocket; still no message, or missed call. As she walked through the bungalow, back towards her bedroom, she pressed through her contacts to find his number again. With it selected, she pressed the call button and held the phone to her ear.

It was ringing, and ringing, and ringing… ‘Click’. The phone went through to the voicemail service once more.

“Hey! It’s me! Just trying to get hold of you still,” she said, “call me when you can. Love you!” She hung up, a feeling of disappointment rushing through her once more at not being able to speak to him. In her mind — all sorts of bad things had happened to him. That was the problem with people like Frankie. Those people with active imaginations who loved nothing more than to get lost in a good book, especially a horror. See — to most people — Shaun was just busy, hence his lack of contact. To Frankie though — something terrible had happened to him. She didn’t know what. She just knew something had happened and kept imagining his body broken, and twisted, in different angles; bones poking through his ripped skin and his eyes staring up; lifeless.

Frankie felt nauseous as all the different, varied ways Shaun’s body could have been broken flew through her mind at an alarming speed. She knew she was being stupid. He was absolutely fine. He was just busy. Or he had lost his phone and couldn’t remember her number. That was it; he’d lost his phone — or it had got broken at work? He had accidentally dropped it in a pot of paint?

She walked into her bedroom and sat down on the bed, putting the phone down next to her with a casual glance — still no missed calls or text messages. She pulled her laptop from the small table next to her bed and opened the screen up. The page loaded instantly to Facebook, her preferred social media site. A few notifications — nothing of any importance — but no messages to speak of. She sighed and put the computer down next to her phone.

“Where is he Gizmo?”

Gizmo was Frankie’s pet cat; a little black and white ball of fluff who always seemed to gravitate towards Frankie — even when she didn’t want him to. She’d be working on her laptop — laying on the floor — and he’d come up and start rubbing the side of his neck against the machine’s flimsy lid. Cute? Yes. Irritating at those particular moments in time? No. Never.

It dawned on her that there was one thing she hadn’t thought to do yet. A status update. Hopefully one of his bandmates would see, and answer. At least that way she’d be able to go to bed and not worry as much; although it was still unusual for him to be so quiet.

As she reached for the computer, she started to cast her mind back to the last time they had spoken. It had only been yesterday and — try as she might — she wasn’t able to think of anything that had happened between the two of them which could have pissed him off. If anything, she should have been upset with him. She loved him — a lot — but there were times when he really annoyed her; little things that he did for the sole purpose of winding her up like repeating everything she said by singing it back to her.

Anyone heard from Shaun today? Getting worried.

She put the computer down, next to her, but left the lid up. She hoped that some notifications would come through sooner rather than later. Anything to put her out of misery.

She actually felt stupid. She wasn’t normally like this. She wasn’t usually so possessive. She loved him. He loved her. That was enough for her. She didn’t need to be in his pocket all the time. She had her life, he had his life. They liked sharing times together but were also more than capable of doing their own thing too. But — during the times when they were occupying themselves — they still stayed in contact with one another. They’d both know what the other was doing. And it was that — the not knowing — that was stressing her out.

II

I love you and a second message that said I’m sorry.

That’s what Frankie had woken up to. Two separate text messages sent within minutes of each other. Nothing else whatsoever; no mention of where he was, no answers to yesterday’s many text messages. Nothing. Just ‘I love you’ and ‘I’m sorry’. Had she received the first message only — the one claiming his love for her — she might have felt better but… What did he have to be sorry for?

Looking at the screen — the text had come through a little after one in the morning. She had no idea what time she’d dozed off but wished she’d been there when the messages had come through. That way she could have called him back straight away and stood more chance of him answering. Now though. Now the stupid phone was just ringing right up until the voicemail service interrupted again.

She hung up and tried calling again.

In her mind she started thinking about his cock being inside someone else. His cum trickling from between her pussy lips. Was that what he had to be sorry about? He had got drunk and met someone else? He had had sex with her? He had sent a text through yesterday because he had felt guilty? Was that it? Had he been with this mystery woman all day? What was it? Was it a case of the grass being greener on the other side? A part of him thought this other woman would be a better girlfriend than Frankie? Is that what had happened?

Fucking voicemail again.

She hung up and called back.

Voicemail.

Enough was enough. She looked at the time. Half seven in the morning. He wouldn’t be leaving for work for another hour yet and she had an hour and a half before she had to be at her place of work so — looking at it like that — there was plenty of time to get to his house.

Having fallen asleep in her clothes the previous night, she didn’t need to worry about what she was wearing. A quick spray of perfume would mask the fact she’d dozed off fully dressed. Mints would detract from the fact she’d not brushed her teeth; something she’d worry about after getting round to Shaun’s place.

She hurried from the bedroom and up to the front door. Her father — Steve — called out from the kitchen.

“Oi!”

She turned to see him. He was looking out, down the hallway to where she was standing.

“Did you go out last night and leave the front door open?” he asked.

“What? No.” Frankie said.

“Well if it wasn’t you, and it wasn’t your sister — who was it?”

“I guess it would have had to have been mum,” Frankie said — a cocky know-it-all look upon her face.

“Don’t get lippy!” he warned her. “I’ve already spoken to your mother.”

“Well I don’t know!” Frankie said. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t even know it was open.” She stood there a moment as the two stared at each other, waiting for either one to crack first. “Can I go?” she asked eventually.

“Where are you going?” Anne stepped into the doorway.

“I’m going to see Shaun,” she replied.

“Well drive carefully,” Anne smiled. Frankie smiled back — if only to keep her happy — and stepped from the house.

“Don’t be late for work!” her dad shouted after her.

The door slammed behind her as she hurried towards her little red Renault Clio. Her mind had gone from imagining him dead to wondering what she’d do if she caught him with someone else. What if she got round to his place and the mystery woman was still there, in bed with him?

As she sped down the road, she felt the adrenaline rushing through her body. An uncomfortable feeling that she tried to shake but — the more she tried to get rid of it — the more she kept seeing Shaun with another woman.

Why would he do this to her? They had been getting on great recently. They hardly ever argued and — if they did — it was never anything serious and often ‘fixed’ within a couple of hours at most. What had she done to drive him into the arms of another woman?

She felt her eyes start to well up.

“Don’t be a fucking idiot,” she told herself.

With one hand on the wheel, she used the back of the other to wipe her eyes dry. Her mind not posing the question as to whether she would find it in her heart to forgive him if there was anyone else involved. Part of her wanted to say ‘not a chance’ but another part — was it the bigger part? — told her that she would. Of course she would. She loved him.

That bastard part of her brain spoke up again, “But what if he doesn’t love you?”

There it was again — that sickness in the pit of her belly once more. The same feeling she’d felt when she first thought of him as dead and then — again — thought of him as cheating on her. A horrible feeling hinting that her world was soon to be coming crashing down around her and there was nothing she could do about it.

Just turn around, she thought to herself.

The thought was loud and clear in her head but she ignored it, pressing her foot down harder on the accelerator. If he was cheating on her, she had to know.

“You’re being stupid,” she said to her rear-view mirror. “He was busy yesterday. That’s why he didn’t reply. He didn’t reply to your text messages and that’s why he was sorry. Stop reading so much into this,” she finished.

What she said made sense and — yet — she still found herself speeding to his house.

Nearly there now. Only a few more turnings away…

III

Frankie’s car bumped up onto the pavement as she pulled up outside his house. His own vehicle was parked in the driveway; a good sign that she hadn’t yet missed him. She switched the engine off and opened the door; her heart in the back of her throat as her nerves continued to play with her mind.

She hadn’t made it halfway up the drive — heading towards the house — when the door suddenly opened and Shaun came running out wearing nothing but blue jeans splattered in the odd globule of paint.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, panic in his voice.

“I came to see you. I was worried,” said Frankie. She didn’t say what she was worried about — the fact she needed to see if he had been cheating on her.

“Worried about me? I’m fine. I’m just running late for work…” he said. He put his arm around her and started walking her back towards her car. Looking down, as they walked, she noticed he didn’t have any shoes on. When they got to her car, Shaun leaned forward and opened the door for her. “We’ll talk later, okay?” He tried to usher her back into her car.

Frankie froze.

This wasn’t like Shaun. He didn’t care about running late for work. There had been times when they had been in bed together and he knew they were both running late for work yet, every time Frankie had tried to get up, he had pulled her back — keeping her there longer.

“Can I at least have a drink of water?” Frankie asked him. Any excuse to get into the house so she could have a look into his room; a desperation to see if he was hiding anything within there. As soon as she’d asked the question — and saw the look on his face — she knew he was hiding something. She changed the subject, “Why did you tell me you were sorry?” she asked.

“What? When?”

“You sent a text to me last night. You told me you loved me and then you sent a text saying that you were sorry. Why are you sorry?”

Shaun looked over his shoulder, back towards the house, and then turned his attention back to Frankie, “Look — I’m sorry — I’m really late. I have to go.”

“You’re lying!”

“I’m not…”

“What aren’t you telling me?” Frankie was getting desperate. She knew he was up to no good. If he didn’t love her, or if he was seeing someone else… She just wanted to know. If this was the end of their relationship she felt she deserved to know at least, instead of being kept in the dark about it. “Are you seeing someone else?”

“What? No. I’m not!”

His face flushed. Frankie’s eyes welled up once more as she started to realise her worst fears were starting to come true; her man, this guy she loved, was most likely seeing someone else.

“Where were you yesterday?” Frankie pushed for an answer.

“Please — can we talk about this later?”

“Answer me! Where were you?”

No one had answered her Facebook status yesterday so — unless they were hiding it too — not even his friends had known where he was.

“I was busy,” he said. “I was working.”

“All through the night?” She pushed him again, “Who were you with?”

“Please. Just go. You can’t be here!” he said.

“What are you talking about?”

“We’re done. We’re over,” he suddenly snapped.

“What?” Frankie burst into tears. She had suspected something was wrong but she hadn’t expected him to be so cold about it. One minute he was trying to hide it, still saying he loved her and then the next — it was over. Just like that. She didn’t move. She just stood there, in shock.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. A tear spilled from his eye too. “Please — you have to go.”

Frankie just stood there a moment unsure of what to say. Her mind felt split into a million bits. Part of her wanted to slap him in the face, part of her wanted to rant and rave at him and then there was another part which just wanted to keep standing there — crying.

“So that’s it?” she said eventually.

“Yes. Just go. We’re done,” he said — another tear spilling from his eye.

Frankie went to say something but realised there was little point. She didn’t even know what was going to come from her mouth; whether she was going to start shouting at him or even begging. She turned to the car and climbed in — slamming the door shut. She slid the key into the ignition and fired the engine up before giving Shaun a final look.

He mouthed, I love you, to her.

Frankie couldn’t help but feel confused. One minute he was telling her to go and the next — he was standing there mouthing that. She wound down her window to see if he’d say it out loud — as opposed to just mouthing it to her. She looked up at him, desperation in her eyes to hear him say the words — even if it were to be for the last time.

She froze.

There, standing in the doorway of his home, was a woman who looked a few years older than both Shaun and Frankie. She was wearing nothing but one of his tee-shirts.

“Who the fuck is that?” Frankie hissed.

“Please. You need to go. Now!”

Frankie went to open the car door but Shaun kept it shut, pushing his body against it.

“Let me out of the fucking car!” Frankie screamed. Her tears now tears of anger instead of heartache and sadness.

“I can’t do that. Just go already. Take the hint and fuck off!” he yelled at her.

Frankie crawled across to the passenger side of the car and climbed out via that door. She ran around the front of the car and was blocked from going further by Shaun wrapping his arms around her. The woman — the stranger — in the doorway was laughing at her, revelling in the pain she was causing.

“I’m sorry,” Shaun kept saying, “I didn’t want you finding out like this. You have to go.”

“Not until you tell me who she is!” Frankie screamed.

Shaun man-handled Frankie back into her car and slammed the door shut again — despite her screams. Neighbours were poking their heads out of their own homes now, looking to see what the commotion was all about.

“Just believe me when I say I love you. I can’t be with you though. I’m sorry. Just go.”

“Fuck you!” Frankie shouted through the car window as she threw her car into first gear and released the handbrake. She spun the vehicle around at the end of the road and headed home with tears streaming, uncontrollably, down her face. Shaun was standing in the middle of the road, watching her leave his life and wishing he could tell her the truth. The woman came out of the house and put her arm around Shaun. Had Frankie looked in the rear view mirror, she’d have seen him push her away.

IV

The woman hadn’t had a chance meeting with Shaun. It wasn’t a corny story of a man meeting another woman and falling head over heels in love with her. It was far more sinister than that. It was the story of a woman — obsessed with a lead singer in a band — who’d do anything to be with that person.

She had met him in a car park after a gig and had seemed nice enough to start off with. She was complimentary about the music. She had said he had a great voice. She explained how she was surprised he hadn’t hit the big time already and that she could see big things in his future.

“And that’s not all I can see in your future,” she had told him.

“Oh? What else is there?” he asked. He had expected an answer of ‘money’ or ‘fame’ not…

“I see me in your future.”

The woman had said it with a cheeky grin on her face and a wink of an eye. Shaun knew instantly what she was talking about and was quick to dismiss it.

“I have a girlfriend,” he had told the woman.

“Frankie Yates.”

The woman knew everything about Frankie. She knew where she lived. She knew where she worked. She knew the names of her family. She knew the names of her pets and — more particularly — she knew which pet was her favourite.

“Of course she’s not good enough for you,” the woman had continued. “Someone like you,” she explained, “can do so much better for themselves.”

Shaun walked away from the woman but she followed. He knew she was nuts. His first nutter, he actually felt a little proud. That is… Proud until he realised she was following him.

“Look,” the woman had said. She had reached into her bag and pulled a photograph out. She handed it to Shaun.

“What’s this?”

“My pussy,” she had said with a wink.

It wasn’t a rude picture that he had been shown. It was a picture of a black and white cat. It was a picture of Gizmo. Shaun would recognise that cat anywhere.

The woman explained that she had never found a pet she’d been able to get that attached to. She explained how she’d watched Frankie and seen how much she loved that cat. And then — her tone changed. She’d gone from friendly, to creepy… To nasty.

“I want you and I’m going to have you,” she had said.

“I love Frankie,” he had argued.

“And you’ll learn to love me just as much, if not more…” the woman had said. “Because if you don’t…” It was at that point the woman showed him a second photograph. It was a picture of an oven and — through the glass door — you could see Frankie’s pet cat. The woman explained that — if she couldn’t have Shaun — then Frankie couldn’t have her favourite pet, unless it was served up with some roast potatoes and side dish of vegetables… If the woman got Shaun, Frankie got to keep her pet. But — under no circumstances could she have both her pet and Shaun.

“If you go to the police, her cat will die. If you tell her about any of this — her pet will die… What happens is up to you and I’ll give you a couple of minutes to mull it over,” the woman had explained, “but if you love her — like you say you do — you wouldn’t want to see her crushed at the sight of her pet cat cooking in the oven…”

“You’re sick,” Shaun had spat at her.

“But I’m also a great fuck,” and — with that — the woman had kissed him.

That night Shaun slept with the woman. Around midnight, she got out of his bed and she disappeared into the night. He thought that was it. He thought she’d be out of his life and all she would be was a dirty little secret he’d have to bury from Frankie. But that wasn’t it. She had merely popped out and — a couple of hours later — she had returned. Cradled in her arms was a pet carrier. Inside that — Gizmo.

“Just in case you doubt me,” she had told him when she woke him up. “Tell her it’s over or I’ll cook the cat…”

* * * * *

“You’ll give the cat back now?” Shaun called over to the woman standing in the doorway as Frankie’s car disappeared over the horizon.

“Of course but — remember — you try telling her and I’ll get it back.”

The woman walked up behind Shaun and put her arms around him. She kissed his neck.

“So — fancy coming back to bed before you shoot off for work? Might as well start the day with a smile, yeah?”

The woman laughed as Shaun felt his heart break; already missing Frankie. He suddenly turned to the woman and pushed her away.

“Fuck you!” he yelled. “I’m not being blackmailed to be with you, you fucking nut!”

“Oh? Really?”

“You can’t stop me from telling Frankie. And — what’s more — you can’t stop us from being together. You honestly think you’ll get away with hurting her cat? You’re insane.”

He pushed past her, back into the house. The woman following quickly behind.

“Is that it then?” she called out.

“I’m phoning Frankie now,” Shaun said, storming through to his room. He picked up his mobile and started searching for Frankie in his contacts.

“And that’s your choice?” the woman asked. Shaun turned his back on the woman as he listened to the phone, waiting for Frankie to answer.

“Hello?” Frankie’s shaking voice came down the end of the line.

“It’s me. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything I said. Come back and I’ll explain everything… I was being blackmailed. Please… I’m sorry… Look, I can’t talk now but if you come back… I’ll tell you everything. Just come back.” He didn’t wait for her to answer him back. He knew he couldn’t keep her talking and that it would be easier face to face. He turned back to the woman.

She wasn’t in the room.

“Where are you?” he called out.

She appeared in the doorway again. A look of hatred on her face.

“Well?” she asked. “Is your precious Frankie coming back then?”

“Hopefully,” he said.

“Should be interesting…” the woman said with a wry smile on her face.

“And you’ll give her her fucking cat back now too. That way we won’t have to phone the police. You can just leave…”

“If that’s what you want.”

“You’re insane. You know that, right?”

“Me? You’re the insane one. Turning this down? I could have taken your band so far…”

Shaun heard the sound of a car pull up outside. He looked out of the window and saw Frankie’s car.

“I could have made you famous.”

“Just leave us alone, you’ve had your fun…” Shaun pushed past her and hurried outside. The woman didn’t follow.

“Who is she?” Frankie asked as she climbed out of the car.

“Just come into the house and I’ll explain… You have to believe me — I didn’t want any of this. It’s you I’ve only ever wanted. You know that, yeah?”

“Just tell me who the Hell she is!” Frankie shouted. It didn’t matter what Shaun had to say — at the moment, all she knew was that there was a near naked girl in one of his tee shirts.

“You have to trust me,” Shaun took her by the hand and stepped back into the house.

Frankie gagged, “What the fuck is that smell?” she asked.

Shaun’s heart skipped a beat and he hurried through to the kitchen. The back door was wide open. The oven was on full. A stink of fur hanging in the air…

T H E E N D

Road Rage

1

Tina breathed a sigh of relief when the clock struck home-time. Her job as a receptionist may not have been the most active of roles but it didn’t make it any less tiring. Just over eight hours of filing paperwork, answering multiple phone calls and dealing with customer enquiries — she was ready to go home and have a nice relaxing soak in the tub, maybe even with a glass of wine. And a take-away. She was definitely ordering a take-away tonight. Her husband — Tony — worked nights and tonight was no different. After the day she had had, wading through a mountain of paperwork, it was the perfect reason to order take-away — not that she really needed one.

#notworthcookingforone is what she’d hashtag, along with a picture of whatever she had chosen to order, along with a second picture Tweet of a glass of wine to wash it down with.

#Rudenotto

“See you tomorrow!” she called out as she left the office, pushing the door open with her back and stepping out — backwards — into the street, clutching onto her handbag. Once outside, she turned and headed towards where she’d parked the car — hopeful to get to it before the heavens opened. Ominous dark clouds up above threatening to unleash a torrential downpour any minute now. Always the way — beautiful days right up until home time. And then, the blue skies were swallowed up and day become a very wet night. The only exception to this being the weekends. Then the days started wet and remained wet right the way through to when she turned in for the night; the clouds only parting come Monday morning.

#Godhatesme

She reached her little car just in the nick of time. A few splashes of rainwater had splattered down but not enough to soak her. She shut herself in and slid the key into the ignition before tossing her handbag onto the seat next to her just as a message pinged through on her mobile phone. Typical. A quick ferret around her bag and she found it. A message clearly displayed on the front of her iPhone; one of her most prized-possessions.

Free tonight if bored x

It was from one of her best friends; Shelley Atkins.

Sorry — plans tonight. Catch up soon tho? xx

Having tapped out the quick message, Tina pressed send and tossed the phone onto the seat where it landed next to her bag. It’s not that she didn’t enjoy spending time with Shelley, it’s just she had been promising herself that long soak in the bath and bottle of wine all afternoon. Sure, she could have enjoyed a drink with her friend and been sociable but — tonight at least — she just didn’t fancy it. Besides, despite being a romantic at heart, Shelley was single so Tina could always catch up with her at the weekend — especially as Tony played bass guitar in not one but two bands and, as a result, gigged most weekends.

Eyes facing forward, she turned the key and the car spluttered into life; a plume of smoke from the rear exhaust. She selected reverse, backed out of the space and drove away — leaving the car park behind her in the rearview mirror. She let out a heavy sigh as she settled back into her seat and made herself comfortable. Another day done. Two more days and then it was the weekend. And then it was Monday and the week started again. She dismissed the latter part of the thought and turned her mind to looking forward to the weekend.

#dontwishlifeaway

Driving through the main part of the city, traffic was already building up. The congestion wasn’t helped by the fact the rain had started beating down heavily, causing all cars to slow to a near stop. As Tina sat at the back of yet another traffic jam — with cars piling up behind her, also queuing, she knew she was in for a rough ride home. If the centre of town was already bad, there would be a good chance that the motorway would also be backing up too. She closed her eyes momentarily and wished herself away from the jam, instead picturing herself in the bath that she so longed for. In her picture, a tidy little bottle of red was on the floor — within easy reach — and a glass (full) was already in hand. A warm, soaking flannel placed across her forehead as she laid there with her eyes closed. The driver behind hit his horn — a long, loud blast pulling Tina back to the dull reality of evening rush-hour. She opened her eyes — sighed — and drove up to the back of the car in front. She didn’t know why the driver behind was so keen for her to move. It wasn’t as though they could get much further.

#wishfulthinking

Although Tina knew she wasn’t going to be the only one to have the idea — she decided that, as soon as the turning came up, she’d take the back way home. It was a little longer but the (usually) quiet country roads at least let you get to a decent speed and stay there whereas, on the motorway, there were usually tail-backs regardless of the weather. It just so happened that bad weather made things worse because, nine time out of ten, some idiot would slide into someone else because they hadn’t left enough of a gap between vehicles. As soon as that happened, the thirty minute journey home could turn into over an hour’s worth of travel time. At least.

#learntodrive

I I

Twenty minutes passed and Tina hadn’t made much progress. Her happiness at finishing work was quickly turning into a feeling of resentment. She resented the weather, she resented the traffic — both at fault for eating into her ‘free’ time. The time she could spend in the bath was getting shorter if she wanted to really make the most of her evening with mindless rubbish on the television and her take-away.

Why did the traffic always have to be worse when going home? Why did it have to make you late for your free time? She couldn’t help but feel she must have really pissed someone of authority off in a previous life. The traffic was never bad enough to make her late for the morning start. Only ever for going home.

#lifesucks

What made it more frustrating was that she could see the turning she needed to take — a few hundred yards away. The cars weren’t moving anywhere fast and yet hardly any traffic seemed to be headed down the road she wanted. More than that — not many vehicles were coming out from the turning either which suggested that particular route was quiet.

“Come on, come on…” she muttered under her breath, desperate to be able to get to the turning. Once she was driving down that road — so long as it was as quiet as it appeared — she knew she’d be on the way to getting home at a semi-decent hour. Still hope for that hot bath and glass of wine yet, she thought.

Slowly she watched as the cars passed by the turning — most sticking to the same route. She couldn’t help but wonder whether they knew something that she didn’t know. Maybe the road was closed further down? Maybe they could see that — a little further down the road — it was also at a standstill? Whatever — it had to be better than this. This was just painful. Not forgetting also that it was an excellent indication as to how the motorway would be. Another thought popped into her head; maybe they didn’t know the back route as she did? It was definitely a little more twisty-turny than the standard route and — as mentioned before — it was slightly longer. That on top of the fact that it was easy to get lost if you didn’t know the route properly — maybe people were put off? Thank God her sister, Joanne, showed her the route all those months ago when they went to the shops together; a cheeky little trip to make the most of the discount Joanne got for working at the supermarket.

“Where are you going?” she had asked Joanne as she suddenly turned off the main route home.

She flicked the indicator lever and the light started flickering to the left. The cars stopped moving once more — a final fuck you from the traffic Gods before allowing Tina to be on her way. She sighed heavy. The ‘thump-thump’ noise of the windscreen wipers, the heavy beating of the rain on the windscreen, the occasional car horn sounding off out of frustration and now the tick-ticking of the indicators.

Tina screamed out loud; a noisy way of releasing the slow-building stress bubbling around the insides of her body. She put her head in her hands and screamed again — the damned frustration of not being able to get home. She looked up. Her scream hadn’t scared the traffic out of the way. She was still stuck.

#Godhatesme

2

Tina was finally able to breath a sigh of relief as she turned the corner. No cars in front of her, she put her foot to the pedal and started to relax. Finally — the feeling of making progress came over her. A far better feeling than the irritating frustration of feeling stuck to the spot.

The speed limit was thirty miles per hour and Tina was soon doing forty, despite it being a residential area. She didn’t care. Now, the only thing she cared about was getting home and going by the car behind her — practically sitting on her rear bumper — she wasn’t the only one to be in a hurry.

She eased off the accelerator a little. If she suddenly had to slam on her brake there was no way the person behind her would be able to stop in time. She muttered under her breath, it was idiots like these who tended to cause traffic black spots; all because they were in a hurry and accidentally drove into someone. The driver behind responded to her slight braking by sounding his horn in frustration. Tina muttered again and flicked the indicator down. The light on her vehicle warning the driver behind that she was about to pull to the side of the road. She accelerated a little — to give herself room to breathe — and then pulled up against the kerb, giving the car behind ample room to get by. She jumped as the driver wasted no time in speeding past her, sounding the horn as he did so.

#roadwarrior

Tina responded by hitting her own horn and screaming, “Fuck you!” at the driver, despite there being no chance for them to hear her. It just made her feel good, as though justice had been served. It didn’t matter to her that no one else knew justice had been dished out; it was strictly for her own benefit and amusement. Also, it was good stress relief — just as screaming at the top of her lungs had been when she was stuck in the motionless traffic. Still — that wasn’t how she usually dealt with people riding her arse like that. Usually — with idiots like that — she liked to slow right down to at least five miles per hour under the speed limit, just to annoy them more than necessary. The only reason she hadn't this time was because she was in a hurry to get home herself and — with visibility so poor, it would have been asking for trouble.

She waited a minute or so by the side of the road with the indicator still ticking in the background. Just long enough to give her heart a chance to calm down after being made to jump. And then — when feeling calmer — she pulled away and hit the road once more. She accelerated up to a steady speed — still higher than the enforced limit. The driver once behind and now in front — had all but disappeared with only the faint glow of his lights illuminated in the heavy downpour further down the road. The car disappeared around the next bend.

As Tina approached the bend, she eased off the gas and gently touched upon the brake. She knew these roads like the back of her hand and this was the last turning before the estate turned to hedges and bushes; city of Nottingham slowly turning to country. She also happened to know that it was a bitch of a turning and that — over the years — many a boy racer had come a cropper there, putting themselves into one of the trees and either killing themselves or the friends they carried in the passenger seats.

#theyneverlearn

Tina navigated the bend and drove on passing a car, parked up on the side. She noticed it was the idiot who had earlier overtaken her. She didn’t understand his hurry to overtake her if he was only going to pull up around the corner and yet she couldn’t resist… She thumped her hand down on the car’s horn with a satisfied giggle and a hope that she’d scared the shit out of the driver just as he had scared the shit out of her when he did it. Mission accomplished — she pressed her foot down on the accelerator and — once again — started to gather speed.

#winning

I I

On a quiet day Tina loved this road. The majority of the corners were gentle with great visibility meaning you had plenty of time to respond if you suddenly needed to slow for anything; such as other traffic or even animals in the road as had been known to happen. Along with the gentle curves, there were also plenty of long, uninterrupted straight parts too. Parts where you could really put your foot down — so long as you were vigilant about keeping an eye out for the speed-traps that had occasionally been put in place as a deterrent. Still, with the rain beating down heavily (still) — the chance of the police being out with their little speed cameras was slim to none. Most would be too busy dealing with whatever traffic accident had taken place — as was always the case when it rained. The rain comes, the drivers slow down and yet — somewhere — someone still manages to have a collision.

This road wasn’t perfect though. It was still longer than the other route home so you were doing unnecessary miles and there was always a danger of getting stuck behind a learner driver or — worse still — a tractor. Both were annoying in their own way and — if you found them — the journey would become that much longer and certainly more frustrating as you’d look for spots to overtake them.

A loud thumping noise from somewhere under the front of the car suddenly pulled Tina from her thoughts with a sudden jump and the steering wheel tried to snatch itself from her hands. Immediately she took her foot from the accelerator and let the car slow down at its own pace — too scared to press the brake pedal. The way the steering wheel was shaking in her hand, and the fact the car was trying to pull to the side, she knew straight away she had a flat. It hadn’t been her first. She also knew that — since last having a flat and having the tyres changed — she hadn’t replaced the spare.

“Shit,” she muttered as the car eventually stopped. “Shit! Shit! Shit! SHIT!”

She sat there a moment. She didn’t want to get out and look at the damage. Not least because it was raining but she knew there was nothing she could do about it — other than call for help and hope they wouldn’t take the whole night to get to her. The perfect end to what had already been a stressful day — not helped by the fact that it was getting darker outside, something which — in itself — was not helped by the big black clouds still hiding the heavens above.

Tina screamed out loud again. Another burst of frustration spilling out from within. She stopped and sat there a moment. A heavy sigh and she reached for the mobile phone. The good news was that the battery had 23 % remaining — more than enough to get someone out to come and rescue her. The bad news was that there was absolutely no signal. Of course not. She was in the middle of country roads. Why would there be signal. She tossed the phone back onto the passenger seat and sighed again. So much for that bath.

Looking around outside, she saw she was in a section surrounded by trees. A few hundred yards, further down the road, and she could see the trees just stopped. All she could think was that — maybe — the signal might be better down there. A second, sneaky thought that she didn’t have a coat with her. The morning had been overcast but it had still been warmish. She hadn’t expected the downpour and so hadn’t dressed appropriately. She looked up to the black clouds above. Unlike the trees, there was seemingly no end to them. They just stretched on and on, right into the distance. She screamed again.

“It’s fine. Just give it five minutes,” she said to herself. “Five minutes and hopefully it will ease off a little. Just a little. Please. I don’t expect it to stop. I just don’t want to get as drenched.” The thought of the warm bath waiting for her continued to tease her. She wanted a warm bath. She was getting a freezing cold shower.

#notthesamething

She put her hazard lights on and patiently sat there, looking up through the car’s sun-roof. The rain not getting any lighter, despite her wishes. If anything, it seemed a little heavier. Car lights distracted her via the rear-view mirror. A car approaching. Maybe they would stop and help her out? She opened the car door and clambered out into the pissing rain — the heavy droplets immediately soaking her blouse.

“Gah! For Fuck sake!” she screamed as she jerked her body at the sudden coldness of the water. She quickly stood up straight and turned her attention to the car coming towards her. She raised her hands up in the air — signalling for them to stop. It drove past at speed, splashing the road’s collected rainwater over Tina. She screamed again. Same bastard car that had sped past her earlier. “Fuck you!” she screamed.

#karmaisabitch

The car slammed on its brakes and screeched to a halt. Tina just stood there, watching it for a moment. Maybe the driver hadn’t noticed her in the rain? Maybe it had been an accident — splashing through the puddle like that? The car didn’t move. It just sat there where it had stopped. Maybe they were waiting for her to approach them for help? It made sense. Had it been Tina in the car, and a stranger by the side of the road, she wouldn’t have got out either. She started walking towards the car. The driver revved the engine when she was close enough and then wheel-spun away. The little prick. Tina screamed and put her finger up in the air — a gesture of ‘fuck you’ to the imbecile, asshole driver.

“I hope you fucking crash!”

#cunt

Again, further up the road, the car slammed on its brakes and skidded across the wet concrete to a halt. The engine was ticking over, occasionally being revved. Tina just stood there watching them. She knew, if she walked over, they would drive off again.

“What do you want?!” she screamed out. The engine revved and — again — the car pulled away. No wheel-spin this time though. A deliberate and slow action. Tina still didn’t move. Not until the lights disappeared from her sight. “Yeah, fuck you!” she muttered under her breath.

#freak

3

Cold and wet, Tina leaned back into her car and reached for her mobile phone. The way she saw it, she couldn’t get any wetter now so she might as well have walked to where the trees stopped in order to check for her network signal. Keeping the phone as close to her body as possible, to save it getting too wet, she folded her arms and made a run for it. Each drop of rain stunning her face as it lashed against her — made worse by the fact she was running into them.

As soon as she reached where there were no overhead trees, she stopped and looked down to her phone. Still no signal.

“Shit!!” she screamed.

Desperate — and ignoring the rain — she held the phone up into the air. A hope that — somehow — it would magic at least one bar of signal. Tricky to make a call in this position but easy to send a text. A desperate plea to either Lee or Greg — both friends who would come and help her out. Both friends who were also of large builds, should that driver have decided to come back too. She couldn’t help but wonder whether the driver would have been such an asshole had either of her friends been there but especially had she been with Greg, a six foot rugby player.

Still no signal.

Tina dropped her phone and looked in both directions hoping that she would see something, or someone that could help her. This was one of the worst things about breaking down on the back roads; the distinct lack of help. At least the motorway had phones staggered down the sides of it in case a driver found themselves stranded. Ironic really that they put the phones there where there were frequent police cruisers going past, not forgetting hundreds of other drivers — all of whom were capable of stopping and helping, should you need it. Yet out here, where it is quiet, they tend to leave the drivers to fend for themselves. It is worse when you consider the fact cars have been around a lot longer than mobile phones…

Headlights on the horizon and a little wave of relief. Knowing visibility wasn’t the best — and the fact she wasn’t really dressed in suitable attire to be standing in the middle of the road — Tina stepped to the side. She pressed the screen of her iPhone and flicked the torch app on before turning the bright light towards the oncoming car. The car stopped some way away and immediately Tina’s heart sunk. It was him again. A sudden revving of the car engine just confirmed that.

#psycho

She about turned and ran back towards her own car. She didn’t know who this person was, or what their problem was, but clearly they had issues and the worst place she could be was standing out in the open. She reached the car and opened the door, jumping back inside and slamming the door behind her. Not that she expected the driver to stop, she locked the door. A false sense of security. Had they wanted to get in, she knew a locked door wouldn’t have stopped them. All they had to do — and she knew this — was to smash a window.

She looked down at her phone again in the hope that — somehow — she had managed to source a little signal from somewhere. Still nothing.

“Fuck!” she screamed.

She looked behind her — ever hopeful that she would see another car headed in this direction. She had lost count of the number of times she had driven down this road wishing for no traffic, only to get stuck behind someone. And — now — here she was wishing for traffic and there was nothing other than this idiot.

By the time she faced forward — the car was speeding towards her. Not just that but it was speeding towards where her own car had stopped. She kept telling herself that it was okay. They would stop. They would leave it as late as possible but they would stop. They weren’t going to just ram her. Why would they do that? They’d damage their own car as well. No sane person would do that.

A panicked thought — the fact this person had come back for her and was toying with her… This wasn’t a sane person. Quickly, she fumbled for the lock and undid it. A second later and the car door was open and she was running across the road — towards the trees.

Her legs made short work of the embankment of earth as she scrambled up and out of the road. She turned, expecting to hear the car slam on the brakes at any minute, but there was no sound of it slowing. And now she was watching it — there was no sight of it doing so either.

She watched in horror as the car ploughed headfirst into her own, pushing it back as it stuck to the bumper. The damaged front wheel — and the way Tina had left the steering wheel — caused both cars to career off the road, opposite Tina, and crash into a tree. Loud bangs of twisted, clashing metal with each impact — first where the cars came together and then when they hit the tree. Tina screamed — sure that she’d just witnessed someone kill themselves and — not just that — try to take her life too.

But something was wrong. The car’s engine was still screaming — as though a foot was stuck on the accelerator but now the cars had stopped… She could see that the driver’s seat was empty. There was no one in the car.

She turned in the direction the car had come from. They must have got out and rigged the car to speed up here and crash into her. But — had they done so — that meant they were still out there somewhere and, more than that, they wanted to hurt her.

Tina looked to the horizon, where the car and stopped, and saw nothing. The heavy rain didn’t help but she knew someone must be out there. They were out there watching her just as she was watching for them. The only advantage they had, over her, was that they’d have seen her leap from the car. They knew where she was likely to be. A panicked thought that — not only that — but they could be on the way over right now, angered that their plan had failed.

Without further hesitation Tina turned back from the way she had initially come and started to run.

I I

Tina collapsed with her back against one of the many trees. Still no traffic to help her, still no sign of other human life. It was dark now and the moths had come out, along with the small little flies which seemed to fly together in small clusters between trees as though serving some purpose only they know about. She hated all flying insects as much as she hated spiders. Trapped in her own living nightmare, being stalked by some nutter and dive-bombed by insects.

There was a need to scream out — asking for someone to come to help her — but she knew she couldn’t say a word. There was a strong possibility that — by running through the woods — the other person may well have lost track of her. If she called out, he would find her again. Stay silent and he might not. She wanted to break down and cry, curl up into a little ball and hope and pray that morning came but she also knew that would do her no good either. She just had to keep moving and hope that a car would reveal itself in the distance. If they did so, she could run down the embankment and wave them down. If no car came then — by keeping moving — sooner or later she would have got back to civilisation anyway and, more importantly, safety.

She pushed herself away from the tree and continued on shaking legs. She was only five foot 2 and of a petite build. Her day job involved sitting on her backside, her hobbies — Twitter, reading and any kind of shopping — were also not strenuous. She wasn’t built for this and couldn’t recall the last time she had done this much psychical exercise.

#joiningagym

To distract herself from what was happening — she tried her best to change her thoughts to that of the warm bath waiting for her. That promised bath and bottle of red. And the take-away. The hot food — maybe Chinese?

“Not much further to go,” she kept telling herself. “And then you’ll be in that bath, with that treasured glass of wine and you’ll be laughing about all of this.” Of course she knew it wasn’t going to be that simple. She knew that she’d need to contact the police and tell them what had happened. And then she would have to contact the insurance company; two more tasks that would eat into her evening.

#callinsicktomorrow

And so…

Tina felt a flutter of hope as lights appeared further down the road. A car was coming in her direction. Quickly, she scrambled down the embankment and back onto the main road. A quick check behind her to make sure whoever was following her wasn’t right there, ready to snatch her back into the woods. No one was there. She was alone. A sigh of relief.

She put her hands up in the air and waved the car to stop. Her heart sunk once more as it drove past at a sensible speed. Too many horror films depicted hitchhikers, or stranded people by a roadside as trouble, and she could understand why they didn’t stop. Had roles been reversed, she wouldn’t have stopped. But it didn’t make it any less frustrating.

To her surprise the car suddenly slowed to a stop. She turned and looked for a moment, wondering whether the driver was going to speed off — as the previous one had. A cruel joke aimed towards a desperate woman. The driver’s door opened and the driver — a man — stuck his head out.

“You need a lift?” he shouted out.

“Yes! Yes please!”

#myhero

Tina ran towards the car and jumped into the passenger side.

“Nasty night to be out for a walk,” the man said; a smart gentleman dressed in a business suit. Before Tina had a chance to explain what had happened, he continued, “Where do you need a lift to?” he asked.

“Anywhere away from here,” she said. “If you could just drop me off at the nearest hint of civilisation I’d be grateful,” she finished. From there she could phone the police. They could then come and meet her, she could show them the crime scene and then take it from there — maybe they’d even give her a lift back to her house.

“No worries,” he said. “I just need to wait for my brother, though.” The stranger continued, “Silly sod had an accident.” A slight pause. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen another stranded driver out here?” he asked.

Tina’s heart sunk and then skipped a beat as the rear door opened and someone climbed in.

“Ah — speak of the Devil…” the driver said.

Tina spun around in her chair. There — sitting behind her — was another man. He was soaked through to the skin and his eyes were seemingly black and soulless. He clocked Tina and smiled before he reached his hand forward between her seat and the side of the car and pressed the lock down.

Tina screamed.

The driver laughed, and addressed his brother in the back, “Wait a minute — is this the person you were telling me about?!”

T H E E N D

Content

Matt Shaw
A Sting in the Tale: A Collection of Short Stories

A word from Matt Shaw

A Mother’s Love

1

2

3

4

5

And so…

Plane Crazy

1

2

3

4

5

And so…

The Last Will & Testament of Norman Fielding

Lost Love

I

II

III

IV

Road Rage

1

2

3

And so…