Chapter 5
“And for all I've done...”
Richard, a lay-by near Shillingham
“I said, can't you get rid of ‘im?” The old hag repeated petulantly, still wagging her grubby thumb towards Richard.
“Bad enough ‘avin’ you to look after! Can't afford a free ride for every sponging no-good what walks into me camp! Ain’t you got that food ready yet?” Richard watched the grumpy old bag as she pulled out a small glass bottle from somewhere beneath her layers of soiled clothing, he guessed that it contained Gin or something similar. She took a quick swig and coughed wheezily before continuing her rant,
“An’ ‘e ain't ‘avin’ none o’ my ‘winter warmer‘ neither! I needs it for me chest!” She took another short swig from the bottle of ‘winter warmer’ and fell into a fit of wheezing and coughing, obnoxiously blind drunk.
Tsuba watched her sympathetically then glanced at Richard, shaking his head gently he spooned out a portion of broth into a bowl that had been warming by the fire, he passed it over to her. Richard noticed a very strong herbal aroma as the bowl passed by and guessed correctly that Tsuba deliberately added them to the broth to ease the old lady's chest complaint. She held the bowl under her nose for a few moments before eating to allow the vapours to circulate, her wheezing eased a little. Richard found himself wondering how the odd couple had come together, perhaps they had a story to tell even more bizarre than his own.
Richard was next to receive a bowl of the steaming aromatic broth together with two pieces of the flat bread,
“Thanks.” He said. Tsuba smiled showing a white set of teeth.
“After eating you must entertain us with your story, and please, do not try to shorten any of it, start at the very beginning and leave nothing out!” Tsuba loaded up the fire after they’d eaten and then sat down to listen to Richard's story.
“I really don't know where to start.” Richard shook his head, just a little embarrassed.
“Begin with your name, or what you would like us to call you, then tell us what you were doing just before the misfortune fell upon you, the one that has left you so alone in this world that you have to wander the streets begging for food and shelter.”
Falteringly at first, and with many backtracks, Richard told his tale. He told them how happy and simple his life was with Susan and how quickly it all changed after Eve had walked into his print shop. Tsuba was greatly interested in her and asked many questions, often making Richard go back to explain something in more detail. Towards the end of his narrative Richard noticed that darkness had fallen, the old hag appeared to be asleep and a cold drizzle had started, making the parts of his clothes that were not facing the fire quite wet. Tsuba carefully placed more wood on the fire saying,
“A truly marvellous tale…” He said, “…and one that a great many people would find impossible to believe.” Richard shrugged as if he didn't care whether Tsuba believed him or not,
“I'm still hungry...” He said, adding sarcastically, “...Have I earned enough entertainment points for some more of that soup?”
“Yes indeed, a fine story like yours is worth a dry bed for the night, and some breakfast at least!” Tsuba handed over another bowlful before adding more seriously,
“You have given me much to think about. Many years ago, when I was in Cambodia...” He frowned at the memory, “...I met a woman such as you describe, the one that goes by the name Eve she came on a wave of great evil in that country. She herself...” His voice trailed off, remembering much more than he wanted to tell, “...was not evil, somehow she brought out the latent evil in others, there were many deaths, many atrocities. We, I, er-” Tsuba trailed off lost in thought while Richard ate his soup. It was a few minutes later that Richard noticed that the fire was almost out, he hastily bundled on the last of the collected wood.
“I suppose I should fetch some more wood if we're to keep this fire going.” He didn't receive an answer, The old woman still appeared to be asleep and Tsuba was gazing, trance-like, into the darkness,
“I didn't realise my story was that exciting. Sent him into a coma.” Richard muttered to himself as he again trudged back into the woods, it took a little while for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and he had to go further to find suitable pieces of timber. The drizzle was persistent and cold, he was shivering by the time he got back to the camp and was relieved to see that the fire had not quite gone out, he dropped his load and knelt in front of the tiny fire to gain some of its warmth. Tsuba had awoken from his trance and was busy setting up some kind of screen around the fire. It was a kind of open-ended tent woven out of slender branches that when positioned around the fire would protect it from the rain and excessive winds but would also allow it enough air for it to burn properly. Richard was quietly impressed. When the ‘tent’ was in position Tsuba quickly started sorting through the timber that Richard had fetched, some of it he placed immediately onto the fire, the rest was stacked neatly inside the ‘tent' to dry out,
“We have to keep the wood as dry as possible.” He muttered by way of explanation. Richard turned at the voice of the old hag,
“‘ere, ‘ave this!…” She threw a dark pile to the ground. “…though you don't deserve it, scrounger!” Without further comment she spat on the ground and returned to the sanctuary of the bus. Richard ignored her and whatever it was that she'd thrown down. Tsuba spoke next, he sounded slightly embarrassed.
“We've got this sleeping tent you can use... It should keep you dry...” He moved to the dark pile and started undoing straps before adding, “...If you can keep the fire going through the night we can all have a hot breakfast, with this rain I doubt if I could get a fire started before we set off tomorrow.”
“Okay, thanks.” Tsuba smiled and busied himself erecting the tiny sleeping tent. Richard was tired and grateful for the things that he had got, a fairly dry place to sleep, a fire and some food in his belly, “It Could be a lot worse…” He told himself, “…tomorrow I'll move on.” And although he still had only the slightest idea of where he was or what tomorrow might bring he fell asleep almost instantly.
The house in the Countryside
In the great kitchen of the old house Anjelica and Fidelma sat at a bare wooden table playing cards, as they often did when it was late and the house was quiet. Anjelica, popularly nicknamed Jelly, laid down her cards, almost knocking over her tall glass of sherry,
“There's evil in this house.” She slurred.
“To be sure...” Fidelma agreed in her rich Irish Brogue, “…but tis nothin’ to do with us, we’re just the ‘help’ around the place.” Jelly took a large swig of sherry and, still clutching the glass and swaying slightly from side to side, made the assertion,
“Yes, and that’s as maybe, but we're also the one's who're going to need some ‘help’ sooner or later! Mark my words! That bitch is crazy!” She tapped the side of her head for emphasis. Fidelma understood that she was referring to Eve,
“To be sure, I don’t disagree wid you, she’s as mad as a brush. But she's not the one we have to guard ourselves against, the real evil goes on down there!...” She pointed to the floor, “...Down in that mad hell-hole of a cellar, in that so-called laboratory!...” She dealt new cards before continuing, “...tis that poor little Cairo I feel sorry for, what kind of a life is she going to have? Living in this house full of nutcases, neglected like a poor little orphan-child.”
At that moment the bruised and sorrowful twins filed into the room wearing their nightdresses,
“We're…”
“Hungry.” They said. Fidelma and Jelly exchanged knowing glances and a shake of the head before Fidelma replied,
“Well, you’re not helpless are yer? Your arms'r not broken are they? You know where everything is. Help yourselves, just don't be leaving a mess behind you!”
They continued to play cards in silence while the twins raided the larder,
“I want cake.”
“And cheese.”
r /> “And crisps!”
Fidelma rolled her eyes at Anjelica, she smiled and tapped her forehead whispering,
“They're harmless really.”
Susan, Norfolk
Churchyard trees dripping with pink blossom overhung the garden wall at the back of the little Norfolk cottage, a gusty spring wind brought down cascades like confetti turning the newly mown lawn pink.
Susan, out of breath, put down her skipping rope for a few minutes to enjoy the beautiful sunny morning. Tommy Paston had been in the gardens the day before, mowing the lawns and tidying up the windblown debris. Susan had hid inside, occasionally peeking through her bedroom curtains. He looked pretty much the same as she remembered, except, of course, a few years older. He had glanced up at the house from time to time but made no effort at contact.
Susan was grateful for that. She had found the skipping rope and her old exercise bike amongst the things still stored in her former bedroom, she remembered when, as a teenager, she had been a bit of a keep-fit fanatic. Looking at her body, instead of her face for a change, she realised that she had let it go a little and decided to work-out again. Setting herself a routine that included skipping, cycling, sit-ups and press-ups she found that the physical exertion worked wonders for her moods, she felt less angry after a good work-out and more able to cope with her depression. As the lonely days passed she regained her former athletic figure and laughed one morning when her, once tight fitting, jeans slipped down off her hips, she had to find a belt to hold them up. She’d also stopped looking at her face in the mirror all the time, the exercising had been good therapy for her.
And so it came as something of a shock to her when a few days later she looked into the bathroom mirror to see that the scabs had fallen from her face leaving only faint pink lines. By looking closely she could still read the carefully cut letters SLUT but she knew, knew deep inside with intense relief, that they would fade further and might be completely hidden by a little make-up. She saw her eyes grow sparkly before her sight was blurred by a flood of warm wet tears, tears of gratitude that the ugly word had gone. Soon, she knew, that she would be able to go out into the world again.
Later that day, after her workout, while she was poring over yet more of her mother’s writings, she came across a name and an address, the name was Sir Clive and the address was the same as the house she and Walther had raided in Hammersmith, her excitement grew further when she saw that there was another address for Sir Clive, apparently he had a house in the country near a town called Shillingham. Her mother described Sir Clive as:
“A charming and vigorous man on the outside, but beneath his facade he was one of the most insanely evil men I have ever known.” Susan read a little further, then without consciously thinking about it, she went to the phone and dialled a number, it was answered quite quickly,
“Good afternoon, how may I help you?”
“Walther! Is that you?”
“Yes, who-”
“It's Susan! Listen, I've got an address!” She quickly checked her watch before continuing, it was almost half past two,
“I'll be at the boat by seven! Put the coffee on!” She slammed down the phone as a triumphant and determined grin forced itself across her face,
“Now for some payback time!” She shouted out loud as she started to gather some things together. Only a few minutes later she was running out of the house to her car.
The house in the Countryside
Eve switched off the television with a snarl as the title music to Eastenders blared out,
“I hate the way they glorify such depressing ugliness...” She threw the remote control onto a side table, “...Millions of people, and not just the fat slovenly plebs, watch that dross every day, glued to it, convinced that it’s good to be that stupid, that, that, common!…” She rose and glowered at the now blank screen, “…Those people, those caricatures of the ugly and selfish side of humanity…” She waved a dismissive hand towards the set, “…are their role-models!...” She shook her head in disbelief, sighing, “…for the sake of the Walking Woman! They actually want to be like them...” She fought against the urge to wrestle the TV set to the ground, “…still, I suppose peasants are still peasants whatever century they’re in.”
Franco was busy taking a lot of no notice of her ranting. He was used to it, every time she switched on the television she ended up losing her temper with either the presenters or the presented, and despised the mundane. He understood why. She had no time for passive entertainment, she'd never been able to just sit still and enjoy, even his beloved Barbieri failed to keep her attention, she needed to be a part of a live situation, clapping, cheering, dancing. He remembered the look on her face at the Pamplona Bull run. So happy and full of vigour. He sighed as she continued her pointless rant,
“I am so sick of this petty, narrow-minded hypocritical little country! I need some fresh air, from a free country, a country without ID. cards, without video cameras in the high streets and without your life history stored away on a stupid computer!” Franco shook his head gently and smiled, softly interrupting her he said,
“Why don't you take out one of the horses? The ride might make you feel better.”
She turned on him quickly and for a split second he wondered what she might do, then she favoured him with her best “I've been ranting again haven't I?” smiles and skipped towards the door,
“I think I will!” She said, adding,
“And I might trample down a few gurning peasants while I’m at it!” Franco waited until she was out of earshot,
“I doubt you’ll find many outside, mistress, they will all be indoors, glued to their TV sets, paralyzed by the soaps.”
Richard, a roadside Campfire
Richard toyed with the idea of letting the fire go out and leaving the camp just before the others got up, a kind of petty revenge for their indifferent attitude towards him, fortunately good sense prevailed, it was a cold wet night and he could do with a hot breakfast.
The morning was brighter than he had expected, the rain having blown away by dawn, he was astonished at how beautiful the forest looked in the early morning sunlight, and golden shafts penetrated the gloom as he tramped through the trees looking for yet more firewood. By the time he returned to the camp, Tsuba was up and busy at the fire,
“I was afraid you might have gone.” Tsuba said in his phlegmatic eastern manner.
“Nearly did, thought I'd have breakfast first.” Richard replied dropping his lumber.
“I'm glad you stayed.” Tsuba said in a way that implied he wanted to say more.
“How come? Getting fed up with the old cow?” It was Richard's turn to wag his thumb. Tsuba smiled at Richard's jibe and replied,
“I want to help you.” He had the fire going well again.
“Help me to do what exactly?”
“To find your enemy, the woman you call Eve.”
“And what makes you think I want your help?” Richard handed him some more wood for the fire.
“Ah. You see, my religion does not recognise the event you would call coincidence. It is my belief that we were meant to meet here. I was sent here to help you.”
“Bollocks.” Richard's reply was blunt. Tsuba was unmoved and continued unabashed,
“Listen, my brusque friend, hear me out. I have been travelling for many years, all around the world. And in all that time I wasn't just wandering, I was searching. I have taken many wrong turns, and it appears that luck has finally intervened.” Richard's normally ferocious scepticism of all things mumbo-jumbo had taken a serious denting in recent days so he bit his tongue and let Tsuba continue.
“This place…” He waved his hand encompassing the scruffy lay-by, “…Is the appointed place where I was meant to join with you...” He reached into his jacket, “…Look at this.” Tsuba took a slip of crumpled paper from an inside pocket, he unfolded it carefully and handed it to Richard, it was a photo.
“Taken in Cambodia m
any years ago, that is me third from the right.” Richard looked closely at the crumpled black-and-white photo. He saw a group of soldiers cheering and waving their rifles in the air, a young man who looked like Tsuba among them. Behind and above the group was a Russian tank, stood up by the turret was an officer and to Richard's amazement, next to him, dressed in military combat gear and holding a pistol high above her head was Eve, unmistakably. Richard handed back the photo,
“It's her.” He mumbled, amazed. Tsuba nodded,
“I hardly dared to believe, listening to your story, I thought “It can't be her” but during the night I remembered there are no coincidences, it had to be her.”
“And how long have you been looking for her?”
“Sixteen, no seventeen years.”
“Wow! It looks like you were fighting on the same side, is that how you met?”
“No. Not at first. We er, met, in a village, I fought with the Khmer Republic, she was, er, more of a free-agent.” Tsuba shook his head in a rueful smile,
“I was an idealistic boy. I knew no better. I grew up in Japan, naïve in a well-off family. Ran away to fight in a war in another country. Fighting. Until-” Tsuba ran out of words. Richard sensed there was something between him and Eve, and blurted out,
“So you and her, got it on together?” Tsuba ignored the question,
“Please believe me, Richard, there really are no such things as coincidences. And I am going to help you find her.”
The house in the Countryside
The twins sat in their pink chintz bedroom clutching their dolls and staring at the wall. They had been let off. Eve had finally and begrudgingly accepted that it was not their fault that Richard escaped. But inside their mad heads something had been changed, an entirely new set of thoughts troubled their already overcomplicated minds. They felt a sense of loss at Richard's escape but they knew without thinking that they could cope with that, life moved on. It was the growing feeling of discontent with their lot that was upsetting them. All of a sudden they had lost their trust and dependence on Eve.
“She shouldn't have hurt you like that.” Pip said gravely. She had always been the meeker of the two, but meekness does not necessarily mean weakness.
“I'll be all right.” Emm replied as cheerfully as she could manage, hugging her sister with one arm. The other one was strapped to her chest and she had a bandage on her nose, the bags under her eyes were blue/black.
“She shouldn't've done it.” Pip muttered again and continued to frown at the wall.
Walther's boat, London
Susan drove alongside the Thames towards Walther's boat, she was mildly surprised to see his garage empty with its doors open wide, his car was parked parallel to the boat on the riverside road, evidently he had been waiting for her and as she approached he waved her straight on into the garage.
“The police are looking for you!...” He explained while he quickly closed the doors to conceal her car, “...They want to talk to you about a murder.”
“Who's been murdered?” Susan demanded, jumping to the wrong conclusion that it might have been Richard.
“Well, evidently, the man who attacked us at your home was killed later that very same evening. Obviously they know that it wasn't us that did it because we were both in hospital but, they still want to interview you about it and about Richard's disappearance. I think he might be their strongest suspect.” While Walther was talking he led Susan onto the boat, all the while looking around to see if anyone was watching.
“Aren't you being just a little bit too melodramatic? And what's wrong with saying “Hello?” Susan was amused at his over protective attitude. She stood in the centre of the cabin with her hands on her hips. Walter had been peering out of the window at the empty road outside. He turned to her with a small laugh at himself before replying,
“Yes I suppose I am being a little silly! I'm sorry, It is very good to see you. How are you? You're looking very, er, thin!” He had looked at her properly for the first time since she'd arrived and was shocked at how slim she had become.
“Thank you. I think…” Was her deadpan reply, “…you’re looking pretty wasted yourself. Your face is still swollen.”
There was an awkward silence which Walther suffered in embarrassment, Susan let him suffer even though she had not really felt offended. Finally she allowed him off the hook,
“Speaking of murder, I could kill for one of your coffees.” She smiled. Walther smiled,
“Of course, how very remiss of me.” and fled quickly to the galley. Susan was amazed at how in control she felt.
A little while later the atmosphere had relaxed, Susan had told him of her ordeal at the cottage, her scars and her fear. He had shown a great deal of concern about her face, even blaming himself for not protecting her well enough against Smokey Dick. He looked carefully at the thin scars and pronounced confidently that they would become more and more faint as time went by, eventually her story was told.
“And so what have you been doing?” She asked him over a second cup of coffee.
“Well my dear, I've certainly not been idle. I engaged the services of a private investigator and like you, I've also come up with an address!” He bubbled with enthusiasm as he related his plan,
“I had initially planned to drive up there and just have a snoop around. But then I had second thoughts, it might look too obvious, I might be seen. So I came up with the idea of approaching the house on the blind side! Let me show you what I mean.” He stood up, his head touching the ceiling, pulled open one of the polished wooden drawers and retrieved a map. Moving the cups to one side he spread the map over the table in front of them,
“See here, this is the town of Shillingham…” He pointed with the end of a gold pen, “…and here is the house…” Susan nodded waiting for him to get to the point, “…and this blue line…” He traced along it with the pen, “…runs passed the house, I estimate no more than three hundred yards away, and all the way to here!” He lifted the pen from the map and pointed it theatrically at the floor of the boat. Susan’s brow furrowed, not sure what he was alluding to. He quickly made his point,
“That thin blue line is the river Thames! We can sneak up on them by boat.” He seemed very pleased with the idea, Susan smiled and thought about it.
“Yes...” She said finally. “…It is a good idea. In fact it's fucking brilliant, let's do it. We can leave tomorrow.”
Richard, a roadside camp near Shillingham
Richard was not at all convinced by Tsuba's coincidence theory but he had to admit to himself that he could use some help, at least for the time being. And he’d seen so much crazy shit just lately he couldn’t rule out anything. And so, slightly reluctantly, he stayed with Tsuba and the old woman. Tsuba immediately appointed himself as mentor to Richard and instigated a training routine to increase his fitness and mental awareness. Richard had not enjoyed being told that he was flabby and slack-minded but went along with the exercises as much to pass the time as for any other reason. And after the first few gruelling days while his muscles adjusted he found himself enjoying the routines, even the ones that he had initially thought daft. And then one morning he realised that he actually did feel fitter, more flexible and more alert than he had ever felt before. Tsuba was pleased, Richard had responded well to the training.
They moved camp usually every one or two days, to avoid trouble with the locals or the police, but they stayed in the general area of Shillingham where Richard had walked out of the forest. They had pin-pointed the probable location of the house on one of Tsuba's maps and Richard was becoming impatient,
“For all we know she could be long gone, she could be in Australia by now for all we know!” Richard said testily over an evening meal. As was his way, Tsuba thought for a second before replying,
“Yes, she may have moved on. But we know where the trail starts, it starts at the house, we can always pick it up from there.”
“No! Yes, I agree, but we've
already wasted too much time already, we should strike now! I say we go tomorrow.” Richard spoke forcefully, impatient as ever. And he was surprised at the reply he got from the mild mannered Asian,
“Okay. As you wish. You and I will approach the house tomorrow, undercover. We will make camp nearby and observe, only observe!…” He stressed the point before he continued, “…I have good binoculars. Then we will return here to make attack plan. Agreed?”
“Er, yes, great.” Richard's mind went into a whirl, “At last!” he thought to himself. They retired early that night with the intention of making an early start in the morning. Richard's sleep had been relatively peaceful since he'd joined with Tsuba, the series of nightmares he'd been suffering were largely forgotten, which left him totally unprepared, as everyone is, for the next one:
“Is the blindfold secure?”
“Yes.” It was pitch-black, he couldn't see a thing, there were girls voices, they sounded familiar but he couldn't quite place them. He tried to move but couldn't, his arms and legs were held outstretched by cold metal clamps around his wrists and ankles. He was on his back.
“He's moving! Are the shackles on tight?”
“Yes.”
Richard felt sticky tape pressed over his mouth, now he couldn't speak. Or scream. He was afraid, very afraid. In the blackness he felt a warmness close to his face, it got hotter. Instinctively his body tensed like a bowstring and he cringed away from the hot something. Then he felt a gentle pressure against his cheek and a soft gush of warm air. He'd been kissed.
“Goodbye my love.” Said the first feminine voice.
“Goodbye.” Gently echoed the other.
He felt himself being carried away as if he was on a plank or board. Then he heard the rolling of waves as if he was on a beach followed by the sound of splashing feet, he guessed that he was being led into the ocean.
“Farewell my love.”
“Farewell.”
Then he was floating on the sea, adrift. The voices had gone to be replaced by the sounds of the open sea, coarse winds and breaking waves. After a time he began to hear other sounds, less wholesome, hisses and gloops surrounded him, he pictured in his mind an army of hungry sea-beasts eager to take a bite out of his warm body. Then he felt cold, with mounting terror he realised that he was naked. Suddenly he was startled as something landed on his chest, it had claws and it pecked him. Soon more creatures arrived to feast on him, he could feel their slimy bodies as they crawled out of the sea and onto his chest. He felt them nipping at him, all over his legs arms and chest. The creature with the claws had moved up to his face and began pecking at his cheek, Richard thrashed about as much as he could to try to dislodge the vile parasite but to no avail, more and then more of them clambered up out of the sea onto his raft covering him, and then more of them piling on top of each other in their desire to get to his flesh. Then he felt cold sea-water flood across the raft, the creatures were sinking it! They were taking him under the sea to feed on him!
Richard was rigid with terror. The pecking creature was working furiously on his face and had partially dislodged the blindfold, he could see from the corner of his eye, the sea was filled with black slimy creatures all seemingly trying to drag the raft under, he felt water around his face, over his body. The dark sky above him was suddenly shot through with a clear bolt of sunlight, dawn was breaking. The creatures were afraid of the light and doubled their efforts to sink the raft, Richard watched the lightening sky drift away from him as the cold, salty water covered his face filling his nostrils. Instinctively he held his breath, long seconds passed as he realised that the creatures were dropping off him to avoid the sunlight, gradually he started to drift back upwards towards the surface. The raft was waterlogged and he floated with just his face above the surface of the water, his gag had also come loose allowing him to take great gulps of air, the creatures had all disappeared.
The sun had risen quickly bathing Richard's ravaged body in warmth, he managed to twist his head enough to see down his side, every square inch had a bite or peck mark, the salt water aggravated the soreness and within minutes he could see them all turning septic, they oozed. Richard's agony was complete when he saw the birds circling overhead. Birds like unnatural black gulls swooped around the raft until, as one, they plunged down onto him pecking and clawing his flesh away.
He felt himself being shaken. By waves perhaps?
“Oy! Stop a-moanin' an' wake up ya lazy bastard! We need some more firewood!” The old woman kicked him through the fabric of the tent as she went past. Richard sprang up out of the tent and glared at her, Tsuba looked up from tending to the fire,
“Are you well my friend?” He asked jovially. Richard just shrugged,
“A nightmare.” He replied dully.
“Ah, dreams! The window to the soul!” Tsuba pronounced.
“Piss off!” Richard muttered and headed off to find wood.
The house in the Countryside
It was one of those sunny afternoons occasionally broken by freezing rain showers. It was during one of those occasional downpours the Sir Clive arrived at his country house. He quickly disappeared inside leaving the drunken housekeeper, Anjelica, to flounder with his bags. Kelvin Bright eventually appeared, wearing his ‘country gentleman’s’ waxed jacket and hat, to park the car in the garage.
“You're looking a bit wet, Jelly!” He observed laughing sarcastically. He was actually quite surprised that she wasn't slumped somewhere asleep after having her lunchtime tot of brandy. She laughed with him, looking demented with her hair hanging limp like wet string down her face,
“Fuck off you fucking little ponce!” She managed to utter before he closed the car door on her. She staggered, dripping, into the house not noticing the gorgeous rainbow that had appeared across the northern sky.
Inside, she caught a glimpse of the twins curtseying and pretending to smile as they welcomed home their father, even in her alcoholic daze she had time for some sympathy for them.
“Shame. Poor little bastards. It's not their fault they're fucking mad...” She mumbled to herself while she sought out the brandy, “...Better have a little one, what with him being back in the house.” She justified a large slug. And then took another.
Walther's boat, London
Susan felt the weight of Walther's pistol, it was heavy and massive in her hand. She remembered the bloody mess the bullets had made of Joan. In her minds eye she pictured Eve's face, without hesitation she raised the gun and fired, there was a satisfying click,
“It's a very good thing it wasn't loaded!” Walther vaguely chastised her.
“I'd already checked.” Susan replied, without turning to him she showed a fistful of bullets that she'd removed from the gun.
“You seem quite relaxed handling that gun?” It was a leading statement.
“I am…” She answered flatly, “…every girl should have one.” She said it jokingly but Walther could tell that there was a more serious undertone to her words.
She had spent the night on the boat, in the spare berth, they had talked a great deal and made tentative plans. Walther had told her how he had been working on the engine of the old boat, making sure that it was up to the journey. He had bought provisions to last them for at least a few days and there appeared to be no reason why they could not set off on the following morning. They rose at dawn, Walther smiled as the engine started up first-time, with the sun rising behind them in the east Walther steered the boat out into the early morning traffic of the river Thames.
Susan, standing behind Walther on the small rear deck, watched as they drifted away from the mooring with a mounting sense of excitement, absent-mindedly touching the thin scars on her cheek. Sipping black coffee as they chugged under Richmond bridge, she watched Walther's face, the lines frozen in concentration, looking every inch the Hungarian nobleman. He had confessed to her last night that he was wealthy, stinking rich even, having inherited an estate and vineyards from his father, he hoped on
e day to play host to her in his native country.
“If we get through this alive.” She had told him.
The house in the Countryside
Pip and Emm had retreated from the paternal attentions of Sir Clive and hidden themselves in their bedroom. They sat at their dressing table looking at each other in the mirror,
“I hate him!” One said.
“I do too!” There was a short pause while they continued to stare at each others reflections,
“We could kill him.” One ventured,
“Yes. We could.” One of them fetched an evil looking doll from a cupboard,
“Madame Pincer would tell us how.” They stared at their customised doll with its miniature home-made knives and scissors until it advised them,
“Wait till he’s been on the whisky.” Another long pause,
“Then strangle him with the bell cord.”
“Make it look like suicide.” Another, longer pause,
“I think I hate the mistress as well!”
“And I do too!” Another pause, the longest,
“No I don't!”
“Nor I!” Then they crumbled. Hugging each other tenderly while they stared into the mirror and sobbed, hopeless and confused. And looking forward to patricide.
*
Kelvin Bright sat in the car that he'd parked in the garage, he was smoking one of the expensive cigarettes that were kept in the car's cocktail cabinet. A day-dreamer and a fool with a nasty streak,
“You want to watch out for me!…” He said to his imaginary audience, “…I'm dangerous to be around!” He boasted to himself, carelessly stubbing out the cigarette and stealing a few more for later.