Matt Whyman - The Savages

There was a point just behind the ear that Titus considered a guilty pleasure. Towards the end of a warm day, it was possible to detect a slight but telling odour. This was down to a sweat produced by the eccrine gland. The fold in the skin behind the lobe interested Titus because it formed a trap where a particularly oily film of the stuff would mature. Even though the smell was undetectable to most people, it revealed a great deal to experienced nostrils.

Leaning over the couple with the map, Titus breathed in and savoured the intermingling odour of two specimens. Like a wine connoisseur, he was able to break down the components and make a quality assessment. In this case, the couple were in good health, well exercised and enjoyed a balanced diet. In terms of appeal, however, they were both a little too mature for his liking. What put Titus off completely was the top note of trimethylamine he detected. This natural chemical was released in times of stress, and could make the flesh a little fishy. Given that these guys were clearly tourists in a strange city and quite possibly a long way from home, it was no surprise that they were feeling tense. As the tube train pulled into the next station, the pair appeared to be torn as to whether or not they should get off. They looked at one another, and then back at the map, before bickering in their mother tongue.

Titus stood back and smiled to himself. It was an amusing exercise. Something he often enjoyed during rush hour to make the journey go that bit quicker. The Savages didn’t just go around slaying people day after day to feed their appetite for human flesh. It was a delicacy. A treat they enjoyed on an occasional basis. Sometimes they would prepare a feast to mark a special moment in their lives. At other times, consuming someone would be necessary because they had come too close to the truth for comfort.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ the male tourist said in broken English, and turned to face him. ‘Which way to the Palace?’

As visitors to this country, the couple would’ve been mightily impressed by the time and courtesy Titus went on to display. He showed them their destination on the map, explained that they were travelling in the wrong direction, and then stood at the open door and pointed out the correct platform. As the couple stepped off, thanking him profusely, Titus bowed his head and wished them a good day. At the same time, in the furthest recess of his mind, he was debating whether salt curing might draw out the stress taint, particularly from a nice cut like the thigh or ribcage. If that worked out, he thought to himself, it could just leave the meat ripe for a mouth-wateringly tender, slow-cooked Stroganov.

Titus was just calculating the likely oven time when a young man rushed between the closing doors of the train. It was a dramatic entry and Titus was alone in ignoring it. He continued to enjoy preparing the imaginary dish, gazing at the roof panelling as the tube pulled off once more. Then, as a distinctive smell reached his senses, he lowered his gaze and blinked just once. The young man across from him was wearing a suit, open at the throat. He was eating a cheeseburger, which was what now commanded the attention of the bald man opposite. Titus watched him take a bite, and then another in a desperate bid to stop the ketchup from slopping on his shoes. Judging by his outfit, and sharp, angular haircut, he was either an estate agent on an early rung of the career ladder, or in direct sales of some description. Either way, he wasn’t much older than Sasha, and looked both ambitious and hungry to make his mark on the world.

What was his daughter doing, he thought to himself, going out with a vegetarian ? Those vitamin-deficient pantywaists really couldn’t be trusted. It just wasn’t right, in his view. It went against man’s early instincts as a hunter. OK, so someone had to stay back and tend to the potatoes and the cress or whatever, but Titus doubted very much that anyone who was fit and strong enough to stalk elk and bison would volunteer. Meat dodgers just made him nervous. That was all. Watching the young man cram the last of the cheeseburger into his mouth, Titus hoped that Sasha would see sense soon. Even if this new boy in her life had a good soul, he’d still lack heart and guts. Ultimately, she could do so much better than that.

Titus had just decided that he would help his daughter reach this conclusion sooner rather than later when the tube pulled into the next stop. Having licked the grease from his fingers, the young man turned for the doors and waited for them to open. With several more stops before he reached home, Titus sighed to himself and looked around. Quite a few passengers remained on the carriage. A couple more suits, both too depressed for his liking, a man in his sixties in full jogging gear and some bulky guy in a jazz hat and sleeveless body warmer. Titus was just wondering to himself whether the hat was leather or synthetic when the guy glanced around and caught his eye. In a blink, he pulled the peak of his cap low, switched his attention to the floor and then did his level best not to look back. Titus smiled to himself, and wondered what his dear wife had prepared for supper.

Angelica Savage wasn’t just a unique cook. Nor was she simply an accomplished homemaker. One look at her credit card statements revealed that she was also a formidable shopper. She kept them in a shoebox at the back of her walk-in wardrobe, which also contained the reason why she had racked up so much debt.

When it came to fashion, Angelica was bleeding edge. Her style was simple and elegant, but it came at a sky-high price. She would shop in boutiques where the staff dropped everything knowing what she could spend. Sometimes she went directly to the internationally admired dress designer, Gerado Figari. It was an association that would later come close to ruining the man’s reputation, of course. Back then, whenever his mobile rang and her name appeared on the screen, he would always be quick to pick up. His dresses from across the seasons hung from every rail in Angelica’s wardrobe, alongside more casual clothes for the home that still cost a small fortune. It would be easy to look back and link her need for shopping to the family’s hidden secret. Certainly many criminal psychologists have stepped forward to say that her consumer habit on the high street served as some kind of escape for the woman. A chance to momentarily forget about the horror that took place inside the house. This, they argued, explained how she managed to spend way beyond her means, and took to hiding the true nature of her debt from the rest of the family.

‘Is this the bathroom?’

The voice took Angelica by surprise. With a gasp, she hurried to replace the lid on the shoebox. Then she twisted around to see Grandpa standing behind her. He was wearing a vest and drawstring trousers. For one horrible moment, it looked as if he was about to unbutton himself.

‘No it isn’t,’ she said, rising to her feet. She sounded cornered, perplexed and a little cross. ‘It’s my wardrobe, Oleg. The bathroom is across the hall. You know that, don’t you?’

Grandpa looked even more bemused than Angelica. He took a moment to consider what she’d said, before his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

‘Oh, of course! So it is. I’m sorry.’

As he spoke, Angelica’s expression shifted from surprise to concern. For decades, Oleg had shown no sign that age was getting the better of him. His wrinkles may have deepened, but this was the first occasion that his mind had let him down. Seeing him like this, as she recovered her composure, just served to make her aware that he wasn’t going to live forever. It didn’t matter how often Titus joked that Oleg’s diet made him immortal, one day nature would take her course. However you conducted yourself through life, whatever path you chose, everyone died in time.