Matt Shaw: A Sting in the Tale: A Collection of Short Stories

Jude’s own little world — the one she was lost in now — had been much simpler when she had first met Fred. He had been drinking in the bar she waitressed at. He was as drunk as a skunk, moaning about his millionaire brother not helping him out with a business plan he had thought of. A drunken ramble wishing for his brother’s demise so he could inherit the money and do with it as he saw fit. Seeing the state he was in, Jude had helped him home that night and ended up staying with him — listening to stories of what he would do with that cash as his hands ran over her tight body.

Now — with no chance of the money coming their way — her mind consisted of the one nagging thought, How much does a divorce cost?

T H E E N D

“What’s wrong with you?” Steve asked between mouthfuls of his dinner, lovingly prepared by his wife Anne. He was talking to Frankie, his eldest daughter at nineteen years old. Steve had noticed she had been quiet all day. It was hard not to. They worked together in a vape/e cig shop and usually it has hard to get her to quieten down. But today she had hardly said a word. She had just kept staring at her phone whenever the shop was empty of customers.

“Nothing,” Frankie said.

The family was sitting at the dining room table; Anne and Steve — the parents — and the two children, Frankie and her younger sister, Billie-Jo. Frankie had been pushing her food around her plate for the last ten minutes; actions which hadn’t gone unnoticed by Anne or Steve.

Steve had had enough. She had been miserable in front of the customers and now she was creating a bad atmosphere at the dinner table.

“Nothing?” he pushed her. “You have a face like a badger’s arse and you’re saying there’s nothing wrong?”

“What does that even mean?” Frankie asked, irritated she was even having this conversation in the first place. She just wanted to be left alone to her own private thoughts. It was only because her mum insisted she ate something that she had even bothered to come down from her room.

“Shaun’s ignoring her texts,” Billie-Jo said with a smirk on her face.

“Shut up!” Frankie hissed. Billie-Jo stuck her tongue out at her, happy to have one up on her sister. Billie-Jo was your typical teenager. She hardly ever left her room, she hated school, was definitely mouthy but also had a good sense of humour — when she wasn’t being a wind-up merchant.

“His phone’s probably out of charge,” said Anne.

Just as Billie-Jo was your typical teenager, Anne and Steve were your typical parents. Steve was the big burly bloke who liked to take the piss out of everyone — usually with many explicits involved — and Anne was the calming parent who went out of her way to be nice to everyone. They were like chalk and cheese yet — somehow — as a couple, they just worked.

“Or he doesn’t want to talk to you,” Steve laughed. Frankie gave him a ‘fuck you’ look without actually saying the words. Her dad’s language was sometimes described as colourful but he still probably wouldn’t have been very appreciative if his daughter had sworn at him. He gave her a playful smile.

They had been dating a while now — Frankie and Shaun — and, although they might not have been able to talk every day, they at least shared text messages. She couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been in touch with her throughout the day. Even if he hadn’t been able to use his phone — for whatever reason — he still would have somehow got word to her, explaining his silence.

“Maybe he’s practising for a gig?” Anne offered another — kinder — suggestion than her husband’s.

Shaun was the singer of a band called ‘The Always’ — a band struggling to find their way in the world of mainstream music despite performing as many gigs as they could. By day his life was slightly less glamorous as he paid the bills by painting and decorating. The single thought keeping him going that — one day — his music would take off; an optimistic quality that Frankie both loved and respected.

“He’s not normally this quiet,” Frankie said.

“Well have you tried calling him?” Anne asked.

“Yes. It goes straight to voice-mail.” She paused for a split second before continuing with, “And yes I left a message!” She knew it would have been the next question from her mum’s mouth. Frankie put her knife and fork down. She pushed herself away from the table and stood up.

“You’ve hardly eaten anything,” Anne said.

“I’m not hungry,” Frankie replied.

“Leave her be. Won’t go to waste — dogs can eat it,” Steve said unsympathetically. He knew she’d eat when she was hungry. She wasn’t stupid after all. And if she wasn’t wanting to eat now — then he wasn’t going to force her. It would have only led to arguments which he couldn’t be bothered with. He also knew that Mia, their Siberian husky, and Alfie, their German Shepherd, would be only too happy to help polish the scraps off.

Frankie left the room, pulling her mobile from her jeans pocket; still no message, or missed call. As she walked through the bungalow, back towards her bedroom, she pressed through her contacts to find his number again. With it selected, she pressed the call button and held the phone to her ear.

It was ringing, and ringing, and ringing… ‘Click’. The phone went through to the voicemail service once more.

“Hey! It’s me! Just trying to get hold of you still,” she said, “call me when you can. Love you!” She hung up, a feeling of disappointment rushing through her once more at not being able to speak to him. In her mind — all sorts of bad things had happened to him. That was the problem with people like Frankie. Those people with active imaginations who loved nothing more than to get lost in a good book, especially a horror. See — to most people — Shaun was just busy, hence his lack of contact. To Frankie though — something terrible had happened to him. She didn’t know what. She just knew something had happened and kept imagining his body broken, and twisted, in different angles; bones poking through his ripped skin and his eyes staring up; lifeless.

Frankie felt nauseous as all the different, varied ways Shaun’s body could have been broken flew through her mind at an alarming speed. She knew she was being stupid. He was absolutely fine. He was just busy. Or he had lost his phone and couldn’t remember her number. That was it; he’d lost his phone — or it had got broken at work? He had accidentally dropped it in a pot of paint?

She walked into her bedroom and sat down on the bed, putting the phone down next to her with a casual glance — still no missed calls or text messages. She pulled her laptop from the small table next to her bed and opened the screen up. The page loaded instantly to Facebook, her preferred social media site. A few notifications — nothing of any importance — but no messages to speak of. She sighed and put the computer down next to her phone.

“Where is he Gizmo?”

Gizmo was Frankie’s pet cat; a little black and white ball of fluff who always seemed to gravitate towards Frankie — even when she didn’t want him to. She’d be working on her laptop — laying on the floor — and he’d come up and start rubbing the side of his neck against the machine’s flimsy lid. Cute? Yes. Irritating at those particular moments in time? No. Never.

It dawned on her that there was one thing she hadn’t thought to do yet. A status update. Hopefully one of his bandmates would see, and answer. At least that way she’d be able to go to bed and not worry as much; although it was still unusual for him to be so quiet.

As she reached for the computer, she started to cast her mind back to the last time they had spoken. It had only been yesterday and — try as she might — she wasn’t able to think of anything that had happened between the two of them which could have pissed him off. If anything, she should have been upset with him. She loved him — a lot — but there were times when he really annoyed her; little things that he did for the sole purpose of winding her up like repeating everything she said by singing it back to her.