Joe almost reached out to take the woman’s arms in a gentle grip, just to calm her down. He immediately thought better of it.
“Mrs Harper, please. I’m just here to see if the dog’s okay. Honestly.”
Anne stopped talking, mouth hanging open mid word. The poor woman looked a bag of nerves on the edge of collapse. Her eyes were still bloodshot and glistening, even in the failing light of the evening.
“Betsy, the dog,” he said. “Just wanted to be sure she’s okay. I’d be a wreck for a while if it was the other way around, not that a dog would be driving a car, but you get what I mean, hopefully…”
Anne stood in silence.
Stop rambling, man!
Joe cleared his throat again and gulped.
“Anyway, from the reception she gave me, she sounds like she’s full of life.”
Anne leaned to the side to peer around him and out into the street.
“So…that’s all…really,” he said, more uncomfortable. “I could always pop around again tomorrow just in case-”
“No,” Anne snapped. Joe flinched. “You can’t!”
He stepped back and nearly tripped into a flower bed.
She leaned forwards out of the doorway, glancing back and forth along the street.
“I think you’d better leave,” she said in a quiet voice, staring out to the end of Penny Crescent.
“I’m sorry,” Joe replied.
The front door closed with a click.
Why the hell did you come over here? Are you that much of a moron?
He also checked the street for her husband, figuring that it might look a bit odd: a strange man leaving his house. A man of his temper was to be avoided.
He rubbed his arms through his shirt, trying to generate some warmth. Cold and embarrassed, he headed back.
The Deans
1.
Adam Dean, whistling the tune to
Oh Baby Baby I Love You
, reached into the pocket of his white tracksuit pants. He pulled out a ten deck of Lambert and Butler cigarettes. The wall had been pleasantly warm earlier, but had since chilled with the approaching evening. The flimsy fabric of the tracksuit did little to cushion the unforgiving brick.
He flicked his thumb sharply upwards, flipping the cigarette box open. One surviving smoke remained. This he knew, but he still shook the box, just to be sure.
“Ah, shit,” he said. “I’ve only got one left. You?”
“All out.”
Adam fished out the cigarette with his thumb and forefinger and poked it between his lips.
Jake leaned over, his extended lighter already displaying a small yellow flame. Adam took a drag, sucking in the fire until the open end glowed orange. He nodded.
Jake returned the lighter into the fold of his long coat. “Whatcha wanna do now? Looks like everyone’s gone inside. The cans are all gone too.”
Adam peered over his shoulder, and true enough, the empty plastic bag blew across the shaggy lawn. A breeze had risen, disturbing the formerly calm and serene evening.
Granite clouds had crept across the twilight sky, their undersides illuminated by the setting sun, which cast a rosy glow to the west. Darkness dominated the east. Adam gazed at the remnants of the sun. It seemed afraid, having run across the sky from the approaching night and hid behind the horizon.
Strange thought. Sounds like something the Goth boy here would come out with…
“We can’t stay out here,” he said, still looking skywards from underneath his baseball cap. “Clouds are comin’ in. Gonna piss it down soon.”
“Whatcha wanna do then?” Jake repeated. “I’m not going inside, not with the fuckin’ mood she’s in.” He jabbed a thumb back towards the house.
“She worries too much. That’s her problem.”
Adam puffed his cigarette and tapped away the tip of ash. “So what we gonna do?”
The immortal question. The amusement of watching the street had gone along with the players, who had retired into their homes. Penny Crescent failed to satisfy a couple of party boys.
He smoked, thought about the problem, and smoked some more.
“We could go and see Smithy,” suggested Jake.
Adam wrinkled his nose. “Why the hell would we want to see that loser?”
“He’s got new gear.”
Adam inhaled another quick drag of the cigarette and rolled it between his fingers. Smithy might be a real nerd, with body odour so bad you had to hold your breath, but new gear?
“How much he sellin’ at?”
“Dunno.”
Adam jumped from the wall; his designer trainers, both displaying a distinct logo, hit the pavement with a smack.
“Where you going?”
“The garage,” Adam replied, smoking the last of his cigarette and pitching the stub into the road.
“Already?” Jake swept his fringe out of his eyes and also hopped from the wall. He rubbed his buttocks through his black jeans.
“I know we got some, but he always has good stuff,” said Adam. “He’s sure to give me a good deal.”
“How come?”
“He’s a mate.”
“A mate…yeah, right…”
The curtains of the house opposite fluttered, and Adam nodded across the road. Jake turned.
Anne Harper opened the curtains a fraction and quickly glanced up and down the street.
“Sorry, Anne,” Jake chuckled. “Frank ain’t home yet. Want us to come over and keep you company?”
“That would be sweet. Horny little bitch.”
“Bet she goes like the clappers. Eh?”
Adam nodded. “I’d rip her in two.”
“Yeah, until Frank caught you, then
he’d
rip
you
in two!”
Jake burst out laughing and punched his brother in the shoulder.
“Bullshit,” said Adam. “I could take him. He’s only a physics teacher for fuck’s sake!”
“Liar. Prove it.”
Adam stared at his twin. “What?”
“I said, prove it. Go over there, shag his wife and wait for him to get home. See how hard you are then, shall we?”
“You’re joking, right?”
Breaking into that the old witch McGuire’s house for pot money was one thing, but was his brother suggesting he forced himself on Anne? Raped even? No, definitely not worth it.
Although he could picture it: her pleads, her struggle, the first touch…
“Yeah,” Jake said, and laughed. “I’m joking.”
“Good. You know we’re being kept under surveillance after the whole burglary thing.”
Adam glared at the McGuire house, memories of the break in running past his eyes like scenes from
Crimewatch.
That convertible looks pretty slick. Alloy wheels, metallic blue finish…
He quickly dismissed the idea. Stealing a car from the house they’d burgled only weeks before felt reckless, even for them.
“Fine then,” he said. “We’ll go to Smithy’s, but on two conditions.”
“What are they?”
“You pay, and I drive.”
“Fuck off!”
“Take it or leave it, bro.”
Jake chewed his lip. “I don’t have much cash left, but if his gear’s as good as you think…fine. Get the bike.”
Adam grinned. “That’s more like it.”
With a final fleeting glance at Anne over at the Harper house, Adam strode through the open gate at the top of the drive.
The gate hung in disrepair, rust eating away the metal bars between patches of aging green paint. Their mother had long ago given up asking the brothers to do the simple chore of repainting it. Adam failed to remember the last time she’d asked either of them to do
anything.
Adam recalled the hot summer day their father had originally painted the gate. He and Jake had only been four, maybe five years old, kicking a fly away plastic football around the small lawn. Their father had sat on the baking driveway armed with a tin of paint, a small brush and a handkerchief for mopping his sweaty brow. He painted in long and always downward strokes, not allowing a single drop of paint to be wasted. Jake had kicked the ball straight at the tin, and it tipped and spilled paint in a spreading puddle on the driveway. Their father had erupted. After a good smacking, he’d sent them to their rooms for the rest of the day.
Dad was such a stickler for order…and punishment.
Adam glanced at the long faded patch of green on the flagstones.
All that stress over us didn’t help your heart, did it Dad? Jesus, how many years is it now? Ten? Something like that.
He walked the rest of the way down the drive, stomping the weeds growing in abundance in the cracks and gaps.
The garage stood at the side of the overgrown back garden. The paint, once so bright and flawless over a decade ago, had faded and peeled. Large chunks had flaked away with constant weathering, revealing the rotting wood underneath. The small windows in the double doors were covered in accumulated grime, allowing a tiny amount of light through. The roof, made of corrugated sheet metal, had done a good job of keeping out the rain thus far, but had paid a heavy price for its lengthy battle with the elements. The thick screws that held it in place were now mere clumps of rust. Moss and lichens of various shades of green and yellow gathered in the nooks and crannies where rain water had accumulated.
For all its faults, the garage had become a special place for Adam and Jake. It was
theirs
, a den, a sanctuary and sometimes, a hideout. Their mother might have a fragile grip on the control of the house, but the twins had established the garage as their own kingdom.
Adam swung one of the doors wide open and the welcoming smells drifted out: cigarette smoke, stale beer, oil and old joint stubs.
The scent of home.
He didn’t bother to turn on the light. The motorbike stood a few feet away.
Jake had bought the small bike from a bloke down the King’s Crown pub, a steal at three hundred pounds. With 125cc they could really tear up the road.
Now comes the hard part.
He hoped his mother wasn’t in the kitchen. He had neither the mood nor the time for a lecture…especially one about the bike.
Adam wheeled it outside, propped it against the fence and dashed back to close the garage. Returning, he grabbed the handlebars and pushed the bike up the drive, breaking into a run. At the front gate, he sighed, having been spared from his nagging mother.
“She see you?” asked Jake, sparking up a fresh cigarette.
“No, I don’t think so.” He pointed at the smoking white stick poking out between his brother’s lips. “Where the fuck did you get that? You been holding out on me?”
“I found it.”
“When?”
“Just then.”
“I fucking bet you did. Bet you’ve got a full deck in that stupid coat.”
Jake frowned. “I don’t know how you can stand there in a white tracksuit and call my coat stupid. I mean, is there a part of you that doesn’t have a logo? Your prick, for example, or is that sponsored by Nike?”
“Fuck you!”
“No, bro. Fuck you! You’re a walkin’ advert.”
Adam cocked his leg over the bike and settled into its seat.
“I don’t have time for this, oh prince of darkness. We going or what?”
Jake drew from his cigarette and pitched it into the road. “Let’s go.” He climbed onto the back of the bike and grabbed his brother by the shoulders.
Adam kick started the engine, and it roared with high pitched revs. He looked to the window of the Harper house, convinced the noise would attract that cock-tease Anne to the glass.
“Come on,” shouted Jake over the noise of the chugging engine. “Get moving already!”
With some reluctance, Adam pushed away from the pavement and steered onto the road.
“Punch it, you pussy!” hollered Jake into his brother’s ear.
Adam obediently revved the engine once more, and the bike shot forwards in a fresh burst of speed. Without indicating or checking for traffic, he swerved around the corner and out onto the main road.
2.
Jenny Dean, sitting in the darkened kitchen, watched her son sneak into the garage and take the bike. She remained at the table, not bothering to apprehend him. She knew she’d be met with a blank stare, or even worse, a sneer. Both boys had developed quite the teenage rebel attitude and strongly believed that at eighteen, they knew better than their old mum.
Since the incident at Eleanor McGuire’s house, it had grown even harder to keep track of their whereabouts. They were always one step ahead of her, and the law.
She heard the bike roar into life.
Jenny rested her head against her hands and massaged her throbbing temples. Letters and statements littered the table. In the poor light, reading the small print on the sheets of paper had given her a migraine. But the dark comforted her. Light revealed her problems: the messy kitchen, her chubby hands and sagging chest, the never ending list of chores for her to do. Worst of all, it would illuminate the collection of bills.
Damn you, Harold…
In front of Jenny, next to her discarded gold rimmed spectacles on the table top, lay the pile of statements covering electricity, gas and water. All three demanded immediate payment. Jenny hoped the gas bill might be easier to pay next time around, with winter finally being over. The electricity too should be substantially less. Her non-essential appliances had all been sold to recover a little extra cash.
Yet the boys’ television, stereo and Xbox remained.
At least there’s no phone bill this time. One of the benefits of it being cut off.
Jenny stared at the bills, waiting for the solution to reveal itself. Her headache pounded harder, entering a whole new plateau of aggravating pain. Unable to ignore it any longer, Jenny lifted her large frame from the wooden chair, which creaked in relief. She plodded over to the sink and searched for a clean glass. After a few seconds of poking in around the stained plates and bowls of half eaten cereal, she cursed her optimism and rinsed a small tumbler. She filled it with cold water and shuffled out of the kitchen.
She lowered her eyes as she passed the mirror in the short hallway. Her hair had prematurely greyed, and her face carried the creases of a hard life. The worst was her weight. She’d never been slim, always a curvy, full-figured woman. Now the curves hung in sagging folds, and the skin on her legs, back and belly were a road map of varicose veins and stretch marks.