Дэвид Муди - Strangers

Something slammed up against the door of the phone box behind her. Her heart racing, still holding onto the phone, desperate to stay connected, she slowly turned around.

She screamed out loud when she saw him.

It was that oddball Graham from the Co-op, all wild hair and staring eyes, and he was leaning up against the glass, masturbating. His lips and tongue left greasy drooled smears, as if he was trying to French kiss her through the glass. Tammy screamed again and dropped the phone, cowering back in the corner, but Graham wasn’t going anywhere. She locked her arms and held the door shut, stopping him getting inside. He remained completely unfazed, leaning against the phone box with one hand, stroking his cock with the other. She tried to look anywhere but at his dribbling erection and ginger pubes.

Their eyes met again. He was just staring at her… lusting after her. The initial shock began to fade slightly and she was left feeling… Christ, she didn’t know what she was feeling now. She wanted to get out and run, wanted to slam his cock in the door… But he was all right, wasn’t he? It wasn’t his fault. He was just a bit simple…

Stop. What the hell are you thinking?

He wasn’t so bad. He was still wanking in front of her in broad daylight, of course, but so what? Graham wasn’t the brightest spark, but then again, she didn’t really know him… didn’t know anything about him. He probably didn’t mean her any harm, he just wanted to hold her, to be held himself. Poor guy. It had probably been a long time since anyone had shown him any affection, if ever. She looked into his hazel eyes again, magnified by the lenses of his glasses, and she wondered if she’d misjudged him. He had a lovely face actually… kind and gentle, innocent… She wondered if he’d ever kissed a girl like her and—

—and then he was gone.

In a flurry of barely-controlled movement, someone rugby tackled Graham, sending him flying across the pavement. The two men came to rest in a tangled heap against the wall of a pharmacy. Immediately brought crashing back to reality again, her head all over the place, wondering what the fuck she’d just been thinking and why she hadn’t panicked and run, Tammy continued to hold the phone box door shut. Could this horrifically fucked-up place possibly get any worse? The scratched glass, almost opaque with graffiti in places, now covered with Graham’s semen and drool, was difficult to see through. Who was out there? Was it Heather’s boyfriend, Chez? Was it Jamie? That creepy guy Dez again? She felt relieved and disappointed in equal measure when she spotted Scott’s car parked across the street, the door open and the engine still running. Without hesitation she ran over and climbed in, pulling the door shut behind her.

On the pavement outside the shop, Scott grappled with the pervert who’d been flashing at his step-daughter. He already had a distinct height, weight and strength advantage over Graham, but he wasn’t holding back. He wanted to teach this sick little bastard a lesson. On top of him now, pinning his arms down with his knees, one hand wrapped around his throat, he threw punch after undefended punch at Graham’s face. Scott’s hand stung but he kept pounding, splitting Graham’s lip and breaking his nose, blood all over the place. When the pain in his hand became too much to stand, Scott stood up and staggered away, panting hard. Graham lifted himself up onto one elbow, struggling for breath, blowing bloody bubbles from one nostril and from the corner of his mouth. Scott ran back at him again and kicked the sick fucker in the gut, feeling real satisfaction when the tip of his boot struck bone. ‘You stay away from my family, you dumb cunt, understand?’

Graham was crying… whining… but still trying to get up. Scott grabbed his collar and lifted him ’til their faces were just inches apart.

‘You understand me?’

Graham nodded. Scott spat in his face, then dropped him back down.

Where the fuck was she?

Scott looked around and panicked when he couldn’t see Tammy. He couldn’t see anyone, thankfully. Then he spotted her sitting in the passenger seat of his car and he ran over.

She was sobbing. ‘I’m sorry… I just wanted to talk to Dad…’

Scott wasn’t listening. He turned the car around in the road, bumping up the opposite kerb, missing Graham’s outstretched foot by just a few inches, then accelerated hard.

‘You stupid, selfish little bitch. Your mum’s been going out of her mind. What the fuck did you think you were doing?’

‘I’m sorry…’

‘You need to sort yourself out, you hear me?’ No response. ‘I don’t give a shit who you think you are, I’m in charge here. Got it?’

‘I get it,’ she said, her voice barely audible over the noise of the straining engine.

Once she was sure the car had gone, Mary McLeod unlocked the café door and went outside. She’d seen everything. Graham had had it coming to him, silly bloody idiot, but that had been a hell of a beating he’d just taken. She’d been too scared to get involved. By the time she thought about phoning the police, that horrible, miserable man from Birmingham had gone.

She looked up and down the street. There was no one else around. Just her and Graham.

She tried to pick him up and help him walk, but he was too weak. He was really in a bad way, and the silly sod still had his trousers around his ankles. ‘What are we going to do with yous, Graham? You’re in a real mess, lover. Let’s get yous over the road and get yous sorted.’

She pulled him close and tried to pick him up again, but she couldn’t cope with his weight. He groaned with pain, his mouth next to her ear, his breath tickling the side of her face. She liked that. ‘What would your old mum think? I kept telling her when she got ill that you’d be all right, and you had been ’til now. What d’you have to go and do that to that girl for, love?’

Mary didn’t have the strength to get him into the café, but she couldn’t leave him here. She didn’t want to leave him, didn’t even want to let him go for a second. In a series of hefts and grunts, she managed to shift his bulk up onto the front step of the pharmacy, the sunken doorway giving them a little privacy.

And she sat him there with his back to the door, one side of his face a mass of purple bruising, blood dripping from his nose, trousers still around his ankles, his hard penis still upright and erect. She kissed him and ran her fingers through his mop of hair. ‘You poor love.’

And he looked up at her with wide, staring eyes, and he pulled her even closer.

Scott had barely spoken since he’d got back to the house with Tammy. It was late now, almost eleven, and he was still hammering in the kitchen. Michelle had learnt to keep her distance at times like this, and though the circumstances tonight were wholly different, there had been plenty of times like this before now.

Phoebe and George were, thankfully, managing to sleep through. Michelle crept upstairs to check on Tammy. They’d talked – argued – when she and Scott had returned from Thussock. Tammy had accepted she’d been way out of line, but Michelle understood her daughter’s frustrations. She was feeling them herself. She gently knocked on Tammy’s bedroom door, then let herself in. ‘You still awake, love?’

Tammy was lying in bed with her back to the door. The curtains were open, moonlight flooding in. Michelle tiptoed around the room and crouched down. Tammy’s eyes were wide open and she clutched a tissue in her hand. She continued to stare into space before slowly looking over at her mother.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

Michelle shook her head. ‘What’s done is done. That’s not why I came up. I just wanted to see if you were okay.’