Gary McMahon - Silent Voices

He lay there in the darkness, his vision sketching shapes in the air, and waited for Jane to wake up, or for her alarm to go off and rouse her. He didn’t want to wake her, but nor did he want to be alone with his thoughts. He felt… aggressive. The kind of anger that had not touched him for a long time; the drink helped keep it at bay. So did the bondage DVDs and the specialist magazines.

He felt his erection twitching into life and reached down, beneath the covers, to cup his balls. His libido was weak these days, as far as Jane was concerned, but still he was prone to the occasional morning glory. He smiled, and then remembered that he was angry. He scratched the hard shaft of his penis, enjoying the sweet, sharp pain caused by his fingernails, and then Jane stirred again at his side. He took away his hand, bringing it back up from under the bed sheets, and turned his head to face her.

“Morning,” she said, her voice slow with sleep. “What’re you doing awake?”

“Rough night,” he said, wishing that he could make out her face in the darkness.

She shifted, propping herself up on one elbow. He could feel her staring at the side of his face. “Did somebody try to break into the site?” Her voice was normal now; she was wide awake.

“No, no… nothing like that. Don’t worry. I just had a phone call that I didn’t enjoy.”

“Who was it from?” She slid out of bed and crossed the room to the window. Brendan could make out the vague lines of her body as she walked past the foot of the bed, like a shadow moving within the shadows. A vertical line of light appeared as she opened the blackout curtains just enough to illuminate that part of the room. The light spread, throwing items into relief — the chair by the window, the wardrobes, the dressing table, his wife’s naked body, heavier around the middle now that she was getting older but still a wonderful sight to behold.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Sorry.” She moved away from the window. “Should I close them again?”

“No, I wasn’t being sarcastic. I meant that. Thanks. It’s nice to see you like this… you know, with nothing on.”

She smiled. “Oh, shut up.” She made a show of trying to cover up, and then gave up and opened her arms, her hands shaking in a dancer’s jazz-hands motion. She wriggled her hips. Her meaty thighs jiggled, but it was a sensual movement, something real and earthy and essential. “So,” she said, walking back around to her side of the bed, still smiling. “Tell me about this nasty phone call.”

He adjusted his position on the bed, turning his body so that he could look right at her. Jane’s mouth was slightly open, the lips showing blackness instead of teeth in the dim light. It was a disconcerting image. He reached out and ran his hand along the side of her waist, and then on down to her thigh.

Jane giggled. “Come on then, mister. What’s up?”

“Oh, it’s probably a lot less than I’m making out, but it kind of pissed me off at the time.” He stared into her blue eyes.

Jane raised her eyebrows but said nothing as she slid back into bed beside him.

Brendan sighed. His back started to itch, the acne flaring up again. It had been fine since that short outbreak last night, but now — as if following some kind of cue — it was starting to bother him again. “I got a call from my boss.”

Jane nodded. “Lenny Campbell? Okay… what’s so weird about that? Or do you not like him checking up on you?”

“He wasn’t checking up on me.” Brendan left his hand resting on the curve of Jane’s thigh. He opened his fingers and pressed his palm flat against her hot skin. “He rang me to tell me not to come in tonight.” He blinked, glanced at his hand, and then looked back at his wife’s face.

“Oh, shit. You’ve been fired?” The smile vanished. Her eyes clouded over. She pulled the bedclothes upwards, covering her nakedness, as if in some kind of punishment.

Brendan moved his hand away. “No… no, I haven’t been fired, or made redundant, or had my hours cut. He told me that I was still on the payroll but that somebody else was paying my salary. I’ve been hired as private security.”

Jane shook her head. “I’m not following this. What did he mean, ‘private security’? What’s that all about?”

“It’s him.” Brendan looked away, his gaze roaming the walls and taking in the framed school photographs of the twins, a wedding photo on the dresser, and the cluttered surfaces in the bedroom. “It’s Simon fucking Ridley, isn’t it? He rang Campbell and brokered some kind of deal. I’m working directly for him now. That arrogant bastard is paying my wages, paying for the food I put on the table, the roof over our heads. He can’t leave well alone; he has to interfere.” He felt the rage building again inside him. Sitting up, he pressed his lower back against the headboard. His upper back was burning; a strip of lava spilled across his shoulders. The pustules were signalling to him, responding to his wayward emotions.

“Calm down, pet. Maybe it’s not what you think. Perhaps he has a good reason — like, he’s trying to help? He always was a clumsy, inappropriate shithead, and this is probably just another example of that. I bet he thinks he’s helping us out.”

“My shoulders hurt.” Brendan had closed his eyes. He saw red fire behind the lids. It was like staring down into an active volcano. “My back’s stinging.”

“Take deep breaths.” Jane sat up, the covers falling away to expose her breasts and her belly. Small pink rolls of flesh around her waist; she always called them her ‘mummy-tummy’. “It’s okay. Don’t get yourself so worked up.” She rubbed his arm with her hand, and then started to massage the back of his neck, just above the infected area.

“I hate this,” he said, not opening his eyes. “I hate me.”

“I love you,” said Jane, still applying pressure to the nape of his neck. “So I guess you’re screwed, aren’t you?” The pressure increased; it was blissful. Nobody could calm him down quite like Jane.

“Thank you,” he said, and opened his eyes.

“Listen, I have to get the twins up, get them ready and take them to school. Are you going to be okay?”

He nodded. “Aye, aye… Of course I am. Just a bit stressed, that’s all. That idiot coming back here and trying to track down Marty… it’s freaking me out. He wants to get the three of us back together, like the old days.”

“The good old bad old days…” Jane’s voice held not a trace of humour.

“Yeah.” He reached up and grabbed her hand, squeezing it. “That’s exactly what they were.” Her fingers were hot, as if she’d been handling hot coals. “I’ll be fine. You go and sort the twins out and I’ll try to get some more sleep. If I don’t, I’ll be a nightmare later on.”

Brendan yawned. Dimness shimmered at the edges of his vision.

Jane curled up her nose, an expression she sometimes made when she was thinking. “Invite Simon over for dinner. Tonight. We can talk like adults, get some stuff out into the open for a change.”

“Aye,” he said, not fully registering what she’d said. “Okay.”

Jane left the bed and approached the window, where she shut the blackout curtains. Her body was diminished by the retreating light, like an oil painting being slowly erased by chemicals. She left the room without saying a word, grabbing her dressing gown from the back of the door. When he was on nights, she always kept the following day’s clothes in the bathroom, so that she could get dressed without bothering him. She was good like that: thoughtful.

Brendan lay down on his belly. His back was causing him too much irritation to put any weight onto the affected area. The acne was no longer hurting, just making its presence felt. He kept the covers down around his waist just to let the air circulate across the broken flesh. He closed his eyes. He didn’t even realise he was sleeping…