Дэвид Муди - Strangers

‘And don’t any of you talk to me at all.’

Michelle looked at him and he held her gaze for several seconds. But there was no concern in his eyes anymore, no love, just hurt and hate. She moved towards him, he backed away. ‘You have to believe me, Scott… I know how it looked but it wasn’t like that. I really thought there was something wrong. I went out to check on him and he… I don’t know what came over me.’

‘Well your ex-husband very nearly did,’ he said, emotionless.

‘We need to talk about this. For the sake of the girls and George, we need to talk…’

‘What’s there to talk about? I caught you in the front yard, about to fuck your ex-husband. That’s pretty much it from where I’m standing.’

‘I know, and I can’t explain it… it’s just…’

‘Just what? Come on, I want to hear this. Are you going to explain to me how it’s okay that you nearly fucked Jeremy just now?’

‘I swear, I didn’t plan anything… But there was just something about the way he was, the way he looked at me…’

‘Oh, fuck, was it love at first sight all over again?’

‘Don’t take the piss out of me, Scott.’

‘Then don’t treat me like a fucking idiot. You’re telling me you just felt like having sex out in the open with your ex because of the way he looked at you? So you’ve not had any feelings for him for years, you just changed your mind this morning? Or was it last night? Did something happen before I came back in and caught him slagging me off? Was he touching you up while I was out of the room?’

Michelle gasped. ‘Don’t talk to me like that. Don’t say things like that in front of the kids. You shouldn’t—’

‘ You’re criticising me ? Don’t waste your breath,’ Scott cut across her, the contempt in his voice clear. He leant closer so that only she could hear him. ‘I saw everything . I was watching from the moment you went out there. I know what happened. I know what you did, what you wanted to do.’

‘No, Scott, I swear… I didn’t do anything to…’

He grabbed her throat, squeezing tight enough to leave red finger marks, almost choking her but not quite, knowing just the right amount of pressure to apply because he’d done this plenty of times before. ‘Save your breath. Go and see to George and get out of my fucking sight.’

She did as he said, running to the stairs, keen to shield her son from the chaos. On the other side of the kitchen, Tammy straightened herself up, ready to attack Scott again. ‘This is all your fault…’ she started to say. He lifted a hand to hit her and she cowered away, the moment seeming to last forever. He eventually lowered his fist.

‘Get upstairs and get ready for school,’ he said, the unnatural calm in his voice now somehow more frightening than the anger he’d shown seconds earlier.

‘I don’t want to go to school,’ Phoebe sobbed. ‘Not now, not after…’

‘Both of you get upstairs and get ready for school before I really lose my fucking temper. Now!’

They did as they were told, fearing for their safety. Scott could be intimidating at the best of times, right now he was downright terrifying. Neither girl had any doubt he’d hit them if it came down to it. They’d seen what he’d done Mum enough times.

And then they were gone, and he was finally alone, left to try and make some sense of the madness of this morning. He looked out of the window at the pervert lying on the gravel by the side of the family car. What the fuck is wrong with all these people? He was surrounded – both in this house and in this town – by crazy people. What had he done to deserve this? A wife who cheated on him, step-kids who couldn’t stand him… He thought about just getting in the car and going, but that wasn’t going to happen. He had nowhere to go. He checked he’d still got the door key in his pocket, then walked around downstairs and made sure all the other doors and windows were locked too. If I can’t go anywhere, neither can they. Not until I decide.

In frustration, hoping to get rid of some of the pent-up anger festering inside him, Scott picked up the sledgehammer. It was where he’d left it on Sunday evening. He shoved the kitchen table back and began to swing at the hole in the wall. Again and again he swung the hammer at the brickwork, feeling satisfied every time a piece of masonry fell, kicking rubble out of the way so he could keep swinging. He’d thought previously that he might be capable of demolishing this whole bloody house, now he thought he might actually be about to do it.

A frantic few minutes and the hole had almost doubled in size, but it still wasn’t enough. He lifted the hammer to swing it around again, then stopped, feeling like he was being watched. Phoebe was standing in the kitchen doorway, dressed in her school uniform, face white and eyes red. ‘What do you want?’ She was almost too afraid to talk. She fidgeted on the spot, eyes on the sledgehammer, not him. ‘What?’ he shouted at her again, and she jumped at the noise.

‘My dad’s gone,’ she said quietly, wincing in anticipation of his reaction.

‘So? Do you think I give a shit about your bloody father after what he’s done this morning?’

She was crying again now, sobbing hard, shoulders shaking. It was almost impossible to speak between the tears but she made herself do it. ‘Please, Scott… I know what he did but I’m worried…’

‘Then you go and sort him out.’

‘I can’t get out.’

‘I’ll let you out.’

‘I think something’s wrong with him.’

‘I know something’s wrong with him. Sick fucker.’

‘Please, Scott… Please help.’

Scott swung the sledgehammer at the wall again, grunting with effort, then he stopped. He looked over at Phoebe. Was any of this her fault? Her sister was a genuinely spiteful and vindictive bitch, but Phoebe wasn’t. She was just a scared and vulnerable kid who’d already seen things she should never have seen this morning, things which would no doubt scar her for life.

‘His trousers are still in the yard,’ she said, sniffing back more tears. ‘And his pants…’

‘Wait here,’ he told her, deciding he needed to make sure Jeremy was well away from the house. ‘I’ll go and look.’

Scott side-stepped Phoebe then let himself out and locked the door behind him. Phoebe went to the window and watched, keeping out of sight as Scott hunted around the yard, checking under the car and around the side of buildings and walls, like he was trying to find a missing cat… She didn’t know what to do for the best. She couldn’t understand what was happening. She’d seen more than she’d let on, and she didn’t know why her mum and dad had done what they’d done. He’d always been a good dad. He’d always looked out for her and Tammy and Mum, even after they’d split up. He’d always said kind things about her, and had never talked about Scott in the unkind, disrespectful way Scott usually talked about him. But she couldn’t think about Dad like she used to now, because she had an image burned into her head that she couldn’t shake: her own father, lying on his back in the middle of the yard of this horrible grey house, beaten up and bleeding, half-naked and exposed to the world.

She just wanted all of this to stop.

Scott couldn’t find him. Surely the dirty bastard couldn’t have got far? He climbed up onto the stone wall at the end of the drive to get a better view and looked out over the fields on the other side of the road. He could see for miles, but he couldn’t see Jeremy.

He had to have gone back into town. Where else would he be? Scott picked up Jeremy’s trousers so he could sort him out when he finally found him, though he didn’t know why he was bothering. Sick fucker didn’t deserve his help.